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[coqvttes]

୨୧― 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧. 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧

୨୧˚ synopsis : kento takes you out shopping for new lingerie for the day, and he just can’t help himself when you try it on for him.

୨୧˚ warnings: nsfw 16+ only, fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!nanami, p in v, fluff, petnames, creampie, soft sex, lmk if i forgot anything!

୨୧˚ wc : 1.1k for anon's request <3

୨୧˚ taglist : @satinwithsilk , @luvv4evaabaemh !

“ohh! kento what about this one? there’s a little pink bow in the middle!”

you spin around to kento and hold the underwear for him to see, looking up at him through your lashes expectantly.

kento finds himself in a predicament when he feels his trousers tightening slightly. gosh, you make it so difficult for him to keep himself respectable when you look at him like that and bat your eyelashes at him, waving a pair of panties in his face.

he composes himself before he speaks.

“yes, very pretty. why don’t you put them in the basket, hm?”

a wide grin adorns your features as he holds the basket out for you and you drop them in there.

“thank you, ken!”

after many more credit card swipes and shopping bags that kento insisted on carrying for you, you find yourself spoilt rotten as drives home, shopping bags serviced in the backseat.

“did you have a nice time shopping, love?” he asks as he focuses on the road, sparing you a side glance with a gentle smile as you beam at him.

“mhm! thank you, kento, for all the nice things you got me.”

“that’s alright, baby, i just wanna spoil you a bit.”

he chuckles as his hand moves from the wheel to rest on your thigh, his thumb tenderly rubbing on your exposed skin. your hand moves on top of his to squeeze it appreciatively, and he glaces at you to offer you a handsome smile that makes your heart swoon.

but nanami can only play the gentleman for so long. once he gets you in the privacy of your bedroom, he’s all over you, coming up to you from behind, unbuttoning his navy blue shirt as you try on your new lingerie, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he dips his head down to trail wet kisses from your shoulder to your jaw.

he backs you up till your knees hit the edge of the bed, and he shrugs his shirt off, displaying his toned abdomen as you shuffle back into the bed, giving him room to climb onto you, his arms on either side of your head as he leans in close.

you smile as you pull him in for a kiss, your lips moving with his fervently before he’s slowly tugging the band of the panties to the side, his rough fingers ghosting over the wetness of your slit as you let out a soft sigh against his mouth.

a smile plays on his lips as he gauges your reaction, retreating his fingers to pull the leather of his belt out of the buckle before he unzips his trousers, pulling them down along with his briefs.

“you want it, baby?” he asks as his hand moves to pump himself a few times, lining himself up to your leaking entrance as he gazes into your eyes for consent.

“yes, please, kento." your words come out more desperate than you intended, but you don’t care; the want for him only increases with every moment that passes with him, not inside you.

you brace yourself as your palms fly to his broad shoulders, holding onto him as he pushes in slowly. a deep groan resonating from within his throat as his eyes squeeze shut, your warmth welcoming him as he bottoms out inside you.

after a moment of catching your breath and a nod from you, he slowly pulls out a little before plunging back into you. the feeling causing a soft moan to fall from your lips as you tilt your head back in pleasure.

he builds a slow pace, driving his pelvis into you as he holds your legs up from under your knees. your head falls back into the pillows as a knot begins to form within your core, one of his hands moving from the pillow to your sternum slowly sliding up before he slips his hand into your bra, groping your soft flesh.

his thumb rubbing over your nipple elicits a high-pitched whine from you as he leans down to swallow it greedily. he speeds up a little, not wanting to be rough but wanting to increase your pleasure.

“o-oh yes, kento!”

he pulls away, tenderly pressing kisses up your jaw to your ear, and his voice is deep and throaty as his lips ghost over your earlobe.

“mhmm? yeah?  that feel good, baby?”

your sweet noises only spur him on as your legs wrap tighter around him, pulling him flush against you as if he could get any closer.

you feel yourself sinking impossibly deeper and deeper into the mattress as he rolls his hips deliciously into yours. the pace is sensual and intimate as the room suddenly feels hotter.

he rests his forehead against yours as a sweaty strand of blonde hair falls over his cheekbones, framing his eyes as he gazes into yours. you reach up to move the hair out of his face, and he quickly takes the opportunity to lean down and capture your lips in a breathtaking kiss.

you let out a soft sigh as he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping against yours in a passionate dance. his grip on the bedsheets tightens as he holds himself back from pounding into you mercilessly.

the knot in your tummy tightens as your whines become harder and harder to contain until you can’t anymore, your nails digging into his shoulders just the way he likes as you chant his name like a prayer.

within seconds, the knot comes undone and your body spasms in his arms as his pace doesn’t falter, chasing his own release before his hips begin to stutter. your back arches off the bed, pressing your breasts into his chest, only adding to his pleasure before he finally gets his release.

he lets out a guttural moan, and his warmth spills inside you as his hands tighten on your waist. shirt strands of hair falling onto his face as he catches his breath, letting out a deep chuckle as he catches you staring up at him with a lovesick smile.

when he pulls out, his cums spills out of you and gets all over your new underwear, and you whine as you look down.

“kento, these were brand new!”

“‘m sorry i ruined your new underwear, baby, i’ll get you a new one. don’t worry. i promise.”

he’ll just have to buy you another one, and you can try it on so he can ruin you them again. <3

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ all works belong to © coqvettes 2024. i do not give permission to claim, translate or copy any of my works. reblogs are appreciated!

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 21 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You toss and turn, of course, utterly unable to sleep.

Your body does not get the memo that it’s a bad idea to fuck a man like John Wick, who is a killer who is holding you prisoner, and refuses to simmer down. You are uncomfortably swollen between your legs, your pussy aching with frustration, and in the wee hours of the morning you are certain you are about to lose your goddamn fucking mind.

 How is he really going to fucking know?

This is the stupid little thought that plays through your tired brain as you writhe beneath the covers, running hands up over your torso, pretending they are his.

Imagining his touch tweaking the sensitive tips of your nipples, his fingers buried inside you, seeking that sensitive place that drives you wild.

Yours are too soft, too small, not long enough or thick enough by half.

You try to trick yourself that it’s his unrelenting touch circling your clit, furious in his claiming of your pleasure as his own…

It’s not enough by half, and the release that washes over you is a paltry consolation at best, a weak pleasure that you know is a sad facsimile of the real thing. Still, you can’t stop yourself from sighing his name, and how has he mind-fucked you so royally in such a short amount of time?

It pisses you off, and in a last act of defiance for the night you flip off the camera high in the corner.

He’s probably not watching anyway. He’s probably asleep, snug in his bed with Dog, the bastard.

Feeling sad and not really sated at all, you curl into a ball and try to finally get some rest. It’s lonely in this big bed all by yourself, and by the time sleep finally claims you your pillow is damp with tears.

-When finally you wake in the morning, you are cold. The covers are down around your waist, and your shoulders ache, your arms at an odd angle out in front of you.

You never sleep like this.

There’s something on your wrists.

You open your eyes, blinking away the blur of sleep. Your vision focuses on something red.

A very neat line of shibari style knots encircles your wrists and half your forearms. They would have been beautiful, in a different setting. Like, not on your body, without your consent.

They’re not so tight to cut off your circulation, but they’re not exactly comfortable either. You strain against the silk rope, and find you can’t budge them.

You are so fucked.

“I warned you.”

John is sitting in the chair in the corner, watching you. He’s wearing all black again, a button down and slacks this time. Looking his best for you, or does he have somewhere to be? It’s not something you would have paid attention to before, but this morning, you can’t help but fixate on the fact that he’s wearing a leather belt.

Because you’re an idiot, you snipe anyway, “Wow, looks like someone earned his merit badge in macramé.”

He just smirks at you, the beautiful bastard.

“I’ve got more than a badge, honey.”

“Very funny. Untie me.”

“You’ll have to earn it, bad girl.”

Your heart skitters around in your chest as you wonder what that means.

He goes on, “Did you really think I wouldn’t see you last night?”

“Guess I assumed you’d be sleeping. It was way past your bedtime.”

He scoffs at the old man dig, leaning forward on his knees, fixing you with that hawkish gaze. “I found out I only sleep well with you in my arms, darling. Wouldn’t that have been nice last night?”

Yes, it would have. However, you just frown at him.

“So, was it worth it?” he pushes.

You sigh, half tempted to tell him how utterly unsatisfying your little session of self-indulgence had been. Rather than answer him, you look at the knots again. They really are beautiful. It makes you think of the book binding shop you’d visited in Florence, and the complicated stitches and knots they used to affix the signatures of pages together.

This man likes binding all kinds of things, it seems.

“Are you hungry?”

Only then do you notice that he has a plate of breakfast foods on the little table beside him. Eggs, toast, and bacon. A little plastic cup that might be water or juice. Your tummy answers with a rumble. Dog did eat your dinner last night, and John never offered you a replacement sandwich. At the time you’d been too worked up about…everything, to care.  

“Maybe.”

He huffs a little laugh at you. “Come here.” He pats his knee, and you realize he wants you to sit on his lap—so he can feed you. A little growl in the back of your throat escapes you, and it only makes his smirk widen.

“God, you’re adorable when you’re angry.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grouse.

You are starving, and you both know it.

“Come. Here.”

There’s that chilling tone of voice again. It does not fail to fill your veins with ice, your heart skipping a beat before skittering irregularly in your chest. You’ve come to understand that it means playtime is over.

You are so fucked.

It is awkward, getting out of the bed with your wrists tied like this. You almost fall on your face, your foot getting tangled in the sheet. From John’s forbidding expression, you don’t think he would have caught you from hitting the floor this time.

You are still only dressed in the thin nightie, and the air is cold on your skin. Your nipples tighten, forming sharp peaks beneath the fabric, the silk lending agonizing friction that makes you want to press your thighs to relieve some of the sudden ache between them.

Last night so did not help you with this problem, and John’s eyes fixating on them does not help either, and you wonder if you’ll be in trouble when you stain his neat looking pants leg with your slick after sitting on him.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone much gentler this time.

Defeated, you shuffle forward, letting him guide you to perch on his knee with a hand on your hip. You barely manage to suppress a shudder as possessively his hand slides just under your skirt, resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. His long fingers are so close to your center, but he makes no move, letting you stew in it.

Bastard.

Only then do you turn to look at him, finding his gaze fixed on your face. “Good morning.”

When you say nothing in return he lifts one eyebrow, and you swear, this man will be the death of you out of frustration alone.

“Good morning,” you finally return, hating the meek timbre of your tone.

“Do you like scrambled eggs?” You nod, and he scoops up a forkful. You notice the fork is plastic, and you wonder if its for your safety, or for his.

He’s clearly never seen Hot Tub Time Machine.

“I would have taken you to breakfast in Venice, but someone had to run away.”

“Well, someone was an insufferable prig the night before,” you return primly, wondering what punishment this will earn you, unable to stop yourself from saying it anyway. He actually smirks at this, though his grip tightens a bit in warning on your thigh. Not enough to hurt, but oh.

You are definitely leaving a wet spot on his trousers, and you hate yourself a little more for it.

You finish your breakfast bite by bite like the good girl you’re apparently not. It was good, if not the weirdest seating arrangement you’ve ever endured. You tremble inside, as you wonder what he has in mind for you next, now that your energy is up and you are trussed like a holiday goose for his pleasure.

You couldn’t be more surprised, than when he deposits you on the bed, kisses your cheek, and bids you, “Have a nice day, sweetie.”

“Wait!” you exclaim, whirling as he is already halfway to the door, swinging his suit jacket about his broad shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

You hate it, that hearing this fills you with panic. “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to come back?” There is a dangerous glitter in those dark eyes, and you know that is a question loaded with fourteen in the clip and one in the chamber.

You decide on, “I want you to untie me.” Holding up your wrists as exhibit A.

He shrugs a little, and you know that was not the answer he wanted. “Maybe later.” Then he sweeps out of the room, leaving you staring dumbfounded at the door where he’d just been. The man is like a fucking ghost.  

“Bastard!”

You hope he hears you, but you suspect the epithet falls on deaf ears.

-Your first order of business, of course, is trying to undo these beautiful fucking knots. Unfortunately for you, they are tight, and secure, and John was smart enough to make the finishing hitch with the end tails on the opposite side of your wrist where you cannot easily reach them with your teeth.

Sonofabitch.

If he’d left you Dog for company you could have enlisted the pooch’s formidable chompers, perhaps, but no dice on that one.

Fine.

You sit under the covers for a while, because you’re cold. You try to read, but it is infuriatingly difficult to turn the pages of a book and read comfortably with your hands like this.

You are certain lunch time comes and goes, without a peep out of John.

Did he actually leave you?

You hate it, how the thought makes a trill of panic vibrate in your chest.

Fine. It’s fucking fine.

He thinks he can break you with alone time? You? You are the Queen of Introversion. You can go for days without human interaction, happily, so long as you have a sketchbook or a book. Bring it on, Mr. Wick.

He left you the water cup with the straw, and boy is that an adventure to refill in the bathroom when you’re thirsty.

Going pee without making a mess is no small feat either.

You pace the room, just to get some exercise. You look out the window, watching the birds in the trees.

You laugh to yourself, banging your head against the bulletproof glass. How funny, that you’d once fancied yourself Jane Eyre, when it turned out you were destined to be Mad Bertha locked up in the attic by Rochester all along.  

You hate to admit it, but by the time the sun is starting to set behind the trees you are going stir crazy with wondering where the fuck he is.

It’s definitely not because you miss him.

It’s just…these fucking ropes, of course. It’s not those burning dark eyes, or those large sure hands, or that sturdy long body he likes to press to yours. It’s not that the silence of the room feels empty without his deep voice, even if he’s using it to taunt you.

It is late by the time you hear the locks on the door whir, and you have been sitting in your nest in bed feeling listless and way too sorry for yourself. You are half out of your mind with boredom, and your shoulders and elbows ache at the joints from the restraints at your wrist. You try not to show it, but you are ready to climb up the fucking walls.

Like he might have some inkling of this, John pays you a knowing smile, assuming his seat with the confidence of a king in his throne room. He snaps and pats his thigh, no words this time, expecting you to obey.

Someday, you are going to make him pay for this.

But now…there’s nothing for it but to play his twisted game.

He’s prepared some kind of stir-fry tonight, with vegetables, beef, and rice. You are starving by now, and it smells heavenly.

Again, the food is good, simple but filling. He feeds you forkful by forkful with a careful tenderness that could make you weep. Your time with John is like a game of Russian Roulette. Spin the wheel, which John shall you receive this minute?

It’s easy to hate Mean John. Insufferable Ass Hat John, could drive you to murder. But Sweet John? You would do anything, for Sweet John, and you’re afraid he knows it too.

It’s only been a day, really. Is that right? A day? And already, you feel yourself slipping into the mould he’s fashioned for you.

Perhaps in a knee-jerk attempt to counter this, you ask, “Did you used to play this game with Helen?”

He freezes with the fork halfway to your lips, his hand underneath your skirt with his dead wife’s name in your mouth.  

You meant to throw him off, but as far as you can tell, all it earns you is a scoff. “No.”

“Why not?”

He actually seems to consider your question, toying with the food again, re-loading the fork with a different bite. “I was never afraid she would leave me. Funny, how that worked out.”

You feel like he’s handed you an important piece of information. Emboldened by his quietness, you dare push, “And…what do you think she’d think, about what you’re doing to me now?”

“I’d say she lost her vote, when she left me.” The indifference is gone; this is delivered with a stinging bitterness, and you realize he blames her for leaving him. There’s a clue in this too, and you feel like the solution to all this is an illusive thing hovering just barely out of your grasp. If you can find just the right words, push just the right buttons…maybe you can bring him back to sanity?

“She never would have left you on purpose, John. She got sick. You’ve got to forgive her.”

And accept you can’t control everyone around you. Then preferably, untie me! motherfucker.

The only indication he gives that you’ve upset him is the tightening of his fingers digging into your thigh. You’re going to have bruises, but if he’s actually processing what you’re saying, it’s a price you’ll gladly pay.

He just continues to push the medley of food around on the plate, shaking his head in silence. Disappointed in his nonreaction to your question, you sullenly accept the next bite.

Three seconds later, your mouth is on fire.

You squeal with panic, leaning for the plate to spit it out. But John’s big hand clamps over your mouth, a hard glint in his eyes, and you know you’re going to have to swallow it. It takes three tries, but you manage, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes.

You can do moderately spicy food, but that was just fucking diabolical.

“What the fuck?” you hiss between coughs.

“I knew you’d have something smart to say tonight.”

