#It's just them in this chase against each other that has lost all meaning

[hellsdogs]

𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐃𝐀𝐈 & 𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈

       @wellfell asked for an incorrect quote

[voxisdaddy]

Collection of Pleasure

Hazbin Hotel NSFW Headcanons…

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairings: Alastor | Lucifer | Vox | Valentino | Velvette | Charlie | Vaggie | Cherri Bomb | Rosie | Carmilla | Adam | Lute | Emily | Saint Peter

C/TW: 18+, NSFW, MDNI, reader written as fem, cussing, various kinks, collection of a few subs x dom!reader, mainly the ladies are domming/topping lol, not proofread, some are bad im sorry, carmilla has two though bc its carmilla

In which in at least one NSFW headcanon for each character...

My personal NSFW headcanon for several Hazbin Hotel characters. This includes some of the main cast, the Vee’s, the angels, and some of the other characters ♥︎

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Alastor likes being the predator chasing his prey during his rut...

Sex with Alastor is pretty rare, happens occasionally but usually it's for special occasions like an anniversary. His ruts however? His favourite thing to do (aside from you) is have you run around the forest in his room while he hunts for you in his demon form. He can very easily catch you but he likes to let it play out before he pounces on you for like, two weeks. Goodluck lol

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lucifer is an insatiable beast...

When he started crying and was quivering so bad one night, you thought that enough was enough and climbed off of him only for his hips to desperately follow you, thrusting into nothing. Despite his tears from the overstimulation you've given him for several rounds by then, he looked at you with teary eyes and begged you to not stop. A safe word was set in place because of that, so you made sure when to stop when he genuinely wanted you to stop. But despite how teary eyed he gets or how much he begs, he never uses it.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vox likes to watch himself...

"Oh you mean like in front of a mirror?" NO. Well yes but actually he loves getting it on with you in his office because all his monitors will showcase how well you're either riding his dick or fucking his ass with a strap. A few monitors will display his weeping face though thanks to you. He thinks it's humiliating and will try and change them to literally anything else but he can't exactly focus on anything when he's so lost in pleasure. So his weeping face and him getting railed it is. It's like he's your own porn star. This porn star whimpers "mommy" too so have fun with that.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino is capable of getting fucked dumb...

I know it might be hard to believe with him, but it is possible and it's why he's so obsessed with you. He's very experienced in sex, obviously; doming, subbing, top, bottom, doesn't matter. It's all good. The way you can somehow fuck him so good and bring him to so much overstimulation that all he can do babble incoherently? Mans is down bad for you and grows more romantically attached to you than he thinks. Often times the night after a particularly passionate and heated session, he heads to the studio with a slight limp in his step. The first time people saw him limping like that paired with his surprisingly decent mood that day, they knew; oh you're fucking good.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Velvette is a pillow princess...

I 100% see her as a dom, and she very well can dom, but she's selfish and wants all the pleasure with minimal work. With the way she acted, especially when it comes to teasing you, it really through you in a loop when you got to bed that evening. Okay so you're topping-no big deal. The real surprise was when you found out she didn't wanna do anything to help you get off. Oh well. Sitting on her face and using a vibrator against her clit is motivational enough for her to pleasure you too.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Charlie has a little bit of an exhibitionist kink...

a little bit. Kind of? Okay but you know the large window in her room we see her by in episode 1? Has rode your strap and/or fucked you with a strap right in front of that baby. Granted it's pretty high so not like anyone can easily look in anyways but it's still just not private enough that it does something to her. If she's ever potentially really ticked off sometimes she'll eat pussy aggressively while you're pressed, bare tits and all, against the glass.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vaggie likes titi's...

Whether your big breasted or sporting itty bitties, her hands immediately go to fondle them during heated make out sessions. She's kinda shy in the bedroom so don't take her boldness to grope your chest as her being dominant-she just can't help herself from groping you. Sometimes after sex she'll kiss your chest. Depending on where she kisses and if she'd biting or not, it may lead to another round.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Cherri Bomb is the only person who can rival Lucifer over…

Eating pussy. Whether your sitting on her face or her head is buried between your plush thighs, my girl loves to eat. And she eats like her life depends on it. Even when you think she may need a breather and try to move she’s very quick in pulling you back and keeps you there firmly, often smirking when you’re overstimulated and squirming.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Rosie loves thighs...

Call her old fashioned (cuz she is) but seeing your exposed thighs just does something to her. I mean how scandalous! She spends a majority of her time in Cannibal Town which is trapped in the 1910's. Everyone is dressed in only the most stylish and modest clothing from that time period. So if you ever come strutting about, publicly or privately, in a little something that exposes more of your figure and especially your thighs, expect to have dozens of hickeys decorating your inner thighs by the next day.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Carmilla always says she has no favourite sex position but she does...

it's 69. She prefers to be at bottom since it makes it easier for her to finger you while simultaneously assaulting your clit with her tongue. And of course while you're down there she likes to keep you trapped with her thighs. Because i mean look at them thighs!!! MMHHMMM!!! I see her leaning more towards dom so like, if you're able to focus on eating her out without getting distracted as little as possible then she'll reward you good.

I have two for Carmilla that I desperately want to share so here's my second one; she loves having you keep her strap warm while she does paperwork. Just you sittin pretty on her big plastic dick, occasionally gripping your thigh when you squirm too much. Will play with your clit if you're being needy-try not to squirm too much though or else you ain't getting anything once she'd done her work for the day.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Adam secretly cherishes your more intimate sex...

As much as a dick (master) this guy is, he definitely has his vulnerable side. During some make up sex after an argument and temporary separation that could have very easily lead to your guys break up, he found himself unusually emotional as he was balls deep in ya. He didn't cry, as if he'd allow himself to do that especially at a time like sex, but he felt it. The pull at his heart strings, the relief that washed over him that you two were still together, the way your lips uttered his name like a prayer., It was a surprise to him and one he'll never forget.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lute cums surprisingly fast via fingering...

You found this out when opting to use your fingers to do the job over the dildo, strap, and vibrator. She already knew she came fast via fingering but didn't want anyone to know that-she came almost embarrassingly fast and it sometimes felt like it wouldn't stop. This hit her ego a little bit considering that she's stubborn as all hell but she could barely defend herself when she kept cumming around your fingers. Safe to say you had quite a lot to lap up that night.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Emily gets wet easily...

is it really that surprising? You found this out when you were kissing at her neck and reached down to her uplifted dress and felt that slick wet feeling between her legs. She was very flustered and even more when you teased her for getting this wet over a few neck kisses-there was only one hickey (so far).

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Saint Peter has a thing for light bondage...

Nothing hard obviously but his wrists being bound together or to the bed via rope or handcuffs gets him going. It puts him in a position where he's completely at your mercy. Blindfolding him is on the table as well-his other senses are heightened as fuck making him react more enthusiastically to your touches and whispers. Even though he's into it it's also a double edges sword cuz this guy needs to touch you and not even being allowed to look at you either has him whining.

This has been in my drafts for weeks lol some of these aren't to my personal standards but I was really running out ideas that were both fitting to the character and weren't too basic/a repeat of another's. I didn't wanna exclude some people from my original roster so I toughed it out lol

sometimes my posts get shadowbanned for literally no reason and at random so it would mean the world if you reblogged this thank you <3 no pressure tho!

[jolapeno]

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you’d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

[late-draft]

Hello, Dema here!

First off—I have fallen desperately in love with your artworks. You have a very particular style, strong and fluid all the same, and I can't help but admire the way you draw and how you approach character design.

And talking about character design...

I saw your post about Zuko's bold design in S1 when compared to what we got in S3 and—as much as I love S3-Zuko—I completely agree with you. Something I've always loved about Zuko in S1 is just how striking he was, how much of a presence he had, even when he was being tossed around by a twelve-year-old. That being said, I love Zuko, I love him in armor and pointy shoes and with a ponytail, and I loved your alternative design for him.

What do you think about his S2 character design? How does it flow with the story beats and his overall character arc? Much has been said about the Hair-Growth-Means-Character-Growth (and I find it interesting, also, that he cut his hair again before joining the Gaang), but I'd like to know your opinion on how that translates to character design and how the decisions made in the show could be either good or bad in that regard.

Sorry about the long ask! I've just been thinking about this a lot, lately, and would like to know what you think. Hope you have a good day ❤️

AAAA Dema hii!!! I'm so happy I got a message from you, I didn't expect it!!

I'm super glad to hear, I'll wear it as a badge of honour and I must tell you that I also love your art, you wonderfully do volume and the shading done through a contrast of sharp and soft areas! Super solid anatomy too and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look up to your art!

Yess the character designs in the show actually are rather strong, I like a good balance between memorable and functional. Zuko is just *chef kiss* but, considering just how many appearance changes he goes through, some are bound to be weaker than the starting one. That said, I'm gonna go through a few of his S2 looks and make this reply long, ha!

The starting one when he ends up huddling with uncle Iroh with other poor refugees, fits extremely well for the narrative at the moment. It's actually one of my least liked looks for him, and that's great!! It's precisely how it should be, because he's also arguably at one of his two lowest moral points in the story - he basically lost almost all hope, no clear goal, nothing to fight for, he's desperate precisely because of the lack of orientation and thus his morals degrade and sink veeery low. He gets on my nerves so goddamn much in this period LMAO I want to beat him up, he looks like a recovering drug addict... annoying, entitled whiny jerk stealing food and anything shiny for his uncle, but even then he just does not cross the moral event horizon. Excellent characterization. He just looks atrocious and it's great because it fits this low point.

Next he gets the standard boyish square of a hair, no notes here...

But theeeen, he arrives at one of my favourite looks of his, and it's not just because the clothes fit him very nicely (I've seen fandom say they look too big for him which, maybe?? But it doesn't look like he's swimming in them to me) And a thing I've noticed which, maybe it was just an accident on design part but I'm not sure considering they colour coded the entire cave scene; in this part his clothes match the shape of Katara's, first one in bottom then the one in top. The collar is the same haf-circle design but I don't know, maybe there was a limited pool of clothes designs guide which they cycled through. Or, he really is meant to come close but miss Katara by a beat, like sine and cosine chasing each other.

But besides this outfit fitting the inconspicuous Earth Kingdom customer service persona, it also (perhaps inadvertently) does this VERY cool thing:

It makes his shape look closed off and guarded, supposedly non-threatening. It's most visible in his fight against Jet, whose shape is open and goes in many directions like an aggressive star. But then look at what Zuko's shape does:

When he attacks, it opens up to reveal the hidden aspect, again the aggressive star shape shows up! The same thing happens in "Zuko alone" episode but I think it's most clearly visible in this fight against Jet because here he has a direct contrast and comparing with Jet. I think this is an example where the outfit, whose similar design exists irl, overlaps with a great visual metaphor and enhances the narrative at that moment in story. He's still that combative firebender but he has to keep that aspect concealed most of the time. Plus it just looks badass as hell!!

Animators really knocked it out of the park with many frames. I think Jun was too early and missed his better hairstyle, but Katara was just in time.

I agree it's super funny how his hair in the Beach is awfully long, covers his face to an uncomfortable degree and then he apparently shortens it before joining the Gaang, insane behaviour Truly an "I'm so angry and depressed I won't show my face nor be capable of seeing anything because there's nothing nice to see in my life" look...

I guess all his appearances in S2 cover his mental states, but only one of them is extremely Extra (the tea server, doesn't even take the apron off and goes to fight) and I don't see any spot where a similar tier design could be shoved in, narratively speaking. So all in all, S2 did as much as S2 could have. More tea server arc please though, the Guru episode really feels like it skipped 800 km of plot and everything that happened in it is so crammed and pretty sus in terms of character behaviour.

[kelocitta]

In honor of the @rw-ship-showdown I wanted to write about Artihunter as someone who jokingly slapped them together pre-downpour and still thinks they are actually very compelling. Just not in the super soft love wins kinda way (Although I get why people like that more) And the only way I know how to do that is talking too much so heres a far too long slug essay-

Obviously the slugcats don't offer a ton of characterization but theres not nothing to work with. Their stories, whether by their roles in it or the overarching themes do provide a backbone to work with. Even gameplay itself can provide a bit. (for some more than others) Hunter, to me, is ultimately a story about selflessness. The goal is to revive Moon, which is very much an act of kindness from both Hunter and NSH. But the weight of that action is much more significant for Hunter- Hunter is deeply sick. They're on the clock, and for all their skill in combat none of that will ultimately help them to survive longer than their body can hold out. Moon is a close friend of NSH but that means little Hunter- Hunter really gets next to nothing out of helping them, and ultimately pays quiet a bit spending their limited time alive fighting to deliver that neuron so that someone else can live.

To spend ones limited days on helping another, in a game that very much stresses the unwavering cruelty of the world and nature- is pretty notable. (And you could even say that Hunter being the Hardmode of Rain World adds another layer to this)

And then we have Artificer. A storyline that very much stands out to people as more… villainous (so to speak) than the other slugcats. Artificer's story covers a lot of things. Trauma, violence, revenge, etc. Revenge is a bit of a selfish desire- That need to see someone hurt as they have hurt you. A punishment that ultimately does not fix whatever harm was done- but feels good to see because you were hurt and now those responsible share that pain.

Artificer's actions are founded in that need for revenge, their pups killed for overstepping boundaries they didn't know existed. Is it not fair for them to be angry at that, to punish the scavengers for their violence with their own? Why should the scavengers ever be forgiven when they and their pups were not? And that's how you get that loop- Harm for harm over and over.

The original action has been lost in a spiral of violence for violence. And here stands Artificer- their very spirit scarred. Not just because they sought revenge, but because they never ceased trying to scratch that itch for violence as an answer. Artificer only has two paths for their story- killing the scavenger king (Someone who, really, has little to do with the original 'crime' of the scavengers, but represents an important individual to them- as did the slugpups to Artificer), locking themselves as karma one for good and spending the rest of their life chasing creatures that no longer even fight back in a warped sense of closure- or to dissolve themselves in the acids of the void sea because they're too far gone to find any real peace.

They can't meaningfully recover from that state, not alone, twisting in on themselves. Even if they halt their actions, they've been using violence as a feeble defense against their own pain- violence that no longer has any real direction or basis. Artificer gets no real closure from killing the scavenger king. All they can do is continue the cycle, or try to scrub it away. No real peace in a prison of their own making. So you have a creature, who even with a strict timer on their life- a body that will crumble to disease, spends its last bit of time on saving another. And another who was so caught up in the pain of loss that were eaten alive by their own anger, poisoned their own soul on such a deep level even self-proclaimed gods have no solution for them. What peace can they offer each other? For Hunter, its only a fleeting moment of happiness- of selfish love, before their own body fails them. A bit of indulgence in something for themself. For Artificer, its a single, comforting thread to ground them again, something tangible to protect and care about again. But thats a thread that will ultimately be snapped under the cruel indifference of the world. Hunters timer will tick down regardless of if it takes another with it. Its a tragedy- its doomed to end badly. Whatever good it offers to either of them to find each other will only provide the fleeting comfort of a band-aid that will be ripped away too early. But all that can be worth indulging in anyway, if only for the moment. It doesn't change the ending, but the ending was never going to be happy. Its can so yuri

[desperate-gay]

Honestly a leah fic with leah being absolutely down and for reader, she has the biggest crush, she thinks she’s being subtle but she’s not. Reader knows about and teases leah purposely, leah still thinking she’s being subtle

Obvious

Leah Williamson x fem!reader

“Ooo comparing hand sizes, aye? When’s the wedding?” Lucy teases, resting her arms on the top of your seat. The blonde next to you turns around and glares at her but stops hearing your laugh. Leah’s glare softens when she sees you smile, making Lucy snicker.

“Trust me, if there’s a wedding, you’re not invited.” Leah quips back.

“Hey hey hey, no need to be hasty, fringy. If you just make a mov-“ Keira stands up and slaps her hand over her mouth. You raise your eyebrows with a look of amusement, seeing everyone try to cover up your friend’s obvious feelings for you.

Of course, you know about Leah’s feelings. She doesn’t make it hard to see. The only thing that sucks is that she doesn’t see your obvious feelings for her. You’re too headstrong to make the first move; you want Leah to get the guts to do something. It’s very funny having to see all of your friends tease you two and then try to cover it up right after as if they’re afraid a big secret is being spilled.

“Lucy, for the sake of us all, shut your mouth and lay down,” Keira says and drags her girlfriend to sit down beside her, nodding at Leah, telling her she has no more teasing to deal with anymore.

You smile at the blonde next to you and realize your hands are still pressed against each other. A light blush flushes over Leah’s face when she feels your fingers interlock with hers.

“Do I make you nervous?” Leah whips her head to look at you and sees a slight smile on your face. She opens and closes her mouth not knowing what to say, but she is soon relaxed when she feels your head lay its way on her shoulder. “I like it when you’re all shy.” You whisper so quietly she almost doesn’t catch it.

—

The WSL season has finally started, and you have an away game against Manchester United. The team is heading inside the building in their little groups, most likely gossiping about the random drama that’s happening. You’re talking with Katie as you approach the door when a flash of a person in front of you cuts you off. Focusing your eyes back in front of you, you notice a familiar British blonde holding the door open for you. Without thinking, you quickly lean over and press a kiss on her cheek before continuing to walk into the building.

Leah is star-struck as she puts her hand on the same place your lips meet her skin. She follows you like a lost puppy, letting go of the door causing it to close on the previous person you were talking to.

“Oi! Am I chopped liver?” The Irish woman shouts, throwing her hands in the air with a roll of her eyes. “Ugh. I hate people that are in love.”

—

“Heads up!”

Before you can even register what was called out, a football comes flying at your head, causing you to fall over and wince at the pain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come towards you.” Alessia rambles out from right next to you while you sit up and adjust your blurry vision. You wave her off and she offers you a hand to help you stand up.

“You’re good, I just didn’t hear-“

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?” Someone interrupts you, holding your head and moving it in several different directions to see if you have any marks. You giggle, removing the hands from you, and placing them on the person’s sides.

“Leah, I’m okay. It was just a little hit and I was startled.” You reassured her, making her shoulders slump down and releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Yeah chill out, mate. It’s not like she’s marrying another woman.” Katie says while rolling her eyes at the other defender’s dramatics.

You let out another laugh when you see Leah begin to chase down the other woman and tackle her to the turf. Everyone who was crowded around you dispersed to their previous stations and continued with training.

“Katie, Leah, no biting!”

—

You’re softly humming to the song that's playing on the radio while staring at the buildings you’re passing by out the window. Leah offered you a ride to your house after your ride went off with a certain Australian, apparently completely forgetting of your existence, but you’re not going to complain. It gives you some alone time with the blonde.

“So here we are.” The girl announces. You didn’t even notice you were pulling up to your apartment until now. You turn your attention to the girl on the driver's side and thank her. Before you have a chance to open the door, the locks go off, confusing you right away. As you open your mouth to speak, a hand cups your jaw and pulls you in. Lips latch their way onto yours without any warning, but you easily sink into them and kiss back. When the kiss parts, Leah starts to stumble over her words before you cut her off with a small peck.

“You finally did it.” You smile with your thumbs stroking her tense jaw.

“Wait, what?”

“Leah, you can’t possibly think I haven’t noticed your feelings for me. I just want to know how you and our friends haven’t noticed my feelings for you.” The blonde stares at you with her jaw slack, trying to comprehend everything that just happened inside her car.

After a few seconds of pure silence, she blurts out, “Go on a date with me?”

“Just text me when and where.”

With that, you hop out of the car, grab your gear, and wink at the amazed girl. You can’t wait to finally see what’s to come.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Alastor hated both Adam and Lucifer with a fiery passion. The fallen angel had beaten him in battle, no one has ever bested him like that!

The King of Hell grated on his nerves simply for existing.

