#unexpected pain in the ass to pose

[iron-sparrow]

i let love in, i let love in ⸺ the door it opened just a crack ♪

feat. @nolanel-corbeaux & @guillotine-of-the-snake

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 3

Click here to read the first part!

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, cruel Soldier Boy, reader gets hurt, mention of violence, betrayal, Soldier Boy being a dick, reader is a supe, Crimson Countess is a bitch

Word Count: 2194

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

Ben’s lips parted to say something when you told him that he would never hear you saying those three words again, but he clenched his jaw, and his eyes sharpened with fury.

“Don’t even bother, because those words already mean nothing to me.”

You caught him looking at your lips for a second, but he let go of your chin immediately and pulled himself together like he would kiss you if he waited for another second. His unreadable face was filling your heart with hope since you knew he would be far more different if he really didn’t like you at all as he told.

You walked over to him and gently touched his rough hand, asking, “Then why does it make you mad when I tell you I would leave Payback? If you don't really care at all, why do you want me here with your side so much that you threat me with hurting Noir? Ben, please be honest with yourself, at least. I know you won't be honest with me.”

You looked at him with desperation, pleading him with your eyes and touched his hand like you could never get that chance again. You didn’t understand what exactly caused his soft side to slip in your hands so suddenly, so sharp. What had happened to you exactly? You knew it wasn’t about Crimson or someone else, but you didn’t know the cause behind why you failed to solve the true reason behind all this pain.

You withdrew your hands just before he pushed them away. When you posed those questions, he seemed so confused and lost that you nearly thought he would finally crack and put a stop to the cruelty between you going on. Since you were aware that he wasn't good at expressing his true feelings from the very beginning, you were willing to push him a little. You would fight for it if you had to be the one to help him overcome his inner demons and open himself.

“I won't be giving a fuck seeing you fucking go away if I find a stronger supe than you,” he simply said.

You answered, “Neither the team nor you need a strong one,” knowing what he was talking about was just another lie. “Ben, you never care who is powerful or not as you know you are strongest. Your ego is too big to care about what other people are capable of.”

“What on earth should I tell you to get off my ass and stop bothering the Countess and me, huh, Y/N?” He inquired, showing no interest in what you had to say. It didn't even seem like he was paying attention to what you were saying. “I'm warning you; don't talk to me about love or other bullshit again.”

He retreated a step, sat on the couch, and sniffed the cocaine on the table before his eyes darkened. When your lips parted to respond, he lifted his hand menacingly, to prevent you from say another thing to make him angrier.

He yelled, “Shut the fuck up,” and started sniffing coke before you did, startling you with his unexpected outburst. “Do you think you know me? Are you fucking naïve?”

You also raised your voice, but it was rather shaky, saying, “I do know you.” You eventually lost patience with his attitude because of how much his persistence was getting on your nerves.

“You’re a fucking naïve then,” he chuckled, but his tone was rather angry than amusing. “Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone.”

You turned away, your eyes watering, and opened the door without saying a word to Ben, fearing that he would become enraged since he was too busy getting high like a real jerk. You heard Countess's voice in the distance. She gave you a tiny smirk to irritate you, as she usually does, but you left the trailer without looking at her and without creating any drama.

After a few weeks, you gave up attempting to get in touch with Ben because you could tell he was preoccupied with all the dumb advertisements and other bullshit. You also stopped participating in anything Payback-related, even though you were still required to perform these things along with the rest of the team. You informed Earving that you were completely well and needed some time for yourself, despite the fact that he had visited your home numerous times to check on you.

But it was a lie. You were either ill or simply lovesick. You had a difficult time falling asleep since you could recall every last detail of Ben and Crimson's interactions. They appeared in every movie, television show, and advertisement. It didn't matter if you simply vanished; you couldn't run away from your own sentiments that were killing you or their reality.

Earving told you that Ben was becoming crueler and harsher to him and the rest of the crew every day, but you couldn't really care because you were most likely going through the worst.

After a month, you were compelled to flee your home due to a terrorist attack, and all of the members required you on the battlefield. Ben was busy commanding the soldiers haphazardly, using heavy and hazardous weapons like toys, and showing off his whole range of abilities to them with an arrogant smile on his face.

He was taken aback to see you because you were the last person to enter the territory. Ben walked up to you with a sneaky smile on his face after he dropped the rifle on one of the twins from his shoulder, but you turned your back on him and continued talking to some soldiers to give him courage because you didn't want to hear what Ben was about to say to distress and upset you any more.

You were desperately missing Ben and were helpless for any kind of interaction or words to rekindle your already fading hope, but you were also proud. You were aware of everything that happened between you, and excepted the turth that the wonderful memories between him and you had long faded. More than anyone you didn't get to know, he was more of a stranger than any stranger. You were certain there was nothing left in you for him to break because he had broken your heart so many times. Struggling to change the past and pushing yourself too hard will only exacerbate your situation. You knew the pain wouldn’t fully disappear soon, but it would ease by time.

He didn't move again once you turned your back to him, indicating that you were right to let it go.

After Ben tormented him more severely than ever on your third day on the battlefield, Noir's patience ran out, and he kept saying Ben that he didn't deserve to be a leader and that he was simply a bully on cocaine. Despite your attempts to dissuade Earving from approaching Ben too closely and to push him back before things got physical, he was adamant about ending Ben's leadership.

“You don’t deserve to be the the leader of Payback. All you do is getting high and bullying all of us. All people here looking at us with hatred, not respect and the reasson behind this all is that we don’t have a respectful leader,” Earving said raising his voice.

Knowing that Ben was pretty nerveous espcially nowadays and fearing he was already ready to hurt anyone in the squad, you pushed Noir by his chest back trying to calm him down. He was right about everything, but it wasn’t the way to solve this mess Ben caused. Besides, no one would stand a chance against Soldier Boy. After all, he was indeed the strongest supe.

“Noir, please calm down,” you whispered him as if no one would hear you. “Don’t do this.”

Your body clenched with terror, knowing that he would be severely wounded by Ben, who was already looking for a small excuse to beat him up. Earving was digging his own grave for sure.

“What’s wrong with you?” Earving suddenly snapped, pushing your hands from him. “Why do you even support him?”

“Violence with get you nowhere,” you said sharply, implying he must stop or he’ll be the one to get hurt.

“And what the fuck will you do about this, huh?” Ben asked with an evil smirk on his face. “You just fucking disrespected me, you fucking weak fuckface. All you do is whining like a newborn baby yet you crave for respect and all shit.”

When you saw Ben make a move to face Earving, you stopped between them to prevent what was to come. Some soldiers were watching you all with curiosity, and some with fear.

“Ben,” you said with a serious tone. “Let’s not make a scene and let others talk behind you. How can they even respect you if you lay a hand on one of us? This won’t be good for your reputation; you know this.”

Instead of taking a step back and pressing his anger down, your effort to save Noir made him see red.

“Will you now fucking defend him against me?” Ben glared at your hands, which were tightly gripping his suit, and said, “Step fucking aside or you'll get hurt first.”

As you take a step back, you realize how you came so close to Ben without recognizing it, despite your repeated assurances to yourself to keep away from him. He had done many things to you lately, but it was the first time he threatened you with such severity.

Just as you are about to react, you hear Crimson approaching Ben.

Placing a touch on Earving's arm, you showed your understanding and concern for him when you noticed him fisting his fists and standing motionless. It was Ben's harsh attitude toward nothing that he got in return for all the respect he deserved, which was all he asked for. Although Earving had been performing rather well up until this point, everyone has their limitations.

“You know, you shouldn't let others treat Soldier Boy disrespectfully,” Crimson said as she gave you one of her venomous glances. “When Black Noir tries to seize control of the team and instigate a revolt, how can people still acknowledge Soldier Boy as the team's strongest supe and leader? How are you even going to support it, Y/N?”

She scowled and remained by Ben's side, uttering more venomous things to incite Ben's hatred of you. Simply because you were aware of Ben's vulnerability to manipulation over his authority, you took a deep breath and declared, “I'm not supporting any of this. Who the hell are you to read Noir's intentions that way?”

Ben raised his finger right up to your face, his eyes were darkened with disappointment. “So, that’s it. You fucking betrayed me for that cocksucker.”

Your eyes burned with fury as the corner of the Countess’ lips curled with satisfaction.

“Are you really talking about betrayal now?” You raised your voice as your hands were in fist now.

Earving felt your hazardous tension with Soldier Boy, and your fury subsided his own anger. You pushed his hands away from you, even though he touched your shoulder to convey his support for you in a gentle way.

You could see how effortlessly the Countess was able to influence Ben; your eyes were burning with pain. You had come to terms with the idea that he couldn't see his actual emotions through them, but it appeared he couldn't see yours either.

He'd pretended to be concerned about you, deceived you, threatened you, and now accused you of betraying him. But the truth was, he was the one who did them. You didn’t know if he was blind or just a coward who couldn’t even face himself.

“You know what?” Ben angrily remarked, “Since you wanted to go away from the team so much, you can fucking leave now. You are free to fucking go.”

With a heavy heart, you murmured, “Fine. Neither do I want to be a part of this.”

Next Chapter

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A/N: I had planned Losing You to be a one-shot story, but it seems it will take a little more chapters to make a final. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @xmariakx @spnfamily-j2 @suspicious-stain-in-spain @atomicsoulcollecto @yvonneeeee @starryperson

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series. <3

[partywithoutsmiling]

Alright darling (can i call you that?) the Rock Beast AU just became my new ✨️hyperfixation✨️ so prepare! Please tell us how does John reacts to his bitty B becoming a Monster

Once he actually finds out who the great Beast is, not very well obviously XD

But if that AU would be a fic, it would be at least couple chapters down the line. My idea for Poppy's and Branch's escape is that while at first they crossed quite a distance through air, soon they were forced to travel by foot, as Branch's wing becomes injured and trying to take flight again would be foolish.

A blessing in disguise it turns out, as the Rock Trolls under Barb's command do not think to stop and search the ground, not that close to their territory, and our duo hides out of sight in the undegrowth, just to see their Angler Ships pass overhead, clearly heading towards the Pop territory

(the thought for this AU being that Barb is convinced that Pop poses exactly the same amount of threat as it did in the ancient past, where they were the most numerous, and seeing the pitiful number of Pop trolls rounded up, figures there must be more Pop villages hidden deep inside the woods that make their territory- so it would make sense to her to think Poppy and Branch went to get more back up- which is correct in a way, as Branch's intention was to fly them all the way to Bergentown, as having giants for allies would become handy in this case)

Meeting John Dory was a complete accident. Headcanoning that he had bad business with the Rock Trolls in the past, he probably decided to skeddadle into the wilderness once he saw the activity in the sky, not wanting to deal with that business- and I liked the idea that the Neverglades were actually a sort of natural border between Pop and Rock, a contested piece of land for both. Usually quite content to sleep out and about, either under stars or in Rhonda, the storm and all the chaos happening around him has him relocate to well known and explored caves- in which he finds Poppy and Branch, who sort of unanimously decide to keep their travelling to the night time, where it gives them less chance to be spotted.

Neither group is thrilled to be discovered by the other, at first- John Dory simply on the principle that lone trolls seems to be bounty hunters more often than not (and this one has a literal monster by her side!) and Poppy... well, for the exact same reason really XD she had been burned by her trust in a stranger- one that led her into this mess she is in- and the source of her major guilt is standing right behind her.

However, compared to JD, she is injured; an unexpected dip in the lake left her feeling sickly, and she is starving- and Branch is hardly doing any better. So it all ends up in a rather tense stand off, where Branch is the only one spiralling, because holy shit that's his brother

And he wants to wail and he wants to sink his claws into JD's face and tear that smug ass grin off his face- and it's the shock of that thought that has him to do neither of those things, and instead forces him to evaluate the situation a bit better.

Because for all JD's abandonment, he is a Pop Troll- and that means a potential ally- and so it is with a gentle nuzzle that he sooths Poppy's unvoiced fears and worries, and encourages her to ask JD for help

The introductions come, of course- but Poppy doesnt mention that Branch is a troll-turned-beast, and while JD's expression turns rather strained at hearing Branch's name, there is nothing that would clue him in that Branch is *his* Branch (His precious baby brother, who he thinks is dead for several years, and being an expert at avoidance of painful truths, there is no way he is sharing that with a complete stranger)

So as far he knows, Poppy's "pet" just has a rather unfortunate name, and Branch's colours are again rather washed out.

Branch just doesnt want to deal with the mess that is his familial trauma and is quite relieved JD doesnt have a clue to his original identity

(of course Poppy, desperate to socialize after being locked up with no-one but mute Branch for company, ends up bonding with JD rather quickly- especially after he treats her wounds and offers her a safe shelter- and finding his collection of memorabilia snowballs into discovering his identity as THE John Dory- and Branch's connection to it all, when John Dory, unable to resist the force that is Poppy, eventually talks about all his brothers- including Bitty B)

Also, this isn't connected to that scene, but even then I think you would enjoy this little treat:

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

Branch was injured.

That much Poppy could observe, from the simple way he was carrying himself.

The rush of their escape didn’t seem to want to pass; the pink troll felt like every breath came out with accompanied tremble, and her heart was keen on making itself as loud as possible- it drummed hard in her ears and pulsed in tandem with the ache that throbbed mutely through her sore arm.

The sudden dive and crash into the murky depths of the lake jostled it- but at the time, her mind was hardly crystal clear enough to focus on anything but uncoordinated flailing as she panicked from the shock of the chilling water, trying to instinctively kick herself up to get to the surface. A great deal of her attention had also been overtaken by fear; for her life, yes, but also for Branch, as she had seen him seize up in one blink and then start falling out of the sky in another, his grip on her- previously strong and secure- now limp and weak, a puppet losing all motion as if its strings were suddenly cut.

Yet it was him who dragged her out of the lake in the end, his great head going under her belly and chest and lifting her high above the surface, leaving her clutching onto his mane with painful grip, gasping and sputtering, a sob roughly tearing through her throat before she could stop it. The sudden relief of air filling her lungs once more was not enough to mask the sudden pain that laced through her right arm, and Poppy had sobbed once more, clenching her eyes shut, burying her face into the soggy mess of Branch’s hair.

Low rumbling moan echoed from the beast under her, the strength of it- for all that it was quiet- reaching all the way to her core- but she was unable to do anything but breathe, the action shallow and painful, as her arm throbbed throbbed throbbed.

Vaguely, she felt the chilling water lapping at her legs, and her ears twitched at the sound of soft splashes- the body under her rocking forward, Branch’s breath just as shallow as hers, but clearly now moving, swimming, towards what she hoped was dry land.

The sky crackled, a thunder left in the wake of it, and she shivered when a first drop splashed against her back, bringing a shock of ice to her already drenched body. Another moan and Branch lurched forward, his swimming now gaining urgency- even in this shape, he was well aware of the danger that rain possessed for species as small as theirs, especially when it caught them on a lake. The prickle of unease was what had her force herself to lift her herself up, her good arm gripping Branch’s mane more firmly while held the other more securely to her chest.

Already the drops were breaking the surface apart, the water splashing up and sending waves that clearly impeded her friend’s progress; one that seemed to be made difficult simply for the fact that Branch had extra set of limbs that were hardly made for swimming- with one wing flapping or paddling awkwardly to help propel forward, while her other followed at much slower pace. It was the trembles and shakes that seemed to run through the appendage that caused Poppy’s heart to plummet to the depths of her stomach.

“Branch..?”

He voice was a pathetically weak and wobbly thing- there has been a shock, followed by euphoria, when her companion suddenly ripped through the bars dividing their cells like knife through butter. His cell had been a dark and dreary place, cut away from any natural light- hers had a large barred window that showed nothing but the menacing glow of the volcano, its fiery tones casting orange hues into the grim, cloudy looking sky. She had often caught him watching through the gaps of his cell, great glowing red eyes focused intently on the singular glimpse of freedom, and many times wondered if his sudden critter like instincts urged him to take flight. He did many things in the time they had nothing but each other for company, that could hardly hint that his interest could have other reasons. He prowled around, as much as his chains allowed him, and quite often his wings would flap. His claws would flex and his limbs would stretch- and Poppy had thought it a simple restlessness of a trapped animal, frustrated at the lack of necessary space.

She had thought. She didn’t expect it to be a slow exploration and familiarization of foreign limbs and muscles- not until she had been scooped up like kittenbug, and not until they were hurling face first through the window, Branch simply tucking his head closer to his body and tearing through it like a single-troll battering ram.

“Branch,” she whispered again, the sound trailing into a low moan, not unlike his own- but he didn’t respond, not even with a growl- not until she let go of his mane so she could gingerly touch the trembling wing.

The limb flinched and Branch went stiff under her for a moment, soft warning hiss audible even through the loudness of the storm- and though he didn’t stop his swimming, Poppy withdrew her hand as if burned, realizing that now perhaps wasn’t the best time to find out where his hurts were coming from.

“I’m sorry,” her apology was quick and strained ,“I’m sorry, Branch, I’m sorry-“ and the water was now blurring her vision, and perhaps it was her tears and not the rain, and perhaps her ill timed touch was not what she was apologizing for.

But Branch suddenly made a soft chuff, and his head twisted to peer back at her, the lamp like glow of his red eyes more comforting than one would expect. But Poppy hardly felt unnerved by the sight of them- not when she couldn’t feel any drop of malice, and the pink troll heaved a shuddering breath, bowing forward so she could reach and gently rub one of the Beast’s long ears. The appendage flicked, and his eyes blinked slowly, another chuff falling from his lips, before he turned to face forward again, his swimming seemingly becoming more determined.

Poppy swallowed and closed her eyes, her exhale a tad less shaky than before.

They will be okay. They have to be.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Message My Heart {One Shot}

Lewis Hamilton x Famous Reader

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst, Some Fluff, PLENTY OF WORDS,

Words: 8.2k

Summary: You are a famous and jaded singer. You’ve closed yourself off from others and even experiences. However, one unexpected comment changes everything.

Note: Let's pretend we all can't recognize or man in .2 seconds from a super pixelated shot of his forehead alone. Let's pretend that we never followed this man a day in our lives. LOL

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it!

