#suspended bass in winter

[whereisten]

Stranger Danger

Summary: there’s a reason why we were always told to never trust strangers, even the ones with handsome faces and lovely voices. Yet, one night, you make a terrible decision to trust Johnny.

Pairing: Wealthy Bachelor!Johnny x female reader

Genre: smut, horror, some angst

Warning: alcohol use, brief cheating mention, blood and gore mention, death mention, smut: dry humping, car sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, penetration (protected sex), size kink, overstimulation, rough sex (hair pulling).

Work Count: 4.5K

(A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! this was posted a couple years ago so im re-posting with a new (and better) male idol hehe..this is mostly smut lmao but there’s a nice twist at the end so I hope you enjoy it!! ❤️)

———-

The bass vibrates through your veins in the club. Red lights illuminated and warmed your skin. You felt a buzz as the alcohol finally settled into your very being, making you smile and display a look of bliss across your face.

Johnny held you close, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. You felt his large hand on the small of your back.

You ran your hand down his chest and abs, gasping as you felt the bricks under his skin.

His broad chest nearly broke out of his button down shirt.

You thought to yourself. How lucky you are to be dancing with this unbelievably handsome man at this Halloween party?

Johnny, on the other hand, had spotted you since the moment you walked in with your friends. It was the red dress that caught his eyes. How it hugged your curves so nicely, the way it stopped mid thigh leaving much to the imagination. Oh, and the fishnet tights that were suspended to a garter belt he wanted to see so badly.

Your hair was pretty, your smile made you look innocent and cute. You stood out from your friends and he couldn’t wait to get close to you.

So like any other man would at a club, he walked over to you and made his move.

Your eyes widened when you looked up at the tall gentleman in front of you.

One of your friends stayed behind with you as the two of you waited for your other friends to come back with another round of drinks. But she was talking to a guy when Johnny walked over.

“Well, hello, little red riding hood.”

“Ahh..that’s cute. I was going for..the “devil” look but my horns seem to have..slouched over.” You laughed. You found it quite odd that he called you that.

Johnny smiles widely when he hears your charming laugh. Your enchanting eyes crinkled, you smelled amazing too. Like vanilla or honey. Either way, you were sweet all around.

The music gets louder, so Johnny leans down and whispers in your ear, making your heart face. “That’s alright, I like it.” Johnny says soothingly and there’s something so alluring about him, you can’t take your gaze away. 

He is incredibly warm and large, like a blanket during the winter, you gladly welcomed him into your personal space, something many men didn’t get from you.

You lick your lips and clear your throat. “So..Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Handsome..what’s your costume? I can’t figure it out..”

He was dressed simply in a white button down shirt and black dress pants.

Johnny chuckled and looked down at you as he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not into this kinda thing, but I’ll be anything you want me to be if you keep smiling like that.”

You turned away and chuckled as your face became hot.

Johnny smirked as he felt you become flustered by his words.

You turned back to him. “You’re dressed like a professor.”

“Ahh..yes I like that..a HOT professor.”

“Well, professor..?” You waited for him to give you his name.

“Johnny.”

“Professor Johnny. How do you grade my outfit?” You flirted with him and felt like the two of you were alone, in the middle of sweaty bodies, enraptured with each other’s eyes.

“Twirl for me.” Johnny demanded lowly as he twirled his index finger above you.

You nearly fell to the ground as your legs become weak from his demand. You licked your lips and spun around for him.

“Oh.. no..slower, baby.” Johnny spoke and it sent shivers down your spine again.

You slowly spun for him, feeling his eyes in your back and ass. You felt sexy and adored by this stranger.

When you turned back to face him, you smiled softly. “well?”

“Hmm..I’ll give a C...for effort.” He teased then smiled again.

You both liked this little game you were playing.

You gasped. “Professor..how could you grade so harshly? Is there anything I can do to get a better grade?” You said with a playful pout.

Johnny bit his bottom lip. “Dance with me, y/n.”

You felt his hands all over your body as you danced to the slow rhythms of the music with your back on his chest.

He felt amazing on you, you couldn’t stop the feeling in your body that told you to get more. More touching, more feeling, more of him.

You spun around to face him and looked into his eyes. He grabs your waist and pulls you onto him as you wrap your arms around his neck.

You tip toe slightly and place your lips on his. He reacts, immediately kissing you back and turning his head to press his tongue into your mouth. 

He was refreshing, you drank him in like you had just ran a marathon. You didn’t care for anyone else around you that would’ve thought you were “easy” for kissing him so quickly.

You kissed him harder, your eyes closing as you melted into his embrace. He had this magical spell about him that literally kept you on your toes, falling apart more and more every time your skin touched his.

Johnny grows weak as your delicate fingers tap and scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

Your chest on his makes him tremble. You were falling into him just as he wanted you to.

You moaned quietly, but he heard it, he felt the vibrations in your throat, he felt your heartbeat running wild.

He pulled away from you as he felt you slipping down after being on your toes for too long.

You were saddened to be away from him, you just wanted to kiss him, to feel his full, luscious lips on yours for the rest of the night.

“Ah...don’t look so sad, love..do you want more?”

You nodded as he caressed the side of your face.

Johnny gave you a knowing smile. He took your hand. “Let’s go..”

Johnny called a Black UberXL, the most expensive option. You were pretty sure he was rich based on the way he dressed along with his gold necklace and dazzling large watch. 

You didn’t even get the chance to ask him about his job, yet here you were, going home with him.

You probably shouldn’t have gotten into a car with a stranger, you probably shouldn’t have agreed to go back to his place, but you did anyway. You told your friends you were leaving with him and texted them his address just in case. They asked you about 1,988 times if you were sure you wanted to go. But now with the alcohol fading and your thinking becoming clearer, you knew for sure you wanted more with this compelling and irresistible man. And it was Halloween, everyone including your cheating bastard of an ex was getting laid, why couldn’t you?

“Why should I trust you?” You whispered as the two of you kissed in the back of the Uber.

“You shouldn’t..” Johnny raised an eyebrow and said against your neck. His hot breath stained your skin, making your eyes close as the moisture between your legs increased.

He gripped your thigh, pressing his fingertips into the soft inner part of it.

You trembled then smirked. “You like playing the “dark, mysterious guy,” don’t you?”

He kissed your lips as his hand worked further and further up your leg, pushing the fabric of your dress up.

“No..I just like playing with you..” he moves his fingers dangerously close to your covered folds.

You shift in your seat to get closer to him while biting your bottom lip.

He finally presses his digits against you. Your mouth falls open as your head falls back on the head rest. You're so wound up by his touch, you start to move your hips, grinding down onto his teasing fingers as he nibbles your neck.

“Sir..can you turn the music up, please?” He calls to the driver who nods.

He was playing a series of songs by The Weeknd, deep bass and soft vocals echoed into the car, pushing you further along. You move onto him harder, holding back an embarrassing whimpers as his middle and index fingers just barely pressed in the fabric of your underwear.

You were thankful to be in the last back row of the SUV, you hoped the driver couldn’t hear you.

“You can be louder, baby..if it makes you feel good.” He says before kissing your lips and pushing your panties to the side.

God, he smells good like cinnamon and sandalwood. You couldn’t get enough. And now, with his slender fingers working inbetween your slit to collect your essence, you felt lightheaded, almost like you were drunk again.

“Johnny..” you exhale in a high pitched voice as quietly as you could. “Mm..that feels good.”

“Does it? Then open your legs more, let me see how wet you are..” Johnny pushes his fingers in deeper. He watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as his fingers glide in and out of you.

Your legs move closer together as you begin to hear the sound of his long fingers pushing and in and out of your wet pussy. You’re embarrassed and Johnny knows, but he doesn’t care.

He grands your chin and forces you to look at him. His body is warm, but his fingers are so cold, you can’t help but moan.

“Don’t do that, you’ll only make me upset..open.” He gives you a cute but demanding smile. There’s a glint in his eyes that you can’t explain. But you pull your legs up more and spread your knees apart.

You both can clearly see his fingers pumping in and out of you now and it makes you hotter.

“Fuck..” you exhale as the feeling in the pit of your stomach grows.

“Yeah, just like that, look at how wet you are..” he kisses your neck and lets go of your chin.

“You feel wonderful..you smell..delicious.”

Your mouth falls open and your hips move faster. His thumb brushes over your clit. 

His fingers are making you crazy as they move in and out, pressing against your walls.

“I would take you right here, but I know you’d be crying for help because you can’t take it..”

He moves his thumb faster, you clench around him from his words. Could he really be that big?

“Oh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hold onto his shoulder and hide your face as you ride his fingers. “Johnny..I’m gonna..”

He takes your chin in his hand again. “Move faster and watch yourself cum on my fingers.” His voice is huskier than it was before.

And you do as he says, watching his veiny arms and the way his long fingers push all the way in, so deep that his gold ring tickles your folds.

The sounds are so lewd now but you don’t care, you cum hard and shake on the leather seat as you grip his arm.

You tremble and begin to close your legs again, he suddenly kneels in front of you and pulls his fingers out. A ‘pop’ echos out in the car.

He grabs your legs harshly and pushes them apart by gripping the crook of your knees.

He pulls you down the seat and towards his face. His breath now fans your entrance dripping with juices. 

“Johnny..what are you—?”

He licks a long stripe up your pussy while still forcing your legs apart.

Your head falls back as you croak out a staggered whimper.

You shake from the sensitivity.

He groans loudly, it catches you off guard as it almost sounded like a growl. “Look at me.”

You look down at him, watching as he moves his head up and down and circles his tongue in between your folds.

You bite your bottom lip and bring one hand to your breast and the other hand to his head.

You squeeze and pump your breast as you run your fingers through his hair. He looks so dangerous like this with his handsome face in between your shaking legs, his eyes never letting go of yours as his tongue explores your needy pussy.

He buries his face in deeper, his tongue brushing upwards and pressing against your sweet spot.

You jump so he does it again as he watches you squirm.

“Ah! Johnny!” You cry out loudly, the driver had to have heard, but he didn’t make a sound or even flinch.

Johnny eats you like you’re the most savory meal he’s ever had, you nearly go cross eyed as you feel his tongue reaching the depths of your aching area.

“Johnny..fuck, your tongue is so long..”

Johnny pulls away and licks his lips. “All the better to taste you with..”

He kisses you then brings his tongue in for another satisfactory French kiss with your pussy.

He stares as your eyes shut tightly and you grit your teeth to hold back your moans.

He pushes his fingers inside while flicking his tongue onto your bud fast. 

The combined attack makes you cum hard without warning.

You squeeze your breast hard and cry out his name, your grip on his hair tightening as well..

He slows the movement of his wonderful fingers and kisses you as you come down after getting back on the seat beside you.

You rub your hand over his crotch and feel his growing member, but just as you go to zip his pants down, the driver calls out as he stops the car.

“You’ve arrived.” He says and unlocks the door. You’re thankful that he didn’t turn to see Johnny’ hand still inside you and your dress bunched up to your waist.

Johnny giggles then withdraws his fingers and puts them into his mouth. “Mmm so sweet.”

Your mouth falls open, but Johnny jumps out of the car and holds his hand out for you to take. You quickly pull your dress down and get out of the vehicle.

You’re shocked to see a small cabin, in the middle of nowhere. How in the world did this wealthy bachelor live in such a small place?

“Wow..this is…”

“Pretty modest, right?” Johnny finishes your statement.

You nod. “Yeah I was expecting..”

“Something bigger?” He smirks.

You laugh and nod again.

“What can I say? I’m a simple guy.” He opens the door and lets you in.

“It feels very..homely, though..I like it.”

He smiles. “Good.”

You step towards him and press onto his bulge. “But where were we?”

He suddenly picks you up and takes you to the bedroom. 

“Oh my!!” You call out as he holds you in his strong arms.

He throws you onto the bed and begins to unbutton his shirt. “Doesn’t this place feel familiar?”

You shake your head and relax into the bed while sipping your dress down.

“It feels like home..you’ve done really well with making it warm and nice..it’s a bit on the elderly side but it’s cute.”

You noted the vintage decorations and wooden furniture that was somewhat dated, but maybe Johnny was just that kind of person.

Johnny laughs out as he shakes his shirt off. He’s even more beautiful without a shirt. His abs and biceps were perfectly sculpted by the God’s themselves. His v-cut was deep, leading to the one thing you're sure would drive you crazy tonight.

“You don’t like my interior decorating skills? I’m quite offended.”

You giggle and start to take your garter belt off but he stops you.

“Don’t.” He bites his lip again and steps closer to the bed. “You look so fucking sexy with it on.”

You nearly cum again just from his low voice calling you sexy.

You nod then shake your heels off. “Should I take my bra off, sir?” You look up with innocent eyes.

Johnny’ mouth tilts upward. “Of course.”

He watches as your nipples peak out from your supple breasts, hard and begging for his mouth.

He grabs your ankles and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. You loved the way he handled your body like it was nothing.

He bends down and kisses your nipples one by one, licking them fervently and sucking hard.

You let out a mew and push your body upwards to him.

His mouth leaves spit all over your chest and you’re so wound up, you feel like you might burst if he doesn’t tend to your needs down there.

“Please, fuck me..I want you..so badly, Johnny.”

He watches you struggle to speak as your hands run down your body.

He then bites your nipple without warning, you gasp.

“Your teeth are so sharp, sir!”

“All the better to eat you with..” he speaks in between your breasts then bites the skin again.

“Fuck..Johnny..please.” You rub a hand over his back and he grows weak from your touch.

He lifts himself up and looks down at you through half open eyes. You gulp as you notice his dark expression.

He licks his lips then grabs a condom out of his pocket.

You watch the magnum rubber slide onto his intimidating length, causing you to gulp once more. Your eyes widen and you wonder how he will possibly fit inside you, he is not only long but has a thick girth as well.

He leans forward and smirks as he notices your drained face.

“Ahh..don’t look so worried, baby, you’ll get used to it.”

He separates your folds with two fingers then pushes one in. You’re still wet from before so he adds two more fingers.

You hold his wrist and wince as he pumps them in to stretch you out. “Fuck..that’s it..”

“Okay, sweetheart. Are you ready?”

You look down and nod. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Johnny chuckles then removes his fingers. He align his cock with your opening, but instead of pushing in all the way, he runs the tip in, parting your folds and coating it with your essence.

You fidget and bite your lip as you breathe heavily.

“Look at me.”

He looks into your eyes while he pushes into you slowly. His cock curves into you, pushing against your sweet spot once he is completely in. You know that it will only take a few more thrust for you to cum because he runs against your velvety walls and right to your g spot so easily.

