mjtwisted

[inkedinshadows]

A Sensual Silver Lining

Day 29: Sound kink — Rhysand x f!reader

Warnings: none, I guess? There's just a brief mention of p in v but that's it

Word count: 1.187

A/N: this is another one that I felt like I could scrap and rewrite but didn't have the time. But I actually like how it turned out (more or less). I also debated a lot about who to write this for, but I think that Rhys has the sexiest and most sensual voice out of them all, and I would 100% be soaked even if he was yapping about idk economics or something

You had always hated the Court of Nightmares. Not only was it unsettling and made you nervous, but you absolutely despised the way your mate had to behave when you were down there. You knew, of course, that it wasn’t the real him, that it was all a mask he put on to keep the Hewn City under control, but you still hated it.

But there was a bright side to everything. Even the Court of Nightmares.

Rhys lowered his voice so that it would sound cold and cruel, but there was something in the timbre he took on that reminded you so much of what you called his “bedroom voice”.

Which was why, despite the situation, it was hard not to squirm on his lap. His hand rested on your thigh, near the slit in your dress that revealed your leg, and his fingers traced idle circles on your bare skin while he conversed with Keir about some trade-related issues. His mouth was so close to your ear that you could almost feel his breath brush against it every time he spoke.

You did your best to keep a neutral expression and at least try to look like you were listening—though from Keir’s disdainful glances, you weren’t sure it was working.

But as soon as the Steward left, your head fell back on your mate’s shoulder and you slumped against his chest.

Rhys’s soft chuckle shot straight down to your core. “What is it, darling?” he murmured. His voice was back to his usual tone now. “Does trading turn you on, by chance?”

“Not normally,” you mumbled, nuzzling his neck.

He lifted an eyebrow. “But it does now?”

“It does when you use that voice.”

He paused for a moment. You had told him before that you loved his voice, and since then, he had made a point of being more vocal while you were having sex, praising you and talking you through it even more than he already used to do before. You had never told him just how far it could affect you, though.

“What voice?” he asked in your ear, and you shivered slightly as it went back to that deep tone of earlier. “This one?”

When you nodded, he hummed contemplatively and gods be damned, you felt the sound reverberate through your body all the way down to your toes. Your thighs clenched together, and Rhys marked the subtle movement, cocking his head with a smirk.

“This night just took an interesting turn, darling, don’t you think?” he purred as his hand slipped under your dress, just for a few inches before it halted on your inner thigh.

Your breath caught and you couldn’t stop the wetness that was starting to pool between your legs. He wasn’t even touching you, hadn’t even said a single word that might turn you on… but that quiet, sensual voice of his was enough for heat to bloom in your whole body.

A slight shift in the air told you that Rhys had put up an invisible shield around his throne, probably to mask the growing scent of your arousal.

“Now, now, my love,” he cooed teasingly, fingertips brushing against your soft skin. “We can’t let everyone know you get so wet just by hearing me talk, can we?”

“Rhys…” you whined. You were still trying to at least look as though nothing unusual was happening. People could turn their heads at any moment. “You’re not helping if you do that.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re talking.”

He laughed, soft and low. “Would you rather I stopped?”

Yes. You knew that was the right answer, given the circumstances. This was not the privacy of your home—this was the Court of Nightmares. You were already indulging yourself by being sprawled on your mate’s lap. You didn’t need him to get you all hot and bothered as well.

You opened your mouth to tell him, but Rhys moaned quietly in your ear, and you almost choked. It was the same sound he would make when you were riding him and his cock was buried deep inside you, except that now it was low enough for you alone to hear.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, sitting up straighter. Or at least you tried, because his arm slid around you to keep you against his chest.

“I know how much you hate this place.” His lips were on your neck, brushing feather-light kisses from your shoulder to your ear. “And I hate it too. But you love my voice, and I love to know you’ll be ready when I finally fuck you, once we get home.”

Gods, his sensual tone felt like a caress that traveled all the way down to your core and left goosebumps in its wake.

“And you have to moan to do that?” you replied, but your tone wasn’t as clipped as you intended and instead came out rather weakly.

“No, but it’s more fun this way.”

And so, the torture began. It lasted hours.

Rhys kept whispering softly to you, but only two or three times did he actually mention all the things he wanted to do to you once you were alone, all the different ways he wanted to take you. The rest of the time he talked about his plans and schedule for the next few days, or he made idle conversation as he normally would, but you were too lost hearing him purr to pay attention to the actual words. He didn’t seem to mind, and instead took the chance to let out a quiet moan just to get your focus back to him every time you zoned out, as if that didn’t have the exact opposite effect.

Whenever someone approached the dais—whether it was Keir, or some other member of the Hewn City that wished to speak with their High Lord—, he made sure your head rested on his shoulder, close enough for his breath to brush your ear. You didn’t even care what people might think of your fluttering eyes and your longing sighs.

His hand would sometimes caress your inner thigh, but without ever getting close to your now soaked underwear where you wanted him to touch you. Whenever you squirmed a bit too much, he gripped the soft flesh of thigh almost possessively. “Patience, love,” he purred. “Just a little longer, and then I’ll use my mouth for something other than talking.” It didn’t do much to help you sit still.

At long last, the guests gathered in front of the throne once more. Despite everything Rhys had murmured throughout the evening, you had never heard a more beautiful sound than when he announced, “You can all go now.”

People began turning to leave, and though court protocol required the High Lord to stay until all his subjects were out of the room, Rhys didn’t wait. He immediately winnowed you out of the Hewn City and straight into your bedroom.

“Get on the bed, darling,” he ordered, but still with that low timbre that made you shiver. “It’s time to fuck you properly.”

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

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[pyxxiestyxx]

Make me.

Yeah, yeah. I heard the song and dance. I get it. You're here to make my life better because you're wonderful, because you just care that fucking much.

Make me.

Yeah, that's right. I'm not able to stop you- I don't think I can, physically or otherwise. But I'm not going along with this bullshit just because a pretty face asked with a smile. I made it through a lot before you got here, and I don't need someone else running the last few yards of the race on 'my behalf' and taking the credit for the whole damn thing. If you want to help me that much, if you want to say you saved me? You're going to have to fucking earn it.

So Make me.

Make me want what you're offering. You talked a big game about doing what's right for me, even when I don't want it. You've got drugs on you right now that could fix my gender dysphoria, that could finally get the intrusive thoughts and constant anxieties to sit down and shut up. You could melt my brains out of my skull, throw me into a brilliant hurricane of pleasure and joy, surround me in a cocoon of your vines. You can ignore me when I get defensive, when I lie to your face and try to push you away, when I say one thing but desperately need another.

Things like, 'I don't want any of that.' Things like, 'I'm not tired. I'm not in pain. I haven't forgotten how to let another help me like that.'

So make me.

[skzdreamer13]

Day 14 Kinktober

Car Sex with Seungmin

I'm sorry I'm a day late but life happens sometimes

Remember to visit @neverendingstay blog for the even days of the month!

Warnings: Car Sex, Unprotected sex, slight subby Seungmin

18+ MDNI!!

“Stop looking at me like that or we’re going to have to leave early.” You whisper in your boyfriend's ear.

“Stop looking so good and I’ll stop looking at you like that.” He whispers back.

His arm is behind your back, around your waist as you pose for pictures together at the award show. His hand is low on your hips and every once in a while he grips the soft cloth of your dress to pull you closer, the action driving you wild with the need to be closer to him.

The sexual tension radiating off of you two is palpable. Who knew all you had to do was get dolled up to get him riled. But damn did he look good too. He makes a plain black suit look phenomenal. His black hair is short and falls softly on his forehead resting above his eyebrows, the right one which has a slit in it giving him an edgier look and you are enjoying it very much.

Every second on this red carpet taking pictures is a test in self control. He is dying to get his hands on you and you are dying to get your hands on him.

Eventually, finally after being carted around and saying hi to various celebrities all night and spending time with his lovely members, you're both heading home.

Seungmin's hand is on your thigh the whole way home, your long dress pulled up so the skin of his palm is pressed against your thigh warming you. He massages your leg every once in awhile and at the red lights his hand glides a little further up.

You're doing everything in your power to keep your composure, to prevent from rubbing your thighs together to find any kind of friction, since he is denying you. The car ride is silent aside from the occasional sigh that leaves your lips from his teasing

When he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you have lost all your composure and patience and you know, you're not going to make it upstairs.

You lean your body over the center of the car that keeps your bodies separated and grab the collar of his shirt to bring him over to you in a heated sloppy kiss.

Seungmin's lips against your are soft and plump and your tongue juts out to lick his bottom lip before placing it between your teeth and nibbling softly.

He moans softly his hands trying to grab onto you as much as he can, but you're frustrated by the lack of contact.

You break apart and without words he pushes his seat all the way back from the steering wheel and you clumsily climb over and put a leg on either side of him, straddling him.

You reattach your lips with his and as you settle into his lap, you can feel his cock hard, straining against his pants as you grind your hips down to rub yourself against him.

You're both moaning into each others mouths, the air in the car becoming warm.

You reach your hand down between your bodies and slip your hand past his waistband to wrap your fingers around his length. His head falls back, hitting the headrest as he looks at you with beautiful dark brown hooded eyes.

You lean forward and leave breathy kisses on his neck and down to his exposed collar bones as you stoke his cock slowly. His hips are coming up to meet your hand with every movement and the little whines escaping his lips have your panties soaked underneath you.

You remove your hand from his pants and unbutton his shirt leaving kissing and sucking softly at the smooth expanse of his chest.

"I've waited all night, stop playing with me." He says, his voice is soft and higher pitched clearly frustrated and needy.

"I don't know that you want it bad enough" You say and grind your hips down, dragging your clothed pussy against his cock. You stifle your moan, seeking control and you get it when he moans loudly fingers digging into your hips.

"Please! Let me feel you, I'm dying to be inside you." His hands are up your dress cupping your ass and pulling you closer, causing you to move against him again, desperate for whatever you'll give him.

His hair is messy from you dragging your fingers through it, his shirt is basically falling off him, chest exposed. His lips swollen from your aggressive making out, and his eyes are glazed over with lust and in this moment you're done playing with him.

Unceremoniously you move up off him just enough to pull his cock free from his pants, move your soaked panties aside and sink down onto his length.

Both of you moan a sigh of relief and you waste no time jutting your hips to grind down on his length. The movement isn't much but the friction is delicious. You bounce and writhe against him as fast as you can, his hips coming up to meet you aiding you both in your desperate searches for release.

Your foreheads are against one another as you look into his eyes, never loosing contact, his hand against the back of your neck holding you steady as you continue to move on him, you pussy sucking in his whole length with ease.

You're sharing breath and both of your movements are starting to loose focus. Without breaking eye contact he reaches his hand down and finds your bundle of nerves and with expert fingers rubs harsh circles.

You're eyebrows furrow and eyes slam shut as your orgasm finds you, slamming into you hard, your body shuddering against him as you continue to move, riding out your high but still trying to aid in his.

He's not far behind you as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth attempting to stifle a moan as he releases inside you, his liquids filling you up enough that its leaking out and falling onto his pants.

You bring your hand up to his cheek and rub circles into his skin before capturing his lips gentle, unhurried, loving kiss.

"I should dress up more often." You say teasingly, still catching your breath as you both laugh softly.

"I'm always attracted to you, you don't have to dress up for that." He says as he brushes the hair back from your face and holds you in his arms.

My Kinktober Masterlist ~ Here

My Kinktober Post ~ Here

@neverendingstay Kinktober Post ~ Here

Masterlist

18+ Tag list

Tag List

@intrikatie @juskz @stolasisyourparent @pixie0627 @paperclip-skz @yaorzu-blog @velvetmoonlght @jennibahng

[maybank5]

𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞

pairing ⤜ yn x rafe cameron

summary ⤜ a little bit of rafe fluff + topper's sister y/n for the lovely @a-j-stuffs

a/n ⤜ i hope you like this a lot babe, and thank you so much for all the support!!

Growing up, you'd always heard about The Enduro, but it was never something that had previously caught your interest. You were far too concerned with your books and your studies to really care about a bunch of dude-bros riding bikes around the sand. So when your brother, Topper, invites you to come along with him when you're home from your first year of college, you can think of a thousand other things you'd rather do. Until he raises his brows and says, "Rafe's riding, you know." And that right there, gets your attention.

Rafe has been Topper's best friend for as long as you can remember, and equally as long, your not-so-secret crush. You'd spent most of your teenagehood thinking you were so stealthy. You tried not to stare, tried to not fawn. Every time Rafe Cameron would come around, you'd instantly find something to busy yourself with and an excuse to leave the room, the house, the island entirely. It'd been since Christmas since you'd last seen him, and your heart had nearly gotten tangled in your throat as you'd seen him pull into the drive and hop out of his Range Rover. You'd hid the whole afternoon in your room. You were nineteen now. Had a whole year of college under your belt. This whole secret-crush/hiding thing was getting a little ridiculous. Topper had been teasing you about it non-stop since you'd gotten home and casually asked what Rafe had been up to lately. Your secret crush apparently not-so-secret after all. You weren't that little kid anymore, and you were tired of the constant hiding. So, surprising yourself, you hopped up from your bed and said, "I'm in!"

Topper laughed, "Knew you'd be."

"Shut up!" You give him a shove as you scurry out of your bedroom and head downstairs. You check your reflection in the mirror of the entry way, and deciding you looked decent enough and giving your hair one final fluff, you follow Topper out to his car.

When you pull up to the beach, you're surprised to see just how big a turn out there is. You knew The Enduro was a big deal, but you just didn't realize it was this big a deal. Two announcers set up on the high lifeguard lookouts, megaphones in hand to narrate the excitement. Topper leads you over to the line of racers, already mouting their bikes.

"C'mon," Topper says, "Let's go say hi."

Your heart is in your throat again and there's butterflies in your stomach. Still, you're determined not to be that scared, shy little kid again. You hold your head high, square your shoulders, and follow him right to Rafe's bike.

Rafe's bike is his pride and joy. He takes care of that thing like it's his baby, and it's paid off. The bike is gorgeous, glistening in the sunlight. And then there's Rafe himself. He's standing next to it, running a gloved hand over her seat. He's dressed for the race, and your jaw drops slightly at just how damn good he looks.

"Hey, man," Topper lifts his chin in greeting.

"Hey!" Rafe turns, taking off his helmet and holding it under an arm. His eyes fall to you, and you hope it's not just your imagination picturing it when his eyebrows go up slightly. "Y/N, home from school already?"

"Just got in yesterday," you say, surprised at how level your voice sounds. Even just a few months ago, it'd have been quivering with nerves. Not today though. Today is different, you're determined for it to be different. You run a hand through your hair, "You think you can win this thing?" You ask with a playful smirk.

Rafe's brows shoot up again and he and Topper exchange a look. Rafe chuckles, "Babe," he says, making your stomach dip, "It's not even a question."

"We'll see about that," the blonde on the bike beside him snarls.

"Shut up, Maybank," Rafe rolls his eyes, "You gonna be waiting for me at that finish line?" He asks, attention back on you.

"Maybe. Give me something worth waiting for, huh?"

Rafe's jaw drops ever so slightly. He turns to face Topper as you saunter off to go stand with the rest of the Kook side. You feel Topper and Rafe's stares on you, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't care. Did you do okay? Was what you said alright? You were totally out of your element here and this whole flirting thing and trying to draw attention to yourself was entirely new to you. Still, it'd felt good to make Rafe Cameron's jaw drop.

The announcers started the count and Topper came back to stand next to you. He grabbed a few drinks from a cooler and handed you one.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks, tapping his bottle of beer to yours.

"What?" You shrug, "Just talkin' to Rafe."

"Yeah, uh-huh."

"C'mon, it's not like you haven't been bugging me about having a crush on him. You invited me here with the promise he'd be here. Like dangling a damn carrot."

"I don't want you thinkin' about Rafe Cameron's carrot, okay?"

"Damn it, Top. That's not what I meant."

Topper laughs, "I know, I know. You two wouldn't be the worst thing, you know. You're gonna pretend I never said this, but I think you'd be good for him. His family situation has been kind of a mess, and I think you would be good for him. Grounding to him. He needs someone like that I think. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Got it," you give him a wink.

The bikers are off, and you feel the adrenaline race through your veins as you watch Rafe take the lead. You can't help but jump up and down, screaming with the rest of the crowd that's gathered to cheer them on, both Figure Eight and The Cut alike.

The announcers say Rafe still holds the lead, Maybank is close on his heels. Your stomach is doing somersaults as you jump up and down, screaming his name. He's got this, you know he's got this.

Rafe comes in first, just like you knew he would. The blonde, Maybank, tosses his helmet into the sand and starts yelling. Some of his friends gather around him but you aren't paying attention to that. Instead, you run right to Rafe. He pulls his helmet off, grinning as he sees you.