And what was worse? They were TOGETHER! As in dating and they were happy and thriving! Sure there was a lot of melodrama along the way that everyone had to bare witness to, but the radio demon had been sure they would crash and burn. He was rooting for them to fail.

He thought that when the first man respawned in Hell that Lucifer would have had him tortured for the rest of his days. That's not what happened at all, he took Adam in and let him stay at the hotel and even got the sinner to sell his soul to the King for ultimate protection.

Slowly, everyone watched the two fall in love for each other even when they tried to hide it. It should have been a toxic relationship what with all the baggage between them since the dawn of time.

But no, their love was equal parts vile and beautiful. Alastor wanted to puke even thinking about it.

He had two things in mind. Alastor wanted a rematch with Adam, he was a sinner now so he would be much weaker. An easy win to sooth Alastors bruised ego. Then he wanted to create as many wedges as he could in their disgusting relationship.

He couldn't do much of anything to Lucifer, being the King meant he'd turn Alastor into paste before he even lifted a finger.

But if he could get under Adam's skin, fuck with his mind and plant seeds of doubt then the fallen angel would do the rest.

Adam hummed happily as he plucked weeds out of his garden. Lucifer had made him a huge greenhouse filled with a garden for him to tend to as a way to relax and a gift.

Adam's gift in return was a little more oral.

He loved this garden, it wasn't Eden, nothing would ever compare to that garden, but it was one that Lucifer made just for him and he loved it all the more.

"It's looking good right?" Adam asked as he looked back to Lucifer who was in a lawn chair watching him work.

Lucifer had been looking at Adams bent over frame as he pulled weeds. "Looks exquisite." He wasn't talking about the garden.

Adam smirked. "You mean the garden right?"

"I think two things are exquisite. Like the flowers that are in bloom and those jeans that hug your ass just right." He should get Adam more jeans like that.

Adam just shook his head playfully, "These are my favorite jeans."

"Mine too.~" Lucifer winked and Adam had to look away and smother a laugh in his hand. Cheeky devil.

"Gentlemen." The sound of a static filled voice filled the room. Adam frowned and looked over to where Alastor was standing.

This fucking guy, Adam thought bitterly. Adam got to his feet and wiped the dirt off on his jeans. "The fuck do you want?" He walked over to his work bench to grab some tools.

"Now that's not very nice. Am I interrupting something?" Alastor said not at all caring if he did.

"Well actually-" Lucifer started, but got the microphone shoved in his face to silence him. He growled and glared at the radio demon. How dare he just come in here and ruin his and Adams garden time together!!

"Don't care. I'm not here for you your majesty I'm here to speak with Adam actually." Alastor spit out the title as if it were poison.

"Again, what the fuck do you want I'm busy. Last time I checked, I don't want you in here." Adam said not looking at Al, his voice taking on a sharper edge. He went to stand beside Lucifer, glaring at Alastor.

"I'll cut to the chase. I want a rematch against you."

Adam blinked. "Rematch?" The fuck did that mean? It took him a minute until it clicked. "Oh! You mean from when I beat your ass on the roof? Ha! Yeah, no not gonna happen Bambi get lost."

Alastor narrowed his eyes. "What's the matter, worried you'd lose?"

Adam laughed. "Bitch please, you're not even worth my time." He walked over to Alastor and got in his face. "Now get the fuck out of my garden."

Alastor turned to look at Adams work bench. He noticed that among the tools and seeds there was a single potted plant. Must be special.

In a swift motion Alastor knocked it to the ground with his microphone. Adam reached out to catch it but he wasn't fast enough, the pot broke on the ground the flower and dirt going everywhere.

Lucifer had given him that flower, he created it special for Adam as a symbol of their love.

Adam's eyes flashed red as he turned a glare to that radio fuck. "WHAT THE FUCK ASSHOLE!?" His voice took on a more demonic edge. How fucking dare he! That guys smug smile was really pissing Adam off.

"What's the matter, did your little boyfriend get you that silly little flower?" In the next second Al found himself sliding across the floor, some pain in his throat.

Adam had throat punched the fucker. "As a matter a fact, he did." He could feel his blood boiling, he was so pissed. "You want a fucking fight you got one."

Alastor got to his feet grinding madly. Finally, he would wipe the floor with that shit stain.

Lucifer used his magic to conjure something up for Adam. "Here, use this." He handed Adam his guitar that doubled as a saw. Lucifer took Adam by the chin and looked him in the eye. "Kick his fucking ass. I'll be watching."

Adam smirked, his eyes going back to their golden color. "You bet I will."

"And stay the fuck out!" Adam yelled as he slammed the doors to the garden. Alastor on the other side crumpled on the floor. He fucking lost again! What the hell was that? Alastor slunk away to the shadows, he had planning to do.

Adam walked back over to Lucifer who was grinning from ear to ear beaming with pride for his boyfriend. He had his hands behind his back. "Whatcha got there?"

Lucifer revealed the newly fixed pot with the flower he made for him. As if it had never been broken. "For the victor."

Adam smiled and took the flower, he leaned down and kissed Lucifer on the lips. "Thank you, Luci." Adam placed the flower back where it belonged. He felt arms wrap around him from behind.

"You know what would be fun?" Lucifer purred as he rubbed Adams hips suggestively.

"Hmm, sex in the garden?"

"Sex in the garden."

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Puppeteer’s Marionette

Based on a dream I had of a hunter!Matthias lol it just an idea i wanted to write idk

Rated Mature | Warnings: Matty kinda mean (affectionate), reader is from modern times

Wires, rods, hooks, puppets. Performance gloves, replacement parts, and tools to paint the puppet.

Matthias has shown you plenty of times how he works to create a puppet, often he is surprised you can sit there for hours watching him— Then again, anything dealing with him, you tend to hyperfocus on. Weirdo, he would say but never mean it… Gentle sweet you who falls asleep a few hours into watching him work, sharing the same space as him is often enough for you.

Thinking of him while looking at the poster on the wall of this theater, The Puppet With No Strings: Louis!

Or you think that is what it says… You cannot read French.

The theater map is big like Golden Cave, with three levels, and two exits and no one has seen the dungeon. You currently are in the front where the exit is after getting lost. The closest cipher is upstairs but the hunter is up there with Mind’s Eye. 

… She is the last survivor with you… Only two ciphers were completed but again no clue where the dungeon is.

The hunter has been flawless in taking out the survivors, trapping them before downing each one. Magician and Acrobat both got caught only two out of five ciphers in.

Witness the Fantastical Louis, this poster is in English.

You stand there reading the walls covered with posters, a hand touching the paper with Louis’ face… The smile is designed to look friendly and entertaining.

“Yup, still scary.” Shaking your head as you finish sightseeing to go find the dungeon upstairs after Mind’s Eye used the walkie-talkie to ping the hunter is nearby downstairs in the theater section. If she gets chaired, that is it. Upstairs the theater balcony and equipment rooms.

More posters of Louis but there are other posters of Louis.

No dungeon so far.

When you go to the balcony, you see the hunter on the stage— Finally, you see it fully rather than an outline.

Arms not fully attached to the body, transparent, fingers moving the way you have seen Matthias move his went doing puppetry, wooden designed. The hunter is tall, as to be expected for most except Robbie, they are wearing those showmen-type outfits though parts of them look burned… The most unsettling part is the parts that look like puppet attachments connected to key parts of the body… They specifically left the side of the body…

You are no Orpheus but in this case, the writing's on the wall who you are up against.

There are few in the manor with hunter counterparts, all of them a twisted funhouse mirror of them, a reminder of possibilities and the follies, yet Hastur once told you it can also be a way to face one's demons (he used a human term for you to understand).

You doubt the Baron cares about helping anyone process their trauma via being chased down by it…

“Helena watch out!” Shouting from above as one of the wooden ghostly hands moves and throws what seems to be glowing green wires. She barely avoids them but now the creature turns its gaze to you.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Running away when it starts moving, switching targets.

It will take a minute for the hunter to get up here unless it has teleport… Which it fucking does as the second you leave the balcony, the monster is there at a cipher on that same floor.

There it stands gazing down at you… Quiet. You can clearly see the parts that are human and the parts that are puppet. It is as if Matthias is using Louis to cover his scars or flaws.

“(Name).” The silence is broken by his voice that sounds off… Two-toned like Nightmare's voice. He steps forward and you step back. “You should run.” You see in his puppet hand is a pair of scissors.

“Matthias…” Standing there, “You look like a mini-boss from Bloodborne.”

Silence. Silence. Eyes narrow.

“I am trying to kill you and you're making jokes!?” Yelling at you, “Now is not the time to be joking!” Running at you thus making you run away.

You are the better kiter between Mind's Eye and yourself, you hope at least you can pull a three cipher kite as there are only three left. You ping Focus on decoding and are given a response of a cipher percentage ping.

Though you cracked a joke, one you know he does not understand, when you looked upon Puppeteer’s counterpart; you wonder if this is everything he despises in this creature, part puppet, part man, all wrong.

Two ciphers left. You need to shift the chase to downstairs where there is more room.

She went into the basement as two ciphers were down there and you survived jumping down from the balcony to the lower half of the theater audience section.

The Puppeteer threw something though before you landed and you feel and see wires tighten around your arms and legs.

Shit. You try moving but something is stopping you keeping you in place. The only thing you can move is your head which you turn to look around to see where the hunter went. He vaulted and his movement was slow enough that whatever he did to you lasted only a few seconds.

In this game, every second counts. Despite the delay, he still was able to strike you causing you now to kite wounded.

One cipher left. The percentage is five. Well if you go down it won't be too bad, you tried given the circumstances.

Your heart is racing, you swallow down your fear, you have to keep going! The backstage gives you better opportunities to try to palette stun or block. The only problem is Puppeteer can put wires to hinder you and do that weird trick.

Tight spaces, lots of things to throw at him— Which you did— And two ways out if you can make it.

The percentage is twenty-six, damn being wounded is slowing down the speed!

You need to buy time… Well… At least this is with Matthias.

He is behind you when he corners you, there you stand looking at him, wires closing off any way out without you getting caught. Both staring at one another.

“What is the plan now?”

“Not sure,” Shrugging, “Thought we could stand here staring at each other longingly.”

An eye roll, “No.”

“I could kiss you.”

“(Name)—”

“You should know I like kissing you a lot.” Point that out to him, “Come here!” Winking as you move forward only to realize you cannot move… “Oh, come on, Matty.” He hates that nickname. You see the thin strings wrapped around your arms and feel it squeeze around your neck, nothing painful just frim.

“You should learn to pay attention to the hands, not my face.”

That is true… The last cipher is at sixty percent… He can chair or bleed you out to go after the other survivor to get a complete win. Dropping your head in defeat.

His puppet hands’ fingers dance for a second making you lift your arms above your head, slightly bending them so it will not be too uncomfortable.

“You should have run for the dungeon,” Scolding you, “Running me around was stupid of you,” He leaned down, his gloved hand grabbing your chin and tilting your head up, “For once you had to be selfish,” Annoyed, “…You are always running towards me even when it could hurt you.” Sad as he examines your face, “(Name).” Saying your name mournfully.

Hastur says counterparts are far more in touch with the emotions of those they are the counter of, most are negative. Fool’s Gold's lack of morals, Nightmare's isolationism, Smiley’s obsessiveness, and Evil Reptilian's lack of restraint.

This counterpart seems… Sad? Still scary but with you he just seems sad.

“Matthias.” You try to move your arms wishing to comfort him but hiss in pain when the strings cut into your arms for trying to move against his wishes.

“Don't.” Turning your face to the left and right, “For once don’t try to chase me.”

You frown as he lets go of your face, again you try moving even as it hurts as you try breaking free. He releases you and for a moment you think you can reach out but then— Your body goes stiff, arms at your side as you stand up straight with no control of your limbs.

“Stop trying to reach for something not here.” Rolling his eyes as the extra pair of hands are the ones controlling the strings connected to you, “...” Raising an eyebrow at the way you are not looking at him while your lips are pressed together. “Seriously!?” Snapping at you.

“Sorry.” The loss of anatomical control and his stern tone with you is kinda hot.

“Tsk,” Clicking his tongue, “Do you do this with other hunters?” You shake your head at the question, “Would explain why it takes so long for you to return to the manor.”

You are shaking a bit not in anger but because you like it when he is a bit mean to you.

“How wet are you if I check?” Click of shifting wood makes your body stand with open legs, “(Name).” Accusing.

“This isn't fair.”

“I know.”

[ratedfleur]

like it better when you’re quiet.

shin junghwan x fem reader genre ౨ৎ explicit

🎀: just a little drabble for a request! i completely forgot who requested for this but i hope you enjoy! 🩷

meeting up with shinyu in secret meant that you two could be caught at any moment, meaning that you could be taken away from him no matter the circumstances.

it was risky and yet you and shinyu knew that you both still wanted to meet each other in secret despite knowing the consequences.

shinyu liked the thrill of meeting up with you in the hybe building, booking recording rooms just to hook up with you before going your separate ways.

“quiet down, sweets. don’t want us to get caught, yeah?” shinyu muttered against your skin as he kept mouthing kisses on your neck, making you mewl when he nips your skin as a warning to quiet down.

shaking your head, shinyu smiles as he pulled away from your neck, “good girl.” he says with a heart-shaking smile that makes your heart swoon as he hurries to slip your shirt off of you before doing the same with himself.

you both quickly take your bottoms off, letting them pool at your ankles before shinyu has you facing the desk as he stood behind you, hand busy jerking himself off to his full hardness before he sinks deep into your cunt, he doesn’t even let a few seconds pass before he immediately thrusts into your cunt, pounding away as he grunts out your name.

meanwhile you’re trying to silence yourself from moaning out loud by covering your mouth, shutting your eyes closed as shinyu fucks into your cunt even harder and faster.

sure, the recording rooms were soundproof but you two had to play safe and attempt to quietly fuck each other.

shinyu’s thrusts are relentless and full of power as he thrusted hardly into your cunt, his hands were gripping your waist tightly as he pulled you towards him as he moved closer towards you, lips latched on your shoulder to silence himself from moaning way too loud.

you whimper when shinyu presses you hardly against the table, making your skin dig against the wood as shinyu mindlessly thrusted into your cunt, lost in the feeling of your warmth around his cock.

“hngg, junghwan-ah.. ahh you’re gonna make me cum!” you gasped out before feeling shinyu’s hand wrap around your neck warmly, barely putting any pressure on it, just enough to pull you up and press your back against his front which makes it easier to whisper into your ear, “that’s good, sweets. that’s exactly what i want you to do.” he coos, smile appearing on his face when you mewl and clench hardly around his length as he thrusted into you.

your whines and whimpers start to gradually get louder, just as loud as how skin slapped against each other constantly as shinyu hurriedly chased yours and his orgasm before his time is up at the recording room.

you accidentally let out a loud gasp when shinyu directly hits your spot before he started to cum into you, still hurriedly thrusting in your cunt as he now chased for your orgasm. it doesn’t take long before you walls start to pulse around his cock, cumming around his length as shinyu rested his forehead against your shoulder, panting as you milked yourself dry.

© RATEDFLEUR — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[buddierecs]

fantasy buddie fics

this list has different rated fics, so please look at the rating make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

both blade and branch by: daisies_and_briars "the chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but buck still manages to pull it off. during a double date with marisol and natalia, nonetheless. eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as buck recovers from yet another trauma, eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. he’s not quite sure what version of buck he got back." word count: 62k rating: mature important tags: paranormal elements, temporary character death, hurt!evan buckley, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst even in winter there is eranthis by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "buck is supposedly a god. supposedly. but he's got no idea what his domain is or what role he plays in olympus. when he meets christopher, a young boy lost and trying to find his father, he helps chris get home - and ends up accidentally binding himself to the Underworld. now bound to eddie, the god of the dead, buck must spend half the year with him in the Underworld while winter reigns above. but even as something grows between them, there are still trials to endure. just because the gods are not mortal... does not mean they cannot die." word count: 45k rating: explicit important tags: greek religion & lore au, fairytale-esque, angst and feels, eventual smut

claim your ghost by: daisies_and_briars "after a near death experience on a call, eddie starts having strange hallucinations of people who have died. there’s definitely no way he’s seeing ghosts, right? because eddie doesn’t believe in ghosts…" word count: 32k rating: teen and up important tags: ghost au, established relationship, angst, grief, hurt!eddie diaz, worried!evan buckley say yes to heaven by: dylaesthetics "the one where evan buckley's heart never started beating again, but he came back to haunt eddie diaz anyway." word count: 17k rating: teen and up important tags: ghost!buck, loss and mourning, therapy, angst, panic attacks like when the sun came out by: spaceprincessem "buck can see ghosts au" word count: 39k rating: mature important tags: ghost au, TW: mentions of suicide, angst, hurt/comfort, angst, boys in love, getting together further than blood (or than bones) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "once, eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. five hundred years ago, buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other." word count: 50k rating: explicit important tags: vampires au, psychic abilities, slow burn, mutual pining, blood kink, anal sex, blow jobs

all the stones and kings of old by: extasiswing "edmundo diaz, king of calder, does not want a husband. he had a wife, he has a son. he doesn’t need anyone to try and fill the void in his life shannon left when she died—he is perfectly content with an empty bed, with bobby and athena advising him, with household staff taking care of christopher when he can’t. but. apparently he doesn’t have a choice in the matter" word count: 36k rating: explicit important tags: royalty au, arranged marriage, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, oral sex, anal sex scorched earth by: lunarplayer16 "buck has been a dragon rider since birth, and he has hidden this fact for most of his life. everywhere he has gone, he's been chased or thrown out for being himself with his dragon. he has been hiding his dragon's existence since he joined the 118. what happens when eddie notices something?" word count: 95k rating: teen and up important tags: dragons au, TW: past child abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, injury, team as family mermaid au (series) by: princessfbi "the loft was dark and stilted like buck hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights when he got home but the air was thick with moisture. maddie heard the shower first and then the pitiful, pained whimper next. “buck!” maddie moved in through the loft to the bathroom and pushed open the door. she was met with a face of trapped steam that seeped into her skin and made her lungs release a tension she didn’t know she’d been holding. but that tension returned tenfold as she flipped on the light. buck stared up at her, tired and scared, from where he was slumped in the corner of his shower." word count: 62k rating: mixed important tags: mermaid au, hurt!evan buckley, hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, found family why do all the monsters come out at night? by: princessfbi "Witch!Buck Vampire!Eddie" word count: 41k rating: mature important tags: supernatural elements, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, getting together, love confessions feels like magic by: 42hrb "an urban fantasy au where most things are the same, except there's magic and supernatural creatures!" word count: 47k rating: teen and up important tags: magic, witch!eddie diaz, psychic!evan buckley, mutual pining, idiots in love, slow burn

[spahhzy]

Ruby: Give up Cinder, it's over...

Team RWBY currently had chased down an injured Cinder, who has made her escape through the sandy streets of Vacuo

Cinder when she heard that just began to laugh.

Team RWBY looked at each other before suddenly a door could be heard, and boots echoed loudly against the chapel floor as a mop of blonde hair and narrow blue eyes stalked toward Cinder.

Weiss: Jaune....

Jaune paid her no heed, just marched at Cinder with a purpose.

Cinder, holding her injured human arm, continued laughing as Jaune.

Cinder: Oh Jaune~

Jaune said nothing continued his pace and finally met Cinder at the altar.

Cinder: What a night~

Jaune just grabbed Cinder with both hands and lifted her up by the hems of her shirt. She was dangling in the air.

Cinder: Fresh off a kill, and back for more, eh?

Jaune: Penny still alive.

Ruby felt relief wash over her as Cinder looked on in disbelief.

Cinder: Now that's not funny...

