#playing at fear just for the sake of clinging together

[lydia-too-late]

(Another) Desert Vignette

Tula is looking up at the sky, squinting at the stars through tissue-paper clouds, the atmosphere gone faint hellfire above the distant city lights, a rolling-Earth harbinger of terrible orange-red. One may think the wildfires won. One may think of calamity. One may think: Three hours until certain death.

The suburbs dissolve beneath their feet as they venture farther from San Narciso. Out here, the scrubby hills and city repose together on the landscape. Slums somewhere, too, sloughing off the edges of everything.

"We could just run." Silk scuffs their boots. They inhale just to snort. "Hay unos veinte kilómetros, algo así. Maybe we even make it back." A leathersounding shrug. "That's a joke."​

In the moonlight, Silk's lashes cast heavy shadows over their eyes. She follows the darkness to the hollow beneath their cheekbones, between their parted lips, behind their tongue. She touches the bite marks on her wrists. Red, raw and open, glistening, but they don't bleed. They don't hurt.

The desert is always half dream. In the distance, a coyote screams into the night's silence and rouses a chorus, offering their unearthly din to the moon's slow descent. She's seen Luna there before: the tall, whip-thin silhouette on a distant hill, surrounded by her pack. But not tonight. We could just run. One of Tula's fingertips presses into her wound, splitting it obscenely open. It does not bleed, but it hurts.

(She shrugs, not-quite-smiling. "I'm sure there's a car trunk somewhere along the way…")

Her throat feels tight. She lifts her wrist to her lips, tonguing the puncture like a child, an animal. The warm, saltmetal taste sits on the tip of her tongue.

Silk is looking at her, all sleepy eyes and strange, hard beauty. Tula is looking at them too, eyes wide and rich-girl hungry above her wrist. Their jacket has fallen open, framing a starved waist and soft hips. The bones of their sternum between the halter's illusion of breasts. The excruciating shadow of hair trailing several inches below their navel. The profanity of their shorts, the way they pull tight around their hips and thighs. She wants to push them down to the ground. Make them say her name. Make them moan her name. Make them say it, say it…

Tula jerks herself back; her wrist falls away guiltily. "Just hungry," she dismisses the moment, shrugging like Silk shrugged, her shame hidden with a scowl. They could never outrun it, neither one of them.

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen help their s/o who's scared of the dark

requested by @klmllr ! sorry for getting to this so late </3

PLEASE REMEMBER TO REBLOG WHAT YOU LIKE ‼️

masterlist

seungcheol

puffs his chest out and squares up like he's about to fight the shadows to protect you when you tell him you're scared of the dark. very much goes into “dw babe, i’ll keep you safe” mode. all the lights in his house are voice controlled, so all you have to do is yell “turn on the [insert room] lights” and they'll automatically turn on for u so u don't have to wander around his house in the darkness. and when the power goes out at night, he's totally more than ready to have you cling to him like a koala bear for the entire time until you feel relaxed enough to fall asleep in his arms

jeonghan

you're scared of the dark? like, actually actually scared of the dark? he's not making fun of u, it's just that this means he can't play any pranks on u by going “boo!” in the middle of the night like he wanted to :( it's no fun when you're actually terrified, yk? he's actually super good at helping u thru power outages. tells you silly stories to take your mind off the dark, and has a whole drawer in his bedside table full of torches and extra batteries ready at his disposal to provide you with some light so ur not too afraid. 

joshua

never ever ever leaves ur side in the evening when you're together. like even if you're walking down the street after a date and it's actually quite a well-lit main road, he's not letting go of ur hand at all and sticks vvv close to your side. he's not going to leave you for one second, no sir, not him. power outages at his house are never a big deal, because he has so many fairy lights strung up and candles and battery-powered lamps at the ready to light up your life so you're not left in the dark. never let it be said that joshua hong is an inattentive boyfriend. 

junhui

you sheepishly admit that you're kind of embarrassed to still be scared of the dark even after so many years, and he just blinks at u bc. what. that's a totally valid fear to have. who knows what could be hiding in the dark??? he does his best to rid you of your fears tho, encouraging u to talk thru your thoughts with him as you lie together in bed, the door cracked open only the slightest bit. his nonsensical reasoning and the way he manages to reshape all the dark creatures in ur mind into silly and cute shapes really does help you calm down. 

hoshi

you're scared of the dark????? nooo wait that's actually so cute :(((( pls he actually can't take this wdym ur fear is the dark??? that's the cutest thing ever </3. kinda just thinks that's super adorable of u tbh. you complain that it sounds like he's making fun of u but he rly doesn't mean it like that!!!!! it's just so cute that out of all the phobias in the world, what you're most scared of is. blackness. you pinch him for saying that bc hey >:(( it's a real and valid fear ok. he gets it tho and when it gets super dark, he's always the one to cling to you first to reassure u he's there for u

wonwoo

dw about it baby. he makes enough money that you can leave all the lights on 24/7 so don't even fret over that for a second, okay? ‘most prepared bf’ award has to go to him because not only does he buy lamps, torches, fairylights etc etc in case of a power outage, but he also invests in solar panels and energy storage electric battery banks so he always has energy spare to power some lights so you never have to sit in the dark. he's the light of your life, literally, bc you never have to worry about the darkness when he's near

woozi

pretends to not be scared of the dark for ur sake but man. sometimes it's really hard. he totally understands ur fear of the darkness and while he's cringing in fear on the inside, he stays gentle and calm for u, taking you through breathing exercises and offering to show u what he's working on on his laptop to take both your minds off of ur fears. however, strangely enough, being with you has helped his fear of the dark begin to lessen also. as he becomes more focused on taking care of you, his own terror seems to melt away, as he focuses only on you and how to make you feel better. 

minghao

switches on all the lamps, puts in a classical music cassette into his cassette player, hauls you to your feet and starts dancing with you across the living room to take your mind off any fears you may be having. teaches you silly little dance steps bc having to concentrate on learning choreo means your brain doesn't have time to start conjuring imaginary fears. not when minghao's hand is warm in yours and his voice is soft and all you can feel is his guiding touch as he directs you to move with the music. it's terribly romantic, really. only minghao could turn your fear into the sweetest memory of all. 

mingyu

you've never told him about ur fear of the dark before so when the power cut happens, you scream super loud. this prompts mingyu to scream too, making you scream again, and then he screams also and then you scream too, going round in a cycle until you're shaking with fear and are too scared to scream. scaredy cat mingyu x you who's scared of the dark is a terrible combo, but he eventually calms down, turns on his flashlight and makes his way over to u, apologising profusely. makes sure he's always prepared for the next power outage so u guys never have to have an impromptu screaming match again

dokyeom

oh no :(((( dw sweetheart he's there to help u thru any worries u have!! lowkey understands your fear of the dark very well bc like. who knows what can be hiding in the pitch black darkness?? has sooo many of those battery powered lamps at his disposal already but when you moved in with him, the amount only increased bc like hell is he not gonna be The Most Prepared Boyfriend Ever. scoops you up in his arms and sings softly to u to take ur mind off the darkness when the power goes out. he's so warm, and you can feel the vibrations when he sings, and it's so comforting that you actually end up falling asleep against him

seungkwan

tbh he's kinda scared of the dark too, especially when it's the kind of pitch blackness that comes with a power outage, so he totally gets u. the two of you huddle together in the middle of the bed, blankets pulled tight around you, pretending that you're not shaking with fear. fortunately, though, the experience is always marginally better bc seungkwan is by your side — even though he's shaking like a leaf, he's still warm and grounding against you, and you just know that it would feel 10x more terrifying if you didn't have him here. 

vernon

buys you different shaped night lights every year on your birthday as a way of showing his support for u. they inhabit different areas of the house and act as like guiding lights for u whenever the power goes out. the crescent moon shaped one sits on your bedside table; the glowing, spinning globe resides in the living room; the squishy lying-down goose is splayed out in the study. even tho they're a pain to turn off bc every single one of them is battery powered with the tiny switches that hurt his hands to get to, he makes sure to diligently do so once you've fallen asleep so the battery lasts til the next day so u can use them again

chan

helps you through your fear of the dark by loudly talking to you about anything and everything he can think of as he hugs you tight. it certainly provides good enough distraction, bc his voice is so animated and captivating that u can't pay attention to anything else apart from what he's saying. it only occurs to him a long while later that he can, like. buy lights. to help you. and he doesn't have to help just by talking loudly to u in the dark. almost buys out the entire lights section in ikea before seungkwan stops him and tells him to just get the highest wattage bulbs he can find

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[captain-huggy-bear]

Going to break my heart and everyone else's. I cried writing this. I'm not okay. Requests are open for specific people only, please see my pinned post for details :) Writing Masterlist

"I don't want you to go..."

You launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around him tight like if you hold on hard enough, long enough he won't have to pack his bags to get on a flight out to Buffalo tonight. Like if you hold him hard enough both teams will change their mind and let him stay in Utah, where he belongs. Like you are the one thing that's able, capable of doing the impossible.

"It'll be okay..." Michael's choked up, but you can tell he's trying to be brave for your sake, arms wrapping around you just as tight as you start to cry into his chest because he's going...because he's supposed to be here with you and now he's going to Buffalo and you don't know when you'll see him next. It might be that you see him next when he's playing against his best friends like all of the past few years never even mattered. You hate this. You hate the teams for making this decision, for putting him through it, for putting you through it...

"I...I don't want you to go, you belong here. With the team, with the guys...with me." Maybe it's the quiver in your voice, maybe it's the sobs that you can't stop letting out, the hiccupped breaths or maybe it's the way you cling to him like he's going to disappear. Whatever it is, it breaks that last hint of resolve Michael has, his next words heavy with tears, droplets falling down onto the top of your head like the splatter of rain.

"I...I don't want to go either...fuck, baby...I don't have a choice."

Both of you hold each other like that, sobbing in the other's arms for what must be at least half an hour. He's crying, you're crying, clinging to each other even as you both find yourself folded over each other on the floor, unable to hold yourselves up any long through the weight of your tears.

"I'm scared...You're gonna forget me." Your forehead presses into his shoulder but it's real, the fear, the feeling like he's going to go to Buffalo, make new friends, find a new family, find a new girl...and you'll be left behind as cold as the mountains outside your window.

Michael pulls back from you, hands cupping your face and forcing you to look at him. Big brown eyes red rimmed and wet, cheeks blotchy from his crying, brown strands of hair falling cross his forehead, even like that he's perfect, he's beautiful.

"Never." Voice so serious, almost stern like if he tells you harsh enough you'll believe him, "You're it for me. I'll come back every holiday and we'll spend all the off-season together and...and you can come join me at some point? Right?" He's so hopeful because God, Michael hates this. He hates that he and Josh are being moved, upped from everything they know to somewhere else. He hates that he's leaving his best friends. His hockey family. He hates that he's leaving you...and he hates that he has to get on a plane in a matter of hours, that there's no time for you both to process, to deal with it. He's living his dream, but all dreams can turn into nightmares sometimes.

"I..."

"I know your job is here and everything and...but I want you with me, baby, even if it's in 3 years or 5 or 10." He'll wait, he can wait. He'll do the long distance thing...as long as he knows at the end of it the two of you will be together again.

"Okay..." and the truth is you'd drop everything for Michael. A new state. A new life. A new everything, just as long as you had him. Just so long as you didn't have to spend your entire life waiting for the few moments you could see him.

"I love you. No trade is going to change that, you understand that?" Thumbs wipe at the wet tracks across your cheeks, press gently under your red rimmed eyes and tap against the snotty tip of your nose.

"Yeah...yeah, I love you, Michael, you know that?"

"Yeah, baby, I know." His forehead presses to yours and maybe neither of you are okay right now, maybe it feels like your heart is breaking, but it's going to be okay...because you still have him, no matter how far away he is. He's yours, he loves you and you love him and you're both choosing this, choosing to make it work even if you're miles and miles away from each other.

It'll be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, it'll be okay.

[charliedawn]

hello...if ur taking requests can you do the Hannibals reacting to an S/O who comforts the Hannibals? Like they've just had a bad day and the S/O realized this so she comforts them? If your not taking requests nor if your okay with this request ignore it. Have a good day thank you

Hannibal Lecter Sr. (1991)

Hannibal Sr. prides himself on being in control—of his temper, his emotions, his entire world. But on the rare day when something goes wrong—a failed plan, a disrespectful colleague, a reminder of something too painful—he grows quiet.

When you approach, perhaps with a hand brushing his shoulder or just silently offering tea, he watches you carefully. When you wordlessly sit beside him, letting him speak if he chooses to or not at all, his expression softens. He doesn’t say thank you, but he pulls you close and rests his hand over yours.

Later, once the moment has passed, he will repay your kindness in the most deliberate of ways: a lavish dinner, your favorite wine (or drink), or a long look that says “You see me—and I see you.”

Hannibal Lecter Jr. (2013)

He tries to pretend he’s fine—more for your sake than his. His calm exterior doesn’t crack easily, but the signs are there: he chops vegetables more violently, he forgets to play his harpsichord, or he stands too still for too long.

When you gently pull him away from his routine, guiding him to the couch or just invite him with a soft “Talk to me, or don’t. Just let me be here,” he exhales slowly, like he’d been holding his breath all day.

He might quietly rest his forehead against yours or lean into your touch. And later, in bed or by candlelight, he’ll murmur, “You calm the storms I don’t even speak of, love. Thank you.”

He’ll never forget that.

Morgan Hannibal

Morgan handles stress like a soldier—quiet, closed-off, focused on work, work, work. He doesn’t realize he’s been cold or distant until you break his rhythm with a simple gesture: wrapping your arms around him from behind or whispering “How about you tell me what’s bothering you and we can find a solution together, hmm ?”

He might freeze at first, but when you stay, calm and warm, his arms will eventually circle around you. “Yes. That sounds reasonable.”

Kevin Hannibal

Kevin’s bad days are loud. His art doesn’t come out right, someone criticized his work, or he got into a screaming match with one of the others. When he sulks or lashes out, he expects you to leave him alone—everyone else does.

But you don’t. Instead, you approach carefully, maybe with his sketchpad or a warm meal. “You don’t have to talk. Just let me sit here with you.” That completely disarms him. His anger doesn’t know what to do with gentle love.

“Shit,” he’d whisper, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at everything but you. “Okay. Hum…Sure. If you want. It’s whatever...” And he’d lean into you, letting you hold him as the storm dies down. Later, he’d sketch you quietly, trying to capture the exact shape of your kindness. He won’t be able to.

Peter Hannibal

Peter is terrible at hiding when he’s upset. Teary, fidgety, jumpy—he either isolates or spirals. When you walk in and immediately see something’s wrong, he expects judgment, maybe even fear.

But instead, you cup his face, wipe away the tears, and whisper, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to be okay right now.”

