#h​e was two sides of reality

[clearcutcasualty]

A random thought that might not make sense but I like the idea of keeping Satan as the manifestation of bad things in Kate’s life both as something literal (a toxic parent, the actual devil on her shoulder, and a dynamic that encourages the worst parts of her), and symbolic (depression, religious trauma, and unhealthy coping mechanisms)

Like yes, he represents her pain, but he’s also a very real figure in her life

[dollfacefantasy]

Since your request are open :) and I’m literally a slut for Wolverine can you feed us some sfw and some nsfw alphabet head canon for our dilf??? I’m literally screaming ( without an s) for himmmmmm😩

eeeeee yes!!! of course i can, thanks for the ask bb <3 i'm gonna split these into two so the post won't be too long i wrote these with X2 in mind cause he's my favorite, but imagine whichever version calls to you. mdni (18+) !!

logan howlett x fem!reader nsfw alphabet ♡

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Logan is good with aftercare. Like the man fucks you into oblivion but then he'll clean you up and grab you some water afterwards. He talks to you too. Tells you how good you did and how pretty you looked for him. He's touchy, not overly clingy, but he likes how you curl up to his side and rest your head on him. He'll hold you too and rub your back.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your pussy. Like he's obsessed. Stares at it before he eats you out, just running his thumb up and down your slit. Loves to toy with your clit and hear you whine. Always tells you how "she's" crying for him. "She" loves him so much, squeezes him so tight.

On himself, I think it'd be his abs. He knows he's hot shit. He can see how you look at them, and it strokes his ego so much. He has his shirt off a lot when it's just the two of you, and he acts so innocent about it. Loves to tease you when he catches you staring.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves cumming inside you. He can't explain why, but it's just this deep, innate satisfaction he gets when he fills you up. Also, on a separate note, he licks his fingers clean when he makes you cum all over them. Does not let a single drop go to waste.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He'll whine if you pull his hair. It'll be the most pathetic, needy sound you've ever heard in your entire life. It'll be utterly humiliating for him, but that just makes him fuck you harder so it's worth it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ok ok. Hear me out. Logan wants everyone to think he's a slut, but in reality, I don't think he is. I think he's had a decent amount of experience, but it's more so his dedication to the person he's with that makes him a good lover. He does what pleases you not just what he's found to work on others.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Basic, but his favorite is missionary. He wants to be able to have a clear view of your face while he's making you fall apart. He likes marking up your neck too which he can easily do in this position. That's not to say he won't mix it up and do other positions, but his favorite is always gonna be the classic.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Overall, he's serious. He loves to tease, but in the heat of the moment, it's only to make you whine or beg. Laughter is not the sound he's aiming for when he's balls deep in you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's got BUSH. A huge bush. Listen. This man has all that hair on his head. Hairy forearms, hairy chest, hairy abs. He has a massive bush down there too. And that's beautiful.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Depends. He can be pretty gentle and romantic if he chooses. He can also be cocky and just run on pure lust in the moment. Most of the time, it's the latter. He fucks with the intention of pleasure. But if you've had a hard day or he's feeling vulnerable himself, the sex is much more soft. Lots of kisses, his face buried in your neck, whispering how much he needs you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He limits his jerking off to the shower. He doesn't wanna deal with the mess, and if he's that horny, he'll just come find you. Though when he does jerk off, he can get into it. Grunting, groaning, mumbling your name. Cause of course, he's thinking of you while he does it. Thinking of how cute you looked when you bent over to pick up something you dropped. Recalling the soft purr in your voice when you said his name yesterday. Imagining how good it would feel if your cunt was wrapped around him instead of his fist.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He doesn't know it yet, but this man is into pet play. He's not gonna dive right in with the ears and tail. It starts small. He calls you 'pup' sometimes without thinking too much about it. He nearly cums in his pants watching you hump his thigh like you're in heat. He's super possessive so seeing you in a collar for him would drive him up the wall.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom cause he doesn't want anyone else walking in and interrupting. Even though he jerks off in the shower, he doesn't like to fuck in there. One time the two of you were getting down in there and he slipped and it sounded like a group of metal pipes falling. It was truly tragic. Totally humiliating. Never again. You're not even allowed to speak of the incident. From then on, he keeps your escapades solely between the walls of your bedroom, but it's not always on the bed. He'll bounce you on his lap while sitting in the chair you guys have in the corner, bend you over the dresser, or maybe press you against the window.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Logan's a natural tease, so if you try teasing him back, that really revs his engine. It's just so cute that you think you can outdo him. He'll just have to show you otherwise and fuck you till the only words you can speak are his name and "please more."

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Won't do anything with the claws. He has enough anxiety about waking up from a nightmare and impaling you by accident. Anything reminding him of that possibility has his dick soft in seconds.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Logan is a lover boy through and through, so that man would have no problem eating you out. He enjoys making you feel so good, and he loves having to hold you in place by your thighs cause you're squirming around so much. He also loves having his hair pulled, so do that and he'll grind himself against the mattress a few times.

As for receiving, Logan thinks it's so cute when you offer to blow him. He's never gonna say no. He loves watching you go to work on him, bobbing your head with such dedication and making yourself gag when you try to take too much.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

90% of the time he's fast, but that doesn't always mean rough; though he can do that too. You just feel so so good, it's hard for him to take his time. He can if he's in the mood or is tired and just wants something lazy. But usually he's bucking into without holding back.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He has no problem with quickies. If you're living at the mansion, you gotta seize the opportunity when it presents itself. As established, he's fast anyways. He will get you and himself there in a matter of minutes. Plus, it presents the bonus of knowing his cum is leaking out of you for the rest of the day.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you came to Logan with something you wanted to try in bed, he'd most likely be down. There isn't much that's going to be a hard no for him. Even if he's not super into it personally, he'd still be willing to play with it if it was something that got you going. Plus the fact that you asked at all shows you trust him which means a lot to him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

In his prime, he can last for a while and go multiple rounds. He's got that uncharted regenerative capability. He can get hard again pretty fast, and he will put that ability to use if you're feeling needy. He'll tease you about being insatiable even though he wants it just as much.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Does not own any toys. He doesn't feel the need. If you wanted to try using toys in the bedroom, he would, but he's never going to suggest that on his own. He prefers just pleasuring you without aid.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Logan is nothing if not a tease. Since the day you met him, he can't seem to go too long without trying to get a reaction out of you. And that extends to the bedroom. He loves edging you and then teasing you for how you whine. Gets you near tears by overstimulating you and then coos at you "What's wrong, sweetheart? Doesn't it feel good?"

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not loud, but he's vocal. He growls and grunts right next to your ear, letting you hear every little sound he makes. He talks you through it too. "Ohhh, look at that face, that's my baby. Feels so good, doesn't it? That's my girl."

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One of the hottest things Logan's seen is when he caught you having a dream about him. The way your moans were all soft and hazy with sleep and your thighs were pressing against each other as you squirmed. It got him all riled up knowing he was on your mind even when you were unconscious.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's got a big cock. It's a good length, and it's pretty thick. There's a pretty vein that goes up the shaft. His balls are heavy too. Nice and big to go with his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Yearner is Logan's middle name. He pined for you, and now that he has you, he's not gonna waste that. He's got a high sex drive and you guys are doing it most days of the week at least once.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He takes a while to fall asleep afterwards. He just likes to make sure you've settled. He'll watch you sleep for a little bit and be alone with his thoughts before finally conking out.

[mannequinreligi0n]

NSFW ALPHABET: DANTE

writing these is so funnnn. i lowkey want to make nsfw headcanons for their devil triggers, too, but we’ll see.

as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy !

yours, obscura

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dante is literally a lap dog. He’s the more needy one after sex - hands glued to your limbs, head buried in your skin. He’s a sensitive guy deep down, and he needs the reassurance that you’re not just gonna up and leave him after getting what you wanted. He’ll go as far to lay on top of you just to ensure you don’t leave the bed too soon.

He’ll of course make sure you’re okay after. He’s already got a drawer in his nightstand filled with snacks and water on hand to feed you, replenishing any nutrients he might’ve sucked out of your body. Big on post-sex cuddles and pillow-talk.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Dante loves his arms, but more specifically: he loves your face when he flexes his muscles or lifts a piece of furniture without breaking a sweat. He walks around the house and office shirtless just to show them off.

If we know Vergil to be an ass man, it’s only right that his twin is a tits guy. I mean, we’ve seen Dante ogle at those adult magazines - the man loves a good rack. But with Dante, all tits are in fact created equal. Any shape, size, color - doesn’t matter. He’s grabbing them, squishing them, shoving his face in them. I think he also has a thing for thighs. Let him lay between them and he’s in heaven. He’s even offered you a crumpled five dollar bill to squeeze the life out of him with them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This man is FILTHYYYY. You know Deepthroat by Cupcakke? Yeah, he’s blowin’ bubbles with sperm. No matter the gender, Dante is a fiend - begging to be covered in your release.

When Dante comes, it’s more of a dribble/gush, than a straight shoot of ropes. ‘The fountain of youth’, he calls it. Dante doesn’t care where it goes as long as you’re happy, though he’s partial to covering your chest in cum, watching it drip down only to lick it off himself.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Panty thief. ((God, I hate the word ‘panty’)). BUT IT’S TRUE. Your favorite pair will always go missing and sure enough, Dante has it either in a drawer at the office or stuffed into the inner pocket of his coat. It’s mostly for the reason you think, but he also keeps it for sentimental reasons. He’s a sentimental guy, after all. You two always squeeze in a good fuck before he leaves for a job, and he’s sure to swipe up the pair you wore that night as a reminder of you and what he’s fighting for, keeping it zipped up in the pocket by his heart.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dante ACTS like a Casanova, a real playboy, but in reality, he’s scared as hell of intimacy. He’s had a handful of one night stands and drunken hookups but they served more as distractions than actual points of experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl, sideways 69, leapfrog (variation of doggy)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Laughter is necessary in the bedroom for Dante. His job is awful, his life is literally hell - he needs the light moments with you to unwind and remind himself that there’s more to life than killing and being miserable.

This man thinks he’s a comedian. He’s telling you a damn knock-knock joke, expecting you to say ‘who’s there?’ while your mouth is wrapped around him. This being said, Dante is excellent at reading a room. If the situation calls for more serious or passionate love-making, he can switch off his playful side for a while.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

C’mon, we’ve all seen the man - he’s hairy. Soft silver hair starts at the stubble on his chin and goes allllll the way down to his damn ankles. Would probably be inclined to trim his nethers, if he was home more often or if you had a preference for it. Otherwise, it’s homegrown and all-American, babeeyyyy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Big ol’ teddy bear - kisses all over, sweet words murmured in your ear. Dante isn’t the most materialistic or showy lover, but he’ll make you feel like you’re the most prized diamond in the world. Takes his time with you, makes sure you’re comfortable and he’s doing everything right before he even thinks about getting off. Big on communication, wants you to talk him through it as he does to you. He’s not the most romantic man, but he’ll definitely do his best to keep you happy and loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dante will jack off if the wind hits him wrong. It’s an outlet for him. When he’s sad, angry, happy, whatever. He’s not all that good at expressing his emotions, so having a moment of release sort of helps him let go of whatever is on his mind.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding, humiliation, edging, impact play, pet play. Anything where Dante can let loose and let his guard down. All of these are reciprocal - he’s a true switch. Loves to have you bent over his knee, hand marking up your ass as punishment one moment, to flipping the tables and having you walk him around the house with a leash.

PRAISE KINK. Dante is a glutton for your words. He’ll sit and pout til you tell him he’s a good boy, or how pretty he is. There have been multiple occasions where he’s come just from praise alone, cock twitching in the air as you whisper compliments to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Really anywhere he can have you, doesn’t matter to him. He’s always busy, so he’s taking any chance he can get. The default is usually the leather couch in his office, since he’s there more than he is home.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dante loves a good sext. Send him a picture of you in an old band shirt of his or a message about how much you miss him, and he’s almost causing a five-car pile up on the freeway just to turn the car around as fast as physically possible.

Is also stereotypical in that if he comes home to you splayed out on the bed in a piece of lingerie, he’ll literally (and I mean, literally) tear his clothes off as he scrambles to you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sex for the sake of sex is borderline a no for him. If you two have been together for a while, it’s different, but if not, he’s not putting out. Not only does he have trust issues, Dante has a lot of insecurities and trauma. He’s not fucking someone just to watch them leave him - it hurts too much.

Dante’s a pretty easy-going man otherwise. If you’re happy, he’s happy.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I know I said Vergil is a munch, but man, so is Dante. But in a different way. Dante is a tease, and loves to get you riled up in the most mundane situations. He’ll be stationed between your legs while you watch a movie in the living room, lazily licking stripes just to keep you on edge, or squatted behind you as you try to cook dinner. He’s a nuisance, really, but there’s no use trying to shake him off. He’ll get whiny and huff around til you let him keep going.

Dante is more of a giver. He almost never asks for oral and usually dismisses it, unless you ask specifically. But if anything, it’s more for you than him, knowing how much you love to gulp down his seed.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Dante has a tendency to get a little too enthusiastic, unless he’s purposefully trying to play the long-game and tease you. He’ll try oh so hard to go slow for you, make it last, but he just gets too excited. He can’t fathom that someone is actually letting him fuck them, and damn, you look perfect underneath him. If he slows down at all, it’s only because he’s trying to have a sliver of self-control as to not come prematurely.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are the norm for you two, not that Dante minds. Again, he’s often shuffling a lot so it’s rare that he can set aside a whole lot of time for you two. Any opportunity with you is fair game.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I feel like it’s obvious that Dante is an adrenaline junkie. He loves the thrill of new things. He’ll go as far as his partner will take him, as long as it’s within reason and no one gets seriously hurt (or arrested).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Back to back to back to back. The devil blood in him works overtime when he’s in the mood. Even if you’re wiped after two rounds, he’s pulling you back down by your ankles, asking you in that bedroom voice you love so much to give him one more, to show him how good and sweet you can be.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Dante is a big fan of toys. He’s holding a vibrator to you while he does paperwork, or he’s shackled to the bedframe with a gag and cage around his tip. Probably wouldn’t be all that experienced with them initially, but once you two are comfortable, he’s happy to acquire a good collection.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The most annoying, frustrating man you will ever let into your bedroom. Dante loves to tease more than he might even love fucking you. He’ll spend hours saying suggestive things, grabbing your ass, toying with your clothes, only to walk away and act indifferent until you beg him to give in. It’s borderline evil.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dante never shuts the fuck up. Ever. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, who’s on top, where you are - he’s either talking or moaning. He’s an extremely vocal lover. The neighbors have already put in two noise complaints from how loudly Dante groans and swears when you two are together.

Constantly in your ear, mumbling nonsense and praise. Whiny, loud, and obnoxious - and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

There’s no section here for top/bottom, unfortunately, so I’ll put this here: loves to get fucked as much as he loves to do it himself. Whether you got the parts, or you gotta use a strap for it, the man is more than happy to have his head pressed into the pillows as you ram into him. He’s a sloppy, whiny, needy bottom, and I’ll die by that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As with Vergil, Dante is not a small man. Only an inch shorter than his twin, he carries a lot of height. I think it’s canon (?) that Dante is not as big as Vergil in the meat department. I’m banking on a hard 7, soft 5. Grower, for sure. What he lacks in length is made up for in girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s damn near incessant, even as he ages. Dante hasn’t honed in his devil side as much as Vergil, which means he has less control of his hormones. If he’s not too stressed, he’s constantly waiting for the next moment to get his hands on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Dante will literally pass out the second his head hits the pillow. He’ll stay awake for a bit to make sure you’re all good, but the second he lays down, it’s lights out. And he’s out for the entire night, snuggled into your side and snoring away til late morning.

[kanmom51]

Chapter 3 in the making

Traveling together to "film a show" was big (yes, this was to film a show, but we all know it was mainly to spend much needed time together, and if we didn't, let's be honest that we did, but if we didn't, then JK literally confirmed this for us in episode 1 of AYS). But back in 2023 when a public Jikook was a scarcity, left us with more question marks than anything else as to how this will actually be coming to fruition.

Enlisting together was HUGE. Like H U G E. Them being the only ones to do so not only within BTS but the first and only idols to do so. A choice made by the two of them. To do this together. With each other. Not with anyone else.