You try to reach for the water cup with its stupid little straw and your stupidly bound-together hands, but John sets it out of reach. “Oh my god, please?”

He speaks calmly, as though the lining of your mouth is not being eaten away like you took a bite of rice laced with battery acid. “You keep speaking about Helen like you knew her. I suggest you cut it out. Unless you would like all your meals seasoned like this.”

You blow a long breath of air over your tongue. It only sort of helps.

Mother. Fucker.

You glare daggers, but for now, you’re wise enough (broken enough?) to keep your epithets to yourself.

He sits back in the chair to regard you, tossing the fork into what’s left on the plate. You’re still hungry, but you’ll be damned if you eat anymore from that dish. You flinch as he reaches for you, though he is not cruel as he grips your hair at the base of your head. Just…exacting, and he guides you to perch on the edge of the chair between his legs, your bare ass fitted against his crotch.

It feels good as he starts to braid your hair, a jarring contrast to the pain still simmering in your mouth. You whimper a little, despite yourself, arching into him behind you. You didn’t even mean to, really, but it wins you a low groan that fills you with forbidden warmth.

This is so fucked.

Nothing you’ve experienced in your life has prepared you for handling this.

When he finishes he wraps the new handle of your plaited hair in his fist, pulling you back against his chest. He is warm, and solid, and you fail royally as you try not to enjoy this contact. It’s ridiculous, but all you really want is for him to hold you.

He speaks against the shell of your ear, his other hand lightly encircling your throat. “I’ll never let you leave me.”

Your heart drums frantically in your chest; he means business. You can just tell, there is an unyielding hardness in his tone that somehow wasn’t quite there before. You thought you could reason with this man, but maybe you were wrong, or maybe you only succeeded in pushing his sanity the other way, further into the red.

Maybe there’s nothing left to reason with, and that is the thing that finally, truly scares you.

“Maybe you need something else to fill up that sassy mouth.”

With his improvised handle he guides you down to sit between his splayed legs. Your eyes are drawn to the newly erected tent in his pants, that formidable bulge that should be the stuff of your nightmares, but still inspires a maddening longing inside you.

Why do you have to feel so empty, when he’s near?

Frustrated by the unfairness of it all, you glare daggers up at him. You know what he’s angling to extort out of you, of course. It makes you sad, but not for the reason he might have expected. It makes you sad, because you would have rubbed your knees raw sucking him off, if he’d just asked you nicely.

“Thanks, but I’m full.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah? Someone doesn’t want her hands untied that badly.”

Now, that is something you want, and maybe you’re willing to play with that on the table. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who is easily led, but he is good at manipulating you. It makes you wonder if any of it was ever real, or if this is just a game he’s been playing with you from day one.

The thought makes you sigh, and you rest your cheek on his lean thigh, closing your eyes.

He looks down at you like you’re a puzzle he’s not quite sure how to solve.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Wick.

“Were you planning this all along?” you ask. “When you were so sweet to me? Am I that fucking stupid that I didn’t see this coming?” Obviously, from the clothes in the closet, he’d hoped you’d come stay with him at some point, but all the rest? It feels spontaneous, like the way something hard can suddenly crack with too much pressure. But then again, maybe just because it took you by such fucking surprise.

He strokes your hair, and that gentle touch just makes it worse somehow. You feel the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because that gentleness is all you wanted from him. The ironic part is that he wouldn’t have had to do any of this shit, just to keep you.

You do not love easily, but once you do…it is a total, and all-consuming thing.

“I don’t know,” he answers begrudgingly. “I just…couldn’t let you leave me.”

You think about how he’d been an orphan. He’d lost his parents. He’d lost his wife. He’d lost his dog. He’d gone on a rampage and slaughtered an entire Russian Bratva…for the loss of a dog.

In perspective you guess he’d actually behaved rather tamely, at the threat of losing you. This man does nothing by halves, and the only thing John Wick fears, it seems, is losing those he loves.

Is that what he’d meant, when he said his love was a curse?

It doesn’t excuse it, but there is a key somewhere in that, you reason. A key to freedom, or the gates of Hell, you’re not really sure.

You do your best to blink away your tears. Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not half as tough as he is, but you don’t really want him to see you cry.

He lets you sit like that for as long as you want, stroking your hair. It’s almost sweet, and it gives you time to collect yourself.

Someday, he’s going to figure out it’s best not to give you a chance to plot your next move. It occurs to you that maybe you have one last card to play.

You sit up slowly on your knees between his legs, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze weighing upon your skin. You reach for his belt, brushing his erection through his pants, his manhood twitching in anticipation. For just a second, he allows himself to close his eyes.  

Maybe you have power too. You just have to figure out how to use it here, and maybe not lose you mind over how thick and wonderful he just felt beneath your hand. That unhelpful pulsing between your legs casts its vote. You try to unobtrusively squeeze your thighs for some relief, but you fear this man sees everything.  

Good for you, that your voice sounds almost steady. “I have to say, you’re a brave man, Mr. Wick.”

It is not easy to work the buckle of his belt with your hands bound like this, but somehow you manage, even pulling it from its loops. You fight the urge to throw the damn thing across the room, but settle for resting it at his feet.

“How do you figure?”

“Well...” You flip open the top button of his pants, your fingers shaking slightly. “If we are engaging in that time-honored exchange of a favor for a blowjob... and you just essentially carpet bombed my mouth with napalm...wow, you do like to live dangerously.”

He sits still as a statue for a good few moments, weighing what you’re telling him, gauging if the capsaicin would transfer through your saliva to what is arguably the most sensitive area of his body. You’re 98 percent certain they would, and a part of you hopes he’ll opt to try it even after you warn him.

It would make for a neat little slice of revenge.

But then, what you really want is out of these ropes, and you hope your honesty will win you some points with him.

In the end he catches your hands, as you are awkwardly trying to work his zipper.

“Maybe we'll skip that for now.”

“You sure? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He narrows his eyes down at you, and you wonder if you’re inventing it, or is there a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes?

“In my other pants.” 

In the end he pulls you back up into his lap with a grumble.

You suspect you’ve only delayed the inevitable, but you feel some satisfaction for your little coup.

“I’ll be back,” he tells you, (threatens you?), depositing you on the bed, gathering the dishes and sweeping out of the room. You have a feeling this interaction was not half as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

Well, good.

Bastard.

-When he returns, he brings you a cup of milk. Though most of the pain from the chilis has already subsided by now, you accept it for the calorie count if anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a hand on your cheek, looking you over appraisingly.

Thinking this might be your best moment, you lift your bound hands with a pitiful pout, blinking your eyelashes innocently.

“Will you untie me now?” you ask in your sweetest tone, words loaded with contrition.  

“You think you’ve earned it?” he asks, and you sense this is a perilous path you’re approaching.

“I’ve been good.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. I mouthed off. You punished me. You had your fun. And rather than give in to my initial vindictive impulses, I saved you from a very uncomfortable evening. It’s the least you can do.”

He actually chuckles at this, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He seems softened by your bright little tirade, but then this man’s mood can change on a dime.

“And, it’s starting to hurt,” you add.

It’s not a lie, and it seems that is the thing that makes him pause.

“You don’t like my knot work?”

Your heart lodges in your throat, and you know you must proceed with caution, or you’ll be wearing this shit for a week at least.

“Your knots are very fine, Mr. Wick.”

Your captor practically purrs at hearing that, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest, his hand burying in your hair. It sends a tingling thrill all across your scalp.

You’ve come to reluctantly love his fixation with grabbing your mane.

You really are losing your mind.

“I’ll make you a deal, kitten.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll untie you…if you will take a bath with me.” His tone is the low rumble of a jungle cat, and your heart leaps into your throat. You knew this was coming, eventually. Maybe you just didn’t expect it tonight.

Looking back, you’re not sure why.

“NowI get to see you?”

You are still puzzling over the way he’d outright prevented you from undressing him, in Venice. It was almost like he’d been afraid, and you don’t understand at all. He’s fucking gorgeous, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. So…why?

“I told you, you weren’t ready then.”

You suspect the real answer is that he wasn’t ready, but for once, you don’t contradict him.

He runs a finger down the line of his neat knots that are starting to bite into your flesh. It’s starting to affect the feeling in your fingers, and you know that can’t be good.

“So? What do you say?”

You crane your neck to look up at him, drinking in the lines of his handsome face, his straight nose and proud lips, and the delicately drawn sweep of his eyes. Even with the shadow of a black eye, courtesy of you, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. You shouldn’t want him, after everything he’s done to you. You shouldn’t, but you feel yourself inevitably drawn to him, like the moon pulls the tide.

You feel like you’re signing a piece of your soul away to the devil on the dotted line, when at last you nod.

He puts a hand to his ear with a smirk. “What was that?”

Your groan comes out like a growl.

“You have a deal, Mr. Wick, sir.”

His low rumble of approval gives you chills, and when he turns your face up to kiss you sweetly you utterly melt beneath his hands, jarred by the contrast from earlier, but not questioning it. You bask in the press of his soft lips, greedy for his tenderness, hoping stupidly that this is the way things will be from now on. Then you yelp with surprise as suddenly he scoops you up with his hands on your thighs, carrying you into the bathroom.  

[jazzlrsposts]

Style Staples for Every Wardrobe

A classic piece of clothing, the black skirt fits a wide range of styles and situations and flows easily from season to season. The black skirt is your go-to item for adaptable styling, whether you're going to a beautiful evening event, a casual brunch, or the office. We'll look at a variety of black skirt styling options in this article, with outfit ideas ranging from traditional to modern, edgy to sophisticated.

Classic Office Chic

A black skirt is the height of classic sophistication when it comes to working. A neat white button-down shirt and a knee-length pencil skirt make an outfit appropriate for the workplace. For a more put together look, tuck the blouse in and draw attention to your waist with a thin belt. Add a structured tote purse and pointed-toe heels to finish the look. Wear your blouse with a fitted blazer on top for the cooler months. Choose muted colors like camel, navy, or grey to maintain a polished yet fashionable appearance. The perfect amount of elegance is added with a statement watch and simple jewelry, without overpowering the outfit's simplicity.

Weekend Casual

A black skirt can be toned down without losing its stylish charm for a breezy weekend ensemble. For a carefree look, go for a pleated black skirt or a flowing A-line skirt. Wear it with a plain white t-shirt or a graphic t-shirt for a carefree, laid-back look. For a fun touch, tie a knot at the waist of the t-shirt. For comfort and style, put on a pair of white sneakers or ankle boots. Add large sunglasses and a crossbody bag to complete the ensemble. This ensemble is ideal for shopping excursions, brunch dates, or city outings.

Edgy Street Style

A bold, street-style appearance can be achieved with a black skirt as the base of your ensemble if you want to add some edge. Choose a small black leather skirt and wear it with a fitted turtleneck or a band t-shirt. Keep the top tucked in to keep your silhouette slim. Wear a denim or leather jacket layered over your top to give it more attitude and texture. The edgy vibe will be amplified with combat or ankle boots, and the ideal finishing touches can be a crossbody bag with metal clasp and a choker necklace. This ensemble is perfect for going to concerts, going out, or anytime you want to feel like a rock star.

Effortless Elegance

You can never go wrong with a black skirt for an effortlessly stylish outfit. Pick a flowing black skirt, such as one made of satin or chiffon, that is either midi or maxi length. Wear it with a lace blouse or a dainty silk camisole. The blend of textures will provide a graceful, delicate form that is alluring to women. For a chic look, add a clutch purse and some stiletto shoes. Wearing delicate jewelry, such pearl earrings and a delicate necklace, will accentuate the outfit's elegance without drawing too much attention to itself. Date nights, weddings, and other formal events when you want to seem put together are ideal for this look.

Monochrome Magic

Try pairing your black skirt with a monochromatic ensemble for a sleek, contemporary style. Utilizing a variety of hues, textures, and materials within the same color family is essential to perfecting monochrome. Whether it's a maxi, midi, or mini, start with a black skirt and match it with a black top. This might be a flowy, flowing blouse or a tailored turtleneck. Use a variety of textures, such as satin, velvet, or leather, to give the ensemble depth and intrigue. For instance, a leather skirt and satin blouse make a stylish contrast. Wear black heels or ankle boots as an accessory, and use a belt or piece of jewellery to add a metallic touch. This chic and classy ensemble is completed with a sleek black purse, ideal for a night out or

Glamorous Evening

At your next evening function, make a statement by dressing a black skirt in a stylish way. A black satin or sequin skirt is ideal for introducing a hint of elegance. Wear it with a silk camisole or a fitted, off-the-shoulder top. The streamlined silhouette will look amazing, especially with high heels. Wear flamboyant cuff bracelets or chandelier earrings as striking pieces to accessorize. To complete this eye-catching look, add a metallic clutch and a striking lip color. This ensemble is certain to turn heads, whether you're going to a gala, cocktail party, or a special date night.

Cozy and Cute

You can still look stylish and stay warm with a black skirt when the weather turns chilly. Choose a thick knit sweater and a black skirt that is either mini or midi in length. For a more relaxed appearance, keep the sweater untucked. If you want to define your waist, tuck it in. For added warmth, use tights or leggings underneath. Ankle or over-the-knee boots complete the look. The ensemble will have layers thanks to a long coat or a warm scarf, making it ideal for winter activities, holiday gatherings, or even a relaxed day at work.

Playful Prints

Lastly, while dressing a black skirt, don't be scared to play around with prints. Bold, whimsical patterns can look amazing on a black skirt. Consider wearing an animal print, polka dot, or flower printed blouse with a black skirt. The striking print and the plain black skirt will contrast to produce a well-balanced and striking outfit. Select basic shoes that go well with the colors of your shirt for your footwear. Ankle boots, loafers, or ballet flats will maintain the emphasis on the print. Wear minimal jewelry and a complementary handbag as accessories to avoid overpowering the ensemble. This ensemble is perfect for weekends away, creative work spaces, or any other time where you want to create a playful fashion statement.

[theanteros2024]

Effortless Elegance: How to Rock Oversize Shirts for Women For Effortless Style?

In the realm of women's fashion, oversize shirts for women have emerged as a go-to choice for achieving a chic and stylish look with minimal effort. These versatile garments offer a perfect blend of comfort and sophistication, making them a must-have addition to any wardrobe. If you're looking to elevate your style game with oversize shirts, you've come to the right place. In this guide, we'll explore some easy styling tips and outfit ideas to help you rock oversize shirts with effortless elegance.

Embrace the Oversize Fit

The key to pulling off oversize shirts with style is to embrace the loose, relaxed fit. Opt for shirts that are a size or two larger than your usual size to achieve that effortlessly chic look. Remember, the oversize fit is all about comfort and ease, so don't be afraid to go big!

Play with Proportions

When styling oversize white shirts, balance is key. Pair your shirt with fitted bottoms, such as skinny jeans or leggings, to create a flattering silhouette. You can also experiment with different lengths and cuts to play with proportions and add visual interest to your outfit.

Experiment with Layers

Layering is another great way to add depth and dimension to your oversize shirt ensemble. Try layering a fitted blazer or jacket over your shirt for a polished and sophisticated look. You can also layer a chunky knit sweater or cardigan for added warmth and texture.

Knot it Up

For a fun and flirty twist, try knotting your oversize shirt at the waist. This simple styling trick instantly adds shape to your silhouette and creates a more tailored look. Pair your knotted shirt with high-waisted bottoms, such as skirts or trousers, for a fashion-forward ensemble.

Accessorize Wisely

Accessorizing is the key to elevating any outfit, and oversize white shirts are no exception. Add a statement belt to cinch in your waist and define your shape. Finish off your look with bold jewelry, such as statement earrings or a chunky necklace, to add a touch of glamour.

Mix and Match

Don't be afraid to mix and match different styles and textures to create a truly unique look. Experiment with pairing your oversize white shirts with unexpected pieces, such as leather pants, silk skirts, or denim shorts, for a fashion-forward ensemble that's sure to turn heads.

Keep it Simple

Above all, remember to keep it simple and let your oversize shirt take center stage. Opt for neutral colors and minimalistic accessories to keep the focus on the garment itself. After all, effortless style is all about letting your natural beauty shine through.

Elevate Your Oversize Shirts For Women Collection With The Anteros

Ready to rock oversize shirts with effortless elegance? Explore The Anteros' collection of premium oversize white shirts for women, featuring timeless designs and impeccable quality. Whether you're looking for classic button-downs, flowy blouses, or casual t-shirts, we have the perfect options to suit your style. Shop now and elevate your everyday looks with confidence and sophistication.

