#(even though it's so acute and piercing)

[euphemiaamillais]

innocent - coriolanus snow

you never would’ve thought you’d end the night with a peacekeeper in your bed…

cw: 18+//loss of virginity//piv sex//handjobs//fingering

an: this gif is him above me 🤭🤭

perhaps it had been a bad idea to wear such a short skirt to the hob that evening. you’d caught the eye of many men as you swayed to the tunes of the covey; cheap moonshine in hand. you noticed one in particular—the one with those piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde buzzcut—was watching you intently.

you couldn’t help but blush, cheeks dancing with the warmth of being seen, chest filling with that sticky feeling. you’d felt it before, but the smiles of those other men had never amounted to anything more than a lingering kiss or two. your heart stirred when he came up to you, and you realised he was a peacekeeper. you knew better than to get entangled with one, or so you thought.

it was hard to resist one so charming and attractive.

'i saw you looking at me,' he remarked, drawing his arms around your waist.

you could barely meet his gaze, embarrassed by the way his cool touch sent a shiver down your spine and made your thighs tingle with want.

'shy are we, bunny?' he asked, removing one hand to cup your chin, drawing it up to meet his icy blue eyes.

you shook your head, but your eyes told the truth; fluttering about the room, trying to look anywhere but him. you wondered if anybody could see you—it would've been shameful to be caught so close with a peacekeeper. but nobody seemed to be paying you any heed, and so your pounding heart ceased its nervous palpitations.

‘how about a dance?’ he laced his fingers in your hand, moving it up so it rested against his shoulder.

you were acutely aware of the other hand which rested at your waist, and you couldn’t exactly say no when he had already moulded you into the perfect stance. the band began to play a slow song, and the blush stained your cheeks once again. he laughed, an almost mirthful laugh—although, coriolanus snow was never somebody to really, truly laugh—not that you knew that.

‘are you going to tell me your name, officer?’ you drawled, deciding that there was no harm in flirting. he was so handsome after all; and it would be rude not to talk to him.

‘it’s private, actually,’ he admitted bashfully, as if he was ashamed of his inferiority. but next to you, he felt powerful. you were just a district girl, and much smaller than his six foot frame. he could do anything he wanted to you.

‘well private, you ought to have a name,’ you began. ‘and it’s awful rude to not introduce yourself to a lady.’

you were teasing him; he wondered how many men you’d used that line on, but when he looked at the way you were bright red, and how your knees buckled a little, even as you attempted to maintain your composure, he reckoned it couldn’t have been many.

‘it’s private snow,’ he told you curtly.

you smiled; a pretty name. much different to the names here in 12, though you reckoned a peacekeeper was probably from one of the other, wealthier districts. not that you knew much about those.

‘well, private snow,’ your voice had a sweet twang to it, and he found himself thinking of another girl he knew, once, with that same appalachian drawl. he had come here to find her, and yet had no luck.

but you weren’t so bad—no, you were even prettier, and probably didn’t have a man like billy taupe clinging onto your skirts. he wondered if you had ever even kissed a man before. you had the sweetest looking lips, so plump, and a little wet with the moonshine you’d been sipping.

‘how are you liking district 12?’ you continued, brows quirking up with interest.

‘it’s alright. commander hoff works us to the bone but i suppose that’s the price you pay for 20 years,’ he huffed. his eyes looked a little distance—sad, perhaps. you wondered if he’d had much choice in the matter. still, even if he hadn’t, you did have to admit he would probably look good in his peacekeeper uniform.

‘20 years?’ your mouth stretched into a circle of surprise. ‘my, that’s terribly brave.’

his own cheeks reddened a little, though he quickly swallowed that feeling. he couldn’t blush, that was pathetic. that was something his fellow peacekeeper sejanus plinth did. no, a woman like you wasn’t to be caught by a blushing man. he needed to show you what it meant to be had by a peacekeeper—not the ambitious schoolboy in academy rouge that he’d left as soon as he’d set foot in 12.

‘i suppose so…’ his voice trailed off.

‘how do you keep yourself entertained, private snow?’ you asked as you swayed a little to one of the songs the covey was playing.

his mind flickered to what he’d been planning on doing to you—he’d not touched a woman in weeks, and at night he often found his body receptive to any and all thoughts. tonight, he had the chance to actually satisfy that ache that had been bottled up for weeks. he wondered if you’d feel better than that girl he did in the alley—at least his mind was clear tonight.

‘oh, dancing with pretty girls like you is one way of staving off boredom, bunny,’ he pressed a kiss to your hand, watching as your lips puckered into a bashful smile.

how innocent. he’d love to ruin you. he wondered what noises you’d make with his cock buried deep inside of you. you were probably tight as anything, just begging to be filled up with his cock.

‘well, if you think i’m pretty then i suppose i’ll have to thank you,’ you gazed up through your thick lashes, fluttering them ever-so-slightly.

his cock stirred in his pants—you were so fucking tempting. the way you were just begging to be fucked. he cocked a brow, curious as to what your intentions were.

‘what kind of thanks, bunny?’ he asked, breath fanning your ear.

‘well…’ feeling daring, you stroked at his chest, feeling the taut muscles underneath his shirt. you noticed the dog tag dangling, and a smirk played at his lips.

‘how about a kiss?’ you offered. oh, you were so innocent.

he nodded, and you felt your heart flutter. you worried he’d think you were being too forward, what, with you offering so quickly. but he was just so handsome. you wondered what his lips would feel like against yours.

perhaps you wouldn’t have to wait so long to find out…

you dragged him to a more secluded place, feeling a little too embarrassed about kissing him in the throng of people. he wondered, as you led him down the corridor of the hob, just how much you’d be thanking him. maybe you’d let him touch you a little, hands straying to cup your breasts, and then perhaps caress your hips. one thing would lead to another… and sweet virgins like you were easily persuaded.

coriolanus was swift with his kiss, leaning into you as you were pressed against the wall. you kissed back, soft at first, but when you felt his tongue pressing against your lips, you opened your mouth and surrendered.

he wrapped his hands around your waist, palming at the skin beneath your shirt. a heat crept upon your cheeks as his lips kissed yours with a hunger. pressed up against you, his cock twitched a little in his pants. he had to have you, you were practically begging for it in a skirt that short.

‘you taste so sweet, bunny,’ he mused as you pulled away from him. he wondered what you’d taste like in other places, whether your cunt had the same sweetness of your mouth.

you wanted more—your cunt ached, an unfamiliar feeling, but nontheless you knew you needed to be satisfied.

coriolanus could see this, the way you clenched your thighs together, and how your heart thumped inside your chest. he’d felt it when he’d been flush against you.

‘you wanna thank me some more?’ he inquired, blonde brow cocked.

you bit your lip, but you knew you couldn’t deny the rush inside your body, the way you were growing increasingly wet between your thighs. the ache that nagged at you, yearning to be satisfied.

‘mhm,’ you nodded dumbly, feeling his hands grab at your thighs.

‘you live alone?’ he asked, desire glinting in his eyes.

you shook your head, and a frown scampered upon his lips.

‘well, my pa’s not home til late, if you wanna come over…’ you drew a heavy breath, nerves making your knees buckle.

his frown turned to a smile, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. how endearing, the way you called your father pa. you were so beneath him, and he was determined to teach you that you belonged to him, the poor little district girl who’d been snapped up in the peacekeeper’s trap.

—

your house wasn’t far from the hob. coriolanus was glad of this, his cock was straining so hard in his trousers—he worried he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and finishing without even having touched you. well, that would just be a waste; embarrassing even.

you fumbled with the keys, and he felt a smile scamper upon his lips as he watched you, so afraid, his poor little bunny, struggling to open the door. when you finally slotted the key in the lock, coriolanus’ arms were wrapped around your waist, fingers tracing lightly across your skin.

‘you know bunny, you really should be careful around strange men,’ he murmured against your ear. you were acutely aware of what was pressing against your bottom.

‘but you’re not strange… you’re a peacekeeper,’ you hummed, moving your legs over the threshold. he still clung to you, breath heavy, hands roaming.

you had to get inside before anyone saw, and god forbid, alerted your pa. there was something deliciously thrilling about having a man inside of your home—you wondered if it made you a whore, inviting him inside and only having known him an hour. but you knew many girls who did that, and at least you weren’t taking money for it.

‘mhm, but men like me… well, they just can’t resist taking what’s theirs,’ he pinched you, watching you gasp at the stinging feeling of your delicate skin between his fingers. you looked so sweet when you squirmed.

‘well maybe i want you to take what’s yours,’ you looked up at him with wide eyes, fingers lacing against each other as you swung about.

you looked like a little lamb, so sweet and innocent. he wanted to take you between his jaw and make you bleed.

‘is that so, bunny?’ he asked, and you nodded dumbly.

you trailed along to your room, not desperate enough to let him have you against a wall, glancing back at him every so often and watching as his eyes followed you. you shoved the door open, and switched on the little lamp by your bedside table.

your room was bare, for the most part, but coriolanus felt it suited you, the cream bedsheets and the old floral wallpaper. it was so innocent. he wondered if you’d stain those sheets tonight as he stretched you out. he’d want to keep them, as a reminder of what he’d taken from you.

you sat down on the bed, and he followed suit, still reminded of his achingly hard cock. you couldn’t keep your eyes off the bulge in his trousers; it was of a considerable size, and made you gnaw at your lip in anticipation.

‘i want to help you,’ you said, mouth going dry at the sight of him.

‘help me, bunny?’ he inquired. your words were a little cryptic, but he could tell that your eyes were clearly focused on his achingly hard cock.

‘mhm, you’re so hard,’ you murmured. although you were innocent, you’d read enough romance novels to figure out what he needed.

‘you can certainly help me,’ he grabbed your hand and guided it to his clothed hard-on.

you palmed it lightly, gasping as you felt it. he watched as your mouth spread into an exclamation of delight, lips flickering a little. you were so innocent, the way you were gentle in your touches, how you sighed with amazement.

he groaned at the touch, but moved your hand away to free his cock from the restraints of his pants and boxers. your mouth hung agape as he pulled them down to his knees and you were presented with his hard cock. he was big, not that you’d really seen a cock before, but it had to be at least eight inches, and it was throbbing desperately against his stomach.

coriolanus guided your hand back, and wrapped it around the base. you could feel the blood coursing through it, and saw a little bit of precum dribbling from the tip.

‘just move your hand up and down, princess,’ he cooed, and you stroked him, sweaty palms not causing as much friction as he expected.

you moved your hand to the tip, and he urged you to give it a squeeze, groaning as you did so. you felt so good, the way you were thumbing his dripping head, stroking so diligently. but he wanted more, he needed to feel you.

your thighs burned as you continued to stroke him, and you watched as he bucked his hips a little at your touch. you fastened the pace, not too quick, but just enough that his breaths grew haggard. it didn’t seem so intimidating now that you were doing it, and his moans suggested you were doing a good job.

but still, your own body was aching with need, and you found yourself grinding into the bed. coriolanus saw this, the way you were practically squirming, and moved one of his own hands to grip at your thigh.

‘does bunny want me to touch her too?’ he said between breaths.

you nodded lazily, hand still pumping his cock. he was close already, the feeling of your hand too much, and the anticipation of finally burying himself deep inside of you was sending him over the edge.

coriolanus’ fingers traced lightly up your thigh, and when he reached your skirt, he pushed past the hem and slipped between the apex of your thighs. you spread them, and gasped as you felt his fingers brush against the wet patch of your panties.

‘oh bunny, you’re so wet,’ he sighed, his cock throbbing. he was so close…

you mewled as he removed your panties, fingers gently prying them off of you and leaving them to hang at your ankles. you kicked them off, but were left sighing as he ceased his touch for a moment.

his cock twitched in your grip, and he let out a loud, rough groan, spurts of cum coming from the tip of his cock. you blushed, watching as he came onto your hand, and his stomach. he’d have to wash his uniform tonight, because it was stained with the pearly ropes.

sweat beaded at his forehead, but he didn’t let the waves of his own pleasure distract from what he wanted most, which was to feel you. you spread your legs, and he sighed at the sight of your glistening cunt.

he ran one finger over your folds, and you clutched at the bedsheets, attempting to ignore how sensitive you already were. his thumb pressed against your clit, and you couldn’t stifle your moan this time, a feeling of warmth shooting across your body. you wanted more, and ground into the feeling of his thumb running circles against the sensitive spot.

‘so wet for me, aren’t you?’ he muttered, his long fingers edging further down your folds.

‘feels so… good,’ you huffed, eyes fluttering shut with bliss. of course you were already lingering on the edge of your own pleasure—he doubted you’d ever even touched yourself before.

he eased a finger into your hole; feeling your slick walls take it in, but only barely. you were so fucking tight, and he watched as you winced a little at the feeling. it only hurt for a second, but you were so wet that you were longing for more.

‘oh please,’ you gasped, feeling him arch his finger while his thumb began to vary its ministrations against your clit.

‘gonna cum for me, bunny?’ he cooed, moving his thumb up and down, watching as your thighs began to tremble.

the heat was unbearable now, and when he added another finger, stretching you out, you felt your whole body begin to tingle with the beginning of your release.

‘mhm!’ you cried out, exasperated from his touch.

you gushed around his fingers, though he continued to rub his thumb against your clit, and arch his fingers inside of you, mesmerised by the wetness coating them. your breath hitched, and you came completely undone, burning and trembling as he made you cum.

he felt his cock harden again at the sight of you coming around his fingers, and as he removed them from your hole, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer.

coriolanus pushed you back into the bed, cock pressing against your thighs. your head swam with the excess of your desire, but you surrendered yourself to him, longing to feel him buried deep inside of you.

he guided just the tip towards your hole, and ran it teasingly through the soaking folds of your cunt. you mewled, and clutched at his back in an attempt to get him to push into you. deciding he was greedy, he pressed the tip into you, and you let out a shocked groan.

it hurt—he was big, but you hadn’t expected it to make you tingle so much. you bit back a few tears, and let him put the rest of the tip in. you were so tight, he couldn’t believe it. if you’d felt tight around his fingers, this was a whole new sensation. you were clenching around his cock, and he had barely so much as the head of it inside you.

‘too big,’ you gasped, feeling him ease his cock further in. it stung a little, the stretch slightly unpleasant. but you wanted him so bad. ‘it hurts!’

‘poor bunny,’ he mused, stroking your cheek. ‘you gotta learn to take it, like a good girl. i know you want it, bunny.’

you did, you wanted it so bad. even though it hurt, you felt your stomach knot tightly as it did when he’d rubbed your clit. he began to buck his hips, grunting at the tightness of your cunt. your walls stretched around his big cock, taking him in as best they could, slick with want and need.

‘fuck, you’re so fucking tight,’ he groaned as thrust inside of you.

more tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks. he watched as you tried to fight off the feelings of pain, surrendering yourself to the pleasant feeling of fullness and his throbbing cock inside of you. he wanted nothing more than to pound into you, make you scream his name as he filled you up, but you were too delicate. he’d have to wait until you were ready, and you were special, anyways. a pretty doll just for him.

‘oh,’ you gasped as he fucked himself deeper, reaching a new angle inside of you.

the sound of your slick mingling with the slapping of his balls echoed against the walls of your room, and you clutched at his back. your desire began to brim again, edging its way up your thighs and deep into the pit of your stomach. coriolanus could hardly contain himself, you fit around him so perfectly, slick walls coating his cock as he thrust in and out.

‘fuck bunny, i don’t know how much more i can take,’ he admitted haggardly. he attempted to control his urges, but you were just so tight. what was stopping him from coming in you right then and there?

‘need you,’ you mumbled as he rutted against your hips, thrusts growing more desperate.

he moved one hand down to rub at your overstimulated clit, fingers deftly helping to unfurl the ache inside of you. you sputtered at the sensation, head spinning as he fucked you into the mattress.

he was so close, the clenching of your walls sending the blood straight to his head. he let out a final grunt, and slowed his thrusts, and felt himself come undone. he ground his cock into you, letting the thick spurts of his cum coat your walls. he came a lot, more than he’d ever done before, balls draining with what felt like every last drop.

he still continued to fuck up into you, wanting you to finish around him before he pulled out. your legs began to tremble, the feeling of his cum too much to handle, and you let out a sweet cry.

