#savage hearts

[thatpunkmaximoff]

[Book Three of Four]

Story: 5 out of 5 Smut: 4 out of 5

I didn’t think I could like anyone more than Sloane, but boy was I proven wrong. Riley and Malek are my new favorites. Leave it to the Keller sisters to fall in love with their kidnappers lol.

For book three, the way these two fall in love… ugh, it was just so good. I’m not one for angst, but the back and forth Malek was going through had me craving more. And then when he took the plunge, I was all in. I also love how little Riley, who thought she was an ugly duckling, came into her own and charmed the king of the Bratva all on her own.

And don’t even get me started on that love triangle. I’m just glad it was solved in the end.

This book had me actually disliking some characters I fell in love with in the previous books, so I’m hoping book four will make me love one of them again.

Now here are my rambling thoughts…

* So Riley is Sloane’s sister and they’re not exactly friendly… this is going to be interesting.

* Come on, Kage. I liked you in book one. Don’t be a dick now 😒

* Okay, Spider. I see you 😏 And Riley, don’t even sweat it. You check out his package all you want 😂

* Omg. Spider is a shy guy! Can I keep him?

* Lmao. First Mal thinks Riley is homeless, now he thinks she’s a whore. Also, how the fuck did he find Declan so fast?

* Awww. So Riley’s the “ugly duckling” and resents her sister. But now things are looking up. I love that she so blatantly ogles Spider 😂

* Mal thinks Riley is being abused. Omg.

* Goddamn. Mal really just gave her all that cash?

* And now they know Diego’s alive?! Why do they seem scared tho?

* Wow, Sloane. Way to listen to your sister. Now I can’t wait for Mal to kidnap her.

* Oh damn. He knows Riley is Declan’s family. He’s gonna take her. Yeesssssss!

* Mal really is a fucking ghost. How does he keep finding her and not set off any alarms?

* Also, woo! He kissed her to shut her up. I love it.

* Holy shit. Holy shit! Mal shot Kieran, Riley took a bullet meant for Mal, and Spider has a whole lot of explaining to do when he wakes up after being bludgeoned for shooting Riley.

* Aww. Spider loves Riley… but Riley totally wants to bone Malek.

* And wtf is up with all these supposed dead mean actually being alive. For fuck’s same. Do we even know a Killian Black? So many names are being tossed around. I’m confused.

* They way Mal is taking care of Riley is making me swoon. Omg. Get better already so you can bone!

* Shit. Spider has already been spotted in Moscow and Mal paid him a visit. It’s adorable Spider wants to take her home, but that crush is definitely one sided.

* Goddammit. I know Mal was teasing Riley, but I’m the one feeling like he was teasing. Asshole. Lmao.

* So a bear attack was all it took for Mal to fuck Riley? 😂

* Man… this relationship of theirs is a fucking rollercoaster. Holy hell.

* I don’t like that Mal’s boss knows about Riley. And invited them to dinner at one in the morning.

* So the meeting actually went… good? Oh thank god.

* Man, Riley’s got some balls sassing the king of the Bratva 😂 As least he was endeared by her 🤷🏻‍♀️

* A story where the girl doesn’t know she’s dead..? A love story with ghosts..? Aww man, I’m thinking of Pen Pal now.

* Nooooo. Everything was going so good. Don’t break up with her. Don’t let Spider take her. I fucking hate this.

* She’s fucking pregnant!!! And Mal doesn’t know. And omg. Just go back to Russia already!!

* Riley declaring the Mob and Bratva have blood ties, and someone cheering in the background that she thinks is Nat… I can picture that. A drunken Nat cheering because fuck these touch macho dudes. It’s the women with all the power.

* The fucking band playing “we are family” 😂

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[umblrspectrum]

hi heres art so you pay attention to me now go read the tags

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Bless whoever first captured this screenshot.

I. Cannot. Stop. Laughing. 😂😂😂

[dlartistanon]

Why does Blaze routinely fall for the most emotionally unavailable women

[poppedbubblgum]

The battle nexus is a rather lonely place…

[shisasan]

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), dir. James Cameron

[naffeclipse]

A Tease

Reader x Grease

Commission Info

I am rattling @o-cinnamonstickz for commissioning one of my monster boyfriend OCs and letting me go absolutely feral with this guy! Grease is such a menace and the poor reader must sweetly suffer him. After stealing a break while on a late shift, the reader will run into Grease behind the diner, and one tease will lead to another.