He melts. Immediately.

He clings to you like a drowning man, sobbing into your shoulder. “You always make it stop hurting,” he whispers between hiccups. Later, he won’t let go of your hand—even while brushing his teeth or making dinner. Actually, he expect him to cling to you even in bed. He will just wrap his arms and legs around you and tell you goodnight and just…sleep. He’s got attachment issues.

[genderlessdude92]

IT’S OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY

PAIRING: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: In a tranquil meadow near Cannibal Town, Alastor, the Radio Demon, returns to the sanctuary he shares with his beloved y/n, seeking solace from his chaotic life. Upon finding y/n in a state of distress and in the middle of harming herself, he realizes the depth of her pain and the hidden struggles she's been enduring. Through gentle support and heartfelt conversations, Alastor reassures y/n of his unwavering love and commitment, promising to face their challenges together.

WARNINGS: MAJORR ANGST but a really fluffy ending :3, established relationship, a little bit ooc alastor idk, usage of y/n, depression, self harm, mental health struggles, emotional distress, suicidal thoughts, graphic descriptions, mature themes, but all in all a happy ending! short for my mental sake :D

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.<

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

In the quaint, otherworldly meadow that lay a stone's throw from the bustling Cannibal Town, there stood a house. This house, with its whimsical architecture and warm, inviting glow, was the sanctuary of Alastor, the Radio Demon, and his beloved, y/n. It was a place where the chaos of the Hotel was left behind, replaced by the gentle whispers of the zephyrs that danced through the tall grass and the soft hum of distant demonic activities. The walls were adorned with an eclectic mix of macabre art and personal mementos, a testament to their shared love of the unconventional.

On this particular day, Alastor had managed to carve out some much-needed time from his hectic schedule at the Hotel. The burden of managing the unruly work and maintaining a semblance of order in the underworld had weighed heavily upon him, and he craved the comfort of his partner's embrace. He strolled through the meadow, his dear shadow following behind him, and approached the house with a smile, as always, playing at the corners of his lips. The door creaked open, and he called out, his voice echoing through the stillness, "Y/N, my dear, I'm home!"

Silence greeted him. The house felt eerily empty, the air thick with a tension that was as palpable as the absence of his lover's presence. He stepped into the living room, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of life. The couch was untouched, the books on the shelf undisturbed, and the radio flickered with static.

He made his way to the kitchen, half-expecting to find y/n lost in thought over a cup of tea, but it was as vacant as the rest of the house. His heart sank.

He knew she had been struggling lately, her depression clinging to her like a second skin, and he feared that her inner turmoil had taken a darker turn.

But, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Maybe she’s just napping or taking a bath, he reassured himself.

Walking down the hallway, the floorboards groaned under his weight, as if sharing his anxiety. He reached their shared bedroom, his heart racing. The door was ajar, and a sliver of soft light peeked through, casting a warm glow across the floor. He pushed it open, his eyes searching the room.

There she was, curled up on the bed, her back to the door. The sight of her brought a wave of relief, until he saw the fresh scars on her arms and thighs. His breath caught in his throat, a silent scream of pain and anger at the sight of her suffering. She hadn't moved since he'd called out, and the quiet was deafening.

Alastor's shadow grew more pronounced, reaching out towards her, a silent plea for her to turn around. When she finally did, her eyes were red and swollen, a stark contrast to the pale, almost ethereal glow of her skin. The room grew colder, the air heavy with her sadness. She looked at him with a mix of guilt and fear, as if she'd been caught in the act of something unforgivable.

"I didn't mean for you to find out," she whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "I just... I couldn't help it."

Alastor felt his heart break into a million pieces. He stepped closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. His voice was calm, soothing, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his soul. "…Why would you hide this from me, dear?"

That’s when y/n broke. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to shield her own body from his gaze. "I didn't want to be a burden," she choked out. "I know you have enough to deal with at the Hotel. I just... I don’t want you to hate me for being weak." She sobbed, her body convulsing with each painful word.

Alastor's shadow retreated, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. He sat down beside her, his hand reaching out to gently touch her cheek. "I could never hate you," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. "You are the light in my eternal darkness. Your strength is in your ability to keep fighting, even when it seems there's no hope."

He wrapped an arm around her shuddering form, pulling her close so he could plant a soft kiss to her forehead. "You are not a burden," he whispered fiercely. "You are the reason I wake up every day, the reason I continue to fight. I love you, y/n, with every fiber of my being, and nothing will ever change that."

Her sobs grew louder, and she buried her face in his chest, her hands clutching at his shirt. He held her tightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her back as he rocked her gently. The room was a cocoon of sorrow, but within it, there was a silent promise of understanding and support.

"You can tell me anything," Alastor murmured, his voice barely audible above her cries. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

Y/n took a shaky breath, her voice muffled against his chest. "I know," she said, her words tinged with despair. "But what if one day you just can't handle it anymore?"

Alastor froze. He knew the gravity of her question, the deep-rooted fear that had compelled her to hide her pain from him. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, stroking her hair tenderly once more. "Y/n," he began, his voice firm yet gentle, "I will always handle it. You are the one I want to be with, no matter what demons or angels you- no, we will have to face."

He leaned back to look into her eyes, willing her to see the sincerity behind his words. "I know you're hurting, and I can't pretend to understand the depth of your pain. But I can be here, every step of the way, to support you, to listen, and to help you heal." His hand slid down to gently grasp hers, turning it over to reveal the new scars. "These don't define you," he said, his voice a whisper. "You are so much more than this."

Her gaze fell to their intertwined fingers, the stark contrast of his warm, golden skin against hers a stark reminder of the barriers she felt between them. "But what if I can't stop?" she asked, the question hanging in the air like a specter.

Alastor's grip tightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "We'll find a way together," he assured her. "I won't let you go through this alone."

He lifted her chin with his free hand, his eyes searching hers for any hint of belief. "Look at me," he urged, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "You are not alone. I am here, and I will always be here.”

Y/n's gaze was a tumultuous sea of doubt and pain, but there was a flicker of hope that grew stronger with each passing moment. "Promise?" she whispered, her voice a shaky plea.

"I promise," he said solemnly, leaning in to kiss her again, this time with a gentle firmness that spoke of his unwavering dedication to her.

They sat there for a while longer, wrapped in the quiet comfort of their shared embrace. The shadows in the room danced in the fading light, but the love between them remained steadfast, a beacon that pierced through the gloom.

As the sobs subsided, Alastor began to talk again, his voice low and calming. He shared his own experiences with pain and loneliness, the moments that had driven him to his darkest corners. He spoke of his regret for the sins of his past, and the solace he had found in her love.

He told her about the Hotel, the chaos that was his daily life, and how her presence made it all seem bearable. "You're not just my partner," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're my sanity, my reason to keep going."

Her eyes searched his, and she could see the truth in every word. Slowly, she unfurled from her protective ball, allowing his warmth to seep into her very bones. She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, her breathing evening out.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Alastor murmured after a long silence. He stood, pulling her with him. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he led her to the bathroom, filling the tub with warm water and adding a soothing scent that reminded her of their first date.

Together, they washed away the physical evidence of her pain, his touch tender as he helped her into the tub. He sat beside her, not saying a word, his presence a silent promise that he would be there for her, no matter what.

As the water turned pink with the remnants of her self-inflicted torment, she felt a weight lifting from her. It wasn't gone, not entirely, but it was lighter. With each ripple of the water, she felt a piece of her anguish being carried away.

When they emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and clean, the sun had set, leaving a soft, velvety darkness in its wake. Alastor led her back to the bed, now made up with fresh linens, and tucked her in. He laid beside her, holding her close, his wings wrapping around them like a protective blanket.

Their conversation grew quiet, their hearts beating in sync. They talked about their fears, their hopes, and their love for one another. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, y/n felt truly seen, truly understood.

And as they drifted off to sleep— well, maybe just y/n because Alastor usually just watches her— the shadows of the room grew less menacing, the silence less oppressive. In the quiet of the night, wrapped in the warmth of Alastor's embrace, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she could face another day without the comfort of her destructive habits.

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END NOTES: HIII!!! This is, erm, not like the other fics i write, but i like comforting the community soooo if you struggle with these things, this one is for you!!! I originally wrote this for myself after an ‘episode’, but i feel like this one can be comforting to others as i said before. If you ever need somebody to talk to and are struggling with any of these things, please contact, like text or call, the number 988! i love you guys, goodnight!

-Lynn Lazybones

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[delopsia]

Please [Rewrite] | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 9,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, begging, handjobs, teasing, grinding in public, riding, unprotected sex, surprise orgasms. Cock warming and edging if you squint. Brief Summary: Getting Rhett to beg isn't as easy as it's cracked up to be.

It's not easy to break down a man like Rhett Abbott.

The kind of blue-collar man who has only ever known one way of life, maybe two, if he's lucky. Expected to be tough from the moment he took his first breath; raised to forget emotion in favor of building up a mountainous, rocky exterior that does not give way when the west wind blows. Thick-skinned and with a backbone made of steel, the kind of man who can roll with the punches but carries just enough humanity to avoid coming off as soulless or dull. 

So strong, yet so afraid of the word 'weak'.  His power, his dominance, clutched tight in an iron fist, never to be let go of, even for a second. Too used to this one way of life that he fears the slightest hint of an unknown, of losing control, getting himself hurt, and being stripped of the precious title of being a man. 

And it's small towns like Wabang that will forever cry about such nonsensical ways of living for the sake of tradition. A place trained to think that change—that weakness is always a bad thing. 

So many generations of passing along crippling expectations have led you to this. 

Here. Gazing into the wide, frightened eyes of a cowboy who has long since tucked himself into the far side of your couch like a cornered animal. 

"Absolutely fuckin' not," you wonder if he knows how pitchy his voice has grown within the past thirty seconds. "I ain't...that's—what kind of man do y' take me for?"

A man who's too horny to be so vanilla, but that's neither here nor there.

Your eyes dart to your laptop screen, still paused on the video that sent him into this downward spiral in the first place, then back up to his pale face. "It's not that bad in the grand scheme of things." And you're about to follow that up with a list of worse suggestions, but he doesn't give you the chance to.

"I ain't beggin' to cum," he blurts it like he won't be able to say no if he doesn't get it out of his mouth quick enough.

Curious, your head tilts to the side. "Not even once?" 

"No. That's..." hesitating. Hasn't gotten to think that far, gears twisting and turning in his head as he searches for the words he wants to say, "It's demeanin'. That's what it is."

You suppose you can guess what his reaction to toy handcuffs would be. 

The conversation drops just as quickly as it was started with closing up your laptop and pressing play on the movie that you've long since forgotten about. Resuming that same steamy scene, the main character grinning at the way her love interest's face contorts as she squeezes him at his base, denying him what she's just worked him up to.

"Say please," she whispers, so eloquently and feather-light that it sticks in your head. 

But you can hardly pay attention because, in the corner of your eye, you've caught him. 

Those ocean-blue eyes have long since fixated on the screen. Shameless. Doesn't realize you've caught the way his cock twitches in his sweats, hand curling into a shaky fist. Clinging to a composure that you've only seen him lose when he's had one too many at the bar. 

...so that's how it's going to be. 

Alright, two can play this game. 

Or maybe you're the only one who's playing because Rhett seems to forget the conversation before the night is over. Blissfully unaware of the plan that's formulating in the back of your mind. Bits and pieces of thoughts and memories coming together to build a grand scheme so elaborate that you catch yourself taking notes on your phone.

And so what if you let him bend you over the kitchen counter when you know full well that your plan explicitly involves denying him sex out of hopes of him getting desperate? You needed the refresher on what makes him tick. 

Starting out slow is the key to flying below Rhett's radar. Observant to a fault, so sensitive to change that he notices the tiny, inconspicuous things, like that time your thermostat was set a degree higher than normal. All you had done was accidentally hit the button one too many times, but there he came, kissing up the back of your neck as he asked if you were cold.

So it's a fine line that you straddle when you begin to take up extra shifts at work. Offhandedly telling him that one of your co-workers is pregnant and needs the help. It's not a total lie. You just...happen to be leaving out the fact that she's only three months along. 

And so what if you start spending more time with your friends? Always seeming to be wrapped up in a new outing that leaves you too sleepy to entertain the sweet cowboy who grinds up against your ass. His lips peppering across every inch of exposed skin he can find, three-day-old scruff tickling you. 

"You sure you're feelin' alright?" He murmurs, and you can't see him, but you can feel the way his eyebrows furrow, laced with a concern that you've seen too many times recently. "Y've been tired all week."

Oh, oh, oh, you shouldn't have looked down. 

Had only been meaning to avoid meeting his eye in the mirror, but now you've found yourself fixated on the forearms that have long since wrapped around your waist. Rippling muscles and protruding veins, putting on a mouth-watering show, all for you. 

"Haven't been sleeping well, I suppose," your weight shifts, leaning back into that familiar, firm chest, tilting your head until your cheek bumps into his. 

The entire point of this plan is to string him out until he's desperate. So worked up and needy that rationality and higher thinking go out the window, too focused on getting what he's craving that he doesn't care about how. The same kind of tunnel vision that he gets when he climbs on the back of a bull fixated on the title, the infamy, the belt buckle that comes with winning the Amelia County Finals. 

But God, settling for toys after he leaves your house just isn't the same as the real thing. 

And maybe that's why you don't stop yourself from pressing your ass against him. 

Can't stop. 

A soft grinding backward that has him twitching up into you, hard cock straining against the thin material of his sweats. Firm. Dripping. All for you to feel and gasp at. Giving in to him one time can't hurt.

Yeah...yeah, one time isn't all that bad. 

"Thought y' were tired," that sinful, hot mouth presses wet kisses at the juncture of your jaw, where it meets your neck. Has long since figured out that it'll make your knees wobble if he does it right. "Not that 'm complainin'."

Your socks slip against the tile floor as you spin in his arms. Noses bumping into one another. So close that you can spot the vague constellations of freckles hidden along his pale face. Not quite as expansive as the ones on his shoulders, but just as marvelous. 

The open palm of your hand flattens against him, blatantly cupping him through his sweats, "I guess it's up to you to keep me from falling asleep then."

Those long eyelashes flutter. Each pass over his iris leaves them a shade darker, shifting like a mood ring. The corner of his lip rises, a chipped canine tooth glinting in the light, "think I can help y' with that." 

You don't make it to the bedroom, finding yourself bent over the arm of the couch as your oversized cowboy fucks you from behind. His thighs trembling against yours, grunting into your ear. So, so sensitive from your lack of rendezvous. You're getting somewhere with him. Making progress. Grinding him down to a neediness that overrides the thoughts drilled into his pretty head. 

But oh, is it difficult. 