‘so good,’ you pressed your lips together, coming undone around his dock.

coriolanus pulled out, cock coated in a milky ring of your spend, his tip still red and angry from use. your body tingled, and you felt his cum trickling down between your legs. he couldn’t believe how pretty you looked, all fucked out for him, drunk on his cock.

he’d turned such a pretty innocent thing into a stupid whore, who could barely form a sentence without sighing from the excess of her pleasure.

he wondered how long he’d have to wait to go another round, and whether or not you’d let him. but you’d been so good to him that night, doing exactly what he told you and coming for him not once, but twice.

‘such a good girl for me, bunny,’ he mused, stroking your thigh. ‘and so innocent.’

[theneighborhoodwatch]

thoughts on the Eddie scene from the end of the commercial reel? :D

HAHA oh man. okay while i'm waiting on the results of that poll, i might as well answer this. thoughts under the cut:

so, this may be me being optimistic, but i actually don't think this is indicative of eddie being permadead or anything, and not just because i think it'd be kinda cheap to kill a character off this early into the story before we even got to really know them. rather, i think this is a pretty straightforward explanation for eddie's absence from the homewarming recordings: he spent most of the day in his office waiting to be called on, only got invited to the homewarming party once everyone else had wrapped up their shenanigans, and proceeded to disassociate so hard that he was borderline catatonic when frank managed to draw his attention away from whatever he saw when he looked beyond the veil - and it's implied that frank was the only (or at least, the first) person to notice his acute distress in the first place. in short, eddie's presence throughout the entire holiday of homewarming ended up being so inconsequential either way that he might as well have not even been worth mentioning. of course, if he is missing by the next update then like. egg on my face. but that's how i see it for now.

so, is The Void that eddie found himself in when he first opened his eyes real? i mean, certainly on some level, it must be. either it's the truth of the neighbors' world or it is simply true for home, since they were the only other entity there - and since home is at the center of their world, well...... . as for what the void represents - i feel like that's something we'll only have a clearer picture of once another character finds themselves in The Bullshit, but i can hazard a few guesses, the first and most obvious being that it's eddie accidentally piercing the veil by being just a little too OOC for the universe's liking, i.e. "silly mailman, you're the resident workaholic! you're not actually supposed to relax, that's just so this special can end!" the second interpretation - and one that i like just a bit more, if i'm being honest - is that it's a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, or that distress over a deviation from the status quo makes one more susceptible to The Horrors.

hear me out: we know from the previous show scenes in the commercial reel that feeling useless or unneeded by way of having no work to do is a really easy way to get under eddie's skin, and his agitation over that was still lingering when sally invited him to the homewarming party. he's optimistic, yes - but very cautiously so. he's not used to it. something still feels a little wrong, which presents a prime opportunity for Something (home?) to wrap their arm around his shoulder and go, "buddy, you have no fucking idea." i remember reading a post that went something like "if a person goes from 1 to 100 seemingly out of nowhere, chances are they were at a 99 for a really long time, and they were just either hiding it or didn't even realize it." i think it's something like that. Something - home? wally? one of those two acting on the other's behalf? - sees this dissatisfaction, and in it, finds an opportunity to Make Them See. Make Them Understand.

something else i can't stop thinking about is that final shot of frank at the end. on the one hand, yes, it is very sweet how frank is willing to break away from formality if it means making sure that eddie's alright. on the other hand, though.... that shot of frank feels very idolizing to me. in the sea of red, frank is the one remnant of when things were fine and dandy for eddie just a few minutes before. he's in the center of the shot, and for that split second, arguably the center of eddie's world. they're even haloed by light, like an angel. again, whether they're in a properly established relationship by this point or if this is the beginning of their relationship turning from a playful flirtationship to something deeper, it's sweet to think that this is how eddie sees frank - as a refuge from The Bullshit. but i have to wonder... is eddie prepared for the possibility (or inevitability, rather) that one day, it'll be frank in that chair? given how frank likes things "just so," how is eddie going to react if, say, frank decides that the best way to ensure eddie's safety/wellbeing is to stay away from him? Many Questions Here.

[remembers that i suggested lower one's eyes as eddie's answer to frank's esperar pra ver once] [remembers that lower one's eyes is about a judas analogue being in love with a jesus analogue] [coughs up blood]

on that note, i know some folks think that at least some parts of "bug-a-bye and goodnight" are about eddie because "that's not the kind of thing you say about a bug!!!" but the thing about that is. it might not be what you would say about a bug. but it is absolutely what frank would say about a bug.

ok i'm done. For Now.

[cupidriki]

SHAMELESS. - K.SN

pairing . situationship! sunoo x fem reader, warnings . fighting, mentions of blood, suggestive ending, cursing, sunoo is a tiny teeny bit toxic. word count. 658 | music playing - shameless by camila cabello. | authors note . very different from my usual writing but i hope you like it!

“Sunoo! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” As you approach the scene, you see the man lying on the floor with his nose bleeding, apparently knocked out. Without hesitation, you grab Sunoo and quickly bring him inside the nearest bathroom, making sure to close the door behind you.

After spending a long and tiring week at work, you were looking forward to spending some quality time with your sweet and caring situationship, Sunoo. You planned to have a fun and exciting evening together, filled with laughter and joy. However, things didn't go as planned, and the night took a turn for the worse. You're not sure what went wrong, but everything started going downhill, and the happy atmosphere quickly turned into a tense and uncomfortable one.

You were at a bar, feeling parched and in need of a refreshing drink. While ordering your drink, you noticed a strange man approaching you with a creepy smirk on his features.

“Hey beautiful, you wanna come to my place.?”

As you stood there, you suddenly felt a hand on your waist, causing you to feel uncomfortable. Without hesitation, you pushed his hand away, making it clear that you did not appreciate the unwanted contact.

“I’m not interested. Please don't touch me”

“Ay, don't be so difficult. I know you want this.”

Before you could react, you saw him thrown on the ground while your situationship was punching him in the face over and over again.

“Sunoo! Stop!”

As Sunoo doesn't stop despite your words, you take his hand and lead him towards the nearest bathroom. You guide him through the crowd, gently pushing aside anyone in your path, until you finally reach the bathroom door. Once inside, you make sure to lock the door behind you and check that the room is empty. You then turn to Sunoo and scold him.

“Sunoo! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” yelling at him.

“He was touching you. What do you expect me to do?! Just stand there?” his tongue poking through his cheek.

“Yeah! But not punch him to death?!”

Sunoo was feeling a surge of anger and frustration. He had been putting on a facade of being sweet and caring towards you all this time, but the moment he let his guard down and showed his true emotions, you reacted with anger. He couldn't help but feel like his efforts to be kind to you were being taken for granted, and that his true self was not being accepted.

So many mornings he woke up confused with full of dreams of you and you’re treating him like this?

As Sunoo leaned in closer to you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of intimidation wash over you. Despite his usually sweet and gentle gaze, his eyes now appeared sharp and piercing. It was as though his entire demeanor had shifted, leaving you feeling uneasy and unsure of what to expect next. The intensity of his stare was palpable, and with each passing moment, you found yourself growing more and more anxious in his presence.

The music blasting in the background you felt the intensity of the lyrics.

“Distance, inches in between us.”

“I want you to give in, I want you to give in.”

“Weakness, tension in between us.”

“I just wanna give in.”

“Cat got your tongue? I’ll show you what the fuck I'm doing.”

As you walk alongside Sunoo, you notice him looking at the strap of your short dress. He reaches out and gently takes hold of it. Looking up at you, he mumbles a quiet "May I?" making you nod hesitantly.

Though you felt a bit intimidated, you desperately needed him.

You became acutely aware of your own breathing as you felt a sudden hitch in it. Simultaneously, you noticed that the strap of your dress was gradually slipping down, exposing your shoulder and threatening to unveil more.

maybe you didn’t mind this side of him.

tl

@cholexc

[weemssapphic]

Visions

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

received a lovely request / idea from @veeisgayasf 💛 thank you, I hope you like it! summary: Larissa x femreader bump into each other at the weathervane and reader has a vision of a spicy night with larissa even though this is their first time meeting. And it just goes from there. warnings: nsfw (fingering, oral sex, praise kink, mommy kink, mild degradation?)

words: ~3.9k

tags for those who may be interested: @sapphicsbeloved @afeatherformills @zephyr-is-tired

ao3 link in title

“Vanilla latte, extra large, for Y/N?” The barista’s voice carried through Jericho’s only café, the Weathervane, and you slipped out of the booth from which you were waiting. You desperately needed the caffeine and sugar fix if you were going to make it through your job interview that afternoon.

Your visions had begun in your childhood: when you were 7, you passed out on the playground and had what could only be described as a prophetic dream, wherein you saw your younger sister fall off her bike and break her arm. Two days later it happened, just as it had in your “dream”. Your parents brushed it off as a weird coincidence but it kept happening, and soon they were unable to ignore it.

You had heard about Nevermore Academy, but your parents, desperate to give you a “normal” childhood (more like pretend their child was normal), hadn’t allowed you to attend, forcing you, instead, through years of public schooling with “normies”. The years of bullying (fainting during class didn’t exactly make you seem normal) had only strengthened your resolve, however, and you knew one day you would make it to Nevermore. If not as a student, then as a teacher, to inspire a new generation of outcasts and to, hopefully, spare some poor kid like you the pain of being misunderstood.

So there you were, in Jericho, reciting the most interesting points of your resumé in your head, with T-minus 1 hour to go before the job interview that you had been waiting for for as long as you could remember. With the to-go cup warming your hands, you spun on your heels and made your way to exit the Weathervane just as the door swung open. 

Passing through the door was quite possibly the most gorgeous woman you had ever seen. A statuesque blonde with red lips and striking blue eyes, her platinum locks tied back in a professional updo. Everything about the woman exuded confidence, from the way she held her chin to the slight sway in her hips.

Focus, you thought. Now is not the time to get distracted.

She held the door for you and you smiled gratefully, receiving a warm smile in return, a smile that made your insides feel warm and fuzzy in ways you couldn’t explain. Your arm brushed against hers as you passed by her, and suddenly it happened again, without warning as it unfortunately always did. Your head snapped back at the neck.

Loud, unadulterated, sinful moans filled your ears. You were sitting naked on a desk in what appeared to be an office, legs spread open wide. You could feel your own slick coating your thighs, your breathing was shallow and labored. There was someone else there, a presence behind you, you could smell their flowery perfume, feel their breath on your neck. A clicking of heels told you the woman was rounding the desk now, coming into view. Her platinum updo was coming undone, red lipstick smeared. Perfectly manicured hands came to a rest on your thighs as her sapphire gaze pierced yours.

You came back to your senses and realized, with a fluttering in the pit of your stomach, that the woman in your vision was the very same woman staring back at you now, giving you a strange look, confusion mixed with curiosity, little creases forming between her perfectly plucked brows. You became acutely aware of the fact that your face had turned a lovely shade of red, to rival that of the woman’s lipstick.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice careful and guarded, eyes narrowing.

You couldn’t help but to stare at her, dumbfounded. Your mouth hung open slightly and you snapped it shut, clearing your throat and shifting your gaze to the frame of the door, behind the woman’s shoulder, so as to avoid any further eye contact. “I’m fine,” you squeaked out. “I need to go, I’m sorry.”

You left the woman behind as you scurried out to your car, not daring to look back.

Maybe now you wouldn’t need the caffeine after all.

----

The woman from your vision consumed your thoughts throughout the entire drive to Nevermore Academy. Who was she? Why were you having sex with her in an office? And, perhaps most importantly, when would you see her again?

You parked your car and took a deep, shaky breath. Your visions could be so inconvenient sometimes. Now was not the time to be thinking about sex with some random woman - not when the most important job interview of your life was hanging in the balance. With one last look into your rear-view mirror to check your hair, you stepped out of your car and made your way up to the imposing school, following the instructions you had received via e-mail from the principal, Larissa Weems, to find her office.

Stopping in front of a pair of dark, wood-paneled double doors, you noticed that one of the doors stood slightly ajar, and you peeked your head in, knocking lightly as you did so.

“Come in,” you heard a smooth female voice call out.

You stepped into the room, looking around nervously. The room was filled with bookcases and trinkets. There was a magnificent fireplace off to the side, a fire roaring gently within.

Straight ahead stood a sturdy oak desk, the leather armchair turned around to face the massive windows just behind it.

Why did this office look so familiar? You racked your brain - there hadn’t been any pictures of the principal’s office on the school’s website, you knew this, you had studied the website long enough after all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the swooshing sound of the chair swiveling around, revealing whom you assumed to be Principal Weems - and none other than the beautiful woman from the coffee shop from earlier.

You were stunned, rooted to the spot. You felt your stomach drop and a blush creep up your cheeks, your face slowly but surely turning crimson. If there were ever a moment you had wished the ground would swallow you up, surely it would be now.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Principal Weems, but please call me Larissa. We spoke over the phone last week, I must say I was very impressed with your resumé.” Larissa rose from her chair and rounded her desk, heels clicking, hand outstretched. She dropped her arm as she noticed you hadn’t moved an inch. 

“You’re… I saw you at the Weathervane an hour ago, didn’t I? Are you alright? Would you like to sit down?”

Great. Just great. Not even a minute into the interview and your boss already thinks you’re a nutcase. Get it together. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment. When you opened them, you saw genuine concern in Larissa’s eyes as she gestured towards one of the armchairs in front of her desk. 

“I’m alright. I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible first impression, Larissa. I, um, had a vision back at the Weathervane, and I’m still a bit rattled from it.”

“I understand,” Larissa said, and you could tell by the look in her eyes that she truly meant it. It nearly brought tears to your eyes - you had never felt understood before, only judged, and your heart ached, yearning for a place among the outcasts, yearning to be able to call Nevermore a home.

The interview went smoothly from then on. You shared stories on your childhood and background, went into your educational history, made sure your passion for the job came across in everything you said. Larissa displayed herself to be an exceptionally empathetic interview partner and seemed very impressed with your previous background in teaching. She promised to get back to you soon about the teaching position and by the time you had gotten back to your car, you had nearly forgotten about your earlier vision.

----

Three days went by before you received the call that would change your life. The teaching position was yours - no other applicant had impressed Larissa as you had, and she was looking forward to having you on her staff. You were to start the following Monday, a week before the beginning of the semester, giving you time to prepare your lesson plans and meet your new colleagues. You hung up the call buzzing with excitement, though there was a strange nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at your insides. You were both excited and nervous to see Larissa again, and now that she was going to be your new boss, you had no idea what to expect, or how your vision was going to play into your new role at Nevermore Academy.

----

Your first week at Nevermore flew by as you busied yourself with writing lesson plans, attending staff meetings, and getting to know your new colleagues. 

It was a balmy Sunday evening, the evening before students were to arrive. Most teachers had already turned in a copy of their lesson plans for the semester, but you had waited until the last minute, wanting everything to be absolutely perfect. Which had led you to being in Larissa’s office this evening as she asked how you were getting along and assured you that the students would adore you.

The office was growing dark as the sun had long set on the horizon, save for the warm glow of the fire and the faint trace of moonlight. Larissa looked so beautiful, you mused, hair shining silver in the light of the moon. Her features looked softer in this light. She looked less like Principal Weems, head bitch in charge, and more like Larissa - sweet, gentle, caring. Her bright red lips curved upwards in a smile as she spoke with you, tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip, and your thoughts went back to the vision you’d had.

You felt a familiar burning sensation in your cheeks, a hot spring coiling up in your abdomen. If you didn’t leave soon, you knew you would spontaneously combust.

“I should go, it’s getting late and I should probably be well-rested to meet the kids tomorrow. Thanks for checking in on me Larissa, I do appreciate it.”

The warm smile you received in return made you dizzy.

“Of course, Y/N. If you need anything at all, you know where to find me.” She winked and rose from her armchair to see you out of her office. 

As your hand made contact with the cool brass of the doorknob, your head snapped back and another vision came to you.

“Please,” you moaned. Larissa’s gaze never left yours as she lowered her head until it was level with your sex. You were dripping onto her desk, aching with desire. The scent of your arousal hung in the air, mixing deliciously with her perfume. She ran her tongue along your cunt, from your entrance to your throbbing clit, and you felt a pitiful whimper escape you. 

You came back to your senses, breathing just as ragged as it was in your vision, head swimming. 

“Y/N? Did you have another vision?” 

You turned back to see a look of concern etched upon Larissa’s face. You could only stare at her in shock, a heat coiling in your stomach, a wetness pooling between your thighs. 

“Larissa…”

The office was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire, but your ears were ringing. Your gaze fell to her lips - warm, soft, enticing… You took a step forward, until you were in Larissa’s space, her perfume invading your senses, her breath ghosting your face. 