Content Warning for suggestive themes.

———

The customer smiles as he hands you back the black check presenter, his mouth spread a little too wide to show off his molars. You feel the money tucked within, but with an inward groan, you fear there is no tip. You wish him and the few others eating with him a good night. Maybe you’ll get lucky and one of his friends will pity you and dump a few quarters on the dirty table.

As they all throw down their napkins and scurry away, out into the night of Hebron, you step back to the cash register. Feeling the inside of your apron pocket, you brush against the worn and half-crumpled box of cornstarch hidden within before snagging your pen to tuck behind your ear.

With a few taps and clanks, and a little slam to get it to open properly, you deposit the cash for the meal. Stealing a glance over to the table, you find the dishes piled high, the clear cups half filled with watered-down soda, and not even a dime in sight.

Great. Just lovely. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff through your nostrils. Where did the virtue of tipping go? Is it just tourists or is it simply everyone that steps through the diner doors who forgoes the practice?

Such questions will only leave you with a headache pounding away at your temples. Biting back a few choice words due to their rowdiness and the not-at-all-subtleness in looking you up and down, you slip the bill into the towering pile that has collected throughout the day.

It’s close to the end of your shift, right? You keep yourself from staring at the clock in the diner too frequently lest the hands get stuck in one place, endlessly ticking without spinning. Everything seems stuck in time here. 

The Hebron Diner, aptly named after the town Hebron, in which you and this poor restaurant reside, is a vintage theme with black and white photos of old cars driving between the trees and sepia pictures of scenery from the nearby national park. You’re growing to hate the lilac coloring of the tables, stools, and booths, and your own stupid waitress attire is drenched in the same hue. Your apron is white—a poor choice, considering how well it shows the stains of burger grease and ketchup. 

You return to the table and begin gathering plates. One hardly touched his fries and you think the other merely played with his country-fried steak. Only an hour to go and then you’re free to rush home and scrub off the smell of fast food from your skin and hair. As the darkness holds over Hebron and its neon-dusted but quaint main street, your hope for the end of a long shift grows. 

You bring the dishes back into the kitchen. Darren, the cook, seems content to clean the grill while the diner remains open but inhabited by hungry customers. 

“Hey, would you mind taking out the trash?” he calls over his shoulder, never even looking up from the faint steam that sizzles over the grill top. “I’ll keep an eye out, let you take a break for a minute if you do.”

“Deal,” you answer without hesitation. You still need to wipe down the table, but you’ll do that after your break. You’ve earned one. 

Dropping off the dishes, you look to Darren for directions on which garage. He jerks his head in the direction of the trash bag sitting in a gleaming silver can, and you quickly tie it up and lift it from its container. Without another word, you breeze outside towards the dumpster. 

Darren scratches your back, you scratch his. You don’t talk to him much, but your habitation as coworkers is seamless as butter on fresh hotcakes. 

The coolness of the night washes over you, chasing away the heat and stress of the diner. A faint street light shines into the employee parking lot filled with cracked pavement and the remnant odor of grease traps. 

The dumpster is located on the other end of the small lot, unfortunately. The light doesn’t quite reach there and deep potholes collect water and whatever may fall into their depths. Your heart skips a beat, your fingers white-knuckling the tied-off garbage at your side.

There are monsters out there. You never thought of such things since you were a child, but the world became a lot bigger and unknowable, and this town became a lot smaller and strange since you discovered the truth. There are things in the dark that hide with mouths full of teeth. They like to watch you. They hope to follow you home and catch you where no one will hear you scream.

Is your paranoia striking because you’re alone now? The darkness is thick and inky, wrapping around the edges of the weak streetlight.

No. Stop being a child. Heaving the trash bag up with a soft clatter, you grind your teeth. The night isn’t what scares you. You push yourself forward, one foot after the other, until you catch sight of one of the potholes. It brims with dark liquid shining iridescently. It stands between you and the dumpster, and you catch an unmistakable ripple across its surface. There is no breeze tonight.

Your breath catches in your throat before you roll your eyes. A name is on the tip of your tongue, ready to call out, but you stop yourself.

