#it sounds more like a throaty purr though

[sea-lanterns]

Imagine with pirate!Beidou, Siren!Reader does initially bite and claw at first.

But then she recognizes Beidou (maybe feom a mix of appearance, smell, and something Beidou says about "returning the favor" that causes her brain to click), and she's suddenly gone from trying to bite a piece out of Beidou to nuzzling her and licking at the wounds she gave her while purring up a storm (...hmm, would sirens even purr?), other members of the Liyue crew can't help but notice that Siren!Reader seems to give their captain "special treatment", meanwhile she almost bite Pirate!Hu Tao's fingers off when she tries to touch her.

Cue everyone on the Liyue ship getting confused, because out of all the women onboard, they all expected Beidou to be the most bitten and hated by you, not knowing that you two had a past together 🥺

One brief smell of Beidou’s hand later…and your pupils go wide like saucers, immediately purring against her hand and licking it to show how much you’ve missed her. Ningguang probably chokes on her tea when she sees this, and Beidou is all smug and bragging as she pulls you over her lap so you could lick her fingers more.

“She likes me.” Is all Beidou needs to say to taunt Ningguang, and the poor woman nearly breaks the teacup under her grip because she’s been trying to get close to you all this time. 😭😭

It’ll take a bit of time for the other girls to get closer to you without you biting their hand off, but Beidou is the only exception for now. Only she can pick you up or pet you <3

[hoshifighting]

seventeen being pegged WARNINGS: smut, anal, sex toys (strap/dildo), lub, handjob, mentions of prostate. (hyung line - maknae line)

seokmin is wide-eyed. “you really wanna try that?! of course! i mean— yes.” he asks. the though of you taking charge making his cock leak on his boxers. he’s eager, practically begging you to start. you prep him with plenty of lube, your fingers scissoring him open, and he’s already moaning, his body arching, hips rolling on your hand. his hips always pushing back to take more. when you slide the pink dildo in, he purrs, and you just know he’s loving every second of it. “fuck, that’s it!” he groans, his hands gripping your thighs as you pound into him.

mingyu leans back on his elbows, a smirk playing on his lips. “you’re gonna ruin me, aren’t you?” like he knows exactly what he’s getting into. there’s a hint of something dangerous in the way he says it, like he’s daring you, knowing full well that payback is coming later when he’s buried deep inside you, fucking you like he wants to imprint the memory of this moment into every inch of your body. you take your time, lathering up the lube, your fingers working him open, and he’s already groaning, his breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. his head falls back, his mouth falling open with a low, throaty moan. the stretch is intense, and he feels every inch of it, his cock twitching at the sensation. he’s squirming, his hips pushing back, silently begging for more. he’s not just taking it. no, he’s thinking about how he’s going to fuck you later, about how deep he’s going to go, how he’s going to make you scream his name. the look in his eyes says it all. this isn’t over. not by a long shot.

minghao is hesitant when you first bring it up. “i’m not sure,” he admits. it takes time, gentle persuasion, and a lot of patience. the moment finally comes when you’re in the middle of a blowjob, your mouth wrapped around his cock, and your hand starts to wander. when your fingers brush against his hole, he clenches instinctively, a soft gasp escaping his lips. “wait, what are you…?” he starts, but his voice trails off when he feels the pressure, the slow, teasing circles you’re tracing around his entrance. his body tenses, but there’s no mistaking the way his cock twitches in your mouth, the way his breath hitches. when you finally slide a finger inside, he’s tight, his body resisting at first, but then he relaxes. he’s breathing hard, his eyes half-lidded, watching you with a combination of apprehension and arousal. the way you stroke his prostate sends a jolt through his body, and he moans, a soft, breathy sound that makes your stomach twist in the horniest way.

seungkwan knows how obsessed you are with his ass, the way your eyes follow him whenever he bends over, and the idea of you having full access to it? he’s practically giddy with excitement. “you really want to peg me?” he asks, a wide grin on his face, and there’s no hesitation in his voice, just pure, unfiltered curiosity. “i mean, if it’s anything like the way you look at my ass, then hell yeah, let’s do it.” the prep is quick, maybe too quick, but he’s eager, his body thrumming with expectation. his mouth falls open in a silent gasp, his eyes wide as he takes in the sensation. it’s intense, the stretch, the fullness.“shit, you’re good at this,” he mutters, his voice breathy, but there’s a playful edge to it, like he’s enjoying every second of this. his mind going blank from the pleasure. it doesn’t take long before he’s cumming.

vernon is REALLY hesitant at first, the idea of pegging not something he’s ever really considered. “nah, i don’t think that’s for me,” he says, shaking his head. it takes a few conversations with friends, late-night talks about their experiences, and suddenly, he’s curious. “so, it’s really that good?” he asks, almost to himself, and before he knows it, he’s standing in front of you, ready to try something new. the sensation is overwhelming, but it’s not bad, not at all. “fuck, that’s… different,” he murmurs, his voice strained. you start slow, letting him adjust, but it’s clear he’s enjoying it, his hips pushing back to meet you, his hands fisting in the sheets. as he lies there, catching his breath, he can’t help but think that maybe his friends were right. this really was one of the best experiences he’s ever had.

chan is the exact opposite. he’s impatient, eager, and there’s no hesitation in his voice when he says, “let’s do it.” he doesn’t want to waste time with the prep, rushing you along as you slick him up. “come on, i want to ride you,” he’s quick to straddle you, his hands guiding the toy inside him, and he lets out a whiny moan, his hips rocking forward to take more, hiss thighs burning. it’s exactly what he wants. you move with a goal—wipe that grin off his face. thrusting up into him, and he’s gasping, his hands bracing against your boobs as he rides you. there’s a wicked grin on his face as he watches you, seeing the effect he’s having on you. he knows how much you’re enjoying this, the way your hands wrap around his cock, stroking him in time with his riding. when you hit his prostate, his eyes roll back, and he lets out a choked sob, his body trembling as he cums, his orgasm making him crumble on you. but even as he collapses against you, his body spent, there’s a satisfied smirk on his face. he knows you got him wrapped around your finger—umm... literally—and he’s loving every second of it.

[littlest-w01f]

Comfort

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: You can be a pain in his ass, but when you need comfort, Sylus is always there to make things better

Cw: Fluff. Just fluff. also a little period stuff

A/N: For the new quad banner, I had to. Sylus with cat ears and a tail? Gimmie, pls

"So can you hear from both of these?" You giggled, stroking Sylus's cat ears that twitched under your hand. However temporary, he was moody about the change, if his flattened tail was anything to go by, "Or do only your normal ears work?"

"If you keep teasing me kitten, I'll leave." Sylus rolled his eyes, to hide that he liked you scratching his ears, crimson eyes flashing darkly, "Who'll cuddle you through your cramps then, huh?"

You gave him a sly grin, nearly swallowed by his arms as he held you in your bed, "I'm not the 'kitten' right now." You taunt him with a tug at his ears, which cause him to groan deeply.

"Careful, sweetie." Sylus's deep voice rumbled in a warning tone against your palm as you tugged playfully at his sensitive cat ears, drawing out a low, throaty groan from the tall, imposing figure beside you. His crimson eyes flashed with a mix of annoyance and pleasure, a look that never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"Oh, don't give me that," You teased, Your own eyes sparkling with mirth. "You know full well I love when you grumble at me like some cranky old man."

Sylus's expression softened slightly at your words, though he still maintained a stern facade. He reached up to capture your wandering hand, bringing it to rest over his chest, just above the rumbling purr emanating from within. "As much as I enjoy our little games, y/n…"

You pouted at where his tone was going, "I'm all bleeding and hurting and having cramps. You're supposed to be nice to me, Sy. You're being a bad butler."

Sylus's stern demeanor faltered at the sight of your pout, the adorable way your lower lip quivered ever so slightly. He knew he had no chance against your playful charm, especially not when you were feeling vulnerable.

"Ah, forgive me, My Lady," Sylus said, his voice taking on a more formal, apologetic tone, his tail softly beating against your thigh. "I seem to have misplaced my usual decorum." He joked with a straight face.

He leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting across your cheek as he spoke. "Perhaps, if you prefer, I could try my hand at soothing techniques more suited to a lover..." Sylus trailed off suggestively, his gaze dropping to the gentle rise and fall of your abdomen beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown.

A soft gasp escaped your lips at Sylus's whispered suggestion, your heart fluttering in anticipation. The idea of his skilled hands exploring your body, intent on easing your discomfort, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

His proximity made it impossible to ignore the subtle vibrations of his purring, the warmth radiating from his muscular form as he leaned in close. The scent of his unique, spicy aroma enveloped you, making your head spin with desire.

"Please..." You had only said the word and his hands were on you, lifting your nightgown to gently stroke your burning abdomen, the energy of his evol providing relief to your cramps.

As Sylus's large, deft fingers began to massage your sensitive stomach, you couldn't help but let out a contented sigh. The heat from his palms seeped into your skin, providing a soothing respite from the gnawing pain of your menstrual cramps. His touch was gentle yet firm, each stroke designed to ease the tension and relax your muscles.

The movement of his tail against your leg was almost hypnotic, its rhythmic sway mirroring the steady cadence of his ministrations. His pointed ears remained pricked, focused intently on your reactions, as if attuned to every subtle shift in your breathing and the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping your lips.

"You feel so warm, sweetie," Sylus murmured, his deep voice a soothing counterpoint to the gentle pressure of his hands. "Like a furnace burning bright within you."

You whined and buried your head in his chest, "My body feels like it's being ripped apart-"

"Shh, it's alright, my dear," Sylus cooed, his strong arms encircling you as he held you close against his broad chest. The warmth of his body enveloped you, a comforting balm against the intense agony coursing through your core. His hands continued their tender massage, kneading and stroking along the curves of your abdomen, working to soothe the relentless cramping.

As you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, a soft, rumbling purr vibrated through Sylus's chest, resonating against your cheek. The sound was both calming and intoxicating, sending waves of relaxation washing over you. "Just breathe, y/n," he instructed, his voice a low, soothing timbre. "Let yourself drift. I've got you."

"See, you can be a good kitty!" You giggled when his tail wrapped around your wrist, gently stroking the fur with your other hand.

A pleased rumble emanated from deep within Sylus's chest at your praise, his tail continuing to caress your wrist with gentle, soothing strokes. "Mmm, perhaps..." He purred, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement as they met yours.

As you played with his tail, Sylus's hands never ceased their gentle massage, his touch growing more confident and sure as he worked to alleviate the lingering discomfort. The sensation of his chest brushing against your cheek as you nestled into him added another layer of comfort, the softness contrasting with the hardness of his muscles beneath your fingertips.

"You should rest up. I'll be here when you get up." Sylus teased, his voice low.

With a contented sigh, you allowed yourself to sink further into Sylus's embrace, the warmth and security of his presence wrapping around you like a cocoon. His tail continued its gentle stroking, the soft fur a pleasant contrast against your skin as you explored the texture with curious fingers.

As you drifted lazily, Sylus's strong hands never left your abdomen, his touch a constant reminder of his care and attention. The rhythmic kneading and rubbing seemed to melt away the last vestiges of pain, leaving only a dull ache that even the most determined cramp couldn't quite reach.

"You're such a sweetheart," you murmured sleepily, your eyelids heavy with fatigue. "Even when I'm being all grumpy, you always take care of me."

Sylus's chuckle reverberated through his chest, the vibration sending delightful tingles up your spine. It was a rich, deep sound, filled with warmth and affection, a perfect accompaniment to the soothing rhythm of his hands on your abdomen. As you listened, entranced by the rumble, you felt your eyelids growing heavier, the lullaby of his purrs and the gentle massage slowly pulling you under.