“Y/N?” Larissa whispered it, so quietly you wouldn’t have noticed she’d spoken if your eyes hadn’t been glued to her face.

Your lips were inches away from hers, your breaths mingling… it was Larissa who closed the gap. Her lips pressed into yours, gently at first then with more and more urgency.

When she pulled away, she took your shoulders in her hands and searched your face. 

“Is this what your vision was about?” She was breathless, face unreadable. 

You hesitated. “Sort of.” 

“Sort of?” Larissa quirked her eyebrow. 

You flushed as you considered how you would recount your vision to your boss.

“Well that wasn’t all my vision was about,” you conceded.

“What else happened in your vision?”

“Well… I was, um, on your desk…”

“Is that so?” Larissa took a step towards you, placing a hand on the oak next to your head and trapping you between her and the door.

You nodded pathetically. “And where was I?”

“B-between my legs,” your throat felt tight, you clenched your thighs together - your underwear drenched. The action was not lost on Larissa, whose pupils dilated, lips curling up into a devilish smirk.

“I have wanted you since I first laid eyes on you, darling,” she growled. Her body came flush against yours, pressing your back into the door. Your head was spinning, you had never craved someone’s touch like this before - the tension in the air was driving you wild.

“Then why don’t you take me?” Larissa moaned at your words and caught your lips in hers, hands flying to your hips and lifting you against the door. You wrapped your legs around her waist, teeth clashing, moaning desperately into each other's mouths. Your fingers curled up in Larissa’s hair, tugging gently and eliciting a delicious whine from her throat.

Stumbling, she brought you over to her desk and sat you on the edge, her lips never breaking contact with yours as her tongue explored the planes of your mouth. You were the first to pull away, panting, your hands coming up to your own blouse to undo the buttons.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, fingers shaking too much to get the buttons undone. Larissa let out a low chuckle and swatted your hands away, taking over, pushing the blouse down your shoulders before moving to tear your skirt down your legs. You shifted your hips up to assist Larissa in her endeavor and your skirt hit the ground in a heap.

“Oh my darling, you’re absolutely desperate for me,” Larissa growled, noticing the stain on your panties. You whimpered, bucking your hips forward into the air.

“Larissa… you have no idea what you do to me.” 

She slipped a hand under your panties, running two fingers along your slit and groaning as you moaned and threw back your head. She brought her fingers to her lips and ran her tongue along them, swirling her tongue around. She sucked the digits into her mouth, releasing them with a little pop that caused a fresh wave of desire to leak out of your core.

“I wonder, sweetheart, is this what you’ve been picturing since we first met? Have you thought about this during meetings? When we’ve passed each other in the halls?” Larissa was taunting you now, her fingers hooked around your panties. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, feeling the electricity of her fingers on the skin of your hips.

“Aren’t you a little slut?” You groaned, pressing your thighs together, the tension becoming unbearable. She was getting off on this, making you squirm under her gaze.

“... Rissa… please…” 

“Please, what? Use your words, darling.”

“Please… fuck me,” your hips bucked at the air again, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

Those were apparently the words Larissa had been waiting for, for in a heartbeat she was pulling your panties down your legs. She rounded the desk to come up behind you, unclasping your bra. It was the moment you had been replaying in your mind for over a week now. 

Larissa’s hands came to rest on your breasts from behind, massaging them, fingers teasing the peaks of your nipples, her lips latching onto your neck, claiming you as her own. She moaned into your ear, lust dripping from every sound she made, trying to spur you on with her voice, as if she were performing for you.

In lieu of panties, your own slick was now pooling onto the desk below you, your legs spread wide open and waiting in anticipation for what was to come.

Larissa’s perfume, a divine blend of floral and musk, filled your nostrils as she came closer to let out a loud groan into your ear, her breath husking over your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

A clicking of her heels told you she was coming back to the front of her desk. Larissa was a sight to behold. Though, rather unfortunately, still fully clothed, her platinum updo was coming undone, curls spilling onto her shoulders. Her lipstick was smeared, lips swollen, her chest heaving. Perfectly manicured hands came to a rest on your thighs as her sapphire gaze pierced yours.

“What do you say?” Larissa commanded, nails digging into your skin to leave little red crescents.

“Please,” you moaned. Larissa’s gaze never left yours as she lowered her head until it was level with your sex. You were dripping onto her desk, aching with desire. The scent of your arousal hung in the air, mixing deliciously with her perfume. She ran her tongue along your cunt, from your entrance to your throbbing clit, and you felt a pitiful whimper escape you. 

“Good girl,” she purred into your cunt, and you felt yourself shudder at the praise, a fresh wave of arousal dripping onto Larissa’s chin. 

“Oh, my darling, you like it when mommy tells you how good you’ve been for her?” Larissa’s eyes met yours and you thought you might faint then and there, this was simply too good to be true.

“Y-yes, mommy,” you stuttered, grinding your hips into her mouth and gasping at the feeling of her wet tongue receiving your juices.

Flattening her tongue, she began to circle your clit in a steady rhythm as you bucked your hips up to meet her face, searching for friction, already so close from her teasing. Your hands found purchase in her curls, tightening your grip as you ground your clit into Larissa’s tongue, fingers tightening around her hair and undoing the rest of her elegant updo as you reached your climax. Your legs trembled, thighs snapping shut around Larissa’s ears. Her hands wound their way around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as you rode out your orgasm on her face.

Once your legs had stopped shaking and your thighs had loosened their hold on her head, Larissa looked up to you once more, making sure you held her eye contact as she wiped your juices from her chin. She placed tender kisses on your inner thighs, leaving faint lipstick marks.

She moved up your body, her hand landing firmly on your chest, and pressed a heated kiss to your lips, tongue begging for entry.

“Taste yourself, darling. You taste divine,” she moaned into your mouth, her tongue swirling around yours. Her breathy moans in your mouth had you ready again in mere seconds and you thought it very unfair that she was still fully clothed.

Still trapped in a passionate kiss, you reached out a needy hand and started to pull at the zipper on the side of Larissa’s dress. She pulled away from the kiss with an amused smirk gracing her swollen lips, straightening to her full height and looking down at you through hooded eyes. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

The amusement in her eyes gave you a shot of confidence. “I just thought it was unfair that I don’t get to see that killer body of yours.” 

Larissa could barely conceal the blush creeping up her cheeks. “And what would you do with this ‘killer body’ of mine?”

“Worship it.”

All the air was briefly sucked out of the room. Your words went straight to Larissa’s core, a growl escaping her lips, hips twitching as she lunged forward to press needy kisses to your neck, nipping at the skin, marking it in hues of red and purple.

Your hands moved back to the zipper of Larissa’s dress and this time, she didn’t stop you, allowing you to pull the dress down her shoulders, slowly exposing her skin, bit by bit. Your hands gripped her hips pulling her towards you as you placed open-mouthed kisses to every bit of skin you could reach, sucking and biting, marking her as she had marked you. Her moans only spurred you on and you unclasped her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor and taking her breast in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the hardened peak and eliciting a delightful whine from the woman before you.

“Come,” Larissa commanded, gripping your shoulders and pulling you off the desk, guiding you to follow her as she fell back into one of the plush armchairs across from her desk, spreading her legs for you. Heat pooled in your stomach as your eyes fell to the dark spot in the middle of her panties. You pulled them down her legs, achingly slowly, your fingers brushing her long, toned calves on the way down, feeling her shiver underneath you. 

“Be a good girl for mommy,” Larissa moaned, bringing her own fingers to her cunt and rubbing circles around her clit.

Your eyes widened, pupils dilating as you replaced her fingers with your own and brought one finger to her throbbing sex, dragging it slowly along her slit. You relished the whimpers that came from Larissa’s throat as you dragged two fingers from her entrance to her clit, gently rubbing the sensitive nub.

You plunged your fingers inside of her, beginning a rhythmic thrusting. Her juices dripped down your hand, staining the armchair underneath her. You curled your fingers inside of her and her hips bucked up erratically. She gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles turning white, head thrown back in ecstasy. You latched your lips onto her clit, sucking gently, swirling your tongue faster and faster as Larissa’s hips increased their pace to match yours, each swirl of your tongue and curl of your fingers met with a sinful gasp of pleasure. 

“Y/N… I’m s-so close…” she gasped. You acted quickly, adding a third finger, filling her completely. Larissa’s thighs began to quiver as she reached her climax. You wished you could burn this moment into your mind for eternity - her mouth hung open, breathy moans spilling out past her lips, chest heaving and flushed, eyes squeezed shut. Slowly licking her slit, you cleaned her up, savoring the taste of Larissa’s arousal - all for you.

“Sorry about the chair,” your eyes fell to the stain Larissa’s cum had caused in the smooth velvet of the seat.

Larissa’s eyes followed yours. She looked up at you for a moment, face unreadable. Then her head fell back and a genuine laugh bubbled forth from her chest.

“Yes, well, I suppose I’ll have to have that reupholstered before anyone notices.” Her frame shook with mirth as she leaned in to press her lips to yours in a sweet, gentle kiss.

“So… have you had any other visions?” Larissa smirked.

[boyfridged]

in which bruce time travels and does not hold baby jay. (853)

But the sudden weep tugs at Bruce’s heart so violently that he has to stop himself from burgling in through the window. He is close to doing it, even, the acute awareness that the infant is Jason– That this is his boy there, needy and lonely, overshadowing any logical thought.

Then there’s another sound, a low groan, and the room lightens up with the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Bruce takes a step back; perhaps to hide in the darkness of the corner, or maybe out of sheer surprise, confronted with a forgotten presence. 

Willis Todd’s face is uncanny in its familiarity– In its similarity to that of his– In his similarity to adult Jason’s. The only difference must be the serene darkness of his eyes, otherwise every feature so eerily mirroring that of Bruce’s son. There’s the sharp profile and yet the unexpected softness of the cheekbones, the fine arch of eyebrows, the smooth curl of hair. There’s that weariness that looks shocking when displayed on a face that young; because he is young, decades stretching between him and Bruce, dually literal.

Willis rubs his face and stumbles out of the bed, murmuring something that is incomprehensible because of the idiosyncrasy of his speech, or maybe in a language different altogether. He moves to the crib in a quick motion, stomping over a plushy and a pile of clothes abandoned on the floor, something he can clearly do even with his eyes half open, and picks up the baby– Bruce ignores the odd feeling curdling in his stomach, these ugly knots, focusing on the baby, the baby with huge grey eyes and a little face reddened with distress, despite the mellowness of the cry.

“You need to grow yourself some stronger lungs, huh, Jaybaby?” Willis Todd whispers. “How will daddy hear you when you’re so quiet?” His voice is still rough with sleep, and familiar too, even though Bruce Wayne has never met this man before in his life.

As if replying to the complaint, the infant wails loudly. It’s a short, piercing cry that is almost immediately remedied with gentle rocking.

“Oh, now that’s what I’m talking about. A great start to your opera career too.” Willis chuckles and pokes the tiny button nose.  Another whimper and he’s walking out of the bedroom, urging Bruce to move to the other side of the balcony, to peek into the window of the living room. If it can be called that, since it seems to also fulfill the purpose of a kitchen, storage and laundry rooms all at once. There’s a rusty bike next to the door, leaning onto the textured wall, and three different colourful rugs on the wooden floor. The sofa is mostly neatly covered with a floral blanket, but there are scratches visible at the sides, and there is the perpetrator, an orange cat curled on top of it. It stirs awake and jumps to follow the man into the kitchenette area, fawning at his legs as he moves the cheese grater and a stack of the other dishes aside to find a bottle. 

It is a mess, but it is no worse than a mess Bruce would expect from any single dad. No dirt in the corners, just clutter and one too many empty cups on the counter. Willis starts moving them to the sink while the bottle is heating, the baby still safely tucked, but now held only with one arm. His mouth is moving, but Bruce cannot make out any words.

It is when the man moves back to the bedroom, where the window remains open, that he realises why his attempts at lip reading came to nothing. The constant, soothing chatter is Vietnamese. The monologue does not stop even though Jason seems pacified enough, latching on the milk with eyes half-open. 

“Enough?” Willis asks, switching to English, when the tiny fingers push the bottle away. “Mhm, not that hungry after all?” He sets it away and moves to the crib. But the moment Jason is settled on the soft blankets, he cries out fiercely. It does not take Willis even a split second to pick him up again, the sobbing stopping instantly. 

“So this is what it is about, huh,” he whispers, seemingly giving up on any other arrangement and simply collapsing on the armchair, the bed forsaken. “‘S a good note though. Just don’t forget your dad when you’re rich and famous,” he adds, before reverting to hushed Vietnamese. 

The foreign words heave uncomfortably at Bruce’s mind, reminding him that he should not be there. And as if in agreement, the comms spark to life, the static in his ears quickly replaced with quiet: “Batman, do you copy?” 

For a moment, he does not reply.

Inside, the infant sighs, unexpectedly loudly, eyes still intent on the father. 

“Tough life, huh, Jaybaby?” Willis says and mimics the sigh, overexaggerated. He smiles tiredly and rubs the round cheeks affectionately. And the baby laughs. The baby laughs and the sound is as loud and unrestrained as the cry before. It's unmistakable.

On the balcony, a cape flutters. 

[aelinschild]

Dropping this and running away.

Regular evenings seemed to come less frequently these days.

Aelin remembered when the drip of some leaky floorboard was the sole pace of her shifts. The dripdripdrip a marker of seconds passed. Ticking in the back of her skull like a pulse she'd long forgotten. A beating heart settled - put down. It's gentle sounding no different than a petulant child. Itching underneath her skin like the uncomfortable scratch of wool gone too long without washing.

She had grown fond of the noise, though. Like the hand of a clock steadily raced forward, so did that godsdamned floorboard. Racing against time, or the composition of the building in it's entirety. She didn't know. Didn't care.

Much of what she did here was just for the wad of cash slipped under worn tables. Hands cracked and peeling - slivers near her nail beds. The blood lasted on the money, so long as it stayed with her longer than a night.

It was why she was still here. Still watching the same game of poker begin for its thousandth consecutive time. Roucous chatter drowning out the drip. The sound of heavy coins denting the rotted wood.

Funny, how it was strong enough to pierce her skin and simultaneously bend to the weight of a piece of silver.

She didn't take well to the irony.

Her shifts had for so long been the same routine. Serve the regulars. Pocket a coin from the gaggle of grannies, crammed into the recess in the wall. A little alcove. Made great shadows to conceal the trick of fast hands and faster tongues. Wipe down the tacky residue that accumulated faster than she could keep track of. Argue with the old man from across the street - he didn't like the (outrageous) fractured neon lights. Pity for him, because when he was knee deep in his points, face red from exasperation, pulling out a chair had the most similar movements as a sly hand into a pocket. Cool cash crawling up her sleeve. He'd leave in a huff and Aelin would be a little lighter when she missed back behind the bar. Then the night would roll in on itself. Drunkenness a curse of this corner of the Earth, she was only powerful enough to keep her head above water and do her job. Close the bar. Count the cash. Wire it away and consider mourning the loss. Until she wouldn't and was back behind the counter.

That was her normal.

And so when her flagging gaze swept across the floor, the appearance of a new piece on the board made her falter. She wished there would be more reaction than the stuttering of her eyes, wished that she felt something deeper, drawn from newness, but there was nothing.

Nothing walked closer to her. She had the thought to smile, make herself pleasant, but the action didn't follow. Nothing laid large hands upon her bartop, the one to her right (nothing's left), crawling with whorls and scribbles. Like a child had gotten a hold of a tattoo gun. How unfortunate. Those hands - large, uncomfortably so - were attached to arms. Shocking, she supposed, as her eyes crawled up along the weaving tattoo. Golden skin and visible definition could have heated something in her. Maybe it did, maybe it had been so long she no longer knew what heated her core.

"...neat,"

Hm?

The dripdripdrip was gone. And with it took the clarity borne from acute annoyance. Hands, arms, shoulders... Was she warm? Or was she losing it?

"Love."

Like a fog had descended over her minds eye, snapped away as quickly as it had formed at the call of that petname. Love. What?

She balked. "Pardon?"

He - nothing, nothing of nothing who is nothing and of no effect to her - pursed his lips. Rolling the flesh between teeth, tightening the hinge of his jaw. Gods, there was definition there too. The angle of that jaw raised to high chedckbones, a tinge of red, pulsed with life. An overwhelming urge to follow that rise and fall, trace the hollows and contours. Feel along the strong brow that framed pine green eyes. Eye that sparkled. Eyes that tightened. Eyes lined with mirth...