"You did it!" You say.

"Of course," he smirks, "Someone told me to give them something worth waiting at the finish line for. Which I have to say, Y/N...I didn't expect that from you."

You blush, "Too forward?"

"You hear me complaining?" Rafe gives you a look, "It's just unexpected, that's all."

"Just wanted to make sure I had your attention."

Rafe lets out a little laugh of disbelief, "Y/N, you've always had my attention. My attention has always been yours. From day one."

Your stomach fills with butterflies again, and you don't even try to fight the blush on your cheeks. "You haven't gotten your prize yet," you say.

"And what might that be?" Rafe asks, taking a step forward. His hand tangles into your hair at the nape of your neck as you tilt your head up to meet his eye.

"I think you know, cowboy."

"Cowboy, huh?"

"Yup," you nod, "A cowboy on a steel horse."

Rafe chuckles, "I like the sound of that."

His lips draw closer to yours, and he claims his prize like he was born for it.

"Alright, alright!" Topper pulls you apart, "I'm totally cool with this, one hundred percent fine, as long as you keep that to a minimum."

"Hey, Top," Rafe drawls, not taking his eyes off yours, "Go rub my win in Maybank's face, will you?" You giggle as he presses his lips against yours. You hear Topper let out a mumbled curse as he heads over to where Maybank and his friends are gathered.

"Now...where were we, hmm?" Rafe asks.

"Remind me," you grin.

You don't have to tell him twice.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Bucky Barnes

Summary: After your mother's death, you're adjusting to life with your autistic younger brother. Thankfully Bucky, your most regular customer, can brighten your day.

Warnings: Caretaker stress, Insecurities, Mentions of death. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

You head out the front door of the building, Bucky trailing behind, begging you to stop and talk. You stop long enough to take a deep breath of the fresh air before turning around to face him. His face is contorted into a pained expression, his blue eyes filled with panic, bordering despair.

"Talk," you order.

"I know I said I was giving you my number because we were friends," he starts. "I know I brought you here under the guise of a friendly gesture. I should have been honest from the start and said that I wanted to ask you out but...I could never bring myself to do it. You're so sweet and pretty and patient and kind and you deserve someone who can take care of you. I thought, at the very least, I could be a friend to you."

"Then why did your friend, Steve, think we were dating?"

"I...I never said we were dating. He knew I had a massive crush on you and I told him that I gave you my number. It was stupid of me, but I swear I did it to get him to talk to his girl, not to push the idea that you and I were dating."

"So, you told a lie of omission to your friend?"

"Yes."

You both stand there for a minute. Him fearfully waiting for what you have to say and you trying to figure out how to say what you need.

"I've been lying too," you finally admit. "I...I pushed the idea of just being friends because...because you deserve someone better. Someone who doesn't work a dead end job. Someone who doesn't have to take care of their family ahead of taking care of you. Someone who has a lot less baggage and a lot more...potential."

Bucky chuckles, "have we really both been so insecure this whole time?"

"I think so," you nod. "Which is a damn shame. We could've been doing so much else this while time."

Bucky moves close and puts his hands on your hips. "Well, how do you feel about not wasting any more of that time?"

You look into his bright blue eyes, now filled with cautionary hope. "I think that sounds like a really good idea."

He smiles, relief washing over him, and brings his forehead to yours. "How about a proper date, then? Not an office party."

"So long as it's not a coffee place or a ritzy one."

"There's a diner I sometimes go to for lunch?"

"Perfect."

And it really is kinda perfect. The two of you are finally talking, finally on the same page, and it just feels right. The only thing keeping it from being the first date of your dreams is that you have to keep an eye on the time. You try to apologize to Bucky but he isn't having it.

"You're looking out for your brother. That's admirable."

"I'm glad you think so. Not everyone appreciates it."

Bucky furrows his brows, "who would give you trouble about it?"

"My boss," you confess. "He's...the previous owners were really understanding but the new guy in charge, the one who decided we should switch up the fruit fillings and whatnot? It's not that he's on the warpath but he's definitely focused on getting as much profit as he can."

"And that means he schedules you when he wants, not when you need?"

"Pretty much. I'd love to get a different job, one with better benefits, but it's just never been in the cards for me."

"Why not?"

"I can't afford school. And now, even if I had the money, I don't have the time."

"That's fair," he nods.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"A lot of times, when I talk about these things, people will tell me I'm just making excuses or not trying hard enough. So thank you for not being like that."

He places his hand on yours, "as much as I want to say 'your welcome' I feel like you really need to hold higher standards for others. You definitely deserve to be treated better than that."

"I work customer service, I'm grateful for whatever kindness I can get," you retort with a chuckle.

He smiles at the joke but gives you a serious look, "don't ever be afraid to call me out if I ever treat you less than you deserve." You chuckle but he doesn't. "I never want to treat you like you're not the best thing to ever happen to me."

"I believe you," you affirm. "But people can make mistakes. Look at us earlier tonight. I won't hold it against you if you slip up from time to time."

He pauses at that. "I'll admit, you're far more forgiving than I'm used to."

You smile at him, "then I guess it's not the only one to call out the other if they're being treated poorly."

"Thank you for that," Bucky whispers.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlis

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly;

@stellar-solar-flare

[massivedrickhead]

Pitch Perfect SpookFest Day 5 - H is for Hike

Words: 9282

Summary: Beca takes Chloe on a hike she used to do with her Dad. It’s a chance for Beca to feel closer to him, and a chance to introduce Chloe to one of her former favourite pastimes. Beca soon discovers that there is more than just memories hiding in the trees.

Notes: Buckle up boys, this one’s a long one! I’ve really let myself have free reign with the horror in this one, and haven’t held myself back at all. I mentioned previously that I’ve been reading almost exclusively horror this year, and Adam Nevill’s The Ritual was one of my favourites, and the setting of this was definitely a little inspired by that.

@pitch-perfect-spookfest

Read on AO3

-

“Bec?”

“Hmm?”

“You doing okay?”

“Uh huh. A little tired.”

Beca’s hands clenched and unclenched around the straps of her backpack, her shoulders burning under the weight of it. 

“We can stop if you need a break?”

“No, I’m good,” Beca said, turning to smile at Chloe. “This is just a bit more physically demanding than I remember it.”

Chloe smiled back and they continued to walk.

“I’m glad you told me to wear these boots for a few weeks at home first,” Chloe said, taking hold of Beca’s hand as she helped her step down a particularly craggy rock. “I think a blister out here would finish me off.”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I remember Sheila learning that lesson the hard way. I honestly thought her and my Dad were gonna divorce right there and then.”

“How is Sheila?” Chloe asked. 

Beca shrugged. “I dunno. Better, I think, now that we’re doing this. She didn’t like him just being stuck on a shelf.” As if on instinct, Beca reached a hand around to press against the front of her pack, pushing against the tightly packed interior, trying to feel for the small, hard, object that was wrapped safely in the centre. It hardly weighed a thing, but was the heaviest item she carried.

“I don’t think you’ve lost him,” Chloe said. 

“No, I know,” Beca said, removing her hand. “But it’d be so embarrassing if we got all the way up there and it turns out I left him on a tree-stump near the parking lot.”

Chloe laughed and took hold of Beca’s hand again, this time for no other reason than just to hold it. 

“We’d have to just grab him on our way back and tell Sheila we did it.”

It was Beca’s turn to chuckle now. “Damn, lying to a widow about where her husband’s ashes are scattered? Pretty dark.”

“Better than having to do this hike again,” Chloe replied, squeezing Beca’s hand to let her know she was joking. “Are we much further from where you wanted to set up camp?”

“I don’t think so,” Beca said, removing the map from the plastic pouch hung around her neck. She knew where on the map they needed to be, and had a pretty good idea of where they currently were. “Maybe another hour and a half? We should have enough time to get everything set up before dark.”

Chloe nodded and they carried on following the trail. 

Beca had done this hike more times than she could count. At one time in her life, she’d have been able to do it blindfolded, her feet knowing where to step without any input from her brain.

Now, however, it had been almost a decade since she’d last been here, and she found herself checking the map more often than she really needed to. The whole place felt totally unchanged and yet completely different at the same time. It was like she was viewing it from another angle. Through a different lens. It felt like something was missing.

It dawned on Beca that something was missing.

For the first time in her life, she was walking this trail without her Dad walking beside her.

She tugged on the straps of her bag again, feeling them dig into her already sore shoulders, and she focused on that pain because if she didn’t she’d start crying. 

-

Despite being a little out of practice, Beca managed to set up their tent without much trouble. It was as if her hands knew what to do even if she didn’t quite remember the steps. 

“I love watching you be all outdoorsy,” Chloe said, as Beca slid tent poles through eyelets and hammered stakes into the ground. 

“Oh yeah?” Beca asked. “Is this turning you on?”

Chloe laughed. “A little.”

“If I’d known that’s all it took, I’d have taken you camping sooner.”

That night they ate a dinner of ramen cooked on their gas stove, and they watched the stars begin to appear above their heads. 

Beca lit a small fire to keep them warm, and they huddled together under one blanket, sharing a small cup of spiked hot chocolate. 

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Beca said, her head on Chloe’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Chloe replied, her head resting on top of Beca’s. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know this isn’t your kind of thing.”

“Maybe not,” Chloe said. “But I’m glad I’m here with you.”

They kissed, finished their hot chocolate, and Chloe crawled into their tent while Beca put out the fire. 

Far off in the trees, she heard a branch snap. 

A deer, she told herself. Just a deer.

She joined Chloe in the tent and zipped it up after her with a little more urgency than necessary. 

Their solar-charged camping lamp was shoved in the corner of the small tent, turned to its dimmest settings. 

“Can we keep it on?” Chloe asked, climbing into her sleeping bag. “It’s, like, insanely dark out here.”

“Of course,” Beca said, unable to shake the feeling of unease that, with the lamp on, their tent would shine like a beacon in this pitch black forest. 

Beca didn’t realise how tired she was until she was wrapped in her own warm and comfortable sleeping bag. 

“Night Chlo’,” she mumbled, suddenly unable to keep her eyes open. 

“Night Bec,” Chloe replied. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

-

By the time Chloe woke up the next morning, Beca was already up and preparing their breakfast of oatmeal and sweet, strong, coffee. 

“Morning,” Chloe said, kissing the top of Beca’s head before joining her on the log they had used as a seat the night before. 

“Morning,” Beca replied. “Sleep well?”

“Not bad. Better than you, anyway.”

Beca frowned and turned her attention away from the oatmeal so she could look at Chloe. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you were up all night, shuffling around the tent. Were you looking for something? And I’m pretty sure I asked you to keep the light on.”

“I did,” Beca said. “I never touched it.”

“Well then the battery must have died, because I woke up at like 2 am and it was basically pitch black. I could just see your… shape, sitting at the entrance to the tent.”

“Chlo’ the lamp was still on when I woke up. I slept like a log last night, I was exhausted. Unless I’ve suddenly started sleepwalking at the ripe age of 32, I didn’t move a muscle.”

“Huh,” Chloe said, frowning too. “I was sure…” Chloe shook her head, dispelling the memory of the night before and already reframing it in her mind. “I must have dreamt it.”

“You get some weird noises in the forest,” Beca said, returning her attention to their breakfast. “It can play tricks on you.”

“That must be it.”

After they ate and packed up, they were ready to begin their second day of the hike. If all went well, they’d reach their second camp spot by dinner, and their final destination tomorrow afternoon. 

This used to be a hike that Beca and her Dad did in two days, but because it was Chloe’s first time, she’d planned a slower pace which meant a couple more nights in the wilderness. Not that Beca minded, she’d always preferred a slower pace to her Dad’s break-neck speed, and it meant more nights spent camping, which she loved. But their time together had always been limited, and she needed to be back at the pre-approved custody drop-off spot by Sunday night. 

“You’re quiet today,” Chloe said, her voice breaking the silence that had accompanied them for the last two hours of their hike.

“Sorry,” Beca said. “I’m in my head a little.”

Chloe swapped the stick she’d been using to walk with to her left hand, and took hold of Beca’s with her right. “Don’t be sorry. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I’m fine. It’s just… It’s weird doing this without him.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Chloe said. 

Beca sucked in a breath and puffed out her cheeks as she blew it out.

She hated this feeling, the one she got right before she was about to cry. 

“Bec.”

“I know,” Beca said, clearing her throat. She knew what Chloe was going to say, she’d said it to her what felt like hundreds of times since her dad had passed. She was going to tell her that it was okay to cry. That it was healthy even. That Beca shouldn’t bottle up her emotions. And Beca knew that was true - logically knew that she shouldn’t be holding everything in like a shook-up soda can - but every part of her told her it was wrong. 

Beca kept her tears at bay and they lapsed into silence again. 

For hours they walked, Beca ahead of Chloe by inches. She couldn’t see her, but she could feel her, a millimetre behind her left shoulder. A shadow in her peripherals. 

She could hear Chloe’s footsteps just behind her, in sync with her own, close enough that if Beca stopped, Chloe would bump into her. Her left hand swung back as she walked and occasionally brushed against the textured surface of Chloe’s sweater.

Then Chloe took hold of her right hand.

Beca jumped - almost yelled out - and spun on her heels.

No one there.

Her heart was beating so fast and there was a sound like rushing water in her ears.

“Beca? What is it?”

Beca swallowed, her eyes scanning the trees behind them. She shook her head.

“I thought-” Beca cut herself off, alarmed and ashamed to hear the shake in her voice. “I thought you were behind me. I…” She swallowed again, her mouth dry, her tongue feeling thick. “I just got a fright. I thought you were on my left, not my right.”

Beca clenched her left hand and then shook it out. She had felt something brush against it. Had heard something walking right behind her. 

But she didn’t want to scare Chloe - didn’t want to scare herself anymore than she had - so she told herself she’d imagined it. She rubbed the back of her left hand against the sweater she wore under her raincoat, trying to clear away the residual feeling of having touched something unknown. 

“Let’s stop for a break,” Chloe said, still eyeing Beca with concern. “We have time, right?”

Not here, Beca thought.

“Yeah,” Beca said, not wanting to turn around and put her back to whatever that was, but also not wanting to stay in this spot for another second. “We can stop, but let’s cover a little more ground first.” She turned and carried on walking the trail, unable to shift the feeling that they were being watched, but refusing to turn and confirm it.

Whatever it was, she knew she didn’t want to see it.

You sound crazy, Beca thought. 

Chloe could tell something had deeply rattled Beca, so she didn’t argue and instead jogged to catch up. She decided not to take hold of her hand again, and tried to remain in her line of sight as best as she could.

After what Chloe would call a 30 minute speed-walk, Beca finally slowed and they stopped to take a break.

They took off their packs and Chloe almost cried with relief at the feeling, her aching shoulders and back practically singing now the weight had been removed.

Beca poured them each a coffee from the thermos she’d filled that morning, and they drank it with some cheese and crackers. 

Chloe rubbed at the knot in her shoulder as she looked up at the bright white sky that was peeking through the canopy of the trees. 

“I’m not walking you too fast, am I?” Beca asked, relieved her voice sounded normal again. 

“No,” Chloe replied. “I mean, that last 30 minutes was basically a run, but other than that it’s been fine.”

Beca nodded. “You’ll tell me if it gets too hard?”

“Of course,” Chloe said. Something about Beca had hardened in the last few hours, and Chloe couldn’t work out how or why. It gave her a pit of worry in her stomach, the kind she got when she thought someone might be mad at her. “I’m not, like, slowing you down or anything, am I?”

“No,” Beca said, her eyes widening in surprise. “No, you’re doing great. We’re making good time.”

She sounded sincere, and Chloe felt the tension in her loosen a little. “Good,” Chloe said. She could have left it at that, but Chloe was never one for holding back. She couldn’t swallow her feelings the same way that Beca could. “Sorry,” she said. “I just… I don’t know, I feel like you might be mad at me or something.”

Beca looked even more surprised. “Why would I be mad at you?”

Chloe shrugged. “The atmosphere’s been kinda tense, I dunno.”

“I mean, we’re here to scatter my dad’s ashes, Chlo’, I’m not sure what kind of atmosphere you were expecting.”

Chloe cringed and felt her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” 

She turned away and began busying herself with checking her bag.

“I’m not mad at you,” Beca said, her voice softer than it had been a moment ago. “I’m, like, trying to process a lot of feelings right now, and when that happens I go quiet. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Chloe said, turning back around so she could take both of Beca’s hands in hers. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t need to be sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, what kind of memories being back here is bringing up, you are 100% allowed to be in your own head. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t doing anything to make it harder for you.”

Beca nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “And you never make anything harder, Chloe. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. Any of it.”