A wicked grin crosses your lips. A juvenile idea infiltrates your brain and you run with it. You set one hand on your hip before arching a brow, staring down at the oil puddle. Does he really think you don’t know he’s here?

Dropping the trash bag into the puddle, you promptly sit on top of the black material—not allowing logical thoughts such as the fear of something sharp poking you or the general distasteful smell reeking from it stop you—and throw the puddle outwards in a thick, black splash.

You recline back on it, hands on your knees, as you shift your hips slightly to sink into what feels squishy and crumples slightly, perhaps old food and cardboard boxes. Gross. You ignore it and keep sitting pretty. Underneath you, the puddle begins to bubble and froth. The iridescent sheen of purples and blues and yellows flash in a way you haven’t quite seen before. 

Then the thought lingers a little too long before it manifests into something searing with embarrassment. You might as well have plopped yourself into a demon’s lap.

No. You hold firm. This is payback. He’s stalked you, hunted you down, and grabbed you. The least you can do is embarrass him with the rotten cherry being a trash bag on top of him. You lounge as if it were a throne.

Then a growl emerges from below you. Goosebumps roll over your arms until every tiny hair pricks. Your heart begins to thump hard and fast like a rabbit fleeing from a fox.

You spring off of the garbage bag as if burned. Breath caught in your throat, you whirl back to face the sleek ripples of the oil puddle. 

The black liquid rises, funneling into the figure of a man, lithe with muscles and powerfully sleek not unlike a tiger. The trash bag is ripped upwards in a grip of indignation. Your gut clenches as claws, iridescently gleaming and dark, sink into the thin black material.

A creature of living oil. A demon. Grease.

Two dark tendrils drip down from the top of his head, the tips resting at his shoulders. A long, sleek, and wicked tail snaps behind him. His face is flat with a sharp jawline, lacking a nose but his mouth bears bone-white teeth. Two pale blue eyes, centered with black pupils, pierce you in the darkness of the parking lot as if he might devour you whole. You’re reminded so vividly of a tiger before it strikes.

“How disrespectful,” Grease snarls, his silky and dark timbre carrying a slight threat underneath it. “I’ve come to see you and you put trash on me. Must I remind you who I am?”

You shift on the gritty pavement from one foot to the other. The candle flame of mirth inside of you is not yet extinguished. A small voice warns you in the back of your mind that you’re pushing your luck, but you are nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

“I know who you are, oil boy,” you say, much braver than you are. “You’re not as slick as you think you are.”

His grin widens.

“Oh?” He steps forward, his shoulders lowering like a cat about to bounce. The sway of his tail is excited, thrilled for a chase. “Neither are you, little nymph.”

A brief burn infiltrates you at the nickname he’s unfortunately bestowed upon you. Your brow furrows as you take a step back. A powerful concoction of adrenaline and confusion floods your veins, interrupting the flow of your thoughts as a primitive instinct to survive takes hold.

“What…?” Your tongue is too heavy.

He tilts his head, revealing a terrible mouth filled with shark-like teeth. Fear spears your heart.

“If you want to sit in my lap, you merely need to ask.” He cackles a heinous sound of black glee.

Red heat fills your face, coloring you in both rage and embarrassment. No, no, this is backfiring. You should have known he would have twisted it in his favor. He’s so seductive and intimidating. You forget which part of him is more dangerous: his teeth or his words.

“Ah, just how I like you, all pretty and pink,” he purrs deep in his throat. His black tongue, oily and black as midnight, swipes over his teeth as if he just found dessert.

Forget this. You twist on the balls of your feet, pushing off the cracked pavement in a dead run for the back door of the diner.

It’s over before it’s truly begun. Long, slick claws snatch you by the arms. Grease rips a gasp from you as he whirls you around and pins your back to the wall. You glare up at him, a breath rattling into your lungs. 

“Let me return your little favor.” His voice coils within you. Your heart beats against your ribs, wild under his devouring gaze. “A little tease for another.”

The sleek tip of his tail finds your ankle and begins winding up your leg. You bite back a yelp at the squeezing, staining pressure from the tendril. A chain to ensure you can’t run.

“I wasn’t teasing you,” you protest, but it’s a lie. A filthy lie that is only met with a sinister chuckle from Grease. 

“Don’t be so coy. It’s not a good look for you.” 