Incorporating oversize shirts into your wardrobe is easier than you think. With these simple styling tips and outfit ideas, you can effortlessly achieve a chic and stylish look that's perfect for any occasion. So go ahead, embrace the oversize trend and rock it with confidence!

[staycoldapparel1234]

Shop punk clothing online | Buy punk rock apparels in Germany

Best online punk fashion and Oversized T-shirts are large, loose, and boxy, offered at Punk in simple, neutral hues as well as in graphic and gothic motifs.

Best online punk fashion and Oversized T-shirts are large, loose, and boxy, the breathable AIRism fabric prevents sweating in the heat. The hottest fashion trend right now is oversized buy online punk T-shirts, which are more popular both in leisure and hip hop culture. Both men's and women's big T-shirts are popular in the best punk fashion clothing’s. Women's large T-shirts appear stylish and effortless when worn with skinny jeans or leggings. They are also easy to style. To fit your style, these stylish T-shirts are offered at Punk in simple, neutral hues as well as in graphic and gothic motifs.

There are many ways to wear women's punk rock t shirt. It can be loosely tucked in, tied in a knot on one side to create a crop top, or worn alone. Leggings, high-waisted skirts, dungarees, and shorts can all be worn with these. When worn, these can provide one with a stylish and classy appearance. A best punk fashion shop large plain T-shirt can be worn in a variety of ways, including by layering it with another punk rock t-shirt underneath and pairing it with ripped jeans, a ball cap or beanie, and sneakers. To create an edgy style, layer an oversized T-shirt under a long-sleeved striped shirt. In the cold, you can wear a hoodie or an oversized punk rock klamotten T-shirt underneath your coat.

Given that streetwear is becoming more and more fashionable, one can experiment with bright colors, graphic patterns, and gothic prints for a bold and trendy look. To fit your style, these shop punk fashion in Germany T-shirts for men can be worn with jeans, denim, joggers, shorts, and sweatpants. These are comfy and adaptable, so you may use them for both exercising and relaxing. Every wardrobe needs one of these huge T-shirts, but whatever you choose to wear, make sure it is PUNK and that you wear it with confidence.

What is a punk style in fashion?

The punk clothes online counterculture's attire, hairdos, jewelry, cosmetics, and alterations are all examples of punk fashion. From Vivienne Westwood's creations to looks inspired by bands like The Exploited to the dressed-down appearance of North American hardcore, there are many different types of punk fashion.

How do you dress like a punk?

Put an emphasis on straightforward clothing that deviates from the norm when dressing punk onlineshop. For illustration, a typical guy's wardrobe might consist of black pants, a bullet belt, a leather jacket, leather studs, and a plain T-shirt. Similar attire is worn by girls, but they may also wear mesh and patterned shirts.

Who started punk fashion?

Although Vivienne Westwood is credited with inventing punk, the complicated origins of punk can also be traced to the turbulent sociopolitical and economic circumstances in England in the middle of the 1970s.

New fashion trends emerged in the 1980s as simultaneous resurgences took place in the US and the UK. Punk saw its Oi! /street punk and UK82 resurgence in the 1980s British scene, which gave rise to the styles that many now associate with the subculture.

Why do punks wear plaid?

Grunge was an anti-fashion trend, thus tartan shirts were worn as they were available and common practical wear in Washington State. In the 1970s, punks tore up tartan shirts and adopted kilts as an anti-Establishment message.

For More Details Visit Us- https://www.staycoldapparel.com/

[cockasinthebird]

Laced up and ready to get dirty

Fingers tighten around the leather of the steering wheel, tensing till his knuckles go white then relaxing again. Deep breath in, then a long exhale. In… and out...

Steve is excited and thrilled and eager but also completely, devastatingly… nervous.

He angles the rearview mirror to look at himself and fidgets with his hair- not that it needs to be retouched for the fifteenth time today already, but it buys him time. Precious time to waste away on hesitation, and the longer he gets to hesitate, the less likely he is to actually.... He glances down the tan, buttoned up trench coat and triple checks that it’s closed all the way up and pulls on the belt to tighten it around his waist till he loses breath, JUST to be safe and secure.

It was a stupid spur-of-the-moment idea he got last week when he was visiting Hawkins to clear out whatever was left of his childhood home; his parents selling it now that Steve doesn’t live there anymore, all with such a lack of grace that shows they never really cared for that house, as if it was nothing more than a lavish cage for their only child. In a bag of clothes marked for donation - his father’s idea of philanthropy - Steve found an old Burberry trench coat, truly as fashionable and fitting now as it was back then, only difference being that as an adult who pays for everything himself, this coat would now be the most expensive thing in his and Billy’s entire apartment. Maybe he should have been more grateful for all that he had back then, or so his father would say whenever he found time to reprimand his son, but that wasn’t what he needed.

“Arrh, fuck!” Steve groans and rubs his face in hopes of recentering himself on the task at hand. He could mope around and be sad about his terrible father later, right now there’s more important things to do.

Such as opening the door to the same old BMW, the car soon on its last legs, having only survived this many years thanks for Billy’s expertise truly. It’s a bit colder out on the street than Steve expected, or maybe just a bit too windy, but he isn’t exactly wearing it to stay warm as much as he is to stay covered.

The hem of it grazes against the top of his suede boots as he takes decisive but careful steps around his car, now facing the open carport that exposes the inner works of the small service shop. It’s been almost a year since Billy got hired here as a mechanic, and it is possibly the happiest Steve’s ever seen him. Neither of them ever dreamed of big and important lives, no wanting to be a doctor or president or astronaut. All they wanted to be was happy, and they’ve found it in the simplest way possible.

He spots Billy immediately, past all the sweaty men, scattered car parts, and open hoods, he sees his boyfriend rise up from having just been shoulders deep in the guts of a shiny pontiac, coveralls tied around his waist, his white tank soaked with sweat, arms stained black with oil and grease.

The sight of it all sends delightful shivers down Steve’s entire body, ears to toes, and as he watches Billy wipe away sweat from his brow, well suddenly Steve’s far more confident in what he came here to do.

It shows in the way he marches towards Billy, who turns with a cocked brow at the assertive footsteps approaching him, where once he sees that it’s Steve demanding his attention, the most effortlessly smooth and charming smile spreads across his face, lids heavy to match the way Steve stares - something so salacious in the way his eyes glide up and down Billy’s dirty body, shiny with sweat.

“What are you doing here, princess?” Billy asks in a low and gravelly tone, quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard.

“Hmmm well…” Steve coos and plays lightly with the belt of his coat, the way his fingers flirt with the fabric hopefully clear with his intent, then speaks bluntly, “I woke up kinda horny today, y’know? Thought I’d save it for later- for when you come home, and tried distracting myself with doing the dishes or vacuum or anything really, but my hand just kept going down to jerk myself off-”

“Jesus Christ Stevie,” Billy breathes harshly.

“-and so eventually I wound up back in bed, on my knees, three fingers deep in me-” Steve wiggles said fingers for certain emphasis. “-but it just wasn’t enough. I need something thicker and veinier.”

With every word his stomach ties knots around itself, yet his dick is filled with life at how risky this is, with how much he needs to feel Billy pounding him sore and weak.

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Billy licks his lips, a hand reaching down to inconspicuously cup at his growing erection.

“I was hoping you could help me with my little problem? Ensuring that my engine is properly lubricated,” Steve’s naughty little smile fails at his own words, growing wider and betraying the sexy facade.

But it doesn’t seem that Billy minds as he laughs a bit too loud, biting his lower lip as if that would help keep his own smile more casual than one filled with exuberant joy. “You’re a menace- that was absolutely horrible,” he chuckles and brings both hands to his hips.

“Don’t be mean, I worked on it all the way here!” Steve’s own amusement bubbling over and into his voice.

Billy dares take a step closer, eyes slipping from Steve’s lips down his neck, pausing where he should be able to see the collar of a shirt. “You don’t have to try so hard for me, baby. Just tell me what you need, and maybe I can be of assistance.”

Steve’s expression dips back into something most indecent, his gaze burning with desire, pink lips parted as he slowly enunciates, “I need you to fuck me, hard and rough. I want your hands all over me, want your cock in me so fucking bad I think I might go insane without it. Please Billy, I-I can’t wait till you get home,” desperation seeps in as his tone goes almost whiny.

And Billy gapes like a fish, lips hesitating around emptiness as he tries to formulate thoughts. He glances around the shop, up at a clock hanging above the “Employees Only” sign, brow furrowed as he contemplates his options, all the while Steve waits as patiently as he can, pulling the belt tighter around his waist as if it would magically open up if he didn’t.

“Why don’t we… step into my office, and I’ll see what I can do?”

 Unfortunately by “office” Billy meant the blindingly bright, claustrophobically small employee bathroom. It’s maybe 6 by 6 feet large and not at all what Steve had in mind, but he’s not going to complain about the abnormally large mirror above the sink. And at least it looks clean… enough.

Steve’s quick to turn to Billy as soon as the lock clicks, grabbing on to the white tank and using it to guide him to sit down on the toilet.

Billy, however, disagrees with that immediately and moves to touch Steve, who just as swiftly grabs his wrist, restricting his reach. 

"Billy-" he starts off a bit agitated, but smoothes into something more agreeable, "Baby, if you get my coat dirty, you'll be eating cornflakes till you can afford to send it to the dry cleaner." 

The way Billy laughs at that is mocking in a sense, but his shitty grin simply reminds Steve of the thrill he felt back in high school, after they started fucking around but before they became serious about one another. 

"Forgot what a priss you can be sometimes, princess," he drawls and leans back, licking his lips as he settles with something vaguely familiar to patience.

“Hmmm…” Steve hums, slowly untying the belt of his coat. “You like that I’m high maintenance sometimes.”

He smoothly slips out of the heavy boots.

“Makes you feel real good about yourself though, getting to fuck someone with above average standards.”

In a show of how agile and limber he is, Steve stretches out his leg where the coat parts in front, and hooks his heel over Billy’s shoulder. Who in turn stares with a bit wider eyes at the silky soft, pastel pink nylon stockings clinging to Steve’s shin. Billy’s grip on his own thighs tighten with self restraint, the urge to touch the smoothness of Steve nearly unbearable.

“Did you shave your legs?”

“I did, for you.” Steve generally doesn’t care about leg hair, but found it a bit awkward looking when his thick, dark hairs stuck out of the bright nylon. “Wanna see what else I’ve shaved?”

Leisurely but with gentle pressure, Steve lets his foot glide down Billy’s chest, over his abs and all the sweat stains of his tank, past where the sleeves of his coveralls have been tied together, till he finds Billy’s hard cock tenting already, eliciting a lurid little hiss as he rubs it with the sole of his foot.

“God, you’re so easy, baby,” Steve speaks low with intent, drawing circles, revelling in the choked groans. “Getting you hard like this is effortless.”

At an all too agonizing pace, deliberate and mean, Steve unbuttons his coat from the bottom and up, exposing more and more of his thighs, the build up thrilling him as he watches how Billy sweats and struggles to remain dormant. Oh how he cannot wait to get the coat off and let his boyfriend ravage him completely, even the mere thought of it makes his own prick throb and beg for attention.

Billy stares with the most attention he’s probably ever shown any one person, eyes following the movement of Steve’s fingers, up and up and up, until a hint of lace gets revealed at the end of the stocking, cute and floral and feminine, a dozen small roses hugging the pale flesh, shiny straps leading further up to hide beneath the tan of the trench coat.

Steve caresses his thigh, hooking a finger beneath the strap and pulls it up only to let it snap back against his skin loudly, the sound reverberating, all the while never looking away from how Billy watches with intense hunger.

The burning gaze affixed to fingers follow right along, as Steve makes a bit of a jump and starts unbuttoning from the top now. One by one, till he runs his index along the hem, up to where it grazes against his neck, to pull slowly so that one shoulder can slip out, uncovering the strap of what can only be a bra, reaching down to hold on to delicate lace.

Harsh sighs escapes Billy as he attempts to control his breathing and himself, tongue darting out to wet his lips - Steve can feel the way Billy’s fat cock pumps full of blood beneath his foot.

There’s only two buttons left, and as one of them falls free, the coat drops down to bunch around Steve’s waist and the sink he’s leaning against, putting the pink, lacy bralette on full display; roses and leafs arranged into small triangles that sits tight against Steve’s pecks, his nipples just barely visible beneath the gorgeous and elegant fabric.

“Stevie, babe, please, I’m going to explode here,” Billy complains in an almost hilariously irritated manner, raising his hand up towards Steve’s thigh-

“No touching yet, I’m not done.” Steve swiftly kicks away that dirty hand.

“Thought you needed me to fuck you so bad,” the mocking response comes as Billy’s hand retreats to dig into his pocket.

And Steve pauses with his fingers around the final button that will unravel everything. “Well yes, but the thrill of anticipation gets me so hard.”

He pushes it out, wraps his hands around the coat and slowly pulls it apart, like a curtain revealing a true masterpiece of craftsmanship. And if Billy’s eyes were wide before, they’re now threatening to pop out at the sight of the garter belt attached to the stockings hugging Steve’s waist perfectly, and a thong matching the bralette in shape and lace, that might once have had a chance of containing all that Steve is, but now his long, full dick reaches up towards the belt with hard pride.

“Holy fucking shit,” Billy gapes, “I didn’t forget our anniversary or something, did I?”

Steve chuckles and blushes slightly at the attention and knowledge of just how stunning he looks. “Can’t I just surprise my boyfriend for no reason other than fun?”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m also sure you have some ulterior motive… not that I’m complaining.”

The sly smirk across Steve’s face suits him well as he slips out of the coat entirely, and reaches out to hang it on the hook attached to the bathroom door. Now fully exposed before Billy, Steve spreads his legs a bit further, runs his fingers lightly over the lace of his bra, and bats his eyes slowly.

Who stands up just as slowly, hesitantly, as if he’s still awaiting orders, as if Steve will tell him to stop and sit down any second now. When he reaches out Steve grabs his wrist, firm and assertive, but doesn’t linger in that moment; brings Billy’s hand up and up to touch his cheek, brushing fingers against pale skin and defiling it with dark smudges of oil. Still Steve doesn’t relent as he guides the hand down again till the rough palm presses against his throat, and Billy takes the opportunity immediately to squeeze.

A gasp hurries out at the sudden tightness around his airway and Steve’s eyes rolls back with the pleasure that jolts through his system, making his already painfully hard prick pulsate worse.

“Fuck, Billy…”

The other hand lands on his thigh, besmirching the pretty pink there, pushing into the soft flesh. As Steve closes his eyes to enjoy the euphoric, brutish hold he’s under, Billy dives in all tongue and teeth, biting at his lower lip and licking in to taste how sweet his spit is. Steve lifts up his free leg to hook it around Billy’s hips, drawing him in, finally allowing them both some heady friction, encouraged by strangled moans.

“Mmh- arrh, shit, pretty boy, this really couldn’t wait till I got home?” Billy growls against Steve’s lips, tickling as they brush together.

“I- mmh-ah, I wanted you dirty and risky like this,” Steve coos as low as he can and chases a kiss, but Billy leans away with such a shit eating grin. “Billy-” Another chase. “-Billy, please.”

“Don’t gotta beg, princess,” Billy’s laugh rumbles like thunder on a summer night; warm and deep and comforting

He takes a step back, Steve’s body instinctively trying to follow at the abrupt lack of touch, and with quick hands Billy undoes the way the sleeves are tied around his waist, unzips the rest of his coveralls that fall without effort to the floor, and pulls down his dark trunks enough for his steely cock to practically spring free.

The way Steve audibly inhales at the sight of it is almost humoristic, his body now acutely aware of everything that’s about to happen.

“How do you want it?” Billy drawls.

And it brings Steve back from the more indecent places his mind went at the sight of what he’s been hungering for all day. Half of him wants to drop to his knees and suck Billy dry till he’s delirious, the winning half however… He looks away for only as long as it takes him to retrieve the small and discreet bottle of lube from his coat pocket and pops it open before Billy can even speak again. He pours it into his own palm and closes his hand around Billy’s thick dick, stroking him quickly with impatience, slicking up every inch of hard flesh.

“I want you to fuck me from behind, bend me over the sink and pound my hole till I’m on the verge of tears,” Steve’s voice a lewd little thing, a salacious whisper only Billy would ever be found worthy of hearing, ghosting across his lips.

To which the only appropriate response Billy deem fit is to grab on to his boyfriend’s naked hips and spin him around, leaving clear, gross handprints that get smudged when those same hands smooth their way down to fill out with Steve’s ass.