He holds your waist as he pulls out then pushes back in hard. You yelp and hold his wrist as he grips you harder as well.

Your breath leaves your body and breasts jump as he thrusts into you again. He leans dowsed and kisses your neck as he buries deep into you.

He takes your hand and places it onto the lower part of your stomach.

“Do you feel that?” He thrusts into you again then stays there for a moment, making you whimper and squirm.

“Yeah..” you moan, practically sounding like a pornstar.

You were touching the head of his cock, it was so big, he could see it each he pushed into you.

“It feels good, right?” His deep voice drives you crazy, causing you to clench. 

“Y-yes, Johnny..slower..please, it’s so big” you feel tears prick at your eyes as he stretches you out repeatedly, you do your best to hold them back.

“All the better to fuck you with, y/n.”

He places both hands on either side of your head and grunts as he snaps his hips into yours and watches you whimper. Your nails dig into his arms.

He goes faster and faster while sucking your warm skin and rubbing your clit.

You move down onto him to meet his thrust, whimpering as his strength takes you over. You bite your lips to hold back loud groans.

Johnny shakes his head. “Be as loud as you want sweetheart, no one can hear you out here..”

He rubs your clit faster.

It’s all too much and you cry out loudly. “Oh..my god!” You release onto him and take in a deep breath. Your eyes shut tightly and they roll in the back of your head. You see nothing but stars, but feel him still pounding into you, making your body mush as he fucks you harshly.

He looks at your body trembling below him, your skin sweaty but still beautiful. 

He pulls out, flipping you over swiftly, then burying deep inside you again. You see his strong hand grip the sheet besides your head. He’s close and pounds into you while grunting. Your body feels tingly and overwhelmed as he rearranges your organs.

“Johnny!” You cry out in sensitivity but he keeps pushing faster, his chest on your back now.

He grabs your hair and bends your neck back. He bites your neck hard as tears run down your cheeks. The mixture of pain and pleasure being too much for you, but you never want it to end.

He grunts and growls again, your ass cheeks slapping against his pelvic region. He slides in and out easily, you feel yourself leak and stain his sheets. 

You look back at him, his eyes darker than before, a strange glint in them as his tongue darts out over his bottom lip. Sweat builds on his forehead and his arms and abs flex with each thrust and pull.

You clench around him again after seeing how hot he looks while literally fucking you silly. You can’t think about anything or anyone but him bringing you to sweet paradise with his large cock.

You moan loudly once more before cumming again.

Johnny’ movement falters from your quivering pussy. He climaxes as well, slowing his movement as your body lays flat on the mattress.

He pulls out of you and takes the condom off. You both lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling while breathing heavily.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” You smile weakly.

“I’m happy to hear that, being that it’ll be your last time..”

You turn to him and furrow your brows. “Last time?”

“Our..last time.” He turns on his side, his back facing you.

“Oh..so is this a one night thing?” You say with defeat in your tone, but you’re incredibly tired and begin to fall asleep, your eyes becoming heavy with each passing second.

He turns back to you and rubs a finger along the side of your face. “I’m sorry, baby, but I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

You smile softly and fall to sleep in the comfortable bed.

————

[The Next Morning]

You get out of bed as soon as the sky becomes bright and sunlight peers through the curtains.

Johnny isn't beside you and you don’t smell anything being made in the kitchen. 

You get up and walk around the cabin to look for him. With your blanket wrapped around you, your tip toe to all of the rooms and peak in. The place was eerily quiet, you didn’t like it. And you didn’t know where your phone was. You don’t remember even bringing it inside.

Something felt off, and you weren’t sure what it was, but it felt like you had been here before.

That’s when you step into what seems to the master bedroom. You open the door slowly and step inside. A rancid smell fills your nostrils making you cringe.

You see someone wrapped in a blanket and assume that it’s Johnny so you step forward lightly to not wake him up, but then you notice a series of familiar portraits on the wall over the dresser.

You take a closer look. You recognized the people in the old photographs.

A chill ran through your body. It was your family. Your mother, your uncle and your aunt all sat beside your grandmother on the beach in one photo. The next photo was one of your grandmother and grandfather at their wedding. And the next photo…

Your 3rd grade class picture. How could you forget that picture as about four front teeth were missing, but you still smiled widely. Your grandmother always said it was her favorite photo of you.

That’s it. Your grandmother.

This is your grandmother’s cabin, you gasp as you place your hand over your mouth.

You remembered the childhood memories you had here. You hadn’t seen her for a few years but how could you forget the smell and overall aura of her cabin.

Why did Johnny bring you here? This isn’t his house..

But how did he know it was your grandmother’s house? You were very creeped out by everything.

“Grandma..” you call out quietly. You had to get out, but you had to know if your grandmother was okay first.

You step closer to the bed. “Grandma!” You call out again, but still no answer.

You have finally reached the side of the bed that the person is wrapped up on.

You’re trembling, scared, nervous, you didn’t know what to expect under the comforter.

You took a deep breath and flipped it over.

No..

To your horror, your grandmother lay there with wide open grey eyes and an open mouth. She looked like she had been frightened to death.

Your hands fly to your mouth as you cry quietly.

“Oh..my god.”

Your strained eyes move from her face and down her body, it’s bloody, guts are all over and strewn about, then you realize…

Her bottom half isn’t there. It looked like her body had been ripped off from the waist down.

You quickly throw the mattress cover back over her and back away. Tears fill your eyes.

“Y/n...what a beautiful name..do you remember telling me it?” Johnny leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed.

You swallow hard and swiped at your eyes before chuckling. “N-no, I don’t actually.” You never did tell him your name, but he called it when you were at the club. You were just too dumbfounded by his beauty to notice.

Maybe if you played it cool, he’d let you go, maybe if you acted like you didn’t see anything, he’d let you run free into the woods.

Johnny grins and looks to the side. “Ahhh..little red riding hood..you tasted just as sweet as I had imagined for all these weeks. I stalked you, watched you cry over your ex, watched you plan your outfit for the Halloween party. And then I met your sweet grandmother..oh, she tasted fantastic as well.”

Johnny licks his lips as he remembers.

Your eyes narrow.

“But I must say, I didn’t expect you to make it so easy for me. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” He continues with a sly smile on his face.

You scream as you back into a wall. “Help! Help me!”

“You can scream as loud as you want to, no one can hear you out here.” He rolls his eyes.

You cry. “What are you?”

He steps closer to you and caresses your face. “Think of me as...the big bad wolf..but, don’t cry..it’ll ruin the taste.”

“Johnny..please, you said we were going to have breakfast..I-I didn’t see anything, I just want to leave now, okay?” You try one final time.

Johnny smirks and his eyes turn red as his claws grow out. “But sweetheart..you ARE breakfast.”

You try to run, but he grabs you by the neck before digging his canine teeth into you and ripping your shoulder from it.

Johnny enjoyed every bit of you, from the very beginning to the end.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bat out of hell

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 5

Prompt: Winter Sports

Rated: M

Tags: Sports AU; Winter Olympics; Figure skating; Figure skater Eddie; Figure skater Nancy; Coach Steve; Past Stancy; Getting together; Sexual Tension; Making out; Angry kissing; Nudity; Fade to black sex

Notes: This bitch knows nothing about Olympic figure skating. Changing your song last minute probably isn't even allowed. Bear with me, suspend your disbelief. 😅

“Steve, you made it!” 

Nancy throws herself at him the second he sets foot into the athlete's area, getting purple glitter all over his training suit. It's enough to tell him she's nervous. Nancy hardly ever shows physical affection like this. It's one of the many reasons things didn't work out between them. 

“Sorry, the press conference went forever,” he says, patting her back and glancing over at the flashing cameras, making sure his hands stay in non-compromittal territory. 

The newspages have been exploding ever since the opening of the Winter Olympics, speculating about a love revival between them. Steve must admit it would make a good story. Nancy, set to finally win that figure skating gold she's had her sights on for eight years. Himself, three gold medals under his belt, returned to the coaching team after the injury that marked the end of his career. It's the stuff that goes down into Olympic lore. 

It's also never gonna happen. 

“I thought you'd be done already,” he frowns, casting a glance at his watch. Nancy shrugs. 

“We started half an hour late, some problems with the music. The men are just about done, there's only Eddie left.” 

She has hardly said it when the hall goes dark, bar for a single spotlight illuminating the center of the rink. Right in its middle is a figure, dressed in black from head to toe, dark curls pulled into a messy braid.

The music starts. 

The fans in the stands go wild. 

Steve's jaw drops. 

“Nonono, wait,” he squawks, surging forward and white-knuckling the banister while, out on the ice, Eddie flies into movement. “That's the stupid Bat from Hell song. Eddie? Eddie, stop it right now!” 

But it's too late. 

The song swells, guitars and basses filling the hall, and Eddie flies into his first jump, a black blur with bits of ice spraying all around him like a glittering cloud of diamonds. 

It's a once-in-a-lifetime performance, Steve can see as much even after the first few seconds. Eddie skates with an erratic energy and single-minded focus. Each of his movements is calculated and controlled, raw passion and force funneled into leaps and jumps and pirouettes. 

He's skating like the blades are an extension of his body. He's skating like he was born on the ice. 

He's skating to the exact song Steve told him not to skate to. 

“He's unbelievable,” Nancy mutters somewhere by his ear. “He's going to win gold for this, he has to.” 

“I know,” Steve groans. His eyebrow is twitching. “And he's never gonna shut up about it.”

*

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. By the time Eddie has accepted his gold medal, Steve is still seething. He doesn’t have any time to act on it though, because then it's time for Nancy to enter the rink and deliver another mind-blowing show. Between the award ceremony, the fans clamoring for autographs, and the press dragging him off for approximately twenty different interviews, he doesn't catch Eddie alone for hours. When he finally manages to tear himself away, staff tell him that Mr. Munson has already left for the hotel. 

*

Eddie’s smile goes wide and toothy as he opens the door to find Steve looming outside. He's fresh out of the shower, dressed only in a towel slung around his stupid, tiny waist. His hair is loose and wet, cascading around his face in dark, chaotic ringlets. There's still black glitter smudged in the corners of his eyes. 

“Big boy,” he cheers. “I've been waiting for you to show up! Two gold medals in your first year of coaching, you must be-” 

“Cut the crap,” Steve sneers. Eddie’s smile doesn't slip as he brackets him between his arms and the doorframe, but his towel does, a little. “I specifically told you not to use that song. The judges are a bunch of conservative assholes, it could've cost you everything.” 

“But it didn't,” Eddie shrugs. “You gotta learn how to relax, coach.” 

Steve growls. “Maybe I'd be more relaxed if you weren't trying to push every single one of my buttons all the damn time.” 

Eddie sways forward, lifting his chin defiantly, the same stubborn fire smoldering in those dark eyes that has been driving Steve insane for weeks.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to push your buttons so much if you'd stop being such a fucking coward and just admitted what you want.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, and surges in. 

It's not so much a kiss as a violent clash of lips - all of the pent-up nerves and adrenaline and rage of the past few weeks finally breaking themselves way. Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, biting down on his bottom lip and grabbing the lapels of his jacket to bodily haul him into the room. Steve has just enough time to kick the door shut behind them before he's shoved into the nearest wall, Eddie’s arms around his shoulders, Eddie’s legs around his waist, Eddie’s tongue in his mouth. The towel hits the ground with a soft thud.

“You want me to shut up, Stevie?” Eddie purrs, nipping and sucking at his neck, grinning against his skin when he's rewarded with a gasp. “How about you make me?” 

“What?” Steve laughs around a hoarse moan, cupping Eddie’s ass so he can carry him over to the bed. “You actually doing what I tell you to? That would be a first.” 

“Well, aren't we both lucky?” Eddie says, pausing his kisses just long enough to let himself be lowered onto the bed, pulling Steve after him with greedy hands. “Looks like it's gonna be a night of triumphs for both of us.” 

More holiday drabbles

[twotonedsuicide]

Yapping abt this year since I feel liek it

This year has been dramatically chaotic 4 me since day 1

I'm not sure if it being a leap year added 2 the mess but something surely did

Getting expelled searched and nearly arrested all in the same day that February was most certainly interesting

So was when I was chronically online and bed rotting 4 half a year str8

I nearly wasn't allowed back in regular school but the universe decided it would be funny if I was allowed back in

Getting shipped off 2 the worst skool in my town was also an experience

I tried 2 get myself suspended bc I h8d the place that much in the beginning failed

At least I just have abt 5 more months of the place b4 they send me 2 a totally different place

There's barely a calm part of this year bc every month was in a race trying 2 see which 1 could b the most chaotic dramatic and insane month

This winter break was calmer than last years since I didn't get the cops called on me the 1st day of the break and I didn't get kicked out my house 4 almost a week bc of an argument

Everything's slowly calming down and I hope that energy sticks around until my birthday

I don't need another crazy january and february

Everything can go 2 hell after mid march but 4 now I just want things 2 stay calm and alright

Anyways some achievements of this year:

• getting something put on my school record

• getting something wiped from my school record

• almost 55k minutes listened on spotify

• expanded my CD collection

• saw my dad ONCE this year (in june)

• didn't get arrested

• got something put on my criminal record

• began playing bass (I'm absolute ass at it)

Ermm ,, ptv pic 2 end this ,,

[thesixteenpleasures]

the five senses

[ R U L E S ] Bold always. Italicize sometimes. Strikeout nope.