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

~~~~~~~~

You'd posted this on a whim, as a joke and nothing serious. It was a night you should have been kept away from your socials, a night of heavy drinking, illicit smoke passing your lips, and hours and hours of dancing until your legs were sore and the bottoms of your feet were numb. A night of laughs, tears, anger, and joy. A night all in the hopes of forgetting the loneliness of your existence.

Though you were never alone you always felt it. You were always surrounded by at least 10 people at any given time, always having someone snap your picture, scream your name, begging for an autograph, for you to smile, for you to pose this and that way, for a moment of your time, your voice, your heart, your life.

It was exhausting always being on display like you were 24/7 entertainment and not a person. Everyone believed you belonged to them and hence you had no right to privacy, no right to be human or left alone. Everything was always so intense and fast-paced, so sexualized and impersonal. You guessed it was the price to pay for the life you chose because of the vocal talent you possessed and oftentimes you believed you had no right to complain because you had chosen this, though you had no idea what this really was all those years ago.

You groaned, wrapped your fur blanket around your naked figure then took a heady sip of your mimosa. Then you scrolled through the comments underneath your post. You rolled past comment after comment of men giving you their sexual fantasies which ranged from mild to very depraved. You were beyond shocked that people would actually speak filth like this on social media for the world to see and not feel shame.

As you scrolled, you also noted how most of those sexual fantasies were deleted. That told you that your social media team was on it and doing the job they were paid handsomely for.

Your ringing phone drew your attention and without looking you knew it was your manager. You sighed then answered.

"Yeah."

"What were you thinking posting that? What did you think would happen?"

"I wasn't thinking."

"Damn right you weren't. The ways that statement could be taken."

"It's not like it was meant the way it was taken! Look I am not going to apologize for the depravity and lewdness of most of the male population. I will not take responsibility for that, nor do I deserve you calling me to belittle me about it."

With that, you ended the call. He was on thinner ice than he'd ever been before. You were ready to fire his ass before but now you were past ready. Your anger tried to overtake you but you recited the mantra you'd learned from your Balinese getaway where had a strong spiritual awakening that made you confront just how bad a shape you were in.

It took 7 repetitions but at the end of them, you felt more rooted in your strength. You continued scrolling rolling your eyes at comments that were weird or cringe then your finger hovered over the screen as a particular comment caught your eye.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Take you away from everyone who makes those beautiful eyes empty and sad so I can gently caress and love away the pain that shines through wrapped around the lyrics of every slow song you put out that your voice so hauntingly expresses to the world. I would just simply love you for all you are that you hide from the world and all you wish to be that you fear you can never be.

For a very long time, you sat there staring at the words in a complete daze. You sat there so long that you actually forgot to breathe. When your chest burned and your head got light, you gasped filling your lungs. You then read the comment again.

Holy shit, you thought.

Who was this person? So many things raced through your mind. Was this just some random person, some random response? Did they know you? How was everything he said so on point? They'd seen through your eyes. Heard the pain. Slowly you began hyperventilating but quickly you got yourself under control. Who was this?

You clicked their name but found their account on private. You contemplated messaging them but quickly decided against it. It was stupid to do.

So you went about your day fulfilling your obligations and doing everything you normally would. Smiled for the cameras, posed for pictures, signed endless autographs, chatted with fans, kept everything PC, shook hands, and gave the people what they so thought they were owed. Every bit of yourself.

However, as your day progressed and winded down you couldn't stop thinking about the comment, and the more you thought about it, the more your curiosity increased. So by the time you were on your way home for the night, you went back on social and sent a follow request before you chickened out, then closed the app.

Though you tried to forget it, you didn't. So as you ate dinner, watched TV, showered, did a little work then wrote some lyrics you had it in the back of your head. When you checked it you couldn't help but smile as you found your request had been approved. However not much was posted in the way of a face. There were plenty of animal pictures, landscapes, and abstract things but nothing to tell you who this person was.

So with nothing to quell your curiosity, you backed off of their page ready to close the app all together when a red '1' appeared indicating you'd received a message. It took all of 5 seconds for you to open it.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Didn't imagine this would be the end of my day when I started it.

You smiled. Hell neither did you.

You: Me neither.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: To what do I owe the pleasure?

You thought about your possible response. You couldn't just tell the truth...could you? After some minutes you bit the bullet.

You: Why did you comment that?

You watched the three dots appear and disappear 5 times as you anxiously waited for their reply. You imagined all the things they could say, all the ways you'd possibly misread the situation and made a wrong decision. Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, came a lengthy response.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I was just being honest and some more honesty would be that I've been following you for a long time and been a fan for about the same time and there is something about you. Something ethereal, something poetic and hypnotizing.

You: Ah. Another fan of my looks. Okay. I get it.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: This has nothing to do with your looks and everything to do with your aura. To be truthful I am convinced you look 1000 times better without the layers of makeup and lashes. It cheapens your beauty. The glow around you has changed over the years. It began beautiful and golden and has morphed into copper, then rust, now it is barely visible and just a shimmery black as if you are a former shell of who you were.

Talk about a stab in the gut. You read their words over and over and thought back to something the Dali said in Bali. It was something similar, something just as profound. A shiver rushed through you producing goosebumps along your flesh.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I posted that comment because I saw you and wanted you to know it. I wanted you to know that while the world wants something--everything from you I want nothing but to give something to you.

The tears in your eyes made your lids heavy. You fought the inevitable struggling to keep them at bay.

You: And what's that?

The reply was lightning quick as if he knew you'd ask.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Safety and love.

That was it. That was all it took for your bottom lid to give up and release the floodgates. Your tears cascaded down your cheeks and they didn't stop for long minutes that turned into hours until you'd cried yourself to sleep.

~~~~~

-12 Weeks Later-

A stranger's kind words to a random drunken post ended up being a gift from the universe. Every time you talked which was every day now he put you at ease. It was like having the worst case of poison ivy that nothing soothed but that one salve you decided to try on a whim. He was that salve and every time you spoke his effect was one that mystified you.

Your moods improved, intrusive thoughts decreased, and depression staved off. Hell, even your outlook had changed. Once everything was bleak. You saw the worst in everyone and everything. You were Ms. Pessimistic always with the defensive wall because you expected everyone you encountered to be trash. Now, that outlook had changed and because of the chance you were giving him and him not fumbling it was slowly changing your mind about people.

When you asked him what his motives were, he simply said to be your friend because you looked like you needed one of those more than someone to tell you how beautiful you are or break your back. That answer floored you. Never had you had a man who wanted to be your friend as opposed to something else--something more.

So friends was what you became. He became one of your biggest supporters always cheerleading you on through social media. He was the ever-present positivity your negative mind craved. His light and vibe were contagious and soon they'd infiltrated your whole outlook. He even got you into jogging, which you hated. Every morning at the ass crack of dawn you were jogging together sending snapshots of the view you were zipping by, short text messages throughout, and even voice messages.

You often decompressed together either watching a movie, playing against one another on gaming platforms, or just doing the same activities in your own towns. Through it all, you still didn't know what he looked like still didn't know who he really was and though you were curious, you also were afraid to rock the boat.

When your friends found out about him they often badgered you into figuring out who he was. They even offered to do a deep dive investigation on social to figure it out. You knew they could crack the case in a few hours but again the fear told you not to.

"What are you afraid of?"

It was a good question that one of your best friends, Alaana, asked as you sat with both of them in your theater room watching the latest release on Netflix. Twiddling your fingers, you avoided her eyes.

"Do you think he's a perv?"

Your other friend, Takia, gasped as she shot upright. "That he's a catfish?"

"Who is he catfishing as? She doesn't even know who he is let alone if he looks like who he says he is," Alaana pointed out.

"So what is it? Afraid he's butt ugly?"

The two cackled together as if they were the best stand-up comedians alive while you gave them your best unamused expression.

"Just tell us," Alaana whined.

"Rocking the boat."

They stared at you in confusion which made you even more frustrated. With a kiss of your teeth and a sigh you continued.

"Disillusionment. What if finding out who he is or what he looks like rocks the boat and destabilizes everything? What if things change and not for the better? Like I have no idea how this man I know nothing about was able to--"

"Bring back the Y/N before you got famous and jaded?"

The three of you nodded and sat there in silence for a few moments as if giving that silence to your former self as a show of sorrowful recognition.

"He hasn't even done anything. He's just been...there."

"The universe usually brings us what we need at the time we need it. What if he is what you need?"

"I've thought about that the last few weeks. I don't know how but somehow the way I think of him has changed. I daydream about him and get giddy when I think of him. I don't remember this with anyone else and it's weird because I don’t know him in the slightest."

"You like him," Takia accused.

"I don't know him."

"Girl, please. You've been talking to this man every day for the last 3 months. Every day. You know his routine, know his likes, dislikes, and dreams. You know him so just take the next step. Maybe you guys can make things work past friends. His first initial message to you was that he would love away the pain and love all you are that you hide from the world and all you wish to be that you fear you can never be."

Hearing his earliest words spoken made goosebumps skirt across your skin. They still affected you, still made you weak.

"No lie at first I thought it was creepy but seeing how pure and innocent it has turned it doesn't make me cringe anymore. I think at least find out who he is then decide."

"What if he's some normal guy who is like a doctor or teacher?"

"Would that make you think twice?"

"Normal people don't do well in this world. It's hard to understand and adjust to."

"Or maybe he is in this world."

"Making anything work in this world sucks especially if they are already in it."

"Which is the more appealing one?"

Just then your notifications went off. Checking it, you found a new message from him.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I'm sorry I'm on a business trip and it has been a crazy day. I'm all yours now. How are you?

You smiled and typed out a reply.

You: No need for sorries. I can't expect to have you all to myself 24/7

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: And why not? It's nothing short of what you deserve.

Lite fluttering butterflies took over your stomach making you burrow deeper into the couch.

You: So are you saying if I want you 24/7 then you're mine?

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Even if you don’t want me I’m yours.

"Oh my god," Alaana squealed.

Glancing back, you found Alaana peeping over your right shoulder and Takia over your left. Both had literal heart eyes.

"Ask for a picture," Takia badgered.

"Tell him you'll send one too," Alaana backed up.

Shaking your head, you chewed your bottom lip trying to stick to your guns though the curiosity was killing you. Just then, another message came through.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Scared you off?

You chewed more intently on your bottom lip as you thought over his words. You weren't scared in the slightest.

You: It takes more than that to scare me.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Good to know. So the real question is, could you--would you want me?

Seconds later, an image came through and you sat there dazed staring into the most beautiful pair of brown eyes you'd ever seen.

"Wooooow," Alaana and Takia said in unison.

"That there is a beautiful man," Takia added.

She was right. Though you could only see his eyes you could see that they were kind eyes and kind eyes said a lot about someone. It had been a long time since you'd looked into a pair of kind eyes and now faced with his, you wanted nothing more than to stare into them for the foreseeable future.

"Holy Shit," you exclaimed.

"Right. Girl, I can tell he fine. I can tell these things. You can see it in the nose bridge. That's a nose bridge of a fine piece of man," Alaana said.

"The nose bridge? Come on Lana, I would have said the eyebrows and the lashes. Like, did he go to the lash bar or something? I'm jealous," Takia added.

You heard them but nothing was registering. His eyes held you captivated.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Take your time. I'll wait.

And wait he did. Your friends booed you for not answering with a resounding "hell yeah", but you didn't let it phase you. Tucking your phone away, you tried your best to focus on the rest of the movie while ignoring the big elephant trunk sticking out of your phone as if to remind you what was happening in it. You didn't need the reminder. Your mind was already thinking and overthinking the exchange.

By the time your friends had gone to sleep it was almost 2 in the morning and no matter how you tried, sleep evaded you. So with your phone in hand, a bottle of wine in the other you trekked to the pool and set yourself up. It took less than 5 minutes for you to end up back on your messages. 6 hours had gone by since his last message. 6 hours you'd left him on read. 6 hours you'd thought about his words. You pressed the audio record button then sighed.

"Even before you sent that picture...I could and would want you."

Your finger hovered over the send button and it was fear again that stood in your way. So as you did 12 weeks ago, you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and pressed send. After, you dropped your phone on the lounger, grabbed the bottle of wine, and took a hearty gulp of the sweet red liquid. This brand had a higher alcohol content than most of your whites which meant it would be the best 'no thinking' wine for you. It would make it easy to relax and just exist in the moment. You leaned back and gazed into the sky. You were far enough away from the lights and glitz of the city that you could see the stars and tonight you were glad for it.

Releasing a sigh of contentment, you realized it had been years since you felt this calm. It was easy to get lost in the view which is what you did. By the time your notifications went off again, you'd had half the bottle of wine. It was a voice message.

His normally deep voice was even deeper now. He sounded as if he'd just woken up or was very intoxicated and in the mood for nothing but sin. You pressed your knees together as a sensation you hadn't felt in years washed over you--desire. Who in the fuck was this man to have this power, you wondered incredulously.

"Wow. I honestly didn't expect you to reply. I'm pleasantly surprised."

Smiling you took another mouthful of wine.

"Sorry it took so long."

"It's all good. No need to apologize. I understand you better than you think."

"How exactly? You've never met me."

"I actually did, once. It was in passing and I guess I didn't make an impression so..."

Your eyes bugged as you wracked your brain trying to figure out if you'd seen his eyes before. There was no way you'd forget eyes like those.

"Trying to think over all the people you've met through your life to see if you remember me?"

He sounded amused.

"I was trying to figure out how I could not remember eyes like yours. Since I don't think it's possible I'm going to say you're full of shit."

The recording that came next put the biggest smile on your face and set those butterflies flapping again. His laugh was a thing for masturbation.

"Real talk though."

"So safe to say you're not a teacher or CEO of some major company."

"Ha, no not a teacher. As for a CEO of some major company...that's pretty accurate."

You continued to think over who he could possibly be but nothing was sticking. The only thing that was sticking was more and more curiosity and confusion.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: As I said before. You'll know when you're ready and when you are ready...really ready for me I will be there.

You stared at his words. They were words he’d sent before. Words he'd patiently abided by. Words he apparently meant. Your heart in your chest purred as of it were blissfully soothed and content. Staring back up at the stars you gaped in wonderment.

