#ribbon faucet

[tourajdaryaee]

Master Bath Bathroom Dallas An illustration of a medium-sized transitional master bathroom with a double shower made of gray tile, mosaic tile, shaker cabinets, gray walls, an undermount sink, quartzite countertops, and a hinged shower door.

[keshascult]

Transitional Bathroom in Dallas

An illustration of a medium-sized transitional master bathroom with a double shower made of gray tile, mosaic tile, shaker cabinets, gray walls, an undermount sink, quartzite countertops, and a hinged shower door.

[dentistnewmanalapan]

Contemporary Kitchen (Seattle)

[wifeyoozi]

Ot13 Seventeen : bondage (because the center pic above was on my interest home page and I immediately think of this)

seungcheol : he likes to first buy you dior and Prada and Chanel and then use the ribbons that comes along to tie your hands up when he fucks you that night.

Jeonghan: prolly ties each limb to each corner of the bed guy. Occasionally does that and teases you with toys and edges you all night long, knowing you can't do anything accept submit to him. DW he'll let you come eventually on his dick tho.

Joshua : I said before and I'll say again, he's a shibari guy. Will tie you up and leave you hanging and make you come multiple times in air using his mouth hands and various toys. Will have you crying before he let's you down and have his dick (he ain't the evil twin for nothing)

Jun : the one who likes to be tied up instead. Wants his hands behind his back tied up tightly as you bounce on his dick like he is your boytoy (he is)

Hoshi : ties your wrists and ankles together in a way you're be bending in half and opening for him with no other choice. It can be a completely romantic night or a total hard dom night, depending on his level of tiger that night. you tied up is his yeogi ocean view

Wonwoo: likes to tie around your torso like a harness and then around your neck (comfortably for you) so you'd choke for him just the right amount. Loves the way your boobs pop out of the harness.

Woozi : I have a fantasy that he'll tie you up in his studio one day because of how needy you were being while he was working and then he'll leave a vibrator pressed right against your clit and he has the remote to it so he can randomly change the settings from high to low to max anytime he wants and you're just writhing there, wetting his floor with your squirt and he might even record the sounds you make. it goes on foe eons until he is finally free from his computer and he comes and fucks you with his cock before untying you and taking you home for more (he warned you to not come to his studio so needy again or he'll torture you like that again but that's also the exact reason you keep coming back to his studio with a leaking faucet in your panties)

Minghao : he ties you up with pretty ribbons, makes you his art. He's doing it for the aesthetics but it turns him on so much. Literally wants to drink in the sight of you tied up like that in red ropes. Might take a few photos to see when he's far from you on tours and stuff.

Mingyu : ties your hands to the headboard as he fucks you in doggy. Probably bought those hot pink furry handcuffs just for this purpose. would also find other different creative surfaces throughout the house to tie you up and fuck you on.

Seokmin : he's tying you so gently when you suggested bondage because he's so scared of accidentally hurting you but he'll make them tighter on your encouragement and if you say the right words to him he'll fuck you harder than he has ever before, putting all those beautiful muscles in right use.

Seungkwan : likes to tie up your hands behind your back, esp when he being a harder dom. might even add a gag but not for long because he also loves kissing you. would get worried if the ropes leave red marks and prolly kiss them better as compensation.

vernon : likes to tie your legs together so they are just tight enough for thigh fucking. he isn't big on punishment sex, but on the nights he is going for that (since you were being too bratty all day long, literally asking for it), he'll tie you up so you can't touch yourself and would literally fuck himself everywhere but your puss.

dino : also lowkey into getting tied up instead but he underestimated how eager and needy he could be. his patience cannot deal with your slow speed but now he cant even do anything because he's all tied up and just watches you tease him and eventually bounce on his cock and give him what he desperately needs

[hanbinniesmango]

zb1 top 3 kinks pls!!

zerobaseone’s top 3 kinks

—all my opinion 😓🫶🏾 (no gunwook or yujin!!)

jiwoong

primal play

i can just imagine jiwoong one night wanting to get some relief and the releasing all his emotions out onto you while you guys fuck, resulting in him growling, marking you, and saying things like, “you’re all mine you know that, hm? no one else can fuck this pretty pussy like me.” with a grunt. he’d just be going at it like an animal.

breeding kink

would imagine you all the time full of his cum, he loves keeping that image in his head while you fuck. when he actually can he honestly puts his all into it, he knows what he wants and he’s gonna get it.

impact play (f. receiving)

if you’re being bad, best believe he’s pulling you over his lap and pulling down you bottoms. likes to smack both cheeks until their red, sometimes slapping your pussy as well. it just brings him joy to see you writhe on his lap to no avail.

zhang hao

humiliation kink (m. receiving)

when you started calling him mean names one day he went silent. you thought you striked a nerve, but no. you had actually turned him on a lot. to the point where he felt himself getting hard, and once you figured it out a big grin hit your face. “you’re getting hard just from some words? fucking pathetic hao..” he wanted to open his mouth to complain and justify the situation, but instead he let out a slutty moan. let’s just say you used his weakness for the greater good..

bondage kink (m. receiving)

he loves the feels of the restraints straining against his flesh, the tight fabric refraining from letting him move and touch you. especially when you pull out a pretty color of ribbon and wrap him in it, it makes him feel so good.

somnophilia kink

you’ve both talked about fucking while asleep and giving your consents and everything and views on it, after that calling it a night. a while later you’re asleep and he’s really aroused for some reason, he turns over to you watching you in slumber, your chest slowly rising and falling. he exhales softly, biting his lip at the situation. next thing you know he’s slipping inside of you from behind and gently fucking into you, breaths quickening. he starts to lose himself pace getting a bit quicker. your slumber is interrupted, you waking up, pants heavy and soft moans coming out of you as you feel his cock slowly drag between you warm walls. “someone couldn’t wait til the morning hm?” you say before pushing your hips back on to his, you being met with a groan. you both made sure you spent the rest of the night going til you were satisfied.

hanbin

exhibition kink

he definitely gets off on knowing people could see them messing around at anytime. the type of guy who you play with you in a dressing room, smirking at any of your moans or groans saying, “you don’t wanna get caught right, lovebug?”

collar kink (f. + m. receiving)

he loves watching you sit pretty while he puts a collar on you, him giving you commands every now and then, the collar reminding you of your place and that you’re his. he watches as the the pendant on the collar glitters in the light when you suck him off, him biting his lip at the dirty situation, you both knowing how it gets him off.

dacryphilia kink

he’d see tears start pouring out of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, them coming out like a faucet. something in him clicks in him at that moment, suddenly he’s wanting to do more to get more of those sweet tears out. “does it feel that good, lovebug? poor baby…” he says with a little pout, kissing your tears away. “it’ll be over soon love, endure it for me.” he says with a gentle smirk, stroking your head before continuing with his thrusts, your continuous tears egging him on.

taerae

voyeur and or cuckholding kink

one day he came home earlier than usual, and called your name, but you didn’t answer as you usually do. once he found you he heard your soft whimpers and moans of his name. and he just had to watch you. even though everything said to just walk in, he liked looking through the crack of the door, something about it was just so naughty and addicting… with cuckholding, he was very open to the idea of one of his beloved members to fuck you and him spectating. when it did happen, believe he was rock hard the whole time.

cock worship

he loves the days when you both are just feeling romantic together, the days where you just let him sit back and you worship his pretty cock. he’s sitting back on the bed as you kiss softly all over his cock telling him how pretty it is, darting your tongue out to lick up any pre-cum that leaks from his tip. “f-fuck baby..feels s-so—good..” he says struggling to get all of his words out from the pleasure. he doesn’t tell you, but he really really loves when you treat him like this, makes him feel small and warm inside.

mutual masterbation

you both are away from each other one day and are both really horny, but can’t do much. you both find a solution and call and it ends up to you spread open in front of the phone camera and his cock out in the open, him stroking it slowly while giving you instructions. “finger yourself, slowly baby…fuck just like that..” he says pants getting breathy. he watches as you follow all of his intrusctions, you getting close him the same. he makes you hold it, a smile on his face while his groans at the pleasure coming with his hand. “damn baby..i’m getting c-close…” he says stuttering a bit. “cum with me baby, let go.” he says finally before giving a couple more strokes and spurting all over his hand with a choked moan.

matthew

praise kink (f. receiving)

when you suck of him off, he loves telling you how much of a good job you’re doing, smirking at the way you moan around his cock at the praise. always lets you know how much of a ‘good cock slut’ you are, no matter what. never lets up on teasing how you react to his words.

anal play

matthew would def trust you with stuff like this, it was actually something he wanted to try. when he finally gets toys in there he’s in heaven. he didn’t think it would feel as good as it is. when you start thrusting your strap inside of him hitting his prostate, he’s becoming a incoherent puddle. he’s gripping the sheets and everything, begging to have it harder, faster, whimpering and moaning loudly. even pushing his ass back when you try to slow down or stop. it feels so good he starts crying, when he finally gets to cum he’s crying out out of pleasure. he gets silent right after, you getting a little worried until he speaks up, “t-that was…c-can we go again?…please..” him panting whilst you send him a sweet smile and giggle.

orgasm control (m. + f. receiving)

matthew loves when you tease his cock, taking your hand away whenever he says he’s close. “just hold it matt, it’s not that hard, right?” you say while you stroke his hot, pulsing cock. all he can do is just whimper out and try his best not to cum, not knowing what could possible happen if he does. when it’s turned around he’s pulling the same move on you, laughing at your frustration. “i can’t be that hard, right?” he’s just sending you the cruelest smile, teasing you to no extent.

ricky

dollification

ricky loves seeing you get dumb on his cock, before you two fuck he puts you in the prettiest lingerie, pulling you in by the waist and whispering, “my needy little dolly looks so pretty, hm?” you just whining out in response. he praises you as he keeps pumping his cock inside of you, your expression the definition of cock drunk. none of you mind tho..

breath play

likes to wrap his pretty hands around your neck while fucking you, loves the feeling of you clenching on him whilst he does it. “you’re taking me so well baby…maybe i’ll let you breath as a reward.” him chuckling after the statement.

bondage kink (f. receiving)

he likes to wrap you up in the prettiest color of rope, he also has a thing with seeing you struggle, your frustration giving him more satisfaction. “stop moving or i’ll have to restrain you from cumming, doll.” he says with with the sweetest smile, his eyes the opposite, hunger and arousal burning in his eyes.

gyuvin

degradation kink (f. receiving)

he calls you the meanest names with the nicest smile on his face, and it still wrecks you. while you’re on your knees sucking his cock he’s still calling you those names, watching how you shudder with each name. “dirty cock sluts like you are meant to be on your knees like this. do what you’re good for baby..” he says with a pleasured groan.

edge play (f. receiving)

gyub will literally edge you from dusk to dawn, only letting up when he feels he’s had enough. you’re not done until he’s satisfied, and it takes a while. he’ll eat you out for the longest, his tongue hitting all the right spots, problem is he won’t let you cum. he’s told you to hold it until he lets you cum, but with the rate his tongue is ravaging you at, you might not be able to hold it any longer…

overstimulation kink (m. + f. receiving)

gyuvin loves to tease and torture you, either that’s him denying you an orgasm or giving you too many to handle. you’d beg him so bad for an orgasm, groaning in relief once he finally gives you one. suddenly when you expect him to stop, he’s still pleasuring you, you’re starting to be confused, pants getting heavier and cry’s getting louder. “g-gyub!! t-too—i-it’s too much!!” you sob out only being met with his menacing grin again.