Fighting words long to fly off your tongue but his own emerges from his jaws. Dripping black saliva coats it like thick honey. Your eyes widen. He leans in closer with a monstrous grin. The tendrils upon either side of his head twist up gently and press into your cheeks, securing you into place as you suck in a sharp breath. Your palms press flat against the wall at your sides. He bends low to find access to your neck.

The cool, slick caress of his tongue on the curve of your throat draws out a shiver. It fills your chest and rolls down your spine. Tenderly exploring your skin, the tip of his tongue licks slowly upwards before disappearing from underneath your chin with a cool trace. You gulp.

The fiend. You would curse him if you weren’t half-paralyzed underneath his mouth. Your fingers inch toward your apron pocket.

“On second thought, why stop with a tease?” Grease slips back just enough to capture your gaze and watch you squirm. A threat of blush is bearing down upon your defenses. “You deserve more. A proper… tantalizing…”

He finishes his thought with a too-wide smile and his tongue flicking out of his mouth, closing the precious little distance between your lips. The gallope of your heart roars in your ears. You can’t name the roiling in your middle. It is too hungry, too excited for an oil demon’s touch. 

Still, you lean forward in the slightest, just to catch him the slightest bit off guard. His tail loosens from your leg. His eyes widen, but he presses in—

You snatch the box of cornstarch out of your apron and whip it in front of you, spilling out fine white powder onto the oil demon. He screeches in fury. Backing away from you as the cornstarch latches onto his chest, he writhes and hisses, claws raking at the substance gluing up his sleek form.

“You—! You—!” He howls but all you can do is steal one breathless sound before sliding out from underneath him and grabbing the door handle. Twisting it, you fling yourself into the kitchen.

You twist back to slam the door closed but catch a sharp, pale blue glare, frothing with a promise so vile, it ignites your core into a hot bubbling mess.

Grease will make you pay. But not tonight.

You lock the door and fall back against it. Deep gulps of air heaves through your chest. You slowly push your hair away from your sweaty face.

You got away. For now.

[sunfluerys]

A shock to the senses. That’s all I need.

[enchanted-moura]

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[bellaxgiornata]

Me: *changing toddler's clothes*

Son: You're so pretty and kind, mama.

Me: 🥺🥺🥺🥺 OMG PRECIOUS CHILD, THANK YOU ANGEL BABY ❤️

[Later when I see my husband]

Me, still emotional at the thought: You know what our son said to me? He said I was pretty and kind 😭😭

Husband: Aww buddy, mama is pretty and kind isn't she?

Son: That was a joke.

Me:

[wettyfap]

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

good, apprentice... good, but you can do better. your back foot. take it further out. more. hmm... perfect. run through the form again, do not lose focus. begin.

[naffeclipse]

So, do Grease and Hawthorn actually live somewhere (like a specific tree or a junkyard) or do they just keep moving around? And why does MC live with Calmo?

Hawthorn has a nest in a tree deep within the woods, far from where any human should wander. It's very comfortable despite looking like a great arrangement of twigs, grass, and spider silk. He will steal MC away for a night of cuddles there.

Grease has no place of refuge, but he thinks MC would like it more if he did, so he finds and converts the basement of a condemned building on the outskirts of town into a makeshift home. The first time he takes MC there, MC thinks he intends to kill MC. But no, Grease is only proud of this terrifying murder-y basement place and figures it would do the trick of impressing MC. He is wrong.

Calmo lives with MC in MC's small house due to how MC stumbles upon a garage sale nearby looking to sell a lot of old junk. MC is searching for a cute teapot but finds what appears to be a 90s computer setup. It's unlike anything MC has seen due to being strange and malformed. The man selling it gives it away practically for free to MC, saying it belonged to an uncle of his before he died, and MC takes it home with the intent of maybe finding out if it's worth anything to collectors or people into old 90s tech. Maybe make a buck or two off of it. Instead, when MC touches the computer, a slight shock jumps off of MC's fingers and into the computer, the sort that collects when walking around with socks on the carpet. MC hardly notices and continues to try and find a way to turn it on but fails. Ultimately, MC leaves it be for the night only to wake up to a robotic figure standing at the foot of MC's bed with brilliant red optics cutting through the darkness.

A scream or two later, MC officially meets Calmo. Calmo has lots of questions about, well, everything. MC allows him to stay because he needs a home and help with... whatever he is. Thus, Calmo lives with MC.