"Mmm... Maybe I should start charging for this service," Sylus teased, his voice a low, sleepy growl. Despite the words, there was no real bite to his words.

As Sylus's teasing words floated through the air, you managed a weak smile, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards before succumbing to the pull of exhaustion. His playful remark was the final thread needed to unravel the tangled web of your thoughts, allowing them to slip away into the depths of slumber.

With a soft, contented sigh, you surrendered to the allure of sleep, your body relaxing completely in Sylus's embrace. His strong arms held you securely, cradling you like a precious treasure as he guided you towards the peaceful darkness of unconsciousness.

As you drifted off, the last thing you registered was the gentle pressure of his lips pressing a soft, loving kiss to the top of your head.

As you stirred awake, you found yourself still nestled comfortably in Sylus's arms, his strong embrace a reassuring anchor amidst the remnants of your dream-filled slumber. His tail, once active and playful, now lay still against your waist, the slow, rhythmic stroking a soothing lullaby to guide you back to full awareness.

Noticing the relaxed, peaceful expression on Sylus's face, you realized he too must have fallen asleep while keeping watch over you. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, a testament to the depth of his devotion and the unspoken bond between you.

Gently, you shifted your position, careful not to disturb the sleeping man. As you did, his nose twitched, and his eyes fluttered open, revealing those mesmerizing crimson eyes gazing up at you with a mix of drowsiness and affection.

"No no..." You whispered softly, closing his eyes with your hand, "Go back to sleep."

At your gentle whisper, Sylus's eyelids fluttered closed once more, a soft giggle escaping his lips, his breathing evening out as he pretended to slip back into a peaceful slumber. Your hand lingered on his face, the soft pads of your fingers tracing the contours of his cheeks and jawline in a soothing caress.

His face nuzzled instinctively into your palm, seeking out your comforting touch. A small, satisfied rumble vibrated through his chest, the sound barely audible but tangible against your skin.

Watching him, you marvelled at the way his features softened, the usual sharp angles and planes of his face giving way to a gentler, more vulnerable expression. In repose, he looked younger somehow, the weight of responsibility and duty momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

Your gaze travelled downwards, taking in his form. The sight filled you with a sense of profound peace and contentment, a reminder of the strength and stability he brought to your life.

"Kitten?" He mumbled, waking up from you scratching his ear, his voice thick with sleep and concern, pulling you closer to him. "Is everything alright? Are you feeling better?"

His hands moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks in a gesture of tenderness and worry. The crimson of his eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the room, searching your face for any signs of lingering discomfort or distress.

"Yeah... I'm better." You sighed softly, kissing his cheek.

Sylus's expression visibly relaxed at your reassurance, the tension easing from his shoulders as he pulled you closer, one arm snaking around your waist while the other remained cupped around your face. The pad of his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, a gentle, almost absent-minded gesture that spoke volumes about his affection for you.

"I'm glad," He murmured, his voice still rough with sleep but warm with relief. "You had me worried there for a moment."

"I... I always have bad cramps, I'm used to it." You smiled, petting his tail softly, hoping to soothe him.

At your words and gentle touch, Sylus's tail swished happily, the tip curling around your wrist in a show of gratitude and affection. He leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes, his own crimson eyes shimmering with emotion.

"I know you're tough, my little lady," he rumbled softly, his breath ghosting over your lips. "But that doesn't mean I won't worry. You're important to me, sweetie. More than you could ever know."

His free hand slid down from your face to tangle in your hair, fingers gently soothingly massaging your scalp. The gesture was tender, and intimate, speaking to the depth of his feelings for you without the need for words.

At Sylus's tender declaration, you felt your heart swell with emotion, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked back the sudden moisture gathering in your eyes. His words, spoken in that low, gravelly tone, carried the weight of a thousand unsaid sentiments, each syllable imbued with the force of his love and devotion.

"I… I don't know what I'd do without you," You whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to convey the depth of your own feelings. "You make everything better, just by being here with me."

As if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned in, bridging the scant distance between you until your lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. It was a meeting of souls, a silent promise and affirmation of the bond you shared, the connection that ran deeper than mere physical attraction.

Sylus's eyes widened comically as your fingers found their mark, a high-pitched gasp escaping his lips as he arched into your touch. His ears flattened against his head, twitching wildly as you scratched along the sensitive edges and base of his ears.

"Oh! Oh, kitten!" He gasped, his voice pitched higher than normal as he squirmed beneath you. "That feels amazing!"

Sylus's reaction was utterly adorable, his usually stoic demeanor melting away as he succumbed to the pleasurable sensations of your skilled fingers. His eyes fluttered shut, a blissful expression settling onto his features as he leaned further into your touch, clearly craving more.

"I thouht you didn't like it just now..." You teased, softly taking your hand away.

Sylus's eyes snapped open at the loss of your touch, a look of panic flashing across his face before he realized you were merely teasing him. A sheepish grin spread across his features, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of blue under his fur.

"Oh, you little minx," he chuckled, reaching out to tickle your sides playfully. "Playing games with me, are we?"

Sylus's fingers danced along your ribs, finding every ticklish spot with uncanny precision. His laughter mingled with your own, the sound rich and warm, filling the room with a joyous atmosphere. As you squirmed and giggled beneath his ministrations, he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you, marvelling at how easily you could bring such lightheartedness and happiness into his life.

As Sylus's fingers found their mark, you dissolved into a fit of giggles, squirming and writhing beneath his ticklish ministrations. The sound of your laughter filled the room, a melodious symphony that seemed to delight him to no end.

"You're right, I did say that earlier," He admitted with a roguish wink, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your ribs. "But that was before I experienced the true magic of your touch. Now, I can't get enough!"

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered conspiratorially, "Besides, it's much more fun to be the one being teased this time, isn't it?"

"I'll pull your tail." You threatened playfully, giggling uncontrollably.

Sylus's eyes widened at your threat, a mix of excitement and trepidation flickering across his features. For a moment, he seemed torn between the desire to continue his playful assault and the instinctive need to protect his most sensitive appendage.

"Now, now, kitten," He purred, his voice dropping an octave as he slowly withdrew his fingers from your sides. "There's no need for such drastic measures. We wouldn't want to start something we can't finish, would we?"

You simply giggled as he leaned down to kiss and suck on your neck, enjoying the peaceful moment with him as Sylus's lips trailed along the column of your throat, you couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of contentment. The sensation of his mouth on your skin was electric, sending pleasant shivers down your spine and causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. His tongue darted out, lapping gently at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, leaving a trail of damp heat in its wake. You tilted your head to the side unconsciously, granting him better access as your fingers tangled in his silky hair.

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | iv.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"Put the phone down. On speaker," Ghostface orders.

The device almost slides right out of your clammy palm when you place it by your sock-covered foot. 

"Now…"

His voice dips, its intimate echo rippling across your skin.

Tension clogs your throat as you await his next command, a mess of shivering limbs on your bed.  

Whatever he asks you to do, you know you’ll hate it, and yourself. 

But there’s no other option when your friends’ lives hang in the balance. 

No choice besides yielding to the killer’s whims, however sick and twisted. 

"I want you to touch yourself, princess."

Puzzled by his request, you blink and parrot his words back to him,"Touch myself?"

He unleashes a dark laugh, a chill dancing on your spine at the sound. 

"Let me explain it in terms even my airheaded little princess can understand," he rasps, blatantly condescending. I want you to shove your fingers in that tight pussy while I watch you do it…and make yourself come." Your eyes widen in shock. "If you don’t come…" Your open thighs tremble as an air of malevolence saturates the air. "Goodbye Mindy and Anika."

The heavy, searing weight of his threat sits in your gut like hot coals. 

Your lip wobbles, a tear escaping the confine of your lids. 

"I’ll do it," you mutter, your quivering hand already inching to your exposed center. 

"Hey, no need to rush," he chuckles. "Take your time, princess. After all…I want to enjoy the show."

He sighs and a zipping sound followed by a muffled rustle reaches you. Relief flows from his inflection as he instructs, "Why don’t you start with rubbing your hand up and down your pussy?"

Sticky wetness coats your fingers as you glide them over your folds. 

Heat flares in your cheeks as Ghostface’s gruff moans rise from the phone. 

Though you can’t know for sure, you suspect from how breathless and hoarse he sounds, he may be touching himself too. 

You grow more embarrassed at the thought. 

"Unbutton your shirt and grab your tit." He lets out a throaty purr as you undo the buttons of your blouse. You palm your breast and rub your thumb over your pebbled peak. A hiss floats from your lips at the sensation, your core clenching. 

"Fuck…you’ve got the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. You know that, princess?" He pauses, seeming to choke on his own breath before chiming, "Bet they’d look even better covered with my cum."

A shuddering breath escapes your mouth. 

"Put one finger inside. Tell me how it feels."

As you keep fondling your breast, you sink one digit inside your wet heat. You gasp as you graze a sensitive, spongy spot that makes your breath falter. 

"Wet. Tight…" Reflexively, as you rock inside your walls, they squeeze around your fingers. Ragged moans climb up your throat. 

Pleasure builds in your belly as it tenses. 

"Put a second one," he urges, his words punctuated by a gravelly whine and the faint, sloppy friction of skin against skin on the other side of the phone. 

Your face ignites. While you’re not the brightest bulb, it’s not hard figuring out what he’s doing while talking to you. 

A wave of sickness threatens to overwhelm you but you quell it.

You add a second digit to the first. Your lids quake, a sharp pain rippling through your core at the burning stretch.

You hardly ever touch yourself there, much less with more than one finger.

"It hurts," you sob. "Please…"

Your whimpers only appear to arouse him more, a moan following your admission. 

"Oh…Fuck." You hear him swallow and exhale rapidly. "Keep going. Don’t you dare stop. Play with your clit at the same time."

Letting go of your chest, your other hand creeps between your thighs. Cheeks aflame, you start rubbing your swollen, sensitive nub in circles.

Your breath stutters. Your hips wiggle as your stomach tightens. 

"Rub it harder." You chew on your bottom lip as the lustful pants leaving your throat swell in volume. Disapproval vibrates in Ghostface’s distorted, gravelly voice. "Don’t keep it in. I want to hear you loud and clear, princess."

Reluctantly, you free your lip, allowing every moan and whimper to spill out unchecked. 

Your fingers pump in and out at a faster pace and the wet squelching of your cunt mingles with the shameful sounds rising from your mouth. 

You massage your clit, growing slicker as your vision gets hazy. 

"Remember what I said. What happens if you don’t come, pretty girl."

This incentivizes you to try even harder. 

You play with your pussy with more fervor than before, teasing that tender spot inside you that has your vision sway. 

You can tell how close you are to your pinnacle, the coils in your belly tight and warm tingles swirling at the apex of your thighs. 

The patterns your fingers trace over your sensitive parts turn hectic and desperate. 

"Tell me you can’t wait for my fat cock to ruin your tight little pussy," Ghostface rumbles through the staccato of his uneven, raspy moans. 

Tears adorning your lashes, you repeat his words between strained lungfuls. "I c-can’t wait for your f…fat cock to ruin my little p-pussy, Mr. Ghostface."

His elated laugh cascades across your flesh. 

"Come for me, princess."

The air dwindles in your lungs as your eyes roll back. The dam shatters at once, your legs quaking as waves of pleasure scatter through your lower body. Your body jolts and falls limply on the sheets, your back arching as your climax hits you. 

"Ah, shit," he says. 

The killer’s long, throaty sigh lands in your ears, the sound of him relieving himself strangely making your bundle of nerves pulse. 

"Good girl," he lauds, mirth and lust radiating from his deep timbre.

His choppy breaths mingle with yours through the phone.

As you lie on your side on the bed, the haze clears and a vast well of shame blooms inside you. 

After a few minutes of silence, he laughs again. 

Satisfaction drips from his tone.