[curiositydooropened]

Ranged • 02: Home

Finally, a day off. You're prepping for your best friend's barbecue when your partner starts pounding on your front door with news that brings you unease.

Pairing: special agent!Steve Harrington x special agent!Reader

Wordcount: 5074

Warnings: very slowburn, this fic is episodic, coworkers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore, weapons, fighting, murder, viruses, decay, monsters *This chapter contains mentions of death, cremation, scars, autopsies, etc.

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Fic Masterlist

---

Moodboard • 01: Firetower • 03: Bayou [Coming soon]

The pounding at your door nearly startled the wrapped gift from your hand. 

“Be right there!” You shouted and carefully tucked the card beneath crossed ribbon. 

With a huff, you made your way to the door. It was a challenge nowadays, hobbling on one foot, bracing yourself on the back of your couch and the buffet near the front door. The staircase was by-far the worst of it, especially when you were still on crutches. 

The pounding continued, a bit incessant and impatient, and you groaned. “Hold on! I’m in a boot!” 

The little cover over your peephole swung beneath your fingertips, and you strained to see your partner. His broad shoulders took up most of the frame, and his hair wagged as he checked both sides of your hallway. 

You unlocked the deadbolt and inched the door open. “Steve?”

“Les Joplin is dead.” Worry creased his brow.

You sighed and hobbled aside to let him in. Owens had called you with the bad news this morning. It was just a part of the gig. You can’t save everyone. You noticed Steve took these things harder than you’d been trained to.

Steve barreled past you, and until you saw the look of curiosity cross his features, you’d forgotten he’d never been to your apartment before. Suddenly, you felt self-conscious about the lace trimmed window treatments your mom had set up and the Pig-shaped cookie jar on the countertop. His fingertips grazed the couch upholstery and he took in your massive entertainment shelves before turning to size you up.

“I’m sorry, were you going somewhere?”

You tugged your cardigan a little closer, hem of your dress brushing your knee over your hideous boot. “It is our day off.”

He nodded, and you took a moment to survey his own outfit. An oversized sweater was emblazoned with red, white, and blue embroidery. Navy blue shorts barely covered the breadth of his hairy thighs. The way his hair stuck to his temples denoted he’d been out on a Sunday morning jog. 

“How’d you find out about Les?” You asked, hobbling back to the kitchen to pour him a glass of water. 

Steve met you there, tutting about your bum leg as he reached over your head for a glass from the cabinet to fill for himself. “Owens left me a voicemail.” 

You watched the steady rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he drank. A droplet fell from the corner of his lips and slid down the length of his jaw until he reached to wipe it up. 

“Joplin makes six in six months.” He frowned, turning the faucet on to rinse. 

You frowned, nodded. It was true, nearly all of the people you’d managed to life-flight out of Hell seemed to have died through some infection or surgical complications.

“Joplin had a broken leg.” Steve tapped at your boot with his toe. “You’re still alive.” 

You rolled your eyes. “He’d also been exposed to the elements for two days before we reached him. Vines had wrapped themselves around him. He could have been infected with the Blight and we just didn’t know.” 

“He was coherent!” Steve argued, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t find any of this fishy?”

The vulnerability in his gaze was rare, a softness that kicked something up within you, reminded you that this grumpy exterior cared and had compassion.

You chewed on your bottom lip and shrugged. “What do you want to do about it?” 

His shoulders seem to relax a little, and he leaned against your counter, crossing his ankles over one another. “I have someone looking into the autopsy of the Garcia brothers.”

You swallowed, remembering the smiling faces of the two boys as they held each other’s hand in the back of the ambulance. They’d died hours after pick-up. You shook your head. “They were cremated, remember? We can’t exhume any bodies.” 

Steve nodded. “I know. They’ve all been cremated. Les is being torched as we speak.” 

“Steve,” you groaned at his crudity, imaging the frail man with kind eyes being locked in an incinerator.

“Like I said, someone’s looking into it. I’m meeting them tonight.”

You broached your next question with caution. “Have you… spoken to Owens about this?”

Steve watched you, like a caged animal deciding whether or not it could trust the hand that feeds it. 

You understood the roots of his mistrust. You barely knew what he’d gone through, how complicated his tangles were with these government entities, but what little you did know seemed reason enough to question everything.

He cleared his throat, shook his head. “No, I want to have more solid evidence before I bring it to his attention.”

You nodded and opened your mouth to commend him when the antique cuckoo clock on your wall chimed 11. “Shit!”

Steve leapt back onto his feet, just as startled as you, and he side-stepped you as you grappled for the gift and wine bottle on the counter behind him. 

“Steve, I’m so sorry, but I’m late.” You said as you hobbled to your denim jacket and purse hanging near the front door. 

“You’re not driving, right?” He frowned.

You cursed again, reaching into your purse to procure your cell phone. 

“Who are you calling?”

“A cab,” you argued, shoving him out your door with full hands. The phone rang, wedged between your cheek and shoulder, and you fumbled in your bag for some keys. “Hold these,” you dumped the gifts into his outstretched hands.

“Hang up. I’ll drive you.” He sighed.

“Capital Cab Company, how can we help you today?”

“What?” You struggled with the key in the lock, and gaped at your partner when he gently removed your phone from your ear and ended the call.

“Let me drive you.”

—

A jagged scar sliced through toned and tanned thigh meat, deep, purple, fresh enough to thrust you back into that cold cave. You taste his blood in the air, feel his pulse slow against your chest. 

“So at what point were you going to tell me your partner was this scrumptious?” Your childhood best friend’s voice shook you back to reality.

Steve stood about a hundred feet away, thighs at eye-level and on-show in those tiny running shorts. His white tube socks were stained with flecks of mud and grass. He hugged one hand into his armpit, the other held a beer he’d barely drank since you all stepped into the backyard an hour earlier. 

“Or was that confidential information?” Sadie snickered, poking at your side.

You shushed her with a waved hand, trying not to let her see the way you warmed at the idea. You leaned forward in your lawn chair for another handful of potato chips from the card table teetering in front of you. “He is not… scrumptious.” 

Steve Harrington wasn’t a hunk. You’d seen him with toothpaste stuck to the corner of his mouth and dribbled down his sleep shirt. You watched him trip over his own shoelaces once. 

Sure, he took great care of his body. It was kind of in the job description. Neither of you could climb mountains or fight monsters if you’d let yourself go. And yeah, he possessed handsome features. He had a nice hairline and thick, full hair, rare for a man his age. The handful of times you’d seen his stubble grow in hadn’t made him look haggard.

You could admit there was a kindness in his eyes too, saved for incredibly special occasions.

“I honestly don’t know how you get any work done,” Michelle agreed, pouring herself another glass from the wine bottle you’d brought.

“I’d be taking every opportunity to climb him like a tree.” Tammie played with the pendant on her necklace, perched on her chair like she was waiting for him to look her direction.

You coughed, salty chip wedged somewhere in your esophagus.

Sadie saw your struggle and laughed, slipping your wine glass into a salty hand for relief.

“So tell us,” Rhonda leaned in, covering her mouth with her hand, “have you two ever…?” She waggled her eyebrows.

You sputtered wine back into your glass, and Sadie threw her head back in delight. 

You wiped the dribble from your chin and glared at your best friend. “Is this why you invited him in? So you and the girls could torment me?”

“Oh Pigeon, don’t be so dramatic,” Sadie pinched the flab under your arm and grinned. “I invited him in because I wanted to stare at those thighs. Think he’ll play volleyball if we put the net up?”

“Your husband is right there.” You gestured to poor, sweet Jeff, receding hairline and beer gut stretching his cotton polo. He drank his beer and flipped burgers and stared at Steve like he was just at smitten as his wife.

“He can join,” Sadie shrugged. 

This sent the other women in a fit of giggles and hoots. 

Steve met your gaze. Someone behind you must have waggled their fingers, because the corners of his lips quirked into a confused smile, and he extended a timid wave. 

You chewed on your cheeks to avoid laughing with them.

“I know we’ve been talking about those legs, but have you seen the size of his hands?” Tammie whispered into her wine glass.

“Oh I know, I’d like him to - “

“Alright,” you hoisted yourself from your lawn chair and hobbled away from the cackling women. The grass wasn’t ideal for your wobbly boot, but anywhere was better than the warmth radiating from your collar and the call of your best friend for you to return. 

Halfway across the yard, you stumbled on a rogue gopher hole, wine splashing from your glass and all over the front of the man who was conveniently there to catch you. Two large hands held you upright at your ribs.

“Why is it difficult for you to just sit and stay there?” Steve asked, chin and throat glistening with white wine. It soaked the top half of his sweatshirt.

Before you could apologize, the crew was on you, a flurry of mom’s pinching and doting, patting you both with paper towels. 

Steve waved them off so he could limp you back to your seat, pointing a warning finger your direction. “Stay there.”

“Steve, honey, let me throw that in the wash for you. I’m sure Jeff has something you can borrow.” Sadie shot you a salacious look before beckoning your partner in through the sliding glass door at the back of her house.

“Think they need help?” Rhonda snorted, and the rest of them started to holler again.

—

A summer thunderstorm forced the party indoors. Husbands toted drunk wives out the front door. The kids were hauled into the basement with popsicles and VHS rentals. Only a handful of party-goers remained, indulging in quiet conversation around Sadie’s immaculately floral living room. Her favorite record spun in the corner. 

“I’m worried about you, Pigeon,” she tapped at your knee above your boot and offered a glass of water. 

You accepted it and shrugged. “Hazards of the job. I survived, didn’t I?” You kneed her back.

She glanced around the room before she lowered her voice. “When Steve changed earlier, I saw those… scars. What exactly are you two fighting out there?” Her eyes were wide, full of worry, of fear. 

You felt it, too, sometimes. You thought about her a lot, about a life in a perfect suburban home with a picket fence. You wondered if you’d ever achieve that, too.

“Steve went through a lot before we recruited him.” It was the only explanation you could manage. 

You glanced at your partner. He stood in the kitchen, arms crossed over a too-small polo of Jeff’s in a horrid khaki green that still, somehow suited him. You wondered if he’d ever wanted the American Dream. You could imagine him hunched beneath a kitchen sink or flipping burgers outside. You could imagine him coming home after a long day’s work, dumping his briefcase in the hall closet, smelling the air for a home-cooked dinner. You imagined kids and a dog running to greet him.

“I just need you to be careful,” Sadie warned.

You blinked back into focus, and turned to see the look in her eye had changed. 

She nodded toward the kitchen, a knowing smirk playing at full lips.

“Sadie, thank you so much for inviting me. Are you sure it’s alright if Wyatt stays here tonight?” A voice from behind you pulled your best friend from her seat on the couch.

“Michelle, of course! Wyatt’s welcome anytime. Just call if you can’t pick him up tomorrow, I’ll have Jeff drive him home.” Sadie kissed her acquaintance on the cheek, bangles on her wrists jingling. 

Michelle said your name, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “It was really good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “You, too.”

She turned from you both and took a few steps before pausing and turning back to face you. “Okay, I know this is going to sound a bit… I dunno.” She waved off her words, insecurity oozing from a typically-poised frame.

