#he got a fancy new chain shirt

[cpyclopse]

Last week I started drawing my old mlp ocs

Ive still got 2 more to do from this set! So back in like 2022 I think? Everyone was making pony fusions and I joined in the fun but this time around I wanted them to be their own characters instead of just fusions.

I added more, changed their colors, and altered their names a bit and they look sooo much better! plus I've got a better grasp of how their bodies should work!

[My art]

[luveline]

hi my love <3 happy valentines, im coming over w a kiss rn!! for the event could i req "you got me flowers?" w spence please? maybe reader giving them to him hehe love u

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

happy valentine's my love, thank you for your request! always tired reader x spencer is my new fave pairing of all time!! fem!reader

When Spencer arrives at work that morning you're already sitting down at your desk. It is regrettably far from his, and it's purposefully done. Hotch doesn't care that you're seeing one another, doesn't mind the occasional affection you share in from of the team, but he draws the line at your amazing and incessant chatter. You and Spencer never stop talking. Spencer has a lot to say, and you indulge him. 

Or maybe you don't indulge. Maybe you just love him. He's never had the idea that you might not want to hear what he has to say. 

He doesn't even look at his own desk, beelining straight for you where you're half asleep on your own, your ipod on your desk, an earphone in one ear. You're likely listening to an audio book — Spencer buys you enough of them. 

"Hey," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder, "good morning." 

You tilt your head away from his touch and look at him through your lashes, giving him a tired but pretty smile.

"Well, hello, my love," you say softly. "You look nice today." 

"You say that everyday," he complains. 

"And everyday it's true…" 

He likes how quietly you talk when you're tired —there's a wispy quality to each word, some light teasing— but you're being tired isn't conducive to a good day. He puts the coffee he'd bought for you by your ipod and kisses the top of your head as discreetly as he can. You barely respond. He doesn't take it personally. 

Spencer turns back to his desk and finally recognises the change. There's a rather large bouquet of flowers on the desk, the fancy kind that comes in a box with a ton of added foliage and baby's breath. He thinks for a moment they've been delivered to the wrong desk, after all, Emily's is right beside his, but he knuckles through the soft green stalks of crimson roses, pincushions and white carnations for the card held between. 

It's decorated with a sloping cursive that doesn't belong to anyone he knows. 

Spencer, 

I love you. Thank you for the coffee. 

He smiles at the flowers and saves the card. It'll make a good bookmark. 

"You got me flowers?" he asks, approaching you again. 

The printer beeps loudly and makes you wince. You spin in your chain and beckon for him to come forward until you can rest your face against his stomach. 

"Look at you, my little detective." 

He loves when you make fun of him. It sounds especially cute in your quiet mumbling. He drops his hands to the back of your head and feels very grateful to know that the only people who get here on time are the two of you as he strokes your hair. 

"Can I ask why?" 

"You know, don't you? I wrote it on the card." 

"You got me flowers because I got you a coffee?"

Your laugh is warm against his stomach despite the barrier of his shirt and sweater. "No, smarty-pants." You yawn and snuggle closer. "I love you." 

"Oh," he says. He pulls your face from his front and frames it in his hands. "I love you too, obviously."

"I know," you say, blinking slowly. 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. You lean into it and shut your eyes like a puppy getting scratches. 

"Do you want flowers?" he asks. 

You hum. He has no idea what it means. 

[heeseungwifey]

Does Layla need a mom?

pairing: jake x y/n

warning: contains smut!

It’s a chilly night so I’ve decided to go for some thighs with my mini skirt. I wish I could just ignore the cold for my Tinder date tonight but I should put my health first. I’m meeting a new guy called Jake, by his profile I know he’s 21, has gorgeous lips and a dog. That’s all I’m looking for in a man these days, someone I can have fun with. 

I order an Uber and go down the stairs, already kinda late for the reservation at the fancy Italian restaurant where we’re having our date. He made the reservation a week ago, he swears it’s the best food I’ll try in town. I get in the Uber and send him a message.

“Sorry, I'll be a few minutes late, traffic!” I sent it as the Uber driver was waiting on a red light. 

“No worries, I’m already here. I hope you do show up and not leave me stranded haha” Jake sends a smiley emoji and I get he’s nervous about this date too. We’ve been talking for a few weeks, friendly but also quite flirty, some texts getting borderline sexting. I’ve been trying not to overthink about how this night could end, but the thought of getting into this man’s bed has kept me zoning out since he asked me out. 

“Here it is lady, have a good night!” I get out of the car and thank the Uber driver, getting into the restaurant as fast as I can so I don’t ruin my hair in the rain. when I walk in, I scan the room to look for Jake, quickly spotting him at the end of the restaurant. He’s wearing a leather jacket, his hair pushed back and a neck chain, looking so good I almost got embarrassed to approach him. It would have been too late to escape since he already saw me, getting up and shaking his hand in the air so I could see him. 

“Hello! Wow you look gorgeous y/n” Jake kisses me on the cheek and I get to smell his perfume, manly and sexy. I sit down and take a sweet time to appreciate how he looks, admire his tan skin, his big nose, his beautiful smile and his hands, wishing that those would be touching me in a couple of hours. He’s doing the same as me, scanning me from head to toe with a sultry stare.

“You look really good too Jake, I’m kind of surprised you’re just not wearing basketball shorts or a striped shirt” I joke since in all his pictures on Instagram he’s wearing one of these two clothing pieces, even both of the same time sometimes. He looks ridiculously gorgeous tonight. 

“Well I have to show off for tonight, need to make a good impression”

“Sure you are”

Dinner was fantastic, everything was delicious and we talked all the time we were sitting there as if we had known each other since forever. Jake had come with his car so he offered to take me home. I felt uncomfortable asking to go to his house even though I really wanted to, so I made an excuse to be with him for a little bit more. 

“I know a cool bar right around here, would you like to go? Let’s not end the date just yet” I looked up on Google Maps a bar next to his house just to hang out there for a bit, have a drink and see where the night took us. The next thing I know is that each of us has drunk at least 3 cocktails and it’s almost 2 a.m.

“My house is quite close to this bar, if you want to crash, I know I said I would take you home but I don’t think I can drive right now, a uber right now is gonna be impossible to find” Jake has his arm around my shoulders, his hair messy and he had to take his jacket off because of how hot he was. His house is a 15-minute walk away, which helps us get refreshed as we get to his door. 

“Here we are, welcome to my house!” Jake opens the door and a modern and minimalist decor fills my sight. it’s obvious it’s a single man’s house by the posters and figurines he has but it’s done with good taste, giving a personal touch.

“Omg is this Layla? you’re so pretty and fluffy!” Jake’s dog approaches me right as I walk in, excitedly shaking her tail and giving little jumps. He has previously talked about her dog at the restaurant, showing me pictures of her as a puppy and all. 

“She seems to like you, I don’t often see her this excited” Jake closes the door and takes his jacket off, hanging it on the entrance coat rack. He gets behind me and grabs my bag and my coat, hanging it as well. 

“It’s kinda crazy that I’m staying at your house, I don’t know what you’re gonna think of me” I say as a joke but deep down I do want to give him a good impression and as much as I would love to rip his clothes off right now, 

“It's kind of stupid If I thought anything bad about you y/n. I hope you know I’m very excited that you’re here right now. Just knowing we get to be a few more minutes together is already giving me a rush”

I look at him and he’s standing there, looking so handsome in this light, the air feeling heavy. I move to the sofa, sitting there first as he follows me around inside his own house. He turns on the TV and we’re sitting there like dummies, watching whatever is on. I am nervous, the expectation growing more and more each second. 

“what the hell are we doing?” Jake says as he’s getting closer to me, facing me as I’m resting my back on the couch. When he’s just inches away from my lips, Layla jumps on the sofa, right in between us. 

“Layla! you scared me, fuck” Jake moves to the other side of the sofa, being attacked by Layla’s kisses. I laugh from the other side, the view so endearing I almost forgot he’s just a Tinder date and this will end soon.

“Do you want me to lend you some clothes to sleep in? A T-shirt and some shorts perhaps?” Jake is standing right in front of me, waiting for my answer, looking for an excuse to get out of Layla’s insistence. 

“yes, thank you! where’s the bathroom by the way? I need to take my make-up off” I get up fast as he walks to his bedroom to pick up the clothes. 

“It’s here, hold on… let me give you the clothes so you can change. I also have make-up remover in the cabinet” Jake rumbles around his closet and comes back with a white t-shirt with a logo on it and some Nike shorts, handing them to me. 

When I finished changing and getting my make-up off I glanced at myself in the mirror. I look so bare in this look, just how I would look at the solitude of my own house. It’s kinda crazy that this is how I choose to show myself in front of my date, who I have known for just a few hours. I guess Jake has something that just makes me blindly trust him. 

As I’m coming out of the bathroom I hear the TV, the volume turned down so it’s low. When I walk into the living room, Jake is lying on the couch with a tight t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Layla lies right next to him, looking adorable with her fluffy fur. He looks a bit sleepy but as I walk into his sight, he opens his eyes and gets up. 

“Do you want to watch a movie or something? I don’t sleep too much so I always stay up late watching TV. Right now there’s this 50’s romantic movie, I don’t know if you would like it” Jake looks at me as I’m standing there, his eyes trying not to look at my nipples, visible through the t-shirt he gave me. I’m also quite careful not to get caught looking at his bulge, way too noticeable in those sweats.

“I don’t care really, it’s just background noise to me” I say as I’m sitting next to him, he grabs my hands and pulls me in between his legs. His big hands hold mine as he looks at me in the eyes, the TV light illuminating his face in a beautiful blue. He looks mesmerizing, so much so that I can’t hold myself any longer and I kiss him. His sweet, plump lips capture mine with the same intensity as mine, gasping for air every time we separate. 

Jake grabs the back of my thighs and sits me on his lap, his hands groping my ass and massaging it. I feel an overwhelming heat on my cheeks, all the pent-up neediness flowing out from us. He wanted this as much as I did. It’s surreal a man like this would want me so bad. 

“Baby, let’s go to the bedroom” Jake says in between kisses as he picks me up from his lap and takes me to his bedroom. I’m not thinking about anything else right now but his lips, his hands and the burning pain I’m feeling in my groin, growing worse each second I feel no relief. 

When we get to the bedroom, Jake throws me onto the bed, closing the door behind him. The bedroom is nicely decorated, filled with blue and wood. Seeing the details of how he chooses to decorate his house gives me more knowledge about him, filling in the gaps of the missing info I have about him. As I’m laying there, he moves swiftly to the side of the bed, where he turns on a bedside lamp. Lights on tonight I guess. 

“Tell me what you like baby, I’m all ears” Jake is standing right at the feet of the bed, in front of me lying in his bed. Many dirty thoughts go through my head, and I could ask for many favours. I don’t have words to describe how bothered I am by his presence, getting hornier with every second he spends waiting for me to voice my desires. 

“take your t-shirt off, slowly. And then take mine” I ask, not much but just enough for now. Jake doesn’t say a word, he just follows. Grabs the hem of his t-shirt and peels it off, showing his defined abs and honey skin. His hair is messy now and his eyes are fixed on the t-shirt he lent me, planning on taking it off as soon as possible. From where he stands he grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed, my feet touching the floor and sitting there like a doll. His hands are placed on my waist under the t-shirt, caressing my body as he pushes it up, arms up and for a second I get struck when I get to see his face again, both of us semi-naked and getting more and more desperate for what’s about to happen. 

“Tell me, princess, what else do you want me to do?” Jake is almost touching my lips with his, the kiss from before hitting my mind and leaving me desperate for another one. I pull him by his neck onto my lips, clashing hard as we lay on the bed, him on top of me. As we are kissing, his hand snakes up to the pants that I’m wearing, pulling them slowly, leaving me completely naked. I waste no time and do the same to him, unsuccessfully though. He stops me and breaks the kiss, taking them off himself. My sight is indescribable, his naked body bathed by the warm light of the lamp and desire burning in his eyes. 

My hands travel from his shoulders to his hip bone, feeling the softness of his skin and his body heat. I touch his member, now hard and red, and Jake hisses at the feeling. I give it slow strokes, enjoying how his eyebrows stitch up and his mouth can only moan and whimper just cause of my touch. As I start going faster, he falls on his back on the bed, giving me full access to now suck him off. I get on top of him and slowly start with my tongue, tiny licks to the top and getting my saliva all around it. When it’s covered I put it all in my mouth, bottom it thanks to Jake pushing my head all the way down. He’s grabbing the back of my head, trying to regain some control over the situation but he’s very obviously gone. When he starts whining and whimpering I know he’s right there, going faster. He tries to stop me but fails miserably, cumming all in my mouth and face. 

“wow, you’re going strong y/n, I don’t know if I can keep up with you” he lays there breathing heavily as I’m cleaning my face, his sight lost on the ceiling. “Well the ball’s on your court now, how are you gonna pay me for the best blowjob you’ve received in your entire life?” I say cockily as I get close to his face. His eyes look at me, foggy and lost in lust and suddenly I see a spark in them, knowing instantly he has gotten an idea on how he’s gonna pay me. 

“Sit on my face, you’ve won it” Jake grabs my leg and gets it on the other side of his body, now I’m straddling his ribcage. His hands push me by my hips closer to his head, my hands grabbing the headboard so I don’t fall. I can feel Jake’s warm breath on my pussy, his plump lips just inches away from my heat. I feel his wet tongue first, circling around my clit and giving kitten licks as I’m desperately trying to not sit down on his head and choke him. When he starts using his tongue, lapping my folds with hunger I can’t control my sounds any longer and start moaning like I’m possessed. His lips feeling so good and skillfully mixing his mouth with two fingers I come fast on his face, losing all my strength and falling back onto the bed with his head still between my legs. A few minutes pass and I feel Jake getting up and moving my body by my ankles, placing me in the middle of the bed. 

“Did that feel good baby? I’ve never seen anyone react like that… it was so hot I also came with you, twice tonight already. And I haven’t even been inside you yet” Jake’s hair looks messy and sexy, especially knowing it’s because of our recent activities. His lips are even plumper if possible and a layer of sweat covers his chest and abs. I sit up and touch his body instinctively, caressing his hip bone and looking at him in the eyes. 

“Bend over baby” his strong arms flip me over, getting me on all fours. His eyes went straight to my drenched and pulsating pussy, placing himself right on my entrance. “Mhmm, it felt so good Jake…fuck I can’t take it any longer, please… just fuck me already”

He moves slowly, for a second unsure if he should be doing this, but when he stretches me so good that I moan loudly, his movements go crazy, railing me like an animal, his hair all stuck to his forehead and his eyes shut, trying to keep up with the pace. He bites his fist but is to no avail as moans just escape from his mouth, his movements going erratic and losing focus. I feel the bed move like it’s gonna break, my moans have become screams at this point and I’m lost in the feeling, my hair all over my face and sweat sticking the sheets onto my body. 

“Jake, Jake, I’m going to… I can’t hold it anymore… I’m gonna…” can’t even say a whole sentence, the feeling not letting me think properly as all I feel like the heat in my tummy is gonna explode at any second. 

“Do it, c’mon baby, I want to see you come on my dick, let it go…” Jake takes one of his hands to my clit, massaging it and making me come in seconds. I lose sight for a second, everything is blurry as I hear Jake moan loudly, coming inside me and falling on top of me. His head on my chest, I hug his head as we both recover our breaths, the moment feeling so intimate I can’t stop myself from giving him a kiss on the forehead.

I’m pretty sure we fell asleep like that for like fifteen minutes, hugging each other as all we had was each other’s body heat to keep warm. I wake up by the sound of scratching on the bedroom door, obviously being Leyla waiting for his owner to give her food. Jake gets up from top of me and walks to the door, closing it behind him as soon as Leyla starts jumping excitedly. I’m left there quite sad, missing how close we were just a few seconds ago. 

“Hey, sorry, I forgot to put water in Leyla’s bowl before and she was quite thirsty. But hey, I just turned the water on, do you want to take a bath? It’s probably hot by now” Jake is sitting on the border of the bed, caressing my tummy as I’m still too tired to get up. I look at him and feel a sense of dreadness, I don’t wanna lose whatever we have right now between each other. Leaving his house today could mean this is over, that we’re just a one-night stand for each other and that’s it.

I take his hand and he lifts me up from the bed, lending me a bathrobe so I don’t get cold on the way to the bathroom. when we get there, there’s a few candles lighten up and the whole room smells like lavender, calming and cozy. 

“Get in the bathtub, I’ll prepare some towels for when we get out” I step inside the bathtub, the warm water soothing my body from the intense workout. Jake gets into the bathtub and we’re sitting there looking at each other, just like we were at the restaurant earlier. I almost feel like crying, so I close my eyes and push my head back to rest on the wall.

“Are you good? you look super tired” Jake asks, but I don’t feel like answering right now or my voice will break. So he sits there, reaching for my hand and worried I’m actually in pain. But the pain it’s not physical, and I wish he had just let me go to my house by taxi today. I feel like shit right now, enjoying the last minutes of the most beautiful date I’ve ever been on. 

“Did I do something wrong? Are you hurt anywhere?” His tone was serious and worried, his eyes fixated on my face. I open my eyes and it’s obvious that I’m on the verge of tears, my eyes watery and red. 

“It’s okay, I’m just a bit tired, today has been a long day for me” 

“I don’t believe you, I don’t think that’s what’s happening. You looked so happy a few minutes ago coming on my dick, and now you’re tired? Do you think I’m gonna believe that? Please tell me what’s going on”

Jake sounds mad at me, scared that now everything’s done I’m acting so cold towards him. I can’t tell him the truth, it is so embarrassing and delusional that I might scare him off. 

“It’s okay Jake, I just need to go home and sleep a little bit. I had fun don’t be mistaken, but I think is time I go back to my bed and keep on going with my life” I come off as a bitch, looking for a way out of this conversation that was gonna end by me ridiculizing myself in front of the hottest man I know. If I give him the idea that I’m always up for something casual I might get to see him again. 

“I don’t know what the fuck has happened for you to say this, but if you want to sleep here I have no issue with it if that’s what you’re worried about. I thought we had a great time tonight, maybe I’ve been a bit rough or you didn’t feel comfortable with me… I don’t know if you’re under the impression that I have used you to have sex but you couldn’t be more mistaken”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, the only sounds being the distant sound of the TV in the living room and Leyla walking around the house outside the bathroom door. I look at him and his eyes are lost, a hundred thoughts going through his head, trying to find where it went wrong tonight.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it, I actually hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. I guess I’m a bit sensitive since it was a bit too… intimate. Like, this is just a hookup, I shouldn’t be feeling this way about what we have done but… I wish It had meant more for the both of us”

“Listen y/n, it’s been a long time since I’ve gone on a date. I was very excited to go with you tonight since I thought we had great chemistry on our back-and-forth texts. I do feel different about you than I have felt about any other woman I have talked to on that damn app…”

I look at him and his arms are resting on each side of the bathtub, his skin glistening and a perfect view of his chest. It makes me crave for a hug in the comfort of his embrace. 

“I like you more than I thought I would so early into knowing each other. I have enjoyed this night with you so much that’s gonna screw me up forever, being honest” I confess, my head turned to the wall so I don’t see his reaction to such a statement. 