"You work here?" He gruffed. The smirk in his eyes didn't reach his voice. But that voice... She'd love to compare it to crashing waves, smoothing over jagged rock. Endlessly leaving a print on what was considered impenetrable. But it instead stroke along a frayed edge in her. Breaking, rather than soothing.

A pause. Where were her words? "Yes."

"Right," he murmured. Muscles flexing as he rapped his knuckles along the worn bartop. She wanted to tell him to not. Grab his fist in her own and hold tight above the shitty wooden slab. Cover it with her own. "Then I'll get a whiskey. Neat."

Crawl over the tanned skin. "Of course." Trace the inked designs. "Just give me moment." Litter a marking somewhere.

Something tangible.

-

"Yes!"

She didn't know how it had really happened.

Well, she did. She had played her part, and now was enjoying the outcome. Somewhere along the lines of him ordering the whiskey, leaning only lightly against the barstool, delicately draped like he was ready to spring up at a moment notice. She had wandered around. Who knew that dust collected so quickly on tables that were just cleaned? Repetitive movements only let her drift into the sensation of green eyes pinned to her back. Lower, even.

She needed extra cleaner from the back. And it was only an accident that her hand grazed his upper thigh. She had practice in the deft movements that could steal a pretty coin, but her fingers didn't dig in, clasping around valuables. Rather, she had grazed the worn jean. Lighting a blaze, trailing the fire down to his knee.

It had pulsed in her core as she walked to the back room. The bar quieter, different to the usual rowdiness of a Saturday. She had swayed her hips a little more. Sensual machinations coming back like the flip of a switch. She felt a buzz in her head, unlike a dripdripdrip of a leaky floorboard.

It was stuffy. Her face so close to his, the height difference didn't serve them well at first, until he had hoisted her up around his waist. Her legs locking her tight. She had felt the heat of his body. Felt the heat through the clothes - get them off - felt the heat from her body, emanating out in a pulsing rhythm.

She had been panting. Breath coming out faster and faster as she wiggled her hips to tuck deeper into the hardness she felt pressing into her core. Writhing would get her nowhere when he was holding her in his arms. Her mouth found the underside of his jaw, and she sucked hard.

His groan was music to her ears.

Her apron fell. Ripped apart by those large hands. How much could they hold? He was surprisingly deft with unbuttoning the front of her dirty blouse. Button after button, down until he could rip it from her waistband, and shuck it off her shoulders.

Her bra was nothing special. Some department store sale piece, but it didn't matter, because it was off just as quickly and she was bare from the waist up.

"Off." She tugged at his shirt, taking a break from marking up his neck. She wanted to feel him against her. Skin to skin. She needed the contact more than anything. She was burning.

He had leaned her back, still in his hold. A little rough, her head nearly crashing into the wall they were pressed up agaisnt. She'd forgive him though, when he snaked one arm behind his head and expertly peeled the shirt from his torso.

Gods. Gods above, was this her lucky night. The tattoo wound all the way from his wrisr to his neck, matching like a puzzle along his chest. Corded with muscle, Built from genuine use, she could tell. This man was not built of aesthetics.

Her fingers found the hardened planes of his stomach, pressing lightly along the muscles. It tightened under her hand. Palms pushing agains the tautness of his abdomen, she didn't know whether to trail back up to his mouth, or push lower.

"Hold on," he bit out. Breathless just as she was.

She dug her nails into the shoulder she was tracing, his hand snaked to the button on his jeans. Her breaths came more rapidly now. Blood rushing through her ears. It was hands and tongues and teeth and no other thoughts. Nothing but what would come next. Nothing at all.

The zipper was so loud amongst their panting. But it was pulled down, and Aelin made a effort to shuck off her pants as well. But where her thighs were stretched around his waist kept her from making any further moves. She wanted nothing between them.

"Hurry up," she hissed, pressing herself back against him.

He shuddered when she pulled him tight, nails digging deeper. She hoped they would mark him. Stay with him longer then this moment. "Gods." It's not soft the way he shoves them closer into the wall. The way his hand is under her nondescript panties in seconds. Burning a trail along the most intimate skin. He stalls there for a second. Aelin is pulsing; in her head, in her blood, in her cunt.

His eyes find hers. Green and vibrant and swirling and dark. All blown wide with lust. He keeps her trapped there, pinned by his gaze while his fingers swipe along her folds. Through them, deeper until they wetten with the arousal she surely though was dripping down her leg by this point. He traces along for a moment, and she has half a mind to snap at him to hurry it up when his thumb is pressing into her clit so hard she sees stars.

She squeaks out a breathless yelp.

"You're soaking," he drawls, mouth coming down to the skin at the coloumn of her neck. He breaths into her, breathes her in. "Just waitin' for me, weren't you? All pretty behind your bar top."

She would roll her eyes if they weren't already at the back of her skull from the pleasure. He kept a steady hand on her clit while rough fingers slipped back through her folds, down to where she needed him most. Yes. The roar in her head heightened.

"Please..."

He hummed. "Please what?" A smirk, in voice or against her skin, she could not tell "Please who?"

Fuck. She hadn't gotten his name either. They had tumbled into the closet so quickly, bodies pressed so close, that introductions had been skipped. She thought she could make it throigh without his name. But this bastard was going to hold it over her head.

Fingers traced around her entrance; probing, waiting.

"Please... Sir. Fuck me."

He laughed. She jostled with the movement and his fingers pushed against her just right. "I'll let it slide," and with little pause, he pushed in. Slicking in quick, easy, the slide only assisted with the way she was falling apart in waiting for him. Two - two - fingers stretching her wide and pushing that rising wave higher. She keened a breathy whine when he curled those rough fingers. Pressing hard into that spot inside of her she could never reach herself.

His breath curled around her ear. He bit the shell of it before murmuring "But you better call me Rowan. No Gods or Sir. I want to hear my name from those pretty lips."

She nodded, feverish for more. He bared his teeth in a satisfied smile, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of her. She had hardly noticed when he swapped his thumb for the heel of his palm against her clit. But she felt it now. Pushing against her whole he slicked up her panties. The wave rose higher and higher.

"Rowan!" She cried. "Ah! Don't stop... Please."

"Wasn't even thinking of it, love." He kept her trapped under his gaze. And she wanted to look away when her jaw dropped in white-hot pleasure but something in his eyes promised to hurt if she did. "There you go, pretty girl." She moaned at his comment, riding high after the crashing of the orgasm. She could feel every press of his fingers inside her as he stilled them, still sensitive even after the rush of pleasure.

And oh, was she riding a fine line. Legs a little shaky and breath hurried. But when Rowan pulled out - to her displeasure - and brought those hands to his face, to his mouth, and licked her clean off of them.

She whined. A pitchy sound that worked its way out of her as he stared into her eyes, licking along the crevices between fingers. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he quickly shoved those same fingers against her tongue and pressed down. Freezing her there.

"Taste like heaven, love. But that was only the first course"

Jeans ripped off and pants pulled down. She swapped the wall against her back for cold air. Stiffening nipples to an even harder peak than what they had come to in post-orgadmic bliss. More more more, she changed in her head. She was so sensitive and so ready and so-

She squeaked. He had pulled himself from the confines of his underwear. She has missed it. Blissed out with the feel of him against his chest, but he was there, notching against her entrance in hasty movements.

He eyes met hers, "Condom?"

Fuck her. "I'm on the pill."

His grin was feral. His grip tightened to a near bruising hold. She felt his cock prod at her entrance, and he pushed it around, catching on the arousal she had spilled. At least he had prepped her. She hadn't seen his size, had felt it, yes, but this man seemed like he was blessed, if only judging by what she had already seen.

The moment spans, and her what desire jumped thrpigh her at a rushing pace came to a near stall. The dripdripdrip threatening to return, when the air was punched from her lungs as he pushed up, up and into her in one stoke.

"Ah! Rowan!" She choked. Stretched so full she felt him in her stomach. Tears brimmed her eyes as the stretch ached. Gods, the prep wasn't enough, and the tight grip on him must have let him know, as he held still, caressing her back and down to her ass, before his hand snaked back around to her clit.

She moaned, sharp little breaths as he circled his finger with enough pressure to relax the tightness in her body. She hadn't noticed, but when she looked up to his eyes, wanting to see him fully, his jaw was tensed so tight that the muscles of his neck pulled. Was he in pain?

"Ah... Rowan, wh-whats wrong?" Her tears brimmed and fell over. A loosening in her core and a rushing through her mind. Every sensation was a fire lit inside of her, so much so that she didn't notice as the pain morphed into pleasure, and how she could feel every ridge, every vein, of his cock inside of her. Inside of her, gods, he needs to move.

"Nothing," he gave a shallow thrust, Aelin keened. "Jus' squeezing me so fuckin' tight I can barely breath."

"Y-yeah?" She laughed, salty lines tracing down her face. "Gonna come?"

The words were out of her mouth before she had really considered the implication of them. She was no sadist, liked the high better then the route there, but something in her tingled (beside his cock, nudging deeper and deeper with every breath) at the fire that lit in his eyes.

He laughed, a deep rumble from within, and moved. Soon, they were back up against the wall. Aelin squeezed him so tight, wanting some pleasure and wanting it now. And maybe she was egging him on more. But when Rowan tossed her legs up above the crook of his elbows - rendering her immobile - and pulled out, she almost came again there.

He pushed back in with so much force that her hands came up to cover her mouth. He set a relentless pace, hair falling over his brow and beads of sweat beginning to form at his brow. He leaned over her, pushing closer and closer and testing the limits of her flexibility. Aelin was still moaning, but it was punched out in a yelp every time his cock shoved deeper inside. The slick noises only added to the lewdness. "You gonna come? Huh, love? Gonna come for me now or do I need to fuck you harder?"

He was teasing her.

He leaned down, she dropped her hand, expecting his mouth to close over hers. But he just smirked. When his tongue traced the lines of her tears, licking all the way up her face, she closed her eyes and let go. Falling deeper into the sensation.

It wasn't long before he bored of licking her face. His mouth did finally come to her, and she let him into her mouth so fast that her head was spinning. He still thrusted in, a relentless thwap at every entrance inside of her, and she felt the wave rising again. She traced up his abs, winding around his shoulders to grip onto his hair and pull, just as he pushed in so deep she saw stars.

"Come," he growled. Tiny little movements only to plant himself deeper inside. The roaring came back to her head and she nearly screamed when it hit her. Harder than anything she felt before. Harder than she knew how to handle. Rowan groaned above her, and that was it.

He came inside her. Flooded her cunt so thoroughly it was actually uncomfortable. And it dripped down when he pulled out with little celebration. She whined at the loss of him. Whined more when he set her on her feet and stepped away.

"Thanks, love." He said, breathless and reverent. She felt lost in the aftermath. Head empty and body shocked.

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem...?" It came out as a question and she didn't know what to think. He grabbed a tissue from someplace and offered it to her. Well, at least he did something. Strange and beautiful man. Rowan, oh Rowan.

"Fucked you so hard you forget how to think, huh?" He smiled. Less feral than before, but still the edge of a knifes blade inside of those green eyes. She just nodded, reaching for her clothes that had been scattered on the floor.

She guessed that he was giving her space to come down, giving her a moment. But it crashed into the dirt when he gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb and searched so deep into her eyes. He held her in his grip, both naked and reeling, and said, "don't shut me out, love." Before he pressed his lips to hers again. Kissing the roaring in her head to a stop and breathing something into her. Something she'd like to hold onto.

"I'll be back. Proper date and all soon, alright love?" He said as he stepped into his pants. Dressing with all the grace he had exhibited while fucking her a moment ago. What? He just moved for the door, shucking his shirt back over those beautiful shoulders and hiding the length of his tattoo. "Don't wander too far away anytime. I don't want to waste my time chasing."

The door opened, just a crack, "I'll see you soon, Aelin."

When Aelin was clothed and less in mental limbo, she pulled on the conversation (one-sided). Some deep, darker part of her was satisfied to see the nails marks she had driven into his back. Some tangible sore he'd no doubt have to clean up, if he wanted the blood off. She smiled to herself.

It wasn't until she was stepping out of the backroom that she realized Rowan had called her Aelin. Had said goodbye to Aelin.

She had never told him her name.

[sunnycanvas]

Spectral Descent

King Baldwin IV x Fem!Reader

Warning: character death

It was late hours in the kingdom of Jerusalem. King Baldwin IV sat alone in his dimly litted chamber surrounded by lamp meticulously reviewing documents that bore the fate of his realm. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of lamps, casting long shadows across the parchment. The King was consumed by his kingly duties when, suddenly, a haunting howl, akin to a wolf's cry, pierced the silence of the night. A sigh escaped him as he rose from his ornate chair to peer out of the window into the quiet, slumbering kingdom below. The streets lay deserted, the kingdom cloaked in stillness. It was late at hours of the night. People were mostly asleep. The kingdom looked dead. Deep in contemplation, he couldn't help but ponder about the future of his kingdom after his inevitable passing, and more acutely, about your fate. You, his beloved, whom he longed for with every fiber of his being. Knowing that you had journeyed to visit your distant family weighed heavily on his heart. Though he longed to accompany you, He had reluctantly let you go under the protection of trusted knights and a loyal carriage rider

Baldwin IV suddenly felt heavy pain in his heart and felt suffocation in throat almost as if someone is chocking him. Your lack of presence must be truly suffocating the king.

In desperation, King Baldwin IV whispered in agony "Almighty God, Eternal Father, Lord of Lords, have mercy upon me, a humble knight in Thy Divine Service. O Lord, I pray for Thy indulgence and blessing"

Exhaustion took its toll, and he decided it was time to retire for the night. Carrying his lamp, he headed for his bed, but as he turned, a figure in the mirror caught his attention – it was you . You had shocked expression in your face. Your sudden presence startled him. "Oh, hello there, (Y/N)," he greeted with a mixture of relief and anxiety. "You scared me. For a moment, I thought it was an assassin." Baldwin IV smiled as he put his hand near his heart. You smiled softly at him then chuckled. Hiding your mouth with your hand.

"My love, you look even more beautiful in darkness. Your face is glows like that of a porcelain doll and your eyes are shine like those stars outside. A sinister smile curled at the corners of your lips as you whispered "My, my!" "You really do love me" "I sometimes think like you are obsessed with me".

"Enough of talking" "Come here" "Let me hug you".

You appeared scared and recoiled from his hand reaching out to you. King Baldwin IV looked confused and hurt by your rejection. You were last person who he would think would be repulsed by his condition

"I am sorry I am tired". You excused yourself as you walked around the room lighting more candles and placing them around the room. An unsettling feeling gnawed at King Baldwin IV. Something was terribly amiss, but he couldn't quite discern it. "I bought you your favourite food as well as some of the silk clothes". "They shouldn't hurt your leprous skin". You laid out his gifts on table and King Baldwin IV quietly say opposite to you. You took a seat opposite him, and he regarded you with growing suspicion, sensing that you were not what you seemed.King Baldwin IV looked at you skeptically. You could tell your lover has gotten suspicious. To lighten the mood Baldwin IV joked "Hopefully someone didn't sell you poison, saying it would cure me" you flinched hearing that and stuttured "Oof cour-se not" ."Yo-uh know how uh.. much I love you" Baldwin IV feeling of unease increased after hearing your response. "My love don't take it so seriously" "I was just joking" "You aren't that dumb". "You were acting strange so I thought of lightning the atmosphere" Baldwin IV laughed at his own joke but you could read unease in his face. You smiled wryly in response "He's perceptive, just as I expected," you thought, realizing that your true nature had been discovered sooner than you had planned

Just then both of your attention was drawn away by the tapping sound on the window Relief washed over you, but it quickly turned to dread as you gazed outside. A vulture seemed intent on feasting on the food you had brought. In a panic, you grabbed the food and began to dart around the room, while King Baldwin IV watched in amusement. Eventually, the vulture gave up and departed. "You do seem guilty, my dear vulture," you mused, "I promise to feed you next time."

You looked at King Baldwin IV who smiled wryly and said "A bird flying around room is bad omen". "That must be for me" "After all these verses are meant for me".