Chloe tugged Beca closer and wrapped her up in a tight hug. “Whatever you’re feeling, or trying to work through, I hope you know that you don’t have to do it in your head. If you want to talk, or even just think out loud, then you can. I can talk it through with you or just be a sounding board. But only if you want to. We can walk in silence, or talk about something completely different. Whatever you need, Bec.”

Chloe felt Beca nod against her, and she held her against her chest until Beca ended the hug. 

They packed up, their backs groaning as the weight of the packs settled against their shoulders again, and they carried on walking.

The silence between them remained, and Chloe couldn’t think of any way to break it. 

She knew Beca needed it, but she hated it. 

Hated it because she was starting to feel on edge.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

-

Dinner that night was spaghetti in sauce with some kind of mystery meat. Chloe had grimaced as Beca had squeezed it out of the vacuum-sealed packet, but once it had been heated on the stove Chloe’s mouth had watered at just the smell of it.

“It’s not scientifically possible that spaghetti from a bag should taste this good,” Chloe said, trying to scrape up every last bit of sauce.

“I know,” Beca said, her mouth almost smiling. 

Beca hadn’t been able to shake the darkness that had been growing in her chest since that morning, and it had only gotten heavier as the day wore on. Each step caused a rock to harden in her chest, and now it was almost nightfall, she felt like she was made of stone. 

Chloe cleaned up their plates while Beca lit another small fire, and they were soon huddled up together as night fell quickly.

“Is this the part where you tell me a ghost story?” Chloe asked, desperate for Beca to get out of her head. 

Beca let out a laugh that was little more than a puff of air through her nose. “I don’t think I know any.”

The silence fell across them again. Beca stared into the fire, and Chloe felt like she was sitting beside a statue.

Then Beca moved suddenly, startling Chloe. She reached into her pack and pulled out the bottle of whisky she’d used in their hot chocolate the night before. 

“Bec?”

“I’ve thought of one,” she said, pouring them each a small measure. She’d brought it with them so they could toast her Dad when his ashes were scattered - something that she realised was approaching closer and closer and that she wasn’t sure she was ready for - she hadn’t intended on them drinking it the rest of the nights. But the whisky had warmed her the night before, had temporarily eased the aches in her back and legs, and had allowed sleep to come more easily. Besides, she figured she might need a drink to tell the story she was about to share.

She took a sip and stored the bottle away again.

“You’ve got a ghost story?”

“Not a ghost story,” Beca said. “But a campfire kind of story.”

“Okay,” Chloe said, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders. She wasn’t sure a scary story in the middle of the woods was a good idea, but anything was better than silence at this point.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I got lost in the woods?”

“No,” Chloe said, frowning. “Wait, is this a true story?”

Beca nodded. “I must have told you,” she said. “It’s how I got this.” She pointed to the scar on her cheek.

On instinct, Chloe reached out to touch it. She had asked Beca about it before, had even joked that it must mean they were meant to be together, since the scar formed an almost perfect “C” on her cheek. 

“You told me you got it hiking, not that you got lost,” Chloe said, her cold fingers tracing the edge of it. 

The light coming from the fire had blinded Beca to the rest of the forest, and the darkness stretched out around them on all sides. Even the stars were hidden by clouds. They were a solo pin-point of light in a vast sea of nothingness. Beca felt like if Chloe let go of her arm, she would float away into space.

Beca took another sip of whisky. 

“I was four,” she said. “Out hiking with my Mom and Dad. Before the divorce. The last time we did anything like that as a family. My Dad asked me to grab some sticks for firewood. I was right beside him. My Mom was in the tent, and he turned to ask her something. When he turned back I was gone.” Beca took another drink. “They found me three days later in a Walmart parking lot, the next state over.”

Chloe felt herself go cold. “What the hell?” She asked, her voice little more than a whisper. “What happened?”

“Not a fucking clue,” Beca said. “I don’t remember anything about it.”

“Nothing?” 

“I remember looking down for a stick, and then I remember this old couple in the parking lot asking where my parents were.”

“Jesus, Bec,” Chloe said. “Did you just wander off?”

Beca took another drink, her eyes burning from the heat of the fire that she refused to look away from. She couldn’t look away, because then she’d have to look into the darkness. Into the forest. She didn’t want to look.

“I was four, I couldn’t have walked that far on my own, not in three days,” Beca said, a hint of strain in her voice. She was suddenly wondering why she had decided to tell this story. She hadn’t thought about it in years. “I didn’t have any shoes on when they found me. No coat or hat or anything. There’s no way I could have survived on my own.” Beca cleared her throat, and took another drink. “They think someone took me.”

If Chloe had felt herself go cold before, it was nothing to how she felt now. She practically shivered. 

“Were you hurt when they found you?” Chloe asked, terrified of the answer Beca was about to give.

“No,” Beca replied. “I was fine. Healthy, even. I should have been malnourished or dehydrated or something. I was perfectly fine, except for this.” Beca touched the scar on her cheek. She cleared her throat. “They asked me what happened for months afterwards, but at the time I didn’t have the words to tell them, and by the time I did, I didn’t remember.”

“Beca, this is insane, I can’t believe I’ve known you for over ten years and I’ve never heard this story. You really don’t remember a thing?”

Beca closed her eyes. “I remember being cold, and I remember…” It came back to her sometimes in her nightmares. The wooden structure. Incongruous to its surroundings, like it had been cut out of a home depot catalogue and pasted into the forest. “It was like a hut.”

A stick snapped in the distance and Chloe jumped, and a nervous laugh followed. 

“We moved basically immediately after. Mom said she felt like everyone was watching her. Judging her. She was the bad Mom who let her kid get snatched from under her nose. They divorced not long after that. Mom blamed Dad, Dad blamed himself. I’ve never been back in that forest. It took me years before I’d even agree to go hiking with my Dad again.” Beca went to take another drink. The cup was empty, and the last few drops splashed against her chin. “I didn’t speak for a full year. I… Jesus, I haven’t thought about this in so long, I thought…”

“Thought what?”

“Thought I was over it. Thought it was like a funny, mildly interesting story. The time I got lost in the woods.” She let out a laugh that sounded strange. Panicked. “What the fuck?”

“Bec, it’s okay,” Chloe said, trying not to catch the panic rising in her girlfriend. She knew it was contagious, this kind of fear, and one of them had to be calm. “You’re okay.”

“They checked me over at the hospital,” Beca said, her voice shaking as every horrible memory from that time came flooding back. “You know, just in case. And he hadn’t. I hadn’t been… But, fuck, I was four. I was four and they were checking… fuck.”

It was all rushing back to her faster than she could process it. She wanted to be sick. 

This is why she kept things inside. Pushed them down and turned herself to stone.

“Did you speak to anyone after? Like a therapist or someone? Someone to help you process it?”

“Like 10 of them,” Beca said. “But all they did was try and get me to remember. Asked me to draw it if I couldn’t say it. The police tried that too. Said I needed to help them out because what if this guy snatches up another little girl, and she doesn’t get as lucky? But there was nothing in there. Nothing to draw. Just a black space. They never found him. No evidence there was ever anyone with me. This was back in the 90s, but they had basic security cameras in the parking lot, and there’s footage of me just walking into the parking lot alone. No shoes. No strange man pushing me out of a car and speeding off.”

“Man?”

“An assumption,” Beca said. “An assumption everyone else made too.”

In the light of the fire, Chloe could see Beca’s hands were shaking. She took hold of them, and Beca jumped at the contact.

“Baby, I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Chloe said, her thumb brushing over Beca’s knuckles as she squeezed her hand.

“I don’t… I don’t know why I thought about it after all these years,” Beca said, the panic leaving her voice as the heaviness returned. “I don’t know why I told you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Chloe said. “You know how I feel about bottling things up.”

Beca gave a soft grunt of a laugh. “Yeah,” she said. 

“You’ve been in your head all day,” Chloe said. “You’re back camping and hiking for the first time in a long time, I’m not surprised that memory came back.”

“I wish it hadn’t,” Beca said, rubbing her free hand against her forehead. 

“I know,” Chloe said. “Let’s go to bed. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Beca didn’t think that was true, but she knew Chloe was only trying to help so she didn’t argue. 

A night of rest wasn’t going to undo this thing that had happened to her almost 30 years ago. It wouldn’t break up the rocks that had been settling in her chest all day. It wouldn’t change the fact that her dad was little more than a pile of ash stashed in her bag, instead of the living breathing man that should be here.

She tried to give Chloe something close to a reassuring smile, but her mouth barely moved. It was as if this was turning to stone too. Her face a frozen expression of grief and pain. 

“You go on ahead,” Beca said. “I’ll take care of the fire.”

Chloe went into the tent to set up their beds for the night, and Beca was alone in the woods.

Except, she knew she wasn’t alone. That feeling of being watched had never left Beca since it arrived, and she was acutely aware that by standing in the light of the fire, it could see her, but she couldn’t see it. It could be a foot away and she’d have no idea.

Before the fear could take hold and root her to the spot, she began putting out the fire, and then backed into the tent rather than turning around. 

“All good?” Chloe asked, already curled up in her sleeping bag.

“Mhm,” Beca replied. “Light staying on?”

“Please,” Chloe said. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, getting herself ready for bed before climbing into her own sleeping bag. “Weird day.”

“Yeah,” Chloe agreed. 

“I’m sorry,” Beca said.

“What for?”

“Being all… You know. Moody. Brooding. Whatever.” 

“You don’t need to apologise for that,” Chloe said. 

“Still. I’m not myself. Not fun to be around right now.”

“You don’t have to be,” Chloe said. “You’re grieving. Get some rest, Bec. I can tell you’re tired because you’re not even talking in complete sentences.”

Chloe was right. Beca was exhausted and not just from their hike. 

“‘Kay,” Beca said. “Night. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

The sound of rustling in their tent woke Chloe up again that night. 

It was dark. Darker than anything Chloe had ever experienced. 

It was as if the darkness was a physical presence, and not just the absence of light. She could feel it pressing all around her. Smothering her. 

Chloe wanted to ask Beca if she was okay - because who else would be rustling around in their tent - but she found she couldn’t. She was scared that if she opened her mouth the darkness would pour in and she’d drown in it. 

Then she heard another sound which made her blood run cold. 

Beca was crying. Sobbing. Right beside her on the ground. 

Which meant there was something else inside their tent. 

A fear like Chloe had never felt before gripped her so tightly she was afraid she’d shatter. 

She wanted to cry. To tell Beca to be quiet. To do something about this intruder that might wish them harm. 

But she couldn’t. 

All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and hold her breath and pray that it would go away. That whoever or whatever it was would leave them alone. 

Beca continued to sob beside her, and Chloe realised this was the first time she’d ever really heard her girlfriend cry. She wanted to cry too but she swallowed the urge. 

“Please,” Beca whimpered, her breath shuddering between each painful sob. “Please, I want to go home. I want to go home.”

Her voice sounded so much smaller than usual. So much younger. She sounded like the lost little girl in the story Beca had told earlier that night. 

Beca’s story came back to Chloe like a bad dream she’d tried to forget. 

In her mind, she could see her huddled. Shivering. Looking up at… something. Something her four-year-old brain didn’t understand. Something she couldn’t put into words, but she knew enough to be afraid. 

All Chloe wanted to do was reach out and comfort her, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move because she could still hear this thing in their tent. 

Behind her closed eyes, Chloe could see light. A dim glow that had returned to the tent. 

She almost opened her eyes.

Almost. 

Then she heard another rustle, and she knew they still weren’t alone. It was still there with them. 

Chloe could feel it watching them. 

It had turned the lamp back on. It wanted Chloe to look but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. 

It was silent save for the soft whimpering still coming from her girlfriend. So silent that she couldn’t hear the sounds of the rest of the forest anymore. No animals scurrying or owls hooting, or the wind rustling through the trees.

She could feel its eyes burning into her and she could feel herself beginning to shake as she realised something else.

She’d heard those noises the night before and had attributed them to Beca. 

Now she knew better.

This thing had been in their tent last night too. 

Had likely been following them this whole time.

That feeling she’d had of being watched wasn’t just her mind playing tricks on her. 

The silence dragged on with the feeling of pressure in their tent growing and growing. Chloe felt like she was waiting for a jump-scare in a movie. 

Then she heard the whine of the zipper being pulled, and felt a rush of cold air blow through the entrance to the tent. She heard the zipper again and the soft retreating footsteps of whatever it was. 

They were alone again, Chloe could feel it, but she still couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. 

In her head she counted to ten. Twenty. Thirty. 

“I want to go home,” Beca cried again. “I want my Daddy.”

It was enough to finally force Chloe’s eyes open, and she felt a brief flood of relief to discover they were in fact alone again. 

Beca was curled on her side, knees pulled into her chest, body shaking with each cry for home and for her dad. 

From her spot beside her, Chloe could see that the scar on Beca’s cheek was bleeding. The scar was over 20-years-old, long faded and barely visible, but was somehow bleeding like a fresh wound.

Chloe tried for the rest of the night to wake her, but she couldn’t. Beca remained trapped in the nightmare where she was a lost little girl, begging to go home.

All Chloe could do was hold Beca in her arms. She assumed sleep would never come, but at the sound of the birds and the sight of soft light beginning to filter through their tent, she finally did. 

-

Chloe was alone when she woke up only a few hours later.

She scrambled up and out of her sleeping bag and was relieved to see Beca sitting just outside the entrance of their tent.

The cold air bit at her exposed arms and legs, but she didn’t return to the tent to get dressed. 

Beca was hunched over their camping stove, but was staring off into the trees. Chloe could smell the burning oatmeal in the pan and hurried forward to take it off the heat. 

Beca didn’t even react to her presence. Her eyes were slightly puffy from the hours she’d spent crying the night before, and the cut on her cheek was beginning to scab over. 

Chloe thought she looked empty. Lost.

“Beca,” she said, taking a seat beside her, the wooden log cold and wet against her bare skin. She took hold of Beca’s arm.

Beca gave a grunt in response, but didn’t look away from the trees.

“Bec, last night…” She trailed off, unable to find the words she needed to explain what had happened. “I don’t think we’re safe here. I think we need to go home.” Even as she said it, the knot of worry tightened in her stomach. They were at least two days' walk away from where they had parked up, which meant two more nights out here in the forest. 

Beca still didn’t speak, and Chloe’s panic increased.

“Something came into our tent last night. I don’t know if it was an animal or-” she cut herself off as she remembered that whatever it was had messed with their light. Had zipped and unzipped the entrance to their tent multiple times. “Something was in our tent,” she repeated. “And it was in our tent the night before. And it followed us all day yesterday, and I think you know that. I think you felt it too.”

Beca nodded, slowly.

It wasn’t words, but it was something. It was an acknowledgement. 

“So we should go, right? Like pack up and hightail it out of here? I can walk faster,” Chloe said, the speed of her voice quickening as a sense of urgency filled her. “You and your dad used to do this hike in two days, right? Well just walk at that pace and I’ll keep up, or-” Chloe’s words were coming faster. Tripping over each other in a rush to get out of her mouth. “Or we go a different way. Just whatever will get us out of this forest the fastest. We can Uber to the car when we’re back to civilization.”

Beca nodded again, her eyes never leaving the trees. Chloe was too afraid to follow the direction they were focused on.

“Baby, please say something. I’m really fucking freaked out right now.”

Beca swallowed and a tear crept down her cheek, stopping when it reached the raised scab that was still a scar only hours ago. 

“I’m sorry,” Beca said. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “I don’t either, but I need you right now. I don’t know what I’m doing out here, and I need you to help me get us out of here. I need…” She trailed off. She had almost told Beca she needed her to snap out of it, but that seemed too harsh.

But then she thought, fuck it.

She needed to be harsh.

She needed to be harsh because she couldn’t get them out of this forest alone.

Because she refused to die out here.

“I need you to snap out of this,” Chloe said, her voice sterner than it had been a moment ago. “Something weird is happening out here, and I need you to fight it. You can’t give up, Bec. We need to get out of here.”

Beca cleared her throat and finally tore her eyes away from the trees. 

“I know,” she said. “I know, I’m sorry.” She pulled out the map, and tapped on a spot. “That’s where we’re headed,” she said, pointing at the place where she intended to scatter her Dad’s ashes. “From there we’ll cut down here.” She traced her finger down a length of what Chloe assumed to be woodland. “A harder path than the way we came, but shorter. There are multiple places to join the trail, and this should lead us to one of them.”

“Have you done it before?” Chloe asked.

“No,” Beca admitted. “But we could be out of here by tonight if we take it.”

Chloe nodded. The unknown was frightening to her, but the way they came didn’t feel much better. “Then that’s what we’ll do. I trust you.”

Chloe dressed and they packed up their camp in record speed.

The oatmeal had been beyond saving, so they each ate a protein bar as they walked.