[ S I G H T ]: ⁕ lilac tinted twilight ⁕ brackish waters ⁕ dew drops ⁕ coils of steam ⁕ sunflowers ⁕ shooting stars ⁕ crisp green apples ⁕ stacked bookshelves ⁕ dirty apron ⁕ pearls and sapphires ⁕ apricot sunsets ⁕ doe eyes ⁕ blood-stained bandages ⁕ silver clouds across a crescent moon ⁕ freshly fallen snow ⁕ spilled ink ⁕ brass buckles ⁕ scarlet ribbons ⁕ blush ⁕ sepia ⁕ emerald moss ⁕ budding roses ⁕ stormy violet skies ⁕

[ S O U N D ]: ⁕ haunting strings ⁕ birdcalls in the morning ⁕ clashing steel ⁕ low, dirty bass ⁕ squealing tyres ⁕ whistling kettle ⁕ whip crack ⁕ stilettos on slate ⁕ crackling logs ⁕ gospel singers ⁕ hushed whispers ⁕ hoof beats ⁕ rustling leaves ⁕ stillness & silence ⁕ soprano arias ⁕ burbling brooks ⁕ grandfather clock ⁕ twinkling wind chimes ⁕ rooster crowing at dawn ⁕ bubbling pots ⁕ stacking coins ⁕ rain on window panes ⁕ smokey jazz ⁕

[ T A S T E ]: ⁕ whipped cream ⁕ blood orange ⁕ merlot & chocolate ⁕ tobacco ⁕ mint & lime ⁕ warm milk with cinnamon ⁕ wasabi ⁕ rare steak ⁕ crusty bread ⁕ liquorice ⁕ pickled onions ⁕ fresh mozzarella ⁕ petit fours & tea cakes ⁕ cognac ⁕ bergamot tea ⁕ sparkling wine ⁕ olive tapenade ⁕ fresh peach cobbler ⁕ smoked paprika ⁕ clear spring water ⁕ sticky rice ⁕ roasted garlic ⁕ toffee apples ⁕

[ T O U C H ]: ⁕ tight leather ⁕ balmy summer breeze ⁕ old gold filigree ⁕ lacquered tabletops ⁕ delicate lace ⁕ crystal glass ⁕ rough canvas ⁕ sheer, diaphanous silk ⁕ high collar ⁕ suspenders & straps ⁕ bare feet on grass ⁕ warm wool blankets ⁕ candle wax ⁕ hot springs in winter ⁕ living wood ⁕ thick, dark satin ⁕ silver buttons ⁕ bone dice ⁕ dirt under fingernails ⁕ soft feathers ⁕ loose beads ⁕ worn pages ⁕ bruises & scars ⁕

[ S C E N T ]: ⁕ lavender ⁕ lemon zest ⁕ cigar smoke ⁕ heady sandalwood ⁕ faint musk ⁕ raspberries ⁕ fresh-picked herbs ⁕ vanillin ⁕ dragon’s blood or cinnabar ⁕ fresh coffee ⁕ sea salt & spray ⁕ fir trees ⁕ sulfur & flint ⁕ charcoal ⁕ jasmine ⁕ baked bread ⁕ petrichor ⁕ coconut butter ⁕ honey ⁕ baby powder ⁕ decaying leaves ⁕ patchouli ⁕ clean sheets ⁕

[devanbald]

Mastering Bass Fishing Throughout the Year: Expert Seasonal Techniques for Every Angler

Bass fishing is exhilarating, offering anglers the thrill of landing one of the most sought-after freshwater game fish. But bass behavior is anything but predictable, changing throughout the year in response to shifting water temperatures, food availability, and seasonal cycles. Adjusting your strategy to align with these changes is essential for anglers hoping to land trophy bass regardless of the season. Whether it’s spring feeding frenzy or winter's slow bite, mastering year-round bass fishing techniques can elevate your experience on the water. This guide will explore expert strategies tailored to each season.

The Seasonal Shift: How Bass Behavior Changes Throughout the Year

Bass are cold-blooded creatures, meaning their body temperature and metabolic rate are directly influenced by the water temperature around them. As a result, their feeding habits, movement patterns, and overall activity change with the seasons. Understanding how these changes affect bass behavior is the first step in becoming a more versatile and successful angler.

In warm seasons, bass are more active and chase fast-moving prey. In contrast, cooler months cause them to slow down, and they seek comfort in deeper waters. Each season offers a unique set of challenges but ample opportunity for those who can adapt their tactics.

Spring: The Pre-Spawn Build-Up and Spawning Rituals

Spring is widely regarded as the prime time for bass fishing. The bass enters the pre-spawn phase as water temperatures rise to the 50°F-70°F range. During this time, both male and female bass move from deeper waters into the shallows to prepare for spawning. This period provides the best opportunities to catch large, aggressive bass.

In the pre-spawn phase, bass are driven by the need to bulk up before spawning. They are often found in transitional areas such as the edges of drop-offs, creek mouths, and submerged structures. Anglers can capitalize on this period using crankbaits, spinnerbaits, and jerk baits that imitate baitfish, as bass aggressively feeds in preparation for the spawn.

Once bass start spawning, they shift focus from feeding to protecting their nests. During the spawn, the bass (particularly males) stay close to their beds, guarding eggs from predators. Slow presentations using soft plastics, like Senkos or crawfish imitations, can trigger strikes from protective males.

After the spawn, bass tends to be fatigued and scatter into deeper waters. However, the post-spawn period still offers excellent fishing opportunities as they gradually regain energy. During this time, topwater lures and soft swimbaits can prove effective, particularly in the early morning or late evening when bass return to shallower waters to feed.

Summer: Fishing in the Heat

As summer sets in, bass faces increasing water temperatures exceeding 75°F. This temperature rise can make daytime fishing more difficult, as bass move to deeper, cooler waters to avoid the heat. Understanding the summer heat's effects and how to adapt your techniques can still yield great results during the hottest months of the year.

Fishing during the early morning and late evening is essential during summer, as this is when the water is cooler and bass are more active. Topwater baits such as poppers, buzz baits, and frogs excel in low-light conditions, enticing surface strikes from bass hunting in shallow waters.

As the sun climbs and temperatures rise, bass moves to deeper, more comfortable environments. Anglers will find more success targeting areas with deep structures, such as ledges, points, and submerged timber. Deep-diving crankbaits, Carolina rigs, and drop shot rigs are the go-to when fishing deeper water. The key during summer is patience, as bass tend to be less aggressive in extreme heat.

Pay attention to the thermocline—the layer of water where the temperature changes sharply with depth. Bass often suspend just above or within the thermocline, seeking the optimal combination of oxygen and comfort. Fishing just above this layer with slower presentations will increase your odds of a bite during the peak of summer.

Fall: The Season of Abundance

As water temperatures drop in the fall, bass instinctively feed heavily to prepare for winter. This season is characterized by abundant food, including baitfish, crawfish, and insects, making fall one of the best times to target bass. Unlike in summer, bass are much more willing to chase down prey in cooler waters.

Look for baitfish schools during the fall—bass will rarely be far behind. Fast-moving lures like lipless crankbaits, spinnerbaits, and swimbaits are excellent for imitating baitfish and triggering aggressive strikes. Covering a lot of water with these search baits is a good strategy, as fall bass tend to move frequently in search of food.

During the fall, bass are likely found in transitional zones, such as points, flats, and creek channels. Bass will follow schools of shad or other baitfish into these areas, making them prime fishing locations. As the season progresses and water temperatures continue to cool, bass will begin to retreat into deeper waters for the winter. Switching to slower, deeper presentations as the temperature drops will ensure you stay on top of them.

Winter: Slowing Down for the Cold Months

Winter is often the most challenging season for bass fishing. As water temperatures drop below 50°F, bass become lethargic, feeding less frequently and spending most of their time in deeper, warmer water. However, winter bass fishing can still be rewarding with the right approach.

Slowing down your presentation is key during the winter. Lures such as jigs, blade baits, and suspending jerk baits are effective when fished slowly along the bottom or through the water column. Anglers should focus on deeper structures, such as rock piles, drop-offs, and submerged trees, where bass gather during colder months.

Because bass are less willing to chase fast-moving prey in winter, keeping your lure in the strike zone for longer is important. Fishing slower and using smaller baits, such as finesse worms or hair jigs, can tempt cold, inactive bass into biting.

Winter fishing also rewards anglers who pay close attention to weather patterns. On sunny days, shallow waters near rock or vegetation can warm enough to attract bass looking for warmer temperatures. Focus on these areas during midday, when the sun is at its peak, for a better chance of landing a fish.

Year-Round Gear Considerations

Seasonal strategies require the right gear to maximize your success on the water. In colder months, lighter lines and more sensitive rods are essential for detecting subtle bites. Fluorocarbon line, in particular, offers increased sensitivity and invisibility underwater, making it ideal for winter and early spring fishing.

In contrast, summer and fall often call for heavier tackle. Braided lines are perfect for fishing heavy cover or deep structure, offering the strength to haul bass out of dense vegetation. Topwater fishing during summer mornings can be enhanced using monofilament, which floats and allows optimal lure action.

Finally, consider the size and speed of your reel. Higher gear ratios are ideal for fast-moving baits in the spring and fall, while slower gear ratios will give you the control needed to fish deep water during the summer and winter.

Year-round bass fishing is an art that requires a deep understanding of seasonal patterns and the flexibility to adjust your tactics as conditions change. Whether you’re battling summer heat, enticing sluggish winter bass, or capitalizing on the spring and fall-feeding frenzies, these strategies will give you the tools to stay ahead of the game. With the right gear, patience, and a little finesse, every season offers the potential for success. Happy fishing!

[fishingwithdaniel]

Top Techniques for Bass Fishing

It's impossible to cover all the techniques in a single article due to their vast number. However, we'll mention a few and provide references for more detailed discussions on the subjects.

Using Spinnerbaits near wooden cover. One of the simplest baits to use for bass fishing is the spinnerbait. All you need to do is attach one and cast it out, then reel it in. If you're in shallow water, opt for lighter spinnerbaits and fish at a quicker pace. Conversely, in deeper waters, heavier spinnerbaits are preferable, and you can reel them in slowly to catch less active bass.

However, a spinnerbait is relatively snag-free when used around wooden cover, and if the water is clear or even murky, the spinnerbait provides a vibration that bass can detect when visibility is low. During spring, using a Colorado blade spinnerbait around shallow wood is an excellent method to hook large bass. Pay attention to cover, water clarity, and quickly move from one spot to another.

Frogs on dense vegetation. During the hotter seasons, when the grass is at its peak, a frog can successfully lure bass from their hiding spots. Regardless, it's one of the most enjoyable catches in bass fishing. So, equip yourself with a sturdy rod, a braided line, and your preferred hollow-bodied frog. Then, simply manipulate it with brief jerks of your rod tip to make the frog create a splash on the vegetation surface, attracting the bass upwards. The best advice is to pause for a moment after the bite before pulling with such force that you risk breaking the rod.

Utilizing Ned Rigs and Shaky Heads in transparent water. When you're casually fishing along the shoreline and there's not much observable cover. There's still stuff beneath the water. However, if the water is quite clear, bass can be easily scared. With a lightweight Ned Rig or shaky head, you can attach a small plastic worm to a jighead, make extensive casts, and gradually crawl, hop, and jiggle your worm to lure bass. Shaky heads and ned rigs attract a lot of bites from fish of all sizes.

Utilizing Drop Shot Worms in deep clear water bodies. When fish become wary due to overfishing or frequent use of forceful techniques, a drop shot can significantly increase your catch. The trick is to minimize its movement. Gently drag it until it reaches a rock or stump, then maneuver it around the obstacle. Continue dragging it along. This method is also effective for catching suspended fish by simply lowering it to their level and keeping it absolutely motionless.

Utilizing Texas Rigged Plastics for fishing in cover. To increase your bass catch, it's advisable to master the Texas rig technique with plastic worms. You can use this method in various environments such as grass, wood, docks, etc. The versatility of a plastic worm is unmatched. Simply cast the worm and use your rod to lift it and let it drop. Repeat this process, ensuring to take up any slack before lifting it again. During winter, this method may be less effective, but jigs and craw trailers can be used as an alternative to catch the same fish.Master the Art of Knotting. A crucial aspect of bass fishing is the ability to change lures and tie strong knots. Remove your current lure and experiment with another, but always ensure your knot is secure. If you've caught several fish or navigated through tough cover, inspect your line and tie a new, sturdy knot. To familiarize yourself with the best knots, refer to our comprehensive guide on fishing knots.

Source: https://www.wired2fish.com/bass-fishing/how-to-catch-bass-easy-bass-fishing-tip

[justin-stewart-weed]

Mastering Bass Fishing: Proven Tips and Techniques for Success

Bass fishing is a beloved pastime for anglers across the United States. Whether you're a seasoned pro or a beginner looking to dive into this exciting sport, mastering the art of bass fishing requires knowledge, skill, and a deep understanding of the fish itself. In this ultimate guide to bass fishing, we'll explore a variety of tips and techniques that will help you reel in the big one and enhance your overall fishing experience.

Choosing the Right Equipment

Selecting the right fishing equipment is essential for a successful bass fishing trip. Here's what you need to consider:

Rod and Reel Selection

Medium to medium-heavy rods are ideal for bass fishing as they offer the right balance of sensitivity and power.

Match your rod with a quality baitcasting or spinning reel to ensure smooth casting and retrieval.

Fishing Line

Use monofilament or fluorocarbon line for most bass fishing situations. Braid is a good choice for heavy-cover fishing.

Line weight should range from 10 to 20 pounds, depending on your target bass size.

Bait and Lures

The choice of bait or lures depends on the conditions and time of year. Soft plastics, crankbaits, jigs, and spinnerbaits are all practical choices.

Experiment with various colors and sizes to see what the bass are biting that day.

Understanding Bass Behavior

Successful bass fishing starts with understanding the behavior and habitat preferences of these elusive fish:

Seasonal Patterns

Bass exhibits different behaviors in each season. During spring, they move to shallower waters to spawn. In summer, they often seek more relaxed, deeper spots. In fall, they feed aggressively before winter sets in.

Adapt your fishing techniques accordingly to match the season.

Habitat

Bass are known for their preference for cover. Look for submerged structures like rocks, logs, weeds, and docks.

Pay attention to water temperature and oxygen levels, which influence bass movement.

Feeding Habits

Bass are opportunistic predators, and their diet consists of various prey items such as baitfish, crawfish, and insects.

Mimic is the natural prey in your choice of lures and bait to increase your chances of success.

Effective Bass Fishing Techniques

Now that you have the right equipment and understand bass behavior let's delve into some effective fishing techniques:

Casting and Retrieving

The "cast and retrieve" technique involves casting your bait or lures near potential bass hiding spots and reeling it in steadily.

Vary your retrieval speed and depth until you find what triggers the bass to strike.

Flipping and Pitching

This technique is ideal for fishing in heavy cover. You can accurately place your bait near potential hiding spots with a shorter, more controlled cast.

Let your bait sink, and then use a slow, controlled retrieve.

Topwater Fishing

Topwater lures create excitement as bass strike from below the surface, creating explosive surface strikes.

Fish topwater lures during low-light periods or when bass feed near the surface.

Drop Shotting

The drop shot technique involves suspending your bait above the bottom, making it enticing to bass.

Use a drop shot rig with a finesse worm or other soft plastic bait.

Carolina Rigging

This technique is excellent for covering a wide area of the bottom. It involves a sliding weight and a soft plastic bait attached to a leader.

Drag the Carolina rig along the bottom to entice bass for a meal.