Michelle was such a sweet woman, confident, beautiful. She worked with Jeff in radio advertising. She was a single mom. You’d never seen a hair of hers out of place, nor a pearled button. 

You glanced at Sadie, whose demeanor had gone rigid beside you.

“I just um… is there anything going on between you and Steve?”

You blinked back at her, your mouth going a little dry.

“I only ask because he and I had a really nice conversation earlier, and I wanted to give him my number, but I obviously would never step on your toes. I think the world of you. Also like, if it’d be weird at all, that’s totally understandable.” She was rambling now, her pale features tinged a bright red. 

Sadie was holding her breath beside you.

You blinked a few more times, processing the word vomit, and eventually your head shook itself. “No. Nope, no, huh uh. No. Um… no.” For God sake, anything else, say anything else. 

Sadie elbowed you.

You laughed. “Sorry, just um… Steve? Harrington?”

Michelle ducked her head and smiled, tucking a black curl behind her ear. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Chyeah, of course it is. That’s great, Michelle! That’s really great! I’ll put in a good word for you.” The words came out of you like they were flowing from someone else’s mouth. You felt paralyzed in your seat. Sadie’s claws were digging into the meat of your thigh. 

“Oh really? Oh that’d be amazing. Thanks so much. Well, wish me luck, I guess, then…” She let out a little eep like a school girl and waggled her fingers your direction before she turned to make a b-line to the kitchen. 

“You’ll put in a good word?”

“Shut up,” you hissed, smacking your friend’s hand away.

Steve stood up straight at Michelle’s approach, that stiff kindness meeting his eyes. He struck you a bit like Frankenstein’s monster, a man learning to be human again, movements stilted and face stuck in a scowl.

Michelle took something from her purse and placed it into his large hand, her own fingers lingering softly against his.

His throat turned a bit pink, and his ears, and it looked like he was fighting off a smile like it might hurt him. He nodded and said something back, and they ended their exchange with an awkward half-hug. Her curls caught on the bridge of his nose, his lashes. He met your gaze from across the room.

Then he jumped, apologized as the distinct bell of his cell phone chimed in his pocket.

Michelle left with one last excited wave to you girls, but you were already snapping your fingers for Sadie to grab you your purse from the coffee table. 

You dug for your phone, but by the time you flipped it open and dialed into voicemail, Steve was walking your direction. 

“Sadie, mind if I grab my sweatshirt?” He shot you a look and said, “We have to go.”

—

The rain thunked heavy on Steve’s windshield, wipers pulsing at a steady rhythm. The warmth of a far-off streetlamp cast reds and yellows across his silhouette and splashed across a bare kneecap.

You sat in a park parking lot. A swing set swayed in the wind a hundred or so yards to your left. A large hill jetted upwards at your center. Trees scattered the area. 

Steve’s car idled. The heater puffed warmth that smelled of leather and him, and the faintest sweet of white wine that Sadie’s natural detergent hadn’t managed to squeeze out of his sweatshirt. 

“Where are we?” You asked, glancing around the empty lot. 

The sun had dipped west an hour ago, just as you reversed out of Sadie’s driveway beside Jeff’s station wagon. 

“I don’t know,” Steve grumbled. His leg bounced, shaking the entire car with nervous energy. 

You had half a mind to slow his movements, the heat and the sway churning your motion-sick stomach, but the idea of clamping down on his muscled and hairy thigh had you thinking of the girls at the barbecue. You imagined each of them in the backseat of his car, oohing and chanting for you to quit being a baby and just do it.

So you sucked your cheeks between your teeth and stared directly ahead at the beading water on the windshield.

“So…” You breathed. “What did you think of Michelle?”

“Who?” Steve stopped his quake.

You sighed and looked back at him. “Michelle, from the party? Black hair, freckles, drop-dead gorgeous. She gave you her number at the end of the night?”

“Oh right,” he said, like that was the only indication he’d met this woman.

You blinked back at him, waiting for more elaboration. You should have known better. With another deep breath, you pushed a little further. “She wanted me to put in a good word.” 

“Okay,” and now he waited expectedly.

“What?” You frowned.

“Tell me something good about her.”

For the life of you, all you could muster was, “She’s a really good mom?”

Steve snorted, though his expression remained unamused. “Great, I’ll ask her to cut the crust off my sandwiches.” 

“No, that’s not…” You huffed, adjusting your sweating back against the leather seat. You grumbled and flicked off the heat, suddenly feeling the space around you void of air.

You sat in silence for a moment, trying to organize your thoughts, frustrated that the only image coming to mind was Michelle’s perfectly manicured nails clinging to Jeff’s polo collar. Steve’s hands held her close, sliding down to the seat of her jeans. 

Steve cleared his throat, and you blinked back to reality.

“I’m sure I can think of nicer things to say,” you managed to squeak out.

“I’m not going to date Michelle,” Steve spoke low and slow beside you, his voice warming you more than the heater had.

You glanced up at him, strong jaw and defined nose cut through warm lamplight. You pondered his tone, wondered how final it had felt, how far you could press. Maybe it’d be best to leave it there.

“This job doesn’t lend well to… a life.” His voice startled you again, information given before it was asked.

You didn’t dare respond, lips sealed, breath held.

He scratched at the stubble overgrown on his chin. “Doesn’t feel fair to get someone’s hopes up when I could be killed the next day.”

His name fell from your lips in a sigh, and he caught you gaze, lips quirked upward in a wry smile as he waved his words from the space between you.

“That’s just me though. I’m not like… putting that on you. Date a bunch of guys, if you want! Or one guy! Or one gal. I don’t care, I just um…” He coughed into his hand. 

You snorted and glanced back out the windshield at the lamplight and the rain. 

A shadow moved straight ahead, emerging from the hill top, bowed shoulders and a wide-brimmed hat. 

“Steve,” you nodded, reaching your hand into your bag for your concealed weapon. 

He adjusted himself upright, his own hand stopping your wrist. 

“Is that your guy?” You asked, heart thundering a little louder in your ear.

“I hope so,” he answered, and you both just waited. 

The figure seemed to sway down the hillside, walking at too slow a pace, darting through the tree line to be covered in shadow when he could. Finally, as he stepped into the warmth of lamplight and tilted his head to expose round cheeks, Steve released your wrist and dropped his shoulders in relief.

The door creaked and the pitter of rain against the asphalt deafened you for a moment as Steve stepped out to scold the contact. Both men spoke in hushed tones, gesturing wildly to you before admitting defeat and retreating to the safety of the car’s interior. The whole vehicle shook under their combined weight, and they brought with them the sweet smell of ozone. 

You eyed Steve, tendrils of his hair dripping onto scruffy cheekbones.

He grimaced and pushed his hair from his eyes, gesturing from you to the man in the seat behind him. “This is Dustin Henderson, Henderson, this is my partner.” He introduced you.

“My real name, Steve? Really?” Dustin snapped, pulling the fedora from wild curls.

Steve shrugged. “She didn’t know it was your real name until you just confirmed it, dipshit.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

You blinked back at a the two of them. There was no family resemblance, but they bickered like siblings, and you realized this was the largest glimpse you’d gained into Steve’s private life in the year you’d known him. You knew his parents’ names, that he grew up in Indiana. You knew he was captain of the swim team. You knew he enjoyed sports. You knew he knew far too much about the movie Labyrinth. You knew his go-to sit-in diner order (a cheeseburger with no onions and a strawberry shake). But somehow this connection, with this strange young man, was the greatest insight you had into who your partner really was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you extended a hand. 

Dustin Henderson smiled at that, a big, warm, round smile. His hand was cold and clammy from the rain, but the handshake was strong and firm. “Likewise,” he nodded. “Steve was right, you are a beautiful woman.”

“Hello? Can we talk about the autopsy reports?” Steve snapped his fingers to get you both back on track.

“Okay, Jesus Christ,” Dustin hissed like a scolded middle schooler. He reached into the inside pocket of his oversized trench coat and pulled out a few pieces of paper. He handed half the pile to Steve and half to you. 

You squinted down at a handful of coroner’s reports, the names of the deceased all familiar to you. Les Joplin sat at the top of the pile. Cause of death: prolonged exposure. You swallowed and handed the paper over for Steve to read.

He shook his head. “So could you find anything?” 

Dustin tapped his fingers on the bottom of the pages. “All of these autopsy’s were done by the same man. No matter what part of the country these people were in, they brought in the same guy. George Humbolt.”

You thumbed through the remaining papers to find the signature he’d indicated. 

“George Humbolt no longer works for the United States government. He actually recently retired and bought a very large mansion in Key Largo. He was a very difficult man to track down, and when I called him earlier to ask him about the Garcia brothers, his phone line was disconnected.” Dustin explained through grit teeth.

You glanced up at the young man, peach fuzz barely cresting his upper lip. You wondered what got him into this life, if he’d been thrust into conspiracy theories chasing his older brother-figure. You wondered if he’d seen as many horrible things as Steve had, as you had. You hoped not. You hoped nothing would come of this snooping. You hoped he was being safe.

“Humbolt didn’t do Joplin’s,” Steve exchanged you papers again. In script, you could barely make out the name of a woman, Caroline Something. “Maybe we can track down the new person?”

“I did some digging into her too.” Dustin nodded. “Her supervisor is one Samuel Owens.”

You watched Steve’s expression shift, harden. You watched him watch you. You watched the trust fall from his eyes, wariness making his shoulders and jaw rigid.

He swallowed, nodded, folded the papers in his hands. “Well, Henderson, thanks for this, man. I think maybe it’d be wise to lay low for a little while.”

“Sure, man. You know I’m always careful though.” Dustin could sense the shift in his friend. His face seemed to screw up, too, in concern. He offered you a sad smile. 

Steve nodded, solemn, and cranked the heat again. The noise from the fan cut through the tension. “Do you need a ride home? How the Hell did you get out here?”

“Walked.” Dustin sighed and folded himself back into his seat, reaching for the seat belt.

—

The rain calmed to a soft sprinkle that dotted your cheeks. Droplets caught on your eyelashes and cast stardust in your vision under streetlights and the entrance to your apartment building. You blinked them away, keys jingling at your side as you let yourself in.

Steve held the door to let you hobble past, and he followed you in quiet silence onto the elevator.

You pressed the button to your floor and relaxed into the handrail, taking some weight off your aching foot in its boot.

Dustin had made sweet small talk on his way home, asking about your life and your interests. You’d learned he was a computer programmer. He had a pet turtle, and Steve was his best friend. 

When he exited the car, the two exchanged a cute handshake that Steve seemed nonplussed to reenact, despite both of them being silhouetted in the headlights.

Steve didn’t speak a word to you the rest of the way home.

“Thanks again for sticking with me at Sadie’s today. You really didn’t have to stay.” You said, voice hoarse, as you stepped off the elevator and onto your floor.

Your partner shrugged, rubbed at the back of his neck. “I had fun. Sorry about Henderson, by the way. He can be a bit…” 

“Endearing? Wholesome? Adorable?” You smiled.

Steve snorted. “I was going to say obnoxious, but I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll probably buy you flowers.” 

You hummed. “Flowers are nice, and so was he.” 