Getting out of bed the next morning had might as well be the worst thing you've ever done. Because as soon as you turn around, toothbrush in your mouth as you peek into the bedroom, you meet a pair of sweet blue eyes. Big hands open, fingers wiggling as he tries to lure you back into his arms, tucked up against his naked body. 

"Come back," he whines, squinting to see you through the blinding bathroom light, "'m cold."

You've still got to get yourself dressed and ready to go out; you've got festival plans and friends that will badger you to no end if you cancel on them for the second year in a row. But your sweet cowboy provides such a convincing argument when a yawn breaks across his face, still trying to beckon you back into bed.

"I promised I wouldn't cancel this year," you don't know if you're justifying it to yourself or him, maybe both. "I'm sorry." 

The corners of his eyes fall, almost pouting. Like a puppy who's just been kicked, those big eyes drop down to the bed. Only to flicker back up at you, some insistent spark of hope glinting across his face, "five more minutes?"

...oh, what the hell. 

"Five more minutes," you repeat, and this time, you know you're directing them toward yourself. 

Because Rhett Abbott's arms are like velcro. Nearly impossible to escape once he's curled them around you, securing you to his broad chest as he subjects you to a flurry of thank-you kisses peppered across your cheeks. So soft and ticklish, the kind that has you squirming and dodging his incessant mouth.

As quickly as it starts, it ends. Settling into a comfortable silence as Rhett nuzzles his cold nose against your forehead, absolutely determined to steal your body heat away from you. His icy fingers dancing up and down your back, tracing idle shapes into the skin there. Any colder, and you think he might start getting icicles in his hair. 

And it's only October. Winter isn't even in full swing yet.

"You're so busy anymore," he whispers, not quite meeting your eye, "ain't got to cuddle in forever."

Your hand tangles through his hair, unable to avoid acknowledging the way he nudges into your touch, "I'm sorry." 

On its own, your mind wanders. Unleashed, free to roam the possibilities and what ifs. Whether this whole shtick of yours is even worth it or not. If sitting him down and getting to the bottom of his fear is what you should actually be doing. If he would even listen or if he would fly into another stonewalled panic.

And then there are your plans. You've been jittering over the thought of this festival for weeks, but you've missed these arms, this man, even more. Him, the sweet kiss he's pressing to your forehead and the muscles that ripple as he pulls you closer. Like he'll be able to keep you here forever if he tries hard enough. 

"Do you want to come with us?" You mutter, after a moment, or twelve. 

His eyebrows rise, forehead wrinkling with it. "Hm?"

"To the festival, I mean," you're pretty sure you can already hear the answer; he's never been much for these types of events. Not the type to peruse through shops and look at things that you don't technically need. 

Blue eyes dart across your face, searching for something. Or maybe he's thinking, considering. "Well, I ain't got nothin' else planned," he says after a moment. 

Inviting him goes against every bit of meticulous planning you've done these past few weeks. Completely uproots the purpose of your scheme and turns it on its head. But for some reason, you can't bring yourself to be worried about it in the slightest. Holding his big hand as you walk out to your car like it was always meant to work out this way.

Even as you settle behind the steering wheel, fumbling with your keys, the only thing you feel is giddy. 

The car shakes as Rhett all but falls into the passenger seat. Knees knocking into the dash. 

"Holy shit," he swears, legs awkwardly propped against the glove compartment. The seat far too far forward for his stature, quite nearly folding him in half. "Was your last passenger a gnome?"

Over his shoulder, you think you can see his hat sitting on the ground. Knocked clean off his head.

"How many times are you gonna do this before you learn to quit falling into my car?" Your eyes roll on their own accord, twisting the key in the ignition. You've long since lost count of how many times he's done this, foolishly tossing himself into the seat without bothering to check if he's big enough to fit. 

"Dunno," the seat groans as Rhett pushes it as far back as it'll go, freeing himself of his self-made prison. "How many more times are you fixin' to be a gnome chauffeur?"

At least your car doesn't have a busted side mirror from a bar fight, but you'll be saving that comment for another time.

A part of you isn't entirely sure why Rhett agreed to come to this festival. He said he didn't have anything else to do, sure, but if that's the case, then he would have tagged along to a lot, lot more invitations. So what gives? Is he lonely? Longing for the tranquility of being by your side?

Or did he just want to stare at your ass this entire time? 

You can feel him. Heated gaze locked onto your backside as you meander through booth after booth like he'll miss something crucial if he tears his gaze away for too long. Thick arms crossed in front of his chest, biceps straining against his white t-shirt, and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Looks like he just walked out of a damn magazine. 

But he always looks like he just walked out of a magazine, and he's looked you over with that hungry gaze so many times that it shouldn't make your knees wobble. Weakened just by his sheer presence, and it's not fair. 

This wasn't a part of your plan at all. He's the one who's supposed to be so eager and desperate that he throws reason out the window. But instead, it's you who is considering pushing him up against the trunk of this Oak tree, dropping to your knees, and sucking him off right in the middle of this festival. Uncaring of the greedy eyes and unwitting ears who may become witness to it.  

You don't quite recall picking up this knick-knack, a ceramic cow, pink and white in color, and missing one of her legs. It's cold in your palm, just enough to draw you from your stupor, brushing away the heated clouds fogging your thoughts.

If you're aching, then surely he is, too. His sex drive has always been a smidgen higher than your own, raring to go at the drop of a hat. So if you're weak in the knees over his sheer presence, then he must be even worse. 

Your head turns; fully prepared and ready for what darkened gaze you may find. 

...except he's not looking.

No, he's got something small in the palm of his hand, grinning down at it like it's some great discovery. His warm eyes flick up to meet your face, setting your cheeks alight. 

"Found the fella you've been drivin' 'round," he chirps, holding the little thing out for you to see. A three-inch tall gnome with a tall orange hat, oversized nose poking out the bottom. Fits perfectly in his grasp, fluffy, unruly white beard waving in the breeze. "Think I should grow a beard like that?" 

"Only if you wear the funny hat," you wink, just for extra measure. 

The last thing you're expecting is for him to buy it. Carrying the little thing about like it's a faithful companion, only putting it down to fight with you over who is paying for your things because he might just die if you pay for that t-shirt with your own money. Unaware that you'll just stick the cash in his wallet when he's asleep tonight. 

You've been foiled by a two-dollar gnome. 

Takes a good two days for you to get ahold of yourself, fighting urges that aren't helped by the cowboy who keeps reminding you that he's feeling it, too. The both of you dangling by a single thread, waiting to see who breaks first. 

And it's almost you.

God, it's almost you. 

Because Sunday rolls around with a vengeance that torments you from the moment your eyes open in the morning, overcome with a heat so strong that it ought to burn you alive. Biting at an invisible bit, getting yourself off in pure silence while Rhett bustles about in the living room. Mere yards away, one call of his name and you know he'd be on his knees in an instant, eager to taste you on his tongue, but your plan. You can't abandon your plan.

But it's nothing compared to the rodeo. The adrenaline that leaves your hands shaking even after Rhett has fallen off the bull and stumbled out of the arena. Trembling like the leaves in the brutal autumn breeze, crisp but with a sinister bite that you recognize as the beginnings of winter. 

It's the kind of sharpness that almost manages to distract you from the chapped lips kissing up the back of your neck. The vibrations of a cowboy's voice as he murmurs your name over and over like an incantation. A spell thats got you leaning into him, feeling the way he strains against his tattered jeans, pressing into the curve of your ass.

"Darlin'," blazing breath tickles your ear, his teeth grazing the shell of it, "what d' ya say we got outta here, hm?"

The edges of your composure are crumbling faster than you can glue them back together. Rhyme and reason whisked away by the wind, and suddenly, you can't remember all the reasons why you've been holding out on him. No longer caught up in the possibilities of what Rhett must sound like when he begs.

All you can think of is this. Now. The oversized hands dragging up your sides and the gentle suction at the soft spot of your neck. This man and the faint remnants of his leathery cologne, and how you're going to make it to the truck without getting—

"Rhett!" A familiar voice calls out, spurs echoing down the empty walkway. "Rhett!" 

All of a sudden, your backside is cold as Rhett steps away. Mere seconds before the familiar, gruff face of his best friend comes around the corner. How did he know to look for you behind the concession stands? 

 "The fuck y' doin' out 'ere?" It's dark, but you can still see the way Archie's hands fly up, only to fall back down and smack against his thighs. 

"Fixin' to go home?" Rhett grumbles it like a question, his head tilting to the side.

Archie's silence is...deafening. His shadowy figure is still as can be, and it's not directed at you at all, but even you can feel the daggers he's staring into Rhett's forehead. You don't recall any post-rodeo bonfire being scheduled for tonight, and it's far too quiet for the rodeo to be still going. 

But right as you're beginning to think that the vicious wind has frozen Archie solid, his mouth opens. "Y' done fuckin' forgot 'bout th' paper comin' t' take pictures t'night."

Pictures. 

That's right, the Amelia County newspaper was planning to put the bull riders on the front page. How did you manage to forget about that?

To say that you were saved by the skin of your teeth is an understatement. By the time they let Rhett and the other riders go home for the night, adrenaline has worn off, leaving behind a yawning husk of a man who can hardly keep his eyes open. Struggling to stand upright in the shower as you rinse the shampoo from his hair, too tired to bend you over the nearest surface and break you down.

He's cracking. 

You're cracking. 

Getting up for work in the morning is harder than you ever remember it being, and those extra hours drag by slower than a snail race. You want to go home. Fuck, you want to snuggle up to Rhett on the couch and let his chaste kisses devolve into sloppy ones that trail down your naked chest. But giving up now means all of this was for nothing. 

So you keep drowning yourself in work. Turning down every too-heated kiss and stepping out of his arms before they can start to test the waters. Getting up early to walk back into the gates of hell, away from the heaven that is Rhett Abbott. 

Until once again, your week is over, and Sunday has rolled around with the same vigor as it did before. 

This week's rodeo is different, about two hours away from home, on the border of Wyoming and Idaho. Some tiny town you've never heard of, the kind of place that only recently got two stoplights installed. Home to a whopping three hundred, with incredible landmarks such as a mom-and-pop gas station and a bank that's been set up on the first floor of someone's townhouse. 

The hotel is a floor above the only bar in town. It's not much, just enough space for a queen-sized bed, a television stand, and a bathroom so small Rhett can hardly turn around in it. Still better than driving an hour to a motel whose Google reviews promise a complimentary inclusion of bed bugs.

By some catastrophe, the rodeo grounds are far too small for the amount of people traveling to see the event. Already flooded with locals by the time you get there, a sea of fold-out chairs taking up every bit of free space that can be found. Even Cecelia's been outwitted, forced to dig her stash of chairs from the back of Royal's truck. She's brought just enough to seat all of you.

At least, she did. 

"You're in my seat," you grumble, squinting down at the cowboy who has already locked his eyes on the cheese fries you've got in your hand. The fruit of your efforts for standing in line for thirty minutes. 

"I know it," Rhett's big hand pats his thigh, inviting you into what is certainly a trap. 

But all you can think about is how he's supposed to be over by the chutes, warming up for a ride. Your head twists to look over at the empty side of the arena, then back to his stupid, smug face. 

"We got delayed," he continues, seems to have heard your question without you needing to voice it, "Somethin' 'bout technical difficulties." 

You're going to have technical difficulties.

Sitting in his lap isn't anything new. Not by a long shot. But there's something about doing it now. When you're still hanging on to your composure by a singular thread, nearly set off by the wrinkles of his jeans against your thighs. 

A part of you only means to readjust yourself. To squirm a little further backward so that you can comfortably lean against his chest. You don't intend to push your ass into his half-hard cock, but you do, and it's got him choking around the fry he's stolen.

"Oops" is all you can be bothered to provide because, though it wasn't on purpose, you certainly intend on doing it again. 

It's not hard to disguise. Not when Cecelia covers the two of you in a blanket, fussing over your choice of a short-sleeved shirt, saying that just the sight of you is making her cold. Unintentionally handing you the perfect shield, blocking the view of your hips as they begin to squirm. Subtly grinding down into that rapidly growing bulge, basking in the way his breath hitches, a strong arm curling across your waist.

"Y'd better not be tryin' t' get me all riled up, sweetheart," he murmurs, that low tone of his tickling down your sensitive spine. Only serves to spur you on more, squirming against his cock like it'll kill you to stop. And those arms are growing tighter around you, drawing away every bit of that precious wiggle room, but he's shamelessly twitching against you. A soft noise falling from his lips as you fully settle into him now. 

Your head tilts, peering at him through your peripheral. "What're you gonna do about it if I am?" 

If he had a response conjured up, then he must have forgotten how to speak because he doesn't say anything. Just dips his head down and rests against your shoulder, helpless. So needy for something that he has no choice but to lean against you and take what you give him. Grunting under his breath, eyelashes fluttering against your exposed neck. 

The muscles in your neck strain as you crane your head back, "Not gonna stop me?" Your lips brush the lobe of his ear, a visible shiver rolling down his spine. 

Just as quickly as his head dropped, it rises, blank blue eyes staring back at you. Not a thought behind them. "Nuh-uh." 

"Rhett!" Archie's voice slices through the evening air like a knife through butter. His hat waves through the air like a flag. "Get yer ass up outta that chair! We're on!" 

Rhett's head buries back into the juncture of your collar and neck. Unshaven jaw scratching the delicate skin there as he hugs you tight, grumbling. Hardly wants to let you step out of his lap, never mind letting you escape from his wandering arms. But you're getting up anyway. Because the rodeo waits for no one, and he didn't spend the past eight years of his life chasing this dream just to give it up now. 

...that doesn't mean he won't sulk as he walks away. Broad shoulders drooping, hardly has the forethought to readjust himself in his jeans.  

Your chair feels too big now that you're alone in it. Still warm from where he once sat, and if you focus hard enough, you can almost convince yourself that you can catch the sweet notes of his cologne lingering in the breeze. Wrapping around your senses like a hug on the last day of autumn.

Or maybe that's because he's tearing through the crowd. On a one-way path back to you. 

"Rhett?" You're already rising to your feet; did he forget something? Is the rodeo being called off again? So many questions, and yet you can hardly get anything off your tongue. "What...?"

But you're only met with the chime of his spurs. Darkened eyes anchor you in place, leaving you standing in the grass like a deer in headlights. Helpless to do anything but watch as he stalks closer and closer, not a word leaving his mouth, until, until—

It's the sudden gust of wind that carries those two muttered words to your ears, "forgot somethin'." 

And then his mouth is on yours, and it's the sweetest thing you've felt all afternoon. A mere chaste peck on the lips that steals your breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your brain. 

The bumping of your noses is the only thing to shake you from your stupor. "Still needing that good luck kiss, huh?" 