Conservation and Responsible Fishing

Bass fishing is not only about catching fish but also about preserving the sport for future generations. Here are some tips for responsible fisheries:

Catch and Release

Consider practicing catch and release for more giant bass to ensure their survival and reproduction.

Handle bass with care, using proper techniques to minimize stress and injury.

Follow Local Regulations

Please familiarize yourself with local fishing regulations, including size and bag limits, and adhere to them.

Report any illegal or unethical fishing practices you witness.

Keep the Environment Clean

Dispose of trash and fishing lines properly to prevent pollution in water bodies.

Respect the natural surroundings and wildlife while on your fishing adventures.

Bass fishing is a thrilling and rewarding hobby that connects anglers with the great outdoors. With the right equipment, an understanding of bass behavior, and practical techniques, you can improve your chances of landing that trophy-sized bass. Remember also to prioritize responsible fishing practices to ensure the longevity of this beloved sport. So, grab your gear, hit the water, and prepare for an unforgettable bass fishing experience!

[largemouthbassnation]

Catch Largemouth in 100ft of Water! Suspended Bass Fish Want to learn how to fish for suspended bass? Want to learn how to catch bass in a lake with blueback herring?

[melk917]

But If Santa Could Do It... (So Could the Grinch)

Warnings: So much swearing, so much spanking, p in v sex, lots and lots of Nevada running his mouth and narrating extreme filth, mentions of SantaCon

Rating: E

Pairings: Nevada Ramirez x f!Reader

WC: 3,847

A/N: Ticking off the 'Grinch' square on the last day of @storiesofsvu's Holiday Bingo! By request of @thatesqcrush. I hope you enjoy!

So, for those of you who don't know, SantaCon is a horrible day, where thousands of drunk people dress as slutty Santas and get absolutely obliterated drunk in NYC. It's literally the worst, and while I applaud the business sense of the reader here, Nevada is 1000% justified, LOL. (Also, pls suspend your disbelief that they would be partying as far up as Washington Heights, loll).

And lastly, for those who might not know, "Bridge and Tunnel" refers to those who commute into NYC for work & pleasure. It is 100% used pejoratively in almost every context, and Nevada is less than thrilled to find his club filled with them.

While it might have been cold and snowy outside, inside the club it was sweltering. The air was thick and humid with the tight pack of bodies, the ebb and flow of the room throbbing with the bass like it was the pulse of the party. It was like you had conjured the Caribbean to the Heights, instead of the depths of December.

But it fit with the theme–Santa’s Workshop After Hours. You had taken shameless advantage of Santa Con, leaning into the inevitable drunken shit show that the Bridge and Tunnel crowd brought with them every year to separate them from even more of their money. There were drink specials, signature cocktails, and costumes, all designed to match the decorations that had turned El Trujillo’s club into a debauched Winter Wonderland. The fake snow crunched under foot while the reserved booths were made up to look like toy shop work benches. Even the poles that more than one ill-advised patron had danced on were turned into oversized candy canes.

It was a room filled with future bad decisions, and you were only too happy to capitalize on that.

Sweat was dripping down your back despite the barely-there elf costume you wore, little more than a bra with a frilly skirt that threatened to flash your panties every time you reached for a bottle to pour the next drink. It was that promise that kept the orders coming in, Jersey bro after Jersey bro leaning over the bar to place his order and see if he could catch a glimpse. They’d smirk, orders coming in along with all manner of other offers for ways to spend your break, where he could take you when you got off your shift… You’d take their cash with a flutter of your lashes and a teasing smile… and then turn to the next idiot.

You were so busy filling drinks, you didn’t notice when the crowd around the bar parted, noise rolling back to a muted roar as patrons backed off, making room as the King himself appeared, stalking through the press of people, a literal black cloud in the sea of red and green.

Mari noticed first, eyes widening and elbowing you at the register. You looked up and she jerked her head at the end of the bar. Nevada was standing there, shoulders back, legs spread wide, arms crossed, and glowering. His irritation was flowing off him in waves, sending ripples into the crowd around him as a warning. Even the Jersey Shore meatheads next to him were giving him a wide berth, sensing that any encroachment would end poorly for them.

He met your eyes, his own gaze dark and pointed, mouth twisted in a frown.

“I thought you said you cleared this,” Mari muttered, her voice shaking slightly, eyes flicking from Nevada to you and back. One of the meatheads to Nevada’s left got jostled by his friends and bumped into him. The drunk idiot swung around like he was going to make trouble but took one look at the furious set of Nevada’s jaw and slunk back into the crowd.

You laughed weakly. “Uh, it’s possible I used that term loosely.”

Mari’s eyes widened as Nevada pointed at you and jerked his head in the direction of the balcony.

You flinched. “Ah, I guess I’m going on break.”

You ducked out from under the bar, missing how Mari crossed herself before turning away and back to the thirsty crowd.

Nevada’s grip was tight as he grabbed your arm and pulled you close, lips to your ear. “We need to have a chat,” he hissed, using his hold to drag you off the floor, practically marching you up the stairs to his private balcony.

“What the fuck is all this?” He spun you around, one hand still tight on your arm, the other pointing accusingly out over the crowd.

Huffing you shook him off, stepping to the side so you could turn and face him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and an unamused twist to your lips. “The bar has been losing money, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

His mouth tightened and his eyes flashed dangerously at your tone, but you pressed on before he could open his mouth and snarl at you. “Patronage was down, so I brought them back with something fun. Captured the spirit of the season.”

“So you turned my club into Santa’s fucking Workshop?” he ground out, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the crowd, an ever bumping sea of Santa hats and slutty reindeer.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, ok, Mr. Grinch.” Nevada narrowed his eyes, fingers curling into a fist at his side. You heaved an exasperated sigh. “It’s a party! It’s fun! Look at how many people are out there.”

You waved your arm out to encompass the whole of the club, packed nearly wall to wall with customers still aware enough to be buying drinks, but definitely way too drunk to register the bar tab.

“That’s not what this bar is,” he fumed, furious at the campy nightmare around him. “We don’t do the fuckin’ North Pole and and fake snow and shit.” He leaned into your personal space, crowding you and poking you in the chest. “We do reggaeton, cheap drinks, and drunken mistakes. No goddamn holiday parties.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure people are still making drunken mistakes in dark corners…”

“No. Fuckin’. Holiday parties!” He threw his hands in the air, cursing under his breath.

You snorted. His eyes flashed in warning and you rolled yours again.

“Oh, come on, ‘Vada. We’ve done more business in the last three hours than we did all of last week.”

That drew him up short. He rocked back on his heels, considering. “It’s not even 11:30.”

Your lips twitched and you leaned a casual hip on the balustrade, crossing your arms. “Yeah,” you drawled, “I know.”

“We don’t close till 4.” His eyes flickered as he did the math in his head.

Your small smile turned smug and you straightened your shoulders, pushing your chest out and preening. “I bet I’m looking really good to you right now, huh?”

He turned to actually look at you for the first time that night, gaze raking down your body slowly, taking in your outfit. He lingered on the curve of your breasts as you stood with your chest out, crossed arms pushing them up even more, before dragging lower, across your exposed stomach, the tiny green skirt, to where your garter belt was digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding up some terribly garish red and white striped thigh-highs.

He licked his lips, brows pulled together in a near frown. “The fuck are you wearing?”

You did a little spin, causing the skirt to flare up and flash the barely-there, white lace panties you were wearing at him. “I’m one of Santa’s elves. Don’t you like it?”

He crossed his arms, lips pressed in a thin line. “I’d like it better if all those fuckin’ Bridge and Tunnel pendejos out there weren’t getting a free show.”

You pouted, ducking your chin so you could look up at him through your lashes. “Aw, come on now. They tip better when they like what they’re looking at.”

You slid into his personal space, tugging on his crossed arms until he dropped them, letting you press firm against his chest as you leaned up to whisper low in his ear. “But you’re the only one who gets to touch, Papi.”

He growled, hands dipping under the flare of your skirt to grasp your ass and yank your hips hard against his, kneading the curves with strong fingers. “Damn-fuckin’-right I am.”

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your breasts firm to his chest, leaning up so your lips brushed his in a tease. “So then. Tell me how good I look.”

He huffed, fingers dipping low between your legs to play across the damp fabric of your panties, making you shiver against him.

“Oh, princesa,” his breath ghosted warm across your lips as he sighed out his taunt. He smelled like rum and coconut from the coquito, and you were sure if you licked into his mouth, he’d be sweet from the condensed milk, but he pulled back before you could find out. “You really bring in that much money from this hellhole of a fuckin’ party, and I’ll see about compliments.”

You barked a laugh, leaning back to roll your eyes at him, palms resting warm on his chest.

“Careful, Nevada,” you warned, lips twitching, fingers tapping his sternum where his chest hair was curling over the top of his undershirt, “you keep being generous like that and people will start to think that shriveled heart of yours grew three sizes.”

He growled, eyes flashing with amusement. “I’ll fuckin’ show you what can grow three sizes.”

You yelped and laughed as he dipped from the knees and lifted you with him as he backed to the couch, dropping back and pulling you into his lap, your knees on either side of his hips.

“Oh yeah?” you teased, rolling your hips forward to drag over the growing hardness in his pants. “I’m not sure you can claim three whole sizes…”

You earned a sharp swat on one cheek in response, making you jerk and laugh breathlessly as he pulled you in close, scraping his teeth down your neck.

“Turn around so you can sit all proper on Santa’s lap.”

You chuckled, arching your back to press your breasts up further in his face, tempting him. “Oh, so now you’ve got the holiday spirit, Santa?”

He ducked low to mouth at the curve of them, nipping at the soft flesh even as his hands slid down to grip your thighs, snapping the garter belt against your skin and making your breath hitch as you squirmed against him.

“Yeah, ‘cept my elves keep misbehavin’.”

You laughed and he smirked, wrapping his hands around your hips to pull you down as he rocked up, the hard press of his cock obvious through his jeans. A soft sound fell from your lips and he rocked up again, kneading your flesh before laying another quick smack across one cheek, the sting making you groan as heat flared in you.

“Now, turn the fuck around and tell me if you’ve been naughty or nice.”

You arched a brow at him, but swung your legs over so your back was to his front and leaned forward, flipping your skirt up to tease the full curve of your ass at him, white lace panties cut to reveal more than they hid.

He growled, hands gripping tight at your hips and pulling you back hard against him using his thighs to spread your own wide. He had you there, fully exposed across his lap, running warm palms up and down your thighs. His fingers played across the edge of your stockings, along the garter straps, stroking the soft skin high up near the juncture of your hip, but every time he’d get close to where you were wet and hungry for his touch, he’d slip away, leaving you empty and increasingly desperate.

You groaned softly, rocking your hips into his hold, trying to shift him where you wanted him, but he was stubborn. Instead, he slipped his fingers into the tops of your stockings, stroking your skin as he pressed a wet kiss to the base of your neck.

“Well, hermosa? Have you been a good girl this year? Or have you made trouble?”

His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through you, making your blood flash hot and your pussy clench, a rush of slickness soaking your panties and turning the white fabric translucent.

“What happens if I’ve only made trouble?”

He chuckled and your breath caught as he pressed his teeth to your skin in response. He ran the tip of his nose up your neck to nuzzle behind your ear before nipping sharply at the curve, the sting making you arch against him and gasp.

“Are you asking what happens to bad girls?” His breath ghosted over the abused skin and you shivered.

You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, turning your face to nuzzle at his hairline, running your lips across his cheek as you ground your hips against him. “We both know how good I am, ‘Vada.”

He couldn’t hide the hard twitch of his cock where it was pressed to the curve of your ass at the dark promise in your tone. You rewarded him with a roll of your hips, a slow grind along his length that had his fingers digging into the soft skin of your thighs hard enough to bruise.

“Fuckin’ prove it.” He dragged his nails hard along the exposed skin of your thighs making you gasp and moan at the hot flair of pleasure-pain that curled up your nerves. “Show Papi just how good you can be.”

He wrapped strong fingers around the hand you had in his hair and dragged it between the two of you, pressing it hard to the hot bulge of his cock still trapped in his pants. You closed your fingers around it reflexively, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive head through the fabric until he groaned, rocking up into your hold.

You glanced up through your lashes to see his eyes on you, dark and intense. You licked your lips, cheeks hot as he dropped his gaze to track the flash of tongue.

With his hand still tight around your wrist, you tugged on the tab of his zipper, lowering it tooth by tooth, until his fly parted. You couldn’t help it, your gaze dropped to look at him, and you groaned. He had forgone underwear, thick cock exposed, flushed and fully hard, tip slick and shining with precum, framed perfectly in the V of his open pants.

“Oye, princesa, it’s not just for looking, eh?”

You snorted and when you met his eyes again he was smirking back at you, completely unrepentant.

“Oh, don’t worry. I can think of a few uses for all this.” You traced a barely-there path from the tip to where he disappeared into his pants, making him shiver. It was your turn to smirk as you tugged on the top of his pants, until you could pull him out completely, length flagging from the heft and weight, tip catching on his hip and leaving a sticky smear of precum.

His breath caught on a sigh as the pressure on his cock eased, followed by a groan when you had him shifting his hips as you gave him a single stroke.

“Coño,” he swore, rocking into your grip. “Fuckin’ put it to use then.”

He grunted as you released him. Biting your lip and throwing a sly smirk over your shoulder, you lifted your hips, flipping your skirt up and slowly pulling your panties to the side. You arched your back further and used your other hand to part your pussy, running a finger back and forth through the slick smeared there, showing off.

“Well, come on then, Santa. Sit me back on the North Pole.”

“Fuckin–”

Whatever the rest of his objection was going to be was cut off as you grasped him and slid back on his cock in one, smooth thrust. Your breath caught, choking on a groan at the stretch, the pleasured burn sending heat rolling through your body from where you were joined to your fingertips.

He swore, his hands flying to your hips and gripping tight, holding you hard against him as he flexed his hips, grinding up.

“Oh, fuck.” You moaned, rocking in his lap, clenching around his thick length as the thick head hit that place deep inside that made your nerves sing.

He cursed, thighs shaking under you as he fought for control. “So fuckin’ tight. Shit.”

He slipped one hand around your hip, long fingers brushing against where you were joined as you rocked up, gathering up the mess you were making on his cock.

“Oh, eres tan mojada, eh, princesa?” He dragged his fingers across your lips, pressing until you parted them, tongue flicking out to taste yourself on him, curling around his knuckles and moaning as you ground down against him.

“All this, just for me, eh?” He growled, hooking his fingers over your jaw and pulling your head back as he slammed his hips up. Your groan was muffled around his hand as you sucked eagerly, hollowing your cheeks and mouthing at the digits like they were his cock.

