#i’m quivering and shaking and trembling rn.

[vaperarmand]

Need you to listen to Florescent Adolescent by the Arctic Monkeys and think about Daniel Molloy,, pretty please

oh…… okay………..

[sevikaswifefr]

scared

pairing: vada cavell x female reader

warnings: school shooting, guns, suicidal shooter, suicide.

a/n: i’m in a writers block :/ i apologise if this is bad

vads <3

pls meet me in bathroom rn. dying from lack of kisses from my grilfriend.

*girlfriend

I roll my eyes at the message, two more coming in almost instantly after I had read the first ones.

I raise my hand, my teacher raising an eyebrow to glare at me. “May I go to the bathroom please? Girl problems.” I shrug and the teacher cringes nodding and ushering me out.

“Your so needy.” The bathroom door swings open as I walk in and scoff at my girlfriend who sits on the sink counter, legs swinging as she not so patiently waits for me to arrive.

“Ahh correction. I am so in love.” Vada wags her finger at me before hopping down and rushing to wrap her arms around my neck. “Kiss me.” She whispers and I obey, leaning down to the shorter girl and pressing my lips to hers earning a breathy sigh.

Vadas mouth opens as she pulls back, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she goes to speak. But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a loud bang echoes through the hallway.

Vadas hand grips mine as we both freeze, eyes trained on the bathroom door waiting to hear the noise again.

And again it happens, multiple gun shots fired followed quickly by cries and screams, footsteps screeching in a panicked state outside the bathroom door.

Tears begin to fall down my face as I drag Vada into the end bathroom stall. “Get on the toilet.” I whisper shaking a scarily larger amount as I clamber atop the toilet seat. Vada follows suit, whimpers leaving her mouth at the sound of every bullet being fired.

My breathing is rapid, choked almost as I hold a hand over my mouth attempting to keep quiet as long as I can. Vadas eyes meet my own, both pairs glassy and swimming with fear, fear that one of us won’t make it out alive.

The silence after is almost worse than the gun shots and it doesn’t help the girl before me is shaking so hard I became worried she was having a seizure. Remaining silent I hold out my own shaky palm, Vada is quick to take it ignoring the clamminess and holding it extremely tightly.

“Is it over?” I manage to ask, my lips quivering as I dare to step down from the toilet.

Vada sobs into her hand. “I don’t know.” She whispers clinging tightly to my arm too afraid to open the stall.

Police sirens echo outside the building, a sliver of hope rushing through me. But that is shattered as the bathroom door bursts open, mumbled sentences being uttered as someone paces the floor outside the stalls.

Vadas eyes widen, hand pressing tightly against her mouth to stop her cries as her chest rises and falls so fast I had to place my hand against her cheek to calm her slightly.

I slowly attempt to clamber back onto the toilet, but of course nothing goes my way as my foot slips into the toilet water, the splash alerting the intruder.

“Who the fuck is there? I’ll fucking kill you.” His voice is psychotic, alert and fuming as he stalks towards the first stall and shoots a bullet through the door.

Vada and I flinch at the sound of trigger, his footsteps gradually getting closer to our stall as he sends a bullet through each door.

Closing my eyes and praying slightly I step down from the toilet and reach for the lock. Vadas hand is quick to latch onto my arm shaking her head frantically. Turning to look at her, I smile as best I can. “I’ll be ok.” I nod and blow her a wobbly kiss before opening the stall door and closing it behind me, keeping Vada safe.

“Matt.” I whisper, the shooters trembling body turning towards my own. In his hands lay an automatic, aimed directly at me as he seethes.

“Please don’t do this. You can’t come back from this is you keep going.” My voice betrays me, breaking multiple times in the single sentence.

Matt’s eyes are filled with tears but his grip on the gun remains strong. “I don’t plan to come back from it.” He replies wrapping a long finger around the trigger and shrugging.

A flood of what felt like fire burns through my shoulder, the force causing my body to smack against the tiled ground. Crying out in pain, my hands fly to my wound, coming back coated in my blood.

Matt stands frozen, his jaw clenched as he turns the gun on himself. I will myself to close my eyes, or at least turn away but it’s as if I’m frozen. Stuck.

And without a moments hesitation the trigger is pulled, Matt’s body collapsing beside mine, his blood mixing with my own as it pools underneath his body.

Tears cloud my view and my head flops against the tiled floor, weak and heavy. “Vada.” I breathe holding my shoulder with much effort as I could muster.

“Va-“ My vision goes black. A pair of creased jordan’s the last thing I see as I fade out of consciousness.

…

“-very lucky he didn’t get her any lower or she wouldn’t be here right now.”

Blinking against the white light I sit up to see my Vada talking to a nurse but as I stir the two turn to me.

“Your awake.” Vada is sniffling, tears falling down her cheeks as she walks over to my bed. “I’m awake.” I whisper grimacing at the pain of trying to sit up.

Vada remains stoic, a scary difference to her normal wild and very unserious attitude. “Your ok?” I whisper, the nurse leaving the room with a simple nod. Vada shrugs, her eyes blank. “I don’t know.” Her hand finds mine, intertwining her fingers in my own. “Get in.” I shuffle over giving her space to slip into my bed ignoring the throbbing of my shoulder.

“I don’t think either of us are ok. And I think right now. That is ok.” I whisper pulling Vadas head against my chest and kissing her hair.

She hums, finger tracing the exposed skin on my hip. “I’ve got you now.” I whisper, running my hand through her matter locks. “And I’ve got you.” She replies turning to look up at me as if reciting a promise.

Silence encompasses the room as darkness falls over the hospital. But my eyes don’t close, and I doubt Vadas do either. Yet I remain still, the only movement is my hand in Vadas hair bringing as much comfort as I can. “I love you Vada.” I whisper. Vadas figure shuffles slightly under my gaze, head leaning back to look up at me.

“I love you too.”

[ssongsboo]

thinking of sub!hyunjun who let’s you use him however you please until he’s a crying shaking mess.. like can you imagine tying him up and using a vibrator on his tip until you’re overstimulating him and he’s just squirming in place like IDK… also i’m really high rn

-🪐

hyunjun's hands trembled, fingers twitching in their bindings as he sat on the edge of the bed, his thighs spread wide but quivering. his chest heaved, beads of sweat clinging to his flushed skin. the silk tie holding his wrists above his head strained as he instinctively tugged at it, seeking relief but finding none.

"you're doing so well for me," you murmured, voice soft yet laced with undeniable authority. the praise sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him, a broken moan spilling from his lips.

the vibrator you held to the tip of his aching length hummed mercilessly, the vibrations sharp and unrelenting, his hips bucking upward. he was left utterly at your mercy, forced to take every bit of stimulation you delivered.

"please, i... i can't-" hyunjun's words were a jumbled mess, tears streaking down his cheeks as his head fell back. his pretty lips parted to let out a high, choked whine, the sound teetering on desperation. he was so sensitive now, his body overstimulated and trembling, yet you showed no signs of letting up.

"you can take more, jun," you purred, tilting the toy slightly to apply just a touch more pressure. his back arched, his entire body jolting at the sensation. "look at you. so good for me, aren't you?"

“yes," he sobbed, his voice cracking. his entire frame quaked as the pleasure bordered on too much, every nerve set alight. "i'm good! please, no more- too much!"

you hummed in consideration, watching him squirm and tremble, utterly at your mercy. but the way his body responded told you the truth- he wanted to endure for you. even when it felt overwhelming, even when the tears spilled freely, hyunjun wanted nothing more than to please you.

"just a little longer, baby," you said softly, the vibrator slowing to a gentler setting. his sigh of relief was short-lived, however, as you leaned in, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear.

"you can handle it. can't you, my pretty boy?"

hyunjun's head lulled forward, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. every inch of him was taut, like a bowstring stretched to its limit. the vibrator's relentless hum against his overstimulated tip drew shudders from him, his thighs trembling where they spread for you.

"y-yes," he managed to choke out between ragged breaths. his voice was hoarse, weak, but there was no hesitation in his answer. "i'm... your good boy..."

you smiled at his obedience, running your free hand along his flushed thigh, the soft, soothing touch a stark contrast to the overstimulation he endured. his body jerked at the contact, every nerve on edge, but he didn't pull away. he couldn't. he didn't want to.

"that's right," you cooed, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. the tenderness only made him whimper louder, a shaky gasp leaving him as you turned the vibrator up another notch. his whole body tensed, a broken cry tearing from his lips as his hips bucked futilely against your hands.

"please," he whimpered, though he wasn't even sure what he was begging for anymore. release? mercy? more? his mind was a haze, completely overtaken by you and the sensations you drew from him. "it's- too much, i can't...'

but even as he pleaded, you saw how much he enjoyed this, how much his cock twitched and leaked, helpless against the unrelenting pleasure you gave him.

"you're so beautiful like this," you murmured, your tone a mix of adoration and dominance. you leaned down, lips brushing against his jaw as you whispered,

"falling apart for me. taking everything i give you. i could keep you like this forever, you know."

the words made him shudder, another broken sob tumbling from his lips. his thighs shook violently now, his body trembling as the edge loomed closer and closer. he was a mess of tears, sweat, and desperation, his bound hands flexing as he struggled to ground himself against the overwhelming sensation.

"please," he begged again, his voice cracking. "i'm so close, i- fuck, i-"

"then cum for me, baby," you commanded, pressing the vibrator firmly against his swollen tip.

the sharp, focused pleasure sent him hurtling over the edge, his entire body seizing as a wrecked cry tore from his throat. his release spilled over, thick and warm, but you didn't pull away. not yet.

hyunjun bucked helplessly, a sob ripping from him as the overstimulation began anew. tears streamed down his pink flushed cheeks, his chest heaving as he thrashed weakly against his bindings.

"too much-!" he gasped, his voice barely coherent. but the way his body responded- arching, trembling, clenching- told you he loved every second of it. even as he cried, even as he begged, hyunjun gave himself to you completely, his trust and submission laid bare.

"that’s it, my good boy," you whispered, your voice soft and soothing as you began to ease the toy away.

"you did so well for me. so perfect. just for me."

hyunjun trembled in the aftermath, his chest heaving as his head hung low, hair damp and sticking to his tear-streaked face. his wrists tugged weakly against the silk tie, and his thighs twitched with residual aftershocks. you let him catch his breath, softly stroking his trembling leg as you admired the mess he'd made. his release coated your hand and the vibrator, thick and warm, a testament to just how much you'd unraveled him.

he barely lifted his head to meet your gaze, his lips parted in shallow breaths, his body too spent to respond. but his wide, glassy eyes followed as you brought your hand up, fingers glistening with his essence.

"let’s see just how good i made you feel," you purred, your tongue flicking out to lick your fingers, slow and deliberate. hyunjun's eyes widened, his cheeks burning crimson despite how utterly ruined he already looked. a soft, broken moan escaped him, his hips giving an involuntary twitch.

you made a show of it, taking your time as you licked every bit from your fingers, savoring him like the sweetest dessert. you hummed, your gaze locking onto his as you licked the last drop away. "so perfect. all mine."

his lip quivered, another pathetic whimper spilling from him as he squirmed in his bindings. he wanted to look away, overwhelmed by the sight, but he couldn't. not when you turned your attention to the vibrator, its head still slick and glistening.

without hesitation, you leaned down and ran your tongue along it, slow and teasing. hyunjun's breath hitched audibly, his wide eyes fixated on your every movement. his overstimulated body twitched again, his sensitivity still raw, but the arousal pooling in his hazy gaze betrayed him.

"you’re still watching me, baby?" you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips as you cleaned the vibrator thoroughly. "you can't help yourself, can you? even after all that."

"n-no, i..." his voice was hoarse, barely audible as he tried to form a coherent thought, but all he could do was shake his head weakly. he was utterly undone, completely at your mercy, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

once the vibrator was spotless, you set it aside, leaning forward to press a feather-light kiss to his trembling lips. the taste of him lingered on your tongue, and hyunjun whimpered into the kiss, his bound hands flexing uselessly as if he longed to hold you.

[ghostietwink]

I've taken you to my secret basement. I had this built just for you, little pup. A place where we can be alone. Just you and me and all these toys I got us. The moment I saw you I knew I had to have you. To mark you as my property. You'll like it here with me, I promise. I'm your owner now, and I'm gonna fuck you so good... I'm going to keep you here and train you properly into the pup I want. Let's see how much of me you can take.

I bend you over a breeding bench. I tuck your trembling little arms and legs into the leather straps until your body is completely still and ready for me. I'm already hard from seeing you forced into such a submissive position. Your legs spread open and your ass presenting like a dog in heat. You swallow audibly because you know what’s about to happen…

You are so tight I can barely push my large cock into your quivering hole. Your confused whines and whimpers are so cute and I groan loudly as I push deeper and deeper into your tiny ass until my heavy balls are pressing against it. My strong hips are trapping your trembling butt further, squishing you against my body until I’m sure that my full length is inside of you.

I start thrusting into you, despite your pitiful sounds. Hush, little pup, it’s okay… I know it hurts. You're taking your new owner so good... You try to resist, but I know that you were made for this. I'm gonna teach you to crave my cock. To need it. To cry for me to breed you full of cum every day. Soon you will be molded into the perfect cock sleeve I know that you are. You have no choice. You’re mine now.

-🩷

i’m so so sorry i didn’t see this until now but holy fuck my brain is GONE? literally reread this so many fucking times-

love icky gross anons like this so much holy shit i actually can’t think rn i need this so so bad sir you don’t understand. need to be corrupted and held down and bred full of ur pups :(( talking me through it the whole time telling me how good im taking it while i cry and shake my head :( please

[ennabear]

EHEHEHEHEEEE I’M GIGGLING SO HARD WHILE TYPING TJIS OH EM GEE!!!!! plutobear producing another absolute masterpiece to grace our hungry eyes… all i can think to say is THANKKK YOUUU!!!!! me writing this request like “omg this is so hot i think i might die” but then reading your writing all the way from heaven cause i DID die… that’s how you know it’s a good fic!!!!! 😋 i’m gonna try not to yap too much because i’m barely awake rn and if i yap too much it won’t make ANY sense i’m afraid…

but anywayssss i’d like us all to give a big standing ovation to my twin for this… i’m actually shaking rn!!!!! my favorite writer and my best friend writing about my literal wife??? yeah… i’m shoving this up my ass… :smirkussy:

you gazed down at sevika from your spot, lovingly straddling her torso, intently watching every microscopic change in her features. she helplessly stared up at you, eyes as gray as the goddess athena's, round and teary, near overflowing with pure, unadulterated need.

I KNOW DATS RIGHT!!!!! the way you describe her is PERFECT omg. her big beautiful eyeballs 😭😭 what i wouldn’t give to smooch them… anywho… ugh this is EXACTLY why i didn’t wanna make you write about sevika, cause now you’re writing my own wife better than i can and i’m embarrassed…

just kidding tho, i’d fr slurp up anything and EVERYTHING you write, especially about her!!!!! my sevibear!!!!!!!! my plutobear writing about my sevibear!!!!!!! imma sob, can i use your shoulder rq??? 😭😭😭

you were planning on making this exhilarating for you, while being torturous for the woman underneath you.

YUPPPP DATS WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR!!!!! :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: :smirkussy: GIVE. IT. TO. ME. NOW.

her eyes flickered up and down your bare form, eying every curve and valley hungrily, she took in every little detail before bringing her eyes back up to meet yours. "you plan on doing anything? sometime tonight, preferably." she huffed in exasperation, her low voice gravelly, yet there's the unmistakable trembling only someone who'd give anything to cum possesses. "oh? i'm fine doing this all night, actually. don't rush me."

THIS FUCKING DIVAAAA IM IN TEARS 😭😭 SO CANON SO CANON SO CANON SO CANON!!!!! MY FAVORITEST BRAT HEHEHE 🤎 omg i’m gonna melt this is so hot, i need to shut her up like this so badly…. PLUTOOOOO WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MEEEEEE?????? i’ve died and gone to heaven and died in heaven and now i’m going to hell for the thoughts i’m having….

sevika's dark hair is disheveled, sprawled across the pale pillow, her toffee skin gleaming with sweat, she looked ethereal. every move you make is slow, calculated, enticing. designed to drive her insane, make her whine and clench around nothing but air-and she does exactly that when she feels your dripping folds make contact with her quivering abs. she squirms below you, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, and closing her eyes as tight as she can, inhaling sharply.

the way i audibly “awwwwww”ed when i read this the way i keep audibly “awwwwww”ing whenever i read this 🥹🥹 i need to see her so intimately like this, messy hair and sweating and deep in subspace…. omg my eyes are sweating ahahaha so crazy… i wonder why…

you hadn't even started moving yet, but the wetness, the slick sound, the warmth of you on her skin was driving her over the edge. if so much as a gust of wind kissed her pussy, she'd be crying out and gushing all over the place. unfortunately you were indoors, so she'd have to suffer a little longer.

the way this is real actually… i know from experience… my baby is so sensitive!!!!! call me a gust of wind the way i’m kissing her pussy and making her squirt… ummmm…

• parson my french

idk who said that… but fr the way you write is so addicting 😭 i wanna slurp it up and get high on it until it’s the only thing i can feel… i’ll actually NEVER stop thanking you for this one…

and sevika? she can't do anything but just gawk at you, observe how you throw your head back in ecstasy, your pretty moans filling the room, along with the obscene slapping sounds of skin against skin. you transition to a circular motion, gyrating your hips against her taut abdomen, soaking every square inch of her, including her happy trail. can't forget that, can we.