A cowboy like Rhett shouldn't have the audacity to let his gaze drop to his feet, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with his million-dollar grin. But he does it anyway. Shyly peering back at you through those thick lashes. You know it's merely from the stadium lights, but that doesn't stop you from fooling yourself into believing that his eyes sparkle at the sight of you.

"Can I have 'nother?" He whispers it like a secret, only meant to be shared between the two of you. 

You would consider denying him if you hadn't already lost the ability to do that. Already reaching to curl your hands around his cheeks, drawing him in for just one more. Then you're tilting his head down and pressing another kiss to his forehead. 

"For extra measure," justifying it to yourself more than anything. 

And oh, the things you would give to stop time, just to have him a little longer. 

It feels like entire days pass before you hear his name echo from the speakers. An announcer crowing at the top of his lungs as the chute opens, and Rhett bursts out of it. His right hand held high as he clings to the back of that raging bull. Two thousand pounds of muscle threatening to throw him off. Spiraling clockwise. Never seems to have more than two feet on the ground at once. 

He's sliding. Fuck, fuck, fuck he's starting to lose his grip. But he's still on. Clinging to that thin rope. Numbers rising on the billboard. 

Five seconds.

Six. His hat flies off. You're too frozen to look and see where it went.

Seven. Perry jumps out of his seat. Shoulders blocking your view. Fucking—move! 

A shrill buzz soars through the air. So loud and abrupt that you jump at the sound of it. But Rhett's on his feet already, and so are you. Those eyes are already looking your way, full of something that you can see from all the way over here. A sparkling want, a need, spurred by the adrenaline of a ride. 

A ride that's put him further into the finals. Another advancement that'll take you further away from home. 

But you can't think about that right now. After all, it's hard to worry about whether or not you'll be able to join him for next week's rodeo when you're tearing through a crowd in an unfamiliar arena. Dodging groups, twisting past couples, and squeezing between lines that extend to the parking lot. Your head tilting. Turning. Fighting to remember where that damn riders-only entrance was. 

There he is.

Between the stand-by ambulance and the parking lot. Rubbing the juncture of his left shoulder as he stands on his top-toes, trying to pinpoint you in the crowd. There's a group of girls next to him, dressed their best as they chatter, greedy gazes looking Rhett up and down like he's a tall drink of water in the middle of a desert. 

They're pretty, the kind of girls who can pull just about anyone they want in an event like this, but Rhett's only looking at you. An oversized grin breaks across his face as he darts forward, untamed hair flowing in the breeze, all but slamming into you. 

"D'you know what y' do to me?" That deep voice rumbles into your ear. So ready, so eager that he's speaking before he's pulled you off to some place private. And he's got just enough of your leg between his that he can press that aching bulge against you. Shameless. 

"I have a little bit of an idea," and you had a follow-up to that statement, but Rhett's gotten ahold of your wrist. 

Downright hauling you toward that forbidden riders-only section, past the sign declaring that the general public isn't allowed inside, and beyond. Through crowds and past the chutes, your feet nearly tangling as you try to keep up. Until Rhett's spinning and your back is thumping against a wall before you can realize you're moving backward. 

"Someone's got it bad," you're giggling; oh, the lips on your jaw tickle. A desperate frenzy that you aren't warmed up for and can't squirm out of.

"Yeah, wonder why," but you can feel the way he smiles through his words, so big that he can hardly press another kiss to your skin. Working his way up, up, up, until his chapped lips cover your own. 

Unyielding, his rough stubble scratching against your chin as his hand slides across your cheek. A gentle cradle of your jaw that holds you still. Doesn't let you squirm away from the other arm that wraps around your waist, drawing you near until you're chest to chest. So close that you think you can feel the drum of his heart.

Maybe that's what gets you moving. Your arms rising to wrap around his shoulders, hands tangling in his messy hair, as you lean into the kiss. Lips parting as he hungrily licks into your mouth, such a dizzyingly hot feeling that sends your head spinning. Every bit as strong and commanding as he's ever been. 

And yet, as your hand drops to cup him through those too-tight jeans, he jumps. 

"Fuck," he inhales so sharply that you can feel it against your lips. And it's been so, so long since you last heard that sweet sound. Since the last time you watched his head tilt back, swollen lips glistening under the twinkling lights set up for a collection of booths. Selling knick-knacks, homemade signs, and everything in between. Some little thing for after the rodeo—

shit.

As quickly as it pressed against him, your hand falls away, returning to dangle limply at your side. 

"Wh—" His eyes flash open, lashes fluttering like butterflies. Confused. "Huh?"

"I forgot," your head nods toward the unoccupied booths as you speak; their surfaces undecorated for the time being, but the moment the rodeo begins to wane, they'll be packed full of more items than you can possibly think of. "We agreed to see the sales booths with your mom, remember?"

"We really gotta stay 'n buy useless junk with my momma?" The corners of his lips turn downward, a perfect pout that you'd like to kiss until it rises back into a smile. 

You try. God, you try. Have already found yourself leaning in to press one, two, three chaste kisses to those perfectly thin lips. But it doesn't disappear, not even a little bit. "But you bought a useless gnome. the other week."

"He ain't useless!" Rhett sputters against your mouth. A little too loud. His voice carrying farther than it should have. "He keeps my cupholder warm."

"It's just another hour, cowboy," smoothing your hands against his chest as you speak in that slow sort of fashion that he once told you he liked. 

"But..." trailing off, his eyes darting down to his feet. Gaze too heavy for him to look at you. A wayward boot kicks at the gravel, stirring up a small plume of dust. "Please?" 

So faint. So quiet that you don't know if you've made it up in your head or not. "I'm sorry?" 

Rhett's shoulders stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. It's dark back here, but it's hard to miss the way he peeks up at you, a hint of red lingering in the tips of his ears. 

"Please?" Barely audible. A tiny noise that's carried away with the wind, but you've heard it. You know you've heard it because his Adam's apple is bobbing, and he's fully turning his head away from you now. "I'll...that, that thing you wanted...we can try—I want..."

It's shaky. Uncertain. Hardly sounds real. But it's there. 

There's something about the wait that's made this all the more sweet. 

A mouth-watering expanse of pale skin and rippling muscle, defined from a lifetime of manual labor, so rarely put on display like this. That thin sheen of sweat glistening as his hips squirm against this wine-red hotel comforter. The same one that he's clutching between white knuckles, clinging to it like he's seconds away from floating up to the ceiling. 

"Does that feel good?" You ask, hand tightening around his pretty, leaking shaft. So wet that he hardly needed you to drizzle that packet of lubricant over him, leaving him with a glide so slick that every pass of your hand squelches.

Untamed locks of hair bounce with his nod, "uhuh." 

The toned muscles of his stomach flex as he bucks up into your touch, chasing the sweetness of your touch. A whine rolls off his tongue, long and drawn out; you're not moving fast enough for his liking, but the hand that's gingerly rolling his balls in your palm is just enough to keep him from fussing. 

"Feels good," he rushes out, in between breaths, "fuck, it feels good."

He's yet to tell you, but you can already tell that he's close. Know it in the way that his jaw has slackened and in the way he's forgotten to blink. Too focused on the feeling to think of anything else. 

"Do you wanna cum?" Cooing in the softest voice you can muster, temporarily allowing your eyes to dart back to the mess that lies between his legs. Where his cock head has long since flushed a shade of ruby red, raging and desperate for a relief that has yet to come. "Talk to me, cowboy." 

"Uhuh," if he hadn't just spoken a moment ago, you'd think he forgot how to talk. 

But 'uhuh' isn't what you're looking for. No, no, no, you haven't spent the past weeks in sexual misery just for a huffed noise. 

"What do you say?" You're fighting to keep that smug grin at bay, the corners of your lips wobbling. The throbbing length in your hand feels too real to be a dream, but the edges of your vision have that trademark fuzziness that comes with the subconscious wanderings of your mind. 

This is too perfect to be true. 

But the widening of Rhett's eyes is so him. A detail that your wildest dreams could never capture. Always missing the fragments of uncertainty, the waver in his breath, and the anxious tongue that pokes out to wet his chapped lips. "I..."

Your hand stops firm at his base. Squeezing. Unmoving even as his hips jerk upward, seeking more of a touch that he doesn't receive. 

"Baby," he grunts, voice suddenly so worn and ragged that you hardly recognize it. 

Curious, you tilt your head, "hm?"

"'s fuckin' mean," that weak chuckle vibrates all the way down his belly and up into your hand, but despite the back-and-forth rocking of his head, he refuses to crack fully. Taping himself back together at the seams, clinging for that little bit of power that he was so desperate to hand over earlier. 

"All you gotta do is say please," you whisper, thumb swiping up to collect a bead of precum rolling down the underside of him. 

His Adam's apple bobs. 

...maybe this will convince him. 

Your grip slips off his cock, letting it audibly slap against his belly as one of your hands reach for that forgotten bottle of lube, the other taking hold of his wrist. He doesn't fight when you drizzle some of it over his fingers, even idly rubs them together to spread the fluid before it begins to drip into his palm. Makes it so, so easy for you to scoot further up until you're comfortably straddling his belly, able to guide those perfectly shaped digits between your legs.

He doesn't need any further help. Dipping his fingertips between your folds, stroking down to circle around your entrance. The delicate pressure of them punches a gasp from your lips, that aching stretch so dizzyingly perfect. 

"So tight," he muses, absolutely fixated on the way his index finger disappears into you. So, so much thicker than your own, and not one of your toys can curl to stroke against your walls like Rhett does. Rubbing past a spongey bundle of nerves that has your thighs tightening around him, only for him to slip out and nudge two back into you. 

The palms of your hands settle on his chest, just about the only thing you can do to brace your weight as he pumps those fingers into your cunt. Shamelessly paced, trying his damndest to work you up just as quickly as you did to him, and fuck is it working. Rough pads of his fingers swirl around sensitive nerves while his thumb rises to nudge against your clit. A touch that doesn't fully make contact but sends you jumping as if it did. 

"Rhett," whimpering high in your throat, oh, you've missed this feeling.

On its own, the corner of his lip rises. Smug. "Can feel y' pulsin' 'round my fingers, darlin'." 

And you can feel a heat bubbling up in your lower belly. Arising with a certain kind of fury that has you growing wetter around him. Only makes it easier for him to quicken his pace, fucking those thick fingers into your pussy with a fervor that makes your heart skip a beat. 

"Hold on, hold on," you sputter, and as abrupt as it is, Rhett freezes. Letting you drag his hand out from between your legs in favor of you reaching for his neglected cock. Has long since leaked a small puddle of precum onto his belly, still just as red and angry as it was when you last touched him.

You don't know if Rhett's the first to gasp or if it's you, but that first nudge of his cock head against your dripping sex is enough to have both of your mouths opening. Sensitive. So, so sensitive.

God, sinking down on him is even worse. Because there's an aching stretch that comes with the fat head of his cock, already splitting you wide and setting a tremble in your thighs. Only worsened by the calloused palms that smooth across them on their way up to settle on your hips. 

Rhett's always been big, not obscenely so, but thick in all the right places. Enough to have you shivering but not enough to have you struggling to take him. But fuck is it a tremendous task to keep yourself steady whilst you sink down on him. Forced to take it slow, to feel the way he twitches inside of you, blunt tip pushing deeper and deeper and deeper.

The hands resting on your hips rise, sliding behind your naked back until familiar, warm arms can comfortably curl around you. "C'mere," Rhett whispers, and it doesn't take much more for you to lean down. 

Your forearms brace against his broad chest as your mouths meet. Lazy. More of a clash of lips than anything else, too focused on chasing a breath that neither of you can catch. Your head spinning from the lack of oxygen as he slides further into you. That coil winding tighter and tighter—

"Fuck," you breathe as your hips come flush together. So full of him that it aches. "Rhett..."

It's only when you lean back onto your haunches that you realize how his eyes have glazed over, caught in a hazy trance that shatters when you involuntarily clench around him. His hips jerking upward, jostling himself inside of you. So eager for you to start moving. 

But that's not what you were going for at all.

"What are...?" Rhett's question evaporates as you guide his still-wet fingers back between your legs, "What're y' doin'?" 

Confused about your intentions. Yet his thumb presses to your clit all the same, almost eager to feel it throbbing under the pad of his finger. Gradually gaining confidence on its own, doesn't need your guidance for him to start toying with the little button in earnest. A gentle sort of pressure that has you clenching around his cock, sends him into a twitching spasm that nudges against your walls just right. 

"Y' ain't movin'," he observes aloud. Like it's something you haven't noticed. 

"I know," wriggling from side to side, if only to selfishly chase the sensation of him moving inside of you. "And I'm not planning to."

Eyelashes flutter. Incredulous. "Huh?" 

"Not until you say please," because you didn't work this long and hard to give up now, but God, you've been craving the stretch of him. The ache that comes with having his cock wedged so deeply in your cunt, taking up every bit of space you have to offer and then some. 

Those eyebrows furrow in the same fashion as when he climbs onto the back of an angry bull. The kind of reckless determination that glues him to the back of that thousand-pound animal, ready to win or go down trying. 

You recognize that look so well that you're hardly surprised when his thumb aggressively changes gears. Working your clit with a fervor you haven't seen in weeks, massaging exactly how you like it. Not too direct but just enough to have your thighs clamping around his hips, head tilting backward.

But you're not moving. 

Fuck, you can't. Not when all you want is to chase the feeling, pushing further against his hand, unable to even think about drawing yourself away from it. Your vision is blurring, nearly makes you miss the way Rhett's lips part, whining at the way your pussy spasms around him. A perfect hell. 

And then you hear it, the whisper of an ever-so-faint, "please." 

"What did you say?" You can feel how your eyebrows raise, blinking away that blurriness to get a better look at his face. 

"Really?" Rhett's squint dissolves the moment you shift on top of him, his eyelashes fluttering once more. "Okay—fine." 

His head rolls against the pillow, gaze skittering around the room like he's searching for something. A hidden camera. An escape. Something to save him. But he doesn't find it. Has no choice but to look back up at you, a sudden wateriness in his eye, as he whispers. 

"Please fuck me."

Not another word needs to be said. 

Finally, finally, you draw yourself upward, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and the cowboy beneath you just about squeaks. A choked-off noise that rips out of his throat when you pull halfway off of him. Sends you sinking back down on him quicker than you should. Such a sudden thing that it makes your head spin, only worsened when you repeat it, weakly searching for the only rhythm that you can handle.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Rhett's sputtering, in his own little world, unfocused eyes rolling. 

If the image in your head had been a work of art, then you have no idea what to call this. The thick veins of his neck protruding, sweat running down his chest as his back arches up from the bed. Desperately chasing your every thrust, keening high in his throat, uncaring of who may hear or how far it may travel into the hotel hallway. 

"Is this what you wanted?" Your question punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin. God, you don't know if it was you who was being tortured or him. 

