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bakugoushotwife · 8 months

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kinktober day five: size kink

>>> so obviously there is no other option size kink and toji fushiguro are synonymous in my book! i do call him zen'in in this so i guess we can be mama fushiguro lmao! i hope you guys are having a good time with kinktober so far :D

>>> starring toji (zen'in) fushiguro x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: size kink duh, daddy kink i'm not apologizing anymore, reader is stuck in a washer, doggy, oral (fem receiving), reader is used to shit men lol >>> wc: 2.3k >>> event masterlist

toji is massive, in every form of the word. he’s tall, towering over most people he comes across at his looming stature. most of the time, tall people were lanky and lean, slender with limbs that stretch for days. he didn’t fit the stereotype. toji was beefy, his biceps were the size of your head and his hands could cover your entire face. his arms aren’t where it stops either, his chest is broad; he’s so impossibly wide, always struggling to find clothes that fit him right. not that you mind too much of course, watching those poor t-shirts try to contain him rile you up to no end every time. he was always there to grab whatever you needed off of high shelves, changing lightbulbs and dusting the ceiling fans because it was all too easy for him to do. he was ridiculously strong, able to open even the tightest of jars and sweep you into his arms like it was nothing. it wasn’t like you ever overlooked toji’s size, it’s just that you never thought yourself all that small.

in fact, you struggled with your figure a bit, never quite knowing where you fit in for most of your life. boys either made you feel too insecure over your size or only ever wanted you for that curvy and voluptuous figure. at first, toji was no different, knowing how to talk at a beautiful girl when he sees one. he approaches you, lays out some dirty and cheesy pick up line that’s not even remotely close to original, and is honestly surprised when you snort through your nose and roll your eyes.

“i had more hope outta you, you were actually cute.” you sneer, quickly turning to keep walking down the quiet streets without any more trouble. and that was it–you really weren’t going to give him a second glance even though you admitted he was attractive? he had never really been turned down before, his looks alone enough to open any door. seems with a body like that you were used to gross one-liners.

“hey, little lady, wait.” he said, his voice a little softer than it had been when he was hitting on you before. you had already walked a few feet away, but noticing the slight change in disposition, you halted. “maybe that was a bit much, i got ahead’a myself.” he says, tilting his head down in an apology. “let me make it up to ya?”

your eyes narrowed at him. his arms were folded over his chest, the fabric of the struggling shirt expanding to its fullest potential. his hair ruffled a bit with the warm breeze that blew through, the color of his locks as dark as the night sky—though his eyes shone like the stars above too, something in the green expanses of the hazy orbs twisting your gut and making you decide that if anybody deserves a second chance, it was this sexy stranger. could you even be that angry at him for his lewd comment when you were eyeing him down too, only thinking of his physical attributes?

at your hesitation he speaks again. “let me walk you home. it’s late, and like i said, you’re very pretty.” he raises his brow as if asking one final time. you breathe some air out through your nose, suspiciously looking him up and down at the offer. “no funny business, just protection, little lady.” he swears with his hands by his head.

you hum, nodding your head for him to follow you as you start walking, hips swinging and hair swaying. when he thinks back on it maybe he fell in love right here, watching you stomp towards your house with way more attitude than your tiny body should contain, doing your damndest to try and play hard to get. but toji’s no fool. he follows you, he increases his strides to catch up with a small effort, but he’s walking beside you with a smug look on his face.

he makes meaningless chit-chat, learns about some of your hobbies and about your job. he gets your phone number, and apologizes one last charismatic time before you shut the door of your apartment and he’s walking back home, thinking of how he rarely plays the long game for a woman. but he knew you were worth it, the perfect little thing to brighten his days.

unlike you, toji realized how tiny you were immediately. sure, you were curvy and your chest and ass definitely were not small–you even had a little tummy to you, but you were just so short and compact, he knew he could manhandle you like a toy. not to mention how cute and bratty you were, he was all but compelled to be your man and fuck that attitude right out of you.

so the long game he played, talking to and courting you like a proper adult, though it isn’t long until you’re accepting him into your home and letting him tame that bratty streak of yours.

and you’re so glad you decided to give the ginormous stranger another go. he earns his place in your heart and in your home in under a year, and you’ve been grateful for his presence around the house. he makes you feel safe and protected, your own personal security guard. no place could be safer than those hulking arms trapping you to a chest at least two times as wide as yours. his hands always felt so warm and rough against your frame, seeing them against your body always made you feel like the daintiest thing in the whole world. god, and the way those enormous fingers moved inside your little hole—

maybe that’s why you thought you thought you could rely on the burly man you’ve come to love to be the perfect boyfriend he’s shown you he can be, despite the weird looks you get walking around in public with toji zen’in. you never minded the whispers or the rumors of his reputation, you knew him better than anyone, another reason you thought that when you screamed out his name for help, that he’d come running to your rescue.

to which in part, he did, to his credit. when he heard your voice far away in the laundry room hollering for him, sounding a little too afraid for his comfort, he was there in an instant. but rescuing? nah. he couldn’t help but laugh at your compromising situation. you’re face first in the top load washer, your top-half completely invisible, ass and legs squirming in the air. of course you’d fall in, the height of the washer was something you often complained about; you had to basically crawl inside the machinery to get clothes in and out, and it annoyed you to no end. now, the worst had happened and here you are. you couldn’t even just push yourself out due to how high your legs dangle, you’d surely fall.

you know what they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and as good as toji has been to you, he can’t repress the perverted fantasy his mind drums up at the sight of your tiny body stuck in the washer. you kick your feet harder at the sound of his laughter, to which he can only belly chuckle harder.

“you need some help, darlin’?” he teases, large hands wrapping around your ankles, halting your kicking immediately. he holds your legs there by his thighs, standing between them. he smirks down at your fat ass jiggling and recoiling as you try to squirm your way up the washer. he chuckles at your failures and the sounds of frustrations that follow, until you finally whine out for help.

“toji— just get me out of here.” you pout flatly, folding your arms over your chest inside the barrel. he chuckles deeply again, sliding his hands up your bare legs until they came across the mounds of your ass. he squeezes the flesh almost tenderly.

“but little lady,” he hums as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and slowly drags them down your legs. he has to kneel to get the garment completely off, but he doesn’t mind. he decides kneeling is advantageous for him, especially once he sees your pretty little hole clenching around nothing, just eager to be filled. “ya look like a little toy from down here,’nd i’m thinkin i oughta play.” he has to spread your ass cheeks a little bit to see you in all your glory before he leans in to lick a stripe from glistening slit to your puckering asshole. he growls at the flavor, something he just can’t stop himself from doing no matter how many times he gets to taste you. you can feel the soft tickle of his hair against the insides of your thighs, the searing heat of his tongue making your squirm back against him in a desperate search for more.

you should have known toji would be greedy, taking advantage of your inability to move and abusing that to the fullest. he laps at you, shoving his fat tongue into your tiny little hole, fucking it wider for his cock to use. after all these months of him fucking you open, you were still so tight and small. you hug even his tongue, silky wet walls making his eyes roll back a little bit. his large hands hold your asscheeks, kneading like a kitten making biscuits, even though it felt more like a lion pawing at you. you taste so good, it has his cock jumping against his zipper and begging for freedom. he decides to deny himself that simple pleasure, focused on driving more of those cute little whimpers from your lips. the tunnel of the washer was amplifying all your sounds, and he felt the torture of not having your tiny cunt wrapped tight around his cock every passing second.

you were panting, beginning to feel dizzy from being nearly upside down. every stroke of toji’s tongue massaging your fluttering entrance and the intensity of his deft fingers flicking your clit combined sent you spiraling, both physically and literally, towards the edge. he can’t help but lean back and watch the way you fuck yourself back on his mouth for more, picking up the pace of his fingers to send you over your limit. it’s so cute to watch your thighs clench down and shiver as you cum, screeching and begging for his dick next.

and who was the feared sorcerer killer to deny such a sweet request from his beloved? his pants are off, belt clinking against the floor. you ready yourself, feeling the rough warmth of his hands envelop your sides and his hips cleave your thighs apart yet again. he’s so strong, he doesn’t even have to use his hands to toss you around, positioning you exactly the way he needs you to fuck you into pieces. his cock splits your lower lips and he unceremoniously bottoms out, eyes clenched shut at how your tiny cunt grips him. your jaw drops with the feeling of being so full at once, his cock just as broad and long as the rest of him. he kisses your cervix before he’s even started moving and you’re already squirming and crying like always. the stretch burns, every time feels like your first with toji. especially like this, you’re bent in half and he’s so deep in doggy that you’re seeing stars—though that could be due to the dizziness swirling around your head.

“so tight f’me like always, gorgeous.” he chuffs, drawing back to the tip and plowing his length back in, entranced by how you clench and release around him. you mewl your acknowledgement, your hips eagerly moving back against him for more friction, his strokes deliriously slow.

he notes your impatience, amused.

“need more, little thing?” he teases, licking his smirking lips at the sound of your pathetic whines and kicks. you nod eagerly, realizing he can’t see it.

“yes, daddy, please! need you to make me cum–”

before you can finish your sentence, he’s punishing you for asking for it. this angle is so unforgiving, you can feel every vein decorating his shaft as he destroys you, the tip colliding with your womb so hard it has your toes curling and vision going white. his grunts are so low and delicious, a reward for the perfect pussy you offer him nightly. it’s so good, he can’t stop until he beats your insides into the shape of the dick making you scream right now.

your ass bounces around his thrusts, absorbing every snap of his hips into your unsuspecting and fragile body. he loves watching you break, like his own personal little doll.

“cum–daddy oh my god i’m gonna cum so hard!” you whine, thrashing.

“oh coat this cock, babygirl.” he groans, feeling himself letting go, unable to fight back against your vice grip anymore. “cum with me, need to feel it.” his head falls back as you spasm around him, the vision of your little pussy accommodating his size too much to bear.

“god, please toji!! cum, cum, i need it so bad.” you whimper, your voice so breathy and tired, so beautiful as you beg for his load. it’s already established that he can’t deny you, so he doesn’t. he slides his cock in and out of your slick one last time, hissing as his balls tighten and explode into your cunt, white-hot and heavy. it fills you to the brim like it always does, even when his enormous dick withdraws from you and the mix starts to escape down your thighs you still feel impossibly full.

finally, he rights you onto your feet, his strong steady hands keeping you upright as you wobble a bit. when your vision stops spinning and you bring yourself to open your eyes again, you’re met with toji’s smirking face. his eyes are lazy with amusement and love as he looks at you, giving you an affectionate pat to the head.

“kinda wanted to leave you there ‘nd keep usin’ ya like that.”

#kyleewritesjjk #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #jjk x reader #toji thirst #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji zenin #jjk toji #fushiguro toji #toji zenin x reader #toji x size kink

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hearts4chriss · 4 months

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Tap that.

flirty Bestfriend! Chris x poc! Bestie

prompt: you and Chris are bestfriend, he’s obsessed with you, he’s in love with you actually he’s dying to fuck you. You, Chris nick and Matt go out to dinner and you’re wearing a tight outfit think that’s it? Uou had to take everyone home and you forced to sit on Chris’s lap and ur ass on him. He’s whipped

Part 9

warnings: mentions of reader having the fattest ass eva, public touching?, teasing, pet names ( mama, ma, good girl, princess ), backshots, chris is a freak, ass grabbing, ass slapping yktv ( Chris loving ur ass ), dirty talk

6:38 PM

Los Angeles California

my apartment.

I was getting ready to go out to dinner with my best friends, the sturniolo triplets and friends

Matt’s a cutie he’s always so good at calming me down

Nicks so much fun to gossip with and makes me laugh

Now Chris.

Chris is..well how do I say it, he’s hot as fuck.

He flirts with me when I tell him no and responds with

“Come on mama you know you like it” with a stupid smirk making my pussy throb and ache for him.

It’s ridiculous, and idiotic I had to realistic, Chris and me were never gonna happen.

Until…

Present day.

I slipped on my pink sheer outfit

I looked in the mirror as my hair touched my ass and I slipped on some white heels and my lip gloss as I heard their car honk outside I made my way outside

fuck- she looks so damn good in that outfit and I knew her ass was moving too. I couldn’t see fully but I saw movement when she began to walk to the car. Her curves leading up to her waist and her tits she looked drop dead gorgeous and I was already getting hard.

I sat in the back next to nick.

“You look so prettyy.” Nick said smiling at me and Matt nodded in agreement

“Thank you guysss.” I smiled and Chris looked back at me moving his hands together licking his lips.

“Ew you freak.” I giggle adjusting the top of it as Matt drove to the restaurant as he told us everyone would meet us there via Uber.

“You look good.” Chris smirked and I already felt my panties drench at his words trying to ignore him and his stupid ass

“Yeah yeah shut up.” I roll my eyes and he chuckles

“You know you like it.” The boy turns around raising his eye brows raising deep sighs from his brothers

“WHAT?!” Matt yelled at the same time Nick yelled “CHRIS ENOUGH” and Chris just laughed and we continued on our way to the restaurant.

We made our way there and Chris came by and opened my door.

“After you.” He says doing a gentlemanly gesture and I side eye and get out the car

“Thank you Christopher.” I chuckle and he smiles and closes my door.

“fuck that ass”- he mumbles under his breath assuming I didn’t hear him but god the way he said it made me wet, I could picture him biting his lip too.