“Fuckin’ show me. Show me it’s all mine. Show me how good you are.”

You arched your back, hands falling to his thighs to hold on as you lifted and and slammed your hips back, taking his cock deep and grinding, greedily chasing the hot, bright flash of pleasure each deep thrust set off in you, making you shake and clench around him.

You had him swearing, forehead pressed to your back as he worked his hips in counterpoint, gasping.

“Ah, shit.”

He yanked his fingers from your mouth as one strong hand pressed high on your back, shoving you forward, your ass tilted high in his lap as you were bent in half and rocked back on his cock. The impossibly impractical skirt of your costume was pushed high around your waist and he groaned at the sight of you bare, split wide around his cock.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.” His free hand came down hard across your ass, and you clenched around him with a groan as the pain mixed with the searing pleasure of his cock as it dragged over that spot inside you that made you see stars. “Yes, wanna see that ass bounce in my lap as you take my dick. Fuck.” He smacked you again, gripping the cheek hard to expose you further to his gaze.

“Fuck look at you split open on my cock.” He slipped his thumb next to where you were stretched tight around him, pressing against the edge of your opening as you took him deep, the added pressure making desire curl hot in your stomach, and you moaned, thrusting back harder, off rhythm.

“Oh yeah, good girl, good fuckin’ girl. Just like that.”

You whined, hands reaching back for him, wanting to feel him, anything to ground you, but he had you bent and off-balance, the only one in control. It wasn’t enough.

You scrambled around, breath coming in heavy pants, a desperate whimper curling in the back of your throat despite the fact that you were the one to slide off his cock. But you wanted more of him, wanted to lick into his mouth and taste the heat and spice from the utter filth that was spilling from his lips. Wanted to be able to thread your hands into his hair and hold him to you, wanted him to mark up the curve of your breasts with his teeth and leave his signature, dark and obvious, across your skin where anyone could see it.

Gasping, you crawled back into his lap and threw a leg over his hips, sinking back down on his cock. You threw your head back with a satisfied moan as you took him back to the hilt, stretched wide and stuffed full.

His breath was coming harsh through clenched teeth, growling. He slid his hand into your hair, wrapping the strands around his fingers and pulling tight as he fucked up into you with a sharp thrust that had you groaning and clenching around him.

“Fucking trouble.” His voice was rough, dark. “I liked the view I had.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and used his strong shoulders for leverage as you took him harder with each roll of your hips. “Good fucking trouble, though,” you gasped.

He arched his neck and groaned as you ground down in his lap. “Ah fuck. Yes. Good fuckin’ trouble.” He gripped your ass tight and yanked you down as he thrust up. “Oh, fuck yes, fuck gonna come.”

He yanked your head down with the hand still tight in your hair, pulling you into a harsh kiss, more teeth than anything else, breathing harshly into your mouth. “Gonna fucking fill you up and send you back down there, stuffed full of my cum. Let those fucking pendejos see me dripping down your legs so they know that you’re fuckin’ owned.”

You keened in response, his words sending desire curling through you, sharp and insistent, as you rocked against him. The base of his cock was pressed firm against your clit, every motion sending waves of white hot pleasure crashing over you, making you shake and ride him harder, faster.

His hands were everywhere, gripping and tugging, holding you so tight that you knew from experience you’d have bruises littered across your skin. The thought of those bruises on display for the rest of the night, his teeth along the base of your throat, his hand prints on your upper thighs with all that with his cum smeared across them… the image had you gasping, desperate, as his cock hit that place deep inside you that made you cry out and clench, orgasm punching through you with such a sudden force you swore you whited out, the noise of the club fading behind the blood roaring in your ears.

You were only vaguely aware of Nevada’s hoarse groan as the force of your orgasm dragged him over the edge, and he fucked deep, grinding up against you as he came, cock pulsing as he filled you with waves of his hot release.

You came back to yourself, limbs trembling with lingering pleasure, his hands stroking soothing lines down your back. You shifted and shuddered as his cock shifted inside your sensitive folds, still half hard, the thick head still brushing over that spot that sent sparks down your spent nerves. He groaned softly as you clenched down, rocking against you and you pressed a smile to his throat.

“Round two already, Santa? This gonna be the Miracle on 184th Street?”

He snorted and pinched your ass, making you jerk and laugh, which curled into a groan as you clenched around him again.

“Should’ve fucked that smart mouth instead.”

You laughed, pressing wet kisses up his neck to his jaw, biting at the hinge. “You love my smart mouth.”

He cupped your ass in his big hands, kneading the curve and pulling back so he could smirk up at you. “Yeah, love it stuffed full with my cock.”

“Fucking asshole.” You smiled affectionately down at him as you tugged lightly at his hair, earning a growl. His fingers slid inwards, ghosting over the tight curl of your hole and making you shiver at the hint of promise.

“Mm. Later, princesa. After you get this pretty ass back downstairs and show me just how much cash your Santa’s Workshop is gonna make me.”

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

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[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

I wanted to get this ‘Valentine’s Day’ piece out, even though it’s massively, supremely late. 😭It’s part of a longer piece (because I couldn’t stop writing it😶) and I’m still not sure whether or not it’s not terrible.😖

prompt list

-------

This couldn't be right.

Damian almost did a double take, his cool smirk withering when he glanced up, transfixed by the sleek storefront at the cross streets where he stood. Why on earth would Raven be in a place like this?

The building towered above the tottering sea of gray, black and blue below. And the mannequins in the display lorded over their dominion, propped loftily on their perches, arms and legs of impractical proportions, stilted at absurd angles.

And why would she summon him here?

His trousers began to buzz audibly and the shifting crowd of passersby jostled him closer to the glass. Damian delivered the faceless caricatures of the female form a final foreboding glare, before he reached down to free the device vibrating in his pocket. New Message. Raven. Apparently, it was urgent. He tapped the speech bubble icon with a fingertip and his jaw went slack.

I Need You.

The three words seemed etched into the surface of the screen. And they were more than enough to get him to take a deep breath and grasp the curved door handle, his jaw set, and wingtips marching determinedly onward.

The atmosphere inside the store was even more unexpected than the outside. When translated, the pounding music and low lighting read as more nightclub than boutique. It was completely impractical in Damian's view—how could anyone locate a price tag, let alone see the item they were intending to purchase? Although, after a few minutes of skulking around in the dark, he could see how the implementation of such a design was advantageous. With stealthiness like his, he wasn't in danger of being accosted by overly helpful employees hungry for commissions, before he located the heading of a dramatic script that read Dressing Rooms, and turned underneath it.

Down the row each stall had a flood light stationed above it, but only one appeared to be presently occupied: the corner room at the farthest end of the hall. And as he got closer he noticed it also appeared to be the largest. Damian glanced behind him and rapped on the door with a knuckle. And just as he began to wonder if he'd needed some sort of special knock or password prepared, the lock glowed black and unlatched itself.

"I'm here." The door creaked open and the floor groaned under his solid weight. Damian turned swiftly to shut it, growing steadily concerned.

"So what is it? What's the—big emergency..." He started, but his tongue began to feel heavy and leaden inside his rapidly drying mouth. And his eardrums began to beat violently until they matched the thumping of his maddened heart.

Red.

Blood red.

Burning. Blinding. Blazing.

In the carpet, the walls, the curtains, the chandelier.

It was everywhere—even in the deafening pounding hammering away at his head.

Thundering images suspended before him, going in and out of focus. They were searing his eyes, blearing his vision. In sinful shapes marred over pale flesh, it was red repeating over and over. Criss-crossing crimson. Damian had to dig his fingernails into his palms to ground himself with the tangibility of a familiar sensation.

And suddenly he realized that all the times before were incomparable, this was what it meant to be blindsided by a breath-taking blow. This was what it meant to receive a rush of blood to the head…

…or a rush of blood to the—

"I'm glad you came so quickly."

And the silhouette of Raven turned where she sat on a velvet ottoman, leaning forward in a way that was guaranteed to diffuse away the rest of his brain's processing ability. It was all he could do not to goggle at her like some cartoon character. Tawdry and tactless. Damian inwardly cursed the merciless Goddess above as he took in the cleavage created by cups, a series of straps and bows and elastic and he didn't know what. Only that he shouldn't have been so disarmed by it—by Raven's breasts pushed up to high-heaven. Like they weren't perky enough or distracting enough in their usual sheath of simple black cotton.

His wide emerald eyes strayed downward in spite of themselves and onto shapely, stocking clad legs folded one over the other, with a lace-up heel tapping out the bass of the synth pop bleeding into the background. Raven slid to her feet seamlessly, swaying slightly to the song. She took a single step, allowing the shadows to part for her as she did so.

There was a muted click, clack, click of her heels on the carpet as she drew near. He'd never seen her in stilettos, and he stared at them through slits.

Gods, they had to be four inches at least. Their impressive height only seemed to serve to make her look even more powerful. Just about as powerful as the force rooting him to the spot.

The deep panging in Damian's chest carried on, a racehorse charging from the starting gate, galloping faster and faster, as she grew closer and closer.

Suddenly he'd become aware of the fact that it was far too warm in here for the dead of winter. Or was it simply that Raven radiated such an intense heat?

Most definitely the latter.

The garnet colored lace gracing Raven's skin was a perfect match to her chakra stone. The semi-sheer fabric of her bra offered up a playful glimpse of the darker skin of her nipples beneath. When his gaze wound down her tapering waist, it appeared that the lack of opaqueness carried over to the front of her panties. He could just make out a little shadow—a promise laying underneath a tempting, well-kept diamond shape in plum wine. And last, but certainly not least were the thigh highs trimmed by garnet lacings and affixed to a red and black garter.

Damian's throat had somehow gone even drier. He tried to swallow with great difficulty, then tugged at his turtleneck for a reprieve.

However, there would be no such alleviation for his trousers.

"There's no emergency, Damian..." Raven assured him with a tilt of her head, lilac tendrils skating across a valley between pale peaks. "You'll have to forgive me, but I had to get you here. I had to know..." She paused, folding her arms as she prepared to pose a question to him. "Tell me... what do you think...of my outfit?"

Damian froze, fingers mid-tug and blinked several times as if he'd been struck dumb.

What?

That wasn't...

There was no way...

Was that a serious request?

She was being facetious—she had to be. It was the only explanation, unless Raven was somehow messing with his mind and Damian sincerely doubted that. But how could she ask him this with such bold-faced sincerity? Even if the wooden arch behind her housed a funhouse mirror and had been reflecting distorted proportions back at her. Or was there actually some warped reality in which they weren't looking at the same picture?

Although...

If he could muster up a voice to speak he would have asked, what outfit?

Lackadaisically, she trailed a hand down her body, tugging at the cups spilled over with supple skin. "The bra—do you like the pattern?" Raven traced the gorge between the swell of her breasts. "It's tulle and...French lace," she confirmed, squeezing the scant, semi-sheer embroidery molded to her chest. And Damian grimaced as though in physical pain.

"No?" she assessed, seemingly marking off boxes on a mental checklist. Raven smoothed her hands over her hips for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. She paced slowly, revolving a full three-hundred and sixty degrees to pause with her back to him.

"And what about..." She swept a purple curtain over the nape of her neck to glance over her shoulder and he saw—of all things—a bow below the dimples on her back, nestled into the heart-shaped curve of her ass. "My panties...?"

Damian gritted his teeth, though not before letting a sound escape, like a hiss coupled with a wince.

"Are these okay?" The soft profile of her lips pressed.

Gods, it was almost as if she were seeking to offer all of this up to him. And who needed to clarify anything when she was all wrapped up and presented? Covered in the finest cardstock wrappings in gold-flecked marble, then laced up with champagne silk ribbon to await her unravelling.

Though his own would be more likely.

Right now, he'd forsake all his names, both Wayne and Al Ghul to get her to stop. Stop slinking closer, stop speaking in that sweet, scratchy undertone, and stop directing his focus to her various attributes, more than it already was.

It would only make his growing pain more pronounced.

A pale hand dangled down and spread across a smooth, silken thigh. "My stockings, then?" Raven hummed.

Though, Damian didn't speak. He wasn't entirely certain he was still breathing. Somehow, he'd managed to remain motionless and drag his unwilling eyes toward the floor. All his carefully constructed control was necessary to keep himself calm and centered in this moment. He could do this—he had to do this. Otherwise, what was the point of all those long years of training he'd endured?

Shiny purple strands bobbed; she'd started to shake her head slowly at the stony silence from the stoic cashmere wall standing before her, as if she expected as much.

"I bet you're still wondering why I called you here." Damian heard her voice go up in the middle, which it did whenever she was apprehensive or unsure. "I wanted you here to find out what you like—exactly what you like." When he arrived, Raven was blushing a delicious pink, so by now it had to be a violent red. "I wanted to get it right because...you're the first person, or only person I've ever been intimate with in any world, dimension, or universe..." She lingered.

And once again, Damian said nothing, and she resumed speaking.

"I do know that this is something that one does traditionally." Raven paused to worry her already cherry-red bottom lip. "That couples do... Buying underwear for your significant other is supposed to be something special, particularly for this holiday."

He was a mountain, immobile, unwavering...

"Oh, I see..." Her mouth set into a line. "Perhaps, it's the fit—or is it the color...?" Raven's large amethyst eyes swept over the room and landed on her reflection. "I thought dark red was classic. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Donna. I should have gotten something in black." She dragged a distraught hand through dark purple. "It's too much...or maybe it's not enough..."

"Don't," Damian growled low. His inflection was level and gave nothing away. If Raven was surprised by the outburst, she didn't let on, instead she continued.

"I bet the old string of socialites shuffling in and out of the manor were never caught dead in skivvies that weren't Kiki de Montparnasse or at least Agent Provocateur. But this..." Raven lifted her chin toward the mirror. "It's not your taste though, is it?"

That was far more than enough.

Far more than he could stand to hear and far more than he could stand to bear.

When his eyes flew back to hers at last, they weren't steely anymore, they burned—whittling her retinas down like they were wicks on candlesticks. As if he were all but telling her he dared her to do that again, to say that again.

"It's okay. I'm glad I found out before I bought—"

"I said...don't." Damian placed his hands on her wrists and whisked her right up to his chest. And he closed his eyes. He skimmed his lips along the length of hers like it was something sacred, his mouth trembling as Raven muffled out a note denoting her surprise.

He murmured to her, "you're brilliant, deadly beautiful—an empath...and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I'm your blindspot." Damian sighed resolutely. "But Raven, can't you take pity on me? I'm still a man." One that had been barely keeping it together since he arrived, but... "And you're you, so..."