"Wow."

~~~~~~~

-4 Weeks Later-

You: I'm ready.

You stared at the message you'd sent 30 minutes ago. You couldn't believe you'd mustered up the courage to send it let alone actually meant it. In the last 16 weeks, there had been more than enough things that were working for him than against him. He was kind, funny, patient, funny, gentle, honest, gracious, spoke of his faith in things in such a way that instilled faith in you. You'd gone from not seeing the point in continuing if emptiness was all that awaited you to wanting the next day to come so you could experience new things through and with him.

Takia asked you a week ago if you'd fallen in love with him and though you were apprehensive to give her any response your heart lurched and thudded even more strongly within your chest. Since then, you'd thought even more about meeting him.

Today you woke with a stronger desire to meet him, touch his skin and see if he smelled how you imagined, like vanilla, cedar, spiced and fragrant musk, an open field of lavender, and lemon thyme and ripe citrus. You just wanted to be in the same room to see if you were romanticizing a stranger for his kind words or if there was really something there.

"You'll be late if we don't leave now," your new manager Iyla said.

Since firing your old manager and having Iyla come in who was always in his shadow because of how obnoxious he was you'd felt better and better about your career. She'd really stepped up in the past few weeks and showed you what you already suspected, that she was good at what she did and was a much better fit for you.

Once you were out of the hotel and in your car on your way to the venue you were set to perform at, you harmonized your new song trying to make sure you had everything right. It was partly because of how much of a perfectionist you were but also to distract yourself from the silence on his end from your message.

You tried not to think that he'd seen it and left you on read or that he was not on the same page as you anymore or that he'd changed his mind about you. There were so many thoughts and possibilities running through your head that work was the only way to quiet them.

20 minutes later you arrived at the Versace show where you were going to perform. This would be a first where live music was used for the models to walk the runway rather than backtrack. When Donatella had approached you with the idea you leaped at the chance. Half of your closet was filled with Versace so there was no way you'd pass this up.

"This is so iconic," Iyla said as she readjusted your altered vintage Versace dress. The material fit you like a glove and accentuated all your striking features.

"You will be the first ever to perform at a Versace show, hell any show that isn't the VS shows. You are about to break into another layer of this atmosphere, forget the stratosphere," Iyla said with a wide smile.

There was something about her that always made you comfortable. Her vibe always gave off excited and caring big sister and you loved that.

"Are you nervous?"

You wiggled your hand to show her how in the middle of the fence you were.

"Don't be. You look amazing and we already know your voice is sublime. Talk about an Indica trip."

You smiled already feeling calmer. As you walked the black and gold carpet you smiled for the cameras and did a few interviews. Overall everyone was looking forward to the performance and the show. Across the way, you heard a commotion. The photographers went into a tizzy and fans that were mingled together across the street looking on screamed. It sounded like a K-pop concert instead of a fashion show. People loved fashion but they didn't get this crazy for it.

Carning your neck you tried to see what the fuss was all about and instead saw fans losing their ever-loving shit.

"Oh my god, it's Lewis Hamilton," one screamed.

You'd heard the name plenty of times but you'd never paid much attention. All you knew was he was British and did some kind of sport. You watched on as he stepped up on the carpet and posed in his all-black outfit. You watched on for a few moments curious as to what all the hype was. He was too far away for you to make out much of his features but from what you could make out, you had to admit he was attractive.

Though you felt Iyla tapping you to tell you it was time to move you couldn't. There was something about him that was so captivating. Alas, you had a performance to kill. You turned and saw Donatella approaching you with a huge smile.

"You look even better than I thought you would."

"That's kind. Thank you but I am only the vessel for this beautiful piece of art you've created."

The photographers screamed for you both to pose so they could get the shot and that is what you did for almost a full 10 minutes. No amount was good enough for them, they wanted more and more and more.

"Ah, Lewis. Come, come, come. Join us!”

You spun and found the same man from a few minutes ago approaching. His smile was wide as he looked at Donatella but when they shifted to you his smile slipped. At the sight of that for some reason, your belly sank. Did he know of you and didn't like you?

As quickly as the smile disappeared it appeared again. He embraced Donatella kissing both her cheeks as he exchanged pleasantries. You caught a whiff of a scent that couldn't be cologne. It had to be him. It was strong but not in an overpowering way. Though he didn't stand too close to you, you could catch notes of spiced wood, and rich floral undertones that smelled as if fragrant flowers had been gently smoked over a fire to unlock their deeper fragrance. He smelled good--mouthwatering even.

Donatella turned to you, "Do you know Y/N? Have you met?"

Your eyes met and instantly the feeling of familiarity washed over you.

"Uh--,” you began.

"No, I've never had the pleasure, Lewis said holding out his hand for yours.

You placed it in his palm and felt the familiarity shake you again in the form of a sharp but almost comforting jolt. Neither of you budged though.

"Are you sure? I swear I feel like I've seen..."

"Trust me if I had ever been properly introduced to you, I'd remember."

His eyes held you locked in place. There was something familiar about them but you knew you'd never met him before. He was right. You were sure you'd remember eyes like his. Lewis suddenly dropped your hand, then slipped to the other side of Donatella to take part in the photos. Then like a thief in the night he was gone. Who was that you thought to yourself.

As showtime approached, you tried to forget the strange encounter and the way your body came alive from his scent. The more you tried to forget the more you focused on it but instead of thinking of the man you'd just met you kept thinking about the one you'd been talking to for the last several months.

A notification came up, sending you to your DMs.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Ready for what exactly?

Seeing his message your belly fluttered. It truly had been a while since you'd had a reaction like this to anyone.

You: You know what. Ask me again.

30 seconds ticked by, then a minute, and the whole time you tried not to chew your lip. When another message came in, again your belly flipped.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Do you want me?

Seeing the rephrased question instantaneously brought up your anxiety. It was direct on purpose because he wanted an intentional answer. Not a possible or hypothetical one. Oh, you thought. This man was different from any other little boy you'd encountered and every fiber of your being said take a chance.

Unable to resist, you bit down on your bottom lip and chewed forgetting all about your plum-painted lips, and prepared to type your reply but before you could get a letter down Iyla called your name telling you it was showtime.

5 minutes later, you were backstage waiting for your cue. You would be the first to walk out and down the runway as if you were one of the models. You'd then take your seat and begin. You should have been nervous about it but you weren't, you were more nervous about the message you were about to send.

A few of the models gave you hugs and thumbs up for support just before the stage manager gave you a nod for you to go. Once you stepped through the threshold, you took note of just how many people were there. The creative director had done amazingly on the set and ambiance. The large pool in the center of the runway space really was a vibe. The audience instantly erupted in applause as you stuck your beginning pose for dramatic effect.

What a dream you thought as you took your first step down the sleek white platformed runway. There were plenty of little girls who dreamed of this moment and here you were living it. It had been a while since you were open enough to feel gratitude but here and now you felt it in full force. Another thing to credit the man who still hadn't revealed his name for.

As you walked you noted the plethora of celebrities that sat around the runway at their posh-looking garden tables watching every move you made. You saw singers, actors, models, and even athletes from varying fame levels. On your turn, you saw Dwayne Wade who was seated next to Lewis Hamilton. Both men gave you an appreciative and polite head nod as you passed. When you got to the end of the "U" shaped runway you stopped and the audience again applauded you.

Once you were seated behind the piano, you adjusted your microphone and got ready to get down to business. As the first chords of the piano played for the intro you fully gave yourself to the track. A few lines in and the models began walking showing off the art that had taken months to prepare.

The song you'd chosen tonight was new. It was something that had come to you since you'd begun your interactions in your DMs. It was softer than the songs from your last album which was quite heavy. The lyrics were flirtatious, the melody fun and soothing but it was still somehow all you.

20 minutes later you'd sang 4 new songs and was in the middle of a piano solo that would close out the show. When Donatella stepped out after the model precession went by, you added some flair to the solo giving Beethoven and Bach a run for their money. The audience clapped and whistled as you showcased your musical abilities, abilities that had gotten you your current fame and status. Upon the grand finale, you hit the perfect ending chords making Donatella laugh.

The two of you walked on either side of the line of models toward the center of the "U" shaped runway to meet and join hands. She gestured to you making the audience applaud and cheer. You did a dainty curtsy then motioned to Donatella and cheered loudly which promoted those around you to do the same. You stood there allowing the photographers to take pictures for a few moments. When you glanced down you realized you were standing directly in front of Lewis whose eyes were glued to you. The smile on his lips was soft and the look on his face was endearing. You wanted to ask why but you shook it off.

2 hours later after endless pictures, interviews, autographs, and tens of flirtatious men trying to either get your number, get you to give them your number, or convince you to leave with them for the night; you finally had time to yourself. You finished your glass of champagne, leaned on one of the 9-foot tall hedges, and scrolled through your phone.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Your voice is still haunting and amazingly beautiful, but your eyes are no longer sad and empty. God, you are gorgeous like this.

Smiling, you took a deep breath.

You: I want you.

You were sure of that now.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Are you sure?

You: Yes. I've spent the night having CEOs, oil tycoons, actors, models, athletes, artists, and men from every other profession you can think of flirt with me, attempt to spend the night with me, and try to create some sort of connection only to fail miserably because all I can think of is you and the fact you haven't once flirted with me or tried to convince me to spend the night with you.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I didn't know you wanted me to.

You: I didn't either. Now I do. I want you to. I want you to do all of that.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: What if I don't want to convince you to spend the night with me? Spending the night with you is the least of what I want to do with you.

You: What do you want?

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I want your days. I want your afternoons. I want your trust. I want your honesty. I want your vulnerability. I want your mind. I want your heart.

Once again he'd stolen your breath.

You: And what do I get in return?

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I will give you smiles. I will give you laughter. I will give you joy. I will give you honesty. I will give you my days. I will give you my afternoons, my nights. I will give you my loyalty. I will give you trust. I will give you vulnerability. I will give you my mind, my heart, and only when you are sure you can match me I will give you my body and all the passion and fire you can stand.

Wow, you thought.

You: I'm in Cannes for a few days. I fly out the day after tomorrow. How can we meet?

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Depends. How badly do you want it?

You: I'm not thirsty or anything but a hard 9.

A voice message came through of him laughing. Then another.

"I'm glad you can hide your thirst but I won't. Not anymore. I'm at 100."

It was your turn to send a voice message of you laughing.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Glad you find my suffering funny. I'm currently in Cannes too. If you trust me enough we can meet tonight.

Your brows rose. He was in Cannes too? What a coincidence.

You: Tonight then.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Tonight.

You felt all sorts of giddy now. It overshadowed the nervousness that was trying to overtake you. Fifteen minutes later, as you left the fashion show venue, another message came through.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Vieux Port, 12. Tell this to your driver and they will know where to go.

You smiled then attached a photo of yourself from the night and sent it.

You: Me now so you don't miss me

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: Jeez. You're beautiful Y/N.

You: It is a bit unfair that I still don’t know your name.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: You'll know when you see me.

You dropped Iyla off at the hotel with an excuse of wanting to sightsee then you took the drive to the port. On the way you texted her the location you would be in case you bumped into trouble. With the window down, you relaxed into the scents of Cannes. Baked goods, salty sea air, citrus, and sand. It all smelled wonderful. You'd been here tens of times before but this was the first time you'd taken time for yourself to mellow out. You were in a completely different headspace than you were on previous trips and it felt so freeing.

15 minutes later, your driver pulled up to find 2 people, a man, and a woman, already waiting there. Your phone vibrated with a notification.

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I sent Verona and Linus to escort you. They are waiting at the port. I promise you're safe.

Another message came with 2 pictures and vouching credentials. Sighing, you relaxed again. He had thought of everything. As you approached the two they smiled.

"Verona? Linus?"

"Yes. Ms. Y/L/N?”

"Yes."

"Wonderful. Please follow us we will take you to the vessel," Verona said.

As you walked behind them you couldn't help but wonder what vessel and how he'd pulled all this together in less than an hour. Who was he exactly? It took all of 3 minutes until Linus and Verona both stopped in front of a lavish yacht that looked like it was at least 3 stories.

"Whoa."

"Ms. Y/L/N, after you," Linus said with an outstretched arm pointing to the boarding plank ahead.

You stood there for several moments thinking about things again. Were you really going to get on this yacht with someone you’d never met before? Were you really going to be this trusting?

Blessedbeyondmeasure44: I had Verona and Linus provide your driver with the details of this yacht before he left. I've told him to give it to your manager so they know where you will be and how to contact authorities if you aren't returned safely. I’ve also asked them to check in with you every 30 minutes using a code word they choose. I don't want you afraid of me Y/N. If you are afraid I won't think anything of you turning around and we can try this another way, a more public way with your manager present. Whatever you're comfortable with.

You didn't know if it was game or not but his words calmed you. Maybe it wasn't his words and the fact that he thought ahead and provided these securities for you to feel safer. A call from Iyla came through then.

"OMG, Y/N. Wow. I have so many questions and I want all the details later but your code word is Calamari. I will call every 30 minutes."

She sounded excited and you had no idea why.

"Got it."

Just like that, she ended the call. Why was she so excited? You wondered if she knew something you didn't as you put your phone in your bag. With a breath, you crossed the plank and allowed a man dressed similarly to Linus and Verona to lift you onto the yacht.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. He is waiting on the top deck. Follow this hallway to the steps at the end and up you go," Verona instructed.

With a nod, you were off. As you walked you noted just how luxurious the yacht truly was. Did he own this? If he did he was possibly in or close to your tax bracket. You weren't sure if you should be happy about it or leery. If he was in your tax bracket it could mean he was a celebrity as well. At that thought you paused on the 4th step on the stairs.

You thought about celebs that you'd tried to get to know or date and cringed. All of them were slightly weird with quirks you couldn't handle on top of your schedule and responsibilities. A celebrity relationship took a lot and you didn't know if you could give any of it.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Y/N."

You took a breath and continued. When you reached the top of the stairs your jaw dropped. There were candles and flowers everywhere. Slowly you looked around and realized they weren't just any flowers, they were your favorite flowers.

"Oh my god," you whispered.

With a step forward you took in your 360 view and you knew that no matter who he was you wanted to try for him. As you looked behind you, you walked backward distracted by the beauty surrounding you. He'd somehow managed all of this in under an hour. Somehow he'd filled the entire top deck with all your favorite things. Your favorite flowers were covering every surface of the floor. Your favorite scented candles were lit and their scent wafting in the air. Your favorite snacks and treats lining the railing on the left. Your favorite fruit lining the right railing.

"He's really been paying attention," you softly said.

"Of course I pay attention. You're important to me."

You stumbled to a stop but kept your back to the voice. You recognized his voice. You recognized it from your messages and even tonight. Suddenly, everything swirled in your mind as it slowly came together.

Hi, Y/N."

You took a deep breath and turned. Your jaw dropped while everything fell into place as you looked into eyes you'd seen before this moment. They were eyes you'd looking into mere hours ago.

"I'm Lewis."

He smiled and your heart skipped a beat but words escaped you. He didn't speak again, he waited with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore the same full black outfit from earlier but he looked even better in it now with the candles and flowers as his backdrop.

"I--you--oh my god. You're--”, you began.

"Blessedbeyondmeasure44? Yes, I am."

The silence stretched for a long moment before you snorted.

"Bullshit."

Lewis chortled in return then let out a chuckle.

"I've said it before but God I love that you have no censor and say the first thing that comes to your mind."

Your eyes bugged. He had said that before.

"No. You're not."

Lewis smiled and took a few more steps to you, "How can I prove it to you?"

"Prove?"

You wracked your brain trying to make sense of this and come up with a way he could make you believe this.

"What was the first thing I said to you in DMs?"

Without hesitation, Lewis spoke, "After you sent a follow request I said I didn't expect that this was how my day would end and you said me neither."

You raised a brow. "What was the last thing we did together?

"We went to the beach. You went to Crystal Cove in Laguna Beach and I went to La Concha because I was in Spain at the time. You sent me a beautiful picture of a cave and said it was one of your secret spots. It was called--.”

"Dana's Point," you finished as he proved his point.

"I can show you the messages, and our pictures including the one you sent earlier so I wouldn’t miss you. I wouldn't miss you though Y/N. You stand out no matter what."

He took another step to you leaving only a few inches between you. He reached out and took your hands.

"I have missed you though. I've missed you in so many moments that I wished you were with me, so many experiences I wished I had with you. I missed you every time a message of yours came in. I even missed you in my dreams."

You lifted your hand and cupped his cheek while staring into his eyes.

"I knew I saw those eyes before. I felt it."

Lewis smiled. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to do this in front of those cameras and the crowd. I'm sorry I wasn't 100% truthful."

You smirked.

"Your message."

Lewis cupped your cheek in return. "Your voice is still haunting and amazingly beautiful, but your eyes--," he paused then cupped your other cheek. Using his thumbs, he softly slid them across your cheekbones. "Your eyes are no longer sad and empty. God, you are gorgeous like this."

Tears welled your eyes and you scoffed.

"Now you flirt with me."

A chuckle fell from his lips and if you hadn't fallen for him before you definitely had now. You hung your head and shook it.

"I am so stupid. This whole time."

"You're not."

"You're Lewis Hamilton. I am sure any other woman would have recognized those eyes. I had no clue. Hell, I don’t know the first thing about you, not really. Yeah, you're a racer but other than that..." you shrugged.

Lewis lifted your head his hands now cupping your skull. It put you on high alert at just how large his hands were. "Hey, love that you had no clue. I love that you don't know me. It was refreshing. I loved these last few months of you knowing me and me knowing you without the extra stuff."

"We know the extra stuff now. Oh my god, from the ruckus on the carpet of the Versace show you're a huge celebrity. How in the world---."

Before you could continue your freak-out Lewis' lips were on yours. It was like you’d stuck your finger in an electrical socket. Your entire body came to life as if his touch was life itself. His soft lips slowly pressed against yours before he opened them enough to take your top lip between his. From there all thought escaped you.

When one of his hands slipped around your waist you moaned unexpectedly. Where had that come from? Your body had no trouble following along. You pressed yourself closer to him relishing the tingles that skirted across your lips and everywhere he touched. Just as you were going to sink your fingers into his braids, Lewis pulled away keeping his forehead to yours.

"Do you want me?"

His voice was low and deep and it wrapped around you pulling you closer to him.

"I-I don’t see how I can have you."

Again Lewis kissed you. This time he delved his tongue into your mouth wrapping it around yours, teasing you to open more for him. When you did it was because you moaned. He took advantage of that opening and kissed you in a way that said he was not letting you go. His moan melded with yours and you felt his other hand tighten as he held your skull. Tearing his lips away, he panted as harshly as you were.

"Do you--want--me? Because I want you Y/N. I want you even knowing the obstacles in our way. I want you more than I have wanted anything in a long time. I want you in ways that surprise me and make me year all at once. I'm not saying this will be a walk through the park. I'm saying I want to walk together with you from this night on. Do you want me too?"

He had to be kidding. Who in their right mind would say no after that? You snorted then laced your fingers together behind his neck thrusting yourself flush against him.

"I want you more than anything. I want you in my life. I want to really run with you though I hate it. I want to go to beaches together and have movie nights truly together. I want to see the same sunrise and sunsets you see. I want to touch your skin like this whenever I want instead of thinking about it. I want to smell you every day. Yes, Lewis. I want you too."

The look in his eyes held you in place as did the tightness of his arms that were now wrapped around your waist holding you possessively against him.

"I can't wait to give you the world Y/N," Lewis said in such a way you knew he meant every word.

"I don't need the world, nor do I want it. I just want you."

His smile was the cutest thing and you knew you'd never get tired of it.

"You have me. Next up...the world."

You smiled then giggled when he lifted you in the air and spun you around. You laughed louder loving the way the sound came from the very depths of you and how authentic it felt. When he put you down you were at the railing looking out to the ocean.

"Started from a DM now we here," Lewis said making you snort.

"Started from a DM soon the whole world will fuckin hear bout it."

Lewis threw his hands up.

"Ayyyy!”

