#real talk this dog got me through my shift

[basilpesto3]

today i met the most wonderful dogy… she literally has a pinecones…

[diazsdimples]

Prompt: forehead kiss

😘

When Eddie gets home, he can tell something is wrong. Usually, if he has a shift without Buck, his boyfriend will be waiting for him at the door like an enthusiastic golden retriever. Today, however, the house is completely silent when Eddie opens the door.

Worried, Eddie puts his duffel down, kicks off his shoes, and pads down the hallway.

"Buck?" he calls out, listening for signs of life, with concern mounting when he hears none. "Baby, you home?"

Eddie turns the corner into the lounge and there he finds Buck, or what he assumes is Buck as all he can see is a mound of blankets on the couch. There's a small sniffle and the mound shakes, shifting as Buck turns and pokes his head out from his cocoon, revealing his bright red, tear streaked face, and mussed up blond curls.

Quick as a flash, Eddie rounds the couch, dropping to his knees so he's at eye level with Buck, and takes his boyfriends face in his hands.

"Mi amor, what happened? Are you okay?"

Buck sniffs pathetically, rubbing his eyes with the back of his fists, and drops his head back against the cushions. " 'M fine" he croaks, his voice cracked and raw from crying.

Eddie swipes his thumbs across Buck's cheeks, wiping away his tears, and taps his nose with his forefinger. Buck always looks so vulnerable when he cries, giving Eddie the overwhelming urge to wrap himself around Buck and snarl at anything that comes near. He's never been protective or possessive with past relationships before but with Buck, it's different. Buck has such light, such unadulterated joy that Eddie can't help but want to shield him from all that's bad, to be the armour that surrounds Buck, taking the blows instead.

"Sweetheart, you can talk to me. What's going on?" Eddie asks, dipping his head to keep Buck's gaze on him, forcing eye contact. "Please, I want to help."

"It's silly," Buck says with a shaky laugh. "Don't want you to laugh at me."

Eddie tucks a finger under Buck's chin, gently lifting his head upwards. "I would never laugh at you, I promise. Please, tell me?"

Buck shifts so he's sitting upright a bit more. "I was looking at a the card Chris made me when I passed my recertification test, you know, before I had the PE, and then I found the Father's Day card he made me this year and looking at them side by side, seeing how much his handwriting has changed and how he doesn't draw stick figures with ridiculously long legs anymore, but draws actual, real people, it just made me really emotional to think that he's not that tiny 7 year old you introduced me to anymore. Like I said, it's silly."

Eddie can't help but smile at his boyfriend's confession. He himself had been going through similar, mourning the loss of the little boy that would ask him about dogs knowing if they were dogs, and how he used to be able to carry him around all the time. His son is growing up, and it's taken him a moment to get used to it.

"Hey, that's not silly at all. It's an unfortunate part of being a parent, watching your baby grow up, and you mourn who they were when they were little but you also get to watch them flourish and become little adults." Eddie reaches forward and brushes a strand of hair from Buck's forehead. "This is a very normal part of parenting, amor."

"If it's normal then why does it suck so much?"

Eddie laughs as he scratches Buck's head, noting with satisfaction that Buck leans into the touch, his tears not coming as fast anymore.

"Life sucks sometimes," he says sagely, quoting Buck from not two nights prior when Christopher had asked them why he wasn't allowed a PS5 in his room. "But, we get through it together, right?"

Buck's lips quirk upwards in the ghost of a smile, and he nods. "Yeah, I'm glad I've got you, Eds."

Eddie leans forwards and kisses Buck's forehead, inhaling in the scent of the strawberry shampoo he insists on using, a scent that feels so perfect and so much like home to Eddie. "You've always got me," he murmurs, his lips brushing against Buck's forehead as he speaks.

He presses another tender kiss to Buck's forehead, then to his temple, the tip of his nose, and very gently to his lips. "I love you."

Buck nuzzles his nose against Eddie's, before tucking his face into Eddie's neck, circling his arms around his waist. "Love you too, Eds."

They stay like that for a while, tangled up in one another like they're two pieces of a puzzle, made to fit perfectly together. Eddie rubs his hand up and down Buck's back, feeling every bump of his spine, scratching between his shoulder blades, tracing his ears with the tip of his fingers. Buck relaxes in his arms, going soft and pliant as if his body is putty and Eddie's touch is moulding him, bringing him back to the shape of his regular self.

After a while Eddie pulls back and smooths his thumb over Buck's cheek. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I think I will," Buck replies, and Eddie knows, as long as they're together, they can face the world. And there's no one he would rather have at his side, than his Buck.

Fuck around with me and ask things!

[dandelions-143]

Three’s Never A Crowd

Chan x Y/n x Seungmin

Pairing: Chan x f!reader x Seungmin

Genre: Nothing but Fluff, Fluff, and more Fluff.

Warnings: None whatsoever

Wk: 1570k

A/N: So sorry for any typos, this is not edited at all. It’s just a little fluff piece. I am not so good at Sweet fluff but I felt like my page needed something sweet sprinkled on it. Enjoy!! Let me know what you think! Also reblogs are very much welcome!!

Masterlist

So warm and cozy. That was the thought that ran through your head as you snuggled into the warm body next to you. Long arms shifted to wrap around you, pulling you in close to him. You could hear his heavy heart beats as your head rested on his muscular chest.

You lifted your head a little to peer up at Chans peaceful slumbering face. He looked like a child when he was sleeping. Call it creepy but you liked to watch this man sleep. His deep steady breathing, like a rhythm you couldn’t get enough of. Chans eyes lids fluttered in his sleep as well. It made you wonder if he was dreaming and what he was dreaming of.

Chans full lips twitched and memories from last night flooded your mind. Hands and lips in all over you. The slowest and most attentive sex you had ever had. Chan had taken his time with you and so did the second man that shared your bed last night.

Your hand went to feel for Seungmin on the other side of you but, there was nothing but cold sheets. You bit your lip remembering how gentle Seungmin had been with you. How soft the men had been with one another.

The three of you were regularly intimate with one another but, you and Chan were the only ones that had made your relationship more than sex. You had steadily and then heavily fallen madly in love with Chan but Seungmin secretly had your heart too. You had told Chan about your feelings and he confessed to his own feelings for Seungmin as well.

You and Chan were hesitant to talk to a Seungmin about the mutual feelings you both had for him because the man was very independent and he was never one to be tied down.

You were brought out of your thoughts by a soft clang on the other side of the bedroom door. You slowly got up as to not wake your sleeping boyfriend. You pulled on one of Chans over sized shirts and made your way as quietly as you could into the small kitchen.

A very strong smell of bacon hit you first before you rounded the corner and your eyes landed on a shirtless Seungmin standing at the stove, various pans and skillets in the middle of cooking eggs and pancakes and bacon.

You watched him with a soft smile on your face as he concentrated on his task. His brows furrowed and his hair a mess hanging over his forehead. When the bacon popped a bit too much and burned his chest causing him to jump back with a soft curse you couldn’t help but giggle out loud.

This caught his attention, deep brown eyes met yours and you swore you saw them soften just a bit at the sight of you. “Uh, sorry if I woke you. I just thought it would be nice for you and Chan to wake up to full table of breakfast.” He awkwardly rubbed at the back of his neck. You walked up to him and smoothly wrapped your arms around his lean waist, standing on your toes to peck his lips in appreciation. “Thank you very much and you didn’t wake me.” His round puppy dog eyes lingered a moment on your lips before sliding up to your eyes.

Your lips parted to speak up about him and the possibility of this thing you and Chan had with Seungmin turning into something so much more than late nights of tangled limbs, soft moans, and mind blowing threesomes. “Breakfast.” Chans sleepy voice came from behind you. He leaned in and kissed the top of your head then kissed Seungmins cheek as if this was how mornings always went between the three of you. It just fit..it felt right.

You saw Seungmin smile sweetly at Chans show of affection and suddenly bringing up a real relationship with him didn’t seem so far fetched. “Yeah, I just thought it would be nice and kind of a thank you for last night.” Seungmin cleared his throat and stepped back so you could fill your plate up with food.

A comfortable quiet fell over the three of you as you and Chan filled your plates and Seungmin poured everyone juice. You nudged Chans arm as he stood beside you grabbing many pieces of bacon. “Sorry, I don’t get to eat bacon often.” He mumbled and began to put some of it back. You shook your head, “no no, I think I’m going to talk to him about possibly being with us..being our boyfriend.”

Chan watched Seungmin step into the bedroom to find his shirt, “You know I’m down for that. I love you and I could see myself falling for him as well but, do you think he will reciprocate that though?” You bit your bottom lip and slowly began to nod. “I think he wants to but maybe he’s afraid since it would be new to him. There’s only one way to find out.” You put a piece of toast on your plate and walked over to the small table just as Seungmin walked back in to sit across from you.

Your boyfriend came to sit next to you and you all began to eat. You and Chan kept watching Seungmin, he was the cutest when he ate. Big bites but he would chew slowly, really enjoying his food. Seungmin noticed you two staring and leaned back in his chair, “Are you two okay?” He asked as he wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

Chan smiled, his dimples showing, “Seungmin, have you ever thought of being in a relationship before?” The lean man crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. His eyes shifted from Chan to you then back to Chan. “Um, actually I have but, I don’t think it’s a possible thing.” You leaned forward a bit and spoke up between bites of food, “Well why not? You’re gorgeous, you could be with anyone you wanted to.. even us.” You casually slipped that in there hoping it didn’t make things weird.

That seemed to catch Seungmin off guard, his eyes grew a little wide and he looked a bit nervous. His mouth opened and shut then opened and shut again. Like he was trying to find his words. “What do you mean?” He finally spoke, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Chan.

Chan licked his lips and reached over gently grabbing Seungmins hand, holding it where it rested on the table. “You know we’ve been doing this sexual dance for a while now. We love it, we enjoy it but,” Seungmin looked down at his lap then and nodded, cutting Chan off he pulled his hand away, “You guys want to stop. I get it. I don’t ever want to make things hard for the two of you. I really care for you both so we can just be friends if it would suit you two better.” You got up and walked around the table to him.

There was just enough space for you to sit on his lap and you draped your arms over his shoulders, “Seungmin, we don’t want to stop…” You looked over at Chan before continuing, “We want more of you, not just sex but everything that would come with being together, in a relationship. You, Chan, and I.” You held your breath, waiting for him to take it all in. Waiting for him to process it.

You watched Seungmins eyes light up with relief and happiness as he scanned them over your face then moved them over to Chan. “I thought I was going insane. I’ve never wanted two people at the same time. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you two.” His mouth kept moving, confessing his feelings for you both. You cut him off as he began to ramble with a soft kiss. Pressing your lips to his, kissing him slow and sweet.

You carded your fingers through his thick soft hair, tugging at the glossy strands a little as you both pulled back, a mirrored smile on both of your lips. You heard a chair being pushed back and Chan was by your side. He knelt down and took Seungmins face in his hands, pulling him closer. You watched Chan kiss him deeply and you only felt happiness. It bloomed in your chest at the sight of the man you were completely in love with and the man you were slowly falling for come together.

Seungmin pulled back and left a light peck on your nose before consuming your lips again. The three of you feeling more at home with one another than you ever had before. Resting his forehead against yours and Chan leaning his head on Seungmins shoulder, your new boyfriend asked, “Does this mean dates and actual couple things?” You laughed softly and kissed at his soft cheeks, “Of course silly.”

With that Seungmin easily lifted you up in his arms as he stood, Chan following his lead. “I think we should get started on those couple things right now.” You squealed as he moved you over his shoulder, Chan grinning from ear to ear as he placed his hands on Seungmins waist and followed him into the bedroom for round two of last night.

Tags: @moonndustx

[kitixie]

Little Girl Gone (pt 4)

synopsis: After a night at the Shelby house, you're left feeling wanting.

information: this chapter is a little shorter than the last, but i promise the next one will make up for it!!

word count: 1.4k

warnings: sexual content, minors dni, cursing

taglist: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude, @globetrotter28, please let me know if youd like to be tagged!

thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my story. this is my first time writing something longer than two parts, and it makes my heart warm knowing that people enjoy it. <3

You slept peacefully that night for the first time in a long time. It had been ages since you slept fully through the night, always waking up from some bad dream or a strange noise in your house. But next to Tommy, you felt nothing but safe and content. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and that’s partially what woke you. Your eyes peeled open, slowly but surely adjusting to the sunlight that was entering the room. A soft yawn escaped your mouth, and you moved to see if you could read the clock on his bedside table. It was only 7, so you decided to try and go back to sleep for a few more hours, or at least until your bed companion woke up on his own. Carefully shimmying your way back to the warm spot you had been sleeping in, you felt Tommy drape his arm back over your side. He pulled you closer, mumbling in his sleep. Just as he finally was settling back down, you felt something hard pressing into your lower back. 

‘That isn’t… is it?’ You thought, feeling a burst of heat rush to your face. 

You tried to be as still as you could so you wouldn’t wake Tommy, but he was poking your back quite hard. You laid still for as long as you could manage, and then shifted your hips away from him, leaving your upper body in the same spot. Finally free from the pain of his cock in your back, you started to drift back to sleep, with absolutely foul thoughts circling your head. 

“Mhm, Y/N. That feels good,” Tommy mumbled after a few minutes,  just as you were tottering on the edge of consciousness. 

You froze, suddenly coming back to full awareness, unable to fall back asleep. 

-

Tommy had been awake the entire time, of course he’d never let you know that. He had woken up when you moved away from him, and he watched as you peered at the clock on the small table. He had tried every trick in the book to get his body to cooperate with him. So he closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep. He had thought of his grandmother, he had thought of dead dogs, he had tried every trick he could remember from his teenage years besides jerking his cock with his fist. He cursed himself silently when you scooted back against him, knowing that having your body pressed to his certainly wasn’t going to help his situation. He felt bad at first, then gave himself some grace. How could he possibly not get hard when he had you here, in his bed? You were so close to him, he could smell your hair, and count your breaths. He had thought of this incident so many times, that it almost didn’t seem real. He had dreamt of you in his bed with him, curling against his body during the night. Being the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning. He could feel you moving though, and as soon as the contact between both of your hips was gone, he began to fall back asleep. He had always fallen asleep fast, he just hoped he didn’t talk in his sleep this time like he normally did. 

-

Tommy woke before you this time, only leaving the comfort of his bed when he was on the verge of pissing himself. He could’ve sworn he stayed in the toilet no longer than 5 minutes, but once he had returned to his room, he found his bed empty. 

You had been woken by the creak of bed springs as Tommy got up. Remembering the events from earlier that morning, you decided that you weren’t ready to face him yet; even thinking of it made you blush. You quickly realized the time, and knew Pol would have breakfast going by now. Getting off the bed as quietly as possible, you slipped on your now dry clothes and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. 

Sure enough, Pol stood over the stove stirring something in a pot. 

“Y/N, come, sit. Breakfast is almost ready,” Pol said, giving you a small smile over her shoulder. 

You nodded, even though she had already turned back around. You felt slightly bad for leaving Tommy alone, but dealing with him in front of Pol would be hard enough for you, much less dealing with him alone in the confines of his bedroom. 

Pol played whatever it was she had cooked, just as Tommy came down the stairs. He had changed from his pajamas into his everyday clothes, a pair of pressed slacks, a white shirt and a vest, accessorized with his golden pocket watch. He offered you a sly smile, which made you gulp. Once you realized he was staring, you gave a small smile back. As Pol placed the food in front of you, you began to struggle with your imagination. Every time Tommy would bend over, or look down, or hell, even put food in his mouth, your brain turned it into something obscene. Thinking about his fingers going all of your body, exploring you like an unknown territory. His mouth, pressing warm kisses to your shoulder and breast. His hips, thrusting to hit yours while he bent you over his desk. Your face flushed, and suddenly your appetite was gone. 

“Pol, breakfast was great. Thank you,” you swallowed. “And, thank you Tommy, for letting me stay. But I-, uh, I need to go home. I’ll see you both soon!” You said, collecting your coat from the bench seat and giving them a wave as you spun out of the door. 

-

Once finally home, you could relax. You changed into clean clothes, and put on a pot of tea. You sat on your couch, reviewing all of the moments that had happened between you and Thomas over the past twenty-four hours. The almost-kiss, the office confession, the sleep-over, then the mornings erection. You felt your face heat, and a frustrated groan came from your throat. You were tired of being teased. You were a grown woman, if Tommy wouldn’t move on you, you could just do it yourself. 

You moved to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you removed your socks and stockings, and then laid back onto your mountain of pillows. You began to let your imagination run wild, picturing Tommy standing over you, giving you instruction. You slowly unbuttoned the top of your shirt, letting one hand slide to your breast. As that hand pinched and pulled at your nipple, the other slid down your waist. You bunched up your skirt, allowing your finger to trace over your folds beneath your underwear. You could hear Tommy’s voice clearly in your head. 

‘take them off, Y/N.” 

So you did. 

You slid off your panties and let them drop to the floor. Your hand now having full access to the most delicate part of your body. Your slim fingers toyed with the folds, eventually moving to your sweet spot. You moved them back and forth rapidly, all while imaging they were Tommy’s hands instead of your own. You kept this up, kept rubbing and circling until you felt a bubble start to build in your stomach. You drove two fingers inside yourself, imagining it was his cock this time. That thought alone made the bubble swell, coming to a head. Still toying with your breast, and still visualizing Tommy sliding in and out of you, the bubble burst. 

“Tommy!” you said, voice somewhere between a whisper and a moan. 

You could feel your own fluid coating your fingers, and your nipple was now sore, but it had been worth it. All of the built up tension between you and him had to be resolved, even if you were resolving it by yourself. 