NOPE NUH UH WE HAVENT FORGOTTEN!!!! when i die i wanna be buried in her happy trail (as if i’m not already buried in it 🤦) and i need every single one of these words engraved on my headstone. no exceptions. idk who’s gonna be in charge of me when i die but i AM expecting this and if i don’t get it i’m haunting y’all forever… sending out little ghost reblogs of this 69 years after i’ve died because it really is that good… and if i catch a single one of you who HASNT sank their teeth into this yet, WTF ARE YOU DOINGGGGGG????? plutobae is over here overtime to feed us this yummalicious content and you haven’t sat tf down??? hmmm… i’m shaking my head…

"b-baby-ah", words are failing her, her voice high pitched and shaky. her hands find their way to your hips, and she assists you in your mission, the sensation of the cold metal of her mechanical arm sending shocks up your spine.

words have failed you as well, nothing but grunts and whimpers resembling sevika's name falling from your lips. your ruts speed up, no longer following any rhyme or reason, all you can think about is getting to that peak. you're so absorbed in how her muscles feel against your pussy, you are almost brought to the point of forgetting where you were.

yeah… 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 words are failing me fr, i’m actually CRAVING this with her. now. asapricky. also the way you describe her mech arm is so delightful… i need it in me… i’m literally forgetting where i am rn, the room is spinning, i’ve lost track of time, and i don’t think i’m on this planet anymore… IT’S ALL YOUR FAULTTTT!!! (thank you 🤭)

with a cry you're hit with blinding pleasure, all your senses cutting out. you hump against her some more, riding out the high as much as you could before the throes of overstimulation took their hold, and your body was enveloped with waves of relaxation.

^^^^ literally me reading this, the writing is so good it makes me black out for a bit… i’ll literally never ever stop singing your praises cause this is actually killing me. my plutobae. the link to my rhett. the mocha to my milk. what the actual fuck is your problem. i love you.

you come to, and look down, your eyes meeting those of sev's, her mouth slightly open, arms limp by her sides, chest heaving up and down as she-and you-register what happened. you climb off of her and fall in an embrace, burying your face in the crook of her neck. the heat of embarrassment and realization spreads throughout the surface of the skin, only you're brought out of it by sevika's sugary voice. she sounds dazed, high as a kite, speaking slowly, "that...was so hot. you're so hot. my turn?"

lord i think someone’s cutting onions because my eyes are just so wet rn 😭 (and they’re not the only thing that’s wet) burying my face in her neck… cuddling with her before round two… i am yearning for it… and her calling me hot???? yeah. it’s over. pluto try not to write perfect dialogue challenge FAILED!!!! ❌

omg… and now i’m sad that it’s over… i’m literally never gonna stop begging you to write about her again because this is actually. the best thing that’s ever happened to me and also the thing that’s gonna kill me. SO PERFECTTT it makes me cry. crying because it’s hot and adorable and beautifully written but also because i actually love you so much it makes me dizzy and i can’t believe you actually wrote about my wife. i’m so proud… and excited… and horny… and sad that it’s over… and and and and… i’m done…. thank you…… 🙇

haiii pludawg… 😇

i’m thinking about sloppy and wet ab riding with sub!sevika, pinning her to the bed with your thighs and riding her into the mattress, she’d get so flustered as you overpower her and she’d just gawk at you like the cutie pie she is while you leave a sticky trail all over her abs… continue this however u want 🤎

thanks a million!!! 😋

☆: hey chat, have something new hehe. sev has been turning me into a MONSTER lately and i had to get this outta my system. ok enna this idea. i have no words. this is the most scrumdiddlyumptious thing ive literally ever heard im gonna start freaking the fart out are u fr...omg. wow...i love u sm for this💚AHHHH I NEED HER.

you gazed down at sevika from your spot, lovingly straddling her torso, intently watching every microscopic change in her features. she helplessly stared up at you, eyes as gray as the goddess athena's, round and teary, near overflowing with pure, unadulterated need.

you wanted her just as much, if not more, only you were better at acting, so you didn't let her sense it and take the chance to rip this moment away from you. you knew her, and she'd give her all to try.

your hot, naked bodies pressed together, it had been eons of simple messing around— neither had their sweet release just yet.

you were planning on making this exhilarating for you, while being torturous for the woman underneath you.

her eyes flickered up and down your bare form, eying every curve and valley hungrily, she took in every little detail before bringing her eyes back up to meet yours. “you plan on doing anything? sometime tonight, preferably.” she huffed in exasperation, her low voice gravelly, yet there's the unmistakable trembling only someone who'd give anything to cum possesses. “oh? i'm fine doing this all night, actually. don't rush me.” stern, but sweet, the sound of your voice makes her break eye contact bashfully. you aren't able to stop the smirk that stretches across your lips, and you tighten your grip on her arms—both flesh and mechanical—on either side of her head. sevika's dark hair is disheveled, sprawled across the pale pillow, her toffee skin gleaming with sweat, she looked ethereal. every move you make is slow, calculated, enticing. designed to drive her insane, make her whine and clench around nothing but air—and she does exactly that when she feels your dripping folds make contact with her quivering abs. she squirms below you, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, and closing her eyes as tight as she can, inhaling sharply.

you hadn't even started moving yet, but the wetness, the slick sound, the warmth of you on her skin was driving her over the edge. if so much as a gust of wind kissed her pussy, she'd be crying out and gushing all over the place. unfortunately you were indoors, so she'd have to suffer a little longer.

on your end, the contact is so good. you rock your hips back and forth on her just once, experimentally, but right away the pleasure pools in your abdomen, and you start rutting against her, chasing the mind-numbing feeling.

and sevika? she can't do anything but just gawk at you, observe how you throw your head back in ecstasy, your pretty moans filling the room, along with the obscene slapping sounds of skin against skin. you transition to a circular motion, gyrating your hips against her taut abdomen, soaking every square inch of her, including her happy trail. can't forget that, can we.

at this point, she can barely keep her eyes open, poor thing, so mesmerized by you in all your glory, grinding your hard clit selfishly against her like this, it was almost enough to make her finish just like that. within a fraction of a second.

“b-baby—ah”, words are failing her, her voice high pitched and shaky. her hands find their way to your hips, and she assists you in your mission, the sensation of the cold metal of her mechanical arm sending shocks up your spine.

words have failed you as well, nothing but grunts and whimpers resembling sevika's name falling from your lips. your ruts speed up, no longer following any rhyme or reason, all you can think about is getting to that peak. you're so absorbed in how her muscles feel against your pussy, you are almost brought to the point of forgetting where you were.

rhythmic “ah, hah, ah, ah—” following every thrust, the intensity of the impending orgasm swirling inside you, and she can't help but moan with you, the ache in her drooling core growing more uncomfortable by the moment.

with a cry you're hit with blinding pleasure, all your senses cutting out. you hump against her some more, riding out the high as much as you could before the throes of overstimulation took their hold, and your body was enveloped with waves of relaxation.

you come to, and look down, your eyes meeting those of sev’s, her mouth slightly open, arms limp by her sides, chest heaving up and down as she—and you—register what happened. you climb off of her and fall in an embrace, burying your face in the crook of her neck. the heat of embarrassment and realization spreads throughout the surface of the skin, only you're brought out of it by sevika's sugary voice. she sounds dazed, high as a kite, speaking slowly, “that…was so hot. you're so hot. my turn?”

because this is my first fic for sev, im not gonna tag people but i will add her as an option and put my taglist here anyway ♡

[elysianslove]

mattsun makes you apologize to him after you make a mess of his arm and the bed when he’s fingering you into your 5th overstimulated orgasm 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 and then he makes you thank him for making you feel so good 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

-🐰

HELP. HELP. HELP. sobbing n cryin rn

pretty and pliant —

word count; 1.0k

content warning; overstimulation, squirting, pussy slapping, degradation, hint of praise

maybe he’s a little deranged for this, but issei finds you so fucking beautiful like this— with your lower lip quivering, your thighs tense and trembling, your chest heaving as salty tears fall from your hazy eyes. your hair’s a mess, your face is a mess, you’re a mess. he supposes it’s his fault, but there’s a twisted part of him that revels in the way you apologize for the mess you’re making. he’s not even attempting to keep your legs open, with his free hand resting upon the mattress. clamping your legs close won‘t work at driving his fingers away and out of you, he just continues to fuck you, no matter how difficult you try to make it for him.

two of his digits are knuckle deep inside of you, rough and harsh as they prod at the spot within you and as they thrust quick inside your spongy walls. the bed beneath you is damp, rightfully so, completely soaked through, and your thighs and ass are just as drenched, sticky and wet from your cum.

issei hovers by your legs, watching with a mischievous grin as you sob, thrashing beneath his hold and twisting your hips away. his fingers follow you, not letting up as they fuck harder into you, even when your legs lift up and shut close, toes curling in the air.

“is—issei— n-no, issei—“ you brokenly moan, hands gripping at the pillow above you so hard it hurts.

“shut up,” he interrupts, dragging his fingers out of you. sloppily, his wet fingers land to your pussy, slapping harshly against your clit and you squeal, legs falling open and back arching. with you spread for him again, his fingers dip to your fluttering and abused hole once more, and he slips one finger inside, amused with the way your body twitches and your legs tense in an attempt to keep them open. “you think you have any right to speak?”

a small whimper tumbles from your lips, dissolving into a broken sob, and weakly, you shake your head.

his finger slips out once more, and he lands another slap against your pussy. your hips jump at the contact and your sobs deepen, your head shaking more harshly.

“yeah, definitely not,” he agrees, tapping your clit lightly. “not after the mess you’ve made.”

he’s right, you suppose. you haven’t just drenched the bed and made a mess of yourself, but of him too. his entire forearm glistens with the evidence of you, and his hand is so soaked that when he pulls back from your cunt, strings of cum attach him to you. realistically, you know he loves it. he’s obsessed with it even, the way your cunt sprays and squirts so messily and sloppily that he’s covered in it. if anything, he’s the one that makes it worse, hand rubbing harshly against your cunt whenever you squirt so that it truly gets everywhere. but your brain’s a little fuzzy right now, and all you can think about is how disobedient you must be.

another whimper, another full body tremble, another slap to your clit.

“i’m— m’s— sorry! sorry— m’sorry,” you beg, crying as your body jerks with every slap against your cunt. his hand lands one, two, three smacks before he rubs your clit softly, dragging his fingers against your folds before landing one, two, three more smacks. it doesn’t really hurt, you’re just so fucking sensitive. “i’m sorry! ‘m so sorry. so sorry—“

fuck, issei thinks, it’s like you know no other words.

his hand ends its relentless slapping against your throbbing clit, and you’re breathless by the time his ministrations end, whether from your endless sobbing and crying or from his actions he’s not sure. he has a feeling it’s a little bit of both. by the time you’re hiccuping, still babbling and mumbling your apologies, issei’s fingers find your hole again. you twitch and clench tightly around him, pussy fluttering in a way that it’s not sure whether it needs him deeper or out. he sinks his fingers further inside you anyways.

“you’ll cum again for me, ‘kay?” he asks, but he doesn’t really care for your answer. his thumb is already rubbing at your clit and his fingers are already speeding up. your head begins to shake again and your legs bend at the knees, eyes screwing shut as you arch your back. “don’t care,” he responds to your reaction, arm bulging and muscles tensing with the effort of fingering you. “you’ll cum again,” he repeats, reinforces with the deep twist of his fingers until you’re pliant just the way you were at the beginning, till your hips are rolling in time with his thrusts and till you’re close again.

“‘sei,” you manage to mewl out, almost as if you’re warning him and — holy shit, he thinks you are warning him. m’gonna cum, you read, like you’re letting him know you’re going to make a mess and please don’t be mad at me, ‘sei.

“c’mon, pretty,” he encourages, leaning forward to press his palm instead of just his thumb against your clit. you stare up at him with so much lust and want and need, so desperately, with your watery eyes and pouty lips and your furrowed brows. he smiles softly down at you, lowering himself closer to you until you’re almost chest to chest, before he whispers, “show me how good you are f’r me.”

and it’s all you need, breath hitching and mouth falling open as your hands reach out for him, nails digging into his biceps as you cum. your body shakes in its place, no energy left within you to thrash around as much as before. eyes rolling back and little pants and gasps tumbling out of your lips, you ride out your high on issei’s fingers, small spurts of cum squirting on his palm.

still trembling a little, but inevitably reaching the end, you finally have it in you to say, “thank you,” in a small, raspy voice, so small that issei barely catches it. but then you say it again as his fingers slow down, as his other hand begins to caress and knead at your waist and hips. “thank you, ‘sei, thank you, thank you, thank you,” you chant, and it’s his turn to feel a little dazed.

and then he thinks, good. you don’t need to know any other words ‘sides sorry and thank you anyways.

i haven’t written in a little while so i’m sorry if this isn’t the best hbejdnd i tried my best for issei!!!

[hheavenlysinful]

it’s okay

✘ d x reader, s.a x reader

request:

Hii! I saw that your requests were open and I was hoping to get a comfort fic/drabble/whatever works for you? I just moved to a new city half way across the world all by myself and the overwhelming anxiety is finally getting to me. I'm grown enough to know its not a permanent state of mind haha but its kinda lonely here rn. Can I get Dabi, Aizawa or Hawks? Something about an emotionally constipated dude going super soft for just one person gets me every time. Thank you so much<3

wc: 1.1k

✘ slight angst, mentions of blood + guns

✘ an: hi! thank you so much for this request :D (idk if i got what you wanted though ;-;) requests are open :D

masterlist

THERE were days where you physically couldn't get off the bed. days where the only thing that echoed in your head was an empty, yet loud, sound of silence. today was indeed one of those days. it wasn't that you were sad. you weren't. you were.... you didn't know what you were. you just didn't feel good, on the inside or outside.

you had yet to get out of your small, shabby room, the dull lights overhead and the tiny window were your only sources of light. it was hard, you surmised, to smile when even the sky outside was weeping tears of sorrow and pain. the sounding thunder only echoed the thought.

you fell back on the squeaky bed, bringing your knees into your chest. you buried your face into the blankets that engulfed you. the soft material that lightly smelt like your boyfriend, was the only thing keeping you breaking. the only thing keeping you from spilling over. Your lips quivered as you wallowed in silence, the pitter-patter of rain drowned out by the silence in your head.

"y/n you can't stay in bed all day"

you jerked up at the voice, the blanket pooling around your hips as you clutched your heart. the irked voice made your heart stutter. on any other day, you would have thrown your blanket, retorted slyly. but today...you just couldn't. your nose cringed as tears began to pool on your waterline.

"y/n," dabi's exasperated voice made your lips wobble. "jesus christ, what are you--"

don't cry. don't cry. don't cry.

you looked up, watching dabi as his eyes trailed towards your trembling figure.

"baby?"

he carefully came towards you, an outstretched arm already reaching for your figure. his fingers were coarse from the multiple wounds and scars he bore, but it was gentle nonetheless.

"d-dabi?"

it was an impossible struggle to keep the tears from overflowing.

"what's wrong doll?"

it was a rare sight. the gentle motion of his battle-scarred arms and the soft, domestic mutterings. if any other person had seen the man that hovered over you right now, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, they would be shocked. but dabi didn't seem to mind as he stroked your hair, awkwardly bending down towards you as he engulfed your body in his arms. it was warm and comforting, his arms replacing the blanket that was slowly being pushed away.

"i-i'm sorry," you cried, tears finally spilling from your eyes. "I must look so pathetic."

you probably did. nothing about you would scream bold and beautiful, adjectives that dabi often used to describe you.

"no, no," he pressed a soft kiss onto your head, "don't be sorry, doll."

you cried harder at the soft words. you shoved your face into the crook of his neck,

"love you," you muttered as your sobs came to a close. sleep had overtaken you, eyes rolling back as you lean towards your lover.

"Hmm," he hummed placing another kiss on your head. he placed you down, tucking you softly into the blanket before lying next to you.

he loved you too.