The pace Beca set was punishing, but Chloe kept up. Everything hurt from her feet to her shoulders, but she didn’t complain. She would not slow them down.

The thing still followed them.

They both knew it, could both feel it, but they refused to turn and look.

Up ahead, they saw the gradual incline of a hill, and for the first time that day, Beca thought about why they were even here in the first place. 

She thought about her dad.

She thought about what she would soon be doing.

These weren’t the circumstances she’d wanted when she’d suggested the idea to Chloe a month ago.

She’d wanted time. Peace. She’d wanted to be able to say a few words. Have a drink. Cry, maybe.

Beca knew now she wouldn’t get that. She knew she was foolish to even still be doing it. 

But she also knew she had to. It was her last chance. 

Once she got out, she would never set foot in this place again, or anywhere like it. 

Because what she knew now was the man that had taken her all those years ago had never been a man.

It was a Thing. An It. Something not human. Something that had followed her to the other side of the country.. 

After all these years, it had found her.

Or had it always known where she was? Had it just been waiting for the right moment?

Had it been following and watching on every hike she’d taken with her dad?

Beca shuddered as the ground sloped upwards beneath her feet. 

It didn’t make any sense, but logic and reason were starting to feel like foreign concepts. 

None of it had ever made sense.

How do you snatch a child from right under her parents’ noses? How does she end up in a parking lot miles and miles away from where she started?

Chloe walked beside her, her right hand holding Beca’s left, as their pace slowed as they climbed the hill.

The thing followed on Beca’s right. Its footsteps out of time with her own.

It wanted her to know it was there. 

Chloe was beginning to pant beside her.

“We can stop soon,” Beca said, her own breathing just as laboured.

Chloe didn’t want to - she could feel it beside them too - but she knew they needed to. 

They crested the top of the hill, and the forest stretched out beneath them.

It seemed to go on forever, and Chloe felt that panic grip her again.

How would they ever get out of this?

“There,” Beca said, pointing in the direction they had to head next, her head down to look at her compass. “Down that way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Beca said, pulling the map out to double check. 

“Okay,” Chloe said. She unclipped the strap across her chest and let her pack drop to the floor. The relief was immediate but the pain still lingered. 

Beca did the same, though she was a little more careful about lowering her bag to the floor. 

This thing that followed kept its distance.

Like it understood this was a moment Beca needed to have before whatever came next. 

She reached into her pack and pulled out the urn that contained what was left of her Dad.

She straightened up and took a deep breath.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” she said, speaking to the urn. To her Dad. “I had a whole speech prepared, but I think we have to keep it short. The gist is, you deserve to stay in your favourite place forever. To be with nature, in this forest you loved so much. I… I miss you. I love you.”

Beca opened the urn and tipped out the ashes and they were picked up by the wind. 

She had expected to feel lighter, but she didn’t. She didn’t know how she felt, but they didn’t have time to dissect it right now.

“Ready?” Beca asked. She couldn’t bring herself to glance over her shoulder at Chloe, in case it wasn’t Chloe that was looking back at her. She kept her eyes focused on the direction they were heading as she hauled her pack back onto her bag.

“Yeah,” Chloe replied, doing the same. She handed Beca another protein bar. “Let’s get out of here.”

-

Hours and hours passed and they had no idea if they were even close to getting out.

The trail Beca had chosen for them had been significantly more overgrown than expected.

The terrain was rough, uneven, and dangerous. A lot had been completely impassable and had required them to alter their course to go around it. 

Beca had tried to maintain their pace but it was proving reckless. One wrong step could result in a twisted ankle or worse, and that could put them in serious danger under normal circumstances.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, and Beca was forced to bring them to a stop.

They would have to endure one more night in this place.

“I’m sorry,” Beca said, her breathing heavy as they finally conceded defeat. “I didn’t realise how bad it would be.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Chloe replied. “We didn’t have a lot of choices.”

They set up their tent even though they knew it offered them no protection from the thing that still stalked them, and they huddled inside it together without any intention of sleeping.

“As soon as it’s light we head out again,” Beca said, checking the map for what felt like the hundredth time. “I think we went too far south, we need to be more west.”

“Eat something,” Chloe said, handing her one of the vacuum sealed packages Beca had brought, and keeping one for herself.

They ate them cold, and in silence, hunger gnawing at their stomachs even after the last of the food had been squeezed into their mouths. 

“We’re going to be okay, right?” Chloe asked, shuffling closer and linking her arm through Beca’s.

“Yeah,” Beca said, without conviction. “Of course.”

Darkness was falling fast, and only their dim, flickering, camping lamp provided them with any kind of light. 

“I was going to propose,” Beca said, her voice breaking a long silence between them. “Before my dad… Then I thought maybe I’d do it when we got home from this trip.”

There was defeat in Beca’s voice and it made Chloe feel helpless. 

“When you ask me when we get home, I’ll say yes,” Chloe said. “I’ll even act surprised.”

“What if I asked you now? Would you say yes now?”

Chloe wanted to cry. “Are you asking now?”

“Yeah,” Beca said. “I think I am.”

“You have to actually ask me,” Chloe said, tears coming quickly now. 

Beca laughed and sniffed and cleared her throat. “Chloe Beale, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Chloe replied, her voice hiccuping as she half laughed and half cried. “But you have to promise me we aren’t going camping for our honeymoon.”

“After this, I’m never going camping again.” 

Beca hurried to wipe her eyes before kissing Chloe for what felt like the last time. 

Darkness had truly fallen now, and she knew their time was short. 

“The ring is in the bottom drawer of my desk. The one with the lock. Key is taped to the back of our photo,” she said. 

Her brief moment of joy was now being replaced by the fear that had followed them all day. 

It was coming. 

She could hear the snapping of sticks in the distance as it made its way over to them. 

“You can give it to me yourself when we get home,” Chloe replied. She could feel it too. Could feel the fear radiating out of Beca as the lamp in their tent began to flicker and die. 

They were plunged into darkness. 

The only thing they could hear was their own ragged breaths. 

“Beca. I love you.”

Beca didn’t reply, because she was already gone. 

-

The darkness lifted so slowly, Beca thought maybe she was just imagining it. Maybe her eyes were finally adjusting after so long in the pitch black. 

But then it got brighter. 

She thought it was the sunrise, but she knew that morning was still hours away. 

What was that old saying her grandmother had said about a red sky at night?

She reached for Chloe’s hand, but Chloe wasn’t there. 

There was no use delaying the inevitable. 

Beca unzipped the tent and stepped out into the blood red sky. 

The ground was cold beneath her bare feet, the wind bit at her now completely naked body, and her breath fogged in front of her face.

This wasn’t the same forest she’d been in only hours before. 

Before her was a clearing free from trees, and in the middle was that wooden structure from her nightmare. 

Beca began to sob.

No no no no no no no

God

Please

Her feet moved of their own accord towards the hut, and the door creaked open to welcome her inside. 

It was so cold. 

The red light filtered through the single window above the door and she could make out the shape of a creature crouched in the shadows.

The door slammed shut.

No no no 

It stood. Its presence filled the space.

It was taller than the height of the hut, and it had to hunch over as it stood.

Its body was too long. The back of its head was flat against the ceiling as it looked down at her.

Red eyes and a smiling mouth with too many teeth. Ram-like horns and hooved feet. Thick matted black hair.

Beca began to tremble.

In her mind she begged and pleaded and prayed but not a sound left her mouth.

She was mute with terror, the same way she’d been as a little girl.

The cabin smelled of the cold. Of rotten leaves and neglect. Of animal waste and rotting meat.

Please god oh please please I want to go home please let me go home

This creature looming over her made no sound. It simply stared.

Like it was deciding what to do with her.

Beca knew she was in the presence of something ancient and terrible.

It was older than anyone alive. Older than the country it lived in. Older than the Gods.

She also knew that this creature was dying.

It was the last of its kind.

And Beca was here to fulfil a promise she’d made when she was four years old.

No words had been spoken but Beca had understood that when she’d left this hut as a child, that she would be expected to return. She would be expected to help.

And Beca had wordlessly agreed.

Yes. Anything. I want to go home. I want my Mommy and Daddy.

It had even left its mark so it would be able to find her again.

It’s why Beca had flat out refused to go hiking again as a child, until every part of the experience had been lost from her memories.

She knew now what would be required of her.

Without telling her body to do it, Beca backed up until she hit a wall, and then she slid down it.

Not this not this not this not this

Her mind screamed and tears rolled down her cheeks, mixing with the fresh blood now dripping from her scarred cheek.

No no no no no no no no no

The creature began to fall apart.

Its horns crumbled into dust. 

Its eyes melted in their sockets and ran down its snout like tears.

Its fur fell away in clumps.

Its skin and flesh sloughed off its yellowing brittle bones.

It was nothing but a pile of bones and teeth and viscera. 

Beca was not comforted by this, and she began to cry harder as she saw movement in that pile.

I don’t want this not this not this please please Jesus fuck please

She remained silent and completely paralyzed as what was left of this monster began crawling towards her.

She couldn’t move an inch. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t scream. All she could do was watch.

-

Chloe was pacing her apartment, a cut chewed into her lip, a headache pushing against the backs of her eyes.

“Chloe, can you sit down and eat something?” Aubrey asked, her own head pounding as she watched her best friend pace backwards and forwards. “I know you think we’re going to hear something today, but-”

“It’s been three days,” Chloe snapped. “She’s been gone for three days and the last time she was taken she turned up three days later.”

“I know,” Aubrey said, trying to keep her voice calm. Trying to sound rational. “You told me what she told you. Even if that is what’s going on here, pacing a hole in the floor won’t make the phone ring any faster.”

“I can’t sit still,” Chloe said. “If it lets her go…” Chloe trailed off. It had to let her go. The alternative was unthinkable. “When it lets her go, I need to be ready. Who knows where she’ll end up, so I’ll need to be ready to leave at a moment-”

Chloe’s phone ringing and buzzing from the countertop cut her off.

“I can’t,” Chloe said, suddenly frozen in place. “Aubrey, please, I can’t.”

Aubrey nodded and answered.

“Chloe Beale’s phone, Aubrey Posen speaking,” Aubrey said, in her best lawyer voice. “Oh my god are you serious? You found her?!” Aubrey’s eyes were wide as she looked at Chloe. “Wait, she’s where? How did she - you know what, never mind, we’ll get there as soon as we can.”

Chloe felt relief flood through her like someone had opened a valve of it in her brain.

Beca was alive.

“Oh,” Aubrey said, her shoulders dropping. Chloe’s stomach dropped with them. “I’m sorry I think you have the wrong person, Beca isn’t… You’re sure? Like 1000% positive because if I tell her fiance this and you’re wrong I swear I will sue you to… Okay. Shit. Okay. Um, thank you detective. I’ll speak to Chloe now and we’ll… Yeah, we’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“Well?!” Chloe demanded as soon as Aubrey put the phone down. 

“Chloe, sit down.”

“I’m not-”

“Sit down.”

Aubrey’s voice left no room for augment. Chloe sat down at the kitchen table. She fiddled with her engagement ring, twisting it around her finger as she waited for Aubrey to speak.

“She’s alive,” Aubrey said. “They found her in a Walmart parking lot and they took her to a nearby hospital. The detective is going to text the address.” 

“Is she okay?”

“She’s in labour.”

Chloe blinked. Thought for a second she was having some kind of stroke. Or maybe a hallucination from lack of sleep. 

Then her shoulders sank the same way Aubrey’s had. “It’s not her,” Chloe said. “Beca wasn’t pregnant.”

“Chloe-”

“Beca wouldn’t have cheated on me. And even if she did, even if she was somehow miraculously pregnant, she was certainly not pregnant enough to be in labour.”

“She’s asking for you,” Aubrey said. “That’s what the detective said.”

“‘Bree, this is impossible,” Chloe said, her voice breaking. 

“So is a lot of the stuff you’ve told me in the past 72 hours,” Aubrey said. “Maybe the detective is wrong. Maybe something else is going on here. But we have to find out, right?”

Chloe nodded. “Let’s go.”

-

They arrived at the hospital the next afternoon, after an overnight flight and long drive in a rental car.

The detective met them at the entrance.

“Ms Beale? Ms Posen? I’m Detective Farrow. Please follow me.”

“How is she?” Chloe asked, her hands shaking as she followed the detective through the winding halls of the hospital.

“Okay, considering,” he said. “Still in labour, though I hear it won’t be much longer. Seems like the baby was waiting for you before making its entrance.”

There’s no baby, Chloe thought.

“When can we see her?” Aubrey asked.

“Not sure, not my circus so to speak. Down to the doctors,” he said. “You should have given the police and mountain rescue folks a heads up about her being pregnant by the way.”

“She wasn’t pregnant.”

“You thought she was just gaining weight or something?”

“Look,” Chloe snapped, pulling out her phone. “Here is a picture I took of her two days before she went missing.”

The detective frowned as he looked at the photo. 

“Huh,” he said. “I’ll be damned. Late bloomer, I guess, in the stomach department.”

Chloe was starting to get annoyed with this guy.

“Can you find someone I can talk to about my fiance?” She asked. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but there was a series of shouts coming from a room up ahead. He turned, his hand resting on his gun.

A man in scrubs came stumbling out of the room looking horrified. Chloe saw the name Mitchell scrawled on the whiteboard outside the door.

Her feet started moving before her mind could make sense of what was happening, and Aubrey’s hand closed around her arm, pulling her to a stop.

“Everything okay, doc?” The detective asked.

The doctor shook his head, practically tripping over himself to get away from the room.

“Has something happened to Beca?” Chloe asked, her voice shaking. “To the baby?”

“That… That’s no fucking baby,” he said.

The screams and shouts continued coming out of Beca’s room and more doctors and nurses began fleeing.

Chloe pulled her arm free of Aubrey’s grasp and she ran for the door.

She took a deep breath before she pushed it open.

In the days that would follow, a smartly dressed man would arrive and introduce himself as being a part of the FBI. 

Beca and Chloe neither checked nor cared if his credentials were real.

He promised he would help, but only if Beca could tell him exactly what happened.

Beca couldn’t, and he would leave seemingly disappointed.

That same night, a nurse would tell Beca, with a straight face, that her baby had died. They could see her mouth twist at the word ‘baby’. 

Beca had no reaction, and Chloe was secretly relieved.

Beca would tell Chloe months later that she thought the FBI guy took it. She would tell her that she hoped it wasn’t suffering, but that she also hoped it was dead.

But that was all to come. 

Right now, Chloe had to confront the horror she had just walked in on.

Beca was on the bed, staring blankly out of the window to her right, her legs still in stirrups.

The room was empty of medical staff, and Chloe could hear the dripping sound of blood hitting the floor as it ran from in between Beca’s legs.

They hadn’t even covered her up before they fled.

Chloe’s hands were on her mouth as her eyes travelled up Beca’s body.

On Beca’s chest was something small. Hairy. Horned and hoofed. Chloe could make out the red of its eyes as its razor sharp teeth bit and tore at Beca’s breast.

It lapped up the blood that flowed.

Chloe swallowed. 

“Beca?”

Beca’s head turned. Her eyes were hazy. Glazed over. Lost. 

Somewhere in there, Chloe could see her fiance begging for help.

“Hi Chlo’,” she said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “Have you come to meet my son?” 

[atimesfeeler]

Dealing with my chronic pain by going into extreme detail about Wade’s.

…

Tummy troubles plagued him. Who knew his liver had anything to do with what food he could keep down, but apparently liver cancer was a bitch to live with. It didn’t matter what he ate, after the cancer grew back, it all tasted like ash and sat heavily in his stomach. Before he was diagnosed, Wade would throw up most of what he ate and couldn’t figure out a pattern to what food tasted good and what food tasted bad.

Lung cancer was Wade’s arch nemesis. Coughing was a sure fire way to alert the whole wide world that he was sick. He even coughed up blood sometimes and it was like he was in every cliche movie ever where the character coughed up blood into a handkerchief even if they just had hypothermia. That was rarer. Most of the time his regeneration abilities were able to keep the worst symptoms at bay but Wade’s lungs always inched and tickled, like he had to cough. Most of the time he wheezed when he overexerted himself or talked too much and he hated the reminder of his weakness. It really sucked when he wheezed during a fight when his lungs suddenly decided to start to collapse again.

Wade wasn’t even going to go into prostate cancer symptoms. The readers could look that up on their own time. All he was going to say was there were a lot of frustrated nights spent in the bathroom cursing the world and thinking about cutting the damned thing out of his body.