Steve’s all too eager to bend down over the short sink, bracing himself on the porcelain edges as he watches how Billy admires the view through the mirror. The way those clear blue eyes stare down at his exposed self, tongue out to lick his lips like a wolf would before pouncing on an innocent lamb; it makes his heart beat faster, drowning his senses in quick waves of heavy lust.

“So pretty for me, baby, all laced up and fingered, wish you could see this.”

Billy gazes up through his lashes to meet Steve in their reflection. He grins with his tongue caught between teeth as he raises his hand just enough for Steve to have a moment of realisation before there’s a loud smack and stinging sensation.

“Mmh- ah! Fuck…” Steve barely manages to catch the moan with a bite of lips, his cock dripping with pre cum into the sink, whining with elation as the firm palm on his ass massages the red print.

A finger hooks itself on the slight string of the thong that runs between spread cheeks, pulls it aside, allowing Billy a good eyeful of Steve’s rim still wet with lube.

“You really just stood out in the shop in nothing but this, all slippery and ready for me to fuck your tight little hole with my fat cock?” He pulls on the fabric till it can’t stretch any further, wrapping it around a finger to allow himself freedom to grab on to Steve’s ass again. “Came all this way because you needed me to fill you up with my cum so bad.”

The blunt head of his cock lines up perfectly with Steve’s greedy entrance, and the poor, needy brunette can’t help but push against it, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly slides further and further along Billy’s dick, who hums with appreciation at the way the other is so willing to do all the work, velvety muscles clenching around him when he bottoms out.

“That good for you?” he asks kindly and squeezes Steve’s fleshy, pale cheeks.

Steve draws shallow circles with his ass pressed firmly against Billy’s hips, breathing in a manner that would be moans at home in bed, panting and sighing now; low drawn out hums. He sounds relieved, like Billy’s girthy cock was exactly what he needed, swallowing thickly as he nods, incapable of words lest they come out too loud.

Billy leans in to kiss up Steve’s shoulder, giving every mole on his way the attention they deserve, moves up his neck to the shell of his ear, snaking an arm around to hold Steve by the throat softly and tenderly.

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he purrs and nibbles at Steve’s ear as he leisurely starts moving his hips back and forth, adoring how breathless Steve looks in their reflection, mouth hanging open.

With his other hand he leaves a trail of oil stains up Steve’s stomach, leading to where Billy smoothes his fingers across shaved pecs, caressing the skin as he teases the frilly edges of the pink bralette, his every touch like fire igniting inside of Steve, his body tensing delightfully.

Billy squeezes tighter around Steve’s throat, a gesture that can be felt vividly in the way his wet dick pulsates and drips - pre cum running down his aching flesh to wet the thong even worse. The thrusts grow longer and deeper, Billy pulling out till just the head is inside, then tentatively pushes back in till he’s balls deep, and every time he runs over that certain spot inside of Steve a sensuous little gasp escapes those perfect lips.

“Look at what a mess you are, baby.” He brings them as close as possible - Steve’s back against his chest, rim choking around the base of his cock.

And Steve opens his eyes just enough to get a good view of how oil and grease has stained his pale skin and somewhat expensive lingerie, pastel roses and delicate embroidery defiled and tarnished beyond repair no doubt. His painfully hard dick that with a stroke or two would have him come undone. Billy’s crystal clear eyes that stare back intently; hungry- no, starved for this.

“A beautiful…” Billy kisses Steve’s neck with undeniable love and infatuation. “Needy…” Lips at the crook of his neck. “Desperate…” His shoulder. “Mess.”

Billy pulls out and slams back in so suddenly it barely leaves Steve time to catch his lucid gasp before it would have been heard from outside the door. Billy’s hips snap against Steve’s ass again and again at an indelicate pace, his teeth sunk into a shoulder as he bites back his moans, eyes trained on the way Steve’s brows knit together, eyes squeezed shut tight as he struggles with his own wanting to give sound to the burning desire lighting him up.

Skin slapping together, the obscenely wet sounds of Billy pounding Steve’s hole, ramming against that glorious sweet spot over and over, it’s intoxicating, fueling the white hot fire that coils at the bottom of Steve’s gut. Both of Billy’s hardened hands grab at Steve’s pecs, the skin of his fingers toughened up from fiddling with engines all day, rough against Steve’s sensitive nipples as Billy pulls down the bra to pinch and squeeze.

“Mmh ah- fuck-” Steve’s eyes roll back at the flourishing bliss that forms in his chest. “Billy…”

“Yeah, you like that?” A rhetorical question that barely receives an answer before Billy presses his dirty thumbs harder against the strutting buds.

Steve’s thighs tremble from it all, teeth biting at his lower lip as he fights every instinct to let it all out. And from the way Billy leers and grins mischievously at the sight in the mirror, there can be no doubt he knows.

Moves his hands to grab Steve’s hips with near bruising tension as he starts slamming into him, thrusting with intense fervor; the pace punishing and the sounds of how their bodies collide worse. Billy’s eyes are pinned to the spread of cheeks where his steely cock pounds into his boyfriend’s tight, slippery hole, his breathing ragged and tongue out wagging enthusiastically.

And Steve’s helplessly lost in his own euphoria of the moment; a hand flies up to clasp at his mouth, the other pressing against the mirror for the sake of balance so as to not get shoved against it whenever Billy rams inside, helping Steve inch closer and closer to climax, with breathless groans and grunts, sighs and whines, all too loud for such a public setting, yet not loud enough for such an intimate act.

Billy bends over to press his sweaty forehead against Steve’s shoulder, gaze still locked to where heat flares up at every plunge, at the way Steve’s body clings to his veiny dick.

“You’re so perfect like this, baby,” his voice rough like wet gravel, “So eager and greedy. Gonna cum in you, Stevie boy, fill you up till you’re ready to burst.”

“Please,” the self-restraint apparent in his tone. “I-I’m so close.”

Then there’s a hand in his hair, yanking and pulling his flushed face off of the mirror and back, his intense breathing fogging up the mirror as he struggles to keep hushed through his sudden orgasm that washes through him, the intensity blinding, his every nerve buzzing vividly at the unexpected release till there’s nothing left in him, but the sensation of Billy vigorously driving his girthy cock in and out, sending forth slight waves of static heat.

Till it comes to a stop with one forceful shove, the hand in his hair tightening, the fingers by his hip digging in, as Billy buries himself completely, pressing Steve against the sink till his thighs hurt from the porcelain edge jabbing him.

But it’s worth it to feel how every muscle flexes, Billy’s teeth closing around Steve’s shoulder to muffle his deep rooted moan that almost escapes in its entirety. Worth it when Billy comes down from his high and relaxes again, yet stays here like this, softening inside of Steve’s well used hole, arms wrapping around his chest to hold him close whilst they both catch their breaths.

Billy kisses gentle apologies across the imprints his teeth made on Steve’s skin, up his neck and as far across his cheek and jaw as he can reach from behind.

And Steve simply stands still, caught between his boyfriend’s broad figure and the white sink, convinced he would fall if Billy stepped back. He leans into the loving attention he’s receiving, every press of lips to his sweaty skin a blissful little source of tender satisfaction. When he finally opens his eyes again after having mindlessly drifted away in the afterglow, he just barely catches the way Billy glances down and grins in a rather humoured way.

“At least you got most of it in the sink,” he rumbles against Steve’s shoulder.

Looking down Steve sees his cum splattered into the sink, yet a few good drops made it up around the faucet and almost even to the wall. Yet his first thought is that he could have made it onto the mirror if he had jerked himself off to completion.

“Who’s going to clean it up?” Steve huffs a little laugh and meets Billy’s gaze in their reflection.

Who tries to hide his smile with kisses. “Hmmm I dunno, kinda wanna see what happens if we just leave it like this; who my boss is gonna blame for cumming in the employee’s bathroom.”

“Gross.”

“It’s yours, princess,” Billy chuckles out and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“So you’re saying I should clean up after myself?”

“Mhm, yup,” the p pops.

When something changes in Steve’s expression, a clear difference from one second to another, lids heavy as he turns his head to look at Billy with lips inches apart.

“Then it’s only fair that you clean up after yourself, too, don’t you think?”

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[rohad93]

Worth the Fight: Chp 6

Luz spent the next few days on her guard duty stewing, trying to decide exactly how she feels about Amity Blight. She waits on bated breath for two days for Bump to inevitably come to her, tell her to scram, that Amity told him about everything that happened in the archives, but he never does.

She can still feel the sting in her cheek when she thinks about that afternoon and anger threatens to bubble up, but she can also still clearly hear Amity’s voice echoing in her head.

‘You don’t know me!’

Never has there been a truer statement she thinks; she knows absolutely nothing about Amity Blight.

She thought she knew at least one thing, and that was that Amity was certainly the arrogant, vindictive type that would go running straight to Bump the moment they returned to the manor, but she didn’t, and Luz is left knowing even less than the nothing she did before, now all she had was questions.

She’s still angry, the insults, the slap… but she can also admit that she was hardly being sensible or kind herself, and she definitely egged some of it on, trying to get a rise out of the noble, which was not the mature thing to do, and she ended up getting exactly what she wanted in the end.

She sighed to herself, running a hand through her hair. She should apologize, Amity was right of course, she doesn’t know her circumstances or anything about her, certainly not enough to go around throwing out accusations, just as Amity doesn’t know her, but the memory of the stinging in her cheek and the insults hurled at her are still too fresh to allow it right this moment.

Luz would hardly consider herself to have a big ego, much as she liked to play the overly confident for laughs, especially considering who her teacher was, but she still had her pride and it would not allow her to apologize yet, not when just as many hurtful things were said and done to her.

She doesn’t see Amity again before her day off, even with no proof, she just knows the other woman is avoiding her, she doesn’t mind that at all, the only thing she could possibly say to her at this point would be an apology, and she isn’t ready to face her yet. She doubted she would get one in return, she is a noble after all.

She tried to put a halt on that thought, jumping to conclusions like that is part of what got her into this mess to start with, despite all the evidence she’d gathered from previous experiences in dealing with nobles over the years that tell her otherwise, she had always prided herself on keeping an open mind, how many times had she been looked down on because of her ears?

She stood in the stables, in the empty stall she had claimed as her personal space, and shucked off the black tunic, bearing the Blight family crest and tossed it at King, asleep in the corner.

She chuckled to herself as it landed on his head, making him sit up. She grinned as he shook it off and gave her a look that couldn’t be translated as anything but annoyed.

“Sorry,” she laughed, hardly sorry at all as she pulled on her own, violet-colored tunic and cinched her sword belt around her waist, her weekly payment of a hundred and eighty silver secured safely next to her sword as she looped the leather into a knot.

She needed a chainmail shirt, Eda had never been willing to buy her one, since she hadn’t really done much fighting herself, but she planned on it now, and the last thing she wanted was to do was be run through by a pike or a sword the first time she entered a tourney or a duel.

“Come on, Bud!” She took off out of the stables at a run, she needed to get out of this place for the day and as quickly as possible. She could hear King’s large paws slapping the ground in a trot as he followed along behind her.

Her sword and coin pouch rattled against her hip as she ran out of the gates, giving a wave to Jerbo, who waved back as she jogged by. His day off was tomorrow, so she would have gate duty with another guard, none of which liked her at all, but that was a problem for tomorrow, she was going to fully enjoy today.

The city is full of people all moving from one place to the next at any given time, going about their business, barely paying her any mind except to move out of the way as the two barreled down the busy streets of Bonesburough in an excited rush. She can do whatever she wants today, so standing still and watching the world slowly move by without her is not on her agenda for the afternoon. It’s as though she’s been building her energy stores for the past several days and she feels fit to burst with all of it swirling around inside of her.

She made a direct beeline for the smithy. She still hadn’t had a chance to explore much of the city yet, so it was easy for her to get turned around, but the towering pillar of smoke she could see in the distance showed her the way to her destination.

She could smell the burning wood, coal, and metal by the time she turned the corner, the shop coming into view and immediately she spotted Viney out front, shoveling coal into the billowing furnace, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up to her elbows and leather apron on, protecting her from most of the errant sparks.

“Hey, Viney,” she called out with a grin as she trotted up.

The witch stood and turned to her, face hidden behind the metal plate mask.

"Well, hey stranger," she flipped the mask up and grinned. "I see you haven't been impaled yet," The blacksmith chuckled as Luz stopped in front of her.

"Not yet, but it’s still early into my knight career…” Luz grinned.

“True… what is that?” Viney’s eyes went wide as she looked down at King, who blinked back at her.

“Oh, this is King, he was here with me last time, though I guess he did go with Eda while we were in the shop,” she admitted.

Without warning, Viney stepped forward and knelt down to be face to face with the demon wolf and held a hand up. King tentatively sniffed the appendage before snorting and allowed Viney to reach up and scratch the space between his ears and horns.

“Isn’t he handsome!” she said, making the beast seem to puff up with the praise and Luz rolled her eyes at him.

“He’s something,” she mumbled to herself, smiling.

“You have a lupus infernum as a pet?” she looked back up at Luz as she scratched behind one of King’s ears.

“A what?” Luz cocked her head at the name.

“Lupus infernum, a hell wolf, they’re a rare species of monster that roam the wilds in the far north. Usually, very, very hostile…,” she hummed, turning back to King, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the impromptu pampering, tail thumping on the ground.

“Well, he’s more of a companion than a pet, and he was already traveling with my mentor when I first met her, she said he just kind of showed up one day, injured, she patched him up and he just kinda stayed." Luz shrugged. She'd never really questioned the beasts’ presence, besides, he was good company.

"I imagine having him around is useful when you're traveling out in the wilderness," Viney said as she climbed back to her feet.

“He is… when he wants to be,” she chuckled, reaching down to pat his head.

“So, what can I do for ya?” she crossed her arms and turned to the human.

“I need a mail shirt,”

“Well, we got ‘em, come on in, and have a look.”

Luz followed the shorter blacksmith inside and she showed her what she had. She picked one up, testing its weight in her hand, they were heavier than she had expected.

“I think this will work.” she nodded.

“Hundred silver and it’s yours,” Viney said and Luz nodded, counting out the silver pieces from her bag and handing them off to Viney.

When the deal is done, she wasted no time pulling off her tunic and slipping on the chainmail shirt, it hangs heavily from her shoulders as she moves about, pulling her tunic back on. She’s definitely going to have to get used to it.

“Do some training in that and before you know it you’ll forget you're even wearing it,” Viney promised.

Luz and King hung around the shop a while, Viney even showed them a few things around the smithy before they spotted a group of the Emperor’s soldiers making their way toward the forge and Luz decided now would be the perfect time to go. She waved to Viney as the two trotted away, back through the crowded city streets.

It seemed that life in the city never stopped, Luz had yet to see a day where the streets weren’t filled to the brim, especially the market.

She could hardly think there were so many vendors all shouting to be heard over each other and trying to grab the attention of the people passing by.

One vendor did catch her attention though, sort of.

King grabbed the edge of her tunic between his teeth and was dragging her in the direction of a witch selling large chunks of meat hanging from hooks in his stall, and Luz rolled her eyes at the beast.

“Okay, okay, but don’t get used to this!” she warned him as she negotiated a price for a thick slice of some kind of meat, she doesn’t even need to know what kind, it’s not like she’s going to be the one eating it.

She got a fat, juicy strip of shiny, red meat for a price that was much lower than she had expected, but she figured the large demon wolf at her side had a lot to do with that. She thanked the vendor and turned to King, who was looking up at her with wide, rust-colored eyes, and drool dripping from his maw, forming a puddle at her feet.

“Ready?” she asked with a grin, shaking the meat and watching as King’s eyes never wavered from it, his whole body shaking in anticipation.

She chunked it up into the air and watched, grinning as he jumped up and snatched it up in his jaws before he quickly chomped it down and swallowed.

“You’re a glutton,” she laughed, scratching his head.

“Luz!?”

The human looked up at the call of her name and found herself staring back at both Willow and Gus.

“Willow, Gus! What are you guys doing here?” she turned to the two with a smile.

“I was on my way out of the city to collect some ingredients with Gus, I didn’t realize you knew him.” the witch smiled at her.

“And I didn’t know you knew, Willow,” The apprentice archivist laughed. “What are you doing in the market?” he asked.

“King and I are just enjoying our day off.” she smiled, gesturing to the beast. Both Willow and Gus looked at him with wide eyes, taking an unconscious step back from the demon wolf still swallowing the remnants of his meal. “It’s okay,” Luz assured. “King is a friend.”