You laughed loudly and soon he joined in. When he wrapped his arms around you again he gazed into your eyes but said no words. Slowly both of you moved closer until your lips softly touched. Neither of you moved. You took the time to savor the feel of your skin connecting in a way your minds and souls already had. A way that he had retaught you, a way that he so patiently and diligently worked for and it all started when he messaged your heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 34

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You used to long for lazy days. When you worked twelves and barely had enough time for sleep in between. After a week of lazy days, bound to the bed by back pain and Lloyd's overly mindful nagging, you are desperate to be mobile. At least he dropped the hospital thing after you told him no ten times.

You feel freer and looser. See, it always passes. You know your body. Even if it's changed beyond recognition, even as your tits balloon up and your stomach grows rounder by the day.

Besides, you don't go far from bed. The trip down to the sofa is enough to drain you. You lower yourself with a book and some fruity iced tea. The late spring light shines in and hints at the looming arrival of summer.

You're almost finished the book. A feat you've not made in years. You never had time to get past the third chapter but this one hand you by the throat from page one. You quickly lose yourself in the words, the pages open with the bottom of the spine propped up on your stomach.

The soft rustle of leaves and the song of birds adds to the calm hue of the day. It's almost too peaceful. In this house, that's rarely a good side. Something is always set to break the monotony. Rather, someone. 

"There you are, peaches," Lloyd purrs coyly, "elusive as ever."

You don't look away from the book as you hear him behind you. You hum in response and restart the sentence. He comes nearer, his shadow looming over you as you try to keep your focus.

"What's up, baby cakes?" He massages your shoulders as he lurks behind the couch. 

"Reading."

"Boring," he says as he bends down, his lips brushing your hair, "come on, put the book down."

"I'm almost done, you can bother me after."

He huffs. You can practically hear the mope. He pushes away from the sofa and his feet slap on the floor. His figure blurs above the top of the pages as you sense him watching you. 

You try to ignore him. You squint until your brows hurt. You scowl and lower the book.

"Lloyd, please, I–"

You quiet as you get a good look at him. He wears only a black thong, his erection obvious as it's barely restrained by the fabric. You scoff as he flexes and turns, showing you his and the straps that angle at a slant.

He slaps his own ass as he poses for you. You gape, dumbfounded.

"What on earth–"

"Look, I'm not gonna lie, I'm desperate for you, doll face. This thing's tight as ballskin."

"I… I don't even know what to say to that."

"Look, sugar tits," he puts his hand on his hip, "you don't gotta say nothing but we both know once you get the strap on, you know exactly what to say."

'Not right now," you snort, "are you serious? I'm pregnant. Very pregnant."

"It'll fit under, I looked it up." He comes closer and reaches to wiggle free the book from your grasp, "tell me you haven't been dreaming of shoving something up my ass."

"No, because I know you enjoy it too much."

"Bah, baby," he shuts the book and tosses it aside, "it'll loosen us both up."

He takes your hands and pulls you to your feet. You narrow your eyes as his gaze slips from them. His brows raise slightly and he runs his touch along your stomach to cup your tits.

"Wow, I did not think these things could get better," he squeezes and you hiss.

"Ow," you slap his hands, "they're tender."

"They're fucking glorious. Shit, my dick is aching. I think it's gonna split if you don't start fucking me soon."

"That would be wonderful. Save us both a lot of trouble in the future."

"God, I love how you play hard to get," he groans and fondles your tits again, "maybe I should just titty fuck you then. That's always fun…"

"I'd rather the strap," you shove him away, "fine, if I do it, can I finish my book?"

"Right now I'm giving you permission to do anything you want to me, and after, you can go ahead and do whatever you want by yourself."

"Mmm, fair trade," you reach down and flick the leather at the front of the thong, "come on then, let's get it over with."

He winces and cups his crotch. It doesn't deter him though as he waves his other hand past you, "ladies first."

You hear the grit in his voice and it's enough to content you. You should take whatever chance you get to cause him some pain, even if in the end he likes it.

You round the couch and go out into the entryway. You take your time on the stairs. Not just because of your belly but because you can sense his impatience. He squeezes your ass as he follows you.

"God, I love this ass," he snarls, "mmm, the juiciest peach of all."

"You're so lame," you say breathless as you reach the top.

"For you, yeah," he snickers and strides ahead of you.

You trail him as he leaves the bedroom door open. As you get to the room, he has the strap ready to go. You roll your eyes but undress.

"I still don't think it will fit."

"Make it fit," he insists as he untangles it.

You unclasp your bra and take off the pregnancy belt. You groan at the ache in both breast and belly. You grab onto his shoulder and step into the harness.

He pulls it up and slides the curved end into your cunt. You twitch as he secures the straps beneath your bump. You didn't expect this to be more than a honeymoon thing but it's better than him trying to break your back.

He stands straight and looks you up and down. He brings his hands to either side of your belly and bends forward to kiss it. You wince as he keeps his head close to your bump. 

“Look kid, you’re gonna have to close your ears for this one–”

“Ew!” You swat his head, “Lloyd, don’t.”

“Well?!” He stands and rubs his head, “I don’t wanna traumatize our kid.”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up. The kid won’t know–”

“Okay, at least I tried to be considerate.”

“Is that even a thing for you?”

He grimaces and shakes his head, “keep being such a bitch and I’m gonna cum before you even get the tip in.”

You give him a look but can’t resist how your insides flutter. The fullness in your cunt isn’t helping either. You really could use a nice orgasm to loosen up the last of the tension.

“Get on the fucking bed,” you point behind him.

“Yes, mistress,” Lloyd nearly dances before he turns around. “I’ll be a good slave boy.”

“Let’s not say that again,” you follow him as he hooks his thumbs in the sides of his thong.

“Nope, keep that on,” you order and smack his ass.

“Yes!” He gets on his knees and grabs the bottle on the bed. He holds it over his shoulder and you take the lube as he gets into position, “fuck, peaches, were you always such a domme?”

“Be quiet,” you pinch him and feel the strap angled along his cheek. You ooze out the lubes and let it run down in the crack of his ass. He’s almost shaking in excitement. “Don’t,” you warn as you notice his hand trail under him. “Don’t even think of touching yourself.”

“Yes, mistress,” he puts his hand flat with the other.

You stand on your toes and push the tip down between his cheeks. You glide it through the lube, spreading it around his hole. He groans as you prod him teasingly. You lean in just a little but relent, doing it over and over until he whimpers.

“Please just fuck me.”

You laugh and ease into him. Just the tip. He shudders and leans back into you. You grab the straps of the thong and push him off.

“Uh uh,” you tisk. “Turn over.”

He hesitates but obey. He lays on his back, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling. He brings his legs up, splaying himself for you as he clutches his thighs. You guide the toy down beneath him as his dick pokes slightly out of the thong. 

You dip into him steadily until you reach the limit. It jolts the toy inside you and a trickle flows into your core. You rock back and watch his stomach clench. You grasp the thong with one hand as you start to fuck him. It slips further down, revealing half his length. 

You watch how his throat bobs, his still unshaven stubble poking out across his chin and cheeks. He shakes each time you thrust. The sight of his pleasure is almost as intoxicating as your own mounts.

You tilt again and again. Losing yourself to your desire. Fuck, you feel it building in you, the tight coil spinning and spinning. You slam into him harder as you get closer and you brace his hip. You’re out of breath, your legs shaky.

You moan as he reaches to touch your hand. He quakes and lets out a guttural growl, “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

He grunts and spasm, his hole tightening around the toy as he babbles and slaps his hand against the bed. He cums with a strangled cry that sounds as stunned as it is delighted. His cum ribbons up his stomach as you bite your lip.

Your own climax crashes upon you swiftly but is cut short but a sudden zap up your spine. Fuck. You lean against him, keeping the weight off your stomach as you almost collapse. You spread your hand over his chest as you push your knees against the bed.

“Help!” You murmur.

[lightvsdark18]

Damien's time in Twisted Wonderland

(Instead of summarizing every book, I'll point out the important details or funny moments to make it easier. Used Mewshi Q's playthrough)

Prologue

Damien's coffin was laying in front of the Dark Mirror. He felt in a daze like he awoke up from a deep sleep.

His foggy mind kept him silent when Crowley showed up.

Explored the abandoned dorm once he walked in, coming across ghosts. He was unfazed by the encounter as he continued to explore, not hearing the creature freaking out in the background.

Threw a wash rag at Ace for insulting him and turned back to his work.

He argued with the headmage when the chandelier shattered on why must him be thrown out of this school when the headmage himself allowed a wild animal in the school? Why promise to return him home when he was going to be kicked onto the street?

Deeply sighed at the three running away and decided to look for the magestone on his own. Just to come face to face with glass head monster. Ran to the group and warned them which didn't believed him until they saw it.

"If you two are going to stand there and argue, then I'm going alone. I'm not going to be thrown onto the streets in an unknown place, in an unknown world, because you two can't get along for two seconds."

Surprised at defeating the monster. Then disgusted at crunching sound of a stone.

Had to contain his anger and confusion at Crowley, then became more confused at the beast master title.

Didn't want to become a student, but Crowley cut him off.

Sat on the bed while playing with the camera, getting Grim to pose for him to see anything different or special of the photo of the creature.

Book 1

Headed back upstairs after listening to Ace's woes. Then lightly lectured him and tossed him a pillow and blanket.

Raised a brow at the portal and got pushed in.

Pouted at being handed a paintbrush and told to help out with the work.

Dipped on fighting Cater.

Smacked Ace and Deuce on the head and ran after Grim.

Looked confused at Cater's comment.

A chestnut tart was an Ace's problem and didn't care about tasting a fresh tart, he got stuff to do.

Visited Crowley's office to get his uniforms and a note for Sam. He carried his new belongings and started cleaning the dorm.

Ace entered the place without permission and Deuce apologized for the unexpected arrival. Damien was only feeding himself and Grim.

Froze to death in the shower in the morning.

😶 at Cater's unique magic.

Annoyed at Riddle and called the rules ridiculous.

Was the only one not collared, and got jumpscared by a floating head.

Went to the library with the group.

Was shun at Riddle's speed.

Told Riddle how idiotic it was to follow nonsense rules. Half expected hum to get punched.

Tackled Ace to the ground at the murder attempt.

Went "the fuck is going on?!" to Crowley.

Fought with a broken ladder step. Had the phantom's rose bush slam against his left side and sent flying into hinges. Got too busy curling up in pain to jump back in.

Leaned on a burnt bush when his sight went dark and saw a young Riddle.

His heart broke at hearing the boy's question to his mother.

Frowned at Ace and disgusted again at the crunching sound.

Also went to the infirmary for his bruised side.

Then was deadly sick for two weeks.

Book 2

"What a jerk."

Isn't a sweets person, but stole a chocolate croissant from Grim to piss him off.

Glared at Crowley.

"So, like football?" Took moment to comprehend that sport not existing.

Looked offended at Crowley for threatening him.

Pomefiore students tried to convince him to join their dorm the second they saw him.

(Trey only saw fire ears at the end of the bed as a can of tuna appeared upon the covers.)

Felt unsure about those twins, and had his arm yanked by Cater.

He didn't do any tail stomping. And winced at the boys' asses served to them on a silver platter.

Sat outside to clear his mind for a bit and stood up at a noise. "If you're not going to tell me your name, then neither am I."

Disappeared. "What, how the..."

Didn't tell Grim anything.

Wasn't wearing a tie.

Listened in the shadows with Riddle and Cater.

Didn't care to genuinely cared at the 0-100 situation.

A bit freaked out at large wolf.

(Dodged the collar from hitting him.)

Grabbed one of the brooms leaning against the bleachers as a weapon and smacked the oversize noise cat.

Leona swung his claw and got him left arm. Four clawmarks that turned into scars later.

Looked bothered while watching Leona's past.

Dipped on playing Magicshift.

His arm and now head were hurting greatly.

Cheka reminded him of his sisters.

Cautiously went up to the mirror and didn't sleep that night.

Book 3

"Says the person who ran away on the first day."

Ignored their argument and walked away.

Sus.

Looked both confused and disappointed.

Paused at being underwater, then his expression softened at Jack's excitement.

Quietly chuckled at the spotlight.

Glared at Crowley.

Disinterested "what?" to the twins.

"What benefits will I get from this?"

Looked at his nails while Azul tried to be intimidating.

Stood outside his dorm and looked down at Grim. "If we don't get the dorm back, I'm dropping out as a student."

Beated up the students with a folded chair.

Died on the ground.

Gagged on the potion.

"Damn." That's all he said on the eels.

Felt suspicious but Grim touched the scroll before he could stop him.

"Hello, Iris."

Then the clever, A+ student figured out the vault because of Malleus' hyperfixation.

He has younger sisters, he knows how to be annoying.

He suspected the dreams are tied to the housewaden.

Shoved picture into his pocket.

"Aw shit."

Couldn't find possible weapons and became a distraction instead.

The phantom punched him in the chest with the end of trident. Got a broken rip and a bruise.

"Damn." At Azul's past.

"Even if that means you will get good grades from it."

"You looked squishable."

Ignored Silver and Sebek and headed back inside.

Got nervous at the glowing mirror. "... What the f-"

Looked unpleased at seeing the twins.

"I'm making sure you put that photo back."

"But your past made you who you are. Because of what happened, it motivated you to hard work and outshine everyone."

Sighed and ordered the snack set.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @declinlalune & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: when emilio bites off more than he can chew, andy is there to save his ass... whether he wants her to or not. CONTENT WARNINGS: references to parental death & sibling death, implied suicide ideation

He’d fucked up. It was all Emilio could think as he scrambled out into the street, arm wrapped loosely around his ribs. He’d been in Gallows Grove taking care of a spawn outbreak, so lost in the repetitive motion of dusting spawn after spawn that he hadn’t registered that they weren’t the only thing in the cemetery that night. If he’d been more aware of his surroundings, the qutrub wouldn’t have posed nearly as much of a threat. He could have taken it out without much issue, gone on with his night as normal. But he was distracted. And bad things happened when hunters were distracted.

Case in point… this. The damn thing had jumped him long before he realized it was there, spotting a lone man in its area as it dug up the shallow, unkept graves and figuring it could treat itself to a fresher meal. Emilio didn’t even know how long it had tracked him before attacking, and he was kicking himself for it now. His mother, if she could see him like this, would be disappointed.

Though if he didn’t make it back to Axis quickly, she’d probably be seeing him soon.

It was luck that had allowed him to throw up an arm just as the qutrub’s jaws came down on him, getting a bite taken out of his forearm instead of his throat. His luck had mostly run out there, though. With a bit more, maybe he could have avoided the claws that dug into his gut, or the weight that had bruised his ribs at the very least. He hadn’t even managed to kill the thing. It was all he could do to get away with at least some of his blood still in his body, scrambling out of the cemetery and into the desolate streets with a bloody trail behind him. He knew it was still coming for him; he could feel it. And with his wounds bleeding profusely, he wasn’t sure he’d make it all the way home before collapsing. Eaten by qutrub wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned himself going out.

He stumbled as he took his next step, struggling to keep his feet underneath him. For once, his bad knee wasn’t the thing giving him trouble — the adrenaline coursing through him and the fact that his other injuries were causing him far more pain than his leg was helping with that. Not that it’d do him much good, of course. He could still barely stand, was still struggling to walk. It just happened to be for a different reason than it typically was. It’d get him just as dead either way.

So focused on moving forward and outrunning the qutrub for as long as he possibly could, Emilio didn’t see the other person on the sidewalk until he practically ran them over, the unexpected collision more than enough to finally take his feet out from under him. He groaned as he landed, gritting his teeth against the pain as he tried to get back up. “You should run,” he ground out, accent heavier than it normally might be and speech slurred. “Get inside someplace.”

—

Alone time was hard to come by, and while Andy hadn’t ever really had it before moving to Wicked’s Rest, she had learned to enjoy it. Kaden moving into their cabin wasn’t an issue, not really. But with the way all of their schedules seemed to always collide made it hard for Andy to find time for herself. The small time in which they didn’t overlap, Andy was often stuck with getting dinner ready, or falling asleep sideways on her bed after a long shift at the bakery. 

So she had taken it upon herself to get to know the town. Considering what had happened with the fissures in the mines, it may have been a stupid decision, but Andy knew that being aware of what was going on in the town she had moved her sister into was smarter than going in blissfully unaware. Sure, it’d been four years, but still. There was always room to learn. 

Andy had visited Hollow Point Armory with the intention of only restocking some of the repellent she had burned through. Instead, she walked out with a new flashlight and what had been advertised as a mega lock in addition to the repellent. 

Andy had parked a few blocks away from Hollow Point, her thought process being that of more alone time. That thought, however, would come crashing down on her as soon as she rounded the corner. Now, further away from the cluttered storefronts, she was left to the darkness, as well as to the telltale creeping feeling of something that had been drilled into her to recognize. Too focused on the feeling creeping up the back of her neck, she missed the sounds of boots against cement, and then— 

The bag fell to the ground and Andy let out a yelp as she fell backwards, elbows digging into the pavement in an attempt to keep herself somewhat upright. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she felt her breath catch in her throat. Had this person just been attacked by a wolf? Was he what she was sensing? If that were the case, he was already a wolf, not just newly bitten. He spoke quickly, and it was obvious, even beneath the barely lit moonlight, he was hurt. She should help. She should help. Andy got to her feet quickly, holding out a hand for him. If he was hurt, or if he’d just been bitten and the wolf was after him, she would— she could tell him what came next, prepare him, maybe. Help him, even. But before she could get the words out, a snarl erupted from the darkness. 

The figure stood on all fours, and even though she had to squint to make out its base shape, she could tell right away what it at least resembled. Andy felt frozen as recognition bloomed over her features. It was a wolf— no, more grotesque than that. She wracked her brain, hopeful to remember exactly what she was looking at. Could it have just been sick? Before she could think for much longer, it reared itself. “Watch out!” Andy screamed as the creature threw itself towards the man. She grabbed his arm forcefully, dragging him out of harm's way with ease. 

—

It was dizzying, that fall to the ground. Disorienting in a way that was concerning, debilitating in a way that gave pause. He’d lost blood. Maybe too much blood, maybe an amount that would see him becoming this thing’s dinner in a matter of minutes. Getting back up was a goddamn struggle, but he refused to accept the hand that was offered to him. Emilio had never been one to take help. It wasn’t the way he’d been raised, wasn’t how he’d been taught. If you couldn’t take care of yourself, you deserved whatever came for you. 

And there was certainly something coming now. 

He heard the snarl and cursed, managing to get his feet back underneath him just as the thing leapt out from the shadows. That would have been the end of things, had he been alone. He was too out of it to move properly, too battered to think with enough clarity to get himself out of the way. But there were hands on his arm, there was a force pulling him out of the beast’s path with a strength that didn’t match the small frame he’d collided with. He blinked, squinting against hazy vision as he tried to make them out. Red hair, freckles. Not a familiar face, but he hadn’t expected one. It was just a well-meaning stranger. A well-meaning stranger he’d end up getting killed, if he couldn’t convince her to leave.

“I’m okay,” he breathed, though it clearly wasn’t true. “You go. This thing isn’t — It is more dangerous to you than it is to me. Okay? I can handle this.” Blood dripped from his arm and onto the concrete. There was a shuffle from the shadows as the qutrub circled them both. It wasn’t a complete lie, what he told her; slayers and rangers were immune to the effects of the qutrub’s bite, but humans weren’t. If she were bitten, odds were there’d be another qutrub running around Wicked’s Rest. Emilio wasn’t about to let that happen. At least if this thing killed him, the worst the town would have to deal with was another rotting corpse.

—

Andy sucked in a deep breath as she attempted to steady herself and the stranger. The creature had rolled to the side after miscalculating its lunge and all Andy could make sense of was the creeping feeling all over her skin and the words that the man spoke. “The fuck? Obviously you’re not okay, you’re covered in blood, and—“ She held onto his arm firmly, careful to avoid the bite marks, “you got fucking bit.” So she’d been right about at least one thing. 

The sound of claws against concrete sent another chill down Andy’s spine and she turned around to stare at the being. Now, with it in closer proximity, Andy could tell it wasn’t your typical werewolf, but it still resembled one enough that for a moment, all she could see was Alex. She swallowed thickly and glanced towards the bag of supplies she had dropped. 

If she could get to it, she could spray the repellent and at least temporarily blind it, and then maybe— 

What Andy now identified as a qutrub leapt again, this time grazing her shoulder with its claw as she shoved herself out of the way. She let out another yelp as she turned quickly, planting her feet firmly against the ground. She glanced over her shoulder and dove for the bag, recognizing it may be her only chance since the creature was distracted with the smell of the man’s blood. 

—

Nothing about this was particularly funny, but Emilio laughed anyway. Blood loss did that to a guy sometimes, didn’t it? He leaned against the woman a little without really meaning to, tilting his head and allowing his ringing ears to pick up on the sound of the qutrub shuffling around so he could keep track of where it was. “I am covered in blood very… often.” He struggled to find the right word for a moment, nodding to himself when he’d settled on it. Right. He was doing great here. No help needed, really.

Looking down at the bite mark on his arm, Emilio snorted again, nodding his head. “I did,” he confirmed. “But it’ll be all right. Won’t hurt me.” Not the way it would hurt someone who didn’t have the advantage of being a hunter, at least. Sure, he was bleeding heavily, but he was in no danger of turning into a qutrub himself. Little victories, as it was.

The beast leaped forward again, and the woman jumped out of the way just in time. While he’d been a little glib before, Emilio turned serious now. “Don’t let it bite you,” he warned. “Humans aren’t immune.” Normally, he wouldn’t have been so open about the situation, but… It was a little late for subtlety now, wasn’t it? And he was probably going to be dead in a few minutes, anyway, so fuck it. “I can distract it while you run, ¿sí?”