"You think too much love" your voice lowered to strong degree and suddenly King Baldwin IV felt chilly in his room. "I think we have interacted enough"

"My lov-"

"Enough"

Your attitude made King Baldwin IV feel offended . "You can't talk to me like that" Baldwin IV retorated. "So that's how it going to me" "I came here to have good time but it seems I won't be getting one". "Sleep love, I don't want to play games anymore".

Baldwin IV felt heavy sleep take over him and felt the world go dark around him.

Next day at early morning he woke up on his chair. The table had no food and bed had no gifts on them. "She must have cleaned the table and shifted the gifts" king Baldwin he reasoned, stretching and preparing to search for you, intending to give you a piece of his mind for your strange behavior. Exiting his chamber, he immediately noticed the tense and hurried atmosphere within the castle. People rushed about, their faces filled with fear. Worried and bewildered, he began to inquire, "Where is (Y/N)?" But no one had an answer.

"Brother" Princess Sybilla said as she came with grave expression looking as her tensed brother who said "It seems like (Y/N) is angry with me" "I can't find her anywhere".

"No, that's not true" "Please, remember to be strong for your god and your people"

"Of course, sister" "I am not so weak hearted" Baldwin IV replied offended.

"It was just one silly argument, which we had yesterday night" Baldwin IV explained. Confused Princess Sybilla said "What are you talking about?" Baldwin IV replied "She came to my room yesterday night". Confused sybilla said "That's not possible" "She died yesterday night". This time King Baldwin IV was shocked. "Dismayed, Baldwin IV protested, "No, that can't be true! Please, don't jest about this. Where is she? We had an argument last night, but it was just a petty quarrel". King Baldwin IV looked in verge of tears and sybilla felt sorry for her brother. Sybilla's eyes held the weight of a terrible truth as she delivered the dreadful news, "Brother, I would never joke about matters of life and death". "The knights and carriage rider warned her about the consequences of travelling in late hours but she wouldn't budge saying she longed your presence enough and as a result was willing to take the risk" "She passed away yesterday late hours after carriage accident".

"Late hours?". Baldwin IV fell into deep thought until he realised that's the time you came to visit him.

[kinascum]

UNDER YOUR SKIN

stalker!Lee x noneater!reader

wc: 1.08k | summary: When does desire become destruction, and how far will you go to feel alive? | nav ♡ taglist

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. blood/gore. sexual themes. violence. obsession/manipulation. dark themes. cannibalistic metaphor. stalking. infliction of pain. blood drinking.

You're standing in the rain, the droplets clinging to your eyelashes and making the world blurry. You can't feel the cold, not really, because every inch of your skin is alight with the memory of his touch. You remember the way his fingers traced your spine, the gentle pressure of his mouth against your neck, the warmth of his breath in your ear. Your heart races just thinking about it, your chest tightening, your breath hitching. It's been days since he last held you, but it feels like an eternity.

You know he's watching you from the shadows, his eyes burning with a hunger that's both terrifying and exhilarating. You've seen that look before, in the moments when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you can't see the yearning that consumes him. You know what he wants, what he craves. And even though it should repulse you, you find yourself leaning into the darkness, craving the taste of him, the feel of his teeth on your skin. You want to be consumed by him, to become a part of the very essence that makes him who he is.

The rain starts to come down harder, soaking your clothes, making them stick to your body. You shiver, but it's not from the cold. It's from the anticipation, the tension that coils in your stomach like a living thing. You're acutely aware of every inch of your body, every nerve ending singing with the promise of pain and pleasure. You want to call out to him, to tell him to come to you, but you don't. You don't need to. He's already moving, a silent predator in the night, drawn to the scent of your desire.

You feel his presence before you see him, a warmth that pierces through the chill. He's so close now, so close that you can almost feel his breath on your skin. You can smell the coppery scent of his craving, mingling with the musk of his arousal. It's intoxicating, a potent mix that sends your senses reeling. You don't dare to turn around, not yet. You know that when you do, there will be no going back. But you want this, you want him, in a way that defies logic, that defies everything you've ever known. You want to be devoured by him, to be a part of his twisted, beautiful obsession. And when he finally does touch you, when his hands slide around your waist and pull you against him, you know you're lost.

Lee's eyes are a fiery ember in the gloom, boring into yours with a ferocity that steals your breath away. He whispers your name, the sound a dark caress that sends shivers down your spine. His grip tightens, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of your neck. You gasp, the sound lost in the patter of the rain. You know he's fighting it, fighting the urge to sink his teeth in and claim you in the most primal way possible. But the battle is a silent one, a war raging just beneath the surface of his self-control. You can feel it in the tremor of his body, the way he's holding himself back. And you want to scream at him to let go, to give in to what he truly wants.

Your heart is racing now, a wild stallion in your chest, galloping towards the precipice of something you can't quite name. It's a feeling that's equal parts terror and ecstasy, a cocktail of emotions that's intoxicating and overwhelming. You lean back into him, arching your neck, silently begging for more. His breath hitches, and you know you've won. The hunger in his eyes is unmistakable now, the beast inside him straining at its leash. But instead of fear, you feel a strange thrill, a pulse of desire that matches the tempo of the rain.

His hand moves up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face towards his. His thumb traces the line of your bottom lip, and you can't help but part them slightly, inviting him in. His eyes flicker down to your mouth, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. But instead, he leans in, his nose brushing against your skin as he inhales deeply. The scent of your blood fills his nostrils, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. He's torn between his love for you and his insatiable hunger. It's a battle that you want to end, a war you want to win. So you take the plunge, tilting your head to the side and exposing the delicate column of your throat. The invitation is clear, and Lee's eyes darken with a need that's so raw it's almost painful to witness.

Slowly, oh so slowly, his mouth descends, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin. You hold your breath, your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the moment when he gives in. And when it comes, it's like a dam bursting, a flood of sensation that drowns out the world around you. His teeth sink into your flesh, and you cry out, the pain a white-hot spark that ignites the kindling of your desire. You feel his tongue swirl around the wound, lapping at the crimson liquid that wells up. And as your blood mixes with his saliva, a strange warmth spreads through you, a sense of belonging that's more profound than anything you've ever experienced. You're no longer just two separate beings; you're one, connected by a bond that's deeper than mere flesh and blood.

The rain continues to fall, a cacophony of whispers around you, as Lee drinks from you, each pull sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You feel lightheaded, your knees threatening to buckle, but his arms are there, supporting you, keeping you upright. This isn't just passion; it's obsession made manifest. And as the storm rages on, you know that you're ready to be consumed by it, to be devoured by the man who has become your everything. The metaphorical cannibalism is no longer a fantasy but a reality, a shared moment of depravity that somehow feels right. Your body responds in ways you never thought possible, every nerve alight with the intensity of his hunger. And as the rain washes away the evidence of your transgression, you know that nothing will ever be the same again. The line between love and obsession has blurred, and you've crossed it willingly, eagerly, into the abyss of his dark desires.

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

Call of Duty Werewolves🐺 - Part 2!

{Author's Note} Since y'all loved the first part so much, here's a second for you to enjoy! I've included more lore and some cute werewolf snippets for each of the characters I mentioned in the first post so hopefully I managed to write them all accurately. I'll probably do a fic for one of them at some point so let me know who you'd like to see! Thank you for all the love and please feel free to write/ask for more headcanons for this AU! I'm having so much fun with it❤️ Happy Halloween! 🎃🧟‍♂️👻 >Call of Duty Werewolf AU -> Part 1 >Shadow Company Snippet by @http-paprika -> SC Werewolf AU (she's also writing her own werewolf AU fic so go give it some love👀)

~ ~ ~

>Werewolves have fangs in both forms. The human canines are replaced by longer, sharper teeth when natural werewolves lose their baby teeth. In bitten werewolves, the human canines are pushed out within their first month of being turned. While in human form, only the sharper tips are visible, resulting in fanged smiles (just imagine your favorite boy flashing you a fanged grin👀). When transforming, the teeth extend from the gums as the muzzle forms.

>Werewolf hair and nails grow faster and are usually thicker, requiring more frequent trimming, especially after a transformation.

>Werewolves heal faster than their human counterparts. Cuts heal in a few minutes, broken bones take days rather than weeks. Most tissues can be fully regenerated, except for entire limbs. The canine teeth will always be replaced if lost.

>Bones and muscles are thicker and heavier than those of humans, resulting in increased strength and stamina.

>Werewolves digest meat more easily than humans and prefer carnivorous diets. It's healthier for them to consume more meat on a regular basis.

>Werewolf senses are far more acute than humans'. They have great night vision and colors are more vivid to them, as if the saturation has been increased. Their enhanced hearing, however, can be problematic and a werewolf will often have to learn how to tune out certain sounds so they're not completely overwhelmed. Scent is also important to them as it denotes health, emotional state, and belonging. Familiar smells offer comfort, whether they belong to people, places, or things.

>While transformed, werewolves can't really speak. The fangs and muzzle tend to prevent intelligible human speech. On the other hand, their unique vocal cords allow for animalistic grunts and growls, even in human form.

>Transformations will always be painful for both werewolf types. With practice, the process can become smoother and faster but it will always have a pinch, especially as the face changes. Heightened emotions can trigger the beginnings of the change, though it takes a conscious effort to completely transform, unless a werewolf is suffering from moon blindness. Bitten werewolves tend to be more reactive but transform more slowly as it takes longer for their bodies to get used to the shift in comparison to natural werewolves, who are specially built for it from birth.

>A werewolf's transformed state is so dependent on their human traits that they don't always look very wolfish. Some can look like coyotes, foxes, or even bears because of differing body types, features, and hair colors.

>Poisonous to humans, wolfsbane also has an adverse effect on werewolves. It clouds their senses and prevents them from transforming but it won't kill them. It's often used to control a werewolf and keep them in line. However, it can also be mixed into a poultice to treat wounds caused by silver.

>Silver causes mild allergic reactions in werewolves. It only becomes fatal when enough of it pierces the skin and enters the bloodstream, which is why hunters lace their weapons and bullets with silver. Despite this, many werewolves still revere the metal for its association with the Moon.

🌙 🐺 🌙

💲Price is the fluffiest. His iconic beard remains when he's transformed, making him easily recognizable, though he has been mistaken for a bear in the past. If you laugh at that fact, he'll simply huff in feigned annoyance and lay on top of you to prevent you from escaping. Being a natural werewolf, not only does he have more hair but Price's transformations are about as easy as they can be so he'll often use his time with you to relax and catch up on sleep. He sleeps the most soundly when you're cuddled into his chest or back, your face pressed to his fluffy mane. He loves hearing about how much you love his fluff and secretly takes pride in it.

💀Ghost is the biggest. As a 6'4 mountain of a man, he's even larger when transformed. It'll take some getting used to, especially when he transforms in your living space. If you try to make the area more comfortable for him, he'll be especially grateful for your effort. More than anything, he'll just want to be close and feel your touch. His body aches after he transforms and he's more easily overwhelmed so the gentleness of your hands helps him settle into this second shape. No matter how many times you've seen him transformed, he'll always feel some degree of shame around you so make sure he knows just how adored he is.

🧼Soap is the most playful. His transformations tend to energize him rather than exhaust him so expect him to be bouncing off the walls for a bit. If you match his energy level, he'll never let you go. He'll want to chase you and wrestle around but he's hyper-aware of his own strength so any change in your attitude will make him settle down. Once he's burned through that extra energy, he'll just want to listen to you ramble about anything that comes to mind, even if he can't really respond.

🧢Gaz is the sweetest. In the field, he’s known for his level-headedness and clever quips. When he gets home, he’s nothing but a big softie with you. His favorite place to be is in your lap, his wolfish head snuggled against your stomach as you card your fingers through his hair. To know that you accept and love this side of him warms his heart and he'll let you know just how happy it makes him with plenty of cuddles and kisses. He absolutely loves hearing you giggle and does just about anything he can to get that reaction from you.

🦿Alex is the most sensitive. All werewolves tend to be very in-tune with their surroundings, especially in the military, but Alex is even more so. His job as a secret agent of sorts has honed his ability to pick up on the tiniest changes in his environment and, when it comes to you, he's even more aware of your reactions. A slight change in your scent or heartbeat will immediately have him hurrying to your side to check in. More often than not, he can tell if he's actually needed but you're always grateful for his attentiveness and respond with a reassuring hand to his head or chest so he knows you're alright. When you're not, prepare for some inescapable werewolf cuddles.

🪦Graves is the most stubborn. As the Commander of Shadow Company, one of the most notorious groups of werewolves around, he's used to getting his way. When it comes to you, however, he tends to give in far more easily, especially so when he's transformed. A simple scratch around his ears or under his chin will make him melt in seconds and he'll never be able to resist when you run your fingers through the sandy blond hair covering his neck. The usually snarling and snapping werewolf commander will want nothing more than to hold you close, peppering your skin with gentle kisses and warm huffs of breath. Just don't let his Shadows know or he’ll withhold his cuddles.

🐺 🌙 🐺

*BONUS: Werewolf features! Thought it'd be fun to do short descriptions of how I imagine the boys! This includes height, eye color, and hair color for each of them. Pretty straightforward lol

💲Price - 6'2" -> 7'2" ; blue eyes ; brown hair w/ strands of gray

💀Ghost - 6'4" -> 7'4" ; brown -> yellow-amber eyes ; dirty blond/brown hair

🧼Soap - 5'10" -> 6'10" ; blue eyes ; dark brown hair

🧢Gaz - 5'11" -> 6'11" ; dark brown -> orange eyes ; black hair

🦿Alex - 6' -> 7' ; blue -> silvery-gray eyes ; light brown hair

🪦Graves - 6' -> 7' ; blue eyes ; sandy blond hair

[aifanfictions]

Write a love story about the ant king Meruem (from the anime Hunter x Hunter) falling in love with (y/n) who has a weak body and this scares Meruem because her fainting for example would scare him into thinking (y/n) is going to die so he frets over her health at all times and is super observant

Regal Heart

In the world where their paths had intersected, Meruem, the regal and formidable Ant King, found himself unexpectedly enraptured by (Y/N), a soul with a body as fragile as glass but with a spirit as resilient as steel. Her weakness was not in her resolve but in her physicality, and it was this duality that both intrigued and frightened Meruem.

Upon their initial meeting, Meruem's curiosity was piqued by the paradox of (Y/N)'s delicate yet resilient nature. It was an enigma to him, the idea of someone so physically fragile displaying an unbreakable will. For a being as imposing and powerful as the Ant King, this contradiction was enthralling.

The episodes of (Y/N)'s fainting were a source of unprecedented worry for Meruem. Accustomed to control and dominance, the unpredictability of her fainting spells presented a vulnerability that both confused and concerned him deeply. The fear of losing her, of witnessing her delicate form succumb to its weaknesses, was a sensation he could neither understand nor control.

Despite the uncharted territories of emotions he was navigating, Meruem's vigilance over (Y/N)'s well-being became a cornerstone of his existence. His piercing eyes, usually unwavering in the face of battle, were now continually observant of her condition, anticipating the next moment of her weakness with an acute sense of dread.

On (Y/N)'s end, the unexpected attention from the Ant King was both humbling and perplexing. His fierce aura, usually associated with dominance, was juxtaposed against his gentle care for her well-being. She found solace in his protective instincts, understanding that his demeanor, though regal and intimidating, concealed a depth of emotion she hadn't anticipated.

Their relationship was a study in contrasts, a testament to the coexistence of great strength and fragility. Meruem's fear was a new, unfathomable sensation, driving him to safeguard (Y/N) against an uncertain fate. And for (Y/N), the concern displayed by the mighty Ant King became a shelter in her storm of vulnerability.

As their days progressed, their connection deepened, threading through the intricacies of vulnerability and strength. The fear that entwined itself within their relationship was as much a part of their bond as was the unwavering love that both sustained and challenged them.

Their love story was a harmony of strength and vulnerability, showcasing that love knows no boundaries, not even the boundaries of physical limitations. For Meruem, it wasn't about dominating or controlling; it was about protecting someone he cherished deeply. Meanwhile, (Y/N) discovered that the most profound strength wasn't just in physical resilience but in the enduring love of someone who feared losing her.