-

After your little session, you decided on a nap. You hadn’t meant to sleep so long, but when you were woken by your doorbell at 6 pm, you realized your mistake. Quickly hopping out of bed, you noticed the long forgotten pot of tea on the counter, now grown cold. You peaked in the mirror in the bathroom, smoothing your hair with your hands, as the doorbell rang again. 

“Oi, one bloody second!” You shouted, still groggy from your nap. 

You finally made your way to the door, pulling it open. Standing on the other side, was none other than Mr. Shelby himself. 

“What’re ya doin’ here, Tommy?” You asked, trying to nonchalantly lean against the door frame. 

“Thought I’d come cook you dinner, if that’s alright?” He said, giving a slight nod. 

You slightly bowed, moving out of the way of the door. 

“Come on in,” You said, hoping that maybe you’d finally get some answers.

[hotluncheddie]

stop being a goblin and let me kiss you

part 7

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

eddie is in steve’s lap. 

‘you’re not joking, are you? i seriously can’t do this if you’re joking man’ 

eddie feels steve move from where he was sucking on eddies neck, hears a little wet pop before steve’s scrunched eyebrows and pout come into view. 

‘what about this makes you think i’m joking?’ steve squeezes the two handfuls of eddies ass what are currently filling (yes, filling! thank you!) (…ok ok, mostly filling) his big jock hands. 

eddie narrows his eyes, looks down his nose at steve. because steve may be built but eddie is the same height as him, he’s no waif! so steve in distinctly below him right now… nice. ‘…i don’t know… but still’ 

steve sighs muttering something about ‘bobs better be right about this’ before he lifts eddie under the thighs and plops him down in the bed. eddie just about able to squark before his throat dries up at the sight of the position steve got himself into. 

kneeling before him on the floor, one knee raised where his forearm lies, his head bowed. like a knight taking the knees for his sworn king. 

‘my liege.’ steve says. ‘i swear on my sword? that i like you… i’m not being a a jester right.? so, like, i’m not joking.’ 

steve glances around before his eyes flash. eddie gulps, stunned. floored. flabbergasted. 

taking eddie hand in his steve kisses eddies ring, his knuckles. looks up at him through thick lashes. lips lingering. 

eddie whimpers. 

‘did i say that right?’ steve stage whispers. narrowing his eyes and fighting a smile. 

eddies mouth opens and closes a couple times, silently. then he whines and nods. watched steve smile, self satisfied and blinding. 

eddie blinks, clears his throat. ‘you still think cumming really fast is hot?’

steve’s spine straightens, eyes wide and he glances down at eddie crotch. ‘you?’ 

‘no but i could cut a diamond here so, i can see it in my future.. my like, mind’s eye.’ 

steve laughs, a full belly thing. eddies breath catches again. he feels the stars in his eyes. this galaxy boy just for him. 

steve knee walks towards him, nestles himself between eddies thighs. both his hands there too, stoking lightly. eyes bright and sparkling. 

he leans in close, so their lips almost meet. goosebumps raise all over eddies skin. 

‘still hot ed’s, promise.’ 

-

they’re lying on eddies bed cuddling. fucking cuddling can you believe that?

steve stretches and sighs so deep eddie feels it in his bones. he looks like the trailer park stray when it used to stretch out in the summer sun, on that patchy bit of grass by eddies window. 

he fights down the swell of joy that unfurls in him. an old dog in the sun, a boy in his bed, eddie can’t handle it. 

one thing about eddie munson is that his head will follow about ten minutes after his heart. he’s a impulsive guy and that’s just that. it gets him in trouble yeah, but.. but nothing, it get him in trouble. 

case and point his little heart swell is making his feel much too honest and open. 

see, all that ‘my liege’ talk reminded eddie of that secret notebook he keeps tucked away. full of desperate little scenarios with people he’s made up.. and people who are very real. steve might be a main character in, some. maybe. if he’s honest. or a lot. if he’s more honest. 

steve on his knees, chain around his neck. crying all pretty, chest hairy and exposed. steve holding eddie in strong arms, tending to his wounds, splitting him open. yeah. it’s all there…with diagrams a lot of the time. 

maybe with steve, some of it could become real. maybe. that one where he holds eddies hand during is actually really high on the list…oh god. oh god oh god. 

eddie zones back in, heart first. ‘you know what you said? it reminded me of something.’ 

steve shifts from where he’s buried in eddies neck, looks up at him, he looks half asleep. eddie squeezes him. 

‘this npc that i use, kinda acts a lot like that and maybe, kinda, resembles you.’ 

steve perks up, fog clearing from his eyes and a little smirk forming. ‘should i be flattered? you made your little game all horny huh?’ 

caught red handed. 

‘…who, who says it’s horny?’ 

‘this guy for one’ steve taps the front of eddie jeans. ‘and the colour you went when i mentioned calling you master.’ 

…’you’re more perceptive that i thought…my uh, my mind wanders when im planning.’

eddie watched steve smile, it’s kinda dopey he looks so delighted. ‘hm? wander to little old me?’ steve’s staring directly at eddies mouth again. 

‘i think you know man.. but uhm, just checking that ah, all this. today. it’s not just a, a one-time thing right?’ eddie swallows, fingers gripping and unfurling around steve’s t-shirt. 

steve’s eyes snap up and stare right into eddie fucking soul. he feels like a frog about to be cut open in science class. slimy. ‘ed’s. i’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for months. i’m not going anywhere.’ 

eddie feels his eyes go wide. chest swelling again and cheeks threatening to split in a supernova smile. 

‘you wanna see my sketches?’ 

not bothering to wait for answers, eddie rolls off the bed with a lot of grace and ease. he doesn’t bang his knee on the bed frame no no. he just shoves his upper body into the murky depths of its underneath. 

‘totally open to the master thing by the way.’ 

eddie jolts, banging his head against the bed frame. feels his cheeks flame bright pink and he shuffles out to glare up at steve. stupid steve stupid dick stupid maybe actually having a boyfriend. 

‘maybe i’m not ready for you to see my sketches. i’m fucking hard again.’ eddie sniffs, turning to sit away from steve’s dumb head, leaning back agains the bed. 

‘ah come on dude i’m a total connoisseur of the arts, i spend my days surrounded by it.’ steve scratches his hand into eddies scalp. eddie enters the 5th dimension and his bones form into a new element, unknown to humans before. holy shit that feels good. 

wait. 

eddie whips around. ‘renting out labyrinth to teenager does not a curator make, stevie.’ 

‘okay mister eight labyrinth rentals on his account.’ steve widens his eyes he’s mocking him! smug brat. eddies wants to eat him whole. 

‘oh? you pay way more attention at work that i give you credit for’ eddie feels a grin pull at his lips, feels the little curls at the top of his metaphorical grinch head unfurl. ‘… i’m telling buckley.’ 

steve wriggles around like the comment pains him. ‘noooo!! she’ll make fun of meeee. she’ll call me a corporate shill again!’ he’s giggling. 

eddie lunges at him. stupid stupid boy. he’s perfect.

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

part 1 (eddie) part 2 (steve) part 3 (eddie) part 4 (steve) part 5 (eddie) part 6 (steve)

yeah i might do another, don't even worry about it..

[kat-thepoet]

Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Part 10: Hide snd seek

A/N: Hi 🤭

Previous Chapters ☞ HERE ☜

3.7k words

"Please don't. I'll promise not to do any business anymore. Just spare my life," he begged, his voice trembling with fear. I looked at him, my eyes devoid of emotion. His words felt empty, and the thought of killing him stirred nothing within me. I raised my gun, placing the barrel between his eyes, and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the room as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. His eyes remained open, staring through me, as blood slowly trickled from his forehead, pooling into his eyes as if he were crying blood.

I woke up screaming, "Nooooo!" My heart pounded in my chest, the terror of the dream still gripping me. Logan immediately woke up, his arms wrapping around me as he pulled me close, comforting me. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice soothing. "It was just a nightmare."

I clung to Logan, my body trembling as I tried to shake off the nightmare. His warmth surrounded me, grounding me in the present. His hand gently stroked my hair, and I could feel his heart beating steadily against my back. "You're safe," he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm right here."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The vivid images from the dream still lingered, the feeling of cold detachment as I pulled the trigger, the lifeless eyes staring back at me. "It felt so real," I whispered, my voice shaky. "I... I killed him without even blinking, without feeling anything. It was like... like I was a monster."

Logan held me tighter, his voice firm but gentle. "You're not a monster, Violet. You're not alone in this, and you're not defined by your nightmares. We all have our demons, but they don't control who we are."

I nodded, feeling the tension slowly begin to ease from my body. His presence was calming, a stark contrast to the horror I had just experienced. "I just... I don't want to lose myself," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You won't," Logan said, his voice filled with conviction. "I won't let you. We'll get through this together." He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with concern, but also with a strength that gave me hope. "You're stronger than you think, Violet. And you've got me. I'm not going anywhere."

I leaned into him, letting his words and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe me. "Thank you," I whispered, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. "For always being here."

Logan wiped the tear away with his thumb, his touch tender. "Always," he promised, holding me close as the remnants of the nightmare began to fade, replaced by the comfort of his embrace.

- 

A week has passed, and things have been really good between Logan and me. We've kept our routine natural and pure, enjoying each other's company without any pressure. Logan opened up to me about his past, telling me about his time with the X-Men and the things he's been through. It was a side of him I hadn't seen before, and it made me appreciate him even more.

We also talked about Laura and how she made him feel. It was clear that she means a lot to him, but she's been MIA this entire week. I've been covering her shifts, trying to help out where I can, but it's been a little worrying not knowing where she is. Despite that, Logan and I have been focused on each other, finding comfort in the stability we've built together. I confessed that I have been helping him sleep these past weeks. He thanked me by taking me to dinner and he asked me to be his girlfriend and I obviously said yes.

It's Sunday today so means day off. Vanessa texted me earlier to come by to her apartment so they can ask us something since today is the day they leave to Seattle. 

As Wade zipped up his backpack, he turned to us with a sheepish grin. "Hey, before we go, I need to ask you guys for a favor. Vanessa's mom is, like, super allergic to dogs, so could you take care of our furry little troublemaker until we get back?"

Logan immediately rolled his eyes, clearly less than thrilled with the idea. But before he could say anything, I nodded with a smile. "Of course, we can handle it. No problem."

Wade's grin widened. "Thanks, you two. I owe you one."

Vanessa chimed in, giving us a knowing look. "Just don't leave your shoes lying around, and you'll be fine. Trust me on that one."

Logan sighed but finally gave a reluctant nod. "Alright, we'll take care of her. But if she destroys anything, that's on you, Wade."

Wade laughed, giving Logan a playful punch on the arm. "Deal. You guys are the best."

With that, they finished up and headed out the door with their suitcases. 

"This should be fun," I said with a grin, looking down at Ms. Pool, who wagged her tail enthusiastically. I handed the leash over to Logan, who took it with a resigned sigh, clearly not as excited as I was.

While Logan held onto the dog, I quickly gathered the essentials—her food, water bowl, toys, and anything else I thought she might need. "I'll bring these over to my apartment, and if she needs anything else, I can always come back later since I have Vanessa's spare key."

Logan nodded, holding onto Ms. Pool as she sniffed around curiously. "Let's just hope she doesn't cause too much trouble," he muttered, though I could see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I laughed, giving him a playful nudge. "Come on, Logan, it won't be that bad." 

With everything in hand, we headed out, ready to welcome Ms. Pool into our home for the week.

As I set up a cozy corner of the living room with Ms. Pool's things—her bed, bowls, and a few toys—I couldn't shake the lingering worry about Laura. It had been MIA ever since her birthday, and I couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.

I pulled out my phone and decided to text her, hoping for a quick response that would put my mind at ease.

Violet: Hey Laura, just checking in. Haven't seen you in a bit. did I do something? Let me know if you need anything.

I hit send and stared at the screen for a moment, waiting for those familiar dots to appear, but nothing came through right away. Sighing, I put my phone down, trying to focus on making Ms. Pool comfortable. But the concern for Laura lingered in the back of my mind, a quiet reminder of the uncertainty surrounding her disappearance.

As I finished setting up Ms. Pool's corner, I turned to Logan, who was in the kitchen, slicing up some apples. "Do you think we should go to Laura's house and check on her?" I asked, the concern in my voice evident.

Logan paused, looking up from his task. "Do you know where she lives?"

I shook my head. "No, but we can check her application at the shop. It should have her address."

Logan considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, that might be a good idea. If she's been off the grid for this long, it's worth making sure she's okay."

I felt a bit of relief at his agreement, glad that we were on the same page. "Let's head over there after we finish up here," I suggested, glancing back at Ms. Pool, who was already getting comfortable in her new spot. 

Logan gave a small smile. "Sounds like a plan."

- 

We stepped outside, and a cool breeze greeted us, ruffling the leaves that were just beginning to turn shades of gold and crimson. The day had that distinct early September feel—summer still lingering in the air, but with the crisp promise of fall just around the corner.

As we walked to the shop, the wind picked up slightly, tugging at my hair and reminding me that the season was about to change. The streets were quiet, with only a few people out and about, most of them bundled up a little more than usual, sensing the shift in the weather.

Logan walked beside me, his usual quiet strength comforting as we made our way to the shop. I couldn't help but glance around at the familiar sights—the leaves rustling in the trees, the hint of woodsmoke in the air from a nearby chimney. Everything felt serene, but I couldn't shake the worry I felt for Laura.

When we reached the shop, I fished out the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door. The place was quiet, the stillness almost eerie compared to the usual hustle and bustle. We headed straight to the back office, where I knew Laura's application would be filed. The anticipation of finding her address and checking on her added a layer of urgency to our movements.

"Where's the file cabinet?" Logan asked, glancing around the office.

"It's right there," I said, pointing to the row of files neatly organized in the corner.

Logan moved over, quickly rifling through the files. "Found it," he said, but when he looked up at me, his expression had changed, a frown creasing his forehead.

"There's nothing here."

"What?" I said, feeling a pang of confusion as I walked over to him. I grabbed the file from his hand and flipped through the pages. My heart sank as I realized he was right—there was no address, just her name and phone number. 

"She started working here as a minor," I said, my voice trailing off as I looked over the file again, trying to make sense of it. "And there isn't even a number for one of her parents."

Logan's brow furrowed deeper as he crossed his arms, clearly as concerned as I was. "That's not right. How could she work here without that information?"

I shook my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I don't know. I guess they never thought to look into it deeper because she's been reliable. But now..." I let out a sigh, my mind racing. "We've got nothing to go on. This was supposed to help us find her, but now we're even more in the dark."

Logan placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We'll figure this out. There has to be something else we can do. Maybe start by trying to reach her again or ask around if anyone knows where she might live."

I nodded, feeling a little more grounded by his presence. "Yeah, you're right. We'll find her. We just have to dig a little deeper."

For an hour, we wandered through the city, stopping people along the way, showing them the picture of Laura on my phone. With each person we asked, hope slowly ebbed away. No one recognized her, no one had seen her, and each "no" felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, making my heart sink further.

As we walked, I could sense Logan's growing discomfort. His usual calm demeanor was strained, his jaw tight, and his eyes scanning every face in the crowd with a quiet desperation. It was clear that his eagerness to find Laura matched mine, maybe even more so.

I reached out, touching his arm lightly as we paused on a quiet street corner. "We'll find her," I said softly, trying to reassure both him and myself. But the uncertainty gnawed at me, making the words feel hollow.

Logan looked down at me, his eyes dark with worry. "We have to," he muttered, his voice low but filled with determination. "She's out there somewhere, and we're not stopping until we find her."

I nodded, drawing strength from his resolve. The city felt vast and indifferent around us, but we couldn't give up. We had to keep searching, no matter how long it took, no matter how many dead ends we hit. Laura was out there, and we wouldn't rest until we brought her back safely.

-

Two hours later,  we walked back home, the weight of our fruitless search hung heavy in the air. Logan and I were both quiet, each lost in our thoughts, the concern for Laura gnawing at us. The cool breeze that had felt refreshing earlier now seemed to carry a chill that matched the unease in my chest. When we finally reached my apartment building, I pulled out my keys, ready to head inside and figure out our next move. Just as I was about to open the door, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I quickly pulled it out, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the notification. It was from Laura.

Laura 🧚🏼‍♀️:"Are you home?"

I stared at the screen for a moment, relief and anxiety flooding me at the same time. I quickly typed back, my fingers trembling slightly.

Violet: Yes, I'm home. Where are you? Are you okay?

I hit send, my eyes locked on the phone, waiting for her reply. Logan noticed my sudden stillness and looked at me with concern. "What is it?" he asked, stepping closer.

"It's Laura," I said, my voice a mix of relief and urgency. "She just texted me."

Logan's eyes widened slightly, the tension in his posture easing just a bit. "What did she say?"

"She asked if I'm home," I replied, still watching the screen intently for her next message. "I told her I am. I'm just waiting for her to respond."

We both stood there, the anticipation thick in the air, hoping this would be the moment we finally got some answers.

Another text buzzed in, and I quickly glanced at my phone. My heart skipped a beat as I read Laura's message: Is Logan with you?

I looked up at Logan, who was watching me intently, waiting for an update. I hesitated for a split second, unsure of what to make of her question. 

"She wants to know if you're with me," I said, showing him the screen. His expression shifted slightly, a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Tell her I am," Logan said, his voice steady but laced with a hint of urgency. "Ask her where she is."

I nodded and quickly typed back:

Violet: Yes, Logan is with me. Where are you, Laura? Are you okay?

I hit send and glanced up at Logan, the tension between us palpable as we waited for her reply.

"I feel like something is wrong, Logan," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I looked up at him.

Logan's eyes narrowed, a protective edge in his gaze. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. "We'll figure it out," he said, trying to steady me. "But whatever it is, we'll handle it together."

I nodded, trying to take comfort in his words, but the unease gnawing at me only grew stronger. Something about Laura's messages felt off, and the way she specifically asked if Logan was with me set off alarm bells in my mind. 