—

Andy ripped into the bag, tearing at the plastic knot she had tied. Patience running thin, she eventually ripped into the side of it. As she got back to her feet with the repellent in one hand, the flashlight in the other, she finally began to process the man’s words. What did he mean— Oh. 

So he knew what this was that was after them, and he knew how to handle it— knew that he wouldn’t be turned by the bite. It meant he was either a slayer or a ranger. A warden wouldn’t stand a chance against something like this. 

He spoke again and all Andy could do was scoff. Leave it to a bleeding out man to play hero. Typical. “Again, the fuck? Absolutely not.” The last thing she was going to do was leave him here alone, and while she knew there was no hope for the qutrub and coaxing out its humanity, she could maybe get it out of the neighborhood. Maybe she wouldn’t need to see its blood spilled tonight. Perhaps if it looked a little less like Alex in her shifted form, Andy wouldn’t have such a hard time, but every time she caught sight of it, it reminded her of her little sister when the moon was swollen in the sky. 

She uncapped the repellent and sprayed haphazardly into the area where the qutrub stood. Andy started to cough as the foggy mixture blew back into her face and she turned her head to the side, clicking the flashlight on. It was more of a floodlight than anything, really, but it illuminated the qutrub. Even while squinting, Andy could make out every detail of the beast. It looked less like Alex beneath this light, but there was still the present sinking feeling in her stomach. 

The qutrub backed up on its hind legs, a visceral howl building in its chest as it began to swipe at its eyes. 

—

The woman was fumbling with a plastic bag instead of running, and Emilio took a moment to wonder why everyone in this goddamn town was so fucking stubborn. She was going to get herself killed trying to save a man who didn’t much care if he was saved or not, and it wasn’t going to matter. He was in no shape to make it home now; after the qutrub inevitably tore through her with the same ease she was using to tear through that bag, it’d finish Emilio off, too. And then where would they be? Him a corpse, her likely a qutrub herself off to tear through the next unsuspecting, stubborn Wicked’s Rest resident. 

“It’s going to kill us both,” he said plainly, as if there was some chance she might not realize that her stubbornness was a terminal thing. “This is not a thing you can reason with. And I can’t keep it from killing you like this.” He couldn’t keep it from killing him, either, but that seemed far less important. Whatever she had in that bag, it wasn’t going to be enough to —

— Wait. Repellent? 

Emilio watched with a furrowed brow as she sprayed the can in his direction, making a face and lifting his arm up to cover his nose and mouth with a bloody sleeve. He ducked his head out of the cloud with a cough that hurt his aching midsection, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Before he could comment on the move, she was holding up a bright flashlight in the qutrub’s direction. A lucky guess, or did she know that it was sensitive to the light? He was beginning to lean more towards the latter.

The beast howled, disoriented by both the light and the repellent. If not for the scent of Emilio’s blood in the air so heavy that it was almost impossible to breathe around, the qutrub might have scampered off. But it was relentless now, wanted to finish what it started. With another howl that sounded almost angry, it swiped a claw towards Emilio and the woman, clearly attempting to knock the flashlight and spray can from her hands even if it likely didn’t understand why. Animals were single-minded like that; they didn’t stop to wonder why at thing was hurting them, only took moves to make the hurt stop. 

—

Andy’s gaze was fixed on the qutrub. Blood covered its snout and claws, and bits of what she could only assume were the man’s sweater hung off of its talons. It had its own scars which ran all the way down its chest. Andy had to wonder, who had this person been before they were turned into this? Were they a face on a milk carton? Was there somebody, somewhere, who missed them terribly? Somebody who held on hope that they would come home? Even with her questions that would go unanswered, Andy knew there would be no bringing this person back home. After all, there was no cure for this– for any of it. 

She could hear the man speaking, and though Andy wished to tell him to fuck off and let her help, the command was lost in her throat as soon as the beast leapt again. It swiped its enormous paw, its talons like razors against Andy’s hand as it slapped the flashlight away. It clattered to the ground a few feet away, illuminating an empty lot of weeds and half-dead trees. 

Andy had her butterfly knife– silver, wedged into the inside pocket of her jacket. Did she think it would take something down of this size? No. Did she want to take the qutrub down? No. But it would hurt others if they let it leave, and Andy knew that– knew once again, there’d be no bringing this being back to the forefront of its mind. That this was not Alex– burning orange hair, a sprinkle of freckles spackled across her face as if it’d been a flick of a paint brush, as if an accident. But it had been somebody’s someone. Somebody’s sibling, somebody’s child– lover, possibly– they had been their own person before this happened to them. 

She took a deep breath as she leapt out of the way once it lunged again, this time letting out an unsettling scream as it caught her shoulder with its claws. Andy felt the burn of claw against flesh– something she had forgotten, funnily enough, and yelled at the man through gritted teeth. “Grab the flashlight!” 

—

For all that she knew about the thing’s weaknesses, the woman didn’t seem particularly interested in exploiting them. She’d been quick with the flashlight and the repellent, sure, but when the qutrub came in close, when it lunged for her again, she just… froze. Looked at it with some unreadable expression on her face, some haunted look. Not like she was seeing a ghost, exactly, but like she was seeing part of one. Like she was seeing something that wasn’t quite there, but might be, someday. It was the kind of expression Emilio had seen a thousand times. On Juliana, on Rhett, in the mirror. 

It was the kind of look a hunter might have.

That would make sense, given the way she carried herself. She knew what the qutrub was weak to, she was carrying repellent, she knew how to fight. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, it wasn’t exactly rare to meet another hunter on the street. Part of Emilio felt some hesitation towards her at the thought. If she heard his last name, would she recognize it? Would she put two and two together, connect the almost-corpse he was now with the one that should be rotting in a hole in Mexico? There’d been a time when he’d trusted other hunters without question, but he wasn’t sure that was the case anymore. Not after the massacre. Not after Lucio.

But for the moment, there was little other option available to him. He could trust this maybe-hunter or he could die here, throat torn out by a beast that would go on to terrorize more people after his death. Steeling himself, Emilio decided that working with her was his only option for now. Stumbling forward, he grabbed the flashlight and pointed it back to the beast, eliciting another cry from its lungs. “I’ve got… silver. In my pocket.” He fumbled for it with the hand not holding the flashlight — the hand attached to the mangled, bleeding arm, the hand with the fingers that were quickly going numb. He managed to wrap those fingers around the silver knife, but it slipped from his grip and clattered to the concrete, the handle sticky with his blood. “Puta madre, pinche estúpido… I’m gonna throw you the flashlight so I can get the knife.” In his addled mind, it was the option that made the most sense regardless of the fact that his aim was going to be incredibly off, regardless of the fact that the flashlight was the only thing keeping the qutrub from killing them both at the moment, regardless of the fact that a badly injured man with a single silver knife might not be the best option to take down a beast of this magnitude. Emilio had never been the planning type.

—

The man obeyed her command and Andy allowed herself to feel an ounce of superiority. After all, he was the one bleeding profusely. Her shoulder would heal in a matter of days. As for him, there was no telling how long it’d take his arm to fix itself up. She wasn’t sure when she had thoughtlessly connected the fact that he, like her, knew exactly what they were dealing with. Andy couldn’t place his strengths, at least, not until he spoke again, the flashlight illuminating the beast– acting to keep the big bad monster at bay. Andy could see where the knife should go, could feel herself doing it– could see her father doing it, her mother. 

She could see the talons, too, how if it had been back in Tennessee, they’d rip into her mother’s chest, and then her father’s, and then– 

The knife fell to the ground and Andy stood, frozen for a split second, and if in that second either she or this man were to die, she would never forgive herself. She would haunt the hell out of this qutrub, if possible– though, maybe not the best idea given its disposition. 

“Fuck!” Andy shoved forward, ignoring the way that the stranger tried to scramble for the knife. The flashlight’s beam was lopsided now, only half pointed towards its face– it’d regain its composure and it’d kill them in a matter of seconds if she didn’t act. 

Every fiber of Andy’s being was telling her to turn, to run, to give this being another chance. But this was not Alex. Once the sun had risen, this creature would not return to its human form. Something before it had damned them, and though it was not its fault, Andy knew that if she didn’t put an end to it, it would do a hell of a lot worse to somebody else than it’d done to either herself or the man behind her. 

The hilt of the knife felt at home in her palm as well as foreign– cold, sticky with the man’s blood. She wanted to drop it, to cleanse herself of her own damnation, to plead for forgiveness to the idea of Alex and what it could mean if she followed through, but she wasn’t ready to die here. 

So Andy did what she had to– she plunged the knife into the neck of the creature, dragging it across. The noise it made caused Andy’s stomach to turn over, but she had little time to focus on that. The qutrub desperately clawed at the air, and Andy didn’t move in time, causing her to be knocked to the ground at least a foot away from where it stood. She looked up in her own desperation to watch as its blood slid down its throat and chest. 

—

If he were in better shape, Emilio would have seen the wheels turning in the stranger’s head. He didn’t like people, but he was good at figuring out what their next move might be. It was one of the many things his mother had drilled into him as a kid, one of the lessons that she’d made sure would stick with drastic measures. After all, a good amount of the things they fought had been people, once. Hundreds of years ago, sometimes, and with such little humanity left, but still just enough for their thoughts to reflect in their features. 

The woman in front of him was no different. If he weren’t bleeding, if his head weren’t spinning, if the adrenaline that had been keeping him on his feet weren’t fast-fading, Emilio would have recognized that horror in her face, or the slight hesitation that wasn’t fear but was something else entirely. She didn’t want to kill this thing. Later, he might be able to look back at this moment and understand that. But right now? Right now, all that registered was the way she crouched down, the way she scooped up his knife, the way she moved. 

He didn’t realize he’d dropped the flashlight’s beam until the monster moved again, didn’t realize his arm was flagging until it was too late to do anything to stop it. The flashlight seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, like holding it upright was utterly impossible, but it didn’t matter. The woman, the maybe-hunter, the stubborn asshole who refused to leave Emilio to his fate, the stranger had his knife. She was moving, she was burying it into the creature's throat, she was flying through the air.

Emilio watched her with a strange detachment, incapable of fully following the fight in his current state. She hit the ground behind him, and he stared for a moment before an anguished howl drew his attention away from her. The qutrub, rage and pain and something like grief etched into its features, charged towards him. All Emilio could do was watch as it dug at the ground, stomped its feet, and… collapsed. Another howl, echoing and mournful and so close to human that it was jarring. And then, a silence so sudden that it was jarring. Emilio took a deep, rattling breath, looking at the creature’s corpse for a moment before moving to the ground in a way that was half sitting, half collapsing. “Chingados,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “I need a fucking drink.”

—

The qutrub on its own was nightmare fuel, but Andy subconsciously likening it to Alex’s wolf-like form she’d now seen too many times to count, was enough to stir something in her that could be paralleled with grief. Only it was not Alex on the ground. This was somebody she did not know– somebody she would have never known. Even if there’d been some way to reverse what had happened, would they have come back to their mind in a way that was not inhibited by all of the things that they’d done? 

Its screams had been too human for Andy to disengage from the idea that there was something left behind, despite the horror of it all. She watched as the blood pooled beneath its body, and then she looked to the stranger who was also still losing blood. To help a human– a fellow hunter, as it was, was what her parents would have pressed her to do. The ache in her shoulder, and really, her entire body, was a welcome relief to the things that had begun to run in her mind. 

If she’d been alone, she would have sobbed. 

“You need medical attention.” Andy didn’t recognize her own voice as it came out– robotic, detached. “Can you walk?” As she got to her feet, Andy ignored the pain that shot through her shoulder. She tried her best to keep her gaze from lingering on the qutrub for too long, too afraid that it may have shifted back to reveal who’d really been beneath the beast. As to who would take care of the body, Andy wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been in this position yet in Wicked’s Rest. Back in Tennessee, it was also their duty to dig shallow graves for the sake of concealing the supernatural world from those who had too many questions. 

If the man were in better shape, Andy might have told him to help her in burying the qutrub, but he did need medical attention, and badly. “My jeep is down the street.” 

—

The horror of being a slayer came in the knowledge that most of the things you fought had been human once. Nothing was born undead; it wasn’t a natural part of life the way shifters or fae were. Human screams coming from inhuman throats were the kind of thing you had to get used to eventually if you wanted any shot of making it. Emilio couldn’t remember the first time he’d heard something like this, couldn’t recall the first moment he’d had to face that realization that the monster he’d killed might not have always been a monster. It had always been a part of what he’d done. And there were days when he envied the rangers and the wardens, who mostly took out things that were born as they were. Rangers had wolves and lamia who might have started off as human beings, sure, but even they could be born that way. And fae looked human, but they never had been. 

The undead were different.

So he wasn’t phased by it, that all-too-human scream that echoed through the streets. He wasn’t affected by it, wasn’t bothered. But she was. He could see it in her stance, in the way her shoulders tightened. Even half-dead, Emilio was a detective. He could tell when someone was struggling with something, and she was. He wondered what that horror was for. Was it because this was the first almost-human thing she’d killed, or because it wasn’t? Was this grief because that scream was an unfamiliar sound, or because she knew it as well as the syllables of her own name? Both options seemed likely. When you were a hunter, ignorance wasn’t bliss so much as it was another brand of horror. He knew that.

He must have been pretty out of it, because he didn’t realize she was speaking to him until about the third word. Something about attention and walking and — oh. She was still in this, then. Not going to fuck off and let him drag his way back home on his own without an argument he didn’t have the energy to waste on. That was annoying. “I can walk just fine,” he grumbled, though he made no move to get to his feet just yet. The concrete wasn’t as uncomfortable as it looked. It might have actually been softer than his mattress. He should probably look into that, actually. “I don’t need your jeep. I can patch myself up just fine. Appreciate the assist there, but no necesito nada mas. You can go back to… whatever you were doing. Before.” Walking? She’d been walking, hadn’t she? Or standing? Something like that. Christ, it seemed like a thousand years ago now, which… Was probably not the best sign. Goddamn qutrub fucker had really done a damn number on him. 

—

Andy watched the man carefully, rolling her eyes at the way he refused her help. If he hadn’t collided with her, he probably would have been dead. She hadn’t really expected a thank you or a grand gesture, but this was annoying. Annoying enough to put her own feelings regarding the qutrub on the backburner. She continued to avert her gaze from its body that, out of the corner of her eye, hadn’t seemed to shrink in size or horror. It had been awhile since she’d experienced a sizable injury to the one on her shoulder, and it was her luck that it happened after Kaden had arrived. If it’d been just her and Alex, she could explain what happened, but what would she say to her cousin who had just left his mother’s indoctrinated belief system.

“Are you fucking–” stupid, Andy wanted to finish. The burning sensation in her shoulder and forearm, for the most part, was easy to ignore. It’d be healed in a number of days, but even from where Andy stood, she could tell that the man had at least a month before he was in perfect shape. “You’re half mangled, dude. If the qutrub has friends, you’re fucking dead.” They usually didn’t, and if it had chased him this far, it was probably fair to assume it wouldn’t have been followed by anything else. 

As she moved to pick up the two cans of repellent, one uncapped, the other unused, she threw them into the torn bag, awkwardly twisting it so that the cans wouldn’t fall out. The flashlight was still pointed at the empty lot, but blood had begun to soak the ground from where the qutrub bled out and Andy steeled herself as she swiped it up off of the ground. The knife, too, was a few feet from where the arm of the qutrub laid out at a distorted angle. Careful to show no pain, Andy grabbed that off of the ground, too, ignoring the way the blood felt in her palm. She walked back over to where the man sat on the ground and shoved the rouge coated knife into breast pocket, just where her own knife stayed secured. 

“Let’s go.” 

—

“If it had friends, we’d both be dead already.” But she did have a point. There were things other than the qutrub in Wicked’s Rest that would love to finish him off if they stumbled upon him in this state, and he knew it. He also knew that, despite what he might claim, his odds of making it back to Axis without an assist were slim to none. And he was tired. Too tired to keep up the petty argument, too tired to force himself to his feet just to prove a point, too tired to do much of anything beyond laying down to die, and it didn’t seem like she was very interested in letting him do that. 

So, with a sigh, Emilio relented. She was hurt, too, anyway. Maybe he was willing to risk his own ass just to have the last word, but it seemed a different thing entirely to risk hers along with it. He grumbled in quiet, irritated Spanish as he finally stumbled to his feet, allowing her to help him with a sullen expression on his face. “We go to mine,” he said, because he might have to let her help him but like hell was he going to let her drag him to someplace unfamiliar to do it. Just the thought of it made his skin crawl. “It’s nearby, anyway. I’ll fix your shoulder.” As best he could with the limited medical supplies he kept in his apartment, at least. It’d probably amount to little more than pouring booze into the open wound and slapping a bandage onto it, but it’d be something, at least. He owed her something for keeping him from becoming dog chow, even if said ‘something’ was duct-taping the slashes on her shoulder shut and hoping for the best against infection. 

Biting down on his tongue to keep himself from vocalizing just how much moving hurt, he gestured for her to lead the way to her Jeep. “Let’s go,” he agreed. He could only hope he wouldn’t regret it later.

[niilue]

Any spicy blue lock head cannons? I loved your bleach ones 😫

Your writing is phenomenal <3

thankss anon <33 i have some spicy blue lock headcanons for;

⠀ sae itoshi - yukimiya kenyu - oliver aiku ⠀

⊹HEADCANONS⊹

cw;  dom reader, gender neutral, breath control play, degradation, oral fixion, mommy/daddy kink, spanking, overstimulation, rimjob, sex with clothes?, crossdressing, gender neutral.. this is kinda LONG

༉‧₊˚ sub sae

well sae, our dear sae despite his personality he is very dirty when it comes to having sex. 

he loves to be choked, to play with his breathing, to fuck him hard while holding him by the neck. also to sit on your face and choke him, why not? he loves it.

the sensation of slowly running out of air, it excites him. too much. i think he doesn't even mind if you fuck him even if he's about to pass out.

sae wants, wants to be degraded. no matter how much he protests and denies that he doesn't like it. he loves it.

to feel like a little slut, to be told how dirty and disgusting he is. to be told that he acts like a needy whore when he's horny.

when they are fucking, slapping his face, biting him, spitting in his face and mouth, making him feel like a toy and nothing more. it makes him wet.

he also has an oral fixation. it drives him crazy. put your fingers in his mouth and tell him to suck on them. he could be doing it for hours. watching his pants rise up from his hardness and he starts to get wet.

he loves to suck you. suck your cock. suck your pussy. whatever. lick him for hours. watch how you enjoy his dirty little mouth. how he could make you come.

he wants to feel whatever is yours in his mouth. he always craves it. when you give him his wish, he won't stop moaning and becoming a desperate boy.

༉‧₊˚ sub yukimiya

this beautiful boy. believe it or not he has a thing for mommy/daddy kink. he's not sorry at all. he loves it. he loves teasing you by saying those words and then looking at you innocently with those cute glasses that make him look more like a slutty hottie.

in the most unexpected places he comes out saying "mommy/ daddy, do you like the way i look?" makes him look so normal, when all you want to do is pound him on the nearest wall. 

trust me, when you're fucking him at home, he's not going to call you by name. he'll just say "mommy/ daddy, go faster." "mommy/daddy, i love the way you fuck me." it drives you nuts.

he loves to be slapped as much as you want. he is always teasing you because he loves to feel the pain of your palms on his butt.

his ass is all red and marked by you. it makes him horny. he even provokes you by wearing very tight pants and walks dangerously close to you.

he gets down to "pick something up" by raising his butt in a pose that is totally impossible not to grab it and give him a few spankings.

and when you fuck, he will ask you to do it many times. he doesn't mind the pain, he loves to feel his skin burning because you can't control yourself.

love cross-dressing. especially if it's to entertain you.

he prepares himself beautifully, looking like a pretty girl. and when he does it, he wants you to tell him what a good girl she is. also when you are fucking her ass, he wants you to say how good her pussy feels.

when he does this he moans so loudly, he whines so much. he loves it when you treat him like a girl, he acts like a whore.

fuck him with his girl clothes on. he loves it, it makes him feel more erotic. see how his suit is being lifted up to be ripped apart, how his panties show. see how his makeup runs from sweat and tears. he loves it.

༉‧₊˚ sub oliver

this bastard. he needs his ass eaten. easy and simple.

you get him in his most submissive state when you turn him upside down, anywhere, drag his pants down and eat his asshole. he'll moan like a poor needy guy. he'll ask you to make it deeper. penetrate his hole with your tongue.

very dirty, he loves to sit on your face too and have you take care of his horniness. it just makes him roll his eyes and drool that you eat him so well. he enjoys it so much, it's unbelievable.

he feels bad? eat his ass. he feels happy? eat his ass. he's scared? eat his ass. anytime, he won't say no to you.

jerk him off, make him come and keep touching him. take him to the limit, over and over again. he doesn't care.

listen to his muffled moans, his unfounded pleas that it's too much, that his cock can't take it. lie. he wants you to suck him dry. make fun of him for being such a hot, insatiable brat.