I don’t have to look at him, his arms grabbing mine and getting me closer to him. His lips on mine, so fierce and hungry, I’ve lost control of the situation and now I’m just being french kissed as water splashes everywhere, my legs on each side of his lap.

“Me too…  I felt like a dumbass, being so intense… I don’t wanna let you go, ever” his kisses move to my neck and chest, and my hands can’t do much but hold his hair on my fist as I try not to moan too loudly at 4 a.m.

The next morning I lay there, on his bed. The sheets are everywhere, victims of our last night endeavours. A subtle smell of coffee and toasted bread comes into the bedroom, getting me up instantly and wandering to the kitchen. 

There he is, early morning with wet hair from the shower and a clean black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Layla runs around the kitchen, excited about her breakfast just as I am. When I walk into his vision, Jake looks at me with the brightest smile and comes to hug me, kissing my head and caressing my back. 

“Good morning baby, did you rest well?” his warmth irradiating through his t-shirt and feeling incredibly comforting.

“Yeah I did, I haven’t slept this well in a long time” I snuggle on his chest, his arms reaching for the frypan and moving it aside, so the scrambled eggs don’t burn. 

When we’re done with the breakfast, a long silence between us arises. It’s comfortable but at the same time, it scares me that it'll make us talk about our feelings. Thankfully Layla jumps on my lap, wanting to play with me. If this ends I’m also gonna miss her and I just met her. 

“Damn, Layla has never acted like this with anyone before, it’s crazy… She likes you a lot. It's just like she has accepted you’re her mom or something haha” Jake says, fascinated by how his dog is acting towards a total stranger to her, like she has known me since forever.  

“So… does Layla need a mom?”

“Yeah, her dad needs a mom too” Jake looks at me and we start laughing, filling the house with the sound of our laughter, the smell of toast and a happy Layla, who gets to have a mom from that day on.

[dragonmama76]

Beginnings

Part One Interlude Part Two Part Three

As Eddie held the broken bottle against Steve’s neck, Steve was preternaturally calm.  If asked, he would explain that he had been expecting this for years.  Today was the day that Eddie Munson was finally going to kill him.  He had fought monsters human and decidedly not human, but he always knew deep down that Eddie Munson would be the one to finally end it all.

*****************

Eddie Munson was a late bloomer and spent his freshman year scrawny and shy. It didn’t help that he was into all kinds of nerd stuff and got bullied relentlessly.  He fancied himself a keen observer of people, though, and over the summer he plotted out a multi step plan to survive high school like it was one of the Dungeons & Dragons campaigns he loved to create.  

First, he spent the summer getting stronger.  He didn’t work out exactly, but he was able to get a summer job as a house painter and by the end he was hauling paint cans up and down ladders like it was nothing.  It also didn’t hurt that puberty finally kicked in and he grew almost a foot.  

Next, he used his newfound cash to update his wardrobe.  Instead of trying to compete with the preppy jocks who tormented him, he went the other way.  He scoured the thrift shops for as much black as he could find and rounded it out with t-shirts from his favorite metal bands.  Black work boots, chains, and a pocket knife became his standard accessories and when Wayne took him to Indy before the start of school he scored a black leather jacket at a nicer second hand store.  Freshman orientation was coming and it would be time to put the final parts of his plan into motion.

The day the freshman came to tour the high school and get their schedules, Eddie was ready.  He leaned against a tree watching the new kids coming and going.  There were a few he clocked as fellow outcasts and nerds and took note.  He would approach them carefully when school started for real.  But at that moment he was waiting for something special.  And then it happened.  A group of three teens made their way to the gym doors, two boys and a girl, dressed like money grew on trees.  One of the boys was taller, more confident, with impeccably styled hair, and best of all, he carried a basketball like he knew what to do with it.  Target acquired.

Steve Harrington’s stomach was all tied up in knots.  He was nervous to be finally starting high school.  Tommy H. and Carol were chattering away but he couldn’t even hear them over the sound of his racing thoughts.  His dad had made it clear what he expected from Steve’s high school career and what the consequences would be if he didn’t follow through.  He doesn’t know what the hell he is doing, but at least maybe if followed his dad’s plan he would finally be proud of him. So he kept his head held high and imagined himself to be that guy.  Fake it ‘til you make it, right?  As he reached the gym door he felt eyes on him and glanced over to see the prettiest guy he had ever seen watching him.  As their eyes met, the boy scowled at him.  Steve winced and stumbled through the door.  What could he possibly have done to piss that guy off already?  “Not a good start, Steve,” he thought as the trio entered the school.  

Steve’s first few weeks of high school would have been pretty great if it wasn’t for his personal bully.  He landed a spot on the varsity basketball team, his teachers were nice enough to explain things twice if he had a question, and even though Tommy H. and Carol were officially dating now, they still included him in almost everything they did.  But when he was walking by himself in the halls, that older kid was always there either glaring or smirking at him.  He actually outright tripped him twice, once into a row of lockers.  Steve apologized at first, thinking maybe he had been at fault for bumping into him or something, but the guy had laughed at him and made some comment about dumb jocks better watch out.  Steve didn’t want to push back.  No matter what personal philosophy his dad ascribed to, Steve didn’t think violence was the answer.  He quickly figured out that the guy only seemed to target him when he was alone, though, so Steve started asking some of the girls in his classes if he could walk them to their next class.  They seemed to like that, and Steve was getting tired of being a third wheel all the time, so he asked a few out on double dates with his friends.  At least his dad would be happy, Steve was already getting a reputation as a ladies man.

Eddie was having the best year ever. Training this jock to be afraid of him, instead of the other way around, was a treat.  Eddie wasn’t a bad kid.  If anyone had called him out on bullying he would have been shocked.  This was a preemptive strike.  This was the ultimate battle of nerd versus jock.  This was war.  And Eddie was winning.  You didn’t have to be a genius to see that this Steve kid was asking for it.  His attitude, his clothes, his HAIR, and his, not at all surprising to Eddie, wild success with the female population of Hawkins High all confirmed that he needed to be taken down a peg.  And in the meantime, Eddie had gathered a crew of freshman nerds to spend time with and mold in his image.  He only needed one more element to complete his campaign against the jocks of Hawkins: A public confrontation.

Steve was starting to become complacent.  His plan to never be alone was working and while the scary kid following him around continued to make his presence known, at least he wasn’t pushing him anymore.  So he thought.  Except one afternoon in the cafeteria Steve’s luck ran out.  He had been balancing his tray on one hand while escorting his most recent conquest with the other when something slammed into him upending the tray of spaghetti.  Tears filled his eyes as the noise around him dimmed.  Why was this happening to him?  He tried to be nice to everyone.  He didn’t start fights or talk shit about people, even when Carol was at her bitchiest.  Why couldn’t he just fly under the radar?  As he looked up to see all eyes on him, the only noise that registered was the loud cackle from the boy next to him.  “I thought you jocks had better balance than that,” sneered his bully.  All the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head and he tried to stay calm, but when he glanced over and saw Lila covered in sauce something snapped.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?”  Steve shouted.  

“Me?” challenged the boy, “Not my fault you’re as clumsy as all get out.”  

Steve didn’t like to fight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.  He pushed the taller boy and advanced on him fists clenched tight.  When he got close, a low voice rumbled, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” as the kid opened his jacket to reveal a knife clenched in his other hand.  Steve’s eyes were wide as he backed away.  “You’re a fucking freak, you know that?  Leave me alone! And leave my friends alone!”  Steve was just posturing at this point, but he kept a healthy distance between them since he sure as hell wasn’t getting in a knife fight, even if they were surrounded by spectators.  

“I AM a freak, and don’t any of you forget it!”  the boy shouted, “And you’d better be afraid if you know what’s good for you.”  

Just then the doors opened and the vice principal walked in. 

“Problems?” he demanded sternly.  

“No, sir,” Steve backed down completely.  “No problems here.” 

 “What about you, Munson?” a steely glare was directed at his adversary. 

 “No problemo.  I was just apologizing to King Steve here for bumping into him.”  The boys separated and Steve escorted Lila to their table, offering to grab extra napkins and helping to calm her down.  

“Nice going, King Steve,” Tommy H. cackled as they sat down.  “Have you ever, just once, won a fight?” 

“Shut it, Tommy.” Steve replied, “You didn’t see it.  That freak actually had a knife.  Stay away from him, he’s crazy and I dunno why but he hates me.”  No one commented when his voice broke at those last words.  “I think you were very brave,” whispered Lila and Steve suddenly felt a little better.

While Steve had beat a hasty retreat, Eddie sauntered over to his usual lunch table with his freshman friends and held his head high. He could feel the guarded looks and shot a feral grin to a group of kids who dared make eye contact. It was the best day of Eddie’s life so far.  He had sealed his reputation as a dangerous freak and he intended to own it every day for the rest of high school.  It would keep his little nerds and outcasts safe, even if he had to keep up the act for the next few years.

[pearlessance]

Fishnet's & Old Fashioned's [part two]

[part one]

Summary - Tommy Miller reallizes Joel's right; he's got it real bad for that scary chick.

Pairing - Tommy Miller/goth!bartender!Reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, begging, dom/sub undertones, switch!Tommy and switch!Reader, tongue piercings, nipple play, dirty talk, semi-public, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, kneeling, body worship, boot worship, oral sex, face fucking, face slapping, overstim

[crossposted on AO3]

SWITCHING HYSTERISIS

It’s an effort to keep himself from the bar until the day of your date. He reminds himself countless times, that it’s only three days. It’s only two days. It’s only one day. But you've bewitched him, burrowed into his brain and made a home there. And so Tommy hopes you’ll text him before Tuesday. He checks his phone ten times more than usual, wishing you were thinking of him even half as much as he’s thinking of you. But no text message ever pops up, and he gets no missed calls. 

Until Tuesday at nine in the morning, when you send a text message with your address, and Tommy starts rushing around to get ready. He puts on his best pair of Levi’s, and a cotton t-shirt that fits a little too tight on his biceps (black, of course, to match you). He combs and gels his hair, and wears a nice silver chain that Sarah got him for Christmas two years ago in an attempt at fashion advice. He brushes his teeth—twice, and still chews a stick of gum afterwards. He sprays his most expensive cologne and hangs a new black ice, tree-shaped air freshener in his truck.

He gets to your apartment ten minutes early and sees you waiting outside. Tommy can’t get out of the truck fast enough. He meets you on the sidewalk, holds out his hand, and immediately lifts your arm and indicates for you to spin in a circle so he can truly appreciate the dark mystery you exude. “Goddamn, girl,” he says, eyes raking over your long, fishnet-covered legs. You’re wearing a pleated black skirt that’s just a little too short, with a velvety crop top and platform boots with a bunch of silver buckles. The very same ones, Tommy remembers, that you wore that night he got on his knees for you. 

You smell like cherries again, sweet and earthy and delicious. You’re giggling softly when you face him once more, laughing at the awestruck expression on his face. “You don’t look so bad yourself, casanova,” you say, and it’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever received from those pretty crimson lips. It makes him feel dizzy.

Tommy opens the door to his truck for you and waits while you climb inside. “Hope you cleared your schedule, baby,” he tells you. “Got the whole day planned out for us.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I turned my location on then, so they know where to find my body when you’re done with it.” 

You say it so flatly that he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, darlin,' you think I’d leave that sweet little body behind?” He lets his gaze dip from your face to your cleavage, on full display all for him, and allows his attention to linger there for a moment longer than necessary. “Never.”

“How romantic and necrophiliac of you.” You say it with disdain, but the sun is high in the sky and he knows the warmth on your cheeks isn’t because of the weather.

He does have the whole day planned out. You stop at a local coffee shop on the way to San Antonio, and it surprises him when he orders a black coffee and you order something vanilla flavored with more milk in it than actual coffee. It makes him laugh and reminds him of Saturday night when he discovered that you wore pink panties beneath all your black leather and lace. It makes Tommy wonder what other parts of your life are filled with color, making up for the lack of it in your wardrobe.

He takes you to one of those fancy museums, just like he wanted, and it’s even better than he imagined. Tommy genuinely enjoys himself, even though he’s so out of his element it isn’t even funny. He’s the only person in the whole place in a pair of jeans, but you don’t seem to mind at all. You laugh at the jokes he makes about some of the weirder paintings, and when you see one inspired by those witch trials he learned about in high school Tommy listens to you talk about it for fifteen minutes. 

And the strangest part is that he’s enraptured by it. He loves hearing you talk, especially when you get excited and your hands start moving as you speak.

The weather is nicer when you’re finished—the sun has warmed the morning chill away and you decide to walk to the next attraction. Tommy takes you to that fancy cathedral and watches you gush over that, too. You look so pretty like this, he thinks—with wonder in your eyes and sunlight in your hair.

It’s weird to be this attached so quickly, he knows. You’re just some bartender he met a couple of weeks ago, and you know next to nothing about each other, but Tommy Miller wants to learn everything there is to know about you. He wants to learn more about those witch trials and about the gothic architecture in Europe you’re super knowledgeable about. He wants to listen to The Misfits and learn the lyrics, wants to find fishnet stockings and pink panties in his laundry.

But he doesn’t want to weird you out, and so instead he gives you a toothy grin and laces his fingers through yours. 

It startles you a little, at first, and you scowl at him. But then your scowl turns into a glare with a little smile, and you wrap your free hand around his elbow and step a little closer. 

Tommy Miller’s heart flutters, as if he’s some youthful boy falling in love for the first time and not the goth girl obsessed old man he really is.

He takes you to the fancy restaurant he made reservations at, and asks more questions than you can keep up with. You tell him about your parents and your best friend, and when he asks you about how you spend your time outside of work he laughs when you say, “I’ve been doing a lot of indoor gardening lately.” And then your easy energy fades, and Tommy’s laughter stops. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

He parrots your words from that night on the hood of your car. “Surprising.”

You flush deeply, and you share a look that lets Tommy know you’re thinking of the exact moment he is. 

Pressure builds low in his belly at the thought. You’re in such a fancy place, eating some beef dish that he can’t pronounce, and you’re both thinking very inappropriate, filthy thoughts. 

The rest of the night goes so smoothly that Tommy doesn’t even realize the sun has set by the time you’re finished talking. And even on the drive home, he discovers that he just can’t shut up. He wants to know everything there is to know about you. And when he pulls up to your apartment, he can’t shake the feeling that this date wasn’t long enough. Twelve fucking hours later, a million questions and a million answers later, and he still selfishly wants more time with you. And so when he gets out of his truck and opens the door for you, Tommy asks, “Can I walk you to the door?”

You narrow your eyes only slightly, suspicion evident on your face. But for the first time in his entire life, Tommy doesn’t ask with the intent to get inside. He just wants to soak up these last few moments with you. “Yeah,” you finally answer. “That would be nice.”

He slips his arm around your shoulders, holding you close, and presses an innocent kiss to your forehead. “I had a real nice time with you, vampire girl,” he admits. Tommy thinks real nice is putting it lightly, but he only just convinced you to go on a single date with him and he doesn’t want to scare you off.

It’s comforting when you linger outside your apartment door and say, “Me too. You know, I actually…I’ve never been on a real date before.”

Tommy nearly doubles over. It’s criminal, he thinks. You should’ve always been treated like goddamn royalty, and any other person you’ve ever allowed close never deserved it. He didn’t ask about your past relationships, but Tommy knows that much for certain without an ounce of insight. “Aw, baby,” he groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “I hate that so much. You’ve got no clue how much I fucking hate that.” He lifts his head, only to fall to his knees before you. Tommy anchors himself by putting his warm, calloused hands on the back of your thighs, letting himself feel the soft skin and the rough fabric of your fishnets. 

His face is level with your navel, and he presses a kiss to the exposed skin between your skirt and cropped top. It almost makes him moan when you thread your hands through his hair, black-painted fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. “That’s what I’ve got you for,” you say. You pull his hair at the roots, forcing his head back, forcing him to look up at you through hooded eyes. 

If any of his friends were to see him right now, Tommy knows he’d never hear the fucking end of it. But he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because his cock hardens every time he’s on his knees for you. Never thought he’d be the kind of man to want a woman to take charge—but here you are, and Tommy Miller has never experienced something so fucking erotic in all his life. Your words make him smile. “Yeah, you do,” he beams. “I’ll take you on a hundred dates, each better than the last.”

You turn those siren eyes on him and he feels a little like he’s been inducted into some sort of ritual. He doesn’t mind, though. Is ready and willing to do and be whatever you want. Your voice is low, hardly a whisper, as you ask, “Do you usually fuck on the first date, casanova?”

He inhales a ragged breath but it doesn’t do a single thing to ease the ache in his chest. Tommy licks his lips, hopes you’ll invite him inside both your apartment and your heart because you have catastrophically devoured him. He wants it, wants you, so badly that it hurts.

But he doesn’t want it for one night. He wants it for far longer than that. 

And so he tells the truth. “Sometimes,” he says. “But I can’t do that with you, vampire girl. Ya mean too much to me.”

His confession makes you smile. A sweet, pretty little smirk that’s not quite devoid of corruption. “You want to, though. Hm?”

Tommy groans, squeezes his eyes closed, and presses his forehead against your hipbone. “More than fuckin’ anything, sweetheart.” He kisses that sliver of skin again, this time an open-mouthed kiss that leaves moisture in the wake of his lips. “Have no idea what I wanna do to you.”

He slides his hands on the back of your thighs up further, sighing in contentment. He grabs two fistfuls of your ass and discovers you wear nothing but fishnets beneath your skirt and the realization makes him ache. He squeezes the supple flesh between his fingers, wishing so badly that he could worship you the way you deserve. “I could guess,” you say, taking on a teasing tone. “Come here.”

What is he to do but obey your every command? Tommy rises to his feet and shudders when your hand finds the bulge in his jeans. You’re touching him— touching him, and he thinks he might fucking die. It’s strenuous to fight the urge to rut his hips into your hand, to beg you to give him something.

Christ, you make him so fucking weak.

He towers over you, easily by a foot, and you have to crane your head back just to look up at him. “You can give me a kiss goodnight, though, can’t you? Strong enough to do that?”

Tommy takes you by the throat and forces you against the door to your apartment. His lips crash against yours, hunger and greed in his every movement. His cock throbs almost painfully in his jeans, and he presses it into you so you know just how badly you torment him.

A keening, desperate whine leaves the back of your throat. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, to savor the taste of you. That metal barbell tastes just as good as he remembers. Your skirt lifts the smallest bit, and Tommy wedges his knee between your legs and grins when you begin to grind down against the rough denim of his jeans. “Don’t go breakin’ the rules now, vampire girl,” he whispers against your cheek. “I know you want it, too. Just as fuckin’ bad. Ain’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” is all you say in answer. Your cheeks are flushed and that pretty wine color on your lips has smeared. Tommy knows it’s likely on his face too, yet he goes back for more. He kisses you again, harder this time, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and dragging it out. You moan into his mouth, hips canting over his thigh.

The denim begins to darken, wet heat soaking through his jeans. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at that. Pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ cryin’ for me, ain't it?”

You nod frantically, and Tommy presses his thigh between your legs harder, chuckling as need overtakes you. You look so goddamn pretty just like this, chasing that high, so fucking close —

Down the hall, a door is ripped open. Tommy takes a step away from you, heart racing behind his ribcage. He watches your flushed cheeks become impossibly redder, holds back his laughter when you cover your mouth with your hand and your eyes widen.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession while you try to catch your breath, to fight off the shock. 