There was no way in any world, dimension, or universe that he could ever resist.

Purple eyes grew wider as he told her and lifted a finger to her chin. Then it was Damian turning the tables and tipping her mouth towards his own. And though he hungered for her, he took slow and sweet and gentle grazes. It was tortuous, but he should only have a little at a time. This was an excess of an impossibly decadent dessert, an indulgence he was undeserving of. It was like the power in his sub zero freezer had short-circuited and he had no choice but to guzzle down that buried pint of vanilla caramel gelato.

Though who could blame him for being greedy when he had all of this spread out before him? And when her ass in those panties even resembled two round, creamy spoonfuls.

To hell with it then.

Damian lunged, face forward, longing for more of her. In an instant, he was inhaling her pulse, intaking the scent of leather-bound books with aged pages and the nectar from plums she'd probably narrowly avoided dripping on them. He dipped his tongue along the hollow of her collarbone as if he sought to test this.

"Mmm, that's nice."

"Nice?" Damian scoffed, his eyes on hers. "That's not what I was going for. Surely you didn't wear this because you wanted me to be nice." At the present, he wanted nothing more than to rip the tiny pieces of lace into twos, but Raven had selected them specifically for him. So he would continue to be patient and continue to savor this.

Let the pieces of fabric hold up for as long as he could hold out.

"Wait a moment," Raven gasped, quickly clutching his arm. "So your present...?"

"Present? Tch..." Damian's lip curled under his front teeth and he let out a piercing click. "If you're seriously considering getting me a present..." His palms glided down her chest and he gathered a scoop of softness in either hand. "Then these are perfect," he whispered in her ear.

And then Damian's mouth pushed back into hers and he was kissing her in ways that would make it impossible to return this lingerie after trying it on. He nipped urgently to gain entrance to her castle, then trapped her lip between his teeth like it was a drawbridge, at last releasing her tongue to collide with his own. All the while, his thumbs were sliding over her nipples, which puckered and pointed at his touch. He pushed up the cups of her bra for better access, head inclined towards his goal, soon to be met by a full mouth.

Each brush of his lips on Raven's chest made her fingers clench further and further into his shirt like it was a life preserver, and she was in danger of losing herself to the depths.

And after all, wasn't this the answer that she'd wanted from this—that she needed from him?

A chance to lose herself.

To stand in a dressing room in his arms, moaning his name like a breathy spell, her body bending until her back was arched under the avid swipes of tongue. He tugged her nipples between his teeth and they reddened, their response a glowing rave.

Yes.

Raven's eyelids squeezed, her pink face contorting in pleasure while Damian enjoyed the full weight of her breasts in his hands. He continued polishing the plush, pink rings. Left then right—until they were glistening.

"Gods, Damian..." Raven groaned. "Just—"

Just as sudden, there was a wet noise, a slip of suction. Damian had released a rosy nipple, taking note of Raven's expression. Hungry and dazed, and all his doing. Whether unconsciously or not, she pressed her legs together, clenching them as she watched Damian slip off the left sleeve of his coat and let it crumple to the ground in a heap.

The glaze of her gaze, her diaphragm's continuous rise and fall, her fingers digging into his arm, she needed this.

So why deny her?

"Yes, these are beautiful..." He whispered as he admired his handiwork under the chandelier light. The way the red nips and bites were like Damian Wayne watermarks upon the pale flesh. "But perhaps..." Damian's hands glided freely down the small of her back, just over the hill of her ass and stroked the burgundy bow, like an X marking the spot. "This."

When Damian glanced down at Raven, she was barely biting back another mewl, and moving restlessly in his arms. "I wonder what would happen if I were to pull this bow... Raven what do you think?"

"Damian... We shouldn't..." Raven murmured, sounding somewhat apprehensive and holding the fabric at his back tightly.

"Yes, we should Raven," he rasped darkly. "Right now, I can't seem to think of a reason why not..."

"Well, there's the fact that we're in public—"

"Public," Damian repeated flatly. "What of it? The outside world ceased to exist the second I entered the door of my own little version of Narnia."

Raven's jaw had unhinged in unmasked shock and Damian supposed this was an instance to take her remaining breath away by kissing her. Yes, he'd walked through a door and suddenly he was laying eyes on his half-naked demoness dangerous in dark red. So clearly nothing else in creation mattered.

When he pulled away her lips opened and closed, while her eyes remained shut, like a thirsty traveler prematurely cut off from a longer drink. And even though it seemed her body knew the truth, a darker part of him wanted her to beg for it.

"But, that's not what I asked," he said with a hard smile that wasn't. Damian drummed a divot on her lower back. "I fear I've gotten ahead of myself again. Tell me about the bow, Raven. What happens if I pull it?" His hand jutted out, he made a motion with his fingers, in mimicry of it.

"Why ask when you know the answer?" Raven asked him, her brow rising shakily.

"I could have asked you the same earlier. But..."

"But?"

Raven bit her lip but made no motion to stop his hands from climbing onto the curve of her ass. He taunted her twice, by tugging lightly on the tulle, until at last... The bow in the back came loose, and her panties slid down her legs with ease. She secured one pale thigh tightly over the other to hide herself.

No bottoms and bra half-undone, she was nothing short of delicious.

Though that scrap of fabric had barely covered much of anything, so why bother to tease? Or hadn't that been the sole purpose of this outfit?

A devious smirk sidled onto Damian's face as he realized something: these were the exact kind of underwear that one put on simply to take off.

"I pulled the bow, Raven," he murmured almost mockingly. "Don't I at least get to see the rest of my present?"

She stared up at him through her soot colored lashes and slowly opened her thighs.

[april-is]

April 9, 2021: The World Has Need of You, Ellen Bass

The World Has Need of You Ellen Bass

everything here seems to need us… —Rilke

I can hardly imagine it as I walk to the lighthouse, feeling the ancient prayer of my arms swinging in counterpoint to my feet. Here I am, suspended between the sidewalk and twilight, the sky dimming so fast it seems alive. What if you felt the invisible tug between you and everything? A boy on a bicycle rides by, his white shirt open, flaring behind him like wings. It’s a hard time to be human. We know too much and too little. Does the breeze need us? The cliffs? The gulls? If you’ve managed to do one good thing, the ocean doesn’t care. But when Newton’s apple fell toward the earth, the earth, ever so slightly, fell toward the apple as well.

==

More like this: Einstein’s Happiest Moment // All Objects Reveal Something About the Body // A Short History of the Apple

On this day in:

2020: Annus Mirabilis, R. A. Villanueva 2019: This Page Ripped Out and Rolled into a Ball, Brendan Constantine 2018: Winter Stars, Larry Levis 2017: In That Other Fantasy Where We Live Forever, Wanda Coleman 2016: The cat’s song, Marge Piercy 2015: The Embrace, Mark Doty 2014: No. 6, Charles Bukowski 2013: A Schoolroom in Haiti, Kenneth Koch 2012: Track 5: Summertime, Jericho Brown 2011: Death, Is All, Ana Božičević 2010: Heaven, William Heyen 2009: April in Maine, May Sarton 2008: Making Love to Myself, James L. White 2007: Publication Date, Franz Wright 2006: Living in the Body, Joyce Sutphen 2005: Aberration (The Hubble Space Telescope before repair), Rebecca Elson

[fascination-street-writing]

Be With Me Tonight | Guido Mista x F!Reader

Regret is a sickening temptation - and you have ruined everything.

Content Warnings: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content (Oral & Implied), Implied Past Attempted Sexual Assault, Potentially Dubious Consent, & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics (Past & Present)

You said you would do your own makeup. And yet, here you sit on a thrifted barstool – never mind the tweed upholstery that digs into the underside of your skirt-clad thighs, when you paid less for the stool than you would a loaf of bread – and flinch as your sister nearly prods your iris with the mascara wand clutched in her tremoring hand. She smells of hair spray and counterfeit perfume. You look to the mirror that hangs above the vanity.

“You really should change before we go,” she tells you while returning the wand to its tube. Fingers toil through your hair: she scrutinizes your appearance as though you are a porcelain doll and she your maker. You suppose that, in a way, she is. “You won’t catch anyone’s attention dressed like that.”

The reflection of your cherry-red lips mimics the frown upon your face. “Maybe I don’t want to ‘catch anyone’s attention,’” you retort. “I’m not even ready to start dating again.”

She groans. “You’re not still caught up on that perdente, are you?”

You do not have to bite back a quip because you do not have one. Instead, you bite your stained lips and look away. Though the relationship with your most recent ex had ended on mutual terms, the separation stings nonetheless.

“You know, you’ve always had bad taste in men,” your sister continues. Varnish to a wall, she rubs powder across your cheekbones. “First there was that pervertito when you were fifteen, and now a convicted murderer.”

“Can you stop?” you demand, clenching your fist. “He’s not a murderer. It was self-defense.”

“Regardless of what you think, he still killed three men. I can’t believe the landlord hasn’t changed our locks yet. I asked him almost a year ago now, ever since he was released from prison,” your sister insists, ignoring your plea. “You should’ve asked for his key back.”

“He has a name, you know.” Guido Mista – a name that once tasted like honey on your tongue, now bitter as cigarette smoke.

And your sister refuses to speak it, for she hates the taste of cigarettes. A hum dies on her lips. Her smirk bequeaths to you an urgency to cower in shame; however, the distressed look in her eyes tells you how much she fears for your welfare.

As if she has anything to genuinely be afraid of.

Guido Mista has, for most of your life, been something of an extended acquaintance to you. His is a recognizable presence in crowded hallways; after all, who else amongst the student body could muster the same courage to break the dress-code by donning a purple beanie cap atop their head? You will admit to him that you look forward to the days when a teacher confiscates his cap because it means that you get to admire his rich chocolate curls all day long from your seat at the back of the classroom. He will chuckle in response and press a sloppy kiss to your cheek while running his calloused fingers over the sides of your belly, drinking in the laughter that bubbles through you, as if you are the fountain of ever-lasting love itself.

But it was not always this way. Before Mista came a boy whose name you will etch from memory in time – remembered as a boyfriend, but never as a partner.

At your locker, he leans over you, waiting for you to stack your textbooks away. You are fifteen, and he asks you to join him behind the bleachers of the gymnasium. No more than a pet tethered by a chain, you follow him blindly to where his companions wait. You know their pubescent faces but you seldom speak to them. Their names do not matter anymore, either.

In a school dress, pitted against three boys who surpass you in height – you never stood a chance.

The squealing of the gymnasium doors and the slamming of the lock is not enough to stop them. It did little more than encourage your perpetrators to wedge you between their clothed bodies as they fist your hair and tug at the skirt that your father has only just purchased for you after you spilled grape juice over the previous one. You spot the purple beanie over your boyfriend’s blazer-clad shoulder and cry out to him – to Guido Mista.

His cap has fallen from his head, and they beat him until he gasps for air and spews bile from his throat. But he never begs them to stop because it keeps them from attacking you again. He can hardly put up a fight when every attempt to stand is quelled by the diving of a loafer-clad foot into the pit of his stomach Your boyfriend grabs him by those beautiful curls and ushers his face against the waxed floors. The glint of a pocketknife catches your eye.

The school-bell blares. The boy who had held you back throws you to the ground. The pocketknife clamors with you, just beyond the grasp of the tips of your fingers. Your ex-boyfriend (for you no longer consider him as anything more) and his boyish companions dust off their blazers, straighten their ties, and hurry off for their next round of classes. They leave you with your unsettled clothes and a boy with a broken nose.

Clutching the rungs of the bleachers, Mista pulls his body upwards:  a buoy in the sea, and you the only vessel on the horizon. You press his discarded beanie – which you cannot help but to notice smells comfortingly so of cedarwood – to his nose. Red blossoms seep into the delicate threads.  “Are you okay?” he asks you with a cough and a grimace for, as you will come to discover, he has cracked a rib.

“Yes.” Compared to his injuries, you cleared the scuffle relatively unscathed. Mista had stepped in before anything beyond the tearing of your uniform could happen. And yet, his concern is of you and not for his own well-being. “Thank you.”

He flashes you a lopsided grin. You are glad to see that, though laced with the blood that seeps into his mouth, he has not lost any teeth. His repose is infectious, and his ease illuminates your own composure. You help him to stand and together you walk to the nurse’s office, his arm slung over your shoulders and yours around his waist. Your attackers are expelled; their testimony of falsified innocence could not hold a candle to security footage, or a pocketknife engraved with damning initials. Despite everything, you make a new friend. The two of you will become lovers at sixteen – utterly inseparable.

Until the very end.

You prefer sweeter cocktails, but you accept the gin and tonic from your sister and lift it to your lips anyways. The relief of the ice pooling in the cavities of your mouth is a reprieve from the suffocating atmosphere of the nightclub. Too many bodies, too much sweat – too many different smells, and suddenly your mind whirls. You place the emptied glass atop a table and only then do you realize that you never juiced the translucent lime wedge curled around the rim.

The circle of women whom you find yourself dancing with are strangers; you sway as though you have all known each other for a lifetime. You do not understand the words of the American pop song that resonates from the wall speakers, but it does not matter; after all, even an illiterate man can read rhythm. Across the dancefloor, your sister drags two men with her towards the restroom.

A pelvis presses against your backend – or perhaps, it is your backend that leans into the nook of the clubber swaying behind you. A pair of hands falls to your hips, though you take the lead in rocking side-to-side to Laura Branigan’s cadence. Over the sound of music, the woman to your left suggests that you all swap cellphone numbers. The woman to your right agrees with a drunken nod of her head and, giddy with excitement, clasps your hand. The woman directly across from you offers to order a round of shots to commemorate this newfound comradery. Instead of a tray filled with cinnamon whiskey, she returns with an olive-toned man clad in orange leopard print pants and a blue cross-patterned sweater that exposes his midriff.

“Hey, ladies,” the woman calls out to your circle. The lights ripple across her flushed skin like water. “This is Mista.”

You freeze, your hips suspended mid-beat. Your dance partner pouts and pulls away. Mista does not look to you, and you are grateful . . . Until his coffee-colored eyes do fall to your face after a hiccup jostles your chest. His brows furrow, gaze darting between you and the man behind you. Before his steadily parting lips can utter your name against the clapping of the bass, you are gone because you are not ready.

The winter breeze makes you shiver. The nightly chill is preferable to the sweltering sanctuary behind you, where only moments ago you bobbed along to pop songs and impulsively contemplated friendship with intoxicated patrons who will not remember you in the morning.