Cinder used her grim hand to suddenly rip away from Jaune's grip before manifesting a glass blade and swipe at him only for Jaune to block it with his own.

Team RWBY looked to want to help, but Jaune's glare at them said to 'stay out of this'.

Cinder: All this-all this rage! All directed at me, and for what!? You know, if you actually let me finish a sentence, you might learn something! You might learn that we're not so different... you might learn something about yourself!

Jaune: You need to learn to shut up.

Cinder: You know it's sad, really...it's like you don't care to see the good side in me... I mean, you did it for Neo... maybe I should try to kill her next, hmm?~

Enraged even further, Jaune quickly swiped at Cinders glass blade before raising a foot, which connected roughly against Cinders chest, sending her crashing into the pews as Team RWBY looked on in worry.

Cinder just laughed, slowly getting up.

Cinder: Is all this for you or for me? You must know that I'm a lost cause. Oh, but Jauney, I have hopes for you~yes, I got great hopes for you...

Cinder wagging a finger at him.

Cinder: Come on, Arc, don't stop now, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?

Jaune just grabbed Cinder again and tossed her into one of the stain glass windows, shattering it as her body fell to the floor, but still Cinder wasn't down for the count even as her aura shimmered.

Cinder grabbed two shards of glass as she saw Jaune make her way to her.

Cinder: You just can't get it through your thick skull!

Jaune stopped walking as he looked at the broken Crocea Mors before deciding to ultimately sheath it and looking at his gloved hands... before he removed his gloves, too, giving them a nice pop before resuming his walk towards Cinder, who had just risen up holding the two shards of glass tightly in her head.

Cinder: WE BOTH EXIST BECAUSE OF THEM!

Jaune: Give up! You've lost!

Cinder attempted to swipe at with one of the shards of glass, but he was able to easily grab her hand and delivered a shot to the bottom right side of her body, causing her to drop one of the shards of glass.

Cinder just giggled maniacally through the pain as she attempted to swipe at him with the other hand, but Jaune side stepped it and delivered a quick jab to her face, causing her to drop the remaining shard as her aura flickered.

Jaune just delivered three more body strikes to Cinder, who just took it before Jaune landed a thunderous haymaker to Cinder chin, sending her atop the altar.

Team RWBY still looked unsure of how this was going to go, as they wanted to incapacitate and lock down Cinder to get her maiden powers transferred from Ozpin old machine...but if Jaune was going to kill her than...she could very well give the powers to whoever she thinks of...

Cinder: Aww, Jauney, your time away from me has been so worth it~

Jaune says nothing as he struck Cinder across the face again.

Cinder: ooooh~ that's why you do it. You did the same with Tyrian... you like the way it feels...it's what you need!

Jaune just delivered another strike to Cinder face before grabbing her midsection and lifting her up with his strength, Cinder just dangled helplessly, all with a smile on her face as Jaune threw her to the ground hard.

The force of the slam cause Cinders aura to finally shatter, but Cinder didn't care as she scrambled to sit up.

Cinder: Come on, baby~ beat me till your knuckles bleed, but why stop their? You know theirs only one way to stop me! Come on Jaune Come on ki-

Before she could get a word out, a mechanicle hand punched her in the face, effectively knocking her out.

Jaune just huffed in and out as his anger began to simmer down.

Yang: I think she's talked enough.

Jaune just said nothing as he looked at Cinders unconscious body.

Ruby slowly walked up to her friend.

Ruby: Jaune... did you mean it? Did you mean it when you said Penny was okay?

Jaune slowly looked at Ruby before nodding as he suddenly felt Ruby hug him tightly.

Ruby: Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank!

Jaune was able to gently pry away from Ruby's grip as Yang hoisted up the fall maiden on her shoulders, Blake walked up to him.

Blake: Are you going to be okay?

Jaune just nodded, and Blake gave him a look over, not entirely convinced after seeing that display.

Jaune: I'll be fine, Blake...I promise. go your leader is just about to burst joy.

Blake said nothing but nodded as she followed her team leader and partner.

Jaune took one more glance at Cinder before leaving without a word.

Weiss watched briefly as he disappeared into a gathering crowd.

[gravehags]

the potential of you and me

Pairing: Phantom x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: peeping tom behavior, masturbation, soft dom reader, phantom being a little freak (affectionate), not a lot of dialogue

Words: 1,701

Summary: It's not the first time he's watched you and he hopes it won't be the last.

a/n: listen sometimes people (me) are horny and love some light perversion. i just rewatched the boy and if you know you know. dedicated to @forest-rot

divider by @ghuleh-recs

He doesn’t mean to start doing it.

It just sort of…happens.

The first time it occurs is not long after he is summoned as he is walking down the hall, passing an open doorway when he hears noises. Silently, he creeps to the edge of the doorframe and looks in one of the seminar classrooms, where he sees two sisters of sin tangled together. The moans coming out of the both of them go straight to his cock and as he watches them lick into each other’s mouths, he gently presses the heel of his palm into his groin. The way it makes him feel is…jarring, and when a loud moan of his own comes unbidden from his lips, the sisters jump apart and look in his direction. Luckily he’s quick and quietly bolts back the other way, comically cupping the bulge in his pants.

The second time happens within the ghoul den. The smell in there has always been overwhelming for him, and when his pack members are in rut? The ghoulettes sequester themselves to their collective room to take care of each other, far too dangerous to be wandering the halls and some ghouls do the same, such as Rain and Mountain. Swiss on the other hand, with his easy toothy grin, is shameless about his. One evening Phantom hears whimpers and groans coming from the communal living area and immediately his cock stirs to attention. Getting up and creeping down the hallway he pokes his head around the corner and has to bite down on a gasp. Stretched out on the length of the couch, all lithe body and limbs, is Swiss. His sleep pants are pulled down over his hips and his eyes are shut as the long fingers on his right hand are wrapped around his cock. Phantom’s mouth waters as he watches the rhythmic stroking of Swiss’ hand - the way he takes the time to rub the head and spread the pre around the length. When the other ghoul brings his hand up to his mouth and spits in his palm, Phantom’s hand flies to his own cock, now leaking against his underwear. The way Swiss’ back arches and hips flex is hypnotic and, feeling bold, Phantom takes out his dick and mimics the taller ghoul’s movements. He nearly bites through his bottom lip as he stifles his moans at the new sensations, instead letting Swiss do the moaning for the both of them. If Swiss can hear the wet rocketing of Phantom’s hand around himself in the dark, he gives no indication as lazy streams of filth pour from his lips. Phantom comes first, hips stuttering into his hand as his spend shoots across the hardwood floor. He doesn’t stop rubbing himself though, not until Swiss paints his own chest with cum and licks the remainder off his fingers. The post-orgasmic haze Phantom comes down from doesn’t last long, as he’s filled with panic and scurries back down the hall to shut himself in his room. When Dewdrop comes out of his room the next morning he steps in the sticky remains of Phantom’s cum, cussing loudly. Phantom avoids all eyes that morning, but he swears he sees Swiss wink at him at one point.

And from there he’s lost. Any and every spare chance he gets he’s looking in windows, peeping through cracked doors, anything to chase that high. Ghouls, ghoulettes, siblings, it doesn’t matter he’ll watch anyone do anything. 

But his favorite is you.

He watches you all the time. And not just in…compromising moments. He likes to hide behind the stacks in the library to observe you sitting at a table and taking notes for rituals. The way your pretty hands flip through the pages of an old book and eyes focus on the text, brows furrowed. He likes to watch you in the dining hall, laughing and talking to friends while eating. He watches you curled in bed, fast asleep on your side and breathing deep as he sits silently perched in the chair opposite your bed.

He likes when you shower best.

You always leave the door open, he likes to think you do it for him, and you let the steam build up in the small room. When you slowly begin to strip your habit off, he sighs into your empty bedroom, the sound drowned out by the flow of the water. You’re still in your underwear, checking the temperature, and he’s already half hard. He’s seen many people nude by now with his new fixation but the curve of your hips and belly (so soft, he thinks, you must be so soft) draws his eyes and inch by inch his gaze travels your body. When you finally slip out of your underwear, he can’t help the whimper that escapes him as you delicately step into the powerful stream. You’re washing your hair tonight, he knows this, and delights in the way the soaked strands cling to your shoulders and back. His eyes follow your hands as you dole out your shampoo and scrub it into your scalp, head tilted back so he can see the pretty line of your neck. You diligently complete your hair routine and reach for a small purple loofah and your body wash (rose and lemon, he would recognize the smell of you anywhere), pouring a generous amount out. It’s when you begin to move the sponge over your skin, suds forming, his mouth goes dry. The way the soap sheens on your skin, the tender, slow attention you pay to your breasts and the way the droplets slide down them has his hand palming the bulge in his pants. You’re thorough in your scrubbing, and he lets out a gasp when you reach between your legs. He panics for a moment when he realizes you’re now washing all the soap off of you - he hasn’t had enough time. But you linger under the water for a moment as he tentatively frees his cock and spits into his hand, just like Swiss taught him. When your fingers trail slowly, sensuously up the swell of your hip, across your stomach to tap along your sternum, his stomach does a backflip. He knows exactly what you’re doing tonight.

He can hear a soft hum, even over the din of the shower as you toy your nipples to hardness, biting down on your lower lip. His hand slowly slides over his cock to match your unhurried pace. You look so beautiful like this, so raw and open for him with your head tipped back, it makes him lightheaded. When you pinch at them, with surprisingly hardness, your hips buck forward and his do the same. Slowly your fingers creep back down your body to slip through the hair at the juncture of your thighs and move along your slit. He pauses for a moment, worried that the sound of his heavy breathing and equally heavy moans will be detected, but you don’t hesitate. The noise that comes out of you when you run your fingers against your clit makes him collapse against the doorframe, hand pressing against the head of him. Your touches are firm and just a little bit frantic as your body twitches and spine bends underneath your ministrations. He’s trying his best to keep his pre from dripping onto your bedroom floor, but part of him wants it to happen - to leave a piece of him with you. His concentration is blown as a long, low moan echoes in the bathroom and he gasps as he watches you sink two fingers inside your cunt.

“Fuck yes,” you groan and his cock twitches in his fist, “so good, mmm I love your hands.”

You could be talking about anyone - a sibling, a Papa, another ghoul - but he doesn’t care. In his head it’s him you’re thinking about as you fuck yourself at a steady pace and he does the same. Your moans are getting higher, louder and he knows you’re close so he thrusts into his fist at a faster rate. He can see the slick on your fingers, can smell you, and it makes him grunt and growl. 

“C’mon baby,” he hisses, “please, please, please. I need it.”

When you come around your fingers, crying out, and your body bows to the pressure of your orgasm, his hips jolt forward and just like that second night watching Swiss, he cums in ropes along your floor. He should be filled with panic as his hips continue flexing into his fist, wanting more, but he has barely realized you’ve turned the shower off and stepped out. When the door opens and you see him doubled over on himself, softening cock in hand you…laugh?

“Made a mess of my floor, huh?” you purr, adjusting the towel wrapped around you. He’s speechless, still holding himself with eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, finally coming to his senses and frantically tucking himself away. For the first time he’s filled with immense embarrassment at finally being caught but you just look at him with a sweet smile on your face.

“Don’t worry, you can clean it up,” you say, “I’ll watch. And then you can tell me how long you’ve been watching me, hmm?”

“I–I haven’t–”

“Did you think I didn’t see you in my bedroom the other night?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re quiet but not that quiet. Lucky for you I like it.”

The flush that spreads over his cheeks is ridiculous and you giggle, tapping your foot next to the offending spots on the floor.

“Come on, filthy boy. Hands and knees, put that tongue to work. I want to see that floor shine. And don’t get back up until I tell you.”

With that, you unwrap the towel from your body and neatly toss it in the hamper as he lowers himself to the floor. Staring at your feet, he tentatively wraps his hand around your ankle and slides it up your calf. When he looks up at you, eyes filled with wonder and desire, you smile down at him, stroking his hair. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to the floor and with a tentative lick, begins to scoop up his seed.

“Right where you belong,” you hum.

Right where I belong, he thinks, the salt of his release tangy in the back of his throat.

Right where I belong.

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 12

12 - Liar, Liar*

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc [vallie]

more: chp 11 // masterlist | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 14.7k (strap in)

Summary: Following Noah and Vallie's thrift shop adventure, Vallie faces the consequences of her actions. After the launch of their new music video, Vallie realizes she might not like what she wished for. A pivotal decision reshapes the group's dynamics, leading to a significant change in the connection between a specific pair.

warnings: alcohol, bratty noah, smoking, heartache, yearning, regret, jealousy, unprotected sex, cream pie x2, oral (f receiving), cum eating kinda?, angry nick but also soft nick???, fluffy???, she's just a girl ok, mediocre writing lol, sorry this has taken 500 years, my apology is that it's long as fuck, 18+ MDNI

Disclaimer - This story is AU since it does not follow actual timelines or events. The band here is still fairly small & does things entirely on their own with no other support.

Reminder; Minor band crossovers (greta van fleet / chase atlantic) to supply side characters :)

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

When Noah and I walk up the gravelly incline to the warehouse, the rest of the band and Bryan are all on their phones lounging on different surfaces - chairs with feet propped on tables, against the brick wall, spread out on the floor. Boredom was an understatement. 

“Well, took you guys long enough.” Grumbles Jolly. “What did you get lost picking out scarves?”

My heart skips a beat at the coincidental wording. “Sorry, we really had to dig to find anything.” I mumble quickly, throwing the plastic shopping bags on the ground.

“Well, did you find anything good?” Jolly asks.

“Oh, we found something good alright.” Noah replies, shoving his hand into a plastic bag to retrieve the cursed fedora.

I roll my eyes and playfully smack his arm, “Shut up.”

“No.” He says matter-of-factly, with a popped hip and a hand on his waist. “It’s your fault, you put it on my head.”

“Yeah whatever.” I laugh and wave off his silliness.

I suddenly feel all eyes in the room on us accompanied by an awkward stillness. Of course they’d be thrown off, we could barely be in a room together before we left, why wouldn’t this be strange?

I glance up for a split second before digging into the bags and find Nicholas’ eyes watching us intently. His brows low and eyes sharp.

In my tummy swirls a feeling so closely reminiscent of guilt, similar to when I was with Kras last night. But neither make any sense. Nicholas and I aren’t anything, it shouldn’t matter. Kras and I are just friends. And Noah and I definitely are not anything. And yet, here he is looking angry and here I am feeling guilty.

After handing out the thrifted clothes and a wardrobe change, the boys come out in their new clothes, and they look perfect. The pieces we chose embody each one of them flawlessly. They fit the direction Noah wants for the music video but they’re rather simple. Folio’s is the most basic in a plain black shirt, black jeans, and his sneakers. Jolly’s is a black long sleeve button down, tight black pants paired with his hefty combat boots. Noah’s outfit was centered around the black peacoat we found as the statement piece with a black turtleneck beneath it, black pants and boots. We even picked up something for Bryan even though he was staying behind the camera - he got a vintage Kodak t-shirt, which he thought was “rad as hell”. 

Since I showed up in last night’s sweats, I figured I’d pick up an outfit as well. I found a grey sundress. It’s something I would normally only wear in casual settings, but I wanted to be comfy and it was the only halfway cute thing in the thrift shop.

The outfit I picked out for Nicholas was the best one, but I may be biased. It’s a thin black sweater with thumb holes atop a black turtleneck paired with baggy, strappy pants and finished off with black leather combat boots.

With the new uniforms, the band and crew seem to have a reinvigorated morale. It did exactly what I needed it to do, it gave them the spark they needed to bring the music video to life. 

We spend our time running the song over and over while Bryan gets shots from all angles. I got some content for posting and even posed the boys for some social media trends, which they all hated except Folio, and Bryan in the background. Since I was done gathering content, I sat at the plastic picnic table on the far side of the warehouse diagonal from the makeshift stage while they continued to shoot slightly different variations.

I plug my phone and camera into my Macbook to import the photos and videos I took to begin editing them and schedule them for posting.

“Vallie.” I hear a voice call amongst mumbling between a take.

I snap up to match the voice to the source: Noah.

“What’s up?” I respond, half expecting to be met with some sort of criticism or snarky remark.

“Were you paying attention to this last take?” He questions, but not in an accusatory way that I’d normally anticipate, just genuine curiosity.

“A little, why?”

“What did you think of the intro?”

A hush blankets the room and the rest of them look between us as if they’d seen a ghost. I’m glad we’re finally kind of getting along but I wish he wouldn’t make it so obvious. Especially in front of Nicholas. The odd feeling in the room dances a chill up my arms leaving goosebumps behind.

“Oh um, I liked it? It was cool.” Truthfully, I’m not sure that I did like it, but I just wanted to move on from being in the spotlight.

He gives me a wide, genuine grin like a kid in the middle of a playground, “Sick, I thought so too.”

I glance over at Bryan, who is slowly but surely becoming my lifeline in these situations. He offers a ‘I don’t know either but just roll with it?’ look with a brow wiggle and a barely noticeable shrug.

Mid-shoot everyone needed some sort of touch up. I somehow had my job description expanded to include wardrobe and makeup.

The one I dreaded the most was Nicholas.

I walk over to him, mute, focusing my eyes straight forward which for me happens to be his chest. I keep my gaze away from his eyes as I fix the collar of his cardigan.

He too keeps his focus off of me.

“Sorry I acted like an ass earlier.” He says sounding partially sincere, partially grumpy. “It was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

I clear my throat. An apology was the last thing I expected and the last thing I deserve. “It’s okay.”

A quiet pause fills the small space between us.

“So, you’re seeing someone?” He questions casually but I can tell it’s anything but casual.

I press my lips together contemplating if I really want to commit this hard to the ruse. But Kras is right, and my gut is right. No matter how much I want to stay entangled with him, it can’t continue. I don’t know how well this action plan is going to work, but I have to try.

“Yes.” I lie with fake confidence. “Kind of.”

He takes a moment to process my response which makes me question how good of a job I did with lying. Finally, he nods, his eyes still locked on something past the opening of the warehouse.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” I sweeten the lie.

“I guess that’s a good thing then, you know, for our jobs and all.” His voice light, as if he’s purposefully making it seem more nonchalant than it is. I know I hurt him, I can hear it in his voice. Whether it was his heart or his ego that I hurt, I’m not sure but all I know is that we went too far. “It just would’ve been nice to know.”

The painful twist in my chest confirms that I made the right decision to stick to the plan. I'm already so invested in him that it hurts; I can’t imagine how much worse it would be if I let myself fall any deeper.

I swallow the very faint lump in my throat and flatten out the thin material resting on his chest. Spending another night with him was a bigger mistake than I realized because just the warmth of him beneath my fingertips makes me want to melt right into him. I wish I didn’t know what he felt like, what he sounded like, what he tasted like. Suddenly I want to take everything back. I want to unkiss him, unfuck him, unknow him. In the span of knowing them and being on their team, I’ve regretted it about 75% of the time but there, standing in front of him, it is a solid 110%.

I wish I had just heard them on the radio and found myself at a show, 

or met them in passing during industry events,

or maybe bumped into him in a coffee shop where he suggests his favorite latte,

or literally any other scenario that would grant me the luxury of just reaching up and kissing him without feeling confliction or guilt. 

The reality of the whole situation hits me all at once and my entire mood shifts abruptly, in a way I’ve never let happen while I work. I’m normally exceptionally skilled in the art of separating my emotions from most other things but this cuts through all of that. He lowered my walls more than anyone ever had and reached a part of me I’ve never let someone do before. I swallow hard and blink the burning in my eyes away. The last thing I need is for him to see my eyes full of tears. 

So, I do what I think makes the most sense. I yank each edge of my mouth into a tight-lipped smile and step back to hold out an overly professional hand, “Friends?” 