An older woman dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie has a little pomeranian on a leash. She gives Tommy a tight-lipped smile as she walks past the two of you.

When he hears the apartment’s lobby door slam closed, Tommy glances down at the tent in his jeans and laughs so hard it hurts.

You mirror the sound, and soon it’s not your pretty moans echoing in the hall but instead, it’s your giggles. A sound somehow sweeter to his ears. 

He’s thankful for the intrusion though. Truly. Because if you would’ve asked, he would have gone inside with you. And for the first time in all his life, Tommy thinks he might have a decent shot at this. Thinks he might actually want you to be the first girl he ever brings home to meet the family. His living family, that is.

“I’ll come by the bar this weekend,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I had a real nice time with you, baby.”

You nod and drag your teeth across your bottom lip. “I did, too.”

You don’t invite him inside. Tommy walks down the stairs, wondering if there existed a situation where sleeping together on the first date wouldn’t be a curse. Based on past experiences, it would be, though. The only other serious girlfriend he’s ever had was right after high school. He’d slept with her on the first date, and a few short months later Tommy Miller had sworn off relationships altogether.

But the problem is that it’s never been like this for him. Never felt like this. Not even once in all his life has he wanted someone so badly, has he been this intrigued by what someone else has to say. It’s like you feed his soul, somehow.

Comparing this to any of his past experiences feels foolish, inadequate. 

He makes it through the lobby, past the woman and her pomeranian over in the grass. Makes it all the way back to his truck…and then he hears you call his name. 

He’s never moved so fucking fast. And he’s not embarrassed by it, either. Not even when the woman and her pomeranian give him the dirtiest look as he sprints back across the walkway and into the lobby. He grabs you by the waist, lifting you into his arms, and revels in your easy laughter as he takes the stairs back up to your apartment two at a time.

The door has been left half open in your haste to get back to him, and he wastes no time inviting himself in and kicking it closed behind him. Your limbs are wrapped around his torso, but Tommy doesn’t make it two feet into your apartment before you’re lowering yourself to your knees before him.

And, Christ,  it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “God damn, baby. Fuck, fuck, I—”

“We’ll go on another date,” you say, fumbling with his belt buckle. “And technically…technically this is our second one, right? We didn’t fuck on the first date, you just made me cum on the hood of my car. This is the second date.” 

He thinks you look real cute when you try to reason with yourself. But Tommy’s starting to believe that reasoning has become irrelevant when it concerns the two of you. But he still needs to hear it, still needs to know you want this. So he says, “Tell me what you want, vampire girl. You gotta use your words.”

“You, Tommy. I want you.”

It makes his heart stop dead in his chest. Everything, everything has been sacrificed, given in offering to his most precious goddess. And he knows in this very moment that there will never be any going back from this. He knows he will never, ever be rid of you. Knows he’ll see you forever in his dreams, his nightmares. With just those few short words he relinquishes all control. 

But he can still take some back.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pulls your head back. There’s a frenzied look on your face that heightens everything for him, knowing you want this just as bad. Tommy understands your insatiable desire all too well. And so he decides that for tonight, for you, he’s not holding anything back. He’s giving you everything, bearing the best and worst parts of himself to you here and now. “Nah, baby. No hands. Use your fuckin’ teeth.” 

A wicked, sinful smirk tugs at your lips. You do as he says, sticking your hands between your soft thighs. You look like Persephone embodied as he watches you drag the zipper of his jeans down with your teeth, obeying his command. 

Controlling? Sure. But Tommy isn’t cruel, and so he decides to help you. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, and he admires the look on your face.

He knows he’s been blessed. Given a gift most men can only dream of. But he’s never been more thankful for it than the moment you lick your lips and then lick him.

Tommy’s never been with a girl who has any piercings, let alone one in her mouth. And he now knows that in this, too, there will be no return for him. 

Because how could it ever feel better than this?  

There’s a bead of precum dripping from the tip, and you lick it up greedily. You familiarize your tongue with every inch of him, running it down the vein on the underside of his cock. It’s a teasing caress, but Tommy never wants it to fucking end.

When you finally take him into your mouth, wrapping your pretty, wine-stained lips around him, he lets out a groan and nearly falls back into the wall. You feel so fucking good as you swallow him down. Your mouth is so warm, so wet, that the barbell is a solid contrast to the softness of your tongue.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Yeah, there you go. Just like that—fuck.” 

Your hands remain tucked firmly between your thighs. Pretty, obedient girl. You use only your lips and tongue and it’s like euphoria, like heaven. It feels so good that he just can't help himself. 

Tommy cradles your face between his hands and guides your mouth around him, shoves himself even further down your throat. You choke and your eyes begin to water, smearing all that black eyeliner down your cheeks, but never once do you give him any indication you want to stop.

He fucks your face unabashedly and it’s even better than any of his fantasies ever were. He feels you swallow him down impossibly deeper, feels the vibration in your throat as you moan around his cock. Spit trickles down your chin, and the image is filthy and obscene and it will be forever scarred into his fucking brain. “You take me so good, baby. So fuckin’ good. Sweet little mouth was made to have a cock in it, huh?”

Two seconds more and he’ll cum down your throat. Tommy forces himself to pull away, forces himself to take a goddamn breath. His cock is aching, hanging heavy between you, covered in your saliva that still connects him to your mouth. It looks like something right out of a porno, he thinks. 

And when you smile at him, pride shining on your tear-stained face, he nearly loses his balance.

He’s in an absolute fucking freefall. And he wants to worship at your demonic altar. 

You stand to your feet, and Tommy’s mouth is back on yours because he can never tire of kissing you, of swallowing up that cherry poison. He drinks you in deep, uncaring of the spit that smears across his chin, humming in contentment because, beneath your ambrosia taste, there’s a little bit of him that lingers. 

There’s a black couch in the center of your living room. You push him down onto it, leaning over to kiss him a little deeper. He tries to pull you into his lap, but you smack his greedy fingers away from your hips. “No hands, casanova. Remember?” 

He fucking loves this shit.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mirroring your idea and shoving his hands beneath his thighs. The leather is cold against the heated flesh of his knuckles, and within seconds he’s fighting the urge to pull them out and touch you again.

You bite your bottom lip contemplatively, but he can see the heat behind those siren eyes of yours and knows without a second of doubt that he would do anything you ask of him. Doesn’t matter how filthy, doesn’t matter how vulgar—because it’s you.

He doesn’t even flinch when you lift your shiny black boot and press the platform into his chest. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tastes the iron of the buckles, metallic on his tastebuds. He’s slow in his pursuit, the leather smooth beneath the flat of his tongue as he weaves it between the straps.

Your eyes darken, pupils blown wide. He’s in absolute awe as your hand slides lightly down your chest, over the swell of your breasts, down your abdomen. Tommy watches it disappear beneath the black fabric of your skirt and has never been so envious of a hand in all his life. 

His voice comes out docile and meek as he says, “Lift your skirt. I want to see it. Please.” 

“You think you’ve earned it?” Everything about you draws him in; even your wicked, evil words. “Because I don’t think you have. Start over, casanova.”

It’s the most degrading, salacious thing he’s ever done, but he does it. He starts at the base of your boot again, right over your ankle, following the wet path his tongue has already created. His cock is so hard it hurts. When he finally makes it past your boot, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh just above your knee. You let out a gasp of surprise but it quickly turns into a whimper, so Tommy does it again. 

He bites harder, sucks a bruise into the softness of your thigh, shudders at the feeling of your fishnets in his mouth once again, harsh and coarse but so unbelievably satisfying.

“Tell me something,” you say breathlessly. “Are you as good with that mouth of yours as you are with your hands?”

He smirks, the promise of tasting you from the source enough to make goosebumps rise over his skin.

“And don’t lie, casanova. I’ll know if you do.”

“Only one way to find out, vampire girl,” he says. “C’mere.”

You move your boot to rest beside him on the couch instead, placing both hands on his shoulders for balance. He surges forward, dips his head beneath the edge of your tiny little skirt, and fucking moans at the heady taste of you. Better than Ambrosia, better than an Old Fashioned, better than fucking anything he’s ever had in all his life.

He knows he’s not supposed to use his hands. But Tommy Miller’s never been much of a rule follower, and so he grabs your ass and pulls your closer, pulls you in until you fall on top of him. 

He licks up that sweet wetness, tongue sliding through your pussy and circling your clit. You shiver and shake when he sucks it into his mouth, rolling it between his lips. All he wants, all he’s ever fucking wanted was to make you feel good. But somehow he feels like this is almost for him, a gift, a stolen moment in time he’ll never understand what he’s done to deserve.

Your hands are in his hair and you’re moaning his name and as much as he loves them, Tommy reaches a hand between your legs and rips apart your fishnets. He doesn’t want anything separating him from this, doesn’t want anything getting in the way of this miracle given to him by God himself. 

No part of you remains untouched because Tommy Miller is ravenous for you. He licks through your folds with a flat tongue, circles your clit with the point of it. He can feel it pulse in his mouth, and he can't hold back the groan that leaves him. He laps at you like a man starved because he believes he has been. All these years without you, all these years missing out on this.

You gather your skirt in your hands, holding it above his head. You look so pretty from this angle, a dark goddess in eternal bloom. He cannot get over it, your demonic sorcery. It brings him to his knees where he could spend the rest of his life happily.

A part of him wishes you would take charge in this, too. Wishes you would take your pleasure with his mouth however you want it, wishes you would take what you deserve. Because Tommy wants to feel it, wants to fucking taste it, wants to know what it’s like to make you cum on his face so he’ll never forget it.

He pulls away only long enough to shift his body off the couch and onto the floor. “Ride my face, baby.”

You tilt your head, and Tommy recognizes that wicked gleam in your eye. Knows you’re about to make him work for it like you always do, hopes you’ll always make him work for it because he enjoys the chase perhaps a little too much. Somehow, that makes it all the more exciting. “Where are your manners, casanova? Ever learn how to say—?”

“Please,” he interrupts. Because never in his fucking life has he needed something so badly. He doesn’t care that he’s begging, doesn’t care that he looks a fool. “Please, baby. Please, I need it. I fuckin’ need you so bad.”

You don’t leave him waiting long. And it feels like a breath of fresh air to have you in his mouth again, to taste you. Your slick covers chin but he loves it. Loves it. Loves it even more when you thread those sharp claws through his hair and begin to grind your pussy against his face. 

Tommy sticks out his tongue, keeps it wide and flat, and hooks the tip just a little so it catches on your opening every time you shift down. His nose nudges your clit with each tilt of your hips, and you reward him for it with pretty sounding moans 

The sudden thought strikes him that he could cum just like this. Hands free. Tommy fucking Miller thinks he might cum with just the taste of you. 

Devoured doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

“Oh, god. Fuck, that feels so good,” you say, and he feels pride swell in his chest. Your hips move faster, grinding harder. Shameless in their pursuit, chasing that familiar high.

Tommy just pulls your closer, hums against your pussy to try and get you there. 

It works. Within a few short minutes, your breathing goes ragged and your hands tighten in the roots of his hair. “I’m gonna cum, fuck, Tommy, I—oh, God .”

A rush of liquid invades his mouth and trickles down his neck. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Tommy thinks you cum even prettier when it’s because of his mouth and not his fingers.

He wants to make you cum forever. Wants to make you cum in every room in your apartment, in every room in his house, in his truck, in the bathroom of the restaurant you ate at today. He wants to bend you over that bartop and fuck you until you know no words but his name, wants to fuck you senseless.

The suction of his lips around your clit doesn’t lessen until your breathing evens out and every stroke of his tongue pulls a pretty, overstimulated hiss from your mouth. You try to push yourself up on wobbly legs but fail, and Tommy is glad for it because you stumble right into his lap. Right where you belong.

His lips are still wet with your slick as you lean in and kiss him, tasting yourself in his mouth. He can feel you smile against him and he can’t help but mirror it. “You’re fuckin’ incredible, baby. You know that?”

You shift backward, sliding your ass down his legs. His cock lays against his abdomen, the tip flushed crimson, veins prominent and pulsing with need. You bite your lip as you admire his erection while he admires you. He tries to catch his breath to no avail because you reach between your bodies and take his cock in your hand, running your fingers over it slowly. 

The touch is featherlight and affectionate. It’s not meant to be pleasurable for him. It’s for you and your own playful curiosity, and yet you’ve strung him so high, wound him so tight that every soft caress of your fingertips sends shockwaves of electricity down his spine.

You lean your head over his lap and he watches your spit drip onto his cock, landing just on the underside of the head. With your thumb, you spread it across the tip and Tommy’s hips buck up into your hand. You giggle and it’s somehow the cutest and most maniacal thing he’s ever heard in all his life. “You poor thing,” you murmur, counterfeit pity laced in your words.

“Jesus, fuck.” Tommy groans when you slide your thumb across the sensitive head again, thrusting into the palm of your hand. His skin feels too tight, his blood too hot. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me if you keep doin’ that.”

You do it again and laugh when the muscles in his abdomen visibly tighten. “Mm. Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”

“Know what’ll feel even better?”

No answer comes in the form of words. Instead, You shift back up his lap, hike your skirt up your belly, and slide the head of his cock through your wetness. “This?”

He moans with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He can feel himself losing control, can feel his grip on restrain wavering with each pass through your heat, coating him in your slick. The sight of himself so close, so fucking close is almost too much to bear. Each time his cock glides over your entrance his hips lift, pressing himself into you, desperate to feel just how tight you are. But your timing is too perfect and his is too restless. “Careful, now,” he warns.

Still, your malicious intent persists. “What’s wrong, casanova? You want something else?” You sound so innocent, so pure. Tommy knows you’re not. “I suggest you take it, then.”

He does. 

Tommy takes your hips in a bruising grip, lays you back against the hardwood floor, and in one smooth movement, he sinks into you deep. If he thought your mouth was heaven, this is some sort of nirvana, a garden of Eden meant for him and him alone. He lets out a sigh of relief and breathes it into the hollow of your throat. “Fuck, baby.”

He can feel you stretch around him, can feel your nails sink into his back. “It hurts,” you say around a whine. 

Leaning back just enough to see your face, to assess just how you’re feeling, Tommy smiles upon the realization that you like how it hurts. Like the pain of it, like the bruising momentum of his desire for you. He rocks into you slowly at first, delighting in that pretty crease that forms between your brows, in the way your lips part and your legs wrap around him. “S’alright, sweetheart,” he coos. “You can take it, can’t you?”

You nod and he picks up the pace, burying himself as deep within you as your anatomy will allow. Tommy presses his mouth to your collarbone, bites the soft skin, sucks another mark there to cement his existence within you. The sting of his teeth only seems to heighten everything for you; moans growing louder, your thighs tightening around his waist. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He hooks his hand around your left thigh and presses your leg up, opening you so he can get impossibly deeper. His hips crash against yours, and your staccato moans are music to his ears. The best symphony he’s ever heard, his very favorite melody.

One of your hands attempts to wriggle between your bodies but he just slaps it away. 

“No hands, vampire girl. Remember?” His tone is mocking and mean but it only makes your pussy grip him harder. “When you cum it’s gonna be because of me. You understand?” You nod in answer but he wants more, will always want more of you. “Say yes.”

“God, yes, yes, fuck —right there. Yes, I understand,” you whimper in answer.

Tommy likes telling you what to do, likes having you at his mercy. But he also likes giving you exactly what you want, and so he takes his free hand and finds your clit just like you’d planned to. He circles it gently, feels it pulse beneath his fingertips. “You feel so good, baby,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “Pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me, huh? Ain’t that right?”

Again, no answer comes in the form of words. You’re too shrouded in bliss, too fucked out. Your pointed nails are almost painful against his back, even through his cotton t-shirt. Tommy sits back on his knees and his cock nudges that sweet spot inside of you with the new angle.

He admires the way his cock looks as he fucks you with it relentlessly, glossy and covered in your slick. He knows he won’t last long because the sight alone is almost enough to do him in. But he wants to hear you. Wants you to beg for it. And because he promised himself there would be no inhibitions when it comes to you, Tommy does the most unhinged thing he’s ever done to a woman. 

The crack of his palm against the side of your cheek echoes in your apartment. You let out a sound that’s full of both surprise and lust and one of your hands abandons its assault on his spine to cradle the point of impact.

Tommy’s hips slow, and he’s waiting for you to shove him away. 

But all you do is smile up at him. A pretty, girlish smile that holds no wickedness at all. It’s pleasant and warm and so submissive that it makes his chest pull tight. 

“Asked you a question, darlin,” he says lowly. “You should answer when I’m talkin’ to you.”

“I’m sorry you’re right, you’re right —oh god, you’re gonna make me—!”

“You think you’ve earned it?” The words are spit venomously but hold no salt. He’s going to get you there first like a gentleman, of course he is. Still, he can feel his own release creeping up on him and he holds back as hard as he can. 

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s the prettiest word he’s ever heard in that perfect mouth of yours. “Please, please please—!”

“You’re so cute when you beg. Say it, baby. Tell me who’s pussy this is. Tell me who she belongs to. Tell me who makes her feel this good.” He circles your clit faster, thrusts his hips a little harder. 

It feels like a relief when you say, “It’s yours. Fuck —it’s yours. All yours, Tommy, I promise.”

That coil wound around his spine finally snaps. Because it feels so good to hear you admit it, to hear your resolve wilt and wither. 

His.

“Cum with me, baby,” Tommy says, and you don’t hesitate. Your fishnet-covered thighs turn into a vice around his waist yet still he persists, obscene sounds filling the room. He feels your pussy tighten around him and immediately follows you there, spilling deep inside of you. “Yeah, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn, baby— fuck.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper, deep in the throes of bliss. The words are a fucking gift. Your thighs tremble and your chest flushes and Tommy realizes just how bad he missed this. How bad he wants to make you cum for the rest of his life, how bad he wants to hear you moan his name, how bad he wants to moan yours. 

You come down slowly and you do it together. It’s easily the most intimate thing he’s ever experienced as he runs his fingers lightly through your hair, pushing the messy strands behind your ear, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheekbone. You smile up at him as you catch your breath, and he can’t help the sentiment as it slips out. “You mean so much to me, vampire girl.”

Crimson stains your cheeks and you press your face into his palm to try and hide it. “Shut up,” you say—but Tommy feels like it’s a phrase of endearment coming from your lips. 

Normally this is the part he hates. The awkward post-coital clarity that usually leaves his skin crawling, trying to find any half-believable truth that will allow him to leave. Only, he doesn’t want to leave you. And so he says, “You wanna shower together?”

“I hope you like cherry scented body wash,” you reply in answer. 

Tommy Miller realizes he loves cherry scented body wash, in fact. And more than that, he likes taking care of you.

Your bathroom is floral themed. There are maroon hand towels over the sink and the shower curtain is black and decorated with plum colored dahlias. You start to strip off your clothes, but Tommy stops you. 

“Let me,” he says. And then he’s on his knees for you in a whole new way. A way that feels a little more weighted, a little more real. But Tommy finds that he doesn’t mind it at all and is careful as he unbuckles your tall leather boots and takes them carefully off your feet. He slides your skirt down your soft thighs, and then your fishnets. He presses a kiss to your belly and stands to his feet. “Arms up,” he instructs and pulls your top off once you obey. 