make his cock hurt, that coming is not so good anymore. make every cumshot that comes out is not pleasurable. he will cry like a baby, but you will see his cheeks warm and his eyes dilated with excitement. he is enjoying it.

sometimes he is so lazy or desperate that he will jump into your arms and start rubbing himself on you even with his clothes on.

he likes the feel of your fluids mixing all over his clothes, making everything very sticky and dirty. he doesn't really care. he just wants to cum.

he'll ride you like you're really penetrating him. he'll suck you like there's no cloth in between. he'll make you touch him the same way. you don't know if he's just too desperate to fuck and doesn't even remember to take his clothes off. or if he just loves doing it too much like this.

one thing he loves to do is sit on his back on your cock/pussy, and start rubbing himself all over it. you watch his big ass rub all over you in those tight pants. it makes you wet and him wet too. he watches you while he does the mini "little dance". he moves his hips so well, there literally isn't a part of your core that hasn't tasted his ass. it's fucking hot.

[acapelladitty]

Saw the "genuine romantic Crane/WG" Ask... could we get a little something? ...even just a few sentences.... pwease 🥹🥹🥹

I have a somewhat romantic moment coming up in the next chapter so I'm going to pick something different to play with here! Enjoy this quick and unedited little snippet 🧡🤎 xx

Bending at the waist, the burn of the fresh belt marks which litter the expanse of your back catch your breath in a sharp exhale as the subtle movement stretches the skin there. The empty bottle of water, recently discarded from your grasp, rolls from the gurney and hits the floor with a soft clatter as you instead focus on adjusting your final piece of clothing.

The black heels, with the fabric which wrapped around your legs almost like gladiator sandals, had been a fun choice earlier in the evening but now, as your shaking fingers struggle to keep hold of the thin straps of fabric, they were proving to be a right pain in the ass.

It was the adrenaline; the residual comedown from your session with the good doctor which saw your fingers jittering like a frightened insect as they clawed and hooked at the velour strips.

Even regular heels would not have posed as much of an issue.

But no.

Aesthetic over sense had once again saw to you bring left in a situation which could have been best avoided.

Repeatedly losing your grip of the velour, a frustrated tut escapes your lips as the strips fall fully through your fingertips again to the dusty floor below.

"Allow me."

Glancing up at the unexpected offer, you can't respond quickly enough and surprise roils through you as Crane drops to one knee before you, his hands securing themselves around your left leg as he settles into a balanced pose.

This position puts his head slightly below your own and the feeling of having to look down to meet his gaze is very unfamiliar. From here, the flecks of grey which filter through his russet hair are much more easy to detect and a pleasant warmth seeps through your chest as he balances your left foot of his bent knee.

His fingers slip up to dance a spiders crawl across your calves as he wraps the thin fabric around your leg before securing it in a neat knot which will pull apart easily when tugged.

The feather light touch, so different from his typical harshness, sends you reeling and your fingers dig into the metal of the canvas as you filter that uncertainty into a quick babble.

"I would have just walked out to the car barefoot, you didn't have to-"

"The ground here is filthy and littered with debris." Crane interrupts you smoothly, his voice unflappable as he switches knees to pick up your other foot, "I'm not looking to muddy my delight in injecting that lovely neck of yours by having to administer a tetanus shot over something as trivial as footwear."

"Oh. That makes sense." A lame answer, but the best your mind can come up with. "Well, thanks anyway."

"Think nothing of it." He grunts.

His eyes flick up for only a moment, the blue gaze as piercing as ever as he seeks something out in your expression as you look down at him with open gratitude.

Finding whatever he was seeking, his head dips once more and his fingers return to your other shoe with an unflinching dexterity as he helps you dress.

It was almost romantic.

[subspencer]

Perv! Spencer touching himself while r works out

i didn't know how to end this lol but i also made them roommates for this. felt fun.

wc: 1.3k cw: masturbation, penetration, unprotected sex, perv!spencer, roommates au

-

“Hey, did you come to join me?” you asked while turned upside down in downward facing dog, contorting your body to watch your roommate walk into the living room.

“No, I just needed to read my book…” he waved a copy of Dune with a sheepish smile. “It was getting stuffy in my room.”

“Ah, ok. Well, I’m almost done with my workout, so I’ll be out of your hair in twenty.”

Spencer waved off your concern and took a seat on the couch just a few feet behind you.

“No worries, take your time.”

You smiled and returned to your yoga video, moving into a deep lunge. Looking behind you, just to make sure Spencer was doing fine, you saw him crack open his book and start reading, and were satisfied with that.

The moment you looked away, going back into the first position, his eyes left the page. Your ass was up in the air directly in front of him, barely covered by the tiniest pair of shorts he’s ever seen.

“How’s the book?”

“Hm?” His hand fell from under his chin, mouth agape. “Oh, it’s good. Really good…” his voice trailed as you shifted into a lunge on the opposite leg, stretching your thighs deep.

Pressing the side of your front thigh into the ground, you moved into a pigeon pose and bent forward, letting out a deep groan when the muscles stretched out.

Spencer cleared his throat when he heard it. “Does that - does that hurt?”

“Not really. Feels good, for the most part,” your wince didn’t convince him as you pushed yourself closer to the floor. “You should try it.”

“I think I’m a better observer,” he laughed.

“Well, help me with this next one, at least.” You made him get up and walk over as you laid with your back flat on the mat. “I need you to help me get my leg up.”

“What?” he choked. You brought one leg into the air, twirling your ankle to gesture for him to grab it.

“Yeah, push my leg. I need a good stretch.” Spencer swallowed dryly, wrapping one hand around your ankle as he began pushing your leg closer to your shoulders.

“Ah,” you winced as your knee got closer to your chest, closing your eyes and biting your lip.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“No, keep going!” Your hand shot up to his, holding his grip there as you had him continue. Your knee was almost to your ear when you let out a low groan.

Spencer didn’t know where to look. He was standing over your hips, right above you while you whined below him. If he looked down, he’d see your face contorting as the pain of the stretch turned to satisfaction. And to his side, there was a full-length mirror where he could see the both of you in this compromising position.

He chose the mirror, knowing he could see your face and entire body in it. He scanned the whole picture, from you to him on top, opening you up to him.

“Spencer, you can let go now.”

“Oh.” He quickly let go, and you raised the other one for him to repeat. As he brought the other one equally as far up, he rambled out, “Wow, you’re really flexible.”

You laughed. “Yeah, it takes work but it’s worth it.”

“Why?” His brows quirked, already thinking about doing this to you in more naked terms. You could tell what he was thinking even before that.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you smirked, pulling your leg even closer. Your eyes flicked down to his crotch, just to tease him, but the second you looked at him you saw him twitch in his trousers.

“Okay!” you quickly released your leg bringing it down to the floor, cheeks burning at what you’ve witnessed. “I’m all done!”

Spencer scrambled off of you, clearing his throat and adjusting himself not-so-subtly.

“Thanks for your help.” You avoided his eyes as you got up and rolled the yoga mat up.

“Yeah, anytime,” he muttered.

Your mind raced with that image of him as you quickly ran back to your room, leaving Spencer embarrassed in the living room. You were only trying to mess with him; it was just so unexpected to actually get a rise out of him.

You thought to go back out and try to smooth over that awkward encounter with him, but heard the bathroom door click shut as he went in. It was right between your two bedrooms, sharing an adjoining wall with your bedroom.

Two seconds later, you heard the jingle of his belt and a faint groan. And then a stream of stifled moans. And before you could think, you were storming out of your room and barging into the bathroom, which he didn’t even bother to lock.

Spencer was leaning against the counter, jeans pulled down his thighs while he palmed himself over his boxers. His eyes flew open when he heard you come in, caught red-handed.

“Shit!” he scrambled to pull his jeans up, cheeks turning vermillion. “Fucking knock!”

You were ready to run back out, not knowing why you’d even come in in the first place, but when your hand hit the door handle again, you pushed it closed and locked it. Taking two long strides to Spencer, you put your hands on the counter on either side of him, boxing him in.

“What are you doing,” he croaked, covering himself with one hand and running the other nervously through his hair.

You stared at each other for one long, silent pause before you pushed him back on the counter, tugging his boxers down. Wiggling out of your skin-tight shorts, you placed your hands back on his thighs.

“You wanted to see how flexible I am,” you explained, swiftly raising one leg and placing your foot on the counter behind him, keeping the other one planted to the floor. Spencer’s hips were directly under yours. When you pressed forward just a little, you could feel your pussy graze his cock.

Spencer was speechless. His mouth was wide open as he looked down where your body just nearly met his, cock twitching when he saw your bare body. You followed his line of sight, deciding to take the first move and grab his dick with one hand, running his tip through your folds before lining him up and sinking down on him. His hands flew to your hips, moaning as you buried him inside.

“Fuck me like this and see for yourself.” He quickly did as instructed, thrusting his hips up into the narrow space between you, already so deep in you. He gripped your knee that was bent on the counter, pushing it to open you up even more as he thrusted faster.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin through his thin t-shirt. He winced as you dug them in, moving his hips impossible fast, knowing he wouldn’t last long. Just as your supporting leg started to wobble, he pushed your knee back and quickly pulled out. Panting as he pulled his shirt up, he gave himself a few short tugs, finally coming all over his bare stomach within seconds.

“Fuck,” he gasped, painting his belly in white. Your throat ran dry at the sight of him.

Before he got up, you turned on the shower and stripped down your shirt and bra. Helping Spencer peel off his shirt, careful to avoid any of his mess. You were still sweaty from the workout, and even more so now.

“Are you gonna show me some other tricks,” he joked, climbing off the ledge. Shaking your head, you stepped into the tub, holding the curtain for him to follow in after you.

“Come in and find out.”

[mananea]

I like to think that the Earl was simply holding out on purpose. Taking hold of Mana’s body to inflict harm onto others. Only now has it gotten that bad. The Earl uses this to torment them and hurting them any way he could. Nea taking an unexpected blow to the head leaving Mana to witness the aftermath of what he did.

It was never easy. Just cruel and painful for both of them.

“I’m more worried about Mana than anything...”

I’m not a writer by any means, but being too weak to sit up and draw anything, I took a long ass time exploring this idea and how it affected Mana, Cross, and Pasta individually.

Mana’s guilt

Pasta’s anger

Cross being the one to have to hold them together as everything keeps falling apart around him. He had to almost hide the fact that Pasta was absolutely furious with Mana over what happened. Constantly in a position where he can’t help Mana, but only watch him fall apart. He loved Mana way too much for this.

Nea too feeling the polarizing reactions to his injury. He knew very well that it was never really about him in the end. The injury itself healed fast enough, but the emotional damage may not ever heal.

It all just poses as a precursor to when Mana actually kills and devours Nea.

That’s the overall idea anyway....

[adelindschade]

A Thousand Conditions (A Thousand Cuts, Part 11)

Cassian and Mor have to compromise with unpleasant conditions 

(Note: any breaks I made in my document don’t seem to be transferred in the text box. It’s a thing I notice. I’m sorry)

Mor was met with a glare.

“That’s not nice,” she admonished the girl. “Go back to your chores.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” the triumphant waif boldly replied, not the slightest bit deterred. She struck an arrogant pose, half leaning on her broom, and the other hand resting on her thin hip. She didn’t have much meat on her bones.

“I need to talk to Nesta,” Mor demanded, scowling. “Be a good little girl and tend to your chores. Don’t you have sweeping to do?”

Mor gasped in offense when the child did as she was told – sweeping a cloud of dust, debris, and even gravel over Mor’s foot.

“What are you doing?” another one stepped out. Taller with the similar broken wings, though the scar tissue was less prevalent as time soothed over the wound.

“She assaulted me,” Mor hissed, lifting her dust ridden shoe.

“I’ll ask again – what are you doing?” she asked again, asserting herself. Oh – the question was meant for Mor, and not the grinning child who lacked discipline.

“Aren’t you going to reprimand her?” Mor ousted, pointing to the snickering child.

“I’ll assault you myself if you don’t state your business,” the bigger one ordered, similar in a way Cassian would. She was the authority, and the child stood behind her, smirking.

“Do you know who I am?” Mor sneered.

“No,” the bigger one barked. “That’s why I asked.”

“No, you asked what I was doing here,” Mor aptly corrected with a scrunched nose. She smoothed down her dress. “Not to identify myself. If I did, you wouldn’t be so bold to threaten me.”

“Corinne,” she extended her hand out to the girl. “Hand me the broom.”

“Okay,” they child chirped, suddenly obedient.

Mor mused humorously. “I’m the High Lord’s second. Don’t think I’m not intimidated by a broom,” she jeered.

“Good. I’ll stick it up your uptight ass and make an example out of you since he likes to send his pests. You’re not welcomed here. Get, before I become a pain in your ass,” the elder returned in distaste.

“Did you just threaten me?” Mor gawked.

“Are you deaf?” she mocked, and then fixed her face into an exasperated expression to match her sarcasm. “

“Shoo,” the girl waved unapologetically. Mor scrunched her nose in disgust.

A flash of heat assuaged Mor’s back and she yelped.

“Em,” a familiar, unpleasant voice resounded. “Not making trouble, are you?”

Nesta found this comical, walking leisurely around her, and adjoining this ‘Em’. Mor blinked in astonishment, wondering how quickly Nesta could bypass her radar.

“Quite the oppose. I was going to send her on her way back to the miserable place she came from.” Em crossed her arms, glaring at the blonde.

“Oh, she hasn’t visited Hewn City for quite some time,” Nesta snickered.

“I see Illyria is as hospitable as always,” Mor harrumphed, pushing back some stray strands from her face.

“Not to the likes of you,” Nesta sang dismissively. “Corinne,” she addressed the youngling fondly. “Have you been out here all morning? I doubt it takes that long to clean the stoop.”

“I was keeping watch,” Corinne spoke, making a point to squint her eyes at Mor.

“And you do such a good job at it,” Nesta praised, cupping the girl’s face gently. “Finish up and put on your apron. We have some projects we need to tend to. We’re going to work on your hemming.”

Corinne burst into joy and stumbled excitedly inside, leaving Nesta outside along with her companion to deal with Mor’s unexpected visit. Nesta’s warmth evaporated, and Mor was welcomed with the anticipated iciness she knew Nesta produced especially for her. It was returned in equal measure.

“Now is not the time to stew trouble, Mor,” Nesta lashed out. “Pray tell, is the matter urgent, or something as frivolous as another useless dinner? I have other subjects that require my attention, and I could use without the endless distractions that is my sister’s utterly useless court.”

Mor balked as her audacity. The contention was expected but the boldness of her insult stung Mor silent.

“Like sewing,” Mor challenged.

“At least she’s productive,” her partner sardonically quipped back, assessing her over with scrutiny. “Did you bring gifts? Supplies? Aid? Or is Nesta correct in her assumption you bring nothing but more demands and blatant insults like the selfish, inconsiderate pompous pricks your sort tend to be.”

“How dare you speak to me that way,” Mor charged.

“Easy,” Nesta held out a flame to separate the two. Mor stumbled back, frightened by the sheer heat it radiated. It scalded her skin, but Nesta did not redact it even when Mor put significant distance between the two rivals.

Cassian and Azriel had minced their words about her newfound magic and did not properly prepare Mor to deal with the new opponent Nesta presented herself to be. Rhys would have more than a handful than he had before.

“Letters,” Mor gritted through her teeth. “From your sisters, if you hadn’t already forgotten about them,” she resentfully amended. Nesta remained unphased.

“Just letters,” she repeated with little regard. “I have no interest in them. Feyre offers no wisdom but all the confidence of a general despite her lack of experience. Rhys won’t dip into his pockets for spare change but thinks he’s entitled to dictate his realm. Elain’s head is empty and her opinions endless. Whatever they produced in those letters, I care not for them, given how little help they’ll provide.”

“You think very little of your sisters despite how much they care for you,” Mor chastised.

“They show their consideration in wonderous ways,” Nesta gestured around the baren, dismal camp. “Safe in their little oasis, surrounded by wealth, while the rest of us scavenge and expected to fund their whims.”

“Some,” Em harshly intervened, eyes seething. “Let’s not forgot those who are forsaken altogether, while you wine and dine on feast fit for kings, and plenty to spare, but none for us in this savage land you think so little of.”

“Was it not months ago I was condemned to imprisonment in the House of Wind for the same indiscretions you sort pride yourselves on? Fucking without discretion, drinking to the point of blacking out, and of course, spending the court’s coins frivolously. The only difference between you and I is that Rhys likes one of us, and thus, I was punished, and you get to do…” Nesta shrugged aimlessly.

“Whatever fuck all you do,” Emerie finished dryly.

“Is that the kindness you refer to that my dearest sisters extended to me? Are we to bend to a court of hypocrites?” Nesta seconded, glancing to her companion in their own little conversation.

“I would prefer not,” Em joined along, smiling stiffly. They were making a spectacle of Mor. It was an unpleasant feeling. “Must be nice being a free female, with all the protections the High Lord can afford.”

Mor fisted her hands as she endured the hostility from both. She was given no respect whatsoever and no recourse for either of them for being so brazen with her.

“It is nice,” Mor rubbed salt in the wound. Nesta frowned and the fire in her hand intensified. Mor stepped by three more paces for safe measure.

“You will give her respect, or so help me,” Nesta growled. Her fire grew and raised itself from her palm. Silver lined her eyes, and the air grew hotter.

“Easy,” Cassian jumped in, blocking the two. Mor was too petrified to even be keen enough to notice the change of her surroundings. Her heartbeat raced and the fire cooled down to a glow in Nesta’s hand, more annoyed than aggravated as Cassian wedged himself between them.

“As per usual,” Emerie sighed, turning her back to head inside.

“Why am I not surprised?” Nesta followed, closely the door harshly behind her.

“Nes!” he called out. No one responded except for Emerie who leaned out the window, glowering.

“Take care of the pest before one of us do!” Emerie bellowed. She slammed the window and it shuddered as the wood threatened to splint.  

“She nearly incinerated me!” Mor seethed, raving in the confines of his cabin.

“You provoked her,” he coolly replied, more annoyed with Mor than he was with his mate. “Both of them. Don’t think I didn’t catch that last snide comment. You really had to feed into it, didn’t you? Emerie may not have fire like Nesta’s, but she does had a different kind that would have laid you flat on your ass!” he howled, raising to his full height, and dwarfing her.

Mor took the cue to sit down, hoping it’d placate his boiling temper. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the sentiment that a mere shop girl could rival her prowess. Cassian grunted, observing the disregard, but too livid to bother absconding her further with a scolding that bounced off her skin.

“Are they usually that hostile?” she asked quietly, avoiding his eyes as the scolding struck deep.

“Try dealing with the Warlords,” Cassian snarled. She flinched. “I am up to here,” he raised a flat hand to his neck, “in dog shit that is a possible insurrection. Emerie and Nesta have their own pile of shit to deal with it. We’re all trying to keep afloat with our heads attached.”

“We haven’t seen you in weeks. Feyre hasn’t heard from Nesta in months. She wants to know when she’ll see her next. I was just trying to help,” she said tenderly.

“You want to help?” Cassian rejected harshly, showing teeth. “Get Rhys to negotiate or else we will be dealing with this for years, perhaps another century! Forgot birthdays and holidays! There is no pause in war! If Feyre wants to see her sister, tell Rhys to get his head out of his ass, and get down here to actually muster up a compromise! I don’t care if it bruises his ego! We don’t have the support when the majority of the Lords know they have the advantage of the army that Rhys needs so much! I have a quarter of the men to command, and that’s including the numbers after the hundredsthe Cauldron wiped out of the sky! The rebelling Lords have the leverage, and they will use those males to get their way unless Rhys can whip up some fancy words to convince them otherwise!”

“Is it really that bad?” she whispered, silence into a off-putting quiet in contrast to Cassian’s deafening shout.

“This takes priority, and you can’t take me, or Nesta, or anyone else away from this until it is solved, but this is bigger than us, and I need the assistance. Rhys needs to get off his ass, swallow his pride, and realize this is losing battle when Lords keep deflecting,” Cassian growled.

“What is Nesta doing that is so important when she refuses to help Rhys?” Mor contested.

That was the wrong thing to say as Cassian’s eyes blazed.

“She’s doing more with Emerie than Rhys ever did. She’s trying to keep these females alive, and children warm when winter is just around the bend. Fae will die, Mor, and Rhys is too concerned with keeping Feyre happy and comfortable, and not mention worried about the pregnancy that no one wants to address! He’d prioritize that rather than pay attention to the carnage that will befall this place. If he wants to salvage his prized army, he needs to give the Lords’ incentive to stay, but he’s too stubborn to ever give up a sliver of control. Give and take, it’s a two-way street,” Cassian emphasized. “It’s simple as that. He can’t have an absolute iron hold on Illyria. The Lords won’t let that happen anymore when he abandons them to fend for themselves when he doesn’t need them to bleed for his causes! They’re sick of it – and I can’t fault them for it either! It’s absolute shit up here and the only person able to make a change for the better isn’t doing anything!”

“It’s come down to that,” Mor mulled over sourly.

“We don’t have the numbers. We can’t use fear or intimidation. That is gone – along with the rest of the Illyrians who refuse to abide by the High Lord. They are ruled by superstition to the point they respect Nesta before they ever give me the same regard. They don’t even respect her – they avoid her like the plague because they are terrified of her! My reputation since the war is utterly shattered. They don’t recognize me as one of them anymore!”

There was hurt in his voice that Mor couldn’t dismiss. A quiver in her words as he drove the point home.

“You don’t think I’m one of them anymore. I’m starting to feel like I’m not welcomed in my own home anymore! We can only placate them when they have the size and the unity amongst themselves,” he wildly and broadly gestured, impassioned as he spoke. “This isn’t a divide or conquer mission anymore,” he spat out. “That’s why Nesta is focused on the females. That’s why Emerie doesn’t put stock in the counter-resistance! They know what a losing battle is and entrusting us to handle it while they look after the rest, and even then, they doubt we’ll be able to even manage that given what they’ve seen thus far, or lack of!”

“I could see if we could gather more numbers,” Mor encouraged. “Our alliance with Eris…,” she speculated, “we could use his army to rival that of those here.”