“Hm?” I said “confused”

“Nothing nothing.” Chris said smiling back at me as we made our way to our friends table

“Hey madi!!” I said giving her a huge hug

“Heyy you look so pretty.” she smiles and I hug her tighter

we all sat down and I was across from madi, next to nick and Chris and Matt was across from me next to madi and few of our other friends down the table.

It broke out into distinct chatter and everyone orders as the table fills with talks about food, drinking sex and other topics.

As we talked I felt Chris’s hand sneak its way to my thigh.

“What’d you say Nick?” Chris said leaning over me his hand pressing further into my thigh as if he had no idea what he was doing.

He gives me a wink before turning to his brother hearing what he had to say leaving a small tap on my thigh before letting go.

“Boy- You actual freak.” I say playfully slapping his chest as he jokingly placing his hand over his heart play hurt imagining those fingers wrapped around my throat as fu-

“Girl ur foods here.” Nick chuckles tapping my shoulder and snapping me out of my fantasies of fucking his brother.

I shake my head and nod.

The rest of dinner consisted of mostly us just

eating, Chris making occasionally flirty glances at me with that stupid smirk that makes my panties soaked

I hated how he made me feel especially since he’s my bestfriend, the effect he has on me makes me sick to my stomach.

eventually dinner ends and I decided that I’d pay for everyone’s meal, Chris reluctantly takes my card out his hand and passes his to the waitress.

“Don’t worry I got it.” Chris gives me a sly smile and I roll my eyes and whine at his cocky action.

“Come on what kinda bestfriend would I be if I let you pay?” I never let you pay. He chuckles as he pulls my chair back letting me stand up

fuck is she trying to make me cum in my pants? She stands up and all I can see is her ass faintly covered by the sheer material, her hips syncing with the rest of her body.

She’s gorgeous, undeniably attractive. The way she stands up and then has to adjust herself only made me want her more. Those fucking curves- I know it’s wrong because she’s my bestfriend but it’s taking everything in me to not bend her over this table and fuck her until she can’t s-

“Chris!!” I chuckle snapping my fingers taking the boy out of his fantasies

“Oh huh? What did you say sorry.” He scratched his head running his fingers through his soft hair hoping you didn’t notice.

“I saiddd, I spoke dragging the d. Can I sleepover tonighttt. I playfully nudged him and he chuckled.

“Yeah of course you never have to ask.” He winks at me and puts his arm around me before I throw it off.

“enough flirting Christopher.” I roll my eyes popping my gum and he groans putting his hands in his pockets as we made our way to the car.

we all pile in and realize, there’s not enough room for everyone.

“Uh ur gonna have to sit on Chris’s lap if that’s okay with you.” Matt says nervously waiting for my reaction.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled a bit

“Yeah that’s fine.” I say getting on Chris lap making myself comfortable.

“he told you sit not give me a lap dance.” Chris mutters in my ear and I hit his thigh and he winced.

“Enough I’m getting comfy”. I said finally situating myself on his lap as Matt begins to drive.

The ride was pretty quiet, some faint lil skies in the background as everyone was on their phones with their AirPods in, we came across a speed bump and chris groans. That’s when I felt something poke my thigh and I realized, Chris was hard.

“Chris…” I whisper in his ear, the boy reluctantly holds my hips and groans resting his head into the crook of my neck

“Fuck- you expect me to not feel this way when ur on my lap?” Chris mutters into my neck trying to distract me from what he just mentioned.

“you have all this ass mama it’s right in my hands and fuck I’m loving it-“ he whispers in my ear with that low voice and I felt a wetness pool in my panties.

Chris starts grinding himself into my ass trying to create friction between us.

I let out a soft moan feeling his dick press its way onto my clothed pussy and he smirks.

“gotta be quiet, don’t worry I’ll handle that ass.” He whispers in my ear chuckling darkly as I try and snap out of it.

“Chris we-“ the brunette silences me by pressing his finger to my lips.

“I’ll make you feel so good, you’re saying you don’t want me to fuck you?”

“shit it took everything In me to not bend you over the table and fuck you so hard you could even speak- “ the sinister words left his mouth and my jaw was dropped as he reached his fingers down to toy with my clit fully clothed.

“Fuck-“ I say quietly holding his hand, Chris’s thumb pressing into my wetness.

“ur already wet for me sweetheart”. Tell me, you don’t like the idea of ur pretty face buried into my pillows as I ruin you?

“Chris-“I whimper grinding myself on his hand and he chuckles.

“I know ur pussy is tight baby let me stretch it out for you.” He practically growls into my ear only making me more desperate for his dick

—

it was only 10 minutes when we got back and chris had me where he wanted me.

“Let take this off.l Chris smirks pulling down the thin material leaving me bare, my body even better then it was in the bodysuit.

“Shit- look so fucking good.” He looks at me biting his bottom lip, his dick pressing painfully against his jeans.

“Fuck you wanna help me ma?” He says and I Scoot closer pulling down his jeans with his boxers letting his thick cock spring out.

Fuck he was so big, I always predicted it he always had a bulge but shit seeing it in front of me I realized how huge Chris’s dick was.

“Get on all 4s for me princess.” He spoke impatiently stroking himself as I complied I did so.

“Fuck arch that shit back for me.” Chris leaves a smack to ass and I whimper doing so.

he positions himself closer rubbing his dick between my folds not putting it in.

“Chris- mph fuck just put it in.” I whine and he chuckles

“Beg for it, call me daddy and be a good girl.” He says sternly and I almost wanted to laugh but he was dead serious.

“fuck- daddy please fuck me with ur cock need it so bad.” I whimper impatiently and before I could process what I just said he forces himself in my cunt as I squeeze around him

“Fuckk ur pussys so tight.” Chris groans as he starts rocking his hips into mine.

“F-faster p-please-“ I stutter out my face buried into the pillows and he quickens his pace up.

Chris stretched me out painfully at first but it quickly turned into pleasure, my ass slapping against his pelvis echoed in his room as he grips it tightly rocking me hard on his cock.

“Oh fuckk! S-shit Chris!” I moan out in pleasure he smacks my ass harder this time making me jolt.

“That’s not my name sweetheart.” He says grabbing my throat pushing him further whilst snapping my hips into mind making me squeeze my eyes shut.

“s-sorry mmph- daddy oh fuckkk!” I cry out as he leaves kisses along my back and neck his hands pressing into my ass harshly.

“oh shittt not gonna last long like this mama-“ Chris groans watching how his cock slides in and out my walls biting his bottom lip for the 100th time tonight

watching my ass jiggle effortlessly with every harsh thrust he makes as I cried out curses of his name and him slapping my ass repeatedly saying “that’s not my name slut get it right”.

“O-oh f-fuck so good-“ I press my face further in the pillows as his hand firmly hold my neck so he can thrust harder and deeper into my cunt dripping with arousal coating his dick.

Chris was enjoying this, no doubt when I heard his grunts and how his hands were basically glued to my ass for sure leaving a mark or two.

If anyone told me his cock was this fucking big, shit I would’ve been let him fuck me, and it was something about how he did it, he wasn’t gentle, he ruined me with no care in the world, as if his brother weren’t only so far away.

“Shittt! D-daddy so fucking deep oh fuck!” I grip the sheets beside me with force as he turns my head so he can see the look of pleasure on my face as I scream and moan from his doing.

Chris chuckles from how loud I was only making him go faster and harder.

“Been wanting to fuck you like this for a while ma.” He mumbles into my ear leaving a kiss on my neck smacking my ass again rubbing over the stinging area before ramming my face into the pillow reaching down to rub my clit to chase my orgasm.

“Ugh fuck o-oh shit-“ my cries echo off his walls as I close my walls onto his cock twitching as he groans needing to cum with me

“Come on baby cum with me yeah?” Chris nearly stutters rutting his hips into mine making me nearly scream out his name in tears from the pleasure.

“Fuck fuckkk I’m cumming daddy!” I screamed out as he rubbed harder his thrust deeper as I creamed Chris’s dick in a matter of seconds as he continued thrusting

“O-oh shit-“ I cry out tiredly as he was beginning to chase his own orgasm my thighs beginning to close in.

“I know sweetheart hold on for me just a little longer.” Chris kissed my back gently reassuring me as my eyes squeezed closed shut panting as I felt another orgasm approach.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum in ur pretty pussy baby- shit-“ he stutters feeling himself get closer as his thrusts get sloppier and my stomach returning to that same feeling

“Oh shitttt daddy make me cum again fuckk!” I whimper tearing up again from how hard I knew this orgasm was about to hit me as well as his.

“Ugh fuck- I will mama shit-“ Chris moans releasing deep inside me as I squirted right after and he smirks.

“Shit look so fucking pretty like this princess.” Chris says breathlessly pulling out of me and I wince at the loss of contact.

“Fuck Chris-“ I groan as our cum drips out of me and he flips me over

“so pretty.” He smiles wiping my tears kissing my face and I smiled.

“so uh you know I didn’t just fuck you because ur ass is fat right?” He says nervously pulling on the back of his hair and I tilt my head

“*sigh* I’m in love with you, that’s the main reason I wanted to do this to you, I’ve been for a while I’ve just been waiting for the right time to make a move. He sighs laying next to me.”

“Chris- that’s- that’s really sweet- I’m in love with you too I was just scared I’d ruin our friendship.” My hands gravitated toward my braids playing with the ends and he chuckles.

“Ur my best friends, I’d never what you to feel used especially by me-“ Chris smiles.

“You think we’re just best friends after that? I roll my eyes playfully and he roles them back.”

“Well shit wanna be my girl?”

“fuck yes.” I giggle pressing my lips on his

that’s when I knew

I was in love with my bestfriend, Chris sturniolo

Tag list!

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@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume e @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @rorystars @tilllies33ssss @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @blondiesjailer @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @sturniololoverr @idkhowtosleep @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #smut #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris smut #neveahspeaks #hearts4chriss

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manicpixiefelix · 5 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 2.

Summary: Felix and Y/N's first year of university means being more open with how close they are, while perhaps growing a little more distant than Felix would like. Also the Catton family have bestowed Y/N their own title, which Felix hates, and Y/N and Farleigh have a moment of connection over Christmas.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader with Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh in this chapter. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: Smut (reader bottoming but their gender is not made explicit), Degrading language (reader is referred to as as dog & pet)

A/N: 3071 words. i definitely meant to get to the start of their second year/first run in with Oli..... but this chapter got long enough, so instead we'll meet Oliver at the start of the next chapter and instead we get Felix and Reader at university, best friends who hook up shenanigans, Venetia being a pot-stirrer because she likes to rile up her brother, and Farleigh and Y/N bonding and boning. i feel like the pacing is a bit strange so id love some feedback <3 ALSO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UK COLLEGE CALANDERS IM SO SORRY LOL

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo

----

To absolutely no-ones surprise, least of all yours, Felix takes to the social aspects of college like a duck to water. Neither of you missed a single day or night of activities during first year orientation, and you both left the various pubs and bars with a different hook up each night.

Felix sees a poster for a band in town, and crows with laughter as he talks about how his mother would hate if he ever got a piercing, but you know the look in his eye too well, and tell him there's a piercing place a block away.

"God I miss Farleigh," you sigh with a smile, watching him size himself up in the mirror of the tattoo parlour where the piercer had drawn approximate dots to mark his soon-to-be eyebrow piercing.

"Oh he'd love this, wouldn't he?" Felix agrees, grinning from ear to ear, catching your gaze in the reflection. Despite the piercer's reassurance that it doesn't actually hurt that bad, Felix plays up the bit of being concerned, insisting that you hold his hand.

It's easier in this environment to be affectionate. Perhaps its the way that all nights liked to blur together, lips and teeth and tongues and hands, and you find yourself invited to parties and into bedrooms and Felix is in the crowd, pupils wide and drugs in his blood and knowing you can take care of yourself.

Fruit flies mistaking his light in the night for the rot they're used to.

That being said, while of course Felix is gorgeous and the life of the party, your own magnetic aura and love features draw in your own crowd of admirers; you proximity to Felix was merely a perk.

You yourself find yourself blooming at college; with a far stronger sense of identity than you'd had for most of your teenage years, you shed many of your adolescent insecurities and begin to embrace yourself and the people around you as more than just Felix's friends.

"I miss you," he teases, eyes shiny and pupils huge, looking at you with that look that made everyone else weak in the knees. The two of you are crammed too close in a booth at a club, everyone else having left to dance or find something interesting to snort in the bathrooms.

"I'm always around, Fi," you murmur, just as high, lips twisted into a bleary smile, your finger beneath his chin to lift his face to you.

"They love you here," he grinned, lips inches from yours, skin glowing with sweat from the adrenaline and high of the night, "knew they would," it's not especially jealous, more proud, and you sigh against his lips with the kind of warm contentment his praise always brings you.

"Don't care if they love me," you say, very tellingly, voice low and flirty. Anyone could see the two of you, but the unspoken rules of high school had fallen away; the rules of college seemed to prioritise a lack of judgement, especially with the people you surrounded yourself with. Felix giggles, flushing red, leaning into your touch, leaning even heavier against you in the little, otherwise empty booth.