You put your keys into your lock and twisted. Steve was warm behind you, a towering presence of protection and safety. You thought of Sadie’s warning. Be careful. Never had you doubted where you stood with Steve. Even though he’d been a stranger to you, you never felt threatened, never felt afraid. 

You turned to look at him.

He swallowed, glanced down the hall. “Listen, I’m really sorry about today. Sometimes I can’t handle that I can’t save everyone, and I get a bit carried away.”

Your heart sunk, and you tilted your head to catch his gaze. His brown eyes were nervous. You shook your head. “No, you were right. Something weird is going on, and we’re going to figure it out. We can’t save everyone, but we can save someone.”

He took a few beats, searching for a falter in your certainty, searching for that trust in you, before he nodded.

A soft meow startled you apart, and your front door clicked open. Mrs. Song’s cat began rubbing his black and white butt against Steve’s ankle, purring loudly.

You both chuckled, clutching at startled chests before Steve leaned down to give the cat some much-needed pets.

Your heart pittered a little in your chest, and you found your face warming once again at the thought of Steve returning home after a long day’s work to greet his pets.

You cleared your throat and backed into your apartment, tossing your purse on the nearby hook and shrugging out of your jacket. “Well, goodnight. Thanks again for the ride.”

Steve stood up straight, all thick thighs and broad shoulders, cheeks pinched pink. He nodded. “Sure, no problem. Do you uh… do you need a ride to the office tomorrow?”

You tucked a hair behind your ear and shrugged. “Sure, um… sure, thanks.” 

He nodded again. “Alright, pick you up at 7:45?”

You nodded. You felt paralyzed in this moment.

Steve stood in the precipice of your doorway, the green of your wallpaper bringing out the green in his eyes. You thought back to the teasing words of the women at the barbecue. If any of them had a man like this in their doorway, they’d invite him in, offer him a drink, do anything but stand and stare and wonder what could be, hearts racing.

He wrapped his knuckles against the doorframe and pushed off, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips. “Alright, then. Night.”

“Night.” You managed.

He stumbled a bit around the cat during his turnaround and bent to give her one last little pat.

“Steve!”

He stopped and stood back up to look at you over his shoulder.

“Don’t let the job discourage you,” you released a shaky exhale.

He frowned, confused.

“From having a life,” you explained.

Realization flooded his features, but the two of you remained rooted to the spot. You thought of Dustin and his turtle, and of Sadie and Jeff and their sweet little home. You thought of kids screaming on the trampoline. You thought of all of these things you never thought you’d have, unsure if you wanted them, unsure where Steve stood, if you’d be dragging him down, stealing his happiness by dying on the field. Maybe that’s what happened to Robin…

You cleared your throat, smiled, nodded. “You should really call Michelle. She’s a really sweet person. She’s funny. She’s very intelligent. She makes excellent brownies. Her son, Wyatt, is a really cool kid, too. I think he’s in karate.”

Steve nodded, taking another step backwards into the hallway, spell-broken. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Good.” You smiled. “Night.”

“Night.”

The peephole carved a divot into your forehead once the door was closed. 

---

Moodboard • 01: Firetower • 03: Bayou [Coming soon]

[actualbird]

hi zak, my luke plush got a bit dirty and dusty.... do you happen to have a guide on how to wash (and care) for your luke plush properly?? thanks ueuueue ;;-;;

hi hi chika!!! i see youve finally gotten to the quintessential luke plush owner milestone of having to give your boy his First Bath!!!

i wouldnt say i know the textbook Proper way to wash luke plushie, because when i got my luke plushie i lost the official hyv tag he came with so i never got to read the wash/care instructions (if there were any) BUT i can tell you how ive been washing my luke plushie because it seems to have worked so far!!

without further ado

step 1: pre-wash

youre first gonna wanna remove his clothes, luke plush is a lot easier to wash when hes naked, and it's also easier to wash the clothes fully when theyre off of his body

(pictured: the plushie family and clothes, separated)

i'd also suggest using a lint roller at this stage to get some of the surface dirt off, just so washing him is easier once hes in the water

once hes naked and lint-rolled, its off to the bath!!

step 2: bath time

we're going to be hand washing him, not machine washing because machine washing a plushie is scary to me. theyre all alone in there.....

anyhoo, fill a basin with cold water and drown your luke plushie in there. make sure there's enough water to fully submerge your boy.

once hes all wet, add gentle detergent, the gentlest you have

both the water temp and detergent kind is to prevent any color fading. very much avoid any harsh chemicals like bleach and whatnot.

this is not part of the washing process but now is the perfect time to pause and take a picture because luke plushie will look like hes in a bathtub

(pictured: bubble bath time for luke plushie)

anyhoo, once youre done taking a pic, gently GENTLYYYYY scrub at any portions that have dirt or grime on them. gently GENTLLLYYY rub everywhere else that doesnt have any visible dirt.

repeat with the clothes, and take extra care because ive found that his clothes are very fragile.

dunk luke plushie's head under the water and gently GENTLYYY squeeze, so his stuffings and braincells also get washed.

do this for a few minutes until youre satisfied or until the visible dirt has been removed

once done, set luke plushie and clothes aside, dump the sudsy water out, and fill the basin again with clean cold water. dunk luke plushie and clothes in the cold water to rinse them off, swishing luke plushie and clothes around under the water.

after some swishing, you can run luke plushie and his clothes under a running faucet or hose to further rinse him out.

keep rinsing until the water no longer comes out with sudsy bubbles. you may have to squeeze his head GENTLY GENTLYYYY a few times in between this process to get all the suds out of his cranium, so just be patient

once the water is no longer sudsy, it's time to dry him!!

step 3: drying

since the clothes are thin, you can hang those up right away to air dry. for luke plushie, however, his head is huge and currently filled with water which makes him very heavy at first.

to get some of that water out, place him on a towel, fold the towel over him, and press down on his head gently or roll him around in the towel. do this a few times to get as much of the water in his head Out so he isnt so heavy when you hang him

once his skull has been drained of most of the water, hang luke plushie on a hanger by his legs, since it's easiest for clothespins to clip onto that

(pictured: just hanging out)

if luke plushie's head is still too heavy from the water to be hung from his legs, another alternative is tying a ribbon around his neck and hanging him from the ribbon instead. i just dont do this myself because it VERY MUCH EMOTIONALLY DISTRESSES ME to see him choking like that, but objectively it's a good workaround

IMPORTANT NOTE: if youre air drying them outside, place them away from direct sunlight. this is, once again, to prevent color fading.

i find that leaving them to hang out for one full day is enough to dry him completely!!

and thats it!! once everything is dry, you can clothe luke plushie once more and he'll be all clean and fresh

oh one last note. if your luke plushie had slight blushies on his cheeks (like it was sprayed on), you might notice that thats faded a bit after the first wash. this is normal and unavoidable (at least in my experience), but you can add his blushies back with makeup, if you have any

also, i'd highly suggest getting a lint roller for when luke plush gets dusty but isnt dirty enough to warrant a full bath!! just gently give him a bunch of rolls like so to keep him dust free :D

i hope this helps!!! i wish you the best on your luke plush washing adventures!!

[silverstagspirit]

How do you feel about Yuu dying triggering grim's overblot.

Yuu doesn't even die by another overblot.A lot of students don't believe Yuu and grim deserve to be at NRC, along with grim being a bit of an asshole (like everyone else).

Maybe some dudes were talking shit to grim and Yuu.Yuu having better shit to do just tried to walk off but grim having to get the last word.Called them barley a mage to worried about a human and monster showing them up.

One of the boys decided to aim a spell towards grim but since he was on your shoulders,you easily pulled him by his ribbon down into your arms.Sadly your neck wasn't so lucky, cutting deep enough into your artery.

Grim was shouting at them saying they missed, until he felt warm liquid on his fur.Turning up he was surprised he didn't know humans bleed that much,you could bleed that much.

He's seen you hurt before he started to worry when you dropped and fell over on your knees.

"Yuu please,Yuu keep your eyes open please don't leave me"

Hrk... grhh..

"Grim. I'm scared, " Yuu said with tears in their eyes.

"Please don't leave me!"

The other students were horrified at what they had done. They began to flee. But some stayed, frozen to the spot. Unable to look away or do anything.

Yuu was holding their neck to block the cut. But the blood kept flowing. They were on the ground now, fearing for their very life. They fought the black spots invading their vision when all of sudden it got very calm. They no longer felt scared.

Yuu stopped moving. Which made Grim go into a panicking frenzy.

"YUU!!! STAY WITH ME!!"

"I can hear them...."

"What?! Hear who?!"

"My family... They're calling me... They're telling me to come home."

The other dormleaders had shown up by now, and they, too, were horrified by the scene and what Yuu was saying.

"Thank you... Grim-sama"

"NOO!!! DON'T GO!!!!!"

"Goodbye...Grim"

"NOOOOOO!!!!"

Blot started dripping from Grim's crystal like a leaky faucet. Just like his tears and snot.

Everyone tried to calm Grim down, but he wouldn't let anyone get close. He had lost his other half, and he said it was all the boys' fault that Yuu had died. Which was, in a way, true.

Grim started firing fireball after fireball at everyone who tried to get near. To the point where his crystal was completely black and his body began to change. He was now a giant chimera. Protecting Yuu's body. No matter how much magic the boys threw at Grim, he would crush them with his attacks.

No one knew of Grims power until now. But now they realized how badly they've messed up.

[vacantvisage]

The Trans Bathroom, Wo/Manhouse 2022

I was moved from the office to the bathroom after my installation was considered too dark by the at-the-time director 4 weeks into the project, but I persevered and finished this on the last day.

Description of the whole work as well as my former proposal are under cut (very long):

Trans Bathroom Description:

The bathroom had dado style walls, the bottom half being pink square tile and the top half being yellow and pink floral ribbon wallpaper, the two halves separated by white rectangular tile. It also came with a pink metal laundry can I decorated with a bouquet of pink, white, and blue flowers I painted.

I embroidered and smocked blue and pink satin fabric to emulate a watery wave pattern coming out of the tub and sink faucets, attaching them with wire. There is a square window above the tub that I also have a smocked white satin curtain.

Around the sink I painted a pair of candlesticks, two makeup brushes, and mascara in the colors of the trans flag based off my own transition process at the time (mascara for a mustache, two makeup brushes for my adam's apple and cheek bones. i am proud to say i no longer need to use them 3.5 years into my transition). Flanking the sink are two large willow-like bouquets of white, pink, and blue hand painted silk flowers.

I added blue wallpaper inside the medicine cabinet. Inside the cabinet I glued blue needles, syringes, and alcohol pads as well as placed a pink painted block shaver with a white cord. Directly underneath the cabinet is a small and narrow sliding door for a cubby where I put all my at-the-time empty testosterone bottles in. A little over 10 I think.

These very same bottles are some of the ones I used to create my Crown of Thorns headband.

Around the sink, I brought both real and LED white candles to decorate the empty spaces.

Around the tub are several shampoo/conditioner/body wash bottles I painted in the trans flag colors.

On a towel bar above the tub faucet, I hand-embroidered a wash cloth and hand towel with "My body is a temple housing divine, through stitches and scars apotheosis is mine" and "the trans bathroom" where most of the words are in blue print and the words Temple, Stitches, Apotheosis, and Trans are pink script.