“As if Rhys would expose himself to ridicule. That would require to admit he does not have absolute control, or any handle on his own court, and we all know Rhys would never allow his reputation to be smeared.” Cassian gruffly retorted.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Eris wants support when he… assumes the throne,” she carefully worded, biting her lip, and then uplifting her chin as she tried her best to convey confidence. “This would be a good angle to make good on the deal. Test the threshold of his support. At worst, we know his words aren’t to be trusted, and at best, we can shift the war in favor with his aid, and we wouldn’t lose our own.”

“Beron is still High Lord. We need his permission, not Eris’,” Cassian scowled, colored in doubt.

“Beron will want to see the Cauldron Carved Witch, reputed to wield death itself. If she believes in this cause as much as she says she does, she will do everything she can to turn the tide,” Mor quipped matter of fact.  “If I have to endure Eris’ pompous presence, Nesta can sacrifice one evening to seduce those bastards to our cause.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes, mulling quite some time over his response.

It was a suicide mission if he ever knew one, but Cassian had to exhaust all options. He worked on this latest angle, biting his tongue, and embracing for a blast of heat as Nesta ire manifested in damning fire.

“Eris is proficient in his magic, similar to yours,” Cassian swallowed. He hated he had to propose as such. “We need his armies to rival the Lords. You could benefit from his instruction – knowledge, I mean. You’ve done amazing on your end but imagine what you can accomplish with someone with centuries and libraries of experience.”

Nesta was boring into Mor behind him, already calculating that he had not manufactured this latest scheme.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. You know more than anyone how much I despise the prick, and how much I would despise you two… mingling,” he grit.

“Despise it, huh?” Nesta casually replied, nodding absentmindedly. She might as well examine her fingernails to get under his skin, but Mor beat her to the punch to express her own disinterest. It was more of a distracting mechanism to avoid Nesta’s penetrating gaze.  

“Rhys would avidly oppose it but even he can’t argue he’s at a disadvantage,” Mor adlibbed, feeding into the conversation as positively as she could without granting Nesta eye contact.

“Rhys, too, you say,” Nesta calculated, tilting her head in deep pondering.

“You know he’s frothing at mouth having to resort to this,” Cassian pleaded.

“We have the numbers. The males are too proud to use them,” Emerie interjected, blocking any progress Mor and Cassian might have made. Cassian groaned and tossed his head back. “The females are willing to fight. This is their home, too. They bled and suffered for it. You may hate it here, even more so than they do, but they also know they have nowhere else to go, since no one will take them. They are willing to bleed more for this very ground after all they endured. The females have a right to defend their home and earn the respect they rightfully deserve.”

Mor rolled her eyes and turned her back, ready to call it a day, and admit defeat.

“I’ll go,” Nesta pitched, stopping Mor in her tracks, and Cassian to catch a breath in his throat. “If,” she conditioned, “you and Rhys manage to convince the loyal Lords to take in the females, and train them side by side. They need the numbers, and the females are eager to prove themselves.”

“This won’t be temporarily. We want rights in exchange for their service, and possible sacrifice. This isn’t a one-time deal. They put their lives on the line so that their daughters won’t revert back to the days when they had nothing,” Emerie supported.

“What kind,” Cassian attempted to mediate. He offered no guarantee, but it was an optimistic start if they could find happy middle ground.

“Property ownership. Had my brother survived, this would be his, but he didn’t, and that is why I have what I do and not stuck with nothing short of a marriage bid, so they could sell me off for a lowly dowry. My uncle and cousin can try but over my dead body,” Emerie grinned viciously. “Rather, his, since the son of a bitch is dead. After all that training, and all for naught after the Blood Rite. I suppose that barbaric thing is good for something.”

Emerie turned serious. “Too many females are sold as stock through marriage, or servitude. Give them options. They shouldn’t have to resort to domestic work where they’ll be exploited. They should have other avenues and the right to protect themselves without selling their bodies to work, or other demeaning practices,” she emphasized, searing into Mor, and highlighting her privilege.  

“End the practice of clipping.” Nesta supplied, nodding towards Emerie’s battered pair.

“It was already banished.” The blonde spoke.

“Enforce it,” Nesta snapped at Mor, pausing her in place. “There is nothing being done to ensure the females remain untouched. Punishment – your favorite thing in the realm, right? Use it for good. Make sure they know what happens when they defy the High Lord’s command. Make them regret it,” she turned to Cassian, eyes blazing silver.

“Property rights. Enforcing the ban. Simple enough.” Cassian nodded stiffly.

“Oh, how cute that you thought we were done,” Emerie smirked sarcastically.

[spinster-sisters]

[11:45pm]

TW: Mafia Hongjoong cuz why not, spanking, possiveness, jelousy, semi public (car), pain kink, i think thats all

-

“Wasn’t the whole purpose of me coming out with you tonight was to get to know your friends?” You ask with a huff, sliding into the back of the limo alongside Hongjoong. The man was being childish.

Hongjoong had hosted a party at their club specifically in your honor, to allow the others in his gang to become more familiar with you now that you have stuck around for a while. And you had done exactly that. You had spoken to everyone in his inner circle throughout the night, getting along with all of them quite well, but in Hongjoongs eyes, you had gotten on a little too well with Mingi.

It’s not your fault that the tall boy was easily the most approachable one of the group. He had kind eyes and a brilliant smile despite being inherently dangerous. While it was obvious to you that the rest of the inner circle was mostly just being cordial with you for the sake of appeasing the boss, Mingi seemed to be the only one who genuinely wanted to talk to you. So you stuck to him for much of the night.

And of course, Hongjoong noticed. There was no way to avoid his glare, but Mingi wasn’t bothered by it so neither were you. Whether you liked it or not, the tall man had known your lover far longer than you had so if he wasn’t concerned then you had no reason to be. And it’s not like you actually were flirting. It’s not your fault that Hongjoong is jealous. It was all his own doing, and you reap what you sow.

But of course, Hongjoong would never see it like that.

“Get to know. Not fuck.” He growled. The door snapped shut. The partition was up, so you were left alone with your stewing boyfriend.

“Oh, we did? I must have missed that. Tell me? Was that before or after you made a scene of dragging me away in front of the whole party?” You snap back, not in the mood to entertain his delusions.

“Don’t play cute with me now, it’s not going to work.” He shot with a glare. “Maybe it wasn’t intentional, maybe you weren’t flirting, I don’t really care. The point is, it looked like you were. Either way, I can’t have the people there thinking I allow that kind of behavior.”

You couldn’t help it, you rolled your eyes. Hongjoongs glare went from angry to downright menacing in seconds. At some point during his monologue, the car had started, and while you were jostled slightly as the car pressed on, Hongjoong was as still as a rock as he stared you down. You didn’t look away, even though keeping his gaze was becoming increasingly difficult.

“What has gotten into you tonight to become so disrespectful?” His words were posed as a question but the tone was far from inquisitive. “First you insult me by parading around on the arm of another man knowing damn well your mine, then you have the audacity to deny it with this attitude that I don’t know where it came from.” Hongjoong broke his gaze to lean into your ear and whisper.

“Do I need to remind you who’s in charge here? Who you belong to?” He asked with an edge. Your breath hitched at the suggestiveness of his words. His hand took hold of your thigh with a vice grip.

“Here?” You asked in a shaky voice, sitting straight as an arrow. He somehow managed to get closer, his lips brushing the sheep of your ear.

“Here, and now.” He spoke his command with finality.

In an instant, you were pulled off your seat and across his lap. You let out a surprised humph, but you allow yourself to settle. The dress you wore was not amazingly short, but with your ass presented over your lover's lap in such a way you felt suddenly very exposed.

“Joong-“

“Ah, hush darling,” he started with a giggle, smoothing a hand down your spine with a surprisingly gentle touch. It calmed your nerves a bit, easing into the touch.

“Now, isn’t this better? You here with me? Laid out so pretty for my eyes only?” He asked in a coo, clearly soaking in the scene with pride.

“Mmmhmm,” you mutter in agreement. The location wouldn’t have been your first choice, but arousal was already stirring in you regardless. Hongjoong thumbed the hem of your skirt, rolling it between his fingers as though lost in thought. He flipped up the material and ran an affectionate hand over your ass.

“I think I know the perfect way to teach you a lesson and leave my mark on you, darling, wouldn’t you like that?” As he spoke he continued to caress you with gentle strokes.

It was a bit scary how quickly his mood had gone from livid to coddling in a heartbeat.

“I’d like that very much,” you whisper, clinging to the seat, arching you back to appear more inviting.

The first smack to your ass was unexpected so you let out a squeal and jerked forward, only to be pulled back tight by your waist with his free hand. But it wasn’t hard, not yet at least.

“Come on now, we’ve barely started.” He chided with another soft chuckle and soothing hand.

You did your best to right yourself, but the next spank came as suddenly as the last. This one was hard. A groaning cry fell out and the sting lingered, but it felt delectable coming from him.

And so he carried on. Hongjoong was never one to be predictable, each spank was different. Some were so soft it did little more than make your ass jiggle a bit, and some were so hard you felt the imprint of his hand still on you until the next one came. He varied the frequency as well, several smacks in rapid succession followed by a gentle smoothing hand that did nothing but caress for what seemed like minutes before his next spank. It was driving you mad.

At some point your underwear had been pulled down off your butt, giving him more access. From time to time he would giggle or mutter something along the lines of ‘absolutely beautiful’ but you could hardly focus on words right now.

You must have sounded pitiful, crying out and pleading for nothing in particular with every touch. But that is what Hongjoong was after. Your mind is clouded with arousal. Thank the lord for the soundproofed back seat.

Your ass was practically burning by now, and would surely be bright red for days but each throb of pain was accompanied by another in your core. You barely noticed the jostling of the car as you drove on, as he would let your mind rest from anticipation or pain. The whole thing was dizzying, and if you had any shame at all you would have been embarrassed by the leaking you felt coming out of you, but you had none.

Once again his hand rested gently against your butt to soothe.

“This is a punishment baby, you weren’t supposed to enjoy it,” Hongjoong started, though he sounded too pleased with himself to be angry. You only whined for him to continue, too far gone to form words.

“Do you even remember what you were being punished for?” He asked in that same jovial tone. You shook your head ‘no’ quickly and arched your back again. What did it matter why? All you wanted was his hands on you again.

“You don’t remember? Not even the name of the man you flaunted yourself off to?”

Another head shake ‘no.’

“Perfect, let’s keep it that way.”

[fishstyx]

“put the maid outfit on.”

featuring. sub!nagito komaeda x fem!reader

wc. 2.2k

genre. smut

tw. nsfw, penetration (pegging), orgasm denial/edging, praise kink, mild (mild!) toxic masculinity

synopsis. peg nagito 2021 + everyone’s favorite e-boy trend.

“You really think I look good in this..?” 

Your jaw slackens as Nagito materializes in the doorway, fingers fiddling with the hem of his skirt. His shoulders hunch over and his legs bend at the knee, but if he’s trying to make himself smaller, it does little to obscure your view. The costume fits him so well, corset detailing and silk satin bows lining his midriff, white ruffle trim splayed out against his wrists and thighs. Flouncy frills flare from his shoulders, jet puffed sleeves rounding out his sharper edges and broader sides. A pink flush creeps across his cheeks when you fail to respond, teeth locking his bottom lip in place like he’s trying to keep himself from saying anything more.

“I think you look great in it!” 

You clasp your hands together in an attempt to ward off your trance and he cracks a smile in spite of himself, relief washing over his features—but your next words have him standing stick straight. “It makes me feel like I should dress you up more often.” 

Suddenly his brows are threaded with vexation, Mary Janes clacking across the floorboards as he makes his way towards you.

“Please don’t joke about that. Even I take some pride in my manhood,” he pouts, somewhat unconvincingly. “But as long as you’re holding to your end of the deal—“

“And whatever deal could you be talking about?” you ask ever so sweetly, lashes batting away all too knowingly. He stiffens at your feigned ignorance, legs knocking together when you tilt your head pointedly. 

“...You know what deal.” 

Nagito averts his gaze, though unable to escape your own, hands clutching at the lacy material as he sucks in a sharp breath. “The deal we made… where I put this outfit on…” You wait patiently, silent stare urging him to finish the sentence.  “...and you pound my unworthy hole into oblivion.”

“Oh? And what exactly am I going to pound you with?”

However fake your play-pretend innocence, the curiosity in your eyes is very much real, blazing with the vehement desire to hear him say it aloud. The remaining shred of his so-called dignity is slashed to pieces, the hopefulness in your voice too compelling to defy.

“My favorite toy. Please, mess me up with it.” Nagito eyes you nervously, expecting rejection or derision or snide, heart fluttering when he gets only an warm smile in return. “The dildo that I can’t live without. I want it—I need it so bad it hurts,” he continues in a near whisper, but it’s good enough for you. You pull him in immediately, your chin nestling itself in the crook of his neck as your lips come to rest at the shell of his ear.

“Such a good boy, using your words so properly.” He shudders against you as you trace the fabric where it lies snug against his waist, mesmerized by the words of encouragement that spill from your lips. 

“I’m gonna make you see stars.”

Nagito practically bursts with anticipation as you snake your fingers up his skirt, unmoving from the spot where you pushed him onto the bed. With bated breath he lets you kiss up his inner thighs—lets you because normally he wants to do all the work, wants to be your little joyride fuck toy, wants you squirming under his touch. It’s all he can do just to watch, cock already twitching from how good it feels, how utterly starved he’s been of hands besides his own between his legs.

You push at his thighs, pressing them far apart for easy access, chaste kisses becoming damp squeezes as you traverse up the length. A silent smirk tugs at your lips as he throws his head back, the tent beneath his apron growing taller by the second. You palm it instinctively, rubbing circles through the fabric and inviting blood to his sensitive member.

But it’s more of a distraction than anything else, your other hand uncapping the bottle of lube with skill, lathering itself up with ease. Nagito pays it no mind, instead drinking in how you fondle him with eerie similarity to the most despicable of his favorite fantasies. So when a lone finger begins to circle at his entrance, he reels with an unexpected jolt, back arched like a cat. You waste no time in sinking a digit inside, sinful groans following one after another.

And then you’re pumping him with two fingers, swirling them in tandem and scissoring them apart a knuckle deep, then another. He’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the maddening urge to move on his own, to just take the reins and ram you inside of him. He’s already coursing with the need for something more substantial, and it’s obvious that he’s ready to take additional girth.

“Used to me already?” you ask, more statement than question. Nagito hesitates before nodding, sheepishness written into the slow bob of his head. “You’ve been playing with this lonely hole behind my back, haven’t you?” But he can’t bring himself to confirm or deny it, the way he peers back at you answer enough.

You reach for the harness in turn, untangling the heaps of straps right before him, his dildo of choice following soon after. You snap the towering thing into place with a satisfying click, swaying your hips as you guide the thigh straps to their final resting place. The fit is snug, belt of the strap just about digging into your flesh—but not quite—and you turn your back to add the finishing touches.

You’re dripping with lube when you face him again, glossy slick accentuating every vein, every bulge that graces your makeshift cock. You chuckle at the way his legs are spread already, the way he’s waiting on you with a look that says take me now, hold me down and fuck me silly.

But he’s ahead of himself as usual, and it’s inevitable that he chokes back a whimper when you disappear inside of him. He gives the prospect of pain no heed, silently pleading for you to move, and you click your tongue in distaste.

“Breathe,” you command, waiting for him to loosen. Green eyes shift expectantly from the strap-on to your own, an exasperated whine starting to form at his lips, but he knows his place and does as you say.

Nagito complies with the rise and fall of his chest, evidenced by the soft sway of a centerpiece bow. His muscles begin to relax even as you’re splitting him in two, and you angle your hips up in preparation. The tip of your silicone cock has barely brushed against his sensitive gland, yet it already has him quivering, hungry for more.

It’s in the middle of a deep breath when you finally deem him ready, doubling back before bucking into that same spot that has his jaw dropping and his eyes squeezing shut. A shaky exhale stutters from his wide-open mouth and he melts into a panting mess as you find your pace.

“Good boy. Such a good boy, making all that noise for me,” you repeat, chant-like words a melody to his ears.

“Y-you really think so?” he struggles to get out, little mewls escaping him even as he speaks. “Even when I’m… being so… selfish?”

“Shh, don’t say things like that. I feel it too, baby boy,” you’re quick to say—and you’re not lying, far from it in fact. The hilt of the dildo rocks against your clit each time your hips meet, the pulsating pressure tempting you to plunge even deeper. And with the face that he’s making, all reddened cheeks and parted lips, how could you not?

You’re snapping into him now, reveling in the challenge posed by the sheer length of his choice toy. It’s hard work with the way he clamps around you, but the tingle it shoots up your spine and the squelch it sends to your ears are well worth the effort. The marvelous stretch draws a throaty “f-fuuuuck” out of him, the god-sent sensation making him throb all the more.

But with every plunge you take, you’re met with the bounce of his pretty pink cockhead, a rebounding reminder of what you’ve left unattended. His neglected shaft looms in stark contrast to his black and white garb, breath hitching when you finally decide to wrap around it. Your movements are painfully slow to begin with, building up the pressure before picking up in speed, and he keens his dissatisfaction until you’re jerking him off to the same brutal rhythm of your rolling hips.

“I think I’m gonna cum,” he cries, locks of hair cascading past his pleated headband as you press into a spot so sweet he thinks he just might come undone; but you have other plans in mind. Your movements slow before coming to a lurching halt, the absence of stimulation quick to dampen the mood.

“Good boys cum when they’re told to,” you say, but the explanation does little to appease him. A look of disappointment leaps to his face, his lips pursed in dismay—or perhaps it’s betrayal.

He looks so disheveled like this, staring at your open palm like maybe his wordless begging can coax you back into stroking him. Hazy eyes glaze over, tufts of hair spilling every which way as he sits himself up, but you aren’t done with him yet.

It’s simple to redirect his movement, his weak limbs no match for your own as you turn him over so he’s kneeling on the bed. He tries to look back but you push him down by the neck, hiking his skirt up as you position yourself behind him. His ass is raised in the air without so much as being told, and you align with his fluttering hole before breaking him in again.

You were right to make him wait; he’s shaking in excitement now, tense with amplified arousal as his knees buckle underneath you. Bottoming out is so much easier like this, your pistons devoured whole and spat back out with each and every thrust. You draw back slowly only to bury yourself once more, repeating the motion until his moaning runs incoherent, completely wracked with shivering pleasure. You can’t tell if he’s humping the mattress, grinding against you, or both, but he’s reaching his climax again and the both of you know it.

“Can I finish now? Pretty please?” Nagito asks, so strained and so breathily that you nearly miss it. “Please, it hurts so good, please please please, I’m head over heels for your cock!”

The thought of stopping again is too cruel for you to give even a moment’s consideration, so you pin his wrist against his back and collect a fistful of hair in your hand before leaning in to award him with the magic words:

“Go ahead, then. Cum for me.”

You slam into him as he rides through the peak of his bliss, squirming in wretched ecstasy as he collapses under his own weight. You can only imagine what kind of expression he’s making with his head face-first in the bedsheets, the kinds of shapes his mouth is forming when you pull his hair back like this. Violent spasms render Nagito otherwise immobile, unable to move of his own accord. He’s going completely slack, quivers shorting until you wonder if he passed out from the aftershock.

It comes as a surprise when you notice him barely holding on, eyelids threatening to shut close when you pull him into your arms. He looks like a cheap whore in that kitschy uniform of his, thick white cum smeared all over the black fabric. Beads of drool streak his chin but he’s too fucked-out to notice, let alone care.

“You did so well for me,” you whisper as Nagito nuzzles into your chest, drowsy and spent. I don’t deserve this at all, he thinks, a dull echo reverberating in the back of his mind.

“I’m so proud of you,” you coo as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Proud of what? My greediness? My utter uselessness?

But he’s too exhausted to fight your praises, self-doubt dwindling away to nothing as you hum your approval. He snuggles against your palm without even realizing it, subconscious of his mind chasing after contact with your bare skin. In his docile state, you can’t help but to hold him close, intimate proximity sating the needs of which he’s too adamant to admit aloud.

But all good things must come to an end, and eventually, your adrenaline dies down, too. You feel as though you’re a husk of yourself, curling up beside him and letting the fatigue tide you over. As much as you’d love to watch your symbol of hope fall asleep, your eyelids feel so, so heavy now, and you expend the last of your energy on little kitten kisses that trail up his temple and dot down his nose. Your collective consciousness fades away until all that’s left is the syncing of your breath, a singular flow of air where you lay wrapped around one another.

He’ll never admit just how good it felt to be pampered this way, but you’ll never regret taking care of him.

fishstyx © 2021 ✸ all content and their rights belong to me. do not repost, reproduce, or modify anywhere.

[red1culous]

Oh part 4

Part 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7

After a few hours chatting with Carol and schmoozing with a few very posh looking people you made your escape claiming there was a kitchen emergency you had to manage. As you rushed up the side entrance of the house you stop mid step, balancing yourself against the railing to massage your calves. How come socialising was more tiring than baking?

“Hey stranger” a gruff male voice breaks your peace and startles you. 

You turn abruptly clutching you chest dramatically. “Barnes I told you to stop sneaking up on me!”

He laughs softly, something you were still not used to, as he shifts to face you on the step he’s sitting on. “Sorry,” he says giving you the once over, “you made these?” he lifts a plate filled to the brim with cupcakes.