"You miss me, Fi?" You prompt, letting his face go as you wrap an arm around him, drawing you in close to him. Despite his height, he folds himself up to lean into you. Felix giggles again, mostly to himself, clearly shitfaced, without answering, he angles his face up to press a kiss to your neck, "we see each other every day, we still fuck around, we -"

"Do you think I could live without you?" He asks suddenly, and surprisingly frankly. His chin is on your shoulder, eyes wide and demanding an answer. It's not a joke, nor some strange attempt at flirting, and your throat turns dry as the lights spin around you both.

"You're drunk," you tell him gently, "and high."

"Why would I ask that?" He frowns, suddenly, sitting up, as if he's talking more to himself than you, "that's a fucked question actually, sorry Y/N, I shouldn't have -"

"I think it's more about how you feel about it." You tell him gently, "we should get water. You sit here, I'll get it."

You're unsteady on your feet when you head to the bar, collecting two cups of water, almost overflowing, from the end, trying not to think about it all. It didn't matter either way, how he thought or felt about it. It was a foolish, drunken question, it doesn't matter. Right?

Except he's bopping back and forth in his seat, tapping the rhythm with surprising success on the table top, eyes shining in the light where all he seems to look at is you. Felix grin wide and bright, thanks already in his smile before the words reach his lips as you sit back down next to him.

You could live without him, but you know you'd never want to, so long as he'd want you around.

"Think I'd rather die than live without you," he says with little prompting, holding the cup with both hands as he downs half in a single gulp. What?

"What?"

He turns those perfect, brown eyes upon you like you don't already live your life in his shape, like he hadn't validated every choice you'd made since you'd met him. He smiles.

"You're my best mate, you're always good to me and help me with shit and never get mad at all the dumb ideas I have and you've made sure I haven't gotten kicked out of any schools, even if I probably deserved it," he rambles and takes another drink, this time choosing to look out at the nauseating crowd of haze and lights and bodies, "I love you, I don't think I could live without you."

"Is that why you miss me?" Your voice is barely audible above the music, but Felix still hears it. Putting his mostly empty cup on the table, he shoves his shoulder against yours, refusing to let up until his full weight is against you, the two of you toppling down in the booth, him draped over you wearing the absolute goofiest grin. It's a good reminder that you're both incredibly drunk.

"Just miss you."

You stumble out of the bar together, and back to the dorms. Felix is insistent that you stay with him.

"No funny business," he mumbles against your ear, breath hot and smirk in his voice, "promise."

"You couldn't get it up if you tried," you snorted, "whiskey dick." Though he tries to protest, you gently elbow him in the ribs and he sulkily admits that you're probably right. Still, in the warmth of his room and the two of you stripped to your underwear, it's kind of irresistible to not make out like teenagers for a good while. You get you both glasses of water to put on the nightstand, and Felix tells you he loves you while on the brink of sleep.

"Love you too, Fi."

"Couldn't live without you, meant it," he hiccups, cracking an eye to smirk up at you from where he's splayed out on the bed, "probably."

"Don't think I could live without you either," you shuffle yourself into the bed beside him, letting him roll over to wrap an arm around you, "even if you are a fucking wanker sometimes," you grin, and hear him laugh into his pillow.

Felix has more game than anyone you've ever met without even trying, stealing and breaking hearts from all areas of the university. You watch it happen with amusement as you find your own slew of pretty guys and girls to keep you company when you feel like it. Still, for all the charisma and charm Felix had been blessed with, his touch-starved nature becomes both a blessing and a curse when he finds himself drunk and tactile and desperate for touch.

A desperate, affection Felix loses all of those carefully-curated social barriers that the two of you had put between yourselves as teenagers in public. Girls are more open and supportive around here; perhaps you should be offended, that many, once they learn he's prone to clinging to you, to kissing you, they end up rationalising it. It doesn't count.

Or perhaps they think they can shift the affection to themselves. Felix always learns to be more affectionate to them, but will find himself with you more often than he's not.

And those girls don't even know about the sex.

"I think about you," he huffs between short, jagged breaths, with you bent over the end of his bed, "is that weird?"

His latest breakup isn't even twelve hours old yet, but when you'd showed up at his room with a six-pack of beers and the offer to let him vent, he'd taken it without hesitation. While they hadn't been going out for long, she'd been pretty, but an apparently lousy fuck. When you'd jokingly offered to remind him what a decent lay was like, Felix had genuinely jumped at the chance.

"A bit - ah," you mused for a moment, hips rocking back to meet his in a pleasant rhythm. He takes a pause to tap one of your ankles with his foot, and you adjust your stance to be a bit wider, "what context? Just in general - fuck, Fi, there," and you find yourself lost for words as he presses his hand against the small of your back. His pace remains steady as he fucks you, and you obliging lean further down; he knows you well, know how to fuck you just the way you both enjoy.

Then you're in his bed, straddling him, riding him with his hands on your hips, your thighs, bouncing as his nails dig pleasantly into your skin.

"Think about me?" You finally continue, breathless, and something about the way he holds you steady, lets you pause as he laughs, flushed cheeks growing even more read, makes you grin too, "you mean like this, don't you?" And you rolled your hips, eliciting a groan from him that was like music to your ears.

"Shut up," he'd laughed, giving you a squeeze, unable to meet your gaze.

"Did you ever call out my name?" You lean down, across him, and for a moment his hands slide up your body to wrap around your neck, bringing you in for a gentle kiss.

"Thankfully not."

"Still, those poor girls," you teased.

"Poor me," Felix argued, "having to try and power through terrible sex while thinking about someone who's not even there, just because I know you're better at it," and he played at pouting for a moment, looking for sympathy.

"You really didn't have to tell me all this," you laughed, sitting back up and setting a gentle pace, smiling down at him, "you're such a perv." When his fingertips trail down your body, a shiver runs down your spine. There's this look in his eyes for just a moment, something knowing, something teasing, something you'd seen on occasion that made you feel so wanted and seen and -

He likes you knowing.

"You gonna give me something to think about?" That tone of voice, the teasing, the faintest hint of authority, like he's pretending like he doesn't know all the ways you'd debauch yourself if only he asked.

Venetia gets you a collar for Christmas, and Farleigh's already been kicked out of several universities by the time your first Winter break had arrived.

"Oh Pet, that's so cute," Elspeth coos at the designer, velvet collar that Venetia had smugly handed over while Felix had scowled, "is that Cartier?" Much to Felix's dismay, Elspeth and Sir James have apparently taken to calling you Pet as a pet name. He blames his sister entirely.

"Pet's easier, sweetheart," Elspeth had tried to argue when you'd sat down at your first breakfast of the Winter break at Saltburn, and she'd asked Duncan 'don't forget about our dear pet'. Naturally Felix had frowned the entire time while arguing with his parents, who insisted it's easier to use Pet than a whole new set of names and pronouns.

"It's been years mum, how have you not adjusted?" He demands, while you have shrunken in your chair and tried to divine life's secrets from your breakfast.

"What do you think, Pet?" Venetia said with a venomous kind of sweetness. Looking up at her, she's wearing this smug kind of smile, directed not at you but at Felix next to you. When you look to him, you see Farleigh across the table trying to hide his amusement in several pieces of toast eaten with no break in between.

"I think," you paused, looking past an annoyed Felix to his mother at the head of the table, "that if you want to call me Pet, you can, I think it's sweet, but please don't expect Felix to refer to me as such," you said with a surprising amount of firmness. Then after a beat of surprise from the rest of the table, you took a deep breath, "and for events and guests, I really wouldn't appreciate being introduced as such."

"Of course," Elspeth quickly amends, adding, "Y/N," for good measure.

"It's a pet name, Pet," Sir James gives an awkward little smile, nodding in agreement. Farleigh met your gaze for a moment, and you could see only the bread was keeping his laughter from spilling out. Beside you, Felix relaxes, and finally you look at him. Dark, serious eyes, with something grateful shining faintly in the morning sun.

Of course you let him throw Venetia's collar gift in the fire in front of her, despite her protests.

You get used to the sweet way the Cattons refer to you as Pet; as much as Felix despised it's connotations when it came from his sister, there was something comforting, something almost secure about the way the whole family had picked it up so easily.

"Was wondering where I'd find you," Farleigh's voice is warm while you're raiding the expansive kitchen for some kind of easy midnight snack. You could have asked one of the many staff members who reside on the property, but you hadn't wanted to bother them over probably some crisps.

"Farleigh!" You light up upon hearing his voice, turning, refrigerator door still open in your hand. He approaches, and you close the refrigerator, hugging him tightly, "oh this is great, it's been so long since it's been just us!"

"Darling pet," he says with a surprising amount of gentleness.

"You should come to Oxford, Fi and I miss you terribly," you tell him, leaning into his touch with a sincere smile as he holds your face gently, while you still hold him is a loose embrace.

"I've already been accepted into another college; you'll be fine without me," and he grins, kissing you on the nose, pressing a kiss to each cheek, "pet." He adds, almost to himself, and your face falls as you think about what he'd said.

"Everything's better with you," you insist, "and you'd love it; we could party like we did that Summer in France, but every weekend -!" Farleigh cuts you off with his lips against yours; you can taste the sweet smile he's wearing before he deepens the kiss.

Later, in Farleigh's bed, bathed in moonlight and the afterglow, you light up a cigarette and open his window.

"Fucking freezing," Farleigh mutters.

"Sorry," but you don't close the window. Silence stretches out between you both. You hope Farleigh enjoyed himself, hope he's happy -

"You don't need them," he says quietly, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, you breathe out a lungful of smoke and turn to him with a frown, "this family; we all know where you're from. You don't need them." There's something strange about his tone, clearing his throat when he finally looks at you, "but you still want them to love you."

"They're good to me," you finally say, dropping your gaze as you reach back to offer the cigarette, "to us," you tell him, and he hums with the smoke in his lungs. Then, taking back the cigarette, you inhale the sour-sweet smoke and tap off the ash off the window sill.

"I'm not their fucking dog, Farleigh," you mumble, surprising frustration escaping you, anger you hadn't even realised you were holding on to.

"I know, pet," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, "you'll let them think they have you kept, but you're not their dog, I know."

"I like you, Farleigh," you say with a faint smile, leaning back to see the way he's grinning too, "and I love you a bit as well I think."

"I know, I love you too, Y/N."

"We miss you a lot." There's something about the quiet that follows your words that you know all too well; Farleigh's about to tease you for something. Probably Felix related.

As if on cue;

"Does he know you like being his dog?" Grin widening, Farleigh gives you a slight shove, though the truth of his words has you hiding your own embarrassed smile.

"He thinks it's an insult to me, which is sweet of him," you chuckled, and Farleigh eases the cigarette from your fingers, "but it's like he has no idea the effect he's had on me for over a decade now. Yeah, I'm my own person, I have hobbies and friends outside of him, but -"

"You're a service bottom and desperately in love," Farleigh cuts in with a surprisingly sage tone, nodding like he hadn't absolutely called you out. Shocked with his vulgar kind of accuracy, you practically shove him out of the bed, laughing that he needs to fuck off, and the discussion is left at that.

The next morning, sitting down to breakfast, Duncan quietly informs Sir James that there had been a disturbance during the night. Immediately you throw Farleigh under the bus and declare that it's his fault.

"Hey!" He shouts back, grinning, "it takes two to fuck in the kitchen!" Which has all four of you, Venetia, Felix, Farleigh, and yourself, cracking up with laughter as Elspeth and Sir James were exasperated by your collective antics.

There is so much affection in Felix's eyes in this moment, this simple, strange moment of admitted sexual deviance. Except it's never felt like that to either of you. It's one of the ways you've both shown love, and he loves that you love those closest to him.

And you love to make him happy.

Farleigh was right, not that you'd ever tell him.

#felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn imagine #saltburn x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #farleigh imagine #farleigh start x you #farleigh x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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star-rin · 6 months

Text

⸻ TOXIC BY LIL DURK & SUMMER WALKER FT. ❝ EREN YEAGER ❞

★ - I LOVVVEEE TOXIC EREN. imma be using the lyrics from the song cause honestly it really helps me write. making deluded scenarios based on the lyrics.

★ - college! eren, eren is actually younger than reader by like 2 years or wtv (don't care if you a stallion bbygirl he's taller than you), bathroom sex, jealous eren, pussy eating, and I'm lazy to put anything else so porn plots basically.

❝ you know i'm lovin that dick; make me doze off right after. ❞

noticing your emerald eyes burning holes in your face from across the room, eren pissed from how you're dressed tonight. more pissed at the other guys around him looking at the way you're dressed. putting the red solo cup down on the counter walking towards where you dancing with your friends, basically bumping your shoulder with his to get your attention. all you needed from his eyes looking down at you for you to follow him.

eren was nowhere near insecure nor cared about how you dressed in previous settings. Still, something about the guys talking about how you'd be a good fuck just set something off. that's how you ended up in the bathroom with him, ass bent over, your face on the counter and eren holding your arms behind you hunching you.

" mmmfuck ren-- " you can feel your makeup sweating off and smudging on the counter as he fucks into you. his eyes clocked on you the way his cock is disappearing into you how and how the fabric of your outfit looks so good rippling off your ass.

he bent down enough just for his voice to reach your ear "fuck you feel so good mama, gon d'head and cum for me ya? "

the night ended off with you leaving the party with eren hoodie covering the big ass rip in your outfit and awesome sex that left completely exhausted.