We stood there, waiting for her response, the silence stretching out as my anxiety built. Logan stayed close, his presence a comforting anchor, but the sense that something was very wrong wouldn't leave me. I just hoped we weren't too late.

- 

An hour had passed since Laura's last text, and Logan and I had settled on the couch, trying to distract ourselves while we waited. We were cuddled up together, the warmth of his body helping to calm my nerves, but the tension in the air was still thick.

Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It was soft, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of anxiety through me. Logan and I exchanged a glance, and without a word, I started to get up to answer it. But before I could reach the door, Logan grabbed my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

I looked at him, confused, my heart racing. He didn't say anything at first, just put his pointer finger to his lips, signaling me to stay quiet. The seriousness in his eyes made my stomach drop.

Then, in a whisper, barely audible, he said, "That's not her."

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. How could he know? But the certainty in his voice made me pause. I glanced back at the door, a sense of dread creeping over me.

Logan tightened his grip on my wrist, pulling me back slightly, his eyes never leaving the door. "Stay behind me," he whispered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I nodded silently, my pulse pounding in my ears as Logan moved towards the door, positioning himself between me and whoever was on the other side. The knock came again, a little louder this time, as if the person was growing impatient.

Logan gestured for me to stay put, and I did as he instructed, my heart in my throat as I watched him approach the door, every muscle in his body tensed, ready for anything.

Logan moved cautiously toward the door, his steps silent as he leaned in to look through the peephole. His expression shifted instantly, a mix of alarm and urgency flashing across his face. He turned around quickly, about to say something—

But before the words could leave his mouth, the door exploded.

The force of the blast threw us both backward. I felt a rush of heat and the deafening sound of the explosion filled my ears as I was flung across the room. The impact of hitting the floor knocked the wind out of me, and for a moment, everything was a blur of noise, dust, and pain. Logan's body instinctively shielded mine, taking the brunt of the blast. I could feel the weight of him on top of me, his protective instinct kicking in even in the chaos. 

The apartment was filled with smoke and debris, and my ears were ringing from the explosion. I struggled to focus, my vision hazy as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. Logan groaned as he pushed himself up, quickly scanning the room for threats.

"Violet!" he gasped, his voice urgent but strained. "Are you okay?"I nodded weakly, trying to sit up despite the disorientation. "I'm okay," I managed to say, though 

my voice was shaky. "Logan, what—?"

But before I could finish, we both heard footsteps—heavy, deliberate—coming toward the blown-open door. Logan's eyes hardened, and he quickly positioned himself between me and the incoming threat.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice low and fierce. 

I nodded, fear gripping me as I watched Logan brace himself for whatever was coming through that door. The situation had gone from bad to worse in an instant, and now we were about to face whatever—or whoever—had just blown up our door.

Through the haze of smoke, a figure emerged, his presence as chilling as the memories he dragged with him. The familiar silhouette sent a shiver down my spine—the same face, the same coat that had haunted my nightmares for so long. God, I hated that coat. But it was nothing compared to the hatred I felt for the man wearing it.

The man who had made me suffer through unspeakable pain and torture. 

He stopped just inside the ruined doorway, his eyes locking onto mine. That smirk—a twisted, cruel reminder of everything he had put me through—spread across his face. His gaze flicked briefly to Logan, assessing him, before settling back on me with a sickening familiarity.

"Hello, Violet," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Did you miss me?"

Every muscle in my body tensed as I glared at him, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I could feel the growl rising in my throat, the sheer fury boiling inside me. "Strucker," I hissed, the name tasting like venom on my tongue.

Logan's stance shifted subtly, ready to act at a moment's notice, but he didn't move, waiting for my lead. He knew this was personal—too personal.

Strucker's smirk only deepened, as if my anger amused him. "I've been looking forward to this reunion," he taunted, his eyes glinting with the same sadistic pleasure I remembered too well. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, to not let the terror of the past overwhelm me. But facing him again, after all these years, it was like every wound he ever inflicted had been ripped open anew. 

But I wasn't the same person I was back then. I wasn't helpless. And I wasn't alone. I glanced at Logan, drawing strength from his steady presence, then turned back to Strucker, my resolve hardening.

"You have no idea what you've walked into," I growled, the fear in my chest morphing into a cold, focused rage. 

Strucker's eyes narrowed slightly, but that smirk never wavered. "We'll see about that," he replied, his voice low and dangerous. The tension in the room was electric, the air thick with the promise of violence. This was far from over.

With a simple motion of his pointer and middle finger, Strucker signaled the men behind him to attack. They moved swiftly, and in an instant, Logan's claws were out, gleaming in the dim light, while my fists crackled with purple energy as I began to levitate. But something was off—these weren't ordinary soldiers. They were mutants, each armed with their own unique powers, and they wasted no time unleashing them on us.

There were about ten of them, and they coordinated their assault with a terrifying precision. Energy blasts, telekinetic waves, and other forms of attacks came at us from all directions. Logan slashed through the onslaught, his claws slicing through the air as he fought to protect us, but the sheer number of them was overwhelming.

In the chaos, one of them managed to get close, too close. Before I could react, I felt a sharp sting in my arm—a needle piercing through my skin. I barely had time to register what had happened before a wave of intense pain shot through me, making me wince and falter in mid-air. Logan's eyes widened in alarm as he saw me struggling. "Violet!" he shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. But before he could reach me, another mutant injected him with the same substance, forcing him to his knees.

The room began to spin, my vision blurring as whatever they had injected me with took hold. I tried to focus, tried to summon my magic, but the pain was overwhelming, clouding my mind. I could see Logan fighting to stay on his feet, his claws still extended as he tried to fend off the attackers, but he was slowing down, the effects of the injection clearly taking their toll.

My strength was draining fast. I could feel my powers slipping away, the purple glow around my fists dimming as I lost control. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was Logan's agonized expression as he struggled to reach me, and then I felt the cold, hard ground beneath me as I collapsed, the world fading into nothingness.

Part 11: Her true awakening

[banapsha]

The Art of Plot Twists: A God-Tier Guide

Hey there, sunshine(s) and moonlight(s)! Do you want to rock your readers' worlds with mind-boggling plot twists? Well, lucky for you, I recently met a mind reader in my basement and they told me you want to know this. Buckle up, because we're about to begin a journey into the abyss. Kidding! We are going to the Kingdom of Twistano-Turnano; narratives that'll leave jaws on the floor and minds on some walls. Strap in, grab your favorite snacks and let's get this party started. (I believe that one was too much, right? Coz’ who’s got time for any parties? Or am I the only one missing out?) 

What Makes a Good Plot Twist?

Let's kick things off with the basics. A plot twist isn't just about throwing in a random curveball– oh no, it's about shaking up the very fabric of your story. A meaningful plot twist should be a seismic shift in the audience's perception, whether it's through an unexpected event, a shocking revelation, or a philosophical awakening. We're talking external, internal, and philosophical shifts that make the audiences question everything they thought they knew. It's about changing your audience's reality.

The Three Types of Shifts: External, Internal, and Philosophical

The external shift– think unexpected deaths, hidden treasures, and jaw-dropping identity reveals. These twists are all about rearranging plot elements in ways that leave readers gasping for air.

The internal shift– this one's all about messing with your audience's emotions. One minute they're feeling all warm and fuzzy, and the next, BAM! You hit 'em with an event that leaves them shaken to the core. Just make sure to keep things clear, or you'll have a bunch of confused readers scratching their heads.

The philosophical shift– the granddaddy of all plot twists. This one's all about making your audience question their beliefs and perceptions. You take 'em from thinking they've got it all figured out to realize that maybe, just maybe, they've been wrong all along.

To really knock your readers' socks off, you gotta apply all three shifts. That's right, no half-measures here. Using just one or missing one entirely is just going to confuse the shit out of your audiences. Trust me, you don't wanna do that.

What makes a plot twist good?

Shock Value: First things first, a good plot twist needs to pack a punch. We're talking about leaving your readers reeling, jaws on the floor, and minds blown. If it doesn't make 'em gasp, it ain't worth it. The key is to not settle for the first twist that comes to mind. Dig deep, get creative, and find a way to really knock your readers' socks off.

Believability: Sure, we love a good surprise, but it's gotta make sense, ya know? You can't just say that the human we have been following around is a dog disguised as a pizza! Nope, we ain't gone believe that boy. Keep it real. Actually, the real(er) the better. Foreshadowing is your best friend. Drop hints, plant seeds, and lay the groundwork for your twist early on. That way, when it finally hits, it'll feel like a natural progression of the story. (Maybe show me a barking human to make me go along with the pizza dog twist.)

Impact on Characters AND Plot: A truly great plot twist doesn't just shake things up for the sake of it. It needs to have real consequences, affecting not only the characters but the entire storyline. Don't just focus on the shock factor – think about how your twist will affect your characters and your plot. Will it send them spiraling into chaos? Will it force them to confront their deepest fears? Make it count.

Variety in Tropes: Cliched tropes are good but if you can manage to twist it up, that's even better. Try to give us something we've never seen before. Surprise us, delight us, and keep us guessing 'til the very end. But don't be afraid to break the mold. Sure, some tropes are tried and true, but the best twists are the ones that defy expectations. Surprise your readers, challenge their assumptions, and leave 'em begging for more.

Timing: Timing is literally everything. You need to build up to the right moment for that twist like a mastermind supervillain. Keep your readers on their toes. Drop breadcrumbs along the way, build up the tension, ratchet up the suspense, and then hit 'em with that (do-do do-do) twist right when they least expect it. You gotta know exactly when to drop that grenade. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait.

Plot Twist Techniques:

Breadcrumbs: The classic "how did I not see this coming" twist. Make 'em scratch their heads and wonder, "How did I miss that?" Lay the groundwork for your twist by dropping subtle hints and clues throughout your story. It's all about planting those breadcrumbs and watching your readers play Sherlock Holmes.

Misdirection: The good ol' red herring. Lead your readers down one path, only to yank the rug out from under them at the last minute. Get 'em emotionally invested in a particular outcome, then flip the script and watch 'em squirm. Mix this with the breadcrumbs and you have a beautiful pie.

The False Win: Picture this – your characters are riding high, victory is in sight, and then BAM! You hit 'em with the ultimate plot twist: it's not over yet. Give 'em a false sense of comfort, then snatch it away like a cruel twist of fate. 

The Unprovoked: Ever seen a plot twist  that leaves you scratching your head and wondering, "Where did that come from?" That's the unprovoked twist. It happens out of nowhere, catching everyone off guard and leaving 'em reeling. It's unexpected, it's unpredictable, and it's oh-so deliciously twisty.

Types of Twists: The classics

Identity Reveal: Remember the "I am your father" moment? Yes. There's nothing quite like the shock of discovering that a character's true identity isn't what it seems. Whether it's a long-lost twin or a secret agent in disguise, identity reveals never fail to leave readers gasping for air. Mix it up to make it newer and you have an even tastier sandwich.

Motive Reveal: Ever wondered why that one seemingly innocent character was acting so shady? Well, it's time for a motive reveal – the moment when all becomes clear and the true intentions behind a character's actions are laid bare. It's like peeling back layers of an onion, only way more dramatic. (Plot twist: This entire post has been written so you will buy my book, The Sinner and The Scarred from Amazon! It is available in both Paperback and Ebook formats but if you have Kindle Unlimited you can read it for FREE!)

Background Reveal: Behind every great character is a great backstory. Well, these backstories can also be great plot twists. (What? The hero's love interest is the villain's child. WHAT? The hero's love interest is the villain! WHAT? THE HERO IS DATING BOTH THE VILLAIN AND THEIR CHILD!!) From dark secrets to hidden traumas, background reveals add depth and complexity to your story.

Character Deaths: Sometimes, the only way to shake things up is by "killing your darlings." Actually, whether it's a beloved hero sacrificing themselves for the greater good or a villain meeting their untimely demise, character deaths are guaranteed to leave readers in shock and awe. Especially when done right. (Set the mood for a fun wedding. Then kill someone at the wedding. Kill the bride. Or the groom. Kill 'em both. Have them kill each other!)

Destruction of Setting or Important Elements: Say goodbye to the status quo, because we're about to shake things up with a little destruction. Whether it's a beloved setting crumbling to the ground or a crucial element of the story being obliterated, destruction twists add a sense of urgency and chaos to your narrative. (Burn your hero's house down. Extra points if their family was still inside. Minus points if their dog was in there, though.)

Timeline Shift: A timeline shift can turn your story on its head, sending characters hurtling through time and space or revealing shocking truths about the past, present, and future. (It will be a weird way to find out you’re adopted, you know?)

Surprising Events in General: Sometimes, you just gotta throw caution to the wind and hit your readers with something completely unexpected. From random acts of kindness to bizarre coincidences, surprising events add an element of unpredictability to your story that'll keep readers guessing until the very end. 

Special Ability Reveal: The moment when a character discovers they've got powers beyond their wildest dreams, things start getting out of hand. Whether it's flying, telekinesis, or the ability to talk to animals, special ability reveals add a touch of magic and wonder to your story.

Do remember when it comes to plot twists, the sky's the limit. But placement is key. Whether it's smack dab in the middle of your story or right at the climax, the timing of your twist can make or break its impact. 

Now, let's touch on what NOT to do. Forced twists? No, thank you. Unbelievable plot developments? Hard pass. And let's not even get started on the dreaded plot armor– nothing kills the vibe faster than a last-minute rescue by bad writing. (Leave a comment if you’d like to learn more about what NOT to do!)

In conclusion, mastering the art of plot twists is no easy feat. It takes careful planning (AKA outlining of the story), strategic execution, and a whole lot of creativity. So go forth, soldiers, and twist those plots until they're unrecognizable. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility – don't abuse those twists, and always respect your readers' intelligence.

Now, go forth and twist to your heart's content. Happy writing! 🌀✨

[house-afire]

you can have a little revenge, as a treat (Izzy/Lucius)

(tw: references to noncon)

Izzy knew Lucius was tailing him back to his cabin. He didn’t stay so close it was stupid—more like a nervy cat’s way of following than a puppy’s—but he was still as subtle as a cannonball. He wasn’t surprised when there was a knock half-a-minute after he got inside.

“I’d say ‘fuck off,’ but you don’t like listening, do you?”

The door creaked open. “Did you know it was me, or is that just, like, how you greet people?”

“It can be both.”

“Fair.” Lucius slipped in and sat down, like he’d had a real invitation. He gave Izzy a fierce, almost angry look. “I asked Pete to be my matelot.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected this to be about, but it sure as fuck wasn’t this. “And you came to me for congratulations?”

“Uh, no. I can see why that would be weird, if I’d done that. No, I want to—” He pressed his lips together. Turned out that was one last bolstering-up of the dam before he kicked it to pieces. “Stede doesn’t want to listen to what happened to me after Blackbeard pushed me overboard, and he said I shouldn’t tell Pete every dark little detail, either. And he was right. It’s a lot, and I shouldn’t … track filth around. But if I don’t tell someone about it, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. You’re not squeamish, and you won’t cry over me.”

That glare of his, Izzy saw now, had just a hint of desperation to it.

He’d never talked about anything more than he’d had to—swallowed it all down like his fucking toes—but he had, as the whole cursed lot of them knew by now, sicked up enough before to know that it could help. And if you were going to spew, better to do it in private.

“Fine,” Izzy said.

Lucius boggled at him for a moment, like a fish pulled out of the water, and then said, “Right, I expected that to be a lot harder.”

He sat down on the other end of the bed, as far from Izzy as he could get. Crossed his legs and uncrossed them, scowling at his knees like they’d betrayed him. He fixed his gaze somewhere over Izzy’s shoulder.

“I went between a lot of ships, after I got picked up. Wasn’t really by choice, not after the first … first bad one. A good ship—a good ship will let you leave, and you don’t know until it’s too late that if they’ll let you go, you might be … might be better off staying. I should never have left the first berth I got. They only wanted me as a whore, but that’s not so bad, is it? I mean, you’d probably say that’s most of what I did around here anyway.”

His gaze flickered over to Izzy like he expected him to laugh or nod. Izzy didn’t do either: you didn’t fuck about when you could see there was a storm on the horizon.

“Okay. Fine. Be understanding, like that’s not creepy.” He shifted around again, fidgeting like his own skin wasn’t enough to keep together, like he had to hold on to himself. “The other ships were all worse. I thought most pirates were—”

“Like Bonnet?” Izzy said incredulously.

“Like you,” Lucius said. “I thought the worst I’d have to contend with would be a whole ship of Izzy Hands, and I’d just be annoyed and stressed or, fine, dead, but in a—normal way. But you never—you wouldn’t—”

He dug his fingers into his arms. He’d wind up with bruises from it.

“The worst ship was called Dead Man’s Folly. And they had a little dog named Pepper, and they liked having puppet shows in the evenings, and I just fucking need—somebody—to fucking listen.”

Izzy didn’t know the details yet, but the puppet shows were a cursed enough notion for him to tell the outline of it already. Nothing curdled like whimsy; nothing was worse when it turned dark.

He listened. And as Lucius told him all of it, he stowed away a few things in particular.

Dead Man’s Folly. Captain Graves.

***

It took another fortnight—and a through-gritted-teeth request about it to Bonnet, who was so shocked Izzy would ask him for a favor that he gave in at once—but Izzy saw to it that they made one of the Dead Man’s Folly’s regular ports of call.

“I never had the impression you were all that enamored of shore leave,” Bonnet said, watching as Izzy scanned the ships crowded into the bay. “Care to share your holiday plans?”

Izzy’s lips flexed, hard, as he found the flag he was looking for. “Not responsible for what you don’t know about,” he said. “Better to leave it.”

“If you’re looking for trouble, you ought to have company!”

“Not for this,” Izzy said. “You’d approve, at least in theory, but you won’t want to see it. It won’t be very … gentlemanly.”