Brown curls bounce against the pillow as his head nods, mouth moving, but only a garbled cry comes out. Something torn between a "please" and a whimper. 

He's got no right to be hitting the little bundle of nerves within your walls, rubbing against them with every rise and fall of your hips. An indirect massage that has you biting back a noise. If Rhett wanted his control back, he could take it right here and now because your head is floating higher and higher into the clouds. Only able to focus on this, this, this. 

But he doesn't. 

"Wanna cum," he croaks, lucid if only for a moment, "'m gonna—I wanna..."

There's a tremble in your arms that wasn't there before, the kind of shaking that works its way through your entire body. Thighs shivering, weakened by the drag of his plush cock head inside you. And his thumb is still working around your clit, in those same frantic spirals, and it's too much, it's so, so...

You don't know how it happens.

One moment you're being greeted by his hip bones against your ass, and the next, you're clamping down around him like a vice. Mouth falling open with a silent cry as you cum around his cock. The edges of your vision go white. A ringing blooms in your ears that nearly covers up the wail beneath you. 

The cry of a cowboy who doesn't quite know what to do. Brought so, so close to the edge by the involuntary spasming of your pussy, but not quite enough to give him what he wants. Forced to lay beneath you and whimper until you can pry your eyes open once more. 

"Please." He pants, cheeks so red that he matches the comforter.

But what's meant to be a one-word plea devolves before you can comprehend what he was trying to say. "Please, please, please let me cum," he babbles, his head rocking back and forth, the hand on your hip squeezing tight. "Please, I need it, I need it, I want, please, I—" 

You're not ready to move, but you're pulling yourself off him anyway. Downright collapsing next to him, mattress springs squealing at the sudden weight. It feels like ice has formed in the joints of your hand, struggling to wrap your fingers around the flushed length lying against his belly. So heavy that you can feel the way he throbs.

"Darlin'..." there's more to Rhett's sentence, but it never comes out. His heaving chest effectively revoking his ability to speak.

"I've got you," delicate, your hand begins to move. Stroking him in that loose, lazy sort of way that doesn't overwhelm him too quickly. Drawing that pretty whimper right out of him, so beyond the point of trying to swallow his noises down. 

It's the kind of loud, unmistakable noise that you've spent months coaxing out of him. One of your favorite sounds of his, selfishly proud that it's you who is able to draw it out of him. Not the girls who bat their lashes at him at the rodeos. Not the girl who has had her eyes on him ever since she came back from college. 

Only you. 

Nobody else gets to lay him back and make him beg to cum. You're the only one who gets to hear the way he cries out when your palm runs over his sensitive tip. Only your eyes get to watch how he jerks up into your fist, too impatient to wait. So close that his jaw trembles with it.

Large fingers wrap around your other hand, fumbling with it until he can hold it. Squeezing. Like you'll leave if he doesn't keep you grounded here, with him. "I'm..."

"It's okay," you soothe, wrist flicking a little quicker, in the way you know he does to himself. His jaw falls open, another one of those whimpers gracing your ears. Back arching up off the bed, the muscles in his thighs trembling. Jerking up into your touch like its the only thing he's ever wanted.

"Wanna—I'm..." he's rattling on, muttering little things that don't quite meet your ear. A red flush spreading down his neck and into his chest, the hand in yours squeezing tight. 

Your grip tightens by a mere fraction. "Cum for me, Rhett."

Blue eyes roll backward. His mouth agape as he tips off the edge, a dizzying melody of whines rattling out of his throat as thick ropes of white paint his belly. Coating your hand, unintentionally spreading it down his throbbing cock, creates some sickly wet noise that seems to echo through the room. 

And for a moment, that's the only sound in the room. Your wet hand works his softening cock as he comes down from his high, drawing those soft whimpers out of him like it's your job. Shuddered breaths soar through the air, suddenly so sensitive that he's squirming up the bed to escape your grasp.

His bicep flexes as he pulls your laced hands toward himself, drawing you into him. Soft blue eyes still glazed over as he rolls onto his side, rubbing his nose against your arm. Yet his hand doesn't let go of yours, even as you try to pull it away in favor of wiping away the stray tear that's run down his flushed cheek. The back of your cum covered hand will have to do because he's not letting go. 

"You still with me?" You ask, your voice soft as you lean in to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead. Lazy, his head nods, the corner of his lip rising. Not a full smile, but it's a start. "Will you let me get a cloth to clean us up?" 

As quickly as his lip rose, it falls into a pout. 

But his hand unlaces with yours, freeing you to drag your exhausted frame off the bed and to the bathroom. Only takes you a minute to run a cloth beneath warm water, but it had might as well take an entire hour because Rhett's already reaching for you. Hand lazily waving in your direction, falling to the mattress with an audible thump.

"I'm here," you whisper, running the cloth across his belly, "I'm here," 

It's only when the wet material runs over his messy cock that you get a noise out of him. A soft little "ah" accompanied by the unhappy wriggle of his hips. So oversensitive that he can hardly stand it when you rub the inside of his thighs, chasing off remnants of lube. 

You can't be done quickly enough. Settling for tossing the cloth into the sink because there's a cowboy who needs your attention more. He's already squirmed under the sheets, his big, needy arms opening up to welcome you in. Eagerly wraps them around you and pulls you as close as he can get, cold nose nuzzling against yours.

"Are you alright?" You murmur, stroking his hair out of his face. In the back of your mind, you already know he's okay. He would have used his safe word if he wasn't, but you're asking anyway.

Humming, he leans in to steal a chaste peck from your lips, then another, and another, until he's stolen a total of six of them, "'m alright, doll."

"Was it as bad as you thought it would be?" It's too easy to comb your fingers through his hair, a tangled mess from tonight's escapades. Will surely be a bitch to brush out in the morning, but you'll worry about that when you get there.

For a moment, he's quiet, and then, "I...think I liked it?"

"Yeah?" You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you as he nuzzles his face into your neck. Determined to fit himself into the small space and disappear completely. "Maybe we'll have to give it a second try then."

"Mm 'kay." And that's the last thing you get out of him before his eyes flutter shut. 

There's no doubt that he'll ultimately get you back for this. Use all of this pent-up desperation to wring you dry and remind you of just how competitive he can be. You haven't a doubt that you'll soon be waking up to lips kissing down your naked chest, eager to give you a taste of your own medicine. 

And that's alright. 

Because it's not easy for you to break a man like Rhett Abbott. 

But oh, when you do. 

[greenleaf4stuff]

The game is Seven Minutes in Heaven. Which two characters are you shoving in the closet together and how do they pass their seven minutes? Give me three rounds of this game (three pairings, repeats ok)

Hi @whenimaunicorn and thank you so much for your ask! :D Oh that is a very interesting thing to consider. I slightly deviated from the original premise in the 1st one I think, I hope that's okay! Also this got a little longer than I anticipated, so I am using a cut to put my ideas behind to protect everyone else's dashboards.

The pairings are:

Adar/Celebrimbor (canon divergence!AU)

Adar/Elrond (modern!AU)

Adar/Celebrimbor (modern!AU)

Adar/Celebrimbor (canon divergence!AU)

They end up hiding in a storage closet/ shove themselves into a tiny space together while hiding from Sauron as they try to flee Eregion together; Adar has snuck into the city to steal the elf right from under Sauron's nose and Brimby has been *very* happy to go with him. 'You don't have to carry me, I'll come willingly. In fact, we should hurry up, I know a way we can take-'

They have to wait out guards and a pissed off Sauron hurrying by the closet multiple times, the shouting outside getting increasingly loud and strained with anger.

Adar is trying to keep the smith quiet, maybe he even places a hand over his mouth and steps close to stop him from wriggling around so much. They cannot get caught! Meanwhile Celebrimbor is so very intrigued by the mysterious 'elf' who has just saved him and tries to figure out who he is, and also cannot help realising the other is both attractive and has a good physique under that armor. They are squished together okay, it's not like he can help taking notice!

Adar also cannot help but realise the elven smith's pretty haircolor, the warmth of his eyes, the strength of his grip as he clings onto Adar. That the other didn't hesitate or argue but came with him. Other elves certainly wouldn't have been so reasonable.

They are both a bit flustered when they can finally leave the closet and quickly hurry along to get out of the city. But the stint in the closet keeps lingering in their minds even as they make a break for the relative safety of the uruk army.

Adar/Elrond (modern!AU)

They both aren't sure how they got chosen to get shoved into that closet together, certainly both Gil-Galad and Galadriel aren't entirely happy about it. Adar knows he'll have to fear bodily harm if he makes a wrong move but he actually-kinda-maybe has a crush on Elrond? The other is just so kind, and smart, and sharp-witted. And also pretty. Also flirting him with makes Adar feel giddy inside; Elrond hasn't told him to stop and actually reacts with blushes and smiles when Adar does it.

Elrond is desperately trying to play it cool but it's not easy - Adar is attractive, and so cool with his whole rebellious getup; the leather jacket and metal band t-shirt and long dark hair and how he's unafraid to mouth off at anyone who tries to argue with/antagonize him. But he's treating Elrond like an equal and takes him seriously where others might remark on his half-elven parentage for example.

They try to wait it out, make light of the situation. Elrond makes awkward jokes, Adar's jokes accidentally get way too flirty due to nervousness, after a short while they do end up staring at each other's lips and it's Elrond going 'I can play it off as part of the party game if he doesn't want me' and then they kiss.

...the elves eventually have to investigate because those two are *not* leaving that closet again. For the sake of their sanity, they leave the two in peace. It's Brimby and Círdan who mutter "finally" to the shock of the others.

Adar/Celebrimbor (modern!AU)

People think it's funny, to put resident-rebel Adar and prim-and-proper Celebrimbor in the closet for Seven Minutes of Heaven together. It's good natured fun! Totally hilarious! They are going to be so flustered (Brimby) - or annoyed (Adar).

Instead, Adar is kinda flustered because he actually likes Celebrimbor and admires his skills, his wit, his kindness. But the smith would never be into him like that, right? Meanwhile Celebrimbor is all serene, makes a joke about how 'cozy' the closet is, then walks over to Adar and essentially goes 'I think we are supposed to kiss. Do you want to?'

Adar has a bit of a bluescreen moment, is a bit skeptical at first, but when Celebrimbor holds his gaze and smiles encouragingly he agrees. They kiss. It's *really* nice.

Adar is a bit flushed at the end of it. Brimby breaks the kiss, also affected, but then puts on a mischievious grin. And suggests they should pretend that nothing happened, act completely clueless and as if they just chatted. Because that the faces of the others will be priceless.

The uruk thinks he likes where this is going, and agrees.

Everyone else is sooo disappointed! The two of them smirk knowingly at each other later on though.

'Maybe our next kiss can be outside a closet?' Adar suggests. Brimby smirks back at him and agrees enthusiastically.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Watching scary movies

Wednesday: She has seen her fair share of bloody and horrific movies in the past, but watching them with someone she cares about makes the experience all the more memorable. The fear of the unknown, the anticipation of waiting for the next jump scare or chilling moment, and the rush of adrenaline - all of these elements come together when you're watching the movie with another person. She usually watches these types of movies with you, and you always have a fantastic time together.

Enid: Well, when she watches scary movies with her partner, she's usually the one who gets scared. So she would hold your arm tightly and close her eyes whenever the scary parts come up. She may also try to hide under your arm. If you don't get scared as easily, she doesn't notice if you seem as affected by the scary parts. But you must still let her cling onto you for comfort.

Xavier: Ah, horror films. In the past, he generally hasn't been especially keen on them. But since meeting you, it has been nice to find that you both enjoy a good scare and will settle down with a scary movie and see if you can make it to the end. He would say you both enjoy a good fright but definitely don't overindulge. He does like to tease each other a little if something does seem particularly spooky.

Rowan: When he watches scary movies with his partner, he usually tries to make sure that he doesn't show too much emotion. He may seem a little bit uncomfortable or anxious, but he tries to keep a cool exterior. However, if the movie is really scary, it's hard not to react. He might scream or jump in his seat if something really scares him. But he makes sure to keep his fear in check and try to play it cool for your sake.

Tyler: He finds watching scary movies with his partner to be quite exciting and entertaining. You'll usually both get quite immersed in the plot and it is always fun afterwards to discuss what you thought of it and how you both reacted to each scene. Sometimes at night, he likes to lay back and watch a scary movie, so you can get a bit cozy and close to each other and experience the thrills together.

Ajax: When watching a scary movie with his partner, he generally has no problem with the horror elements, as he is always in a calm and rational state of mind during such situations more so if he's high. He enjoys the excitement of the story and the suspense created by the narrative, and the fact that you are often frightened by it only adds to the enjoyment of the experience. He is usually the one to suggest scary movies, so he is not afraid of their effects on him or you.

Bianca: She tries her best to stay calm and composed, but sometimes she may jump or get a little frightened. She tries to remind herself that it's just a movie and it's not real. However, she does enjoy watching scary movies with you because you both enjoy them and getting scared together can be a lot of fun. She also appreciates your comfort and reassurance if she does get frightened.

[quinloki]

Kaido - Lust (and Sweet/Spicy)

Reader style - Afab she/her Time slot - After Hours Client Name - @anon-germany @t3arslikeglass CW: naked reader, alcohol, size difference extremely, canon One Piece Kaido size, ... oral? technically? I think.

I hope you two don't mind that I smashed these requests together, but I think it turned out well, for what I think is officially my first Kaido smut drabble.

I’ve said before I haven’t decided if I’m going to have the same size differences as OP in this Host Club AU or not. I’m leaning toward not, but I wanted to write this with full-sized Kaido in mind.

You were barely bigger than a cup, as far as the massive dragon Kaido was concerned. But you were one of his favorites, and as such you had nothing to fear.

In this particular case you were practically playing the part of cup for him.

Naked, laid out in the round red sake cup, you shivered a little in anticipation as his eyes moved over your form. His tongue slipped between his lips unconsciously, adding to the hungry look in his eyes. The cup was a little bigger than he would normally use, you weren’t quite that small comparatively, but it was just wide enough that your arms and legs still dangled over the edges.

Your arms were draped over the edges of the cup to help you stay in place, and you gasped a little as the cold liquid was poured into your little space. The scent of sake was enough to make your head go hazy. What was a sip for the dragon was enough to be a bath for you, and there were certainly certain dangers associated with that.

But Kaido only filled the cup when he was done admiring your body, and he was already bringing it to his lips. Your legs were open wide, heat flushing through your body as his lips sip the sweet liquid from between your thighs.

Kaido’s hot breath over your body sent shivers through you as it crashed against the remnants of sake clinging to you and the cup. Clear, sharp eyes watched you with an intensity most only saw when the dragon was in the midst of a fight.