On another towel bar above the tub length-wise, underneath the window, I have three white binders in my at-the-time size (Large) with hand embroidered chest scars in three stages - stitches, scars, and blooming flowers.

Out of view in the right corner of the tub I also created tulle "foam" where the smocked pink and blue "water" was spilling out of the tub. There is also tulle foam in the sink I believe may be hard to see.

Around the room in general I printed out the papers my gender clinic gave me in larger sizes, which includes a subcutaneous injection site map with a smily face my nurse drew for me, the effects of testosterone and when they are estimated to take place, as well as i drew and designed my own "how to wear a binder" infograph poster in the way i was taught to wear one.

I was also told to hang two pictures of myself, one pre-transition and one at the time of the project, but I photoshopped them out as I am uncomfortable with them.

On top of the toilet I had all of my real, used pink drawing needles, blue injection needles, and used syringes inside a clean and unlabeled juice bottle flanked by fat pillar candles. On the wall in a cloth ring I put a pink tie. In the corner was a pink lattice shelf I decorated with more painted blue, pink, and white flowers and white candles.

Former Proposal Description:

One of my former proposals was a full size skeleton (La Santa Muerte) wearing a pride flag (with teal and hot pink included) as a dress with a handmade saint's crown, handmade mariposa rosary, and many painted flowers standing behind an ofrenda.

The ofrenda was going to be covered by flowers, candles, butterflies, and a series of smocked satin in a rainbow that was going to be sewn into the blood-red shag carpet and stained at the ends to look like blood as symbolic of the importance of rainbows, blood, and death in both Mexican and Queer culture (and butterflies in Mexican and trans culture).

I had painted the walls to match the carpet so it was very dark and intimate, began smocking fabric, painting flowers, and arranging the altar, but sadly 4 weeks into the project the director told me this was too dark, too goth, and not singular enough. After critiquing my intersectional work into the ground with nothing to present to Judy Chicago, I was switched with a sculpture of a woman bleeding from a self-inflicted abortion.

The statue is very beautiful and meaningful, but there's certainly an underlying statement for a cis white director to push aside a trans man of color and an intersectional piece about blood and death to make way for a cis white woman and a piece about blood and death.

Judy had given me the entire office after enjoying my very first draft for using just the office closet to create a rainbow made of fabric, and Nancy Youdelman had stood up for me, but ultimately my queer and latino identity was reduced to being goth and dismissed by a cis white woman who preferred familiarity over learning something new.

this director has since been fired from Through the FIower.

I am determined to one day create my ofrenda.

[assortedseaglass]

🌟Christingle | Yuletide🌟

Billy Taylor x Reader

Summary: Billy gets flustered when you help with make Christmas decorations for the Halcyon.

Content: Drabble, Fluff

Yuletide Masterlist

Not for the first time that day, Billy Taylor swore under his breath.

“Sodding oranges,”

It seemed a waste to Billy; George getting all these oranges just so the hotel could use them as decoration. It was a waste too, that his afternoon was spent cutting them into slices while the other bell boys were down the pub. But Christmas was the Halcyon’s busiest period and his mother needed him to help wherever he could.

He hissed suddenly, sucking his thumb between his lips. “Bloody hell,”

A small giggle came from the kitchen door and Billy stood up at once, always ready to be of service.

“Everything alright?” Silhouetted by the corridor’s harsh light, you stood watching Billy, a friendly smile on your face. The white apron of your maids’ uniform was bunched between your hands, holding something in great quantities that you didn’t have enough hands for.

Billy rubbed the back of his neck. Ever since you’d started at the Halcyon, you’d made Billy nervous. With your bright smiles, shared glances during Skinner’s inspections and gentle demeanour, Billy couldn’t help but be enamoured by you.

“Yeah, oh yeah, fine.” He nodded and sat back down, pulling the front of his jacket straight and trying not to fluster as you pulled a wooden stool up to his workstation.

He wasn’t a complete stranger to girls. He’d danced with a few occasionally, and attempted to flirt at the pub, but as far as everyday interactions went, Billy’s experience was almost nil. Pretty young women came to the Halcyon all the time, under the watchful eyes of their mothers and husbands. But they either looked down on him, as one of “the staff”, or he was admonished by Garland or his mother as he watched a skirted bottom shimmy away for just a moment too long.

When you’d arrived, he was excited and terrified in equal measure. A pretty girl to talk to who wouldn’t pretend he was invisible and, even better, to work alongside in close quarters. A pretty girl who, most likely, already had a young man and wouldn’t think twice about daft, green, forgetful Billy Taylor.

With a clatter, you emptied the contents of your bunched apron onto the table. Jars and jars of cloves.

“For the Christingles,” you said, answering his glance at them. “Forgot to take a basket to the pantry.” You leant over him, the skin of your wrist brushing his, and took a few oranges from his pile. Billy flushed pink and glanced back at his work slicing the fruit. You didn’t notice. “It’s a waste, isn’t it?”

Billy looked up at you, smiling. “You’re telling me! I’d never even tried an orange until a year ago and here we are cutting them up for decorations.” Billy said, watching as you began adorning your orange with cloves. When you were done, you tied a red ribbon around it’s centre and curled the ends with the blade of a paring knife. You set it down next to you and took another orange in hand. Billy watched as, instead of decorating it, you began peeling it and placed a segment in your mouth.

Through your mouthful you asked, “What have they got you making then, Billy?”

“Garlands for staff kitchen. Not even for the guests. Bloody hell!” He dropped the knife and orange and sucked his thumb.

In an instant, you took his hand in yours. “D’you cut yerself?” Your mouth was still full of orange segments.

“Nah, no,” Billy coughed. “It’s the juice. I’ve a cut on my thumb and the juice keeps irritating it.”

“Over here,” you stood up, not letting go of his hand, and pulled him over to the sink. Running the faucet, you checked its temperature, “not too hot, not too cold,” and placed his hand underneath it.

Billy sighed in relief as the acidic sting dissipated.

“Tell you what, Billy,” you began patting his hand dry. “Why don’t you do the Christingles, and I’ll do the garland? The cloves won’t irritate your hands then.”

Billy was about to voice his agreement when you lifted his hand to your mouth and kissed his thumb. “All better!”

“Blimey.” He stood stock still as you walked back to the table and swapped his tray of orange slices for your jar of cloves. Coughing awkwardly and once more straightening his uniform, Billy made his way to sit beside you, a little closer than last time.

He took up the cloves and began piercing the skin of the orange. As he did, the sweet oil of the fruit filled the air. You inhaled deeply beside him.

“I wish they were cheaper,” you said with a smile. “I’d eat them everyday if I could.” You popped another segment into your mouth and Billy chuckled.

“You better hurry up and finish eating before cook catches you.”

“He won’t miss one orange.”

“No,” Billy finished another Christingle. “I’ll leave the ribbons to you. But I worry you won’t be able to stop yourself.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you nudged him playfully. “I’ve already stashed one in my coat for later. Open up.”

“You what?”

“Open up!” You were holding an orange segment before his mouth, waiting expectantly for him to do as you asked. Hot nervousness prickled the back of his neck and in between his legs. Tentatively, he opened his mouth and the sweet, acidic taste of the lemon set his taste buds ablaze.

“Thanks,” he swallowed hard. “Can feed myself though.”

You laughed and peeled off another segment, popping it in your own mouth. “I know,” you blushed a little. “Just thought you wouldn’t get the juice in your cut again, that’s all.”

“Oh right,” Billy laughed that time, a little unsure of himself. “Thanks.”

“S’alright.”

An uncomfortable sort of silence fell between the two of you as you worked. You finished your orange and got back to slicing the others ready for drying. Billy worked through a jar of cloves and onto the next as he prepared the fragrant Christingles.

“Sorry if that was inappropr-”

“What are you doing Christmas Ev-”

You spoke at the same time. “You first,” said Billy.

You shifted in your chair and blushed again. A glimmer of pride shone in Billy’s chest.

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, Billy. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” Billy hurried to reassure you. In truth, it was both inappropriate and uncomfortable, but Billy found he didn’t mind at all. “It was helpful.”

You nodded with a small smile and cut another slice of orange. “And you Billy, what were you saying?”

“Oh, erm. Just, just what are you doing on Christmas Eve? Family plans..” his question trailed off awkwardly. Hopefully.  

“Nothing really, probably just help mum get the veg rea-”

“DoyouwanttogotothecarolserviceatSaintPaul’swithme?” It came out as one, wild word. Billy took a deep breath and readied himself to ask again when he was interrupted.

“Yes.”

He blinked in shock. “You what?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, right, ok,” Billy began picking up and putting down various things on the table. Oranges, ribbon, clove jars, knives, entirely unsure of what to do. “Right, brilliant.”

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

[pitgritted]

truthfully  ,  he  couldn’t  quite  articulate  a  profound  reason  how  he  was  so  easily  manipulated  &  maneuvered  into  tranquil  waters  .  by  fault  ,  all  that  remained  was  the  searing  heat  &  deathly  chill  that  covets  bruised  &  viscera  pelted  fists  .  he  could  barely  hold  in  the  rage  that  brewed  so  maliciously  in  his  core  .  knuckles  grew  white  from  the  raw  strength  of  his  hand  exchanging  concussive  blows  against  a  spirit  that  challenged  their  worth  ;  his  ALL  .  𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓  formulates  his  lips  into  a  fine  line  ,  his  mind  churning  up  excuse  after  excuse  to  maintain  his  contract  with  the  title  ,  ❝  listen  ,  boss  ,  this  was  nothing  more  than  quarrel  between  me  &  the  bastard  …  this  doesn’t  involve  you  .  ❞

his  tone  was  blistered  ;  pungent  white  rolls  filled  with  unfiltered  ferocity  .  quick  -  lipped  as  ever  ,  his  furry  ears  angle  downwards  at  the  warrior  who  continued  to  massage  ivory  fingers  against  the  length  of  his  darker  toned  flesh  ,  quipping  with  a  gentle  melody  ;  but  sharpened  scald  .  he  was  being  scolded  &  silenced  .  THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHALLENGE  WAS  BEING  SILENCED  .  THWARTED  .  &  by  the  gods  ,  it  worked  .

water  makes  headway  against  his  burly  form  &  blood  trickles  into  the  color  of  orange  as  it  follows  the  angle  of  his  muscle  .  quite  literally  weighed  down  by  the  burdening  chains  anchored  on  his  achilles  —  that  being  yone  .  those  slanted  pale  eyes  ,  long  white  hair  adorned  with  jutting  indigo  horns  &  ribbons  .  water  did  little  mercy  on  the  dampness  of  yone’s  garbs  ,  accentuating  his  frame  ;  mutually  with  his  own  .  not  that  there  was  very  much  covering  his  burly  person  anyway  .

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓  flicks  his  horrifically  purple  limb  ,  flinching  at  soft  hands  gingerly  cupping  the  fat  of  his  arm  ,  dipping  &  cleaning  remains  .  brought  closer  on  this  invisible  leash  ,  wadding  through  the  bowels  of  the  river  &  reaching  closer  to  yone  .  he  wanted  to  reach  out  &  grasp  the  dual  swordsman  by  his  wrist  ,  stop  him  .  but  he  couldn’t  .