Their unconventional bond, an intricate fusion of vulnerability and resilience, highlighted the true essence of love—its ability to transcend physical limitations and fears. In the end, their tale became a testament to the eternal power of love, a story that echoed beyond the limits of their respective worlds.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

[cinebration]

The Darkling’s Shadow (The Darkling x Reader) [Epilogue]

For all the scorned women and what we wish the bastards would realize.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Tagged: @don-daygamerz​, @weallhaveadestiny​, @kaqua​, @sinful-wxrld​, @ashdab2611​, @ultarviolence​, @chodingcreature​, @demonenotturno​, @crowssixof​, @mxacegrey​, @dreamlandcreations​, @s-r-reads​, @byulsrecs​, @peleksstuff​, @seraferna​, @imtherain​, @vex-et-soleil​, @rayrlupin​, @peakyispunk​, @itsyaspwr​, @adajoemaya​, @b1bbles, @rockintensse​, @adharanotfound​, @allinestarr​, @pumpk1n-writes​, @seronsalk​, @sarcasticlittlebook​, @muushmeg​, @littlebugs​, @xmariahwasax, @idonia-dovahkiin​, @themermaidscales82​, @moonsficrec​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: morozova-aleksander

The nichevo’ya hadn’t even manifested to chase after you. Aleksander didn’t think of this as he lay on the floor writhing in pain.

The thought haunted him later when he lay dying on the desolate waste of the obliterated Fold. The nichevo’ya had nearly killed Alina, but they hadn’t so much as lifted a finger against you.

Had you ever been a real danger to him at all? Had the nichevo’ya recognized something in you that the Darkling had overlooked?

The shard of bone—your bone—in his rib pulled sharply. Eyes rolling in their sockets, he scanned the wasteland as Alina fought to save Mal.

Nothing.

Yet the shard pierced, as though you were embedding it further.

“You’ll feel it acutely when the time comes.”

He lacked the energy to laugh, even an ugly one of contempt for himself. You, his mother, Alina—all the women in his life abandoning him, wounding him. His mother, who loved him in her way, setting him on a path she later regretted, killed by his own creation. Alina, whom he held onto too tight. You, whom he sent away to his own detriment.

The pain from the shard was excruciating.

As he bled out onto the dirt, he pictured the fervor in your eyes, heard the conviction in your voice, calling him the Black Heretic, painting a picture of the future he so desperately wanted.

You had, for the briefest of moments, made him think he was capable of everything he dreamed.

A grimace split his lips.

He strained again to survey his surroundings, the edges of his vision darkening. Hadn’t you said you would be there at the end?

There, perhaps hidden in the side of a hill, watching him. He glimpsed something of your face.

His eyes squeezed shut, the pain unbearable, worse than the wound Alina had delivered.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his strength failed him. He strained to glimpse you once more.

You were gone, if ever you were there to begin with.

Aleksander slumped back onto the dirt as Alina exclaimed over Mal’s revival.

If he had the chance to repeat it all, there was only one thing he would change.

He would have kept his Shadow.

[richincolor]

Book Review of A Crane Among Wolves by June Hur (허주은)

Summary: Hope is dangerous. Love is deadly.

1506, Joseon. The people suffer under the cruel reign of the tyrant King Yeonsan, powerless to stop him from commandeering their land for his recreational use, banning and burning books, and kidnapping and horrifically abusing women and girls as his personal playthings.

Seventeen-year-old Iseul has lived a sheltered, privileged life despite the kingdom’s turmoil. When her older sister, Suyeon, becomes the king’s latest prey, Iseul leaves the relative safety of her village, traveling through forbidden territory to reach the capital in hopes of stealing her sister back. But she soon discovers the king’s power is absolute, and to challenge his rule is to court certain death.

Prince Daehyun has lived his whole life in the terrifying shadow of his despicable half-brother, the king. Forced to watch King Yeonsan flaunt his predation through executions and rampant abuse of the common folk, Daehyun aches to find a way to dethrone his half-brother once and for all. When staging a coup, failure is fatal, and he’ll need help to pull it off—but there’s no way to know who he can trust.

When Iseul's and Daehyun's fates collide, their contempt for each other is transcended only by their mutual hate for the king. Armed with Iseul’s family connections and Daehyun’s royal access, they reluctantly join forces to launch the riskiest gamble the kingdom has ever seen:

Save her sister. Free the people. Destroy a tyrant.

Review: [Cruel tyrant is not an exaggeration so there is a content warning in the author's note that indicates the following: rape (mentioned), sexual abuse, misogyny, kidnapping women and girls, sex trafficking, incest (mentioned), violence, murder, animal cruelty, suicide (mentioned), infanticide (mentioned), psychological trauma, and panic attacks.]

Though this story is fiction, the setting and King Yeonsan are part of actual history. June Hur has not tidied up his tyrannical behavior so there are a lot of atrocities to witness in Iseul and Daehyun's path. This does make for a difficult read, but there is also love and strength that shine through. The dedication says, "To those who have dared to be a beacon of light in the bleakest of moments." There are numerous characters who are that light for others and even in the midst of so much awfulness, there is hope. That's what kept me reading.

Iseul's life has turned upside down and she has realized that she had taken her sister for granted. She is out on her own for the first time and is making brave and rash decisions because she seemingly is unaware of how truly risky and deadly her choices might be. Watching some of her actions is hard, but as she stumbles and begins to find her feet, she is also making connections with some folks who are those beacons of light.

It is equally troubling to watch Daehyun make decisions when there really are no  actions to choose that feel truly right. My heart was with both of them knowing that they really were doing the best with their circumstances even when there were no good options. And even when they pick a way that seems best, there is endless frustration as they continue to face horrifying loss and disappointment. Many characters in this story, in addition to so many Korean people in that time period,  dealt with a feeling encompassed in the word han. In the book it's described as the "feeling of outrage, the vicious urge for vengeance to right the wrong, pierced by the acute pain and grief of knowing our overwhelming odds at ever claiming justice."

Yes, the odds seem overwhelming, but Iseul, Daehyun and their allies continue to fight, sacrifice, and are willing to give their all to try anyway. They are all inspired by the Korean people, their families, loved ones, and the hope of creating a more peaceful place for all. Some of these allies are so wonderful and even though they are side characters, they managed to worm their way into my heart too. In the midst of all of the effort of so many people, there are also intrigues and mysteries to puzzle out so it's definitely a page turner.

Recommendation: Get it now. For those who watch historical K-dramas already, this will definitely be a must read. For others, this will appeal to anyone who enjoys history with some romance and political intrigue. Though it shows a lot of trauma and hardship, June Hur also provided characters that will touch hearts and stay with readers for a long time to come.

Extras:

Publisher: Feiwel & Friends Pages: 368 Review copy: Digital ARC via publisher Availability: On shelves now

[arisenreborn]

Fateful Symmetry - chapter 1

Word Count: 1,386 Characters: Olivia (Arisen), Emrys (Pawn) Table of Contents AO3: (link)

Hoo boy, I'm bad at summaries for Long Things, and this is probably going to be A Long Thing. Yanno, following Olivia and Emrys's journey from start to finish more or less. Starting here, in that abysmal excavation site...

CHAPTER 1: awakening

In dreams she saw the dragon circling wide overhead. A smoldering, ruined landscape she could make no sense of surrounded her, but all was cast in silence. It seemed the dragons shadow passed over her time and time again, like a living thing all its own, and as cold as the flames were hot. 

Pain washed over her like a tidal wave, dragging her hopelessly to the surface of consciousness where she could do nothing but flounder - blinded to all else by the immensity of it. Then it subsided, and it was all she could do to fade into those dreams yet again.

Two golden-red embers pierced through the veil of darkness, watching her. Something cold and soothing passed over her forehead, and she was acutely aware of a trickle of water trailing down her temple. 

Brow furrowing, she blinked back the shadows of a long sleep, the world coming into focus around her - or what little she could make sense of. Not that there was much to make sense of in the first place. They looked to be in some sort of cave, dark and dismally dry, and fashioned into a cell. 

“Finally coming around, are you?” The figure that sat over her tilted his head, his own brow creasing.

Yes; she didn’t know much else, but she had to get away from those long, dark dreams. Her body ached, but it was nothing she couldn’t shoulder through, and she did just that as she pushed herself to sit upright. Kindly, the man helped with a hand against her back. 

“Where…?” Her voice resisted against her dry throat, cracking against the dusty air. At once she started coughing, and the man was quick to hand her a water skin. It was mostly empty and warm, but still a relief. 

“Take it slow,” the man said. Then he glanced behind him towards the bars of their gaol - beyond which she could make no sense of the many bodies moving about. She heard him murmur: “Though… It ought to be about time for the overseer to come around.”

Too many words swam through her mind, and she could fathom almost none of them. Instead they sparked the familiar heat of frustration. 

“I’m sorry…” She swallowed and wet her lips, careful not to speak too quickly. “I am… very confused. Where are we?” 

“I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.” There was a jovial ring to his voice, like he was on the cusp of laughter - which was only all the more confusing to her. “When they dragged you in here you were a few ticks left overdone in the oven, by the looks of you. Not near so bad as how they said you’d been found, though. ‘Little more than coal’, they said.”

Her face scrunched up, a hollow discomfort echoing through her at his words. Yet when she lifted her arms to look herself over, there was no proof of what he claimed. 

These were her hands, a strange yet nonetheless comforting realization. One small sliver of recognition and familiarity. They were slightly calloused from years of training with the sword… She knew that, and yet she did not know how she knew. Everything beyond that was a smoky fog. 

“That’s right, you’re right as rain now. Healed up good and fast you did, real miracle work if you ask me.” He laughed, watching her expectantly. “Think you’ve got another miracle in ya? One that might get us out of this sorry spot?” 

Another wrinkle creased her forehead as she looked at him. ‘Ruggedly handsome’ by all accounts, albeit smeared in dirt and sweat. There was a strangeness to his eyes she couldn’t hope to comprehend, but the smile on his face was friendly and charming, and so far as she could tell he meant no harm in what he said, even if everything he said had a pointed lack of gravitas to it. Perhaps that was exactly what made him so… So? 

Having gone quiet she was squinting at him now, trying to decipher him. He waved a hand in front of her face.

“You uh, still with me?” 

Blinking, she gave herself a shake. “Who… are you?” 

“Bah, where are my manners? Emrys Venor, humbly at your service, my lady.” He placed his hand over his chest and dipped his head with a playful lack of reverence. 

Ah, she had it now. Despite all of her confusion and their dark and -frankly- frightening surroundings, his flippancy dismissed the gloom like a lantern in the night. His friendliness was a comfort, and she smiled now to realize it.

“Olivia.” She answered in kind, and then felt herself thrust once more into that dark fog of unknowing. This time searing needles accompanied it, prickling at the backs of her eyes and somewhere deeper in her mind. Gritting her teeth she groaned, grasping at her head with both hands. Flames and fog scorched the backs of her eyelids, her ears rang, and her stomach knotted itself.

“Whoa, easy there… Don’t push yourself…” Emrys’s voice soothed its way through the ringing, something softer to focus on. 

Something was terribly wrong. Who was she? A name told her little, the callouses on her hands perhaps a little more, but she didn’t even know what questions to ask herself. A cold fear began to spread through her - and then she quickly shunted it aside. No, no. Fear and worrying would get her nowhere. 

Start with the basics: Where was she from? Nothing. Did she have a home, family? Nothing. She was sure that she came from somewhere, that she must have had some point of origin, but all of it was veiled behind that wretched fog.

Mouth hanging open she looked once more to Emrys, whose expression she couldn’t hope to read. Confusion and concern, perhaps? 

For a split second she hesitated: Could she truly trust him? She had no idea what had happened to her or how she ended up in this place, but she had the distinct impression this was not where she ought to be. But he’d asked her about a miracle, hadn’t he? About getting them out of ‘this sorry spot’? 

She hoped that counted for something, and gambled on trust.

“I… don’t remember almost anything.” She shook her head. “My name, and… a dragon?”

“Shh.” The sound he made was sharp and quiet, like an assassin's blade. She blinked up at him and he was casting his eyes around them, leaning in close to her. “Pray, do not speak of any dragons here, miss, for all our sakes.” 

She didn’t understand, but she nodded slowly under the weight of his molten gaze. 

“Good. Is that… all, you can recall?” 

Tightening her lips she tried again to think of anything. She knew what an apple was. A book. A bird. She obviously had her command over language, had some concept of social niceties, but where any of it came from, nothing. Surface level stuff. 

“About myself, yes, I believe so.” 

“Isn’t that something…?” He lifted a hand to stroke his chin, and she noted that his moment of seriousness was quickly dissipating. “Well, with any luck it’ll come back as you move around. You were out of it for quite a while, even before they brought you here.”

“Who-” she cut in, as it seemed like he was going to continue, and she was already barely keeping up. “Who are ‘they’?”

His brows rose briefly, but shadows passed over them at that moment, and his eyes again flicked back towards the bars where figures approached. There were sounds of shouting, and more people being shuffled out of other cells further down the passage.

“Ah, you know what they say- or, do you? Either way. ‘Speak of devils and they shall appear’. You’ll see soon enough.” He kept his voice low as he sat himself up into a crouch, offering a hand to her. “Think you can stand?”

She took a moment to assess herself with a bit more clarity. Her body ached and felt a little fatigued, but more than anything she felt… impatient. The pains that hummed low in her muscles compared little to her ache to move, to do something. 

She knew not what just yet, but to start with, she took his hand.

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Thrall - Blue/Nightmare

Media: UTMV/UTAU

Genres: Vampire AU, Human AU, Nightmare’s a real piece of work, dark fic?, “romance”

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Killer, Dream (mentioned), Error (mentioned), Science (mentioned), Dust (mentioned)

Pairing(s): Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW: Kidnapping, stabbing, blood, blood drinking, breaking bones, toxic behavior, threats of violence, just...read with caution lol

Word Count: 5450

“Get. Out.” Blue spun around, the knife pointed straight at Nightmare’s chest, right where his heart was. Or, more accurately, where it should be. He would be surprised if Nightmare had a heart in that cold chest of his. Nightmare held his hands up defensively, not yet moving.

“Blue, sweetheart. Let’s put down the knife, yeah?”

“No! Get out of my house and never come back! I’m sick and tired of this. I’m done!” Blue shouted, body trembling as he did so, his glare never faltering. “I’m done being your blood bag, and I’m done feeding into your sadistic nature.”

“Come on now. Let’s not be like that.” Nightmare grabbed onto Blue’s shoulders, pushing him into his side dresser. 

Despite his shaking, Blue held the knife to Nightmare’s chest anyway, ready to stab it into it at a moment's notice. Nightmare’s nostrils flared, Blue’s blood flowing right beneath his skin, practically begging to be drunk from. Even from here he could practically taste it, it’s savory flavor, it’s utter perfection. His tongue ran over his lips as his teal eyes met Blue’s gaze, eyeing him like a plate of freshly cooked meat. Blue shuttered, suddenly acutely aware of his heart pounding in his chest.

“Go away.” It was wavering, more of a plea than an order. 

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” The grip on the knife tightened, Nightmare stayed calm, watching every moment carefully. Every twitch and subtle movement was analyzed, studied carefully with precision. Questions flying through both of their minds as Blue’s breath quickened, and as Nightmare didn’t breathe at all. Only adding to Blue’s horror.

Blue swallowed hard, eyes darting back from Nightmare’s hypnotizing eyes to the floor to the knife back to Nightmare. How quickly could he attack, how quickly could he get away? How quickly could Nightmare recover and how quickly could he sink his teeth into his skin?

“I said, get out. Before I make you.”

“We both know you won’t do it.” Nightmare leaned in closer, whispering in Blue’s ear, making him shutter. “You don’t have the heart. You’re too sweet, too kind,” Nightmare smiled, “Now put the knife down, stop this silly little act of rebellion of yours and give me what I want.” Nightmare licked his lips and kissed Blue’s cheek, and moved all the way down to his neck. Blue’s lip quivered and Nightmare nipped gently at his neck. Not biting. Not yet.

“You taste so good, you know.”

“Leave me alone!”

Nightmare sucked on Blue’s neck for a moment, “Mmm…I hope you beg like you did last time. It was adorable.” 

Blue shivered as Nightmare ran his tongue up his neck, “Though, I don’t think you can outdo last time's performance, ‘twas incredible, haha.” Nightmare’s hand squeezed his hip, gently rubbing it with his hand. “But don’t feel required to live up to your, beautifully intoxicating, standards. Your desperation excites me regardless.”

Sobs threatened to come out of Blue as Nightmare continued to play with his neck. Leaving saliva and small hickeys all over, forcing his blood to the surface. His grip on the knife wavered, and he felt like he might drop it. Then, Nightmare let out a low hiss, a signal that he was about to bite. Blue had heard that noise time and time again never connecting the two things up until recently, it was now or never.