Are You Sure?! Do we need any words here? Like really? Because AYS was as loud as F$@&. No, seriously, idk what you want to call it, a soft launch, a smack in the noggin, whatever you do, it was quite clear to those who have eyes and a brain. With or without knowing who JM and JK are, their history, their culture. Louder to those who do know them.

Since their enlistment and even through Muse and AYS we got practically nothing from the two. Oh, we did have a couple of interesting pics from their basic training and graduation, a few pics from the unit, a shit ton of signatures, some more interesting than others (joint messages, pretty decorations...) and a few nice messages, but mostly silence from the two. This stood out even more so in comparison to the almost barrage we've been getting from NJ and Tae, both enlisted only a day before Jikook.

And then came December. With less than 6 months to go.

JK going live from his new place. Dare I say their new place? It's not like we haven't talked about this over the past 18 months. Speculating, wondering. But man (figure of speech y'all), these last couple of months, they are sure making me feel like what we saw as leaning to the delusional side or more so wishful thinking, ain't no delusion or wish, but more so a very possible reality to come.

But let's get back on track.

So, December gave us:

"We spend our free time together", "we sing together", "we sing while we shower daily together", not to mention JK's btw remark about seeking privacy away from others "to sing".

Then came JM in January with their "conversations before going bed" about "what kind of image we want to show" and "what kind of lives we will live moving forward".

And February rolls in and we think that we will be back to their silent treatment, but JK comes to us with a heartfelt message (they really feel the end and want out). But nothing prepared us for Hobi's birthday live and once again those two with their "we share a room" and "we have stories to tell, but not sure how much we actually can..." that won't scare us off, lol.

Funny how every single hysterical claim made by those who were hit so very hard by their joint enlistment has been shut down by the two of them by now!!

Anyway, do we see a pattern here? Can we call this a pattern? Is there more to come? Well, obviously there is post military service, but seeing as to how they have been in the past couple of months, I'm thinking that we will be getting more even before that.

I'm guessing that conclusion isn't a far fetched one, seeing what we got last night.

And OMG, that was another HUGE loud af Jikook statement.

Ribbon on right: "I love you 🖤"

Ribbon on left: "BTS Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook".

Yes, a statement.

I stand by that.

Because even if you don't think it's anymore than a cute thing, just another thing that Jikook do together, then you are not seeing the cultural context here.

So, several content producers/directors that were Hybe employees (directors of I am still, AYS and JM's production diary amongst others) have left the company to open their own company (Idk too much about the company they opened, but my guess is that they will continue working with Hybe as contractors rather than employees, but also allowing them to work with other companies and create their own content, including producing a new boy band). And they posted the congratulation they have received.

From Hobi.

Hoshi and Woonhoo of Seventeen.

Each sending a separate wreath.

Zico

And there are wreaths they received from more than one sender. Joint wreaths. But this was from companies (joint ceos), or business partners. Not two separate idols or people.

Now, if you don't see what's huge here, let me show you the K side of this to maybe get some perspective (although, let's be honest, you don't need to be on the K side to see this is a couple thing).

Yes, I wonder the same thing!!!

There is more.

So much more.

The K side of things is literally going mad. Good mad.

And there is a reason they are.

This is most definitley not something friends, as close as they might be, would do. Not friends, not multimillionaire friends. They most definitley can afford two wreaths. And that's one of the points here.

Once again.

This was a choice.

Not to send separate congratulative wreaths. They sure can afford to do so. Even if they aren't on vacation at the moment and are in the base. Seriously, two young men closing in on their 30s, independently financially sufficient and so much more.

Yeah, this most definitley was a statement.

And the frenzy K Jikookers are in at this very moment is well enough proof to that.

Btw, haven't been to the dark side, don't know just how crazy and rabid the cult and antiis are going, but my guess would be...

Anyways, sitting here smile plastered on my face, I'm kind of starting to think, that this is maybe, just maybe, going to become our new normal. Jikook doing couplie things, openly, proudly, unapologetically.

And if this is them even before they are discharged...

What a great time this is going to be.

[pure-vanilla-lilies]

Dark Cacao Cookie Smut Alphabets

A) Aftercare:

Dark Cacao Cookie gives out really great aftercare, from back massages to herbal baths to herbal teas. He wants to make sure that his partner is alright

B) Body Part:

Their favorite body part on himself is definitely his eyes and his favorite part on his partner is their eyes. He really does like his partner eyes for sure

C) Cum:

Dark Cacao Cookie cums about four cups of semen each round, he’s very pent up for sure. But his cum does taste like bitter chocolate for sure :)

D) Dirty Secret:

It’s nothing special but Dark Cacao Cookie enjoys a little bondage. For in the bedroom or for decoration. He wouldn’t mind if his partners tied him up

E) Experience:

Dark Cacao Cookie is pretty experienced in the bedroom, he maybe a cold hearted king. But he is definitely experienced

F) Favorite Position:

Dark Cacao Cookies favorite position is missionary, he’s really old fashioned but he loves staring into his partner eyes whenever he has sex for sure

G) Goofy:

Dark Cacao Cookie is very serious in the bedroom, for one reason he don’t want to hurt his partners for sure. He can be a softy too but that’s for later on :3

H) Hair:

Dark Cacao Cookie does groom daily maybe twice a week for sure.

I) Intimacy:

This is the side you’ll see for Dark Cacao Cookie, he maybe romantic in the bedroom but he’s a cold king in public.

J) Jack Off:

Dark Cacao Cookie don’t masterbate that much because he thinks it’s very messy. But in reality, he just makes a very messy mess.

K) Kink:

Dark Cacao Cookie isn’t very kinky, pretty much vanilla but he does have a few favorite kinks he has:

-Daddy Kink

-Biting Kink / Marking Kink

-Lingerie

L) Location:

Dark Cacao Cookie has two favorite places to have sex. One is in the bedroom & second is in the throne room (it happens when no one is there or around)

M) Motivation:

What turns Dark Cacao Cookie on, if his partner goes down on their knees and give him a blow job for working hard. It definitely turn him on for sure

N) No:

Dark Cacao Cookie won’t do anything that involves hurting his partners (anything like knife play to breath play) that’s just out of the question!

O) Oral:

Dark Cacao Cookie prefers giving than receiving, he wants his partners to feel good especially when there alone

P) Pace:

Slow and Steady is what Dark Cacao Cookie prefers, he not taking any chances on hurting his partners

Q) Quickie:

Dark Cacao Cookie is iffy on quickies, sure he likes them when he’s busy but all the time is eh

R) Risk:

Dark Cacao Cookie is up for experimenting but nothing that hurt his partners

S) Stamina:

Dark Cacao Cookie can go up to two rounds, sometimes three if he’s very pent up

T) Toys:

Dark Cacao Cookie don’t own toys, but if his partner does own some. He’ll definitely use them on them

U) Unfair:

Dark Cacao Cookie is a huge tease for sure but not to the point of his partner getting upset at him

V) Volume:

Dark Cacao Cookie isn’t very vocal, soft grunts could be could but that’s all you being hearing from him

W) Wild Card:

Not to mention but Dark Cacao Cookie enjoys seeing his partner is very revealing lingerie sets. Especially sets that barley cover anything up

X) X-Ray:

Dark Cacao Cookie is about 6.2 inches for sure, for sure your ain’t walking in the morning

Y) Yearing:

Dark Cacao Cookie sex drive is pretty low, but he does help if his partners are needy and need to let some steam off

Z) Zzz:

Dark Cacao Cookie does sleep after his partner is taken care of. He wants to make sure that there okay

[mattsenthusiast]

Matt Sturniolo NSFW abc

Warnings: smut obviously, and the rest is a surprise🤭 enjoy!!!

a- aftercare (how are they like after sex?)

(Dom!Matt) He definitely is the sweetest when it comes to asking whether you’re alright, even though I feel like he would be extremely sleepy afterwards. You’d both be cuddled into each other, his hands stroking your back, just enjoying your presence.

(Sub!Matt) He’s in complete sex bliss for the rest of the night and you are not getting him out of bed. When you’d want to get up to bring him some water, etc. he’d just pull you into him and not let you go. Extremely clingy and needs you by his side.

b- body part (what’s their favorite body part of yours? + favorite part of their own body?)

He’s a big boobs guy, come on, but to be honest, he loves everything that he can squeeze: your thighs, hips or even stomach. He just loves to feel the soft skin and watch it bounce.

(Dom!Matt) He loves his hands, mostly because you always tell him how attractive they are. They’re always looking nice, his nails painted and multiple rings resting around his long fingers. His favorite thing is putting two of his digits into your mouth and makes you suck on them.

(Sub!Matt) His eyes 100%. You always tell him how pretty he looks under you with those puppy eyes of his while you make a mess out of him. He loves when you force him to keep eye contact with you.

c- cum (anything to do with cum.)

(Dom!Matt) Matt the munch, what can I say. He would make you cum multiple times with his tongue until you’re begging him to stop. It’s always ,,one more time” but in reality, it leads to him spending at least another half an hour in between your thighs.

(Sub!Matt) After you overstimulate him with three orgasm in a row and his stomach is painted with loads of his cum, he loves when you dip your fingers into it and bring them to your or his mouth. Especially if you kiss him right after that.

d- dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

(Dom!Matt) He’s absolutely obsessed with your perfume and your scent just makes him super turned on. When you’re having sex, he’d be glued to your neck just to smell it. In public, he’d always have his head on your shoulder and his hand is either covering or rubbing his bulge.

(Sub!Matt) Loves having absolute no control over anything and just have you take care of him. You can tie him up and use one of your vibrators on his tip and he’d be the happiest man alive.

e- experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, he could have maximum one body, but I really think that he was a virgin. He knows what he’s doing though and even if he doesn’t then he’s a fast learner. This man reads smut literally argue with a wall his head is full of filthy ways to pleasure both of you.

f- favorite position (what is their favorite position?)

He loves to see your face when you two fuck, so missionary. His second favorite is cowgirl, because he can see your boobs bounce with each thrust.

g- goofy (are they serious during sex? etc.)

I don’t think he’s really goofy unless something goes not according to plan and you both laugh to make the mood lighter and for the other to not feel embarrassed.

h- hair (how well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s not fully shaved but definitely well trimmed, doesn’t really feel comfortable and ,,bare” if he got nothing there. When it comes to you, he couldn’t care less.

i- intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect?)

(Dom!Matt) This man would worship the shit out of you. Even if you’re having rough sex, he’d always make sure you know that he thinks you’re the most perfect thing in the world and would leave marks everywhere on your body.

(Sub!Matt) He loves when you go rough on him no matter if it’s scratching his back or overstimulation, count him the fuck up. He needs to be sure that he’s doing a good job, so you have to make sure to whisper prises every two sentences.

j- jack off (masturbation headcannon)

He doesn’t have a lot of time during the day, so he’d rather just have sex with you durning the night. But when you two are away from each other, he would either masturbate to your pictures or call you and have phone sex.

k- kink (what kink or kinks do they have?)

(Dom!Matt) I feel like he’d love to make pictures/ videos of you while you guys fuck. He came on your titts? He takes a picture. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head while you moan his name? He makes a video. Just anything to do with capturing the moment.

(Sub!Matt) Bondage and just having no control over anything that’s going on. You teasing him while he can do nothing but whine and beg for you to touch him, turns him on to an impossible level. He also swears that he could cum just from watching you tie his hands up with that beautiful red rope of yours.

Also a good roleplay will really do it for him.

l- location (where is their favorite place to do it?)

He needs to take his time and have all of the necessities next to him, so his or your bedroom. I feel like he’s just the most comfortable there. Doesn’t mind doing it in the car or other places once in a while but mostly likes to keep it in the bed.

m- motivations (what turns when on during sex?)

(Dom!Matt) Your moans. That’s all that needs to be said, this man is a sucker for your noises. The fact that he’s the only one making you feel like this is giving him satisfaction and encouragement to make you feel the best he can.

(Sub!Matt) Actually you humiliating him, making him cum in his pants, or calling him a needy slut really gets him going. He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up by you seeing him as desperate but, he just is.

n- no (what’s off limits when it comes to sex?)

There’s not much that he wouldn’t do, but I think he would rather not participate in a heavy breath play. The idea of you having your hand around his throat is still hot to him. He doesn’t mind performing it on you though, unless you have breathing difficulties (same bitch) then if you state it to him, he will only lightly decorate your neck with his hand and make sure that you’re okay.

o- oral (do they prefer receiving or giving, etc?)

He can eat pussy day and night, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Absolutely loves being buried in between your plushy thighs and just taste you. He also loves when you sit on his face. But definitely wouldn’t turn down a good blow job offer if you gave him one. I feel like he has an oral fixation, and just loves to suck your fingers, boobs, etc.

p- pace (are they fast and rough/soft and sensual?)

(Dom!Matt) If he knows that you don’t have a limited time, he goes slow but hard, hitting your deepest spots with each thrust. Unless he’s really desperate because you’ve been teasing him, then the first round will definitely be rough and fast.

(Sub!Matt) He’s a sucker for when you ride him at a fast peace. The image of him disappearing inside of you in such speed, just does it for him. Also because your titts bounce, but it’s already obvious.

q- quickies (what are their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a big fan of them, he needs to take his time and have the foreplay and aftercare. But if you insist on one, then he’ll take you to the nearest bathroom and still make you feel good (or sneak a hand in your underwear under the table ;))

r- risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

OH HE SO TAKES THE RISK. He’s not the type of man to turn down a challenge after all. He’s willing to try almost everything at least once. Even if either one of you doesn’t enjoy something that much, he’s still glad to have experienced that. You guys also really trust yourself, so if one of you is severely uncomfortable, you can always use a safe word.

s- stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

(Dom!Matt) I think it’s usually one or two, maximum three, but it’s rare. That’s because each round is long and sensual so there’s no need for you go for thirty rounds. If he takes breaks while thrusting into you, then I think he can last up to an hour. However, if there’s no breaks, then it’s not more than 20 minutes on a good day.

(Sub!Matt) SUCKER for when you overstimulate him. Loves when you make him count his orgasm, and his record is 8 in one night. He will beg you to stop, but deep down knows, that he needs more and not use the safe word.

t- toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

(Dom!Matt) He keeps some toys in his room for when you have sex in there, but only uses them on you. Not often though, because he likes to do the work himself but putting it to your clit, while he eats you out is not unusual. He also fucks you with a toy instead of his dick if you’re disobeying him.

(Sub!Matt) Owns at least one vibrator and loves when you put it to his tip. He also has a fleshligh, let’s face it😭 doesn’t use it often since you guys started dating though.

u- unfair (how much they like to tease?)

(Dom!Matt) When you guys are out on a dinner, he’s THE WORST, putting his hand up your skirt, adjusting himself so you can see the outline of his hard dick, and ,,accidentally” rubbing against you whenever you two are close. Loves to tease you.

(Sub!Matt) Constantly catches breaths in his throat when you brush your hand against his dick when you’re out. Makes you sit on his lap to hide the fact that he’s hard, but it only makes it worse, because feeling your ass rubbing on him usually ends in him making a mess in his underwear.

v- volume (how loud are they during sex? what sounds do they make etc.)

Oh he’s loud as fuck. Not scared to let his sounds get to your head and let you know how good he feels. He’s mostly a moaner and whimperer, especially while being submissive, but also whispers long trails of curses all the time.

w- wildcard (a random head cannon)

One time you dressed up in a cop uniform and pretended to arrest him. You bent him over the table and forced his hands behind his back to cuff them in your shackles. Turns out he has a uniform kink and was having the time of his life when you rode him with the tight blue shirt halfway unbuttoned and the metal around his wrists.

x- x-ray (what’s going on under their clothes?)

He’s big, and I mean BIG when I say that. He’s probably around 7-8 inches, with a good girth. There’s also a vein on the left side of his dick.

y- yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s not a horny horse that can’t keep it in his pants all the time. He often gets turned on when you’re next to him, even if you’re not exactly doing anything sexual, but if he has to, he can keep it to himself and just spend a sweet time with you.

z- zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

(Dom!Matt) He needs to make sure that you’re comfortable and taken care of first. But after the aftercare, when he lays down next to you and you two cuddle, he passes out in an instance.

(Sub!Matt) Basically sleeping right after you are done with him. When you ask him if he needs anything, he just mumbles something under his breath and sticks his arms out for you to come and hug him.