"I’m proud of you for playing my little game," he says. "And now, we have our first souvenir together, in 4K."

Your brows knit as you shakily pick up the phone.

"What do you m-mean?"

He doesn’t reply, instead humming softly, "Goodnight, princess."

The call ends as he hangs up. 

Quivering lips bound shut by stupor, you quickly grab your bear and hold him against your chest. You bury yourself under the covers as quiet tears roll down your face. 

You don’t get much sleep if any that night, tossing and turning when you’re not drenching the sheets with the salty streams pouring from your eyes. 

Despite him never entering the room, terror paralyzes you. 

He might as well have, his sinister presence coiled around you and the power he held over you tattooed into your very bones. 

You bolt awake in the morning, the wild drumming of your heart blaring in your ears.

The first thing you do is rush to collect  your phone. But frustration roars inside you when you realize it died during your fitful sleep. 

Heart in your throat, you scramble in search of your charger. Once you find it in a forgotten corner of your bed, a relieved exhale ripples through your lips. 

Impatient, you groan as you wait for the lightning bolt icon to shift to one percent. The painful sluggishness of it escalates your blood pressure even more. 

You bounce on your bed as your phone takes what seems like eternity and beyond to turn itself on. 

When it finally does, you don't even have to look through your contacts to find Mindy, your best friend appearing in your most recent calls.

You punch the number and chew your nails anxiously. 

Ghastly thoughts lurk about your mind with each lingering, torturous second. 

What if he lied? 

What if he toyed with you for no reason? 

Of course, your roommate picks this opportune moment to knock on the door.

"Hey! Did you lock me out? Open the fucking door!"

Startled, your head snaps up.

"Not now, Vanessa," you yell, herding your focus back to your phone. "Pick up, pick up, pick up…"

You hear your roommate mutter 'bitch' on the other side of the door and kick it one last time before walking away. 

All your calls go to voicemail after a few rings. You lose hope, already picturing the worse. In your sleep-deprived, frazzled brain, the image of your friends’ lifeless forms lying sprawled on the floor is conjured. 

Your gaze fills with tears as you plummet at the end of your bed. 

While the sun’s basking your room in light, your world has never been this dark. 

It’s the pathetic state you remain in as you amble across the hallways later, no cheer in your step as you drag your feet to class. 

Each of your thoughts is asieged by your friends’ fate. Who knows if they even made it through the night, despite your best efforts to comply with Ghostface’s sick demands.

Your dispirited trek comes to a sudden halt as you catch sight of them, strolling to your first class with their arms linked. 

You all but tackle Mindy into a hug after racing down the hallway. 

"Mindy!" you shriek, overwhelmed with emotion at having her in your arms, safe, whole and - most importantly - alive. 

She laughs, both she and Anika casting you a puzzled stare. 

"Wow, is something wrong? Not that I mind random hugs but…"

You punch her in the rib and rear back with a scowl. 

"You didn't answer your phone, dingus! I was worried sick."

Mindy winces in response to your outburst. 

"Ouch. Sorry, mom," she jests, but when she notes the way your eyes fill with tears again, concern invades her features. Her tone softens as she elaborates, "Anika and I were…busy last night, so our phones were on silent."

They share a secret smile, hands twining. Your cheeks warm as understanding dawns over you. 

You approach them and give them a tight hug.

"I…I’m just happy to see you both, that’s all," you mumble between quivering sobs. You take a minute to soak in the fact that they’re okay, that you can feel their beating hearts against your own. 

Your friends are okay. Ghostface kept his promise. 

Despite how humiliated and violated last night made you feel, at least there is one perk…your friends lived through it. 

Anika rubs soothing circles on your back.

"Well, we’re happy to see you too. Always." She tilts her head and studies you. "Wanna grab lunch later? Talk about what’s really going on with you?"

Gulping a pacifying breath, you fall back. You look at both their faces, scrunched in worry. You’re thankful for them…but you can’t talk about last night to anyone. 

In fact, you’d rather toss the whole ordeal into a well of oblivion. You feel dirty enough as it is. Tainted. 

Still, spending time with them is just what you need. 

"I’d love that," you chime, swallowing your tears long enough for them to disappear from view. 

But as soon as they’ve vacated the hallway, the ephemeral mask of cheerfulness you donned before crumbles. 

You shrink into a mess of tears in a dusky corner of the faculty, hiding behind a set of stairs no one ever uses. 

"I have tissues if you want. I have t-three tissues."

"Ethan?" Your mouth parts as Ethan’s staggering presence crowds your vision. He’s crouched in front of you, that same lopsided, bashful smile he had at the party decorating his lips. Sun beams hit his dark curls, highlighting the russet and chestnut hues of his thick mane. 

You slowly blink, noticing his outstretched hand and the tissues in it. 

You accept them gracefully and dab your eyes with one. 

"Hey." He sits next to you under the stairs and leans against the wall. "Wanna talk about it?"

You sniffle and shake your head in response. 

Ethan nods in acknoledgement. You appreciate that he doesn’t push, settling for sitting with you as you cry in your hand.

"Okay," he says when your weeping alleviates. "Then, maybe we can go to a café and study? Since you’ve missed our first session anyway."

Embarrassment surges inside you. Right. You and Ethan agreed to meet at the library two days ago. 

You were caught amidst your guilt spiral regarding Connor’s death at the time. 

You squeeze his arm and bunch your lips apologetically. 

"I’m so sorry, Ethan. It totally slipped my mind."

He waves a dismissive hand in the air. 

"It’s okay. You were dealing with a lot. I get it."

Deflating, you release his bicep and sigh. 

"Still, that’s not okay. You were so nice to offer."

"Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’ve got time now," he informs.

Hugging your knees, you flash him a hollow smile. 

"Thank you. You're a really good friend." You grimace. "I'm sorry Chad and Mindy gave you such a hard time the other day."

He gives a nonchalant shrug. 

"It's okay. Could be anyone, right?" He pauses, scrutinizing your face. "Even me."

This draws the first genuine laugh of the week from you.

Ethan being Ghostface? The mere idea is ludicrous. 

There is an ocean of differences between the monster who coerced you into doing dirty things last night and the sweet boy who handed you tissues today. 

They could never be the same person. That’s silly. 

"I’d find that very hard to believe," you say between watery chuckles. 

The only reply you get from Ethan is a wide, tight-lipped smile as he slants his head sideways, his gaze lighting up as it runs over you. 

~

[unicyclehippo]

ooo maybe perhaps imodna “28. …as a lie.”? love love love your writing style. no worries if this isn’t the vibe! I’m sure anything you write will be phenomenal

‘do you know what your problem is?’ delilah says oh so casually. laudna is busy folding the laundry (lalala!) and her hands keep moving and smoothing each shirt and sock and her magic drips over holes in imogen’s socks and her head turns so she is looking right at imogen with a perfect replica of her smile, over-wide, borderline painful, like all the love in her hurts a little getting out (because? because she has too much of it? because if it doesn’t hurt it’s not love?) but there’s a glint in the gem at her throat and a glint in laudna’s pretty eyes and it could be sunlight but it’s not.

‘you,’ imogen says, like she’s bored. would she buy that, though? can delilah tell how electric she’s gotten? she definitely can. laudna’s eyes go wide and hungry and hot, dragging down imogen’s arms; it feels wrong, like when she was young again and couldn’t get men’s thoughts out of her head (damn the things i’d do to that girl).

‘don’t be nasty,’ delilah laughs, throaty. ‘i’m giving you advice. you should be thanking me.’

‘i’ll thank you to get the fuck out of laudna’s head.’

delilah pulls laudna away from the laundry long enough to wave a dismissive hand. ‘nonsense. she wants me here.’

it sounds true, is the problem. but she’s a liar. imogen shouldn’t be talking to her. it’s early and she wants to be asleep in bed but laudna wanted to wash their clothes properly, the magic didn’t clean things right, it had to be done properly and now she’s folded their small clothes into a bag and delilah is smiling at her like she belongs, like laudna’s just a dress to slip on slip into. and laudna wants her there. does she?

‘your problem, imogen—may i call you that? your problem is a lack of planning. ambition, too. you’re very powerful but what good is power without direction?’ delilah lingers on her scars. the red glow at her fingertips. she licks her lips, or laudna does (lalala).

‘shut up.’

‘you won’t get what you want by hoping. and certainly not by praying these days. why don’t you—‘ she walks laudna’s fingers across the tabletop, across the back of imogen’s hand. vile woman. ‘put all that power to good use? what are you afraid of?’

a city block levelled with a scream. the world gone hot and white, burning away. everyone’s minds open before her like toy chests for her to paw through.

‘are you done?’

delilah sighs. when she speaks again, she’s lost the purr; she sounds more like herself, more like laudna has recently. matter-of-fact. brittle sharp. ‘i’m trying to help you, girl.’

imogen wants to kill her again. laudna’s face doesn’t look like her face anymore; it looks like skull, muscles, skin. eyes. ‘i. don’t. want. your. help.’

‘you’ve scared yourself into standing still. can’t go forward, too afraid of the power. can’t go back because you won’t give up what you’ve gained,’ delilah laughs. ‘you may hate me, dear, but you must know that you’re just like me?’ her hand touches imogen’s cheek, thumb wandering laudna’s favourite line over her cheek, freckle to freckle. it feels like laudna, which is to say, imogen has lost again. ‘she’ll do anything for you. she’s such a sweet girl. and so much more willing to comply now that she has something to lose.’

‘you’re sick.’

delilah tilts her head. a maybe, a yes, a what does that make you? a which one of us hasn’t pulled away?

‘you should ask her what happened to the willmaster,’ delilah suggests. ‘what she did alone in that little hole you all carry when no one was watching. when you do, ask yourself,’ delilah sighs against her cheek, so sweetly, laudna’s breath morning mint fresh. ‘what else is she hiding from you? what else has she given me?’

delilah touches the side of her neck and then—then she’s gone and laudna says ‘oh’ and ‘imogen?’ and ‘i think i…might have lost a moment there, darling,’ and ‘are you alright?’

imogen leans into the hand on her cheek, the thumb that jumps from freckle to freckle. she curls a lightning-warmed hand around the back of laudna’s neck and kisses her, very gently.

‘yeah, honey. all good. you done with the laundry?’

[beauttifullife]

Chapter 21: Three of Swords (Preview)

If someone had told Agatha that at nearly fifty years old, she’d be spending her entire Saturday tangled up in sheets, being thoroughly ravished by a woman sixteen years her junior, she’d have laughed them out of the room—and then probably sued them for defamation later.  

And yet, here she was.  

Face down on forest green silk sheets, her hair and skin damp with sweat, gasping into the fabric, as her legs trembled beneath her as yet another orgasm tore through her, leaving her breathless and spent.  

She felt warm lips press into her shoulder, and then— there it was —the unmistakable smirk against her skin, that fucking smirk that seemed to sear right into her flesh. Rio Vidal was branding her with it, marking her the way a rancher brands their cattle—with an air of quiet, undeniable ownership.  

Then she felt a hand tracing down her spine, each fingertip pressing slowly, deliberately, as if counting every vertebra, moving lower over the curve of her ass and lingering there, before daring to dip further and slide forward. Agatha’s body reacted faster than she thought possible, exhaustion forgotten, as she snapped her hand back, gripping Rio’s wrist firmly.   

And then in one swift, fluid motion, Agatha rolled, flipping Rio onto her back and pinning her there, straddling her with an intensity that left no room for question. The wrist still caught in her hand was pressed firmly above Rio’s head, while Agatha’s other hand wrapped gently around Rio’s neck—a soft but unmistakable warning.  

Rio’s eyes widened in surprise for a fleeting moment before that smirk returned, even deeper than before, as she looked up at Agatha with a glint of satisfaction, clearly savoring this unexpected shift in control.  