BEING a hero was a double-edged sword. indeed there were great moments, happy moments even. but sometimes it just wasn't enough. no matter what you do, it's not enough.

you choked on a sob, as you held the limp hand of a stranger, blood splattered all over the sidewalk. he gave you a soft smile as you reassured him, tried to imbed hope into his almost lifeless eyes.

"thank you," his smile only made you sob harder.

you were nearly hysterical when the emergency had arrived, taking the poor man away on an ambulance. you were rambling, as you stared at the fresh blood that soaked your plain t-shirt.

you could have done more. you could have helped him sooner. if only you didn't take the day off, you would be more prepared. there was only so much you good do in a public place, swarming with innocent citizens and without any of your equipment.

you had always dreamed of being a hero. it was the only dream you had growing up. you admired the passion and hard work they put in to spread joy and happiness among the world. it was the only thing you wanted to do. to make people smile. to make people happy.

not this....not this mess.

it was a mess from the beginning, a villain on the run, holding citizens at gunpoint. it was a risky situation, to begin with, anything could go wrong at any time. but maybe, if you held onto your need to help, that man wouldn't be in the hospital right now, fighting for his life.

you messed up. and it almost killed someone.

you hadn't realized you were sobbing until hands grasped your shoulders, shaking you forcefully. your eyes widened as a dull fabric wrapped around your waist.

"y/n, kitten, look at me," your eyes were blurry, your vision scattered as you tried to bring it into focus.

"s-shouta?"

your throat was dry as if you had been shouting.

"look at me, kitten," his words were calm, but you didn't miss the slight tremble in his hands as he tightened his grip on your shoulder. "good girl."

you looked at him, taking in the unruly hair, and the permanent dark circles under his eyes.

you felt your heart calming down.

"take a breath," he guided you through your breaths, humming in approval as you followed his instructions.

"let's go home," he muttered as he tug at the scarf, bringing your body into his. arms wrapped around your figure, loosely. "come on kitten."

you sobbed into his chest as you gripped the collar of his jacket. he didn't flinch as you cried hard into his chest, only moving to pat your back.

your body shook with each breath, the tremble in your fingers still a constant motion.

"it's going to be okay, kitten," he muttered, placing a kiss on your head.

a sudden bloom of warmth burst in your body at the rare soft words. it was calming and relieving. you tightened your grasp on him as you took in the slight scent of his cologne.

"carry me," you muttered into the crook of his neck. a low chuckle reverberated from his chest as soft hands slipped under your legs and back.

"of course princess," he placed another kiss on your head as you snuggled into his neck.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

I.R.L.📷2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.

This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.

Note: Okay, here’s the second and last part of this short little piece. Thanks for reading and the excitement. I’m sorry if I’m a bit blegh rn.

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Andy stared at the chat. He waited and waited but the green dot didn’t pop up. Maybe she was freaked out after meeting him. Or maybe she was over him. Her name hadn’t blipped up in any of his sessions in the last week and he even invited her to an impromptu private show after he got back from the café. He hoped her seeing him might nudge her but it only seemed to scare the fuck out of her.

He recalled how she nearly fell on her face running away from him. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. No preening or smiles, just terror and a quick escape. He didn’t understand. He was a good looking guy and she was obviously lonely. Hell, she was cute too. He was hardly disappointed.

He waited another fifteen minutes, distracting himself with the colour matching game on his phone but her status remained inactive. He scrolled through his bookmarks and clicked on her insta profile. She had commented on some DIY tutorials in the last hour but hadn’t posted. She only ever added pictures of flowers anyway; her last photo of herself was from a year ago. It was her and some guy but he could guess they were no longer together.

He was starting to get upset. She was ignoring him. He wasn’t stupid but what had he done? Their sessions were going well up until this week and he actually looked forward to them. He felt that same thrill he had when he first started his hustle.

He slammed his laptop shut and dropped his phone face down. Fuck it, he had better stuff to do.

He crossed the room and grabbed one of the boxes still stacked against the wall. He hauled it over to the empty bookshelf and flipped it open. He unpacked the books one at a time and the heavy bookend shaped like half a globe. He didn’t know why he brought all these things, he didn’t use them. He wasn’t a lawyer anymore.

He leaned against the side of the sofa and crossed his arms. He boxed up his whole life, or what was left of it, and drove halfway across the country. She couldn’t even give him a hello or her name. She could hardly look at him and she wouldn’t answer his goddamn messages.

He pushed himself straight and stormed over to his laptop. He ripped it open and clicked on the chat. Still, nothing. The invitation was scheduled for less than an hour. Well, if she wasn’t going to open it, he’d have to get it to her another way. He was done waiting on her and he was done playing with her through a screen.

He wanted the real thing and he knew she wanted it too.

📷

You were still slightly addled from your encounter at the café. After you got home and unpacked your groceries, you didn’t find your coffee again until it went cold. You dumped it and replaced it with a glass of wine. You bought the bottle a month ago, expecting to unwind and that time finally came.

You sat with the healthy dose of alcohol, almost to the brim as it darkened the full belly of the glass. You wore only a baggy Winnie the Pooh tee and panties as you lounged and flipped on the tv. 

You rarely used the front room anymore, ever since your boyfriend moved out you spent most of your time in the bedroom, exhausted and lonely. It was easier to just linger there between responsibilities.

Your dainty sips turned to greedy slurps as you turned on an episode of Project Runway and lost yourself in the competition and drama of it all. Your ex hated that show and you hadn’t watched it in years. It was time to get caught up with what would forever be your unfulfilled dream of being a designer.

By the runway, your glass was empty and the television had a soft glare as you were slightly buzzed by the high potency. The dark blend had a percentage in the double digits and you were feeling it, delightfully so. As the designers came up for their feedback from judges, more so a roast, you leaned back and wiggled your hips as you stretched. You yawned and closed your eyes as you listened to a designer give cutting critique of a hem.

You peeked under your lashes as the camera panned in on the fraying stitches. Well, it looked alright from far away. You bent your arm under your head as you turned onto your side and your eyes closed again as you pondered another glass of wine. That might give you a decent night’s sleep.

You inhaled and sat up, intent on another indulgence but you stopped short as you blinked in shock. You hadn’t drank that much. You couldn’t be hallucinating. You pressed yourself to the back of the couch and shook your head as you gaped at the figure stood just beside the tv, eyes calmly watching you.

“What…” you gulped.

“Shhhh,” the man, the one you watched all those nights on your laptop, brought his finger to his lips as he hushed you, “it’s okay, honey.”

“I--” your heart leapt into your throat and you stood as you swiped up your glass, “get out. How did--”

“I sent you an invitation. Several this week. You haven’t answered--”

You hit the glass off the table so it cracked and left a jagged edge. You jabbed it out at him from the other side of the coffee table, your hand shaking as the shock turned to a jolt of adrenaline.

“Go! Get out!” you snapped, too terrified to think on how he found you or if your meeting that day was truly a coincidence. It didn’t seem like it, “you’re crazy, get out of my--”

He marched around the table as you backed up and swung the glass at him. He caught your wrist and twisted it as he wrenched you close to him and pointed the sharp edge at your throat. The scent of him filled your lungs and mingled with the taste of wine as the glass pressed to your skin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned, “so don’t make me.”

“Please--”

He said your name, calmly, as you drowned in his oceanic eyes. You quivered in his grasp and tensed as you tried to lean away from him, “Andy,” he offered, “that’s my real name.”

“Please, I don’t know what you want--”

“You know exactly what I want,” he hissed as he pulled away the glass and tossed it to shatter against the wall, “the same thing I always wanted… that you want.”

You took a deep breath and he clapped his hand over your mouth and tutted. His brows wrinkled in irritation and your drunken fingers bounced futilely off his shoulder. He turned you and sat you down on the couch and knelt with you, shushing you again as he settled on his knees on the floor.

“Honey, aren’t you tired of this? Of being apart? Of just… watching?” his eyes strayed from yours and he smiled as he eyed the yellow bear on your shirt, “that’s cute.”

You shook your head and murmured against his hand. His lashes flicked up and his jaw squared. His lips thinned as he considered you.

“Thing is, honey, I’d love to talk but you gotta promise not to scream,” he said, “and I mean that because I don’t want to gag you… not yet, anyway.”

Your eyes rounded and you nodded fervently as your breath puffed under his palm. He narrowed his eyes and shifted his hand slightly, moving it just an inch at a time as he watched you. You sniffled as he let his grip fall to your knee.

“Why? How…” you stuttered, “it was a mistake. Just a show--”

“You were always there,” he said as his other hand came up to your other knee and he ran his hands up and down your legs, “it didn’t sound like a mistake.” He pushed his fingers along the top of your thighs, “you enjoyed it.”

“It wasn’t… like that, just…”

He squeezed your thighs painfully and you winced. His fingers crawled up under the hem of your tee to the elastic of your panties and he hooked them beneath the fabric. You grasped his wrists in shock at his sudden movement and he looked you in the face.

“Say whatever you want, make your excuses,” he snarled, “you said you wanted me, you said it a dozen times, and I know you do.”

He tore down the cotton and you flailed out and caught yourself against the back of the couch. He rolled your panties down and untangled them from your ankles as you tried to close your legs. He kept your panties around his wrist as he stopped your knees from meeting and moved between them.

“Honey, now, I think we’ve had enough build up--”

“Hel--” you screamed and he grabbed your chin and snapped your mouth shut so that you bit your tongue.

He growled and shook your panties down over his hand. He brought up the twisted fabric and shoved it into your mouth. You tried to turn away from his grip as he stuffed the panties in with two fingers as deep as they would go and you almost gagged.

“It’s too bad,” he said, “I wanted to try that mouth… next time.”

You batted at his arms and chest and his hand shot to your throat. You stilled as he choked you, just enough for lungs to burn. He kept his hand on your neck until you sat back and he let it trail down the front of your shirt. He groped you through the fabric, rolling his thumb around your nipples as they hardened.

“I know you can be good, honey,” he hummed, “you’re just… nervous. I know what it’s like, trying to get over someone else. Trying to move on from a life you built-- a break-up, right? That lanky guy on your Insta--”

You gave a terrified flutter of your lashes and he smiled, a tight-lipped sympathetic gesture.

“Look, we’re two lonely people,” he kneaded your chest as he spoke and leaned in, “so, it only makes sense, and I promise, honey, the shows are over. It’s all for you now.”

You trembled as he dropped his hands and pulled up your shirt. He tickled your stomach with his knuckles and framed your tits with his hands as he admired them. You squirmed as he flicked them with his thumbs and leaned into you. He took one in his mouth and suckled. You whimpered as you felt a pluck in your core.

He parted with a pop and licked his lips, “I never… it was always hard to think of what you’d look like but I couldn’t picture anyone so perfect.”

Your nails dug into the couch cushions as you tried not to flinch. The glimmer of delight turned to disgust as you watched this stranger fondle you and he sealed his lips around your other nipple. You bit down on the cotton and moaned. You were so pathetic. It was your stupid moments of lonely desperation that brought you to this, that brought him to you.

His large hands spread along your sides and he pressed his fingertips into you sharply as he toyed with your nipples. He grazed his teeth along each bud and pulled back to look at you again. You grasped his shoulders as you begged him with your eyes and shook your head.

“I… always wanted to do this in the bedroom,” he said, “that’s where you usually are, huh? Touching yourself for me all alone in the dark--”

You hung your head in defeat and he pulled you forward on the cushion. He lifted you onto your feet and spun you around in the space between him and the couch. He put one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and walked you around the sofa. He paced slowly behind you as he urged you down the hall and paused to peer through your bedroom door.

“Here we are,” he said as he angled you through the door. You reached up as your jaw ached around the wad of fabric and he caught your hand and yanked it down, “I didn’t say you could do that.”

You dropped your arm and he let you go. He pressed his body to your back as he nudged you closer to the bed and stopped you right before it. He bunched your shirt in his hands and tugged it up until you raised your arms. He swiped it over your head and let it crumple beside your feet.

“Go on, sit nice and pretty for me,” he tapped your ass lightly.

Naked, you shivered as you stepped away from him and got onto the bed. You turned as you bent your legs over the edge and lowered your chin. You hugged yourself as he stood watching you with his hands on his belt.

“Don’t you worry, it’s still a show,” he said as his hands slid over to his buckle. 

He winked and ran his fingers up the front of his jacket and pulled it off. He draped it over the folding stool by your bookshelf and bent each leg to tug off his shoes. His socks followed shortly after and he squared his shoulders before he scooped his shirt up and off. He returned to his buckle and tilted his head at you.

“Look at me, honey,” he said as you stared at the pile of clothing, “we both know you love to watch.”

You raised your eyes to him and clamped your hands around your shoulders, arms crossed over your chest. He grinned and unbuckled his belt, his zipper gliding down smoothly beneath his fingers.

“You got me hard as fuck,” he said, “I didn’t like that earlier, you know? The way you ran from me.”

You just sat and tried to swallow the hopeless acceptance. He pushed down his pants and stepped out of them, his arousal bulging against his boxers. Your fingernails cut into your skin as you curled your fingers.

“You’ve been so good to me, honey,” he continued as he rolled down his boxers, “you know, I only want to return the favour. I came all this way just to get close so that--” he paused as his dick sprang up before him and he kicked away his underwear, “I can take care of you now.”

He gripped himself and stroked his length with a hum. His stomach tensed and the lines of his muscles deepened as he groaned and played with himself as he would before the camera. You were mortified as you watched him helplessly and he got closer and closer.

“Now you get the live show, honey,” he reached out and took your hand, closing it around his dick as he guided it up and down.

He moaned and hung his head back as he used both your hands on his shaft. He shuddered and leaned into your grasp. You listened to his pants as they grew quicker and quicker and he stopped you abruptly. You looked down at the glistening pre-cum as it leaked from his tip and he trailed his thumb through it as he let you go.

You flinched as he moved towards you suddenly and grabbed your hips. He lifted you and dropped you onto your back. He took your ankles and placed them against his shoulders as he stretched your legs up his torso. His cock slid along your cunt and hovered over your folds.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he bit his lips and looked between your legs as he let go of one leg and reached down to guide himself between your lips, “oh, honey, your so sexy.”

He pushed apart your cunt with two fingers and slid in between his knuckles. He gasped as you stretched around him and you pushed your head back and whined around the fabric in your mouth. You whimpered as he drew back just a little and pushed in deeper. He rocked his hips, getting further each time as your walls strained around him.

He tilted you against him so that he reached his limit and slid his thumb along your bud. He swirled around your clit as he carried a slow motion, gliding in and out of you as you slicked around him. The tingle of his touch crept like tendrils beneath your flesh and made you clench around his dick.

He groaned and sped up, just a little as he played with you, pressing more firmly on your clit until your hand shot down over his. You didn’t move him away, only gripped his wrist as he toyed with you, fucking you deliberately as the sensation melded into a maelstrom. The twisting spring inside of you compressed and released suddenly in a ripple of sheer delight.

You groaned and bent your legs against him, raising your pelvis higher so he dipped even deeper. Your eyes rolled back and you ripped the panties from your mouth in your ecstatic trance. You balled them in your hand and writhed on his dick. 

He grasped your hips and dragged your ass over the edge of the bed and rammed into you. You cried out and he did it again. It was as if he lost all control as his pelvis slapped against you loudly and his voice rumbled through the room. You gulped and gasped as he pressed the heel of his hand to your clit and rubbed harder, his fingers stabbing sharply against your flesh.

His other hand snaked up to pinch your nipple and cup your tit. He braced you as he bent over you and fucked you furiously. He stepped up onto the edge of the bed frame as he curled your body beneath his and brought both his hands up beside your head as he held himself over you.

He plunged down into you over and over and he huffed as he watched the joining of your bodies. He growled and pulled out of you suddenly, bending your legs up as you were contorted further. He grabbed your hand again and trapped it around his dick, moving it quickly as he muttered.

He came in thick ropes onto your chest and down the folds of your stomach as you were in almost a C beneath him, his knees around your thighs. You shook and lifted his chin as he snarled and kept your hand moving, still cumming over you. He tore your grasp from him as he grew over sensitive and hung his head as he quivered.

“Shit,” he swore as he backed off of you and stood, leaning on the bed to steady himself. Your legs fell over the edge and his cum cooled across your skin, “you look good like that, honey.”

He stepped closer and pushed his fingers through the mess. You shivered and stopped his hand as you slowly returned to reality. You lifted yourself on one elbow and batted your lashes in confusion.

“How did you even find me?” you uttered.

“Doesn’t matter how,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to sit up gruffly, “only that I did.”

[bradshawsweetheart]

Here is my play by play while I’m at work

“Oh, baby,” he whispers to you. His bottom lip trembles. “Is he…?”