❝ toxic, but you i ain't goin nowhere ❞

he hates when you ignore him, even if he's being dry he loves going to your IG story posting quotes that are directed towards him, puts a smile on his face. but when you ignore him like he doesn't exist makes him angry and maybe he would say sad.

its been three days and every time he comes close to you on campus you pack your stuff and walk away. to why you're ignoring him, it's because after a party last week, you saw his homeboys posting him and this girl clinging to him and him not doing anything. you refuse to be his side chick to a ugly hoe who couldn't stop touching him.

thats why he's knocking on your apartment door at 3:10 am with saddened eyes that low and red, mostly from smoking a spliff earlier. " you can't ignore me forever ma"

huh, that's weird, now you're on the couch with eren in between your legs lappin at your cunt and squeezing your delicious thighs in his tattooed hands. fuck, three days away from you made him go insane and miss how you taste, how you moan, and how you pull at his hair from how good his eating you right now.

❝ hesitant to post or flaunt this ❞

even though you two have been having sex and exploring what your relationship might be. eren has been trying to keep it under wraps when around his homeboys. not because he's embarrassed by you, but to keep up his act of being the nonchalant nigga he is.

but even that is not holding well espically when they see how he looks at you every time you and your friends have a smoke sess far from the campus. how every time you two leave to "get drinks" what should be a five-minute walk back and forth somehow turns into a 45-minute wait.

your face flushed and wig more poofy than it was before you left and was that a bruise or hickey on the side of your neck ???

" what the fuck took yall so long " jean looks over at eren eyebrow lifted and a smirk on his face. " it's a bunch of bushes and shit, had trouble coming back ya know " lying son of bitch, they all took a cleared pathway to the area.

❝ i put my hands in her pants, not for the smell, to see is it wet ❞

you're pinned on your apartment door outside, eren's body blocking the night sky view that could be in front of you. his hands down your pants and his breath on your neck.

he loves having you like this. feeling how wet you are and what cute sounds you're making. fuck and you smell so good right now. he loves how he can feel his finger slip past that first ring of your hole and how you squeeze his bicep.

he likes to see you so pathetic and submissive. the way you depend on him for your pleasure. he can't get enough of it. maybe that's why he won't leave. he loves being with you.

❝ after sex, she wearin' my boxers ❞

@y/nis_delulsional posted: lmao hey guys ;))

#this shi was in the drafts for week so here ;)))#anime smut #aot smut #aot x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yeager smut #black reader #x black reader #jean smut #connie smut #eren yeager #eren x reader #attack on titan smut #armin smut

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nyx-is-missing · 5 months

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Could u write one for clarisse where she's impressed with femR bc of how good she is at fighting and all and clarisse finds her incredibly attractive bc no one has challenged her the way R does?

And like a bit of pining until the two confess

Thank you!!

Breathtaking or taken

Clarisse la rue x fem!reader

Summary: when Clarisse finds a opponent worth of her, she is breathtaken.

Warnings: none really, just fluff, not a descriptive fight scene on sight cause mama dont know how to write that, so just fluff fluff, and mutual pining fluff

(Do i need to say its not proofread? No? Thank you)

Here is one of the main benefits of being a daughter of Athena, you'll know.

DIfferent from other gods, Athena will let your parent know it is her who they are talking to.

And if letting them know beforehand isnt enough, she will let them know when the baby is brought to them, and if your parent is smart enough to live up to her choice, you'll have time to learn a thing or two before being thrown into this world.

If your parent cares enough about you, you'll have time.

And sure as hell my mom cared.

Always the intelectual woman, historian, researcher, writter, my mom knew many things about ancient greece, she knew all the stories by heart, and she, of all people, knew what she needed to do, to preserve her only daughter, her sacred gift.

She teached me all i needed to learn without compromising myself, stories, languages, art...and fight.

Little girls my age were doing dance classes, were trying to be good enough for drama club, were playing tea party with their dolls or making a mess with their mom's make up.

Well...i.. i was doing martial arts, i was fencing, i had my face in a book every free time i got.

I always asked her about it, why was she so strict about never missing a fight leasson, her answer always made sense, there and now.

"The world is cruel, especially for little girls, someday i might not be all the time with you, someday, you'll fight your own battles, you need to be ready"

Every word, every single word is true.

And that is how i ended up here, in a arena of camp half blood, sparring with Clarisse, and winnig, by two points, yes, but winning.

It is clear nobody expected that from me, neither did she actually, i can see in her eyes.

Understandable, they expect Athena kids to be calm, find a solution, not fight her way out.

Honestly their looks dont bother me, i dont even think much of it, but Clarisse's looks, they got something more to them, like a kid who finally got the dog she really wanted.

"Aaand break time Clarrise, we'll continue this tomorrow, id like to enjoy the rest of my afternoon thank you"

I dropped the sword down and started to undo my armor while walking close to the exit.

"Wait wait wait, now? Already? C'mon i didnt even had time to figure out how do you do that... all of that"

She stood next to me, still holding her sword and honestly.. she was beautiful, yes she was sweaty now and yes she was mean to everyone but.. now...right now, she was beautiful, shining, in her element really, flushed cheeks and a smile she only had when with a sword in hand.

"I practice, ever since i was a kid, everyday, well expect in weekends but yeah, almost everyday... how do you do all that? You are good...-want some water?"

I offered her my bottle also motioning for her to walk with me, both wich she gladly accepted.

"I practice too...and i never said this to anyone but, you are good, great even, and look breathtaking"

We stop walking, we stop all actually.

"I look what, Clarisse?"

"Breathtaken- you look out of breath, do you want the water back?"

Ah.

Weeks later i found myself in the same scenario, sparring with Clarisse again, actually that is all i do when it comes to training, be with Clarisse

"C'mon curls, thats the best you've got? No need to go easy on me"

"Im not going easy, i already told you, you caught me distracted thats all- GIRL WIll YOU SUSH?"

She tried to block you with her sword, thankfully for her, a succeded attempt.

"How could i? You're so fun to mess with, gets all red n all"

"Oh you want to talk about getting red?"

In a moment i was on the floor, Clarisse on top of me, and i couldnt speak, all i could do was stare into her big brown eyes, who looked right into my soul.

"Cant speak anymore huh? Oh if you could see the red im seeing-"

Now this my ladies and gentlemen, this is what i call a shot of faith.

I raised my head a little and just..i kissed her, it was quick but I did it, and her face went blank.

"Now you are breathtaken Curls, how about that?"

"And you are still breathtaking"

Still?

Oh.

"You...like me Clarisse?"

"You didnt knew?"

Oh.

"....no..?"

"Would you walk away if i kissed you this time?"

"....no."

#fanfic #lesbian #clarisse pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 6 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 44

Part 1 Part 43

Eddie ushers Jonathan and Will into the trailer in front of him. Steve’s standing behind him, close enough that he can feel the body heat. Eddie closes his eyes, savoring the heat for one moment before following the brother’s in, Steve right behind him.

He hears the schnick! of the lock clicking home and wonders if either of them will ever break the habit of locking every door they walk through.

Will has led Jonathan into the living room, settling familiarly onto the couch while Jonathan dawdles, eyes darting back and forth before he sits down next to his brother, at the edge of the cushion.

“What do we owe the pleasure?” Eddie asks, dropping his handful of Steve’s belongings carefully onto the coffee table as Steve does the same.

Jonathan eyes the pile, flicking his gaze up to Steve with a pitying look that Steve luckily doesn’t catch. Steve’s gone into the kitchen to pour out cups of coke like a consummate host. Like this is already his home.

“I wanted to see you,” Will says quietly, looking down at his knees.

“Aww, Baby Byers, we missed you too!” Eddie says, knowing it’s true. He can feel the kids' absence like a lost limb.

“Actually,” Jonathan says, sitting up straighter and looking between the three like he’s trying to solve a complex math problem that Eddie’s never even heard of. “He said something weird on the way here.”

Steve hands out cups. Will sips his while Jonathan drinks his down in three big gulps. “What?” Steve asks, not looking at Jonathan at all. He settles on the coffee table in front of Will, plopping his feet familiarly between the brothers and nudging Will’s hip with his toes.

“I don’t know,” Will says, still looking down. “I can…feel you?”

“He knew when you guys were pulling up,” Jonathan interjects. He plunks his empty glass on the coffee table beside Steve. Eddie wonders if he should refill it, but doesn’t.

“Right here?” Steve asks, rubbing his sternum. Eddie does the same, feeling the very minor fish-hook tug that comes with them all being in the same room.

Will nods.

“You know, I could feel Steve, in the Upside-Down,” Eddie says, walking over to Wayne’s chair and plopping down. “Hopper wouldn’t listen, but I knew you weren’t in your house before we even got there.”

That same bitter curl unfurls in his sternum, at being the most knowledgeable person in the room, and being talked over like he had nothing to offer. By Nancy, by Hopper, by Mama Byers.

“You did?” Steve asks, voice small. He reaches up to his throat, the same way he always does when he’s thinking of those last days alone. Like that thing is still making its home in his throat.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie replies, the rest of the room dropping away as he looks at Steve in profile. He’s all sharp angles – jaw and nose and chin – but there’s still a softness in his cheeks. Eddie wants to pinch them. Wants too many things that he’s not allowed to say. “I’ll always find you.”

He can see the way his adam's apple bobs with the force of his swallow. Steve looks over at him, eyes glimmering in the low light of the trailer. The dark circles under his eyes are dark, the stitches on his forehead stark and macabre. Eddie wants to stretch his hand across the room, trail his fingers along Steve’s stumbled cheeks, feel the proof of his life through the warmth of his blood.

“It’s not just me?” WIll asks, and Eddie’s sucked back into his body, remembers the audience and the circumstances of living in Nowhere Indiana.

“No,” Steve says, always ready to reassure. “It’s not just you.”

They stew in the silence. Jonathan uncharacteristically breaks it. “What does this mean?”

“Fuck if I know!” Eddie says, flopping sideways in Wayne’s chair, head lolling uncomfortably off the side as he looks at the other three from his new upside-down vantage point. “Maybe we’ve got superpowers.”

“Like El!” Will says excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat. Jonathan looks like the thought of his little brother having superpowers has taken years off his life. Eddie can’t help the sputtering laugh that comes out of his mouth, even as Jonathan glares at him.

“We can be a crime fighting trio,” Eddie says, putting his hand on his hip, and raising his fist in the air, messed-up pinky sticking out at a weird ankle, in an approximation of the stereotypical Superman pose.

Steve, still rubbing his throat, eyes unfocused as he seems to stare at something the rest of them can’t see, says, “Maybe we brought something back with us.”

Well, isn’t that a cheery thought. “Maybe it’s something good?” Eddie says, as if anything good has ever crawled out of that place. As if Steve and Eddie and Will didn’t crawl out of that place stripped down like turpentine on paint. Colors leeched and bleeding down.

“Yeah,” Will says, eyes wide, like he’s watching the Demogorgon break down the trailer door. Like the devil himself has got its hooks in him. “Maybe it’s something good.”

Part 45

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic

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writer-in-theory · 1 year

Text

berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #kinda #they'll get there #stranger things #steve x eddie #canon divergence #au no upside down #tw homophobia #tw implied abuse #jay writes in theory #this is totally unedited sorry you get it as is #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

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frenchkisstheabyss · 10 months

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♡ like in a french film ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!hyunjin x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: For movie night your boyfriend chooses one of those artsy films that you have to really focus on to understand only for his attention to drift off somewhere else entirely.

♡ Genre: smut

♡ Word Count: 1.4kish

♡ Warnings: personalized pet names since it's a request (mama, sweet thing, baby, daddy), unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, fingering

♡ A/N: For my dear sweet 🫧 anon. It took me a bit longer than I intended because life was doing its thing but I have delivered unto you the Hyunjin filth. Enjoy my love.

The old saying goes “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” That might be so but Hyunjin will never find out. Your absence is something he had to experience before you moved in together. But now? He can’t imagine what it’d be like not to have you with him. He doesn’t want to. Especially not in this moment lying in bed with you, his arm around your waist and his face buried in your hair.

He should be watching the movie considering he’s the one who chose it. Some artsy French film from the 80’s. Indie. Shot in black and white. Minimal dialogue. The main character in it, he whispers in your ear making you giggle as his breath skims your neck, reminds him of you. A shy girl blissfully unaware of her beauty, utterly oblivious to her ability to make something as mundane as a deep breath seem sensual.

Warmth comes to your cheeks like the morning sun on overnight snow. Melting little by little the closer he brings your body to his. On the screen the dark haired girl tosses a cigarette into the street, running hand in hand with her lover to make it to their train. On the bed Hyunjin runs his fingers along your naked thigh, grazing the trim of your panties as they traverse your perfectly curved hips before charting a reverse course back between your thighs.

You shiver, his touch tickling enough to make you squeak, “Cut it out. We have a movie to watch, remember? Pay attention.” Hyunjin props himself up on his elbow and you immediately feel his eyes on you. You stare straight ahead, pretending to pay him no mind, but your body only shifts closer to his, your back arching as your ass brushes his length through his sweatpants. Hyunjin inhales sharply, his hand reaching back to rub the softness of your ass.

“I am paying attention” he scoffs, doing his best impression of someone who actually cares what’s happening in the film. It’s not even close to convincing but can you blame him? You’re so pretty bare faced with your hair out in a dangerously cropped shirt and panties that showcase your ass so gloriously he’s had to mentally talk himself down from getting hard for the past hour. The dark haired girl’s on a crowded train now, squeezed in the back between her lover and a beauty advertisement clung to the ridged metal walls.