“Do you have an off button somewhere?” Agatha growled, her gaze roaming over Rio’s glistening skin, now covered in a constellation of hickeys and marks from Agatha’s own teeth and nails.  

Rio chuckled, a low, throaty sound that Agatha could feel vibrate against her hand.    

“Maybe.  Check between my legs,” Rio murmured, her voice a teasing purr.  

Agatha snorted at that, but that didn’t stop her from increasing the grip on Rio’s wrist and throat slightly, leaning down until their faces were mere inches apart.   

“You’re exhausting, you know that?” Agatha muttered, though the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.  

“Pot calling the kettle, dear ,” Rio shot back smoothly, a wicked smile curving on her lips.  

Agatha looked down at her, arching an eyebrow.   

“Rio— dear .  If I don’t get something to eat and drink…” Agatha began, her voice tinged with warning.  

Rio opened her mouth, a glint in her eyes revealing exactly the kind of dirty response she had in mind.   

Agatha clicked her tongue, tightening her grip just enough around Rio’s throat to cut the words off before they could escape.  

“Actual food,” Agatha bit out, her tone sharp but laced with a smirk, before loosening her grip once more, but not letting go.    

Rio’s devilish smirk faded into a reluctant pout, but after a moment, she softened, giving a small nod.  

Agatha started to pull her hand away, but Rio’s fingers caught hers, guiding it back to her throat and pressing it there, her gaze sparking again, like a fire that never really goes out.  

“We’ll be exploring this later, though,” Rio murmured. 

....

[profoundbondfanfic]

A Ghost Story by emmbrancsxx0 [Explicit, 257k words]

Castiel Novak has haunted his family's estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel's resurrection, the two try to find out why they've been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean's former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

A Lonely Vigil by saltnhalo [Mature, 34k words]

Castiel Novak is twenty-six years old when he's killed in the Civil War. The first soul to be laid to rest in the grounds of the new Lawrence Memorial Cemetery, his spirit remains in a liminal space—not in the living world, but not passing on, forever tasked with helping other spirits to go where he cannot. His vigil over the grounds of his cemetery is a long and lonely one, unable to interact with anyone who still remains in the land of the living. Until he meets Dean Winchester.

A Million Ways to Go by ChasingRabbits [Explicit, 91k words]

Castiel Novak is a preacher's son living in a world of black and white. Pragmatic and dutiful, he doesn't understand why anybody would want to make waves. Then the Winchesters move in down the street. Soon many of the skeletons in the Novak family's closet are exposed, and as the family faces them, Castiel begins to understand that there are many ways to see the world and so many more ways to live than what he's been told.

Bumper Cars by mansikka [Explicit, 111k words]

Two teenagers are missing from an abandoned carnival, and there’s enough to raise suspicion that their disappearance involves a ghost. Dean, Sam, and Cas arrive in town to investigate, though what they find leads them away from those teenagers, and on the trail of a ghost story that churns up things from their past. Can newly-human Cas, and Dean, with the help of shipper!Sam, work out the mystery behind the abandoned carnival and its ghost, and along the way, figure out the riddle that is them?

Dean Winchester is Not Afraid of Ghosts by Desirae [Explicit, 48k words]

When photographer Dean Winchester is not capturing momentous occasions like weddings and graduations with his Nikon, he is moonlighting as the cameraman for the South Shore Paranormal; a ghost hunting series on YouTube, headed by his brother Sam, and Sam's best friend Gabriel. Despite his brother's adamance, Dean Winchester does not believe in ghosts. And no one is going to change his mind. Certainly not a scam artist like Castiel Novak. Castiel is a self-proclaimed medium... and Gabriel's brother. When a member of the SSP team has to leave the crew, Castiel is the replacement, much to Dean's dismay. But the more they work together, the more Dean is drawn to Castiel, the man stirring up protective instincts usually only reserved for family. What happens when Dean realizes that Castiel is not the fake he always thought he was, but instead, a generous soul that Dean is rapidly falling in love with?

ghosts that we knew by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Explicit, 89k words]

Dean can’t help it. Castiel’s laugh is infectious, washing over him and sweeping him up in its tide. His throat and stomach ache with the feel of it, unfamiliar muscles worked past their endurance. He hasn’t laughed like this in weeks, maybe years. Cas doesn’t stop laughing, and Dean relishes it. It’s such a good sound, deep and throaty. It rumbles over him the same way that Baby’s engine purrs, to where he can almost feel it in his gut. Dean’s giddy, the kind of happy that hunters don’t get to feel, and if it weren’t for the ceiling, he thinks he might float away. Cas’ eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his smile goes wide and gummy. He’s so brilliant, so alive— But you’re dead, Dean thinks helplessly. But you’re dead.

Heart by Speary [Mature, 90k words]

The heart is a funny thing. Some say it loves, and others say that it is just a muscle, keeping you alive for some minuscule amount of time. For Cas Shurley, the heart was a defective reminder that each day was maybe going to be his last. For years he had been in and out of hospitals. For years he had viewed time as something trickling down the drain. Then Sam Winchester died. He died, and Cas got to live. And in what universe was that fair? But he accepted the gift, and told himself that he would live. Each beat of Sam’s heart in his chest was an anthem, a siren song beckoning him back to life. This new heart though, wanted him to do more than just live. This heart had a story to tell. It would wake him up in the night, and visit him with cold drafts and a sense of purpose that would propel him out of bed. But before he could truly live and act on the demands of his new heart, he would have to get out of the hospital, and he would have to meet the Winchester family. And though he didn’t know it, he would especially have to meet Dean, Sam’s brother. And meeting him would remind him of just how much more there was to life than just the living.

Hope and Clay by tabulaxrasa [Explicit, 20k words]

The museum is haunted, the security guard is dead, the ghost has an alibi, and Dean is… worried about his relationship status with Cas (currently: It’s Complicated). A Winchester family hunting trip threatens to go awry from the weight of too many secrets– and an unstoppable killer from the dawn of time.

Rest in Pieces by xylodemon [Explicit, 22k words]

"Goddamned ghosts," Dean snaps, stabbing his shovel into the dirt. "Goddamned Heaven." (or: the one with the Ghost Apocalypse)

Under Construction by thestarsarefalling [General Audiences, 42k words]

Castiel's been quietly haunting the house in which he's met his untimely demise for a long time. Up until this moment, he's only had to deal with squatters and adventurous teenagers, who were easy to drive out with some spooky moans and creepy words scratched into walls. But when his building is slated to become a construction site, Castiel encounters Dean, the contractor and new owner of the home, someone who doesn't scare easy.

Winchester's Haunted House by deansmultitudes, Kitmistry [Teen and Up, 3k words]

For the Halloween evening, Dean turns his new home into a haunted house for neighboring kids. But once all the guests are gone, is when the real haunting begins.

[euruua27]

I feel like Human!Toothless would be gentle, but a bit innocent and often get Hiccup blushes-

Like-

Dusk passed, the sun set, and darkness began to descend on Berk. Right now, the only sources of light were the crackling fires and oil lamps in each house.

Hiccup's shadow was reflected on the wall, the limited illumination of the oil lamp highlighting one corner of his face, emphasizing his angular jawline and the jagged growth of his baby whiskers. He was very focused; the sound of a charcoal pencil scribbling echoed in the air. Next to him were pieces of metal and iron gradually forming into his new invention.

Only when interrupted by a warm breath from behind did Hiccup awaken and return to reality.

He turned around, just making eye contact with Toothless. Those emerald green eyes were soft, their pupils dilated in the small firelight. Toothless glanced from Hiccup to his sketches, squinting as if trying to understand them.

For the fifth time of the night, Hiccup silently counted. He lightly pushed the dragon's face away. "I told you I'd explain it to you when it's done, bud."

But Toothless remained still. Following his instinct as a dragon, he growled, though it sounded more like a throaty groan: "Bored."

Hiccup snorted. "Okay, I think I should start translating all your purrs as 'bored.' You can sleep, fish, or fly. I have a spare tailfin in the corner—"

This time it was Toothless's turn to snort loudly. He looked at Hiccup with an unreadable expression. His fingers curled into his thick brown hair and lightly scratched his scalp, making Hiccup jump a little. He almost frowned before being interrupted by Toothless suddenly leaning down to press his lips to his.

When Toothless pulled away, Hiccup blinked absentmindedly a few times. Then, slowly, his face turned red. The words flowed out before he could think. "It's 'kiss,' not 'bored.'"

Toothless tilted his head with an innocent expression, causing Hiccup to pause. Was Toothless 'bored' when he kissed him, or had he misunderstood 'kiss' as 'bored'?

This time, Hiccup noticed that his entire face was hot. Toothless narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Hiccup helplessly covered his face with his hands, rubbing a little too hard as if trying to wash away his embarrassment. Finally, he looked up, expertly pulled Toothless down, and gently kissed him on the lips.

Toothless didn't seem awkward at all; instead, he began to make a satisfying sound with his human throat, similar to the low purr he made when Hiccup scratched under his chin in his dragon form. His hand rested on Hiccup's waist, squeezing it gently to show his satisfaction.

Hiccup let out a breathless sigh, looking into Toothless's affectionate eyes at such close distance. Only a few seconds passed before Toothless grinned again and rushed in to kiss Hiccup all over his face—lips, cheeks, nose…

Hiccup managed to emit a sound that was a mixture of groaning and laughter. He lightly tapped Toothless's forehead in his human form, scolding without any force: "You know, sometimes I still like you in your original dragon form more."

Toothless was silent at that statement. Just when Hiccup thought he had hurt the dragon and was about to apologize, his deep voice rang out, slightly sulking like a child.

"Yes, but that would make it hard to kiss Hiccup."

"... I mean—I... won’t mind you in any form—just don't interrupt me with kisses next time..." Hiccup finished, his ears burning.

Yk what I mean???? This dragon would boil its human to death by making him blushed someday!!

Anyway this is where the idea of them kissing come from: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSjrCxkRV/

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 14th Fill

Husk/Velvette; Others – Dress Up AU – Part 4 – misunderstanding; mistaken identity; dub-con (love potion) – Husk somehow manages to stumble his way right into Velvette's pants? huh.

(continuation next batch)

---

Husk slowly goes to his knees. It has nothing to do with his clothes having somehow become alive and all to do with the fact that there is love potion crawling through his veins and Velvette is, unfortunately, gorgeous and he is just a single pathetic man.

His relationship with being able to get and maintain erections is tenuous at best, curtesy of depression and alcohol – and his age, lets be fucking honest while we were being so nice and open – but his mouth works just fucking fine. He’s good with it. He doesn’t mind helping a pretty little sinner out every now and then.

And Velvette is as pretty as they come. Young, vivacious, dangerous… His eyes fall down to her cruel little fingers. They’re dexterous, too, he realizes dazedly. She pops open the top button of her pants, fingertips closing around the tab of the zipper… then pauses.

“You’re not talking,” she reminds him in a throaty kind of voice. He blinks profusely and rips his eyes away from her crotch. He looks at her eyes, narrowed in cruel satisfaction when his fingers visibly curl around the edges of his skirt and hold on for dear life.

His cock is an obvious bulge, standing desperately at attention. The one time Husk would have loved for it to just chill-

“I don’t… know what to say,” he rasps dutifully. His confusion is not even played. “I’m not… much for parties.” Not anymore. “But my uhm… f-friends,” he can feel bile rising in the back of his throat, trying his hardest not to sound as cynical as he feels when using that word, “brought me along, so…”

Velvette cocks her head to the side, her narrow-eyed gaze not softening. Husk can tell that her arms are moving but he does not dare to look down again so soon.

“Who are your friends?” she asks with a purr. “Didn’t know any of the fucks in there had taste.”