His bottom lip trembles PLEASE

Mable was right. There is no way out. You will bathe in your own blood and be torn limb by limb as the depths of Hell calls for you. There is no way out. 

Mable is a freak baby we don’t listen to her (respectfully)

Scrambling to grab the walkie, Rooster leans down and takes the ax in his hands. It’s with his heart in a cold, cold puddle that he sees that it’s the ax from the mess hall. D.G. He says nothing to you, just holds onto the handle tight. 

GIRL WHAT!! FROM THE MESS HALL

“It--it’s Bob,” Phoenix sobs. “I think he’s--I think he’s--!” 

Millie don’t fucking do this to me right now

“I’m so--fuck, I’m so cold,” Bob whispers to her, lips quivering. “Can you start the fire?”

Oh baby :(((

You cannot save him. Nobody can--he is too far gone. Coyote bows his head and that is when the tears come.

MILLIE DONT FUCKING DO THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW

He’s known, from the very beginning, that he’s dying. He just didn’t know how to tell anyone else. And he knew everyone else was too afraid to tell him. 

FUCKING STOP IT RIGHT NOW IM CRYI

“Thank you,” he tells Phoenix. She looks down at him, shaking her head with her eyes wide. He doesn’t break their gaze, lips trembling. “You’re my best friend.” 

I’m fucking crying please

That is the last time he will ever call Bob’s name and have Bob answer to it. “I…I love you, man.” 

I’m literally sobbing at work what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

Bob lets out a quiet laugh--a weezy, tired thing. It is the last time he will ever laugh.

MILLOTHY IM

He always wanted to be front row at a Bob Dylan concert. He was saving up to take him and Phoenix. 

What the fuck what the ruck what the fuck rhagsv jfkdok dnusj

He was the newest counselor at Camp Arcadia. This was only his second summer. 

FUCK OFFFFFFF IM

CRHING

“No one else is dying today, alright?” 

2/5 ARE DEAD THERE ARE THREE MORE PLEASE I CANT DO THIS

Coyote nods firmly. You can count on him. He can count on you. The two of you have never bullshitted each other before. 

Javy baby I love you so much

“We’ll be right back.” 

I’m getting Stu Macher flashbacks don’t play with me rn Millie

“Don’t say that,” Coyote pleads. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? Ever?” 

And here’s Randy

And just beside the bucket, which is still full of bloody water, are Bob’s broken glasses. 

Please stop rubbing salt in my wound I am begging you

Dumb question, he thinks. Jesus. Dumb, dumb question.

Sweet baby doesn’t know what else to say

Jake glances down at the ax. He got this just a few miles outside of camp. He pried it out of Fanboy’s hands--his cold, dead hands. And then he promptly spewed vomit onto the rocks just beside his body and Payback’s. He found them, their bodies hacked, lying together. They never left each other’s sides. Not for one moment. 

GIRL WHAT IN THE FUCK

THEY NEVER LEFT EACH OTHERS SIDES

I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

“Talk? Fuck that,” Bradley yells. “He killed Bob!” 

“You did,” Jake utters. “You killed him, Rooster.”

I’m going to

Fucking throw up pls don’t do this to me

“You fuck,” Bradley continues. “It took your blood! It wanted you! Sliced your hand when you were chopping that tree down!” 

Oh my god

He was telling the truth. Bradley is the killer. 

FUCKINF

“Damn,” he says, sighing. He beams at you wickedly. So wicked that your arms go limp, the gun falling onto the floor. Good. He’s got you where he wants you. “I was doing so well, too.”

GIRL WHAT IN THE FUCK

Then you hear the strangled moan he releases, the barely-there and quiet thing. A steady stream of blood floods out from his parted lips and into your mouth. 

MILLIE!!!!!! NOT THE FIFTH DEATH PLEASE

“Don’t wig out yet, baby. Let’s chat before I book it to the bus barn, huh? I can spare a few minutes for my best girl.”

YOU STU MACHER’D ME AND I FELL FOR IT IM SUCH A SILLY BITCH I AM SO UPSEY LMFAOOOOOOO IM SO GLAD THERAPY IS TOMORROW

No but seriously, the comment Bradley makes about Jake being possessed by something is quite literally what’s happening to him I think?

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟖.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

“Whose is it, birdie?” Bradley asks, eyes wide. "It's all over--whose blood is that?"

He hasn’t moved his hands from your warm and sticky face--he’s still cupping your cheeks, face contorted in anguish as his eyes pour into yours. 

You drop the ax and the shotgun on the ground--they make a dull thump, one you can feel in the soles of your feet and in your pulsing head. There’s a lump in your throat so obstructive, so thick and overwhelming, that you can’t speak. 

All you can do, as Rooster looks down at you while the swallows begin to swoop from roof to roof and the irises emit their sweet scent, is cry.

How can you explain to Rooster, who’s held it together this entire time, that you can’t hold it together right now because of what you just witnessed? How are you going to explain to him that you had the person cornered--that you could’ve shot him--and you didn’t because Paul needed help? And even then, even when you abandoned your firing position to help Paul, it was all fruitless because Paul is dead and his body is in the woods all on its lonesome. 

“Birdie,” Rooster mutters. He smooths a hand through your hair, dirty with lake water and leaves and blood, and shakes his head softly. “Who’s bleeding?” 

“Paul,” you finally choke, shaking your head. He thumbs your tears, but it’s for naught. “It--it was Paul’s.” 

It was Paul’s. 

Rooster looks you up and down--the blood is all over you. Up to your ankles and covering your shoes, all over your shins, dried up your legs, staining your poor dungarees again. 

“Oh, baby,” he whispers to you. His bottom lip trembles. “Is he…?” 

You nod--just barely. 

Rooster doesn’t ask any more questions. 

You think, suddenly and very clearly, that you’re not sure how much fight you have left in you. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep doing this. 

Mable was right. There is no way out. You will bathe in your own blood and be torn limb by limb as the depths of Hell calls for you. There is no way out. 

If you let go, if you give in, if you wait to die--then what will happen? Everyone else will die. No one else is as good a shot as you. No one else is willing to trek through the woods. No one else can suture a gash or staunch a wound or cauterize a limb.

So, you have to push forward. It’s a decision that is made with haste.Very swiftly, you realize you’re not going to lose your head now. You’re not going to break down again. You’re gonna keep going--you have to keep going. 

“He…he said he’s back,” you whisper to Rooster, wiping your own cheeks now. “He said…he told me to--to run away. I didn’t think he was--I didn’t listen to him. He said that he’s back--he’s back, he’s back. I don’t know what he…”

You don’t rest your head on Rooster’s chest and you don’t lessen the burden of that lump in your throat. You’re in shock, you know--which is why the tears running down your face are involuntary.

“Who?” Rooster presses, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Your head is spinning. “I don’t know.” 

Only a moment before Rooster is going to pull you to him, only a moment before you’re going to ask him if he found anything in the woods, the walkie deep in your pocket comes to life. 

“Gale!” Phoenix sobs through it. “Gale! Are you there? Oh, God--Gale, please!” 

Scrambling to grab the walkie, Rooster leans down and takes the ax in his hands. It’s with his heart in a cold, cold puddle that he sees that it’s the ax from the mess hall. D.G. He says nothing to you, just holds onto the handle tight. 

“I’m--I’m here,” you answer Phoenix, shuffling to grab the shotgun. You start for the bus barn, wiping your face clean of tears. 

“It--it’s Bob,” Phoenix sobs. “I think he’s--I think he’s--!” 

“I’m coming,” you tell her. “I’m coming.” 

Phoenix, who’s trying desperately to blot the cold sweat from Bob’s face as Coyote sends all the children to the back of the bus, doesn’t feel relieved by your answer. She thought she would--if not to just know that you’re alive then simply because she won’t have to be alone with Bob anymore. Help will be on the way. Bob will be okay. 

“I’m so--fuck, I’m so cold,” Bob whispers to her, lips quivering. “Can you start the fire?”

Phoenix’s tongue is dry. 

“Bob, we’re on the bus,” she says, voice thin and flat. “There’s no fireplace.”

He’s confused. He’s been confused for a few hours now. Phoenix knows this is the infection--that it must be spreading. But still, she desperately runs her palms up and down his arms to try and get some friction. This cold that Bob feels, though--it’s not one she can fix. It’s not even one a fire could fix. 

She pulls the walkie to her mouth again, breathing heavily. 

“Gale, quick! Please!” 

“I’m on my way,” you say back. 

You don’t say I’m going as fast as I can, but I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I want to give up. I’m only coming because it’s you and it’s Bob and it’s Coyote and the campers. But that’s it, that’s all. I want to lie down. But it’s what you’re thinking. 

And you’re by yourself suddenly as Rooster falls behind you, taking a glance at the perimeter of camp just in case Jake shows his face. He doesn’t fall in step with you again--he’s going to stay out here and guard. You think maybe it’s because Bradley isn’t brave enough to see it up close--Bob hurt, infected, writhing. 

And, really, you don’t blame him. 

You’d rather be anywhere else. 

The sun is warm on your back. The blood is itchy on your skin. You’re running as fast you can, limping with tired, your temples throbbing. Your heart thumps in your ears.

At any moment, an ax could come whizzing out from the woods. There could be a hiding place just yonder, far enough away that you never see it coming. You could hear its noise, fast and sharp like a whip, and then that could be the end. An ax to the head, to the back, to the legs, and you’re down. A peculiar sensation prickles your spine, torments the swollen muscles in your legs and arms: you could die at any moment. Right here, at Camp Arcadia, on the gravel just outside the bus barn. No one could do a thing about it either. 

Oh, God, you think. Where are you?

When you step onto the bus, you know. 

It is quiet--so very quiet. No one knows what to say to a dying man and that is what Bob is. None of the campers are whispering and none of the counselors are rustling. Phoenix is sitting in the front seat with Bob over her lap, sobbing as Bob blinks up at her, only barely conscious. Coyote is kneeled beside them, his lip being sawed in half by his own teeth as he tries to keep from crying. 

The smell comes first--that distinct perfume, so familiar and pungent with musk. It’s the rot, you know. It’s the body shutting down, the organs giving in, the skin infected. But to you, it just smells like death. The two of you are thick as thieves. 

And then, when you look at Bob and everyone else looks at you to save the day, saliva gathers underneath your tongue and your lashes begin to quiver. Pennies settle beneath your tongue. 

“I’m here,” you whisper, your throat burning. “I’m here now.” 

Phoenix doesn’t understand why you’re not rushing to Bob’s aid. She doesn’t understand why you’re not suturing or cleaning or wrapping or whatever else the fuck you’re suppoosed to do to save him. You should be ordering everyone around, saving Bob. You should be stony right now--but your face is soft and wet.

“Help him,” she cries. “Get over here--help him! Help him, he’s dying!”

Coyote knows when he looks at you. The sun is just barely puncturing the bus barn, just barely lighting the side of your face. You’re covered in blood, limply holding the shotgun, looking down at Bob with an agonized sense of forbearance. You cannot save him. Nobody can--he is too far gone. Coyote bows his head and that is when the tears come.

“Phe,” Coyote whispers. He sets a hand on her elbow. She jerks away from him, looking at him as if he’s just burned her. Her eyes are wild with grief. “Phe, there’s nothing--!” 

“--Fuck you,” Phoenix spits at Coyote, her face split in half by anguish. She’s never felt this way before--she’s never felt this mind-splitting, chest-numbing pain. But it’s suddenly drowning her and she feels that no one is throwing her a life preserver. You’re all watching her flounder. “Please…please…” 

Slowly, you kneel beside Coyote. Everything smells like sweat and dust, but this close to Bob, you are practically rubbing noses with death. You can see the freckles on its cheeks. 

You carefully place your hand on Bob’s leg. He looks down at you, pale as white-sand and shaking. Cold sweat covers his face, stains his shirt. His eyes are focused, but untrained. 

“Bob,” you whisper. “We’re here.”

That’s about all you can say to him. Not just hold on, we’ll fix you up. Not only another minute, it’s okay, it’s alright. Not help is on the way. You’re going to make it.

He’s so cold--so, so cold. And he’s been cold since he went out into the night, since he was struck. He’s known, from the very beginning, that he’s dying. He just didn’t know how to tell anyone else. And he knew everyone else was too afraid to tell him. 

 But when you say that--we’re here--something grows warm in Bob. He’s been in and out of fitful dreams, sometimes dreaming about his father’s fingers on the strings of a guitar and sometimes dreaming about his less than stellar date with Michelle Johnson. It’s peculiar--he never thought dying would be so slow, so tedious. 

“Payback and Fanboy haven’t walkied,” Coyote whispers to you. The only recognition you show is a slow blink. “Maybe they’re close.” 

“Maybe,” you whisper back.

The both of you know that it wouldn’t matter, anyhow. By the time the tree is moved, by the time the brigade is here if they’re coming, Bob will be gone.  

Reaching up, you take Phoenix’s hand. She looks at you, brown eyes wide with horror, and almost pulls away. But then Bob, with the last bit of his strength, puts his hand over hers, too. 

“Thank you,” he tells Phoenix. She looks down at him, shaking her head with her eyes wide. He doesn’t break their gaze, lips trembling. “You’re my best friend.” 

“Stop that,” Phoenix demands softly. “Cut it out, Bob! You’re fine!” 

“I’m dying,” he whispers. He swallows hard. His throat is so very dry. “I didn’t know how to…how to tell you.” 

Phoenix sobs. 

“No,” she whispers. She blinks hard, shaking her head. “Bob, I can’t--please, please, please…” 

Leaning down, she holds Bob’s body against hers. He blinks a few times, the sunlight coming over his face just barely. It’s good to feel warm, he thinks. 

“I know…I know you hate Cutting Crew,” Bob starts. With the last bit of his strength, he smiles. It’s a barely-there, strained thing. But it’s there. “But they wrote our song, huh?” 

It takes a moment for everyone to register what Bob’s saying. For a second, you think he’s delirious. But then Coyote chokes out a loud laugh, a few stray tears running down his face. 

Phoenix looks up, puzzled, and then it dawns on her. 

(I Just) Died In Your Arms. Cutting Crew. She groans every time it comes on the radio just before tuning to another station. She’s literally left coffee shops over the song. Bob knows this. But now it’s the song that will make her think of Bob because he’s willed it so. It’s the song that will remind her of this exact instance--sitting on the bus, terrified, dirty, holding her best friend as he dies. 

“Bob,” Coyote laughs. He’s about to say that he’s a sly, sly dog. That he’s got the jokes. But just the sound of his name falling off his lips is enough to halt Coyote. That is the last time he will ever call Bob’s name and have Bob answer to it. “I…I love you, man.” 

Bob smiles. 

“I love you, too, man,” Bob whispers. “Don’t tell Phoenix.” 

And then Bob is looking at you. You with your eyes heavy with tears and your face a calm and placid sea. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it--he doesn’t know how you haven’t given up yet. But he knows that he loves you for it. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to Bob, tears pouring down your face. You sniffle and sigh. “I’m really, really sorry Bob. More sorry than I’ve ever been.”

He knows what you’re apologizing for: not saving him. 

“No hard feelings,” he whispers to you. Another meek smile tugs on his lips. “You did good.”

You did good. 

Choking on your grief, you can hardly stand to look at him anymore. You can hardly stand kneeling here, breathing in all this death. But you know this is where you’re supposed to be. 

Just as Phoenix is about to sob again, a meager voice finds place in the stale air around everyone. 

“Can I pray for you, Mister Bob?” Mable asks softly. There are tears in her eyes as she blinks at everyone. “If that’s okay…”

You glance at Phoenix, who looks like she never wants to see Mable Brandt’s face ever again in her long, long life without Bob. Bob was born Godless and will die Godless. But then Bob is nodding. 

“That’d be swell, kid,” he whispers. A shuddering breath falls from his lips. “Make it out to Bob Dylan, would ya?” 

Mable sniffles. She rests her hands on your shoulders because you, out of everyone here, are the only one that can hold her up. And you let her hold you--even close your eyes and feel the heat of her body against you and fall into a dreamless, sleepless state. 

“Dear Heavenly Dylan,” Mable starts. Bob lets out a quiet laugh--a weezy, tired thing. It is the last time he will ever laugh. “Please take Mister Bob’s pain away--he’s been in an awful lot of it since the attack and I think he’s tired now. He’s a real nice guy--he never yelled at me or anyone else. I don’t think it’s very fair that he’s got so many boo-boo’s.”

No one speaks as Mable continues praying, everyone’s head slightly bowed and eyes drifted shut. Everyone’s face is wet with tears that are shining in the yellow light. 