The green dial of your cellphone flashes and reflects upon scattered puddles.  You text your sister and tell her that you are going home – don’t wait up. Your affinity for clubbing has gone sour.

“I thought that was you.”

Your heart races quickly, so much that it might burst from the nook between your breasts and land on the ground before his white boots. “Yeah, it’s me,” you say. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too. So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Just stuff. And things.”

Mista laughs. “Stuff and things?”

“Y’know, work,” you tell him with a nod. “More work.”

“Me too.” You fidget with your purse. “I saw your sister – or, the back of her head, actually. How’s she doin’?”

“She’s good.”

“Good.”

A man stumbles through the door. He reeks of cheap bourbon and rye. You and Mista step aside and watch the man as he struggles to walk away from the club. The scene has created a lull to your painfully cumbrous conversation; you reap the opportunity, for it becomes your self-proclaimed cue to leave. You open your mouth to bid Mista adieu. The taste of your own lipstick leaves you sputtering.

“Hey, so uh, are you busy?” he suddenly asks, cutting you off. You have always believed that he could read minds. In this moment, it is as if he knows your intent – as if shuffling in your heels and tightening the grasp on your purse were not telltale signs of your discomfort.

“Not really,” you insist. “I was about to head home.”

“Cool, cool. I was just wondering because you left something behind at my apartment. I’ve been meaning to give it back, but I didn’t think it’d be right to just show up at your doorstep or something.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before,” you chide.

“I know, I know. I just figured it’d make sense to stop at my place, since it’s on the way.”

It gnaws at you – the voice in your head that tells you to leave him be, here and now. It will not do you any good, stepping back into walls once sacred to you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, and gages your reaction. Dark curls poke out from beneath the rim of his cap. You wonder if he still uses that cedarwood shampoo.

It would not do you any good to go with him. The prospect of sipping a glass of wine whilst soaking in a warm bath beckons you home. There is little trouble that you can muster with an idle night, for the night is still young and you have not given up. Though the moon has reached its peak, you cannot surrender. You have made your choice.

“Sure.”

But you never intended to make the right one.

You were sure to slip on a set of shoes before stepping outside. Through the hallway, down the elevator, across the lobby, and onto the street you wander with little more than the glow of streetlamps and passing headlights to guide your way through the dark. You find him in the alley between your apartment building and the next. The stink of a prison cell has imprinted itself onto his skin.

He slips a single nickel-plated key into your hand. “Your sister probably wouldn’t appreciate me having this,” he says.

“You can keep it. I’ll tell her you forgot it.” When he does not accept the return, you reach out and tuck the key into the pocket of his cargo pants. “Just so you have something to remember me by.”

The look in his eyes – the sheen of gloss that coats his irises – churns your stomach. In that moment, Mista reminds you of a dog scorned by his owner. In a way, that is exactly what he is. “You still have that sweater I sent you, right?”

Mustard-yellow, and one of your favorites. And one of Mista’s, too. You had sent it to him during his second week in holding. “Yeah.”

“Keep that, too.” A revolver rests in inside the waistband of his pants. It is a new addition to his appearance. It does not unsettle you, because you know that this man who killed three mobsters without hesitation would never hurt you. “Mista, I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” he sighs, kicking at a discarded soda can that had drifted from a nearby trashcan. “But it’s for the best.”

“It is.” The soda can rolls your way. You stop it with the sole of your foot; it crinkles beneath your weight. “Maybe one day, after you’re tired of working for that Bucciarati, we can pick up where we left off.”

“I’d like that.”

You smile. “Me too . . . Well, I should get going before my sister realizes I’m gone.” In your final moments together – before a pair of lovers once again becomes two separate beings – you embrace. Face buried into the crook of his neck, you speak: “You’re a good person, Mista. No matter what happened between you and those men or whatever does happen, you will always be good.”

He clutches you tighter.

“Don’t let them get to you. Don’t let this job get to you. And please, stai al sicuro, amore: stay safe.”

Back in your bedroom, you shed your clothes and don a mismatched set pajamas. Ever the optimist, you retire for the night with a heart not yet ready to be broken.

And an inescapable evocation of loneliness.

You are shocked to see the stack of hastily packed cardboard boxes. The words fragile or giunca are crudely scribbled with black marker across each one. All that remains is a worn couch with springs that poke into your skin and a square television, which sits on a box labeled libri e altra spazzatura – books and other trash.

The uniform pinholes in the barren walls are a reminder that imitators of your face, frozen in time, used to adorn the room.

“You’re moving?” you ask Mista as he tosses his hat aside and runs a hand through his hair.

He stops and looks to the boxes. “Yeah, actually,” he confirms. “The rent’s too damn high to afford on my own. I’m moving in with some coworkers.”

“You mean other gang members?” You do not miss the way he bites his lip in response. You regret your words as soon as they leave you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“N-no, it’s okay – you’re right anyways.” He trails off. “So that guy you were with. He your boyfriend or something?”

You struggle to recall your dance partner. “Oh, no,” you insist, caught between a scoff and a laugh. “I don’t even know his name.”

Something flashes behind his eyes. He hides the smile that creeps on his face behind the back of his hand, though he does not speak. Not another word is spoken.

It does not sit well with you, the silence that manifests in the still of the room. You are a trespasser – but so is he, for this realm no longer belongs to him, either. “Um, where’s this thing I left behind?” you finally ask; your voice echoes through the emptied space. It makes you shiver.

Mista disappears past the threshold of the bedroom that you once shared  – you wonder if he still uses the cream-colored sheets you bought for him as opposed to his preferred navy blue – and returns with a shirt: it is your mustard-yellow sweater. It is wrinkled and smells just like him and something new (gunpowder, perhaps). The dried drool marks tell you that he sleeps with it bundled in his arms. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you.

You do not move to take it. “I gave it to you,” you remind him. A crushed soda can is under your foot and again, you are back in the alley saying farewell to your love. “I want you to keep it.”

But there is no alleyway – only a vacant apartment suite. He does not wish to return it; in a hasty, split-second decision back at the nightclub, he wagered his ownership over what has become his most cherished possession. Just for the chance that you might say yes.

Just for the chance to spend one last night with you.

He rolls his wrist, extending his arm further. “No. It’s for the best.”

And so, you pluck it from his grasp and tuck it inside of your purse – the final harvest from the tree, to be seeded and planted elsewhere. “I’d better get going,” you tell him. “I wish you all the best. It was good seeing you again. Really good . . .”

The doorknob hovers under your palm. “Wait,” Mista suddenly calls. You stop. He rubs the back of his neck. “Would you like to stay for a bit?”

“I shouldn’t. It’s late.” Your tongue betrays your heart. It is treason within your very soul. “Besides, it’s probably for the best if I go.”

Your reverberation of his words makes him wince. More than anything, you want to drop your purse and climb into his arms – to feel his warmth again. You need to leave. Yet, you step away from the door and take a seat upon the flattened cushions of the couch. You still remember where to sit to avoid the broken springs. “Unless, I mean . . .  I guess if you really wouldn’t mind.”

Mista perks up. You mirror his grin. He takes the spot beside you, careful to leave a considerable amount of distance between your bodies. He reaches for the remote. The reception has not improved – it remains fuzzy, pixelated, and colorless.

“I’d offer a boardgame, but . . .” He gestures to the boxes; you get the hint. The channels flash by. “Any preferences?”

“I’m fine with a cooking show,” you tell him. “Or a movie.”

He settles for the latter. At some point, you leave Mista to fetch two drinks from the kitchen. The refrigerator is nearly empty, save for a few bottles of water. When you return with your beverages, you find that he has fallen asleep. You leave him be and watch the reminder of the movie with nothing more than his heavy breathing and the voices of the actors to keep you company.

You turn the television off once the end credits begin. Mista has not moved. If not for the heaving of his chest, he might have been a dead man. Without a clock on the wall, you cannot tell the time. Prediction is all you have – and so, you predict that it is just after midnight. Regardless, you have overstayed your welcome. It is time to leave.

Your fingers brush across his arm as you lean over his hunched form to rouse him from his slumber.  You would hate to leave without saying goodbye. “Mista . . . “ you coo; your speech slurs and it is only then that you realize your own exhaustion. “I’m gonna go home, ‘kay?”

He stirs beneath you. Eyes puffy from sleep, he ogles at your figure. You hover over him, your breath close enough to ghost his cheeks. His long, dark lashes twitch when you breathe too sharply – when he parts his legs for you to slide in between them so that he might capture your lips with his own. One hand to the base of your neck, the other to your waist: he pulls you flush to his body, caging you with arms that feel unfamiliar. More muscle, you suppose.

You press against his chest and detach. His grip loosens, although only enough for you to raise the back of your hand to puckered lips to wipe the saliva from your face. He has already lost you – once more and it will become a life sentence.

“Mista,” you warn, turning your head away to resist his second kiss. The twinges of early love bloom again in the core of your belly. You want him. But you cannot have him. “We can’t.”

Your lipstick stains his mouth. It makes him look undeniably pretty.

“One night,” he pleads – yet his hands leave your body. “I know what you said, about waiting until I’m finished with Passione. But that was easier said than done. I can’t leave them; not now, maybe not ever. They’re mia famiglia. And so are you.”

Your head falls limply. “You can’t have us both.”

“Why not?” He speaks your name when you hesitate to answer. A finger hooks beneath your chin, tipping your head so that you must meet his gaze. “Why not, cara?”

He demands a truth that you have never professed. Not to him, nor your sister – and never to yourself. “I’m scared, Mista,” you finally admit. Confession weighs you down in his grasp. “Because I know the day will come when you won’t come back. It’d be better if I’m not around for it.”

A faint smile, laced with sorrow, etches upon his face. “Do you have that little faith in me?” he asks.

Faith? It was never for the lack thereof. You trust Mista with every fiber of your being because he saved you. And it was not just you – he took the lives of three men to protect the virtue of a woman whom he had never met because she could have been you. She was almost you. That night, when he had heard that woman’s screams and saw the man crouched over her bruised form, Mista felt as though his body had projected itself back into the gymnasium of the school you once attended together. Only this time, he knew how to put up a fight. He acted in the way that the constraints of boyhood had once held him back from.

No, you do not place your mistrust on Mista – you place it in the souls of every man and woman that poses a threat to his safety. The fact that you do not know how to convey this to him mystifies you. Actions are far easier than words, and so you press your lips to his once more. You feed off his touch alone.  

You recline against the backing of the couch, hands pressed flat against the cushions. keening into Mista’s palms as he slides your skirt down – past your thighs, past your knees, and past your ankles. Your panties follow suit. His mouth presses against your slick folds; as touch starved as you have become, it takes little more than his kisses to stir your core. As if commanded by muscle memory, your legs coil around his shoulders and yank him closer the moment his tongue slips past your heat. He groans against you, low and gravely. It makes you gasp when his teeth graze over your hardened nub. When he brings his finger to join his tongue, you find that you are unable to stop your hips from rocking against his lips. A second finger coaxes you, and then a third – you come undone in his mouth, heaving for air.

You cry out his name in prayer. Mista pulls away, letting your legs fall back down. The spasm of your thighs turns your abdomen to jelly. You cannot move. You draw him in for another kiss, savoring the taste of your balm that coats his skin. He mutters his desires and you nod, eager to feel him fill you again. He hoists you into his arms and carries you to the bedroom.

It fills you with gratification to see that the rumpled sheets and folded pillows beneath you are in fact the color of sweet cream.

Soft snores leave Mista’s lips. He sleeps on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, and the other tucked beneath your head. Unlike your lover, you are wide-awake. You stare at the browning wallpaper of the bedroom wall, willing yourself to believe that the stagnant flowers are truly billowing against the wind in a field elsewhere.

You toss the duvet from your body and stand, careful not to wake him. The mattress breathes in the absence of your weight. In the darkness, you collect your discarded clothing and don your clubbing attire. You cast one final look to the sleeping dark-eyed boy before clicking the heavy door shut behind you.

A tiny voice cries out – a child from the next apartment suite perhaps, startled by nightmares no doubt. Though, as your ears strain and listen, it almost seems as though the child is calling your name. It is a ludicrous idea. Still, it unsettles you, for there is something familiar in its tone. You tighten your grasp on your purse, readjust your heels, and leave.

Regret is a sickening temptation – and you have ruined everything. 

| 4291 Words | Masterlist |

[thevoilinauttheory]

Five Senses - Kokhjin Qalli

[ thank you yet again @starforger​ for the tag and patience! 😄 this time’s for kokhjin! ]

[R U L E S ] Bold always. Italicize sometimes. Strikeout nope. Tag some friends to play along! & don’t forget to repost, instead of reblog!