Husk’s mouth opens, then closes again. Whenever he moves his lips, he can taste some more of her sticky lipgloss as it is trying and failing to dry against his fur. It sends skittering little bursts of sensation through his body and has his tail writhing behind his back. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Angel Dust…” he says slowly, mind reeling, trying to come up with any other name than fucking Alastor because then the jig would be up. He can’t say any other name, though, because he’s got no idea who else is in this party and where that white lie might lead him.

Before he can spiral into any desperate overthinking mess, Velvette’s face suddenly relaxes while her eyes widen in intrigue. “You are one of that whore’s friends?”

She takes a step closer, her hands outstretched, going for Husk’s face. However, his eyes just immediately drop back down. Her fly is open now but miraculously, her pants stay in place on her hips. Maybe because they’re just that tight – they are deliciously tight – or maybe because of her odd powers. He can’t see the line of any underwear… but he can see a wonderfully groomed thatch of pubes peeking out at him; a dark pink-ish red and white and black like the rest of her hair.

Her fingers gently spear into the thick fur on his cheeks, carding through it and humming low and appreciatively. It’s stupid to feel proud about eliciting such a sound from her, but here he is, being all warm and needy from the mixture of embarrassed confusion and love potion taking a sledge hammer to his libido and kicking it hard enough in the ass that Husk clenches his teeth together because he can almost feel it knocking against them from behind.

“You’re not one of those, are you, mommy?” Velvette croons. She’s leaning down a little, her head doing a hypnotic waving motion from left to right. She reminds Husk of a snake in that moment and all he can do is keep kneeling there all pretty, his wings folded sweet behind his back, and his stupid dick dribbling pre-cum through the stupid fucking skirt Alastor had forced him into.

“W…What?” he hears himself say, his voice so deep and garbled that it does not make any sense to his own brain, slowly cooking itself in his skull. Velvette must have parsed his choked out little question, though, because her lips draw back into a smile that looks all to dangerous and all too pretty.

Her fingers keep up the petting, slowly sliding into Husk’s new, long hair. She cards them through it, rubbing the strands between her fingers to test its texture and compare it to the overall feeling of the rest of his fur.

“I’m wondering if you’re a whore. One of the dumb little things that Angel likes to crowd around himself to try and distract Val.”

She doesn’t say more than that. Her face does not give any indication whether she would be pleased by the prospect of him being a whore or not. His tongue feels far too dry. He’s craving another hit of the love potion already; it’s doing horrible things to his body. He’s so weak and prone to addiction.

His fingers curl into the hem of his skirt and slowly twist it until glances down toward the motion and tuts her tongue. No more than that and he lets go of the fabric, instead pressing his hands on the floor between his knees.

Velvette does another rolling motion with her head. It does not look natural. More like something a mannequin would be able to pull off. He can feel himself bristling, his tail slowly straightening out behind him.

“No,” he finally says because pretending anything else would be insanity. “I’m not. We just… met. At the hotel.”

Her right eye twitches and her smile dims for the fraction of a second before coming back even wider and sharper and more dangerous.

“You’re an occupant?”

Husk’s mouth opens in dismay, then closes it again. Fuck. Fucking… he shouldn’t have said that. He’s here because the Vees have no idea who he is, especially in this ludicrous get-up and he’s supposed to keep them distracted from Charlie’s stupid little heist and now he-

“N-N-No,” he stutters. “We met once. I kinda thought I wanted t’ get in there but it didn’t work out and he kinda just… latched onto me. I s’pose.”

There’s a second that stretches like an eternity before Velvette’s bright smile drops and she looks immediately uninterested which is good, of course. Except that it is bad because suddenly Husk finds himself wondering if that means she loses interest in letting him nose up against her pussy.

He really wants that right now.

More than a fucking drink or a sip from the love potion.

Velvette sighs softly and mutters something that sounds like ‘well wouldn’t that have just been funny’, before her attention suddenly snaps back toward Husk. She straightens herself up again. She’s so short that with her standing and Husk sitting, his face is basically already snuggled in her crotch. He wants to lean further in until his breath can ruffle those perfectly groomed pubes, but her natural aura just has him sit and wait and sweat quietly with nerves.

“I like you, Whiskey-baby. The party has been fuckin’ boring but I think we two can have some fun, hmm?”

Her cruel little finger creeps beneath Husk’s chin, lifting his head up and then gently scratching him where it feels… really fucking good.

He’s ashamed with how hopeful he sounds when he whispers: “I think so, yeah.”

[voidsdamned]

Wicked Natures - The Ghoul/OC (Female Character) Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Bounty hunters are frequent customers at Mulholland's Saloon, and Rue's taken quite a shine to one gunslinger in particular: a cantankerous, old Ghoul in a tattered duster. Witness her unabashedly lust after him in all his irradiated glory (as we are all currently doing), as well as navigate the precarious relationship she unfortunately has with local law enforcement.

Minors, do not interact.

Content Warnings: blood and violence.

Enjoy <3

Chapter Eighteen: Reckless, Rageful

The yowl-meowing hits Rue’s ears a few miles out of Poppy just as the sun starts sinking, and she smiles like crazy when she looks over her shoulder to see Eggshells padding her way quickly as they can on their big, old paws. The bobcat’s ears are flat and eyes narrowed, but they sure do purr when Rue crouches to give them chin scratches.

“There’s my beautiful baby,” she coos, the hand not petting away going for some gecko jerky. “Ya eaten?”

Even if they have, they chomp up the jerky in heartbeats and have a few licks of water out of her palm to wash it down.

“I’m glad you’re stickin’ with me,” she murmurs, getting some ear scratches in. “Sheriff Shitkicker made things messier than I thought he would, and I need an extra set of ears and eyes. …We probably won’t make it to nightfall without somethin’ goin’ down. We gotta be ready. Well, I know ya stay ready. Ya go after anything that so much as breathes in your direction.”

Maybe she ought to be a bit more like Eggshells, unblinkingly vicious. Ready to pounce. Not holding herself back even an ounce…. It’s a nice thought, going wild after so long of biting her tongue and clenching her fists. Leashing herself so tight.

Eggshells swats at her hand, their polite way of saying, “Quit touchin’ me.” She pulls away, only for the little darling to rub themselves against her skirt.

“Fickle lil’ thing,” she chuckles, standing and dusting her hands off on her skirt. The motions slow and still halfway through, her eyes fixing in the distance.

Two figures march her way, the wide space between making them appear as little more than blobs.

They could be travelers just like her, but Rue wouldn’t bet on it. She bets she had eyes on her the second she stepped out onto the streets of Poppy earlier and they were just waiting for her to march on out of town. Put herself out somewhere open and vulnerable with nowhere to hide. She bets there are more coming, too. She just can’t see them yet.

If they catch her, would they listen when she tells them she’s not missing? She’s out here on her own accord, and she has no intentions of going back? Maybe one or two might, but the rest of them… caps speak louder than she does. More persuasively, too.

Can’t risk it.

“I gotta carry ya,” she tells Eggshells, plucking up the kitty and getting throaty, unhappy growling for it. She clicks her tongue at them, kisses their head, and spins on her heel. “Hush you.”

They don’t hush, but their sounds become chainsaw purring, and they let Rue cradle them as she keeps a brisk pace. She needs more space between her and those blobs that look more and more like people every time Rue glances over her shoulder.

Darkness seeps across the landscape as Rue reaches a patch of the road that winds through rises and falls of rocky hills and buttes, and the cover they afford has her darting off the well-traveled and into riddling crevasses and ridges. Which is immediately not fun and so apparently a terrible idea (even though the idea was high ground and headshots) because of course she picks the narrow, snaky in-between that houses a handful of radscorpions –big boys, too. The kind that could take her head off her shoulders with a snip of their pinchers.

Rue scrambles back, and then up a steep incline, doing her best to keep Eggshells safe and get them to higher ground as click-clacking claws make grabs and tails sting forward.

Eggshells goes apoplectic in her arms, spitting and yowling and thrashing until Rue must let go or risk getting her arms and chest torn to shreds. The reckless, rageful bobcat throws itself at the closest scorpion with no regard, all teeth, spit, and claws as they go for eyes.

Freehanded and not wrestling a wily cat, Rue puts more distance between herself and the big boys and takes hold her rifle. She hastily lines up a shot at the scorpion Eggshells battles valiantly –and violently– and fires. It’s mean, little face spurts weird, greenish juices, and the way it backpeddles sends it crashing into its friends. They all take a tumble down the steep hill, and Rue snatches up an ornery Eggshells that starts back up with their pissy, throat noises.

Rue shushes them and runs, knowing she can’t fight so many radscorpions and that her tails would have heard that shot. Shit, she should really see about finding a suppressor for her rifle. A sharp crack like that can prick at ears for miles. Lead hunters and whoever right to her.

Focus, focus.

Landmarks. She needs landmarks –a way to get back to the road once she’s handled her tails. Her eyes pick along dim ridges and carefully ahead of her, searching for oddly-shaped fauna and formations. A good perch. There’s a cactus that sort of looks like a brahmin. An actual brahmin skeleton amongst a heap of brambles, bones, and scrap…. That’s a fucking deathclaw nest, and Rue is absolutely not coming back this way. Rue doesn’t need to be anywhere near here.

All the weird and twisting ways she goes spits Rue out in a flat expanse of cacti, cracked earth, and ants she brings her boot down on when they try to get at her ankles. Eggshells hops down from her arms and immediately runs off ahead of her to terrorize another ant.

Rue, winded, gives a breathy laugh, “You’re a menace. I love ya,” and picks up her stride again to catch up with them, her eyes on a large, looming shadow in the distance.

It turns out to be a building: a massive, sprawling, crumbly one on the opposite side of an upheaved highway. It sits amongst other structures that are little more than free standing walls or boxes full of sand and the husks of old vehicles. A weathered sign tells her it was once called “----hills Mall.”

Rue’s not sure what a mall is, but it looks like it would have lots of great ambush spots. She needs those, even if a warning of sharp-toothed stick figures is scrawled on the front doors.

Maybe there are cannibals inside she can convince into eating her stalkers?

Quietly, and with Eggshells padding along behind her, Rue enters the mall, fishing the small flashlight she never did give back to Doc Nguyen out of her pocket. She doesn’t need it initially. Moonlight spills in through holes in the ceiling in big, washed-out patches, illuminating benches, garbage cans, scattered tables, and all these storefronts and bars crammed in together. The ground and tabletops are littered with old food containers.

Rue tiptoes through it all, the wide, rounded room she stepped into opening into a long, long hall with hanging signs and glass walls as far as she can see –but that’s not terribly far anymore. It’s black as pitch ten feet ahead of her, inky and not particularly inviting. She clicks the flashlight on, using it to scan the signs and doorways blocked with shutters and gates. Through the glass, she sees mattresses. Appliances. Clothes. Knick-knacks....

"Ooh," slips so quietly out of her mouth when she spies a little cart with rows and rows of glasses upon it. A truly terrible pair snags her attention, red-rimmed and heart-shaped, and Rue can't resist the temptation. In her pocket they go. 

She moves on, deeper into the darkness where her flashlight beam passes over a mannequin in a bolo tie. The light drags down and then snaps back, fixing on the most beautiful pair of boots Rue has ever seen. Even with a thick layer of dust coating them, the dark leather boots in the window are radiant. Perfect with red and pink roses stitched into the sides of them and a set of spurs hanging off the back. Rue could jingle-jangle just like her cowboy….

Fingers dragging down the glass, Rue clicks her tongue at the sudden sharpness in her chest.

She has not allowed herself to do much in the way of thinking about anything outside of survival and her destination. She’s on guard as she trudges through the desert. She’s exhausted when she decides to settle down, falling right asleep. But in this small, fleeting moment, the Ghoul is at the forefront of her brain accompanied by a deep longing. Worse than it’s ever been.