“And we know that you’ll have a place for him when he gets to where he’s going, alright? So, make sure it’s nice and clean. And make sure there’s aspirin there because Mister Bob doesn’t feel so hot right now. But most of all--keep him safe on his way. Miss Nightingale and Miss Phoenix did the best they could. It’s your turn now.” 

An overwhelming sense of peace finds Bob. His fingers are numb--he wonders, strangely, if they’re already dead. Maybe when you die, it’s piece by piece, a little at a time. And maybe his fingers went first.

“I’m scared,” Phoenix whispers to Bob, looking down at his pale cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t never see you again.”  

He takes a deep breath. His lungs are warm, very warm. 

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he whispers to her. “You’ll manage.”

He’s accepted this. This is okay. He is looking up at his best friend in the world and it is the last thing his eyes will ever see. And he thinks, with a sudden swell of pride, that he did good. She’s really the cream of the crop--the best friend he could have asked for.

Something flickers behind his eyes, bright yellow and aquamarine and jet black--memories. They flutter past his vision, clear and crisp, like he’s pulling the little plastic lever on a viewfinder of his own life. 

The smell of his mama’s hotcakes on late Sunday mornings, Bob sleepy and syrupy and reaching for more butter despite his mother’s tutting. Lazing around the pool with his kid brother, Neil Young humming on the radio as his daddy grills. Sitting in the movie theater during Star Wars, too engrossed in the movie to realize that Lisa Patterson is making googly eyes at him. Finally kissing Michelle Johnson at the roller rink, her tight curls gleaming beneath the disco ball, her skin shining blue and pink. Reading Kurt Vonnegut in his car before class, holding in tears when the profoundness struck him over the head like a brick. Holding hands with Phoenix during games of Red Rover, their mouths wide open, their hairlines dotted with sweat. Swimming in the lake after tipsy bonfires, bobbing his head beneath the water, listening to the muted sound of you squealing when Jake pulls you up on his shoulders. His toes in cold, cold mud. His face against the warm, warm sun. The first snow of the year blanketing the front lawn. His dorm room, which always smells like crayons for some reason. His best friends pedaling down the street, swerving at cars and whooping and hollering, switching gears up the big hill on Freemont. His daddy taking his mama’s hands and dancing her around the wrapping-paper covered living room, her new necklace gleaming on her throat like a personal star on a silver chain. Holding his baby cousin for the first time, breath caught in his throat and arms stiff because he’s never held anything so tiny. Cutting his knees on concrete. Hitting his head on that shelf in the living room. Learning how to change a tire. Driving down his street for the first time. Playing his guitar in his room, shutting his eyes, and quietly whispering Bob Dylan songs.

He can hear it now--Bob Dylan is playing. And it isn’t him singing and it isn’t him playing the guitar. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from or why it’s so loud, so clear, so sudden. But there it is--clear as the day is blue. It’s like there’s a private concert just for Bob and he’s in the front row, the sun warm on his face and shoulders, his arms raised in ecstasy. 

That long black cloud is comin' down

I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

He always wanted to be front row at a Bob Dylan concert. He was saving up to take him and Phoenix. 

Funny how life works that way, he thinks. 

Oh, well. So it goes.

“Please, if you could make it easy, we would all really appreciate it. And in Bob Dylan’s name we pray…amen.”  

And then, with a final shuddering breath, Bob Floyd dies in his best friend’s arms on a disjunct bus on the worst Thursday of anyone’s life. He was the newest counselor at Camp Arcadia. This was only his second summer. 

“Bob?” Phoenix asks. Panic shoots up and grabs onto her ears, tugging hard. His lips are parted, his eyes are open. He is not moving. “Bob! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!” 

Mable leans down to your ear. You’re so thoroughly covered in blood that you look like something that crawled out of a horror film--she can make out the tracks of your tears as the salt cuts through the gore on your cheeks. It’s an image that will stay with her for the rest of her life, one she’ll doodle inside book covers and on the backs of restaurant napkins. She’s so young now that when she’s older, she’ll wonder if her juvenile mind was exaggerating just how gory you look. But it is not an exaggeration at all. 

“You have to fight it,” she whispers in your ear. Her cut begins to bleed. “It’s here.”

When you look up, your eyes fluttering open again after seemingly being pasted shut, you see another dead body. Your second this morning. There is less blood and more sunlight, but it is still there right before you. 

As if a mortar has suddenly gone off beside your cheek, your ears are hollowed out and ringing. You can see Phoenix screaming, can see her patting Bob’s cheeks, but you can’t hear her shrill tone or the lifeless thumps on his skin. Coyote touches your shoulder and you think maybe he’s saying something to you, but you don’t look at him. 

Vision beginning to vignette, you stand slowly. And then you turn and walk all the way off the bus, the blood on your shoes matted with dirt and grime. You take a few stumbling steps, the gun clenched tightly in your hands. Then you open the doors, let the sunlight in. If someone was running full-speed at you, intent on cutting you down, you wouldn’t hear it. And you think you wouldn’t fight it either. 

The only way you know you’re on the ground is when the gravel slices your knees open. It is not from brute strength that you have fallen--no one has hit you. It is because you are drained. Entirely, completely, wholly drained. 

Bradley finds you only a few moments later. 

You’re on your hands and knees just outside the bus barn, clutching the gravel with the gun laid out just beside you. Your back bows, curved like the neck of a preening swan, and you suddenly heave. Vomit spews across the rocks--all stomach acid. 

Oh, he realizes. Bob’s dead. 

He stops where he is, only a few paces from you, and watches all of your humanness from afar. Surely you’ve seen dead bodies before in your line of work--in fact, he knows you have--but maybe you’ve never seen it this close. And it has never, ever been a friend. That must be what’s different about this one, he thinks. That’s it. That must be it. 

And then he watches you stop. You suddenly swallow hard and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyebrows furrowed and lips trembling. Then you fight to your feet, wobbling and quivering, leaning over once more to grab the gun and hold it to your body. 

As if you knew he was there the entire time, you look at Bradley. He can see it from where he is, dazed and heartbroken and lovesick: there is fight in your eyes. It is dim, it is full, it is small, it is hazy--but it’s there, gleaming in the early morning light.

You have to fight it. It’s here. 

“We have to find him,” you tell Bradley. Your voice is ragged and thin. You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No one else is dying today, alright?” 

Bradley nods at you, dumbfounded and grief-stricken. His throat is tight. 

“Alright,” he answers. He takes a deep breath, fills his lungs.“Birdie, I…I think I might have an idea.” 

♀

“What do you mean?” Coyote asks. “You two are gonna just…play music? And get him to come? Like…a dog or something?” 

“So he knows where we are,” Bradley defends, his voice hard and serious. “We’re not, like, whistling for him.” 

“And you think that’ll make him come?” Coyote asks, brow perched. 

He glances at you. You’re not looking at him. 

“He’ll come. He’ll come if he knows Gale’s there.” 

Coyote opens his mouth to argue, but then you quietly add, “What other option do we have? I can’t…I’m not strong enough to go back out in the woods.”

“I could go,” Coyote offers. 

You shake your head.

“I’m the good shot,” you whisper. And all that responsibility weighs down on you again. “It would have to be me. And you’re hurt.”

Coyote knows you’re right. He carefully touches the back of his head, wincing when the gash stings beneath his fingers.

Phoenix’s eyes are on the floor. Her throat hurts too bad to say anything. She won’t look up at you and Bradley as you stand outside the bus with Coyote, relaying the plan. 

“And when he--if he comes, then what?” Coyote asks. He swallows hard, his head pulsing. “You’re gonna…?” 

“Wait. For help,” you whisper. 

Coyote looks at your face--still covered in blood, but stained with a detached sort of anger. You’re resolute and morose all wrapped up in bloody dungarees. 

“Back to square one, then, huh?” He asks softly. 

“What’s the alternative?” Bradley counters. “Killing him?” 

“No one else is dying today,” you say matter-of-factly. You look at the two men, who are looking at you already with their mouths flat and their chests heaving. “I mean it, alright? No one else.” 

“Alright,” Coyote answers. “So, Phoenix and I should just hang around? Wait?” 

You nod. Coyote shudders at the thought of just waiting. 

“We’ll come get you when it’s…” you start, trailing off with your brows furrowed. 

“Over. We’ll come get you when it’s over,” Bradley answers. “Don’t open the doors for anyone but us, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Coyote answers. He takes a long, deep breath. His head hurts. “Okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to help? Strength in numbers, right?” 

You glance at Phoenix. She’s still holding Bob. Though now that the tears have stopped, she’s completely quiet. You fear, suddenly and completely, that she’ll never speak again. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Stay here with her.” 

Glancing up at the bus, you see all the campers already looking at you. Knives in their little hands, fear in their little teary eyes. Their faces are almost begging, you think. 

Fight it. Fight it. Fight it. 

Toes numb with panic, you look back at Coyote. He’s already looking at you. 

“Don’t let anyone in,” you say again. You think of last night when something tried to get into the mess hall--just how close they came. “And if they do get in…corner them. Get them.”

Coyote nods firmly. You can count on him. He can count on you. The two of you have never bullshitted each other before. 

“I will,” he says. “I’ll die fighting if I have to. No one’s touching those kids.” 

Die fighting. How silly that phrase seemed before, when you’d throw it around at random. And now there’s two dead bodies and three missing counselors at Camp Arcadia. You hope you don’t die fighting like Paul, like Bob. But it would be a valiant way to go. 

“Let’s go,” Bradley says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You’re rigid underneath his hands--it stains him, wounds him. But he doesn’t punish you for it. How could he? “We’ll be right back.” 

Coyote swallows hard. His heart is pounding. 

“Don’t say that,” Coyote pleads. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? Ever?” 

“This is real life,” Bradley argues. “Not some story.” 

But it was a story--before, at the bonfire. 

Damien and the Devil. Six counselors, one nurse. Slashed. Dead, gone, buried, away. 

Saying nothing more, you turn on your heel. 

It’s time to end this.

The walk back to the mess hall is very quiet. Underneath the bright yellow sun and the clear blue sky, you and Bradley say almost nothing to each other. You’re holding the gun, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. He’s holding the ax, the one that killed Paul, and the other one he took into the woods with him. He’s glancing around the perimeter to make sure nothing’s sneaking up on the two of you. 

You’re stumbling slightly when you step--Bradley isn’t sure if it’s because you’re tired or if it’s because of the gashes on your knees or if it’s because of your shock. He does know you’re in shock--that you’ve been in shock since you tumbled out of the woods covered in Paul’s blood. You look shell-shocked, but brave. Like you know the bomb is about to drop, but you’re ready to arm yourself against whatever’s coming even if it’s for naught. Do svidaniya.

Ears still ringing, stomach still churning, you feel like the walk is too quick. Suddenly you aren't outside anymore--you’re in the mess hall in all its disarray, walking towards the kitchen with the intent of grabbing more ammunition. 

Bradley’s closing the buckshot-broken doors, brows furrowed as he examines the shots. Shit. You really did it. Something in his belly feels better knowing that you’ll shoot. You’ll pull the trigger. 

As soon as you’re through the kitchen doors, your heart stops. There on the dingy tiles is what remains of Bob’s blood--it’s smeared, dried, browned. But you can still see where he laid. And just beside the bucket, which is still full of bloody water, are Bob’s broken glasses. 

Leaning down, legs shaking, you pick the glasses up and hold them up to your face. They’re broken--the glass is cracked and the frames are bent. 

But it’s okay. He doesn’t need them anymore. 

“Oh, Bob,” you whisper. You grip the glasses hard. Tipping your head forward, you let the metal fall against your closed mouth. A sob ripples through you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Gale?” Rooster calls. He turns--sees your form frozen in the doorway, kneeling with your head bent. Starting for you, he swallows hard. “Birdie?” 

His presence behind you is warm and solid, like standing against a water heater. His chest just barely grazes your back. It brings you back a little bit--his steady and even breaths. You can count them--you can count on them. They’re there, steady, as you look down at Bob’s glasses. 

Rooster, his jaw squared, sighs gently. 

He tugs under your armpits until you’re standing on your feet again.

“Are you…are you, like, alright?” 

Dumb question, he thinks. Jesus. Dumb, dumb question.

Shaking your head, you let your eyes fall shut. 

“I’m numb,” you whisper. “I can’t…I don’t think I can…I can’t feel anything at all.”

A pang of pain radiates in Rooster’s chest. You’re so quiet, so drawn into yourself. Maybe this is your surrender. Maybe this is when you give up. Maybe this is when you call it a day and lay down and just wait for the end to come. Rooster can’t have that.

“Can you feel this?” Rooster asks. 

And you’re about to crane your neck to look at him, about to ask him what he’s doing, when the very softest of kisses lands just below your left ear. 

Oh. You can feel that. His warm lips, full of blood and live cells and made up of skin, send a shiver down your spine. 

“Yes,” you mutter. “I can.” 

Another kiss--this time in the middle of your neck. Rooster can still faintly smell jasmine on your skin. It makes him ache all over. 

“That?” He whispers. 

You nod, choked up. 

And then he’s very carefully brushing your hair off your shoulders, pushing it aside so he can see your throat and the curve of your jaw. It’s covered in blood, flaking off whenever it’s disturbed. He doesn’t care.

He kisses a trail down the back of your neck, his own eyes fluttered shut in just a moment of peace. And your body is growing softer beneath him--so soft that when he reaches around and pulls the gun from your hands, you don’t fight it. You just let your head fall to the side, eyes flickering shut. 

His palms splay on your hips. He holds you tight, pulls you until your back is flush against his chest. And your mind is buzzing and your body is growing warmer and warmer, but you cannot deny the pleasure of this encounter. This is the most human you’ve felt since all of this began, since you jumped out of bed naked when Phoenix came into your cabin. 

And even though you’re suddenly crying, even though you’re gripping his hands, you know that you need this to keep moving forward. You cannot fight if you feel like there’s nothing left to fight for--maybe the faces of the campers, stained with fear, aren’t enough for you. Maybe seeing Phoenix holding Bob still isn’t enough for you. Maybe you need this--to be touched and held. To be reminded that you can feel still. To be reminded that when this is over, there will be life to live and sex to have and jobs to hate and cars to drive and stars to gaze upon. 

This, right here, is proof of that. 

“Hold me,” you whisper, suddenly desperate. “Hold me, please.” 

You cannot remember the last time you asked someone to hold you. Rigidity sometimes feels like your natural state. Steeling yourself against death, against blood and hurt and pain. And now you’re so soft as Rooster wraps his arms around you. 

He holds you so tight that all the air leaves your lungs. 

You’re stuck still, breath stilted, lungs empty. 

Yes, you think. This is how tightly I need to be held. 

Rooster buries his nose in your neck. He can feel the tears dripping down your cheeks as they land in his hair and he only holds you tighter. He can feel that he’s squeezing the life out of you, but for some reason, he knows you want it like that. 

“I’ve got you,” he mutters to you. “I won’t let you go.”

But just as quickly as you found comfort in his arms, in his heat, against his pumping heart and hot skin, you become uneasy. It’s the thought of seeing his dead body, it’s him calling you hysterical, it’s the spit flinging out of his mouth as he called Jake the killer, it’s his naked body you left behind to find Bob. 

All of it comes at once, slaps your face until your cheeks are raw.

Wriggling your way out of his grip, you take a half-step away from him and grab the shotgun again. Rooster, slightly stunned, watches you with his mouth ajar. 

“Set the music up,” you whisper. You sniffle. “I’m gonna reload and…and get in position.” 

Jake’s trudging back towards camp, openly weeping. He hasn’t openly wept since his toddlerhood, he thinks. But he is right now: shoulders shaking, spine curving, snot dripping, tears pouring open-mouthed weeping. There’s bile covering the front of his shirt and blood on his hands, which is why he won’t look down, which is why he’s stumbling.

He’s been walking all night long--ducking behind trees, stumbling over jagged roots. He’s so tired that his bones feel brittle. He’s so thoroughly exhausted that he’s stumbling towards the mess hall now, even though he knows it’s a trap, even though he knows this might be his final location. 

Kate Bush is playing over the loudspeaker--it was loud enough for him to hear where he was just before in a puddle of blood, vomiting and swatting away swarming flies. Through his heaving, through his tears, he knew immediately that he had to go to where you were calling him from.  

Do you wanna feel how it feels? 

You must be there. You must be the one calling out to him. He wonders if maybe it’s a call for help. But no--it must be a trap. Maybe Bradley swayed you. Maybe everyone swayed you. Maybe you want him dead. Maybe, as soon as his feet cross the threshold, you’re going to shoot him in the chest. He wouldn’t be angry with you. But, boy--would he miss you if he died. 

But all he wants, as his stuttering footsteps grow nearer and nearer to the mess hall, is to keep you safe. And if you’re with him--if you’re even near him--you aren’t safe. 