Once you’re completely bare, Tommy lets you strip his clothes off of him, piling everything into the laundry bin. And even though you don’t talk it feels heavy and intimate in a way he’s never experienced before. 

He washes your hair for you while you cover him in cherry scented suds, your hands on his skin leaving goosebumps in their wake. But he’s not able to completely relax until after you rinse and dry off, after you change into a pair of black and white flannel pajama pants and an oversized tshirt that says Type O Negative. 

Because before he has a chance to pull his jeans back on you say, “I work tomorrow, but in the afternoon. You can stay the night if you want.”

Tommy grins and says, “You gonna sacrifice me in my sleep or somethin’? Cause—hey,” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m willing.”

You laugh and shake your head and call him an idiot, but shortly after Tommy’s wrapped up in black silk sheets, and you’re wrapped up in him. And he figures there’s no time like the present and so he makes a confession both to himself and to you. “Don’t want this to be a one time thing,” Tommy tells you, tightening his arm around your waist. “I want you, vampire girl. If you’ll have me…I’m yours.”

It’s dark in your bedroom but he feels your lips against his bare collarbone and it makes him shiver in delight. “Lucky for you, it seems like I’ve got a soft spot for cowboys.”

Tommy pulls your soft body on top of his and lets himself drown in the comforting warmth, lets himself sink into the intense affection he has for you. He begins to wonder how it’s possible he’s attached himself to you so quickly, making every other connection he’s had with a woman feel hollow and insignificant. He wonders if the reason he’s never taken a second glance at a goth girl is because this whole time he’s been waiting for you, waiting to find this divine, otherworldly bond.

His eyes begin to adjust in the dark. And on the ceiling right above your bed, he notices a poster. It’s a vampiric-looking man with a neon green guitar in his hand. Tommy points to it and asks, “Who’s that?”

“Peter Steele. Meet the only man you’ll ever be in competition with,” you answer.

He can hear the amusement in your tone and feels a deep appreciation for the subject change, afraid he may admit too much too soon. “I could take him.”

You snort. “He’s dead.”

“What?” Tommy drops his hand to his side. “Now, that’s an unfair advantage. You want me to compete with a dead guy? What can be more goth than dead?”

Your chest shakes as you hold in a laugh. But it escapes anyway, and soon you devolve into the cutest giggles he’s ever heard. Tommy mirrors the sound, and though you don’t get much sleep that night, the apples of his cheeks ache from smiling by the time the sun comes over the horizon.

[vivwritesfics]

Hi, I was wondering if you could possibly write something about poly Dando just sweet moments when things get tough for one of them and like little vacations and birthdays! I'm sorry if this is too vague

For my own sake I had to make this really fluffy - I don't know what day of the week lando's birthday was so i picked (just go w it)

I desperately want a new tattoo

Smut implied at the end

Lando's birthday was in November. Of course, Daniel suggested they go somewhere hot to celebrate. And then Y/N suggested the Canary Island and off they went.

On the flight over Lando napped, so of course, Daniel took pictures of him, ones of Lando snoring with his mouth open. Y/N sat herself in his lap and Lando stirred slightly, but all he did was grip her tighter and nuzzle his nose into her neck.

Daniel got another picture of Y/N kissing his cheek and holding two fingers up behind his head. He stored them on his phone, ready to post on Lando's birthday.

When they touched down in Gran Canaria, Y/N gently woke up Lando. "We're here, birthday boy," she whispered and climbed off of his lap.

The three of them made their way from the airport, into the taxi and towards the villa they had rented out for the next week and a bit (the boys had flown straight from the last grand prix, trusting Y/N to pack their bags for them. They only had two weeks between that grand prix and the next, and would be heading straight there from the villa).

Lando's birthday was a Wednesday. He usually woke up early, so Y/N and Daniel had to wake up earlier. They made sure he was still asleep as they slipped out of the bed and made their way down to the nearest supermarket.

They got snacks, drinks and cake. That night they were going out for dinner, to celebrate their boy turning twenty four.

He was going to be awake when they got back, Y/N and Daniel knew this. It was Daniels job to distract him while she worked on getting everything stored away in the kitchen of the villa. The cake was in the fridge and the snacks were in the cupboards. They got Ice cream, which Y/N instantly put in the freezer. That was a treat just for Lando.

"Happy birthday, chicken," said Lando as he threw himself onto the bed beside his boyfriend.

Lando gave him a lazy smile as Daniel wrapped his arms around him, kissing the side of his head. "What've you guys done?" He asked as he leaned his head on Daniels shoulder.

Suddenly Y/N came running up the stairs, plate in hand. "Happy birthday, Lan!" She shouted as she kicked open the door and strode over to him, placing the plate in his lap. She pulled a knife and fork from her back pocket.

Lando ate the breakfast Y/N had prepared for him. He offered Y/N and Daniel bites, which Daniel always accepted.

Their day was very chilled out, swimming in the pool and walking down to the beach. It was nice and chilled, the three of them having a few beers as they lounged around the villa.

And then they went out for Daniel. Daniel and Lando looked incredibly dapper, in fancy shirts and trousers. Lando had the top few buttons of his shirt open, revealing his chest and the chain beneath.

It was rare they looked that fancy unless it was for an event. And, even then they wouldn't be at the same event. Y/N had to choose who she went with, going to one with Lando and the next with Daniel.

So, Y/N insisted they get a picture of the three of them, their arms wrapped around her as Lando kissed her cheek and Daniel also held him.

And then they set off, walking away from the villa and down to the old town. A couple of people recognised the boys, and Y/N was more than happy to take pictures of them with the fans. Some wished Lando a happy birthday, letting them go on their way.

They had dinner, sitting by the ocean as they drank and ate. "How are you feeling about turning twenty four?" Daniel asked as their food was placed in front of him.

Lando shrugged his shoulders. He'd been a little bit quiet for the entire day, enjoying himself, sure, but still quiet.

"Baby Lan," Y/N said with a pout as she grabbed his hand. "You know you're still our baby, right? No matter how old you get."

He gave them that blushy smile. "I'm not a baby," he muttered and Daniel laughed.

It was that kind of laugh where he used his whole chest, his grin splitting across his face. "No, chicken, you're our baby."

So Lando wasn't feeling great about turning twenty four, but Y/N and Daniel definitely made it better. They kissed him, held him close and wrangled him into bed in a mess of clothes tossed to the side and breathy moans.

[liyawritesss]

ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ!ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

Characters: College!Spider-Verse!Miles Morales 

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What would our lovely boy Miles be like as a grown up college student? Does he change or does he still keep his dorky, boyish demeanor?

A/N: HAPPY JUNETEENTH TO MY FELLOW NEGROS!!! In honor of Juneteenth and the release of ATSV, I'm dumping some headanons on yall, and I'm so proud of how these turned out. I was talking with my friend how we heavily believed that we would see a grown up Miles but when we found out only a year passed in Miles’ timeline for him, the topic of college!Miles came up. So these headcanons are pretty much a product of how we thought miles would be as a college student around our age.

Note: the first pic is of Shameik Moore, I just used a cartoon filter over it to try and make it look like the art style in the spiderverse franchise. The third one is not Shameik Moore but I use the same cartoon filter over it for the same effect

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it. KEEP IT CUTE PG-16 CUZ THIS IS NEPHEW WE TALKIN' BOUT HERE!!!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @venusdraco @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22

Sign Up For My Taglist Here!

College!Miles isn’t a complete one-eighty of his mid-teen self, but rather, he builds on the defining attributes of his youth and matures them. He’s still pretty self-effacing, modest and humble, but he’s more confident in himself and the man he wants to become. He’s selfless and courageous and loving to a fault, and anyone who’s anyone who has been in his presence can say that Miles is a great person all around.

College!Miles ends up going to study in New Jersey, majoring in Physics Engineering, but also minoring in African Psychology on the track for social work. He knows that he can only do so much good behind his Spiderman mask, and believes that he should also be putting in the work when he isn’t wearing it. It’s an obligation for him to put his best food forward for his community and his people.

College!Miles who mixes his style with 90’s black streetwear and modern day. He’s a sneakerhead, so his dorm room gradually accumulates with boxes upon boxes of shoes damn near reaching the ceiling. His room back home is much worse though (Rio can’t even clean his room anymore because everywhere she looks, it’s a box of shoes chucked somewhere. Mama has given up lmao). And similar to the first outfit we see him in in ATSV, he loves the sports-jersey-over-solid-color-shirt combo, but has a decent amount of hoodies and tee’s both graphic and plain, that he likes to throw on with a pair of jeans and shoes. He knows how to dress, and he knows that he looks good in what he wears too.

College!Miles who never steps out the house without a chain on. He’s got two specific ones that he wears primarily - a silver cuban link his parents got him for his eighteenth birthday that he wears daily, and a gold snake chain that he bought for himself with his first check from his first big boy job. There are other necklaces that he has that he’ll throw on it he wants to switch things up. He’s not a big fan of things on his wrist (he’s gotten too used to the web shooters that everything else just feels funny or wrong), but he has a watch that he only wears to be fancy and a couple of rings that go on his middle or forefingers. He also has a few pairs of studded earrings he switches between every now and then to keep up a fresh look.

College!Miles who starts to take special care in his appearance as he reaches his late teen years. He can only go to his mom when he’s on breaks or vacation when he travels back to Brooklyn, but he’s learned enough from Rio to do his own line-ups and touch ups to make him look decent. It took him a minute to get used to doing it on his own, but he was adamant on learning because he was firm on not letting anyone else into his head besides his mother. He’d recently gotten into cutting slits into his eyebrows too, as they make him feel super cool

College!Miles who knows he’s got girls & guys coming left and right waiting for the opportunity to get with him, but as much as he’s a loverboy, he’s also very intentional with how he moves and is very perceptive of people (his Spidey senses enhance it a lot more than what he wishes sometimes) that he peeps that a lot of them are only attracted to his looks. He doesn’t date for the first few semesters of college, and when his parents ask if he’s gonna bring someone home soon, he tells them that he’s too busy making gateways to dimensions to open the gateways to dating

College!Miles whose love for hip hop never dies over the years. Instead it seems to grow. He adds a few new artists to her playlist - JID, Young M.A., Tobe Nwigwe, & Kendrick Lamar from the hip hop and rap scenes (Miles uses many of Tobe’s songs as hype music to gas himself up). Though he’s also found an appreciation for other genres, like R&B and Neo-Soul. Some of these artists include but are not limited to: H.E.R., UMI, Ari Lennox, and Bryson Tiller.

College!Miles who still holds on to his art as a hobby and destresser from his many classes and double-identity. His street art follows him wherever he goes, tagging new places that have people wondering who the hell made it all the way up there to tag that. There’s a secret pride that swells in him when he sees passersby admiring the artwork.

College!Miles who, when the world gets too much and he feels like everythings going wrong, he climbs the tallest building he can find and just watches the sunrise or sunset. He lets the breathtaking view ease his mind and the warm sun soothe his worries away. Being so high up and away from people allows him to actually think about the troubles that plague him, so when he comes back down, he can address them accordingly

College!Miles who’s still very much a momma’s boy. He calls Rio almost every day, either to just talk or to rant about something silly. She’ll put him on speaker for Jefferson to hear and just looks at her husband like “Listen to your son” when he’s being silly. But it’s so sweet that Miles always has his parents on his mind when he’s away at school. He also calls his dad to have ‘guy talk’, which ain’t nothing but Miles and Jefferson either talking about sports, his academics (which Jeff is really supportive of, even if he doesn’t understand the physics part, he loves to hear his sons ideas on the psychology minor he’s taken on) or random funny shit the guys that they hang around do every day.

College!Miles who grows more confident in his Spanish and uses it more and more in his day-to-day life. He’ll speak it when he’s talking to himself, when he’s angry or if he’s hurt himself (which happens the same amount of times as it did when he was a teen), or he’ll try and surprise his mom with a conversation in complete Spanish (which he does succeed in sometimes).

College!Miles who’s barely changed from the loveable boy who we all know and love as a teen. He just grew some more and became cooler, but he still radiates the same dorky, intelligent, and loving energy he’s always had.

[cutiecusp]

Love to love you, baby.

Reader x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.

Childhood friends. Disco. Feelings..

Tw. Pining, smut so MDNI!

Your silver platform heels sink into the carpeted floor, the pink and blue lights echoing off the disco balls hung high in the ceiling, painting everyone in colourful sparkly spots as they dance the night away.

You were in charge of the club, an homage to Studio 54, where the drinks poured all night, and the music played until the early hours.

Waves of people danced the night away, all their worries lifting until the morning after, and you thrived here. This was something you built from the ground up, and you fell in love more and more with the club every day.

Climbing the stairs, you look around the room like a proud mother, you had worked hard to replicate the days of disco, and it was paying off.

You overlook the dance floor, your attention caught by the colourful characters moving to the music, and you can't help but join in.

Swaying your hips to the song, you hold your drink in one hand and fan yourself with the other.

"Hot, love?" You hear a voice behind your ear, as hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you to them.

"Kyle." You greet with a smile, and a kiss on the cheek, leaving peach gloss over his slightly stubbled cheek.

"Who else?" He teases, his body moving with yours as the lights change colour, painting you both in green and yellow. His dark skin is coated with a sheen of sweat and your body glitter.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick had been your childhood best friend, and while your paths couldn't be more different, you always kept in contact.

Nights like this was rare though, he was always deployed, or stationed in bases abroad.

You turn in his arms, facing him, studying him for any new injuries. He raises an eyebrow, and lets out a deep laugh.

"I'm in one piece, babe. All good."

You ignore the way your stomach flutters at the endearment, a silly crush had developed Into something very real, but you tampered it down, grateful to see him.

You feel a strong hand take yours, and lead you down the stairs.

"What's the point in owning a club like this and not using the dance floor?" He shouts above the music, his body already moving to the beat of the band.

You finish your drink, passing it to a staff member before raising your arms and singing along to the song, the bass reverberating through the soles of your feet.

You laugh as he pulls some fancy moves, garnering attention from the ladies, but his deep brown eyes are all on you as the light catches the sequins of your dress.

Closing your eyes, you let the music take you over, clapping your hands, and shaking your hips in time to Kyle's.

His hands return to your hips, your bodies flush with each others. You open your eyes and lock gazes with Kyle, who is beaming with a look of pride on his face.

"You been practising without me, babe?" He jokes easily, anchoring your arms around his neck, pulling you closer.

It just feels like you two and the song as you lose yourself to the night.

You throw your head back and laugh, you had been dancing whenever the club was quiet, it was your release of all the hardships of the day.

You lean into Kyle, enjoying being in his arms, he was an incredible dancer, and always managed to make you feel like you were a good partner. His shirt was undone slightly, and you could see the matching chain he wore to your bracelet. A 'going away' gift for his first deployment.

Your eyes flicker down to it, and your gaze hardens a little. Picking up on the cue, Kyle leans into your ear.

"We got a few days love. Let's not ruin tonight."

His voice rumbles, deep within your soul. A few days. Then he's away, again.

You nod, putting on a smile, and dancing to the end of the song.

A slower song came on, and many people took the chance to head to the bar, but Kyle held you close. His hands resting on your lower back as you swayed to the music.

"You know I hate leaving." He admits, holding your gaze.

You nod, blinking away the tears that prickled your eyes.

"Let's not talk about it tonight, Kyle." You plead, breaking eye contact and resting your head on his chest.

"I love you, you know." Kyle admits suddenly.

You pause your movements, looking up at him.

"I think a part of me always has. Leaving you hurts more and more each time, babe."

He lifts a hand, cradling your chin as he raises your face to his.

"All this, the club, the energy, the success. I'm so proud of you babe."

You dare not look away as he speaks to you with such sincerity.

"When I'm away, all I can think of is you, this smile, your laugh.. I take it with me, and it keeps me company when I'm patrolling at night, or taking watch over the guys. You know I still have that picture of us in my tac vest, that summer we went skinny dipping..."

You have the grace to blush when he brings up the memory. One holiday, Kyle had dared you to jump into the lake fully naked after a game of spin the bottle with some friends, and you never backed down from a dare.

"The way the water looked dripping off you, thought I was gonna die on the spot, babe." He admits with a smirk.

"I guess what I'm saying is, I wanna be the one you dance with. The one you hold at night, the one who takes you to heaven and back. If you want me."

You pull his head down, pressing a kiss to his, startling him with your intensity.

He slips his hands around your hips his hands teasing under the hem of your mini dress. His attraction prominent in his jeans.

"VIP room, now." He urges, putting you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeals of protest as you pull your dress down. The patrons of the club cheering and whooping, your face aflame with lust and embarrassment.

Striding back up the stairs to the back rooms, he puts you down with a wolfish grin, allowing you to open the door, his body flush behind yours, he leaves feverish kisses along your neck and collarbone.

Closing the door behind you both, he takes you in fully, eyes during bright. Hair tossed over your shoulder, about to kick your heels off.

"No, leave them on babe." Kyle insists, pushing you down on the sofa before kneeling between your legs, he presses kisses along your skin.

"Waited for too long for this. I should have said something." You confess.

Kyle hums as he reaches your inner thighs, sliding your dress up past your hips.

"Oh, she's gorgeous." He whispers in awe as he pulls the damp fabric to the side, before licking a stripe between your folds. Your back arches in pleasure and he pulls away reluctantly.

"Gonna make you mine, babe. You want that?" He asks softly, his voice filled with need.

You nod, your hands finding his dark, short hair.

"Like you wouldn't believe." You reply, your voice confident, ringing clear in the room

"We have a lot to catch up on." He smiles, pulling your body further down the sofa, and holding your legs apart with his rough hands.

You nod in agreement, your eyes never straying from his as he licks another stripe between your sensitive folds.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are." He croons before he takes your sensitive bud into his mouth, making you gasp and writhe in pleasure.

"So responsive, babe." He teases softly, before hungrily teasing your clit with his tongue again, dipping further down inside you, collecting your nectar and spreading it over your sensitive button, pulling a sultry moan from you that wouldn't be out of place in an adult film.

"Making such pretty noises for me babe." He says softly, pulling away from your body.

Untying the halter on your dress, he pulls the fabric over your head, stilling when realises you've forgone a bra this evening.

"Ffffuck.." he lets out between his clenched teeth.

His jaw slack as he takes your body into his calloused hands, his grip firm but soft as he traces his fingers over your exposed skin.

"Beautiful, babe." He agrees as his fingers tease your pebbled nipples, peaked at the cool temperature of the room, before taking them into his mouth, one after the other.

After what feels like a lifetime of teasing, your body shivering under his expert touch, he pulls away, removing his shirt, exposing the scarred, but gorgeous body underneath.

"Gorgeous, Kyle." You say softly, before pulling him down for a kiss, your lips exploring his.

He kisses his way down your body, worshipping every inch of you as his kisses trail back to between your legs.

You feel his touch along your damp skin, before he presses a finger inside you. You keen, your body adjusting to his finger, as he teases your g spot, rubbing his fingertip over it until you relax a little more.

"Feel so good babe. Your pussy is gonna strangle my fucking cock with how tight you are. Let go, I've got you." He insists.

He adds another finger, scissoring his fingers and bringing you closer to your orgasm.

All you can do is lie there as he plays your body like an instrument, pulling moans and gasps from your body as you discovered Kyle knew you better than you knew yourself.

You feel a pressure build up deep within you as he continues with his touch, your legs starting to shake as you feel close.