[willowswiththorns]

hello um could you do a sfw alphabet for tod waggner from final destination 1 ,hope I'm not being to much of a bother have a good day/night!

Hey! Sorry for the late reply, I’m more than happy to do this! I’ve never written for the character, so any feedback would be much appreciated! Also I apologize for any grammar issues, I did this half asleep. For some reason I started to write out the name Troy instead of Tod? Yeah no, I made sure to fix it. Hope you enjoy!! -Willow

Tod Waggner Sfw Alphabet

A = Affection (are they affectionate with you?)

Yes! Not full on making out in public like Carter, but he definitely would be down to hold your hand. His favorite thing to do is wrap his arm around you, letting his hand lay lazily at your shoulder as you both walk.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Todd definitely comes off as a best friend. In fact the first thing that really made him nervous was that whenever he was trying to court you, he just comes off as just being friendly. This poor guy can’t catch a break.

For y’all’s friendship to start, you would definitely have to be introduced to him. That or he’d see you, thought you were really attractive, and instantly try to get close to get to know you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

For Tod specifically, he seems like the type of guy to just be a big spoon. He likes to just slowly wrap his arms around you and cuddle for a bit.

Now he’ll never say no to being a little spoon. If you insist, he has not trouble laying his head on your chest and dozing off.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

This man is definitely down to come over to your place and cook dinner for you. He wants to try and make you happy.

When it comes to settling down, he’s still got commitment to school first. So the idea of him sweeping you off your feet right away is slim. He wants to at least finish all his classes before thinking of settling down.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Now breaking it off would be a hard thing for Tod to do. He’d have to work up himself to even try to break it off in person. But when he does, he’ll try to come off as if it doesn’t really hurt him making this decision. In reality when ever he’s done breaking up, he’ll probably cry at home when he’s alone.

Though the likely hood of him breaking it off is slim, he would be the type to try and make it work. That and if it’s following the storyline, he wouldn’t have a moment to break it off . If ykyk 💀

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As stated earlier, he’s a loyal partner to have. That being said however with school going on, he’d have a hard time trying to get to the point of marriage.

Now let’s just say in an AU where he survives the events, he’d want to marry you as soon as he graduated and landed a pretty decent job. Tod seems like the type to want to atleast be financially stable before moving forward in the relationship.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s super gentle with his partner. Tod wouldn’t be overly cautious or anything when it comes to holding you , but he would ask if he could kiss you or hold your hand.

He doesn’t want to screw up the potential relationship between you, so he’s gentle in an emotional manner too. The only time where he’s not trying to talk it out is if y’all are having an argument in the heat of the moment. But even after that argument, he would be quick to try and fix anything he said impulsively.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

This man gives side hugs to acquaintances and pat hugs to friends/family. This is definitely the vibe he gives off.

Now for you, he’ll do a mixture of the two at times unless you’re both alone. Then he gives you nice, long hugs while he just rests his head on your shoulder/top of the head ( depends on your height)

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

This poor man can’t figure out when the right time would be to drop those words. Especially when he’s chilling with George and Alex and opening up the worry, they accidentally scare him about how it can make the situation weird if he’s saying it too fast in the relationship.

Tod would have to think and plan the best time to drop those words, not wanting it to be too fast or too late in the relationship. He’ll figure out the perfect moment when the time is right.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s honestly not really the jealous type. The most he’ll do is roll his eyes if some guy/girl is trying to impress you. That or make a small snarky remark to remind the person that he’s right here listening to them poorly attempt to flirt with you.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kissing has always been something he’s been wanting to try with you. He kisses you on the third date before you start heading home. It was slow kiss, mostly due to him being awkward and giving you time to pull away if you don’t want it.

Now further on in the relationship, he’s prone to do little pecks on your cheeks and lips. Of course, he has his moments of doing another romantic kiss, but he likes to do the small pecks because half the time it’s when you’re passing down the halls.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s very awkward around children, they’re gross,loud, and sometimes tries to hand you a wet Cheeto with their sticky hands. Like where did this kid find a Cheeto? Yeah no, he’s not too fond of being near children. He doesn’t mind them, just prefers to not be near them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

In the mornings Tod has trouble actually getting up. He tends to skip breakfast so he’ll have more time to sleep in since he has trouble sleeping at night. If you sleep over at some point, he’ll actually get up the same time as you and join the family for breakfast ( much to his parents surprise ).

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Most nights are spent watching movies with him, George, and Alex. You’ve sort of been dragged into their little friend group since you’ve been hanging with Tod more often. All four of you eat pizza and talk about the movie being watched, or playing video games. Overall a fun night.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He isn’t much for revealing his feelings right away, fearing that you might think he’s weird. At most times, Tod tends to stray away from being too emotionally attached until he knows you reciprocate the same feelings. Usually this’ll take a few months until you finally get all of him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Tod’s rage is almost non existent. At most he’ll get frustrated and be easily snarky. Like if you and him are fighting, the chances of him getting in your face and screaming is zero. However you will get some snarky responses instead so be prepared.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Tod is the type of guy to just notice things you like and don’t like when you’re both out together. Telling him upfront is good too, but for the most part he likes learning things about you on his own. So that one time when you’re having a bad day and he pulls up with your favorite snack or drink, it’ll be worth it to see you smile. He wants you to know he pays attention in his own way.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment would have to be whenever you initiated a small make out session. To him this was confirmation that you wanted to kiss him. That you wanted to actually want him. It makes his cheeks turn pink just thinking about it.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’s the type to step in front if someone is getting too violent near you. If someone almost bumps into you during a scuffle, 9/10 he’s taking that bump before you. He doesn’t want you to get caught in any crossfire.

Now for Tod , he’d prefer to be defended verbally. He can take his own in a fight, but sometimes he can’t do the who verbal fighting. But if you defend him in an argument, he’ll respect you a lot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Now he’ll try and say he’s not putting in too much effort, but really he already had it thought out. He just wants to make you think that the gift itself was just a casual thing, but this man probably almost fought in a store just to get something he knew you’d like.

This also goes into anniversaries. Hell show his effort a bit more strongly, but still try to look a bit casual about all the planning . He wants you to think he’s the type of guy that just naturally is romantic, when really he’s been planning all this out for months.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

The poor boy has a tendency of biting his nails when he’s stressed. It’s gotten so bad that his nails are almost completely short all the time.

Tod also has a habit of being a bit dismissive whenever he’s anxious, he’s the type of guy to write something off in a way to try and not worry about it. If he thinks he has an answer, he’ll just stick to that conclusion.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Tod is very hygienic and clean himself up very nice, how ever he doesn’t give the type of guy to really worry too much about how he looks.

He just wants to make sure you like what you see. As long as you do, he’ll make sure that he takes care of himself.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Tod understands that you’d need your space time to time, but he’d preferred you come back soon. The idea of being away from you so long tends to scare him.

Post flight 180, he’s more antsy than ever. He tries to stay by your side just in case something happens. He says it’s to comfort you, but really it comforts him a lot. He can’t imagine a life without you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Definitely the kind of guy to make some thought out plan to hit on you. He’ll purposefully try to bump into you just to get the chance to talk to you.

When the boy falls hard for someone, he tends to try to not look them in the eye.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He’s not really into anyone that bashes his interests. If you crack a joke at something he likes, he’ll laugh with you. However if you try to make fun of him constantly over something he enjoys doing, he’ll probably feel uncomfortable around you.

If you’re mean to his brother George for no real reason, he’s more than happy to walk the other way. His brother means everything to him, so he doesn’t take someone talking about his brother lightly.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Tod doesn’t really sleep well most of the time. Usually he can get away with small naps here and there, but it’s rare he ever gets more than 6 hours in.

Sleep positions always range from sleeping on his left side with his arm resting underneath his head or lying on his stomach with his limbs stretched out a bit.

Cuddling with him should be very interesting to try. He gives off the vibes of hogging a few blankets when he finally does get to sleep.

[starlightwoofwoof]

soooooo. while i'm busy scheming and writing Percenchild, would you like to discuss her design :3 ?

i've got some more ideas, i'm mostly just on the fence about coloration

1. i think her outfit should be like an extension of her Junior Detective costume, like the wizard hat comes from the little cap and her suit jacket extends into the oversized cloak. this is why i think she should have the little jabot. this will be important to the story :)

2. she should have pointy teeth. for fun.

3. maybe her eight-ball die can be lit up vibrant blue and visible in her right eye? you said that her die is in her right eye (from Allureium's bluff in Mimicry), so it can be enlarged enough to show the number that's rolled.

side note: i actually learned that magic eight-ball dice are d20s, so this is actually a really funny coincidence that i went with a D&D inspiration for her powers (was planning on just making her d20 die stay the same, it's just FUNCTIONALLY a d10 by assigning the ten different powers to two numbers instead of just one number)

my main "issue" here is that i don't know if i should roll (haha) with the purple color scheme you used in the doodles or if i should keep her blue-toned like her Junior Detective look. just gonna leave that up to you since you're the god of this particular reality /silly

um. i have also renamed a handful of her spells so that they're all double words and alliterative: Blaze Blast, Comet Crash, Floaty Force, Frigid Freeze, Giga Growth, Lightning Laser, Magic Muscles, Rapid Rush, Shadow Shift, and Weed Whacker

most of the magicky spells stayed the same, except for Lightning Laser (formerly Stormstrike) and i gave funny names to the less spellcast-y ones (Floaty Force is telekinesis, Giga Growth is gigantism, Magic Muscles is super strength, Rapid Rush is super speed, and Shadow Shift is invisibility)

other than that i've not done much. i'm already plotting it out and will most likely begin work on it this weekend :D

i intend to match your pacing in the fics you have written, but it may be a little longer because there's some more story points i have in mind (mostly about a certain concerned father teehee)

ooo, I actually like the blue color palette idea!! ykw- I like all of these ideas actually- h e r e

also her wearing her junior detective outfit prior to her akumatization is actually really smart, I feel like it just makes sense, y’know

also I didn’t know whether to make the number in her eye a 20 or a 10, so yeah, we’ve got a 10 I guess-

AAAAAAA I’M SO EXCITED TO READ IT- but I shall be patient :3

[vekreng]

Hunter - SFW Alphabet

prompt: sfw alphabet featuring the reader dating Hunter from The Bad Batch :] list by @.the-coldest-goodbye here! pairing: Hunter x Reader Words: 2k requested: no

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Hugs and kisses. It sounds simple but then, he can be a simple man. He especially loves to hold you from behind and press his face to your head, or brush his lips down your shoulder.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Oh, he’s a parent friend, all the way. He’s got the most common sense between you two and may stare at you frustratedly if you ask for his advice and then immediately go and ignore it. He doesn’t like seeing you put yourself in danger for him, but naturally that rule doesn’t apply to himself when it comes to you. You’d become friends after being paired up on several missions together; it’s hard for him to let others come close after years of bullying, but for you, he’s willing to risk it.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling is his favorite activity by far. Being pressed against you lets him drown out the noise of his nightmares and ground himself in the present. With you, he’s loved, he’s safe, he’s cared for. It’s a feeling he’ll always cherish and be grateful for when you two get a chance to cuddle.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

At first he doesn’t; he’s a soldier, through and through. The destruction of the Republic forces him to confront his new reality however, and through the months, he grows weary and longs for a life of his own without the threat of further pain and misery. Pabu showed him what life could be, and he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since. He’s fine enough at cleaning and absolutely terrible at cooking, but he’s willing to put in the effort for you.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d take them to a secluded spot away from prying eyes and be gentle but honest. No matter the reason for the breakup, he would always hold a soft spot in his heart for the time you spent together. Things may get awkward on missions, but he’d do his best to be impartial in his decisions.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

At first he’s scared; every day he chances death, why would anyone want to tie themselves to that? It isn’t until you remind him that tomorrow is promised to none that he changes his mind on the matter. He’ll even get Tech or Echo to help him figure out your ring size so he can start shopping around shortly after your conversation.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Very, in both ways. Omega dulled his harsh edges and helped him learn how to be more emotionally intelligent and available, traits he quickly comes to realize are valuable in a life partner. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Any physical contact is a win in his book. He’s constantly pulling you into his side with an arm around your lower back, or resting with it across your shoulders, or putting his chin on your head. Hunter tries his hardest to memorize all the little moments where you instigated a hug. His hugs are tight and unyielding, but not in an overbearing way. You feel perfectly protected from anything and everything when he holds you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Not until after a mission where you almost died. You ran upstairs in pursuit of a target, only to get shot in your armor and knocked down by a couple of assailants hiding in the room. The target got away, but not before setting the building on fire with you trapped inside. Hunter was able to get you out, but only just barely in time, and you had to spend weeks recovering at a Republic base from the physical and mental trauma. That experience made something finally click in his head, and those three words were the first thing you heard when you woke up.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He doesn’t really get jealous easily; he feels very secure in your guys’ relationship. He’ll absolutely be overbearingly protective at times, especially in unfamiliar cities or bars, but he trusts you to be faithful just as he will.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His lips are always a little rough and chapped, no matter how many times you slip lip balm into his pockets or put it on your own mouth in hopes of transferring the product. There are small grooves and indents from the countless times an explosion has sent him skidding across the ground, and eventually you’ve memorized the placement and details of each one. He loves kissing your eyes, the space between your brows, your nose, the corner of your mouth. And god, he loves when you kiss the edge of his jaw, the buried mark of his inhibitor chip, the pulsepoint of his neck, his chest.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

We’ve all seen The Bad Batch. He loves children, and it grows each day he has Omega. Though between you and him, if you’re happy with a few extra underfoot, he is more than willing to oblige. He’s happy living without though, if that isn’t in your cards for whatever reason.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Lazy when he doesn’t have work. He takes his time watching you wake up, sometimes opting for a peck or a tickle if you’re taking too long for him. He’ll make you some coffee and the two of you can sit and read together in bed.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He’s usually pretty exhausted by the time night rolls around, but he always gets a second wind when he sees you. He loves being able to steal quiet moments away with you, and he’s not terribly picky about how you two spend them, though he certainly has a few ideas on what could be done.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You take a shot for him in the heat of battle. That was the moment that he could recognize being the reason behind his guarded nature dropping around you, the moment you showed him with action rather than words that you were serious about seeing him as an equal and being there to cover his back. You two have shared many hushed conversations late at night in a cockpit while traveling through hyperspace.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Depends. With you? Very rarely. He trusts you wholly, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get upset if you do something stupid and put yourself at risk. When it comes to others outside of his squad? Pretty quickly. He doesn’t have a lot of tolerance for “regs” beyond the ones he’s worked with such as Rex and Cody, and that distaste usually extends out to other species who come off as hostile or abrasive from the start.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Hunter knows that every battle, every trip, may very well be his last, so he works hard to commit every part of you to memory. Your smile, the way you smell, how your eyes light up at seeing your favorite meal after waking up. He’s a bit obsessed with it actually, to the point where he panics if he realizes he forgot some small detail. He’s started writing them down now to prevent it from happening again.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Your first kiss. Cheesy, sure, but everything about the moment felt so right in a way that nothing else before ever had. His sharpened senses were focused solely on you, to the point where he didn’t hear the whooping of Wrecker in the background or the begrudging exchange of credits between Crosshair and Echo. For that moment, nothing in the world existed except the two of you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Does it even need to be asked? He watches over you like a hawk. Sometimes you have to fight to get out from under him when he rolls on top of you in his sleep. You’re well trained for sure, but somehow that just isn’t enough for him. He trusts you to cover him and be a strong partner in all walks of life, though, so at least you have that going for you. He knows that you’ll keep watch when he needs to focus on something and can hold your own when he’s down.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Nothing much at first, maybe a small gift that can fit in your palm or an extra kiss for a special date on the calendar. It isn’t until Suu and Cut politely inform him that this won’t be enough for long that he realizes he should do more, and that he actually wants to do more. Hunter spirals rapidly down the affection-showing-hole, ensuring that each gift and date is better than the last.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He can dog on during missions and get tunnel-visioned on his objective despite his body burning to rest and recover. He practically has to be wrestled down each time, and now the whole squad keeps a closer eye on him after that one time where he tried to run with a broken kneecap. His stubbornness triumphs the overwhelming pain each time.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not terribly. He is quite fond of his hair though, which he will never admit to anyone but you has been styled after a character in an action movie he saw once. The bald spot where his inhibitor chip was removed was extremely embarrassing for him, opting to keep the bandana on at all times when anyone was around. It took a lot of convincing and waiting for some hair to grow back for him to be comfortable letting you see him like that.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

One hundred percent. He’s hollowed out without you, an aching void yearning for your touch and warmth. If he could, he’d stay in bed all day mourning your loss.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He has a very serious and strict hair care routine that he does his best to stick to even when out in the wilderness. How else do you think his hair stays so shiny and strong?