Brain cancer was one of those cancers that had a little bit of everything. Muscle weakness, dizziness, cognitive malfunction, nausea, sensory stuff- you name it. There was always a headache present in Wade’s mind even though the dizziness and the tripping and tumbling over parts were less common. Wade would often get an intense feeling of weakness or a sudden wave of vertigo before the regeneration factor fixed it and gave him whiplash. Wade learned how to deal with it. He fought with clumsily and erratic movements, half falling into them and getting lost in the instability of his own mind. Sometimes Wade could push his body further than most because his sensory input would stop working and a reduced sensation of touch would make him act impulsively. His special brand of crazy could be chalked up to the tumor growing in various parts of his brain. Wade wondered if his four wall breaks were really mental breaks from the feeling of his brain pushing against his skull.

Those cancers were the most present. The og cancers. The ones he was diagnosed with. But then his regeneration ability made him just one big tumor all over. His entire body had been regrown at some point so Wade technically had every cancer. There was this burning, aching feeling underneath his skin, deep in his muscles, ligaments, joints, and nerves. He had it all. Super Chronic Pain. Chronic Pain 1000.

[paisholotus]

Now Playing: Until The End Of Time~ Justin Timberlake

Ashia's Pov

Miami, Florida

A/N: This Mf is very LONG 😅 but I hope y'all enjoy 💜

Hours later.

We were back at our place and Aaron quietly walked to the guest room that'll he'll be staying in. "He didn't say anything the whole ride back." I said, to you getting water from the kitchen.

You shrugged, taking a sip from the bottle of water I handed you and leaned against the counter. "Yeah, he's been kinda quiet, hasn't he? Something's bothering him." You said, looking at me.

"You think he's nervous about staying here?" I asked you.

You looked like you were thinking for a moment, taking another sip of water. "Possibly. I mean, it's a lot to take in. We're basically taking him in, no questions asked. That has to be a little intimidating." You said, frowning a bit.

"Mm, he seemed to be warming up to my sister a little." I said, smiling, pulling leftovers out the fridge.

You smirked a little at that. "Yeah, definitely. I saw the way he was looking at her too. The boy's got a crush. You know they kinda disappeared for a little while. No doubt they went upstairs." You said, giving me a knowing look.

"Aye!" I said, playfully pointing at you. "She's not like that."

"I know." You chuckled, holding up your hands. "But, they both young. And, you can tell that they was feeling each other. Kinda like how we are." You said, smirking lowly at me.

You stepped closer to me, putting your arms around my waist. "You know you're the only girl for me, right?" You whispered, looking into my eyes, making my stomach swim.

"Mhm, only yours." I mumbled, slowly wrapping my arms around your neck.

"That's right. You're all mine, you hear me?" You pulled me closer to you, holding me tightly.

I licked my bottom lip and looked down to yours and nodded, "Yeah."

You smirked, looking down at me. Placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, then on my nose. Your hands roaming over my body, giving my ass a soft squeeze. "Damn right you are." You grumbled.

I laughed pressing my face into your chest feeling my cheeks getting warm, thankful you weren't able to see my blush. "So possessive you are." I mumbled.

You chuckled, pulling me even closer to you if that was even possible and squeezed my ass harder. "Yep. You're mine. I ain't gonna share you." You said, pressing my back against the counter.

I reached under your shirt and traced my nails up and down your back, "didn't say you had to." You groaned softly and placed me on the counter. "Good. Because I don't plan on it." You nuzzled my neck gently, your lips tracing a soft path along my skin.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around you tightly, running my fingers through your hair. "Awe, you don't want to share, Papa?" I teased, nibbling your ear.

You growled softly against my neck, nipping playfully at my skin. "Hell no. I ain't sharing you with anybody. You're all mine, baby."

"That's fine." Kisses along your neck and jaw, "Because I don't want anyone else." I said, biting down softly, making small hickeys.

Brian's Pov

I sucked in a breath as you nibbled my ear. I shivered, feeling a wave of desire wash over me. "Good Mama..." I groaned, pulling you tighter against me. My hands wandered lower down your body, slowly exploring every inch of you.

"Imma good mama for you papa?" You whispered sucking on my sweet spot. I let out a soft moan as you sucked on my sweet spot. My hands gripped tighter at your waist and ass, my body pressed against yours. "Oh God, baby...you're so good. So fucking good..."

I groaned softly, my body aching for you. Your touch, your body against mine, your voice whispering in my ear...it was driving me insane. I leaned in suddenly, catching your lips in a passionate kiss.

"Mmm, missed you, Daddy." You whispered. I deepened the kiss, my tongue meeting yours in a dance. I pulled you closer, my body pressed tightly against yours. "I missed you too, Mama...So damn much..."

"I love you." You said in between our kisses. I broke the kiss for a moment, my breathing heavy. I looked into your brown eyes, my own eyes burning with desire. "I love you too, sweetheart. So damn much." I leaned in, planting a trail of soft kisses from your jawline to your collarbone.

The way you softly moaned my name dragging your nails down my back under my shirt lit a fire in me. I gently pulled at the hem of your shirt, my hands roaming over your skin. My lips continued to explore your neck, my tongue tracing the curve of your collarbone. "You taste so good, Mama." You then wrapped your legs around me making me lift you off the counter.

I carried you to our room and I playfully tossed you on the bed making us both laugh as I crawled on top of you. "God, you drive me crazy woman..."

You giggled and cupped my cheeks. I chuckled softly, the sound of your giggles only adding fuel to the fire. I leaned in to kiss you again, my body pressing you further against the bed. My hands pinned your wrists above your head, my tongue exploring your mouth with a fierce hunger.

I broke the kiss, my breathing heavy. I looked into your eyes, a smirk playing on my lips. "God, you're so damn sexy Mama...the way you taste, the way you feel...." I looked past those chocolate brown eyes and raked over your curves. The thickness of your thighs the slight chubbyness of your stomach. You had tiny stretch marks on your sides, and i knew you were insecure about them sometimes. But, it didn't change the way i thought about you. I looked back to your eyes and bit my bottom lip. "God, look at you...so fucking beautiful."

You slowly wrapped your legs around my waist and smiled, "I think we're beautiful people." You whispered.

I chuckled softly, leaning down to hover over you. My eyes roamed over your body for the millionth time, taking in every curve and contour.

"Damn right we are, baby...you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen."

Hours later

"Fuck daddy." You moaned. Your hips moving against my thrusts, your arms wrapped around my neck. I groaned loudly, my body shuddering as your hips moved against mine. Your words, your arms wrapped around me, your body pressed against mine...it was nearly too much to handle. You felt so warm around me. It felt like you were made for me and only me. My mind started to feel dazed, as you clenched around me. "God yes...Mama...damn that-" I couldn't even get the words out, everything just felt too much.

I leaned down, nipping softly at your collarbone. My tongue traced a path up your neck to your ear, my breath hot against your skin. You were so good and tight around me. "You feel so good, sweetheart." I whispered, kissing the side of your temple.

She cupped my jaw and gave me the sloppiest kiss, "right there. Right there." She mumbled, against my lips, panting.

I groaned as you kissed me, my body on fire with desire. I increased the pace, my hips moving faster against yours. Your words, your lips, your body...It was all too much. Never have I ever experienced something this intense with any woman. "Oh fuck, Mama." I moaned, feeling you grip my hips. "Shit..."

You kissed me all over my face and looked deep into my eyes making me whimper. I leaned in to kiss you, my tongue exploring your mouth in a slow, languid dance. My hands roamed over your body, touching and exploring every inch of you. I wanted to memorize every detail, every contour, every sound you made. I quickly placed your legs on my shoulders, hearing your breath hitch as I hit that spot over and over.

Placing my forehead against yours as you yelled my name, seeing tears hit the corners of your eyes. I kissed your face and laced our hands together. "I love you Shia. So fucking much I love you, Mama." I whispered, against your jawline, feeling your legs start to shake.

"C-coming." You whimpered back a sob. I licked my thumb and reached in between us and rubbed your clit rapidly. I felt your body tense up, and I knew you were close. I quickened my pace, my hips pressing against yours faster and harder. My mouth was against your neck, my breath hot and heavy. "That's it. Mama, cum for me. You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you." You wrapped your legs around me tighter and held the back of my head, chanting I love yous over and over.

Pressure started to build in my stomach as I closed my eyes and moaned loudly in your neck. I couldn't stop it if I wanted to. "Fuck...s-say it again. T-tell me you love me." I stuttered my thrusts getting sloppy.

You repeated you loved me over and over as I looked into your eyes that were welling up along with mine. And, something broke in me as I looked at you. "F-fucck. You're mine. You're mine baby." I leaned down and kissed you lips one more time before my body gave out and I came deep inside your walls.

Ashia's Pov

We both came together and held each other tightly.

You held me close, my body shuddering with pleasure. I buried my face in the crook of your neck, breathing deeply. My hand slowly moved through your hair, gently caressing you.

"God, Mama...that was...damn..." You whispered, laying your head on my chest.

I hummed and continued to drag my nails along your scalp.

You chuckled softly, my hands gently caressing your back as I held you close. Your body felt so good against mine, so perfect. I could feel my heart racing, my breathing still heavy.

"You're so damn amazing, sweetheart..." You whispered, lifting your head up to look at me. "Am I?" I mumbled, smiling lowly. You laced our hands back together and looked into my eyes, with a genuine smile on your face.

"Hell yeah, baby. You're incredible. Smart, beautiful, funny, strong. I still don't know what you're doing with me, but damn I'm glad you are." I smiled but then it fell as I frowned, "I hate when you say that." I pouted.

You chuckled, your thumb gently rubbing against my bottom lip. "Oh yeah? Why's that?" You asked.

"Because you don't give yourself enough credit." I said, rubbing your cheek.

Brian's Pov

I shrugged, my gaze softening as I looked at you. "Maybe. I'm not exactly a saint, you know. My past...it ain't pretty. I've done things that I'm not proud of. I ain't perfect, Mama." I said.

"I'm not perfect either." You said. I raised an eyebrow, my hand brushing your now frizzy curly hair away from your face. "True. But you're damn close to it, Mama. Way closer than I am." I said.

"What if I said I felt that way about you?" She said. I smiled softly, my hand gently cupping your cheek. "Then you're biased. And a little blind, to be honest. I'm no saint, sweetheart. Far from it." I whispered.

You chuckled, "and I'm not a saint either I've done things that I'm not proud of, that you know of." You whispered. I knew what you were referring to. When you tried to take you life. Or the time you once told me you wanted to die. You told me you struggled with depression and Anxiety alot. You smile, "Done and said alot of things I'm not proud of." You said.

I felt a pang in my chest as you brought up those moments. The memories of when you were in a dark place, when you were hurting. I brushed my thumb delicately along your jawline, meeting your gaze. "Baby...you know that's not the same. You were in a dark place, in pain. That wasn't you. Not the real you." I mumbled.

"It is the same. I knew what I was doing and I did it. I'm not proud of it but it was me that did it." You said, running your leg along my side.

I sighed, my heart heavy as I looked at you. "I know. But...you're just too damn hard on yourself, sweetheart. You don't see how amazing you are. All the good things about you. You just focus on the bad. And I don't like it." I said.

You smiled and chuckled. "Well, I think someone needs to take their own advice. Because that's all you focus on. And I don't like it either. I don't understand how you can't see how an amazing person you are. And that's not me being biased, that's because it's the truth." She said, pecking my lips. "Brian, I want you to listen to me. Brian, i know you have your flaws and I'm saying who doesn't? But, despite that i love you and I don't think you're a terrible person. You're a good person. Yet you give yourself such a hard time at accepting someone can love you." She said.

I smirked as you hit me, amused by your feisty side. But the amusement faded quickly as my gaze grew serious. Your words cut deep, hitting closer to home than I cared to admit. "It's not about accepting love, Mama. I know you love me. But sometimes...sometimes I wonder why. Like what the hell did I do to deserve someone like you, you know?" I said, lowly.

"Brian. You're my everything. Because you aren't just a regular person, you are a certain type of person I hold so close to me. I mean when I first met you, I genuinely thought you were just like every other play boy. But, once I got to know you, i knew you were the one for me. I remember sitting at the table with Tej and Suki at the garage. Telling them how grateful I was of you. And, before meeting you it was hard to give my heart to someone else. But, you made it easy. You are my sweet boy. You are forever irreplaceable, I would literally do anything for you in a heartbeat. You're the type of person to light up the entire room when you step into it. You make me feel safe and complete. And, I know that if I would be in trouble or if something went down, I would know you would be there to protect me. You know that I can protect myself, but for me to confidently say I know you'd be there brings me peace. You make me smile when sometimes there's nothing to smile about. You are my biggest supporter, along with the rest of our friends. Through everything you've been through your soul has remained kind. You're an amazing person You're my person, and I couldn't imagine my life without you."

As I listened to your words, I felt a lump form in my throat. Your honesty and vulnerability hit me like a punch to the gut. I had never seen myself the way you did, and hearing you describe me like this...it was overwhelming.

"I...Jesus, Mama. You...God." I pulled you close, my arms wrapped around you tightly, my face buried in your shoulder. "I don't deserve you." I whispered, feeling my eyes welling up.

"That's why I'm with you" She said, cupping my cheeks cheeks. "You are my sweet boy." I looked deep into your eyes. "You make me fall in love with you every day." She whispered, kissing my lips as I felt myself cry. Never in my life did I think I could be this vulnerable with a person. Or love a person the way i love you.

I moaned against the kissed and pulled away as you brushed my tears away. "I love you. So much."

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 18

Kinktober Masterlist dis manibus - "for the ghost" Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader Kinks > possessive, dub con, ghosts?? Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

In your little town of Sleepy Hollow, it’s usually not hard to make the news. But, when the headlines start bringing up ghosts from the past, and your fellow residents make claims that a ghoulish biker is attacking drivers on Route 330, you start to regret being the lone journalist in town. Legend has it that the masked rider is on the hunt for the most perfect sacrifice, and he won’t stop his reign of terror until he finds it.

Warning: actual ghosts, possession, dub con?, general spookiness

Yellowed teeth and a dangling cigarette, the stench of sweat and cheap tobacco, shaky hands and disordered movements, plus a wardrobe of ill-fitting, oil-stained jorts with a crooked-cropped Bud Light tee shirt completed Brandi Reddman’s signature look. Mrs. Reddman was standing in her usual spot outside of a dilapidated Pilot truck stop on the corner of Hatchet and Simmons. But, the leather-skinned, bleached-blonde, trailer park queen didn’t go by her late husband’s surname anymore. She preferred to be called by her well-earned title: Beaumont Brandi.

“And don’t you go putin’ no damn Reddman on my fuckin’ report,” she glared at you from her perch on the bright red bollard just outside her favorite Pilot truck stop, “Don’t even know what I’m gettin’ a goddamn ticket for. Two consentin’ adults can do whatever the hell they like, cain’t they? Ain’t this still America?”

“Ms. Brandi,” you sighed, “I’m not a cop. I’m a reporter. And I’m not sure what you want me to do when Mr. Brunson calls me down here to tell me about you tearing up his dumpsters again. You know there's a whole town full of people upset about the destruction of property here.”

Your stomach turned just thinking about writing this ridiculous article. What would the title even be? The Trash Takes Itself Out: a Sleepy Hollow tale. Or, Lot Lizard Strikes Again! With a full cover spread? No. This could not be your life. You tried to control the look of disdain on your face. 

“It wasn’t even me! That asshole is crazy!” Brandi protested, the cigarette in her mouth holding onto her dry, cracking lip with nothing more than God’s will at this point. 

“He said he saw you and a certain truck driver come out of the alcove just a few hours ago,” you reiterated.

“Hell, no. I ain’t gonna fuck no John in no smelly-ass dumpster. I’m a high class lady,” Brandi gestured to her ensemble, “And I’m tellin’ you, that lock was busted before I even stepped over here this mornin’. It’s that damn haint is what it is.”

The Haint of Sleepy Hollow. The Hollow’s Hell Rider. The Ghoul of 330. He went by many names, or sometimes, he was just called The Ghost. 

Back in the late seventies when everyone was doing a little too much of everything, your town earned a bit of a reputation. There had been a string of disappearances off of the local highway, Route 330, and locals claimed to have seen a masked soldier on a motorbike, fresh home from Saigon, carrying his M16 slung across his back and wearing a skull mask over his face. He was riding an Indian 900, blacked out with no headlight and no plate. 

Of course the truckers had been the first ones to sound the alarm, and there was a city-wide manhunt for any bikers matching that description. But back then, no one had cameras in their hands as readily as they did now, so it was all just a bunch of hearsay and over-exaggerated stories about the boogeyman. 

But, that’s all it was. Just stories. There was no masked rider. 

“Hey, you got another one of those?” Brandi pointed to the pack of smokes in your pocket that you’d brought along to bribe her with. 

You sighed, lighting one for her and then for you. You told yourself you needed it to get through the rest of this conversation. 

As she took a long drag, her timbre changed. She became quieted by her own voice, it seemed.

“I seent him, though. He was there. Parked under the bridge.”