Kyle smiles as he makes eye contact with you again, swiping his tongue up to your clit, the addition of his tongue to his fingers had you tipping over the edge, chanting his name as you arrived at your peak.

Covered in a light dusting of sweat, you pull him up, claiming his soft lips in a heated kiss, before trying to undo his belt frantically.

Laughing, he kicks his jeans and boxers off, and settles between your legs.

"You ready for me babe? You've been so good and responsive for me tonight." He asks, waiting for permission.

"Make me yours, Kyle." You beg, as you dig your heeled shoes into his back, allowing the tip of his cock to brush gently against your folds.

You shudder at the thickness of it, your eyes darting down to where your bodies were about to be joined.

"Eyes on me, babe." He commands, sliding home.

Your eyes widen, and water slightly, but you don't look away. You hold his gaze until he's fully seated inside you, stretching you to a point where you'll feel it in the morning.

"Good girl." He praises, placing kisses on your cheeks as he pulls out a little and pushes in again. The pain slightly duller this time, you urge him to go faster.

"Please, Kyle. I need more." You plead, your eyes staring into his.

He quickens the pace of his hips slightly, drawing a gasp from your lips.

"You feel so good babe. I knew you would, you were made for me" He babbles, lost in your body.

You feel him press a finger against your clit, rubbing small circles on your sensitive spot, before leaning over and spitting on it, making you gasp in shock.

Taking your fingers, he presses them against your body, rubbing his spit into your folds.

"Show me babe. Show me how you make yourself feel good." His voice calls out, gruff with need.

Your fingers intertwine with his, as you work your body close to a release, showing him what makes you tick.

He looks down to where you are joined again, his body pistoning in and out of you, his thick cock spreading you open and his brain short circuits as he watches you take him in.

"Gonna come babe. Want to fill you up, make you mine, but I need you to come again first." He insists.

You nod, your fingers playing with your juices as you feel yourself tighten around Kyle.

"Am close, Kyle. Feels... you make me feel.."

"I know babe. I know." He admits, his hips snapping against yours, your bodies connecting the only sound of the room.

You tumble over first, with Kyle chasing you quickly after. He pulls you to his body, shaking with the aftermath of your orgasm.

"Love you too." You say quietly, as you rest your head on his chest.

"Bloody hope so, after that!" He laughs, pressing a kiss into your hair.

...................................

A/N I beat writers block today, this was so FUN to write.

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage

[ripdragonbeans]

Mine (Modern!Aemond x Reader)

yes this is based off of Taylor Swift's Mine bc I've been listening to Speak Now (Taylor's Version) on repeat since it was released

Thank you @theold-ultraviolence for being my beta reader again!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: The story of your relationship with Aemond

WARNINGS: mentions of physical/verbal abuse, mention of s*x, panic/anxiety attack, violent argument, accusing of cheating

Starting at university is stressful. Transferring to a new one in your junior year is nerve-wracking. Yet here you are, completing – and passing – all of your finals for the end of the semester.

After completing all your finals for the end of the semester, and passing all of them, you decided to head out to celebrate the end of the year. Nothing too fancy, just chilling at one of your favorite spots in the city, Olde Town Diner. Many all-nighters were pulled here, thanks to the owners feeling sympathy for the college students.

You sat at your favorite table, next to a window to look out at the city streets. The drizzling rain outside helped create the coziness here that felt like home. After wistfully staring out the window, you came back to reality and began gathering your stuff. 

And that's when you saw him. 

Well, the back of him.

His silver blond hair tied up in a messy bun with a few loose strands in the back. Despite working at a very cozy diner, he held himself high as if he were royalty attending to his subjects with grace. When he greeted customers he simply held his hands behind his back. You couldn't stop looking at them. They were just hands, yet you were fairly attracted to them. 

As he finished taking the customer's orders he could feel eyes on him. He left them, turning to leave, only to immediately find your eyes on him. A smile tugged on his mouth as color crept up his neck. It was a brief meeting and as soon as it happened it stopped and he went back to working. 

You wanted to stay to try to talk to him but as thunder sounded you took that as your cue to start the walk home.

Tomorrow. You'll come back tomorrow. 

The chime of the bell greeted you as you entered Olde Town Diner. Mrs. Tully, who owned the diner with her husband, greeted you with a big smile. 

"Your table awaits you, deary!" She called.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tully," you said cheerfully. You were about to head to your table when your curiosity got the best of you. "There was a waiter here yesterday," you started, "I've never seen him before. He had silver blond hair?" You hoped it didn't sound too obvious that you wanted to meet him. 

"Oh, you must be talking about Aemond. He's been for a few days but his shift didn't match the times you would come in," Mrs. Tully explained. Mischief danced in her eyes. "Does our dear find the mysterious Aemond attractive?"

"No! I mean," you paused, "I'm curious about him, I guess. It wouldn't hurt to make another friend."

"Sure, deary," she winked.

You knew you were blushing and kept your head down to hide your smile as you went to your table. Denying your attraction to this Aemond only made your nervousness worse but you laughed it off. Since winter break has officially ended you were actually able to relax at the diner instead of cramming in homework. You took a moment to breathe it all in before pulling out a book to read, Assassins of the Night. Not only was it a fun read, but it completely immersed you into their world. You were a few pages in when Aemond appeared.

"Hey, my name's Aemond and I'll be taking care of you today. What can I get you started with?" The words flowed out of his mouth.

Looking up from your book you were able to see him. Once again, his hair was in a messy bun but this time you could see how perfectly it framed his face. One eye was a piercing violet while the other one had a beautiful sapphire in its place. His uniform consisted of a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; a silver chain, and black sacks. 

You couldn't help but stare in awe again, words completely unable to make their way to the surface. He was so gorgeous.

"Um… I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable," he apologized, "I can get Mrs. Tully to come take your order if you want." Shame blazed across his face but it was gone as soon as it came. 

You blinked and came back to your senses, "No! I mean, I'm sorry. I was caught off guard. I've been coming here since the beginning of the school year and I've never seen you." 

Awkwardness hung in the air.

"Um, I'll take some blueberry pancakes with a cup of coffee."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll get that started right away," Aemond gave you a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and turned on his heel.

A few minutes passed when Aemond came back with your food, "Blueberry pancakes and coffee." 

As he put the food in front of you, you gathered the confidence to ask him, "Would you like to eat with me?"

Aemond gave you a confused look. "I'm working right now?"

Embarrassment flooded you. "Of course," you awkwardly laughed. "It's just that I'm really the only one here and um…I wouldn't mind the company."

"I don't know you."

"No, but we could get to know each other."

Your eyes met his as you simply stared at each other, neither of you quite knowing what to say.

"I guess I can ask Mrs. Tully. She's been saying how I need to get a social life," Aemond let out an amused breath and went to ask.

He took all but two steps when Mrs. Tully yelled out, "SIT WITH HER, AEMOND. GOODNESS KNOWS BOTH OF YOU NEED OTHER PEOPLE IN YOUR LIVES!"

You both blushed as Aemond took the seat across from you. Tension hung in the air for a few moments. You were about to say something when Aemond beat you to it.

"What's your major?" He blurted. He looked slightly terrified.

"I'm a lit major, I enjoy reading and analyzing and writing," you explained. "I've been devouring four books a month, might as well learn how to make a career out of it, right?"

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I don't attend the university. I'm just…here," he took a breath. "I graduated from University of Old Valyria two years ago. I came here to start over."

"Wow, wasn't expecting that one."

"It usually takes people by surprise, those who ask."

"I get that, staying in the back. There's solitude in it. But it can get lonely."

"It really can."

For once, there was a comfortable silence. Genuine smiles graced both of your face, and soon enough, you and Aemond were talking about everything and anything - sharing stories, good and bad. You discovered both of you come from broken families. Aemond's dad didn't give a shit about anyone except his daughter from his first marriage. You told him that your mom and dad fought constantly. Sometimes it got so bad that small pieces of furniture would get thrown. By the time you and Aemond finished talking three hours had passed and Mrs. Tully began ushering both of you out, not without a knowing smile, of course.

"I just realized that you never gave me your name," Aemond said.

"Shit, yeah. Sorry about that," you gave him a small smile before giving him your name along with your number. "We should do this again, Aemond. I really enjoyed it."

"Absolutely. Not to be too weird or anything, but can I walk you home?"

As it turned out, you both lived at the same apartment complex and the same floor. You stood outside your door, unable to keep yourself from smiling, as you said your goodbyes for the night.

"I guess, but I don't want you to walk one way only to find out you have to go to the other side of town."

Over the next year you and Aemond continued to build your friendship. You knew everything about him and you, him. Every little facial expression, every bit of body language, you knew it all. 

As you were ending your final year at university you moved in with Aemond. You two were as thick as thieves, basically being a package whenever it mean going out. It was more than a friendship, though. It always has been. It was that neither of you wanted to admit it. Accidental brushes of hands, long hugs, the forehead kisses you insisted were platonic peppered your days. 

Until one day, Aemond decided to take you to the lake for the day.

"Aems, this is beautiful," you stared in awe at the sparkling water and the lush grass.

"I thought we could have a nice picnic away from the city. It can be a lot, you know? And we haven't left it since you moved it," he said.

"Aw, look at you, being observant," you laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he chuckled.

Playfully elbowing him you couldn't help but feel loved. No one ever thought about things like this concerning you.

You spent the entire day at the lake, splashing each other with water, eating sandwiches, reading, and simply enjoying each other's company. Too soon, the sun set and the moon came out.

"We should get going, Aems, it's already -," you yawned and stretched.

"Just a few more minutes. Look up," he pointed at the sky.

You raised your head up towards the night sky and gasped. The moon glowed soft and the stars were scattered all around it. You never saw the sky like this when you were growing up. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, nothing could top this. 

Until a shooting star blazed across sky. All you could do was stare at wonder and bask in its beauty. 

What you didn't see was Aemond staring not looking up at the sky, but at you. A smile graced his face when he saw how happy you were. He took this moment to scoot closer to you and put an arm around you. He's done this many times before but this time was different. Warmth spread through your body. You could feel your stomach start to coil and you suddenly felt nervous.

"Aems, meteor showers don't happen often," you stated. You closed your eyes as you asked the question, "did you plan this?"

Aemond ran his free hand through his hair. A blush crept up his neck. "Yeah, I did. I thought it would be a nice -"

You cut him off, "it's beautiful, Aems."

"There's something else I wanted to do, if you're okay with it."

"Of course."

Aemond leaned in slowly, giving you the time to choose to pull back if you wanted. But you didn't. Instead, you glanced at his lips then met his eye and smiled. You met him in the middle as your nervousness disappeared and joy took its place. His lips were as soft as you thought. The kiss was gentle and perfect. In that moment you knew that you two were made for each other. When you separated you couldn't help but grin wildly at each other.

"Yes, Aems, a hundred times yes," you said as you captured his lips in another sweet kiss. 

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He asked.

Living together didn't change much except for the kisses and touches. You were more intimate and I'm playful with each other. You shared even more secrets with each other, including your fear of being in a relationship similar to your parents'. 

Eventually, you got rid of your bed and moved into Aemond's room. That night was when you finally had sex for the first time. Like your first kiss, it was gentle and sweet. It wasn't fucking, it was making love.

Two years passed before cracks started showing.

At first it was over small things, dishes not being washed, the toilet seat left up, not taking out the trash. Nothing was ever said, both you and Aemond didn't want to deal with confrontation so you were passive aggressive to each other. You started to go out more, not realizing you were trying to stay away from the apartment. Aemond noticed this but never said anything, he didn't want you to think he was controlling.

But he couldn't take it anymore.

You came in late that night, around two thirty in the morning. He was waiting for you on the couch facing the turned off TV.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now, Aems," you said softly.

"I'm not," there was a bite in his words.

A pregnant pause.

"You don't think I've noticed how often you've come home late, how you disappear for most of the day?" 

"Aemond, you know I'm just hanging out with some friends."

He bowed his head, "who is he? Who are you seeing?"

Your eyes widened at the accusation. "You think I'm cheating on you, Aems? Do you really think I don't want you?"

Aemond stood up from the couch and stalked over to you, "It certainly seems that way. You won't even let me kiss you for too long."

"Aemond, this is ridiculous, you know I love you," you reached out to him but he pulled away.

He huffed, "Yeah, sure."

"I love you and only you," your phone buzzed. 

Aemond tensed, "Who's that?"

You rolled your eyes, "It's just a friend named Cregan."

Red flashed across his face. "Cregan. You mean Cregan Stark? That fuck boy?"

"He's not a fuck boy, Aemond. And he's just a friend!" You insisted but you were losing your patience.

"I'm going to bed," he said. As he turned around you heard him whisper, "Just go fuck him."

"Excuse me?" 

"You heard me," he refused to turn around to face you. "Go fuck Cregan."

"You know what, fine. It's not like you haven't been trying to get into Floris's pants too."

Aemond turned around so fast he knocked over a plastic succulent as he turned back to you. He grabbed the nearest thing to him, a set of keys, and threw it across the room. 

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare. I've never touched her," he looked at you with such rage you wanted to back down but you didn't.

"Whatever you say, Aemond," you rolled your eyes and went to leave the apartment when something smashed into the wall next to your head. A framed photo of you two at the lake. You whipped your head around, fear in your eyes. You started to hyperventilate. You couldn't breathe.

The anger on Aemond's face was immediately replaced with regret. "No, no, please, I'm sorry, I didn't -"

You didn't let him finish as you ran out.

Running out of the complex you knew you had to get as far away as possible. You didn't know where to go, nowhere made sense, everything was wrong. Nothing was real. So you went to the only place that could bring you peace at this time of night.

The lake.

You hopped into your car and drove as fast as you could to the lake. It wasn't until you sat on the shore that you let the tears escape. Hugging your knees tight you did you best to stifle your cries. You were shaking. Nothing was right, nothing was real. This was a dream, it had to be. Your nails started to dig into your skin as you finally let out your cries.

A hand touched your shoulder and you resigned yourself to your fate. You didn't know who was there but it didn't matter. Everything was wrong, anyway. Nothing made sense. 

Then you heard him.

"Please, please," the voice begged.

You could tell it was Aemond. He knelt down next to you and placed his other hand on your knees. You balled yourself up tighter.

"I'm… I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

You could tell he was on the verge of tears but you didn't look up.

"I know I was wrong. I was angry and I let it fester and I took it out on you, please," he choked on your name. 

Nothing. You said nothing.

"If you want me to leave, if you want us to stop," he took a shakey breath, "just say the word and it can end. We won't ever have to see each other again."

Silence.

"Okay," he swallowed, "I'll go." 

Aemond removed a hand from your shoulder and went to stand up but your hand grabbed the other one on your knee.

"No, please don't leave me, Aemond." You whispered. 

You took a deep breath before unraveling yourself but you didn't look at him. Not yet.

He brought his hand to rest on top of yours. "I won't leave, I promise you I won't. I will never leave you alone," he gasped. You could hear him struggling through the tears.

"I was wrong. I was very wrong. What I said and what I did wasn't okay, it was far from okay. And I promise I have never looked at or thought about anyone else the way I do with you. I know you love me unconditionally but my paranoia got the better of me."

You looked at the lake ahead of you, "It's going to take time, Aemond, a lot of time until I can trust you again."

"I know, and I'm willing to wait." After a few moments of silence Aemond said, "I think of you every day, about this lake. I knew I loved you before then but watching you look up at the sky made it real."

You let out a chuckle as you finally looked at him, "I knew then, too, Aems." You took another breath, "I'm sorry for what I said, too, it wasn't fair. And for avoiding you. Work started becoming too much and I was overwhelmed and didn't want you to see me in such a mess, so I went out."

"We'll get through this, I promise," he took you in his arms and held you tight. "Let's head home. We'll take my car and pick up yours later."

You sniffled, "Okay."

Aemond helped you get up and walk to the car. Your legs were jelly, your body was drained. The drive home was silent but you two held each other's hands.

That night Aemond wrapped his arms around you tight. 

It took months, but through couple's counseling your relationship began to strengthen once more. Aemond saw another therapist focusing on sudden anger in case something sets him off again. He doesn't want to hurt you ever again and he never does.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

peckish

or: darling, we've got company for dinner.

gn!reader, MASSIVE warnings for gore and cannibalism, ooey-gooey domestic bliss meets serial killer heaven. apologies to everyone who's new around here - i have to keep the property prices low somehow, you know? much love to the discord gang, the real heroes of the nightmare suburbia that is this fic. the spaghetti scene from lady and the tramp but make it monstrous. warden bobbing for adam's apples in just over 4400 words.

one more time so i know you heard me: warnings for cannibalism, heavy blood and gore, extended discussion of serial killing and murder, death and dead bodies, and emetophobia.

this fic contains graphic content that may not be suitable or appropriate for readers under the age of 18. reader discretion is heavily advised. dead dove: do not eat. as always, i encourage you to stop reading at any point if you feel as though you may become uncomfortable or upset. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI. thank you.

series masterlist

Say what you will about Vega, he’s never fancied himself the type to settle down.

Settling down sounds boring, don't you think? It sounds like something dull and mundane, the rhythmic repetition of ordinary life. Wearing away at the facets of the mind, a stone washed and tumbled in the river, worn smooth and utterly featureless. Wasteful.

It’s not really the sort of thing he'd ever thought he'd want for himself, and besides, it's not really something demons do. Especially not when they're as old as him, and with such grand ambitions. You don't fracture universes and topple gods from a three-bed two-bath in the middle of nowhere.

Aria has no real equivalent, and the thought of a demon chaining themselves to the monotony of indefinite life in Elegy… it’s so awful that it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

A garage and a garden and a pool, a barbecue and a picket fence and two and a half kids. All these useless things that humans seem to obsess over - filling their lives with the inane clutter of their shallow world, lulled into the background of their own existence by the weight of their own avarice. Self-soothing. The closest he’s ever got to a gated community is a maximum-security prison, and neither are places that he’s particularly enthusiastic about seeing the inside of ever again.

The concept of suburbia is very, very human. Vega is not.

Oh, my.

Ah, well. Best laid plans and all that.

Having fun there, darling?

He laughs at your enthusiastic thumbs up, gaze lingering on the thick smear of blood that trails across your jaw, dripping down the side of your throat, threatening to soak into the collar of your shirt. It looks like you’re nodding as well, but from this angle it’s hard to tell - sort-of crouched but almost lying flat, sprawled across the living room carpet in front of him as he sits back in the chair.

He’s strangely reminded of a pet - maybe one of those little puppy dogs he’s seen humans walking around with, shaking its toy from side to side in its mouth. Cute.

You sit up with a gasp, lips glossy with spit and blood, delicate tendons snapping across your fangs as you tear yourself away. Fuck, you look good, eyes black with pleasure as your fangs flash in the soft sunlight, biting, chewing, ripping…

Did y-

Ah, ah. The tip of his tail flicks forwards to point accusingly at you in mocking disapproval. What have we said about talking with your mouth full?

That I’ll choke, you grumble, clumsily wiping blood from your cheeks and greedily licking it into your already-full mouth. Like you’ve ever been sad when I do that.

He shrugs, smirk pulling at his lips as you glare up at him. What can I say? It’s less fun when I’m not involved.

Chastened, if far from chaste - you scowl, even as your tail betrays you, swishing back and forth across the carpet behind you in gluttonous delight. The sound of your chewing fills the room, loud and delightfully sticky, and he watches all the lovely muscles in your throat flex as you swallow, again and again.