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Someone who doesn’t see the value in teammates and believes themself to be a “lone wolf” of sorts. Everyone on his squad has skills spanning multiple subjects, yes, but they also have something they specialize in. No one person can do it all alone, and someone so cocky as to claim that they’re the one who can isn’t very appealing to him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He complains about how dry his mouth can be in the mornings and how Wrecker’s snoring occasionally wakes him up. You don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s hearing his own snoring and should probably invest in a CPAP machine or something similar.

[villainsoftheweek]

B A L D U R ' S G A T E I I I

the best thing.

after everything the two of you have been through, you're eager to give Gale one perfect, blissful day.

soothe this soul.

Gale offers you peace in a moment of darkness.

abandon all hope.

you had become Raphael's absolute favorite - his most precious client and prized treasure. it's become increasingly difficult not to admit that you're truly his forever...and he's ready to hear it.

until the stars leave.

when the celebrations are through a harsh realization sets in - with your companions returning home or answering to their new purpose and the city in ruin, you are alone with no where to go. as you wander in the night, your mind recalls a certain sentiment that was extended by Rolan.

C A L L O F D U T Y

the edge of paradise.

even in the middle of the night and at the expense of sleep, Simon is always willing to give you another round.

hide and seek.

during a training exercise, the lines between hunter and hunted become blurred, and the feelings that have been buried inside Simon claw their way to the surface.

E N O L A H O L M E S

dance in the winter.

though he tried to restrain himself, it was useless – when Sherlock avoided you, circumstance always brought you crashing back into him. as he climbed the stairs to 221B Baker Street, he supposed this was one of those times as well.

F A L L O U T

stormy weather.

you and the Ghoul have tried to kill each other, forget each other, outrun each other — and failed every time.

G L A S S O N I O N

open.

the Efficient Man's favorite thing about you is your willingness to follow instructions.

H A Z B I N H O T E L

harmony in hell.

Alastor will craft his perfect co-star in the songbird he has trapped in his cage.

make a heaven of hell.

in a forsaken hellscape, a shattered Adam finds unexpected salvation — and desire — in the tender care of a relentless demon who refuses to let him fall alone.

the devil can't have you.

masterlist.

you laughed at the Morningstar’s joke — and Alastor made sure you screamed his name loud enough for all of Hell to hear.

H O U S E O F T H E D R A G O N

shining armor.

Criston Cole is faced with the reality of a life falling for a lone wolf.

prūmia hen zaldrīzes.

when he is forced to watch his twin flame marry his brother, Aemond finds a solution for coping other than burning it all to the ground.

M A R V E L

phases.

Jack's phases mirror the moon.

obedient.

Jack will always find his way home to you out of loyalty. it's his obedience that leaves you both fulfilled.

just a little bite.

there's something Jack has wanted, and you convince him to finally give in.

buffet.

the only kind of sharing Eddie Brock will agree to.

look upon me.

of the things he’d lost that day, there was one in particular that weighed on Jonathan's mind like a bad conscience.

M I D N I G H T M A S S

sanctification.

"Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart."

R E D D E A D R E D E M P T I O N

hibernate.

it was like fate insisted on you colliding with Arthur Morgan.

so this is goodbye.

Arthur Morgan's most important goodbye - the one he gives to you.

S O N S O F A N A R C H Y

good enough to eat.

when Jax is starving, there's no waiting.

S T A R W A R S

the power of the dark side.

Anakin promised that he would always find you, but you would never run from the dark.

hush awhile.

despite knowing it's just part of your job as a spy, a possessive streak flares in Anakin when he watches you in action.

promise not to tell.

Anakin needs to occupy his mind with something other than unrelenting nightmares. it's hard for you to tell him no.

illuminated.

no matter how many sunrises Ben Solo gets with you, each one is cherished more than the last.

then I look at you.

it's easier to chase away the nightmares in Obi-Wan's mind when the sunrise is spent with you.

to the stars.

Cassian will think of you every time he looks to the stars.

no disintegrations.

a gilded girl plays with fire, and the Mandalorian burns through every vow to touch her.

S U C K E R P U N C H

stay still.

Blue needs to learn a little patience while you help him get ready.

S U P E R M A N (2025)

exclusive access.

every question you ask, he twists into something sharper – until you’re no longer sure if you’re interviewing him or falling into his hands.

T H E B A T M A N

serenity.

Bruce concedes to a morning well spent with you at his side.

T H E B O Y S

no place like home.

Homelander doesn't just want to be loved by everyone, he needs to be loved by everyone...but most of all, he needs to be loved by you.

T H E S A N D M A N

reverie.

what you'd intended to be a lesson taught to him Dream of the Endless turns to a lesson for you.

T H E W A L K I N G D E A D

batter up.

it should have been obvious that batting lessons with Negan would end up like this.

T O P G U N : M A V E R I C K

bad habits.

you go back to Jake like a bad habit.

ring my bell.

it's not hard for Jake to discover new things that you like. it's even easier for him to exploit them.

T R I P L E F R O N T I E R

keeping count.

when William returns home far later than he was supposed to, it becomes his new mission to show you how worried he was he'd never see you again.

bending to the honeysuckles.

while you insist you don't want a relationship, Will Miller falls for you like it's his destiny to do so. he's willing to meet you where you are while he waits for you to let him love you.

T R I G U N : S T A M P E D E

shine for you.

there, under the stars, you and Vash found the courage to be honest.

[howdyjourney]

down bad 🥀 | chapter 2

who: dark!Billy the Kid x Original Female Character

rating: E

genre: western gothic longfic (dark!AU)

word count: 9, 507

preacher’s daughter | kidnapped by William H. Bonney | meant to be handed over to Jesse Evans like a prize | but billy touches her once | then again | then he won’t give her back

previous chapter | next chapter

Please Read Before Proceeding

This story contains dark and potentially disturbing content, including but not limited to: non-consensual sexual acts (rape), violent sex, kidnapping, emotional and physical abuse, coercion, and various explicit kinks. It is firmly in the realm of fictional, dead dove: do not eat storytelling.

If any of these themes are triggering, upsetting, or not something you wish to engage with, please take care of yourself and do not cotinue reading. Your well-being matters more than any piece of fiction.

This work does not romanticize or condone abusive behavior in real life. It is an exploration of dark themes through a fictional lens, created for adult audiences who understand the difference between fantasy and reality. If you're here for the ride, you know what that means.

Consume media responsibly. Check in with yourself, know your limits, and remember that fiction can safely explore what real life must never allow.

You have been warned. | Read at your own discretion.

this chapter: blood (kink, play, all in between) • non-con kissing • biting • dry humping • physical abuse • restraint • hurt/no comfort • grinding • power imbalance • humiliation kink

The room had the look of a place left too long in heat and silence. Walls once papered in yellow roses had faded to the color of spoiled butter, the pattern curled at the corners and peeling in long strips like dead bark. The wood beneath it sweated pitch in the worst of the summer months and stank faintly of rot, no matter how often the windows were opened. The floorboards underfoot were warped, bowed in the middle where years of boots had passed over them, each step wearing the grain smoother than the last.

Light slanted in from the open doorway, hard and unflinching. It cut a straight path across the room, illuminating the dust that hung in the air like ash after a fire. Through the crooked window, the dry yard buzzed with flies, the fence posts leaning inward. The wind blew hot through the screen door, and every few minutes it banged back against the frame with a sharp clap, as if demanding attention it hadn’t earned.

The girl sat just to the left of that doorframe, her back was pressed to a support beam that split the room in two. Her wrists were tied behind her, bound to the beam with a length of coarse rope that had been knotted fast but without urgency—defeated. There was enough slack for her to shift, but not enough to run. One ankle—her right—was mottled with bruise, purple and yellow bleeding together beneath the skin, the result of her last failed attempt to kick free and bolt. The rope had caught her before the door did. Or Jesse.

Her dress hung crooked on her frame, dried in places where sweat and blood had stiffened the fabric. The neckline sagged unevenly, a torn strap barely holding to one shoulder. Straw clung to her hem and thighs, some caught in the weave, some ground into the skin. Her hair was a mat of dried salt and blood, twisted into snarls by fingers not her own, the weight of it dragging down her neck and sticking to the sides of her face. A streak of filth ran from her temple to her jaw, the shape of it smeared like a thumbprint wiped across a page.

She promised herself not to speak or look at either man yet, but her eyes were open and alert, watching the dust float through the light with the flat, fixed focus of a horse that had been worked near to death but still felt the pull of the bit.

The room creaked faintly underfoot, not from her, but from the slow pacing of boots nearby. Heavy tread.

Too measured. One of them—probably Jesse—walking the boards like he was tracing the outline of a fire he meant to start. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was constant, and it filled the space between the door slamming and the flies buzzing and the slow breath she forced through her nose. She didn’t want to admit how much it terrified her, how each of his steps reminded her of the torment from the night before; the unwanted love bites down her collarbone, the whiskey-tainted breath in her throat, the sinful prodding at her tender parts, and the pain—sandpaper-like, scratching, tearing, bleeding, filled. Final.

The tension in the room was like dry timber stacked beneath a hanging lantern. Everything waiting and painfully ready. All it needed now was a word, a spark or simply morning glory. That was what happened to men naturally, wasn’t it?

Jesse’s boots moved slow across the boards, back and forth like he was dragging a rut through the room on purpose. The sound of his pacing had gone from idle to deliberate, each step louder than the last, a rhythm building toward no tune at all. His shirt hung loose around his shoulders, soaked through at the collar with last night’s sweat. His hair was matted at the crown from where he’d slept on it wrong, and he kept scratching the back of his neck like there was a splinter stuck under his skin he couldn’t dig out.

There was a bottle in his hand, glass gone warm from being held too long. He swirled what little was left inside, sniffed it like he might get lucky and find more than a swallow, then drained it in one long, loud gulp. After that he stared at the bottle for a second—maybe deciding whether it was worth keeping—then flung it sidearm across the room.

It shattered against the far wall, sharp and sudden, glass bouncing off the wood like teeth from a split jaw. The girl didn’t startle, and Billy—standing by the window—didn’t move. The only thing that jumped was the screen door, slapping once in protest against the wind.

Jesse wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and kept pacing. His words came muttered and mean, tossed into the air without shape, meant more to fill the space than to make sense.

“Real quiet now, ain’t she?”

“Got a mouth like a preacher’s whore and less to show for it.”

“Should’ve cut that tongue out first thing. Don’t need it to take what matters.”

He circled behind her, not quite close, not quite far, and leaned in like he was smelling her just to remind her he could. His breath was sour with liquor and sweat, and when he laughed, it came out like a cough choked off too late.

She reminded herself to remain motionless, waiting for the worst to come. Would they take turns bedding her now? Would the quiet one be meaner? Softer? Harder? Was there any point in wondering whether or not she’d survive the torture? She’d been ruined already; for any man willing to touch her, marry her, couple with her in the future—provided she still had any. She fought back the tears gathering under her eyelids—stupid, useless drops—and let out a short, dry breath that might’ve been mistaken for a laugh if it weren’t so empty.

When she spoke, her voice was ragged but strong, pitched just loud enough to carry.

“Only thing you ever finish quick is a bottle.”

It landed clean and made Jesse freeze mid-step. The air around him stopped moving. Even the wind outside seemed to hold still for a beat, like the world was waiting to see what he’d do with it.

She kept her chin lifted, not high, but steady. Her wrists twitched against the rope behind her like they wanted to swing. Her mouth curled just a little, not in a smile, but colder. Victory, maybe. Maybe suicide. The line between the two was wearing thin.

She turned her head slow, the bones in her neck tight from strain, and soon her spit landed between Jesse’s boots with a thick, wet smack. It spread in the dust like oil, darkening the floor where it soaked. Her chin lifted after, sharp and proud, jaw clenched to keep it steady, eyes hot with fury and fixed on his face like the barrel of a cocked gun. It wasn’t a scream or a plea, or even a sign of rebellion. It was invitation, she figured—the sooner the better.

Jesse looked down at the spit—just for a second—and when he looked up again, his face was already twisted. His mouth pulled back in a grimace that showed his teeth, canines yellow from tobacco, the set of his jaw all wrong. Rage didn’t rise in him like in most men. It erupted, sudden and graceless, no warning, no grace to it. His boots hammered the floor as he turned, the sound of his heel catching on a loose board ringing louder than it should’ve.

He closed the distance in two strides, and the back of his hand lifted as he came—shoulder cocked, fingers splayed wide, the weight of the blow already built in his spine. His eyes burned down at her, wild and glassy, like a dog that’d been chained too long and didn’t care who bled first.

“Say that again,” he snarled, voice ragged with drink and spit, “and I’ll split your fuckin’ nose open for real.”

His chest heaved heavily, but his arm didn’t drop. The heat in the room surged around him, thick and pressing, the kind that made sweat form at the back of the knees. Light from the open door cut across the floor and hit the girl’s shoulder, painting it in gold while the rest of her stayed in shadow.

Her breath caught—but only once. Her wrists stayed where they were, tied behind her, but her body leaned forward, just a fraction, like she wanted him to hit her. Not because she thought she’d win, or even because she thought she deserved it. She simply needed to know he’d do it. She needed to see how far he’d go when he stopped pretending to be a man and started acting like what he really was. A part of her wanted him to kill her already, do her in, rid of her and put her out of her misery. She didn’t find him merciful, but prone to anger just the right amount to be able to use it on her shamelessly, furiously, and succeed.

Her mouth bled again where her lip had cracked, and she smiled without showing her teeth. A hard, cruel thing.

“Don’t.”

The word landed low, flat, and iron-heavy in the space between them. It wasn’t shouted, but cut clean through the heat and dust and Jesse’s boiling breath, the way a knife might move through fat—slow, with weight behind it.

Jesse froze mid-swing, arm still raised, hand poised in that ugly shape made for breaking mouths and knocking out teeth. His knuckles twitched, his jaw worked side to side like he was trying to chew the word and spit it out again.

Billy stood closer now, half in shadow, one hand hooked on the corner of his belt like he’d been watching a while and finally decided to speak. His other hand rested near his side, fingers curled near the leather of his holster—not on it, not near enough to threaten, but there all the same. His stance was loose, almost idle, like a man waiting his turn at cards. But the stillness in him was sharp, and it bled into the room. Light from the doorway outlined the edge of his shoulder and jaw, catching on the stubble along his throat, the blood-crusted scratch just beneath his eye, left from yesterday’s handling. His eyes weren’t wide or even angry. They remained locked steady on Jesse like he was staring down a dog with a bone it didn’t have the right to chew.

Jesse turned toward him fully now, chest heaving, red-faced, his fist still half-cocked. There was no respect in his voice when he spit out, “She ain’t yours.”

That did it. It was the way Jesse uttered those words—like he meant to shame, like he meant to stake his own claim in the dirt, that made the room shrink just a little. His boots thudded loud against the warped floorboards as he squared off. His breath came through his nose in short bursts, eyes bloodshot and gleaming. His lip curled in a sneer that didn’t quite reach confidence. Billy had that effect on people, even the dangerous, deranged kind, and Jesse qualified as both.

“Ain’t yours neither.”

The words didn’t thunder, but they filled every damn inch of the room. Quiet as they came, they weighed more than Jesse’s bottle had when it shattered against the wall. They hung in the air like the threat of rain that never quite falls—dense and still and close.

Neither man moved.

The girl stayed silent, breath caught low in her chest. Her eyes darted between them, watching out of calculation. One of them would break first and she didn’t know which one she’d love to see bleed out on the floor more.

Jesse’s jaw jumped. He looked from Billy to the girl, then back again. His boots shifted once on the floor—half a step forward, half a warning. He opened his mouth like he might answer, but nothing came out but breath.

Billy didn’t blink for too long, it seemed.