He nearly grimaces at the word and begrudgingly snakes his hand into mine, gripping it firmly and giving it a shake. “Whatever you want, Vallie.” He grumbles sarcastically before walking off back to the set. 

He leaves me with my hand vacant and my eyes blinking at the wall he just stood in front of. I knew he wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t know we’d end up starting over.

The music video that Noah had fast tracked was finally finished regardless of what the others felt. It was filmed and edited by Bryan with Noah glued to his side the whole time to make sure it followed his “vision” for it perfectly. It was hyper tuned into the details and nuances Noah was looking to cultivate for the prematurely released song.

Two weeks later, I hit post on the music video with the band scattered around the rehearsing studio, celebrating with beers and laughter. I roll my eyes playfully at the happy, excited actions that ensue behind me but bite down on my lip to keep myself from smiling. While it’s not everything they or I wanted, it’s still a damn good video and I’m proud of them for it. 

All entanglements aside, it’s the first time that I’ve felt like I truly helped them achieve something great. Their growth and publicity had been steady but incredibly slow despite all of my best efforts. Their initial boom from the band going viral months ago plateaued. I’ve been chalking it up to the lack of content, but the faint fear of chronic stagnation has been creeping up my ribs every so often. It’s something I warned them from the beginning - “Anyone can go viral, but it won’t last.” I recall telling them at the very start. “Don’t get attached to the numbers.” I told them that it burns bright for a split second then gets snuffed out by the next big thing to come along. But they didn’t listen to me, and I can see the disappointment and fear worsening in Noah’s features with each day that passes. It’s all made me wonder if there was even a place in the scene for them, or if what their label is trying to accomplish is possible. It made me question my ability to execute the task handed to me.

I posted all of the music video promotions across all forms of media and posted some of the pre-filmed short form content onto TikTok and Instagram. “Alright well, your part is done now, I’m just gonna keep working.”

I stand, beginning to gather all the papers scattered over the table. “With all the teasing I posted for the video and all the extra content we filmed, engagement has gone up by about 5%. I estimate it going up by about another 10-15% for the next couple of weeks while the music video gains traction.” I dropped the edges of the paperwork against the table a couple times to align them into a neat stack. “You’ve gained a significant amount of followers as well, at least compared to before the promo content.”

“Aw Vallie,” Bryan throws an arm around my shoulders pulling me into a side hug. “Is this your way of saying we did a good job?” 

A small smile tugs at one edge of my lips, “I’m just saying that the music video is projected to do really well.” I sink my teeth into my lip again, this time to keep from speaking but it fails. “And, I think you guys did a great job.” I rush the words out at the end.

The large grin is nearly identical across the five boys' faces, each one unique in their features, but the glow of finally birthing a new project is potent in all their smiles.

As they mingle about, I return my focus to my screen and sit back down. Likes and comments begin to pour in, faster than expected. The promo posts over the past couple weeks built up a significant amount of anticipation and excitement, I just didn’t expect it to gain momentum so fast. Compared to other clients, this engagement is nothing, a couple hundred comments within the first 30 minutes, but for them, it’s huge. I decide to keep it to myself for now to not get their hopes up too high since the numbers could plateau quickly. 

But before I exit completely, my eyes catch a couple comments that churn my stomach unexpectedly.

nobody told me the singer was so hot !!

damn he’s fine as fuck

oh my god Noah is so !!!!

the whole band is fine wtf 

god that bassist is sooo sexy

My eyes narrow and my teeth involuntarily clench at the last comment. A dull ache throbs in my chest at the words, a feeling I’m not quite sure I’ve ever experienced before. 

My plan to leverage their looks was working. This is exactly what I wanted, what I held meetings for, what I fought for, what I was hired for - so why does it suddenly feel like a loss?

I glance at Nicholas, who’s joking with the others, his face lit up with a carefree smile. My heart aches but, this is exactly what I wanted for him. For them. Yet, the jealousy gnaws at me, sharp and unrelenting. I want to be happy for them, I should be happy for them. But each comment feels like a tiny dagger, reminding me of what I’ve deprived myself of.

I exhale and close the lid to my laptop. I tap along the table just trying to shake my head from whatever confusion is clouding it. I just need to get out.

The group talks amongst themselves as they celebrate, and I inevitably fade into the background. I start gathering all my belongings to throw into my tote bag to hopefully make a quiet exit.

“You liked the music video?” A voice startles me from across the round table. 

I look up to find Noah. I quickly glance to the red solo cup he’s holding carefully in his hand. It makes me wonder what’s in it and if it will lead to the same aftermath I've seen before with a drunken Noah. It’s only when I look around that I realize that each of them has a drink in hand and they’ve put music on. 

“Yeah.” I shrug, “I think you guys did good.” 

“We, you mean.” He corrects.

“We?” 

“Yeah. You helped pick out the outfits and did all the promo stuff, did you not?” He raises a brow. 

“Yeah? I guess I did.” 

Noah rests his arm on a nearby high-top table, taking a sip of his drink. “We made a deal, you and I a while ago, do you remember it?” He questions.

I silently filter through our meetings in my mind. While working together we’ve made many deals, but I land on the one I know he’s talking about and a smile creeps across my lips. “‘I’ll do my job well, if you do yours.’” 

An unexpected wide grin pulls at his mouth, “Well, I think we both did our jobs well here.” 

He was right, we did. Looking back at the meeting just a few months ago seems so juvenile now. Noah was so angry about me being brought on to the crew and while I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily thrilled that I’m here now, I can tell that I’ve grown on him. I proved myself to him, at least a little bit. 

“Yeah, we did.” I nod with a genuine smile, “Proud of us.” 

He wrapped an arm around me and gave me a squeeze, smiling down at me. “Me too.”

I leaned into him and caught a glimpse of Nicholas watching us both. The look on his face was flat and filled with an unreadable expression. 

My eyes flicker down immediately to avoid him then pull away from Noah’s grasp. He then goes on to ramble about music and the album, I’m not quite sure why he’s over here talking to me and not to the rest of them but, here I am. His words fade into the background as I look past him to spot Nick again. This time he’s caught up in some excited conversation between Brian and Folio. His wide smile meets his eyes filling them with such happiness as he laughs. His tattooed fingers interrupt the condensation on a beer bottle and his hair is gathered up into a low bun. He looks breathtaking and it suddenly fills me with a sadness I don’t think I’ll be able to beat here. 

I’ll never have the opportunity to be with him at a party like this, or out to dinner or have a normal, run-of-the-mill relationship. There’s a bit of heartbreak in watching him ensue in an interaction we may never have now that I’ve ruined everything.

But I ruined it for a reason, my brain reminds me.

I catch Nicholas’s eye. His smile falters, and for a moment, I think he senses my unease. I quickly look away, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The ache that makes home in my ribcage does not care for reason; its only concern is pain. It suddenly becomes unbearable, and I need to leave, now. I need to go home, I need to fucking get of out here.

 “I’m sorry, Noah but I have to go.” I hurriedly throw my bag over my shoulder and snatch my keys.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?” Noah asks, concerned.

“Yeah, I just… I need to go,” I say, my voice wavering as I avoid his gaze. “I have an important meeting I have to be home for.” My hand tightens around my keys so hard that the jagged edges dig into the flesh of my palm.

I stand up, the room spinning slightly as I do, despite not having anything to drink. I head for the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. I can feel Nicholas’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look back.

Pushing through the front door, I take a deep breath of the cool night air, but it does little to calm the storm inside me. I walk quickly to my rental car, fumbling with the keys as tears blur my vision. Finally, I manage to unlock the door and slide into the driver’s seat. 

As I drive home, the tears flow like rivers down my cheeks. The ache in my chest is relentless, a constant reminder of what I’ve given up and the lies I’ve told. I made my choice, and now I have to live with it. But the pain doesn’t care about reason or decisions. It only knows how to hurt.

I don’t stop driving until I reach my Airbnb. I stumble inside, dropping my bag on the floor and collapsing onto the couch. The tears flow freely now as I sink into the furniture, wishing things could be different but knowing they’ll never be. As much as I’d like to, I can’t undo my decision nor change the reasons behind it. As long as I work for them, Nick and I can never be anything more than just friends. Maybe in another life, there’s a him and I that work, but it’s not this one.

It doesn’t matter how much it hurts seeing him at events, or getting comments in videos, or even just being around him. He’s not mine and he can’t be. I’m not what he wants anyway, his career is just taking off the last thing he needs is to be entangled with someone who wants more than just sex. Is that even what I want? I barely even have time to fucking cry in the car, how would I balance a relationship?

Mourning the loss of what could’ve been is hard, but an inevitable breakup would be worse. However, just because I chose the lesser of two evils doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I glance at the time on my watch and scramble when I realize I’m late for my meeting. Unfortunately, I didn’t lie to Noah about that.

Flipping open my laptop, I’m right on time when the zoom call rushes in. I wipe the remnants of my tears and allow myself one more sniffle before answering.

The bright, shining faces of my original clients light up the screen. With drinks and cigars in hand, they greet me with their usual exuberance. They’re getting one last party in before they leave for tour soon. It’s the first tour I haven’t joined them on since working for them. The realization that I’m not going with them mingled with the feelings I just ran away from only worsens the pain in my torso. There’s nothing more I wish to do than to just run off with them to Europe and forget all about this mess with Nick. But I have too much on my plate to be touring with them right now, so I’m working remotely for them temporarily.

Their naturally cheery demeanors lift my spirits, and while it is still a work call, they always seem to make work fun. It makes me wish even more that I was going with them. Working for them has always been easy and enjoyable. The stark contrast between them and Omens is jarring. While we do have a longer history, Greta has always felt comforting, uplifting and loving – like family. I always feel valued and appreciated, and I never have to question my belonging with them.

Omens, on the other hand, has been nothing but complicated, painful, and uncomfortable. Instead of feeling like I’m part of something, I often feel like I’m navigating through a minefield between Noah’s volatility and Nick’s complexity. It’s hard to feel motivated when the environment is so hostile, and it leaves me questioning my place and purpose. Up until recently that is – things seem to be looking up now that Noah and I are getting along.

Comparing the two bands makes me long for the simplicity and warmth of Greta even more. The comfort and camaraderie I immediately feel when answering the zoom only highlights the cold, challenging reality of working with Omens. It’s a reminder of what I’m lacking and a painful acknowledgment of the complication of my current situation. The situation I put myself in.

Yet, Noah’s words ring in my ears, “We did our jobs well.” Perhaps it’s not as bleak as it once was. The memory of our truce plants a seed of hope in my chest. Maybe Bryan was right, that they just need time to come around.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” The bassist, Sam, jokes, pulling me out of my thoughts. The bright white of my screen flashing on my pale face in the darkness of my living room can’t be doing me any favors.

“You need a drink, Val?” Jake, the other long-haired guitarist asks, raising an enticing drink in a short glass.

“Maybe a smoke? You are in California after all.” The shaggy-haired singer, Josh, teases.

I force a smile and shake my head. “I would kill for both of those right now. Just a fucking exhausting day.”

“I know, our girl’s makin’ it big, taking on new bands, new quests.” Jake states in a dramatic, faux-English accent. “On to new horizons.” His arm splays out theatrically to a non-existent skyline.

“Leavin’ us behind!” Sam adds loudly in a whiny tone as he takes a sip of his cocktail.

The last words shoving a sword into my gut. Maybe Nick isn’t the only loss I’m mourning. Working for Greta has consumed my entire life for years, they’re the closest thing to family I’ve got. Perhaps not being engulfed in them constantly has left me lonely.

I roll my eyes lightheartedly and shake my head, “I could never leave you guys, you know that.” Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “How are you guys feeling about the tour?”

Their excitement is infectious, and I find myself relaxing a bit as they talk about their plans and the cities they’ll visit. For a moment, I forget about Nick and the tangled mess of emotions he brings.

“Hey, Val!” Josh shouts, raising a glass snapping me out of my haze. “We’re going to miss you on this one!”

“Yeah, it won’t be the same without you,” The quiet drummer, Danny, chimes in.

I force a smile, trying to push the sadness aside. “I’ll miss you guys too. But I’ll be there in spirit, and we’ll keep in touch. You know I’ll be checking in every day.”

They laugh and raise their glasses in a toast, their contagious energy making it a little easier to breathe.

The boys filter out, saying their goodbyes to entertain the other guests at their party.

“Yeah, I’ll catch up to you guys later. I have to ask Vallie about something.” Sam waves the boys away.

He turns in his chair to face me, a look of concern washed over his face as he tucks a chunk of long hair behind his ear. “Are you okay? You seem a bit off?” He asks softly.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "I'm fine, Sammy. Just a lot going on."

He looks at me for a long moment, his puppy-dog eyes filled with understanding. "You know you can talk to me, right? If you ever need anything. We're all going to miss you on this tour, but we understand why you can't come."

I nod, "I know. Thanks, Sam," I reply, with a tight smile. "I appreciate it."

Under other circumstances, I would maybe try to talk to them but they’re so excited for Europe, I can’t possibly weigh them down with anything serious.

He gives me a reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need to vent or anything, just call. We're all here for you, we love you a lot."

"Thanks," I say again, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I will. I love you guys too."

With one last nod, Sam ends the call, leaving me alone with my thoughts and letting reality crash back in. I close my laptop and lean back in my seat, staring at the other side of the vacant couch. The room feels emptier than before, the silence more suffocating. I can’t shake the feeling of being left behind, both professionally and personally.

I set my laptop on the coffee table and pull a blanket over my body in hopes that it would help me disappear. I curl up in the corner of the couch with my knees up to my chest. I haven’t felt heartache like this since high school and it’s over something that was never even serious. My mind keeps drifting back to Nick, to the hurt and anger in his eyes when I pushed him away. I know it was the right decision, but the pain is parasitic in a way I was never prepared for.

I blink at the blank wall in front of me. I’m not home, I’m not with friends or anyone I know. I work for a band that half hates me most days, I fell for a boy I can’t have and I’m staying in a pay-by-weekly Airbnb. I’m alone in a city I hate, in a home that’s not my own with people who barely like me. That’s when I realize that perhaps heartache isn’t the only pain that sits heavy in my heart – it’s also the weight of loneliness that’s been consuming me, rotting me from the inside out.

Only when I acknowledge the seclusion is when it wraps around me like a suffocating shroud, seeping into my very core and eroding my sense of self.

I close my eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh, trying to steady my racing thoughts. I have to keep moving forward, despite the overwhelming difficulty and the sadness in my bones. There’s a faint flicker of hope buried somewhere beneath the despair, a small, stubborn, workaholic part of me that refuses to give up. For now, I hold on to that glimmer, however faint, and vow to take things one step at a time.

This was the 4th rehearsal in a row that I’ve attended this week, and while it never gets old watching their sets, the content becomes repetitive. So, while the boys are playing and Bryan snaps shots of them, I scroll through Zillow.

I don’t even notice that they’re done until Nicholas is beside me cracking a water bottle open. “What’re you lookin’ at?” He asks. Slowly but surely, we’ve been making our way back up to being friendly, despite the break down I had weeks ago after the music video launch. If I just focus on the work, I can almost stifle down our history. Almost.

“Oh shit, you scared me.” I chuckle but it soon fades with the frustration that’s built up over the past couple days. “Augh, I have to find an apartment or something because this Airbnb is getting so expensive. My other client’s tour just started, and I just took on another band, so I’m stuck here for a while. But I can’t fucking find an apartment building that doesn’t have a waitlist before next fall.”

“Shit sucks around here.” Chimes in Jolly from the corner taking a sip of his Gatorade.

“Here let me see.” Nick swivels my laptop towards him before I have a chance to stop him. He holds his tongue between his lips with his brows furrowed, like he’s focused on some super spy mission. He scrolls for a while, adds some filters, scrolls, takes more filters out, then turns the laptop back to me. “Ta da!” He smiles his signature grin and it’s nice to see it in my direction again.

“Whoa, how the fuck did you find that!” My eyes nearly pop out of my head as I scroll through the listing, it having almost everything I was looking for. “Oh my god, they’re doing a showing for a perfect place right now, I gotta go.” I hastily begin packing my things up, haphazardly throwing all my scattered belongings into my tote.

“Whoa whoa,” Halts Jolly, “You’re not going alone.”

I furrow my brows at him, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Listen, do you know how unsafe it is for a woman to go to realty showings alone?” His voice is so filled with genuine concern and a splash of paranoia.

“You need to stop watching so much true crime dude.” Folio rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s obsessed.” Bryan adds with a pointed thumb towards the long-haired man. 

I blink up at Jolly who’s face is dead serious. “We’re coming with you.”

I normally wouldn’t let men tell me what to do or how to do it, but maybe Jolly is right. Men are dangerous especially around here and I have also heard horror stories about women going to check out a house and it turning out to be a sketchy place with an equally creepy man.

“Okay.” I nod. “Fine.”

Looking over the four of them, I realize that Noah had already disappeared. He’s been cutting out immediately after each rehearsal, so I think nothing of it.

“I got nothing better to do.” Shrugs Nicholas. I don’t look too much at him because if I did, I would notice the strain behind his eyes - one that looks both pained and conflicted. 

Arriving at the open house, I walk around the small loft, letting my fingers trail over the cracked railing of the stairs. The apartment is smaller, dingier and dustier than advertised. When I make it upstairs, the 4 are up there already. I catch them looking unimpressed, almost disgusted at the place but immediately feign impression for my sake.

“It’s…pretty nice, Vallie.” Says Folio, with a forced smile.

“Oh, spare me, it’s a dump.” I sigh, defeated. “The asking price is like double with all the fees and shit. It’s ridiculous.” I rub two fingers into my temple. “I don’t know what I’m gonna fucking do.”

There’s a bit of silence filled with pitiful faces from the group. Nicholas’ eyes look focused but lost in thought. Before any of them could speak, Bryan perks up. 

“My old room in the house is empty since I moved out last year. Why doesn’t she just move in with you guys?” He suggests as if it’s the most obvious answer. 

My mouth nearly falls open at the insane suggestion. The trio’s focus snaps to him with the most shocked and betrayed looks on their faces, brows raised and jaws open. 

“What?” I ask for clarification, because he couldn’t possibly be serious.

Bryan ignores their reactions. “Exactly what I said. It just makes sense? You’re with them all the time.”

“I uh-“ I falter, somewhat overwhelmed with the four of them looking at me. “I mean, it really seems like that’s a group decision…”

“I’m cool with it.” Folio surprisingly speaks up first, “We do have the spare room and we could use the extra rent money. You take a lot of Ubers to get to us anyway, so.”

For once Folio seemed to be cooperative, nice even. Maybe they are warming up to me afterall.

Jolly sighs heavily, “They have good points. It would be convenient but… Noah’s not going to be happy.”

Anxiety wins over the excitement dying to bloom in my stomach as I look over and meet Nick’s gaze. His eyes contain the same pained and confused look as before. He’s conflicted.

“I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what Noah wants. He’s outnumbered 4-1.” Nick snaps. “She needs a place, and we have one.”

I tug at my lip and contemplate my options. This would be the easiest and cheapest path. “Okay fine. Just for now. I’m gonna keep looking so I don’t overstay my welcome.” I meet eyes with each one sternly. “Thank you.”

I’m grateful for the offer but I can’t help but be nervous about being so close to Nicholas all of the time. The room I’d be staying in is the empty room between Noah and Nicholas’ rooms. I’d be between the two I would least like to be around. I contemplate backing out for a brief moment but quickly remember how much the Airbnb is costing me weekly. As much as I value my independence and solitude, it’s just not worth the cost and isn’t sustainable. The last thing I ever want to do is live with them, but it seems to be the only good option right now.

A week later, the boys help carry the last of my boxes up the stairs while I warn them about how if they break anything they’ll be paying for it.

Nick, Jolly, and Folio are all out of breath as they set down my boxes.