Rue wonders what he’s doing. If he’s okay. If he’s been back by and seen her note. Or maybe he’s seen her poster? Part of her wishes he was along for the ride, and they could pick him out a new pair of boots, too.

With him come thoughts of others: Hal, Mrs. Ira Jean, and Mrs. Rosa. Even Bo and his boys. Bell O’Neil and the Hendersons. They’re all of wonder and worry. Did Deck question everyone she holds near and dear? Did they go into a tizzy when they realized she was missing? Do they hunt for her?

Tiny and barely audible is the voice at the back of her head that whispers she should have told them, warned them, but louder is the voice that affirms her actions. To know would have been to implicate, to tie them to her mess. She’d rather feel guilty about worrying them than the pain and burning of another death on her shoulders.

Rue shakes all the bad thoughts out of her head, shrugs off Baby Destiny, and pushes the case under the gate that didn’t quite close. She follows, wiggling through and cooing very softly to Eggshells until they slink under and in.

The mannequin is taken down, its feet pulled into Rue’s lap so she can twist and jiggle the boots free. When they pop off, she gives a short laugh of victory and hastily pulls them on.

And they fit. That victory laugh turns into a delighted squeal-giggle, and Rue pops to her feet to practice her fancy, twisting footwork, each spin or heel-toe step accompanied by a jingling that makes her warm inside. With more than a bit of pep, she skips around the rest of the store.

So many pretty, dusty things surround her. Blouses, vests, and jeans with shiny stones and fun patterns. Breezy dresses she imagines spinning ‘round and ‘round in. Thick-woven flannels in all the colours. Hats galore in all the styles, some plain and others…. Rue doesn’t know what that orange and black print is around the band of an otherwise dapper cutter-style hat, but it’s not for her. Not for anyone.

Her eyes are pulled away from the atrocity by a display case full of leather goods and jewelry, a few things tickling her fancy. Like the leather over-the-shoulder bag that looks sturdier and a bit roomier than the one she currently carries. She trades it out, packing in all her bits and then a few shiny things that might be worth something to somebody if the gold is real gold. She also snatches up two, silver star pins. One, she pins to the band of her hat, and the other goes into her pocket as she briefly imagines presenting it to the Ghoul and asking him to pretty please match with her.

Then there’s this bone and blue stone bolo tie Eggshells lets her slip onto their fluffy neck after just a bit of coaxing, and don’t they look so handsome in it! Handsome and dignified, and Rue can’t help but giggle again. And she keeps giggling every time she looks down at her pretty kitty to see them padding along so suave in their tie.

Towards the back of the store, she finds a door hanging open, leading into a space of shelves and boxes full of more pretty things. Rue doesn’t let her gaze linger on them. The temptation of a brand-new wardrobe eats at her, but she has nowhere to put it all. No way to carry it…. A cream blouse lying neglected on the floor has roses around the sleeve cuffs. It matches her boots. It matches her boots.

Rue plucks it up and stows it in her guitar case, and then does her damndest to put all the finery out of her head as she slips out another door she finds. She’s on a mission, not a shopping trip. People are literally chasing her, and she was browsing like it’s just a normal visit to Shade and Sundries.

She shakes her head at herself as she steps into a long, dark hallway she traverses slowly with careful sweeps of her flashlight.

It’s easy to get lost. There are more doors, hallways, and signs that read as, “Restrooms,” “Roof Access,” “Manager’s Office,” “Emergency Exit,” and “Security Office.” Rue ends up ducking into the Security Office when a dragging shuffle and crunchy noises come from further down the hall. She waits to see if they come closer or taper out, and they do eventually, the sounds fading off the way she was heading.

Rue’s focus turns to the room she popped into: a musty, dusty space where a skeleton slumps back in the chair set before the wide, metal desk that dominates most of the room. A bullet hole is blasted out the back of the skull, and the .10 mm on the floor close by tells Rue everything she needs to know about what happened.

Her attention shifts to the array of shiny, black glass mounted on the walls and the…  the machine on the desk is called a term-something. She remembers them a little –mostly playing a shoot-y game where she blew up communists. And after staring hard at the term-something for several minutes, she remembers how to turn it on by clicking at a somewhat circle-ish symbol button on the front.

The whole black glass array lights up along with the term-something. Well, most of it does. A few screens stay dead. Others are too dark for her to make out what’s in them. But most show scenes with just enough light for her to make out storefronts and lumpy shadows… oh! She recognizes one of the scenes as the one she stepped into: that wide room with all the tables, counters, and food containers.

And isn’t she a lucky girl to spy two figures creeping in all careful-like with weapons drawn.

Rue relocates the skeleton to the floor, claims its seat, and watches them pick around for ten minutes before noticing a group of three coming in through a collapsed segment of wall that could honestly be anywhere. Ooh, and there come two more into the wide room, but they pick a different way to go from the first group.

“Figure they’ll kill one another so we don’t have to bother?” she asks of Eggshells when the bobcat jumps up on the desk. They don’t do anything but blink slow and sit back on a big button that makes the air crackle and fizz.

“The fu-?”

Rue's voice comes from all around, and her mouth snaps shut. Wide-eyed and wondering, she sits there quietly as the sound of Eggshells’ motor running like crazy rumbles the air. Her eyes tick to the array where her tails have gone stock-still. Very carefully, she scoots the bobcat off the button, and the crackling, fizzy sound goes away.

Investigating the button up close, Rue finds it to be some sort of gadget with a grated look on one end. She presses the button and coos out a curious, “Hellooo?” into the grates, watching from the corner of her eyes as those still figures in the array look all around them in befuddlement.

Rue notices something else. On glass once empty, shadows shift and rise. Stumbling and shuffling and whipping around erratically. It’s hard to make out much about them, but they seem withered and torn and gaunt. One gets close enough Rue can see that it’s missing an arm and most of its face.

Ferals.

She gets the worst –or possibly best– idea.

Rue stands, shuts the office door, kicks a chair in front of it, and whips out Baby Destiny. With a wide smile on her face, she presses down on the button with the heel of her new boot and strums a little ditty she can’t help but sing along to.

“Yippee yay

There’ll be no wedding bells for today

‘Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle

As I go riding merrily along

And they sing, ‘Oh, ain’t you glad you’re single’

And that song ain’t so very far from wrong

Oh, Lillie Belle

Oh, Lillie Belle

Though I may have done some foolin’

This is why I never fail.”

The array flurries with movement and chaos, ferals wrenching themselves about and running wildly to find the source of the noise that seems to come from everywhere all at once. They’re like bloodhounds, tracking down the bounty hunters in moments, and it’s quite the sight to watch some flat-out run while others try to hold their ground, bright pops and distant gunshots adding to the storm. But they can’t do much against a horde of hungry ferals absolutely swarming.

Rue watches the carnage, singing all the while. She doesn’t stop until she hears pounding come from somewhere down the hall, and she moves like a whirlwind, packing Baby Destiny away, snatching up Eggshells, and kicking that chair out of the way –and then immediately having to hoof a feral in its raggedy guts as soon as she slings the door open. It goes stumbling back into three of its friends, and Rue tears off down the hall to where she saw that “Emergency Exit” sign.

Flinging that door open brings on a brand new, terrible, shrill shrieking sound that no doubt alerts everything within a mile radius of the shitshow. Likely drawing them in. Adding to the chaos.

Rue legs it, laughing up a storm.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Following the road that runs alongside the mall eventually leads Rue back to the one she abandoned. She thinks anyway. The only indication she has that she’s going the right way is a road sign with a spray-painted, “Many Ways,” and an arrow pointing her onward. Or as onward as aching legs, burning lungs, and a desert-dry mouth can take her.

She has to stop. It’s reaching a nonnegotiable point, and the safety she finds is in a thin sliver of a rocky shelf she thoroughly investigates for little nasties before she shrugs off Baby Destiny, slides her into the slot, and then wiggles her way in after. She spreads out flat on the cool stone, belly and cheek to the cragginess of it. She breathes a long sigh, fishes for a canteen, and drains it. She has to, and she meant to conserve her apples, but she polishes them off, too. And then she takes her knife into hand, cuts free pieces of jerky for Eggshells to munch on when they come creeping in, and falls dead asleep.

When she wakes, Eggshells is pressed hard into her side, growling mad and talking about, “The psychotic bitch looked to be goin’ West, so we’re gonna keep goin’ West!” And then the groggy thing realizes that’s not Eggshells talking. There are at least two people passing her by –nope, no. Four. There’s a group of four striding so slowly by mere feet from her. She can see their middles, the golden daylight illuminating how strapped to the gills they are with guns, knives, and leather.

Rue squeezes the knife still in her hand tighter and hopes for dear life they can’t hear Eggshells. She’d shush the kitty, but maybe they hear that. She’s in too compromising of a position to risk it.

“I know that poster said unharmed, but I’m gonna blacken that bitch’s eye,” grumbles a particularly ornery voice. “Trina and Buck didn’t deserve that.”

Another voice makes a fart noise. “I know ya were buddy-buddy with ‘em, but she did us a favour, knockin’ out some of the competition. And I want that full bounty. You’re not gonna fuckin’ touch her. You’re a gentleman, or ya get.”

The grumbly voice grumbles lower, unintelligible.

“We oughta ask for two thousand,” a new, reedy voice chimes in. “Agency said she might be confused or kidnapped. Not fuckin’ batshit, runnin’ ‘round the desert in the night and singin’ Kay Kyser like she’s havin’ the time of her life.”

“That’s who that was?” queries such a soft voice. “I liked it. Her playin’ ain’t bad at all.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barker,” snaps the grumbly voice. “And whoever’s fuckin’ stomach that is, I’m sick of hearin’ it.”

“Huh?”

“Someone’s stomach grumblin’ like they haven’t eaten in decades.” A pause. “Shit, or maybe that’s a cazador?”

Fuck, Eggshells. Rue's arm curls around the kitty, placing her hand over their face in a useless attempt to muffle the growl. They nip at her, that growling becoming a short, pissy yowl.

The group of four had almost left Rue’s field of view, but now they’re paused at the edges of it. Rue tenses. She feels Eggshells tense, too. Ready to snap.

One of the bounty hunters bends at the waist. Rue only gets the briefest look at his face before Eggshells is hiss-spitting and tearing their way into the hunter’s flesh.

And fuck, does he scream, the sound of it alongside Eggshells’ demonic screeching the worst kind of racket. Rue scrambles after, calling out a, "Baby, no!" because what is her pretty kitty going to do against four folks with guns and knives? Maybe get one of them before a hail of bullets leaves her heartbroken. 

The gunshot does come, sharp and cracking and stilling the testy organ in her chest when a different kind of screech issues from Eggshells. Rue slides out of her slot just in time to see blood and fur running away from a shredded-faced man bleeding out on the ground.

Thought ceases. Panic surges, followed by murderous action when her eyes fix on a drawn gun. She pounces, aiming to maim the man who shot her cat. And then she'll let Eggshells eat his remains for dinner if she can find them. She better fucking find them. As she drives her knife down, she raggedly shouts, “Ya better hope they’re fine!”

Sharp, gleaming metal goes through a hand rising in self-defense, drawing shouts of pain and swears tenfold. Rue doesn’t get a chance to jerk it free. She’s jerked herself, arms wrapping around her middle to haul her back as she kicks and curses and ultimately throws her head back as hard as she can, skull connecting with what might be a nose. A satisfying crunch is her reward.

More shouts. The grip around her eases, and Rue slips free of the hold to launch herself at the man she took down, driving her elbow into his solar plexus. Breathless, gurgling, strained sounds wheeze from his throat. A gasping, croaking shout when she rips her blade free from his hand, but then she’s snagged again. The new grip is much stronger, much more mindful of her violent, desperate movements. Her captor squeezes the life out of her, making it hard to breathe. Making her head spin. She takes wild, haphazard knife swings, hitting nothing but air. 