Limping, he approaches the doors to the mess hall. They’re closed, but damaged. You already shot through them, Jake sees. And there’s blood dotting the doors--so much of it that he knows you must’ve really got ‘em. 

Atta girl, he thinks. 

“Jake?” Your voice comes from inside, echoing in the empty mess hall. “Is that…is that you?” 

Instead of answering, he opens the door. 

You

It's you and me

And there you are. Standing a few paces ahead of him, holding the shotgun like you’ve held it a million times before, eyes narrowed and focused on him. You’re covered in blood, even your heavy eyelids, and sniffling as you cry quietly. But even through your tears, you’re strong. He can see the fight still tugging on the ends of your hair and straining in your wobbling thighs. 

Bradley is just behind you, armed with an ax, sneering at Jake. 

“Don’t you come any closer,” Bradley demands. He rears back so the ax is in position to swing down at any given moment. “I mean it, you fuck!” 

Jake stumbles slightly as he steps into the mess hall. 

“Jake,” you whisper, shaking your head. Your throat aches with grief. “Where have you been?” 

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

It all comes rushing back to him, a wave of grief and exhaustion and derangement. Taking a shuddering breath, he tries to communicate with you, his words coming out like a fluttering and distant bird that flies right over your head.

“Get away from him,” he whispers. 

You furrow your brows, straining to hear him over Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).

“He’s got a weapon,” Bradley whispers to you. His heart is pounding. “Gale, he’s got an ax.” 

Fingers numb with panic, with pain, you shake your head at Jake.

You don't wanna hurt me (yeah, yeah, yo)

“Where did you get that?” You demand quietly, nodding to the ax in Jake’s hand. 

Jake glances down at the ax. He got this just a few miles outside of camp. He pried it out of Fanboy’s hands--his cold, dead hands. And then he promptly spewed vomit onto the rocks just beside his body and Payback’s. He found them, their bodies hacked, lying together. They never left each other’s sides. Not for one moment. 

“I…” Jake whispers. He swallows, head pounding. “Get away from Bradley. Please, baby, please get away from him.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle your skin as they raise. 

“Can it,” Bradley spits. You don’t have to see him to know how angry Bradley is right now, sneering and snarling at Jake. “You--you fucking son of a bitch! Bob is dead! You fucking killed Bob!” 

“Stop,” you beg softly, the gun shaking in your unsteady grasp. “Jake, just…just put the ax down, alright? And then we can talk.” 

“Talk? Fuck that,” Bradley yells. “He killed Bob!” 

“You did,” Jake utters. “You killed him, Rooster.” 

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

You hear him loud and clear as if he’s just whispered in your ear. Heart pounding, you shake your head. Fuck. Fuck.  

“He’s lying,” Bradley laughs bitterly. “You fuck--you stupid fuck! You really think she’s gonna fall for that? You think she’s gonna believe you? You destroyed the fucking cabin and went AWOL and then people started dying!” 

But Jake isn’t responding to Bradley. He’s just staring at you, cowering where he stands, defeated and terrified. His shirt is ripped and his hair is messy and there’s blood underneath his fingernails. 

“Just drop the ax,” you tell him. “I don’t want to--I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re not going to hurt each other, right? Just drop it.” 

It's you and me

Jake drops it--it clatters onto the floor unceremoniously. Your lungs deflate. 

“Nightingale,” Jake whispers. His eyes are pouring into yours, red-rimmed and wide. “You have to get away from him, baby. He’s gonna hurt you.” 

Panic is pulsing in your chest now. You’re desperately clinging to reality right now--even though you’re not sure what that is. 

“He’s trying to confuse you,” Bradley whispers. “Don’t let him.”

“Gale,” Jake begs, sobbing. He steps closer to you. You reposition your fingers so they’re not sitting on the trigger anymore. “Please…please…just get away from him! Please!” 

Eyes wide, you watch as he stumbles closer. Bradley is grunting behind you, rearing the ax up further and further. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Bradley sneers. “I mean it, man! Stay the fuck away!” 

“Jake,” you whisper. “Please. Please just stay where you are.” 

“Where’d you even get the ax?” Bradley asks. His voice echoes. 

Jake is still looking into your eyes, openly weeping. Bile dribbles down his chin. 

“They’re dead,” he whispers. “I--oh, God, they’re dead. I found ‘em. I found them together.” 

Be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

You immediately know that he means Fanboy and Payback. They’re dead. They’re gone. They haven’t been answering the walkie calls. They’re not close to town at all--they’re just dead. 

A sharp and punctuated sob ripples through your entire body. Goddammit.

“Who?” Bradley demands. “Who the fuck are you--?” 

“--You know what you did,” Jake whispers to Bradley. Suddenly, Jake isn’t deflated. He’s almost close enough to reach out and touch you. Your finger isn’t on the trigger. His chest puffs up and his shoulders roll back. He can protect you. He can do that. “Don’t you fucking touch her, man. Don’t you fucking ax her like you axed them! You--you fucking got ‘em when they were sleeping, didn’t you? You’re a fucking coward.” 

Eyes wide, you begin to beg Jake to move back. 

“It’s you,” Bradley spits. “You’re the fucking killer! 

Oh, come on, baby (yeah)

Oh, come on, darlin' (yo)

“Enough,” you try desperately. “We’re gonna sit here and-and wait for Mav and Penny to come get us, alright? All of us!” But they’re not listening to you. Jake is staring at Bradley and Bradley is staring at Jake. “No one else is dying, okay?” 

“Who else is dead?” Jake asks. “Who else did he kill?” 

Your mind is racing. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know who’s telling the truth. All you know right now is that Jake seems earnest and Bradley seems angry and the truth is lying somewhere between them in no-man’s-land. 

“You know damn well Paul is dead,” Bradley sneers. You see it--Jake’s shock. Thoroughly, in your bones, you can tell that no, Jake did not know that. Your spine tingles. “You fucking killed him! And you cut Mable, didn’t you? Snuck out while Gale was sleeping, right? You coward.” 

Swallowing hard, Jake looks at you. His face is very serious, very anguished. 

Oh, come on, angel

Come on, come on, darlin'

“Don’t let him confuse you,” Jake begs. He’s desperate, shaking his head at you. “I’m still me. I’d never--you know that I’d never--!” 

“--You’re sick,” Bradley screams. His voice booms, drowns out the music. “You’re worshiping the same twisted demon Gwyar did, aren’t you? Or is it that--that you’re worshiping Gwyar? Him and his fucking ax and his sick fucking game! Feeding on everyone’s fear, scaring the tar out of everyone! Or is it that you’re cutting down anyone that gets too close to Gale? Huh? Is that it? You sick fuck!” 

Furrowing his brows, Jake looks at you. And you know that he doesn’t know what Bradley is talking about at all. 

You’re getting lightheaded. 

“Gale,” Jake whispers. It’s a desperate, desperate plea. “Get away from him, baby. Please, please, please. I won’t even--I won’t even touch you. Just get away from him. Point the gun at him.”

And here it is: you’re getting ripped apart. You didn’t even make it to the end of summer. 

But then Jake is falling to his knees, sobs tearing him to bits, looking up at you like a depraved and despaired. It’s horrific--having Jake there before you.  

“If you’ve ever done anything in your life, listen to me right now,” Jake sobs. “Please, Gale--get the fuck away from him. I’m not the killer, baby--Bradley is. You’re not safe!”

Your fingers are shaking. 

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

“Enough,” you try. “Please, Jake--Bradley! Just stop!” 

Head swarmed, you look at Jake with wide eyes. 

“Maybe you’re possessed,” Bradley says, laughing humorlessly. “Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it…you found the ax ‘cause it called for you, didn’t it?” 

Bradley’s chest is hot with rage. He wants to get Jake away from you--now.

And then Jake isn’t just on his knees before you, he’s throwing himself forward and against your legs. But your feet are planted so firmly that you don’t shake, you don’t fall. He isn’t trying to knock you over--he’s just hugging himself against your thighs, burying his face in the bottom of your belly and looking up at you. 

“I’d never hurt anyone,” Jake pleads with you. “You know that…baby, you know that. I don’t even know what he’s talking about! I don’t know who Gwyar is! I’m so confused…Gale, please…we have to get away from him!” 

“Get the fuck away from--!” 

“Stop!” You cry desperately. Jake is holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. “Stop it!” 

But they’re not listening to you. 

I'd be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

“It isn’t me!” Jake sobs. “We have to get away from here!” 

“You fuck,” Bradley continues. “It took your blood! It wanted you! Sliced your hand when you were chopping that tree down!” 

The song ends. 

Your hearing goes out--fuzzy and fading. Every muscle beneath your sizzling skin is locked in place. A noose of fear wraps itself around your neck and tightens, tightens until you cannot breathe at all. Your lungs are stunted at a deep exhale. And you can’t close your eyes for even a millisecond to blink. Sulfur floods your nostrils--abundantly clear and thick in the air.

Jake stares up at you, horrified. He watches, in real time, as the realization dawns on you.

He was telling the truth. Bradley is the killer. 

“Bradley…” you whisper, voice quivering. Just barely, you turn your head. And Bradley is behind you, still looking like himself but ugly with rage and red with anger. “You cut your hand on the ax.” 

At first, his face contorts in confusion. He stutters, mouth parted. Brows furrowed, he attempts to say something. But his tongue is dry. But when he sees the fear in your eyes and hears Jake’s sobs, he knows the jig is up. He just gave himself away. 

You watch, in utter terror, as his face drops completely. And for the first time, as you stare at him, you see it: the pure, unadulterated evil. It’s there in the black in his pupils. The flecks of gold in his amber eyes are faded, gone. His smile is wide and broad, but it isn’t the smile you saw at the beginning of the summer. It is wicked--dry and nefarious. 

“Damn,” he says, sighing. He beams at you wickedly. So wicked that your arms go limp, the gun falling onto the floor. Good. He’s got you where he wants you. “I was doing so well, too.”

Lips open wide in shock, two stray tears fall down your face. 

And it is not a moment later that he brings the ax down.

Jake, with all the gall and gumption of the soldier his father wanted him to be, acts fast. So fast that he doesn’t even think--he just does.

“Gale!”

Closing your eyes, you accept it at once. You will die at the hand of Bradley--he’s killing you and you don’t know why other than he’s sick. And you’re already covered in blood, you already saw two dead bodies today. People are dying. You’re going to be another one to add to the pile. Your body will be covered with a sheet and your father will identify you with tears in his eyes and he will wonder why and you will die not knowing why. 

When you hit the ground, head slamming against the hardwood floors and neck cracking, you’re waiting for the pain to come. The first hit, the first hack. You’re waiting for release. 

But instead, you just feel heavy--something is brushing your nose because it is so close to you. And when you open your eyes, you’re staring into Jake’s. His eyes are wide in shock, his mouth, too. 

For a moment, you’re not sure what’s happened. Then you hear the strangled moan he releases, the barely-there and quiet thing. A steady stream of blood floods out from his parted lips and into your mouth. 

“Jake?” You whimper, terror flooding your body until you’re cold with it. 

And he’s so heavy on top of you and so warm--deadweight. And the warmth, it isn’t just his body heat. No, no…it is a wet and slick warmth. It is his blood that is leaking from his body and onto yours. 

Choking out a sob, your spit red with his blood spewing onto his face, you try desperately to move your arms. He has you pinned--and he’s so heavy that you can’t move. 

“My, my, my…” Bradley laughs. He leans down, wraps his hands around the handle of the ax and steadies himself by pressing his foot on Jake’s back, and rips the ax from his back. Jake coughs--blood spews across your face and you whimper aloud, stunned. Bradley totes the ax over his shoulder like it is as friendly and unassuming as his guitar. “Sacrificing his life. Now, that’s love, huh?” 

Jake can’t feel anything. Not the gash on his back or the blood he’s losing. He can’t feel your body beneath him or the sobs ripping through your shocked form. He can’t feel any of it. He’s just looking at your face, his mouth wide open and gaping, and praying that Bradley will go. 

“Jake,” you sob again. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. “Jake! Jake!” 

If Jake could speak, he’d tell you that he loves you and that he’s sorry he can’t do more. But he can’t, so he just slowly lowers his head until it falls into your neck. He stops moving.

Bradley watches from above you. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, sighs deeply. It feels good to be out in the open like this--no more lying, no more sneaking around. Just him, just you, just Jake. And he’s about to finish off the two of you and head to the bus barn. He’ll finish what was started thirty years ago--almost to the date, that sly dog. 

“Jake,” you keep whispering, shocked, stunned, horrified. Your body vibrates with panic. You don’t care about Bradley hovering over you. You care about Jake and the way his green eyes are losing the color, the way his cheeks are becoming pale. He can do nothing but stare at you, his vision beginning to blacken around the edges. “Jake, I…” 

And then Bradley kicks the shotgun--it slides across the floor and clatters against the wall. As if you weren’t already defenseless. You look up, quivering, and Bradley grins down at you. 

“I’m more of an ax guy myself,” he says, smiling. He leans down, settling the ax beside him. And then he strokes your hair back from your face, relishing in the horror that crosses your features. “Don’t wig out yet, baby. Let’s chat before I book it to the bus barn, huh? I can spare a few minutes for my best girl.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

BOB BE LIKE:

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

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[jungwonenthusiast]

hard dom sunghoon, prompt #10 and 11 w/ female reader (btw i liked the jay one😳)

A/N: sorry this is late i’m having exams rn, i hope u enjoy :) (i’m glad u liked the jay one <3)

Warnings: oral (f recieving), fingering (f recieving), unprotected sex, degradation

Word count: 2k

“Go go go go!” Jake yelps at you to run away from the zombie.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you try to sprint away but you only have three hearts. “I’m gonna die.”

“No you’ll lose all your shit, try to get home.” he says while killing some cows to get you guys food.

“I have one heart.” you say, still trying to get home before you die.

“Come on you can do it, you have to you have like twenty diamonds.” he says.

And right when you’re at half a heart, you make it home and immediately chomp down on some beef.

“Let’s goooo!” Jake celebrates. “Gimme some diamonds.”

“I earned these,” you say and he rolls his eyes.

“Sharing is caring.” he argues.

You feel a hand on your lower back and you turn to see who it is.

“Are you done yet?” your boyfriend asks.

“Maybe in an hour.” you say.

He groans. “You guys have been at his hell game all day.”

“I know I know,” you turn back to the tv screen. “I’m almost done I promise.”

The sun is setting when you and Jake finish your Minecraft adventure. You head up to Sunghoon’s room to find him laying in bed and watching something on his laptop. You lay down next to him and try to snuggle up to him but he gives you no response. Sunghoon could be stoic at times but he was such a sweetheart behind doors, so this was odd of him.

“What’s up darling?” you ask him, resting your head on his chest.

He shrugs, not making eye contact with you.

“Baby~” you peck his jaw. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” he says bluntly. He could be like a teenage girl sometimes.

You push the laptop off his lap and straddle him. You hold his face in your hands. “Why are you upset?”

He tries to pull away from you but you keep him in place.

“Come on, spit it out.” you say.

“I don’t know, I feel like you’ve been hanging out with Jake a lot these days.” he says quietly.

You ponder on that for a moment. Oh.

“I’m sorry Sunghoon-ah, I don’t mean to.” you apologize but you can tell that he’s still upset.

“You don’t like him or anything do you?” he asks and your face twists.

“No, of course not.” you say confidently. “I’m sorry that I’ve been with him so often, forgive me?” you kiss his cheek.

He shakes his head, pursing his lips. You can tell that he’s trying not to smile.

“Please?” you kiss his other cheek, then every bit of his face you can reach.

He giggles a bit and you smile.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tight. “I’m sorry for neglecting you.”

He laughs and pats your back. “I don’t forgive you all the way though.”

You pull away and give him a questioning look.

“You need to do one more thing for me.” he says with a smug smile.

“What is it?” you ask hesitantly.

He fastens an arm around your waist and gently lays you down onto the bed.

“Oh,” you say quietly and he smirks.

He kisses you softly as your hands find his back. You open your mouth, inviting his tongue.

He holds your jaw and pushes it up to get access to your neck. Small moans escape your mouth as he plants messy kisses all over your throat and down to your collarbones. He pushes your hoodie up and he's delighted to see that you aren’t wearing a bra.

“So pretty.” he says before kissing your chest. You stroke his hair as he runs his tongue over your nipples.

He pulls up to kiss you again as he pushes his knee between your legs.

You gasp a bit at the sudden pressure.

He kisses you while keeping a hand on your hip to guide your rocking against him.

“Already needy?” he teases and you nod. He slaps your cheek lightly. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” you squeak. You can feel the wetness pooling in your underwear.