Everyone around them is in their own world and they, no different than the others, are in theirs too. She gives her lover a knowing look, her fingers wrapping around a pole as she parts her legs to welcome his fingers. He kisses her on the cheek, whispering something to her that you don’t understand. You missed the subtitles. But you don’t need them to know what’s happening. In seconds the man’s fingers are pushing her panties to the side, sinking into her core. She chokes down a moan, squeezing her thighs together as she bites down on her lip.

It’s exciting, the idea of doing something like that. The thought of a man, your man, longing to feel you around his fingers. Willing to risk being caught to do it. And the thought of wanting him inside of you enough that the risk is worth it. You catch yourself rubbing your thighs together at the scene and hope that Hyunjin doesn’t notice the effect it’s having on you. He laughs to himself and you roll your eyes, bracing for a joke of some kind but when he opens his mouth he’s as serious as you’ve ever heard him.

“Would you ever do it?” he asks. Thrown off by the directness of his question, you stumble over your words, “Well, I, um, I, I mean…would you?” Hyunjin shrugs, gently kneading your ass, “I don’t know, baby. You tell me.” His cock twitches against you, too hard and too thick to ignore. His fingers dance across your hip, trailing down your thigh to feel the wet spot forming in your panties. You gasp as he applies pressure to your clit, rotating it in tiny circles that make your clit beat in time with your racing heart.

Tilting you onto your back, he sits up to get a better look at you. “Tell me,” he repeats, a waterfall of hair cascading down his face, “Do you think I’d ever do it?” Hyunjin uses his thumb to pin your panties to the side, leaving your gorgeous pussy gleaming in the dimly lit room. “Get you someplace where everyone might see us.” His fingers glide effortlessly between the moistened lips of your pussy. “Lift your skirt up and just…” He palms you, his wrist kissing your clit while his fingers tease your entrance.

“Just put my fingers in your little cunt and fuck you until you’re creaming around them?” “Mmm, daddy” you mewl when his fingers pop into you, relieving some of the tension built up from that scene…from his words. He kisses you with the intensity of a sommelier tasting a rare wine. Every sip of your lips, your moans, priceless. Hyunjin slides his fingers out enough to watch your arousal drip from them. He stares down at your pussy fluttering around the tips of his fingers.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could do it. No, I’d get too jealous of my fingers. That they got to feel you around them and I didn’t.” His fingers slam back into you and your legs are spread wide, knees bent, hands gripping his hair as he feverishly plants kisses down your chest. Your shirt’s risen enough that the stiffened buds of your breasts are easily captured between his lips. He drags his tongue over it, a gallon of gasoline poured onto the fire spreading through your body.

“I would want you so badly, mama” he mumbles between mouthfuls of your pillowy breasts, “Just like I do now. Want you badly enough to bend you over and take you in front of everyone. Mmm. Show them that you’re mine.” The film has long ago moved on to the next scene. The dark haired girl spins around on the dancefloor at a club. Captivated by every turn of his wrist and flick of his tongue, you’re ignorant of how closely her experience mirrors yours. The room spins for her as it spins for you.

A blur of color. Electric coursing through your veins. The force of a rollercoaster overtakes you, pinning you to the bed. She spins and you spin. You’re spun onto your knees, panties pulled down by Hyunjin’s teeth. Your cheek kisses the fuzzy pillow beneath you as he kisses down your spine. You poke your ass out, starving for his cock and when he feeds it to you, you devour it. Nails tearing into the sheets, you tremble, rocking your hips back to meet his.

“Fuck, daddy. It feels so good.” “Does it, baby? You like it when daddy claims you with his cock? Hmm?” “Love it. Love when you…ah….” The snap of him slapping your ass with both hands rings in your ears. Your walls grip his cock, daring him to do it again. He gladly accepts the challenge. Spanking you, massaging you, as he disappears into you, coming back out coated in your juices before slipping back in. Your breath stops short causing you to nearly bite down on your tongue. “I’m, mmph, gonna…” “Cum? Is my sweet thing gonna cum?”

You nod, whining at the slow, deep strokes he takes with the knowledge that you’re close. The music around the dark haired girl vibrates the walls. Hyunjin vibrates yours. The bass builds inside the club. Inside you. Louder. Faster. Drowning out the rest of the world before the drop. Your body moves in ways you can’t predict, toes curling, drool spilling from your gaping mouth onto the pillow you paid far too much for.

Hyunjin keeps a secure hold on your hips, desperate to feel you pulsate around him as you cum. As he cums Warm white pearls decorate your velveteen walls. Interior decoration at its finest. You collapse first, bringing him down with you. The dark haired girl falls to the ground, exhausted, dragging her lover down with her. Together they smile. They gasp for air. Their bodies intertwined. Your bodies intertwined. Their lips meet. Your lips meet.

And the credits, they roll but only on screen because, by the way Hyunjin’s hands navigate your body, full of curiosity even in his exhaustion, this night’s far from over.

#hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #thick reader #plus size reader #plus size smut

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chrissturniolosbitch · 4 months

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HOOKUP

a/n- this was inspired by @sturniolosluvv

warnings- smutish, language, sex, mentions of guns.

summary- you think chris just wants sex but turns out... he wants more than that

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me and chris' first hookup went well, i mean ive had better, and rougher but it was great.

im kinda upset as well, all he did was finish and leave. He just signaled to me, "call me"

our second hookup went better. He was rougher and started using dirty talk.

when we both finished he actually spoke to me, "thanks." then he was gone.

wordplay turns into gunplay

chris came over again, "wanna try something new?" he said. Ive been dying to try something new so i obviously said, "yes of course!"

i was very shocked when chris pulled out a gun, "its not loaded baby" i couldve melted.

let me say, using a gun should be our regular. It was amazing. This time when he left he kissed me, "thank you"

soon enough chris' clothes were taking up half of my closet. He was leaving hoodies here, shoes, boxers, socks, etc.

gunplay turns into pillow talk

"chris"

"whats up?" chris says rolling over looking at me, propping his head up with his right arm.

"i see a future with you"

"you what?"

"i-i see a future with you" i was scared. what if he felt different.

"fuck. i see a future with you as well"

pillow talk turns into sweet dreams

chris and i have been together for 3 months, they were the best 3 months ive ever experienced.

"sweet dreams mama" chris rolls over and plants a kiss on my forehead.

"sweet dreams baby i love you"

"i-i love you too"

sweet dreams turn into fucking in the morning

"shit chris im so close please dont stop"

"i wont baby"

hes so soft with me, going so slow, yet filling me up perfectly.

"shit. shit. shit"

"fuckkkkkkkk"

chris finished and didnt leave, he stayed, and he spoke, "thank you baby, youre all i ever needed" - "christopher. i love you so fucking much"

"i cant wait to have babys with you, and marry you"

maybe chris didnt just want to hookup.

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #Spotify

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valya-dudycz-lupescu · 2 years

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Musings on Ice-Pick Joe

I'm not sure why no one is talking about Ice-Pick Joe's death scene, especially with rumors of the Ice-Pick Joe prequel circulating the internet.

The scene where Ice-Pick Joe walked by Sofia's window on his way to the fateful meeting with Katya, stopping to lean against the light post long enough to see two silhouettes come together. (I can't be the only one who was getting Blue Velvet vibes in that scene?) Why isn't anyone talking about his longing? The voyeurism? His fear of abandonment stemming from childhood trauma...after all, his mother picked him, of all his siblings, to leave at the orphanage! She left him with nothing but those appleseeds that he carried around in his pockets.

I'm absolutely sure that Sofia was the unnamed child in Joe's flashback (Jodie Foster was so good as the scrappy, androgynous best friend. She did have a limp in that scene when they were running from the cemetery. We don't actually know at what age Sofia lost her leg. And Donny Osmond was the perfect young Ice-Pick Joe!)

If you watch closely, she had the same birthmark on her shoulder in that first awkward kiss scene that Sofia had when she and Katya fought that night of her birthday, when she ripped her blouse and threw her glass of champagne at the wall.)

But back to Joe on the empty street, those shadows against the wall like shadow puppets, and the way the clock motif came back at that moment? Such haunting music, reprised again in the film score during Joe's death (I still cry when I hear "The Demise of Ice-Pick Joe". Linking to it here, because I played it on repeat when the movie was over. Brilliant and haunting.)

youtube

Remember how the flashbacks showed us that Ice-Pick Joe was really superstitious and believed that he had inherited his grandmother's gifts? If you watch the way Joe looks at the shadows and then down at his watch, you can see him hesitate before going to the docks. Was he hearing voices?

Most people agree that the shadows on the wall looked like a child, but I'm not sure that Ice-Pick Joe's hesitation to go to the dock was about his own son. I think the shadows looked more like that kiss flashback when he and Sofia were children. The frame and perspective are almost the same angle, as if they are being watched from below.

Either way, he is clearly making the choice to leave the past behind that brings him to his tragic and senseless death.

I would love to know what happened that took that gentle young Joe who loved to sing and turned him into the tortured stoic we meet in Goncharov, the only affection reserved for his cat, Mrs. Claws.

(I can't help but wonder if they meant for her to be an echo of Le Befana, the Italian winter witch-goddess who sometimes gets translated as Mrs. Claus? After all, his mama's last words to him when she kissed him goodbye were, "If you're a very good boy, maybe La Befana will bring you to a new home on Epiphany morning, a warm home full of food and presents." Poor Joe never finds that home.) You know, I think that was the first time I heard about Le Befana, and that was one of the inspirations that led me down the road to my own version of Mother Christmas.

Does anyone know if it's true that the Ice-Pick Joe prequel got permission to use "Hotel California" as its theme song? I wonder if we're going to get the story of his time as an unskilled laborer in the vineyards of Napa in the 60s? I was never clear about how he got to America and then back to Italy with a small fortune and hitman skills? They're saying it's like Better Call Saul meets the Sopranos meets Twin Peaks. I'm here for it, especially if they can get Cole Sprouse to play young Ice-Pick Joe.

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jackmanbj · 7 months

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first nights

AN: this will have little smut, i wont actually add any smut

summary: you and jack have been dating for a while but never actually went to each others house and one night on a date you suggest you and jack should go back to your place.

requested by a lovely anon🌸

stinka💕- baby im outside.

you- ok, im putting on my shoes then im coming.

you quickly put on your shoes and started walking outside to find jacks car in front your driveway.

you sped walked to the car trying to not keep jack waiting.

once you got into the car jack handed you a bouquet of flowers.

“thank you baby boy.”

“of course, you ready to go?” “yup”

jack started driving as you and him started catching up on things being as thorough you both hadn’t talk in a few days since he had things to catch up on in the studio and tour and you had been busy with school and your business which was doing amazing at the moment.

“hows maggie been babe? i haven’t been able to talk to her in a while.”

“shes really good, shes been asking about you to.”

“ill call her after the date maybe me and her could catch up.”

the rest of the car ride you and jack were sining to music mostly 2000’s music.

jack pulled up and the restaurant and stopped the car, coming over to your side to help you out.

“thanks sweet boy”

once jack helped you out you started walking in the restaurant jack following close behind you.

jack went to speak to speak with one of the servers to let then know he had a reservation.

“right this way sir!”

“baby come on.”

jack started holding your hand as you both walked behind the server to your table.

once you were say you ordered a water and jack ordered a dr. pepper.

the waiter came back with your drinks and took your oder and left.

“what you wanna do after we leave mamas?”

“uhm i was thinking we could go back to my place?”

“you sure?” “only if you want to of course.”

“yea im fine with it, your place it is,” jack gave you a quick smile and took a sip out of his drink

the waiter came back with you and jacks food and you both ate and talked about jacks new songs.

jack paid the bill and you left a $20 tip.

you and jack left jack started walking to the car, jack opened the door for you and you sat in the car and put on your R&B playlist.

“IM COMING BACK FOR GOOD SO LET THEM N*GGAS KNOW ITS MINE! ALREADY GOT SOMEONE THATS WHAT YOU TELL ‘EM EVERYTI-“ “that’s enough baby, you sound drunk!”

you quickly put a pout on your face and turned on your playlist for jacks music.

“and i know you just..hate to see it, can’t imagine bein’ you oo i hate to be it im done faking humble actin like ian conceited ‘cause bitch i am conceited. you know you cant defeat it.”

once you and jack arrived at your house you took off your shoes by the door and started walking upstairs to your room, jack following quickly behind you.

“babe im going to take a shower you wanna join?”

“i dont have any extra clothes mamas.”

“oh..” “i’ll go run home and get some clothes and i’ll be right back, wait for me mk?” “ok!”

jack gave you a kiss and walked out the door

after about 15 minutes you heard a knock on the door.

you quickly went to go open the door and found jack with a big bag full of clothes.

“hi baby”

“hi ma”

you let jack in and he went back to your room, you followed behind him.

he placed his bag on the floor next to your bed and sat down in your chair.

“did you bring your toothbrush?” “fuck.” “i have extra, come here.”

you handed jack the toothbrush and you both started brushing your teeth.

once you were done jack took off his clothes and started to get in the shower and a little after you joined him.

you grabbed the soap and a small towel and started washing jack off.

once you got around his dick you started cleaning it of very slowly making sure to look up at him every so often.

jack was grunting trying his hardest not to moan.

“fuck baby” “oopise”

you bent down and started cleaning up the rest of his body.

once you were done with him, he grabbed another towel and started cleaning you off, he he started making his way to you lower stomach he bent down and started kissing up your inner thighs.