She pointed to the overpass, her wrinkled finger trembling a bit as she guestered to the black shadows under the highway. You followed her line of sight, trying to imagine a dark rider in a skull mask, parked in the umber and looking for vengeance in the most boring town in New England. 

“Did he do anything?” You asked, trying your best to scrounge up something more interesting than sex work in gas station parking lots for this write up. 

Beaumont Brandi stared into the darkness with you, remembering… or maybe she was just fucking with you. But, it didn’t seem like it. She took another puff of smoke into her mouth, hissing it out through her stained teeth, 

“No, but it felt like he was looking for somethin’. Felt… lonely. I dunno.”

Shaking you from the eerie moment Brandi had crafted between you both, a big, rumbling Mack truck pulled into the back lot, turning your gaze away from the bridge. Your interviewee hurried to smoke one more pull from her pilfered cigarette and gathered up her glittery, denim purse. 

“That’s my ride. See you around,” she said, her voice still distant and restrained, lacking all of the ruffled animosity she’d presented to you earlier. 

You stayed there, watching her scamper across the wide, drab concrete field, dodging pot holes and puddles, heading for the blue semi that had just parked in the trucker wash station. You watched her until she knocked on the door, standing on her tiptoes to reach the wide passenger window, shuffling around until the latch popped open and she disappeared inside. 

The dark hollow of the highway’s bridge caught your gaze as you turned away from Brandi and her “ride”, and a cold chill shot down your spine. As you peered into the shadowy underpass, a lone biker, all in black, was sitting on his Indian motorcycle, staring right at you. His body was enormous. Even though the bike he rode was large, he was simply unfathomably tall and broad. When he leaned forward on the handlebars, idling there, his shoulders bulged in his leathers, threatening to break free. He was wearing a full-face helmet, but you could feel his eyes burning into your skin. 

The problem was, you had no idea how he got there. You hadn’t heard his engine rev, and you knew you would’ve been able to listen to the roar echo through the underside of the highway, it’s enclosure making an accidental amplifier. 

You stared back at him, but you reached into your pocket and clutched your car keys. Everything in your body was telling you to run. So, you quickly turned away, needing to force yourself to break your gaze, making yourself walk briskly back to your beat-up Miata. 

Get in, and drive away, you told yourself. Get in. Drive away. Get in…

You were trying to calm yourself down, your mind feeding you a million excuses as to why you hadn’t heard him approach, or telling yourself it was just a guy on a bike and not a ghost, but you could still feel your heart in your throat, pounding away like a fist inside your veins. 

Popping open the door to your car, you climbed in and immediately shut it behind you. Luckily, the soft canvas top of your ratty old convertible was already pulled up, but the sooner you got back to your apartment, the better you would feel. You cranked the engine, threw it in reverse, and sped off out of the gas station parking lot, sending your work bag spilling out across the floor. 

As you pulled onto Hatchet, you headed east, avoiding 330. You tried to tell yourself it was because you enjoyed the senic route instead of the shorter path, but you knew that was a lie. 

Behind you, you heard the roar of a bike. 

You looked in your rearview mirror, but you didn’t see any headlights. Then, as you checked the side mirror, you saw him. It was the blacked out biker from the bridge. He was riding close to your back wheel, sitting in your blindspot, staring hard at you. 

He followed you for miles. You doubled back, avoiding red lights, trying to make circles so he would get tired of tailing you, but he never did. If anything, he was getting braver and braver, moving his bike up and down the length of your car. Getting in your way, toying with you just to get a reaction. 

You tried to speed up, but your junker was no match for his machine. So, you turned into a neighborhood, trying to lose him in the curvy, bumpy side streets. 

He followed, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. With every turn, he would drive up next to your window to peer inside, staring straight into your eyes. You almost hit the curb, and when you finally exited the neighborhood, you took a right, trying to race him on a wider road. 

It was one lane, but he didn’t seem to care. He reached out and planted his gloved hand on the glass of your driver’s side window as if he was trying to touch you through it, and you screamed at him through the glass, illogically,

“Leave me alone!”

He threw his head back, and you knew he was jeering at you. If a masked, faceless being could laugh, that’s what it would look like. 

You had no idea what else to do, so you got aggressive. You swerved, trying to sideswipe him, desperate to get rid of your masked tormentor. 

He dodged, nimbly moving himself out of your way. Then, he was right behind you, so you slammed on the brakes. 

There was no way for him to stop in time. No way. 

But, it didn’t matter. You watched in horror in your mirror as his bike and his body dematerialized, and he faded into a black mist, filling the interior of your tiny car, and reconstituting itself in your passenger seat. Your nose filled up with the smell of stale cigarettes and something undeniably masculine. His body filled in next to you in inky layers, pouring from a gas to a solid like smoke into a bottle, and what was supposedly impossible was becoming very, very real in your car. 

You screamed, pressing the brakes even harder, coming to a full, screeching stop in the middle of the road. No one was behind you yet, but you wished there would be. You prayed for someone - anyone - to turn down your street and find you stopped in the middle of it. 

The ghost - because what else could he be? - was staring straight at you, as if he was waiting for something.

“Leave me alone,” you begged, your voice feeling so small and strained. 

You were staring into your own eyes, seeing your face as it was warped and contorted in the gleaming black shine of his helmet visor. Suddenly, you felt your car lurch forward, and it was moving on its own. You tried to turn the wheel, and your foot was glued down onto the brake, but nothing you did mattered. The car was driving itself.

You yanked at your seatbelt and pulled on the door handle, trying to throw yourself from the car, but it wouldn’t budge. You ripped at the handle even harder, trying to slam your shoulder into the door, ignoring the pain. In a last-ditch effort, you reached into the steering column and pulled the keys from the car, hoping to kill the engine. But, it didn’t. Your vehicle was taking you wherever your ghost wanted to go, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

With your keys held tightly in your fist, you lashed out at the biker, using the metal shards to rake across his mask, scratching the visor. 

The speed with which he reacted startled you, and as his hand wrapped itself around your wrist, he tilted his head to the side as if to study you, curious about you and your choices. 

You felt your throat burn with despair, and tears ran from your eyes. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, trying to pull your wrist away. 

He yanked your arm to his chest, tugging your body closer to his, forcing you into his space and taking you almost out of your seat, if it wasn’t for your belt. 

You were face to helmet with him, and you could smell the menthols that inexplicably clung to his clothes. He could touch you, and you could touch him. He felt so real, so warm. And yet…

Slowly, he reached out to you with his other hand to touch your face, caressing your cheek and wiping away a stray tear. The feel of his leather glove was so gentle against your skin, it made your head spin. His earlier aggression was still fresh in your mind, and you sobbed from the fear. 

Out of nowhere, a pickup truck swerved around your stopped car, blaring its horn at you, kicking up dirt from the side of the road, obviously upset at the stopped Miata in the middle of a street. 

In the few seconds your attention was snatched from the ghost in front of you, he disappeared. Your passenger seat was immediately empty, and you were alone once more. Your car was dead since your keys were in your hand, and the clicking of a warm engine cooling down was the only noise you heard. 

Another car was honking behind you, less aggressively than the pickup, but it moved around you and you turned back in your seat. 

As you drove home, you were numb. You couldn’t reconcile anything that happened to you, and you had no words to even describe it. You thought about driving to the police, or to your office so that your phantom biker wouldn’t know where you lived, but something in you laughed at your naivety. Why would that matter? He was a ghost. He could reach you no matter where you were. You might as well leave your front door wide open for how much good it would do you. 

When you finally crawled into bed, you left every light in the house on, but it didn’t help.

It was 0417 when you jerked out of your restless sleep, opening your eyes in your unusually bright room. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down, and the horrors of the night before felt more like a bad dream than a true memory. 

You looked around, trying to determine whether you could manage to go back to sleep or not, when a faint noise pricked your ears. It was coming from outside your apartment window, down in the parking lot below your balcony. 

You sprang out of bed and pulled your curtain. There, parked and sitting on the side of his bike, was your ghost. He was looking up at your window, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he was waiting for you. Waiting for you to say something, to do something. But, you didn’t know what.

Grabbing your keys, you flew out of your door and rushed down the stairs, hurrying to see if you could catch him. But, he was gone. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say to him, but you needed to know the truth. Your instincts as a reporter were driving you forward. You craved answers, needed them. 

You turned back around and headed for your car, starting it up and driving out of your complex, back onto the street. You headed for the highway, and he was waiting for you, parked on the shoulder. He took off, and you followed him, swerving in and out of early morning commuters, pushing your crappy Miata to its limit. 

He took the exit toward the old part of town, turning on the road to Ichabod Farm, cutting his speed and letting you catch up to him. Then, as he got further and further away from civilization, the farms turned into forests, and the roads went from pavement to dirt. Just as the sun was staining the clouds with its pink dawn, he stopped, sticking his leg out as a kickstand, and turned around to look at you. 

You waited, sitting in your car, but after a while, nothing changed. He was still just sitting there, staring back at you. So, you killed the engine, and you climbed out of your car. 

“Who are you?” You called to him, willing your voice to carry in the quiet morning. 

As if he was tired of your questioning, he turned forward. He swung his leg over the body of the bike, and stood beside it, still waiting for you. 

You started walking around to the front of your car, beginning to feel like you were a rabbit being led into its own trap, a lamb to its slaughter, and your skin tightened, the hair prickling on the back of your neck.

He put his hand out, gesturing toward the bike. 

“Do you want me to go with you somewhere?”

He seemed impatient. He stalked forward, marching in black leathers and boots, and grabbed your wrist just like he did in the car. 

“Wait! Hey! Wait, no!” You tried to fight him, but he held you fast, dragging you over to the bike. 

He lifted you without struggle and sat you on the back of his seat, and he climbed in front of you, bringing the bike back to a loud roar. He took off, nearly toppling you over, and in your shock, you wrapped both of your hands around his middle, holding on for dear life. 

To your shock, he turned off of the road and into the trees. The leaves made his tires slip and the roots of the tall yews made the ride bumpy and wild. You gripped him tighter and tighter, trying to remember which direction you were going, sure that he was taking you straight to your death, but just in case you escaped, you wanted to be able to try and make it out of the woods.

Suddenly, you came to a clearing. In the middle of it stood a huge, dead tree. The trunk had been struck by lightning, and the branches hung low, dipping towards the ground. Its roots were gnarled and popping like broken bones out of the dark earth, and it gave you a sense of immediate dread. 

He stopped the bike, throwing down the kickstand and climbing off. Then, he held out his hand to you. 

You looked at his helmet for a moment, trying to determine what he wanted, and then you realized he was trying to help you down. You placed your hand in his and felt him support you as you climbed off of the old motorcycle. 

He released you, and he stood beside you, looking up at the tree. 

You waited for a moment, again unsure about what he was trying to show you, but then you stepped forward. Something compelled you to touch the tree’s wide, twisting trunk. 

You were suddenly aware of the state of your dress. You were in socks, sleep shorts, and a tattered old tee shirt, shivering from fear and from the chilly morning. But, still, you stepped forward, moving with your hand out towards the tree, trying to ignore the pinch of stray rocks and sticks beneath your feet. 

Right before you touched the bark, you looked over your shoulder at the biker, and he was still standing there, waiting for you. 

So, you pushed forward, laying your palm against it, and you were instantly overwhelmed with flashes of images and sounds, memories which were not yours. You saw him. It was your ghost. He was fighting in a war with muskets and swords, and then he was in a trench with grenades. You watched him crawl on his belly through a wet, dense jungle. Then, you felt the heat and the sting of desert sands, and watched him dragging the bodies of his friends from the rubble of a bombed building. 

As quickly as they had begun, the visions stopped. You looked back at the masked rider, and he stepped toward you. His hands went to the neck of his jacket, and he raked the zipper down, revealing his bare chest and belly. He was riddled with scars, but he looked very much like a real man. The jacket fell with a thud on the forest floor, and he moved to shuck off his helmet. 

You watched the reveal with wide eyes and an open mouth. Black, inky smoke surrounded his face. He didn’t have a head. It was only a skull mask, cracked and broken around the edges, perched on him where his face should have been. It was just a swirling darkness, nothing else. His head was gone. 

Your heart nearly stopped.

“What… happened….” You managed to ask, your voice lower than a whisper. 

The helmet clattered to the ground, rolling until it rested against a thick root. 

He walked toward you, and you were staring into two black pits where there should have been soft brown eyes. You’d seen him in the vision. You knew what he should look like. And yet, all you were left with was this ghastly form. 

His body was warm. You could feel it as he towered over you, mere inches away from your face. You reached up to touch his cheek like he had touched yours in the car, and he let you. As your hand swiped across his jaw, you saw flesh appear where there was none before. More and more, you touched him, painting his face back on with your hands. You moved over his eyes and nose and mouth, feeling the softness of his lips and watching in awe as he became a man again. 

“Oh, my God.” You gaped, watching his face twist into an unknown expression, “You’re…”

“You made me real,” he spoke, his words sounded hellish; the noise was a terrible smear of shadow and violence. It was as if a million of voices were speaking at once. 

“I…” You were trying to talk, but he wasn’t interested. 

He leaned forward and slanted his mouth against yours, kissing you with a smoky musk on his tongue, forcing you to open and take his writhing muscle inside of your cheeks. He was breathing just as raggedly as you were, pushing himself onto you, dragging you to the leaf-covered ground. 

He repeated his mantra, gasping it, his timbre full of disbelief,

“You… made me… real…”

His mouth was on you again, the top half of his face still hidden by the skull mask. He kissed your neck, and you felt his gloved hands grabbing at your clothes, shoving down your shorts. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered. 

“You.” His voice reverberated through you like a snarl of thunder. You could feel the sound move through your bones, “You can bring me back to this place.” 

The air was cold as it billowed across your skin when he pulled away your shirt. The leather of his gloves was such a rough contrast to the smooth, furry expanse of his chest and belly, and he crushed himself against you, pressing you with all of his weight into the forest floor. 

Your mind was in a haze. All of the magic and memories from the tree were whirling around you. His many lives, all stacked together, repeated like the rings of its trunk, year after year, his wars, his scars. All of them now real and raised to the touch. 

His mouth moved over you, hungry and wanting. You weren’t ready to be taken so roughly, with so little regard, in the dirty, dank mud of this clearing. But, you wanted to be. You found yourself completely captivated by his movements, his hands, and the way he consumed you, making you feel like you were the key to his entire existence. 

You spread your legs for him, and he had the audacity to laugh softly in his ghostly throat, rolling his hips between your legs to fit himself there, spreading you further with his wide body. 

You felt the button of his leather pants loose and dangling, flapping open against your thighs which meant…

His cock lolled across your mons and belly, warm and hard. He humped himself against you, rutting along the curve of your tummy and teasing you with a preview of his strength. You reached down very slowly, stroking him carefully, barely touching his velvety foreskin, feeling the slip of it as he moved against your hand.

He let out a long, heated moan, his breath warm as it surrounded your neck, and he whispered to you in his million voices,

“Give yourself to me,” he chanted, “Bring me back.”

No sooner could you whisper back your consent than he grabbed you by your jaw and forced you to look into his black, soulless eyes. He notched his cock at your trembling hole, letting it dip into the wetness he had crafted there. Then, he pushed forward, stretching your walls around him, making you take his drooling head, raking himself in and out so that he could go deeper and deeper with each thrust. 

You cried out, grasping your hands around his shoulders, and he squeezed your face in his huge paw, making you feel like he might break your jaw if he held you any tighter. 

Once he was fully sheathed within the hollow of your body, he moved with a powerful, pistoned thrust, slamming himself through you and making your core heat from his friction. You felt yourself being broken by him, the parts of you that were holding together your sanity were slowly slipping away with each punishing movement, and the deeper you allowed him to fuck you, the further away from reality your thoughts were. You were back in his memories, imagining his life before, his warfare, ancient and modern, and all you could think about was why he would want to be back here. What did he want? Was it you?

His hand slipped between your lips, and he pressed into your throat, rubbing your tongue and making your jaw ache from his pressure and invasion. You tried to suckle from him, taking his fingers past your teeth, licking and slurping up your own spit from his glove. 

“Such a good girl. Perfect for me. A new vessel.”

Vessel? What were you holding?

You whined, trying to understand, and he silenced you with a growl, low and deep. He was fucking you at a pace full of fire and fury, and your whole body felt like it was being pounded into submission. You could hear the wet, gushing slapping noises that his cock was making as it churned inside of you. Your legs felt weak, and you couldn’t help but leave them hanging open, allowing him to fill you as deep as he could go. 

Your mouth burned from his fingers, and your pussy was begging to come, clenching and shaking with need. He felt you, and he pushed through your shuddering quim harder and harder, using you to bring himself to his own crescendo, joining you on the edge. 