“Jake doesn’t get you like this does he?” he softly bites at your neck.

You shake your head vigorously.

“Atta girl.” he smiles. “Look at you, grinding on my thigh like a little slut. Are you really that desperate?”

“Yeah, I need you.” you look him in the eyes. He’s gorgeous in a timeless way, like a vampire.

“How bad?” he asks.

“So bad, please I want it.” you plead.

He kisses your forehead before sliding your shorts off. He gently touches you over your underwear and sighs. “I can already feel how wet you are.” he smirks. “Did I get you worked up like this.”

You nod but your knees knock together out of embarrassment. No matter how many times you guys fuck, you can’t help but get a little shy.

He tsks you. “Enough of that, I want to see you.”

He lowers his head to kiss your thighs while keeping searing eye contact with you.

Your legs are already trembling by the time he gets to your underwear.

He kisses your clothed clit and you jolt.

He chuckles and holds your hips down. “Patience my love.”

Your whole body is tense and you’re so pent up that it hurts.

He bites at your thigh before pulling your underwear to the side. “Such a pretty cunt.”

He gives you a few kitten licks before delving in and rolling his tongue over your clit. Your thighs threaten to shut but he keeps you spread open.

Your body almost shuts down from the sudden burst of pleasure and you grab on tight to the duvet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, your breath heaving. You roll your hips against his tongue and you feel him smile.

He slowly pushes an elegant finger into you and you whimper.

“More please.” you ask him and he graciously abides, pushing another one into you.

Just the slightest curl of his fingers has your back arching.

“You taste so good.” He comes up to give you a kiss while still sliding his fingers in and out of you.

You hold his forearm tight as he looks you dead in the eye.

Sunghoon was usually pretty non confrontational, but that all changes during times like this.

“You’re so beautiful.” he kisses your neck as you writhe and whine under him.

You cover your mouth with a hand to mask your sounds but he pulls it away. “Stop that, you sound so pretty.”

“What if Jake hears?” you ask lowly. His bedroom is right next to Sunghoon’s.

He smirks. “What if I want him to?”

Your eyes widen and he chuckles. Your embarrassment is overcome by pleasure as his fingers pump into you.

“Fuck don’t stop.” you whimper and he leans down to kiss your chest.

“You’re doing so good angel.” he says and his praise only makes you wetter.

Your legs begin to quiver, letting him know that you’re close.

“Cum for me doll,” he kisses your jaw. “Make me proud.”

You hold onto him as your orgasm strikes you like lightning. Your moans definitely tear through the walls but you don’t seem to care anymore. He plants kisses all over you as your body continues to shake and twitch.

“That’s my girl.” he whispers while caressing your face. He holds his fingers up to your lips and you take them into your mouth, tasting yourself.

You kiss him slowly, still trying coming down from your high when he unzips his jeans.

He tugs his hoodie over his head and chucks it on the floor before teasing you clit with his tip.

You jolt from the sudden stimulation but he holds your hips down. He continues to tease you while sucking hickies onto your neck and chest.

“Fuck me already.” you say demand. He just smirks. “Maybe if you beg.”

You didn’t even care anymore. He took over your pride and ego.

“Please? Please I need you inside of me.” you hold his face, trying your best to convince him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Sunghoon, I need it so bad.” you give him puppy eyes and he smiles.

“Good slut.” he says before slowly pushing into you.

You moan as he fills you up just right.

“My precious girl, taking this cock so well.” he coos as you whimper and cling onto him from the overstimulation.

He groans into your neck. “So fucking wet.”

He starts to rhythmically thrust into you, hitting your g spot every time.

You hold onto his waist and watch his cock disappear inside of you. You’re practically gushing at his point.

“You feel so good,” you moan and he smirks.

He holds onto the headboard as he continues to grind his cock into you. “Touch yourself.”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

“You heard me, I want to watch you.” he says and you can’t help but look away. He grabs your jaw. “Eyes on me doll.”

You nod and trail your fingers to your clit, feeling nervous under his hot gaze. Your juices keep your fingers slick and your eyes nearly roll back when you circle yourself.

You hear him chuckle lowly. “You look so pretty when you’re fucked out like this. Such a needy sex toy.”

You feel your cheeks heat up from his naughty words.

“Isn’t that all you are?” he leans down to kiss your neck. “Just a pretty thing here to please me.”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “I just wanna be good for you.”

He smiles smugly and kisses your chest, pinching your nipples while he’s at it.

Your legs begin to quiver as he continues to pound into you. You dig your nails into his back, leaving pink streaks that he’ll probably show off to the boys later.

“Fuck please keep going.” you say desperately, your stomach clenching from the overwhelming pleasure.

Your fingers on your clit get shaky so Sunghoon replaces them with his.

“Cum for me darling,” he kisses your jaw.

You try to focus on him; his alluring eyes, perfectly sloped nose, and pretty pink mouth; his sharp shoulders, lean torso, and slim hips; everything about him.

You hold onto him tight as a hot golden fire shoots through you from your hips all the way up to your chest.

“Good girl~” he purs into your neck before releasing into you with a sultry moan.

He stays inside of you for a moment, petting your hair and kissing your forehead as your breathing goes back to normal.

He pulls out and watches his cum drip out of you. “So pretty.” he says to himself.

He kisses you from your lower stomach up to your lips. “You did so good.”

“Are you still mad?” you ask timidly and he chuckles.

“No, and I never really was, I just like teasing you.” he admits and you roll your eyes.

“I hate you sometimes.” you say.

“Why? You got a good time out of it right?” he smiles, flashing one of his sharp canines.

“I suppose.” you joke and he shoves your shoulder.

“Hold tight, I’m gonna go start a bath.” he gets up and looks back at you. “Maybe we can have a little more fun there too.”

[its-deputy-caleb]

If requests are still open can I request the lords with a very emotionally closed off Friend or lover like they’ve never seen them smile, laugh or cry?

Hi these are soo late so i apologise and they’re very rushed :(( i’m not happy with the way they turned out but i have just been so uninspired to write rn but i still hope you enjoy these

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina always thought it was peculiar that you were reserved with expressing your emotions, your demeanour often cold and closed off.

She never saw you cry and rarely ever saw you smile. The only time she had managed to do that was glancing at you from behind a window. You were sat in the rose garden, a quiet moment to yourself. She saw you take a rose into your palm, carefully bringing it to your nose to smell and a soft timid smile appear on your face.

She loved your smile, longed to see it every day and wished with all her heart that you smiled around her more.

Alcina often brought you flowers from the garden to try and get a reaction from you. She bought gifts and desserts, your favourite food and everything else she knew you loved.

It wasn’t until one morning when she brought you a tray with breakfast while you woke up slowly. She placed the tray down and gave you a soft kiss, gently cradling your face in her hand.

“Good morning my love.”

Her hand comes to rest under your chin, gently moving it so you’re looking at her. That’s when she sees the small smile grace your face and she’s so overjoyed at such a small gesture that she can’t help but kiss you again.

Needless to say Alcina will be waking you up each morning with a hot breakfast and lots of tender kisses.

Donna Beneveinto

Donna understands personally how hard it is to be emotionally closed off from everyone. That’s why it breaks her heart to see you’ve experienced a similar thing to her.

Despite that, the two of you find comfort in each other and show your affection very minimally whether it’s gently grazing hands or tucking the others hair behind their ears. Neither of you need to express your emotions to tell each other you love them.

One day you announced to Donna that you were going to take a walk around the grounds and that you’d be back for dinner. When you didn’t return she quickly grabbed Angie and headed out the door to look for you.

She found you sitting by the cliff side staring at the old bridge ways to the Manor. Upon closer inspection, she saw you had tears falling from your face. Your bottom lip quivered from the mix of emotions and the freezing temperatures, making your body tremble.

Donna sits down beside you, wrapping an arm around your back and resting her head on your shoulder. In return you rest your cheek on her head while Angie sits between the two of you.

She stays with you the whole time, whispering “I love you” over and over until you finally let go of everything that’s been built up. The three of you stay curled up together for the rest of the day, kissing her forehead as the sun dips over the horizon.

Salvatore Moreau

When Sal first met you he thought you didn’t like him. The fact that you weren’t overly expressive with your emotions translated to him that you weren’t interested in spending time with him.

He always felt a little disheartened when you didn’t laugh at his jokes, only managing to smile softly. Little did he know that deep down underneath everything you couldn’t be happier to spend time with him.

He tries so hard to make you smile. Everyday he does something to try and make it happen. Sometimes bell hold your hand and cuddle you, on others he’ll pull out heartwarming dad jokes and home cooked meals. He even stayed up extra late one night to make you a cheesecake for the picnic he planned.

In the end it wasn’t anything that Sal did that ended up making you smile. It was Sal himself.

It was a quiet night in, not unlike the hundreds that have come before it. The two of you were curled up under a blanket while you watched your favourite movie. Sal was captured by the screen, too busy with focusing on the characters when you leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He stares at you dumbfounded with a blush that covered his entire face. You couldn’t help the smile that crept up, letting it out as you smiled triumphantly.

Sal couldn’t be happier at finally seeing you smile properly for the first time and cuddled right back up to you with a smile that matched your own.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl always admired your ability to hide your emotions, whether you intended to or not. To him, showing emotions is a sign of weakness and he beats himself up over all the breakdowns he’s had about Miranda and the experiments.

It almost made him angry how you never seemed to react irrationally to anything meanwhile he gets riled up on the smallest things like Sturm’s propellor being too loud.

You always assured Karl that it was healthy to express how he was feeling and should never feel ashamed of himself, especially something like his trauma from Miranda which he couldn’t control.

Regardless of Karl’s slight jealousy, there were times when your walls cracked and came crumbling down. You were human after all.

Karl had spent his whole day in the factory working on a new headset for the Soldats. When he entered the living room he saw you curled up on the couch looking tense and blurry eyed.

He kneeled down besides the couch, taking your hands in his as he spoke to you softly.

“Are you okay?”

Shaking your head, it’s like a dam broke and you finally allowed yourself to cry, to show some form of emotion. Karl took you into his arms and you cried into his chest as you revealed your deepest feelings.

His hand stroked you hair as you told him how suffocating the village was, how lonely and depressing the town could get. How Miranda’s wrath was terrifying and how you were scared the two of you might never escape from this hell hole.

Karl reassured you with kisses and gentle touches, making sure you knew that he cared for you and loved you no matter the outcome with Miranda.

[sevendeadlymorons]

Just femdom mc I haven’t seen much and my friend recommended me to you and your writing is just chefs kiss* can I request fem dom mc surprise me give me your dirtiest most dominating fic you got for all the brother or just asmo, mammon, and diavolo.

Thank you! I’m glad you enjoy my work!

You said fic so the 3 boys it is ;) I’m still ill so I’m very lazy rn I apologise

Asmo, Mammon and Diavolo with a Dom F!MC

WARNING: NSFW // Smut

——————————————

Asmo

Teasing Asmo is an easy job as your hands slowly run down his chest and into his pants, your eyes scanning over his toned stomach as you start pulling down his trousers desperately, watching his face beg for your tongue on his erect cock. You smirk at him as you lick the tip, playing with him for as long as you can until he’s sobbing for your body, completely overstimulated by you.

You run your hands up his arms, then pin them up above his head harshly, making sure to look him dead in the eye as you did it, your head leaning down to plant litters of hickeys all over his neck and chest, hearing him moan seductively in your ear. You then slowly begin to make your way down to his navel, giving him long, sloppy kisses until you reach his pelvis.

You tug down your jeans so he could clearly see you in your sexy lingerie, the type he loves and can’t get enough of. His dick twitches in response to your little strip tease and you feel him try and move to fondle you, but you press tighter onto his wrist, leaving nail marks on his skin until he’s whining. You chuckle under your breath at his display of submission towards you and continue to strip off your shirt, tossing it to the side and cupping your breasts in your hands, making him watch helplessly. You lean down and hold your tit to his lips; instinctively wrapping around it and nibbling, causing you to lean your head back in please as he leaves a bright purple mark in its place.

You position yourself on top of his cock, then slowly drop yourself onto him until you’ve taken him whole, flirtily wiggling your hips and biting your lip. His head leans back onto the pillow as you start grinding on his length, strings of moans filling the room as you continue to ride him and pinch his nipples. He lifts his hips in time with you and makes you both moan, the room no longer silent as it’s quickly turned lewd with the noisy creak of the bed and his groans.

You quicken the pace, watching his eyes roll back and his hands attempt to grab the sheets with you still pinning them down, trickles of blood running down his wrists from the pressure you’re putting into his skin. You loosen your grip but rub yourself harder on him, lifting yourself then dropping down onto him until a loud slapping noise is heard throughout the room as well, your tits bouncing up and down at every jump as you notice his eyes attempt to follow them.

His hips jolt into you; his legs shaking and his head lifting so his lips could meet yours in a desperate kiss, so you lean down and kiss him, your tongue slipping in soon after as you then feel the warm sensation of his sperm entering your pussy, a loud moan ripping from your throat as you cum hard with him.

Mammon

He’s so desperate for your touch as you run your tongue up his neck, nibbling on his ear and sending shivers all the way down his spine; a whine escaping his lips as you pull away soon after to play with his nipples. He wraps his hands around your waist, grabbing your ass and pulling you onto his crotch to help him with his painful erection, but you shake him off, his hands forcibly pinned to his side as he squirms, begging for you to touch him.

You giggle and unzip his trousers slowly, making sure he sees all your movements as you take out his cock and take your first long lick. His eyes bulge and he attempts to grab your hair as it falls over your face, your chin now touching his pelvis as you take him whole in your mouth, feeling the back of your throat on the tip of his dick. He moans when you choke on his length, a string of saliva following your lip as you pull away to plant a single kiss on the head before going up to litter them all over his stomach, claiming him with your hickeys.

He shifts in his spot as your lips meet his ear, a low whisper sending even more shivers down his spine and causing his dick to throb in excitement. He leans forward to sneakily catch your lips in a kiss and you allow it, slipping your tongue in as he sucks on it, relishing in the taste and loving the feeling.

You break the kiss and straddle him, slipping down your pants until he’s staring straight at your exposed pussy, his dick beginning to ooze precum as you start to play with yourself; slowly slipping your fingers inside yourself and watching your leg tremble slightly. You look down at him seductively, rubbing your clit against his tip so he could feel how wet you were and his eyes begged you to drop down on him and ride him until he can cum inside of you. You raise your eyebrow and kiss his stomach, quickly dropping yourself down onto his dick and making him jump in surprise.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, desperate to fuck you senselessly, so you start to ride him, placing your hands on his chest to steady yourself so you can run harder on to him. He could stop the moans from coming out as he quickly leans forward to grab your breasts, twisting your nipples in his fingers as he listens to you moan. You rub harder against him, allowing him to hold your tits as you get ready to start bouncing on top of him, desperate to make him cum for you.

Your legs tremble and his grip on your breasts tightens as he nears his climax. He squints his eyes closed and moves his hands to your inner thighs, spreading them and thrusting into you to squirt his load deep inside of your dripping pussy, watching you intently as you pant and cum on his dick, filling the room with lewd cried.

Diavolo

He’s loud and submissive for you as you rub his large, erect cock under his clothes, giving him big strokes as you listen to him cry out your name, desperately needing to feel you and be inside of you. He eyes you up and down as you play with your clit, getting overly excited and reaching forward to pull you on top of him, wanting to feel you touch yourself whilst sat on his crotch, but you push his hands down, entwining your fingers as you stare him dead in the eyes, rubbing yourself against his leg now.

You slip off your pants and let him see your pussy, stretching it out so he can get a proper look of what he’ll be fucking soon. His eyes turn lewd as he begs you to ride him already. You laugh at how helpless he sounds, leaning down to lick at his tip with your tongue, wrapping your hand around his length and rubbing him as well. His head hits the pillow and he groans, wanting more of you. His patience has almost ran out as his hands try to wander towards your bare thighs, but was quickly stopped by your nails digging into his wrists.

He whines, watching you closely as you take him all into your mouth, gagging on him until he could feel your throat close around his dick causing him to shudder. You smirk at him, taking him out of your mouth and sitting up to rub him against your entrance, teasing him with your wet pussy, the precum gathered on his dick now mixed with your liquids.

He moans in anticipation as you position yourself on top of him, slowly slipping him inside of you then slipping out, watching his face drop. You kiss his stomach and crotch, your eyes never leaving his as you give in, letting yourself slide down his length and preventing a moan from ripping out of your throat by biting down on your hand. His eyes roll back as his hands grab the sheets, finally feeling what it’s like to be inside of you and feel the hot sensation of your insides as you bounce on top of him, your breasts springing up and down until you firmly grab them to keep them in place.