Her assurance didn’t seem to do much as King looked up at them as he ran his tongue across his muzzle and the pink spots of blood now staining the white fur around his upper lip.

“Uh…” Gus stood behind Willow, peeking out at the beast.

“I promise, look.” She knelt down next to King and wrapped her arms around his fluffy neck and gave him a squeeze, ruffling the thick mane-like fur that protected his neck and he let her.

The two witches looked at each other, unsure, Willow slowly stuck out a hand. King gave it a tentative sniff, much the same way he had Viney before giving it a small lick, which prompted Willow to slowly, carefully run her fingers over the bridge of his nose.

He closed his eyes and allowed the soft scratching, which made Gus finally move out from behind the apothecary and with a shaking hand, reach to scratch the spot behind King’s left ear, which made his tail thump approvingly on the ground.

“See?” Luz smiled up at them. “He’s my pequeño bebé," she cooed, rubbing her face in his fur.

"Your what?" Willow blinked at the words.

"Ahh, sorry, pequeño bebé, my little baby," she laughed, finally extracting herself from the wolf and standing up.

"There's nothing little about that." Willow pointed at the demon wolf, which made Luz chuckle.

"What language was that?" Gus looked up at her with wide, amazed eyes.

"Oh, uh, my mom called it 'Spanish'," she explained with a shrug.

"Is that a human language?" Gus is looking at her with wonder in his dark eyes.

"I guess so, yeah." She shrugged again. She'd never heard witches speak it, then again, other than her mother she'd never heard another human speak it either.

"I didn't know humans had their own language…" He pulled a pad of paper from his pocket and started jotting down notes.

"Do you have plans for today or would you like to come with Gus and me to pick herbs in the woods?" Willow asked.

"Yeah! We could use a knight and her companion at our side!" He gestured to her and King.

"Yeah, sure!" She grinned. she couldn't remember the last time someone her own age had invited her to do something with them; probably never.

They talked about all kinds of things as they made their way outside the city walls toward the nearby forests.

Guss and Willow have lived in Bonesburough their entire lives, and know the city backward and forwards, and have also been friends nearly as long.

In turn, Luz told them about all the different adventures she'd been on with Eda and King over the last five years, which suitably impressed them.

"I don't think I could ever have what it takes to be a knight, but that sounds amazing. Excitement and adventure around every corner, never knowing what tomorrow might bring." Willow was looking at her with a bright smile as they walked through the woods, carefully picking different plants as Willow pointed them out.

"Well, I definitely like the idea of adventure and excitement, though I would like to live in one place again,… but what I really want to do is protect people from monsters… the beastly kind and the people shaped ones…," Luz trailed off, breaking eye contact with Willow to look off into the forest, which made the witch frown.

"There's no shortage of either," Willow agreed with a frown as Gus looked at their new human friend with concern.

"So, what's it like in human towns?" The younger witch asked, which successfully brought Luz out of her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh… uh, I don't know." She shrugged as she reached out to scratch King's head.

"You don't know?" Willow cocked her head to the side in question.

It occurred to Luz as they talked, that most of the witches she's encountered who have anti-human sentiments have all been older, usually at least forty or older. She's never really had an issue with anyone younger, and the more time she spent talking with Gus and Willow, she realized no witches under that age have ever even seen a human outside of her. She can't even remember herself the last time she's seen another human, probably not since her mother died seven years ago, and she can't remember a time before that either. As far back as her memory stretched, it had only been her and her mother.

What does it mean, she knows for a fact there were other humans on the Isles because the older witches know her on-site by her ears; so where are they?

She and her mother had lived alone on the edge of the woods away from any other settlements, she’d always told Luz it was for safety, but she’s not really sure now, and her mother has been gone a long time, so she isn’t going to get any answers on that front.

"How can a human not know what a human town is like?" Gus questioned with a frown.

"I spent the last five years traveling across the empire with Eda, and before that, I lived alone with my mom on the edge of the woods," she explained.

"Wow, your mom just let you leave home to travel around with Eda to become a knight?" Gus asked, amazed by that.

"I started traveling with Eda because my mom died…," The silence that followed her response is deafening and expected, but there's really no other way to say this fact. "It's okay though, it's been a long time." she smiled at them, but even in their short acquaintance with the human, they can tell that it does not reach her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Luz." Willow frowned and Gus nodded.

"Thanks, but, really, it's okay, it's been seven years, I trained with Eda and I'm well on my way to becoming a knight… even if all I'm doing right now is playing guard for the Blight family…," she grunted, rolling her eyes.

"You're working for the Blight's?" Willow questioned, the surprise in her voice is clear.

"You know them?" Luz cocked a brow.

"Their youngest daughter, Amity and I are childhood friends, she visits me at the apothecary when she's able to, which isn't very often but…," she trailed off as she saw the sour look on Luz's face. "I take it you've met her?" Willow chuckled.

"How can you be friends with her? She's so…." Luz pursed her lips, searching for the right word, and several raced to the tip of her tongue, but none of them are very nice, even though she promised herself this morning that she would try to be more open-minded in regards to the youngest Blight daughter.

Willow just chuckled at her.

"Amity can be… intense, at times. Did the two of you argue about something?" Willow wondered aloud.

"You could put it like that…," Luz trailed off before explaining her and the youngest Blight's interaction at the archives several days ago.

Willow winced at the tale and Gus gasped.

"Yeah, knowing Amity, I'd say you touched a nerve... Not that the things she said were any better, but she's actually very nice, I promise," Willow said.

Luz grunted.

She'd believe it when she saw it.

She spent the majority of the afternoon rummaging around the forest with King and the two witches before finally making her way back to Blight manor by early evening.

The sun is starting to dip toward the horizon, slowly, but surely, though it’s still warm and she's already a little sweaty under the chain mail, so a little more couldn't hurt.

The Blight's had a training yard set up near the guard barracks, near the house beneath the third-floor balcony.

She's going to take Viney's advice and get some training in.

King plopped himself down into the hay of their stable stall to nap, while she makes her way to the training yard.

~ ~ ~

Amity sighed to herself.

She feels like a prisoner in her own home.

Even if she had been confined to the manner before while her parents were away, she had at least been able to go places escorted by a guard, but ever since her altercation with their newest guard, Luz Noceda, she can't stand the idea of running into the woman again.

Not so much because she finds her boorish and crass, though she certainly does.

No, mostly, she feels ashamed.

Amity had never raised her hand against anyone before in her life, and to be honest she had surprised even herself after her hand had made contact with Luz's face.

But, what the other woman had said had really struck a nerve somewhere deep inside her, for multiple reasons.

The foremost being that Luz didn't know the first thing about her, and had absolutely no right to judge her, which had lit a raging fire in her gut, one that had quickly been doused in cold fear at the dark look that had fallen over Luz's face the second the shock of her strike had worn off.

For a long moment, she had expected the other woman to hit her back, but she hadn't. She'd simply picked up her books and walked away.

Amity didn't get her at all.

She also feels guilty.

Guilty for slapping her, and where she was adamant in Luz having no right to judge her, she had done the same thing had she not? Hurled baseless accusations she had no way of knowing we're true or not.

She'd been cold and hostile to the woman from the moment they had met, and she can admit now, while she's still annoyed that Bump won't let her leave the manor grounds unescorted, Luz running into her had been an accident and could have happened to anyone.

She grumbled to herself as she walked down the long, empty halls of Blight manor, dress swishing around her ankles with the quick movement.

She needed some fresh air, she hadn't even been to her favorite spot by the pond she'd so dreaded the idea of coming face to face with Luz, and knowing that an apology is owed… on both parts really, but she doubts she can count on one being returned by the uncouth warrior.

She scoffed to herself. She was doing it again, foisting her preconceived notions on a person she did not know at all. This whole affair had put her in a bad mood for the last four days.

Even her siblings seemed to be staying clear of her, perhaps being able to sense the dark cloud hanging over her.

At least there was that. She wasn't sure she could handle the twins and this crisis of conscience at the same time.

Blights do not apologize, but unlike her parents, Amity believes she has enough consciousness to know when she is in the wrong and when she needs to make amends.

Though, knowing and doing, are two very different things; her pride is a very hard thing to ignore.

She quickly moved up the stairs to the third floor. The balcony from there always provided a lovely view of the nearby sea. It was especially breathtaking at sunset or sunrise, she could definitely use the relaxing atmosphere right now.

It's still quite warm when she stepped outside onto the balcony, but there's a breeze that tousled her hair and makes the mid-summer heat more bearable, the few clouds that seem to be rolling across the sky and occasionally covering up the slowly sinking sun also help.

She leaned on the wooden railing and stared out at the sea, watching the sunlight sparkle off the distant waves in flashes of orange and pinks.

It helped release some of the tension in her body, and she closed her eyes, setting her chin in her hand. She can smell the faint salt that lingers in the breeze from the ocean even from here.

She's all but ready to fall asleep standing up when a loud 'thunk' makes gold eyes pop open and glance around.

The noise comes a second time, and now she can follow it.

Down below her, in the training field that was available to the guardsmen, is Luz.

The human doesn't see her from down there, naturally. She's not even turned to face her.

She's facing a training dummy, sword drawn and held in the ready position. One Amity has seen many times in illustrations of the sword-play books she has read cover to cover multiple times.

Despite her still mixed, negative, feelings about Luz, she can't help but watch. The art has always fascinated her.

The other woman is standing rock still in front of a dummy, it hardly looked like she was breathing, but then she dashed forward, and in one fluid motion strikes through one of the dummy’s straw arms, cleaving it away from the rest of the body with the smooth strike before she bounced backward, movements seamless as she put distance between herself and her stuffed opponent, sword raised again and hopped to the side, perhaps as though avoiding a mock strike.

The moment her foot touched down, she is again moving forward, ducking under the dummy's remaining, stretched out arm and pivoted on her foot a swift pirouette that made Amity dizzy just watching, and in a flash of metal, the blade falls, sundering the entire dummy in two at the chest.

Wide gold eyes blinked at the demonstration of skill.

It seemed at least some of her accusations the other day were baseless.

Luz is certainly not graceless, far from it.

If anything, she moved as smoothly as water in a stream, seamless, smooth.

She watched as Luz sheathed her blade and wiped the back of her arm across her forehead.

She frowned to herself as she stepped away from the railing, hands clenched into the fabric of her dress skirt.

She always told herself that she would be a bigger person than her parents. and it's time she finally practiced what she preached.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

What Was the Mountain, What Heralds the Calamity

Therapy had been tough in the months following the incident. Daily life had turned into a blur ever since.

Heidi stood in front of the mirror and only registered with delay what sound reached her ears. The hollow snap, a release of pressure around her waist, and the rattle of cheap imitation metal accompanying the flaccid flopping of a broken belt as it drooped from the loops on her pants.

Almost as if in a trance, it took her several moments to register that all the stress-eating and weight gain had caused her oldest and favorite belt to break. She held the buckle and studied how its prong had cleanly snapped in half because of material fatigue and the physical strain of her belly’s size increasing.

It was not like she really needed the belt anyway because her pants had gotten a bit too tight ever since she witnessed the murder-suicide at college. Heidi thought of Krissy for some reason.

Before long, she found herself in another haze: the distant droning radio hits looping the same one-hour track list of pop music in the background, while she explored the brightly lit maze of a cramped clothing store, shopping around for a new belt. She felt seen in an uncomfortable way and avoided eye contact with every single person that got even remotely near her.

Unless she needed to, she never went outside anymore.

Navigating the narrow aisles and beginning to feel nauseous from the cocktails of perfumed scents all tactically spread throughout the retail hellscape, she even tried to avoid physical closeness to any other of the shoppers.

This made it harder to get to wherever the hell the damned belts were in this store. Instead of locking eyes with other people, Heidi stared at a camera stuck overhead in a corner, observing how it slowly panned back and forth and a tiny red light on its blocky little body blinked rhythmically. Seeing her own tiny reflection in the camera lens made her feel uneasy, like she saw someone else in there.

Faceless mannequins wrapped in stylish garb loomed high above her everywhere, looking down on her like disapproving deities; divine idols of fashion that saw without eyes but judged her with cold and absolute cruelty.

The moment she heard familiar voices, she darted into an aisle she had no business in and kept her head down. With a sinking feeling, she wondered what she hated more: the bright and garish colors and neo-hippie designs of the articles that flanked her on both sides, or that she was so afraid of human contact that this was who she was now.

Alone and adrift in a sea of empty masks, engulfed in a suffocating fog of uncertainty and countless little fears.

“Do you think this’ll go better with my blue bolero jacket, or do the colors clash a bit too much? What do you think?” Krissy asked.

Heidi recognized her fellow college colleague’s voice through the white noise of store music, cash register beeps, and other voices softly blending. Somewhat sharp, regularly rising in tone as if to pose several questions before posing the actual question.

“I dunno, babe. You might wanna try the darker blue instead. You know, instead of such a radically different color?” Jacob asked back. Krissy’s boyfriend.

The aisles being what they were in this store, it was not like they offered ample opportunities to hide from prying eyes without ducking down in between them—the nature of such a temple of commerce lured everybody in to see its ample buffet of products, rendering its neon-colored reduced-price signs visible from every corner of the store.

Krissy clicked her tongue. Without even seeing her, Heidi could practically hear her shake her head for emphasis.

“Nah, because I’m really thinking of it going with my favorite jeans, and if it ends up all looking like different shades of blue, it kinda sucks,” Krissy said.

With little opportunity to hide without making herself look even more like a freak, Heidi kept her head down and did what she had been conditioning herself to do for months now: pretend like she did not exist and pray that nobody noticed.

Despite her best efforts, she gawked at Jacob’s face. His eyes stole a furtive glance at Heidi which made her stomach knot. Despite how clipped and short it was, and him focusing all his attention on Krissy, Heidi clearly glimpsed the flash of recognition in his eyes.

She wondered if he had stopped giving her adulterously flirtatious looks because of her bloated figure or because of the thousand-mile stare that haunted Heidi’s mien. The moment she sensed her thoughts drifting in that direction, she shook her head and chastised herself for thinking anything like that.

Heidi turned away and gained distance as quickly as she could without running, far away enough to not have to overhear those other two talking. She stifled a sigh of relief when she finally chanced upon a rack of belts in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

Taking less than a minute to scan the massive assortment, Heidi gazed upon one that really struck her fancy. Two big silver rings adorned the black leather belt and framed the buckle. It looked a bit pricey, but she was willing to pay extra if it was made of authentic metal and leather.

Disappointment followed when she realized it was a size too small.

In a seldom burst of defiance, she looked around. A store clerk was hovering nearby, busy sorting jackets by size on a ring-shaped stand.

Heidi dithered, owed to her mind going in circles and struggling to overcome the part of her that felt anxious in approaching and talking to a stranger. But the store employee was small and unassuming, which helped give Heidi that final push.

Instead of clearing her throat as she had envisioned to catch the girl’s attention, Heidi spoke up, “Uhm, excuse me?”

The shop assistant slowly turned and looked up at her. The nametag read “Jenn” and it only briefly distracted from vaguely disheveled hair and black rings of exhaustion under Jenn’s eyes.

“Hello,” Jenn said in a mousy little voice to match her appearance. “How can I help?”

Out of fear of breaking out in a cold sweat, Heidi embraced her newfound momentum and nodded. She held up the belt like a trophy and felt the blood rushing into her face as she spoke with much less vigor than she felt, “Do you have this in one size bigger?”

Jenn’s eyes went from belt to Heidi and back to the belt.

She said, “If there aren’t any out there, that's—”

The sentence died in Jenn’s mouth and she nodded. The faint semblance of a smile twitched around the corners of her lips, genuine and heartfelt.

“You know, I’ll check. We might have one,” she said. And with a sudden dash of melody to her voice, she added, “I’ll be right back!”

Jenn walked away with a bounce to her step.

Heidi hesitated, wondering if she should wait there or follow Jenn to wherever she was going. The thought that she could spare the girl the extra walk to get back to her drove Heidi to follow, several steps behind and struggling to keep pace. Jenn may have looked small and exhausted but hell, she was fast.

This brought them to a door bearing a label in big black letters emblazoned on its surface, reading:

EMPLOYEES ONLY

Keys jingled as Jenn pulled out a tangle of the little metal objects and unlocked the door. She stepped inside and paused, looking over her shoulder and noticing that Heidi had followed her. She gave her another smile, both feeble and warm.

“Please wait here, I’ll find it in no time. Or maybe not find it. Uhm, I hope I find it? Uh, you know what I mean,” she babbled at Heidi.