Bonnet looked crestfallen, but he said, “Well, if that’s what you think, I suppose I agree. I—trust you, Izzy. God, never thought I’d be saying that.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Izzy said.

“It is a bit weird, yeah. Nice, though.”

Almost against his will, Izzy said, “Yeah, it’s nice.” He cleared his throat. “Keep Lucius and Black Pete on the ship, even if everyone else goes to shore for the night. I don’t know, throw them a fucking engagement party.”

Bonnet brightened. “I have been meaning to do that, you know. Of course, you can’t plan a proper celebration in one night, but—”

“Whatever,” Izzy said, putting his foot into the rigging and starting down. It took more presence of mind to do this these days, but it wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. “Just no cake.”

“Yes, I think we all learned our lessons on the cake front. Have no fear! Roach is a pastry virtuoso. There doesn’t exist a confection that he can’t master.”

Perfect. A night of sugar and blood. Captured their lives here pretty well, really.

***

It wasn’t hard to find the Dead Man’s Folly. Ships captained by assholes always made themselves known sooner or later.

Some of Bonnet’s luck must have rubbed off on him, because he got the sweetest of chances: all hands in port for the night, and just Graves and his first mate aboard.

Easiest thing in the world for Izzy to hail them, plain and simple, and get welcomed on. The first mate didn’t even ask him his business, though he found it out in a hurry. Izzy didn’t make a meal out of that one: it was Graves he’d come here for, Graves who had been the rotten core of Lucius’s story.

Graves, who was drinking the night away in his cabin.

He wasn’t completely soused yet, which was good. Izzy wasn’t going to give him a chance to retrieve his sword or pistol—he was here to murder, not raiding or dueling; the usual rules of the profession didn’t apply—but he wanted him sober. He wanted Graves to know what he was paying for.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Curious passerby,” Izzy said. “My ship dropped anchor here, same as yours, and I’d heard so many rumors about the fearsome Captain Graves that I had to come myself to see what was what.”

The fact that Graves didn’t immediately blink at him and ask if he was taking the piss was a marvel and a half. As far as Izzy was concerned, the only pirate worth that kind of slobbery adulation was Edward himself—and Edward had tired of it a long time ago.

“What rumors would those be?” Graves said, hungry for any morsel of a reputation.

“I heard,” Izzy said, “that you picked up a pretty little piece of one-time jetsam a while back.”

Graves earned himself an even slower death by not even being able to fucking remember at first, like he fished bitchy scribes out of the sea every week at least.

“Oh,” Graves said, comprehension finally dawning on him. “Rat Boy. I wouldn’t go as far as pretty.”

Fucking hell, at this rate, Izzy was going to have to spend most of the fucking year killing this prick.

“Rat Boy. That’s the one.” He gave Graves a smile that would’ve sent a smarter man running. “Heard something about a bit of puppetry too, I think. Sounded … inventive.”

Graves, not content with all previous acts of wanton fucking stupidity, took this compliment at face value too. “Keeps the crew entertained on the slow nights. Everybody loves a good show.”

“Yeah? You come up with that yourself, then?”

Graves spread out his hands. “I’m a great innovator, unrecognized in my time.”

“Oh, I bet recognition’s right on its way,” Izzy said. “Nipping at your heels. You really got your whole hand up his arsehole, then.”

“He squirmed, but in it went,” Graves said, wiggling his fingers.

“You like that, watching him squirm? Wouldn’t go so far as to call him pretty, no, but you liked how he looked with you wrist-deep in his arse and making a show of him? Liked having him catch rats with his teeth? You must have. Liked it so well you didn’t even call him by his right name. Do you know it?”

It was, to Izzy’s great pleasure, finally starting to dawn on Graves that Izzy hadn’t really come here to have a wank to his great ingenuity. He stared at Izzy, the damp whites of his eyes looking like Roach’s poached eggs.

“My first mate is right up on deck—”

“He is. All over the deck, you might say.” Izzy leaned back in his chair. “Now, him I didn’t have much of a conversation with, so he didn’t have a chance to make things worse for himself. Just as dead as you’re going to be, though. Had it coming too, because a first mate’s responsible for everything that happens on his ship.”

Graves stared up at the ceiling, like blood was going to start dripping down right on cue. Izzy hoped he had a vivid picture of what all over the deck could mean. He gave Graves time to think about it. Then some more time to think about how much worse Izzy might do to the man who’d just been running his mouth about being the brains behind the human fucking puppet.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Izzy said, drawing his sword and laying it across his knees. “If you can come up with his name, I won’t cram a fat bilge rat down your sorry throat until you choke on it. I don’t really want to go looking for one anyway. This is going to take enough time as it is.”

Graves was sputtering now, like he was trying to save Izzy the rat-finding trouble by choking on his own spit first. “But he—he—”

“Made it back to his own ship.”

“He couldn’t have,” Graves insisted. “He—he said his captain there threw him overboard!”

“I’m not his fucking captain,” Izzy said. “Come up with that name yet?”

Graves’s pulse was fluttering in his throat, rapid as a lady’s fan. Thinking so hard beads of sweat were popping out on his brow: the great innovator at work.

“J—John.”

“Reasonable gamble,” Izzy allowed. “Thing is—it’s not right by even a letter.”

He ran Graves through, pinning him to his fancy chair; rapped the hilt with two fingers and set it to quivering in Graves’s belly. The screams were easy enough to ignore. Just part of the mess, like the blood.

He’d intended to make Lucius Spriggs the last thing Graves ever heard, but it seemed like Lucius’s name deserved better than being dragged back into this room with all its filth. Stupid thought, but there it was.

Instead, he said, “S’pose it doesn’t matter. Saw a dead rat right outside—seems a shame to waste it.” He hadn’t, but he figured Graves deserved to die with that thought in his head. And one more for good measure: “I’m not much for imagination; save that for the captains of the world. But I do work out how to make the fucking plans happen, even yours. The way I see it, all I have to do is cut your hand off—” He tapped a dagger blade against each of Graves’s wrists. “And then I can shove it up your arse. Put on a puppet show just the way you like.”

“You can’t do this,” Graves said. Blood was already hitting his lips as he whined, which meant he was dying faster than Izzy would like, and the bastard was too fucking dimwitted to know it.

Aided in the fuckery, at least.

“Oh, you’ll squirm, but in it’ll go,” Izzy told him. “You said as much yourself. It’ll be slick enough with your own blood, that ought to make it easier.”

He let Graves wriggle and bleed for another few minutes, but there wasn’t any satisfaction to it once the man was well and truly out of his head. Nothing to be gained by hurting a dumb animal. Izzy cut his throat to finish him off.

He stood there a while, breathing in the scent of blood. (And shit. He bet Bonnet’s tales of piracy never talked about how often dying men shit themselves.) He hadn’t paid Graves back for even what the fucker had done to Lucius, but there was revenge and then there was fucking monstrosity. He’d had enough of the latter to last him a lifetime.

Mutilating a corpse, though—that was run-of-the-mill pirate shit, honestly.

“Not saying he’ll make you the centerpiece of the fucking wedding,” he said to Graves’s body, “because he’s still a bit too soft for it, even after what your lot did to him. Which is almost fucking impressive. But he is, God help me, enough of a pirate to appreciate a token.”

Not the head. You walked through port swinging a man’s severed head like a sack of fucking apples, you wound up having to talk about it. Hand wouldn’t attract nearly as much attention—stray hands were as common around here as the pox—but Lucius wouldn’t want one. Not with where Graves’s had been. Fucking reminder, not a proper keepsake. Foot? He glanced down at his hoof—smiled a bit—and then scoffed. Jesus Christ, if he took Graves’s foot, Twatty would never fucking shut up about how interesting it must be inside Izzy’s head. He’d grow old and die before he heard the end of it.

Ear, he decided. Graves had been thoughtful enough to wear some gaudy emeralds there, might as well make use of it.

He sawed off the left one; it had a bit missing off the top, tapering to a lump of scar tissue, so between that and the fucking jewels, it’d be plain enough who it belonged to.

He spat on Graves’s body, before he went.

***

Frenchie was playing his lute when Izzy got back, and he shot Izzy a shy smile and plucked the first few notes of the tune he’d somehow gotten in his head was Izzy’s favorite. He raised his eyebrows.

Izzy waved him off—don’t change it on my account—and Frenchie drifted back to the other song.

Unbefuckinglievable that he’d somehow wound up with a life where people cared what fucking music he wanted. Fucking smiles and moonlight.

And a man’s ear in his pocket. Couldn’t say he’d ever had that before either, strictly speaking. Not as such.

Sugar and blood, he thought.

He found Lucius tucked up in Black Pete’s arms, listening to the music. Little fucker had always been bold as brass when it came to lazing about, never one to spring into action, but this was a new development, this melting back into his boyfriend’s chest and fucking relaxing more as Izzy came close.

Lucius looked up at him through his eyelashes. “Joining us?”

“Oh, get up,” Izzy said, nudging at him with the toe of his boot. “I’ve got a … matelotage gift for you. Just you, not him.”

“Well, color me intrigued,” Lucius said. He twisted around enough to press a kiss to Black Pete’s lips. “Save my seat.”

“Of course! And if he’s giving you what I think he’s giving you, babe, you’re gonna have to let me know if he put a bow on it first.”

They made it around to a quiet side of the deck—as private as anything ever got, with a ship this unwholesomely chummy—and Lucius flicked his gaze downwards and says, “Does it have a bow on it? I’ve always liked unwrapping presents.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Izzy reached into his pocket and pulled out the handkerchief-swaddled ear. It still felt warm. “Here.”

“I swear,” Lucius murmured, “the number of otherwise lovely gifts I get with blood all over them ….” He unfolded the handkerchief and his breath caught in his throat. He stared down at it. “This is—his.”

Izzy nodded.

“That’s what you did tonight. You went out and cut a man’s ear off for me.”

“Killed him too,” Izzy said. “And the first mate.”

“Killed. You walked onto another pirate ship, killed its officers, and brought me back an ear.” Lucius tugged roughly at the earring, like he was half-tempted to tear through the earlobe and yank it free. “How did you even get away with that alive?”

Izzy shrugged. “They’d given the crew shore leave. Otherwise I would’ve had to settle for just the captain, and it would’ve been trickier. Easy enough as it was.”

Lucius wrapped the handkerchief up again. His fingers were shaking. “And here I had this whole vastly symbolic shark telling me I had to move on.”

“You are moving on,” Izzy said. “Or did you miss where it was a fucking wedding present? You’ve got Pete. You’re not sulking about the ship anymore, letting your whole life fester. You fucking talked it out, like you’re Bonnet Jr. You’ve just got some bastard’s ear now too, little piece for the mantel.”

Lucius took a deep breath and then said, “Don’t stab me, because it will so ruin the moment,” and leaned in fast and pressed his lips to Izzy’s cheek. The touch was light and warm. “This is honestly one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Fuck off,” Izzy said, even if it took a moment or two too long. His face felt hot. “It’s a severed ear, not a bunch of flowers.”

“I love it.”

“Yeah.” There was more open appreciation in his voice than he’d meant to put there. “Figured you were enough of a bloodthirsty little shit for it.”

“Speaking of which—you’re not … expecting me to cut off Blackbeard’s ear for you, are you?”

“You couldn’t give him so much as a fucking haircut,” Izzy said.

“I know that, but I figured I should, you know, offer.”

“Mm. You didn’t quite, though.”

“I said that I knew I should,” Lucius said. “That’s almost the same thing. I’m self-aware.”

Izzy snorted, and Lucius smiled—victorious and alive and prettier than fucking Graves could have ever fucking hoped to be.

“Don’t tell me you commit glorious, bloody acts of heroism for all the boys,” he said, slipping the bundled-up handkerchief into his pocket. “I don’t need to be a one-and-only, but I still like to feel special.”

He wasn’t quite a one-and-only, Izzy thought, looking over towards the stern, where the ship’s captains and her company was lounging about listening to their moonlit music and probably fiddling with their own beloved severed ears. But he was one of just a few. And special wasn’t the worst word for it, if Izzy were going to talk about it, which he absolutely fucking wasn’t.

“Oh,” Lucius said quietly, following his gaze. “I can certainly work with that.” He kissed Izzy again, on the mouth this time, even more softly than before. It hit Izzy like a kind of slow lightning strike and left him tingling. “Come and sit with us? God, that would be something. One valiant defender of my honor on either side. And Frenchie will play that song he’s absolutely convinced you like.”

“Don’t know why he thinks that,” Izzy said, following Lucius, “but I might be coming around on it.”

[dateamonster]

webcomics*! webcomics baby!!! i grew up reading these bad boys like they were the sunday funnies. im serious i would get up early in so i could check my daily roster of webcomic updates before leaving for school.

webcomics sort of feel to me like my generations version of zines. not that both those things arent still around, i just mean that, in the same way that there was this big boom of super creative zine self-publishing in the 70s through the 90s thanks to the increasing access to copy machines, and later home printing, the early 00s-10s was sort of the moment people seemed to collectively realize they could kind of just upload whatever they wanted to the internet and people would actually see it, leading naturally to another boom in indie art and storytelling.

a lot of the comics that popped up around this time were sort of... rough. raw. weird. there were no rules about what a webcomic had to be other than 1) a comic and 2) on the web, so there was some freedom to be as messy or as precise as the author wanted. this led to some real bangers, and some absolute flops. but regardless of how it turned out i think theres something to be admired about the sheer amount of creativity going into these projects that, for the most part, were purely passion-driven without any guarantee of greater recognition or success.

obviously webcomics are still around, but the culture surrounding them has shifted quite a bit. most people who are willing to put in the work of a longform serialized comic In This Economy are also doing so with the hope of being able to profit or at least sustain themselves financially on their work. theres no shame in that! but it has made the webcomic scene more competitive, more polished, less experimental. capitalism at work, you know.

people arent really as incentivized to try new things and dare i say get a little weird with it when innovation doesnt pay the pills. however that doesnt mean that there arent still artists out there who are challenging that.

i got the idea a while ago that i wanted to put together a list of webcomics that have been really influential to me and my own creative efforts, but i realized that list would be a mile long and wouldnt really give me the breathing room to talk about why those works resonate with me. so i decided instead to make a list specifically of my (currently) most beloved, most influential webcomics that i feel like are doing something unique that sort of pushes the boundaries of what is considered a "normal" comic.

presented in no particular order, with all attempts made to be spoiler-free, below:

nasty red dogs and feast for a king by kosmicdream (18+)

delicious, dark, meaty comics. ffak in particular is like this massive sprawling scifi stream of consciousness thick with blood and viscera and. a lot of highly transsexual erotic cannibalism tbqh.

personally i find nasty red dogs a lot more like easy to get into story-wise, but both are just chockablock full of this beautiful grotesque unapologetic and downright indulgent physicality. its pages dripping with every fluid you can think of and some you cant, and its also compelling surprisingly empathetic characters set against a backdrop of otherworldly rituals, cosmic pre-apocolypses, and worlds inside of worlds inside of worlds. body horror heaven lives here.

mr boop and crimehot by alec robbins (very 18+)

if youre at all into weird webcomics youre probably already well familiar with mr boop, and if you arent theres really nothing i can say other than Please give it a shot, but if you havent been keeping up with alecs work since then you might not be as familiar with his current project crimehot. and thats a damn shame because it is all the comedy, unabashed horniness, and surprisingly understated storytelling of mr boop taken to its absolute max.

crimehot is set in a future where nearly every aspect of human life and culture is controlled by an all-powerful all-seeing computer algorithm. but who cares about all that when theres a ragtag team of ultra sexy ultra horny master thieves going on wacky little misadventures together!

alecs style is blunt and simplistic in a way that comes off as juvenile at first glance, and then uses that presumption to completely blindside you with its actual content, reminding me weirdly enough of memeable classic tails gets trolled. in spite of their potential as works of ironic comedy however alecs comics really give me this impression of total earnestness. crimehot in particular is so blatantly un-erotic, with its complete lack of any subtlety, comically exaggerated (and surprisingly diagetic) anatomy, and impossible physical positions, that it circles back around into becoming, indeed, kind of hot. i think silliness can be hot so sue me!

blind alley by adam de souza

departing completely from my last couple recs, blind alley is a cozy, peanuts-inspired comic strip about the day to day lives of the children of blind alley. its also occasionally a deeply unsettling horror-mystery that has just barely begun to show its hand more than two years in. its distinguishing factor to me comes from the fact that the cozy exterior doesnt seem to be there to conceal or divert your attention away from the growing sense of unease that infiltrates its panels on an increasingly frequent basis as the story progresses. it feels more like the two elements live side by side, horror and mundanity, otherworldly creatures and secret conspiracies living peacefully alongside lazy summer afternoons and goofing off with your friends. it perfectly captures the anxiety of knowing that theres something the grown-ups arent telling you, the powerlessness of being a kid.

blind alley feels to me sort of like if those "what if Nostalgic Cartoon was secretly DARK" media theories were actually real, and actually scary. i might be getting ahead of myself as the series likes to take its time and is really only just starting to peel back the layers, but what ive read so far feels makes me feel like this could be something very special.

boy island by leo fox

beautiful beautiful beautiful first of all. the dreamy, surreal visuals? the colors?? oujhjh.. boy island is set in a world split violently in two, divided into boy island and girl island, and surrounded on all sides by a sea of monsters mutants and ghosts, those sorry souls who committed the trespass of trying to cross from one land to the other, or even live outside of either! a boy named lucille must strike out on his own to make it to boy island, but in doing so begins to discover things about the world and in fact himself that reveal an even greater mission.

im making this all sound very dramatic. its a trans story. its about trans people, being trans. its also about surviving the ripples of a world laid out for you by your parents, managing grief for the ones that didnt, and a funny little blue guy named jounce. also did i mention its gorgeous? hot fuckin diggity it is gooorgeous.

vivians ghost by hal schrieve (18+)

speaking of trans comics!! (plot twist: theyre all trans comics suckerrrr) look, all of hals comics are fucking baller and im sure the book zes got coming out will be too, but ive like Imprinted on this one. its attached itself my brain. much like the main protagonist collin has been attached to by his suicide victim best friend and ex highschool bf viv!

the sketchy art style threw me off at first but it quickly becomes part of the charm and meshes very well with the chaotic pace and gutpunch emotional moments. theres a strong element of magical realism that i honestly think comics as a medium were made for. viv is a ghost, and viv is grief, and guilt, and fantasy, and shame, and glorious trans revenge taken form, and hes not even the only apparition in this story, taking the stage alongside cameos by jesus christ, a detransitioners fursona, almanda palmer, and (checks notes) gonzo for a second there i think.

as a disclaimer (or incentive, depending) no one in this story i think is someone you could really call a good person. some of them are in fact plainly terrible. they are all so undeniably fucking fascinating though. and viv himself gleefully inhabits that moral gray area, deliberately and loudly disturbing any image of himself as a pure perfect victim, blurring lines and thrusting both the characters and audience out of their comfort zone. its a challenging read thats not going to be everyone for sure, but i definitely think its worth the read.