Tighter and tighter the arms squeeze. A soft voice shushing, bidding her to, "Go to sleep, kay?"

"Don't," Rue wheezes, breath finding her barely and body weakening to the point she can't keep a grip on her blade. "I... I don't...wanna...."

Her knife slips from her fingers and Rue into the black creeping at the edges of her vision.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 9 - Reminiscences and Repairs

Back in the present, we tie up our little story as the sun sets over the mailbox...

Suptober prompt: Starlight

(Read on AO3)

Dean held the yellowed piece of paper carefully, like the treasure it was. With a fond smile, he traced his finger over the indents where he'd circled YES about a dozen times before handing it back to Cas the following Monday.

“I still can't believe you made a move on me, you rebel,” he teased. “You sinner.”

Cas snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well, it was obvious you were never going to.”

“Didn't think I had a chance,” Dean said with a shake of his head. “You were way out of my league, sunshine. Still are.”

“I like to think we're in a league of our own at this point.”

“Just you, me, and Licorice?”

At the sound of her name, the little cat popped her head up and blinked over at them sleepily. Cas reached across his husband and gave her a skritch behind her ear, then pulled her over Dean's lap and into his own for more pets. She rewarded his efforts with a raucous, throaty purr like a tiny jet engine. The rumble faded out gradually as she dozed off again.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, rocking the porch swing back and forth to the rhythm of their heartbeats, just enjoying the sunset and each other's company.

“Oh, did you find the leak?” Cas asked as the dusk crept in and the first pinpoints of starlight began to appear.

“I did, and it's all patched up. I took a nice long shower afterwards, and every single drop of water behaved itself.”

“That's the last of the structural issues, right?” Cas said softly, snuggling up against him.

Dean pulled him closer still and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Yup, now we get to start on to the fun stuff – new cabinets, new tile, new paint on the walls...”

“Not tonight, though.”

“Nahhh, tonight's for this. Just this.”

He started to hum, the beat of the song matched to the motion of the swing. Cas recognized it immediately as the song they'd shared their first dance to, at the spring formal all those years ago.

[silvermaplealder]

Speaking of Lost Boys OCs...

Okay so since we're all sharing our Lost Boys OCs, I figured I'd share mine lol. I had one wayyyy back in like 2011 or whatnot that I wrote about on fanfiction .net. But now I've been working on a new one that's way better lol. Also I never made art of my old one. Anyways! My new guy Erik Vernon:

I made him a different type of vampire than the lost boys and Max. He was sired by a pack of vampires in Monterey (approx. 30ish miles south of Santa Carla) that can transform into these bat monster things. And while most of them are less than 25ish pounds as a bat monster, he is 5500ibs... He's MASSIVE.

He's very self conscious about it, but obviously he can't control his size. I'm still working through the details of this vampiric breed to keep him from being too OP. But some things I've worked out so far is:

They cannot see at all in sunlight, and have severely limited vision in bright spaces (rip ever going into any supermarket). Erik always has sunglasses on him, but they rarely help.

They do have an echo location ability for when they are blind, but Erik prefers to also have a companion guide him when possible

Their fangs are non-retractable. They are constantly present, and it is a clear way to out them as being vampires. They have both top and bottom honed canines

They take a while to heal, unlike most vampires. But they are a pain in the ass to kill.

Larger ones cannot fly very well... they can glide though. To fly, they'd need a running start or to get speed by falling.

The large ones are prone to starving to death. They need to eat 6-8% of their bodyweight a day. So in Erik's case, he needs around 440ibs of meat per day :') not including the fact that his vampire self also needs to drink blood! So... he's hungry 24/7.

They aren't very strong as just vampires (not being in their bat/monster form). They have the same strength and abilities as they did as a human.

They have no mind powers or ability to talk telepathically.

They purr. Erik's monster form is MASSIVE and his purring is VERY loud. Everyone will hear it. It's a deep and throaty kind of sound, and is similar in pitch to his roaring, but more rumbled

He can roar, and it sounds like a mad angus bull specifically. Erik doesn't roar frequently, but he will if he's very mad or to scare someone off

Here's the size they're supposed to be that the rest of his OG pack was:

Each bat/monster varies a little per person. But none are as large as Erik. It made it hard for him to fit in with his pack, but they liked having a massive beast around in the event of a fight. I'm still working through his backstory before he ends up in Santa Carla. His OG pack is essentially killed and he goes to Santa Carla to avoid being hunted. He and David don't get along well, so he lives with Max at his house until the two can come to some mutual terms. David is too touchy and aggressive for Erik, and while Erik cannot overpower him as a human/vampire, he can easily overpower him as a bat/monster. So David being... well, David, only targets him when Erik cannot transform to protect himself. The two fight constantly for months any time they come across one another. David's faster than both of Erik's forms, so he constantly taunts Erik. Somehow (I having worked out how or why yet) David backs off with his taunting and lets Erik finally become comfortable with the gang. I keep imagining how when it's time for bed the boys hang upside down and Erik sprawls out on the cave floor below as his monster self and blocks the entrance from any intruders. Also even though Erik's monster form is huge, he's relatively short. He's 5'6", so just an inch shorter than Marko. He also loves to dye his hair, so it can be any color at any point in time. But he's naturally strawberry blonde.

Anyways, a lot to think about on my end! I haven't even started writing his story, just traits for his vampiric breed so I can have it logged somewhere.

[happy-tori-friends]

Would you be up for doing the prompt "You look so cute in that rain jacket." with Splendont and the twins?

of course! ^v^ they get to be a bit silly in this one (especially lifty who didn't have the Best of times in the latest part of oblivion) fun fact: i had never heard the term rain jacket b4 this. only rain coat. i also dont think i've ever owned a rain coat either. funner fact: i've been calling these drabbles but aparently drabbles are meant to be exactly 100 words. drabble to me has always felt like. around 500 words or less. but i have been wrong before this and i will be wrong again after this so does it really matter?

“Do you remember that one time when Mom and Dad took us to the store while it was raining, but we didn't want to go in? We just wanted to splash in the puddles,” Lifty giggled softly, gently bouncing on the soles of his feet before trying to kick and splash his brother.

“Hey, quit it!” Shifty scoffed, attempting to the same back. “Stop acting like a little kid! We were like… five!”

The laughter continued, even as he felt the rain falling against the rain jacket Splendont had bought for him - a lighter green as opposed to the darker green his brother had gotten. “You're doing the same thing, Shift! You're just as childish as me! And besides, we had to grow up too fast. We might as well have a little fun when we can!”

“Ugh you're such a pain in the ass!” Shifty let out a huff, but it was clear that he was trying to hold back his amusement. He shoved his brother, likely a bit harder than he was meaning to, and Lifty let out a soft gasp as he staggered.

He smirked, grabbing his brother's arm and dragging him down too as they fell down, making a bigger splash in the sidewalk puddle than they had before. “I'll drag you down with me everytime, asshole.” Lifty laughed, looking at his brother's disgruntled and annoyed face.

Then came the throaty chuckle of their boyfriend, the red haired hero looking back at them from his spot a few paces ahead.

“You two look so cute in those rain jackets. And playing in the puddles like this, just goofing around makes you even cuter,” he hummed, approaching them both. “Need a hand?”

Lifty took the hand with a wide, genuine smile, still giggling as he was pulled up. Sure, his pants had gotten drenched from the puddles, and it did hurt a little when he fell but… he was overall in a chipper and playful mood today.

“Shuddup,” Shifty scoffed, cheeks tinted pink as he was pulled up alongside his brother.

Splendont wrapped an arm around them both, a smile on his features. “It's true though. You both are very cute, especially when you're happy.”

Lifty cuddled closer, letting a soft purr-like sound leave his lips. He was really happy today. Usually the rain was kind of dreary, especially in their shitty apartment. But he and Shifty often went out in it anyway to try and use it to steal a little more, hoping that the rain would serve as a distraction. Sometimes it worked out, sometimes it didn't, and sometimes the rain would lead to their deaths. But a childhood memory brought to the surface by a simple walk in the rain had given Lifty a newfound appreciation for it.

He watched his brother press against Splendont more, a slight shiver running through his body. “I'm not happy! I'm cold and my pants and shoes are soaked now!” There was a pout on his lips, cheeks puffed up as he tried not to let his voice show his true feelings. “It was your idea to take a walk in the rain to test out the jackets, you should take responsibility and warm me up!”

“I'm cold too!” Lifty added quickly after the other. “Warm me up too! We can go home and cuddle under the blankets and listen to the rain...” That sounded nice and relaxing. Maybe he could even take a nap…

“That sounds nice,” Splendont hummed, leaning down to place a kiss on each of their foreheads before pulling them in just a tad bit tighter. “Let's go back then. Just me and the loves of my life, relaxing, cuddling, and getting warm while the rain falls outside…”

The twins looked at each other, each letting out a soft breath as they nodded, smiles blooming on their lips. Thus, the trio began their trek back to the house, already eager to experience the picture painted in their minds for real.

[miqojak]

FFXIV Write 2023 #9: Fair

"There's nothing what's 'fair' in this world." The quiet, throaty tone of the little woman is firm - like the faintest brush of a velvet-wrapped blade, it's not hard to tell that beneath the pleasant sound... there is steel.

"There is only chaos. Why do the innocent perish? Why do the wicked excel? There are plenty of answers - many play by different rules, and will therefore always fail against those who refuse to be bound by rules. But the world itself is uncaring, and chaotic - there is no order to things. The good fail, and the cruel succeed. A storm hits, people die; There. Is. No. Order to things."

There is something about the soft words that belie the youth of the woman before you - no doubt a few summers shy of thirty years, and she speaks with the stoicism, cynicism, and fatigue of the world-weary as she prowls about the space, touching this, and that - overlong tail undulating thoughtfully behind her the whole way.

"Do not, then, chain yourself to society's commands. Question them. Ask who they benefit. Ask yourself why you're playing along. Ask if it is 'fair' - and for whom. The truth is more often ugly, than not - and you must be willing to do what is necessary not just to survive... but to bite back. Though you must acknowledge the truth of things, first."

The diminutive miqo'te rounds a chair, to stand beside it - a small hand resting atop the wooden frame of as much, as that orange-tipped tail of hers lashes out but once - to very nearly purr, "I think you will find that, as acerbic as I might be - as much as I embrace chaos - my deals are always more than fair."

[broken-clover]

So since I wasn’t given a particular direction to go with for today’s prompt, I guess I ended up getting a little odd. Also in the process it ended up not exactly being shippy, so apologies, anon. I guess it could still be read with a romantic lilt, there’s just not much indicating a relationship proper (in fairness, that might be because it’s short)

I wanted to take another swing at how Gear transformations work, though as my earlier post indicated, I kinda have no idea how to write scenes like that. I tried my best, I just don’t know what makes a good transformation scene with the right amount of punch in its body horror. I think body horror is the only content warning I need to include with this one, since, again, it’s kinda short.

Here’s prompt 17- silent tears, with Sol and Ky

-

”Make it stop. Please. God almighty, make it stop.”

The sound of it startled him. Ky had been silent for what felt like an eternity, and it came with no warning as it broke.

”I’ll give you money. I’ll give you my life. Anything- a-ah, please, please, please, I can’t bear it anymore-”

Sol was perfectly aware that he was not the most comforting presence. He still did what he could, wrapping his wings around as a blanket and letting the ambient heat of his body turn it into a warm cocoon. He could feel the other man squirm from inside, but paid it no mind.