“Jesus, how do you have so many boxes of stuff from that tiny Airbnb?” Folio asks, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

I shrug, “I had some of my stuff from home shipped out to me, since I’m staying in Cali longer than I expected.”

Jolly and Folio filter out leaving me alone with Nicholas. I’m immediately on my toes around him. Just being in the house with him is difficult. The only other two times I’ve been here, we’ve slept together - once on the couch downstairs and another in the room beside us now. It’s hard not thinking about having him that way again with those reminders all around me. The memories pack a punch not just in my core but in my heart as well. We’ve just started to get back to normal after our little falling out. But what even is back to normal with us? Were we ever really normal?

“Do you need help unpacking?” He asks though it doesn’t seem forced or ingenuine.

I ponder the offer as I shift on my feet but ultimately shake my head. “Not now. I don’t know if I’m going to fully unpack yet, since I’m still looking for another place.”

He nods, seeming somewhat unhappy about my response. “Okay well, if you need help with anything, let me know.”

“Okay, I will. Thank you.” I scratch my arm anxiously and pause before I speak again. “I feel bad… I know Noah’s unhappy because I’m here.”

Nicholas sucks in a breath. “Yeah, he’s not happy. But I don’t really know what else to say to him. Maybe you should talk to him.”

I let out a laugh. “Yeah fucking right. I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to talk to right now.”

“You never know. It might help.” He steps towards the door to leave. “I think we’re gonna order Chinese for dinner. You cool with that?”

I nod and he reciprocates before leaving the room downstairs. 

I take a deep breath and shake out the nerves from my hands as I walk to Noah’s door. I give it a knock and wait for a response.

“Come in.” He calls and I peek through the cracked door.

He rolls his eyes and glares at me. “Great, it’s you.”

“You know you don’t have to be like that.” I say calmly while I push the door open more and lean against the door frame.

He doesn’t even look at me and keeps his eyes on the TV across from his bed where he lays. His hands are diligently working on a gaming controller. I can’t help but notice how his long-tattooed fingers rapidly and strategically click on the buttons. Something about it creates a slight buzz between my legs.

“You just invited yourself into my home. I think I have some right to talk to you any way I want to.” He retorts.

“I didn’t invite myself; I was invited. By your bandmates, your best friends. But you know that already. You’re just being an asshole.”

“Again, this is my house. I can be an asshole in my house if I want to. This is what you signed up for. But you know that already.” He mocks me with my own words.

I try my best to keep my bubbling anger from spilling. We had been doing so well since the thrift store, but it seems that we’re back to square one all over again.

“I’m not trying to be here forever, alright? This is temporary. Like I want to be here any more than you want me to be. Believe it or not, this isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either.” I sigh, trying to keep my composure. “I’m just trying to make the best of it while I’m here, okay? Can we agree to just be civil?”

He glares at me, but I know he knows that I’m right. “No promises.”

As I look around my new room, I suddenly feel closed in by the towers of boxes that surround me. I should’ve waited until after I signed some sort of apartment lease before having some of my stuff shipped from New York. I was just homesick for a place of my own again, that I wanted my belongings outside of what fits inside a couple carry-on suitcases. I’ve been living out of suitcases for longer than I’ve ever wanted and so maybe unpacking some of my clothes and things wouldn’t hurt much. Afterall, I could always just repack them. When I stand and find that some of the towers are even taller than me, I recognize that I might need help afterall. 

I find myself in front of Nick’s door and a nervous feeling swirls in my stomach that I try to ignore. 

This is a bad idea, I think to myself.

But it’s too late. My knuckles have already met the door. 

After a couple moments, Nick opens the door with a gaming headset pulled off his ear and a controller in his hand. It’s clear by the way his eyebrows drop that he was expecting anyone but me. The look is enough to make me back out of my own decision. 

“Oh, sorry to bother you, you’re obviously busy, nevermind!” I ramble quickly in a way I rarely do - but I rarely feel the way I do with him. Mid-turn to get back to my room he unexpectedly grasps my wrist, not hard but not soft either, enough to keep me in place. 

“What’s up?” He asks and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or genuinely curious. 

“Oh, um, well, you see,” 

Fucking get it together 

“I was going to ask if I could take you up on your offer? To help me unpack?” I already regret the words before they leave my mouth. “But if you’re busy it’s no big deal!!” 

“I, uh, yeah. Sure. Let me just finish this round and I’ll come help.” He begins pulling his headset back on before I can fully answer.

“Oh, yeah sure. Take your time!” 

He closes his door, and I dart to my room, immediately pacing the small amount of floor I have available.

Why did I fucking do that?

“You okay?” His voice speaks from the doorway where he’s propped up against. 

I nearly jump out of my skin, not expecting him there so soon. It makes me wonder if he had just quit his game instead of finishing it like he said. 

“Oh, yeah yeah.” I wave him off. “I always get nervous with moves.” 

It was a lie. With my job, I’ve had to get used to moving often, so it doesn’t phase me any more. But with the shake in my voice, I know it wasn’t a great sell. 

“Right.” He replies skeptically, pushing himself off the frame. “What did you need help with?”

“I need that box up there.” I point to the box above my head. “And that one.” I gesture to the one right beside it at the same height. “And that one.”

He chuckles at how the boxes seem like skyscrapers to me, “Okay sure.” 

He pulls each one down with ease. 

“Anything else?” He asks. 

I sink down to the floor behind one of the large boxes. “I’m just gonna start unpacking these, if you wanna help.” I shrug up at him. 

Nick looks over at another box, grabbing something before handing it out to me. “I think you might need this.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks at the mistake, “Thank you.” I lift up and take the box cutter from him. 

I thought that would be the limit of his contribution but to my surprise, he sits down across from me. When I give him a confused look he simply jokes, “I’m really interested in what the fuck are in all these boxes.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to keep a grin from spreading across my lips. After our conversation at the music video shoot, this is the last thing I expected him to do. 

I’m still sat on the floor with half empty boxes while Nick acts as the fuel to the operation, putting things wherever I direct him. He slides a chunk of books into a bookshelf that was left behind. Books are always the first thing I like to unpack after the necessities. They're so personal and really give a space a real essence of you. I’m only unpacking my favorites to display for now since I don’t know how long my stay will be.

“You sure do have a lot of books about pirates?” He states quizzically, with an arched brow and a chuckle. 

“Oh,” I laugh, “Yeah, one of my clients really loves them for some reason.” I gesture to the books he just shelved. “I get one of those every Christmas. Those and a box of fancy cigars.”

His eyes look over the spines of the grandiose black leather books. “You’ve been with them a long time.” He observes each one, then looks over at me. “6 Christmases.” 

I blink up at him because there’s no way it’s been 6 years already. Logically, I knew I’ve accumulated a large stack of those books, but it isn’t until now that it clicks. “Wow. You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it like that.” 

“They’re lucky to have you.” He says, crouching down to get more books. “You’ve done so good for us so far, I can’t imagine what your main act gets.” 

The statement feels almost double edged, though it doesn’t seem that he intended it that way. It’s simple and meant to be flattering but it just settles a guilt in my bones. It sounds like he believes that Omens aren’t a priority, which isn’t true. 

“It’s not like that.” I scoff, handing him another set of non-pirate books.

“Oh sure, as if you don’t prioritize Harry Styles over us.” He shoots back playfully.

The Harry bit has gone so far that it makes me wonder if they truly believe it, it would be hilarious if they did. 

“You know I don’t manage him. Wish I did though.” I laugh, shaking my head. I grab another couple books and tug at my lip contemplating whether I should start some lighthearted competition. “You know… Noah guessed my ‘mystery client’.” 

A mischievous smirk blooms on my lips when Nick’s brows raise with an, “Oh did he now?” 

I nod, “Yep! Gonna have to step up your game I guess.” I shrug jokingly.

“Well, I’m either gonna have to go shake him down or,” He points to the room next door with the box cutter then looks at the mess around us. “Or I’m just gonna have to keep unpacking until I figure it out.” 

A giggle escapes me and a warmth blooms in my tummy. I hate that this is how my body reacts to him, but I quickly snuff it out. “I guess so.” 

As he continues to help me, the room overflows with laughter, and I can’t remember ever having fun unpacking. I try not to dwell on the way I feel when I look at him for too long. If I can just push aside the flutter in my chest when he crinkles his nose, or when he smiles wide and sparkles fill his eyes, or when he makes my name sound like music — if I can just move past all of that, then maybe living here won’t be so bad. Perhaps friendship with Nick wouldn’t be so difficult if it looks like this. 

The first week was awkward and uncomfortable and foreign, but the boys acclimated faster than I imagined - which, thinking about it now, made sense. They’d spent the better half of their lives being forced to live with random people for unforeseen periods of time. They just moved around me, and I moved around them, we all were on different schedules and busy doing other things better than paying attention to each other. Outside of rehearsals or meetings, I rarely saw them. The boys have an affinity for the nighttime while I’ve been operating on three different world clocks due to my other clients touring in different countries. 

I found that juggling three bands when I was barely managing two, was becoming quite taxing. I usually pride myself on my work ethic and multi-tasking skills, but it’s wearing on me in ways I’ve never experienced before. My sleep schedule is basically nonexistent, having to be awake for California, Europe, and Australia times simultaneously. I work between cat naps and run off of at least 4 cups of coffee daily. While work has been miserable, it’s definitely helped keep my mind distracted.

After a much-needed shower and a fresh set of button-down pajamas, I follow the smell of pizza downstairs. I find the boys gathered around the kitchen.

“Hey Val.” Folio smiles then falters, “You look fucking exhausted.” He shakes his head apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just - help yourself, there’s plenty. Noah can put away like three pies on his own.” He chuckles nervously, pushing past me to the living room. 

“Think of it as your belated welcome party.” Jolly says before taking a bite, leaning against the counter. 

“Thanks.” I smile but it doesn’t meet my eyes when I notice Nick remained silent and Noah’s absent.

Jolly nudges my shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen, “Noah’s picking out a movie for us, if you wanna join.” 

“Cool.” I nod, fidgeting with my fingers. As much as I’d love to protest wasting my time, all I need to do right now is sit and turn my brain off for an hour or two. 

“Can’t guarantee it’ll be any good if Noah’s picking.” He calls over his shoulder. 

“Hey!” Shouts Noah from the couch. 

The edges of my lips curl up slightly at the interaction but quickly fall. Even though it's been about a week, this is the first actual night of us all together. It’s only then that it settles in my bones the reality of the move.

I precariously pluck a slice from a half-eaten pie and plop it on a paper plate. “You uh,” I thumb over my shoulder. “Stayin’ for the movie?”

He pushes himself off the granite counter. “I was planning on it, yeah.” He peels another slice from the round and places it on his already full plate. He’s in a dark hoodie for a band I’ve never heard of with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, showing off all the beautiful ink on his arms. I try not to let my eyes linger too long on the way his fingers fold the slice in half. “You?” 

I steal a water bottle from the fridge and lean against the counter. “Yeah, if he picks a good movie.” I tease. 

He nods and makes his way out of the kitchen. 

I shake my head to wake myself up some more and meet the rest of them in the living room. My feet are the first to freeze when my eyes land on the screen. Noah chose the same indie horror movie that Nick and I had chosen the night he stayed in with me. How he managed to find and decide on the same random movie we did, I’m not sure. What I am sure of is the way my heart feels like it fell into my stomach. My hand grips the plate, and my eyes instinctively search for Nick. His gaze meets mine, the look in his eyes about matches my own before he hardens it. His jaw clenches and he focuses back on finding his place on the couch. 

When I finally make my way over, I find there’s only one seat left between Noah and Nicholas. I take a silent but deep inhale before squeezing between them. The close proximity to Nicholas sends a familiar, anxious thrill through me, but I push it aside, trying to focus on the moment. We’re friends now. Colleagues. I have to keep reminding myself of that. We’ve only ever been colleagues.

“Alright, everyone shut up.” Noah waves a lanky arm around with the remote clutched in his hand. “Movie time!” 

Folio reaches up and flips the lights off to cast an eerie darkness across the room, perfect for the mood of the movie. As the opening credits roll, my heart drops sharply and makes the idea of the pizza on my plate nauseating. The memory hits me like a wave, threatening to pull me under. I can see it so clearly in my head - us sharing two different kinds of chips, Doritos and Cheetos. I can hear the storm that raged that night, the one that kept him from leaving. I remember vividly the conversation we had about having that team-building party. I can hear him promising that the boys would come around. I blink quickly to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks. The last thing I need is to cry in front of them. 

Noah nudges me with his elbow. “You okay? You look a little pale.” He asks with a smirk, teasing me as if I was already scared fifteen minutes into the movie. In the corner of my eye, I can see Nick glance over at us, trying to disguise the fact he’s obviously eavesdropping. 

“Yeah, just... tired.” I half-lie, giving him a weak smile while keeping my eyes on the tv.

“Sure, scaredy cat.” He laughs, returning his focus to the screen.

The movie continues, and I’m transported back to that rainy night. I wasn’t nervous that entire night until we were sitting criss-crossed next to each other watching this specific scene before the first jumpscare. The flutter of nerves didn’t find home in my belly until we both jolted at the perfectly timed jumpscare and our knees ended up pressed together for the rest of the night. I remember the way his hand brushed against mine, the way we laughed and screamed at all the right moments. Sitting here now, with him so close yet so far, is torture. 

As the film progresses, I can’t help but notice Nicholas shifting slightly in his seat. His arm brushes against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I hope no one else notices my reaction. It’s jumpy and juvenile, the way we both try our best not to have any part of our body touching for too long. 

Halfway through the movie, a particularly frightening scene makes everyone scream and laugh at each other’s fear. Nicholas turns to me, and for a brief moment, our eyes meet. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze, something that tells me he remembers too. But then he looks away, and the moment vanishes.

The rest of the movie is a blur. I’m too focused on the memories, the emotions, and the painful reality that the past is just that—the past. When the credits finally roll, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and everything is suffocating and tight. 

Folio reaches up from his seat in the recliner and flicks the light back on. “Jesus fucking christ, Noah.”

“What the fuck.” Echoes Jolly.

Noah grins widely, obviously proud of his peculiar choice. “You’re welcome.” 

“It was great.” I rush the words out and quickly push myself off the couch. “I need to get some air. Excuse me.”

A cackle erupts from Noah, “Musta scared the shit out of her.” 

As I speed to the front door, I hear someone smack him with a pillow and Nick’s voice telling him not to be an ass.

I nearly burst through the front door and find salvation in gripping the porch railing. For a moment I question if I might actually get ill. Never in my adult life have I ever felt such visceral agony over another human being, nonetheless a man. The cool night air brings a welcome relief and finally I feel like I can suck in a full breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear the door open behind me and my heart races when Nick appears in my peripheral. Fuck. 

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice almost trembling.

He pulls something from his pocket, flipping the top open and holding out a box of Newports to me. “Want one?” 

I sigh, contemplating it even though I haven't touched a cigarette since college, but god do I need it now. “Thanks.” I pluck a cig from the box and place it between my lips. I cup the end from the wind while he flicks the lighter for me. The second it’s sizzling and lit I take a much-needed deep inhale, letting the nicotine fill every gap in my lungs giving me a split second of reprieve. 

I close my eyes as I exhale, hoping the smoke would take the pain that sits in my chest. For a moment, we stand there in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. The sounds of the night filled the quiet, frogs croaking and far off traffic from the city. 

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his warmth and the smoke of his cigarette. “I remember that night, you know.”

I pause, swallowing hard. “Me too.”

The ache in my chest is palpable, like it sits between each individual rib. I feel it in my bones, in my veins, in my fucking marrow. 

When I made the decision to distance myself, to hurt him, I thought it was the best decision for us all. I had no idea it would hurt this bad. It hardly seems like a good idea now. 

Every part of my body tenses up like a muscle throbbing in pain. My index and middle fingers involuntarily squish the cigarette, and my fists tighten. I have no reason to feel this way, I did this. 

“Val,” he says, his voice breaking through my turmoil. “We never really… talked.”

I bite my lip hard, the cigarette trembling between my fingers. “What’s there to talk about, Nick?” I can’t bear to look up at him. 

“Us, Vallie.” He says more sternly this time, turning to me fully. “You just shut me out. And I got upset so I walked away, but we didn’t talk about it.” 

Of course, the only man I fall for is the one that actually wants to talk about his feelings. 

“We made a choice, Nick.” I grind my teeth to ward off tears, keeping my gaze focused on a far off tree. 

He shakes his head, stepping even closer. “No, you made a choice. And I went along with it because I thought it was what you wanted. But standing here now like this… I can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake.”

I close my eyes and exhale. All I want to do is give in to him, tell him he’s right, that I did make a mistake. But my reasoning and logic remains the same. 

The words hang in the air, heavier than the smoke around us. I don’t dare look up at him, tears blurring my vision. “Maybe I did. But we can’t. And I told you,” I pause, giving myself one final second to rethink my decision. “I’m seeing someone.”

He snuffs his cigarette out on the wood railing then grasps my shoulder harshly, turning my body to face him. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least do it to my face.”

I drop my own cigarette from the sudden action, and he quickly stomps it out for me. My eyes widen at his words and his shift in demeanor. I blink up at him and shake my head. “I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.” He takes a step forward causing me to step backwards, closing me into the porch railing. His hand finds my jaw holding it firmly in place, analyzing me with furrowed brows. It runs an ice-cold shiver down my spine. “I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice.”

My chest rises and falls rapidly. “I am, seeing someone Nick. I’m happy.” I lie through my teeth even though it’s useless. 

“No, you’re not, Vallie.” His words are sharp and intentional. “Look at you.” He gestures over my body. “You’re shaking through a cigarette just because you’re standing next to me.” 

“God.” A tear slips down my cheek and I try to take a breath, but I feel even more suffocated than before. “Fuck, Nick.” I harshly push him away. I look between us and still for a moment before tears prickle my eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t fucking do this.”

I rush past him, through the front door, and don’t stop running until I close my bedroom door behind me. I slump against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor. The weight of everything crashes down on me, and I bury my face in my hands.

“FUCK,” I scream, the sound muffled by my palms to not be heard by anyone else. The tears come hard and fast, my shoulders shaking with each sob. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. The pain is unbearable, and all I can do is cry.

Thankfully the boys had already gone to bed the night of me and Nick’s fight, so we didn’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions. I cried, got it out of my system, and isolated the emotions into a little folder I tucked into my heart, just as I did the last time. Although, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t getting more and more difficult. Two weeks later, I’m still avoiding Nick, but I don’t act like a scrambling mouse any time he enters the room. Tensions have calmed down and it’s impressive how much can be hidden behind a mask. 

Today, I’m tearing the kitchen apart looking for a measuring cup, how they’ve made it this far without a measuring cup, I have no idea. 

As I’m bent over into a lower cabinet, I spot Nicholas in my peripheral. Obviously, he’s the one I’d been avoiding the most but the feeling was mutual, us rarely interacting with each other after movie night. We barely spoke to each other during meetings and avoided each other around the house. 

“Looking for something?” He asks with a bit of condescension in his tone. 

The comment immediately irritates me as I’d been hungrily searching for this goddamn utensil for the past half hour and all I fucking want are pancakes on my day off. I bite my tongue in order to not snap at him and back out of the cabinet, standing up. “Would you happen to know where a girl could find a goddamn measuring cup around here?” My irritated tone greatly outweighed Nick’s more subtle one.

His brows raised, shocked that I’d even speak that way, nonetheless to him. His brows didn’t stay up though, they fell rather quickly into thick, straight lines. The way his face turned cold so quickly made me shiver with a fear crawling up my back. “I know you’re not speaking to me that way in my own house.” 

Immediately, I want to rival it but try my best to stifle it down. However, the feeling was too strong. “I know you aren’t talking to me like that, period.” Crossing my arms over my chest and raising a brow at him. 