(and if this sounds interesting to you but youre not sure you can handle it, hal has other equally good comics that are still heavy on the trans gay relationship drama but much lighter on the childhood trauma.)

what happens next by maximumgraves

if youre reading this on tumblr i hope that youve at least heard of what happens next by now. thee seminal tumblrina art of our time i swear. it starts with a true crime podcast exploring the strange story of griffin and his accomplice milo, trans teen murderers, the latter of which has since been released from the psych hospital while the former continues to serve his sentence. but thats in the past, and in the present milo still has to figure out how to live the rest of his life.

the story moves rapidly, though not necessarily chronologically, in and out of the real world and the online lives its characters frequently inhabit like its guiding you through a twisted dream. its a comic on the internet about the internet from someone clearly well aware of its more poisonous aspects, as well as the addictive quality it can have for someone who has become otherwise isolated from the world.

at the end of the day though the major appeal i think is the characters, how messy and horrible and tragic they can be, which is all you can really hope for from a largely character-driven narrative. to say much more i think would ruin the experience, but ill say what happens next absolutely delivers on its ominous title, and im waiting on the edge of my seat for the next chapter.

preeny has to repeat 6th grade by momodriller

on a Much lighter note, preeny has to repeat 6th grade is a super cute adventure series about a magical little kitty named preeny who on her first day of sixth grade is called upon to go on a great mission. its a sparklefur comic!! ive been really starting to dive into furry art lately, and if youre the kind of person who raises an eyebrow at that statement, fine, whatever, but im talking to the cool people right now so keep it to yourself.

art from within the furry subculture is such insanely creative and passionate stuff, and the focus on this subset in particular, calling back to the early 2000s deviantart xD rAWR s0 rand0m era of online culture, feels so intensely nostalgic it makes my chest ache, despite never being heavily involved in the sparklefur scene myself.

the author states in the comics description that the story takes inspiration from her experiences as an autistic child, and even before reading that man i felt it. what really makes this comic unique to me though is that the majority of characters that appear are based on adoptables the author purchased off of, as she puts it, the children of deviantart. i LOVE that. not only is that probably amazing for the kids, it makes every character feel truly unique and adds perfectly to the overall flavor of the world shes created. there is just not another comic i can think of that feels alive like this one.

broccoli soup by secretpie

ok so i know how we might feel about webtoon comics but hear me out. broccoli soup is probably the first comic ive seen to really exploit the otherwise sort of bland and restrictive format of webtoons, utilizing the excess of white space to enhance the feeling of emptiness that characterizes the protagonist broccoli's time in the blank void they call home as well as to make the sparse use of color really pop in contrast.

broccoli soup is a mysterious series thats a little hard to pin down in terms of genre. a strange little being named broccoli spends their days in a vast blankness drinking tea with their loving yet highly suspicious Best Friend and benefactor, doris. doris has the ability to move between worlds, coming and going as she pleases, while broccoli is only allowed to leave when they are on a mission on her behalf. these missions vary, but the goal is always the same: make everything Polite and Good.

as the story progresses, little by little more friends and more color come into broccolis still new existence. the art style also changes from world to world, which imo is a very nice touch. and! theres music! its an interesting project that dances back and forth between fantastical whimsy and some surprisingly dark moments. and thats the shit i like to see.

thats all for now! though if im lucky there will be many more fun stories and projects to talk about in the future. keep in mind as well that this is like barely half of all the webcomics im currently reading, just the ones that most stick out to me as really doing something special.

until next time yall!!

oh wait sike honorable mentions time

awful hospital by bogleech

the only reason this isnt up there with the rest is bc im woefully behind at the moment. ill get back to it eventually! awful hospital is an interactive multimedia horror-comedy webcomic about a hospital that is. well this hospital is simply sub-par to say the least.

hedgehog's dilemma by mellodilla

this ones still a little new to say much on but so far it looks like a cute series. what most appeals to me is that the art style looks like something that fit in seamlessly with an early 90s newspaper comic strip. in particular it has a strong calvin and hobbes vibe to me. just, you know, about wacky lil lesbian animals living their lives.

ok now im done for real

*for clarity's sake, im using webcomic here to mean "a series of comics that was first published and predominantly exists online" so even if a print version exists, i still consider it to be first and foremost a webcomic. this also includes comics that contain a multimedia or interactive element. if its a combination of pictures and words to tell a story, its a comic.

also my list is probably going to end up massively favoring serialized fiction because thats just what i like to read, but i dont necessarily think thats a required element.

[alovelyburn]

WIP! WIP! WIP!

Usually when these festivals come around I try to get something together and contribute to the cause. This time I was unable to finish... because I found out about it rather late, and also had a lot going on in my real life.

But I did start something. So I'm dropping the first part of the WIP on you guys; no idea if it really qualifies for inclusion in @griffgutsweekend but I'm cool either way.

All the thanks to @zombiesgohome for basically being my cowriter on the beginning of this - she's my Guts expert. Also bear in mind this is a first draft, ok, be kind.

Quick Background: many many years ago, by which I mean in like 2014, someone told me they'd like to see me try to tackle a romance between current canon Guts and Griffith. It took a while but here we are.

It's called Thirst Drove Me to the Water.

1.

The room has already been thoroughly trashed by the time Griffith opens the door. Before him like broken furniture and upturned chairs. All the vases have been  emptied of their white flowers – their water soaked through the plush rug and dripping down white marble walls. An overturned table has been split in two, and gashes mar the walls where that oversized sword bit through the marble.

It’s unsurprising and yet somehow disappointing. Still, Griffith’s expression remains, as always, stubbornly impartial. Around him, the room ripples and shifts – an invisible wave that runs over the room and leaves all as it was, before. Immaculate. Untouched.

His guest seems less than impressed by this.

Guts stares at Griffith from his place on the floor, his one eye smoldering with black fire, his famous sword resting across his knees.

“You sure took your sweet time showing your face,” he says. There’s a sharp edge to his tone, and a growl deep in his throat. “Finally remembered I was here?” He looks like a caged animal. It’s appropriate.

Griffith tips his head just slightly. “I didn’t forget,” he says, “You’ve been pounding against my barriers all day. I thought I would give you a moment to collect yourself.” Griffith glances over the room to where a small table stands, off to the side, away from the center of the now corrected chaos. He’d had a basket of fruit and bread brought to Guts’ rooms as soon as Guts himself was sent there, unconscious, and still bleeding. Griffith hadn’t tended the wounds himself. He wouldn’t have trusted himself to. He looks at Guts. “Have you eaten?” It’s a question of propriety. From here, he can see the half-eaten bread and apple cores.

“What the hell do you care?” Guts snaps. Despite his words, Griffith catches sight of Guts’ gaze as it moves to the table.

Griffith untips his head. “Hm.” He moves to the table quietly, his fingers dragging over the polished wood, the white lace cloth that protects it.

Typically, when one stays silent during an exchange long enough, the other person eventually feels the need to fill that gap. Guts is a man of few words, yes, but unless he’s changed considerably more than he seems to have done, he is also a man without much impulse control. Griffith, being far more curious about what Guts might say than interested in talking, himself, remains silent.

A moment later, Guts pulls himself to his feet. His sword plants itself in the carpeting and the floor beneath it as easily as it would plant itself into soft ground and grass. The sound of steel splitting marble rumbles, swallowed by the thickness of the carpet. “So, what is this?” he asks. His expression hardened as his gaze. “Some kind of game? Is being King too boring for you? If you’re gonna kill me just do it.”

“Impatient as always,” Griffith says.  It occurs to him that Guts is still in his armor. “And always so demanding for a mad dog.”

“You got some nerve calling me mad.” Guts’ muscles clench. Griffith can see every emotion running over his face, settling in his neck – the tension in his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. “I ain’t the one who—”

“You can list my sins until morning and I won’t be any more enlightened than I am now.” Griffith’s voice cuts the air – sharp and soft as it is. “You invaded my home and tried to kill me, yet I have been nothing but cordial.” With some minor exceptions. Even now, he can remember the rush of battle, Guts’ steel against his. He had played along, but in the end only one outcome could have come about... and it did.

“Now that we’re here,” Griffith says softly. “Feel free to swing your sword as much as you like. It will do you no more good than it did the last time... or the time before that.”

The weight of that massive sword hits the ground with a crash that jolts the floor... and just that quickly, Guts is rushing at Griffith, his armored fist swinging. Griffith stands motionless for a moment, watching the light catch on the edges of that so-sharp black armor. Watching the barely burning fire in Guts’ eye turn to an inferno. And then, just when Guts is there – only a few short feet away, Griffith reaches up and grabs that fist in the bare palm of his hand... and holds it.

They are close – close enough for Griffith to feel the feather-light stirring of Guts’ breath. That one eye widens in—fear? Panic? It isn’t rage, not this time. There’s something savage inside Griffith that smiles at that reaction. His fingers curl down, and he feels the metal creak, just at the edge of bending, or snapping. One never knows with cursed items.

It's enough to make his point, at least, in that second before he lets go.

“You really never change,” Griffith says, voice quiet but not quite soft. “I would have thought you’d learn to control yourself between the Hill and today.” He flexes his fingers. “You should have tried a slap.”

Guts snaps his armored fist back, pressed to his chest. “What the hell is this? If you ain’t gonna kill me, if you won’t fight... what is this, just some kind of cage? I’m just your prisoner, now?”

“If I release, you’ll just keep coming after me.” Griffith runs his tongue along the inside of his lips. He can almost taste the bitterness on his tongue. “So, yes, I suppose you are.” He looks away from Guts, toward the floor length windows. From here, inside  an obscure corner of one of the palace’s towers, Outside, he can see Falconia spread out before them like a painting – the view from the sky. “Well,” he says, “If you say you will leave here and move on with your life – give up your vendetta and leave me be – then perhaps I will let you go.”

“Like hell I will.” The answer comes too quickly. Griffith almost laughs; Guts says, “You know damn well I won’t.”

He does know. Or, rather, he suspected.

“That being the case,” Griffith says. “Here we are.”

“Yeah, here we are.” Guts raises his head, his back straightening to his full height. It must be terribly intimidating to anyone who isn’t Griffith. “So now what? You can’t just shove me in a box and come by when you wanna be smug for a while.”

“That’s a presumptuous accusation. I don’t recall saying I would be coming back.”

Griffith hears his own voice – hard as marble and just as cold. Guts hasn’t moved. His hand remains pressed to his chest, and outside, the sun is growing crimson with the coming night. Griffith watches the red light dye the white buildings; somehow his gaze refuses to land on the man in front of him, no matter how close he stands. And he’s never had a difficult time finding things to say – it was only ever a matter of whether he had anything that needed saying. Now, nothing that comes to mind will make its way past his lips.

Best to leave. Griffith sighs. “I don't suppose there's much purpose to my staying here any longer. I thought I should explain the situation. But I'll have servants set aside to attend to your needs. There's no need to disturb your... equilibrium any farther.”

“You send your servants in here, you ain’t getting them back.”

Griffith glances at Guts. Lines of tension run up his neck.

“Would you kill them for bringing you breakfast? Not all of them are demons.”

“Fine by me. I don't just kill demons.” Guts shrugs his heavy shoulders... but the casualty of it is affected.

Guts’ face is just as tense, just as angry. ...it’s frightened, too... though it isn’t immediately clear what it is he’s frightened of. Griffith himself, perhaps? That would make sense... though it seems somewhat incongruent with Guts’ personality to show it in this kind of situation.  

No. It’s something else.

Griffith is quiet for a time, assessing Guts’ body language, the way his eye burns. Anger, frustration and fear. If he thinks about it, it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, who knows abandonment and imprisonment better than Griffith?

 “I see,” He says. “I wouldn’t have thought you would want me to come back.”

Something flashes in Guts’ eye – surprise, yes, and then a wall of stone to block out Griffith’s sight... or maybe Guts’ perception of himself. For a moment, Guts is just. Silent. Motionless. He opens his mouth... even so, it takes a moment for him to find his voice.

“I didn’t say—” Three words, and then his voice fails quiet again.

Griffith looks to the table not so far away – the apple core and half-eaten bread.

“Very well,” he says, quietly. “I'll bring you your meals personally. At least for now.” He takes a deep breath and turns toward the door. It’s only a few steps off; he takes hold of the latch – silver and engraved with feathery markings, like most things in Falconia.

“Heh.” It isn’t an actual laugh. Feet away, Guts’ weight shifts. Griffith can hear the clanging metal; it shifts, but doesn’t approach. “Never thought this was gonna end with a damn God Hand offering to bring me dinner.”

“We are not one body, Guts.” Griffith looks at his hand – long fingers wrapped around the silver latch while the metal warms. “Each of us has our own goals, our own priorities, and our own experiences. I am what I am... but I am still Griffith.”

The armor shifts behind him again, and it’s so quiet. Griffith doesn’t look back. “Whatever has become of what we were... you were once the most important thing in this world, to me.” It’s surprisingly easy to say. Perhaps because it’s no longer true. “I will honor that.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he opens the door and steps into the hallway beyond.

* * *

Guts stares at the door long past its closing, his heart pounding violently in his chest. In that moment, hot rage and cold sorrow rushing through him, he doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Six: Forced Proximity @rowaelinscourt

link to masterlist here

She is a mess because I wrote her in one day between doing my real job and trying not to cry xoxo

Warnings: mild covid references/quarantine days, very poorly edited

level of concern (tell me we're alright)

The apartment was too small.  Aelin hadn’t noticed it until now, but two rooms and a single bathroom with a kitchen that easily melted into the living room was hardly enough space for two people.  Two people who hated each other.

Aelin threw herself down on the couch, gripping her coffee in one hand.  She’d long ago mastered the art of equilibrium where any sort of caffeine was involved so she didn’t spill anything as she sprawled across the plush cushions.  Groaning, she leaned her head back and tried, so very hard, not to lose her ever loving mind.

It was only week three of quarantine and she was going insane.

She missed going outside whenever she felt like it.  She missed going shopping.  She missed her friends.  She missed people.  Instead, she was trapped here with the one person she did not want to be.

“Do you always have to sound like a dying whale?” A very unamused voice called from the kitchen table, a grand ‘ol four steps away.

Aelin flashed a single finger over the top of the couch.  She got a grunt of disapproval in return.

“It’s eight twenty-two, well outside of your precious quiet hours,” she informed her roommate. “I can do whatever I want.”

Another grunt.

Aelin shifted to peek over the couch to glare. “You sound like a dying walrus.”

And Rowan Whitethorn promptly choked on his cereal.  Two days in a row—Aelin was on a winning streak.

When Aelin first moved to Doranelle three months ago, her plan was to have her own apartment, a dog, a perfect new job, and a social life.  What she got was a crash landing with her nemesis, no dog, the worst job known to man, and quarantine.

She and Rowan had been at each other's throats since they met one fateful night at a bar.  Rowan spilled beer on her, an accident, and promptly insulted her two minutes later after trying to hit on her.

As it turned out, he was friends with Aelin’s old roommates' boyfriends.  She should have known he was the worst considering he and Lorcan Salvaterre got on.  

The bar scene ended with a fight, more beer spillage (on purpose), and a promise of vengeance.

Unfortunately for Aelin, her prospective lease fell through and she would have been homeless if not for the extra room in Rowan’s apartment.  And then covid struck and Aelin was trapped.

Hence, her beached whale position (and sounds) from the couch.  Life was one cosmic joke after another.

“You don’t always have to make your presence known, y’know,” Rowan commented as he pretended, he hadn’t almost had multi-grain Wheaties shooting out of his nose.

“Of course I do,” Aelin argued, “how else can I annoy you before quiet hours begin?”

His green eyes flashed and he rose from his seat at the table, already dressed in a button up and slacks.  For Zoom meetings.  Like a lunatic.  If he’d been wearing a tie she would have teased him for it.  Of all things the man should still be in shorts and a t-shirt.  At least the button up stretched in interesting ways over Rowan’s broad shoulders.  He might have been the bane of her existence but he was nice to look at.

“Don’t you have a job?” he asked, putting his dishes in the sink. “Ah, I forgot, you don’t.”

“Freelance writing is a job,” Aelin said.  She sat up straighter so she could better glare at him. “It’s not my fault things have slowed down.”

Indeed, Aelin’s literature degree had taken a hit given the state of the world right now.  She’d hoped she would have a job at a major publishing company or magazine or something.  Instead, she’d been rejected from job after job and was trying to write freelance articles to keep up on rent.  It…wasn’t going well.  Which had led her to content creating for Instagram.  She read books and talked about them and it kept her somewhat sane.  Until Rowan mocked her for it.

“Rent’s due on the fifth!” he called as he disappeared down the hall to his room to shut in for his work day to begin.