You give him a warm smile which he returns with a toothy grin. Bits of cream stick to his stubble. “Depends. You like ‘em?” 

He quirks his eyebrow at you as he takes a huge bite into a cupcake smearing some of the cream onto his top lip and nose. Closing his eyes he lets out a filthy moan which causes you to laugh out loud.

“Ok ok in that case, yes I made them!” you say still laughing a little. He smiles at your admission and pats the stone step beside him. 

“What are you doing all the way back here? Shouldn’t you be out there mingling? Raking in the dollar bills?” you poke your elbow into his side once you’re settled in close enough stealing some of his body heat.

“You make it sound dirty” he smirks as he continues to demolish the plate of cupcakes.

You reach for the napkin he has stuffed in his breast pocket and wipe at his nose. “When you strip it bare, it kinda is like that, isn’t it?” you add.

“Suppose so, doll. Suppose we’re all here to be fucked in the ass.”

You stare at him wide eyed.

“What?” he exclaims.

“What do you mean what? When did you get so potty mouthed?” you answer fixing him a serious look.

He chuckles and mumbles something that sounds like a sorry heavily mixed in with cupcake mix. “Guess you haven’t been around to keep me in line.”

“I couldn’t exactly hang around, Buck. She broke up with me…” you sigh and he wraps an arm around your shoulders to pull you in for a brief side hug.

“I didn’t break up with you” a voice sounds from behind you. It’s so unexpected you shoot up from your seat and stumble backwards only to be stopped by Bucky’s hand grabbing your ankle steadying you a little.

“I didn’t break up with you” she repeats, more defensively this time. 

You laugh shaking your head from side to side. This was bound to happen to why not have it out here and now. “The hell you didn’t! Did I misunderstand you distancing yourself from me? That’s called a breakup.”

Bucky stands and makes to leave but you force him back down by shooting him a deathly glare. He attempts to make himself as small as possible but fails miserably. Instead he busies himself in studying the intricate design of your cupcakes bringing his legs further into his chest rocking gently back and forth. “I was giving you time to think” she says coming out of the doorway so you can see her better.

“Time I didn’t need, Nat” you look at her for a long moment feeling your gaze get even darker, even harder than it already was. “You made promises to me,” your voice gentling slightly as your stomach was knotting around itself. “I believed in them.”

“I never made any promises I couldn’t keep,” she corrects you. Her voice is an octave deeper, rougher than it was before. “I never have and you know that,” she adds, her voice laced with a world of pain and emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge. 

Your own hurt is spiked by her words. It suddenly becomes hard to breathe, or feel anything other than the temper that was rising like bile in your throat. It galloped through you. “Do you expect me to believe you’ve been sitting around mourning over something you caused? You had me eating out of the palm of your hand but I guess that was not exciting enough in the end” you spit. 

“Sometimes two people need to fall apart to realise how much they need to fall back together” she shrugs but you catch a glimpse of vulnerability in the way she looks at you. Her eyes scan your face and you notice the way her chin quivers slightly. 

“Don’t give me that pop culture bullshit” you shake your head again. You wanted to fight, you didn’t want to feel. 

“I need to go…” you trail off making to step away before she lunges forward almost touching you. 

“Wait!” she pulls herself away slightly. “I broke up with you because I’m cold at the core.” Her eyes search yours hopefully before continuing. “Because I have a hard sadistic streak right down the middle of me. I make you love me and then say it’s not good enough.” She stops as you lean back against the railing. It felt as if she had taken one of the knives you knew she had strapped to her thigh and chopped you off at the knees.

You raise an eyebrow and she goes on. “I broke up with you because I play this game where I see how much you can take before it wears you out. Before I force you to leave me.”

“Nat I didn’t come here to fight” you say your voice resigned and more so just tired of having this all dredged up again. 

“I don’t want to break up with you.” She says just as quietly before wrapping her arms around her torso as if she didn’t know what to do with them. 

“We are broken up,” you reply trying to keep your voice as flat as possible.  “What do you want, Nat?” 

“I want to be with you, Y/N. Properly. This time I promise. You and all your fucking breadcrumbs and pastry mix and cream and cookie dough.” She takes a small step towards you, hopeful. Even Bucky looks up at you from his gargoyle pose.

You stare at her. She stares back. You felt your resolve falter. She had read your desire to fight in spite of what you had said and she managed to throw ice cold water over your flames. 

“I love you, Y/N.” She whispers but you hear her loud and clear. “I’m sorry.”

You hated the fact that you were slowly losing the edge on your temper. She was forcing you to feel things you thought you had buried years ago. She was forcing you to look under the rug for your shared history. You wished they could just remain untouched but she had rolled up that rug and everything was up in the air. Exposed. Visible. Real.

You stare her down. You’re sure she can feel the anger simmering off of you. Something thicker and darker than anything before.

“You still love me,” she says eyes glistening slightly.

You scrunch up your forehead at her words. “I’m angry.”

“Yes but that look is also love. You still love me, Y/N” she smiles a little and if you weren’t so conflicted you might’ve allowed yourself to return her smile.

“This look?” you point to your face but don’t deny her either.

“I know you’re pissed off at me” she adds.

“You say that like you’re surprised” you say after a moment. “Of course I’m pissed. Not actively. It doesn’t keep me up at night anymore.” You pinch the sides of your nose. 

“I was in love with you. And you broke my heart. Its taken me a long time to get over that. Over you.” You say after a moment. If she wanted all the cards on the table than she was going to get it. No holds barred.

Her mouth curves slightly but not into a smile. 

You blow out a breath, not feeling entirely steady on your own two feet. “I should really go” you say again.

“Why can’t we fight for this again? Together this time,” she says taking another small step towards you. 

“Because Natasha,” you sigh out loud, “you shouldn’t need to fight for love.” 

You feel sick. Again. Sick of digging into the past. Sick of diving into the dark where you can’t see past your outstretched hand. Where you can’t win and you can’t lose. There was only how much it hurt and how much more it could hurt. 

----

Tagging: @thewidowintheweb​   @natasharomanoffismywife​  @imnotasuperhero​  @cybeleceto​  @silverwing2522​  @thelastavenger-3000​  @peggycarter-steverogers​  @rooskaya-yelena  @blackwidowromonoff​  @lesbian-x-blackwidow​  @nowthisisliving27​   @izalesbean​  @aaron-despair​  @marvelfansince08love​  @rileigh519​   @wannabe-fic-reader​  @hcartbyheart​  @marvel-randomness​  @thewitchandtheassassin  @username23345​  @xixxiixx​  @rebeliz777​  @summergeezburr​  @frostedfavesmain​  @higherfurther-romanova​ @sapphicluxanna @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ @madamevirgo​

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

I wanted to get this ‘Valentine’s Day’ piece out, even though it’s massively, supremely late. 😭It’s part of a longer piece (because I couldn’t stop writing it😶) and I’m still not sure whether or not it’s not terrible.😖

prompt list

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This couldn't be right.

Damian almost did a double take, his cool smirk withering when he glanced up, transfixed by the sleek storefront at the cross streets where he stood. Why on earth would Raven be in a place like this?

The building towered above the tottering sea of gray, black and blue below. And the mannequins in the display lorded over their dominion, propped loftily on their perches, arms and legs of impractical proportions, stilted at absurd angles.

And why would she summon him here?

His trousers began to buzz audibly and the shifting crowd of passersby jostled him closer to the glass. Damian delivered the faceless caricatures of the female form a final foreboding glare, before he reached down to free the device vibrating in his pocket. New Message. Raven. Apparently, it was urgent. He tapped the speech bubble icon with a fingertip and his jaw went slack.

I Need You.

The three words seemed etched into the surface of the screen. And they were more than enough to get him to take a deep breath and grasp the curved door handle, his jaw set, and wingtips marching determinedly onward.

The atmosphere inside the store was even more unexpected than the outside. When translated, the pounding music and low lighting read as more nightclub than boutique. It was completely impractical in Damian's view—how could anyone locate a price tag, let alone see the item they were intending to purchase? Although, after a few minutes of skulking around in the dark, he could see how the implementation of such a design was advantageous. With stealthiness like his, he wasn't in danger of being accosted by overly helpful employees hungry for commissions, before he located the heading of a dramatic script that read Dressing Rooms, and turned underneath it.

Down the row each stall had a flood light stationed above it, but only one appeared to be presently occupied: the corner room at the farthest end of the hall. And as he got closer he noticed it also appeared to be the largest. Damian glanced behind him and rapped on the door with a knuckle. And just as he began to wonder if he'd needed some sort of special knock or password prepared, the lock glowed black and unlatched itself.

"I'm here." The door creaked open and the floor groaned under his solid weight. Damian turned swiftly to shut it, growing steadily concerned.

"So what is it? What's the—big emergency..." He started, but his tongue began to feel heavy and leaden inside his rapidly drying mouth. And his eardrums began to beat violently until they matched the thumping of his maddened heart.

Red.

Blood red.

Burning. Blinding. Blazing.

In the carpet, the walls, the curtains, the chandelier.

It was everywhere—even in the deafening pounding hammering away at his head.

Thundering images suspended before him, going in and out of focus. They were searing his eyes, blearing his vision. In sinful shapes marred over pale flesh, it was red repeating over and over. Criss-crossing crimson. Damian had to dig his fingernails into his palms to ground himself with the tangibility of a familiar sensation.

And suddenly he realized that all the times before were incomparable, this was what it meant to be blindsided by a breath-taking blow. This was what it meant to receive a rush of blood to the head…

…or a rush of blood to the—

"I'm glad you came so quickly."

And the silhouette of Raven turned where she sat on a velvet ottoman, leaning forward in a way that was guaranteed to diffuse away the rest of his brain's processing ability. It was all he could do not to goggle at her like some cartoon character. Tawdry and tactless. Damian inwardly cursed the merciless Goddess above as he took in the cleavage created by cups, a series of straps and bows and elastic and he didn't know what. Only that he shouldn't have been so disarmed by it—by Raven's breasts pushed up to high-heaven. Like they weren't perky enough or distracting enough in their usual sheath of simple black cotton.

His wide emerald eyes strayed downward in spite of themselves and onto shapely, stocking clad legs folded one over the other, with a lace-up heel tapping out the bass of the synth pop bleeding into the background. Raven slid to her feet seamlessly, swaying slightly to the song. She took a single step, allowing the shadows to part for her as she did so.

There was a muted click, clack, click of her heels on the carpet as she drew near. He'd never seen her in stilettos, and he stared at them through slits.

Gods, they had to be four inches at least. Their impressive height only seemed to serve to make her look even more powerful. Just about as powerful as the force rooting him to the spot.

The deep panging in Damian's chest carried on, a racehorse charging from the starting gate, galloping faster and faster, as she grew closer and closer.

Suddenly he'd become aware of the fact that it was far too warm in here for the dead of winter. Or was it simply that Raven radiated such an intense heat?

Most definitely the latter.

The garnet colored lace gracing Raven's skin was a perfect match to her chakra stone. The semi-sheer fabric of her bra offered up a playful glimpse of the darker skin of her nipples beneath. When his gaze wound down her tapering waist, it appeared that the lack of opaqueness carried over to the front of her panties. He could just make out a little shadow—a promise laying underneath a tempting, well-kept diamond shape in plum wine. And last, but certainly not least were the thigh highs trimmed by garnet lacings and affixed to a red and black garter.

Damian's throat had somehow gone even drier. He tried to swallow with great difficulty, then tugged at his turtleneck for a reprieve.

However, there would be no such alleviation for his trousers.

"There's no emergency, Damian..." Raven assured him with a tilt of her head, lilac tendrils skating across a valley between pale peaks. "You'll have to forgive me, but I had to get you here. I had to know..." She paused, folding her arms as she prepared to pose a question to him. "Tell me... what do you think...of my outfit?"

Damian froze, fingers mid-tug and blinked several times as if he'd been struck dumb.

What?

That wasn't...

There was no way...

Was that a serious request?

She was being facetious—she had to be. It was the only explanation, unless Raven was somehow messing with his mind and Damian sincerely doubted that. But how could she ask him this with such bold-faced sincerity? Even if the wooden arch behind her housed a funhouse mirror and had been reflecting distorted proportions back at her. Or was there actually some warped reality in which they weren't looking at the same picture?

Although...

If he could muster up a voice to speak he would have asked, what outfit?

Lackadaisically, she trailed a hand down her body, tugging at the cups spilled over with supple skin. "The bra—do you like the pattern?" Raven traced the gorge between the swell of her breasts. "It's tulle and...French lace," she confirmed, squeezing the scant, semi-sheer embroidery molded to her chest. And Damian grimaced as though in physical pain.

"No?" she assessed, seemingly marking off boxes on a mental checklist. Raven smoothed her hands over her hips for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. She paced slowly, revolving a full three-hundred and sixty degrees to pause with her back to him.

"And what about..." She swept a purple curtain over the nape of her neck to glance over her shoulder and he saw—of all things—a bow below the dimples on her back, nestled into the heart-shaped curve of her ass. "My panties...?"

Damian gritted his teeth, though not before letting a sound escape, like a hiss coupled with a wince.

"Are these okay?" The soft profile of her lips pressed.

Gods, it was almost as if she were seeking to offer all of this up to him. And who needed to clarify anything when she was all wrapped up and presented? Covered in the finest cardstock wrappings in gold-flecked marble, then laced up with champagne silk ribbon to await her unravelling.

Though his own would be more likely.

Right now, he'd forsake all his names, both Wayne and Al Ghul to get her to stop. Stop slinking closer, stop speaking in that sweet, scratchy undertone, and stop directing his focus to her various attributes, more than it already was.

It would only make his growing pain more pronounced.

A pale hand dangled down and spread across a smooth, silken thigh. "My stockings, then?" Raven hummed.

Though, Damian didn't speak. He wasn't entirely certain he was still breathing. Somehow, he'd managed to remain motionless and drag his unwilling eyes toward the floor. All his carefully constructed control was necessary to keep himself calm and centered in this moment. He could do this—he had to do this. Otherwise, what was the point of all those long years of training he'd endured?

Shiny purple strands bobbed; she'd started to shake her head slowly at the stony silence from the stoic cashmere wall standing before her, as if she expected as much.

"I bet you're still wondering why I called you here." Damian heard her voice go up in the middle, which it did whenever she was apprehensive or unsure. "I wanted you here to find out what you like—exactly what you like." When he arrived, Raven was blushing a delicious pink, so by now it had to be a violent red. "I wanted to get it right because...you're the first person, or only person I've ever been intimate with in any world, dimension, or universe..." She lingered.

And once again, Damian said nothing, and she resumed speaking.

"I do know that this is something that one does traditionally." Raven paused to worry her already cherry-red bottom lip. "That couples do... Buying underwear for your significant other is supposed to be something special, particularly for this holiday."

He was a mountain, immobile, unwavering...

"Oh, I see..." Her mouth set into a line. "Perhaps, it's the fit—or is it the color...?" Raven's large amethyst eyes swept over the room and landed on her reflection. "I thought dark red was classic. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Donna. I should have gotten something in black." She dragged a distraught hand through dark purple. "It's too much...or maybe it's not enough..."

"Don't," Damian growled low. His inflection was level and gave nothing away. If Raven was surprised by the outburst, she didn't let on, instead she continued.

"I bet the old string of socialites shuffling in and out of the manor were never caught dead in skivvies that weren't Kiki de Montparnasse or at least Agent Provocateur. But this..." Raven lifted her chin toward the mirror. "It's not your taste though, is it?"

That was far more than enough.

Far more than he could stand to hear and far more than he could stand to bear.

When his eyes flew back to hers at last, they weren't steely anymore, they burned—whittling her retinas down like they were wicks on candlesticks. As if he were all but telling her he dared her to do that again, to say that again.

"It's okay. I'm glad I found out before I bought—"

"I said...don't." Damian placed his hands on her wrists and whisked her right up to his chest. And he closed his eyes. He skimmed his lips along the length of hers like it was something sacred, his mouth trembling as Raven muffled out a note denoting her surprise.

He murmured to her, "you're brilliant, deadly beautiful—an empath...and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I'm your blindspot." Damian sighed resolutely. "But Raven, can't you take pity on me? I'm still a man." One that had been barely keeping it together since he arrived, but... "And you're you, so..."

There was no way in any world, dimension, or universe that he could ever resist.

Purple eyes grew wider as he told her and lifted a finger to her chin. Then it was Damian turning the tables and tipping her mouth towards his own. And though he hungered for her, he took slow and sweet and gentle grazes. It was tortuous, but he should only have a little at a time. This was an excess of an impossibly decadent dessert, an indulgence he was undeserving of. It was like the power in his sub zero freezer had short-circuited and he had no choice but to guzzle down that buried pint of vanilla caramel gelato.

Though who could blame him for being greedy when he had all of this spread out before him? And when her ass in those panties even resembled two round, creamy spoonfuls.

To hell with it then.

Damian lunged, face forward, longing for more of her. In an instant, he was inhaling her pulse, intaking the scent of leather-bound books with aged pages and the nectar from plums she'd probably narrowly avoided dripping on them. He dipped his tongue along the hollow of her collarbone as if he sought to test this.

"Mmm, that's nice."

"Nice?" Damian scoffed, his eyes on hers. "That's not what I was going for. Surely you didn't wear this because you wanted me to be nice." At the present, he wanted nothing more than to rip the tiny pieces of lace into twos, but Raven had selected them specifically for him. So he would continue to be patient and continue to savor this.

Let the pieces of fabric hold up for as long as he could hold out.

"Wait a moment," Raven gasped, quickly clutching his arm. "So your present...?"

"Present? Tch..." Damian's lip curled under his front teeth and he let out a piercing click. "If you're seriously considering getting me a present..." His palms glided down her chest and he gathered a scoop of softness in either hand. "Then these are perfect," he whispered in her ear.

And then Damian's mouth pushed back into hers and he was kissing her in ways that would make it impossible to return this lingerie after trying it on. He nipped urgently to gain entrance to her castle, then trapped her lip between his teeth like it was a drawbridge, at last releasing her tongue to collide with his own. All the while, his thumbs were sliding over her nipples, which puckered and pointed at his touch. He pushed up the cups of her bra for better access, head inclined towards his goal, soon to be met by a full mouth.

Each brush of his lips on Raven's chest made her fingers clench further and further into his shirt like it was a life preserver, and she was in danger of losing herself to the depths.

And after all, wasn't this the answer that she'd wanted from this—that she needed from him?

A chance to lose herself.

To stand in a dressing room in his arms, moaning his name like a breathy spell, her body bending until her back was arched under the avid swipes of tongue. He tugged her nipples between his teeth and they reddened, their response a glowing rave.

Yes.

Raven's eyelids squeezed, her pink face contorting in pleasure while Damian enjoyed the full weight of her breasts in his hands. He continued polishing the plush, pink rings. Left then right—until they were glistening.

"Gods, Damian..." Raven groaned. "Just—"

Just as sudden, there was a wet noise, a slip of suction. Damian had released a rosy nipple, taking note of Raven's expression. Hungry and dazed, and all his doing. Whether unconsciously or not, she pressed her legs together, clenching them as she watched Damian slip off the left sleeve of his coat and let it crumple to the ground in a heap.

The glaze of her gaze, her diaphragm's continuous rise and fall, her fingers digging into his arm, she needed this.

So why deny her?

"Yes, these are beautiful..." He whispered as he admired his handiwork under the chandelier light. The way the red nips and bites were like Damian Wayne watermarks upon the pale flesh. "But perhaps..." Damian's hands glided freely down the small of her back, just over the hill of her ass and stroked the burgundy bow, like an X marking the spot. "This."

When Damian glanced down at Raven, she was barely biting back another mewl, and moving restlessly in his arms. "I wonder what would happen if I were to pull this bow... Raven what do you think?"

"Damian... We shouldn't..." Raven murmured, sounding somewhat apprehensive and holding the fabric at his back tightly.

"Yes, we should Raven," he rasped darkly. "Right now, I can't seem to think of a reason why not..."

"Well, there's the fact that we're in public—"

"Public," Damian repeated flatly. "What of it? The outside world ceased to exist the second I entered the door of my own little version of Narnia."

Raven's jaw had unhinged in unmasked shock and Damian supposed this was an instance to take her remaining breath away by kissing her. Yes, he'd walked through a door and suddenly he was laying eyes on his half-naked demoness dangerous in dark red. So clearly nothing else in creation mattered.

When he pulled away her lips opened and closed, while her eyes remained shut, like a thirsty traveler prematurely cut off from a longer drink. And even though it seemed her body knew the truth, a darker part of him wanted her to beg for it.

"But, that's not what I asked," he said with a hard smile that wasn't. Damian drummed a divot on her lower back. "I fear I've gotten ahead of myself again. Tell me about the bow, Raven. What happens if I pull it?" His hand jutted out, he made a motion with his fingers, in mimicry of it.

"Why ask when you know the answer?" Raven asked him, her brow rising shakily.

"I could have asked you the same earlier. But..."

"But?"

Raven bit her lip but made no motion to stop his hands from climbing onto the curve of her ass. He taunted her twice, by tugging lightly on the tulle, until at last... The bow in the back came loose, and her panties slid down her legs with ease. She secured one pale thigh tightly over the other to hide herself.

No bottoms and bra half-undone, she was nothing short of delicious.

Though that scrap of fabric had barely covered much of anything, so why bother to tease? Or hadn't that been the sole purpose of this outfit?

A devious smirk sidled onto Damian's face as he realized something: these were the exact kind of underwear that one put on simply to take off.

"I pulled the bow, Raven," he murmured almost mockingly. "Don't I at least get to see the rest of my present?"

She stared up at him through her soot colored lashes and slowly opened her thighs.