That silence stretched longer than it had a right to. And when Jesse finally backed off, it wasn’t because he wanted to, but because he understood the cost of finding out what would happen if he didn’t. Billy might’ve been the quiet kind, but the other outlaw knew those were tricky. The unspoken rule was that no one ever wanted to be around them once the silence ended, and they were right.

Jesse stood there a moment longer, like a man doing the math on a gunfight he knew he wouldn’t win. His chest rose and fell, breath sharp through his nose, the kind of breathing a man did to keep from spitting blood or words he’d regret. His fingers were still twitching like they hadn’t got the message his pride had just received.

The girl had already drawn blood with her mouth, not her fists, and now the silence was hers, too. She watched him like a buzzard waiting for a horse to stumble.

Jesse’s eyes moved to her—just for a beat—and darkened. She wasn’t afraid of him now, and he hated her for it. Not because she challenged him, but she’d lived through it. That was worse. That was permanent. The pretty little thing was no more.

He turned fast, disappointed and bitter, jerking his coat from the nail near the door with a sound like canvas tearing. The motion sent dust into the air, where it floated between them, catching the light like ash in a furnace. He muttered under his breath as he shrugged the coat on, words too slurred to carry, though one could’ve sworn “bitch” was in there somewhere. Maybe more. Maybe less. Didn’t matter.

Then his boot caught a chair—an old pine thing with one leg shorter than the rest—and kicked it hard enough to send it clattering sideways into the wall. It hit with a crack, a corner splintering where it struck the floor. The noise echoed sharp, like a shot fired too close to the ear. Jesse didn’t look back at it.

At the threshold, he paused and turned to glance back over his shoulder—first at her, cold and quick, like he was measuring the size of the bruise he’d put there next time, if there was a next time. Then his gaze moved to Billy, slower and meaner. That look stayed long enough to say everything his mouth hadn’t. It wasn’t anger anymore, but rather—a promise.

Then he was gone. The door creaked shut behind him, soft as a warning. The screen banged once, a heartbeat later, and the dust he left behind still hung in the air like smoke waiting to settle.

The tension in the room didn’t loosen. If anything, it got tighter, the air thick with the kind of stillness that only shows up after a man walks out angry but not empty-handed. There was no sound except the settling groan of the chair he’d kicked, the slow creak of a flytrap swaying in the window, and the wind moaning against the boards outside like it wanted in but thought better of it.

Billy stood with his arms at his sides, gaze fixed on the door like he expected it to open again or for to Jesse come back in just to finish what he started. His hat cast a shadow across his cheek, hiding the scratch along his jaw, the bruise purpling beneath it. The light from the window caught the edge of his boot and the dust on the toe.

Behind him, the rope gave a dry tug as the girl shifted on the stool. It wasn’t a struggle, more a flex of sore shoulders and stiff wrists, the kind of motion a tied thing makes not to escape but to remind the room it ain’t dead yet. The coarse hemp scraped the back of her skin, pulling blood from where the knot had rubbed raw.

Her mouth bled again, too. Just a trickle, welling fresh from the spot where her lip had cracked open when she grinned at Jesse. The blood painted the corner of her lips a dark red-black and slipped down to her chin, slow as honey. She didn’t lick it away or wipe at it. Instead, she smirked through it like a madwoman, chin tipped upward, one eye slightly narrowed like she was still tasting the last word and finding it sweet.

Billy didn’t dare look at her, but his jaw was tight. You could see it in the way the muscle jumped when he swallowed. The room held his breath like it held hers—tight in the lungs, waiting to see who’d move first.

She watched him. What was he waiting for? She was breathing harder now, chest rising faster under the torn fabric of her dress, a clear sign of the come-down from defiance. That slow, shuddering burn after you stare a man in the eye and dare him to try again. Her shoulders trembled faintly while her knuckles had gone pale behind her back. Just beneath the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her throat one could notice the stiffness, the steadiness that spoke volumes when she didn’t have to. A recognition, maybe. Or a warning. It hadn’t yet decided which it wanted to be.

The sun shifted in the window, climbing slow across the floor. Its light moved higher up her bare shin, over her knee, onto the rough edge of her dress. Her skin gleamed faintly with sweat, a smear of grit still clinging to her thigh from the last time they dragged her through the dirt.

Billy finally turned.

The sound of his coat rustling was soft, but it felt loud in the silence. His face came into the light just enough to show the hollows under his piercing blue eyes, the soft line of his mouth, the tightness drawn like wire across his brow. He looked at her and their eyes met in an instant. They stared at each other across the wreckage of heat and spit and blood, and the weight of it said plain: whatever comes next, it ain’t forgiveness. The girl was trouble, a burden heavier than either Billy or Jesse had truly thought through, a promise of as set of bounty posters hanging in nearby towns at best, a possibility of discord, a feud—even, between the two men who’d eaten a bushel or two of salt together, but never before had fought over a girl—if she even was one still.

Billy walked slow, boots shifting dust with each step, the sound low and steady like distant thunder too far off to worry cattle yet. The door behind him had already swung half shut, the last sunbeam sliding crooked across the floor, catching the broken rim of the chair Jesse kicked, the oil-dark smear of spit still drying near her boot. Billy didn’t glance at either. His hand hovered near the low sweep of his belt, thumb hooking the leather like habit alone kept it there. He didn’t reach for his gun.

His face gave nothing away. The lines around his mouth were set hard, drawn tight in the way of men used to swallowing what should be spoken out loud—by gentlemen, at least, the decent kind. The blood that ran down his cheek earlier had dried now, rusty at the edge, crusted into the stubble along his jaw. He hadn't wiped it off or acknowledged it. It clung to him like all the rest—dirt, sweat, resentment. And still, he came forward, slow and straight, eyes serious under the brim of his hat.

She tracked him with the kind of stare that cut. Her head turned only slightly, just enough to keep him in view as he moved. Her shoulders were stiff, her back pulled too straight for ease, but her body vibrated faintly in its posture—like a held-in scream, like lightning waiting for a tree to split. Her breath was louder now, harsher through her nose, as if every inhale had to fight its way in past rage and rope. Her ribs moved fast beneath the torn dress, and though her hands were tied behind her—twisted into some aching shape that cut deep—there was no give in her. She looked at him like a trapped wolf looks at the hunter too stupid to bring a second bullet.

Billy’s boots creaked the boards, the only sound in the room besides the wet buzz of a fly too slow to leave. He stopped short of her—close enough she could smell the salt of his skin, the metal tang of old blood still clinging to his collar, the faint whiff of gun oil. He didn’t reach for her, but stood there a moment, studying the ropes at her back, the raw skin at her wrists, the set of her mouth. The stillness in him wasn’t peace.

His intention hung there, half-formed, unsaid. Maybe he’d come to loosen the rope, she figured. Maybe to see if she’d calm down, to feed her another order in that deadpan voice of his, or to take what he hadn’t yet. He slowed, hesitated.

She didn’t—not a breath off-rhythm. She watched him like she meant to burn a hole straight through his ribs. Her heart was still climbing, and the rest of her hadn’t caught up—but her eyes had already chosen war.

She moved before he finished stepping in without a warning or a single word. Just the sudden forward lurch of a body kept too long in stillness, the kind of motion that didn’t ask permission from the mind before it took the hands. Her arms shot out—bound, but not tight enough to keep her from reaching. Her shoulders strained with the effort, the rope biting into raw skin, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Her fingers caught the front of his shirt—twisted in the fabric hard, quick—jerking him down and toward her with the brute force of surprise.

Billy stumbled, boot dragging rough against the warped plank floor, hip tilting backward. His hand came out reflexively, reaching for balance that wasn’t there. The tension left his shoulders in a snap as his body tilted with hers, off rhythm, off guard. His coat shifted, one side slipping down his arm, the loose weight of it tugging him further.

And before he could right himself, before a single breath passed between them—

Her hand came up—fast and sharp—full of all the rage that hadn’t yet found voice. She clawed his face like a wildcat in heat.

Fingernails raked from the high edge of his cheekbone down to the line of his jaw, not a slap but a tearing—deliberate and deep. The sound was more felt than heard, like fabric ripping, but it echoed in her throat as a hiss or a curse without words. Her teeth were clenched, breath rushing between them like steam escaping a cracked valve. Her whole body shook with the motion, rope digging deeper as her weight pulled forward.

Three angry grooves opened in his skin, red rising fast. One of them—just beneath his eye—split wide enough that blood bloomed in a thick, immediate line. It ran crooked down his face, slid fast into the corner of his mouth. He didn’t cry out, and the girl didn’t look away.

The strike hadn’t been precise—no skill or strategy to it. It was need and the first chance she’d had to hurt anything back, and she took it without hesitation. The heat in her chest spilled out through her fingernails. She scratched like an animal backed into a corner, not thinking, just burning.

Her breath came ragged now, fast and furious. She leaned in, shoulders trembling, ropes fraying behind her. Blood dotted her fingertips, dark and wet. Her mouth hung open just a little, not from fear, but from effort—like her body still wanted to bite, to claw, to break, and hadn’t yet figured out how to stop.

Billy moved before the pain even landed. His body snapped forward on instinct alone—no thought, no warning, no weight of decision. Just reaction, pure and unfiltered, like a rifle that fires the second it’s cocked. His hand shot out and caught both her wrists in one hard grip, fingers locking over the raw rope and bruised skin, uncaring of the strain already there. His palm swallowed her bones. He didn’t give her room to jerk back or scream. He didn’t even give her the air before he twisted.

Her body went with it—dragged upward and sideways in one brutal turn, feet scraping the floor, knees buckling as he forced her off balance. She didn’t cry out, not exactly. The sound that came out of her was sharp and breathless, more shock than pain, a noise snatched from the lungs too fast to name. Then her back hit the wall, hard.

The wooden boards groaned behind her spine. The impact landed with a flat, brutal thud that echoed in the cramped space. A rickety shelf nearby shuddered against its nails, and the glass on the kerosene lamp gave a thin, high chime as it vibrated in place. Dust stirred from the seam between wall and floor, and the smell of old varnish and blood thickened in the room.

The rope at her wrists, already rough, bit in deeper now with her arms twisted high above her head, shoulders lifted awkwardly. One loop cut the skin where it had already rubbed raw, the friction opening it fresh. Her knees knocked into the wall, dress hitching high over her thighs as she fought for footing, but Billy didn’t let her fall.

He pressed into her—far from anything tender—but with weight, with heat, with the kind of angry steadiness that only came from a man who knew he wouldn’t be moved. His chest crushed against hers, his breath ragged against the side of her face. He didn’t shake or shout, only braced.

His boot slid forward, pinning her foot under his. His thigh wedged between her knees—prying and anchoring both. His free hand slammed flat against the wall beside her head, steadying them both. The other arm strained with the grip he had on her wrists, holding them pinned just above the crown of her head, rope stretched taut between flesh and beam. The tendons in his forearm bulged with effort. He didn’t ease up at the sight of it.

Their breath mingled between them, hot and close, stinking of sweat and blood and dust. Her chest rose fast under his, heart hammering like it wanted to kick free of her ribs. Her hair had fallen across her face in the scuffle, clinging wet to her cheek, hiding one eye behind a curtain of grit and tangle, but the other eye stayed fixed on him. Her pupils were wide, and her lips slightly parted, blood darkening one corner. She watched him—that bad, beautiful bastard pinning her hard—breath hissing through her teeth, jaw clenched tight, as if still daring him to follow through and knowing he just might.

Billy’s breath dragged in hard through his nose, sharp and uneven, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. His chest moved with each pull, pressed tight against hers, the movement shallow and fast. His jaw was clenched, teeth locked beneath the muscle twitching in his cheek, that single nerve pulsing just above the edge of his jaw. His shoulders squared and stayed that way—locked, rigid, immovable—as if letting a single inch of slack would invite collapse.

The gash along his face was bleeding more now. The deeper of the three had split clean near the cheekbone, and the blood ran freely—slow and thick, already drying at the edges. It traveled crooked from the socket down to the hollow of his throat, soaking into the collar of his shirt and leaving a fresh smear across the skin just above his collarbone. A drop slipped from his jaw and fell onto her chest, soaking into the torn bodice of her dress like ink on paper.

He was braced against her like he’d been carved into that position, every part of him set with purpose, with fury, with control that cost more than it looked. The weight of him pinned her flat, but it was the silence that kept her there, and the pressure of it. Tension so thick it swelled the air between them.

His hand stayed firm around her wrists, knuckles pale now, the tendons in his arm raised like wire drawn too tight. He didn’t squeeze to hurt, not necessarily, but he let the pressure build—just a fraction more than before—just enough to remind the little tigress whose strength was winning out. Her pulse throbbed beneath his grip, fast and furious.

Their faces were too close now. Any closer and there’d be nothing left to measure. Her forehead nearly touched his chin. His breath dragged over her cheek when he exhaled, humid and sharp. The air between their mouths was heat and grit, the dry sting of blood and smoke and anger blending into one breathless mix neither of them could escape.

She had nowhere to look but him.

His eyes weren’t soft. They weren’t angry either, rather fixed—flat and relentless, not asking, not judging, just taking her in. Her defiance, her breathing, the way her jaw tensed under the blood crusting at the edge of her mouth. He watched her like a man watching fire rise—unafraid of being burned but interested in how high it’d climb before it collapsed under its own weight.

Her chest brushed his with every breath she drew—fast and shallow, fabric scraping against the buttons of his shirt. She hadn’t stopped trembling, not from fear, but from the rush of it, the rawness, the strain. She smelled him now—closer than she’d ever wanted. Blood first. Then the dry scent of dirt caked into wool. Smoke, too, old and clinging, the kind that lived in clothes long after the fire was out. Beneath it, sweat, not fresh or rank Just real and indisputably manly, baked into the seams of a man who hadn’t rested in days.

He smelled her too. Even now, all angry and braced.

She smelled like heat and filth and rope, all salt from her skin and iron from her blood. And beneath all that, fight. That smell of fury still burning in a woman who wasn’t supposed to bite back anymore. Defiance and dust and the kind of desperate courage that made men either worship or destroy.

And Billy—he hadn’t yet decided which one he was more eager to implement.

What astounded him was that she didn’t stop fighting, motionless. Not when the blood hit her collarbone or even when his grip tightened. Not when her body was pinned so tight to the wall she could feel the beat of his heart through the bones of her chest, its rhythm clear and maddening.

Her wrists burned where the rope dug in, but she didn’t cry out. Her eyes were bright now, glassy not from tears but fury—a clean, scorching heat that hadn't dimmed, only sharpened.

She thrashed once, a violent twist of shoulder and hip that knocked his arm off balance for a breath, but not enough to shake him loose. He held steady, but the pretty little thing had made her point: she wasn’t done. Her lip curled back from her teeth, the snarl half-silent, half-breathed, more instinct than expression, the quiet before the storm, as soon enough—

-she bit him.

Her head snapped sideways with the kind of control born from purpose. She turned her face into the crook of his neck, her mouth finding that soft seam where collar met skin, where the throb of a pulse pressed just beneath the surface, and she sank her teeth in hard—not a nip or desperation, but punishment.

The bite tore through Billy’s skin and into muscle. Her jaw locked and her lips stretched wide. It was ugly and deep, the kind of bite meant to mark, not just hurt. Her teeth ground in through wool and flesh, through sweat-soaked cotton, and the skin beneath gave with a sickening ease.

Billy’s body bucked hard. His breath caught, sharp and involuntary, breaking through clenched teeth in a low, guttural sound that sat somewhere between a growl and a curse—like a man who just took a bullet but wasn’t ready to fall. His grip faltered for a fraction of a second while his hand on the wall curled into a fist. He didn’t strike or shove her off.

The blood came fast. It soaked his shirt at the shoulder, blooming hot and wet beneath her mouth. The fabric went dark in an instant, and the smell of it thickened the air—iron and salt and heat. It ran down his back, spread under his collar, seeped into the waistband of his trousers. It didn’t matter. Nothing else in the world existed but her teeth in his flesh.

And then—only then—she let go. The wet pull of her mouth unlatching, the whisper of spit and blood parting skin. A string of red connected her lips to his neck for a heartbeat before it snapped. Her breath came hard, and her mouth was stained. She looked up at him like a predator who’d finally drawn blood and found it didn’t taste too bad.