Aelin had no idea what he did, only that it involved not having a sense of humor.  Something with marketing?  But his degree was in history if Elide was right…

She shrugged and took a long sip of her coffee.  She had less than twenty minutes before quiet hours started at eight-forty and ended at five thirty when the work day ended and she had every intention of making as much noise as possible.

…

Rowan knew he was an ass.  He’d always been known as the asshole throughout high school, college, the steps in-between.  Even his friends often thought he was worse than Lorcan.  Lorcan of all people.

Granted, ever since Elide came into the picture, Lorcan had mellowed out and even smiled once a week.

Rowan found scowling to be more beneficial.  Especially when it came to getting Sam Cortland to shut up in the daily staff meetings they had over Zoom.

His degree was in art history and appraising--a limited degree where all he’d wanted to do was work in a museum organizing exhibits.  Not writing legal documents for rich men to take art from their rightful owners.

The irony was not lost on him that perhaps he shouldn’t give Aelin such a hard time about her job and the fact she wasn’t using her degree very much.  

The only problem was he’d dug himself into a hole and now he had no idea how to get out.

Aelin, for all eccentricities, was smart and did work hard.  She was doing everything possible to stay afloat--sarcasm included.

Their first meeting at the bar had only gone so miserable because Rowan didn’t know when to shut up and apparently had a unique skill of insulting beautiful women.  What a time to learn that.

English?  Isn’t that the easiest thing to study?

She should have slapped him and not just dumped beer in his lap.

Rowan leaned back in his seat as the project manager started talking over the new contract that would be drawn up between a client and their acquisitions.  It continued on for too long and Rowan just wanted to get back to his own assignments.  By the time late afternoon rolled around, he was ready to log off and be done for the day.

He’d always considered himself to be a homebody, but this was getting ridiculous.  He wanted to be out doing things.  But the trails were closed, his friends were spread out over the country, and there was the risk of a disastrous illness running amuck.

So he was trapped in an apartment with Aelin Galathynius.  The place had always felt enormous until she’d moved in.  But she had a way of filling every space she occupied.  Other than the various bathroom accouterments she had there were the dozens of fleece blankets, the books, the personality.  Even he had to admit she was different from anyone he’d met before.

Unfortunately, she was very good at holding grudges.

He’d tried apologizing for getting off on the wrong foot when she first moved in, but her mind was already made up.  Then came the way she was loud, talkative, rambunctious.  Quarantine was not meant for her.  After one day he’d realized that she needed space and freedom and the ability to do whatever she wanted.  The jury was still out on how he felt about that.

He was finally able to mute his other coworkers when a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.  Rowan rolled his eyes.  It was two, so of course Aelin was getting snacky.  He’d clocked her eating habits and quickly learned she needed to eat at least eight times a day to be in a good mood.  Seven of those times had to involve chocolate.

She had been doing better at keeping quiet while he was in his zoom meetings so Rowan tried to control his ire.  Really, she hadn’t been a bad roommate.  She’d tried to keep the peace between them and even offered to include him on DoorDash orders.  All of her orders were from the local dessert shop and Rowan didn’t eat much sugar so that didn’t help matters.   

Another crash from the kitchen followed by the patter of feet to the linen closet.

“Damndamndamndamn,” Aelin chanted as she went.

Rowan froze.  She’d broken his sink again, hadn’t she?  He glanced at his computer but no one was paying attention, all engaged in their own work.  Besides, he could step away from a minute if he needed to.

Standing, Rowan slipped into the hall and down to the kitchen.  He braced himself for anything and everything.  Knowing Aelin there could be a dead body.

What he was completely unprepared for was the settling plume of flour and mess of various baking items scattered around the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Aelin turned from the counter, her blonde hair spilling out of a messy bun.  Her t-shirt and shorts (that showed off her lean legs) were covered in a mix of flour and butter, her face smudged too.  He knew he should stop staring.  Really, he’d seen her first thing in the morning looking like the walking dead and in the middle of the night crying to Taylor Swift.  And now, covered in flour, eyes wide with panic.  He would admit it only to himself and deny it if anyone asked him--but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“It’s cookie Friday,” Aelin said, she had a towel in one hand, spatula in the other.  A bottle of vanilla was tipped over as she was trying to mop up the mess. “Sorry.”

“You hate cooking, or baking, or anything involving an oven,” Rowan reminded her.

“Which is why I’m only going to eat the dough raw,” Aelin said, voice growing quieter with each word.  Her blue eyes were comically wide as she gestured around the kitchen. “Then the thing exploded and the other thing tipped over and it turned into a mess and I was trying to be quiet because you are a grumpy buzzard, even on Fridays, and I know you’re at work but I really needed cookies.”

Aelin continued to look at him with her large eyes as she offered a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders.  

"Sorry?"

Rowan didn't know if he should laugh or be irritated or something else.  But all he really could do was stare at her.  It was such an Aelin thing for her to do that really, he couldn't be mad.

"You know raw cookie dough is bad for you right?" He asked.

"No, it literally feeds the soul," she set.

With a wet thwack, she dropped the towel in the sink and righted the vanilla bottle.  Most of it had spilled out leaving a sickly-sweet scent cloying in the air. "And I don't care what scientists or other miserable things you read say."

Rowan rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to try and reason with her. "Alright fine.  Eat your salmonella."

"I will, thank you," she said.  A patch of flour still clung to her cheek giving her bravado a little less umph than he was sure she wanted. "And I'll clean up, no need to worry your poor old heart about that."

"I'm not old," he said.  Thirty was a perfectly reasonable age.

"Yeah, yeah."  She patted herself down, sending little plumes of flour all over the place.  She tried righting her hair, but it seemed to be of no use—most of the tendrils had broken free and she was stuck with a curling mass in the nape of her neck. "Go back to work, I'm sure nothing will get done without you."

And Rowan in a bought of what had to be pure reckless abandonment shook his head. "Nah.  I'm not that important."

Aelin raised a brow. "Really? Even with your real degree and real work you put into college."

Well.  He deserved that. 

"Yeah?"

Aelin eyed him skeptically before tossing another clean towel at him. "You get the floor I'll get the cabinets."

And then because the apartment had somehow shrunk in the last three months—they were continually in each other’s way.  Rowan brushing her leg, Aelin grabbing his shoulder when she nearly fell over while reaching for the top cabinets, both going for the sink at the same time.  It was chaos.  And because Rowan didn't know how to sort out his own feelings, he found his skin heating at each touch, his heart race at each glance.  And he knew, he knew he was a fool.  But if the past three months had taught him anything—it was that he could be very wrong about a great deal of things.

When the kitchen was somewhat restored to order.  Aelin sighed. "I guess that'll have to do.  I'll dig out the real cleaning products in a minute, I have to meet with one of my editors.  Hopefully one of my articles was accepted this time."

She said the last part flippantly, but Rowan could sense the tension rolling off of her.  She wanted that job to go through, needed it.  

"I'm sure it will," he said.

Aelin rolled her eyes. "You don't have to offer a pity compliment buzzard; I know it's not your style."

“It’s not--” Rowan cursed and looked away, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “We both know what I said back then wasn’t true.  I know it must have taken work and dedication to get your degree.”

“Thanks.  It did.” She was unapologetic with her bold words, just as he would expect her to be. “I won’t keep you.  I promise I’ll have the rest of this cleaned up before bed.”

“It’s fine,” Rowan said. 

Aelin grabbed the dirty towels to take to the small laundry alcove but Rowan stopped her.

“You’ve got flour,” he tried to explain that there was still a steak of flour on her cheek, but he was already reaching out, brushing it away with a quick swipe of his thumb.

Aelin froze, watching him as if she didn’t recognize him.  Not that he could blame her, he was actually being nice.  Her lips parted as if to say something, but Rowan’s phone gave a loud ping from where he’d left it in his room.  He’d hooked his notifications onto a larger speaker setting so he wouldn’t miss anything during the day if he got up to leave his desk.

“Work calls, right?”  Aelin joked with a small, half smile.  And then she was gone down the hall.

Rowan cursed again, running a hand over his face. 

“Get it together, Whitethorn,” he muttered, before he too returned to his room.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

tags are a joke rn. please consider reblogging?

love yall

[venusandsaturnsrings]

VENUS I have soooo many ideas for taru.... ranging from prisoner taru with warden darling cause yk he's in prison rn to icky angel taru who has nasty thoughts about the human hes supposed to be keep safe<33 -chubby darling anon who's brain's so rotted it's seeping out

this hit me in my pussy!! blinking wide eyed at u prisoner taru… my single braincell is rolling around like a marble i hope u kno how genius this is… i am KISSING YOU!! taking some creative liberties with the prison design since idk what it’ll actually look like… utc since i got a bit carried away soz T^T

includes: afab gn reader, prisoner taru, guard reader, a good handy, and whiny taru!!

you found the early morning rounds to be the least enjoyable portion of your day. the prisons was created out of a series of circles with intricate arching hallways to connect them. architecturally, it was to make the layout confusing for any prisoners looking to escape should they not have a map. equipped with an irritating amount of locked doors and special keypads, no one who wasn’t supposed to leave would be able to. enter the eleventh harbinger Tartaglia.

all of the other guards and employees hated his presence thus Wriothsley burdened you with tending to him twenty-four seven. initially, you had cringed knowing his reputation but… being his watch dog constantly meant less work navigating the building so ultimately, you were game. bring him three meals a day, tend to nay wounds, and keep one eye on him at all times; an easy job for you. when you first met no words had been exchanged beyond your vague introduction to the food he was receiving. you got a sharp nod in response but his furrowed brows and slight pout indicated that he wasn’t pleased, you assumed he was likely used to more elegant dishes, but this is prison. he gets what he gets. Tartaglia slowly began to warm up to you, his slight chatter coming through the bars that separated you from him; it was more like a grate considering there was both horizontal and vertical metal. you had eventually insisted on bringing one of the prisons spare chairs over so you could sit while he talked your ears off and Wriothsley quickly conceded, just happy to know he wasn’t causing you any real problems. it wasn’t like you could do much else other than entertain since there was a door between the chamber and the rest of the jail; this particular cell was saved for high risk offenders which any harbinger more than qualified for.

after some time of swapping stories and bandaging the occasional scratch he obtained from punching the walls in frustration, the two of you were rather well acquainted. Tartaglia told you all about his family, most exciting missions, and even slivers of his life prior to joining the Fatui. you shared tales of your friends, favourite hobbies, and the best spots in Fontaine for spending sunsets; nothing too personal as you were more than aware of his conniving nature and couldn’t fathom metaphorically putting the bullet in the chamber for him. he never complained about your reservations, though, merely enjoying a voice responding. Tartaglia is lonely, you figured. lonely with his psyche rotting away in this prison cell as he awaited appealing the charges wrought against him. it was one evening that you made perhaps the largest mistake of your life.

diner had been served and he groaned about having mashed potatoes for the nth day in a row. you had shrugged in response as you couldn’t control the meals given out. he ate reluctantly, shifting endlessly on the chair bolted to the ground. his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the fixtures of his cell in a way that made nervousness settle in your gut. once his dishes had been taken away and you returned, the flush across his face was beyond noticeable and, to your chagrin, you had looked him over just long enough to notice the member twitching through the fabric of his administered pants. he eyed you, slowly coming to narrow in on the apex of your inner thighs. with a slight shift, he let out a pathetic and garbled groan, face tightening further.

“i… i’m a tad sorry it’s just… it’s just been so long since i’ve had the time to relieve myself… can’t help it i’m… i need something. you can turn away but please i’ve gotta…”

the look he gave you between glances at your chest, face, and clothed pussy said more than his words could. he carried on.

“yer’ just so pretty n i can see everything… makes me wanna touch myself n you so so bad n i just need to… hurts a bit, honestly.”

his laugh was sour when he trailed off. you gulped, mouth suddenly dry and almost imperceptibly rubbed your thighs together but, of course, Tartaglia noticed. his hips raised and head lolled slightly to the side.

“ya want it too, huh? i could… i could get real close to the bars… put myself through n you… can touch if if ya want… can finish me off.”

against your most base inhibitions, you nodded hesitantly and he sighed, rising from the bed. as he approached you noticed just how tall he is for the first time. at least six foot two and with arms flexing as he shimmied the pants down before pushing himself against the grate, he was nothing short of a man who could kill you if the bars didn’t exist. yet, Tartaglias member was pulsing with need. twitching and leaking from the tip, his hips involuntarily moved for a couple thrusts against the cold metal and he whined. your hand reached out and hesitantly gripped him while a moan already spilled past his lips. you stroked him soft and slowly as he pressed his forehead to the bars and gripped them between his hands. settling into an even pace, you fisted his cock with vigour he clearly loved if the groans and soft begs for more meant anything.

“so close… fuck… gonna… in your hand…”

his breaths were laboured and you threw caution to the wind, leaning down just enough to slide his tip into your mouth. he twitched against you and let out a guttural noise as he came into your awaiting mouth and down your throat. you swallowed quickly and upon standing straight up again, you caught him slack jawed and wide eyed staring at you. you spoke before he could.

“i uh… didn’t want to have to clean it up…”

[peonierose]

Losing Game (4/4)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce Lahela (M!MC) x Luna Auclair (F!OC)

Rating: Mature / Angst

TW: Mental Health

Word: 5,000+

Summary: Bryce and Luna have worked things out. But there is still one visit to make before Bryce and Luna find closure.

A/N: This has been a story that’s very dear to me. I went a bit off-canon so I hope you’ll give it a try. As always thank you to everyone who gives my stories and my characters a chance 🩷🌙

A/N 2: In case you missed the parts before here they are: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3

A/N 3: Thank you to @annieruok94 🌷🩷 and @aallotarenunelma 🌺🩷 I hope you like the part with Adam, it was inspired by you 🥰

Side note: I also made a playlist for Part 4, (the previous two parts include a playlist as well).

The next day…

Bryce

I traded my shift with Aubrey so that I could have the day off.

I was watching Luna get dressed in a pink overall with a white shirt underneath, while I was lying in bed.

Luna turned towards me as she put her hair in a bun, a few blonde strands escaping her bun. She turned to me as I was basking in her light.

”I was thinking of visiting your dad today and I’d like to come with you if you want me to and if you feel ready for us to go together.“

I raised my eyebrows as I propped myself up against the pillow resting behind me.

”Are you sure? It’s not too much for you?“ I asked while I got out of bed.

She hugged me.

”Yes, I’m sure. Also, I love hugging you like this.“

”Any particular reason why?“ I grinned.

”This fine piece of ass. I like it.“

”Well this fine piece of ass made you feel real special last night. Also, I like this dirty side of you Lunes.“

I started to unbutton the straps of her overall but she stopped me.

”B we can’t. We’ll be late. The visiting hours aren’t that long.“

I sighed. She smiled and kissed me on my still-smiling lips.

”Really?“ I asked and tried to convince her for a quick round.

”Puppy dog eyes won’t work. Come on get dressed babe.“ She slapped my ass. I laughed out loud and got dressed.

And together we drove to prison to visit my dad.

Bryce

It’s weird to be here at the Halawa Correctional Facility, again.

The guards searched us, then gave us visitor passes and let us through. We sat at a dark grey table in the cafeteria, only one other guy was sitting down with his family from the looks of it.

I don’t think I’ve noticed anything that day. Not the color of the table or if anyone else was present. It might even be the same table I sat at the other day.

My dad walked in and they released the handcuffs and let him sit with us.

Both Lunes and I sat there as my dad walked over and sat down opposite us. He looked at me and smiled.

Then he turned to Luna and he offered his hand. Luna shook it and held onto it for a couple of seconds.

”You must be Mr. Lahela. I’ve heard so many things about you.“

I winced and tried to hide the fact that I hadn’t told Luna much. An acidic feeling rose inside of me. Recognizing it as guilt. For not telling her more about my messed up family life sooner.

But maybe I could change that and tell her everything later. I trust Luna, more than anyone. Maybe it’s time to lay all the cards on the table. Talking to Luna about my family might relieve some of the residual pain I’ve been carrying around for years.

”You must be Luna.“ My dad said and smiled at her. Luna nodded and I tuned back into the conversation.

”So Bryce has told you a lot of things about me? Like that pink is my favorite color?“ He joked but Luna didn’t know that my dad's favorite color is blue. Like mine. Well, blue-green is my favorite. I wonder why? I snicker.

”No way! I once told Bryce how good he’d look in pink scrubs. Like a deep magenta or a mauve tone. He’d be a stunner.“

My dad grinned at Luna’s enthusiasm. I haven’t seen him smile like that in a long time. Looks as if Luna can win anyone over.

”Or cherry red like that hickey.“ My dad pointed to me. I blushed down to my hair roots. Luna held out her hand for a high five and my dad smacked it.

”Hell yeah.“ Luna grinned, not embarrassed at all.

”Oh, man.“ I mumbled. She smacked me onto my arm.

”Ow that hurt.“ I rubbed the spot she smacked me.

”Man up.“ She grinned.

”Really? In front of my dad?“ I said and both Luna and my dad just laughed.

”Oh please. I’m sure your dad knows we’re sleeping together. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be pregnant.“

"Looks as if that train left the station a long time ago." My dad laughed out loud and started wiping tears from out of the corner of his eyes, Luna grins.

”I like her, she's got balls.“ My dad said.

”Dad!“ I exclaimed.

”Oh don’t worry. My delicate sensibilities weren’t hurt.“ Luna waved him off.

We kept chatting for the remainder of the visit. When it’s time to leave I help Luna when we both get up, my dad stands up as well.

”It was great meeting you Luna. I can tell you’re keeping my son on his toes.“

”Oh I sure do. Bryce is a great guy. I’m very proud of him.“ Luna said with a hint of a warning in her tone. My dad raised his eyebrows and got the message loud and clear. Then he smiled.