[ S I G H T ]: ⁕ lilac tinted twilight ⁕ brackish waters ⁕ dew drops ⁕ coils of steam ⁕ sunflowers ⁕ shooting stars ⁕ crisp green apples ⁕ stacked bookshelves ⁕ dirty apron ⁕ pearls and sapphires ⁕ apricot sunsets ⁕ doe eyes ⁕ blood-stained bandages ⁕ silver clouds across a crescent moon ⁕ freshly fallen snow ⁕ spilled ink ⁕ brass buckles ⁕ scarlet ribbons ⁕ blush ⁕ sepia ⁕ emerald moss ⁕ budding roses ⁕ stormy violet skies ⁕

[ S O U N D ]: ⁕ haunting strings ⁕ birdcalls in the morning ⁕ clashing steel ⁕ low, dirty bass ⁕ squealing tyres ⁕ whistling kettle ⁕ whip crack ⁕ stilettos on slate ⁕ crackling logs ⁕ gospel singers ⁕ hushed whispers ⁕ hoof beats ⁕ rustling leaves ⁕ stillness & silence ⁕ soprano arias ⁕ burbling brooks ⁕ grandfather clock ⁕ twinkling wind chimes ⁕ rooster crowing at dawn ⁕ bubbling pots ⁕ stacking coins ⁕ rain on window panes ⁕ smokey jazz ⁕

[ T A S T E ]: ⁕ whipped cream ⁕ blood orange ⁕ merlot & chocolate ⁕ tobacco ⁕ mint & lime ⁕ warm milk with cinnamon ⁕ wasabi ⁕ rare steak ⁕ crusty bread ⁕ liquorice ⁕ pickled onions ⁕ fresh mozzarella ⁕ petit fours & tea cakes ⁕ cognac ⁕ bergamot tea ⁕ sparkling wine ⁕ olive tapenade ⁕ fresh peach cobbler ⁕ smoked paprika ⁕ clear spring water ⁕ sticky rice ⁕ roasted garlic ⁕ toffee apples ⁕

[ T O U C H ]: ⁕ tight leather ⁕ balmy summer breeze ⁕ old gold filigree ⁕ lacquered tabletops ⁕ delicate lace ⁕ crystal glass ⁕ rough canvas ⁕ sheer, diaphanous silk ⁕ high collar ⁕ suspenders & straps ⁕ bare feet on grass ⁕ warm wool blankets ⁕ candle wax ⁕ hot springs in winter ⁕ living wood ⁕ thick, dark satin ⁕ silver buttons ⁕ bone dice ⁕ dirt under fingernails ⁕ soft feathers ⁕ loose beads ⁕ worn pages ⁕ bruises & scars ⁕

[ S C E N T ]: ⁕ lavender ⁕ lemon zest ⁕ cigar smoke ⁕ heady sandalwood ⁕ faint musk ⁕ raspberries ⁕ fresh-picked herbs ⁕ vanillin ⁕ dragon’s blood or cinnabar ⁕ fresh coffee ⁕ sea salt & spray ⁕ fir trees ⁕ sulfur & flint ⁕ charcoal ⁕ jasmine ⁕ baked bread ⁕ petrichor ⁕ coconut butter ⁕ honey ⁕ baby powder ⁕ decaying leaves ⁕ patchouli ⁕ clean sheets ⁕

==

[ tfw you realize maybe a character wasn’t made for a certain meme lmao - there’s not much to him really in this one. ]

[casualcatte]

[RP Memery] The Five Senses: Gospel Lightfaith

[R U L E S ] Bold always. Italicize sometimes. Strikeout nope. Tag some friends to play along! & don’t forget to repost, instead of reblog! or if ur doing it with two OCs, just use Bold for one and Italics for the other (´-ω-)

[ S I G H T ]: ⁕ lilac tinted twilight ⁕ brackish waters ⁕ dew drops ⁕ coils of steam ⁕ sunflowers ⁕ shooting stars ⁕ crisp green apples ⁕ stacked bookshelves ⁕ dirty apron ⁕ pearls and sapphires ⁕ apricot sunsets ⁕ doe eyes ⁕ blood-stained bandages ⁕ silver clouds across a crescent moon ⁕ freshly fallen snow ⁕ spilled ink ⁕ brass buckles ⁕ scarlet ribbons ⁕ blush ⁕ sepia ⁕ emerald moss ⁕ budding roses ⁕ stormy violet skies ⁕

[ S O U N D ]: ⁕ haunting strings ⁕ birdcalls in the morning ⁕ clashing steel ⁕ low, dirty bass ⁕ squealing tyres ⁕ whistling kettle ⁕ whip crack ⁕ stilettos on slate ⁕ crackling logs ⁕ gospel singers ⁕ hushed whispers ⁕ hoof beats ⁕ rustling leaves ⁕ stillness & silence ⁕ soprano arias ⁕ burbling brooks ⁕ grandfather clock ⁕ twinkling wind chimes ⁕ rooster crowing at dawn ⁕ bubbling pots ⁕ stacking coins ⁕ rain on window panes ⁕ smokey jazz ⁕

[ T A S T E ]: ⁕ whipped cream ⁕ blood orange ⁕ merlot & chocolate ⁕ tobacco ⁕ mint & lime ⁕ warm milk with cinnamon ⁕ wasabi ⁕ rare steak ⁕ crusty bread ⁕ liquorice ⁕ pickled onions ⁕ fresh mozzarella ⁕ petit fours & tea cakes ⁕ cognac ⁕ bergamot tea ⁕ sparkling wine ⁕ olive tapenade ⁕ fresh peach cobbler ⁕ smoked paprika ⁕ clear spring water ⁕ sticky rice ⁕ roasted garlic ⁕ toffee apples ⁕

[ T O U C H ]: ⁕ tight leather ⁕ balmy summer breeze ⁕ old gold filigree ⁕ lacquered tabletops ⁕ delicate lace ⁕ crystal glass ⁕ rough canvas ⁕ sheer, diaphanous silk ⁕ high collar ⁕ suspenders & straps ⁕ bare feet on grass ⁕ warm wool blankets ⁕ candle wax ⁕ hot springs in winter ⁕ living wood ⁕ thick, dark satin ⁕ silver buttons ⁕ bone dice ⁕ dirt under fingernails ⁕ soft feathers ⁕ loose beads ⁕ worn pages ⁕ bruises & scars ⁕

[ S C E N T ]: ⁕ lavender ⁕ lemon zest ⁕ cigar smoke ⁕ heady sandalwood ⁕ faint musk ⁕ raspberries ⁕ fresh-picked herbs ⁕ vanillin ⁕ dragon’s blood or cinnabar ⁕ fresh coffee ⁕ sea salt & spray ⁕ fir trees ⁕ sulfur & flint ⁕ charcoal ⁕ jasmine ⁕ baked bread ⁕ petrichor ⁕ coconut butter ⁕ honey ⁕ baby powder ⁕ decaying leaves ⁕ patchouli ⁕ clean sheets ⁕ Tagged by: @steelharp :: Thanks for the tag, you two! Tagging: Oh, Tumblr was so late in notifying me that I even had this that I don’t even know who to tag.  So if you’re reading this and want to do the thing, please do and tag me in it so I can come see your responses!

[largemouthbassnation]

Catch Largemouth in 100ft of Water! Suspended Bass Fish Want to learn how to fish for suspended bass? Want to learn how to catch bass in a lake with blueback herring?

[ophiexb]

Defensive

Based off a prompt from @jatpficprompts from this Prompt Here.

“While the boys are alive, Luke is always the one to get sent to the principal’s office, in school. He’s not actually a bad kid, though. He just gets really angry when people are mean to Alex or Reggie and has gotten into more than a few fights with the bully. He even once broke a boy’s jaw (who ended up having to get it wired shut) for calling Alex some not so nice terms for being gay.”

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

Luke...probably had the worst record out of all of them, and by probably he did. Between his grades and his disciplinary record there was no way the other was going to graduate without some serious intervention that he did not want. Better grades meant cutting way more back on practices and music, it meant less time to write, and less time to work on the things that actually mattered. This place was equivalent to a prison in his mind.

“It’s not that serious.” Alex said shutting his locker once all his books were packed up. “Bobby, Reggie and I all manage to keep up our grades and balance the band-and yes before you say anything I know you write the songs but Luke. They're not going anywhere.” Alex hummed. “The music is going anywhere, we aren’t going anywhere. You’ve got to graduate next year man.” 

“None of that’s going to matter! No ones going to care about any kind of diploma if they're famous! My music speaks for itself.” Luke countered. “And our band speaks even more and we’re going places.” He gestured dramatically as they waited for their other two band members. “And we’d be even better if school wasn’t in the way.” 

“You might not have any interest; but at least let us graduate.” Alex protested leaning against the wall of lockers as the people spilled into the halls and moved around. He could see them coming down and smiled waving the duo over. “I’m serious Luke, I actually really care about my grades.” He huffed. 

“Man; Ms.Hart assigned another paper. At this rate my hands are going to fall off.” Reggie groaned holding his hands up dramatically. “My wrists can only take so much more it’s going to impact my bass.” He added pitifully and Alex rolled his eyes with a gentle laugh. 

“Come on enough enough the papers can wait its Friday!” Luke beamed Friday meant band practice, it meant no homework and no studying that could wait for Sunday. He was radiant, gesturing for Bobby and tossing his arm around the other to pull his close.

“Alright alright-“ Bobby groaned, moving Luke off of him almost instantly to get to his locker. “I already told my Mom you guys were staying over and she's going to pick us up.” He laughed, the four of them heading out together with the rest of the school. 

Monday found Luke back in the office, his arms crossed over his chest and staring at the window with a blank expression on his face. “Lucas.” The man said slowly fiddling with his file. “This is the third fight this month.”

“It’s Luke.” He countered, finally giving the man some attention. His lip was split on the other side but overall he didn’t have any outward damage. “So what am I supposed to do Sir.  I told you last week that these guys keep hassling Reggie when he’s coming out of gym. Pushing him around and taunting him. I’m supposed to stand there? Just watch them?” 

“Well of course not, but violence isn’t the answer. You could go and get a teacher-Mr.Dennis was right in the locker rooms with the other boys….Mr.Patterson we’ve talked about this last time as well.” Luke could only roll his eyes.

“With all due respect sir; Mr.Dennis is useless. He lets them do whatever they want! He knows they’ve been coming after Reggie and he just tells them to stop and turns his back. I’m not going to let some punks keep hurting my friend.” He countered his fingers curling against the arms of the chair. He wanted to say a whole lot more but he was in enough trouble as it was, and the main anger had left him after the fight.

“Well I don’t know about all that, but this is your third fight this month Lucas, and don’t make me count up this year. You're treading a thin line to getting kicked out. I don’t want to see a bright future like yours ruined for something so simple such as using your words, and getting another teacher to help.” Luke’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he turned to stare back out the window again. “Your mothers here to pick you up. You can return Wednesday.” He sighed, climbing up to grab his bag tossing it over his shoulder and walking right past her to the car.

It gave him more time to write songs anyway. What did he care? Though-now the nagging feeling in the pits of his stomach came the entire time he was home. Because that was the downside to fighting. He couldn’t protect his friends anymore from home. No one would be there to stand up for them. It sure made it hard to focus on his songs until Alex called him after school to update him on the day.

Luke got better at hiding it after that, his attacks were more subtle and more calculated. He couldn’t get suspended because then who would protect the guys? Who would make sure no one messed with his friends if he was out? So he got better. He got smart about how he defended the moment, and sought his revenge later. The rumors were more than enough that much of the bullying and teasing had come to a halt for fear of Luke’s wrath. They were smooth sailing and Luke hadn’t had to have that stupid make better choice meeting in weeks.

Of course it didn’t last long; it never did for him. Something always had to happen and so damn close to their winter break. They were almost there and someone had to go and start something. At first it wasn’t a big deal, nothing serious. Until he started hearing the whispers. His mind zeroed in on the words from the other students before he was quickly moving through the halls. Ignoring their looks until he found them, laid eyes on them and that they were okay. Well physically okay. Alex was curled up, his fingers curled in his blond hair almost painfully. Reggie whispering softly to him and gently trying to unpry his hands from hurting himself. Bobby sat quietly to the side just rubbing soft circles on the drummers back.

“How’d they find out?” He demanded his voice sharp and Alex flinched slightly, and his anger left in a swoop. It wasn’t at Alex. It wasn’t at them and they didn’t deserve this side of him. “Lex…” He said softer moving to kneel in front of the other. “We can just-We can deny it. No one has any proof…” 

“They do.” Bobby said softly looking down for a moment and Luke’s brows furrowed looking at him and back at Alex. “A picture. Half the class has seen it.” By the end of the day they all knew the whole school would know.

Alex's breathing hitched and Luke shook off the trail of thoughts, his fingers gentle with Bobby’s to rub over the others shoulder a little. “Come on…” He whispered. “Deep breath Lex. We’ve got you.” He soothed, and Reggie finally got his hands to let go of his hair, and Luke quickly caught them before they could fly anywhere else. Before he could hurt himself. Pressing the others palm hard against his chest as they coached him slowly down.

They’d already missed more than half the day by the time Alex calmed enough to talk. His head laying on Bobby’s shoulder and face red. He looked worn, exhausted. “It was Tyler. From Science.” He whispered. “We’ve been lab partners since the start of the semester and he-“ He hesitated but Luke already knew. 

“The guy you liked.” He supplied softly. “The one who...who you thought liked you to.” 

“He asked to meet up after school yesterday.” Alex whispered his hands fidgeting but Reggie caught them curling his hands around his. “I said yes, foolishly. I should've known better, we were in his room and he asked me if I liked him. And I said yes.” His voice cracked. “He had his stupid baseball buddies in the closet.” He whined. “Luke my parents are going to find out there are friends with Tyler’s parents.” He rambled edging on the hysterics again. “Everyone’s going to find out-“ Which...was not great. Sure no one wanted for Alex to have to pretend and fake day in and out. But...but it was just a fact. A fact of life right now that being gay was dangerous. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” Luke hissed almost growled standing up abruptly. 

“Luke.” Alex protested quickly, his watery blue eyes looking at the other. “He’s not worth it. The damage is done already-It’s...you get in another fight there going to expel you it’s not worth it.” He shifted trying to untangle himself from the guys, but Luke could see. See the absolute distress and misery on the other face and knew he wasn’t going to let it go. For now he would. Only for now.

They got Alex to the studio, figuring the day was wasted anyway they’d take the detentions for missing a day and deal with it all later. Right now the focus was their friend, and his comfort making sure he didn’t see anyone else and he could fully calm down before going home. To come out. Because this whole ordeal jump started any plans or ideas Alex had for telling his parents he was gay. It had to come from him. Not some rumor-which mean right now….

Luke was going to kill Tyler Moore.

It really didn’t take much to set him off all over again. Coming into school the next day to see Alex. Trying to keep his crumbling life together because of this one asshole. It’s not a prank, it’s not funny. In Luke’s mind all he can think is this asshole has put Alexs life in danger. They watch the news, they see the media. It’s not funny-it’s real life and he’s pissed. 

Apparently the anger rolling off him is not enough to deter the other teen from approaching them in the hall. They’d been gathered around Alex trying to get an idea of how his coming out went, how he was doing when he heard the others' voices. 

“Luke.” Alex was already protesting. 

Luke was already moving, his eyes set on that smug face. With his letterman jacket and his group of friends behind him acting like they were better than the world around them. Like they weren’t slowly destroying an entire person. Not a care in the world for laughs right? Not on Luke’s watch.

“What you got feelings-“ Tyler didn’t even finish his sentence Luke was punching him hard across the jaw. Hard enough he felt the crack, saw the blood and he wasn’t done jumping onto the other and hitting him again. His group wasn’t behind him anymore-people like that aren’t real friends. All of them fled the moment Luke was on him. It took two teachers to pry him off the other boy, and Luke was yanking his bag up off the floor, shoving their hands off him.

“I’m going I’m going.” He snapped his eyes moving over to his friends. The wonder and amazement on Alex's face, on Reggie and Bobby’s face. Despite their protest Luke knew they appreciated it. That they could never tell him for fear of encouraging him getting in trouble. But having someone defend you to the lengths Luke went? It was pretty special.

It’s also how he ended up expelled the day before winter break. The catalyst to his relationship with his Mom finally dissolving and crumbling away. But his focus was pinpointed. It was zeroed in on his band, and his friends. He didn’t need anything else.