Any more of Ky’s protests were cut off before they could start. Only a pitiful, stretched whimper managed to escape alongside an uncomfortable cracking. Talking was new, but this wasn’t. The writhing intensified, and Sol could feel the space his wings made growing more cramped. A stray claw grazed the membrane, and he bit back a hiss until the scratch fused together.

After being relatively certain that he wouldn’t be bitten, he unfurled just enough to peer inside. Though the blue-white veins seemed to glow, they offered no light, and the only illumination was a pair of slitted red eyes, pinched in discomfort. As the outside light slipped in, the pupils tried to shift and adjust.

“S-Sol. Please.”

More darkness had overtaken his face, inching along in a miserable crawl. The black scales were just starting to brush the inner canthus of his other eye, and there was something minute but noticeable pulsing from under the skin, right on the plane of his cheek.

Sol could only sigh, preparing himself for the inevitable. “I can’t. I can’t do anything. You just have to let it happen.”

“No, no no nonono-” he pleaded, “It hu-uuurts- !”

Another round of thrashing squeals poured out. Sol could hear the bones slide and crunch, pushing the skin overtop to its limit but never enough to fully split it and leave a wound. The Gear cells made any injury heal almost as soon as it was made, but it didn’t take away the pain of the initial shift. He could feel another limb pushing against him, a tail that whipped back and forth more on instinct than any intention to move. Ky had never had one before, why would he know how to use it?

Sol tried for a reassuring purr, nuzzling his muzzle against the other man’s face. All it got him was a harsh zap. He paid it no mind.

“It won’t hurt forever.”

Ky panted in exhaustion through staggered breaths. “Kill….kill me…”

“No. I’m not gonna do that.”

The other eye squinted shut as the black scales started to overtake it properly. “Get- get…my sword-”

“Ky, ‘m not-”

“I’ll do it. I-I’ll-”

“I already said. You’re not killing yourself. Just breathe. I know it hurts. You’re almost done.”

It wasn’t true, but Ky needed a comfort, even if it came in the form of a lie. Most of his body had already been consumed, but given how slow it had been so far, there was still more to go.

Ky was offered even less of a reprieve the next time. His whimpers turned throaty and wet. As Sol peered down, the angle of his jaw shifted to the sound of a muffled snap. Ky’s eyes flew open, but his mouth stayed firmly shut. The muscles twitched in place, but the only real movement was coming from his lower face as it started to fully deform.

Twitch. Twitch. The bob of his throat moved up and down, but no sound came out. Were his vocal cords reshaping, or was the sensation just so intense that it had stolen his voice? Ky seemed to notice it as soon as Sol did, and his eyes began to well with noiseless tears.

“Do what I said. Deep breathing.”

The man tried for a timid nod, but he was too wracked with spasms to control much of himself. The ridge of his nose pushed in as he tried to breathe, and the prominence of his jaw pushed out. Even when he didn’t arch, Sol could feel his too-long shoulders brushing against him. None of it was absurdly oversized for a Gear, but it was all too big for Ky.

He fought off a shudder. How strange. This had become so familiar over the decades, but seeing it now, from the perspective of someone new, reminded him of just how horrid the process was. He was grateful it went by so quickly for him.

And it would for Ky, too. Someday. But clearly, that was not today. All there was to do was curl up in a safe, dark space and wrench as much comfort from that, because he would not be finding much comfort anywhere else.

It took several moments for Sol to realize that the peculiar hissing fizzle was the sound of Ky’s tears evaporating as soon as they left his eyes. He looked up at Sol with a look of something like betrayal. There was nowhere else to vent his anger and suffering aside from the man directly across from him.

“It’s okay. It’s almost over.”

His face didn’t soften. Even if it wasn’t twitching and reshaping itself, Sol could tell just from the glint in his eyes that Ky didn’t believe him anymore.

[remyfire]

8. “I can take it.” BEEJMARG

Smut Dialogue Prompts Bless you for indulging our feral rarepair. This is 33% fighting 33% rough sex 33% feelings, as it should be.

"I can take it."

It's objectively hilarious, having this conversation when they're both stripped down to nothing with the sound of the sea coming through the open guest bedroom window in a house that BJ and Peg are still breaking in. He rather thought that breaking it in meant hosting parties, having company, testing the furniture flow of the rooms. Not pounding an old war friend into the mattress.

But Margaret's always been complicated for him, and her stubbornness still knows no bounds. And besides, there's no pounding happening right now either. There's BJ sprawled out on top of her, his weight held off of her form, and Margaret with all four limbs wrapped around him like an octopus, trying to drag him down for what she wants.

BJ's brows lift as he holds her gaze, staring into the sharp blue crystals gleaming at him. "Okay, first of all, this isn't a competition. This isn't a dare. This is—"

"It's you thinking I can't handle you," she counters in that drawling way she has, complete with a little head wiggle that rustles her blonde waves further.

"Are you—" BJ manages to pull away another half-inch, maybe, and gets his hand around his dick in demonstration, giving it a few quick tugs so he's at maximum hardness. "Margaret, have you seen my cock?"

She narrows her eyes. "I've taken a lot of cock before, Hunnicutt."

Even in the midst of his frustration, a little thrill races up his spine. "And as exciting as that might be for me to think about..." He finally breaks out of her hold so he can sit up on his knees. It gives him a better look at her frankly incredible body—soft breasts, shapely waist, pale skin, the thatch of dark hair between her thighs—and he loses track of his thoughts for a moment, only regaining them when he feels her try to reach for his hardness. "No, listen, literally this isn't even about if you can take my cock or not, it's me trying to go slow for this first time, and—"

"It's frankly insulting, the way you're belittling my ability."

"Why are you bringing Frank into this?" he counters.

It works. He sees her fighting tooth and nail not to laugh, not even to smile, but the gleam in her eyes gives her away. "First of all, if you wanted me out of your bed, you could've just said his name in the first place, because that's ruined the mood—"

"Uh-uh." As she makes to slip away, he pins her back down with a hand on her shoulder, a slow smile crossing his lips. "Don't you fucking dare, sweetheart."

"Second of all," she continues, as though she's not flushing from the endearment, "I'm ordering you to take me. Right. Now."

BJ leans down closer, his smile shifting to something more mischievous. "Mm, but you're not my commanding officer anymore, Margaret. And you never will be again."

"But I'm a woman." Her voice goes throaty and rich, all velvet on his bare skin, as she sinks both hands into his hair and gives a tug that has him tipping his head back with a groan. "Wet. Hungry. Begging for your cock. And that's about the same effect, isn't it?"

Regrettably, she has a point. Even just listening to her purr out those words has his heart thudding hard enough to break through his ribs. As she pulls him in by her grip on his locks, he releases a shaky sigh, mouth falling open from that faint searing bit of pain.

She presses her lips right to his ear. "I need you to fuck me, Hunnicutt. I need you to fill me up. Hard. Fast. I need you to make me scream."

The arm holding up his weight starts to shake as he cups the back of her head in turn, fisting in the strands. "If I hurt you—"

"—then I'll thank you for it."

Somehow that's the hottest thing she could've said to him. He's spent his whole life forcing himself to be gentle, aware of how quickly he shot up as an adolescent, how he's towered and outbroadened so many of the other men in his age group. He's fought to resist the natural rhythm of his masculinity, making his movements something seamless and watery and languid so he never makes someone feel threatened unless he wants his presence to land like a fucking bomb.

He's still not sure she's speaking the truth—that she's not just being stubborn—but suddenly he wants very much to find out.

All at once, he explodes, breaking out of her hold with ease as he sits back up and uses the hand in her hair to start flipping her over. His other fingers dig into her hip, tossing her onto her belly, and before she even has time to cry out in surprise, he grabs her by the waist and yanks her so her ass is against his cock, her cheek still on the sheets.

They were ready for this. He's already got his condom on, already slicked himself with lube just to be perfectly sure she'd be ready for him. "You asked for it," he murmurs as he guides himself forward, presses just the head of his dick against her heat, then takes a quick breath to steel himself before he thrusts inside of her.

"Fuck!" Margaret slaps her hand on the mattress, then yanks up a fistful of it with a sharp groan. "I know that's not all you've got, Hunnicutt, come on—"

She's absolutely out of her mind. He sinks as deep as he can go, balls pressing against her slick lips, and can't help but let out a quick, rough chuckle. "You tell me if I need to stop—"

"Go!" she demands with a glare over her shoulder.

Not for the first time, he is absolutely certain he's falling in love with her. The thought makes him smirk as he grabs her by the hair and gives it a tight pull to silence her just before he begins fucking her in earnest.

And, Jesus Christ, she's responsive as hell. He always had a notion that a woman as mouthy as her would carry it right over into the bedroom, but the way she moans unabashedly stokes a roaring fire in his gut. Maybe she's just like him, still addicted to the thrill that there's no thin canvas that she has to hide her pleasure from. Hell, maybe it's just the realization that this is finally happening, that they get to have each other.

There's something devastatingly hot about how Peg is just on the other side of the beach house too, no doubt buried in a book, trying not to smile at the sounds coming down the hall. If he knows his wife at all, she's absolutely going to set it aside and let her fingers slip under her nightgown, rub herself off to the sounds of them ruining each other.

It unlocks something further inside of him, thinking that there might even be a night where, if this happens again, she might wander down the hall to watch. To taste. To take.

A man shouldn't get to have this much in life.

He sinks his short nails into Margaret's hip, eating up her answering cry, drinking in the sight of the marks he's leaving there. "Fuck, I've needed you," he growls, barely able to get the words out. "D'you know how good you feel?"

"God, BJ..." His name gets swallowed up in a sharp moan as he pulls her hard by the hair, and he watches as her hand flies out of sight, under her body, between her legs.

He hadn't planned for what hearing his name—not his surname, his fucking name—out of her lips would do to him. He fights the urge to pull her in for a tender kiss, keeps himself focused on the path of ruining her little by little. "Say it again. Say it while you're coming on my fucking cock, Margaret."

"Oh, fuck, fuck." She sounds almost frenzied, like a maenad who's lost complete control of herself, like she's nothing but a vessel for sensation and ecstasy. "I'm gonna come, BJ—"

"That's it, that's it, give it to me, right fucking now."

He barely gets the last word out before she's almost screaming for him—"Fuck, BJ!"—and as she thrashes under him, he holds her down with his body, sinks his teeth into her shoulder, and moans sharply in response. He fucks her through it, not letting up, chasing his own release as she tightens around him.

It's when she reaches for his hair in turn and twists her neck so she can kiss him bruisingly that he comes, overwhelmed by the taste and the feel of her.

It takes him a long moment to realize that he's trembling, overadrenalized, and BJ gives in and rolls them over so he can turn her so they're chest to chest. He holds her so tightly to him, he's almost stunned they're both still able to breathe.

"Fuck," Margaret whispers, petting through his hair in a way that settles him fast, bringing him right back down to earth. "My word." She laughs. "I hoped you had that in you."

"Yeah? I didn't...hurt you, did I?"

"Hunnicutt, please, I feel like a new woman."

"No, no," he whispers. He cups her face gently in his hands and lifts her head so he can stare into her eyes. "Please. My name?"

Her expression goes through a wild array of interesting shifts, settling on something open and tender. He can't help but wonder how many other people have had the privilege of seeing how she softens all at once, lines and muscles loosening until she's barely more than a young girl, still filled with dreams and hopes, untouched by war.

She thumbs over his cheek in a familiar way—one he's used so often on Peg—and her voice is as gentle as a sprinkling rain when she speaks. "BJ."

He melts. There's just something about how her voice shapes those two letters that tells him everything he needs to know about how she feels. That there's no rush. There's no demands or expectations. There's just them, gently washed over by the sound of the sea, warmed by each other, happy to take her week-long visit as it comes and see what happens.

"Margaret," he whispers right back with a slow smile. And when she melts in turn, he guides her back in for a languid, unhurried kiss, utterly content.