Nightmare cried out, in pain? Surprise? Horror? Blue didn’t know. He had shoved that knife so far into Nightmare’s chest, only the handle was outside. It must’ve dug through his organs, and, if Blue was lucky, pierced his spine. He shoved Nightmare out of the way and onto his bed before running out of the room. That should give him enough time to at least get to Error’s house, or at least to some place in public. And maybe, he could get a plane and travel to Dream, who was currently in Transylvania visiting family. Dream could help him, he was strong and his family is so large, no one would allow Nightmare to slip in to get him. He would be safe.

Moving faster than he ever had before, Blue rushed down the stairs, slamming the door to his room behind him. He beelined to the front door, shoving aside his coffee table as he moved; he didn’t have the luxury to walk around furniture. He threw open the door, and carefully prattled down the steps to the sidewalk before sprinting down it, towards the moon. It was still rising, and bright as hell. His mind focused on Error’s apartment building. It was a five minute walk when he wasn’t being chased by a vampiric madman, so getting there should take no time at all.

The street lights flickered as he ran, the moonlight shining down on him. He could see Error’s house from here, he was so close. Then memories flashed as he glanced to his left. There was the same alley he had met Nightmare on the day his life was ruined forever. He took a pause. Nightmare wouldn’t be so cruel to remind him of that night…would he? He stopped running, his heart pounding in his chest. He spun around, no sight of him. Blue didn’t even want to look down the alleyway. He patted himself down, maybe he could come back home and Error could pick him up?

Shit shit shit!

All of his pockets were empty. He left his phone at home. Of course he did. Just his luck. He took a step back, listening. His ears started ringing with silence and the pounding of his blood. His blood…he felt disgusted at the sound of it. That’s exactly what Nightmare was after, exactly what got him into this mess. He glanced at the other side of the street, nothing. Not even an alleyway for him to get jumped. He ran across the street, making sure no cars were coming. Despite his legs screaming at him, he began his sprint again as soon as he reached the other side.

A scream escaped his mouth, and within a moment, his head was slammed into the building next to him. Nightmare had a tight grip around his head, eyes and body shaking with anger. Knife still lodged in his chest, a few drops of his blood oozing out of the wound and onto his bare chest. Nightmare had most of his shirt unbuttoned, only having the bottom two still together, the top part of his chest completely bare. 

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” Nightmare yanked his head back, fingers tightly holding his hair. “Especially after that stunt you pulled?” Nightmare laughed, it was vile and unsettling.

Nightmare shoved Blue into his chest, on the opposite side of the knife, “The mere idea of that is adorable.”

“Are you going to monologue now that you’ve caught me?” Blue hissed out, trying to pull away. Nightmare’s eye twitched, and he slammed his foot down on Blue’s, a large crack ringing out. Blue shrieked, his struggling ceasing immediately.

“Y’know, I don’t mind your spunk, Blue. I don’t mind the sass, and I don’t mind the blatant fucking disobedience. But you know what I do mind?” Nightmare yanked the knife out of his chest, placing it against Blue’s cheek. Despite it being lodged in Nightmare’s chest for at least ten minutes, it was freezing against his cheek, still seeping with vampiric blood. 

“This bullshit. It’s cold, isn’t it? I know you think I'm an unfeeling monster, but it still hurts, you little cunt. You need correction. And now, my dear, you have set up the perfect way to do that.”

“You broke my foot!” Blue shrieked, “Is that not enough for you?!”

“No. I cannot trust that you won’t pull something like this again. You need something…permanent.” Nightmare didn’t stop speaking, not allowing Blue time to comprehend the horror of what he just heard. “I have clearly been far too lenient with you. That is my fault, allowing you to live your life just as you always had been. Do not worry, unlike your foot, this will not hurt a bit.”

“NO!” Blue yelled, pushing himself away from Nightmare. However, he didn’t get all that far, due to the arm gripping his waste. “I don’t want to be like you!”

Nightmare paused, his face falling for just a moment as his eyes narrowed. Blue opened one of his eyes, looking at Nightmare who laughed. Cackling in astonishment. “You naïve fool, I will not be turning you. Your mortal blood is far too valuable at the moment. Maybe someday though, if you bring me enough entertainment.”

“Then wh-”

“You’re clever, obnoxiously so. Do you know what a thrall is, my dear?”

Blue’s eyes widened and his mind was taken off of the throbbing pain in his foot for a moment, “No…No Nightmare please you can’t do this, I don’t-”

The knife was put up to his lips, silencing him, “Shh. Your begging won’t save you this time, and most likely, never again. You fucked it up, and now, I get to make you mine.”

Clearing his throat, Nightmare began to speak, oddly calm. He slipped the knife into his belt, freeing up his other hand. “Now, I know you mortals think of a vampire turning someone into a thrall by taking control of their mind, or whatever. You’re all stupid though, because that’s not how that works. If we could just mind control anyone we wanted, then we wouldn’t need thralls, we wouldn’t need to hide, and we most certainly wouldn’t put up with mortals who think they’re able to take us down.

“Mortals like you, babe!” Nightmare’s finger flicked Blue’s nose, his voice high pitched as he mocked him. Then, without warning, his tone went dark once more. “Blue.”

“What?”

“Define ‘thrall’ for me.”

Swallowing hard, Blue wracked his mind, trying to ignore the pain overwhelming all of his senses. “A thrall is…a noun.”

“Mhm.”

“And it means…being in someone’s power?” He hesitated, glancing up at Nightmare whose face gave him nothing to work with. “In the terms of vampires, it’s a human, usually, who serves a vampire.”

“That’s right. I wonder how you can be so smart, but so utterly stupid at the same time.”

“Wh- Hey!”

“Quiet.” Nightmare hissed, shifting their position so he was leaning against the wall, taking some of the strain off of being forced to hold Blue up. “None of that actually means mind control, now does it?”

“...I guess not, but what does that have to-”

“I can make you my thrall, a handsome thing to serve me, and you’ll be aware of it the whole time. You’ll hate it, but you’ll have no other choice!” Nightmare laughed, voice unhinged as he chuckled, his face burying itself into Blue’s shoulder. “You’ll belong to me, body and soul, and you’ll have no choice but to follow my every word.”

Through gritted teeth, Blue made one last attempt to call Nightmare’s bluff. “Yeah? And how will you go about that?”

With a saccharine smile, Nightmare flashed his sharp teeth at him. “By drinking my blood, of course. A bit of a role reversal, but it’s quite effective.”

“What?! No! I’m not going to-”

“You don’t have a choice there, babe. Drink up.” 

Blue’s face was shoved into the wound, blood going up his nose and into his mouth. He coughed and hacked up Nightmare’s blood, but Nightmare didn’t loosen his grip. Blue shuttered, defeat washing over him. He was going to suffocate if he didn’t do what Nightmare wanted, and despite the fact that death might be the better option here, he wasn’t going to let this bastard kill him. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not now, not ever. Blue swallowed the blood that entered his mouth, as well as apprehensively licking the wound to get more. He gagged, but kept going. Absolutely abhorrent. 

After Nightmare deemed that Blue had taken enough of his blood, he pulled Blue away from his chest, allowing him some time to breathe. Blue was heaving, a drop of blood dripping down his chin. Nightmare wiped the blood with his thumb, smiling as he helped Blue to his feet. Er…foot.

“That should be enough for now.” Nightmare hummed in approval as Blue clung to him. “It would be mean to make you walk all the way back to my castle, wouldn’t it? I don’t think we would make it by daylight if that happened.” Nightmare chuckled, scooping Blue into his arms. The wound in his chest still oozed blood, but he wasn’t in a hurry to deal with it. His body would heal it within a matter of time, maybe in two hours or so. Being a vampire did have its perks, after all. Blue was quivering in his arms, his body shaking, desperate to fix itself. Nightmare felt a slight twinge of regret, not for hurting him, of course, it was well deserved, but for the fact that it would take a few months for his foot to fully heal.

Mortals were so easily damaged and it was so difficult to heal them, he always forgot about that. Perhaps that was for the best. His grin turned twisted, he would have to pay extra attention to the news and social media for the next few days. He wondered how Blue’s friends would react to his disappearance. He wondered how the media would explain it. That was his favorite part, to watch mortals try and explain the supernatural. It was adorable to watch them try. And he especially wondered how that bastard, Dream don Dalezya, would react. It had been so long since he had last stolen a mortal away, he forgot how trilling it was. He had brought humans into the manor before, of course. He wasn’t a newbie at this sort of thing. They’d last a decade, maybe two, before he either killed them or sickness caught up to them. Keeping humans hostage was fun, at first. When the poor things were terrified and still full of hope. Then it got boring. They’d get used to it, used to him. Sometimes they’d even fall in love with him. He didn’t need a mortal’s love. His nose scrunched up at the thought. Besides, hunting and tracking down humans was half of the fun. He’d prefer it to not be a twice a century thing.

None of them had been a thrall. Perhaps this time would be different. Blue was already a fantastic toy. He hadn’t met a lot of mortals before this, but considering he had managed to get the attention of Dream and befriend him, then perhaps he was a little different. Blue never bargained, never tried to offer Nightmare anything to get him to stop. He would only fight back, and when that proved fruitless, he would beg Nightmare to leave him alone. That is what Nightmare adored. He’d also never had a human stab him before. And while it pissed him off, that Blue even thought that he could get away with such a thing, he couldn’t stay mad. Not forever, anyway. Such a bold move from someone mortal? That was something to note. It wasn’t enough for Nightmare to respect Blue, of course. Him? Respect a mortal? He would never allow himself to fall that low. 

Maybe Blue would keep him entertained for longer than a few decades. And maybe…just maybe…Nightmare would curse him with vampirism. Not now, but later. If Blue proved to be astoundingly enthralling (haha, he found himself hilarious), then maybe he would put Blue on the same field as him. Keeping Blue as a mortal kept the power dynamic between him and Nightmare stable. Static. Vampires were inherently stronger, faster, and simply more powerful than humans. Not to mention that Nightmare was tall, muscular, intimidating, and Blue was like a small rabbit, or newborn puppy, to him. Blue could be crushed within a matter of moments. Despite his best attempt to stop Nightmare, he had to rely on stunning him to get away. He was probably hoping that he could get help of some kind, maybe from Dream or his friend…Error? Yes, Error sounded right. Either way, he was prey. And he was acting like it. The power dynamic between him and Nightmare would stay that way unless Nightmare decided to up Blue’s chances.

The forest was getting thicker. The canopy above him was shielding him from the moonlight, which would soon become blazing sunlight. Blue had ceased his whimpering, thank god, and his eyes were squeezed shut, trying to ease his pain. The wind was howling, and Blue shivered in his arms. Nightmare rolled his eyes, nearly rolling them into his own head. He would have to make sure his log supply was decent. His manor wasn’t heated, it was built in the 11th century and he hadn’t bothered to update it to modern technology since his body heat was irrelevant to his survival. Oh, how he loved his manor. It was large, gothic, and had a massive library. What more could a man ask for? His manor wasn’t equipped with much modern technology, but Blue would survive.

Humans these days were so pampered, with their air conditioning and internet and whatever. The only thing Nightmare didn’t mind was the advances in medicine. What was the point in keeping a mortal if the thing got sick and had no choice but to succumb to it?

The forest grew thinner, and Nightmare’s manor soon came into view. It was towering, and Blue opened his eyes briefly to look at it. It was large, probably one of the largest buildings he had ever seen, and had a massive fence around it. The fence had to be over ten feet (or three meters) and was made of a thick metal. It had intricate designs, but not a single pattern large enough for him to fit through. The gate itself had two large spires, and was made of metal and black basalt. It looked to be in incredible condition, even though Blue expected it to be at least somewhat rusted. On the gate, which caused his anxiety to spike, was a massive latch, keeping it locked. It was nothing that he had ever seen before. He squirmed in Nightmare’s grip, trying to get out of his arms. There wasn’t much of a plan, panic was setting in. He didn’t have his phone, he was going to be separated from Error, and Dream, and everyone he loved, and his heart started racing.

Blue couldn’t believe that he had allowed Nightmare to carry him all the way through the forest with little issue. He didn’t get the chance to squirm as Nightmare took him from everything he ever knew. Before he could do anything, he was set down onto his knees as Nightmare approached the gate to unlock it. He shifted onto his good leg, and despite his ever growing despair, he made an attempt to crawl. He wouldn’t get far, he knew that, but he wasn’t going to be a passive player as Nightmare took him. The gates swung open, and Nightmare scooped him up right again. He was slung over Nightmare’s right shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He fought in Nightmare’s arm, trying to free himself. If he could just stay outside till daylight, then maybe he could hobble his way home. The gates slammed behind them, and Blue flinched. He glanced at it, squinting, was it locked?

“It locks by itself, don’t get your hopes up. Unless you feel like climbing up that fence with that poor foot of yours, you won’t get far.” Nightmare opened one of the doors to the manor with his left hand and entered the large building. It was like a castle. Blue pulled his scarf up his face, the manor was even darker on the inside. Dark bricks lined every wall, the ceilings high and towering, with fancy chandeliers draping from them. Along the walls were sconces holding dim, flickering candles. All of the doors were large and wooden, with designs meticulously carved into them. The only sound that Blue could hear was his own breathing, and the sound of Nightmare’s footsteps against the wooden ground. It was quiet. Eerily so.

A shiver sent itself down Blue’s spine, goosebumps appearing up and down his arms and legs. It was cold, both the castle, and Nightmare’s arms. He clutched onto Nightmare’s shirt, burying his face into the cold skin of his chest. The pain came in waves, and Blue felt his foot begin to throb, ache, and burn through his veins like an awful poison.

“It hurts.” Blue croaked, his voice threatening to break.

“I know.” Nightmare murmured. He kept Blue close, his stride never faltering. “I will take care of it.”

The walk to…wherever Nightmare was taking him wasn’t long. Blue kept his eyes open, observing all of the manor that he could. It was beautiful, and he wondered how Nightmare got such a place. As they passed through certain rooms, Blue could’ve sworn he heard the sounds of hushed voices and laughter. There was movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye, and despite the fact he knew better than to believe what he couldn’t truly see, he felt a pit in his stomach grow. Who else was in here? Monsters like Nightmare? Or humans like him?

“You're a cruel bastard, you know that?”

“Is that so?” Nightmare spoke, his voice flat as he adjusted his grip on Blue’s body. “What did I do this time? I haven’t said a word in the last few minutes.”

“Who else are you keeping here?” Blue spat, “I saw- I heard them. How many others are here against their will?”

An exasperated, yet malicious grin grew on Nightmare’s face, a snicker forcing its way out of him. “There are many things about this world that you don’t yet know, Blue. The others, there are four of them, if you’re curious, are not quite human, not quite vampire. When the time is right, I’ll introduce you to them.”

“Why not now?”

“Why? Hah!” Nightmare laughed, pushing open a door with his shoulder, “Because they’ll tear you limb from limb!”

The room that Nightmare had taken him to was a bedroom, but it wasn’t Nightmare’s. Not only were all of the surfaces covered in a fine layer of dust, Nightmare would never allow that in his room, but the furniture in the room itself was much less Victorian, and much more Rococo for Nightmare’s tastes. With a hum, Nightmare carefully adjusted how Blue was sitting in his arms, now carrying him one would a toddler. He approached the bed (that Blue couldn’t see, due to his face being over Nightmare’s shoulder) and sneered.

“Bastards. I give them one job…!” Nightmare muttered to himself, whipping around and gently placing Blue on a chair that was tucked underneath the vanity. It was beautiful, if not for all of the dust coating all of its crevices. Hesitantly, Blue touched the mirror with his finger tips, dust coating his fingers. He coughed, waving away the dust. Hesitantly, he touched his face, leaning in closer to the mirror.

Holy shit.

“I look like a mess…” Blue muttered to himself, pulling at his eyebags and touching his sickly cheeks. Is this what he always looked like after an encounter with Nightmare? He hadn’t gotten his blood sucked this time…was this a result of drinking Nightmare’s blood? His thoughts were cut short as a hand that didn’t exist in the mirror grabbed him by his chin, forcing his face to the left.

“You look utterly ravishing,” Nightmare ran his thumb against Blue’s lips as he cooed to him softly, resisting the urge to run his teeth against his neck. “I’m going to be right back, okay? Don’t be stupid, and if you need anything, just shout.”