Sighing quietly in pleasure at the taste, licking your messy fingers and letting them go with a pop, shiny and clean. His little hedonist.

Mind if I…? When you’ve finished your mouthful, you gesture down in front of you with your tail. It’s really nice.

Asking for another go, like you need his permission. You really are sweet, aren’t you? He leans forward to hold your chin in one hand, carefully picking a stray piece of flesh from between your front teeth with the tips of his claws, before settling back into his chair and popping it in his mouth.

Of course, he replies, smiling indulgently as you eagerly bury your face back into the corpse’s throat for seconds. Eat up, my love.

The bright sound of tearing flesh fills the room again, sloppy and wet as you hungrily slurp blood into your mouth like a baby vampire, puncture marks littering the skin where your claws have dug too deep in your excitement. You’re just so adorable, curled over the body in the living room, elbow deep in gore and occasionally lifting your head to spit out a particularly sharp chunk of bone.

Munching away at your prize, shredded skin caught in your teeth. At this rate, you’ll have stripped the flesh entirely by dinnertime.

Drink?

You glance up at him inquisitively, still up to your nose in the human’s throat, and he knows that look. This should be fun. And anyway, it would be rude to refuse his pretty darling anything, wouldn’t it?

Oh, if you insist.

Gracefully, he slides out of the armchair and kneels on the opposite side of the corpse, mouth already watering in anticipation. You don’t seem to care much for grace at all, though - happily, you twist your fingers into his hair and pull him into a kiss, sharing your blissful mouthful of blood with a delighted sigh.

It’s dark and rich on his tongue, mixing with the familiar flavour of your kisses, and he laughs quietly in your mind as he feels you smile, the satisfaction of your full stomach mixing with the electric spark of his fangs digging into your lip.

It’s something of a double-edged sword, if he’s honest. Blood pours from your mouth as you grin, and he’s smiling too hard to really stop it, splattering all over your front, his hands, and the body on the floor between you. Your kisses get shallower and shallower, but no less hungry, until you’re practically licking at his face like an animal, desperate for the taste of the blood that coats his lips and his chin.

Obviously, he lets you. You’re having fun, and it’s very cute.

Definitely a puppy, he thinks.

Hmm? You’ve turned your attention back to your meal, scooping blood into your mouth with one hand as the other prepares to crack open the chest cavity. He prefers the softness of the stomach, the richness of the guts and the kidneys, but you do so love the challenge of the ribcage - the sweet lungs and heart and liver, waiting to be devoured. What did you say?

Oh, nothing, darling, he replies. Bones crunching, skin splitting, and Vega watches proudly as you crawl on top of the corpse, greedily burying your face in the split ribs and groaning in delight. Nothing at all.

The bloodstain on the cream-coloured carpet grows slowly but steadily around you as you feast, while he sits back up in the armchair and picks up the television remote. There’s a documentary programme this afternoon about one of his past experiments, and he’s curious to see what they make of it.

Long fingers pressing the little buttons, careful to keep his claws out of the way so as not to accidentally tear the rubber. The channels flick past, brief glimpses of other shows flashing on the screen before being replaced by another.

Learning how to use this stupid little controller had been very bizarre for him and you - it runs on electricity, with no magic at all, and manipulating the television with magic is really very difficult without making it catch fire. It’s not built to accommodate magical energy inside it, so you’d both had to just deal with the learning curve and figure out how to make it give you the programme you want.

According to you, it had been exactly the same when you had to learn to use a computer and a walkie-talkie at DUMP, so it had taken you a frustratingly short amount of time to figure it out. He’d been forced to ask you for help more than once, which had admittedly grated on him a little, but it hadn’t been all that bad. You’d been far too distracted by your reward to gloat, in any case.

(Demons might not need to sleep, per se, but he’d certainly tired you out, poor thing. Soundproof wards are such a wonderful thing.)

Finally, he finds the right channel, garish adverts splashed across the screen before the programme starts. A disembodied human voice twitters blithely about some product or other it's trying to sell - some sort of little rectangular pills? - but he’s not really paying attention.

Neither are you, to be fair. Drenched in blood from horns to tail, you’ve moved on to the trachea, chewing away at the meat and sucking the cartilage clean before arranging it in a little pile next to you. There’s about seven or eight of the little C-shaped rings so far, and he smiles as you spit another one into your palm and add it to the collection.

Quietly, he makes one of those thin cardboard boxes out of magic, the red-and-white striped ones you insist on having when you watch films, and scoops the dripping stack of cartilage inside with a touch of psychokinesis. If you’re allowed to have a mid-afternoon snack, then so is he.

Music starts playing from the television, and he settles back into the armchair as the documentary finally begins. Shaky, poorly lit videos of gore-spattered - and clearly fake, just look at that awful artificial blood - crime scenes play under dramatic readings of newspaper headlines, and it's all very melodramatic.

To be perfectly honest, they're exaggerating a little. Or perhaps it’s more that whatever unempowered police force was wheeled out to investigate was absolutely terrible at their job. He’d been proud of this particular protégé, but he hadn't been that good. The kills were enthusiastic but rather sloppy, so although Vega had eaten well at every crime scene, the whole affair had been considerably more risky than it needed to be.

Humans simply suffer from a tremendous belief in their own immunity to wickedness - contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t take much to turn a human into a serial killer, especially not when you have as much practice as he does. To make a good serial killer is a little harder, but not impossible.

They need an affinity for death, obviously, and a fascination with their own mortality is always helpful. Manual dexterity is useful but can be cultivated, and depending on the method of killing, physical strength can be a bonus as well. Cleverness is appreciated, as is a propensity for lying.

But most of all, they need to love killing, the thrill of the hunt - their god must become murder, their worship becomes the unique pleasures of the kill. And make no mistake, pleasures is absolutely correct. You’d told him about some human saying or other - love your job, and you’ll never work a day in your life, and he really couldn’t agree more.

If you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong. The word spree sounds so joyful, don’t you think?

Now they’re playing a video of some armchair psychologist, ruminating about childhood factors and underlying conditions, and it’s almost ridiculous how wrong they are. Which, to be fair, is probably not their fault. If these unempowered humans had jumped to the conclusion that the man’s motivation for killing was an invisible demon secretly talking in his brain and persuading him to commit murders, in order to create the sadistic energy that the demon needed to eat to survive, it would probably speak more to their own conspiratorial leanings than his own breaking of covert.

Humans love to try and explain things they don’t understand. Trauma? Hardly. Neglect? Please. Illness? Well, now you’re just making him laugh. A child could figure out that there hadn’t been anything wrong with the man. He’d been perfectly sane before Vega got involved.

The screen shifts to a woman walking around in a street he vaguely recognises, talking about the life of the first victim - well, the one she thinks was the first, anyway - and he watches in amusement at the stilted story these ‘investigators’ have sewn together. Some things are right, but most things aren’t, and it’s admittedly quite funny to see how badly they’ve put everything together. Can’t anyone tell the difference between a carving knife and a chef’s knife anymore?

Idly, he curls the spade of his tail around into his snack box, picks up a loop of cartilage, and pops it into his mouth. Yum. Chewy.

After a little while, the programme cuts away to an advertisement break, and he sighs in disappointment as the narration about entry and exit wounds is interrupted by an advert for furniture sets. He takes a minute to sit up and stretch, noting the progress you’ve made on your little meal with pride.

The chest cavity is almost entirely empty of its organs, only the shredded remains of the diaphragm left in the space where the lungs used to sit, bitemarks in the muscle that’s been almost entirely torn away. Chunks of half-chewed fat have been spat out onto the carpet, but he’s pleased to see that you’ve eaten most of the alveoli - you can’t stand the taste of cigarettes, so he’d been careful to get you one that wasn’t a smoker.

Speaking of your eating habits, your initial frenzy seems to have worn off a little. The ends of most of the ribs have been shattered, clear dents in the bone where you’ve had to chew a little harder to get at the delicious marrow inside, others ripped out of the body entirely in your enthusiasm.

You must have got overexcited and tired yourself out, though - now you’re lying on the carpet next to the body, gnawing slowly at the wrist and slurping out the blood that’s still left in the muscle tissue. How unusual. Normally, you’d finish off a few more of the major organs before switching to one of the limbs.

Full up already, dear?

He’s expecting you to laugh, or at least bare your teeth at him, but instead you just groan weakly in response, squeezing your eyes shut. A painful stab of worry blooms in his aura, first like a needle, then like a knife - in a second, he’s leaning forward out of his chair, examining your body for injuries.

What’s wrong? What is it? You’ve been right here in front of him the whole time - fuck, what did he miss? The ward around the house pulses as he checks it, but it’s just as strong as ever. Magic builds in his core, power cracking and sparking beneath his simulated skin in an instant, needing to shield you, hold you, protect you-

Tummy ache. Hurts.

Belatedly, he notices your free hand rubbing little circles over your stomach, tail flicking in agitation as the balance of magic in the room tilts and sways around you. Oh.

Again? Relieved, he relaxes slightly, although it’s surprisingly difficult to let the magic go that easily. Darling, I told you last time, you ca-

I was hungry!

And you’ll be sick, if you’re not careful!

Will not, you huff, through a big gulp of blood. Got rid of it.

He has to fight not to smile at your adorable petulant expression, fangs buried in the forearm of a corpse. You’re so precious. Got rid of what, hm?

Gag reflex, you reply proudly. Finally found out what it was.

So that’s why… he muses, head tipping to the side as he looks down at you. I see.

Of course! That’s why you’d felt so awful last time he’d brought you a corpse. How could he have missed it?

You’d eaten so fast that you’d made yourself sick, looking up at him in alarm as your body revolted against you, before turning to the side and vomiting all over the kitchen floor. Neither of you had known what was going on - you’d both seen it happen to humans before, but never to demons.

Poor thing, you’d been petrified, sobbing and wailing in his arms as your body convulsed against your will. He’d been afraid as well - reflexively, he’d poured a panicked wave of magic into you, searching for the problem, but hadn’t found anything. If it wasn’t something magical, what could it have been - what could possibly have hurt you?

His body doesn’t have a gag reflex, but yours does - well, did. Most demons give themselves lungs and vocal cords, at the very least, when they come to Elegy. It makes it easier to fake breathing, and it’s more convenient than manually using magic every time if you need to speak aloud to humans - you’d got into the habit when you were at the Department, and you’d grown used to the weight of having organs inside you. Apparently, it’s comforting.

Vega?

He rarely bothers with having any physical internal systems, seeing as he only ever uses telepathy. If he ever needs to eat anything, he just lets it dissolve into magic inside him straight away - but you’ve told him that you like the feeling of having a pleasantly full stomach after a meal, so you wait until then to let it be broken down by the magic that fills your form. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you might have accidentally given yourself a gag reflex without realising.

Hold on. If you’ve had that sitting in the back of your throat the whole time, how come he’s never accidentally triggered it when y-

Vega!

Startled out of his thoughts, he looks down to see you pointing the tip of your tail towards the television. Your programme’s on again.

Oh - oh, yes. Thank you.

He sits back in the chair again, but his mind is elsewhere, one eye on the documentary and one eye on you. The amateur crime scene analysis doesn't interest him as much as you do, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and frowning when you realise that you’re only making it worse - your entire upper body is covered in blood and viscera, slightly tacky as it dries, and all you’re doing is rearranging it slightly.

Absentmindedly, he swallows. Oh, he’s going to enjoy cleaning you up.

It looks like you’re feeling a little more settled, or at least you’ve stopped caring if your stomach hurts. The voice on the television explains something about declassified documents as you grab the body by the shoulders and start shuffling backwards across the carpet, dragging it closer to the chair he’s sitting in.

Going somewhere?

You don’t reply, dumping your prize on the floor between his feet, before leaning your weight against his legs and flopping down across his lap. Luckily, long experience with your little habit kicks in - he leans back just in time to avoid your horns stabbing him in the stomach, lifting his hands out of his lap so they’re not in your way, replacing them lightly on top of your head.

Is this about the really old one, again?

He strokes one of your horns with one hand as you wriggle around on the floor, getting comfortable as you turn your face to the screen. There’s a quiet burst of magic as you think about reaching for the beanbag over by the coffee table, but at the last minute you go for the blanket lying over the back of the sofa instead, floating it over so you’ve got something a bit more comfortable to sit on.

No, that was last week’s programme, he replies. This one was only a few decades ago.

Your eyes narrow, gazing at the replica weapons onscreen. Really? That stuff looks pretty old.

No, no. It can’t have been more than fifty or sixty years…

Has it really been that long? It feels like only yesterday he’d been standing over the man as he stared down at his very first victim on the floor, shuddering with murderous ecstasy, laughing to himself as Vega drank in the delicious bitterness of his cruelty. How hungry they’d both been for him to draw blood - quite literally, in Vega’s case. How thrilling it had been when all that careful planning finally bore fruit, blossoming and blooming with each stroke of the knife, sweet and tart on his astral tongue.

Ah, time flies when you’re having fun. Upon reflection, maybe it’s been longer than he thought.

Hm. Perhaps you’re right. But only a century at most, I’m certain.

Apparently satisfied with that, you settle down against him to watch properly, draped against his legs all warm and happy. He relaxes too, absentmindedly stroking his claws over your shoulders and the back of your neck. It’s nice. Soothing, and he can feel that you like it too.

The documentary keeps going. After a few minutes, he hears something sticky from the floor next to you, like something soft and wet being pulled free. Then it happens again, and he feels your cheek start to move where it’s pressed against his leg.

Mm, thank you.

He takes the offered eyeball with a smile, plucking it out of your hand and putting it in his mouth. It bursts satisfyingly between his teeth, the sensation of it splitting making something thrum in pleasure deep in his mind as he savours the light flavour of the clear juice. Both of you like the eyes, refreshing and succulent, so you always make sure to share.

In return, he tips the box of cartilage towards you, but you turn your nose away with a huff. Not in the mood, it seems. Very well.

There’s about three-quarters of an hour left of the programme, and it passes in companionable silence, broken only by his quiet chewing and the slow swish of your tail over the bloodied carpet. Naturally, the humans who made this particular documentary don’t come to any new conclusions, but their outlandish theorising is amusing enough. If he’s honest, it’s starting to make him miss the whole routine - if there’s time over the next few months, he really ought to start getting back into serial killers. They’re the best kind of pet, once you’ve trained them well enough.

(Well, other than you, of course. But that’s a different matter entirely.)

It’s just getting to the end, credits music already beginning to play, when he feels it. Your claw digging into his side, the beginnings of a whine echoing faintly in his mind. He looks down to see you looking pitifully down at the body next to you, tail half-heartedly digging into one of the empty eye sockets. A pleading flash of an image rushes through his head - bone crunching and cracking, a spray of juice splattered across the carpet, the mouthwatering insides revealed.

Already? he laughs, even though he’s already moving to balance his foot on top of the corpse. Whatever happened to your tummy ache, darling?

You stick your tongue out lazily at him, delightfully long in comparison to your relatively human proportions. Hungry. Open it.

Oh, he really has to fight back the swell of affection that blooms in his aura - it’s so precious, when you try to boss him around. Like a little cat, climbing all over him like he’s a toy, sitting by your empty dish and yowling for your dinner like he’s not the one that fed you twenty minutes ago.

Alright, alright. Whatever you say, dear.

Well, it’s not exactly how he’d imagined spending his Saturday afternoons, all those years ago. If past-him could only see the blandly-decorated living room he’s settled in, the neatly-manicured garden outside the window, the mindless television filling the room with noise. Oh, he’d be furious - seething with rage at the adoring gaze future-him gives his demonic darling, form blurring with hatred at the sight of the ring sitting on his future finger. Everything he thought he’d hate forever, imprisoned in the trappings of this pseudo-human life.

He presses down a little bit harder, then harder still - until there’s a sharp crunch, and his foot meets the floor.

Ah, ah, he says as you lean eagerly forward, catching the collar of your shirt with one hand to pull you back, and then your horn with the other when you try to phase through the shirt. What do we say?

Huffily, you roll your eyes at him, but he can feel that you don’t really mean it. Hmph.

He pretends to look thoughtful, tapping his chin with the spade of his tail, and generously not mentioning that yes, he can see the gesture your hand is making at him from here. No, that wasn’t it…

Your bloodsoaked face, adorably grumpy as you try to squirm free of his grip. Magic fizzles between you, sparking off his skin, but he’s too strong - his hand keeps you upright even as you slump in defeat, baring your fangs up at him momentarily before thinking better of it.

Thanks, you mutter, like his demonic hearing won’t catch it. Sweet victory.

It’s tempting to feign deafness and make you say it again, but it’s fine. Truth be told, the sight on the floor by his feet is making his mouth water as well. And anyway, he’s more than happy to make you pay for your little bout of insolence later. He’ll get his revenge before long - you’re always more than glad to give it to him, again and again and again…

You’re very welcome, my love, he murmurs fondly, but doesn’t let go of your horn. Confused, you peer up at him as he tips your head back, his tail sneaking around your waist, his free hand reaching down to dig his claws into the mess between his feet.

An ordinary life is the bane of a demon’s existence. It’s the refusal of the call, trading the mythical powers and unlimited secrets of the universe for a playroom and a picket fence. There’s so much more to eternity than a 9 to 5 and two weeks’ holiday every year, and it doesn’t make sense. How could anyone willingly numb their mind like this, give up everything that makes existence worth having in exchange for something so - so boring?

Vega grins, lifting his hand to your lips, and your gaze fixes on the shiny, dripping mess of brains and blood that fills his palm. Gore trickles down his wrist, dripping onto what used to be a cream-coloured carpet, and he licks his fangs as he catches sight of the teardrop-shaped diamond on your finger, tacky with blood.

Nothing, nothing, a head full of dust. Human life is everything a demon should despise.

Oh, well.

Open wide, darling, he sings, and your black eyes sparkle with delight.

Maybe suburbia isn’t that bad, after all.

-

in the mood for more? here’s the series masterlist

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this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute.

[legolasghosty]

your one shot with willie and the sticky notes was so lovely, one of the first thing popped in my tl :)) especially the part where Willie says it began with Caleb sending him notes.

can i ask for a story of that? Willie and Caleb getting along and Caleb sending him notes inside his lunch to school, fancy handwriting and all? tysm it doesn't have to be short :)

Absolutely you may!!! I have had many thoughts about that since I wrote it! Here's the story being referenced if folks are curious! One note, Willie is in like 7th grade at the time of this story, and it's January. Willie came to live with Caleb in mid-December.

Willie bolted down the stairs, scared out of his mind. He'd overslept, and it was his first day of school since coming to Caleb's house. And while the man had seemed kind and understanding so far, Willie had seen his fair share of nice people who got less nice when they had to deal with Willie's inability to keep track of time.

He slid into the kitchen on his socks and almost ran into the kitchen island. The polished, hardwood floors that covered the downstairs area of Caleb's home were a lot slicker than he was used to. He stumbled and caught himself against a tall stool. At least no one had seen that little-

"Oh good, I was afraid I'd have to leave for work before you got up."

Whoops.

Willie looked up sheepishly to see Caleb leaning against the counter beside the sink, a cup of coffee in his hand and an amused smile pulling at his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbled, standing up straight.