“You’re mine…” He hissed, moving himself right against your most pliant spot, massaging you up to a tumbling explosion of feeling and fervent want. 

As you came, you screamed, but it was muffled by his invasive hand. He came with you, filling you as you tightened around him, dumping his thick load into your hole, smearing it all over your lips with each covetous thrust. 

Then, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was melting into you, his body turning back into mist, covering your skin and seeping into your flesh. You felt him inside of you, curling and twisting around all of the parts that made you who you were, turning them for his own benefit, staining your soul with his own. 

You gasped, searching for air, watching helplessly as the last thing you saw before he disappeared completely was the black sockets of his skull mask, and it felt like he was smiling. 

You lay there, alone, and yet full of him. He was feeling and sensing and thinking right alongside you. And he was… playing with you. You could feel him moving his cock deep within you even though, when you looked down, there was nothing there. 

“Please…” You begged, closing your legs together, trying to stop the sensation from happening.

“Pretty thing,” the Ghost chuckled, “We’re just getting started.”

[rotworld]

28: Cold-Blooded

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you've known for years that your best friend nor comes from the most dangerous and prominent dragon crime family in town. you've never worried about it too much, but you probably should have.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, manipulation, murder, feral behavior, possessive behavior.

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Red flag number one: Nor shows up at your door two hours before the party. There’s a pair of plastic drycleaning bags slung over his shoulder and he’s dragging a suitcase behind him. You don’t want to let him in but he does that thing you knew he’d do with his big, pretty tourmaline eyes and the saddest, most pathetic pout like a kitten begging to be rescued from a storm drain, and you cave. He waltzes right in like he owns the place and makes a beeline for your bedroom.

“This should be everything,” he says, laying the drycleaning bags out on your bed before he kneels to get the suitcase open. “Yours is on the left. Go ahead and start putting it on, I’ll help you with the ties in a second.” 

“You’re kidding.” You very pointedly don’t get a response. “You said this was a normal party.”

“It is normal,” he insists. “For me.” 

The zipper shrieks apart and he spreads the suitcase open across the floor. There’s an antique wooden box inside that smells faintly of floral perfume, the surface carved with intricate looping symbols that wouldn’t look out of place along the borders of a medieval tapestry. The hinges creak when Nor opens it. Small decorative jars of colorful glass and gold filigree sit in red velvet. There are brushes clasped by leather straps to the inside of the lid, ranging from broad, puffball bristles to very fine points. 

“What does that mean?”

Nor looks up with a pleading expression. “I’ll handle everything, okay? That’s why I brought all this stuff. And I’ll be next to you the whole time, I swear, I don’t even want to go to this stupid thing but my dad won’t get off my ass about it. We’ll just hang out in the corner, eat some food, and slip out when nobody’s paying attention.”

“This is a family thing?” He nods pitifully. How can a dragon, in human skin or otherwise, look so much like a scolded puppy? “Don’t just spring this stuff on me. I would’ve gone if you told me from the start, you don’t have to lie.” It wouldn’t be the first formal event you’ve saved him from and it probably won’t be the last. So why is he being so cagey about it? You pick up the drycleaning bag set aside for you and frown. “Nor,” you say slowly. “What is this?”

He grins, showing off a mouthful of daggers. “It’s your outfit,” he says, knowing damn well that’s not what you meant.

Red flag number two:the “clothes” are a tangle of sashes and scarves that will show far more than they cover. You peel off the plastic and run the material over your fingers. It’s nice for sure, really nice. Each sash is made of sleek black fabric that’s velvety smooth but lightweight and flowing, decorated with embroidery in intricate geometric patterns. The stitching is luminescent and changes color when you look at it from different angles, shimmering in a prismatic cycle from red to blue as you slide it across your palm.

“What kind of party is this, exactly?” you ask. 

“Dinner party with lots of standing around pretending to be important. You know, the usual.”

This certainly doesn’t look usual to you but you lose your train of thought when Nor suddenly undresses without warning or shame. He exhales slowly, pushing stark white hair out of his face and flexing the muscles in his back. 

A line of jagged bone like a miniature mountain ridge juts from his spine, bloodlessly piercing a thin membrane of pseudo-skin. You can see his wings trying to form, an unsettling squirming in the flesh of his shoulders, but he keeps them tucked away for now. His tail snakes out at the very bottom, a lithe rope of solid muscle with stiff thorny protrusions along the top. What used to be a pair of little rounded nubs have grown into snaking upturned horns, brown and rough like tree bark. Skin hardens in glinting patches along his back and down his sides. Nor’s scales are gold and nacreous silver. Seeing him shifted, whether half or whole, always steals your breath.

“I don’t love this either,” he says, his tail flicking irritably. “But it is what it is.” You’re surprised that there’s an identical outfit in the other bag. He puts it on with practiced ease, knowing exactly how and where to loop and tuck and tie each sash. The result is an elegant, form-fitting garment criss-crosses his body that accentuates rather than conceals. His chest is framed with black stripes over and under it, the scales of his hips on display in the gaps left at his sides. Long panels dangle in front of and behind his legs. There’s a strategically spaced gap left for his tail.

Looking him over, you realize it’s not quite the same outfit. His is plain. The sashes are undecorated, lacking any pattern or embroidery. 

“Did you mix these up?” you ask him.

He looks at you, head tilted and pupils narrowed into long slits. “No?” he says, sounding confused. “This one’s for family and that one’s for a, uh…guest. We really need to get started on yours, by the way. We’ve got like a thousand pieces of jewelry to put on each and then I have to do the ceremonial markings.” He gestures at the bottles and brushes. You haven’t even done anything and you’re already feeling overwhelmed.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to embarrass you. Shouldn’t you bring someone, uh…I dunno, prettier?” 

“Don’t ever say that again.” Your heart leaps into your throat when Nor lunges at you. You stumble back, pinned to the edge of your bed when he plants his hands down on either side of you. His eyes are wide and he’s baring his teeth, practically snarling at you. “What does that even mean, ‘embarrass me?’ You’re perfect. If I wanted someone else, I would’ve asked someone else. I want you—” You’re both startled by the sound of his claws ripping through your sheets and mattress. He backs off immediately, tail drooping and claws clutched against his chest like he doesn’t trust them. “I want you to come,” he says sheepishly. “There’s lots of people I could ask, but you’re…special. You always have been.” 

It makes you roll your eyes when he says stuff like that. It’s not that Nor is never sincere, but his reputation as a heartbreaker is legendary. He was a menace in high school and you’ve heard through the grapevine that he hasn’t changed much since, still a pretty face with a silver tongue and habit of never calling back. The two of you were a romcom waiting to happen—a rich boy who never heard the word “no” in his life and the only kid who wouldn’t kiss his ass, but things never went that way. You were the only constant in a rotating roster of fairweather friends who liked his family’s money and lovers he couldn’t be bothered to keep, the only one he’s ever asked to keep him company at these stiff family get-togethers.

You hold up the sash again, grimacing. “How do you know this’ll even fit me?” 

“Magic,” Nor says, waving his hand dismissively. “Now come on, hurry up and try it on.” His tail swats your leg when you don’t move fast enough.

It’s not like there’s nothing there. There always has been. Simmering just under the surface, there’s this tension you’re both afraid to acknowledge out loud. Nor insists that you get changed in front of him and watches just a bit too intently when you undress. He stands behind you when he ties the sashes in place, his chest pressed against your back and his breath blowing softly against your ear. He stretches the fabric from your waist to your shoulder and runs his hand over it, smoothing his palm over your skin. You offer to hand him the next one but instead he bends over you, forcing you to bend with him, and reaches for it himself.

You can feel him against your back. His pectorals, the firm, lithe muscle of his abdomen, his cock nestled between your thighs with only the fabric of the sash keeping it from twitching against your skin. He’s cool to the touch but he gets warmer the longer he’s pressed against you, absorbing your body heat. “Nor?” you say, your voice quivering with—nerves? Anticipation? Do you want him to stop or do you wish he’d keep going?

“Yeah?” he says, low and husky. He tilts you back upright and keeps working like nothing happened, stretching the next sash across your body. You shiver when he secures a tie at your neck, the tips of his claws softly grazing your throat. “What? Did you want to ask me something?” The tip of his tail coils loosely around your ankle. 

“Do I get a coat, at least? I’m freezing.” 

He snorts. “Don’t you remember what these are like? It’s a dragon party. You can bring one, but you won’t need it when we get there.”

Nor’s touch still lingers and sometimes grazes somewhere sensitive, but there’s some distance that wasn’t there before. He talks while he gets you ready, reminiscing on all the trouble you used to get up to together at these parties—more accurately, all the trouble he’d get into and you’d witness. Tearing holes in the tablecloths and knocking over very expensive floral arrangements with his tail, sneaking off to the kitchens and begging the chef to make you both an early dessert. She always did. You’re not the only one that sad, soggy cat look works on. 

The ceremonial markings take almost an hour all by themselves but Nor is surprisingly focused and patient when he wants to be. The symbols he draws are small and complicated. You can’t see what he puts on your forehead or neck but the small shapes he draws on your arms and legs are repeating, interlocking shapes, something like broad, flattened diamonds. Scales, you realize. They’re a scale pattern—Nor’s scale pattern. 

The brush tickles when it grazes your stomach. Nor teases you for squirming but he behaves for the most part. You try not to think about why that disappoints you so much. Tucked into a zipper compartment on the other side of the suitcase is a small fortune in gold chains, bangles, rings and necklaces. You don’t want any but Nor insists. “Going to be a little awkward to drive in all this,” you say.

“No worries,” he says. “Dad sent his driver.” 

You’re in the backseat of red flag number three for a drive that is both excruciatingly long and far too brief. The driver is wearing a suit and tie. He calls Nor “sir” and opens the door for you, then doesn’t say another word. It’s late and everything is shadow beyond the headlights and the faint glow of the moon on a winding country road. Nor wants to make conversation but you’re too unnerved to offer more than one-word answers and sounds of acknowledgement. “It’s like a business thing, but also just a fun thing,” he says, trying and failing to put your mind at ease. “A bunch of family friends come over and everyone catches up. We’re nosy. It’s a cultural thing. You’re supposed to announce anything new you’ve got going on, like if you’re going on a trip or getting mated.” 

“Do you have anything to announce?” you ask.

His hand rests on your thigh, thumb tracing the dried scale patterns he drew on your skin. He doesn’t answer. 

Nor’s father lives atop a hill at the edge of town. To call it a house or even a mansion is like calling the ocean “a bit of water.” The sprawling estate has a forest for a yard, complete with a tranquil lake where Nor used to swim as a boy, the water glittering on his scales like morning dew. The home itself is best described as a castle, a three-story complex of gray stone spires. The car pulls into a circle drive with a fountain in the center. Soft orange candle light flickers behind the curtains, not on the first or third floor but exclusively on the second. 

To your horror, Nor’s father is standing outside. He watches the car pull up with a scowl on his face, waiting beneath the arched entryway. He’s dressed like you and Nor but his sashes are far more numerous and extravagant, draped like a robe over his frighteningly tall figure. 

“Am I supposed to be here?” you whisper. “Why is he glaring at me?” You shrink back when the driver opens the door but Nor puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes gently. 

“Yes, you’re supposed to be here. And he’s not glaring at you, he’s glaring at me,” Nor says. He follows you out and grabs your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. “It’s fine,” he insists gently. “Don’t worry, okay? Just trust me. I’m going to take care of everything.” 

You want to ask him what the hell that’s supposed to mean but you never get the chance because his father walks over. Druezaghrath never makes himself more than half-human. He looms over both of you, amber eyes flicking back and forth in black sclera. His scales are gold and his horns are much larger than Nor’s, but they arch straight back instead of curling up like his son’s. 

“You’re nearly late, Norlathellios,” he rumbles.

Nor cranes his neck and looks his father in the eye without flinching. “Can’t be late to my own fucking announcement,” he says. “What’re you gonna do? Start without me?” 

Druezaghrath narrows his eyes and smoke trickles from his nostrils. His tail thrashes, striking the concrete behind him hard enough to shatter it. His gaze flicks to you when you flinch at the sound and you avert your eyes. “Save your defiance. You have a challenger.”

“Fine.” Nor squeezes your hand. You don’t want to follow him when he starts moving. You dig your heels in. Something is wrong here, about all of this. Nor looks back at you with that sad expression but it doesn’t work this time. “Come on,” he says, tugging your hand a little harder. “I told you, it’s fine.” 

“Go inside,” Druezaghrath says. “We’ll join you shortly.” 

Your stomach lurches in panic. This is so much worse. Nor doesn’t want to go but he glances up at the cold stone and flickering windows with a solemn expression. “They’re already scared,” he says. “Go easy.” 

“Nor?” you say, your voice pitched in terror. He lets go of your hand. You try to reach for him but Druezaghrath’s large, coarse claws close around your forearm and drag you to a stop. “Nor, wait!”

He does, but only for a second. He looks back and his smile is bittersweet. “Sorry about all this. You’ll get it, when it’s over. It’ll make sense. And maybe you’ll…” He doesn’t finish the thought. His gaze flicks up to his father looming over you and he takes a deep breath. Then he turns on his heel, sashes fluttering, and disappears through the front doors. You try to follow him and don’t make it even one step, Druezaghrath’s grip on your arm tightening to painful, bruising pressure. 

“I need you to understand something,” he says. He turns you around and you see his eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dark. “If you run, I’ll catch you. You won’t get anywhere close to the property line. You don’t want to waste my time like that, and you need to save your strength. Nor has been looking forward to this.” His grip shifts down and he holds up your wrist, examining the ceremonial markings. “I really should’ve seen this coming,” he muses. “He was always so particular about you.” Your trembling makes him exhale sharply in amusement. “He didn’t tell you a single thing about what’s happening tonight, did he? That boy…” 

A whimper slips out when he starts moving and pulls you with him, far stronger than Nor and completely unconcerned with how much you fight and struggle. He drags you through a foyer so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face, then up a carpeted flight of stairs. 

“My son has requested an audience to witness his mating announcement,” he explains, ignoring your pleas and protests and begging. “Some say he’s too young. I was well into my second century before I considered such a thing. There are concerns that a mate at this age might affect his decision making and negatively impact the family business. He must prove two things tonight: that he is capable, and that you are compatible. It sounds like the first test is already underway.” 

You don’t know what he means until you hear something in the distance, too muffled at first to make out. Something falling? Something hitting something? Candles flicker in wall sconces, lighting a long hall to a pair of wooden doors cracked ajar. You hear a low, rumbling growl like the grinding of stone and then a much shriller animal sound of distress that makes your blood run cold. Something crunches and splatters. Something hisses and wheezes, flailing against the hard stone floor. 

Druezaghrath approaches the doors first. He nudges them open, peering inside. You don’t want to look. Now everything you hear is wet—the slick sound of sharpness parting flesh, liquid spilling, soft things squeezed and crushed until they burst. “Is he…okay?” you whisper. Druezaghrath looks at you like you grew a second head. You don’t know why you’re asking, either. You don’t want to be here. You’re scared out of your mind. But the idea of him getting hurt, of those awful noises coming from him, makes the horror unbearable. “Nor, is he—he’s fighting someone, isn’t he? Is he hurt?” 

Nor’s father tilts his head, looking at you as though spotting something he finds interesting, maybe even appealing, for the first time. His grip on your arm loosens, his thumb rubbing gently at the bruises he left behind. “Your mate is strong,” he says with quiet pride. “I hope to see you match that strength.” He pushes both doors open and throws you forward. 

You might’ve caught yourself if the floor wasn’t wet. You land badly on your hip and shoulder and everything stings for a moment, the room out of focus. It’s red. You know that much. And it’s no mystery what all the red is because the acrid, metallic stench of it fills your nose. A circle of candles, mostly melted into puddles of wax, delineates what must have been the dueling grounds because the blood only rarely trespasses that boundary.There are people here—dragons, a crowd of them, gathered at a distance. They stand beyond the reach of the light so all you can make out are towering silhouettes and glinting eyes. 

No one speaks. Maybe this kind of announcement needs no words. Maybe Nor’s face says it all. You see him in the center of the carnage, skin and robes drenched in clinging gore and viscera. A body twitches on the ground at his feet, more than half-dragon and covered in scales. It’s disemboweled, an unraveled loop of entrails cooling beside a horrific gaping wound in its belly. It was clawed open. You can see everything inside from the curled bars of a ribcage to colorful organs. Nor holds a severed wing in his fist, clutching shattered, jagged bone and scrunched cartilage oozing blood between his fingers. The other wing lies on the floor, shredded and limp like a torn sail.

The sound of you slipping and falling attracts his attention. His pupils are blown wide and for a moment, you wonder if he even sees you. If he’s so lost in bloodlust that he’ll attack you next. You flinch when he drops the wing. It lands with a heavy, squelching thud, tattered membranes leaking fresh puddles of blood. He kneels, gathering you in his arms with his staggering inhuman strength, lifting you up and standing in the same fluid motion. 