Wet with drink, hot with desire, his tongue slipped out from between his lips and dipped into the cup. He licked slowly up the inside of the cup, the tip of his tongue pressing into your thighs, heavy and hungry.

He lapped against your thighs and pussy, up your stomach, flicking along your breasts. The flexible muscle twisted and slipped over and around you with ease. Your body trembled with building pleasure, and soft gasps escaped your lips as you held onto the cup, moving from one side to the other as his tongue urged you.

Eventually you were turned completely around, his tongue between you and the cup as you held onto the lip. Wet and rough it teased you so completely it was a struggle to keep hold of the cup, the rough bumps sending thrills through you as they caressed your clit and slipped over your stiff nipples.

There wasn’t a drop of sweet sake left, but he was far from sated.

“A little more,” his voice rumbles over you, cold sake splashing against you before his tongue goes back to work. One of his fingers holding the cup becomes something for you to hold onto, peppering desperate kisses against it as you whine into the thick, scaly skin.

When you cry out in surprise at a particularly well-place lick, he stills, letting you grind against his tongue. As your kisses against his finger turn into heavy moans of pleasure he brings your thighs to his lips, using his entire mouth to bring you to orgasm, again and again, until your small body leaked pleasure against his tongue enough to sate him.

[kilfeur]

Mention intéressante c'est que bien qu'il semble comment faire plaisir à Stolas or il sait pas des choses plus intimes comme l'ambiance ou bien la taille (bien est ce que ça compte comme quelque chose d'intime ?). Bref on arrive à la scène où Blitzo et Stolas discutent et j'ai bien aimé cette scène car Stolas ne touche pas Blitzo. C'est seulement pour le cristal qu'il le fait ! Blitzo s'accrochant à ce qu'ils ont. Alors que Stolas souhaite quelque chose de nouveau pour leur relation, cette scène est importante car ça les testent justement.

Et on a vu Stolas rougir deux fois montrant qu'il est tenté mais se ressaisit pour leur bien de leur relation. Et bien sûr à cause de ses expériences passés, Blitzo croît que c'est un role play. Et de l'autre les deux ressentis sont compréhensibles, Stolas a comprit que leur marché n'est pas juste pour eux et veut donner le choix Blitzo. Et Blitzo qui a déjà été blessé et utilisé craint l'intimité personnelle et émotionnelle, ne croit pas que Stolas puisse dire une chose pareille. Mais vu ses yeux, je pense que ça le choque plus de voir que son bien aimé le voit de cette manière. Ça me fait un peu penser à son ancienne relation avec Verosika et quand justement, elle a essayé de se rapprocher intimement de lui c'est là qu'il l'a repoussé !

Aussi joli contraste de cette scène par rapport à celle où Stolas sauve I.M.P des agents.

It's interesting to note that although he seems to know how to please Stolas, he doesn't know about more intimate things like mood or size (well, does size count as intimate?). Anyway, we come to the scene where Blitzo and Stolas are talking, and I liked it because Stolas doesn't touch Blitz. He only does it for the crystal! Blitzo clings to what they have. While Stolas wants something new for their relationship, this scene is important because it tests them.

And we saw Stolas blush twice, showing that he's tempted but pulls himself together for the sake of their relationship. And of course, because of his past experiences, Blitzo thinks it's a role play. On the other hand, both feelings are understandable: Stolas understands that their deal isn't fair to them and wants to give Blitzo a choice. And Blitzo, who has already been hurt and used fears personal and emotional intimacy, doesn't believe Stolas would say such a thing. But given his eyes, I think it shocks him more to see his beloved see him that way. It reminds me a little of his old relationship with Verosika, and when she tried to get closer to him, he pushed her away!

It's also a nice contrast to the scene where Stolas saves I.M.P. from the agents.

[vacantgodling]

#33: Helix Carmine

You were never right after you lost them. The days bled into weeks, into months, into years, perhaps, spent adrift in this hell. Your friends speak of fighting on, but you hardly have any fight left to give. It would be better if you were just a spector; better if you just rotted here. Perhaps when whatever life left clinging to you was gone, the two of you would be together in Cerullius. But still, you put one foot in front of the other; if only for the sake that you know they would not want you to die.

“helix” means particle of a spiral form. “carmine” means garden or crimson; sometimes both so let’s say crimson garden. 

37, nb (he/him), romance: yes, sex: yes, preference: feminine or other nb people

helix is deceptively smaller framed at 5’6”, but it only makes sense given his training was more for agility than muscle mass. his skin is soft and tan, and his eyes are rare but two different colors: green for one eye and yellow for the other. his hair is short and choppy but it frames his face, and is a sandy brown color. 

he was a RANGER in the AGoE before the accident, though in some senses he is still a ranger, though relatively bow-less. along with scouts, rangers are trained at pinella’s pass survivalist school, named for princess pinella of argos (aka the lady of the mists) who perished in a landbridge collapse in that very area after the day of fissures. it was here that helix met who would soon become friends and fellow guildmates: jihi, cameron, and miona. he works with a short bow and tends to shoot multiple arrows at a time, usually coated in posion or paralyzing agents to make it easier for his teammates to disable a foe. he’s only missed a shot once in his life, and that was the shot that cost him everything he held dear.

currently his whereabouts including his team members elodia, charissa, and altair is unknown. they are presumed dead, with jihi being the only “survivor” of their group… but there is more than meets the eye with this mystery that will be explored in plot.

helix is a quiet man, but not because he’s awkward or shy—like most rangers he is simply observant. however, he’s very cheerful (or was before the accident), and always goes out of his way to help others. he’s the romantic kind, but the soft kind of romantic where all of his “flirting” is acts of service, and all of this attention was directed at elodia, their romance only budding when everything occurred. he’s also generally amiable; is perfectly content with not being the center of attention.

3 fun facts about them: helix dabbled in being a bard when growing up and can actually play the lyre passably well; he still does occasionally when inspiration strikes him, or to cheer up someone in a bad mood. despite his short frame, he can actually jump from the ground to about six feet in the air without buildup, which allows him to reach most branches in trees quite quickly if he needs to get up and out of the way midbattle. despite how often he’s up in trees, he actually has a fear of heights, in the sense that his fear is being suspended or falling from a high place. its quite a juxtaposition, so he does his best not to fall out of trees.

[keybladeseeker0]

Lucas Moretti (TBP OC)

Age:

13 (Skipped 6th grade, now in 7th grade)

Appearance:

• Lean and athletic build due to his dedication to track

• Short, slightly messy dirty blonde hair

• Deep blue eyes that often seem tired but sharp

• Usually wears his track jacket over his school uniform

Personality:

• Highly intelligent, excelling in academics, which led him to skip a grade

• Humble about his intelligence, never lords it over others

• Loyal and protective of his friends, especially Finney and Gwen

• Friendly but guarded—he doesn’t open up easily about his home life

• Quick-witted and sarcastic, often using humor to mask his own struggles

• Extremely disciplined due to track but can sometimes push himself too hard

Skills & Interests:

• Star athlete in his middle school’s after-school track club; well-known for his speed and endurance

• Was close friends with Bruce Yamada since they were neighbors, often trained together

• Loves solving logic puzzles and reading mystery novels

• Tends to analyze situations quickly, a skill that makes him a reliable friend

• Can endure pain well, whether it’s from track injuries or something more personal

Backstory:

Lucas Moretti was born and raised in a turbulent household, where love was scarce, and fear was constant. His father, a compulsive gambler with a short temper, would often lose himself in fits of rage after bad nights at the poker table, taking out his frustrations on both Lucas and his mother. His mother, once a lively and hopeful woman, had long since grown weary under the weight of her husband’s debts and abuse, yet she stayed, believing that leaving would only make things worse. Lucas, despite being just a child, often found himself stepping in between them, standing up to his father in moments of desperation to protect his mother, even when it meant taking the blows himself. Over time, he learned how to hide the bruises, knowing that if anyone at school noticed, child services might take him away. The thought of being separated from his mother was unbearable, so he kept quiet, carrying his pain in silence.

Academically gifted, Lucas excelled in school from an early age, skipping the sixth grade due to his advanced intellect. His teachers saw promise in him, but at home, his father dismissed his intelligence as worthless, scoffing that “books don’t put food on the table.” His mother, however, quietly supported him, encouraging him to do well in school so he could build a better future for himself—one far away from the life they were trapped in. Despite his harsh upbringing, Lucas found solace in running, joining the track team at his new school in Denver after his family moved there in a failed attempt to escape his father’s gambling debts. Though the move brought a fresh start in some ways, it didn’t change the toxicity of his home life. His father remained the same, falling into old habits, while his mother continued to endure for the sake of keeping their family together.

At North Denver Middle School, Lucas quickly made an impression—both as a top student and as a track star. It was there that he met Bruce Yamada, a friendly neighbor who became one of the few bright spots in his life. Though Lucas never admitted it to anyone, not even himself at first, he harbored feelings for Bruce, something he kept buried out of fear—fear of rejection, of his father’s fury, of the world around him that didn’t take kindly to boys like him. When Bruce went missing, Lucas was devastated, guilt-ridden over all the things he had left unsaid. The loss only reinforced his walls, making him even more protective of his mother and the few friends he had. Though life at home remained a nightmare, Lucas refused to be broken by it, clinging to his dreams of running far, far away—somewhere his father could never reach him.

Connections and Relationships:

• Bruce Yamada:

• Neighbor and Confidant: Grew up next door to Bruce, often training and playing together.

• Secret Affection: Deep down, Lucas secretly loved Bruce. In a time—the 70s—when such feelings were frowned upon, Lucas struggled with intense, conflicted emotions.

• Lingering Guilt: Bruce’s mysterious disappearance left Lucas burdened with guilt. He mourns the missed chance to open up and have honest conversations with Bruce about his true feelings, all while fearing that his own home life would prevent him from ever experiencing acceptance.

• Fear of Rejection: Lucas is haunted by the thought that if his father ever discovered his secret affection for Bruce, his anger and abusive tendencies would only worsen his already painful home life.

• Vance Hopper:

• Mutual Respect: A heated fight in the lunchroom once ended in a draw, leading both Lucas and Vance to develop a grudging respect for each other.

• Unspoken Understanding: Although not close friends, their encounter created a bond of respect that tempered future conflicts.

• Finney and Gwen:

• Close Friends: Lucas is a loyal friend, and his connections with Finney and Gwen deepen as they collectively navigate the challenges around them.

• Protective Instincts: His experiences, both at home and at school, make him especially vigilant about looking out for those he cares about.

[lovenotesxcitygirls]

Does He Want Love or Dominance?

Does He Want Love—or Just Control?

Lately, I’ve been stuck in a loop. Same story, different man: they say they want love, but what they really want is control. To them, being “the man of the house” means holding all the cards, calling all the shots, and expecting me to quietly play along.

And yet—this is the kicker—they complain about not getting the love they need. The paradox is wild. They’re clutching so tightly to their illusion of control that they choke the life out of any chance for real connection. It makes me wonder: Are they sabotaging themselves without even realizing it?

Love vs. Control: It’s Complicated

Here’s the truth: love and dominance don’t coexist easily—but sometimes they’re tangled together because of fear, survival instincts, or learned behavior. Control isn’t always malicious; sometimes it’s the only emotional tool someone has. That doesn’t make it healthy, though.

Real love, the kind that’s soul-deep and worth showing up for, is built on equity, respect, and trust. Somewhere along the way, leadership got twisted into this patriarchal fantasy where one person always calls the shots.

The justification? “Wives, submit to your husbands.” Funny how the next verse—“Husbands, love your wives as Christ loved the church”—always seems to vanish into thin air. But patriarchal control didn’t just sprout from religion. It’s embedded in culture, passed down through families, and normalized by generations of imbalance.

The result? Men are often raised to see control as strength and vulnerability as failure. But here’s what they don’t realize: control suffocates love. It creates distance, not connection.

The Fear Behind Control

When someone clings to control, it’s not always about power. It’s often about fear.

Fear of losing respect. Fear of being seen as weak. Fear of being unworthy of love without control as proof of their “strength.” Society has sold men a fragile version of masculinity where their worth is tied to being in charge.

But here’s the kicker: that isn’t strength. Real strength looks like knowing when to lead and when to listen. It’s making space for someone else’s voice, letting go of control for the sake of connection.

This starts early. For many men, the first “love dynamic” they see is with their mothers. Mothers, as primary nurturers, often hold more emotional power. They teach boys that love and care are managed for them, not shared with them. As adults, some men recreate that dynamic: they crave love but expect it to come through control.

But what works in childhood doesn’t work in partnerships. Real love requires equity, not dependence.

Patriarchy Is a Losing Game—For Everyone

The systems propping up this dynamic don’t actually serve men, either. Patriarchy tells them that power equals love, but all it does is isolate them. You can’t truly connect when you’re fixated on control.

Here’s what I’ve noticed:

The men clinging to dominance are often the loneliest.

The women shrinking under that dominance feel unseen, unheard, and unloved.

Both sides lose.

If he’s obsessed with being “the leader,” he’s not just keeping me at a distance—he’s keeping himself from the kind of love that could actually heal him.

What Does Love Look Like, Really?

The love I want—the love I deserve—isn’t about one person holding the reins. It’s about partnership. It’s showing up for each other, lifting each other up, and making space where we’re both free to be our fullest selves.

Leadership in a healthy partnership? It looks like:

Knowing when to step up and when to step back.

Trusting your partner’s decisions.

Listening just as much as you lead.

Sharing the emotional labor.

Love doesn’t demand that one person shrink to make the other feel big. It doesn’t live in control. It lives in trust, vulnerability, and growth—together.

What’s the Path Forward?

If control has been the norm in your relationships, here’s the truth: it takes unlearning, not judgment, to move forward.

For those clinging to control: you’re not weak for letting go—it’s brave. You can still lead without holding power over someone. Real leadership is rooted in love, not dominance.

For those on the receiving end of control: you’re allowed to say no. You deserve love that doesn’t ask you to trade your autonomy for someone else’s comfort.

Let’s Talk About It

Have you ever felt like love and control were at odds in a relationship?

How did you navigate it? What does leadership look like to you in a healthy partnership?

Drop your thoughts in the comments—I want to hear your experiences.

[liightbringr]

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥, 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞.