Billy’s breath came in shallow pulls, each one catching just before it finished, like his ribs were braced too tight to let anything go. The cord of muscle at his neck flexed with each heartbeat. His shoulders shook once, small and sharp, not yet defeated.

She was panting now, the heat of her breath brushing up his throat in bursts. Her bloodstained mouth didn’t tremble any more, but curled, just barely, cruel and unafraid. Her eyes, wild and wide beneath the tangle of her hair, didn’t shy away. They dared. She looked at him like a prisoner who’d drawn blood and was waiting to see if the guard had the balls to bleed more.

And that—that—was what broke him. The look she gave him, the way she breathed through clenched teeth like she hadn’t lost yet. Like the ropes meant less than the fire in her mouth. He stared at her for a long, suspended second. His face didn’t change, nor did his body shift a fraction.

But inside, something came loose, loud and hot and final.

He growled low and deep. A sound that didn’t belong to a man, not really, not anymore. It came from a place behind the ribs, from where instinct lived when logic failed. A sound of need, not rage. A sound like a dog pushed too far—cornered, beaten, bloody—and now too sick of waiting to do anything but lunge.

It wasn’t a word or a threat.

It was hunger.

It was yes.

No thought followed it, no pause. No sense of what this meant or where it led. There was no calculation in Billy now, no line to check for, no rule to remember. The blood on his neck, the blood in her mouth, the way she was staring at him like she still had teeth left to use—it all blurred together into fire and breath and pressure.

The line between fury and want didn’t bend but snapped.

He didn’t lean in like a lover would, didn’t draw breath or search her eyes or falter at the edge of what came next. Instead, he crashed into her.

His mouth slammed against hers with no grace, no angle, no thought of comfort. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim—brutal, breathless, bleeding.

His full lips didn’t mold to hers; they pressed down, hard and unyielding, mashing open the split already raw at the corner of her mouth. Their teeth met first, sharp and jarring, scraping, catching. His mouth was heat and spit and weight, and he forced it onto hers like a man trying to smother fire with his bare hands.

The girl grunted against it, a muffled cry of fury and recoil. Her head jerked to the side, fast, desperate, but she had nowhere to go. The wall gave no room, and his body gave even less. He pressed closer, crushing the space between them with his chest, his hips, the thick of his thigh still wedged against hers. He was a wall of flesh and heat and pressure, and he kept coming.

Her breath wheezed through her nose, sharp and panicked, as he leaned harder, mouth still fused to hers in a clash of blood and salt. Her shoulders twisted, but he lifted her wrists higher, dragging her arms up until her back arched and her joints burned. The rope bit deep into the skin already scraped raw, and she gasped against his mouth, the pain spiking her breath. She had no choice but to bite again, hard.

Billy was shocked to feel her jaw suddenly snap shut like a trap—just a twist of her head, fast and vicious. Her teeth caught the corner of his lower lip, or maybe his tongue, or both at once. The flesh gave with a wet rip. He stirred but didn’t pull away. Blood bloomed between their mouths now, fast and metallic, sharp on her tongue.

It tasted like rust and old copper, like sweat pooled under collarbones, like everything she hated. Like him.

But he didn’t stop, because the truth was—he liked it.

The kiss—if it could be called that—deepened, not in any tender way, but in sheer force. Their mouths stayed locked, gasping and tangled, open and feral. His breath came in huffs, hot against her cheek when their mouths slipped apart for half a second before crashing back together. There was no rhythm, no real give and take—only breath and heat and teeth.

His stubble raked her chin, left red scrapes across the side of her face. Her lip tore more—she could feel the skin peeling, blood trickling over the curve of her mouth. His teeth knocked hers again, bruising the soft flesh inside her cheek. But still—he didn’t let up, and she didn’t go limp.

It was a war fought through mouths, through pressure, through defiance. It was need with no name, only contact. It was two people who didn’t know how to stop fighting, even when their mouths were full of each other.

Billy’s mouth stayed fused to hers—still bleeding, still brutal, still carrying the taste of everything that had passed between them, and none of it sweet. His body bore down like a closing gate, and when his hand dropped, it did so with the same intent as a falling hammer—deliberate, final, sure of the damage it meant to leave behind.

It dragged down her side without care or caution, the callused pads of his fingers grazing over ribs still sore from where he'd pinned her earlier. He didn’t trace the slope of her waist like a lover would. He didn’t slow to feel the rise and fall of her breath.

He just pushed, palm open and hard, flattening every inch of her against the wood behind her, like he could force her back into the wall if he pressed long enough. The fabric bunched beneath his hand—cotton stiff with dried sweat, stained with her blood and his. He didn’t mind the mess. His grip only tightened.

When he reached her breasts, he didn’t linger for effect. He didn’t test the edge of pleasure or weigh the difference between rough and cruel. His hand landed full across her chest and pressed, heel of his palm grinding in deep like he was pinning a snake to the dirt. The weight was unforgiving—heavy, punishing. He didn’t knead or stroke or cup. Instead, he pressed until she gasped into his mouth and her spine arched, not from want, but recoil. He kept it there, the pressure notching up until it bordered pain, until she shifted beneath it—not in surrender, but in resistance. And only then did he let go.

But not for long.

His hand dropped lower, sliding over the wrecked seam of her bodice and down across her belly where the fabric grew thicker, heavier, stitched double for the hard work of daily wear. His knuckles bumped her belt, and he didn’t pause to undo it. There was no interest in undoing. No need to unravel. He shoved straight through, grabbed hold of her skirt where it clung to her thigh, and fisted it like he meant to rip the shape of her out from under the cloth.

The dress didn’t tear, but it pulled tight across her legs, molded to the outline of her body under his grip, and Billy’s hand—broad, rough, unrelenting—dug into the line where her leg joined her hip. He didn’t seek skin, nor did he part the layers of fabric or try to find softness underneath. He just shoved the heel of his palm in hard, a deep, blunt pressure meant to punish, not please. It landed square between her soft thighs, and her body jerked with the force of it, a sharp buck that rattled her teeth against his. The rope burned at her wrists again, arms yanked high, chest lifted and forced to bow. Her breath escaped in a sharp wheeze, but still—she didn’t cry out.

He pressed again. Harder.

His mouth never left hers. The kiss was a grim, wet tangle of teeth and spit and open wounds. Their breaths came in staggered bursts, chests heaving together, every scrape of fabric loud between them. Her head twisted, desperate for a sliver of air, but he followed, merciless. His tongue chased blood, hers and his. His lip split wider against her teeth. Still, he kissed like it was a fight—like the only way to keep her was to smother what she hated most.

And all the while, his hand moved further. From thigh to hip, dragging fabric with it, yanking folds and seams until they pulled taut across her skin. Then he clutched the meat of her leg—hard muscle from a life spent working, not preening—and he squeezed, not like a husband savoring his wife, but more like a man measuring. Like a man holding a rope he meant to cut if it didn’t hold weight.

The grip burned. Billy’s fingers dug deep, hard enough to leave marks through the cloth, hard enough she’d feel it when she sat, when she walked, when she breathed deep enough to remember, when she finally got fucked stupid—later. He didn’t mark her to keep her. He did so to prove she wasn’t untouched, not by him. He figured he’d deal with Jesse later.

He didn’t want her to soften; wanted her caught as feral as she seemed. And under his hand, under the grime and the blood and the days-old dress she’d nearly died in, she was.

Her breath hitched—sudden and sharp, not from fury this time but from the crackling jolt that followed his hand when it pressed deep through the folds of her skirt. It wasn’t panic that caught in her throat, but—surprisingly—heat. Real, coarse and unbidden. Her whole body pulled taut, shoulders curling forward as though she could fold herself in half and trap the sensation between muscle and bone before it spread any farther. But it was too late. The spark was already crawling—down her belly, across her thighs, up the back of her neck like a lit fuse.

She trembled, and it wasn’t subtle or dignified, like a modest girl would, once her wedding night came—ideally. Her legs went first, knees unsteady beneath the drag of Billy’s grip, her weight buckling a fraction into the wall behind her. Then her stomach, clenching and hollowing out as though struck from within. Even her shoulders trembled, the bones drawn up and hunched against the rope, the fibers groaning where they held her wrists high. She was shaking now—undeniably, uncontrollably. A shiver that started in her limbs and worked inward, turning heat to ache, rage to breathlessness.

She snarled again, teeth bared in defiance. Her face twisted, all hate and blood and fury—but it didn’t matter. Her hips, her loins betrayed her, arching forward, not in surrender, but with a reflex she couldn’t stop. Just a tilt. Barely a roll of her pelvis. But it was there—the contact, the unmistakable grind that came with pure desire. Her thighs flexed around his hand, not to fight him off, but to keep him there. Flesh tightening around pressure, not from pleasure—no, never that—but from the terrible necessity of it. Of him. She needed the contact even as she hated it. Even as her brain howled no, her body kept him close, anchored to the heat he’d lit beneath her skin.

She then kicked, wild and clumsy, a jerk of her heel against his shin, but it barely landed. Her balance was gone, rattled loose by the weight of his palm and the heat it stirred. Her wrists twisted hard in the rope—skin peeling against the fibers, blood blooming where she pulled too fast—but she didn’t stop. Not because she believed it would free her, but because she needed to move, to flail, to do anything to fight the part of herself that had started to move with him.

And still, her legs stayed parted just wide enough to keep him there. Her thighs closed in again, taut and trembling, the muscle clenching around his fingers like she couldn’t decide whether to shove it away or drag it in deeper.

Then her head hit the wall. A crack—short and hard—the back of her skull slamming into brick as though impact could clear the fog behind her eyes. Her mouth flew open, wide, desperate, but no words, no scream, no insults came. Just a raw, gutted moan that slipped past her teeth like it had been pulled from her lungs without permission. Ragged. Choked. Unforgivable.

She froze, and the sound still echoed inside her chest, more humiliating than the blood on her lips or the bruises blooming across her ribs, or Billy’s fingers rubbing at her swollen, abused, freshly deflowered cunt. Her breath caught again, caught on the tail of that sound she didn’t mean to make, the sound that didn’t belong to a woman in charge of her own body.

Her eyes filled—both tears and rage, and deeply rooted shame. Anger--

At him.

At herself.

At the sick, rising heat that had nothing to do with fury anymore.

She wanted to kill that beautiful, stupidly quiet, relentless bastard. To claw the flesh off his bones. To spit in his face and laugh when he bled. But she also wanted him to touch her again. That hand of his? That weight? That pressure that made her legs shake and her throat fail? All of it.

Her body was leaning forward now, just a hair’s breadth, close enough for her breasts to brush his chest with each breath. Her mouth stayed parted, bloodied. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears, louder than his breath, louder than the ropes, louder than the war behind her eyes.

She looked up at him.

Her face said stop.

Her body said don’t you dare.

The rhythm soon changed. Not by choice or with a warning—just the way a horse breaks from a lope into a dead gallop, neck stretched, flanks quivering, too far gone to stop now. Billy’s hips ground forward with a sudden urgency, shallow and sharp, the movement stripped of precision.

He wasn’t aiming or angling towards her sensitive parts. Breathless and endlessly aroused, he began driving himself into her thigh again and again, pressing the full weight of his pelvis into the shape of her leg like he meant to brand the need right through her skin.

The wool of his trousers scraped rough between them, thick seams rasping against the cotton layers of her skirt, catching at every motion. He didn’t care. His body worked against hers like a machine gone wrong—no grace, no control, just fire in the gut and blood in his cock. The breath dragged out of him now in hitches, sharp at first, then choking, then guttural. His mouth dropped from hers, jaw slack, face tilted toward her throat. The heat of him poured down her neck in waves, the stench of sweat and blood and need clinging to every ragged exhale.

She turned her face away, jaw clenched, temple pressed hard into the wall as if the stone might hold her steadier than he could. But he didn’t see her anymore. His eyes were shut, lashes damp against his cheek. His mouth fell open just wide enough to let the sound out—a low moan, caught in the back of the throat and pushed out against her skin. The kind of sound a man makes when the edge comes too fast and too hard to swallow.

It wasn’t about who she was or what she’d done, or even the way her breasts moved as she trembled, or how her ass swayed when she tried to kick at him. There was no sweetness to Billy’s senseless rutting, no apology, no recognition. It was about the fire that had built too high and too fast, the aching, ruinous instinct to take and take until the body broke under the weight of its own demand. He wasn’t seeking climax, rather chasing end.

And then—it caught him. His whole body went taut, spine drawn straight as a struck wire. His hands clamped down, one still buried in her thigh, the other locked around her wrists like shackles. The muscles in his jaw flared. His eyes stayed closed. His hips jerked once, hard, then again, the motion stuttering—half-desperate, half-broken. Then still.

Heat flooded through the front of his trousers—fast, final, soaking straight through to where her leg stayed pinned beneath him. The pressure of his cock pulsed against her, sudden and unmistakable, that hot, shuddering spasm that emptied him into the wool like a confession he couldn’t hold any longer. He didn’t cry out or curse. He didn’t whisper her name; he didn’t even know it. All he could do was growl, low and hollow. A sound made without meaning, only release, only Billy’s thick cum leaking through.

Then silence. His hips stopped. His breath caught once, then settled into short, shallow pants. His head hung heavy beside hers, chin tucked near the girl’s ear, his weight still crushing against her like the fight hadn’t ended yet. He slackened—minutely—like a man who’d held too long to the edge of a cliff and finally let go. His hand stayed locked around her thigh, fingers splayed over fabric bunched and wrinkled from the force of his grip.

The torn bodice clung crooked to her chest, stained, wet, unchanged. The skirt stayed down. The rope at her wrists held firm. Not a knot slipped. Not a loop frayed.

She was right where he’d left her—bound, bloodstained, breathless, filthy, stained with his blood and his seed.

Billy’s forehead hovered near hers, barely an inch of breath between them, but not touching anymore. As though the act was over but the shape of it remained—carved in sweat and silence. His shoulders rose once, sharp and uneven, then fell again too fast, the tremor in it not from pleasure, not from strain, but from the weight that came after. That slow, sinking moment when the fire dies and all that’s left is the smoke curling up from the ash. His chest remained pressed to hers, heavy, unmoving. His body pinned her with the same mindless pressure as before, but the force behind it had drained out. Like he hadn’t let go of her because he needed her close, but because he didn’t know what to do with his own hands anymore. One gripped her buttocks. The other hung limp at his side, fingers twitching once before curling into a loose fist, knuckles bloodied where the wall had scraped them raw.

Her face had turned away, angled sharp toward the wood, cheek pressed hard to the wall where the blood on her mouth had smeared. Her jaw locked tight, clenched until the muscle stood out in ropes beneath her skin. She breathed through her teeth—short, broken pulls of air that made her ribs shudder beneath what remained of the bodice.

His blood streaked her chin, dried in the hollows between her lips and throat. A smear of it crusted along the edge of her jaw where she’d bitten him, cracked now from the pull of her skin. And still, her breath was on his neck—warm, uneven, laced with hatred and exhaustion both. The kind of breath a woman draws not to calm herself, but to keep from killing. It brushed his collar, stirred the hair behind his ear. He didn’t dare pull back. He figured he would’ve hated himself, had he tried.

Her thighs were still wrapped around his legs, closed firm. The tension in them hadn’t eased. Her leg was wedged against his hip, trapped there by the grip he still hadn’t released. Not a touch had grown tender. Not a muscle had relaxed.

And neither of them said a word the whole time.

No apology passed between them. No accusation. No plea. The air hung thick with the soundless aftermath, the ache of it spreading wider than any cry could fill. There were no names in their mouths now, no sense of who had taken what from whom.

Just breath and blood and the wall behind her and the heat between them, both cooling. Time crawled forward without their help, dragging its weight over the floor like a broken limb.

It would’ve been easier if one of them had spoken. But no word was built to carry what had just happened. Silence came first, thick and feral, the kind that filled a space like smoke after the fire’s already burned through the roof. The air between them didn’t settle—it clung, hot and sour, the smell of blood and sweat steeped deep into the boards and brick. His breath came in pants now, ragged, uneven, chest rising in short, hollow jerks that had nothing left behind them. Her breath matched his, shallow and fast, pulled in through her teeth like it hurt to inhale.