”She’s a keeper. Also, I’d love it if you called me Keola. Mr. feels too formal.“

Luna beamed at him.

”Sure no problem Keola. That would be nice. Would it be okay if I hugged you? You don’t have to, but I’d love a hug.“

My dad grinned and hugged her. God, what did I do to deserve someone like Luna? When they broke apart my dad waited.

”What are you waiting for? Get in here. Maybe before I become a grandfather?“

”Burn,“ Luna commented. I let out a surprised laugh and my dad and I hugged. It felt different to hug him now than it did when I was a teenager.

He felt more thin and frail. But it’s good to hug him because he’s my dad. And just like that something shifts into the right place. When we broke apart we picked up the conversation about the twins.

”We’re expecting twins in March.“ Luna said and my dad nodded happily. I can tell he’s happy. He’s got the same look in his eyes when Keiki was born.

”I have something for you.“ Luna got out a black and white picture. It’s the latest sonogram from the twins. She handed it to my dad.

”It’s an ultrasound picture of the twins. Kehlani Mae and Alaia Rose. You can keep it. We have another one.“ Luna said and my dad looked down at the picture. When he looked up, he held the picture close to his heart.

”Thank you, Luna. This means a lot to me.“ I smiled and hugged Lunes close to me. We all hugged again and then left to get to our car and drive home.

When we were inside the car I turned to Luna who looked at me. I smiled and reached into the glove compartment to get some tissues out and handed one to Luna.

”Here you go sunshine.“

She nodded in thanks and smiled at me.

”Thank you for today Lunes. I can’t even describe how much it meant to me that you went and visited my dad with me. Giving him that ultrasound picture? Making him smile like that? Man, I haven’t seen him smile as he did now in a long time. You made him so happy and me too.“

”Of course B. I’d give you one of my kidneys if it meant you’d survive.“

I smiled at her.

”B?“ She asked, looking tentatively at me.

”Yeah?“

”Can we just get some malasadas to go and then get naked?“

Which drew a surprised laugh from me. It’s like my dad said, Luna sure does keep me on my toes. But I love her, and it keeps me grounded in a way that’s hard to explain. That must be the feeling when you find the one.

”Not what I expected you to say. But sure.“

”I don’t want to ruin my overall, it's so cute.“ She said and together we drove to Leonard’s Bakery.

Bryce

We got home. Had some malasadas. And got lost in each other's touch. It was like coming home. It’s what we both needed.

We stand in our shower outside. Just holding on to each other. Like one of us is going to disappear in the next second. I felt the best when I was surrounded by water. It helped me calm down and it calmed Luna down too.

We toweled off and went into the kitchen. I stopped, putting some strands of her wet hair aside and I kissed her. Wondering how I got so lucky?

”You got so lucky because I’m awesome. And you’re my arm candy,“ she said, her tone getting lighter and I looked up at her. The shadows of pain were almost gone. I just kept looking at her.

”I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you with my actions,“ I said.

She pulled me closer.

”It’s okay B I know you didn’t mean it. And I know a relationship and love are sometimes hard to navigate. But another stunt like that and I won’t be so nice,“ she said.

”Why are you so forgiving? I thought you’d be angrier with me now?“

I asked, honestly flabbergasted.

She gnawed on her lips nervously. Ahhh. She’s been harboring a secret too.

”Spill Lunes,“ I said grinning. She looked up.

”Okay don’t be mad, but Evie sent out invitations for our wedding a couple of weeks ago and I said I’d have to ask if you wanted your mom to be there but I forgot to ask you and now your mom has gotten an invitation and I sort of didn’t ask you?“ She looked crestfallen so I pulled her close and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead.

”You were totally buttering me up. I was thinking of inviting her. Maybe even thinking of giving her and Dad a second chance. Unless they give me a reason to not trust them anymore,“ I said my voice steely.

She smiled and I knew we were good. When she kept smiling I looked at her.

”What? Any more secrets you’d like to tell me? Like how you ate the last piece of strawberry cheesecake that had my name on it?“

”That was Keiki,“ she lied and I shook my head.

We heard the door being slammed and Keiki walked in.

”You said it’s okay if we shared that piece of cake! Now I get blamed for eating the whole thing? Oh come on.“

She went into her room upstairs and slammed the door behind her. Bryce and I burst out laughing. Luna wiggled her eyebrows.

”How about we try out that hot tub we got some time ago?“

I grinned at her getting where she was going with this.

”Getting you naked is my favorite pastime,“ I said.

”Likewise,“ she replied.

We both sprinted into one of our bathrooms where we set up a hot tub. Luna's idea. The best idea she’s ever had if you don’t count on us getting together.

I got put out of my thoughts when she stood naked in front of me.

She’s been feeling unsure of her body because it started changing ever since she got pregnant.

”You‘re the most stunning woman of all time. So get that sweet butt of yours into the water,“ I said and she grinned.

”You only love me for my body,“ she grinned, getting comfortable in the water.

I huffed out a breath.

”That’s supposed to be my line,“ I said and she got closer until our bodies touched.

”Maybe you can change my mind?“ she asked.

”Oh I intend to,“ I said and kissed her until she forgot everything.

Until there’s just us and the love we shared for each other.

After a while when our fingers looked more like raisins, we got out of the hot tub. We dried ourselves and went to our bedroom. Lunes took one of my college shirts from Stanford and I just wore boxers. I turned Luna’s night light on. Illuminating the whole room, transforming it into the night sky.

When we lay in bed we almost stuck together. That’s how close we were. Needing this moment. Together. It’s what’s anchoring us.

I leaned into Lunes and sought her warmth, her comfort and she did the same for me.

Everything’s going to work out in the end, because our love is the loudest.

The next morning…

We got up, showered and lay in bed. Or well Luna was lying in bed while I was putting on some bum bum cream since she can’t reach it herself. I could feel her stare bore into me, making me smile.

”What now? Pillow talk?“ I teased and looked up at her.

”I…just wanted to ask if you’d tell me more about your parents. And what happened?“ Luna said.

I know she won’t push me, but she’d love to know more. I sigh as I put the lid back on the bum bum cream and kiss her calf. Making her laugh. One of my favorite sounds in the whole world.

”When I was younger…I don’t know, I always remember we had a lot of money. I never cared about that stuff. My parents were working in the real estate field. I wasn’t different because of it. And I didn’t act as if I was the center of attention, throwing money around.“ I sat at the edge of the bed and gathered my thoughts.

”Then there was this one night. I remember it was late and I just came back from a round of basketball with Kainalu and some of my other friends. I drove around the corner into our neighborhood in Maui and saw all these blue lights. Realizing the light was coming from police cars. Not having the faintest idea what the hell was going on.“

”Then what happened?“ Luna reached out and I helped her sit next to me.

”I saw my dad getting arrested, being put into a police car. I went inside the house like I was on autopilot. My mom came to me pulled me to the side and whispered I should take this bag from Keiki’s closet since apparently they haven’t checked that out yet. Take Keiki and get out of the house.“

”That must’ve been terrifying. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt.“ Luna said drawing circles on my hands.

”It was horrible. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. Not able to wake up.“

”What happened with your parents?“

”Later I found out how we got to have all this money. It didn’t just appear out of thin air. I learned my parents made some bad investments and the people they owed money wanted their money back. Saying ”pay me back or else.“ I said remembering the court transcripts.

Luna puts a hand over her mouth.

”Oh god. What happened after that?“

I rub a strand of her blonde hair between my fingers.

”As it turns out my parents skimmed money off their clients. They had access to all the clients' private information. At first, nobody noticed anything, since it was only small amounts that disappeared and that could’ve been easily justified. But when larger sums started disappearing, they started an investigation, to find out what happened. My parents became desperate to pay the money back that they owed. But what they didn’t know was that the police set a trap and caught them red-handed.“ I sigh, sharing this part of my life was always hard for me.

As if feeling this was difficult for me, Luna turned my head towards her and smiled at me.

”You don’t have to tell me. I can see this is affecting you deeply.“

I shook my head and lightly kissed her temple.

”So if your parents got caught what happened to you and your sister? I can’t imagine you came out of this unscathed.“ She encouraged me to keep talking.

”I was finishing my last year of high school. I was one of the popular kids and became public enemy number one overnight. The other kids whose parents had lost money from my parents' schemes took their anger and frustrations out on me. It’s hardly surprising, but still, I wasn’t a part of it. Neither was Keiki. She was only what, 6-years-old? And that night my parents got arrested? It was Keiki‘s birthday. I felt so angry that they would be greedy and take some money and drag all of us into it. But I know now that maybe there’s more to the story and life isn’t always as black and white as we’d like it to be.“

Luna leaned into me to offer me some comfort, as I was telling her my deepest and darkest secret. One I’m still ashamed about, though I’m trying to make my peace with it.

”We stayed with close friends until everything was cleared. Mom was acquitted because she testified against my dad.“

”Your parents love each other B. She wanted to help him and he didn’t want her to be in prison. I’d do the same. If I could help you by not making you wear an orange jumpsuit? I’d take it.“

”You’d lie on the stand?“ I was shocked.

”Depending on what the lie would be. I’m not exactly good at lying.“ She replied. I smiled and nodded absently as if now realizing she could be right.

”You may be right.“ I said.

”What happened after?“ Luna asked.

”It didn’t get better once I started college. I asked if I could take online classes. The college board agreed because my situation was a bit delicate as they put it. But it became too much so I transferred to Stanford. Just to get out of Maui. My grades were good enough that I could justify a transfer. And they had an open spot, so I packed my stuff, and left. Keiki went to live with Mom in Maui, while I went away to Stanford. Keiki was only six and in elementary school when I left. I left everything behind and didn’t look back.“

I sighed as I was saying that.

”Do you feel guilty that you left? I mean you and Keiki made up. Do you think she still harbors hard feelings because you left?“ Luna nailed my emotional roller coaster inside of me on the head.

”I do feel a little guilty. But I hope she forgave me. I regret not being here for her. But then I wouldn’t have met such awesome friends and later on you, Lunes.“

”The love of your life. Just give this a bit of time and you’ll see things will turn around.“ She grinned and I kissed her. Simply because it made me happy.

I broke off the kiss and said into her hair.

”The love of my life has a good point.“

She grinned and I smiled against her temple and instead of talking about the past, we made memories for the future.

A week later…

I was nervous as all get out. I was never good at talking to other people about my feelings.

I knocked on a red door and when the door opened a tall man with blond hair, put in a bun, answered the door.

Adam smiled at me as I stood there like a weirdo. I smiled nervously. Waving at him. Why am I waving at him? Get a grip, Bryce! I let out a nervous breath I’d been holding in and smiled at Adam.

”Bryce. It’s good to see you man. What brings you by? Oh god, my mom would whoop my ass. Seriously, where are my manners? Come on in.“ He opened the door wider and his golden retriever Knox came closer.

”Knox. Sit. Remember, no jumping people.“ Adam said to his dog who just smiled. I didn’t know dogs could smile. Huh. You learn something new every day. I petted Knox, which earned me a lick on my hand.

I followed Adam into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs.

”Want something to drink? My cousin made some beer. It’s made from some native ingredients found only in Hawaii. He listed tons of those ingredients. To me, it just tastes like beer. You want some?“ His head was buried inside the fridge.

”Sounds good.“ I replied.

He resurfaced from the fridge and held out a bottle of beer. It shone like liquid gold. We both opened our bottles took a sip and whistled.

”Damn. This is some good shit.“ I said and took another sip. Tasting, honey, amber, citrus notes, and something unique. Like hibiscus? How did they incorporate that into beer?

Adam smiled.

”I’ll be sure to tell him.“ He smiled and put his beer on a nearby table.

”So what brings you by? I don’t assume this is a social call?“

”What, I can’t come visit you?“ I asked, trying to mask why I was there.

Because I feel embarrassed and ashamed for something I had no control of. But like Dr. Leslie said, letting go of the past doesn’t mean it won’t be able to hurt you anymore, it means you’re giving it less power over you.

”Look I’ll be honest. I came here to ask you for a favor. And you can say no.“ I said.

”What kind of favor?“ He regarded me carefully.

”I recently had some memories from the past come back and I realized I might need an outlet for my emotions to avoid having a panic attack during surgery.“ I told him.

”I’m sorry you’re going through a tough time. I am. I know how difficult it was when my mom died. I was angry at myself, at the world, at everyone.“ He admitted and I looked up.

”I‘m so sorry for your loss. I bet your mom was an incredible person.“ I said and peeled off the label of the beer bottle. Feeling the soft fur of Knox graze my calves. I reached and patted him and he lay down by my feet. Anchoring me in a way.

”She sure was. It took me some time to figure out how to handle my grief. And everyone handles grief and losing a loved one differently. So if there’s something I can do to help I’d be happy to.“ He said and smiled, his blue eyes sparkling.

”Can I ask what happened?“ He took another sip of his beer, turned his attention to me and asked me what I feared he might.

”My parents cheated a lot of people out of their money. And the kids at school got back at me and Keiki for it. My dad is still in prison and my mom testified against my dad so she didn’t go to jail. At that time my sister and I didn’t know what my parents did. I recently visited my dad and I don’t know. I guess I’m just not sure how to feel about this whole situation.“ That’s when I realized I'd been babbling and when I looked up I just wanted to run away. Or hide.

”First of all, I would never judge you, Bryce. I’ve got to know you over the last couple of months. You're a kind, supportive guy. Who’s hard-working and loves his family. You’re a good person. Don’t let past mistakes by other people define who you are at your core.“ He said and I breathed out. Before I could say anything he continued.

”And don’t worry whatever you tell me stays between us. You don’t have to worry that I’d spill the beans to anyone. I’m really sorry this happened to you. I never thought you’d gone through something like that. So what is it exactly I could help you with? I’m not exactly good with therapy sessions.“ He smiled gently.

”I worked something out for therapy. But…I…uh…I‘d love it if maybe I could work on some projects here with you. If you need any help. I know I’m not exactly qualified or anything. But maybe I could use your workshop in the beginning. I promise I won’t make a mess. Years of doing surgeries have made me a very organized person. At least in the OR room.“

Adam grinned.

”You got it. Use the space however you like. It’s yours. If I do need some help I’ll let you know. As a matter of fact, I could use your help. I found this dresser at an antique store and I’d love to restore it to its former glory. The wood carving is beautiful, I think it’s made out of Koa wood. It would be perfect for Maxine actually.“

He blushed and I smirked.

”So essentially two birds one stone?“ I asked and he nodded. That’s when I noticed how different he looked when Maxine’s name was mentioned. I wondered what I look like when I talk about Luna. Probably like a sappy fool. But probably a really happy one.

”You really love her do you?“ I asked and it dawned on me, how much his eyes conveyed his genuine love and respect for Maxine.

”Yes I do. Maxine is a special woman. Hopefully, I’ll be able to make her happy for the rest of my life.“

”I’ll drink to that. To love and good friendships.“ I said and we clinked our glasses together and just enjoyed a nice view of a Hawaiian sunset.

Life is hard but you make the best out of it every single day.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Way Down We Go (Part 1)

Daryl x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Daryl follow a dead end that leads them to wash up on the shores of France. While their daughter takes an impromptu trip to the big city, in hopes of saving her childhood friend.

Word comes in the evening, Maggie was raided. They took all the grain, supplies and Hershel.

“What do you mean they took him?” Carol says, keeping her voice down, so that her granddaughter doesn’t catch wind.

“Exactly what I said, Carol. They scaled our walls and took my son.” Maggie hisses, through gritted teeth. She hasn’t slept in days, hardly in the mood for small talk. Dog comes trotting down the stairs to say hello. “Where’s Y/N?” That’s why she’s here.

“She and Daryl had a lead, wasn’t supposed to be this long of a run but…”

“How long’ve they been gone?”

“Two weeks,” Carol admits, “going on three.”

Maggie nods, “you’re here with Sophie?”

“Sophie’s here with Sophie.” The girl in question, waltzes into the room. Scaring the living shit out of both the older women. “I’m eighteen now, no more babysitters.”

“What about Dog?” Carol arches a brow. “If we’re going on a recon mission, we need a dog sitter.”

“What kind of recon mission?” Sophie wonders. Is it my parents?

“Hershel was taken,” Maggie informs her. “I have a map, I’m gonna follow it. Stop for backup along the way.”

“I’m in.” Sophie waves a hand. “Let me run Dog over to Judith and grab my guns.”

Carol presses her lips together to conceal her grin. Her granddaughter is a piece of work, but she couldn’t be more proud.

————————————————————————

“I’m pregnant.”

Two little words changed Daryl’s life forever.

“Ya sure?” That’s all he can think to say at a time like this.

“Yeah.”

“We keepin’ it?”

“Would that be ok?” Y/N asks, wringing her hands.

“I’ll be here.” Daryl nods.

He wasn’t the type of person to fantasize about meeting someone, getting married or having kids; white picket fence didn’t seem like the life for him. He never believed in love, not really. The only kind he’d seen was violent, loud; a screaming match, a lash from a belt. Then suddenly love was real, and he was in it. With a girl who might’ve been more afraid to admit it than he was.

Y/N grew up watching her father beat the ever loving shit out of her mom, for the smallest of things. Sometimes, the things he was angry about had nothing to do with her. But Ed always found a way to justify it. Carol had Y/N fresh out of high school, she didn’t really have a choice but to stay with him. At least that’s what she thought back then. One daughter turned into two and she was stuck.

In a lot of ways, the whole apocalypse thing saved Carol. Saved her from who she was and who she was going to be if she didn’t get out.

“They say if you grow up with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house.” Y/N tells Daryl one night, out of the blue.

Daryl grunts, around a mouthful of food. “Let me know when ya find ‘em, I’ll kill ‘em.”

And that was it. Y/N let him in. Let him close. Daryl let her know him in a way no one else did, or ever would. She traced his scars, with careful fingertips. But her scars were harder to navigate, no telling when Daryl might skid across one he couldn’t see, buried deep beneath the surface of her heart.