His mouth waters as he continues to watch you and your facial expressions, each one lewder than the last as you find yourself closing in to your climax already; your fingers rubbing at your quivering clit as you stare down at Diavolo who’s being trapped helplessly underneath you, his eyes wide as he enjoys the experience.

You feel him begin to lift his hips in time with you and his breathing gets heavy, his quiet groans soon turning into loud ones until all you could hear was his desperate pleas to cum.

You speed up, bouncing on him more harshly now, his dick hitting just the right spots so you could barely contain your moans, and before long, you felt a warm sensation fill up your pussy, his hot sticky cum infiltrating you as you look down to see him m patiently looking up at you to see the blissful face you’ll make when his cock is making you cum hard.

[froog-water]

howdy y'all, again! 

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness.  It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

~

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

~

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

[bunkernine]

“Let him go!” she screamed. “Take me instead. He’s just a mortal!”

“But, my dear,” the giant rumbled, “we must prove our love for our parents. That’s what I’m doing. Show me you value your father’s life by doing what I ask. Who’s more important—your father, or a deceitful goddess who used you, toyed with your emotions, manipulated your memories, eh? What is Hera to you?”

Piper began to tremble. So much anger and fear boiled inside her, she could hardly talk. “You’re asking me to betray my friends.”

(The Lost Hero, ch 21)

---

“The Doors of Death, then!” she said. “Medea came back that way! Why not Jason? There’s always a way to cheat the system. Help me!”

Her charmspeak washed over me, as powerful as Meg’s order. Then I looked at Jason’s peaceful expression.

“Piper,” I said, “you and Jason fought to close the Doors of Death. Because you knew it was not right to let the dead back into the world of the living. Jason Grace struck me as many things, but he wasn’t a cheater. Would he want you to rend the heavens and the earth and the Underworld to bring him back?”

Her eyes flashed angrily. “You don’t care because you’re a god. You’ll go back to Olympus after you free the Oracles, so what does it matter? You’re using us to get what you want, like all the other gods.”

“Hey,” Meg said, gently but firmly. “That won’t help.”

Piper pressed a hand on Jason’s chest. “What did he die for, Apollo? A pair of shoes?”

A jolt of panic almost blew out my chest plug. I’d entirely forgotten about the shoes. I tugged the quiver from my back and turned it upside down, shaking out the arrows. The rolled-up sandals of Caligula tumbled onto the beach.

“They’re here.” I scooped them up, my hands trembling. “At least—at least we have them.”

Piper let out a broken sob. She stroked Jason’s hair. “Yeah, yeah, that’s great. You can go see your Oracle now. The Oracle that got him KILLED!”

(The Burning Maze, ch 34)

...literally don't even talk to me abt piper rn, this is so insane, the gods really are some shit, she deserved to just be happy with her dad

[bowieandqueen11]

Hello, and Goodbye / Klaus Hargreeves Imagine

Request: How good was season 2 of umbrella academy! Can I request a Klaus x reader where he meets a young woman in the 60s and they fall in love. Only to have a heartfelt goodbye when Klaus has to travel back to 2019? 

Noooo @billhaderstrashbag​ I’m so EMOTIONAL RN <3

Warning, some strong language!

Comments and reblogs are really really appreciated!

Klaus always forgot how uncomfortable the ground was, until he was being shoved down onto it.

In his mind, when he rushed out of that muddy, dirty alleyway and straight into 1960s Dallas, everything would like a clean slate. The diner he had randomly chosen to run into, where no one knew who he was, and no one knew he had helped bring about the end of the world, he thought, would be vibrant, buzzing with young people so familiar and yet so different from him, and rock n roll would be playing on some crappy jukebox in the back. The servers would be in bright uniforms, likely on roller skates. Everything would be classic, refurbished and perfect. If only, he ended up thinking when he landed on the pavement, he had paid more attention during Reginald’s history lessons.

On bursting through the double doors his smile faded. The place was dingy, cluttered and smelt of old frying oil, the seat covers in the bays were faded red and ripped, and the servers had sneered at him almost immediately when he had slid into one of the booths.

‘You smell, and you’re chasing away all my customers pretty boy, so stay out!’

Landing in a dirty puddle, Klaus blows drops of water off his lips and watch them angrily fall back to the floor with a contemptuous shake of his head. He hated being wet, and he hated, more than anything, being left to fend for himself again.

‘Fine!’, he shouts resigned to the floor. He ignores Ben’s shaking head as he grimaces, rubbing his elbow as he pulls himself up to a sitting position. ‘Your food smells shit anyway, you couldn’t pay me to eat it!’

‘We’ve been here, what, twenty minutes and you’ve already pissed someone off. Nice going, dumbass.’

‘Oh shut your pie hole Ben, I’ve already been abandoned by enough family members today.’

‘Well hello there, stranger. You’re looking awfully crumpled down there. Need a hand?’

Klaus glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor, noticing first not the hand that had fallen down, outstretched to him in the first kind gesture he had received in, well, months, but the jewel on your finger instead. In the golden Dallas sunlight, it glittered like the sun-kissed ocean lapping the sands, and so he grabbed onto your hand, gently pulling it off your finger and snapping it shut in his palm as you graciously pulled him up.

The second thing, Klaus Hargreeves noticed, was how beautiful you were. He felt almost bad for stealing your jewellery, but as you smiled at him, all worries melted from his head and instead he found himself giving you a dopey, love sick grin in return. Ben, already seeing where this was going, only rolled his eyes and turned to walk off down the street.’

‘What would your name be, young man?’

‘Uh...Klaus! I’m Klaus, and I am delighted to meet you. Enchante.’ He wiggles his eyebrows as he kisses the back of your hand.

‘Hello there Klaus. It’s very wonderful, if a little odd, to meet you.’

~

The morning had broken like the sweet melody of a blackbird, full of promise, freshness and newness to come when you had woken up in Klaus’ arms this morning. Now it sat like a cold cup of coffee waiting to be drained away.

As soon as you stepped back into your home, and dropped the groceries off by the front table in the hallway, you knew something was wrong.

None of the lights were on, was the first clue, despite how late in the afternoon it was. Klaus had told you long ago about the number of times he was left to fend for himself in the darkness of his dad Mausoleum, and from then on at least one light was always left on in the mansion. 

Yet there he was, standing in the half-light of the living room, almost looking like the shadows he’d spent his whole life trying to avoid. Hunched over, you could already see his shoulders were trembling underneath his black trench coat, and you already knew, although you tried to shake the thought out of your mind as you stepped towards him, that your time was up. 

Pausing by the doorway for a moment, you let your eyes roam over him before he noticed you were there. You’d have to go in eventually, you know you did, but at least this way, before you placed your hand against his shoulder and broke him out of his nightmare, you had a few moments to prepare.

He shattered underneath your touch like fragments of stardust, lips quivering as he turns to you. Trying to put on airs, he fails to smile at you, his lips only slightly twitching in his usual half smirk. You can see it in his eyes, the ones that bore so desperately into your own, as he turns to grab onto your fingers, that he’s thinking of pleading, of begging, of getting down onto his knees and asking the universe why it won’t allow him to keep one good thing, anybody in his life that he loves more than himself.

Instead, you speak first, not allowing him the chance to crumble.

‘You have to go, don’t you.’

He doesn’t say anything, can’t find any of the right words to say to someone he loves this much. Instead he just allows his heart to ache in that familiar way it had since he was a child, that intimate knowledge and feeling of loneliness and heartbreak as he keeps scanning your face, trying to find anyway out of it this time. He wanted nothing from his life, nothing, no fame, no drugs, hell he would even take the ghosts, if he could just spend one more day in your company.

Eventually he lets go of your hands, biting his lower lip as he reaches into the back pocket of his black bell bottom jeans, pulling something easily out.

‘I was going to ask you to marry me, but I’m not sure we have time for that riggght now.’

His tone is a false cheery you can see right through, but what he couldn’t stop were the shaking of his hands as he holds the diamond out in front of you. The same one, you realise with a gasp, he had stolen from you the first day you had met. You had always thought, as you were pulled along in the tidal wave of this troubled young man, unknowable but all encompassing, that he had pawned it in order to find a better life for himself, for the two of you. The truth, in fact, hurt more.

Trying to collect your thoughts, you only cup his hand, letting the ring fall back into his palm, before gently cupping his fingers closed and just allowing him to tremble in your touch.

‘I would have loved to marry you. Keep it, but do me a favour? Don’t let me know when you’re going. This is the last memory I want to have of us - a happy one.’

‘But I don’t want to leave.’

His bright green eyes locked onto yours, and you could see then all the torment he had faced in his life, as if some ravaging storm had been encased within his soul. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but only blubbered, trying to fight back his tears. Eventually, so uncharacteristically for him, he quietly managed to whisper, ‘please don’t leave me.’

Then the storm was let loose - the ocean started to leak, little water droplets streaming down Klaus’ rosy cheeks, burning so hotly against his skin in a way they hadn’t since he was ten years old, during Reginald’s first experiment.

‘Please don’t leave me alone again. I don’t want to go.’

‘Well I’m telling you that you have to. You trust me, right? Well I’m telling you, Klaus, my love, that I am not more important than the end of the world.’

Klaus bit his lip, eyes roaming over every piece of furniture in the living room to make sure they don’t connect with yours again. His body squirms against your touch as you pull his hands towards you and encase him in a hug, melting into your arms. His hand desperately clings onto your shoulder, the other pulling away to cup your cheek.

‘...What if you are to me.’

Slowly, and inevitably, you stand up onto your tippy toes and press your lips against Klaus’. It’s soft, and gentle, and familiar, but it’s filled with so much warmth, so much knowledge that you two were always meant to find each other, no matter when or where you were, that you belonged together, if only for a short while. It filled him with warmth, and calmness, tenderness spilling from his heart and rushing to every corner of his body, each inch of him saturated with a love that, yes, he may lose, but he was so glad he had even managed to find in the first place.

Eventually, you pull away and press your forehead against his for a moment, before pushing against his chest and letting him out of your grasp.

‘Goodbye, Klaus.’

[bittywitches]

Hi! Idk if you’ve seen the trend ‘Kissing my Best Friend’ but if you have, can you do one of those with either of the twins? I just love them so much and I’m in my feels🥺😂 thank youuuu💕

Omg I should definitely be working on the meet cute asks rn but god I love this idea so much I had to write it 🥺🥺 thank you for suggesting it b!!

“Fuck.” You paced back in forth in the bathroom, your heart pounding a million times a minute. You never thought you could possibly be this nervous in your entire life, but you were. You kept shaking you hands because of how goddamn sweaty they were.

“Y/N COME ON!” Grayson’s voice boomed from the living room, almost giving you a heart attack.

“GIVE ME A SEC!” you yelled back.

“IF THEY COOL DOWN TOO MUCH THEY WON’T TASTE GOOD!” He was talking about the cookies you guys had made. You’d asked him to come over to bake them so you’d have something to film for the beginning part of your Tik Tok (of course he just thought he had come to hang out), but now you weren’t sure if you were ever gonna get the courage to finish it.

“FUCKING WAIT ONE SECOND!”

“JESUS OKAY!”

You weren’t usually one to yell like that, but god you were so nervous. You buried your face in your hands, rubbing it fast to try and get yourself together.

You never thought you’d ever end up doing something like this. Your feelings for Grayson were always supposed to be a secret. Literally nobody knew, hell you barely knew up until a few years ago. You guys had been friends since Elementary school. Best friends! But dear lord you loved him so much, you just never thought it would ever end up being expressed in one way or another. You didn’t even know how you’d convinced yourself into doing this, it was so unlike you and fuck you couldn’t stop shaking.

You sat down on the toilet seat, bobbing your knees up and down. You were biting your fingernails as you replayed what you planned on doing over and over again. All you had to do was just set the phone down, and then..

“Fuck I can’t do this,” You muttered, then slapped your hand for biting your nails again. You pushed your hair back behind your face, holding your forehead in your hands with your elbows on your knees. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t mess this up. You loved him so much and if you were the reason why you guys couldn’t be friends anymore then-

“Y/N, you good?” You yelped when you heard Grayson’s voice right outside the locked door and the sound of his knuckles knocking on it.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST Grayson!”

“The hell are you doing in there?”

“Taking a shit! Now fuck off!” you yelled.

“Okay, damn!”

The sound of his footsteps walking off made you feel uneasy, and you groaned, racing up to the door and pressing your face to it. “Sorry I yelled!” You called back to him.

“Whatever!”

You pressed your forehead against the cold wood of the door, then banged it on their gently a few times.

“Fuck me.” You walked back to the sink, looking at the mirror. You were wearing a pair of jean shorts and one of Grayson’s sweaters. You were used to wearing his clothes, but now it felt weird considering what you were about to do.

“I literally can’t do this.” You ran your hand up into your hair and gripped your roots, pulling on them gently to try and stop your insanity. “No. I’m gonna do it.” You dragged your hands down to squish your cheeks. “oh god this is going to go so badly.”

You slapped your cheeks, and shook your head. “Okay okay okay…” You brought your hands up in front of your face, and you could literally see your fingers shaking.

“Stop that.” You shook them, then held out your right hand in front of the mirror, trying to steady it, but it literally would not stop shaking.

You slapped your hand again. “You fucking wimp!” Your eyes went to the clock, and you realized you’d been here for almost twenty minutes. It made sense why Grayson was checking up on you.

“Okay. I’m doing it.” You flushed the toilet and washed your hands, briskly walking out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen.

“There you are, did you have diarrhea or something?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up.” You went to the counter, and you stood there with your eyes closed for a few seconds, trying to calm your excessive heartbeat. After that you tried to prop your phone up against the wall, but cursed when it wouldn’t stay up because of your trembling fingers..

“What’re you doing?” Grayson asked, watching you fumble with your phone.

“Gotta record the taste test.” You breathed out, finally getting the phone to stay upright.

“Ahh, right.” He turned back around, probably going to get another cookie.

You breathed out and went to stand beside him.

“Gray.”

He was doing something on his phone while hunched over the kitchen island, not paying any attention to you.

“Grayson.”

“Yea.”

“Gray.”

“Mhm.”

“Gray!” You grabbed his shoulder and shook him, finally getting him to look up.

“What??”

You brought your hands up to his face and pulled him down to yours, your lips meeting with his. You could feel your fingertips pulsing against his skin and you didn’t dare open your eyes because you were so scared of what you’d see.

He lingered there for a second, then immediately pulled back, causing your heart to literally leap into your throat, you were terrified that you might puke it out.

When your eyes jolted up you saw his open wide, a bit of an awestruck expression on his face. “No way,” he muttered.

“What?” Your voice quivered in the middle.

“Don’t play with me like that, Y/N.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did you do that?”

“What do you mean-”

“WHY did you do that?”

“Grayson what are y-”

“Do you like me?”

“Why the fuck else would I kiss you, dumbass?!” You yelled that last part.

“Shut the fuc-”

“GRAYSON!”

“C’mere you asshole!” He took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours. You let all of your stress and fear out as you sighed against his lips, your shoulders falling in relief. You tried to bring your hand up to him, but he pulled away when he felt them quivering against his chest.

“Oh my god are you shaking?” You let out a half-laugh-half-sob as you nodded, your eyes scrunching up causing a few tears to well up in them.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking cute.” He wrapped his arms around you, and you sank into his warmth, relaxing fully as you laid your head in the crook of his neck, his chin propped on top of it.

“That is the scariest thing I have ever done in my entire life.” You laughed against his chest.

When he felt your arms tremble in his embrace, he kissed the top of your head. “Jesus, you absolute angel.”

You snuck your arms up his chest and around his neck, fully burying your nose into his neck, inhaling his scent to calm you down.

He wrapped his arms tightly around your torso, squeezing you gently. “You are such an asshole.”

You shot your head up. “What? Why?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Excuse you, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you-”

“Neither did I!”

“Wait,” He pulled you away from him. “Is that what you were doing in the washroom this whole time.”

“I was fucking nervous!” You laughed, shoving him in the chest.

“Oh my god,” he went to hug you again, but then pulled back just as quickly.

“Is this why you invited me over today? Like as a set up-”

“You don’t have to stop holding me to ask questions.” You reached around him again and pressed yourself into him, and Grayson happily obliged, leaning against the island as you did so.

However, you ended up pulling away, just so you could press your lips quickly to his again. As soon as you did, your face flushed.

“How are you this cute.” Grayson chuckled, leaning his head against yours.

“I’m gonna be so fucking pissed if I wake up right now,” you muttered quietly, and Grayson threw his head back laughing.

“Good thing you recorded it for later.”

“Oh my god shit the camera!” You pulled away from him to race over to the counter and grab your phone.

“There’s something your followers are gonna obsess over for a while.”

You grinned at him as you pressed the button to stop recording.