“This is my mate,” he tells the others. The cold sharpness of his voice makes him sound like his father. He pauses a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for dissent, maybe. For someone else to tell him he’s too young to have what he wants. No one does. He lets out a breath that rumbles like a growl, exhaling smoke. “Then it’s settled,” he says quietly. He starts moving. Not towards the crowd or the door, but to the center of the circle of candles. To the corpse of whoever he just killed. You call his name but he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he doesn’t care. He’s already come this far and nothing’s going to stop him now. Certainly not you. 

Nor sets you down gently. The gesture is ruined by the disgusting sounds of the organs puddled under you. You’re sitting in it. There’s blood and muscle and jutting bone and vein-streaked offal everywhere. It smears over your ceremonial markings and stains your sashes, turning the embroidery bright red. Nor kneels in the same mess. He reaches out and cups your face with his filthy, gore-covered hands. He kisses your forehead with bloodstained lips, then your cheeks, and then just briefly, chastely, on the mouth. 

“I love you,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” 

You struggle when he climbs on top of you. You don’t care how it looks or what it might mean to the people watching, if it ruins the whole announcement. You don’t want this. But Druezaghrath was right—his son is strong. You had no idea because he’s never used that strength against you before. He doesn’t care that you flail and kick at him. He flips you over and pins you down with one hand, forcing you flat against the sticky floor. His claws shred your sashes with such perfect precision that he never scratches your skin. 

You get loose when he tries to line himself up with your entrance. You don’t get far before he’s on you again, dragging you back into position with labored breaths. It suddenly hits you that he just killed someone—just fought someone to the death in the time it took his father to walk you up the stairs—and he’s still faster than you. Still able to force you back down and nudge your legs apart. You hear him moan quietly and the slick sounds of his fist working his cock before the tip starts prodding at you. You whimper and he shushes you.

“I know, baby. I’ll try to make it quick,” he murmurs. He lays himself over your back and you’re completely trapped. Was he always this much heavier than you? Or did he always hold back when you play-wrestled as kids? He moves his hips slowly at first, testing the waters. He pays attention to the noises you make. He doesn’t stop, no matter how much you sob, but he listens intently to how your breathing hitches as his thick tip spreads you open. He’s gentle. He’s going so, so slowly. It’s almost worse than if he were rough. There’s no pretending this is something else. It’s him, it’s Nor, as sweet as he’s always been to you. This unspoken thing lurking between you is suddenly dragged up into the light and it hurts to look at.

You’ve always wanted him but not like this.

Nor thrusts his hips and more of his length sinks into your body. He’s big. The stretch stings but he’s got a hand tucked under you and slipping between your thighs, fingers carefully working your sex. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against your ear, kissing and licking the lobe. “I know you’re scared, but it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Just feel this.” Every shock of pleasure makes your head spin. You don’t want to enjoy this, but Nor learns your body in a matter of minutes. He searches for the places that make whimper in a different way and then he teases them mercilessly. 

One hand stays between your legs, dexterous fingers stroking with just the right amount of pleasure to make your hips buck against him. The other wanders, lingering anywhere sensitive. He never stops fucking you. He’s pumping his hips now, sinking deeper and thrusting harder. Your hands slip on the floor in search of something to hold onto, something to anchor you. All you find is the dead dragon and everything that should be inside it piled outside, making a sound of mindless distress when you grab onto something that’s still pulsating. None of Nor’s sweet nothings soothe you but he doesn’t stop trying. His voice is a constant heated murmur, only interrupted when he pauses to kiss and suck at your neck. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So, so good. I want you to cum for me. Can you do that?” 

You can’t. You don’t want to. Not here, not in front of all these people—is Druezaghrath here? Watching this? You feel sick. You can’t. But Nor doesn’t let up. He mouths at your pulse, strokes you harder, fucks you faster. You’re moving and you didn’t even realize it, didn’t mean for your body to move against his fingers and back into his thrusts. He pushes your legs even further apart and then he really starts rutting. The sound of flesh slapping flesh, your hips meeting, his balls slapping your ass as he hilts himself inside you over and over again, fills your ears.

“Cum for me,” he begs you. “Baby, please. Cum on my cock. Doesn’t it feel good? I’ve been practicing for this—for you. It’s okay to like this. Just let go.” 

Practicing, he said. Is that what all of that was before? All those furious ex-partners, all those sobbing confessions, all those angry late night calls and texts that made him turn his phone off and go back to pretending he was cuddled up against you in a totally platonic way? Just practice for the person he really wanted? 

“I love you,” he murmurs. You hate that it makes you tighten around him. “You like it when I say that? I’ll say it as many times as you want for the rest of our lives. I love you, baby. Fuck, I love you so much…” He keeps saying it, keeps whispering his devotion until the sounds mean nothing. Eventually, it happens. You don’t want it to but he nips at your neck and grinds his cock deep inside you, and you scream. It’s the worst and best orgasm of your life. Nor drags it out as long as he can, fucking you through your shuddering gasps and whimpers until you’re limp underneath him. He pulls out but your relief is short-lived. 

He turns you over onto your back. You barely recognize him. His eyes are different. Wilder. Glazed in pleasure. The blood has dried to his skin, dark red smears on his chin, his chest, his arms. His gaze rakes your body and then he’s reaching for you again, lining his cock up with your aching entrance again. 

“Almost done, baby,” he rasps. “Just a little more. Just gotta make me cum and it’s over. Don’t think, okay? Don’t think about anything. Just feel me. Feel this.” You can’t. You try to tell him that but your voice is hoarse and weak. You let out a strangled whine when he pushes into you again. He tells you he loves you again. He apologizes again. He kisses you with ferocious hunger and your legs wrap around his waist. He moans against your mouth, a hand stroking your thigh. 

You cum before he does, back arching, arms wrapped around him. Nor keeps saying just a little more, just a little more, praise and promises. Eventually, you take his advice without even meaning to and stop thinking about anything at all.

[etoileee]

GUYSSS IM SORRY I FORGOT MY DAMN PASSWORD LMAO

I’m here and I’m gonna give you guys some pjo shifting motivation because I think some of you need it 🫶🏼

i think a lot of people love and find comfort in percy jackson because a lot of us do struggle with adhd and dyslexia (I myself am one of them) and see ourselves in these characters. struggling with feeling like nobody gets you, like you don’t belong, that you’re dumb… its definitely not fun but these books had provided an outlet that made me and a whole lot of others feel seen.

when I came back from my percy jackson dr for the first time I didn’t think I was gonna get so emotional, but I did. I speak for a lot of us when I say we’ve grown up with these characters and MEETING them is something absolutely mind blowing. not only because they are so loved, but because all of us had gone through similar struggles. to this day at my big junior in high school age I don’t know what the fuck 9 x 8 is, the words still seem to rearrange themselves when I try to read…

I guess what I’m saying is yes, when you shift, you’ll meet the characters you love so so much, but you’ll also relate and connect to them in a way that you probably can’t even imagine.

I think a lot of people haven’t shifted yet because they think that shifting is like dreaming, that it’s something that will slip through your fingers, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m sure a lot of you are thinking “but I do believe in shifting?” but I think some of you have a hard time actually wrapping your mind around it.

look around you right now. notice the temperature, the textures, the colors, the sensations, the smell, the sounds. notice how you are not dreaming.

THIS is EXACTLY what shifting is like. it is not like dreaming, because it’s NOT a dream it’s REAL.

look around you and imagine that you had shifted into where you are right now. its a bit trippy, isn’t it? looking at the world around you as if it isn’t your cr.

for example, look up from your device and imagine percy jackson in front of you right now. how does it make you feel? are you shocked? happy? afraid?

I really do believe that some people haven’t shifted yet because they think shifting will be like dreaming, and when they realize it isn’t like dreaming they are afraid of it subconsciously.

I’m here to tell you that it’s not scary at all. sure, you may wake up in your dr and start crashing out (which is totally understandable) but its not something you need to FEAR. please remember everything you desire will be there. it will be PERFECT and more than what you could ever imagine.

If you’re still worried you’ll start tweakin once you do shift, I find that scripting you’ll be calm and that you forgot you’ve shifted helps a lot. sure you’ll feel massive shock when you get back to your cr but initially when you wake up in your dr if you have those two things scripted you should be fine.

good luck to all you, sending so much love and good vibes. 🤍🖤✨🌊

[artfreaksmeout]

Less toxic and less family problems KP universe VegasPete Au

This goes along with the art I did for Inktober day 10. Just what I think the story may go.

Kinn and Vegas still don’t get along but it’s in a more competitive way and clash a lot but they don’t wanna kill each other and would protect the other in a life or death situation.

The first time Vegas and Pete meet is when Pete gets recruited. Vegas thinks “talented but not much else” Pete thinks “hot”

Vegas sees more of Pete since he gets assigned to missions with Kinn or on missions to help the minor family and he’s impressed with how well Pete works and carries out missions. His interest in Pete starts to grow. He’s kinda hot when he’s fighting and shooting people but he’s too nice for Vegas’ taste. Always so polite and bland.

One day Vegas says something a little condescending and Pete replies with something sarcastic (while rolling his eyes)

And Oh, This is the first time Vegas has ever seen Pete not be a perfect little guard. He usually awkwardly laughs and just smiles politely but this? The slight attitude? That’s new.

Suddenly he starts paying attention to Pete in order to see these little slip ups. These little moments of Pete being bratty and sarcastic. He starts to notice the little snide comments, the slight eye rolls.

He also starts to notice the interest in Pete’s eyes when he’s over looking an interrogation especially when it’s Vegas himself carrying out the questions and the torture. Now Vegas is even more interested.

He starts flirting with Pete. Making suggestive comments here and there, watching Pete get red and flustered. He loves it.

Pete has enough of it one day and he snaps. Grabs Vegas by his damn silky shirt and kisses him like he’s a starving man.

And that’s the start of this thing between them. Vegas pushes, teases and flirts until Pete gives in and suddenly they’re going at it in different parts of the Major Family home. And it’s not just fucking, they talk afterwards sometimes. Cuddle other times.

Then one day, Vegas is having a shit day. Everything is going wrong. He’s on edge and now he’s in a meeting with Kinn and Kinn is yelling and frustrated. Vegas can’t take it. He’s suddenly thinking of how his dad was. Always criticizing. Always yelling. Always finding fault in him. He gets up and leaves. Kinn ends the meeting and Pete goes after Vegas discreetly.

He catches up to Vegas and pulls him into an empty room. He tries to approach Vegas calmly. He gets it, he has experienced similar things. His dads abuse and how sometimes you can’t get away from the scars they leave you with. He tries to calm Vegas down, talk to him about his dad and how he’s not in the wrong. Vegas listens but then, he laughs. Void of any feelings.

“You think just cause I’m fucking you, you get to tell me anything?” And Pete freezes because yea, he didn't think Vegas was in love with him or anything foolish like that. But he at least thought they had something. Some kind of understanding. Hell, friendship even. He was too dumb to realize Vegas didn’t even see him as anything more than just some guy he puts his dick in. He leaves and Vegas realizes he fucked up big time the moment he hears the door close.

Vegas tries to approach Pete the next time he sees him. Hopes that Pete may pretend that the whole interaction never happened but the minute Pete sees him coming, He leaves. Doesn’t stop or look back even when Vegas calls out his name. Vegas feels like shit everytime Pete ignores him, because he likes pete. Goddamn it he Loves him. But he’s an asshole who doesn’t know how to control his feelings and anger and he fucks shit up by saying dumb hurtful things he doesnt mean.

So he tries what he knows best and starts throwing money at the problem. His past “lovers” always seemed to cheer up when he got them the newest tech or the fanciest clothes. So he starts sending Pete anything and everything he can think of and yet… that seems to piss Pete off even more. He even stopped ignoring Vegas just to throw the new fancy watch he gifted Pete at Vegas and said “I’m not some cheap whore you can buy your way into sleeping with” he walks away before Vegas can say anything.

Vegas is suffering because he has no idea what to do. He just wants to go back to how things were. No. He wants more. He wants to go on dates with Pete. He wants to spend as much time as possible as he can with him. Share special moments with him but now he’s fucked it all up with one single sentence.

He’s back at the Major family compound again when Porsche pulls him aside and calls him an idiot. Porsche has had enough of seeing Pete go from being sad to being angry at the mention of Vegas’s name. He had to do something so he tells Vegas to pull his shit together and just fucking talk to pete like a normal person and apologize from the heart. If Pete still didn’t forgive him he would have to suck it up and leave Pete alone.

He goes to find Pete. He finds him on his way to the kitchen. The minute Pete sees him he turns to walk away but this time Vegas is faster, he grabs Pete's arm and drags him to the nearest room. He begs Pete to listen to him. He apologizes and tells Pete that he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him and that he’s a giant idiot for ruining that . Pete stays silent and Vegas thinks “He’s never going to forgive me”

Pete punches him. And then drags him into a kiss. And oh god, it’s the best feeling in the world after Pete ignoring him for weeks. Pete pulls away and tells Vegas “if you ever say anything like that to me ever again, I won’t forgive you”

They keep making out for a bit longer until they get caught by Kinn and three other bodyguards. Turns out the room they had walked into was one of the meeting rooms Kinn uses. Pete Is dying of embarrassment and Vegas just smirks at Kinn’s disgusted face. Ha, as if he isn’t sleeping with a bodyguard also.

I won’t be writing this into a fic but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so this is just parts of the story I thought up lol.

[carlyraejepsans]

hey did you guys know i love my fucking friends so much

[bixels]

Taking the current topic as an excuse to ask you to tell me all the reasons you love Rarijack. Your art for the ship is so sweet and intimate I'd love to hear any in depth thoughts you have.

Breathes in.

I think what makes their dynamic really strong is that they have opposing personalities but aligned values. It's deeper than just "opposites attract." Rarity's fancy, prissy, and femme while Applejack's modest, rough, and "masculine." But both value hard work (to the point of being workaholics), their families (both have guardianship over their little sisters), running successful businesses, and eventually each other. Their relationship can be boiled down to, "Despite our differences/disagreements, I still like you because we value the same things."

We see their relationship develop so much. In the first season, they can't stop bickering about surface-level differences. By season four, they still bicker, but will mend their relationship because they can't help but do nice things for each other. In Trade Ya, they start off arguing over personality differences (Applejack likes old junk and Rarity likes useless crap). Then they pivot and start arguing that they value their relationship more than the other. In the end, they mend things by sacrificing their needs and buying each other a gift. Even if they don't understand it, they know it'd make the other happy. And that's all that really matters. It's a genuinely sweet moment that shows how arguing can be healthy and necessary for relationships to strengthen.

We even see them dropping their hang-ups about each others' personalities. In Made in Manehattan, when Rarity runs off in dramatics about someone's fashion, AJ doesn't roll her eyes or scoff, she smiles. Oftentimes, their conflicts are very common domestic conflicts romantic couples face. Applejack's Day Off is about a woman's inability to balance work and life and find time to properly spend with her partner, causing her partner to feel neglected.

By season seven, they're actively participating in each others' interests. Any problems or conflicts that arise are dealt with, and they come out the other end stronger and closer. In Honest Apple, AJ pretty much spells out why their relationship works so well: even though she doesn't understand fashion, she can recognize and appreciate how much work it takes and wants to respect that. When she realizes her mistake in the episode, AJ goes above and beyond to fix things and apologize to Rarity. They care about each other so much.

The two go out of their way, sacrificing their personal desires and beliefs and doing things they normally wouldn't, to make the other happy. That's just love.

There's Simple Ways, where AJ gets stuck in an unwanted love triangle between Rarity and her hipster crush. And her frustration and anger can be so easily interpreted as AJ finding herself in a terrible position; the girl she loves wants another man, and that man wants her.

I dunno. I've always had a preference for opposites attract ships, but Rarijack's stuck with me like a brain worm because they have the perfect chemistry. The way they show they care, or do things for each other, I've always read it as the truest representation of romance in the show.

[pepperpixel]

SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS,

BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY,

IT TAKES TWO TO TOXIC!

FINALLY!!! Finished these pics of jinx I’ve been working on!!!!! HOLY SHIT, these took so long…. But finally… they’re done… pls enjoy this art of my beautiful princess w a disorder. Featuring alternate colors for the big pic and also a closeup! Cuz I rlly like how both the lines and coloring on her face turned out… like the pink gradients w her eye… her deer in headlights expression,, like uve just startled a raccoon digging thru ur trashcan and r two seconds away from getting mauled.. m proud of it!

[simple-sheep]

Idk what The Circle is and I have no desire to watch it but if Dropout made a whole SEASON of Ratfish I would watch it all with glee