The lamp in the corner guttered, flame bending low, casting shadows that stretched and curled across the walls like figures that didn’t belong to either of them. The light stuttered once, blinked again. His hand slipped off her thigh—just dropped, limp, dead-weighted, like it no longer remembered what it had done. Her body sagged forward a hair, not toward him, not away, just enough to remember she still had one. Her chest heaved in open, brutal pulls, her ribs tight beneath the torn cloth, blood darkening where it had soaked in and dried stiff. Her eyes brimmed wet, not with fear, not only that. There were no tears yet, just shine. The kind of wetness that came before pain had found its name.

He stepped back—just a slow retreat, boots scuffing the floor once, twice, until the space between them grew enough to feel cold again. His body peeled from hers inch by inch, like he’d been sunk into her and now had to drag himself out piece by piece, defeated. When he stood free, it was with blood still drying at the corner of his mouth, her spit mixed with his, smeared across the scruff on his chin. He didn’t wipe it, nor did he look down. He reached for the front of his trousers, fingers rough as they yanked the buttons back into place. His jaw worked once, a pulse ticking high near the bone.

She stayed pressed to the wall like it still held her up, like the wood itself was keeping her bones stacked right. Her knees sagged, barely locked, the tremble starting again between her thighs, spreading down through her calves to the arches of her feet. Her arms burned where the rope still bit into them, shoulders shrieking from the angle, but she barely noticed. Her face burned—hot with confusion, hot with shame. She stared at the door.

Billy went to it like a man already halfway out of his own body, hand closing around the knob without pause. He turned it, and the latch groaned. The hinges creaked, but he didn’t go through right away. He looked back once, over his shoulder, at the tigress. His pretty little tigress.

No apology in his face. No triumph either. Billy’s mouth was slack, as if he was still inside the storm, still waiting for the dust to settle so he could see what damage he’d done. And then, just like that, he was gone.

The door shut behind him with a dull click, quiet enough to be forgotten, loud enough to stay in the bones.

The stayed there, still blinking against the heat in her throat that wouldn’t break.

And she wasn’t sure if she’d fought him off or begged him to finish.

[five-and-dimes]

WIP Word Train Game

Okay so this is a million years late, but I got tagged by three different people for this game and I FINALLY got it all done. 

Rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your wips that start with that letter.

This is going to be a beast of a post so it’s going under a read more- In total with three words, I had 15 letters. I have 12 WIPs, so I chose to go through and write something for every. Single. One. So under this read more is at least one excerpt from ALL my WIPs. Enjoy!

@seiya-starsniper :HEART

H: (From the fic where Hob keeps calling the Waking “the real world” and hurting Dream’s feelings.)

Hob feels like he is in two very different relationships. When Dream visits him during his waking hours, he is… aloof. Not cold, exactly, not the same level of distance he had in previous centuries, but still holding Hob carefully at arm's length. He does not rebuff Hob’s physical affection, but nor does he reach out on his own. When Hob touches him he simply holds himself very still. In the Dreaming, however, Dream will drape himself over Hob’s body, pulling him close until there is no space between them. He will run his hands through Hob’s hair, starry eyes gazing at him longingly as he showers him with poetic words of his love. 

E: (From “Cinnamon Boy”, the college AU where Dream is always cold.)

Even his siblings had pushed him away for his frigidness. He remembers being small and hearing the shouts and shattering of his parents fighting again in the dark of his room. For a while, Death allowed him to crawl into her bed, curling close and trying to convince himself that everything was safe in the arms of his big sister. But finally, one day she grew tired of it, pushing him away when he tried to cling to her. “Dream,” she groaned, “stop it. At least stay on that side,” she shoved him away from her, half asleep and frustrated, “your hands are freezing.”  Tucking his hands against his chest, Dream blinked back tears. All his siblings had complained to varying degrees anytime they were forced to hold his hand when they were out, but Death had always been the kindest. He had always known that his elder sister was the peacemaker among all of them, but… he hadn’t realized that putting up with him had been a part of that.  He had thought that Death volunteered to hold his hand because she loved him. He realized now that she was simply sparing the others from the burden. Years later, now a young adult, he is still crawling into people’s beds looking for someplace safe. And he is still cold. And he is still pushed away.

A: (From chapter 6 of “When Dreams Become Reality”, the Inception au)

Adrian groaned, “Is my whole dream going to be like this?” he muttered. Hob frowned, and when he looked at Arthur the other man explained, “This is where the inception job happened. Our mark was on this flight, and we had until landing to finish the job.” “Really centering around this first job,” Hob teases, and Adrian rolls his eyes.

R: (From “Dead Hearts”, the human au where Hob was Dream’s childhood bully.)

Reaching out, Lucienne frowned when Dream startled under her touch. It has been some time since he had reacted like that. “What’s wrong?” She asked gently.  Dream bit his lip. Lucienne knew… everything. She had been there when he was at his lowest, her and Matthew and Jessamy, protecting him and lifting him up without any judgement or disdain, even when he felt certain he did not deserve their kindness. She knew about the things that had put him in that place. She knew about Hob. And yet, he cannot bring himself to tell her what is happening. Perhaps he fears she will discourage him, give him the same lecture Death always has about letting go of the past and not holding grudges. Perhaps he fears she will look down on him, will finally see how horrid and broken he is to seek even a fraction of revenge on the man who tormented him. Perhaps he fears that she will not take his side, will tell him he is overreacting. Will tell him that he had deserved it. Whatever the reason, he is afraid. And so he smiles, covering Lucienne’s hand with his own, “Nothing,” he tells her, “It is simply. One of those weeks.”

T: (From the next fic in my Immortal Throuple au.)

“Tell me what you want?” Hob whispered against his neck, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against Dream’s sharp hip bones, “One thing. Just one thing I can give you to make you happy.” Dream shivered in his arms, and Hob can feel his throat move under his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I…” His voice is so soft and uncertain, his fingers curling anxiously against Hob’s shoulders. Hob kisses along his jaw, his cheek, brushes their noses together softly. There is nothing for Dream to be afraid of, and yet Hob can feel the rabbit beat of his heart beneath his hands. “I would like to be facing you,” he finally confesses, stiff and nervous and unable to look Hob in the eye, “I want. To see you.”

@cuubism :GLOW

G: (From an omegaverse au where Hob finds out Dream has been hiding his ruts from him.)

Growling low in his throat, Hob cannot help the swell of protectiveness that rushes through him as he reaches out to cover Dream’s hand. “Hey,” he waits until Dream glances up at him through his eyelashes, “you take care of me during my heats, right? Your ruts are about you. About giving you what you want, what you need.” Dream is shaking his head before he’s even finished speaking, “It is not fair of me to ask you to suffer for days just because-” “Why on Earth would taking care of you make me suffer?” Hob interrupts, appalled, “I love you. You’re not a burden, you’re not asking for anything I don’t want to give.”

L: (Another from the fic where Hob keeps calling the Waking “the real world” and hurting Dream’s feelings.)

“Love,” Hob sighed against his neck, each word mouthed against his skin, “Love, love, my love,” and Dream sighs beneath him, holding Hob close as the black sands cradle them, impossibly soft and smooth.  Everything here is so magical, so wondrous, Dream most of all, and Hob wishes he was a poet so he could do it all justice, but he’s not and he never has been, so he settles for kisses and the word “love” repeated over and over. The next day, Dream walks into the New Inn and Hob grins widely, “Hey stranger,” he greets.  For a moment, Hob thinks he sees something like despair on Dream’s face at his words. But when he blinks, it is gone. So he must have imagined it.

O: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “creature: feral”.)

“Oh, this is horrendous,” Johanna whispered, her nose crinkling in disgust. Everything about the situation was horrendous, Hob couldn’t argue with that, but Johanna nodded towards the rings of sigils, “The protections here are frighteningly fragile. Everything is painted on, not carved. All it takes is someone getting a little too close and scuffing one of the marks and the whole thing becomes useless.” Looking down at the moat surrounding the various rings, Johanna scoffed, “And that’s not even holy water.” Hob did a double take, “I’m sorry, what?”  Johanna shushed him, and they both glanced quickly to ensure that they hadn’t drawn any attention to themselves. Leaning in a bit closer, Hob kept his voice soft and even this time, “How can you even tell?” “I’m good at my job,” she offered cryptically, “Ol’ Burgess got scammed.”

W: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “adoption”.)

“Well, you’re obviously good with them,” Hob smiled easily, feeling more than comfortable to trust this man, “Any particular one you feel drawn to?” At the moment, the kittens were still too young to have noticeable differences in their personalities, but if he had a favorite, he would make note for anyone else who came to see them. There is a long, drawn-out pause, and he assumes Morpheus is simply considering the question with the same quiet gravity as he seems to do with everything. But then, he turns to Hob, face steeled, “I would like all of them.” Hob must have misheard, “You…” he blinks rapidly, “You want all four of them?” He nods, just once, deliberate and firm, “Yes.” There is another pause as Hob waits for… something. An explanation, a story, or a reasoning, anything even remotely resembling a normal conversation that someone might offer after asking to adopt an entire litter of kittens. Dream offers nothing but stony silence, staring at Hob unblinking as he waits for an answer. Hob would be terrified to play poker with this man. 

@valeriianz :LENGTH

L: (Another from a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “adoption”.)

Letting Morpheus into the apartment, he gestures vaguely at the living room, “Feel free to set those down wherever there’s space. I know it’s a bit of a mess in here,” he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.  Morpheus glances around, no hint of judgement on his face, though to be fair, Hob had trouble picking out any emotion from his expressions. Eventually, he walks to a corner of the room, next to a small side table and places the carriers on the ground. “I do not want them to get in your way,” he offered, “And it would be better for the kittens to explore them on their own, at first.”

E: (From “My Soul to Keep”, the sequel to “Now I Lay Me”.)

Each night, the dream is the same. Hob knows it is a dream, but not in the way he does when he is with Dream properly, when he can travel and take everything in in full awareness. Here, he has no control. No way to make it stop. He is crouched on the edge of a cliff, his body hanging half over the open air as he reaches down. He is holding Dream’s hand. He is the only thing keeping Dream from plummeting to the ground. Each night, Dream looks up at him, calm and sorrowful and resigned, white eyes gazing steadily at him even as Hob grunts and struggles and fails to pull Dream up.  And each night, Dream opens his mouth and says, “Let go.”

N: (From a fic about touch starved Dream struggling with communication.)

Nervously, Dream twisted his fingers together, shoulders up around his ears as he mumbled, “I… do not wish to bother you.” Hob smiled gently, “Wouldn’t have offered if it was a bother,” he pointed out. Dream bit his lip, and it is both adorable and heartbreaking how much this simple, innocent situation seems to scare him. “If you get uncomfortable we can stop. There’s no rules or time limit or anything. I just think it might help.” Dream swallowed, looking up at Hob and searching his face. Finally, he seems to steel himself, approaching the couch like it might attack him. Slowly, carefully, he sits beside Hob. There is another pause as he takes some deep breaths, but Hob doesn’t rush him, simply hitting play on the movie. The sounds of the opening help fill the space, Hob leaning back against the couch casually, not looking at Dream so as not to make him even more nervous. The opening credits are just ending when Dream finally musters the courage to lay his head in Hob’s lap. His entire body is tense, as though bracing to be scolded or pushed away despite all of Hob’s reassurances, and Hob’s heart breaks.

G: (Another from the next fic in my Immortal Throuple au.)

Groaning, Calliope covered her face with her hands, dropping onto the couch dramatically, “He was so sweet,” she sighed, “I was at the bookstore and ran into him. Literally. Wasn’t looking where I was going and barreled into him, dropped a dozen books all over the floor. And he apologized to me. Helped me pick everything up like a proper gentleman and then asked me about my favorite poet.” Hob laughed, “Oh no, that’s your weak spot.” “I am aware,” she sighed again, “Had to pull him into a supply closet almost immediately.” Laughing again, Hob let his head drop back to face the ceiling, “When I met him he was in the park. Feeding the birds.” “No,” Calliope gasped, sitting up, eyes wide and shining at the mental image, “You are joking.” Hob shook his head, “Nope. This dark little slip of a thing, surrounded by pigeons and sparrows and sprinkling seeds for them. Nearly bit through my cheek trying not to squeal, he was so cute.”

T: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “tied to a bed”.)

There is a long moment where they both simply stare at each other. The other boy snaps out of it first, his face flushing and slapping a hand over his eyes and backing out of the room. “I apologize, please excuse me-” “No no no, wait!” Hob finds his voice, “Please, I need you to untie me!” The stranger froze, but only for a moment. Separating his fingers just slightly, he stumbled back into the room, grabbing a blanket off the floor and tossing it over Hob’s lower half. Hob has to bite back the urge to ask ‘What? Don’t like what you see?’ He just had to be rescued by the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen. The irony was cruel.

H: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “haunted hotel”.)

Hob nodded thoughtfully, not entirely sure what he was meant to do with that information, but curiosity still driving him forward, “Do you know how you died?” The ghost flinched, and Hob backtracked quickly, “Wait, I’m sorry, that was- that was so rude-” “It’s fine,” the ghost interrupted his rambling. Hob still felt bad though. The ghost wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I…”  The moment stretches, and Hob forces himself to stay quiet. To let the specter take all the time he needs.  Finally, he looks up, his eyes watery. Hob had never considered if ghosts could cry. “I don’t remember.”

I have no idea who has already done this, so feel free to ignore me lol

@beatnikfreakiswriting @softest-punk @gabessquishytum @pellaaearien @tj-dragonblade @kydrogendragon

Your word is: TURN

[thelunaticself]

MICHEAL X ANGEL!READER

Summary: Despite your very best effort, Micheal never shows any interest in you.

Artist: https://x.com/kkongchi06

Being a child of the Goddess of Love has its perks. Your beauty has never failed to lead many angels to their demise - being trapped in a one-sided love. You have trapped yourself in a one-sided love too. Many of your sisters’ lovers come and go like course meals, their names have never quite made it past the third time. You wish it were the case for you. Despite having attracted so many angels, no one has quite left such an impression on you. Love is one of commitment and a yet to be understood concept, even its creator struggles to explain her own creation. Thus, that view of yours has obscured your path of love to angels and seraphims alike.

You cannot explain why you're experiencing such feelings right now. Standards or beliefs cannot steer your gaze away from the archangel sitting piously in the court. Despite many failed attempts to approach him, the farthest you can get is an uninterested glance. You just wish his gaze would be bothered to notice yours for once.

I’ve been getting reports about the worrying trends of divorces on Earth. I would like to hear an explanation from their supervisors.

Perhaps this is the only time his gaze would be more charming if it diverted elsewhere but you. Ones of discipline and anticipation. Standing up nervously, you choose your words wisely:

Allow me to answer, sir Micheal. Cupids have been more ploy with their tactics, trying to hide away from our guidance. It doesn't help that some of my sisters felt ill, thus, adding more onto each of our workload. I sincerely hope to receive one more month to reverse the damage done.

You can sense his frustration by the way his eyes bore into you. Insignificance fails to describe the state you're feeling.

Very well then. I expect nothing but hard work and better results. Y/n, I would like to have a word with you in private. Micheal says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

You are accustomed to this kind of treatment. Something goes wrong, Micheal gets mad, you get scolded. It's one of the perks of being the oldest. Such irony of a joke doesn't even feel hilarious anymore, at least for these days.

...

The dreadful echoes of your footsteps make the long corridor even more threatening. If there is something scarier than being fallen, it would definitely be an angry Michael. Your hand shakily reaches for the intricate doorknob, wanting nothing more to get back to take care of your sisters.

Welcome in.

H-hi.

Your eyes desperately look somewhere but him. Even when walking towards the chair, the floor still has your utmost attention. Shifting uncomfortably, you curse at yourself for looking so stupid in front of the Prince of Heaven. A clearing of his throat brings you back into reality.

Let me get straight to the point. I want those pesky cupids of yours to be dealt with in less than 2 weeks.

E-excuse me?

Your anxiety is now shifting to confusion and disbelief. Is this some kind of game? However, his expression is saying otherwise:

You heard me right. I had foreseen the possibility of you not doing exactly to my favor…

His voice becomes distant, so far away. You cannot bring yourself up to even care about this pointless conversation anymore.

That is why I called you to talk in private. I am willing to hear all your reasoning…

This is expected. You think to yourself. Although, it's more of an assurance to calm yourself. You can almost feel the stress of the two weeks ahead. Being put under his scrutiny for countless times, Micheal’s attitude at work (at least to you) never fails to make you feel lost. Exhausted.