Eventually he learned what was safe and what was off limits. The subjects she would broach with gritted teeth and tears in her eyes. Love scared her, terrified her even; but it was real and she was in it.

The second that little girl was in their arms, the world shifted. Anything and everything revolved around her.

“Daryl?” Y/N whispers, as not to wake him if he’s sleeping. It’s her watch and technically nothing has happened.

“Hmm?” His chest rumbles beneath her head.

“I think we need to keep moving.” She leans up slightly to stare down at him, on his back with one arm tucked under his head, in their makeshift bed.

“Sum’ happen?” He blinks at her.

“No, but something feels off.”

“Ya mean how they never got a straight answer ta nothin’, an’ more interested in where we came from than where we’re goin’?” He says, tapping restless fingers against her lower back.

“Yeah.” Y/N breathes, keeping their conversation private.

Daryl nods his agreement, “a’ight. We’ll head out in the mornin’.”

There’s rustling outside their sleeping quarters. A tarp strung up between two trees with a tore up sleeping bag underneath. The crunching of leaves, snap of a twig beneath the sole of a shoe. They’re not alone.

————————————————————————

Now this ‘backup’ they’re stopping for, is on a wanted poster. He looks the same as he did seven years ago, when he left. Negan.

“This is the backup?” Sophie scoffs, grabbing at the paper. “Wanted by the New Babylon Marshals, for murder… Must be a change of pace for him.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asks, her eyes still trained on the road, as she presses down harder on the gas.

“Being wanted,” Sophie quips.

Carol lets out an involuntary chuckle.

Maggie does not seem as amused.

“What makes you think he can help anyway?”

“The men who took Hershel…they whistled. Just like he used to. Scaled our walls, stole from our rations, just like Negan. They know ‘em.” Maggie is sure of it.

Finding Negan is easier said than done. But eventually they track him down in some shady motel, behind a dive bar. Money isn’t worth much these days, but still, there are things that people want.

Negan runs, that’s what he’s good at. He’s got a girl with him, probably around Hershel’s age. They run them down on the side of the road. Maggie jumps out, holding a knife to his throat.

“Thought you were better on your feet.” Maggie remarks.

Negan only smiles, “good to see you too.”

“We need your help.” Sophie jumps out of the cab, wasting no time on whatever this is.

“Well I’ll be damned. Is that little Sophie?” Negan squints in her direction.

“Don’t call her that.” Carol brushes off her pants, “she’ll bite your head off.”

“Where’s the folks?” Negan asks.

“Out.” Sophie snaps.

“When the cat’s away, the mice will play. Huh?”

Part 2

[whiteshipnightjar]

AAAAAAAAnd there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky seemed a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke — fell in bricks of wet smoke — my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: mean, Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me — released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning — Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside — I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. You call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along — the seagull weeps ‘so long’ — I’m humming a threshing song — Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings — well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done — Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll — O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in — while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. * Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, so you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Cause she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) The cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. What’ll I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.

[vminjackbaddie]

Feeling Lucky

authors note: eye...haven't written a one shot in such a long time but his recent activity on ig has got me in shambles and I'd like the chance to try again. now forgive me because I've always written in first person but you can still pretend. also im super rusty so im sorry if this comes out cheesy lol I am not an expert for sure! lastly, please don't repost or claim as your own. I appreciate y'all pairing: female reader & jackson wang | 1st person word count: 3.4k+ summary: it's been a lot of trial and error: using dating apps in hopes you find a serious relationship and for the third time, you find yourself disappointed with someone, feeling cursed and very unlucky. to help get your mind off of things, you go visit your best friend at the bar with 0 intentions except to enjoy yourself until jackson walks in with his own group of friends. he's eyeing you, you're eyeing him but will either one of you make a move? or will you let your "cursed" theory ruin any chance with him? genre: mature | strangers to lovers au | angst | one shot | kinda soft | fluff warnings: 21+ ONLY! some cursing, making out, small mentions of heartbreak

“…and that’s exactly why I believe dogs are far superior to cats…”

He kept rambling, spewing nonsense. Is this really my life right now? How am I sitting here, listening to this man go on and on about why dogs are better than cats? Is this supposed to be life-changing information? Definitely not! And just for the record, cats are just as good—if not better.

To make matters worse, I wish I could say this was my first bad date in ages, but that would be a lie. A month ago, I signed up for a dating app, and while things started off strong, the past two weeks have led me to men with halitosis, nonstop misogynistic comments, and now this guy: a man who thinks his monologue is more interesting than asking about me.

Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and decided to use the old bathroom excuse.

“Excuse me—sorry. Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” I said, trying not to trip over my heels as I pushed my chair back, ready to make my escape.

“Take your time! When you get back, we can talk about the ghost in my parents’ basement!” he shouted as I walked away.

I raised an eyebrow, knowing it was now or never. Ghosting isn’t my usual move, but it felt like my only option. Luckily, there was an exit door next to the women’s restroom, and I made a beeline for it. I attempted to call my best friend to fill her in on the disaster, but I reached her voicemail, followed by a quick text:

[Hey, I’m working. You okay?]

Ugh. I completely forgot she was on a shift at Oasis, a local bar. But that might not be a bad idea. I could definitely use some company and a distraction. I hopped into my car and rushed to get inside before he realized I wasn’t coming back, quickly texting her:

[Hiiii~ nvm! I’m coming by. See you soon!]

The message was brief, and as I sat at the first red light, I surprisingly didn’t feel guilty. Isn’t that awful? But honestly, while I felt bad about the first two dates, this third one confirmed that maybe my days with dating apps were over. I felt cursed—searching for real love for so long only to have every potential match turn sour as soon as we met. So tonight (and perhaps for the rest of my life), I decided to focus on enjoying myself.

Oasis wasn’t far. Within five minutes, I was in line to get in. While I waited, I noticed the coffee shop guy had bombarded me with at least eight messages, calling me every name in the book for bailing.

“Wow,” I muttered, scrolling through his barrage of insults.

“Looks like you dodged a bullet,” the bouncer said as I finally reached him.

“What? Oh yeah, he’s definitely a piece of work,” I replied, blocking his number while handing over my ID.

“You came to the right place.” He nodded as he returned my ID. While he recognized me from previous visits, I wasn’t in the mood to chat with another guy about my problems. I simply made my way to the bar.

“Danielle!” I called, spotting my best friend as I slid onto the first empty barstool. The bar wasn’t too crowded, but the dance floor was alive, and it felt great to soak in the energy after those awful messages.

“Another bad date?” she asked, handing me my favorite drink.

“Oh, it was so bad, Danielle! I just don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“I don’t think it’s you. Sometimes men just suck, and dating app guys are a whole different level of awful,” she chuckled.

“I’m starting to think it might be time to give up.”

She sighed. “You always say that. But remember what I tell you: you’re more likely to find the right one when you’re not stuck playing 40 questions over a screen.”

She patted my hand for reassurance, and I felt a little lighter.

“Don’t beat yourself up—we’ve all been there. Just enjoy your drink.”

I nodded, acknowledging she was right.

“Okay, but no more than three drinks tonight. I don’t want you getting in trouble again for giving away too many free ones.”

We both laughed as I took a sip while she attended to the next guest.

About an hour later, I was on my third drink, and let me tell you, I was feeling it. “Slightly tipsy” was the best way to describe it, and I was really vibing with the music pouring from the speakers. However, I wasn’t much of a dancer. Sitting at the bar, swaying back and forth in my little bubble, felt just right. I could have kept it up all night, but then I heard an uproar from the dance floor.

Curious, I turned to see what all the commotion was about. Right in the center of the crowd was a group of guys dancing like nobody was watching, and they were good. But the one drawing everyone’s attention wasn’t the loudest or most flamboyant; instead, it was the guy making the subtlest moves. His presence alone was magnetic, giving him an air of mystery that was incredibly alluring.

I found myself standing up, inching closer to get a better view. I didn’t want to get too close—just close enough to appreciate his every move. But maybe that was the mistake, because as soon as I got within range, I was completely captivated. He wore all black: a fitted tank top, loose black pants, and sturdy boots. His shaggy hair was a striking lilac or lavender color, cascading over his forehead. It felt wrong, but the thought of getting his attention flickered in my mind. The only problem? I was supposed to be enjoying myself, not fantasizing about some guy.

“Y/N!” Danielle’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see her waving me over. That was my cue: stay away from him. After all, it was clear why there were at least ninety girls surrounding him—or so it seemed.

What I didn’t realize was that her shout had caught his attention too, because when I looked back just before walking away, we locked eyes.

“Oh god,” I mumbled to myself, quickly diverting my gaze as he flashed me a gentle smile. The only thing I could manage was a quick nod before I hurried back to the bar, eager to escape any further embarrassment.

“What were you doing over there?” Danielle asked as I settled back into my seat.

“Did you not see those guys? They were amazing!” I nearly pointed but caught a glimpse of him and his friends gathering at the other end of the bar.

“Those guys?” she asked, tilting her head in their direction. “Oh yeah, they’re here every Friday, or so.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

For some reason, that realization made him feel completely out of reach. I shouldn’t have even considered approaching him, but the thought lingered. Now, with him just ten feet away, it was impossible not to steal glances as I tried to finish what was left of my drink.

“Need another?” I heard a male voice say.

I looked over to find a glass of Hennessy right beside my hand. My gaze lifted to meet the exact guy from the dance floor, and I was shocked. Why was he talking to me? Where were his friends? Regardless, I needed to play it cool; I didn’t want to come off as desperate.

“No, I’m good,” I replied shortly. “This is my third one, anyway.” I barely made eye contact, taking another sip.

“Is that why you were almost on the dance floor?” he joked.

“Maybe. But how would you know?” I finally turned my body toward him.

He took a small sip of his drink. “I saw you—almost as soon as you walked up. I was waiting for you to join in.”

“I’m sure the other ninety women were more than enough for you,” I retorted.

“Damn. Don’t do that,” he said with a smirk.

“Don’t do what? Point out the obvious?” I chuckled. That’s when I really started to feel the liquid courage kicking in. To be honest, I had a lot of animosity toward men right now, and he was my first target. This could either go really well or extremely badly.

“I’m not just another girl for you to toy with, okay? You think I didn’t see all the smirking and body rolling on that dance floor? Keep it over there.” My finger landed on his chest. “And don’t bring your fuckboy act over here.”

He smirked again, taking another sip before resting his hand over my finger that was still resting on his chest. God, why was he so attractive? I’d said enough, so why couldn’t I just get up and leave?

“Let me be clear…” His voice was low and husky, and I barely noticed he had leaned in closer, making my hand rest against his chest. “If I had any intentions with the other women on that floor, or if I were the fuckboy you think I am, then why am I over here with you?”

His eyes searched mine as if trying to find something beyond the asshole persona I was attempting to project.

“Touche,” I responded, quickly pulling my hand back. I finished off my drink, trying to distract myself from getting lost in his gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Jackson,” he said with a smile, clearly pleased that I wasn’t trying to push him away any further. “And you?”

“Y/N,” I replied shyly, worried I might have ruined the rest of the conversation. Just then, another song played, and the crowd erupted again, making us both break our unannounced staring contest and look at the dance floor. The same guys he had arrived with were back out there, cutting loose. I noticed Jackson subtly mimicking their moves.

“You should join them!” I yelled over the music.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’d rather be dancing with someone else,” he said, slowly bringing his gaze back to me.

I rolled my eyes, smirking a little. “Could you be any more corny?”

“No,” he smirked, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer. We were chest to chest now, locked in each other's gaze. “But I’d like the chance to show you what I can do on the dance floor.”

I glanced back at Danielle, who had been watching the whole exchange. My expression should’ve been a dead giveaway for help, but instead, she winked at me. What the hell? She wasn’t helping at all.

“Come on,” he said, breaking our gaze and taking my hand. He led me to the dance floor. “I don’t expect anything more than for you to just feel the music.” He moonwalked to the center of the dance floor.

How could I possibly keep up with that? I barely had rhythm as it was, but that didn’t stop him from pulling me closer. The liquid courage needed to kick in any minute now because I had never been more nervous than I was at that moment.

He turned me around so that my back pressed against his chest, swaying slowly behind me, guiding my body to move in harmony with his. I felt as if I were in a trance, his hands exploring my waist in a way that was both respectful and undeniably sensual. His nose brushed against my hair, and I could feel my eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to his lead as I let the music envelop me. I placed my hands over his, turning my head slightly to bring his face closer to mine, anticipating the moment our lips might meet. But just then, the tempo of the music shifted, shattering the spell we were under. I smiled as we both paused, realizing that our moment had come to an end.

I turned to face him, and I noticed his friends slowly approaching from behind.

“Alright! We see you!” one of them called out.

“Get lost,” he replied, feigning annoyance, which made them all chuckle.

“Sorry, man! We were just about to grab another drink. You coming?”

He glanced back at me. “Yeah, actually. I’ll be right there.” They nodded and headed off, and he turned back to me.

“You know you don’t have to stick around. I wasn’t exactly nice to you a few minutes ago.”

He shrugged. “I can get drinks with them anytime.” He took my hand again and led me back to my original spot at the bar to order another drink. As we waited, he turned to look at me.

“But what was with all that attitude? Was it really just because of how you viewed me?”

I shook my head. “No... just... bad dates.”

He nodded slowly, as if he understood more than I realized.

“Men ain’t shit,” he started, his tone serious. “And I mean that. I don’t know what you’ve been through, and it’s really none of my business, but can I offer you some advice?”

“Sure,” I replied, still swaying to what we could hear of the music.

“Don’t assume every guy you meet is going to be like the last. I know that’s tough, but calling me a fuck boy was a bit much.” He whined playfully, laughter escaping him. “Though, I have to admit, it was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry... I really shouldn’t have said that—” Just then, my favorite song blared through the speakers. Tinashe’s “Nasty” filled the air, and the energy shifted.

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” I shouted, letting go and fully immersing myself in the music. Whatever liquid courage I had left finally surfaced, and I danced like I’d never danced before. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t even notice Danielle bringing him another drink; he simply stood there, a huge smirk on his face, watching me.

“Is somebody gonna match my freak...” I began to sing loudly, draping my arms over his neck and leaning in close, letting my hands glide slowly over his chest.

He watched intently as I continued belting out the lyrics. The way he sipped his Hennessy while keeping his gaze fixed on me made my stomach flip. Somehow, I managed to maintain my composure, still singing and letting my hands roam lower, tracing over his abdomen, which made his breath catch.

“Easy...” he murmured, and I couldn’t help but smirk. I had no idea what was happening, but I was enjoying every moment.

I leaned back into his space, my arm wrapped around his neck as the chorus looped again, the constant refrain of “I’ve been a nasty girl” echoing in my ears. I sang every word, body rolling against him while his free hand trailed down my side and rested at my waist. With his other hand, he finished his drink and set the glass down, then placed his palm at the small of my back.

We were mere inches apart; I could feel his breath against my lips, and it made me freeze as the music began to fade into the background. At that moment, I was intoxicated by his scent, and there was no way I could back down now. I’d been in his face for nearly three minutes, singing about being a nasty girl—what else could I expect?

“You singing all of that makes me want to do a lot more than just dance with you...” he whispered. “But that would be disrespectful on our first meeting.”

Good god. At this point, he could have done anything to me; a man who shows respect is the sexiest thing a girl could ask for.

“Then what can you do that wouldn’t be ‘disrespectful’?”

I knew I was asking for it, but I couldn’t help myself. At this rate, I wanted him to make a move.

He chuckled softly, brushing his nose against mine as our faces inched closer together. One hand cupped my face, while the other rested on my hip. I felt his body draw nearer, moving slightly as the music began to swell again, creating a bubble around just the two of us. I slowly closed my eyes, fully aware of what was about to happen. The build-up was intoxicating. I could have closed the distance myself, but something urged me to savor the moment. He began to turn my body until my back was against a wall, his hands landing on either side of me, brushing his lips against mine. When I opened my eyes, I saw him glancing between my eyes and my mouth, so close I could nearly taste him.

My hands moved to cup his neck as we tilted our heads, our lips nearly meeting once more. He was teasing me mercilessly, and damn, was he good at it.

“May I?” he asked, brushing his nose against mine again. There he went again with that respect.

“Please,” I nearly begged, and he slowly closed the gap between us, finally kissing me after what felt like an eternity of anticipation.

Our lips moved in perfect harmony, just like how we danced. His hands slid from the bar back around my waist, while mine fumbled to find their place. I felt most at ease tangling one hand in his hair while the other rested at his side. The kiss deepened as our tongues battled for dominance, making me want to nibble at his bottom lip to tease him even more. But just like that, it was over. He pulled away, leaving me craving more.

We were both breathless, but it was more than worth it. I even heard Danielle cheering quietly behind me, which made us glance at her and shake our heads in amusement.

“I’m sorry. If I’d kept going—”

I raised a finger to his lips. “It’s fine,” I smiled. “There’s always next time.”

He nodded. “I hope it made your night a little better.”

His smile was enchanting, and I could tell he genuinely meant it, which made me feel incredible.

“Mission accomplished.” I gave him a quick peck. “Now, stay in touch.”

“Wait. You’re leaving?” he frowned.

“No!” I laughed. “Danielle’s my ride home since I’ve had a couple of drinks.”

“Smart. I like it,” he teased, locking his gaze with mine again. “Care to dance once more before the night ends?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get back to your boys?” I asked, noticing them still on the dance floor.

“Look, those are my best friends. I can dance, drink, and whatever else with them anytime,” he assured me. “They’ll understand if I keep dancing with you. And while this may be our last dance tonight, I hope to see you again, outside of this bar.”

I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks. Who would have thought one bad night would turn into something so lucky?

“Deal,” was all I could think to say before he pulled me back out to the dance floor, where we danced until the sun rose.