But Caleb only waved a hand, as if to dismiss even the thought of an apology. "Please, I did the same thing when I was your age," he chuckled. "The only reason I stopped was because my hips started protesting at how often I ran into things."

Willie's mouth fell open in surprise for a moment before the voice of one of his old foster moms popped into his head, ordering him to close his mouth before he swallowed a bug. He wondered how long it would be before Caleb stopped dropping random bits of personal history and blowing his mind like that.

"-not an expert, but you did say waffles are your favorite," Caleb said, placing a plate on the counter in front of Willie and startling him from his thoughts. "Syrup?"

"Uh, yeah, thank you," Willie stammered, not sure whether to look at the plate of slightly burnt waffles or at Caleb. He'd overslept and he still got a special breakfast?

"Of course, William," Caleb responded lightly, smiling. "It's your first day at a new school, cereal would be a crime."

Willie opened his mouth to say... something else, though he wasn't sure what, but was cut off by a buzz from Caleb's phone. The man glanced down at the screen and sighed.

"Duty calls," he remarked dryly, slipping the device into the pocket of his slacks and reaching for his jacket. "You have your key still, right?"

Willie nodded around a mouthful of waffle and tugged the silver chain out from under his shirt to show him. Caleb nodded, satisfied.

"Good. Your lunch is in the fridge, and I should be home around the same time as you. Call me if you need anything, alright?"

Willie nodded again, scared to trust the warm feeling in his chest but wanting so badly to let it travel through his entire being. To let it chase away the cold of forgotten birthdays and rushed PB&Js and angry words. Maybe this time would be different.

"Have a good first day," Caleb finished, pausing near the front door to grin back at Willie. "I'm looking forward to hearing all about it when I get home."

"Have a good day at work!" Willie responded, giving the man a thumbs up.

Willie finished his food quickly after Caleb left. He still had to get out in time to catch the bus to his new middle school. Once the dishes were in the sink, he grabbed a sweatshirt to shield him from the January chills and opened the fridge. There, on the middle shelf, was a big lunchbox with his name on the top in big, fancy letters.

He grinned, grabbed the box, and bolted out the door.

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

It wasn't till two weeks later that Caleb wasn't in the kitchen when Willie got up for school. There was a text on his phone when he managed to turn off his alarm, explaining that Caleb had an early meeting and had to be in the office over an hour before he usually did. Willie sent him back a thumbs up and a smiley face, ignoring the voice of his old foster dad in his head, complaining that emojis were tacky and shouldn't be an entire message.

He found his lunch waiting in the fridge and hurried through his breakfast to be on time for the bus. It wasn't until he was entering the library at lunch time that he opened the little green cooler to see what Caleb had packed him. He found a BLT sandwich (with a sparkly gold toothpick stuck through it, cause that was the kind of person Caleb was), carrot sticks, a package each of mini pretzels and corn chips, a bottle of orange juice, and a folded slip of paper.

Willie laid out his paper napkin over the table, just like his third grade librarian had taught him, and unfolded the paper. It was a note, written in Caleb's flowy, steady hand. Willie felt that warm feeling in his chest again. He didn't fight it as hard this time.

But then he tried to read it. And it was clearly English, but all the letters were connected and some of them didn't really look like letters. He could get his name at the top, and words here and there in the middle, but the overall message... Willie had no clue.

He sighed, feeling cold. Did rich people have another lettering system they used or something? One more thing to look up online later, he supposed. Willie set the note aside and started eating. He tried to focus on the nice flavors of the sandwich and the sweet tang of the juice, but the note kept pulling his attention anyways.

"Um, are you okay?"

Willie jumped in his seat, almost dropping his food as he spun to see a blond boy, probably about his own age, standing behind him.

"You've been staring at that paper like it kicked your cat for like ten minutes," the blond boy added, shifting from foot to foot when Willie didn't say anything.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good," Willie said quickly, clapping a hand over Caleb's note. "It's nothing. Who are you?"

He wanted to groan, talk about being the awkward, suspicious foster kid. But there's nothing to be done about it now.

"I'm Alex," the other boy responded, not seeming put off at all by Willie's abruptness. "I think we're in the same English class?"

Willie nodded slowly, now connecting the boy in front of him to the quiet, curious kid who sat a couple of rows over from him. "I'm Willie," he offered, setting down his sandwich to offer a hand to shake like all the adults did.

Alex smiled when he shook his hand and Willie felt warm again. Not quite the same kind of warm, but warm all the same. People hadn't really been mean at this school, but well... there was a reason Willie was eating lunch alone in the library. It was nice to talk to someone who maybe could be a friend.

"Okay can I ask about the paper?" Alex questioned, his eyes straying from Willie's face to where his hand was still covering the note. "You can totally say no, but now I'm hooked and it's driving me crazy."

"I mean you kinda just did," Willie pointed out, surprised by the giggle that bubbled out of his mouth along with the words. "But um, yeah, it's just a note from my foster...dad." It felt funny to call Caleb that. Not bad, just weird. He didn't think he'd called him that out loud before.

"And that's... a bad thing?" Alex said slowly, brows drawing together.

"No, it's cool, it's sweet," Willie insisted. "I just... I can't really..." He bites his lip, not wanting to reveal the truth. But also, he was already weird. And Alex seemed nice. "I can't read it," he admitted quietly.

A short huff of laughter escaped from Alex's lips and Willie felt his face turning red. But then Alex dropped down into the chair beside him.

"You want me to try?" the blond boy offered. "My dad has lousy handwriting too so I'm used to deciphering."

Willie stared at him for a second, trying to comprehend the words he was saying. Was he really trying to help? Just cause? What did he want in return?

"I don't have to," Alex said in a rush when Willie didn't respond. "I just wanted to help but I get it if it's personal and stuff, you just seem really cool and I kinda wanted an excuse to talk to you and it looked like it was really bugging you so-" he said without seeming to breathe before cutting himself off. "Sorry."

"No you're good," Willie responded, feeling a smile forming on his face. "And... yeah, worth a shot." Steadying himself internally, he handed Alex the paper.

Alex returned his grin and took the note. He stared at it for a long moment, then laughed again. Willie hadn't noticed before that he had a really nice laugh.

"It's cursive," Alex said, looking up from the paper. "No wonder you couldn't read it."

Dang, had Willie been right about Rich People Alphabet?! "What's cursive?" he asked, confused.

"It's basically fancy handwriting," Alex explained, leaning his elbows on the table. "Nobody uses it anymore really except random adults. My mom made me and my sisters learn it though."

"Rich people are weird," Willie sighed, chuckling and shaking his head. "So does that mean you can read Caleb's note then?"

"Yeah, his handwriting is a bit slanty, but I think..." Alex mused. "Okay. It says, 'Hello William, I hope your day is going well. Sorry I had to leave so early this morning, I'm going to trust that you still ate breakfast. I can't wait to hear all about your day when you get home. Best wishes, Caleb."

Willie laughed and nodded as Alex read it out slowly. That sounded like Caleb.

"P.S.," Alex continued, holding up a finger before Willie could say anything, "Your horoscope this morning said people will surprise you today. I hope it's a good surprise."

Willie glanced up from the paper to the face of the boy holding it. "I think it's a good surprise," he said slowly.

Alex looked up and his ears turned pink when he caught Willie's gaze. "You should probably have him teach you cursive if he's gonna keep leaving you notes like this," he said quickly, handing the paper back. "I mean I can't always be around to translate. What if I get the flu?"

Willie giggled. "Nope, you're never allowed to get sick anymore," he declared. "I need you to read Caleb's fancy person handwriting for me."

"Wow, I see how it is," Alex remarked dryly, smirking. "I'm nothing but my skills to you."

Willie started to protest, to clarify that he'd been joking, but Alex burst out laughing before he could speak.

"Sorry," Alex said once he got his breath back. "I was just messing with you. I know you didn't mean it like that."

"Whew, I was worried there for a second," Willie admitted. Then, hesitantly, he added, "Friends?"

"Friends," Alex agreed.

Willie grinned, feeling all warm inside again. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Caleb all about how people had surprised him today.

[lake-archive]

Chapter 2 - First Thing In The Morning

AO3 Link

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Osamu Dazai, Annette 'Ann' Dorste-Hülshoff (OC), Eli (OC by @watersofcamelot), Ole (OC)

Words: 2,044

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In his short time with the Port Mafia Eli had not expected to be woken up like this… Then again, he had not even expected to become the moll’s personal lapdog or whatever he was supposed to be. Not even he knew at this point. He was certainly unfit to be Annette’s personal bodyguard. Or rather, she had proven already that she was just fine without one. And she was not holding back either. So it was only natural to have some questions. 

The questions had him awake at night, falling asleep at a rather late time… Which resulted in a rude awakening. Honestly, he would have rather not been woken up at all or had been praying that it was all but a dream. Yet when being greeted by a paw right in his face he knew that it wasn’t. To his surprise it had been Ole who had walked into his room and hit Eli with the paw non stop, meowing even. He had to lift the cat off his face, knowing that he wouldn't be left alone until he would oblige. No use falling asleep now anyways.

The guy looked around, just to make sure where he was… It had been the room Annette had shown him to right after dinner. She said that it would be his chambers from this day onwards. He expected it to be run down, a small space where he would live rather cramped… But to his surprise the room was massive. There was plenty of space for his stuff, even his clothes. The bed was oddly comfortable as well. He didn’t expect this to be reserved for mere staff but here he was, placed into this room which felt a little vacant to be honest. Way too big and fancy for someone like him at least. He really didn’t know how to feel about this. First the wife of the boss being odd, now this… He was growing more and more convinced that there was a catch to all of this or that he was being lured into a trap. After all, who would treat their mere underlings like this? Something was fishy here… 

Regardless, he didn’t want to keep anyone waiting either so he got dressed. His dark blue shirt, black jeans with a chain hanging down on the right side, his black gloves and the dirty bandages he kept using around his hands. Honestly, they had become more and more dirty by the day yet it didn’t matter, not like many saw those to begin with. A quick wash over the face and he was hurrying downstairs. The cat by then had… Actually waited, as if guiding him downstairs to the kitchen, eager for Eli to follow. So he did and the sight… Much to his own surprise… Well… 

There he was, sitting at the kitchen table like any other man would. Well, if one were to ignore the clothes and the bandage covered parts, including half of his face. Who else would it be but the Boss. And… He looked in an awful good mood. Not just that but he was… Holding a newspaper in his hands? The boss? He!? Talk about a sight… He seemed to pay attention to it until hearing Ole’s loud meow echoing, making him lift his head up and turn around, a smile on his face. A cheerful one, one which no one got to see. It was a new expression from the Boss for sure. 

“Ah, morning Ole! Wait a little for your breakfast, alright?” He even greeted the cat, chuckling. The kitty in question only let out a huff, as if indicating that he was hungry now but there was no other way around this, was there? And then the Boss even looked at Eli, his smile not fading. “And morning to you too. Looks like you’re up early~”

“O… Of course I am Boss.” Eli tried to remain calm during all of this though he went a little tense. This entire atmosphere alone was putting him a little off. So he remained on alert for the time being, at least for a little bit. Maybe it was all a—

“Haha, don’t be so stiff now. Don’t just stand there and sit down, alright?” 

“Y… Yes…” The Boss offering a seat… When did he do that? This was his home, sure, but— No use. He had to obey. So it was a simple decision for Eli, taking one of the free seats at the table. Only to be then met with the sight of the Boss humming while flipping the page of the newspaper he was holding. Eli could have asked something but he was nothing but a mere goon so he should just keep his mouth shut. In case he says anything—

“Oh, that’s a nice picture they took~” Dazai then said out of nowhere, making the other guy a little startled. Not at what he said but rather how he said it. He sounded so carefree… The complete opposite of his usual cold, serious demeanor!  He almost looked like a curious child! Or a clown. Pick your poison. “Alright, next page!” Wait what?

Eli wanted to say something, maybe ask ‘Boss, you aren’t going to read what’s written in there?’ but the voice just stuck in his throat and didn’t want to come out. Even when he tried to squeeze it out he just couldn’t… Maybe he was just too scared to fumble right now. Maybe he just shouldn’t question it, especially not a guy who could just kill him with one mere touch of his finger. As absurd as this looked. Was this really the boss or—

“Finished.” A voice would interrupt the train of thought, almost perfectly timed. It made Eli jump in his seat for a moment, though not daring to turn his gaze, at least not yet. He was still trying to process Dazai’s behavior to be honest and how much of a weirdo he looked right now. 

Though even more when this one lifted the newspaper down, looking over Eli’s shoulder and having an even brighter smile on his face now. “Oh, it was about time! Though don’t tell me you prepared the coffee in these clothes Sweetie.”

“I did.”

“They’re not dirty anywhere, are they?”

“No. I wouldn’t treat Jenny’s dresses like that.” 

“Jenny?” Eli repeated, though had not noticed that he had said it out loud. At least not until a moment later, making him want to cover his mouth all of a sudden. And yet it was too late by then. 

The next thing he saw was someone walking up right next to him and a gaze up he knew whose face he was met with – Annette’s. Her dress for the day looked rather… Cozy, dare he say. Of course he wouldn’t wear a dress no matter what but a part of it looked a little cozy. It was a dark gray, a sweater of some sorts, with long sleeves. Though it was also shoulder free. The skirt portion started around the waist, two white, frilly ribbons on each side. As for the skirt portion itself, it was all black and reached down to her kneecaps. 

She had a tray in her hands with four cups of… Ice coffee? Yeah, four. And one of those four cups was placed right in front of Eli, him looking at her a little bewildered. All while she was looking as unbothered as always. “Jenny is our tailor. Anyways, there you go.” She even said, then backing away. “Oh, and good morning Eli.”

“Ah… Yeah, good morning Ma– I mean Annette.” He responded, though this had been a rather automatic response. She only looked down at him, even if he only saw one eye’s gaze going right down as the other had been covered by her hair. 

Her response was to nod at him for a moment before waking up next to the boss and placing a cup down right on the table nearby him. “Your special ice coffee huh?” He asked as he folded the paper in his hands, only to throw it in the back. Wait… Was he implying that she made this!? The mull… The boss’s wife… She… Honestly, Eli had heard it just when he was about to take a sip out of the coffee but now he was just busy sniffing it like a curious cat. Just in case it smelled funny. Mainly to check if she had put anything lethal in it. 

“It’s supposed to be warm outside later. So I thought that it might be more appropriate.” She responded. 

“How thoughtful of you. And the other two cups?”

“Kazuo–San and Jenny.”

“Even for our chef and tailor? You sure love pampering them.” The Boss said, though seeming to joke around. At least judging from his tone. 

“They’re doing a lot. It’s the least I can do.”

“Of course of course. But what about you?”

“I will prepare myself one later.” Eli then heard another cup being placed down onto the table. “After I brought one up to Jenny.”

“Aww, she won’t join us today?”

“She’s caught up in her work. She said she had to work on this dress or else she might forget.”

“She’s taking her position very seriously. I commend her for that.”

“Yeah. Though I hope that she is getting some rest. She has been working on it all night long.”

“Always looking out for little Jenny, aren’t you?”

“Little? She’s older than any of us.”

“Right right. I forgot~”

Was Eli seriously hearing this carefree conversation just now between the boss and his wife? It felt a little odd to hear them talk so casually. Especially when it came to this ‘Jenny’ person. A tailor… Well, it would explain the dresses. Then again, it is also no surprise that the boss can afford someone like this to work for him and only him. Come to think of it, the dresses were all so neatly done, looking of high quality… Someone knows what they are doing, alright? That much he could confirm. And he wasn’t exactly the biggest expert on those things but… 

“If you excuse me now. I will be right back.” Annette’s voice suddenly announced, though most likely directed towards her husband. Though it even made Eli look up, only to see her walk outside the room with the tray in her hands and then disappear through the open door. He couldn’t help but stare at it for a few more moments. The cruel Annette, doing such an act… Was she just trying to win the favor of the personnel here? Or was there something in this drink? Then again, he didn’t smell anything off so it was probably that… Her trying to win the favor. A dirty trick but not unfitting for her perhaps? After all, if that was a way to— 

“She can’t cook but she sure knows how to make coffee.” The Boss suddenly exclaimed however, making the goon snap out of his thoughts and shake his head. No, he has no proof yet. Even if it was maybe not unlikely but… With a simple gesture like that? It did feel odd however. The feared people of the Port Mafia… The highest of the high, being in such a position… No way. There was just no way, was there? Acting like a carefree family… It just seemed so out of character In fact this entire atmosphere was just… Weird. He didn’t feel as if he was at the place of his boss but rather… No, maybe he just needed to get used to this from here on out. 

And with that he took a sip of the cold coffee in his hands, the cup to his mouth and a quick sip right then and there. He will have to keep an eye on the boss’s wife no matter what. Maybe there was some plan Annette had in store but she would tell no one. And if lucky she would slip up… Right? Yeah, that was his only hope… Never trust someone who is this friendly, especially not within the Port Mafia. 

Although… He had to admit one thing…

“This coffee is really good.”

“Right~?”

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

[not-a-space-alien]

Savage Sunset Chapter 23S

Story masterpost

Complementary chapter

Warnings for this chapter: Blood and gore, forced nudity and restraint

In this chapter: Lex and Ari rush to snatch Nick's second victim away from him.

***

They decided Valen should stay home while they went to the hunter's base.  That seemed safest, since it would keep the most distance between Nick and Valen.

The problem was when they arrived at the base, there weren't any cars parked out front.

"Where's Nick's car?" Lex said, immediately panicking.  "Where's Nick? He's here, right?"

Ari cursed and got out of the car.  "We need to get unlucky vampire #2 and get back home now."

They briefly considered racing back home immediately, but if Nick had left the base to go terrorize Valen, the only upside was he'd left his new catch undefended.  Because of course he didn't tell anyone else he was going and have them watch his new catch, because of course he loved doing nasty shit under the table that he needed no witnesses for.

Did he think they weren’t ballsy enough to just snatch the unguarded vampire?  Was he counting on them not being able to pass this one off for dead?

…Was there actually a vampire here, or had it been a ploy to get them out of the house?

They had to at least check.  They needed to do it now.  They wouldn't get an opportunity this good again.

Ari kicked the door in and stomped down the stairs without shutting it behind her.  They half-expected the basement to be empty, the second vampire a total fabrication to get them away from Valen.   But no.  There was a vampire in the basement and–oh God, it was a kid.  Well, not a kid, explicitly not a kid, but only by very recent developments.

He must have just turned 18 by the looks of him.  Baby-faced, but trying very hard not to look it.  His fancy clothes were torn in a heap on the ground.

Of course the second live capture had been the inaugural hunt of a newly adult vampire noble trying to catch their first human.  Here in the basement, they only found the most innocent vampires to torment.

He was chained with his wrists hanging from the ceiling, feet likewise secured to the floor.  Gagged, muzzled.  He was naked with his pants pooled around his ankles, because of course he fucking was.

He'd been staring at the ground crying hot, angry tears, but as the two women appeared on the stairs, his gaze snapped to them and he growled savagely and thrashed.

"Give me a fucking break," Ari snapped.  "We're here to help you, believe it or not."

"Let's get you out of here," Lex said, trying to be comforting despite the time ticking by painfully.

When they approached to get him down, he kept squirming, chains going taut with the force of his struggling.