@thcrmr asked: (stolen kiss): sender kisses receiver before a battle, away from prying eyes.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐑 with each passing moment. Preparations made, the plan to move on Origin falling into place slowly but surely. She plays her part && does so with pride. Orders given, orders received; the remaining dominants are to take flight && infiltrate the crystal that hangs so menacingly in the sky. Bred of a being that presses on solely in lieu of their own self-preservation. They do not give salvation. There is no paradise awaiting their followers. The praises that fall from lips fall flat, flutter to naught, under the weight of Ultima's oppression. && she has known this since the beginning. For the eikon that clings taut to her soul is kin to the being they would seek out. The rebel among the collective. A force to be reckoned with. Zodiark, who defected from they who sought only the destruction of this world to better suit their own means. && if she should die on this day to defend the realm, then until her last breath will she fight. For if Ultima overthrows Mythos, then the world will burn by Zodiark's will. To purge it of the existence of all living things including Ultima. A slate wiped clean for the sake of balance. Yet her mind circles back time && time again to her friends, her children, her husband---hands find refuge against the end of the table where her gear lies in waiting. The wood could possibly splinter beneath the influence of her grasp, but not before the whine of the door to her chambers. It brings the cast of gaze over the crest of her shoulder && she drinks deep the features of Waloed's king. && for a moment there is an ounce of frustration that lingers in the backs of her eyes. The way her eyes close && her head hangs thereafter. "..Please do not be angry with me." She's no fool to believe he has made well with the idea of her going off to battle. Moreover a battle that could just as easily steal her away from him permanently. The years have been so unkind. The will of his God && the influence of her eikon barred the way of their togetherness for decades. She remembers so fondly the years they were happy. As if just yesterday, he returned to her from his crusade that liberated Kanver. Where his heart swelled at the sight of her && naught could prevent the king from being with his queen. Or the way he revered her so. Or the way her hands still remember the feeling of his own locked with hers, tangled in love. "Curse me if you must.. but I will do everything in my power to rid the world of Ultima's existence." But he says nothing. No words of ire, no sharp tongue to buffer her claims. He is silent as he watches her. For all her reasons, all her ambition, all of the determination that wills her forward, he merely questions the strength of her will as a whole. He may never truly understand that the very fuel which bids her flame burn brighter starts with him. To see him free && loosed from Ultima's boot. She turns in the coming moment, shaken by his silence. && where her voice might be freed, it is swallowed down by the crash of his lips against hers in this sudden closeness. Strong fingers circled around the wrist of a knotted fist, the other caging against the nape of her neck to hold her in this moment. It is a mixture of uncertainty && anger && frustration && longing. && perhaps something more human. The inklings of humanity that remain, that begin to bloom once more, give unto her the hint of fear. && she yields to his touch. She has longed for it, fought to feel his hands upon her once more not unlike their past. It's as though they're frozen in this moment. All of their inhibitions laid bare && broken && battered.

They are still innately tied to one another. Of mind, body, && soul. Though the years have kept them apart && the divine proclaim forbiddance, they have always been one. && when the kiss finally breaks && wondrous blues peer up to him beneath lashes, they exist in a moment of silence... but only a moment. "...I will come back to you. And there will be nothing to stand between us ever again." Her forehead rests against his chin. "Evermore."

[darling-dearest-emi]

Odette was grateful that Gwaine did join her with Ava. The fear and pain in his eyes was enough to remind herself of why this would be rattling them more than anyone else. Their brother. Lancelot. And that nearly tore her in two. For them to be reliving their greatest tragedy... but it couldn't be that. It would be different. The glowing magic cascading over Finn's form was a reminder of just that. With each squeeze from Ava and Gwaine, Odette willed herself to be an anchor for them, to hold them steady while Finn was healed. She brought her hands together onto the center of her lap so that Ava and Gwaine could feel each other too, could know that they weren't alone, even if Odette couldn't compare to their grief.

She allowed her eyes to flutter shut when she noticed Alec coming over to comfort Ava all the further. Odette was willing herself to steady her breathing, to stop her tears from flowing for the sake of the siblings clinging to her. And the visions that played across her eyelids threatened to undo her all the more, memory and hope alike mingling into a picture of her love.

Odette meeting Finn on the day of his transfer, and the way her breath caught in her chest. The first time she'd ever convinced him to dance with her. Their confession and kiss. Telling Finn that she loved him. Walking down the aisle to him. Being married. Creating the family that she'd never quite been able to think possible for herself until she met him... Finn. Always Finn.

-

Calliope moved off of Mael then, her expression softening as she grounded herself again. It didn't help anyone to dwell in memory, least of all her. She looked up as Wulfe laughed, though his gaze seemed fixed on Mael's unconscious form for a moment. When he did meet her eyeline his eyes were still dancing with amusement, and a hint of something she couldn't quite identify.

His order felt more like a suggestion, or at least that's how Calli decided to take it. Because even if Wulfe could take care of himself and strike fear into the hearts of Morpheus' madmen, she wouldn't leave him alone to their potential retaliation as he took Mael. Not when she'd been the one to draw their attention to begin with. "They can handle themselves," she remarked of the others before nodding her head in Mael's direction. "Besides, I want to see his face when he realizes he's the one trapped for once."

-

Esmeralda couldn't help but smirk at Sofia's assessment of the strangers. She moved to retrieve her dagger from the hand it was still precariously lodged in, finding herself almost too quick in the action of sinking to her knees beside the man. And even as she gripped the hilt of the dagger and freed it, she was all too aware at the narrowing of her vision, and the way the blade seemed to swim in and out of focus. "What... is--" The words caught in her throat as the blood drained from her head, leaving her falling into a slump beside the stranger vampires.

-

Zehra didn't quite move to stand again, wary of the fact that either of her marks could rebound in a moment's time. She did move off of the man's bleeding torso though, kneeling beside him instead as she spared a glance towards Sofia at the sound of her stumbling. The way the younger vampire swayed with the effort to turn to Zehra made her eyes grow wide, moving to reach for Sofia, but finding the action to be more efforted than it ought to have been. She stumbled back onto her knees, watching Sofia faint as laughter rang out in her ears. Her head throbbed from this influence--this unseen manipulation that altered her vision and movement. But she fought to keep consciousness as Esmeralda fell beside her. Fought further still to tear her disobedient head towards the evident culprit of her condition.

The blonde warlock had fully focused in on her now, stalking forward in a way that only cemented her danger in the moment. Zehra's shoulders threatened for her to fall forward, but she slammed her hands down into the ground to catch herself, still managing to leave cracks in the flooring there in her weakened state. Her arms trembled with effort and anger as she fought to keep her unfocused gaze on the other woman. "Karışan fahişe," she hissed as the woman extended a hand to touch her. The force of the magic upon her made her breath catch, almost as if it brought her pain to fight it in this way. The last visual she had was of the blonde woman's eyes, the way they shifted from their amusement as she retracted her hand. And then Zehra succumbed to the blood loss, collapsing forward onto the ground.

-

Ember had been helping move an unearthed fae man over to the healers, settling him down near where she saw Cece aiding some of the less urgently wounded. But then she heard a familiar voice over her shoulder. She looked up and caught sight of Fliss, of her shaking and damaged hands and forearms as she gave an injured warlock over into the care of another. She found herself moving in her direction even before she'd quite realized what she was doing, and just as soon was in front of Fliss, her gaze worriedly moving between the burned away skin on Fliss' hands to the evident pain on her features. And just as unthinkingly offered up her wrist in the air between them, moving past any sort of greeting as Ember caught her attention. "You need to heal... right?"

-

Aelin had learned how best to tune out most things over the centuries, be it touch or hearing, as they would be most likely to interfere with the focus required for healing. The precision of locating and mending each burst blood vessel, reducing swelling in muscle and organ alike, weaving the tears in skin to reunite. The delicate green tendrils of his magic formed a crown over the shifter's head. And Aelin was careful to gage himself on how much magic he was expending, with the scope of how many wounded would need aid, and with the varied inherent healing abilities of those being unearthed. With that in mind and with the physical aspects of the head wound at the very least mend, Aelin focused on scanning the rest of the shifter's body, searching for any additional injuries, allowing the arcane hum to try to soothe some of the pain firing off in the nerve endings in its wake.

-

Emma watched in wonder as the warlock woman worked, at the shift of Rory's rib away from her lung and how it refilled now, evening out the rise and fall of the unconscious shifter's chest. But every now and then her gaze would shift to Killian, to the way he held Rory's hand in his own as they shook. And in that moment she was reminded all too much of herself in a different light. Clinging onto her fiance's hand and begging him to wake up, begging him to be okay as the sounds of approaching sirens filled her ears.

She shook herself out of the memory at the feeling of dampness on her hands, her eyes moving down to Rory's head where it rested on her lap, and the steadily growning stain of red that seeped through the makeshift bandage onto Emma's pale blue dress. "Ciaran!" She shouted, unable to stop herself.

-

Aelin's eyes opened at the urgency of the shifter woman's voice, the one who had yelled over about the collapsed lung. From his spot just beside he could see the hemmoraging of the redheaded girl. The shifter, Ciaran, started to move from beside him but Aelin caught his arm. "Get a vampire," he ordered, his voice steady but firm. The shifter nodded and rushed over to the rubble pile while Aelin placed his hands on the shoulders of the two boys that remained beside him, although he spoke to the injured one first. "Don't try to sit up, little one. I've stopped the bleeding, but you'll still be woozy for some time." He turned to the other one, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before rushing to kneel beside the blonde shifter, coaxing her to move so that Aelin could mirror the hold she'd had on the younger girl, his hands cradling her head in his lap.

As he exhaled the hum began again, green light obscuring the redness in its wake.

-

Joe gently caught Nella by the elbows, allowing her forearms to rest atop his as she wobbled on the spot. But he couldn't help but join in on her laughter, at least in a moment's relief. "Are you sure?" He questioned, searching her over for any cuts or breaks that didn't seem to be mending themselves already. But then she answered the question for him, twisting to reveal the rod embedded in her back. Joe couldn't help but wince at the sight. He nodded in reply, moving to where he could hold Nella steady with one arm while the other quickly and evenly removed the offending piece of metal. He felt himself sigh in relief as the flesh there slowly seemed to knit itself back together. A little too slowly, but still healing at all. "Let's sit you down, yeah?"

-

Clara's expression faltered at his words, even in their humor, because it made her stomach drop. What was wrong? What had she missed? But then he pulled her back into his arms and she found herself letting out the smallest sigh of relief. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her words muffled where her head was tucked in the crook of Casper's neck.

At the sound of the warlock speaking out amongst the gathering wounded, she formed her plan of action, moving now to where she was at Casper's side, guiding him towards one of the portals nearer to them. "Off we pop then. And before you try to tell me no, I'm going with you whether you like it or not. You'll be lucky if I let you out of my sight for another moment."

-

Adonis was unaware of much that the nephilim girl was saying, alternating between helplessly rubbing away at his bloodstained sleeves, looking down at Nyla's frail form, and cursing at no-one in particular for the whole awful mess. At some point he'd been caught by the shoulder by two pairs of hands, forced from continuing his pacing as his eyes caught sight of his captors. Sebastian and Ophelia. Clearly they'd heard him. Clearly they'd come to his aid without question.

His brows furrowed, first in a near confusion, and then a wounded sound escaped his lips as he sank to his knees, muttering repeatedly about how it should have been him. Ophelia was the first to kneel beside him, coaxing him into leaning against her and being held. But Bash was there, his hand on Adonis' arm but his eyes cast off somewhere else entirely.

-

Constance's meddling was to be expected. Desmond's only relief was in her chosen victims. They wouldn't die this night, especially not with so many of their own people there to assure as much. But in his focus on the blood witch he'd not been looking to the wounded, to where Thaddeus had been. Had been. Because while the portals were now in place, their creator had vanished from the figures surrounding them. “Damn it, Thaddy,” Des hissed under his breath, skirting around the edges of the ballroom to try and find the other warlock.

It didn’t take long, really, maybe a couple of minutes before he saw the telltale figure of Thaddeus, walking along the wall in a similar fashion to the necromancer… although for the sake of propping himself upright. He overdid it. Of course he overdid it. Des wasn’t entirely sure he had the right to go up to Thaddeus like he did, but he found himself rushing over all the same, moving just in front of him to catch him midstep. “You need to get out of here, Thadd. You’re too weak right now,” he cautioned.

-

Neil had been rousing Aanya where the other vampire had thrown her, comforted in the fact that she was recovering from the feat of strength as normal. But his focus was elsewhere, scanning the room and its occupants for others in need of aid. And the fallen figured of Sofia, Esmeralda, and Zehra caught his sight. He growled under his breath, immediately starting towards them. Aanya had Tavvy and Delphine with her, and they would all understand.

He moved quickly, but having to skirt around the edges of things didn’t make the journey any easier. The three figures standing overtop of his kinfolk had seemingly roused two others, their focus and movements bringing them over to the center of the combat where the other master vampires seemed to be gathering.

He seized the opportunity, darting forward and reaching the site at the same time as Mitchell. But both of the vampires seemed to freeze as the additional player entered their midst—a fae man, who carefully lifted Zehra into his arms, barely casting them a glance as he moved over in the direction of the rubble pile.

Neil didn’t hesitate any longer, scooping Esmeralda up into his arms and moving alongside Mitchell after the fae in question.

-

The normal inky void of sleep did not unsettle Zehra, rather wrapping her in its blackened unawareness and silence in a comforting fashion. Only now she was caught in an endless red miasma, populated by laughter and screams. She tried to will herself out of that space, to open her eyes, but finding only a heavy weight upon her lids.

Until a warmth crept in, slowly spreading from around her shoulders and knees, to the right side of her body where it was cradled against a charcoal presence in the mist.

-

Cora and Nesryn seemed to be the first amongst the Eternity seethe to sense the figure approaching them. Even amidst the chaos around them, the elder vampires were more attuned to that sort of thing than most. Cora whipped her head around, catching sight of the fae man where he stood holding Zehra. Unconscious, blood covered, her dress in tatters. Cora's lip instinctively curled, though she knew better than to think the fae involved. Zehra wouldn’t have associated with him as she had these last few gatherings if he was a threat.

But still, he was there, unmoving and silent, so she maintained the same in her response.

-

Emi’s forehead came to rest against Enzo’s as he pulled her in closer to him, but her body remained stiff, tensely shaking as she muttered the repetitive phrases to herself. Even with his gentle kisses and pleading Emi’s eyes remained tightly shut, her careful mantra interspersed with choking breaths that got harder to manage even in their needlessness. She shook her head fiercely as Andre’s voice boomed in her ears, as Sage’s cries pierced through her chest. She moved her grip from Enzo’s wrists then, clamping her hands down over her ears. “Make it stop,” she whimpered. “Please make it stop.” She flinched with every shout from Andre and her sobs echoed each of Sage’s cries, because even in her fighting, even with the cover of her hands she couldn’t hope to block it out.

-

It was horrific for Luci to watch, her seethe was unfolding before her eyes, and Andre’s torrent of venom seemingly endless. Even at the sight of his gathered children, even at the ones breaking most before him.

She couldn’t bring herself to move, not even to the side of her sobbing sister, hovering instead just behind Nic, her hand desperately clinging to Thomas’ where he held her. Because that was the only thing reminding her that this was all achingly real.