She radiated a disarming energy. It melted away the icy barrier of Heidi’s many fears. Seconds later, Heidi found it hard to believe that she had felt the pull of facial muscles she had not flexed in a while—she had returned a smile of her own at Jenn.

The girl disappeared into the eerie twilight of whatever storage lay beyond the threshold. Jenn had left the door ajar, giving Heidi ample time to absorb hints of the secret world behind it.

Contrasting the warm eggshell color of the floors in the store area, the concrete grounds of the back area looked coarse and slate-colored, radiating something cold and unforgiving. Racks of naked steel beams held up all sorts of things wrapped in layers of plastic or piles of cardboard boxes.

Although a cool light emanated from fluorescent tubes above the storage space, the ceilings in there were higher than in the store and it felt like some of them were off. One of the lights even occasionally flickered, lending the otherworld that Jenn had stepped into an almost eerie air that reminded Heidi of a cheesy horror movie.

Seconds flowed into minutes as she waited. She resisted the temptation to look around, felt a stronger need not to make any eye contact anymore. The warmth of smiles exchanged between her and Jenn already felt like it was a million miles away.

Just before any impatience could bubble up to the surface, a loud sound crashed in the storage space. Something big and heavy must have fallen, with a loud sloshing on the hells of the impact.

Heidi’s heart raced. Thundered. She wanted to check. Worried that something had happened to Jenn.

But that icy barrier of fears had fully frozen back into a solid shell, causing her heartbeat to shoot through the roof. Paralyzed, she dreaded the idea of looking like an idiot by calling out for Jenn, only to find out that everything was fine. Or to trespass beyond that ominous threshold of the ajar door and get into any trouble.

The door said it was for employees only, after all.

Then she remembered how she once walked towards danger. Towards the sound of gunshots. Towards whimpering. Towards that horrid scene that had wrought all the therapy of recent months.

Instead of impatience, cold dread bubbled to the surface. She did not want to remember the words of the phone call that followed the murder-suicide she had witnessed.

And then, something else bubbled up. Fiery, and searing. It sliced through the icy shell with something she had forgotten.

Something that felt like hope.

All she had done was witness. But now, perhaps, she could make a difference.

The cold sweat erupted from her pores, after several of her steps taking her through that door, pushing through, looking around for Jenn.

Two forces clashed in the thunder of her beating heart. The fire of courage and the ice of her dread. The need to do the right thing, and the fear of consequences.

Something like claustrophobia began to bear down on her as she paced through the narrow corridors of the storage shelves. While the ceilings were high, so were the racks and piles of boxes all around. Heidi had left one maze and entered another.

“Jenn?” she said. Timid, at first. Assertive on repeat, as she called out again, “Jenn?”

Something metal scraped against the concrete floors, grinding. It also sounded wet.

The moment she turned around, the shadows around her grew. The darkness engulfed her, and a tower fell. A mountain fell upon her. It was too fast for her to react, too sudden to realize what even was happening. Just enough time to know that one of those long metal shelves bent and toppled and fell, and piles of boxes came crashing down upon her.

She instinctively flailed about with her arms to fight herself free from being buried alive under a mountain of boxes, but as her eyes fluttered, nothing was the same anymore. Nothing was as it should be.

Distant and incredible, but all real. All too real. Terribly real.

A stinging smell of salt hung heavy in the air. The taste of rust clung to her tongue in a bitter film. The gray floors had made way to a different color of gray, blending into mist all around, shrouding the dark silhouette of a mountain in the distance.

Heidi’s hands were different. Thinner, not pudgy anymore.

Her body, everything. Like she had lost all the excess weight, and then some. And dressed differently. Dried blood stained her leg, and she had a bright orange life jacket hugging her upper body.

Heidi was no longer Heidi. She was now Krissy.

The world swayed and ocean waves lapped at the edges of an inflatable rubber raft. Jacob slumped where he sat, his head hanging down so far that his hair concealed his face, and his head bobbed up and down as he sat across from her in the raft. Like he was unconscious. Or sleeping.

But Heidi—no, Krissy—knew he was not sleeping.

He was also not Jacob anymore, even if he looked like him.

Even if he now raised his head, looking up until their eyes met, and dread welled up inside of her, making her stomach knot and cutting off air as she held her breath.

He stared. His eyes carried a cutting cold that rivaled the sea’s air. Something other than Jacob peered through them, piercing the darkness between the stars, and wriggling its way forth, like a worm burrowing through the void, trying to emerge into the light, to break through the glint of Krissy’s own horrified visage reflected in those orbs of lifeless jelly.

Like someone watching through a screen, displaying a camera feed.

Krissy hoped Jenn was okay and wanted to wake up. To become Heidi again.

But this was no dream.

And that was not Jacob.

“Who are you?” she croaked. The question landed on wings of a dehydrated rasp.

Jacob’s limbs twitched as the entity tried to move, but they were all long twisted in ways that had caused bones to break and muscles to snap, leaving him stranded in the boat and immobilized. His body shuddered and wiggled for a moment, suggesting that he might have lurched forward. Or lunged at her.

“I am Sorrowglade, a Sheen of the Interlocking Oil Walls. You look thirsty. You should drink,” came the words from Jacob’s chapped lips.

Sorrowglade nodded Jacob’s head towards a bottle of water within Krissy’s reach.

It rolled back and forth, courtesy of the ocean rocking their raft. The water in the bottle sloshed around, out of tact, and a violet tint permeated it. For whatever reason, she knew poison had tainted the liquid.

Tears welled up in Krissy’s eyes. She had no hopes of finding Jacob. Either he was long dead or Sorrowglade had absorbed him. The worries about a belt in a clothing store or any anxieties welling up now lay far behind her, even though they had troubled her mind mere moments ago.

Her head weighed a ton and she felt sick. That metallic taste reached far down her throat and a pain in her jaw flared up. The plane’s crash into the ocean had miraculously done almost nothing to her.

“We are the shining light that gleams from the cracks between the walls,” said Sorrowglade, still borrowing Jacob’s vocal cords. His eyes still dead, but awake, and wary.

Studying her features with curiosity. Like a fascinated child.

The lifeboat drifted closer towards the mountain. Panic budded in Krissy’s body, starting as a tingling in her digits and spreading everywhere else until it erupted into a nauseating dizziness, making the world spin around her.

“We are here to guard you from the jovial pudding of the laughing coin kings,” continued Sorrowglade. “From the false promises of freedom. From the lies that the stone walkers cloaked in hairless shadow utter.”

Krissy’s stomach churned. She fought against the urge to throw up while her hands pawed at the paddle nearby, gripping it tightly as she stared at Sorrowglade, expecting Jacob’s broken body to suddenly defy its injuries and jump at her like a hungry beast.

But Sorrowglade only stared at her from the helpless body of her boyfriend.

“They will devour if you let them near,” he said. No—they—they said. Speaking in one voice, but many who spoke at once, “We, on the other hand, we offer salvation.”

Krissy could barely see through the unsteady blur of tears as she pried her gaze from Jacob’s body, and she paddled with all her might. Tried to gain distance from that growing, looming shadow of a mountain. A distance that shrank far too quickly.

“We are golden light that shines upon true ways.”

Krissy forced herself not to sob when she realized the raft spun around. She doubled her efforts to alternate sides as she paddled, harder, with crushing despair taking root in every fiber of her body already wracked with panic.

“We have traveled from far to find you, and we are the conclusion that all your roads lead to.”

Silently, inwardly, Krissy pleaded for something to happen, to rip her out of this and bring her back to where she was. To be Heidi again, to find Jenn in the store, and go home with a new belt. But she was Krissy now, and her world had gone to hell.

“When you close your eyes, you taste us. When you taste the grit of dirt crunching between your teeth, you hear our arrival.”

Krissy paddled, and paddled, and paddled. Looking over her shoulder only turned her dizziness into something worse. The mountain grew larger by the second. Looming behind Jacob like a sinister and shadowy patron. Like the ocean waters carried the raft there no matter how hard she tried.

The metallic taste made way to something far more bitter and caustic and before she knew it, she retched and heaved as she vomited off the side of the boat. Chunks of lunch had gotten stuck in her hair and her mouth burned.

“Lay down your ten thousand nightmares. Abandon all the pain and the guilt,” Sorrowglade said in the same dull monotone, a mockery of Jacob’s pleasant voice as it delivered all these strange words.

Everything he said kept riding on the tone of an invitation. But all she could hear were secret threats.

At least the dizziness waned a little bit. And although her arms wobbled, she found new strength and paddled with all her might.

Doom emanated from that mountain. Slithering in between the scent of sea salt, something putrid and rotten reached her nostrils, almost made Krissy hurl again.

“Why embrace this suffering any longer? Why do some of you resist so?”

Krissy did her best to ignore Sorrowglade, but it was impossible not to listen. His voice kept cutting through the sloshing of ocean waves, infiltrating her ears and mind and thoughts, like tendrils snaking their way forth, smooth, and slow and steady and certain—

“I can make him whole again. I can end his suffering and restore your happiness.”

A gasp almost escaped her lips, but she fought back against it, even harder than she paddled. A part of her wanted to take Sorrowglade up on their offer, but she remembered the words from that call Heidi had taken from the dying man.

Not in a monotone, but a growl, she replied. She repeated those words from the mysterious call as she watched the life fade from the eyes of the man who had committed the murder-suicide at her college, “When the ascetic glimpses gold outside the gloom, he is blinded and strays from his path.”

Something grabbed at the paddle and because she had turned around halfway to face Not-Jacob and address this Sorrowglade, she never saw what yanked that paddle away from her, dragging it underwater and letting the darkness beneath the ocean surface swallow it whole.

Having reached the peaks of her panic, it made no difference anymore.

“These are not my final moments,” she finished. And despite her voice trembling, every syllable emerged with force, riding on waves of defiance.

Sorrowglade continued to stare at her through Jacob’s deadened eyes. They waited for more, but Krissy had said her part. Gave as little as possible, because she sensed how they did not understand one another, even if they spoke the same language and could comprehend the individual words.

“We may be delayed today,” said Sorrowglade. With no anger nor emotion. “The awakening comes eventually, like your sun always rises and always sets.”

The silhouette of the mountain moved. Not because of the boat’s steady rocking amidst the ocean waves, or Krissy’s sight being affected by that motion.

“A celestial body that you see in ways it is not, believe it behaves in ways that it does not.”

No. The mountain moved. Its shape changed as limbs parted from it. Monolithic and towering, one such limb reached out towards them, creeping closer and closer. A low baritone rumbling accompanied its arrival, like a nearing earthquake, heralding how the ocean waves turned more violent, now splashing higher and higher against the malleable sides of the raft.

Something oily and dark and glistening pierced the veil of mists and closed in quickly on Krissy.

As she screamed and clamped her eyes shut, the searing pain flared up in her every limb. Everything hurt.

A string of profanities, panting gasps, the sound of panic weighing heavily on Jenn’s voice as she apologized profusely, both to Heidi and to an imaginary mountain of oppression that haunted her every working moment.

Jenn helped remove the many heavy boxes under which Heidi had been buried alive, and Heidi groaned in pain.

Nothing serious. Nothing had harmed her. The pile of boxes had miraculously did nothing tangible to hurt her.

Krissy was not Krissy any longer, but Heidi again. Heidi hoisted herself up onto her side and her skin tingled as she felt Jenn’s wispy hands gently touching her while she tried to help her up onto her feet.

Trembling from the shock, Heidi’s knees buckled for a moment, but Jenn helped her stand up straight. They stumbled their way out of the sea of boxes and bags that now littered the narrow corridor of the storage space.

The mountain had almost gotten Krissy. Luckily, she was now Heidi.

“Oh my gosh,” Jenn whispered. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

Heidi shook her head and took Jenn’s hands, grasping them firmly and giving them a shake for emphasis, not letting go.

“No, look, don’t worry about it. S'all good. I, uh, I shouldn’t have been here—uh, back here—to begin with. I was just gonna. I was just, uh—there was a sound, and I was just, I wanted to check on you,” Heidi finally said, struggling to find the right words and omit the deluge of wrong ones and not sound like she had lost her mind.

Trying not to talk about her time as Krissy, after a plane crash, talking to the Sorrowglade that had possessed her half-dead boyfriend’s body.

Because none of that made sense. She had turned into another person and back again.

And almost as if to confirm the sheer insanity of it all, the moment the two women emerged from the storage room into the warmer light of the clothing store, Heidi saw Krissy and Jacob standing in the aisles of the shop. Although well out of earshot to hear whatever they were talking about, Krissy’s animated movements suggested she was berating Jacob for some fashion faux pas he had just committed in commenting on her most recent choice in attire to try on.

Jenn’s continued apologies barely pierced the haze of Heidi’s mind, still drifting back to that gloomy ocean, that mist, and that mountain. Its oily, tentacle-shaped something that reached out—that almost reached her.

Almost touched her.

Its agent, Sorrowglade, having almost convinced her.

Almost.

Yet more harrowing things she could not speak of in therapy. For all of this was real.

All of this suggested the invasion of that cold thing, hailing from the darkness between the stars, from far away. From distant worlds, from devoured husks, reaching out and trying to find more connections here, in our world.

Heidi smiled at Jenn and assured her everything was fine. What a beautiful lie.

“Did you find the belt? In my size?” she interrupted the clerk.

Jenn’s eyes went wide, and she burst out laughing.

All the anxiety blown away; it was almost like old Heidi was back. The one from before the incident.

Almost.

In truth, she only wore a mask.

Deep down, she felt sick to her stomach. Wondered what she could do to prevent the coming calamity. Wondered if she could even do anything.

Nobody would believe her if she told them.

She struggled to believe it herself.

—Submitted by Wratts

[todaluk]

Writing Challenge - Tea

[Muse Song: Lost Highway by Dirtwire ]

Eyes scanned the tables for anything worth gil as various hands passed by his face with delicate silks and woven gold. Bright smiles and kind words baited him closer as boxes were laid out with jewelry and trinkets that the Seeker casually eyed. There was an energy that raced through the busy streets as Toadie found himself almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. He moved quickly to the spices and couldn’t help a sniff at the scented oils nearby. The Seeker moved from stall to stall, effortlessly pulling away from each without a purchase as he sweet-talked the merchants.

A light bump here, a comforting hand around a waist, or a simple gesture as he moved past yielded various items like a fine gold chain and an embroidered handkerchief. Gently leaning over counters, his sash covered a trinket or two from the stalls where he picked up a pair of earrings and a bracelet. He only needed a few items to pay for his request. He didn’t want to get too greedy on the golden streets of Ul’dah.

Quickly, he traveled the side street as it rose up and then dipped to follow the stairs. Toadie’s coin pouch, tightly wrapped and tied to a belt, was tucked neatly under his sash. Yet still, he moved to place a hand over the spot as he continued along the forgotten areas behind the market. Some shopkeepers sat in wicker chairs, others on stained pillows to invite a passerby in through the tattered cloth or bead draperies. Black market dealers, potion peddlers, fencers, and even the desperate fortune teller clung to their shops and pretended as if business wasn’t thriving under the shadows.

Bright eyes kept a lookout as he moved through the dark alleyways. The sound of the market was a distant hum that traveled over stone, giving the back alley an otherworldly feel. Toadie’s ears swiveled to each sound, but he knew which shop he needed. His feet remembered the way. Shops lined the street, but none of them were his goal. He was a mortal traveling a moon bridge and one false step would send him toppling over the edge.

Long tufted tail swayed behind him as he turned and slipped into a small building, a gilded eye painted very discreetly on the corner of a window. Pulling back a thin cloth that hung before the open doorway, Toadie started up a very soft growling purr in his throat. A welcome comfort and sign that he meant no harm.

His sense of smell was muddled as the sweet and musky smoke swirled around him as if trying to captivate him. A deep breath, he could feel a slight haze creep into his consciousness as he rumbled louder when his heart rate picked up. Ears swiveling, he made sure that while his eyes adjusted to the dark room he’d keep to the wall and follow the displays. A wall to his back, he slowly began to come down from his momentary fight response.

Toadie’s hands moved across displays of odd trinkets that lay on small pillows. Jewelry of all sorts decorated mannequins and ceramic hands that sat on the counter tops. Intricate silk sashes were draped over wooden dowels, each with stitched patterns in glittering color. Charms and baubles sat on antlers displaying bird feathers, precious stone, and etched bone with various purpose and usefulness. A delicate web stretched across the ceiling with shimmering stone for the star patterns. The soft sound of bone and antler against wood brought Toadie back from his journey.