CLAWS  REMAINED  OUTSTRETCHED  ,  crackling  bones  beneath  sinew  &  skin  ,  withdrawing  &  cleaving  to  a  close  &  pressed  against  his  breasts  .  the  white  maned  half  -  beast  tamed  ?  he  couldn’t  willfully  croak  out  a  retort  ?  all  that  did  was  a  weak  laugh  ,  itching  his  esophagus  .  ❝  curious  why  the  unforgotten  spirit  —  who  has  slaughtered  azakana  &  unkind  spirits  alike  —  is  treating  me  any  differently  …  ❞  his  pink  -  colored  eyes  ,  kinship  with  slit  &  thin  pupils  ;  like  a  predator  ;  unashamedly  laces  every  groove  &  definition  of  the  man  before  him  .

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean ... spirit blossom maybe ... ( @windchaser )

[shiro41]

He gently took your hand like a fragile flower, fingers caressing the callouses and a soft press of his strength to gather the warmth that hugged the palm of your hand.

"Why would I judge the one I chose to spend my life with...?"

His voice is in comparison with his touch; soft, careful and affectionate. His words soothed the demons that made fire—hell—inside your already maddened soul. Like water that diminished your burning problems, vanishing with a smoke of the devil's grin that made home to your scarred mind.

"Come now, say whatever you want my love.." Tucking a small portion of the fallen hair to the shell of her ear, his ocean spheres never falter with the very same care and fondness he has for you.

Your sobs broke his heart, like a hammer repeatedly bashed against the thin glass on the table. The sharp edges would bleed with sorrow of the burden he wishes he could lift off your shoulders, glistening with light that reflected the thousands of pieces to his breaking soul.

"There is nothing you can say that can make me love you any more or less."

Your tears that streamed like a disturbed river made his world seem darker, overflowing emotions that gushed through like a dam you've been bottling up for days— months.

Your aggressive sobs were enough to shake your shoulders, hiccups in between were heard coming out of your lips that made him sigh with his own glossed eyes, tortured by the sight of your vulnerable state that he wished he could only kiss away like those of the fairy tales he often saw as a young boy.

"So speak, Love. Say whatever you like."

His words were the only thing you wanted to hear, explaining through the sobs and hiccups that unintentionally escaped your red lips.

The words would come out incoherent yet, the emotions that have been hidden and bottled up like a pirate's message hoping to land on a random shore was clear as day, flowing like the waters on the faucet of your kitchen.

"Angel, do not fear being vulnerable."

Arms wrapped around like a ribbon in a box with a mystery object hidden inside, tied securely. You could feel his hand stroking the length of your hair, combing gently as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear, easing the bubbling pain, regret, guilt and pressure built overtime.

"If you feel yourself starting to lose hope in life..."

The soft press of his lips on the side of your head was more than just comforting— to you, it was as if the action was love itself, represented in a simple act a lot might brush off as nothing.

"Then simply tell me."

He felt your arms tightening their hold against his upper body, not minding the slight feeling of suffocation as long as you've let out the heavy weight off your shoulders, the ache in your heart and the waters that drowned your soul.

"I may be many things, but the one thing I can be for you,"

He pulled away to create the smallest space, the hand that caressed your head now landing on your cheek. He felt the wet feeling of your cheek drenched with tears that had stopped by now, leaving you with uncontrollable hiccups and sobs.

"...is your listener."

"Satoru..."

"I just want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter how much life wants you to die from the inside, I'll always be your partner."

The gaze of the icy colors of his eyes were warm, a burning flame of love that danced like a ballerina in the stage of his azure orbs.

The mask that covered his majestic eyes laid on his neck, allowing him to catch your open windows; your eyes that held the deepest of guilt and regret, the weighing pressure of responsibility and the drowning feeling of sadness and loneliness.

"And most importantly, I'll always be there."

"I'll be there..."

His lips were now centimeters away from yours, thumbs gently stroking your tearstained cheeks as a smile that sent more than a hundred hugs, thousand more kisses and million more of love.

"For you."

GOJO SATORU

created by: @Hime_shiro41

Remember: Everything characters say is made up!

...

Silence followed your quiet cries as you read the bot's message, created to send you the purpose you crave by impersonating your favorite character.

The phone in your hands was wet from the droplets of your tears, soul being filled with attachment for the robot that sent words that were far from a therapist's skill and the half hearted words of your friends.

"Gojo..."

[the-lonelybarricade]

Darling, Let's Run

Part IX: Tainted Love

Summary: A month after her sister mysteriously went missing, Feyre receives a letter instructing she leave the village immediately. And the letter's messenger? A curious black cat.

A sequel to They Are the Hunters, We Are the Foxes. While I recommend reading it first, it is not necessary. My contribution to @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 Day 19: Enemies

Read on AO3・Feysand Month Masterlist ・Series Masterlist

-

Previous Chapter・Next Chapter

“Feyre?” There was a soft knock on the washroom door. “Are you alright?”

No.

The faucet creaked under her grip, shutting off the running water. She stood over the basin, fingers cemented tightly to the edges, and willed herself to stop shaking. Plump droplets of water splattered against the porcelain. The tap, she told herself. The tap was dripping. When she glanced up at her reflection, her eyes were also red-rimmed, but she assured herself that was unrelated.

“Yes,” Feyre said with a small sniff, drying her face in the quilt. Angry splotches bloomed on her cheekbones, and she wasn’t sure how she would hide that from Rhysand. Or the faebane. “I’m fine, Tamlin. Just one moment, please.”

Her hair was a mess. It had been a while since she’d been able to run a brush through it, but the rug and Rhysand’s fingers hadn't helped. And—gods—she could still feel him between her legs.

A faerie. What would a faerie want with her?

Tamlin said he was dangerous, but if Rhysand had wanted to hurt her, he’d had every opportunity to do so. She’d fallen asleep atop his chest and listened to his heart beat in rhythm with her own, and she was meant to believe he was some vicious monster, the kind that tore humans to ribbons for sport?

She had run from him, and perhaps that had instilled some fun of the chase. Perhaps the teasing and the lying and the flirting was all a sadistic game of cat and mouse.

Feyre took her time changing into Tamlin’s clothes, pretending that as she stepped into the ill-fitting fabric, she was becoming someone else entirely. No longer Feyre Archeron, the poor village girl who’d fallen victim to the fae.

She pulled out that jar, embracing the cool glass in her palm. “Tamlin? Is faebane poisonous to humans as well?”

“Not at all,” he said. Even with the door shut, she could hear the frown in his voice.

Could he hear her, unsealing the jar? Feyre dipped a finger into the inky substance and, swallowing her trepidation, smeared a dab of it like a balm over her lips. She blended it into her skin until the color disappeared, then screwed the lid back on the jar and tucked it inside the folds of the quilt.

She bundled the soft fabric beneath her arm and gingerly unlatched the washroom door, revealing Tamlin hovering nervously on the other side. Feyre offered him a tight smile. “Thanks for your help, Tamlin. I’ll see you soon.”

As she passed, Tamlin reached for her arm, pausing Feyre in her step. “Be safe,” he cautioned. “And keep your wits. His tongue is sweet, but the words are riddled with lies.”

Feyre bit back the urge to lash at him—at anyone. He had no idea, none at all, how sweet Rhysand’s tongue was.

I am yours. Irrevocably.

She had to stop thinking of it, or she’d render herself a mess before she even made it to their bedroom door. Tamlin hadn’t been there to witness the look in Rhysand’s eyes as he had touched her like she was more priceless than gold.

She trudged out of Tamlin’s room without a second word, uncertain what she hated the thought of more. That the love she’d glimpsed in Rhysand’s eyes had been real and that she’d somehow earned the affection of a faerie. Or, that it had been faked and what she felt for him had been unrequited. She knew which one should bother her more, just as she knew which one felt like swallowing glass.

He was waiting for her in the room. Standing with preternatural stillness, in the exact spot she had left him. He was staring at the door with so much coiled energy, like he feared that if he moved, he would have launched himself across the hall and torn apart anything in his way.

Their eyes met. Rhys said nothing as his eyes searched her for any sign of injury. Then they fixed on her face, on her eyes. She watched him inhale deeply.

The fae had extraordinarily sharp senses, she’d once heard. If he was fae, could he smell her fear? Hear her heart speeding up in her chest?

He took a step toward her, then another. Feyre forced herself not to retreat as he came within reaching distance and, almost hesitantly, laid his palm against the side of her face. Her eyes fell shut at the tender caress of his thumb, sweeping across her cheekbones to catch a tear she hadn’t realized was falling.

“What’s wrong?” He murmured, like it pained him too. Rhys used his freehand to draw her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her heart clenched. This close, she could hear the way the words scraped in his throat as he bit out, “Did Tamlin hurt you?”

“No,” she said immediately. She dropped the quilt to the floor, kicking it out of the way so she could fist her hands into his tunic. “He didn’t. I’m fine.”

Rhysand’s breath shuddered. “He told you something. Something about me, didn’t he? Feyre, I—”

“Don’t.” She said it before she could stop herself. Because looking into his eyes, she knew. Knew innately in a way that she couldn’t explain. That Tamlin was right, and that Rhysand was about to admit to her something that she didn’t want to hear. And stupidly—so stupidly—she thought she could just delay it a bit longer. Just pretend for a few more heartbreaking moments that nothing had changed between them. “Rhys…” She shut her eyes, used her grip on his tunic to tug him closer. “Please, just kiss me.”

And so he did.

With a whine in the back of his throat, Rhysand lifted Feyre by the hips and walked them backwards until her back hit the wall and his mouth found hers. He kissed her like he knew it would be the very last time, and she kissed him like she believed he was still hers.

“Feyre,” he whispered. Feyre,Feyre,Feyre.

Somewhere between every gasp and lick and murmured prayer, she swore he said other things, too. Things like I’m sorry. She wouldn’t ask him what he was sorry for—not yet. Now was the moment for carving him into her memory. The taste of whiskey and sweat and sex, the churning smell of citrus and sea salt that should have warned her he was so much deeper than the surface could ever reveal.

When his hands started to slip beneath Tamlin’s tunic, she still had enough sense to gasp, “Don’t rip this one.” She would need it later.

Rhys obliged, slipping it over her head instead. She could understand the desperation to feel his naked skin against her own. For the rest of her life, Feyre knew she would sit before fires and huddle under blankets forever chasing the warmth that she found right there, as he entered her again and they made love against a wooden wall.

They never even made it to the bed. By the time they fell asleep, they were curled in each other atop the fur rug. Warmed by their bodies and the still crackling fireplace. Feyre’s head laid against his broad chest, rising and falling with every heavy, even breath. She could hear his heart. It had slowed in his sleep, no longer in sync with her own.

Somewhere in the inn below, Feyre heard a clock strike the early morning hour. She slowly, carefully, detangled herself from Rhysand’s limbs. Every silent hunt through the forest had prepared her for this moment, for each precise step she took towards the quilt near the door. Careful to keep her weight distributed evenly, knowing that even the softest creak of a floorboard could likely wake a sleeping faerie.

She stared at him as she retrieved the jar of faebane. The fireplace held his form like a lover, its light adoring every slant and curve of his taut, muscular body. He looked so peaceful like this, cheekbones gilded from the glowing embers, brushed by his long eyelashes. And his ears—long, and elegantly pointed. A faerie. There wasn’t a doubt about it.