-

Nic hadn’t noticed Damien, Luci, or Thomas as they’d joined him. His gaze was torn between the shattering couple in front of him, the figures of Sage and Erebus clinging to each other, of Stefan preparing to blow, and Andre. Looking at them all, dismissing them without a second thought. Earlier he’d spoken about them being the ones to leave him, and yet now he was dealing only the most final of blows, the most deliberate words of harm. And Nic couldn’t grasp a reason as to why.

-

Emi wasn’t able to hear Enzo anymore, much less heed his requests. Her world was crumbling around her even as she fought to hold up those last few pillars of her perception. Of the man who’d offered to turn a naive girl searching desperately for her twin, of him becoming a confidant, of their shared laughter and fond embrace, of the love that she held for him… And the monster he had willed himself to become.

“Then kill me!”

Emilia’s eyes shot open, wide and afraid, fighting Enzo’s grip with her full strength so that she could see him. Andre. Because even after it all, he was in her heart. Monster or man. Maker or family. Betrayer or protector. But hers all the same, open-armed and inviting death. An unspoken prayer rang in her thoughts, the words nearly identical to her plea before...

Please don’t do this.

Don’t leave me like this.

At the pained sound of Helenus' voice, Alec paled. "What? What is it?" He didn't wait for the answer though, just turned himself around. The sight before him made his blood run cold. Finn. His eyes darted between Gwaine, Odette and Ava. "Oh angel..." he choked.

As much as he wanted to stay with Helenus, he knew he couldn't. Someone was calling his name and he turned towards it. It was Jace. He looked fine. And Izzy. Jace had Izzy. They were both alive. He was dizzy with relief. Then guilt. Terrible guilt that his family was safe but not Ava's. He reached for Henenus' hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I love you..." He told him, his voice strong and even. Then he turned back towards his friends and went to them, pulling Helenus with him.

~*~

Remus watched Constance curiously. Watched as the two women seemed to just crumple under her attention. It was fascinating. Who would have thought a vampire could be so easily overcome. His lips tugged into an appreciative smile. Very interesting.

Thalric was a steady presence behind him. He was reiterating the communications happening through their mind link with the others. He was close enough to Remus he could say it outloud. "Laszlo, Faustus and Lorcan, at base. Mael, link extinguished. Noctis and Nereus, links extinguished."

"Well aware of that." Remus muttered as he observed his two brothers in their states of unconsciousness.

Constance returned to his side and he smiled at her. "Nicely done. I appreciate the favor." He nudged the woman closest to Noctis. "Who is she? I don't have any intel on this one."

Thalric moved over to where Nereus lay. The prone vampire was gasping and grunting in pain. Not unconscious but also not any use to Remus. Which was annoying.

There was a cracking sound as Noctis' neck began to repair it self. He shot up into a straight backed seat. His hand came up to work his jaw experimentally. The expression on his face was livid.

"Have a nice nap?" Remus asked with false sweetness.

"That right, bitch." Noctis said, still completely calm about it.

"That'll teach you to make nice." Remus offered as Thalric rejoined them, carrying Nereus by the back of his shirt. When he stopped by Remus he let the vampire hanging from his hand, fall to the floor.

Remus glanced around with a frown. "Where's the pyromancer?"

~*~

At first, the shock of being doused in liquid didn't phase Blaze. Once that wore off though, the pain started to sink in. He'd barely managed to block his face from the assault when he smelled burning flesh.

His arms, his legs, his neck, the entire front of his body lit up in skin blistering pain. It burned holes through his jeans and shirt. The acid slowly licking up his back. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen.

And once he started to scream, he couldn't stop. At first he writhed in pain. Rolling around in vain to try and stop the boiling. Fire had never taken him before. Was this what it felt like for those nephilim when he torched their Institute?

But then his skin started to tighten and seize. So he curled in on himself. Twice he felt himself being physically slid accross the floor. He didn't know by whom, or where he was being taken. Because all he could focus on was the pain. He continued to scream until he'd gone effectively hoarse.

He must have passed out at some point. Because the next thing he became aware of was being being pulled. The sound of a girls voice the only thing he heard. Then, the pain stopped. His skin started to cool. Which he didn't really understand, but it made him sob in relief. The steam billowing around him.

~*~

Bryce was in shock. He couldn't stop shaking, but he wasn't cold and he wasn't hot. He wasn't really in pain either. Which worried him, because surely he should have been. He could feel the blood oozing down his face. The steady thumping in his chest was the only thing he could actually hear.

He'd been through a lot of trauma in his young life. So the fact so much was happening all around him didn't really phase him much. His vision kept swimming in and out of focus.

Several things happened at once. Soothing voices and touching distracted him as the warmth of healing wrapped around his head. It was then that he noticed he was laying accross someone's lap. That someone was Harry. Harry was here? Bryce stared up at him in fascination. Because he couldn't remember having noticed the other shifter's presence. "It hurts..." He whimpered to the vision of Harry that faded in and out of focus.

~*~

Thaddeus made several portals in a matter of minutes. The sheer volume of it left him feeling spent and fatigued. But he'd done it, Ten evenly spaced portals all the way down the hall. Luckily, they all landed in the same place. Torben's hospital. Where they ended up after that? Not his problem.

Once there was a steady stream of people lining up to move through the portals, Thaddeus went in search of Desmond.

It was pretty dumb of him. What made him think Desmond was even still there? He had to look though. He'd never be able to live with himself if the necromancer had gotten hurt on his watch.

There was so much noise around him. His head was already starting to feel fuzzy. Portal creation took a lot of energy. The fact that he'd done so many, in such quick succession meant that he really needed to lay down. But Desmond's whereabouts was far more important than that shit. He continued to stumble along, keeping a steadying hand on the walls as he searched.

~*~

As soon as he'd gotten hands around Emi, Enzo's stamina ran out. But that didn't stop him from pulling her closer to him. As if he could shield her somehow.

He kept her face cradled in his hands as he whispered to her. The tears streaming down her face felt like a knife to his gut. Pressing his cheek against hers, he started to feel his own tears start to fall. Because her pain was his pain. Always had been.

"Shhh...." He cooed to her, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks. "Emi love...look at me...that's it...look at me." He gasped. His throat, it hurt. Healing had begun, he could feel it working. But it just wasn't fast enough to keep up with what was unfolding around them. He didn't think he could physically keep Emi safe. Which was such an awful thing to bear. That on top of the shit happening with Andre, Sage and Erebus. Enzo was cursing everything.

"Emilia..." He said softly, circling his thumbs on her cheeks. "I need you to look at me. Please....please look at me." He pleaded as their world came tumbling down.

Sage's whine felt like a physical blow. Despite everything Enzo knew. He couldn't stop that from happening. He couldn't keep up with the rate that Andre was going. He was self-destructing. And taking all of them with him.

~*~

Strong arms wrapped around Sage as he swayed back and forth. A series of pained whines and gasps escaping from his clenched teeth.

"Sage!" The sound of Andre's voice cut clear through the haze of his mind. His body went rigid. His body finally starting to give out on him due to the amount of damage he'd taken.

The path back to himself was violent. He could hear Andre in his head, over and over again. Words that didn't make any sense to him. Nothing made sense anymore. But also, in the midst of all of that, he could hear Erebus voice. Pleading. Whispering. It was such a stark difference to how he normally sounded. Sage didn't like it. Not at all.

Then he could hear sobbing. Enzo. Emi. Why were they crying? He needed to stop the crying. But somehow, during all of this, he too had started to cry. The tears rolled down his dirt and blood caked cheeks. They were hot and sticky. And then, suddenly he was back in his body. And the pain exploded. White and hot, threatening to render him unconscious. Which would be a relief at this point.

And again, Andre's voice entered his mind. Slowly it started to eat away at Sage. Penetrating every wall he'd built, and then knocking them down. It was like a curtain was slowly parting behind his eyes. What was beneath, was a stage. Flashes of images, voices, taunts, memories. Erebus. There with him. Calli. Andre. When he'd laid eyes on Andre that very first night, he'd thought him to be the most beautiful person in the world.

Once that curtain fell. All that was left was more pain. And a voice in his head. A familiar, pained voice. Sage cried out, clutching at the hands that held onto him. A renewed sense of urgency overtook him. His brother. His brother. Where was he? He had to find him. His struggles started anew.

"SAGE!" Andre barked. "That's enough."

With that, his body gave out completely, and he sagged into Erebus' arms.

~*~

Andre clenched his shaking fingers into fists at his sides. He couldn't let them see how this was affecting him. If they saw, they would know. Know he was a fraud. A fake. A nothing. Isn't that what Morpheus told him? Just a pretty face. Nothing going on upstairs.

As soon as Sage finally fell, the need to just sink down to the floor hit him full force. But no. Not yet. He couldn't give in to the nothingness just yet.

Stefan was there, shouting at him. Telling him to stop. But Andre couldn't. Not yet.

Andre's eyes fell on each one of his children. He memorized their faces. Every curve. Every blemish. Just everything. He'd need those images. Tucked away in the recesses of his mind. Because they were his. His loves. Every last one of them.

"Have you gone mad?" Stefan demanded, finally having had enough of his silence. He grabbed Andre by the shoulders and gave him a shake.

"Not mad, dear brother." Andre said with false sweetness. "I just finally know what's really important. Me."

Stefan snarled, fangs bared. "They are your children!" He hissed. "You made them, its your job to care for them!"

"Like you?" Andre asked with a cruel curl of this lip. "Because you're so happy? They are leeches. Always wanting more and more and more. Bleeding me dry. I have no more obligation to care for them."

His brother's anger hit him full force then. He screamed obscenities at Andre. Calling him all sorts of things. But the most painful one was a monster. Andre was a monster. And would be a monster for the rest of eternity.

"Then kill me!" Andre snarled back at him. "Kill me and be damned well done with it or shut your damned mouth."

Stefan reeled back, sinking into a crouch, preparing to strike.

Andre closed his eyes, opening his arms to welcome his brother's ire. But...nothing happened. When he blinked them back open, he was staring at William's back. He'd stepped in between them. And Andre's heart sank.

[kitorin]

2:59 am - Isagi Yoichi

kind of a part two to this, but can be read as a standalone!

Horror movies are cool.

The plots were fascinating, the acting and CGI were equally captivating. The problem was that they were scary.

It's obvious that they would be, that's the whole point; to evoke thrill and to trigger chemical reactions to simulate what it'd be like to be in danger. But Yoichi can't handle that well. Barely.

He loved all movies nights with you regardless of the genre, wrapped up together with a thick blanket, hours spent staring at the laptop with intrigue. Horror movies were no different since he was with you.

Even if it's a situation that physically cannot happen, like ghost stories or tales of the supernatural, for some reason he now suddenly believes that they exist.

Yoichi knows better than anyone else that he's always been a crybaby, bursting out into tears at the mere change in weather, or whenever his dad changed the channel to anything that wasn't soccer. He even started crying when he was watching his friend play Minecraft, and an Enderman teleported out of nowhere while screeching. Roblox horror games terrified him as a child, and his parents couldn't 'boo!' him because it'd always result in inconsolable bawling. It was obvious that jump scares was never his cup of tea.

But to be this affected, was almost embarrassing.

The clock's about to strike 3 am, the time that's dubbed as devil's hour. Yoichi doesn't even know why it's labelled as that, yet he's still paranoid something will happen, in the middle of your hallway.

There's a light on, for the sake of your younger siblings to feel a bit safer. Yoichi can't believe he's taking comfort in something that was implemented for a literal child to overcome their fear of the dark.

Just don't look left and right, focus on wherever's got light.

If he was thirsty he always could've waited for morning to come, but using the bathroom was a completely different story.

It's not his fault the premise of so many horror movies involved a dark corridor, and a grotesque entity emerging out of nowhere from the shadows. It's a miracle how you're able to sleep peacefully after a whole night of watching horror movie after horror movie.

Yoichi takes a deep breath, quickly striding from the restroom to yours. With a sigh of relief he gently closes the door, ready to join you to sleep again.

"Yocchan?" A groggy voice calls out to him.

He shrieks, loudly, it's so out of character considering his level headed and confident demeanor on field.

An awkward silence fills the room, as he realizes, it was just you.

God please kill me now, is the first thing that comes to mind.

You owlishly blink, still dazed from just awaking from your slumber. "Calm down, you'll wake up my siblings." You groan and yawn. "Did something happen?"

"No, you just surprised me there. Thought you were sleeping." Good, now please pass out so he'll never have to think of this moment again.

"Liar."

"It's true."

"You're a professional soccer player, you've been able to beat that German dude who's the best striker in your age group, and you're scared of me speaking?"

At this point he was praying you'd pass out right at this moment and forget about this by the time morning comes.

"I'm just madly in love with you to the point than anything you do makes me want to scream." It's an embarrassing truth, but far from a lie. "C'mon, you need to sleep, we stayed up really late."

You jokingly scoff. "Fine."

He slowly walks over to your bed, tightly wrapping his lean arms around you, hiding from his irrational frights. When you turn off the night light he's paranoid again, grip around you strengthening.

"Yocchan."

"Yes love?"

"You're clinging onto me, really tightly."

He gulps a bit, weakening his arms. "Sorry." He buries his face into your neck instead, still scared of his own thoughts. Only a few more hours til the sun rises and the day starts, he only has to endure this for a bit more, all he has to do is pass out and he'll be okay.

"You're trembling." You mumble as you're about to doze off. "Are you cold? I'll get you a hoodie and another blanket just in case-" You barely get up before Yoichi pulls you back into bed.

"No, tonight was just scary." No point in hiding it now. "Just stay. Please. I keep thinking that stupid doll from that one movie will appear."

"Idiot." You locked him into your embrace again. " You should've told me, I don't even like horror that much, I just didn't want to watch them alone." Your fingers reach towards his face to give his cheeks a firm yet gentle pinch.

"First you pretend you're good with chili at the noodle place now this?" His mouth almost burns at the mention and thought of the memory. Sure he couldn't handle it and was turning red, but they still tasted amazing and it was worth seeing you enjoy yours.

"Yes yes, I know I'm stupid. Stupidly in love with you." It's cheesy yet it still makes you grin. "I wanna sleep now. G'night. I love you."

He knows he shouldn't go overboard and do the things he doesn't synergise with well just because you like them. But anything's worth it if it's with you, he'll eventually recover from having too much chili and one day he'll be able to sit through a jump scare without his soul leaving his body.

"I love you too." You mumble in response, smile tugging at your lips and feeling the warmth of his proximity.

With the comfort of you and your words, and how the blanket engulfed you two, any intrusive thoughts remaining in Yoichi's mind dissipated that night; though your siblings still can't comprehend why and how that scream happened last night; and who did it.

Tagging : @kiyumiya