He steps towards me, “With work? Sure, I can play nice. Outside of work? I can talk to you however I want.” 

My brows furrow at his sudden hostility. Even though we’d been avoiding each other, things have been calm and professional. He’s never spoken to me like this before and while I’m used to dealing with intimidating industry men on my own, the darkness in his tone has my heart thumping in fear. For the sake of my self-respect, I square my shoulders and straighten my back. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” 

“Or what?” He provokes, stepping even closer to me. “You work for us, remember? You’re nothing more than a glorified assistant.” 

My jaw practically drops to the floor and red-hot anger rushes through my veins. I hear the smack first, ringing through the kitchen before I feel the static-y stinging in my palm. I gasp and bring my hands to my mouth while I watch him quickly reach for his reddening cheek. I instinctively want to apologize but, he deserved it. 

When his eyes return to mine, they’re the darkest gray I’ve ever seen them and the fearful thumping in my chest returns. He steps forward, backing me into the corner of the cabinets and the air in my lungs vacates when I look up to find his eyes burning holes in my body. My eyes widen at the sudden, unexpected action. “Nick.” I tremble out in the space between us. 

“You think you can just move in and run shit.” He taunts, his voice low and gravelly. “Haven’t even been in the house a month and you’re already acting up.” 

The fight or flight response in my body begs me to cry, to apologize and shove him away but the burning lava in my bloodstream demands otherwise. I clench my jaw matching the intensity of his stare. “I’m an adult Nicholas, I can do whatever the fuck I want in the home I pay to live in.” 

His hands land on the granite countertop at each side of my hips. “You have one hell of a fucking attitude today.”

The energy shifts into something slightly less aggressive and more sensual. As much as it should disgust me after all the shit he just pulled, it has my thighs pressing together. 

I cock my head at him, and in a tone that borders on innocent, I challenge him, “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” 

His hand goes to touch my hip but stops short, stopping himself. We both know the lie I told him, but it seems like he might’ve actually believed it afterall. He lowered to just below my ear. “If I could, I’d make sure the only thing coming out of that bratty little mouth of yours are those pretty noises you make.” He whispers, his voice low and raspy.

His words went straight to my core, filling it with rampant buzzing. The war in my head waged between keeping up with my plan versus just giving into him like I always seem to do. However, it seemed as though the wetness pooling between my legs was winning.

I must’ve taken too long for him, long enough to crack his resolve just a bit. He pressed his forehead against mine, forcing my focus up to him. The look in his eyes had switched to something softer than before, if I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a hint of sadness in his crystal grey eyes. “Can I touch you?” He asks barely above a whisper and when I don’t answer immediately, he begs again. “I need to touch you, Val.” His voice carried what sounded like a deep desperation, and it all yanked at my heart - but guilt was a beast for a different time. 

Truth is, that I feel the same desperation as he does. I nod quickly against him, “Touch me.” I cave into him, like I always do. “Touch me, touch me, touch me.” I repeat softly before his lips clash into mine and his hands finally meet my hips, immediately pulling me onto the counter. As soon as the coolness of the granite meets my thighs, my eyes round at the realization that we’re in the kitchen. I pull away before he has a chance to deepen the kiss, “The others.” I breathe out urgently with wide eyes down at him.

He shakes his head quickly, “They’re out of the city for the day.” 

It could’ve been a bold face lie, but that’s all the reassurance I need to proceed on our poor decision. His tongue swipes across my bottom lip and I oblige faster than I’d like to admit. Our tongues find each other and begin to entwine themselves. He grasps my hips and pulls me to the edge of the counter to press himself against me. I can’t help but let out a tiny moan into his mouth at the feeling of his covered erection pressing into my clothed center. 

His hands trail up my sides to cup my cheeks before parting from me, “You feel what you do to me?” Soft but needy pants through parted lips fall on my own.

My heaving chest and my pathetic excuse for a nod was enough for him to rejoin our lips. I wrap my arms around his neck tugging him even closer. Our tongues fight for dominance but he’s winning, and his thumbs dig into my hip bones in an almost painful way, as if he’s scared I’ll vanish from his grasp. 

My fingers find their way into his hair that’s wrapped up in a loose bun and dig my nails into the roots, letting out a small sigh against his lips. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee in the best way.

I pull away for a moment and let my focus move from his lips back up to his eyes. My hands glide over the waistband of his jeans, dipping two fingers behind the zipper and pulling it towards my body. “I thought you had a lesson to teach me?”

A groan rumbles in the back of his throat as he processes my words. His fingers snap to my thighs, digging harshly into the flesh before spreading them apart as far as they’d allow. Warmth tinted my cheeks at the action, feeling exposed. I’m still clothed but now it’s just the thin fabric of my panties keeping the most intimate part of me covered. It’s not like it’s anything he hasn’t seen before, but it still feels vulnerable. 

“Tell me, what lesson do you think you need to learn?” He asks me while his fingertips urge my lower back to move further to the edge of the counter. 

“Hmm,” I feign thinking hard about the answer. “I think that you think it should be my mouth, but I don’t think that.”

“Oh, no?” He questions, “Is there anything you do that makes you think you deserve a lesson?”

“Nope.” I reply with cheery innocence. 

“That’s interesting, because you’re massively overdue for one.” He tugs my legs so close to him it almost pulls me off the counter. 

He leans down and presses a kiss just below my ear, then trails it down my neck. My heart beats so fast against my ribcage I fear it could burst. 

While his hands roam and grope anywhere they land, he’s buried in my neck sucking marks into it. “I’ve missed you.” He admits, mumbling against my skin and makes my heart rate skip a beat or two. 

I tilt my head back and scrunch my eyes closed. We shouldn’t be doing this in the first place, nonetheless, saying these sorts of things to each other, but it seems neither of us care enough to remember why. 

I tangle my fingers in his hair, giving it a gentle tug and nudging my head against his. “I’ve missed you too, Nicky.” 

He pauses the same way I did but this time he moves back up to rejoin our lips. 

There’s a couple words that linger in the back of my throat - words I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell him. Words that I’m not sure make sense for us or if they’re just the chemicals rushing through me. But I want to say them, and I’m scared that if I go to say anything at all they might tumble out. 

His hands find and tug at my shirt which I quickly pull away and discard it across the room. I take the opportunity to do the same with him. I catch the hem of his shirt, and he stills. I realize in the two times we’ve slept together, I’ve never seen him shirtless. That combined with the way he hesitated when I went to pull it off makes me think he might be uncomfortable. “May I?” 

He hesitates but nods and lets me be the one to pull it off him. He’s tattooed all over his chest just as he is on his arms, and it makes me want to go exploring all over his body. Our lips reunite and our tongues reconnect before I get a chance to compliment his appearance. I work quickly at undoing his jeans while he struggles to pull down my skirt.

Finally, bare to each other, he pulls me taut against him to make sure I can feel just how much he’s missed me. He nestles his thick shaft between my folds, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed that part of him too. I let a small whine slip into our kiss at the feeling of him throbbing against my clit. 

He disconnects from me only to press his forehead against mine, “I need to be inside you.” There’s a greater feeling behind his claim, more akin to ‘I need to be as close to you as possible’.

“I need you, please.” I reply, sounding more desperate than I would’ve liked. 

Now, not my brightest moment, letting him push his way inside me without more prep when I haven’t had him in so long. The stretch his girth brings is a delicious but brutal burn. He takes mercy on me by taking it slow and I feel every thick inch of him until he bottoms out, nuzzling the tip of his cock into my cervix.

“Fuck.” I breathe out, resting my head back on the cabinet. 

While it’s painful, it feels just like puzzle pieces reuniting, like he was made for me. He fills me completely, leaving no empty space.

He only stays stagnant for a short bit of time before he begins rutting into me. I remember how good he feels once adjusted to him. His head is tucked into the other side of my neck, littering it with more marks. He lets small grunts and groans tumble into my neck as he drills into me. With every thrust, his cock hits the bundle of nerves deep within my core and makes my skin burn. “God, you take me so fucking good.” He mutters beneath my ear and it makes me grip onto him tighter.

He detaches from my neck and unexpectedly places both hands on my cheeks, directing my gaze onto him. His hips slow but don’t halt as he forces me to focus on his stormy eyes. 

“Tell me it was a lie.” He demands, with a slight melancholic undertone.

I tilt my head a bit at the request, unsure of what he was referring to or why he’s bringing it up now. “What?”

“I know you lied to me, tell me it was a lie.” He pleads again, with more desperation this time. “Tell me there was no one else.” 

As I take a moment to process, he returns to his spot on my throat, pulling the skin of my neck between his teeth and one hand finding my swollen clit, rolling circles into it. My eyes widen at the feeling of both sensations at the same time, rapidly accelerating the proximity of my high. 

“Tell me you lied to me.” He repeats in a mumble beneath my ear. “Tell me there’s no one else. I need to hear it.”

My mind swirls between his words and the pleasure he’s giving me. It’s like some twisted tactic, that if he gets me so overwhelmed, I’d be forced to tell the truth - and it’s working. 

“I-“ I begin, going to ask how he ‘knows’ but I know I’m a terrible liar, especially to him. My peak rushes to where his fingertips meet my bundle of nerves and all I can think about is him. “I lied, Nick, I lied.” My fingernails dig into his back, and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting an ache wash through my chest.

I feel him smile against my skin and his speed picks up, ramming into my sweet spot over and over while working figure-8’s into my clit. 

“There’s only you.” I add, because I have nothing left to lose with the truth being out. “There’s only ever been you.”

He groans at the words and the way my walls involuntarily pulse around him. “Fuck.“ He grunts against my neck, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Fuck, I’m close. Cum with me?” 

I nod quickly as I’m on the precipice of my own high as well and ready to reach it with him. 

His thumb speeds up with the rolls of his hips pushing me over the edge. “Fuck I’m gonna, fuck,” Buzzing euphoria washes over me and blinds my vision as the coil in my belly snaps. It spreads burning heat across my body and only intensifies when I feel his cock twitch, spilling his hot release into the deepest part of me.

Our chests rise and fall quickly in time with each other and his breath brushes past my shoulder in short bursts. It feels so good to be so full of him.

Unexpectedly, he pulls back only to hold my face and pull me in for another kiss. This time, it’s sweet and soft and full of an emotion we haven’t spoken. Our tongues dance together but it’s slow and tender, the sort of kiss that bonds you and makes you feel safe. 

Once he detaches from me, his forehead presses into mine once more, meeting my eyes with his silver ones, this time having a faint blue hue. His thumbs brush along my cheekbones and his eyes dart across my face, “I don’t want to stop doing this, Vallie.” He whispers and it twists a knife in my chest.

I don’t want to stop either, I want to say. 

I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck pulling him closer. “Nick, we-”

“I know.” He says sadly, but with a slightly hopeful pitch. “The guys are coming around, nobody has to know but us five. I can wait, Val.” His voice pleads. “I can wait, I can wait until you’re ready, until we can. There’s something here, I know you feel it too, I can feel it. I just can’t do this anymore, it’s torture being around you.” His words accelerate as he speaks. “It takes everything in me not to touch you. I can’t be around you, let alone live with you and pretend that I don’t love you.” His eyes widen a bit at what he just blurted out. 

My own eyes round wide at him and my heart feels so full it could pop. “You… what?”

He closes his eyes, “I know that I shouldn’t.” His voice strained before meeting my gaze again. “But I do.” 

I blink up at him as he confirms the same words that have been swirling on the tip of my tongue. My hands slide down to hold his face. “I love you too, Nicholas.” I whisper in the space between us. 

“You do?” He asks, almost surprised though I can’t tell if it’s because I said it or because I mean it, maybe both.

“Yes. I love you, I love you,” My hands pull him closer as I repeat the words like a prayer; now that I’ve said them, I can’t stop. “I love you, I love you,” Before I can get to the fifth ‘I love you’ he wraps my legs around his hips and lifts me off the counter with him still inside me. He carries me into the living room and before I can question anything, we reach his intended destination. 

He lays me down on the couch - the same couch we got high on and ate Jolly Ranchers and ice cream. The couch where we first experienced each other’s bodies. It's not the couch where our love began but it is where it bloomed. 

Our lips rejoin immediately, getting swept up in our newly confessed love. I felt him hardening inside me again before we even left the kitchen. My arms wrap around his neck and my legs close in around his hips, trying to get him as close as possible.  

His hips begin to rut into me, gliding easily with his previous release still inside. It begins tender and slow but as with anything with Nick, it heats up quickly. He uses one hand to hook behind my knee pulling my hips up and closer to him and I let out a gasp at the new, deeper angle. His lips find my neck again, placing needy but tender open mouth kisses there. “I need you to feel how much I love you.”

My nails dig into his back at his words, “Fuck.” I moan out as his tip hits my g-spot directly in rapid succession with no reprieve. “Fuck, I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He says softly against my neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. “God, you feel fucking amazing.” It was like once we gave in and admitted to our feelings, it amplified the sex tenfold.

My head feels like it’s spinning when I nod in agreeance, desperately, “You fill me up so good, baby.” I let the name slip in the cloud of pleasure.

“Fuck, call me that again.” He nearly growls and lands one hard thrust flush against my hips.

It made my heart swell, thankful that he liked it, then had my walls pulsing around him in the realization that he really liked it.

“I love your fucking cock, baby.” I repeat the petname.

“Yeah?” He smirks, against my skin, “You like the way I stretch you out, angel?”

I flutter my eyes closed, feeling so complete in our surrender to one another, like this was how we were meant to be with each other from the beginning. It’s overwhelming how all of our suppressed words and feelings were all crashing into us at once. We broke open the floodgates and we were drowning in each other.

“God yes.” I dig my nails deeper into his flesh, feeling the daunting size of him trying to split me in two.

“Fuck, you take me so fucking good.” He mumbles in a low voice, and I feel myself clench as much as I can around his girth like I need to keep him there forever. He groans at the feeling, “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep that up.” His hand frantically finds my clit again, beginning tight circles into it.

My breath hitches in my throat and my eyes widen, that being the only thing I needed to send me into my second orgasm. He’s not far behind with hard, staggered thrusts chasing his own high.

Our climaxes arrive rapidly with the passionate expression of our love. For the second time that day, we hit our peaks together in unison, letting the confessions of our love fill the room. 

He practically falls and melts into me as our chests heave in time with each other. After a bit his eyes look down at me, still hazy with lust, now mixed with love. “It’s not enough.” He says hastily.

My brows furrow at his words, lifting myself up to my elbows as he slowly makes his way down my body. “What do you mean?”

He lands at my hips, spreading my legs apart. “I said that I need you to feel how much I love you. Fucking you with my cock isn’t enough.”

Before I can protest or inquire, his head is dipped between my thighs and his tongue is latched to my already-overstimulated clit.

“Oh, no, no, no.” My hand flies into his hair as I shake my head quickly. “No, Nick, I can’t – oh – not again,” I hiss at his blatant disregard and try to squirm away. “Fuck – It’s too much.”

He groans against me and his hand grip onto my hips stiffly, keeping me locked in place. “Stay fucking still.” He growls the demand without pulling his mouth away, every word sending a vibration through my body.

Every move of his tongue is intentional in a specific pattern, if I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if he was actually spelling out ‘I love you’. Regardless of that being factual or not, it doesn’t matter because it feels like he was writing loveletters with his tongue.

Every flick and swirl, sends a jolt through my entire being. My movements beneath his mouth can only be described as thrashing as my center is flooded with stimulation it wasn’t ready to receive again. It’s heavenly but almost painful at the same time. “Slower, please.” I beg but it’s futile; once Nick’s determined on something, its hard to convince him otherwise.

I tug at the roots of his hair and wriggle as much as I can with him keeping me in place. I’d felt my high creeping up, but I didn’t expect it to crash into me out of nowhere. It hits me all at once, my hips buck into him and my grip on his hair must be painful, but he doesn’t falter, not for a second. Silent screams ghost my throat as pleasure rips through me, violently. His tongue continues to roll at the perfect speed in all the right patterns, dragging out my high into the longest one I’ve ever had.

He finally tapers off of me and looks up at me through my parted legs. “I could do that all fucking day.”

I deflate into the cushions with a sigh, my ears still ringing from the overwhelming pleasure that just possessed my entire being. He kisses up my body, reaching up and planting a chaste kiss to the side of my mouth. “Was that too much?” He questions in a whisper.

I shake my head lazily, out of breath. “Perfect.” Is all I can get out.

The edge of his lips curl into a smirk. “I knew it would be.” And places a prideful kiss to my shoulder.

Once cleaned up, we laid on the couch together with me cuddled into his side and my head on his chest. The silence around us is both comforting and nerve wracking. The air is thick with fragility, like if one of us moves or speaks our bubble will burst. 

As we lie there, the quiet moments stretch out, and I can feel his heartbeat steady under my ear. It’s a rhythm that grounds me, making everything else fade away. His fingers trace gentle patterns on my arm, and I close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch. There’s a comforting sense of relief in surrendering completely to each other, finally. I’m not sure what this all means for us, but it feels good to finally admit it outloud. 

We stay like that for the rest of the night, enveloped in a bubble of shared intimacy. The outside world, with all its complications and uncertainties, feels distant and unimportant. Right now, we are just two people who have found comfort in each other’s arms. The complex reality and fragile hope for what might come next hangs in the air, but for now, they don’t need to be addressed. The uncertainty still lingers, but it’s softened by the honesty we’ve shared today. Tomorrow will bring its own set of challenges and questions, but in this moment, I allow myself to simply be with him, wholly. All that matters is the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the soft whisper of our breaths mingling in the quiet room. It’s enough to simply be together, a luxury we’ve denied ourselves of for so long—to find solace in the closeness and love that has always been there, begging to be acknowledged from the beginning.

Taglist; @ladyveronikawrites @persuasivus @kingdomof-omens @strawberryruffilo @the-hell-i-overcame @cncohshit @dominuslunae @thebadchic @to-be-written @myownthoughts12 @measuredingold [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N; The love for this story is something I never expected and I am truly grateful for it. Sorry that this took so long or if it's not up to par. I would love to hear your thoughts and predictions 👀 Thank you SO much for reading 💗

[ginnsbaker]

A Form of Vengeance (Excerpt)

Summary: “Hold it,” you challenge, locking eyes with her, pushing her to her very limits. “Hold it or you’ll never see me again.”

Word count: 2.4k+ | Tags: Heavy Angst, Dubious Consent, Edging, Toxic Relationships, Oral and fingering (Wanda receiving)

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

A/N: This is basically an excerpt from Chapter 6 of In Losing Grip on Sinking Ships, just so you have an idea how extensive the edits are that's currently in progress for the final PDF version of ILGOSS.

--

It’s half past midnight when Wanda’s awoken by a loud, angry knock at her door. 

Her sleep riddled brain fails to notice how unusual it is for Sparky not to emerge from his dog house and start barking at the unexpected visitor. Her gut tells her it’s you, but just to be safe, she takes Sparky to the guest room, knowing how wary he is of strangers. 

“Who’s there?” Wanda’s voice echoes through the empty hall, voice hoarse from sleep and from yelling your name all over the neighborhood.

There’s no response, and yet, each thud against the door reverberates through the room, filling it with a sense of urgency and unease.

Startled and growing increasingly concerned, Wanda opens the door and–

It’s the stench of alcohol that welcomes her first. 

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were both entangled in a similar situation, albeit in reversed roles. The irony of the circumstances isn't lost on Wanda as she observes the unwavering and intense gaze you fix upon her. It's unclear to her how much you've had to drink to be able to find your way to her, but the determination in your eyes speaks volumes.