A woman emerged with cloth draped over her form. An old body, she still retained every bit of muscle needed to protect both herself and her goods. Her ears and tail were covered in dark black fur lacking any sort of sheen while her entire form melted in and out of the shadows of the room. The woman leaned a hip to the counter with a vicious grin as she took in the sight of the Man.

“I could have stolen you blind in the time it took you to get out here old woman.” He chuffed

There was a slow building gurgle as the old woman spit up a laugh that raked across slate. When she finally spoke, her voice growled with the ferocity of a half-tamed beast. “And learned just how accurate my aim still is, anak.”

Toadie glanced over the woman before giving her a respectful bow. A flourished motion, one he learned from the folks at the theater. However, he wasn’t expecting thin fingers to lift his chin and redirect his gaze. The Seeker’s eyes met similar dark amber ones in a tense gaze. He slowly stood back up as the old woman pat his cheek and then her claws moved down his clothing with the gentleness of a spider threading web. She stopped at the gold threaded sash and gently tugged the knot.

Toadie let his ears fall back and frowned as he growled in his sudden agitation of her response. However, there was simply the knowing smile and gentle pat to the knot and fold keeping the sash on his waist. No words passed, but he knew she understood where the cloth had come from. The cursed caravan was dead.

“Why is luck walking through my shop today?”

Toadie moved forward in the darkened room, his hand produced a handkerchief wrapped around the few items he’d pinched at the market. “A trade…”

The woman's voice took a softer tone, but it only made her sound more sinister. “A trade? What did you bring me, hmm? And what do you want in return?”

“The first, is my pendant. I need you to fix it, and you are the only one I trust to do it right.” Toadie paused for a moment, thought better than to request a second favor, but continued. “Second, I need another charm…”

The witch reached forward to grip the cloth with skin barely stretched over skeletal hands. Toadie watched as her claws opened the handkerchief and she sifted through the stolen goods. Eventually, she looked up and her smile stood apart from her as bright white fangs stood out from the shadows. There was a bit of laughter, but it faded quickly as she reached out to Toadie to ask for the pendant.

The Seeker's ears fell back as the woman tossed the payment to the side, the loud clang of metal on glass shattered the relative quiet of the shop. She waved him over to a work area. Pillows circled a low table with a few tools already spread and ready. Toadie took in a breath, and reclined into the pillow pile as the woman worked.

“What sort of charm are you looking for…?” The witch pulled out a thin strip of leather and measured it before cutting away the excess.

Toadie swiveled his ears and grinned, “I need another cracked bone. I... Uh, lost my other one.”

There was a pause in her work, and Toadie let his ears fall back as dark eyes slowly trailed up to lock with his own. “No.”

Toadie frowned, "I need a replacement."

"You stole the last one..." A claw reached and jabbed at the air towards the Seeker. "No."

Glass and wooden beads were strung onto the leather strip as she alternated the shapes. There was another pause as she hovered her hand over the pendant and looked up at Toadie with a frown. Silence was met with silence as she took a pair of fangs to tie into the necklace. The design was not the same as before, but then each time the necklace was repaired it changed.

“They suffer while you are away. They lament the loss of their Luck.” The statement hung in the air, captured by the smoke that drifted around them.

“They don’t suffer. You don’t need luck to survive. You need skill.” He gave the woman a snort as he settled back into the bigger pillow. Crossing his arms, he felt a petulant streak as he inclined his head and frowned.

A scratching rasp caught his attention, but it was just the woman laughing. More beads were set out and strung on the necklace. Toadie watched the woman work as she tethered odds and ends into the design. He also noticed just how drastically this piece had changed from the last. Though it wasn’t long before the necklace was finished and as the witch fashioned a clasp of metal to each end.

She handed over the finished product. “Try not to break this one as quickly as the last.”

“No promises.” Toadie took the piece and placed it around his neck with a sigh, the weight a familiar and missed feeling. He looked down at it before he stood up.

“How many have you tricked in your time?” She chuckled and tipped her head. The question was a shift from the previous conversation, but one that Toadie understood.

The Seeker laughed and his tail tip wiggled behind him, “I never tell them I’m good luck. They make that mistake all on their own.”

The woman watched him for a moment and her ears tilted back, “They follow you out of false hope. How long will you lie to them?”

“As long as they let me.” He winked.

The witch did not stand as she waved him off towards the door frame. “Payment was sufficient for the work, so you owe me no debt.”

Her words were more ceremonial than anything as she then clasped her hands together with fingers pointing down. Slowly, she opened them and bowed her head with her ears back. Toadie held no hesitation as he did the same in a return gesture. Between the two, they shared a sign of trust between members of the same tribe. When the farewell was complete, Toadie turned with a glance back. “Be well, Kurshaw…”

Feet moved of their own accord, and the Man was lost in thought as he turned and maneuvered his way back to the sun. The sounds of the market brought his focus back to the present and he looked back towards the side street. Pulling out a cracked bone charm, he fashioned it to his bandana with the condor feather settling just within his peripheral. Taking a final stride forward, he melted into the market as just another face in the crowd.

Back in the shop, a clawed hand snatched up the empty display with a click of her tongue, but then laughed. "Well done."

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Do you have any idea where I could buy a traditional Pontic outfit (guy) online?? I’ve been looking but I can’t really find one

… Alternatively, what are the components of it, because it might be easier to just make my own/find the specific components.

———————————————

I don’t know where you live but I couldn’t find any online English shops which sell Pontiac outfits. I can give you some links but I am not sure they ship where you live. Most of them seem to just ship in Greece. (Copy and Paste them).

https://marketnet.gr/en/greek-traditional-costumes/739-greek-traditional-costume-pontius-teens-men-pontios-mark621.html

https://www.pontiaka.gr/endymasia-kosmimata/foresies-c-5_27.html

http://www.paradosiakesforesies.gr/index.php?l=el

https://www.4seasons.gr/c/414_538/paradosiakes-stoles-stoles-pontoy-kapadokias.html

Now, for the making of a Pontiac outfit: 

Some pictures for reference

Here is a video on how to dress with the traditional clothing of Trapezounda (Trabzon).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ap-U-4K3Q2U

 The base:

You will need a plain shirt (whatever color you want) with a high colar.

Over that a black vest.

You will need pants in dark color. The pants need to be wide from your waist to your knees.

Finally, you will need some long black boots.

 Accessories:

You will need a headpiece, called “Paslik/Pasluk/Pasluh”. It looks like a hood on the middle. It is two meters in diameter and 30cm in width. Tie it around your head and make a knot at the back of the head or to the side. You should sew a tuft on the top of it. (1:45 – 4:09 in the video shows you different ways to tie it).

Over your pants, in your waist, you need to tie a wide cloth with horizontal or vertical stripes in bright and intense colors like blue, green, red, beige, yellow. It has tassels on the end of it. The cloth is called Tarapuluz/Tropoloz.

Over Tarapuluz/Tropoloz you put a wide leather belt with horizontal stripes, which has a place for a small knife. From there you also hang a cloth embroidered purse (On the picture it’s the one on the left of the body, with the golden bird on it).

0:50 – 1:20 on the video shows you how to put a talisman, a small metallic purse and a clock.

 ΥΟU CAN ALSO DO SIMPLER VERSIONS, like these:

But the more accessories you manage to make/find, the more culturally rich your clothing will be. 

You can google “ανδρική παραδοσιακή στολή Πόντου” for more results.

I hope I covered you! If not, feel free to send me a PM or another ask. 

Good luck!!

[thefutureisyellow]

“There is no rush of fire like woman so untamed. She calmly goes her way where even panthers would be shamed.” -Aristophanes, Lysistrata

After the success of last year’s costume for the Make a Major Impact Fair at CU Boulder, I thought I’d revise my look for this year’s! It’s definitely a nicer quality than last year’s, with a few more anachronistic touches. Thanks as always to @clearancecreedwatersurvival​ for design help and pictures.

Much like last year, this costume is based on what an Athenian matron would have worn in about the 4th c. BCE. This woman is perhaps more upper class than last year’s design, though the pure white chiton is less beautifully “woven” than 2018′s. 

I’m including another break-down of the outfit under the cut:

For my bottom layer, I’m wearing a peplos (also called a doric chiton). This one is made out of a simple white queen-sized sheet. The peplos was in fashion for hundreds of years with very little change, as it is very simple to create and put on. Although this year’s is fairly simple, most peplos would have been beautifully dyed and woven. As always, thanks to Take Back Halloween for the original concept and tutorial, which I have included below. It’s tied with an obi belt I got from a vacation in Japan years ago, looped around the waist and then knotted in the front. The fibulae (pins on my shoulders) are the same as last year, possibly from this shop.

Over my peplos, I am wearing a himaton, which is a shawl/wrap/cloak worn by every gender. This year’s is repurposed from last year’s peplos, and is pinned with an old cat pin of my mother’s (definitely anachronistic!). Unfortunately, I was a little too lazy to hem the himaton like @bisexual-flareon suggested last year, but hopefully this fabric is more acceptable as a himaton than as the main peplos :)

I am still barefoot, which is historically accurate but mostly because I still don’t have any convincing shoes.

My jewelry is rather... off. The earrings are replicas of Mycenaean earrings, but those were from the 8th c. BCE and a completely different city state. They were a gift, but I believe they came from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They definitely don’t have them anymore, but these two sets are pretty good dupes, from a fairly accurate time period. The necklace is a modern necklace from here, but it worked so well that I couldn’t resist. I am wearing a replica of a Roman bracelet, which was also a gift.

My hair is the same as last year’s, from this tutorial. Athenian matrons wore their hair up exclusively, though unmarried women could wear their hair down. There are a few inaccuracies that you can see in the close up of my hair style, much like last year: the bobby pins would not have been present, and the ribbon would have been wool, not leather.

I also used last year’s tutorial for the makeup, again done with accurate techniques if not accurate products (thankfully, no lead!). I used a Nyx concealer for my face, a Pixi Endless Silky Eye Pen for the eyeliner, Too Faced’s Better Than Sex mascara for my mascara, and a very blotted version of a Kiko Milano lipstick for the lip and the cheek. Of course, I yet again skipped the sexy, sexy unibrow that was popular for women at the time, as I didn’t want to scare the firsties. 

As with last year, I wore Black Phoenix Alchemy’s Hetairae perfume. Hetairae were high-class prostitutes--not quite the proper Athenian matron I was dressed as, but it is a lovely scent that echoes perfumes of the time. It’s also quite a lovely scent that I plan to wear more often.

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[waywardnerd67]

You Won’t Hurt Me

Title: You Won’t Hurt Me Square Filled: Flogging Pairing: Dean x Reader Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Warnings: Fluff/Smut Summary: (Y/N) reveals one of her deepest fantasies that has Dean twisted into knots. Word Count: 1457 Created for: @spnkinkbingo

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(Y/N) nervously walked around the sex shop as Dean picked out her anniversary outfit out. The last year had been one of the best in her life. After a near death experience, Dean Winchester had confessed his feelings for her and they had been inseparable since. When Dean said he had their first anniversary all planned out she never thought she would be walking around a sex shop with him.

It was not that she was naïve or anything. (Y/N) was well experienced in the bedroom and more so now that she was with Dean. As she walked further away from him, she found herself in front of one of her deepest fantasies. She ran her fingers over the soft leather sending shivers throughout her body. The thought of Dean holding it in his large hand blistering her skin with it made her thighs clench together.

(Y/N) jumped when she felt a pair of strong arms encircle her waist, “Sweetheart what are you thinking about that has your face so red?” he asked chuckling.

“Nothing.” (Y/N) said quickly pushing her fantasy to the back of her head trying to walk away.

Dean did not let her go to far before pulling her back, “Hey remember you can tell me anything. Especially if that anything has some sexy and hot involved with it.”

She laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. She bit her lip debating on telling him or not. Sighing she decided the best thing to do was be honest. She pulled the item off the hook, “You know what this is, right?”

He shrugged taking it from her hands, “Sure it’s a whippy thingy.”

She chuckled, “It’s called a Flogger.” (Y/N) paused running her fingers through the straps, “I-I’ve always had the fantasy of one being used on me.”

Looking up she saw Dean’s deep emerald eyes wide, “O-Oh…” he said looking back down at the item in his hand as she took it from him placing it back on the hook.

“There’s something about trusting someone so completely that I would allow them to strike me with something. I… I’ve told anyone that so consider yourself privileged.” She explained tapping his cheek smiling up at him.

Dean let out a shake breath chuckling nervously as he followed her to the register with the outfit he picked out. It was several weeks later that Sam had suddenly decided to go up to Sioux Falls to help Jody and Donna with the girls leaving Dean and (Y/N) the Bunker to themselves.

She was reading in the library when Dean approached her, “Hey sweetheart, do you mind coming with me for a moment?”

She glanced up seeing the nervousness in his body as he fidgeted with the hem of his flannel. Placing her bookmark in her spot she got up following Dean to his bedroom. (Y/N) was shocked to see his room lit up by several candles and brand-new sheets covering his bed. As she looked around that is when she spotted something new hanging from the chair by his desk.

“(Y/N), you’ve made ever fantasy of mine come true by just being with me. Now, I want to make one of your fantasies come true.” She looked over to him hearing how anxious he was.

She walked over to him slipping her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, “Dean you know that all I ever want is you, right? We don’t have to do anything you’re obviously not comfortable with doing.”

He held her close his hands spreading across her butt squeezing her against him, “I want to give you everything you desire. I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”

His admission made her heart swell and she placed her hands on either side of his face, “Dean Winchester I trust you completely. You won’t hurt me.”

Within a split second, Dean’s lips were smashed against her as he pushed her back towards his bed. She slipped her hands over his shoulders pushing his flannel down his arms. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head, (Y/N) unfastened his belt and pants bringing them down his long legs. She was getting ready to pull his boxers down when he lifted her up playfully tossing her onto the bed.

She let out a yelp giggling as he climbed over her. Dean quickly had her out of her clothes leaving her bare for him to admire. His intense stare was making her anxious and then he got up grabbing the flogger from the chair. (Y/N) could feel her heart racing and her stomach clenching watching Dean staring down at her.

He draped the leather straps over her arm dragging it up and over her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she let out a shaky breath feeling the softness caressing her skin. As he dragged it down her breasts over her stomach she let out a breathy moan opening her eyes slowly. Dean’s full lips were parted as he breathed heavily keeping laser focus on what he was doing.

(Y/N) rolled over onto her stomach lifting her butt up as she got on her knees. She heard Dean take in a sharp breath and then she felt his calloused hand ran over her smooth skin. She shivered when she felt the leather straps draping down her back.

Dean flicked his wrist making the straps roll against her back. He did it a few more times a little hard with each snap but not hard enough to make her flinch or her skin to sting. She looked back over her shoulder seeing him biting down on his lower lip. His hard length straining against his boxers.

“I trust you completely, Dean. You won’t hurt me.” She said encouragingly smiling at him.

He took a deep breath and snap the straps against her skin the sound filling the room. She let out a groan as she gripped the sheets tightly. Dean did it again and she could feel her skin heating up. Dragging it over her rear he snapped the straps against her butt cheek and she called out, “Oh! Oh god…”

The ache between her legs was pulsating with each snap of the flogger against her skin. Dean flicked it against her butt again and a few of the straps hit her slick lips, “Fuck!” she cried out. Dean worked the flogger up and down her back, butt and legs leaving her a panting wounded up mess.

She caught a glimpse of the flogger hitting the ground and felt him grinding his hips against her butt. His hands were running along her blistering skin as if trying to soothe her. She pushed back against him, “Dean, please… I need you now.” She begged.

Seconds later, (Y/N) felt his swollen head pressing against her entrance. As he pushed slowly inside of her, she could not help the long moan erupting from her lips. The way he filled every inch of her perfect was a feeling she was always overwhelmed by. She pushed herself up on her hands as Dean stayed still and she moved along his hard shaft.

“Fuck…” he grunted watching her glide over him with ease. His fingers running down over the marks left on her skin from the flogger.

She gripped the sheets tightly pushing back against him as hard as she could, “Dean… harder…” she said as his hands took firm hold of her hips.

The moment he snapped his hips against her she cried out. His pace was feverish and full of need. Both of them panting and moaning chasing after the same release. Her walls clenched down around him as the pressure within her was on the brink of exploding.

“Shit, shit, (Y/N) I’m coming!” he called out just as her own orgasm hit. She was crying out incoherently as he was riding out his own.

(Y/N) laid flat on the bed as Dean carefully laid beside her kissing her shoulder. “That was…” he began to say.

She finished his sentence before he could, “Awesome. That was awesome. Way better than I could have ever fantasized about.”