“fuckk jack” you hands went in his hair and he placed a small kiss on your clit and pulled back.

you quickly let out a whine and he chuckled st you.

“oopsie”

“asshole.” “i just did you what you did me, nothing wrong with that mmh?”

jack finished cleaning you off and you both got out the shower.

“jack im about to do my skincare, can you do it with me??” “baby im tired” “please??” “fine”

you and jack went to your vanity and you pulled up an extra chair for jack to sit in.

you put on your headband and grabbed an extra one for jack.

“do you want to do a clay mask, peal off, or a sheet mask?” “sheet” “ok”

you put your soap on you and jacks face, wiped it off then put the face mask on jack.

“JACK!” “huh!?” “stop touching it! your going to mess it up!” “sorry mamas”

after 20 minutes you and jack took off your masks, you put some moisturizer on you and jack, then put eye cream on you both then put your liquid lotion on, not wanting to put it on jack went to lay in bed.

“jack baby” “yes mamas?” “what you wanna do?” “cuddle and watch a movie?” “sure baby.”

you cleaned off your vanity and went to lay down with jack.

you laid on top of his chest and started kissing him all over his pretty face while he laughed.

you stopped kissing his face and started sucking on his neck.

“baby your going to leave a mark, your sucking me like a vampire.” you detached yourself from his neck “put on a movie and shit up jack.” you quickly went back to sucking on his neck after.

jack ended up putting on your favorite movie and grabbed onto your ass.

“jackkk!” “yes ma?” “im tired.” “me to mamas” “can you turn off the movie and we can go to bed?” “sure.”

jack turned off the movie and put his hands back on his resting place.

once jack knew you were asleep he started kissing your forehead and whispering how much he loved you and would do anything for you.

#jack harlow x reader #jack harlow #jack harlow fluff #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x black reader

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feelbokkie · 2 months

Text

sweet dreams

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

REQUEST

OMG CAN I REQUEST JYPAPI X READER WHERE THEYRE SO IN LOVE AND ITS ALL KISSY AND CUTE

genre: fluff, slight angst, hurt comfort (jyp rec.)

pov: 2nd person

description: sometimes, even the bravest man gets down

pairing: JYP x fem!reader

warnings: none

word count: 660

"Oppa, what's wrong?" You question as your boyfriend walks in through the door of your shared apartment.

His head hangs low, dejected as he kicks off his shoes and joins you on the couch.

"Nothing," He mumbles as he throws his head back on the couch.

In all your years of dating him, you've never seen his confidence so low. Not even after his performance at the Blue Dragon Film Awards and everyone was clowning him. Not after his 2019 MAMA performance. And especially not after his TikTok challenges had gone viral for all the wrong reasons.

"Jinnie Oppa, I don't like it when you lie to me. Something's bothering you." You drop your phone beside you on the couch and begin comforting him by stroking his arm.

He rolls his head towards you, finally making eye contact with you for the first time since he came home. There's a twinkle in his eye that you've grown to love. Hell, it was the first thing you noticed about him. No matter how happy he is, his eyes will always sparkle like a diamond in the sky. He's not smiling now but somehow, you know that you're the reason why his diamonds are shining so bright.

He mirrors your position. His elbow rests on the back of the couch while his head sits in his hand. One leg is on the floor while the other one is tucked under him. Your knees touching. It's a simple touch, not even your skin is touching, yet it's enough to make your heart race.

"It's just," He lets out a deep sigh before sitting up properly. "I was at the company earlier and overheard some of the kids talking about me. Stray Kids specifically had a lot to say...That Seungmin...I know I play it off as some cool hyung who can tolerate what my idols do or say, but I'm still a person after all. It hurts."

"Oh, jagi, I'm sorry," You take the hand that's resting on his lap with your free hand, your thumb gently stroking the back of his hand. "My generation is just a bit different...we bully people out of love. They just love you so much, I'm pretty sure Seungmin loves you the most, the way he talks about you nonstop. Just look at how Stray Kids treat Chan. You know they don't hate him."

"I know but it's different. I'm their boss. Maybe they're right, I should retire..." His bottom lip sticks out slightly as he lets out a little huff of air from his nose.

"Ah, Jin-Young oppa, you're not that old. You're not even pushing 60 yet. And, the age system changed so you're actually younger than you were last year. I even heard they're saying that 52 is the new 30." You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

You quickly drop his hand and sit up a bit straighter. Before he can question your reaction, you position your other leg on the couch so you're sitting on both of them and cup his face in your hands. You stare deeply into his dark brown orbs. He furrows his eyebrows at you as you stroke his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. His mouth slightly parts, ready to question you but you swiftly shut him up by crashing your lips into his. His lips are soft, you can feel the remnants of his chapstick transferring onto your lip. Strawberry, your favorite. You pull away slowly, still cupping his face. His eyes slowly flutter open, his eyes red as a single tear drop rolls down his face. "Park Jin-Young oppa, you shouldn't worry about what everyone else has to say about you. I love you and that's all that should matter."

"God, I love you Y/n, I don't deserve you," He whispers, his voice cracking as more tears form in his eyes.

"I love you too JYP oppa,"

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

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#feelbokkie writes #x reader #jyp #Park Jin-young #park jinyoung #jypapi #jyp imagine #jyp headcannon

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see-arcane · 2 months

Text

Blood of My Blood: The Law's Delay

Shout out to @ibrithir-was-here for putting up with my never-ending goal of overfilling the glorious Blood of My Blood AU with my ramblings and extra shout out to @everchangingfungusthoughts and @animate-mush for tripping me down the slope of Writing Another Text Brick. Specifically via this whole thing.

Summary: Jonathan Harker, now fifteen years deep into his life at Castle Dracula, finds himself the unwilling guest of yet another frightful host and his company. Talk and violence and time tick by.

The sun sinks low.

The dead travel fast.

And a vital Lesson is taught regarding the Law of the land.

Warnings for graphic violence, suicide, and murder.

Jonathan’s head ached.

Partly from the agonized spot at the back of his skull where the cudgel had struck. Mostly from the state of his current company.

They were nomads, he knew, but not Dracula’s men. This lot were too fresh for that. In fact, some wore tailoring that the locals weren’t accustomed to apart from tourists and the occasional city dweller passing through. He wouldn’t bet money on how many were ‘donated’ from past victims and how many were afforded through helping themselves to said victims’ purses and personal cheques. They were a dapper group, whichever the case.

From what he picked up while feigning unconsciousness, there was someone missing from their assembly. Someone’s…paramour? Wife? A young woman close to the presumed leader. Some grousing about superstitious idiots. Counter-grousing about precaution and history and how somebody’s cousin’s friend was slaughtered by the ‘superstitions.’ A third sect was grumbling about how thin Jonathan’s pockets were for a supposed noble, monster or not.

“A half-full purse and a few strips of dried pork don’t particularly line up with your theory, Jacob.”

“Props, idiot. Would some common huntsman be wearing what he wears? Would he have these?”

Jonathan heard the heavy jingle of his set of the castle’s keys. They had taken the ring of them from its chain among a handful of other lightweight treasures. All that and his wedding ring. That would cost them.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Because all the revenants who run a swatch of the Carpathians’ government are surely wandering around with frightful things like jerky and house keys.”

“Are you blind? Do these look like house keys? Half of them look older than the mountains!”

“Well, perhaps that is the ‘prop’ of his property, eh? A fancy set of keys made to look old. They certainly haven’t any rust. It wouldn’t be a terrible gimmick these days. Everyone is a fiend for the local bogeyman or a good haunting. I would do tours with my own castle, dribble a little red sauce on my lip, charge a fee for the thrill and the courtesy of not killing anyone on the way out.”

“You talk like it’s a joke. This, when I was raised in these godforsaken crags, and my own neighbor lost their newborn and its mother in the same night! The father blew his brains out when he found what was left of them in the forest. His forest.” The words were hissed in Jonathan’s direction. “God! If we had known how easy it was to take him by daylight!”

There was a snort. The leader’s voice. Sour.

“You say ‘we’ like you weren’t still in nappies, Jake. Like the castle in question isn’t a fortress on a cliff in the dead center of the mountains, all covered with wolves and your frightful bloodsuckers. What would Mama and Papa do if they knew better back then? March all the way up with the neighborhood and hope they made it in time before sunset? That’s assuming the advised tools of the trade actually mean anything against the bastard in question. If he’s as old as legends claim, throwing himself through a hundred wars’ meat grinders with his head and heart and all his other giblets getting minced, with him still standing after it, who’s to say an axe and stake are enough?”

A kick was delivered to the chair Jonathan sat bound to.

“Assuming this piece of work is said bastard.” Spoken with equal parts resignation and frustration. “I’ll grant he looked a bit off in broad daylight. Sure as hell would pass for a cadaver. But if this is the man who had your slovenly little villages soiling themselves after dark, I’m not impressed.”

Snickers from most of the room. A few grimmer sounds from the believers.

“If you don’t believe us, then—,”

“I believe in precaution, Jake. There are strange things in the world. If we want to believe that talking pile of dust, Vordenberg, who I’ll admit was a museum exhibit in his own right, we had us a near miss back in Gratz. So, fine. We finish this in the fashion of the locals. We can even set the pieces on fire if it makes you happy. Not the point. The point is—,”

A hand caught in Jonathan’s hair and wrenched his bowed head up, making the back of his skull throb anew.

“—we know Katrina was seen with you last, you ghoul.”

Jonathan opened his eyes. It had a noticeably sobering effect on much of the room. His host even eased his hold enough to stop trying to rip Jonathan’s hair out. A glance was spared for the assembled party. Easier now that he wasn’t doing it through his lashes. They really were a well-dressed bunch. One of them even wore the silver watch taken from Jonathan’s pocket quite well, though it clashed somewhat with the dagger he was fiddling with. He’d sprung for a handle with a gold hilt.

“Well?” He received a last yank before the man flung his head against the back of the chair. “Where is she?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name. Could you describe her?”

“Oh, I doubt if she would give her real one out to anyone. But we know you know her, Count.”

Jonathan felt the headache blossoming into a migraine.

“Count?”

“Dracula,” the one called Jacob grated out. He stood close to the table with his hand near the aforementioned tools of the trade. A wood axe. A sharpened garden stake and a sledgehammer. Matches. But he, like the rest of his friends, was content to leave his other hand resting on the pistol at his hip. “Don’t think you can throw your word games around here, you leech. You are not boyar here. You are not even a monster by daylight. Just a man—,”

“A man I am talking to, Jake,” from the leader. He turned back to Jonathan. “You see we have some bias in the retinue. Now, Jake and his cadre believe you are, in fact, the same awful old man who likely played out his Báthory fantasies by killing off a few local rustics for kicks once upon a time. Same white hair, same carcass complexion, and some properly unhealthy-looking windows of the soul. As an aside, you have the same body heat as a slab from the butcher. If you had a chance of living beyond today, I might have recommended you see a doctor about your circulation.

“Because I, like the bulk of the room, am of the belief that you are Count Dracula in the sense that the original Count and some Countess loved each other very much and managed to squat your malformed self out into the world before croaking. And, before departing, father dearest passed on the family tradition of idly killing off whoever was convenient as a little hobby. Am I near enough?”

Jonathan said nothing. Chiefly because he was fighting a wave of nausea, but also because it allowed him to keep his gaze steady. The westward window was visible over his host’s shoulder.

“I asked you a question.”

“I will answer if you tell me how you possibly concluded that a middle-aged man walking in the woods was a nobleman.”

To his surprise, the man revealed his evidence: the tarnished gold clasp of a dragon sitting against a garnet setting. This would also cost them.

“Hard to imagine the average hiker idling around in that corner of the wilds with this particular emblem on his coat.”

“That’s true,” Jonathan nodded. “I am not a hiker or a hunter any more than I’m a count. I am only the castle’s retainer.”

“Ah, well. That’s different. We are men of the people, sir, and we take pride in doing our fellow servile class the courtesy of a quick death. It’s only the aristos and nouveau riche who get the extra effort. Them and bleached out old bastards who go around taking what’s ours. What’s mine.” Jonathan watched the man slide a handsome pearl-handled blade from his pocket. It had a very fine edge. “Case in point, a certain young lady, of the flaxen and doe-eyed variety, being spotted in town with an older man of very unique description, not two days ago. Who she left with in his goddamn caleche.”

The blade came down in a gleaming arc. It sank cleanly into Jonathan’s left shoulder. Jonathan screamed at this and at the blade being flicked out. The steel was wiped clean on his sleeve.

“It should go without saying,” the leader said over Jonathan’s noise, steadily dwindling into hard breaths behind his teeth, “that the locals have a few choice theories about just who and what the man driving those horses is. Human? Dead? Dracula or one of his cohorts? Anyone who’d know for certain is either underground or a living antique themselves. Oh. But they did point out you seemed polite enough, according to most. Not someone anyone is eager to shake hands with, but fair. If you are the old devil of before, the younger generation are relieved you’ve gone mellow with the new century. Well done on the new leaf.”

“They were lying,” Jacob intoned, the picture of exasperation. “We all used to lie about him! He had eyes and ears everywhere! You didn’t mention him aloud unless you wanted to wake up to your child missing or you yourself being drunk dry or taken apart! I’m telling you, Katrina is already gone or worse!” His hand clutched eagerly at the whittled garden stake. “Let us be done with this, Anthony.”