“Y/N, thank god you’re here. I was so worried–” Wanda tries to say, but the rest of her sentence dies on your lips. With one hand on the slope where her neck meets her shoulder, you push her roughly back inside her apartment, slamming and locking the door behind you with the other. 

You harshly nip at her lower lip before releasing it and growling, “This is what you want right? This is what you’ve been chasing me for all along?” 

Pinning her with a disdainful look, Wanda feels powerless to refute your allegations. Is that how you perceived this to be all along? How lowly your opinion of her has become? 

When she finds the courage to put the tiniest bit of space between you and her, you pull her flushed against your body to capture her swollen lips into another bruising kiss. The moan that escapes you both this time is irrefutable. Something tells Wanda that whatever she says between now and what’s going to happen next, will just be sucked into the abyss of retribution. And so, she gives in to the storm that is your feverish kisses and your hatred punctuating your every touch.

If she were being honest, she just wants to feel you. Logic and reason be damned. 

“Y/N!” Wanda mewls when you clumsily rub her through the fabric of her nightwear, pinching her clit as soon as you find it.

There’s no trace of tenderness in the way you maneuver Wanda and deposit her to the carpeted floor of her living room. 

There’s nothing gentle in the way you tug down her shorts, letting them pool around her ankles and yank her shirt up, exposing the swell of her breasts to the cool room air.

There’s only lust, and instinct, and vengeance in the painful entrapment of her hard nipple between your bared teeth. 

And Wanda loves it. 

It’s the punishment she didn’t know she had been craving for since the moment she invited Vision to her bed. If you needed to ruin her, Wanda would let you. She’d gladly take the beating if it means she gets to have even just a tiny fraction of you back–no matter how cruel this fraction of you might be. 

Every pulsation from her clit echoes the tempo of her racing heart. Your mouth, slick and fervent, descends onto her nipple, and your tongue drags languidly across in deliberate, lascivious strokes. The visual–the sheen of wetness, the very sensation of your mouth on her–makes her cheeks flame, and instinctively, her eyes drift away. But you're not about to let that happen.

Gripping her jaw firmly, you force her to witness what you’re doing to her. “Watch,” you demand, voice husky and heavy with desire. “Don't you dare look away.” 

Without breaking eye contact, you shift your attention, letting your drenched tongue lavish her other nipple, ensuring every inch of her feels that same overwhelming pleasure. Wanda's arousal pools beneath her, dampening the rug and every nerve ending draws her attention downwards, craving that much-needed release.

Wanda gasps when you slide back up abruptly, the rough friction of your shirt rubbing against her tender peaks. She smells the alcohol on your breath before she tastes it, as you pull her in for a dizzying kiss. You’re uncommonly disoriented in your movements, as if you keep deciding and then changing your mind on how you want her. 

As her fingers hesitantly make their way towards the fastening of your jeans, you're quick to intercept, pushing them away. With assertive hands, you grab hers, lifting and pinning them over her head, leaving her deliciously vulnerable.

You rarely make love to her when you’re drunk. You never liked the idea of being unfocused and uncoordinated when you touch her, and you were always afraid you’d accidentally do something that might make her uncomfortable or even hurt her. But now, as your fingers skim through her wetness, not caring if your nails scrape against her sensitive skin, Wanda understands. She understands what you’re capable of when you give up control and let pure instinct take over.

She understands how perfectly capable you are of hurting her–in all aspects. 

Wanda feels she’s wet enough, but it’s still painful when you enter her unceremoniously with two fingers. 

“Y/N, wait–” Wanda gasps as you start to quicken your thrusts before she’s fully adjusted. “S-Slow down.”

Yet, you seem lost in your own world, utterly intoxicated by the sight of your fingers disappearing inside your ex-wife's slick folds. Despite the initial discomfort, waves of pleasure soon drown out the pain, escalating with each thrust. Wanda's left clawing at the ground beneath her as your thumb starts circling her clit, sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through her.

Your fingers shift inside her, seeking out the textured area that she's most sensitive to. Wanda’s mouth falls open, warm puffs of air brushing so intimately against your chin. “Fuck, yes, right there–”

You pant against Wanda’s sternum, bitterly thinking that she will always be beautiful whether you’re seeing her through the lens of affection or loathing. 

Feeling how close she is, you add another finger into her. The fullness does nothing to abate the tightening in Wanda’s stomach. She squirms beneath you, nearly delirious from the mounting ecstasy, trying to trap your hand between her knees to still your movements. But you force her legs to stay splayed open, angling your fingers to continually target that particularly responsive spot inside her.

“Kiss me,” Wanda breathlessly begs, her words feathering over your damp forehead. But instead of meeting her lips, you trace your tongue along the shell of her ear, eliciting a shiver from her. Just as she seems to reach her peak, you pull back your fingers, halting all stimulation, leaving her teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

She groans in frustration, her chest heaving, eyes dark with need. “Why?” she manages to gasp out, her hips unconsciously seeking the lost contact.

You lean close, lips brushing her earlobe. “Because I can.”

Her breathing turns even more ragged. “Y/N,” she begins, but her plea is cut off as you slowly trail kisses down her body. Every inch you move feels like an eternity for her, every kiss you plant on her skin making her shiver and writhe beneath you. When you finally reach her core, you can see how her pussy clenches with desperate need.

Positioning yourself between her legs, you pull them apart gently but firmly, giving yourself a clear view of her glistening arousal. Without touching her, you take a moment to appreciate the sight, which elicits a whimper from her.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and dangerous, each word deliberate. “And you tell me this isn’t what you want?”

Your face inches closer to her, close enough for her to feel each exhale against her sensitive skin. She attempts to buck her hips upward, seeking your lips, but you force her down with a dominant hand, immobilizing her.

“Remember,” you whisper against her, causing her to twitch from the sensation, “You're not allowed to come... not until I say.”

This is it–your form of vengeance. But even in your cruelty, it's paradoxically centered around her pleasure.

She emits a sound that's halfway between a plea and a sob, her hands grasping the carpet for any semblance of control. “Please,” she manages to choke out, sounding more desperate than ever. You slide a finger up her slit, collecting her wetness, and then move it up to circle her clit, slowly and tantalizingly. “Hold it,” you challenge, locking eyes with her, pushing her to her very limits. “Hold it or you’ll never see me again.”

The threat almost sends her over the edge.

“I—I can't,” she stammers, tears forming in her eyes, both from the effort of holding back and the emotional weight of your words. But beneath that fear is a stubborn determination. She won't let herself fall, not when so much is at stake.

You smirk, leaning down, your breath teasing her skin. The sensation of it sends shivers down her spine, her body acutely aware of every point where your warm breath touches. You trace the softest of kisses on her inner thigh, watching her tense up in anticipation.

“Relax,” you murmur, voice dripping with false sweetness. “I'm just getting started.”

Her whimper is music to your ears, but she attempts to stifle it, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. You take your time, tracing lazy circles around her entrance with your tongue, but deliberately avoiding the place she wants you the most.

When you finally slide a finger into her, Wanda arches up, trying to chase the feeling, to get more. But you pin her hips down with your free hand, your fingers moving tantalizingly slow inside her. Her breath hitches as you curl them upwards, applying pressure to that sensitive spot.

Wanda's eyes screw shut, her moans spilling out uncontrollably now. Just as she's getting accustomed to the rhythm of your fingers, you press your tongue to her clit. Her entire body shudders, the dual assault threatening to push her over the precipice.

Her whimpers grow more frantic, “Please, Y/N... Please,” a broken mantra, pleading for mercy or release, perhaps even both. But you pull back just a fraction whenever she nears her climax, drinking in her desperation. You watch her intently, taking sadistic pleasure in every twitch, every moan, every teardrop that slips from her eyes. She's on a razor's edge, strung taut, teetering between madness and ecstasy.

She pants heavily, eyes darting around the room in pure desperation, her every nerve ending screaming for release. You can see it, the raw need in her eyes, and the way her body trembles uncontrollably. With an almost wicked grin, you dive back down between her thighs.

Her whole body tenses as your tongue works fervently against her swollen clit. Your fingers find their way back inside her, thrusting hard and fast, in sharp contrast to the tantalizing teasing you’d given her before.

“Y/N,” she moans out loudly, her voice breaking from the strain of holding back for so long. But you don’t give her any room to breathe; you press on, your motions frenzied and insistent.

“Come.”

And then, all at once, she shatters.

“Fuck, fuck! I’m coming!” Wanda cries, her hips bucking uncontrollably, her warm essence splashing onto your chin. Her back arches off the floor, her fingers clawing at the carpet, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. Her trembling arms wrap around your neck as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. You silently observe Wanda as she regains her breath, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. Her brown hair cascades over the floor, resembling a fallen angel consumed by the depths of the earth.

Wanda's face is stained with tears. However, it is only when she becomes conscious of a droplet landing on her nose that she realizes she is not the one shedding them. Cautiously, as if she’s afraid of what she might see, she opens her eyes and looks up at you.

It’s the only picture of vulnerability in you that she’ll see for the rest of the night, and her own eyes well up, struck by the realization that you can never hurt her the way she’s hurt you. 

You interpret the look on her face as pity and angrily wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. “This doesn’t mean anything to me.” you mutter scathingly, even as your lips quiver from the struggle of detaching yourself from your emotions. 

Wanda’s hands reach out to cradle your face. “I know,” she whispers.

“Then why are you agreeing to this?”

“I never stopped being yours,” Wanda whispers with a voice filled with fractures, and it's only your warm and solid presence that keeps her from falling apart. “It’s just how it is.”

You taste the bitterness in your tears, mixed with the metallic tang of blood from your lip from how harshly you’ve been biting down on it. How could she utter those words to you, knowing that someone else had gotten to know her so intimately in this manner? 

Whatever Wanda thought she did, no matter how many times she claimed it didn’t mean anything, however briefly it was–she gave bits of herself to Vision; her body, her mind, her words, her time. Those are the things that you can’t get back. Things you can’t replace. Things you can’t account for. 

Lies after lies, you think bitterly. 

And yet, it only intensifies your desire to claim her one more time. To remind her what she had traded away for illicit pleasure. To ruin her for everyone else.

“Again,” you demand, the mask of indifference returning to replace the face that Wanda loves the most. 

And that seals it–whatever this is. Wanda knows that this can’t end well.

But she couldn’t find it in her heart to care.

"Okay," she mumbles, her voice carrying weariness and resignation.

You wrap her shaking legs around your waist while your arms provide a secure embrace around her back. And then, with her clinging to you like a mindless puppet, you push yourself off the ground and onto your feet, Wanda along with a strength that astonishes both of you.

Wanda buries her head into the crook of your neck, hot tears slipping from her eyes as you carry her to the bedroom.

[fracturediron]

I haven't really had any standout favourites amongst the DFF characters and I don't really ship any of the canon ships in the usual sense (i.e. no obsessive brainrot, although I'm enjoying them all from a narrative perspective). But the bombshell that was ep 9 has finally made me latch onto a character. This guy:

Although not I think for the most common reason that has caused Tan/New's surge in popularity i.e. being Non's avenger. Because man, New is so much more than that. This kid is a hot mess who's lost everything he holds dear, filled with guilt for failing Non and then his family, seeking answers, revenge, redemption and now has nothing left to lose. I'm so here for it. New's character and his arc is just fucking fascinating to me. Kudos to Mio for playing it so subtle until now and then knocking it out of the freaking park for ep 9.

This kid was the golden child of his family and favoured at least by his mother, and yet clearly felt the pressure of those expectations.

And then! And then! His and Non's whole deal makes my brain buzz. I love me some tragic siblings with a yawning emotional gulf in understanding between them; of a relationship lost or a closeness that never quite made it, of a relationship of two brothers endlessly set against each other and damaged by their parents. A relationship where he failed Non in a litany of little ways by not being there for him, and one always inevitably overshadowed by the comparisons their parents made between them both.

And when Non disappears, New is overcome with guilt! For failing him, and for not being able to be there for him, and so he resolves to find out what happened to him. And he fucking commits to it! This guy throws away his scholarship, his life in England, to fucking redo highschool and infiltrate the gang of kids who bullied his brother! For two years, he hung around with these people pretending to like them and lied to his parents, only to have nothing to show for it and to lose even more when his mother kills herself, his father disowns him and then does the same! This shit would break the strongest of people (and I'd argue something in New is broken now) but he still finds it in himself to kickstart the plan that will bring hell down on these kids.

This kid has lost everything, and is clearly at a place of desperation and despair. But he's still not giving up. Even in the face of ruination and perhaps his own destruction, I feel like New will keep going on regardless if it means finding out what happened to Non. He'll do whatever it takes, burn the world, immolate himself, if it means making that happen.

I think ultimately, I love that New's a tragic, complex character who's been ruined by life and by his own doing, and through ruination, has come out of it unhinged, perhaps even something worse. Someone haunted by the ghosts of his lost family, by his failures and his guilt. Someone with so much potential for further tragedy, who'll likely destroy themselves relentlessly chasing his end goal and end in misery.

TLDR; I love me a haunted, broken, unhinged, fucked up li'l guy.

[littlemisspascal]

Getting Lost is Being Found

pairing: joel x female reader

rating: M. 18+ only.

word count: 5.4k

summary:

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

warnings: black dog/hellhound au with hints of a bigger plot that I'm too tired to dive into. reader is referenced as smaller + younger than Joel. alpha/omega dynamics. slices of life. time jumps. non-descriptive smut. fast burn/love at first sight. biting. blood. rough handling. language. non-major character death(s). thunderstorms. reference of reader's parents. nudity. sneaking in a CoD reference cuz why not

note: Trying to remember how to write for the fun of it. This is the result *awkwardly throws out into the universe*

i.

You stand on your bedroom’s balcony, concrete tiles cold beneath your bare feet. Your eyes look towards the horizon, fingers tightening around the wrought iron railing.

A storm brews. The sun is swiftly retreating behind the distant hills, leaving the city dark and cold in its wake. Electricity taints the air, the hair on the back of your neck prickling -

And then you hear it, harmonizing with the thunder’s rumblings, the ghastly howls of the Black Dogs chasing down the scent of their prey.

ii.

Nightspyre, for all its blackouts and seediness, isn’t the worst place to call home. Not when you’re collared and marked by an Alpha, not when your Alpha has stared Death in the eye and made Her flinch. Not when retaliation for every spilt drop of innocent blood emerges each sundown in the guise of hulking shadows and gleaming red eyes.

The collar had been your request. An old-fashioned tradition dating back centuries, replaced in recent years by sharper, more permanent means of securing a mate. Your mother, rest her soul, had treated her collar as her most prized possession every moment of her short life. Red velvet with a gold tag inscribed with your father’s name. Gone are the days Omegas gathered and gossiped over the patterns and colors adorning their necks. Bitemarks are the present trend, judged and compared by the size, placement, and number of teeth.

They’re advertised as the ultimate display of devotion. A lifelong promise between an Alpha and their chosen mate. A claim warning off others from sniffing too closely. Simply put: a marked Omega is a loved Omega. 

But you learned the hard way when people saw your mark, they didn't see love. They saw something cruel. Something monstrous.

Only when you began wearing a collar you'd fallen in love with after seeing it in the window of a thrift store, adorned with faint golden moons and stars, did the concerned looks and judgmental whispers gradually stop. Convinced them maybe your Alpha wasn't so heartless as they initially believed.

After all, everyone knows monsters don't know how to be gentle. It goes against their very nature. Everything they touch dies an agonizing death.

iii.

“Do you think it’s possible? To know someone your whole life and also know nothing about them at all?” you ask, fingertips tracing the jagged edges of the bite beneath the curve of your collarbone. It’s a hideous thing made in a frenzied moment of raw need, consequentially stained your favorite sheets irredeemably scarlet. 

Your Alpha looks up from where he’d been dragging his tongue over the knob of your hip bone, replying, “Of course.” He moves to hover over you, bracketing your head with his arms, fogging your senses with his distinct scent of petrichor and woodsmoke. “As long as lies exist, no one’s ever truly known. Just pieces of ‘em.”

“Pieces, huh?” You touch his face now, thumb lifting his upper lip in the semblance of a snarl, revealing a glimpse of too-sharp teeth. “I wouldn’t mind collecting more of yours, Jo–”

A warning nip to your hand, blood hot under the surface. “Careful what you wish for.”

iv.

Lightning bathes the living room in a flash of white. Outside the city is wet and dismal, but here, inside, it’s flickering candlelight, and your Alpha is pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, body more shadow than flesh, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to pretend the hand on your cheek has fingers instead of claws.

v.

Three years ago you first saw Joel during one of the worst storms in Nightspyre’s long history. You’d been new to the city after finishing your degree and securing a job there, still a rookie navigator of its maze of cobblestone streets and alleyways. The weather was a fickle tormentor, you quickly learned, swapping between dry heat and violent downpour seemingly at whim. You’d entered a restaurant for a late supper in cloudless twilight, and exited an hour later to bone-chilling rain hurtling down from a pitch black sky. And it had been a miserable discovery for you to make whilst shivering beneath the front entry of an abandoned church, paint-chipped with boarded up windows, that absolutely nothing looked familiar in the rain. For all you knew, you’d tripped and stumbled into a completely different world.

A lightning bolt streaked across the sky, your eyes following its descent from the heavens, and that was when you first saw it. A black dog prowling amongst the faded and cracked tombstones, tail unnaturally stiff, seeming completely indifferent to the pouring rain—and ‘dog’ seemed like an insulting descriptive at the time, too small and domestic for the behemoth canine, but calling it a wolf didn’t settle right with you either. It was…it was…

It was staring right at you now, crimson eyes cutting across the distance and the darkness like searchlights. You froze, heart lodged in your throat, and it was such a bizarre thing, to be in the presence of something as simultaneously terrifying as it was so eerily beautiful. And the longer you stared, the more convinced you became that this was no ordinary creature. There was a dreamlike quality to its appearance, blurry around the edges, like it could change shapes at any second. 

Fuck, maybe you had tripped into a completely different world.

Another bolt of lightning bathed the cemetery yard in white light, the dog’s figure caught in the flash. Its black fur was thick around its neck, adding further bulk to its already broad body, and completely dry all over despite the puddle forming at its paws. You heard the uptick of your rampant heartbeat. Instinct screamed at you to run, but something else made you stay. A conviction you both were meant to share this moment together.

And it scared you how much that belief didn’t scare you.

Darkness swallowed the light again, taking the red eyes with it. You remember how you’d stood there until the clouds changed from black to gray, rain losing some of its vicious sting upon striking your skin, and you’d returned home in a numbed state of exhaustion and confusion. In the days that followed, you didn’t get sick from the incident, not even so much as a sniffle, adding another layer of oddness to the whole ordeal. And that dog…you couldn’t shake it from your mind. 

You wanted to know more about it. Any and every last scrap of detail you could find.

vi.

Welcome back! Your recent internet searches:

black dog breeds

massive black dogs with red eyes

black dog folklore

hellhounds

People also searched for:

fairy hounds

perro negro

okuri-inu

the hound of the baskervilles

dogs in folklore, religion and mythology

vii.

“You realize how ridiculous you sound, right?” Abe told you, wiping at his glasses with a cloth, a nervous twitch in his fingers. “The Black Dogs are a silly legend to scare children. Anyone who says they’re real is selling something.”

“I’ll tell Professor Ratna you said that,” you replied with a smirk.

Your quest for answers revealed everyone had an opinion one way or the other on the topic of massive red-eyed, dark-furred canines. Most thought they were myths limited to the boundaries of their pages in books or the online web. A few though, spoke in hushed murmurs, casting around wary glances, as if afraid of accidentally summoning one from the depths of the earth. Others talked with booming voices and gesticulating hands, telling you everything you wanted to hear like they’d been waiting for this conversation their whole lives. 