She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her lips against his. He rolled her on top of him and she straddled his hips. (Y/N) could feel him getting hard again and she began to kiss down his neck.

“(Y/N)…” he groaned as she ran her tongue around his nipple.

“You took care of me and now I’m going to return the favor. Consider it a thank you for living out one of my fantasies. Now lay back and enjoy the ride.” She said kissing her way down to his cock running her tongue along it as he moaned his response.

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[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.11

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~3500

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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They did not return home that morning. Father Michael insisted that Sam stay in town, partially so that he could serve as protection, and so Y/N would be safe. Castiel escorted them to an empty chamber in the church and offered to send villagers to collect their things from the house. Sam refused, saying that once the sun was overhead he would return to pack and bring clothing back to the church, along with the rest of his weaponry. At Sam’s request, Dean and Jo were given a room as well.

Y/N shrugged her coat off and sat on the straw bed. It creaked slightly under her weight, and she kicked her boots to the ground and lay back, rubbing her eyes. Sam entered the room a few minutes later, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He’d just met with several priests and town leaders, debating on how to handle the attack. Y/N was surprised that none of the church leaders seemed to fear him; it was as if they knew his affliction was beyond his control and didn’t feel it necessary to hold it against him.

“Sam.”

He didn’t respond, just stood by the window, and gazed out at the landscape below. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she would say he looked terrified.

“Sam.”

He looked at her this time. He had changed into full clothes for his meeting, and he felt heavy and stiff. She was still dressed in her nightgown and looked warm, soft and inviting. All he wanted to do was melt into her and disappear forever.

She patted the mattress next to her. “Come here. Come lie next to me.”

Sam lay down, allowing her to wrap one arm over his shoulder, rubbing his back over the thick jacket he wore.  He breathed in her sweet, earthy scent and closed his eyes, trying to get as close to her as possible.

“Seeing Hannah like that,” Sam murmured, ���It brought back a lot of memories… of the night Jessica died…”

Y/N shifted under him and turned her head to kiss his cheek. “I know, I’ve seen you talk with her in town… I’m sorry this is all happening again.”

Sam slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “She had children… they watched their mother die.”

“She died protecting them,” Y/N offered, “it might have gone for them, Sam, she did what any mother would do. It’s what I would do.”

Sam nuzzled closer against her. “If I hadn’t come back, this would never have happened…”

“Sam, you had no way of knowing,” she replied quietly, “this is not your fault. We were living a quiet life and now we have a job to do, and that’s to protect the people in this town.”

He sniffed and buried his face in her shoulder. “I have to protect you,” he gripped her tighter, “if it comes back, then I want you to stay here and do not leave this room under any circumstances, do you understand?”

“What if you get hurt? Or Dean, or Jo?”

“I will handle it,” Sam lifted his head to look at her, and then crawled on top of her. “But if you make any move to try and help me or take this beast on yourself, I will tie you to this bloody bed. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded and swallowed as he stared down at her, fire in his eyes. “Yes, Sam. I understand.”

“Good.” The dominance melted away as quickly as it had appeared, and he slipped down to lie back beside her, kissing her shoulder affectionately. “They want me to help arm the village, so I’ll be in town. We’ve made the decision to get all the women and children into the church at sundown, and the men are going to wait in the closer huts for the hound to come back.”

Y/N sighed. “And where will you be?”

Sam sat up and looked down at her. “I’ll be out there, waiting for it. Nobody else in this town dies, this ends tonight.”

***

At sundown, Y/N met Castiel’s wife at the doors to the church. Meg was petite and brunette, with dark eyes and fair skin. She spoke with a soft Irish accent and gently welcomed each of the women and children into the church and helped them set out blankets on the pews and on the floor while Y/N and Jo began preparing dinner in the kitchens. Cooking for over three hundred mouths was hard work, and they were quickly joined by Meg and several other women. By the time it was dark, everyone was fed and waiting for news while Sam, Dean, and the other men prepared to go out for the night.

Sam came to Y/N’s side after they’d all eaten, fully dressed and armed. He slid his arm around her waist and motioned for her to accompany him to one of the rooms by the kitchens.

“I have to leave soon,” he said quietly. “I want you to stay in the church until I come back, do you understand?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

Sam crossed his arms and stared down at her. “Y/N.”

“What?” She raised her voice. “I hear you, Sam. Don’t go outside, don’t do anything other than sit around and wait for you to come back. Just sit around and wait like a good little girl while the strong men handle things.”

Sam smiled down at her and stroked his fingers over her hair. “That’s right, Princess. Now, are you going to protest over me giving you a kiss before I go?”

Y/N folded her arms, but stretched up on her toes to kiss him anyway. “I’m still upset with you.”

“I know,” Sam kissed her again and checked to make sure nobody could see them before reached down and grabbing a handful of her ass. “But I also know you love me and that when this is all over, we’re going to celebrate.”

Y/N shot him another angry look and swatted his hand away. “There’s got to be a way I can be useful.”

Sam sighed and turned back to her. “This going to sound harsh, but the only way you can be useful is by staying out of our way and helping to keep the other women and children safe. This animal won’t hesitate to kill everyone in this church if it can and we don’t need anyone innocent getting hurt.”

Several minutes later, Sam left her by the front door after brushing a soft kiss against the back of her hand. The men said goodbye to their families and left behind him, with Dean following close behind. Jo tearfully watched the older Winchester leave and sat down in one of the back pews, her eyes fixed on the door.

***

The following morning, Y/N woke up to the feeling of something warm and heavy lying behind her. The scent of sandalwood filled her nostrils, and she smiled as Sam draped an arm over her waist. He’d taken his jacket off, and his linen shirt hung off of him, fluttering in the light breeze that flowed through the room.

“Is it over?” She murmured. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“That's because nothing happened.”

Sam sounded angry, and Y/N opened her eyes, turning over to face him. “What?”

“Nothing happened,” Sam repeated. “The hellhound didn’t come back. Couldn’t even smell it.”

“Why?” Y/N rose up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes.

He shrugged and stood. “Maybe he’s waiting until we let our guard down. Maybe he was satisfied with that one kill and now he’s gone…”

Y/N watched him splash water on his face. “Or?”

Sam straightened up, water dripping off the hard lines of his face. “I don’t know. I’m meeting with the priests and Father Michael again to discuss a new plan. I’m not leaving town until the damned thing is dead.”

Y/N saw the dark circles under his eyes and motioned him towards the bed. “Come and rest, you’ve not slept and you look exhausted.”

Sam sighed and shook his head as he reached for his jacket. “I can’t, I need to go and help—”

“Alpha.” she reached down to pull her nightdress up over her thighs in an attempt to get him to come to her. “Please?”

Like always, he gave in at the sight, toeing off his boots and tossing his jacket onto the floor. His eyes grew dark with need despite his exhaustion. He settled between her thighs, and she eagerly reached down to undo his belt. The leather slapped open and the sound of his breathing filled the room as Y/N pulled his rapidly hardening cock into her hand. The bed creaked loudly with every movement, and Sam gritted his teeth when he felt his Omega, hot and wet against his manhood.

“What if someone walks in?” He asked, eyes half-lidded.

“The door is shut, yes?”

He nodded.

“And there will be no worrisome noise coming from within?”

Sam inhaled at her stern tone. “None at all.”

“Then,” Y/N angled her hips and notched his cock at her entrance, “nobody has any reason to come in.”

With his lower lip between his teeth, Sam slowly let himself sink inside her. As always, she was tight and warm and perfect, but there was an added danger, doing this act where they were. They were in a house of God, performing an act damnable enough, but even worse now that the man Himself could be watching.

Then watch, you old loon, Sam thought with a smile, and let the Devil watch too, if it so pleases him.

He rocked his hips forward, and the bed creaked even louder than before. He paused, looking down at Y/N.

“I wonder if they keep the beds creaky for a reason,” she giggled.

“Shh.” Sam kissed her gently and held himself over her.

Y/N felt him pull back, then push forward, splitting her open for him and making her shiver with warm pleasure. Her legs fell open and she ran her hands over her Alpha’s back and up into his hair, winding her fingers in the soft tendrils, but not pulling. Sam was incredible when he wanted to be rough, but he was phenomenal when it came to being tender and soft and passionate.

But they would have to be quick. And quiet, too.

She reached down, gently massaging her clit with her fingers as Sam dropped his head onto her shoulder. The sound of their breathing grew heavier, and Y/N felt Sam’s body heave with the force of his passion, each rocking thrust into the cradle of her body soothing the stress and exhaustion of the night.

“So perfect,” Sam murmured, “so perfect for me.”

He thrust himself forward, burying his face in the crook of her neck and helping her work herself to orgasm. She came under him, her walls fluttering, limbs shaking with the force of her pleasure. Each soft press of his body into hers was met with wet, pulsing heat, and Sam allowed her climax to pull his right from him, panting quietly into the crook of her neck as he filled her.

“That didn’t…” he breathed, “I wish I’d taken more time with that.”

Y/N shook her head and turned her head to kiss him. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t have liked to be discovered. Besides, we’ll be going home soon, and you can take as long as you’d like with me.” With a quiet chuckle, Sam slipped from her, rolling onto his side and kissing the exposed skin of her shoulder. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed and crawled out from under him, standing and letting her nightdress flutter to the floor.

Sam reached for her, protesting that she come back, and she obediently leaned back over to kiss him and handed his nightshirt to him. “I suggest you redress and sleep. You’re exhausted.”

He looked up at her anxiously. “And where will you go?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go get some breakfast and come back. Don’t worry.”

***

Sam heard a scream from beyond the trees. A loud, bloodcurdling scream of pain and terror, and he rose to his feet when he recognized the voice crying his name.

And the roaring that followed it.

"Y/N!" He leapt up and tore through the trees, leaping over logs and stones and the little brook the trickled through the trail.

"Sam! Help m—!"

The sound of her cries were cut off suddenly, and Sam bellowed her name again as the sound of snarling grew louder.

When he found her, she was completely still. Her mangled body lay facedown on the grass, her blue dress ripped and soaked with her  blood. Her fingers were curled in the grass, dirt staining her palms.

"No-!" Sam choked out, running to her side and dropping to his knees. "No, Y/N, please… please."

Her eyes were wide open, and her lips were parted with her dying breaths. For a brief second, her eyes focused on him, and she tried to raise a hand to touch his cheek.

“Sam…"

"Shhh…" Sam held her hand against his cheek as she coughed, blood dripping from her lips. "Y/N, please, don't leave me, please! We'll get you to a healer, just please fight it!"

"Sam, I—" she took another breath, heavy and rattling in her chest. "I love you…"

Her broken hand fell from his face, landing on the grass by her side. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she relaxed in his arms.

Sam felt the sob before it left him, a loud, strangled yell as he pulled her into his arms, not caring that her blood was soaking his own clothes. The wet fabric squished as he clutched it in his fingers and fell back against the grass, his dead Omega clutched in his arms.

"No!" He screamed. "No! God, please, no—!"

"Sam!"

He jerked awake, a dry sob catching in his throat. Y/N was above him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek.

"Y/N—" he reached for her, anxiously checking her for any wounds. “What—”

"You were having a dream," she soothed him, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Just a dream, it's okay."

“A dream…” Sam wiped the wetness from his eyes and sat up slowly, his head in his hands. “What time is it?”

“Noon,” Y/N replied. “What were you dreaming about?”

Sam shook his head, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears. The dream had been so vivid that memories he’d repressed for years were flooding back, flashes of spurting blood and matted blonde hair...

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

Y/N looked as if she was going to protest, but allowed him to have his way, simply giving him a quick rub on the shoulder. “Come and eat, I’ve brought some things from the kitchen for you.”

Sam sat up and swung his legs off the bed, his nightshirt fluttering around his knees. He quickly pulled his trousers on and buckled the thick leather belt before accepting the tankard of water she offered. There was something sweet and tangy underlying the cold liquid, and he inhaled the scent of strawberries and something else.

“Is that lemon?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yes, and strawberries. Meg was making it, and I thought I’d bring you some.”

Sam smiled and leaned down to lay an cold-lipped kiss on her cheek. “It’s very good. I appreciate you bringing me lunch, you didn’t have to, I was… I was harsh with you last night, and I’ve never been that way with you.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m not mad at you for that, you were only trying to protect me.”

“But I did not have to be so rude,” Sam bowed his head and lowered his gaze to the floor. “You love me despite that?”

Y/N sighed and cupped his face. “Alpha, look at me.” Sam raised his eyes, and Y/N could see the regret hidden behind beautiful hazel. She stretched up on her toes and kissed him softly. “I love you because you’re trying to keep me safe. You’re doing your job, remember?”

He smiled at her, remembering the words he’d echoed nearly six months before. I’ll keep you safe. That's my job.

“Come, eat some more,” Y/N pushed a plate of bread and butter towards him. “The priests are starting to gather downstairs, I’d also suggest washing and getting dressed.”

Sam shoved a mouthful of bread between his lips as Y/N began to pour fresh water into the wooden basin and splashed some over her face. He finished his food quickly and stripped off his shirt, smiling proudly when Y/N inhaled sharply at the sight of his bare skin. “What?”

“Nothing,” she stepped close to him and laid a soft kiss on his chest, “you’re just beautiful.”

***

Y/N followed Sam to the meeting. After being told to stay out of his way for so long, she argued her way into it and decided that she wanted in on the formation of a new plan to take out the hellhound that was threatening the quiet, peaceful life of Dolgellau.

The jailers, along with Father Michael, Castiel, and Dean were already conversing in front of the altar. The church was otherwise empty, but Y/N could hear voices from behind the church doors, and she assumed that people were still hesitant about going far from their refuge.

“Ahh, Samuel,” Castiel stepped back to allow them into the circle, “glad you could finally join us. Did you sleep well?”

Sam stared at him. He hadn’t informed anyone other than Y/N that he was going to rest. “I slept well. You do keep your beds creaky though.”

“Aye.” Castiel’s eyes flicked to Y/N, and she felt her cheeks turn warm. Somehow, she had a feeling the priest knew about the seduction she’d performed earlier.

“Well, all that aside,” Dean rubbed his hands together and folded his arms, “we need to get rid of that hound, and it needs to be done soon. People are beginning to panic and I’m sure you can’t house people in the church forever.”

Father Michael turned to Sam. “I think… I think we should evacuate the town.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “No. It’ll only follow us if we leave, and out in the open everyone will be vulnerable.”

Castiel spoke up next. “Have you considered what it wants?”

“I have,” Sam replied, “I thought about it all through last night. I thought it would come for Dean, or at least see the other men and take the opportunity, but it didn’t.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Dean asked. “I can’t think of anyone else this monster would want to hurt.”

“Me.”

All the men looked at Y/N as she spoke up, her voice quiet and timid.

Sam stared right into her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“It wants to hurt you again,” she explained, “and it wants to hurt you in the worst way possible… taking an Omega away from her Alpha. Yellow Eyes took Jessica from you, and now this hound wants to take me… maybe it couldn’t see me and knew you were hiding me away.” Sam folded his arms, and she swallowed anxiously, “I think it killed Hannah symbolically… to represent me.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s a long shot, Y/N. You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“Or maybe she’s onto something,” Castiel interjected.

“Like what?” Sam’s voice was angry. “You think I should use my Omega as… as bait?” He shook his head. “No. I won’t allow it.”

“It might be our only hope of getting it to return,” Dean murmured, “I say we give her a chance, test her theory, and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll come up with something else.”

Sam put his arm protectively around Y/N’s shoulders. “I won’t allow her to get hurt.”

“I wouldn’t get—”

The look Sam shot at her immediately quieted her. She swallowed and folded her arms defiantly, staring right back at him. Dean, sensing the tension between the couple, cleared his throat and offered his own solution. “How about this, we’ll go out for one more night alone, see if the thing comes back, and if not, we can try Y/N’s solution tomorrow night.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “No. I am not allowing her to put herself up as bait—”

“Sam—”

“Y/N, no.” His voice was nearly a growl as he glared at her before turning back to the group. “We’ll continue with night watches, it’s bound to show itself sooner or later.”

“Sam, are you—?”

“I said no!” Sam raised his voice at his brother, and Y/N could practically feel the anger radiating from him. “I am not allowing her to set herself out as bait! I lost one Omega to these beasts already, I will not lose a second!”

The priests and jailers were quiet. Sam took a deep, shuddering breath and wrapped his arm tighter around Y/N’s shoulders. He hadn’t expected to yell, especially in the company of priests. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I lost my temper.”

Castiel nodded. “We understand. You should rest. We have another long night ahead of us.”

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