Either way, I’m quite convinced that nothing can change…

Why is it always you? Why is it always about your work? Why do you even like him? He’s been nothing but a burden, nothing more nothing less. Yet, you find yourself being a moth flying closer to the false alluring light. You cannot take this anymore. You’ve made up your mind. Either settle this right now or the consequences are going back to bite you later.

May I ask you something, Sir?

Michael stops dead in his rambling. After a moment of consideration and curious eyes staring hauntingly at you, he manages to get back to his smug face:

Yes. Yes, you may.

That short sentence sends some kind of chemical to your brain because you were sure you were dead by now. Taking a deep breath, you look straight at his blue orbs:

What's the point of this?

A moment of silence. Suddenly, the sound of your breathing feels too loud and you are aware of how flimsy your hands are. Then, the atmosphere shifts. Micheal smug smile returns as he leans closer, answering with a disturbingly low voice:

Because it's my responsibility to ensure all of Heaven runs smoothly and in accordance with God's reference.

Ah. Right. A responsible person as always. You wonder if he learned those answers by heart. As if reading your mind, his eyebrows show that of annoyance, hands clasping when asking back at you:

Say, I’m still waiting for your response on the important matter.

That's it. You are going to die today.

You're lying.

Fuck. If you're not demoted right now, you certainly will be. Did you regret it? Absolutely. Did it feel good? Absolutely. Maybe this torture will finally-

Oh, so you've noticed.

What?

You stare at him in disbelief. Eyes as wide as a doe. His grin also grows wider, more sinister.

Sweetheart, I don't fucking care about some heartbroken freaks when people are outright dying.

Suddenly, you come into contact with the wall violently. His hand covered the back of your head, preventing the hit.

For someone supposed to be an angel of Love, you are as dense as a book.

Not a single coherent thought is on your mind right now. If anything, you are battling between fighting back or just giving in to him. Excitement somehow finds its way to you. Maybe being trapped against the wall by Micheal isn't that bad.

There you go again, losing focus on such an important matter. Micheal says with a sigh.

That snaps you back to reality. You have to say something. You feel like it's necessary. You feel like if you don't say anything right now, the regret would be unbearable. But, what can you say?

I-I’m sorry, Sir. Am I missing something?

You are going to die. Micheal hasn't said anything but looked at you. Something about his gaze screams defeat.

Tsk.

Soft. His lips are softer than you thought. It feels better too. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would get to touch his hands. Yet, his hands are now holding your wrists, tracing circles on your back, your waist, literally every inch of your body are being cared for. It is too much, too surreal. Your hands tangle themselves into his hair and hold onto his shoulder for balance. Next thing you know, your back is arching on the desk.

⌯⌲ buy me a coffee?

[shinestarhwaa]

WOOYOUNG NSFW ALPHABET

A - Aftercare (how is he after sex)

Wooyoung is a sweetheart and we know it, he will ask you if you need anything and he'll caress your hair while you're falling asleep together.

B- Bodypart (his favourite bodypart on you)

Your eyes. He goes crazy for those eyes, wether they look up at him innocently or if they're filled with lust, everything's sexy to him.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum)

He probably loves to cum on your body, preferably your chest (he might even lick it off)

D - Dirty secret (his dirty secret)

Wooyoung isn't very secretive about his dirty fantasies, he doesn't mind telling you at all, but he hasn't told you yet about the time he used your panties to jerk off on tour-

E - Experience (how experienced is he?)

Wooyoung is fairly experienced I think, he definitely knows how to play and what to do/not to do.

F - Favourite position

Missionary because he gets off on the expressions on your face, but also loves doggy style mirror sex.

G - Goofy (how he acts in the moment?)

He might be a bit goofy sometimes but not often, he's more of a smirking/teasing kind of guy.

H - Hair (how groomed is he?)

I think he's well groomed, he has some hair there because he's too lazy to shave all off and he probably thinks it's annoying but he makes sure to keep it neat and clean for you.

I - Intimacy (how passionate is he?)

Oh this man can get really intimate and passionate. You might forget because of his teasing and bratty persona but when you're alone he'll become more serious and really affectionate to you.

J - Jack off (how often does he masturbate?)

Probably 4-5 times a week but don't be surprised if it's more than that.

K - Kink

He probably enjoys a little bit of pain play because he loves to bite, he might enjoy spanking, but the biggest kink of all... *drum roll* DEGRADING KINK. (This man loves being degraded and we all know it like... he literally confessed it a thousand times).

L - Location (what's his favourite place to have sex?)

Everywhere around the house honestly, also loves it when you come blow him inbetween dance practices.

M - Motivation (what keeps him going?)

The pleasure expressions on your face do it for him.

N - NO (what is a no-go for him/turn-offs?)

I don't think he'll do role play in bed? It's not something he really hates or anything but he doesn't wanna make it an act, he just wants it to be reality between you two (does that make sense?).

O - Oral (giving or receiving, skill etc.)

He's more on the receiving side I think, but he'll make sure to give you your turn too, but he might use his hands more than his mouth (that doesn't mean he won't tho🤪).

P - Pace (fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

I see him as more of a fast&rough kind of guy cause he has no patience and he loves the chaos.

Q - Quickie (their opinion on quickies)

Loves quickies, he'll literally do anything to get in your pants at any place, any time.

R - Risk (experiments, taking risks etc.)

We know him. He loves this kind of shit. He'll gladly experiment with different kinks, will come up with new positions and would get kicks out of doing stuff at places he'll be caught (not like illegally but like...with members etc.)

S - Stamina (how long does he last?)

He lasts for about 2-3 rounds I think? Might need you to be on top for the 3rd round.

T - Toys (do they own toys? does he use them with his partner or himself?)

He doesn't mind toys at all. I don't think he owns them but he'll use it with you if you want to.

U - Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

I don't even need to elaborate on how much of a tease this guy actually is. He'll play with your mind and body and make you go crazy before actually giving in and do something about what's going on between your legs.

V - Volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

Wooyoung is a loud mf and he will be in bed too. Loud moans, whines, any sound, honestly.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

Before you knew it Wooyoung had shoved you inside some sort of broom closet. His lips were all over your neck as his fingers unbuttoned your pants and slid into your underwear. "Wooyoung we gotta go back to your practice room, they'll come find us," you moaned as he played with your slick. "Then they'll find us. Gotta make my precious cum first."

X - X-Ray (what's going on in them pants?)

Probably average, more thick and girthy than it is long and probably has those sexy veins of his run along the shaft.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sexdrive?)

HIGH sexdrive. Like he can do it any day. Multiple times.

Z - ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

He won't pass out until he knows you're all good. He'll wanna sleep with you in his arms tho.

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @1-800-shedevil @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630

[meisverycool]

2. 'Forgotten?'

Scaramouche walked down the aisle heading to the library,an ugly scowl rested on his face as his eyes glared at the poor souls that were unlucky enough to pass by him,but Scaramouche was too deep in thought to even notice he was glaring at people

His mind was scattering around in search of a way to approach the h/c girl he was supposed to meet in some minutes,for the first time in his life he didn't knew how to act around Yn. Was he supposed to act like nothing happened and continue acting like they were strangers? He didn't knew.

But Scaramouche was more worried about how Yn was gonna act with him,she won't beg him to give her explanations for his disappearance in her life,no she won't...she has been ignoring him for a whole year now after all,a sigh escaped the boy's lips as relief washed over him,at least he won't have to dismiss her questions and won't see her cry but another part of him was tense,Yn no longer seeked out for him.

It terrified him,he felt awful. When she stopped to come to his house to ask about him,when she stopped texting him,when she would go out of her way to search for him at his football camp he started to think she had moved on and forgot him.

That was even worse in his perspective,he didn't want to be discharged and forgotten like a puppet by his Yn too. He still cherished deeply what he and Yn had and always will,he just distanced himself for a bit,he still wanted her in his life... he just didn't knew when or how he would be ready to give her an explanation for his behavior and make amends to have her back

'she didn't forgot about me,right?'

That very though kept him up at night sometimes,his eyes glued to the ceiling as Kunikuzushi laid down in his bed while guilt was eating him alive, he was totally aware he hurt the person he adored most with his harsh words and actions,but it was for her own good. That's what he told himself,it was for her,she didn't deserve to be dragged again in his messes

Oh but it was hard to look at her teary face as harsh words would leave his lips,they tasted bitter on the tip of tongue,a cold glare was directed to her as tears wetted her cheeks

It was also hard learning how to stay away from her,they grew up together after all,she was the only person who stayed by his side all the time along with Kazuha,another person he hurt and probably disappointed.

He was managing fine though,well it lasted until a burgundy haired guy into the picture.

Kunikuzushi saw him for the first time walking back from his football game,he passed by cafe when a familiar laughter reached his ears,his eyes darted to the side searching for a h/c haired girl with bright e/c eyes and he found her. She was sitting there while sipping on her cafe latte while chuckling with... a guy.

He unconsciously froze,his stomach churned with unease as his fingers grasped harder his bag what was hanging from his shoulder,it stung. Such a simple sight hurt him,Yn was just in a cafe laughing and enjoying herself with one of her guy friends,what was so wrong about it? He prayed to the god above that the annoying guy sat in front of her was just one of her friends and nothing more...

At home Scaramouche ran up straight to his room to cry his eyes out,in one day he lost his football game and his childhood friend.

If he couldn't handle such a simple sight how will he feel when he'll see her in a withe dress walking down the aisle?

But right he didn't love her,not like that,he was just scared that someone else would take away from him the person he considered his home and shelf his whole lifetime.

After completing for an hour with his thumb hovering above Kazuha's number he finally clicked it and decided to ask about the identity of the guy he saw,Kazuha must've knew.

.

.

.

The indigo haired boy came back to reality when he found himself face to face with the library's door,he pushed it open and walked to a table taking out two chairs,that's what he expected, to be just him and Yn

That very though got immediately crushed when the library's door opened again and revealed two figures, Scaramouche's stomach twisted when he shifted his gaze to the figure next to Yn, Heizou Shikanoin. The guy he hated.

Scaramouche averted hai gaze to the book resting in front of him on the table,going back to acting unbothered,he didn't want heizou to notice and he knew,thanks to stalking his Social media,that Heizou was a sly fox, he studies criminology after all.

The pair approached Scaramouche at the table and Heizou went to pick a chair for himself,leaving alone the two

"why is he here?"

Questioned Scaramouche while raising one eyebrow and fixing his gaze on the girl in front of him

"he has homework to comply too"

Was the answer he got in return,Yn clicked her tongue,frustration bumbling up inside of her as she raised her head to glance at the face she used to adore so much

‘Fuck Heizou,why did he leave me alone with him?? I told him that was the only thing he couldn’t do’

"I was thinking of dividing the work and working separate then just putting it together and confronting each other,that's fine for you?"

"yeah,it can spare us more time too,I'll do the opening and the first part"

Yn nodded her head and that was enough for the both of them to start working on their own

"here Nn,i went to the cafeteria next to the library quickly to get us something while working"

Heizou sat next to Yn and set the drinks he bought down while annoyed eyes followed him,that didn't got unnoticed by the green eyed guy which offered Scaramouche a smile,for the latter suddenly the geography book never seemed so interesting

While Scaramouche was drowning in embarrassment for being caught,staring- more like glaring Heizou chuckled in return and stretched out a hand to him

"the name's Heizou Shikanoin,nice to meet you"

Dumbfounded Scaramouche reciprocated the gesture,shaking Heizou's hand giving it a harder squeeze unsure of the boy’s intentions

"Raiden Scaramouche"

"here I bought something for you too,I didn't know what you liked but I guessed something bitter and not sweet"

A cup of espresso was pushed towards him,he stared it before looking back up at Shikanoin who had a smug expression on his face

"thank you"

And with that it fell silent as the three started working, occasional bickering or short conversation were shared between Yn and Heizou which made Scaramouche,Who couldn't stand them anymore,work faster and once he finished he bid goodbye and was the first to leave

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ NOTES:

I accidentally deleted the draft again and was forced to rewrite it

The "." Scaramouche sent was supposed to be the reply to his question for kazuha yo answer but you can't see it guys

Idk how to feel about this chapter

[daughterofruins]

Alright, here's another pov, and I'm not saying I'm great at this or something, but c'mon guys thoda acha toh mai bhi likhti hun:))

_________________________________________

POV: Manwa Lage

I never learnt classical dancing, but man did I love it, and that love made me participate in all these dance competitions in intra school level even if I was sure I ended up looking like a cow vibing to nursery rhymes.

With my jhumka set in place, I looked at myself one last time in the mirror. This was it. My first onstage performance after two years of no dancing.

Relax, breathe in and out. You've done this before. Remember, grace.

As soon as I stepped out of the greenroom and into the wings, waiting for my introduction, I knew something was wrong. There were far more people at the back of the hall then required, and I could see a dash of red and grey in the usual pool of white and blue skirts. Before I could give the commotion anymore thoughts, I could hear my name being called.

Right. Grace. Lets go!

As the music started wafting in the air, I allowed my body to softly move from side to side.

Ras bondiyan nayan piya ras rache

Dil dhad dhad dhake shor mache

As I tured around, all I could see was him. Him with his signature stupid smirk, except right now, when his lips were morphed into a smile, with surprise and admiration dripping from his honey brown eyes.

Yun dekh sekh sa lag jaaye

Mai jal jaun bas pyaar bache e e e e.

His eyes were following my movements with a certain...hunger in them, a deep longing embedded in them.

All logic failed me. My eyes were stuck on his. I couldn't, for the live of me, smile at my friends who had made it their personal mission to scream at every move and start a series of applause or my teachers who were as shocked as him, because me and dancing had been as faraway as fire and ice for the last two years.

Aise dore dale, kala jaadu naina kale

Tere mai havale aaja seene se lagale, o mai teraa

I knew I was messing up. Expression was a major criteria in the marking, and currently my eyes were set on certain honeybrown ones that refused to let go of the eye contact.

Oo dono dheeme dheeme chalein

Aaja dono aise milen

There. His smirk was back, his lips falling out of the smile as if it had never been there. Only the dimples still prominent, as though refusing to vanish without my closure. He cockily raised an eyebrow at me.

Zamin pe lage na tere na mere paanv reeeee

I snapped back into reality. This was it. I knew I was not going to win, but man I didnot want to lose because I was distracted, by him, nonetheless.

Manva lage, manva lage,

Lage re saanvre, lage re saanvre

Le tera hua jiya ka jiya ka jiya ka yeh ghav re.

As I did a final twirl, I could feel the push falling out. My left jhumka went for a toss, and landed somehwere with the audience and I was forced to exit the stage. I decided I would come back to look for my jhumka later. Other important concerns were bothering me.

As I exited the stage without looking back to check who was applauding and who wasn't, I was told to go back down to the hall and sit with the other contestants, except, I wasn't told that he would be sitting there.

Exiting the greenroom, I was about to enter the hall when a hand pulled me into the tiny corner adjacent to the hall, used for storing old practical files.

"Aakhir apne jhumke toh sambhal lo, is school ki responsibility baade mein sambhal lena"

There he stood in all his glory, his hand covering my lips in order to prevent me from screaming.

His hands reached for my clammy palms and softly, he dropped the jhumka in my hands. His touch was fleeting and gentle unlike his hands which were big and rough. I couldn't decide which of the two he thought were more fragile, the jhumka or my hand.

"Jhumka girane ka mujhe koi shauk nahi hai. Pata hota tumpe giregi toh mai ghumti hi nahi-"

Cutting me off he leaned closer and whispered,

"Aksar aise mauko pe log thank you bolte hai, lekin aapka pyara jatane ka tareka kuch alag hai, aur us hisab se mujhe thank you se kuch bohot zyada mila chuka hai. So thank you"

And he walked off, winking at me, leaving me with his lingering touch in my hands, and the ghost of his lips on my ears, stupidly making me wonder how they would feel on my neck, or worse, on my lips.

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Tagging: @alhad-si-simran @om-is-ok @hawa-hawaiii @deesi-academia @hectorfrombritain @khwabedaa @indiansapphic @bandarrrrr @oh-munda-kukkad-kamaal-da @kajra-re and anyone else really. Lmk if you want to be tagged. Comments are more than welcome<3