"We don't have time to piss around here," Ari shouted with such force that the vampire stilled out of fear.  "This is taking less than five minutes one way or the other, so it's up to you if we do that by just blowing your head off, got it?"

Lex reached down and pulled his pants up, restoring some semblance of dignity.  Replacing the shirt would have to wait until later.  He remained still as she undid the shackle on the floor then reached up and disconnected him from the ceiling.  He immediately tried to lash out, but he ended up losing his balance and falling on account of his limbs still being restrained.

“Hey,” Ari growled, and she withdrew her revolver and pushed it against his forehead.  His watery eyes crossed to follow the barrel.  “Last chance, motherfucker.”

He kept growling and baring his teeth as much as he could, but stopped trying to hit them as Ari hooked her arms under his biceps and started dragging him up the stairs.  “I guess it’s a good thing we still have the fucking coffin.  Not that I’m too happy about it.”

***

They hoped Bailey and Jerome had gotten there at a convenient time to stop whatever Nick was trying to do to that sweet boy.

The not-so-sweet boy in the back of the van growled and screeched and thrashed, chains jingling inside the coffin.  He refused to stop posturing about how tough and dangerous he was despite the fact that he became scared and pliant as soon as either of them threatened him.  It was like a dog barking at someone through a door only to then retreat in embarrassment once the door was open.

"Just hang in there," Lex said over his enraged noises.  "You're safe now."

He seemed less concerned about safety and more about wanting to take her head off.  His nostrils flared as they made eye contact.

"Just glad he's not gonna be our problem for long," Ari muttered.

Their stomachs dropped when they finally got home and saw Nick's car parked out front of their house–but thank God, Bailey and Jerome's was right behind it 

"Fuck," Ari said.  "Fuck fuck fuck."  She screeched to a stop, slammed the door open, and sprinted up and into the front door, which was standing open.  Lex gave one last glance at the captive vampire behind her before deciding he wasn't going anywhere and joining her.

Valen could be heard crying loudly even before they'd gotten inside the house.  Ari came into the living room and stopped dead.  Lex bumped into her back, came around her, and saw what had caused the reaction.

Nick was on the floor–or rather, all over the floor.  He was dead as dirt, covered in blood and gore, a huge, ragged bite out of his neck.

“We’re in here.”  It was Bailey’s voice from the dining room.

Lex was eager to get away from the corpse.  She dashed into the dining room.  Valen was there, between Jerome and Bailey.  He was clean, no blood all over him–not what she’d expected.  She didn’t have time to question it, rushing to get Valen in her arms.  Safe in her arms.  “Valen.  Valen, oh my God, oh my God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Ari came in next, putting her arms around both of them.  “Holy shit,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Valen sobbed.  “I’m sorry I killed him.  I know I shouldn’t have.”

How to even begin making him understand how much they didn’t fucking care about that?  “It’s okay,” Lex said.  “You had to.  You had to defend yourself.”

Valen let out a cry like she’d just told him the exact opposite, that he was horrible for killing him.  He leaned into her, crying inconsolably. 

You’re safe now.  You’re safe, sweet boy.  She looked over his shoulder at Jerome and Bailey and mouthed Thank you.

The two men came over and hovered over them, almost but not quite making a five-person group hug around the vampire. 

“I’m sorry,” Valen said again, voice hoarse from crying.  “I’m sorry I killed him.”

“It was self-defense,” Bailey said.  “I’ll say it however many times you need to hear it.”

Please, please, please understand.  It’s not your fault.

“It wasn’t,” he whispered with terror.  “It wasn’t self defense.  I had him under persuasion.  He couldn’t hurt me.  I killed him anyway.”

Lex drew back slightly so she could look him in the face.  He scrunched his face up, as though expecting retaliation at any moment.  “I’m a monster.  You need to execute me.  I’m a murderer."

None of them could bring themselves to think of killing Nick as murder, not from Valen and especially not when Nick had actively broken into the house to come after him.  Nick had, as they would say, fucked around and found out.

Ari squeezed his shoulders.  “You are not a monster or a murderer,” she said firmly.

“It was self defense,” Lex reiterated.

“He broke into the house to come after you,” Ari continued.  “That’s self defense.”

Valen looked at her incredulously through tearful eyes.  “But–But I killed someone who was defenseless and I–I–I–it made me feel good.”

“It made you feel good because he’s a monster that tortured and abused you, and you were putting an end to it.  You have the right to do that.”

“But…but I liked it,” Valen said, swallowing.  “I liked killing him.  I’m a monster.”

“You are not going to do that to just any random helpless person,” Lex said.  “You’re just not.  Nick doesn’t count.  There are circumstances.”  The idea of Valen being a malicious murderer just because he could and liked killing was too ridiculous to entertain.

Ari spun him around, squeezing his shoulders.  “Look at me,” she said, very serious.  “You are not a monster.  I don’t fucking care.  I don’t care about the details about what happened here.  I don’t care if that spineless rat was on his knees saying sorry and begging for mercy.  He broke into the house to come after you.  That’s self defense.”

Valen put his face in his hands, still crying.  Bailey and Jerome came closer, encircling him.  “Okay,” he whispered.  “Thank you.  What do we do now?”

Ari sighed, palming her face.  “Okay.  So.  What we do now is figure out what the fuck to do with his body.  And with the pissed off teenager we have locked in the van.”

***

Tag list <3

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[tailsbeth-writes]

taylor happy friday!!! i am so happy we're back at this

so here's my prompt this week

RWRB pez/liam/spencer (as we discussed sometimes i need to vary it up lolz)

👀 Skinny dipping in the sea plz

Find this on Ao3 here. This was rather fun, enjoy! 🌊

The night is winding down, Alex and Henry depart the bar for the hotel (‘When did you get so boring?’ Liam called after them while Spencer palmed his face.) leaving Spencer, Liam and Percy to their own devices. The Spanish heat is making them all loose, the mojitos aren't helping either. 

Percy is the first to finish his cocktail and wander off. Spencer looks to Liam for a que but receives a shrug in reply. Spencer sighs and follows the direction Percy left in, his sandals slapping the tiled flooring. He turns the corner to see stairs directly to the beach and Percy pulling off his shirt. The moonlight is bouncing off the sea. Spencer gulps when he sees the muscles rippling in Percy's back. 

‘What’s going on- oh…’ 

Liam walks into Spencer, Spencer lets out a yelp and that's when Percy turns around. He grins and signals for the boys to join him. They look at each other, communicating via tipsy gazes and hold hands as they walk to the beach. 

‘Fancy a dip darlings?’ 

‘Won’t it be freezing?’ Spencer asks, nudging into Liam's side. 

‘It’ll be refreshing, rejuvenating.’ Percy promises, unclasping a delicate chain from around his next & placing it in his lime green crossbody bag which he puts down next to his shirt. 

‘I’m down.’ Liam declares, pulling his t-shirt off. Spencer looks down at his linen trousers. 

‘What about our clothes though? I left my trunks at the hotel.’

Percy raises his eyebrows with a smirk, he looks to Liam, who chuckles before giving him a peck on the cheek. 

‘I wasn't intending on wearing any, sweetness. Percy?’

‘Well, we're all friends here…’ 

Everything clicks for Spencer as he mutters a lot of ‘Ohhhhs’. He giggles and pulls off his vest, Liam starts to pull at the drawstring on his trousers. Percy pulls off his shorts, giving the boys the briefest eyeful before making a sprint for the sea. 

‘Quit drooling.’ Liam teases, Spencer's cheeks flush. 

‘Quit bringing me on holiday with your hot friends then, sugar.’ 

Liam bites his lip as Spencer’s pants fall to the ground. There’s a splash in the background but neither are bothered.

‘You’re not exactly ugly yourself. Fuck…’ His eyes trail down but Spencer holds his chin back up. 

‘Now who’s drooling? C’mon, hurry up!’ 

Spencer runs off, arms out wide and feet kicking up sand. Liam drops his shorts and follows on, Percy has got to deep water quickly while Spencer is moving slowly, teeth clenched. The water isn’t freezing but it’s hardly warm.

‘C’mon you two!’ Percy calls out and Liam laughs as Spencer rather ungracefully gets moving, his strokes are messy and Liam beats him to Percy. Percy is a vision at all times but naked in the moonlit sea? Liam thinks it should be illegal to look so beautiful. Spencer is panting by the time he reaches them but Liam can see he’s staring too. 

‘I’m so glad I came, I was worried it might feel too coupley for me.’ Percy admits, his hand weaving in and out of the water. Spencer is biting his lip and Liam edges in closer, there’s inches between the trio. 

‘You know we came because we wanted to… try new things, right, sugar?’ Liam’s voice is stoic and Spencer feels a shiver that isn’t caused by the temperature of the ocean. He nods, and now it’s Percy’s turn to be tongue-tied. Liam closes the distance, one hand curling around Percy’s neck and a thumb caresses his ear. 

‘Is this okay?’ He looks to Spencer and then back to Percy. 

‘Most definitely.’ 

Liam kisses Percy, slowly at first. His lips are smooth and taste of sea salt but Liam couldn’t care less. Percy’s tongue starts to explore Liam’s mouth when he feels Spencer’s breath on his neck. His eyes flutter as he gasps. 

‘He tastes nice, doesn’t he? Sweet enough for you?’ He whispers in Percy’s ear, his fingers stroke down his shoulders and slip under the water to caress his back and massage his ass. Liam backs out a moment, he’s grinning and Percy’s eyes open. He’s got a lazy smile on his face.

‘Alex wasn’t lying when he said you guys were the best…’

[dxsole]

FIVE THINGS! | Lázaro Vega

TAGGED BY: Stolen from @wornclean bc I too love association games! TAGGING: @devilmass, @bruisedconscience, @kiingsnake, @misshclly, @dogtccth, and anyone else who'd like to do this~!

EMOTIONS. 001 . Calm. Nothing ruffles his feathers outside of near-death experience, and you don't come across those often as a florist 002 . Elated. While he's not easily angered or annoyed, he's easily enthralled, easily excited. A particularly yappy dog in the street can make his entire week 003 . Contemplative. When you're surrounded by silence and enough greenery to trick yourself into thinking you're alone in nature, your mind wanders 004 . Personable. He could befriend the boogeyman 005 . Confusion. He's sometimes lost, sometimes a little behind other people, but that's okay because that just means he's about to learn something new

COLORS. 001 . Moss Green. An obvious choice, but still his favorite 002 . Mustard. Not sure why but he's always like that shade. It's like a more sophisticated yellow and it's great on a hot dog 003 . Black. Like his jeans, like his motorcycle, like his hair— it just goes with everything 004 . Purple. It's his wife's favorite color, so he always brings her bouquets of flowers in every purple shade he has. It grew on him and he can't look at it the same way now

SCENTS. 001 . Soil. That earthy scent of damp dirt after rainfall. It's under his fingernails, it's stuck to his jeans, it's under his shoes 002 . Lilac, Peonies, Jasmine, Roses. Every day its a slightly different bouquet depending on what he gathered for customers that day, but it's always sweet 003 . Old Spice. He thinks the commercials are funny 004 . Pot. It lingers on his clothes after a smoke, musky and earthy and good 005 . Honey. A local jar is in his shop's backroom to put on toast and in tea and leaves his fingers sticky

WARDROBE. 001 . The same floral shirt nightmares your beach house uncle wears 002 . Black jeans, black slacks, everything that hits his legs is black 003 . Ribbed wifebeaters to lounge in on hot days 004 . Thin gold chain swinging from his neck 005 . Italian loafers. It's the one part of his wardrobe he splurges on. He likes nice shoes

OBJECTS. 001 . Carving knife. Good for pruning the plants and carving the little wooden animal sculptures that litter his shop 002 . Family photos in his wallet. His grandparents sitting on a porch on a hot summer's day. His sister's at one of their graduations, all smiles. His kids lined up in front of the house, slightly blurred due to their toddler energy. A close-up of his wife mid-snort from some joke he told on their fifth date, it's not flattering but its her. 003 . Walkman. Yes, he still has one and yes he uses it. He is listening to Marky Mark on CD as we speak 004 . Jerky. He's got those sticks stashed everywhere. Man's gotta have his meat 005 . Sunglasses. Can't go anywhere without a pair. He's a cool guy

VICES. 001 . Doubt. It creeps in some days, the idea of not doing enough, not having succeeded enough, especially when his sisters were further ahead of him in every way 002 . Weed. Maybe he's got his head in the clouds a little too much, but it's a nice place to be 003 . Passive. Doormat at times without even realizing it. He's too chill

ACTIONS. 001 . Squints at everything. He has naturally sleepy eyes and it doesn't help that he just narrows them further at every inquiry 002 . Hip pops, leaning, just in general not standing or sitting straight or splaying himself over a seat because he's here to be comfortable 003 . Fancy footwork. Always has a slight spring in his step or a dance at the ready. Shoulders shimmy, hips sway, twirls on a heel 004 . Stares. Never means to be rude and certainly doesn't have anything deep going on behind his eyes. Probably thinking about lunch

SONGS. 001 . GOLD - BROCKHAMPTON 002 . Finesse - Bruno Mars Feat. Cardi B 003 . The Highs & The Lows - Chance the Rapper Feat. Joey Bada$$ 004 . sophisticated - bbno$ 005 . Good Vibrations - Marky Mark & The Funky Bunch

[pancake-breakfast]

These last volumes have so many chapters. But they're relatively short.

It's hard to think there's only two weeks left.

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 13, Chapters 1-3 below.

Volume 13 Covers

Ugh, Vash is in too much shadows here. But look at Livio! He looks happy! Is it because he's losing part of his shirt again? I don't think this boy likes shirts.

Aaand everyone's plans have bee thwarted by a friendly octopus. He has that many arms so he can give more hugs!

Shout out to pirate Livio's new and improved fish gun.

Everyone on the back cover's got weird eyes for some reason.

I like how only Elendira gets to keep her shape on the back cover. She's ready to be a dashing pirate.

Why is one of the chapters called "Black"? WHY IS ONE OF THE CHAPTERS CALLED BLACK?!?!

Chapter 1: False Mirror

Oooh, fancy Legato vs. Vash page. I like it.

Ey, it's naked, long-haired Knives again. Been a while since we've seen him.

Definitely Legato thoughts. I guess that day made a bit of an impression on him. Can't imagine why.

Man, this is why Legato wears them big-ass shoulder pads. If I had his history, I'd obscure my actual figure, too.

It sure is in character for Knives not to realize the value of the humans around him.

Gods, Vash looks both desperate and exhausted.

Aaaand Legato's fucking with him.

Holy crap, Legato actually asked Knives about killing Vash to his face??

Gods, Knives is absolutely yawning here for show. He's putting work into trying to make Legato feel like he means nothing to him.

Oh, Legato... baby boy.... You were never going to win Knives' affection by proving you could beat Vash in a fight.

Oof, he sees himself in Vash. I don't even think he's wrong. Vash feels like he's lost everything, that even what still remains, he's doomed to lose if only by the slow march of time.

I make a lot of comments about Legato's unhinged smiles, but I really like his pensive looks, too. I think he's one of the more expressive characters in the series.

I mean, if you want to get technical, he didn't kill so many of them so much as he happened to be more or less present at their death.

I'm curious how this coin holder is tied to a "prize" or a "gift" of some sort.

So... this isn't really a game to Legato. It's not even a test for Vash. It's a test for himself. He just can't shake the idea that if he can utterly crush Vash, he'll take Vash's spot before Knives. Gods, this little yandere.... The world doesn't work like that. Knives doesn't work like that.

All the Gung-Ho Guns he went through, and again, we have the mask side of Livio and a suspicious lack of Wolfwood. Even Chapel doesn't appear this time.

Chapter 2: Double Duel

I'm not quite sure what Vash is getting worked up about here. Perhaps he thinks Legato is making too much light of all the deaths of the Gung-Ho Guns?

Legato is not impressed by Vash's threat. He wants him to follow through or not bother.

I'm continually impressed by people's ability to apparently clearly talk around having the barrel of a gun in their mouth.

I'm honestly not sure what all is happening here. How did Vash get on the ground? What's happening with Legato's right arm? What's up with the pole on a chain? I guess Legato is moving the pole on a chain? It's too big to be reflected by the box he gave Vash, so maybe that's where he's putting his effort?

Well, he spat out the gun. Now he has pole.

Ah I thought I remembered it being attached to the weird boobed spiky ball thing. There's a name for this kind of weapon but I have a headache so I'm not looking it up right now. Generally, it doesn't have a humanoid attachment. It's just a spiky ball on a chain.

Heh, this is them getting their own back-to-back.

Yeah, Livio is hard to kill, thankfully.

Clearly, that's not gonna stop her from trying.

Ahhhhh!! It's good to see Livio comfortable with himself. It's easy to mistake him for a brute, but he has enough talent that, while Chapel didn't expect him to win, he did expect L/R to give Wolfwood a hard time.

Ahahahahaha, he's so cute here.

Chapter 3: Corpse Fire

It's ok, these people don't really have a concept of interstellar travel, so it's not like they have a formalized system for space ships landing.

I think Chronica's a bit desperate. And hurt. She definitely didn't take the loss of Domina lightly.

Legato, my boy, now you're just being dramatic. I mean, I know that's how you are... but Vash has never been keen on theatrics in the name of violence.

DON'T LICK THAT IT'S ON THE GROUND IT'S DIRTY EWW

I don't think Vash believes in things like "dying in a blaze of glory." I think he sees death as death, and that's kinda it.

LEGATO!!! This is NOT about who is "best!" KNIVES. DOES NOT. CARE.

Oh, honey. If it weren't for Vash, humanity probably wouldn't have lasted long enough for you to be born. I realize you probably wouldn't see that as a bad thing, so let me further note that if you had, he wouldn't have accepted you any more. He might have discarded you already because he wouldn't need your help wearing Vash down.

What the eff is this thing?! Now it's full of machine guns?!?

Hahahaha, Livio's trying to call a time out in the middle of the fight.

Ok, that's some impressive dodging.

I like how Livio is more annoyed at Elendira than he is mad that she's still shooting at him after he called for a time out.

Livio <3 Love how annoyed Elendira looks that she's been had, too.

Archive

Trigun Vol. 1: Covers + 1-3, 4, 5-6, 7-8, 9-10 || Vol. 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Vol. 1: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 2: Covers + 1, 2-4, 5, 6-7 || Vol. 3: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-7 || Vol. 4: Covers + 1-2, 3-5, 6-7 || Vol. 5: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 6: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 7: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 8: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5 + Bonus || Vol. 9: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 10: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-8 || Vol. 11: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 12: Covers + 1-3, 4-6, 7-9

Extra Credit: Trigun Vol. 1: Nebraska vs. Vash's Motivations, Vash's Loneliness, Vash's Depression (pt. 2 of post), Soupy Brains || Vol. 2: Coin Factoids || TriMax Vol. 1: Lina, Vash, and a Haircut || Meryl, Vash, and the Pursuit of Happiness || Vol. 5: Knives, Vash, and Hatred for Humanity || Vol. 6: Coping Series: Wolfwood, Meryl, Vash || Vol. 8: The Uncoordinated Counterattack || Vol. 9: Justice, Punishment, and Mercy, The Tolling of an Iron Bell || Vol. 10: Crucifixion Symbology (pt. 2 of post), Merging of Families, Being Childlike (And Why God Hates Chapel) || Vol. 11: New Hair, New Outlook