One homeless drunkard who dwelled in the alleyway next to 57th Street Tavern explained through slurred words, “I’ve seen ‘em, twice I have. They’re big brutes, shaking the ground when they walk. But–but they leave nothing behind. No tracks. Scary fuckers, they are. And they know it–they feast off fear, then they feast on flesh.”

You asked him how he’d lived through the close encounters unscathed and he shrugged off the question. “I ain’t never hurt nobody. The folks they hunt down, they’re already going to hell. The Dogs just bring ‘em there faster.”

You’d visited Professor Ratna next, catching the older woman in-between classes during her lunch break. She’d politely entertained your inquiry rather than outright scoff at it as the rest of the university faculty had done. “My specialty is mycology, not folklore, so I am no expert on the subject,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “That being said, I’d urge you to be cautious if you’re going to continue going around asking these questions. Few things happen in this city the Dogs don’t know about.”

“Makes it sound like they’re keeping the city hostage.”

She set down her teacup and looked you straight in the eye. “No, my dear. They are what keeps the city safe.”

You had left her office even more unsure of your own convictions than you’d felt when you arrived.

“Well, if you’re ever unlucky enough to come across one, run the other way as fast as you can,” Abe said, hesitantly looking up to meet your gaze. “Don’t even think about trying to pet it.”

The thought honestly hadn’t crossed your mind until then. It sounded like the quickest surefire way to lose a hand, perhaps even the whole limb. But if you had taken the chance at the church, you couldn’t help but what would the pelt have felt like –

Thick, dense fur like other canines? Or deceptively smooth and oily like a serpent’s scales?

(The answer, as it turns out, is a curious mix of both.)

viii.

The next day, a man knocked on your front door. He was tall, body thick with muscle and marked with smatterings of freckles and–oh. Your gaze stopped on his abdomen, refusing to dip any lower as realization turned your brain to mush. 

He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Nude as the day he was born.

He wasn’t saying anything either, brown eyes sweeping over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. In another setting, preferably one without nakedness, perhaps over a candlelit dinner, you would have been flattered by the attention but as it was –

Pressing closer against the safety of the door, you took a tentative sniff of the air. His Alpha scent knocked into you like a tidal wave, barely stifling a reflexive whine in your throat. He smelled like thunderstorms, electric and pungent, like wet grass and ozone all blended together. And something else beneath the surface, something distinctly fiery. Smoky. God, you wanted to drown in that scent.

But first things first –

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The Alpha’s nostrils flared, followed by a low rumble from the depths of his chest that had your grip on the door tightening to keep you from doing something embarrassing  (shamelessly flinging yourself at him came to mind). “I followed your scent. Mint and vanilla.” Another inhale, deeper this time, eyes darkening. “Sassafras.”

His voice was hoarse, grating. Sounded like he hadn’t used it in months, maybe even years.

Your thoughts deserted you again, leaving you to dumbly stare at him for a moment. “Um.”

You’d dated a couple Alphas in the past, nothing that ever developed seriously and that was mostly due to the fact they all didn’t like your scent. Scent-compatibility was an essential factor when it came to bonding–after all, you’d be smelling that scent for the rest of your lives together so it was better to be a pleasing one. One described it as boring, another said it was too clean. Whatever that meant.

But this Alpha—this strange, heavenly-smelling, unfairly attractive man liked your scent enough he followed it all the way to your front door. 

“I–uh,” you blinked once, twice, slowly rebooting your brain, “what was your name again?”

The question had a curious effect on the man, emotions rippling across his face, one after the other, looking lost, but only for an instant, before he swallowed thickly, throat bobbing in a distracting manner.

“It’s Joel.” The corner of his mouth dipped. “I think.”

“You think?” you echoed, eyebrows raising. Who didn’t know their own name?

He lapsed back into silence, but there was a defensive edge to it that wasn’t there before. 

You exhaled a quiet breath and gave him a scrutinizing look, gaze dragging all the way from his head to his dirty bare feet and back up again without pausing on any…intimate areas. You wished you could peel back his layers, cut straight through the weird aura and iron defenses and find out what was there at his center that he’d hidden away.

It must be something incredibly precious, you thought. 

Or something shockingly hideous.

“Tell me, Joel,” you crossed your arms to hide your trembling hands, “have we met before?”

The Alpha tilted his head, midafternoon sunlight turning the dark of his eyes into liquid gold. He swallowed again, then quietly admitted, “Once. A couple nights ago…”

You found yourself leaning closer. He didn’t move away. You could almost taste the rain, the howling wind, the thunderclaps, the lightning, everything wild clinging to his skin. 

“Are you–” You cut yourself off, glancing away. You worried your bottom lip for a moment, hesitant to release the words burning on your tongue, scared of their potentially devastating influence. 

“You’ve been asking an awful lot of questions around town, Sass,” Joel said, soft as a caress. “Haven’t you figured it out by now?”

And that – well, that just about confirmed every last suspicion you had.

When you finally brought yourself to open your mouth, it wasn’t a question that came out. It was a fact, simple and blunt. “You’re one of them.”

“I am,” he replied, the sun still emblazoning him in radiant light. Almost made it hurt to look at him. “But I never wanted to be a human again until I saw you.”

ix.

“Any regrets, Sass?” Joel asks in the midnight hours.

“Hmm?” You curl closer, ear pressed against the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“If you’d known it’d be like this,” he whispers into your hair. “Would you have run away if you had the chance?”

“Maybe,” you say, and you feel more than see the sudden tension roll through his body, shielding himself from the hurt. “But I would’ve found my way back sooner or later. I’d miss you too much.”

Joel says nothing, doesn’t have to. The way he presses you into the mattress, moves inside you, against you, with roaming hands and searing kisses, becoming one — speaks volumes more than words could ever convey.  

x.

The south side of Nightspyre is a haven for smugglers and thugs, consisting of multiple rows of derelict warehouses and an understaffed police presence, half concealed in the smog produced by the factory district. The streets are sticky with unknown substances beneath your shoes, each breath burning the inside of your nose.

“Gets prettier every time I visit,” Tess says wryly, standing next to you and looking at a spray-painted dick on the side of a dumpster.

You shoot your friend an amused look. Her brown hair’s half-up in a bun, she’s tough as nails, and carries at least four concealed weapons on her person at any given point. Female Alphas aren’t a common sight in the city, but Tess’ intimidating presence fends off the inappropriate comments, striking fear into the hearts of even the biggest Alphas with one icy glare. She’s the perfect ally to have by your side.

“Let’s just grab Joel and get out of here.” You pick up the pace. Your eyes note the different colored ribbons hanging from the overhead telephone wires. Each represents an illegal activity, whether it be gambling or drugs. If one knows their code, these ribbons act as a map of the district.  

Tess holds a hand up, stopping at a crossroads. You watch as she looks to the left, center, and right, then up at the ribbons–red, orange, and black respectively. The code regularly changes depending on the month or weather or local events, memorized by those who frequently visit the area, but there is one warning that will never be made different.

“Beware the path marked by the ribbon dyed black,” you recite quietly. “For if you follow it, you’ll surely become the next meal of the pack.”

“Sure you don’t wanna grab a drink instead?” Tess asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the orange ribbon. 

You say nothing, adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag, and turn right – trusting that your friend will follow close behind, watching your back as she always has since you first met.

xi.

It's a wonder that there's enough of the body left to investigate, you think, crouching behind a car that smells overwhelming of weed and watching a group of men in police uniforms toss around ideas about who or what killed the dismembered and burnt corpse.

Deaths like this, they're how the myth of the Black Dogs continues to circulate and gain credence amongst the locals. The police, on the other hand, refuse to acknowledge them or the black ribbons pointing the way. They'll claim any other excuse under the sun - rabid wildlife, homicidal rage fueled by drugs or alcohol, deranged serial killers, hell even lightning strikes - but to openly admit beasts of folklore are responsible for the high fatality rate? Not a fucking chance.

They've tried setting traps a few times, reassuring folks they'll catch whatever savage thing is responsible for making the streets run red with blood. "Don't worry," they always say. "We have everything under control."

It’s you who should be worried, you want to retort, images flickering through your mind of sharpened teeth and paws the size of tires. Only a fool attempts to catch a hurricane in a glass jar. 

xii.

It’s another forty-five minutes before you find him.

You slide down a steep slope of dead grass, fresh mud from last night’s storm painting the sides of your pants, seeping into your shoes, almost dragging you face-first into the brown sludge of Pickett’s River if not for Tess’ fast reflexes. Eyes on the culvert pipe, you grit your teeth, remind yourself why you’re here, and step forward into the mess of sewage and soil and rainwater. Disgust is immediate, soaked above your knees, but you force yourself to take another step and another and another until you reach the large, ebony mass lying at the culvert’s gaping mouth, black mist emanating from his heaving flank.

“There you are,” you murmur, dropping to your knees near the muzzy outline of his head. Triangular ears twitch before they are concealed in a haze of shadow again. Your heart sinks, forcing a bit of levity into your tone. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, yeah? Our backyard is a helluva lot nicer than this shithole.”

“I’ll build a doghouse for him myself if it’ll save me from getting dragged outta bed at this ungodly hour,” Tess offers from somewhere behind you.

She’s smart enough to stay back, especially when the sound of her voice has eyes snapping open in a blaze of red, immediately narrowing into smoldering slits, lips curling back from bloodstained teeth, snarling in challenge. 

“None of that,” you scold, followed by a bop against his nose with your finger. He stills, some of the feral luster clearing from his eyes. His body remains primed to fight, muscles coiled, lingering side effects from last night’s hunt. “It’s over. It’s a new day.” A hot breath of air wafts over your face, flooding your nostrils with a concoction of coppery blood, damp earth, and sulfur. “Fucking hell, that’s awful. You, Alpha mine, need a toothbrush. No, scratch that, you need to gargle bleach to get that nastiness out of your mouth. Ugh.”

Joel shoves his head forward, rumbling a deep, guttural note as his wet nose pressed against the vulnerable tendon of your throat, a hint of teeth grazing your pulse. If not for the bitemark under your shirt and the history of early mornings identical to this one spanning across the course of your relationship, perhaps you might have screamed or fainted in fright. Given the circumstances though, you merely tilt your head back further, allowing him to drink his fill of your scent until he remembers.

He had explained once, his human memories were like sand in this form, his mind an hourglass torn between two lives. Your scent triggers the reset, tipping everything right side up again, memories falling back into place until the next hunt steals them back again.

You know when it clicks because Joel’s breath hitches, a violent shudder rippling along his spine. It’s always agonizing, watching him transform, listening to the grinding and splintering of bones and sinew realigning themselves. The cloud of obsidian mist begins to lighten, the once ambiguous outline of a colossal beast slowly, so painstakingly slowly merging into a man – naked, trembling from the aftershocks, clinging to consciousness by his own stubborn will. 

Brown eyes meet yours, blood smeared across his mouth and beard. “Sass,” he says, a dry rasp sending a wave of warmth all the way down to your frozen and wet toes. “Aren’t you getting tired of coming after me yet?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, smiling. “I think it’s good for our relationship. Keeps things interesting.”

He snorts. “Interesting. Sure, that’s a word for it. How many times’ it been this week? Two, three?”

“Four,” Tess chimes in, punctuated by a pair of jeans striking Joel square in the face.

“Mornin’ Tess,” is the low, sheepish response from your Alpha. He pulls the pants off his head, hair ruffled every which way. “Didn’t see you there. Is that a new haircut? It’s nice. Suits you.”

Your friend hums, unimpressed. She used to think you were cute together, that the twang of his accent was amusing, but after eight months of accompanying you in retrieving his naked ass from various sordid and revolting sites around Nightspyre she’s become immune to his charms.

You pull out a shirt and shoes from your own bag. “We’ve gotta get a move on. Police already think you’re strange. Don’t need to give ‘em another reason to dislike you.”

“Four hunts in one week,” Joel mutters under his breath as he begins dressing, a disturbed look in his eye, and you hear what he isn’t saying, unspoken words weighing heavily upon your chest like individual stones.

Four more damned souls.

xiii.

Sometimes you can’t find him the morning after a hunt, losing him amongst the creeping shadows, and you’re forced to wait, anxious and helpless, until there’s another storm, another hunt, another death to reunite with him. 

Those times, the house feels too empty and your bitemark aches something fierce, a brand seared against your skin. Nightmares plague your sleep until your sheets are a tangle of sweat and tears. The cloudless blue skies and starry nights are further personal insults, mocking your heartache.

xiv.

It’s a tricky concept to wrap your head around, the idea that Joel had once been a human decades, perhaps centuries ago. Time isn’t something Black Dogs keep track of and Nightspyre’s historical archives are in the city hall’s basement which floods every other rainfall. He’s older than you, that’s something you can confidently say. Less confidently you can guesstimate he was probably in his late thirties when he was turned.

Your first year together you tried to piece together his story, pestering him with whatever question crossed your mind. Were you born here? What were your parents like? Any siblings? Hobbies? Your attempts proved mostly unrewarding though - his memories of that life are few and flimsy, giving him a headache if he thinks about them too long - and by now you’ve learned he prefers to make new memories than dwell in the past.

The day he knocked on your door becomes his birthday. He turns forty and who gives a fuck if it’s accurate or not, certainly not either of you. You celebrate with cake and ice cream topped with hot fudge.

“My mother used to make cake like this,” Joel says after swallowing a bite. You look at him, your own spoon hovering in front of your mouth, ice cream threatening to melt, but his eyes are glossed over, lost in a memory, and you can’t bring yourself to move, scared of disrupting the moment. “She added chocolate chips in it. Made it sweeter. She’d let me lick the batter from the spoon.”

An image of a young Joel forms unbiddenly in your mind. You can imagine him hovering at his mother’s side, waiting patiently as she scoops and pours and mixes the ingredients, how wide he’d grin when he finally got his prize, smearing chocolatey goodness across his mouth.

“Your ice cream’s melting,” Joel’s voice yanks you back to the present.

You blink a few times, reconciling the child in your head with the Alpha in front of you, then look down at your spoon where, sure enough, the ice cream’s more of a liquid than a solid, blending with the cake and fudge in a gooey swirl. You stick it in your mouth, not really tasting, not really thinking except -

Next year you’ll remember to buy chocolate chips.

xv.

A horde of ominously gray clouds accumulates on the horizon, blotting out the sun. Standing together on the balcony, Joel drapes himself over your backside, chin on your shoulder, both your gazes locked ahead.

“Death is becoming greedy,” you say, mouth coated in bitter venom. You don’t care if She overhears, so long as you carry his mark you’re untouchable. Not even Her powers can disentwine your souls. Where one goes, the other will follow - and she needs Joel too much at the moment to let him go just yet.

“It’s not Her. There’s something else poisoning the city, rotting it from the inside out…” Joel trails off, interrupted by the first drizzling drops of rain, the distant clap of thunder summoning his alternate form to the surface. His fingers flex against your waist, forcibly swallowing down the growl building in his chest with an audible gulp.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

You don’t say tomorrow morning. Not anymore. It’s too specific, too painful when it doesn’t come true.

“See you in the morning,” he echoes, and gently turns your head, sealing the vow with a kiss. It’s chaste, sweet, foreheads coming to rest against each other, savoring the moment even as the rain pelts your skin and clothes. “Go on, get inside and get warmed up. And no matter what you hear—”

“Don’t go outdoors,” you finish, pressing one last kiss against his jaw. 

xvi.

Joel starts to age again. It’s a slow, gradual process for his body to remember what it means to be human. He still heals unnaturally fast, still answers Death’s call whenever there’s a soul to collect, but - 

There are flecks of gray peppered in his beard. Along his temples. They turn silver when the light hits them just right. Never once does he make an effort to shave them off or dye them. 

He needs glasses when he reads. It shouldn’t be possible yet somehow the dark frames make him look even hotter, especially late at night when they’re perched on the brim of his nose as those perfect lips silently mouth along with the words of whatever genre-of-the-week has snagged his attention.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask abruptly one morning. Joel’s in the middle of peeling oranges, making an attempt at adding more fruit to both your diets, and the kitchen air is oversaturated with citrus. “Dying?”

His hands pause, pensive lines creasing his forehead. It’s a sign he’s thinking hard about his answer, giving it the necessary time to form and develop. You wait, perched on the kitchen stool, pushing your toes against the floor to keep your leg from bouncing anxiously.

“I already died once, remember? This,” he says, gesturing towards his gray hairs and then at the house as a whole. “This isn’t dying, Sass. Not for me.”

You lean forward with your arms upon the counter. “What is it for you then?”

He looks at you for a long second, soft and fond, and smiles. “This is me finally living.”

xvii.

Loving Joel is easy, you learn. As natural as waking up with the morning sun, as necessary as drawing breath into the depths of your lungs. You don’t believe much in fate or destiny, but there are moments where he looks at you, like he can’t believe you’re the one who's real, and it feels like it’s always supposed to have been you and him. 

“Of all the churches in all the world,” you quietly laugh under your breath one night, head resting on his stomach. 

His hand stills in the middle of stroking a warm line down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shift just enough to press a kiss against his sternum, smiling to yourself at the hitch of his breath. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

Joel’s hand continues its movements again, but this time when it goes back up it carries on past your shoulder, pads of his fingers dipping into the teeth indentation marks there. 

And you know he’s thinking the same.

xviii.

Joel’s sliding home inside of you, all scorching heat and possessive growls, face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, nails cutting scratches deep into his skin, drawing blood. They’ll be gone before he’s done with you. Damn healing factor, a blessing and a curse.

“I want to be like you,” you murmur carelessly against the hinge of his jaw, mouthing a kiss that’s more tongue than lips.

“No,” Joel grunts, and then he’s moving back, pulling out of you. You whine, a pathetic and desperate high-pitched plea of an Omega trying to appease her Alpha, to call him back to fill the emptiness threatening to devour you alive. He ignores it, grabbing at your face with a large hand, forcing you to look at him, really look and fuck, you’ve never seen him like this before.

That emotion in his eyes, dark and gleaming and intense – it’s fear.

“You don’t want to be like me, Sass. You can never be like me,” Joel says, and he doesn’t even try to mask the tremble in his voice. “I won’t allow it.”

You reach a hand up, purposefully slow and obvious in its approach, and curl your fingers around his wrist. He loosens his hold instantly, exhaling a ragged, shuddering breath like you’ve stabbed him.

“Okay,” you say, and that’s all.

His face is wet when it buries against your neck again.

xix.

There’s a secluded house on the city outskirts, an unextraordinary two-story dwelling with a yellow front door and a stepping stone pathway, known to its pair of inhabitants simply as home. 

Most mornings you can be found in the front yard, humming a song from your youth while painting your next masterpiece. Joel will sit in the shade on the porch steps, coffee in hand, watching you watching the world. There are plans to build a greenhouse in the back, another hideaway to retreat to when the world feels just a bit too large. A bit too bloody.

xx.

“It’s going to hurt,” Joel warned you, six months after you’d first met, peppering kisses against your shoulder.

For as many strides as Nightspyre’s made keeping up with modern law changes and customs, out here amongst the untamable hills and freak electrical storms people remained convinced the best and safest life for an Omega was at an Alpha’s side.

Unclaimed Omegas didn’t last long in Nightspyre. If an Omega didn’t find a mate themselves, then one was found for them. Didn't matter if they didn't like each other, if their scents didn't match. Having an Alpha mate was an Omega's golden ticket to a better life - or, at the very least, a larger cage where the bars weren’t so easily seen.

“Not from you,” you panted, tilting your head to grant him more access. He was still an enigma to you, so many layers left to unwrap, but you knew there was no one else in the world you wanted more as your mate than him. No one else made you feel the way he did. “It won’t hurt if it’s from you.”

His hands pinned your arms down, making you gasp, and then - then there were sharp teeth slicing through skin, biting, claiming, intertwining your lives together irreversibly.

You were his. And he was yours.