Anthony gave his blade another cleaning swipe. He opened his mouth—

“The stake is wrong.”

—and closed it. He and the others peered down at Jonathan as he righted himself against the chair. The migraine was marching in circles around his head now, lighting fireworks and banging pans. At least his shoulder was a small distraction.

“Say again?”

“The stake. You haven’t finished the end of it. If you don’t burn the point down, harden it, the wood will just splinter if you don’t get it in one blow. One of you took the flint lighter from my coat, yes? Use that and save yourself the matches.”

The room looked owlishly at him. Jacob and his small band especially. Awkwardly, one of the latter fished out the stolen lighter and began cooking the point with its steady flame.

“See that? He’s already feeling accommodating.” Anthony clapped his palm with heavy chumminess against the wounded shoulder. Jonathan winced appropriately, stealing another squinting glance at the window. “Care to keep in this giving mood, or would you like me to even things out?” The blade pointed airily at Jonathan’s right shoulder.

“No need. I said before, I do not know anyone named Katrina. But I did give a ride to a young woman two days ago. Not ‘flaxen,’ though. Her hair was red.”

Anthony abruptly straightened. The blade twisted and fidgeted in his fingers.

“Red,” under Anthony’s breath. His brow furrowed. “She took the wig too?” There was a low murmur from the less vampirically-invested portion of the group, of that specific tone that declares ‘I told you so’ by vowels alone. Anthony whirled on these members like a viper. Several mouths snapped shut. “Did you lot have something you wished to share? Hmm? I’m all ears.”

Interest increased in the state of each other’s shoes, the floor, the lovely view of the mountains, and the progress of the stake. It was now neatly blackened and free of loose slivers. Jacob stood by with it, toying with it as Anthony had his knife. He kept trying and failing to meet Jonathan’s gaze.

“Ah,” Anthony grinned mirthlessly, “that’s what I thought you said.” The blade flashed. “Now, Count, Retainer, Whoever or Whatever, while you are being forthcoming, is she alive or dead? I confess I might be just as happy with one or the other at this point, so no need to fret over a lie.”

“She was alive the last time I saw her. I dropped her off outside Bistritz,” Jonathan said, clearly recalling turning the horses toward Bukovina. He winced again as Anthony laid a hand on the bleeding shoulder, driving his thumb against the wound as he leaned.

“And? How did the bitch pay for her ride? Did you introduce her to necrophilia or did she just throw my money at you?”

“Neither. I am a married man and you can tell I had no bank vault in my pockets. In any case, I must assume whatever she took from you was fair recompense.” Jonathan felt a shift come through him. The old cold tilt that made him lean three-quarters of the way out of humanity and into something else. Whatever it was that lit his eyes and froze the air around him. That made the entire room shift an unconscious inch back. “Considering the state of her face.”

Anthony’s own countenance squirmed between aggravation, anger, and a surreal flash of embarrassment. As if leaving the girl’s face mottled with patches in shades of plum and charcoal was the equivalent of friends overhearing a marital spat in the next room. The man’s lip curled, making the well-trimmed whiskers twitch.

“Do forgive me if my decorum isn’t up to your standards, sir. I tend to get a touch irate when the thankless sow I’ve been bedding not only comes within inches of blowing our cover over some brat who went and poked his head out at the wrong time, but has the gall to try and resign after a few threadbare months. As if I didn’t scrape the little strumpet out of the gutter with my own hands.” A storm roiled in the man’s face. “Had a whole life of gold ahead of her, getting to play out her idiot actress dreams, and she thanks us by taking off with three hotels’ worth of work. Over a goddamn toddler. But that is the way with women, isn’t it? Always falling apart over a babe.”

“Men as well, in my experience,” Jonathan hummed. His line of sight drifted back to Jacob, whose attention was now firmly split between Jonathan and the view from the west window. Even halfway through spring, the sunsets did still tend to rush in the mountains. Shadows were already starting to stretch.

“Personal experience?” Anthony asked with an appraising glance that saw value in the negatives with Jonathan’s mien. “Is there a little Dracula pup crawling around nursing on the countryside?”

“Oh, no. He’s grown out of crawling. Apart from roaming along the castle walls, when he wants to surprise me. There’s no getting away with it with his mother.” Jonathan swallowed a bitter lump, knowing it had to be heard aloud, “Or his father.” Jacob was looking at him now. This time Jonathan held his eyes as they grew an increment wider. A slight dew of sweat had formed on the young man’s brow. “I only know where they are half the time. But they can always find me.”

Anthony barked an acidic note that tried to be a laugh.

“Is this the part where you tell us you’ll be missed? That there’s some cavalry who will come seeking vengeance? Please spare yourself the storytelling. If you were anything other than a relic living off a skeleton staff you wouldn’t be driving your own horses or puttering around by your lonesome. Really, what we’re doing here is a public good. What’s the loss of one more parasite riding into the twilight of peerage’s relevance?”

“Regrettably, he has thought ahead on that,” Jonathan admitted. “The gold he’s already sitting on is kept partly for emergency seed money, but mostly as a memento. He’s been on top of the capitalistic pulse since 1652 going by the oldest records. Given another decade, I believe he’ll be a magnate in a dozen industries from here to the United Kingdom.” A genuine moue puckered his face. “He calls it investing in the live-stock. No, I didn’t think it was funny either.”

This he addressed to Jacob.

Jacob, who had to set the stake down because his hand was shaking.

Jacob, who had been keeping watch of him and the window and seen how blandly Jonathan greeted the approaching dusk.

Jacob, who had finally taken a closer look at what Jonathan wore under his coat. His coat, worn because he was always cold—a chill that he truly felt. Covering an ensemble of boots, long sleeves, and a high collar. In mid-April.

“…You still have time,” Jonathan told him gently. “If you had your childhood here, you know there’s time. You still wear your crucifix, yes?” Jacob flicked his gaze up to Jonathan’s. His whole face seemed to shine with perspiration. He did not know what was wrong yet, what piece was missing, but he scented something. “Do you? Any of you?”

Jacob nodded jerkily. The men behind him did likewise. Some fidgeted at their shirts.

“That’s good. It sickens them, did you know? Stings them away from the throat.” Jonathan smiled for him. A sad curl. “Hold it out before you if you like.” He tipped up his chin. Just above the shirt collar was a glimpse of sickish color against the maggot-white skin. Something worse than a bruise. “You can check. Or ask one of your friends. But it does help to know for certain. To have it confirmed.” The smile grew worse in its apology. “There have been no vampire attacks in Transylvania for the past fifteen years. The youngest around here take it all as local legends. Parents’ and grandparents’ fairy tales. Because they grew up without knowing what you do. Without realizing why people stopped disappearing after dark when Count Dracula still rules here. When there are still sharp mouths to feed up in his mountains.”

Jacob gawped openly now. He looked strangely like the boy he might have been fifteen years ago, hearing his neighbors whisper and moan about the latest loss in the night. Fifteen years ago, when a foolish young Englishman had come to Castle Dracula, and everyone had known. No one had seen him again…supposing one belonged to a family who had moved away at last, daring their monstrous master’s ire to save their son.

“Oh, for God’s sake, what is this? Are we playing theatre now?” Anthony and his handful of fellow eye-rollers looked between Jonathan and Jacob as if expecting to spot some invisible party holding up script cards for them. “Jake, if you want to play at slaying the vampire, you are welcome to it. Get your stick and your hammer and have at it. Erik, take the axe.” He waved his blade like an impatient conductor with his baton. “Well?”

Jacob moved forward without the stake. His crucifix was held out as far as the cord would allow.

Then he hooked Jonathan’s shirt collar and pulled it open.

Jonathan hadn’t been able to get a good look at the full state of himself in some while. Occasionally he might steal a glance in a mirror for sale or a clean shop window in town. There was rarely anything good to see as far as his development went. Age was not weathering him the way it would an ordinary man. What should have become the easy creasing of crow’s feet and smile lines had given way to something sunken and grey. More than a few children had come to nickname him ‘Herr Geist’ when he passed through. On one occasion, he’d been approached by an American claiming to be a talent scout for a circus who thought Jonathan could easily bill as, The Walking Corpse.

But that was all just the effect of his face. He hadn’t seen his throat or a clear view of his shoulders in years; the real estate with the greatest number of visits for fifteen years. It had to be at least twice as unpleasant a sight as his forearms, pocked by only one hungry mouth’s nursing. To judge by the shudder of revulsion that jolted the entire room back on its heels, his neck was apparently quite the visual.

To judge by Jacob’s expression, the discolored map of ruined skin and old punctures was his own obituary in all capitals. Nor was it a very peaceful end it spelled out. His eyes rolled up to Jonathan’s like wet marbles. Jonathan could no longer maintain his smile, however somber. There was only condolence in the look.

“I told you. I am Castle Dracula’s retainer. At least, in the sense of a retaining wall. I have played the role of its inhabitants’ personal bloodletting pantry for a quarter of a century. Which would be cause enough to worry. But I am also a married man and that is worse.”

Jacob wobbled on his feet like a sapling in a high breeze. He almost fell over with a cry when the first thunderclap boomed over the cabin’s roof. A horrified look shot to the westward window. Sunset was less than a jagged slit across the mountaintops, already erased in the smear of a rushing storm. Lightning drew livid eyes in the clouds.

“I am sorry. You might have had a chance if you hadn’t been cautious,” Jonathan went on. “There would have been a coin toss if you had simply shot me dead in the forest. I fear I am testing everyone’s patience in that household by keeping to my contract against turning until the twenty-year mark. Special occasion and all that. But if you had gone with a bullet or a slit throat, that would mean that I would be undead by sundown. You would still be slain for trespassing on private property,” he gestured to himself as best he could with his bound hands, “but it would have been tidier. They might even be grateful for ripping off the plaster and booting me over the threshold. A mere snapped neck apiece.

“Unfortunately, I saw your tools of the trade. I heard your plans for ‘destroying the vampire,’ or the madman playing pretend as such. Heart staked, head removed, burn the body. All very thorough. But because I saw and heard these things, they saw and heard these things. Just as they know your faces now.”

Thunder snarled again. An explosive sound joined with a noon-bright flicker of lightning. Wolves sang a violent song. Close.

Jacob’s friends within the gang were talking in frantic tones to each other. The rationalists of Anthony’s side of the room seemed a touch less comfortable where they stood, grasping at their holsters. Anthony himself looked as if he was waiting to wake from a particularly confusing dream.

Jacob’s eyes were running. Pleading. A man only five short years past being a boy.

Jonathan still could not hold a smile for him, but he spoke in the tone he had for Quincey the time he’d came across a bat with a half-broken neck in the forest. Wings smashed, head cracked open, it had been alive in the worst way. Quincey had been thirteen then, considering himself practically a skip away from adulthood. He had still gone to his Papa, eyes dewy with blood trying not to spill, asking please…please…

Jonathan thought back to how his son had hidden in his coat sleeve while he ended the creature’s pain with a brisk twist.

It was quick, you see? It won’t hurt anymore now, shh, it’s alright, son.

“It’s alright,” he said in the present. “You still have time.” Not much. A few minutes at most. But still, “You’ll be safe from it. From all of it.”

Jacob nodded with a twitch. A puppet on a caught string. His hand trembled as it held up the crucifix again.

“…May I keep this? After?” Jonathan nodded. “Thank you.”

Jacob kissed the Cross and tucked it under his shirt.

“Jake, I swear to God, if you don’t drop this act, I will—,”

Bang.

The sound was almost lost in another thunderclap. Not so for the sound of Jacob’s corpse hitting the floor, the new tunnel in his head oozing a scarlet pond out from under his skull. There was a moment of quiet.

Then the wolves bayed again.

The men bayed too. Curses and questions of equal inanity whirled around the room.

Bang.

The sound of Anthony’s own pistol firing a hole through the ceiling.

“Shut. Up. Every one of you, bite your idiot tongues.” The barrel swung to point at Jonathan’s temple. “He says he has people on the way? He says they’re vampires or werewolves or the Four Horsemen a-riding? Then it would perhaps behoove us to think rather than squeal like women over this,” his shoe struck Jacob’s corpse, “fool’s choice of exit. Coward.” He snapped his fingers at the room. “Come on! Block the windows, set up arms! Move!”

And so they moved. Some men scrambled and shouldered into each other trying to cover the windows. Chairs were broken into pieces for stakes. Guns were unpacked and loaded. Erik held the axe as if his hands were welded to it. Anthony, meanwhile, took one of the unbroken chairs for himself and perched at Jonathan’s side. Something between supreme irritation and a baffled sort of wonder shaped his face.

“I do have to give you credit if this is all improvisation on your part. You should have been booked at the Grand Guignol instead of rotting up here.”

Jonathan watched Erik begin to pace, gripping the axe as though it doubled for a shield.

“That or one of those hypnotist acts. Jake was always a nervous one. An easy mark, ironically enough.”

Jonathan’s peripheral caught on Erik’s figure as he came to a stop by the door. There was no peephole to spy through, yet he inclined his head toward it. His ear was cocked as if listening for something under the thunder and wolves.

“But supposing this amounts to something more than an act, I admit I’m curious to see what these things are supposed to be like outside the pulp on the bookshelves or clogging up the stage. Everyone has their opinion on them these days.”

Erik first frowned, then nodded at the bolted door. The anxious creases of his face began to smooth. A smile tugged his lips up as the axe lowered.