Taking a shaky breath, Feyre turned her eyes away from him in search of that knife. He had been wearing it when they’d been at breakfast that morning, but she couldn’t recall taking it off him when she’d torn off his clothes. Surely she would have remembered the sound of a knife dropping to the floor, but her mind had been admittedly occupied by Rhysand—which made it entirely untrustworthy in recollection.

“Looking for this?”

Feyre gasped, hand flying to her chest as she turned to find Rhysand awake. Not a sign of sleep in his bright, amused eyes from where he still lounged on the rug, propped up on a single elbow as he twirled her hunting knife tauntingly between his fingers.

“I thought your lips tasted a bit different, Feyre darling.” He clicked his tongue. “You already taste so perfect, it’s a shame you’d ruin it with faebane. An effective way of poisoning me, though.”

She swallowed. “You knew.”

“Clever thing. I’d kiss you even knowing it was to my death.”

Feyre’s hands tightened around the glass jar. Without the knife, surely it was useless? Her eyes darted towards the door, already calculating the steps between. How many seconds she’d need to escape.

“Why?” She asked, taking a careful step backward.

He leaned back like he didn’t even notice. “No one’s kiss is as lovely as yours, Feyre. It’d be a pleasant death.”

“No,” she said. “Why… why are you here. What does a faerie want with me?”

“What do I want with you?” He chuckled. “You’d get a shorter list asking me the inverse. I can promise that—”

Tamlin had said Rhysand liked to hear himself talk. There were only five steps between Feyre and the door and she figured it was as good a time as any to make her break. She pivoted sharply on her backfoot, sprinting towards the door. One moment, there was empty space, and the next there was Rhysand.

“—I can promise that I’m not here to hurt you,” he finished as though he’d never been interrupted, bracing himself comfortably against the only exit. He was spinning the tip of the knife casually on his pointer finger.

Feyre shrieked in frustration and snatched her hand towards it, not even caring if she cut her skin on the blade. Faster than her eyes could track, it was in his other hand. He flashed her a lazy smile. “You used to be so impressed by my magic tricks.”

“It doesn’t count if you use actual magic,” she sneered.

He leaned forward, close enough that their lips brushed and she was reminded that he was still naked. Despite everything, even her own self preservation, the sight and proximity of him was enough to warm her blood.

“Surely it should count for more?” He mused. “How many people do you know who can use magic?”

Feyre knew she should be stepping away from his thrall, maybe running towards the window or shouting for Tamlin. But she couldn’t resist snapping, “None. Only the fae use magic.”

“Precisely,” he purred.

“What do you want with me?”

“I have only ever been honest about what I want,” he said, feigning earnesty this time. “I want you, Feyre. Only you.”

“Why?” She asked. Desperately. Needing to understand.

“Because,” he growled, reaching for her now, grabbing her uninjured wrist that still held the faebane. “You’re my mate.”

Her body trembled. And she wasn’t certain it was in fear.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” Rhysand pressed the hilt of the knife into her palm, trading it for the faebane. She watched, frozen, as he opened the lid and guided the blade into the poison. The glass jar shattered against the floor as he dropped it. Careless to everything but holding her gaze as he carried her wrist up to his throat and poised the knife against his skin, just like before. “It means I would let you kill me right now, Feyre. If that’s what you wanted.”

This was a trick. Another mind game.

The blade wobbled as Rhysand released his grip on Feyre’s wrist, giving her full control. As he had promised on the very first night she’d met him.

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he admitted, the first thing Feyre knew was entirely honest. Those violet eyes ensnared her, pleading with her to believe that it was all honest. “I would let you, though, Feyre. I would let you leave this room with my blood on your knife, and I would still love you.”

Love you. Love you. Love you—

“Mate,” she whispered. It pounded in her blood. Rhysand groaned, eyes falling shut for a moment as his head fell back against the wooden door, exposing more of his throat to her.

“My mate,” he repeated, causing the golden cord in her chest to pull.

Feyre stumbled backwards, blinking back the tears blurring her vision. She clutched the dagger desperately, pointing a shaky finger towards the door. “If you care about what I want, then let me go.”

She watched the light drain from his eyes. Somehow, she thought that was worse to him than if she had driven the knife through his chest. “Feyre—”

“Go,” she pleaded, raising the dagger if only so she could use the back of her good hand to smother a sob.

His teeth flashed in the first real anger she’d ever seen on his face. “Tamlin is fae, too,” he bit out. Then he vanished like smoke, leaving her with the dagger and the shattered glass and the weight of that accusation.

Feyre stepped carefully over the sharp fragments, not bothering to clean them up. She feared she’d see too much of herself in the broken pieces.

She fished out Tamlin’s tunic from the debris of what was once a nice, cozy lodging room. Her eyes found the window that she had idealistically left open, hoping her cat would return. Prick had likely been scared off by the fae, so now all that came through was the soft fall of snow. The first snow of the season. If she fled, she wouldn’t make it far enough to survive the cold.

Feyre didn’t flee. She walked across the hall to Tamlin’s room.

He answered after the second knock, eyes sweeping over her for any sign of injury. She could imagine that she was a sight to see. Shaking and choking back tears in her oversized tunic, hair still mussed from an evening of sex that he could probably smell on her.

“Is it done?” He asked grimly.

Feyre burst into tears. Stiff as he was, he still had enough pity in his heart to pull her in for a hug. The fae, it turned out, weren’t unfeeling creatures.

But in that moment, Feyre was.

She didn’t know how it worked—didn’t know if she was killing Tamlin by driving the dagger into his gut, or if it needed to be through the heart to kill. Feyre did know—or rather, she learned—that it could cause him to collapse to his knees, grunting as he clutched the weeping wound in his stomach. That it bought her enough time to snatch the pouch of coins off his bedside table and race, blindly, out the inn’s doors.

Did she have seconds, or hours? It didn’t matter.

There was a couchman sitting at the front of a carriage outside the front entrance—likely Tamlin’s, prepared before the sun even opened its eyes for whenever his Lord wished to embark. She tossed the coachmen the entire pouch, likely a grander fortune than he and Feyre would have ever hoped to have set their eyes on.

“Take me to Velaris,” she panted. “And it’s yours. All of it.”

It didn’t take a fool to measure her urgency and the amount of coin and put together precisely what had happened.

The coachman sat up with haste. “Get in. Now.”

Just as she was about to step on, a glint caught the corner of her eye. She pulled back, turning her head towards the darkened treeline. There, watching her from the brushes, was a pair of violet eyes reflecting back at her.

Relief numbed enough of her fear and heartache that she could afford a smile. “Prick,” she breathed. In the cold it took shape in front of her face. “I have been worried about you, stupid cat!” She glanced nervously towards the inn. “Come here,” she called. “Quickly!”

He stayed where he was, crouched in the shadow.

“I know,” she said soothingly. “I get it now. You were scared off by the fae, weren’t you?”

Not just Prick. Now that she thought about it, the forest near her cottage has gone silent because Rhysand had been there. And it explained why Prick had such a strong reaction to the faeries in the woods.

“It’s over,” she promised, holding out her arms. “Come with me to Velaris. Please. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

You’re all I have left, she nearly said. But it was a pathetic thing to admit to a cat.

Fortunately, she didn’t need to. The shadow of his lithe body slipped out of the bushes, darting over to her arms. Despite the snow crystals collecting in his fur, he was still warm to the touch, soothing some of the ice that had already settled back into her bones. She had missed the way he purred when she lifted him into her arms—so much that she refused to set him down after they stepped into the carriage. She held his small body against her chest, not fully certain who she was comforting as she stroked her fingers aimlessly through his fur.

“You should stop leaving,” she said to him, staring at the window as the inn slowly faded out of sight. “Bad things seem to happen to me when you’re gone.”

The cat didn’t say anything, though he did roll the back of his head against his chest, as if to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere.

They would be going to Velaris—together.

-

Previous Chapter・Next Chapter

[deadboyfriendd]

Cast Iron | E.M.

The water spit from the faucet in a steaming, rapid crescendo. You let it run over your toes, turning the skin beneath it red. You let a sigh slip from your lips as the nape of your neck pressed against the lip of the tub, eyes fluttering closed and face sticky from the rising steam emanating from the tub. Eddie usually complained about the heat in which you turned the water, saying that you boil the skin right off your bones if you weren’t careful. But not tonight. Not after the day you’d had. In all honesty you’d kind of hoped you’d boil the skin off your bones. When you sighed, you could feel the aura of the day slip through your lips and dissolve in the rising steam and leaking bubbles surrounding you. 

Eddie stood barefoot and gym-short-clad in the kitchen. You could hear the hum from the speakers as he pressed the needle against the vinyl in the living room. He knew exactly what kind of day you had. He knew that the muscles in your back had turned to stone with your face. He knew that your feet dragged across the carpet like cement weights. He knew your clothes felt like they were full of lead. You felt heavy. 

He pulled two mugs off of the wall- they didn’t own wine glasses. In fact, they didn’t own anything other than Pabst Blue Ribbon and Coors Heavies on special occasions before you started coming around. Quickly, he poured both mugs full of the sweet moscato, balancing them both in one hand as he shuffled to the bathroom.

The bathroom was tiny. The bathtub was tinier, though, he never minded. You laid your forehead down on your arm, body slung sideways covered by bubbles and both arms hanging over the side of the tub. To you, you looked dirty and tired after a long day. To him though? The warm lighting cast a glow off of your slick skin like the light radiated off of you instead. You were an angel. He grabbed your hand, wrapping your fingers through the handle of the mug before sitting himself down on the toilet lid, taking a sip of his own moscato despite the way it made him entirely too warm.

You cracked a singular eye open at him, relying on the fact that he would be smiling back down at you. He was soft. His dimples deep-set, mouth upturned in a pillowy smirk, wisps of unruly curls creating a halo around his head. You groaned softly, a language shared between you that only Eddie could decipher. 

“Baby, I don’t fit.” He chuckled softly, leaning down to pet your hair back from your face. You closed your eyes, sighing at the feeling. He’d assumed you’d accepted your contentment, but realized he was mistaken when you groaned again. A noise saying: make it work. 

“Okay, but don’t yell at me when I say I told you so.” Eddie said in response, setting his mug down and quickly stripping. 

You didn’t complain when you tucked your legs up into your chest, sliding as far forward as you could to allow him access to slide in behind you. 

It was a rat-king of scarecrow limbs, slick with bubbles and water, but you didn’t mind. He hung one of his long legs off of the side of the tub, giving you leeway to lean your back against his chest. Though it was uncomfortable, he wrapped his arms around your stomach and chest, pressing soapy kisses up your shoulder and neck. 

You sighed again, leaning further back against him. His heavy hands pressed against your tummy, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the flesh. Slowly, he slid one hand down between your legs, dragging his two fingers through your warm cunt. 

“Baby, you’re so wet.” He whispered into your ear, nipping softly at your neck. 

“We’re submerged in water, honey.” You giggled back as he did so. 

“You know what I mean.” You did. 

Masterfully, he toyed painfully slowly around your clit- his other hand trailing back of your body to find a pert nipple. He took it between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it softly between the callused pads. You whined softly at the speed in which he touched you, legs beginning to twitch. 

“So pretty,” He whispered against your neck, pulling you closer, “Y’want more, honey?” He teased. 

“Mm-hm.” You whined again, and he spared no time plunging his two fingers into you. The slow drag pulling a gasp from your lips. 