With a quick ruffling of Blue’s curly hair, Nightmare exited the room. Blue watched him, his heart pittering against his ribcage. He gripped onto the seat of his chair until his knuckles began to turn white. There was a clawing in his mind and chest, his own brain nearly forcing him up and out of the chair. To his horror, there was a part of his mind that panicked when Nightmare left his vision. There was a legitimate sense of longing, of wanting, the urge to stumble after him, to make sure they weren’t too far apart.

Blue shook his head, physically trying to get rid of the foreign feelings. He twisted his body away from the door, taking slow breaths to try and ease his racing heart. His hands shook as he began to snoop through the drawers, needing anything to distract him. To his disappointment, he found nothing except dust and dead bugs within. He pushed back against the desk to scoot his chair backwards, giving himself room to open the large, middle drawer. IT squealed as he pried it open. The dresser hadn’t been used in what seemed like years.

And…! Nothing.

Disappointment washed over him and he groaned, looking up at the tall ceiling. Even though the drawers proved fruitless, the high ceiling was beautiful. It curved inwards, intricate patterns carved into the brick, and at the very top was a painting of the night sky. He wondered who painted it. Not Nightmare, surely? Whoever it was, was likely dead now, considering how old the mansion was.

“I can’t believe you brought me fresh meat, boss.”

“Stop it.”

With a yelp, Blue lurched backwards in his chair, a stifled shriek coming out of him as he slammed his broken foot onto the bottom of the dresser. He bit down harshly on his lip, tears forcing their way out of his eyes. He glanced up at the person who appeared on his left without a sound, taking in their appearance.

The first thing Blue noticed was their eyes. They were more like eye sockets, being completely and utterly blank, like two blackholes on their face. What Blue could only assume to be dried blood stained their cheeks, rolling down from the corners of their ‘eyes’ and forming beads at the bottom of their face. Blue couldn’t look away from their black eyes, desperately trying to search for pupils.

It was almost hypnotizing.

“Shh, it’s okay. Relax, cariño.” They spoke, leaning in closer, and Blue could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The stranger held his hand, as if he was about to kiss the top of it. He could barely move, his mind whirling and growing foggy. “I’m just going to take a little piece of you, ‘kay?”

“Don’t you-”

“AGH?!”

The moment the hunting knife touched his knuckle, instinct kicked in, and Blue’s fist landed in between the person’s eyes. They shot back, knife clattering to the ground as they staggered backwards, holding onto their face. Blood dribbled from their Greek nose, eyes (eyeholes?) widening in shock. Nightmare cackled, lifting Blue from the chair he was sitting on.

“Cabrón…!” Even through his pain, Blue managed to flip the person off, “Coño.”

“I see that the two of you will get along splendidly.” Nightmare smiled, making sure he supported Blue’s bad leg. “Killer, this is Blue, my newest thrall, and Blue, meet Killer, he is, alas, my right hand man.”

Killer, an uncomfortable name for someone who was just mere inches from his face, picked up the knife, twirling it in his hand. After standing up straight, he slipped his hunting knife back into the sheath on his thigh, eyes narrowed at Blue. His skin was a light brown, and his black hair was asymmetrical and choppy. He wore baggy cargo pants, which were also black, with the sheath on the outside of his right leg. His blue sweatshirt drooped from his shoulders, revealing a compression turtleneck underneath. The hood of it had beige faux fur; it looked soft to the touch.

“A thrall? Been a while since you last had one of those, boss.”

“Yes, I am aware. And since you decided to break his poor foot further, you get the honor of making sure his room is adequately set up! Isn’t that nice?”

“Wh- Hey! Nightmare!” Killer shouted, “Do I look like a janitor to you?!”

“You look like someone who’s going to be utterly fucking walloped if you don’t get to work!” Nightmare called back, sauntering out of the room, keeping Blue close to his chest.

The door slammed behind them, a low growl coming from Nightmare’s throat as he hissed. It was rather quiet as he walked down the hall, Killer’s grumblings slowly consumed by the sound-eating walls of the manor. Blue gasped for air, his breath hitching over and over as he clung to Nightmare, pain searing through his body.

“That bad, huh?”

“I-It hurts.” Blue choked, “Fuck, I can’t-”

“I know.” It was likely his adrenaline-filled brain misconstruing Nightmare’s body language, but he could’ve sworn that Nightmare looked down at him with love, sincerity. That couldn’t be right. “I know.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“So you’ve said.”

“This is your fault. Make it stop.” He croaked, his trembling hands feeling the folds of his scarf for a moment of comfort.

“Rest assured, I will.”

Sharp teeth punctured Blue’s neck, his scream lost in the labyrinth that was the manor’s hallways. Not much would be taken, despite Nightmare’s thirst. He had yet to get what he initially came for: Blue’s delectable blood. Blood was blood, no matter who it came from. However, Nightmare did have his preferences. The taste of Blue’s skin intermingling with the metallic liquid, his arms being able to wrap around his waist to hold him close, his pretty cries when teeth sunk into him all made Blue the perfect meal. After all, the actual taste was only half of what made a meal good. Presentation was, arguably, more important. And, oh, did Blue present.

With a desperate gasp, Nightmare released Blue’s neck, blood dribbling down his chin, the two piercing wounds bubbling up slightly. His tongue pressed against them, an ecstasy-filled shiver tearing up his spine.

Like fucking ambrosia.

It had been too much for Blue’s brain to handle, finally deciding to shut down, leaving him unconscious in Nightmare’s arms. For the first time in a few hours, he looked at peace, his head rolled into Nightmare’s arm, and hands neatly placed on his chest. Nightmare didn’t, couldn’t look away, a foreign feeling of fondness flowing through him. His lips connected with Blue’s forehead, leaving a rather blood kiss mark behind.

Cute.

Nightmare began to walk once more, towards his own bedroom this time. He had wanted Blue to settle in a place apart from him. Can’t have the mortal thinking he was too special, now could he? He wasn’t going to force Blue in a room that was covered in dust and who knows what else. He swore that he assigned someone to have an extra room clean at all times, but perhaps he didn’t give that command. …Or he did, and someone ignored it. There would be hell to pay if that was the case.

It’d be easier to care for Blue if they were staying in the same room, though, so Nightmare would let it slide. This time.

Nightmare’s face pulled into a sneer. Blue’s foot had only gotten worse from his initial break, and Nightmare no longer had any idea the state of the bones in his ankle. The last thing he wanted was to set the bones incorrectly, and have them heal in a way that would make Blue’s life a living Hell. That was his job!

That meant he’d have to call up the doctor, whose actual name Nightmare didn’t know, referring to him only as “the doctor” or, when he was feeling more casual, “Sci.” He’d contact the doctor using his phone, which everyone called “old-fashioned” (Dust got a hearty smack for that comment). It wasn’t his fault that phones had simply gone downhill in quality since the rotary phone! Sci would come over and fix Blue right up, likely better than Nightmare would. His area of expertise was blood, not bones.

Immediately, Nightmare relaxed when he entered his room, the non-crypt one, of course. He set Blue down on his massive bed, which rarely went used, and Blue turned onto his side, getting comfortable on the fluffy blankets. His hand ran through his curls, the other mindlessly touching where the knife had been pressed into his chest.

He couldn’t even be mad anymore.

To have Blue, to have Blue be his, was so incredibly worth it.

[redscrawl]

How It Ends- The Quarry

(#FFF234: how it ends) fandom: The Quarry characters: Kaitlyn, Dylan, Ryan, Abi, Laura, Max, Others (mentioned) warnings: canonical character death, grief/mourning, trauma, amputation, blood, injury, horror, dead bodies, tragedy words: 717 summary: The Quarry cast contemplates the events of the night while driving away from camp finally.

Guys I suddenly got inspired to write a random The Quarry fic because of @flashfictionfridayofficial

Ignore that my first published fanfic on here is this random, also i wrote this in like 30 minutes. I promise ill put my actual fanfic on here some day.

The sunlight turned the blood an angelic hue. An almost shimmering red popping against worn and beaten skin. 

Dappled golden rays shone down through the canopy of leaves, bathing them all in what they had most desperately craved all evening; light. After hours of searching, begging, and weeping for it, the end was not what they had expected. Things looked different in the light. The shadows cast by trees were less daunting, the wounds decorating their bodies were less intimidating. The losses were greater, more raw and piercing. Empty spots aching as daylight exposed them. 

 There was no great applause or lifting of a curtain. Nobody had come to tell them ‘Congratulations! You are still alive!’. Not even the cops had been called. It was just them and the crippling reality of the situation they had advanced and fallen victim to. Six remaining teenagers and the lingering stench of death. 

And so they piled into the dirty beat up van, quietly and routinely. The warm cracked leather seats welcoming them into its safe hold. None of them said anything as Kaitlyn assumed her role as the driver, Laura taking up the passenger seat. As the position’s honored title suggests, she clutched the bloody shotgun in her hands still, high alert on even as the van passed through the camp’s threshold. 

‘Hackett’s Quarry’ the sign read ‘What doesn't kill you, will make you stronger.’ 

Dylan was the only one to glance back, craning his sore neck to see the lodge. It was illuminated now through the gap in the trees, from here you could barely tell something amiss had ever happened there. It looked just as it had 24 hours ago, teeming with life and campers.

He almost thought maybe this had never happened. That this was just a dream, though the dull ache thrumming in the spot where his hand used to be suggested otherwise. 

Ryan looked over at Dylan, dried blood caking onto his face creating a texture like an old and cracked oil painting. His lips curled into a slight smile, Dylan smiled back. 

Silence laid steadily in the bumpy car ride to the main road, nobody wanted to speak about what had happened. No music played over the speakers, it felt wrong now to enjoy something while passing through the site of their most acute horror. 

Things would never be the same anymore, too many people had died, too many secrets never meant to see the light of day had been uncovered. There would be no more summer camp and no more Hackett’s Quarry. The empty seats and unclaimed luggage sitting in the van was a stark reminder of what was to haunt them for the rest of their lives. 

But for now they were okay, it was over, this was the end. 

The jostling of the uneven dirt turned into smooth pavement as they finally turned onto the main road. Everyone let out a subtle sigh of relief, they made it. Even Laura rested her arms, placing the gun on her thighs; she turned to check on Max, his face forlorn and distant.

Dylan was the first to break the silence. 

“Is it crazy if I somehow still have the Peanut Butter Butterpops theme stuck in my head?” His voice was weak but still rang out with the same sarcastic note as always. 

For a moment everyone stayed still, shocked that the long drawn out silence had ended. Everyone had been shaken out of their own stoic thoughts. Was it okay to laugh at a time like this? Was the question on every mind.

Kaitlyn decided it was.

Her chuckle was the first, a dry and heaving thing. Like all the weight of that night was being released through her vocal chords. She gasped, laughing from the pit of her stomach while clutching the grimy steering wheel. Dylan was next, then Abi and Ryan. Eventually even Laura and Max broke from their serious stare. 

The laughter continued for long and got louder as it went on. It all seemed so absurd to them now, like a cheesy movie they’d pay way too much to see at the local theater. 

Still smiling, Kaitlyn drove on chasing the horizon. Sun brimming over the edge like a promise.

This was the end.  

[uyuartik]

othello ch.4| anakin skywalker x reader

tags: othello au mini series, no major character death (just want to make that clear), borderline dark fic, and now we're back to the plot things, iago is at it again, lots of angst, only 2 chapters left...

summary: It's Iago's turn to make a move.

also crossposted on ao3!

word count: 1183

prologue | ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | finale

chapter 4

Hearing about Anakin’s little visit to your room, Iago was on edge- he knew he needed to act and he needed to act fast. Having Emilia trapped in a cage, he used those precious moments exactly right, having her steal your handkerchief while you prepared for a bath. She almost got caught, out of guard when she noticed your cheery attitude. The piece of fabric was on the edge of slipping through her fingers as she moved to ask you about it, but you interrupted with a giggly remark about- whatever, she was distracted like you, and with the feeble task of fetching you another bottle of rose oil she left your room.

She had another moment of shock when she ran into Anakin after that little escape- in your hallway, at this hour? She was not God’s favorite that day, was she?- and Anakin had a sense that she was not agitated because of the usual prejudice they all had for him; for not sharing their native land, for picking up this career older than most of his colleagues yet surpassing them in every category. No, she had an acute worry, yet, Anakin was never the type to corner a lady and get the information out, even though it bothered him dearly, her scurrying away from your room like that. She was one of your dear friends, you spent most of your time with her- he couldn’t help but feel concerned.

Yet, the day took a different turn when Iago continued with his second act: planting evidence and calling for the witness. Poor Anakin… Hours, it took him hours to breathe properly again, his mind and his heart waging a strong battle. A little whisper from the depths of his spirit told it was impossible; that something, some great game was afoot, but his eyes had seen the undeniable proof- the handkerchief he gave you, laying casually on Cassio’s dirty nightstand, further stained by his bragging about the whore he had gotten it from. Anakin didn’t know why he didn’t slit his throat at that moment. His captain and his wife. The two people he trusted the most on this planet. Like an earthquake that destroyed his world, but he felt no shaking or the smoke- a blink and all was upside down.

It sounded like an old tragedy or a curse, and he rejected that fate.

He saw you first, when he came home. You were talking to the servants, and if that invisible string you both referred to from time to time weren’t magically real, you would keep talking, not noticing the piercing gaze of those blue eyes. It only took seconds for you to search for his presence, and locate him, totally missing out on the concerned look on the faces of the maids as they took their leave.

Your radiant smile only beamed lighter as he approached with big steps, heavy boots thudding against the marble, the front of his shirt tugged open. Of course, that impossibly stubborn expression of fury on his face distorted yours as well.

“My lord!” You greeted him, most welcome. There was a time he wouldn’t let either of you leave this entereé without a kiss, without your laughter echoing throughout the walls.

He nodded, tongue-tied at the first sight of you.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” You continue. God, you missed him. “You came so late, and we barely speak these days- there are matters we should discuss-“

“Like what, my dear wife?”

“I’ve been wishing to speak to you about Cassio.”

That wretched name made his head boil. “I think we got better things to talk about.” While he wasn’t trying to lure you into a trap, he hoped for a swift confession.

“My lord, it’s been weeks since you stripped him of his rank, it is enough-“

“Angel, care to lend me your handkerchief, it has been a hot day.”

“Here.”

“No, the one I gave you.”

You frowned, realizing that while this was very similar, it wasn’t the one. But you never carried another, or opted for a change today. “I- I took a bath this morning. It probably got mixed up between my clothes, I’ll look for it when I go to my room.”

“You need to do better than that. You know it was my mother’s, right?”

Your heart dropped and your face went pale.

“She told me that the enchantress who gave it to her promised that whoever had it would be blessed with a faithful partner, peace of mind in the marriage. It would bind them together with an unbreakable bond, and if it werelost- or given to another,” That was the part you shook your head “loath would spurt and eyes would seek others.”

He wouldn’t. He just said it to hurt you, and you can’t argue that you don’t deserve it.

“My lord, I swear it was here this morning- I always put it in my drawer in the night to keep it safe.”

Safe. He chuckled with fried nerves. Safety and trust were the two pillars that had crumbled and fallen to his feet. “Who did you give it to?”

The accusation took your breath away, and you couldn’t answer for a second. “Nobody- I never give it to anybody, I even wash it myself to keep others from touching it.”

“So, what you mean to say, is that I am unable to keep my house safe, and perhaps somebody came here and took it?”

“No, NO!” Somehow, him accusing himself was worse. “Our home- the entire Mediterranean Sea is safe because of you. It was you who assured it.” You sniffled. “I don’t understand, I didn’t give it away, and nobody took it- why would anyone take” God, you couldn’t even use the word “steal” “the token of our love, the sacred bond between us? Who could dare to disrespect our holy union- it is an insult to God. None- no soul in our home could be so evil.”

Evil. How little you knew of it- how little you believed in it.

It felt like somebody was tearing down his heart in two; the fire consumed it, and your tears turned it to ashes. He couldn’t dislodge the knife of betrayal away, yet he couldn’t believe he was stabbed at all- your hand was not fit to wield that blade.

He ran his hand through his locks, his breath unsteady. Taking a few steps back, he tried to collect his thoughts,- the task proven to be impossible as the sound of your sobs filled the room, and you were frozen with indecision, reaching out to him or searching the house brick by brick til you found it, you could never lose it, it surely was somewhere in here.

Then, he exited the same way he came, all fiery and stormy, rocking your world again. You rushed to your room and yanked the drawer of your vanity so hard that it came loose, and you rummaged through the white fabrics that had fallen to the floor- and then the next drawer…