“Keep making those pretty sounds for me, and I’ll keep making you feel good.” He whispered to you, chuckling as you grabbed his knee. You could feel him harden against your back. 

He dragged his other hand down from where he toyed with your nipple. You whined softly in discontent as the cold air met your skin. 

“Shhh, I know baby, I know. I’m not going anywhere.” He reassured, bringing his other hand down to toy with your clit, the other hand still pumping in and out of you. 

The curling of his fingers drew another breath from you, and the kiss to the back of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Eddie,” You said, sweetly. 

“Keep saying my name like that, baby.” He whispered. 

His fingered plunged in and out of you in a decadent rhythm now, his other hand applying delicious pressure to your clit. You exhaled, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he placed open-mouthed kisses to the sides of your neck. 

“Eddie.” You cried again, just barely above a whisper. 

“Let go, honey. Let yourself have this.” He said against your neck between kisses. 

Your orgasm came in a wave that shook your body, and his fingers worked you slowly through it until your comedown. Just when you started to squirm in overstimulation, he brought his fingers to your thighs, giving the doughy flesh a loving squeeze. 

“Let’s get you dried off, huh?”

[teamatsumu]

Sincerely Yours

Summary: Orihime crafted her coping mechanism a long time ago.

Pairing: Ishida Uryuu x Inoue Orihime

Word Count: 1,719

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Adultery, Post canon, be warned!

A/N: Another one with the same theme lmfao do I have a problem? I don’t know you tell me (or not)

Monday

It was the steady drip drip drip of the faucet that woke her up.

Funny. Something so barely noticeable rousing her from sleep. Most days, Kazui could fidget right next to her and she would sleep through it until he actually cried. Thankfully he had started sleeping through the nights by now, which helped a lot.

This faucet was getting louder, though. Or maybe Orihime was too alert now. She couldn’t manage to sink back into her dreams again.

Sighing and struggling to pull herself upright, she prayed Kazui wouldn’t wake up as she untangled his tiny limbs from around her. He only snored a bit before calming down. Orihime felt and heard her shoulders pop. She arched her back and leaned her head back, closing her eyes briefly. The drip drip drip continued.

It didn’t take long to locate the problem area. And no wonder she heard it so clearly. It was the adjacent bathroom. Orihime pursed her lips as she stared at it, contemplating temporary solutions so she could go back to sleep. She’d call a plumber in the morning. She tightened the taps and stepped back to look again. Silence.

A small twinge of victory in her chest, she padded back to Kazui’s tiny bed, squeezing herself next to him carefully. Sleep came quickly afterward.

…………….

The scraping sound of the spoon on the pan rang louder than the sizzling on the neighboring stove. Somewhere behind her, a kids’ show theme song played on the television. Orihime turned around, hot pan in hand, and slid the egg right off it into the plate sitting before Ichigo on the table. He mumbled a quiet thanks, not looking up from whatever news article he was scrolling through on his phone. Orihime returned to the stove, getting ready for the next batch.

There was a steady buzz in her head, very muted but nevertheless there, making it impossible to muster any thoughts at all. She preferred it this way. The many noises around her, the smells, the music on the TV, the fork scraping as Ichigo dug into his breakfast. Too many sounds. Just enough to make sure she couldn’t think.

The rest of the day was more or less the same. First day of the week meant deep cleaning. Kazui was old enough to be left in front of the TV without supervision, leaving Orihime to fall into a perfectly crafted routine of chores that didn’t need a lot of thinking. Constant noise, constant work. It helped keep her distracted. The buzz and fog in her head felt great. Muffled everything and made it impossible to do anything but concentrate on the task ahead.

Wednesday

It was an hour after noon when she finally had the time to actually step out of the house. Kazui sat in his stroller, too busy looking around his new surroundings to notice what Orihime had instantly seen. A small bag cinched at the top and tied in a blue ribbon, sitting on the front steps. Her mind stilled. She knew who sent this.

The tag was a small white square that said two words in familiar, loopy handwriting.

Sincerely yours.

She took off the tag and stuffed it in her pocket. The bag went in her already overflowing purse. No need to open it right now. She worried her lip between her teeth. The buzzing had subsided slightly.

Had he come and dropped this off himself? Had someone seen? She was sure the nosy lady down the corner would have noticed him. He didn’t exactly look like he lived there. His shoes were too clean, his clothes had not a single wrinkle. He was above them.

He was above her.

Her and her distressed long skirt, her overly baggy sweater vest and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And her same brown shoes that she had reserved for trips out of the house because they were a relatively new pair. She knew her hair had lost its shine years ago. She was well aware of the little circles under her eyes that someone would notice only if they really looked. Definitely not Ichigo.

But he did. He noticed immediately.

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself, Inoue-san.”

His first words in 5 years. The use of her maiden name, long forgotten among her peers. He remembered, though. He refused to call her anything else. She had laughed off his statement by going on a rant about being pregnant and the bakery and the work at home and oh, she was aging too, I can’t always stay young, Ishida-kun-

She knew deep inside though, she was a corpse when she ran into him.

When she got home later, she opened the package after everyone had settled into bed, sitting on the floor cross legged next to Kazui’s bed. The window was open and the lights were off. A blanket of silver enveloped the room. The bag made no noise as the ribbon fell open. A neatly folded brassiere laid there, a red rose on top.

Orihime’s face was on fire.

Another note was folded into the garment. The same loopy handwriting.

You forgot this on your way out. xx

She buried her face in her hands, throat tightening as she tried not to make a noise.

Friday

“You didn’t have to send it to me,” Orihime sighed, closing her eyes. ‘You could’ve waited two more days. We had plans.”

Uryuu hummed, the vibration sending little chills down her spine. His lips didn’t part with her skin, neither did his hands with her hips. They slid a little farther down, caressing her bare thighs. Simultaneously, his lips moved up, tracing the skin just below her ear. Orihime’s breath caught when his tongue ran up her heated skin.

“Ishida-kun,” She tried to focus. “What if someone had seen you?”

“What makes you think I personally delivered it?” His hips slotted between her legs, making her lean back more. “Maybe I sent someone to deliver it?”

Orihime bit back a smile. “Would you really entrust such a lewd package to someone else?”

That made him stop and lean back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Okay, you got me. I wouldn’t.”

That got a breathy laugh out of her, head tilted back as Uryuu resumed his ministrations. Careful lips mapping every nerve ending, wily fingertips moving back up, this time tracing the inside of her thighs.

Orihime felt that night, like she had every Friday, when the tattered clothes and wrinkled garments left her body, how he breathed his soul into her hollow heart and brought her back to life.

When was the last time every fiber of her body awakened this way?

……………….

Uryuu had lost much of his uptight personality over the years. He was more relaxed around her now. Softer, almost. Maybe that had to do with the fact that their relationship had far crossed all boundaries, but nevertheless, Orihime welcomed his warm demeanor.

As they lay next to each other covered by a measly white sheet, Orihime ranted about every small detail of her week. There was no sound except her talking, the delicate beat of his heart just below her ear, and the occasional rustling of sheets when either one of them shifted. No pots and pans, no sizzling liquid, no kids’ show, no washing machine beeps or vacuum cleaner hums. It was her only, and the man pressed against her, trained fingertips running across her scalp, relaxing her further.

Uryuu was a wonderful listener. He hummed at all the right places, chimed in with his opinion whenever she prompted it, and made sure to drop in a few compliments along the way. She watched him as he talked, weighing in on the leaking faucet and why she should double-check taps before bed.

How was he the exact opposite of the man she married? Ichigo and Uryuu were so fundamentally different in how they treated her. Where Uryuu could pinpoint so acutely what she was feeling, Ichigo wouldn’t bat an eye if she had a crisis right in front of him.

The opposite of love really was indifference.

“Inoue-san?”

Orihime blinked.

“I lost you for a minute there.” Uryuu smiled. “Are you okay?”

Orihime shook her head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Uryuu tightened his embrace on her. “Leaking faucets isn’t a very interesting topic.”

A little laughter, more shifting, and then she was resting on his hips, looking down at him. Her hair fell over her shoulder and on his chest, framing the sides of his face.

The air stilled. He stiffened. She smirked.

Her body moved, only slightly. Uryuu inhaled sharply. Heat gathered in her center, crawling over her skin as she moved again, more earnestly. Her hands supported her, pressed to the pillow on either side of his head.

“Orihime.” He breathed, eyes closing and grip tightening on her sides. When he finally slid into her, they both sighed, Uryuu’s more strangled and yearning. His pale skin had flushed pink. As she moved, his skin gathered a thin sheen, head tilted back, bearing his neck.

Something almost primal overcame Orihime as she leaned down and sank her teeth into his skin. Uryuu jerked and cried out, ramming into her so deliciously it made her eyes roll up. She sucked until she was sure she had left a mark, pulling away to see a nice, dark blotch on his creamy skin.

Her head was empty again. But there was no buzzing. There was only a blissful build, steady and impending, rising and teetering until she felt limbless, until Uryuu pulled her down to lay on him as he picked up the pace, her hands pinned to her sides, until all she could do was lay there and take what he gave, until she was screaming and cumming and crying. Until her head was so fogged that nothing mattered.

When she was walking home that night, still hazy and concerningly befogged, her skin still tingling, she had no concerns about returning to her mundane, depressing routine. She would go to sleep, wake up tomorrow and pass the next 6 days in this wonderful buzz. Then she would return into his arms, and let him ignite her once again.

It wasn’t an ideal set up, but it was enough to keep her going.

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Let me know what you think! Taglist is open.

[littlecactiguy]

Tagged by @yellowmagicalgirl for a WIP excerpt game.

I can't share details of my current wip yet, so here's the cold opening of the next chapter of Dead Souls Living (which is on an extended break while I work on my current wip).

(decided to make it its own post bc it felt kinda weird adding this on to someone else's)

(also, full disclosure, Souls is a Nuts and Dolts fic. It just cycles through POVs every 4 chapters, and this one just happens to be a Blake, bumbleby-focused, one set in an alternate version of V6)

CW: heavily implied character death, blood, shock

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A broken shard of black metal clatters into the sink, splattering blood droplets across the smooth, clean porcelain.

The intact part of Gambol Shroud drops beside the severed end of its blade. The weapon’s black ribbon falls across the rim of the sink and cascades to the floor.

A trembling hand turns the faucet for hot water. There’s a spluttering, and then water spurts out, splashes down against the metal pieces.

It’s interrupted by a second hand, holding a thick, fluffy towel, getting in the way. The towel grows fat as it absorbs the water. Once it’s saturated, the faucet is turned off.

Above the basin of the sink, great gasping gulps for air fail to calm the person taking them. She can’t stop her trembling. Even now that they’re safe, every fiber of her being vibrates, on edge. Her cat ears twitch, seeking out danger sounds that don’t exist.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Blake jumps. The towel thwumps in the sink. Water leaks out, mixes with the blood coating Gambol Shroud’s tip, and trails into the drain.

“Blake—?” Comes tentatively through the door.

“I’m—” Blake’s eyes dart between the towel, Gambol Shroud, the faucet, herself in the mirror. Her brain fails to make a decision on what to say, or do.

The bathroom doorknob turns. The door slowly opens. “I just wanted to make sure you’re…” Yang trails off. Her gaze meets Blake’s.