“Are they the same kind of horror show as you?”

“Usually quite the opposite,” Jonathan allowed. “But that is by choice. They make some rather impressive exceptions when the occasion calls for it.”

Erik set the axe down. His freed hands moved the wooden bolt aside and reached for the key on its hook. This didn’t go unnoticed. The nearest man, one of Jacob’s friends, jolted toward him.

“Erik, what the hell are you doing?”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Erik spoke over him in a dreaming lilt. “The girl outside. Lovely voice.” He turned the key in the lock. “She and her brother got lost in the storm.” He turned the knob. “Wouldn’t be right to leave them out th—,”

Bang.

Erik dropped like a felled tree. Jacob’s friend whirled on the rest of the room, his gun and free hand up. He had his crucifix worn outside his shirt now.

“I had to! You know I had to! Jacob and old Vordenberg laid it out, didn’t they? You invite the things in and it’s all over!” He pointed at the door with the new stain on its timber. “One of them is out there right now, trying to worm into our heads, so we’ll let it over the threshold.”

As every eye nailed itself to the man and the door and the second corpse within five minutes, no one paid attention to the fireplace. They had not lit it, having opted solely for lamps. Chimney smoke would give away their location to anyone happening by the area.

Only Jonathan stared at the open stone mouth of the hearth. Watching what crawled out. Watching it watch him.

Anthony swatted Jonathan in his bad shoulder. He looked up and realized he’d been asked a question.

“Pardon?”

“Is he. Telling. The truth. Or did Erik lose his brains over nothing?”

“A vampire cannot cross the threshold of someone’s home without invitation. I think, at a stretch, you could call this temporary base of yours ‘home.’ Strict definition is tricky for travelers. But if you declare this place yours—,”

“We do,” insisted half the room in unison.

“We do,” Anthony echoed, somewhat dryly. “Our lovely domicile, this. And we are strictly against welcoming any visitors tonight.”

“Understandable. But there’s still the trouble of this afternoon. It’s hard to be more insistent about an invitation than resorting to abduction.”

“And? What of it?”

The fireplace continued to purge its contents out and out and out. Cooling the room like a thin and steady gust. Heads finally began to turn as gooseflesh spread and the sight became unignorable: A thick mist had been pouring into the room since Erik’s brains splattered on the door.

“You thought I was Count Dracula. Whether I was him or not, he was the man you wanted here.” Jonathan looked Anthony in the eye. He was not surprised at what he found there as it squirmed and sweated. “I’m afraid you invited him in two hours ago.”

The lamps guttered. One snuffed. Then its neighbor. A third, a fourth. Voices raised in tandem with the weapons.

“Light them!” came the universal cry. “Turn them back up, come on!”

But the room blackened and blackened until it came down to one canny fellow who’d dived for a lantern. The same man who’d pocketed the flint lighter. He lit the lantern and set it shakily on the table, its glow seemingly safer than the lamps’. The lighter was almost as bright in his hand, making a spotlight for himself in the ruddy gloom.

“What? What is it?”

Every head was turned to face him. Every eye wide enough to show its whites, like the stares of startled horses. The man opened his mouth to utter a third query—and stopped.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold. Far colder than the man he’d taken the lighter from. Its fingers ended in claws.

Above his head, the firelight caught on what might charitably be called a grin. It was, in fact, the default state of Count Dracula’s jaw in this shape. A medley of the wolf and the bat and the nightmares that are born when children’s imaginations first start to sketch the things that will eat them in the dark.

Jonathan wished he could have closed his eyes for all that followed. He did try. But there was an implicit order sunk into his mind that demanded he watch. Had this been a decade ago, this may have been for the sake of an object lesson.

This is what I can do. This is what I would have done to your little hunting party at the right hour, with your guard down for an instant. This is what I will do to any sheltering cattle you try to run away to with wife and child. Watch, my friend. Watch.

But that was practically a lifetime past. They were coming up on a mere five years until the wait was over and his free will and the final fig leaf of humanity was forfeit. Which suggested that he was a captive audience solely for the fact that an audience was desired. There was some artistry to it all, in a medieval sense. Some of the acts performed with the makeshift stakes and the barrels of guns and certain repurposed bones reminded Jonathan of old woodcuts left out for him to see once upon a time, back in that first summer alone with the castle’s Master.

By the time one of the men died choking on his own severed arm, the rest of the lot stopped shooting and herded themselves to the door, desperate. To their relief, there was no vampire at the threshold. They fled.

A heartbeat passed before the screaming began anew. Gunfire mingled with it. The screaming dwindled down and down, the choir thinning to a single shriek that ended on a terrible sound. Wet and crunching. Wolves were heard soon after.

Anthony had not moved from his position behind Jonathan’s chair. He’d resumed his grip on his hair, this time holding his blade just below the Adam’s apple.

“If you don’t have a head,” Anthony panted at the Count, now busy picking gristle from the spades of his nails, “you can’t be undead. The plays make a lot of fuss about staking the heart, but this?” He tugged Jonathan’s head back another inch and pressed the blade’s edge until the skin broke. “I figure it’s a fair bit more vital. I am a practiced man at my profession and quick when I need to be. You want him in one piece instead of two, you leak yourself out the door, call off your pets, and I’ll send him on his way come sunrise.” Though he couldn’t see him, Jonathan was certain the man was trying to smile. “If you’re amenable, perhaps we can even get a silver lining out of this whole thing.”

Dracula sucked a piece of sinew out of his thumbnail.

“I am accustomed to getting my hands dirty. While I’ve been in the habit of leading assorted hapless dregs around, I can easily see myself following someone worth respect. Your friend here indicated he’s on the edge of retirement anyway, and I imagine you could do with someone to step into the role. Or add to the ranks.”

Dracula busied himself with scanning the floor. He plucked up the silver watch still chained to a torso that was twisted like a wrung washcloth. A scowl was spared upon retrieving the key ring from a puddle of a head. Then the pouch containing Jonathan’s allowance. He deposited each bit of treasure found on the table. The last thing he discovered was Jonathan’s wedding ring. He seemed to ponder flicking it aside, but saw Jonathan watching. The ring was dropped in the pile the way one might discard a clump of dirt.

“Well?” from Anthony. “Do you talk or not?”

“I do,” from the Count. “Though not usually to vermin. Especially ones who raid my pantry.”

“Honest mistake on our part. I hadn’t realized you were the one-in-a-thousand legend that isn’t just the fumes of an invented ghost story.”

“I see.” Dracula bent and retrieved the stake that had its point burned. It left the holster of a man’s sternum with a damp sound. “And this too was a mistake?”

“Just trying to placate the skittish sorts in the party. You saw how Jake was.”

“I did.” The Count tapped the stake’s point against his chin, pondering. “In fact, I think I recall a face like his. A sailor I met once. He took to the sea, having no bullet in reach.” He leveled the stake at Anthony’s head. “You called him a coward for this, yes?”

“Am I wrong?”

“There is a fine line between cowardice and wisdom,” Dracula shrugged. “It moves more than you would think. Little Jacob was wise tonight, if sadly mistaken in his target. He was not the first of his type. Likely not the last. The same goes for you, vermin. You, who squeak and chitter about preying upon the predator, and then try to sell yourself to the cat.” Though much of his face had reset to a human shape, the Count’s teeth remained a bristling forest of white needles when he grinned. “I have had this land in my jaws for half a millennium. I have not gone a single century without your like slinking underfoot, thinking to kiss my cape and offer a tithe of others’ throats to win my favor. My power.”

“Way of the world, isn’t it? Strong bows to stronger. What makes this cadaver,” another jerk on Jonathan’s hair, another throb in his skull, “so special? Better resumé? Seasoned arteries?”

“A number of things.” Another shrug, a twirl of the stake like a toy. “He does so hate to hear it anymore. It has been so long since any kind of praise heartened him and age has made him shy. But he cannot shush me, so I can say he does far more than bleed, be it himself or his victims of old. He certainly has a more impressive history than robbing and gutting tourists for a living, and so is far more attuned to the Law of this land than any other. Not the yapping dogs of mortal authorities. Not your jailor or judge or bureaucrat. Not even those of the sciences, such as they are.”

Thunder cracked and lightning danced. The Count’s eyes burned brighter than the lantern.

“He knows that I am Law in these mountains. That my will, my word, and my want order all that is here. He knows that there is no escaping consequence for trespassing upon what is mine. But.” The Count clapped the stake into his open palm with the joviality of a cruel teacher with his yardstick. “Beyond all this, he is something which guarantees his value over yours or any other’s. He warned you himself.” The jagged grin turned almost saccharine. “He is a married man. And you have kept him out far too late for his spouses’ liking.”

Anthony shifted behind the chair. The grip on Jonathan’s hair shuddered a moment as if suddenly repulsed to be touching it.

“God. Even the monsters are in on that depravity up here?”

“Depravity is a pastime of mine. But I am not so low as to debase myself by touching filth like yours.” So saying, the Count raised both hands in mock surrender. “I shall not waste my time or teeth on you.”

“Fine. Fine, you say that and I can believe you. Once you’re out the door.”

The door, still open.

The door, which Anthony had not dared to look at for fear of taking eyes off the Count.

The door, full of mist.

“Ah, but I cannot go yet. There is a show I have been so looking forward to. You mentioned the Grand Guignol. Such a promising establishment! I plan to see it in person some night. But for now, we must content ourselves with your meager scene.”

Anthony opened his mouth to ask something. Say something. Maybe he was just drawing breath. Whatever the reason, his mouth froze in a voiceless O of epiphany.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold.

It distracted him from the other, decorated with its simple gold band, locking around the man’s forearm; the one responsible for holding the blade.

Snap.

Anthony’s mouth dropped open wider, belting a screech that left Jonathan’s ears ringing. Then the man was torn away from the back of the chair and all the noise of him was pinned and shrilling on the floor. Laced over the ensuing sounds of his dismantling, both vocal and visceral, was a voice that threaded through the mind more than the ear:

He cut you. Twice he cut you.

“I’ll be fine, Mina.” Said because there was concern in the statement. There was. But, more pertinently, there was the accusation. The condemnation. The citing of the crime.

He cut you. He meant to kill you. He meant to unmake you out of reach forever.

Anthony made a new and piercing noise. The kind just an octave short of a dog whistle. Jonathan winced.

“And he failed to. It’s alright, Darling.”

“Hardly,” from the Count, now turning Anthony’s abandoned seat around to face the slaughter. “You are too soft as always, my friend. Even when it comes to a rightful culling. Or do you think they deserved to live after their crimes?”

“I think this was excessive.” Jonathan withheld a sigh as Dracula hooked the back of his chair, hoisting and turning it so that his back was no longer to Mina’s work. She seemed to have an innate understanding of what could be taken apart and to what degree, the better to leave Anthony still clinging miserably to a thread of life. “And I also think I’m ready to have these off.”

He flexed his hands and feet as far as they could go against the ropes.

“Have what off?” Dracula asked as he swiped a finger into the shoulder wound. A child stealing cake icing. He clicked his tongue. “This would happen just after a feeding. All this guilt-free cuisine and your knights-errant are too full to enjoy the banquet. A pity. Have you eaten?”

“If I had my hands free, I could get my—,” Jonathan pursed his lips as Dracula brandished a bouquet of the retrieved dried pork. Deciding against waiting for the mesmer to prod him into it, he opened his mouth a crack. Bit. Chewed.

“Do you suppose the Grand Guignol has concessions? Any actual blood used in place of the stage swill?”

Jonathan swallowed. A nauseous feat, considering the piece Mina removed from Anthony in the same moment.

“I doubt any director is so dedicated, Sir.” Anthony was growing quieter now. There wasn’t enough air in him. Jonathan could tell by the glimpse of lung through his ribs. “Does Quincey know about this?”

No. It was blocked from him. He believes we are out on business.

Crunch. Twist. Rip.

Anthony went silent and still at last. Dracula afforded this a light round of applause.

“Not wholly a lie, you will grant. Though I suspect the boy thinks it was code for a more,” the Count made a face caught between glee and disdain, “intimate excursion. Which should be an easy enough ward against any prying you fear from him. You may have made a sickening romantic of the boy, but there is never a child alive or undead who wishes to know what his parents get up to out of his sight.” The Count craned his head, squinting at what was left of Anthony. “Did you come across it?”

That depends. Where’s mine?

Mina stood with the dragon clasp in one red hand and her other held out and open. Dracula idled a moment or three longer than was necessary before the stolen wedding band was produced. Clasp and ring were thrown rather than exchanged. Jonathan had each reattached to him. Though the Count spared a curse in three different languages at finding the coat not only mangled at the shoulder, but torn where the clasp had been ripped away.

“As if they could not understand the mechanics of a brooch? You should have pinned this in his eye.”

You should have fed him the stake. Look at this.

Mina touched the nick on Jonathan’s throat.

I know you count my wound as a blessing, but I would think you’d not risk losing his voice.

“I had to stall while you cleared up the leftovers outside. I may as well have left you with the boy.”

And lost your show and your diversion.

“You—,”

“I cannot feel my feet anymore,” Jonathan announced. “And I would like to stitch and plaster myself before we head out. Whatever Quincey may think we’re up to, it will be easier to lie without me looking like I just left,” he gestured as best he could at the room, “this.”

A minor miracle came and went as there was no suggestion made that they simply lay a new bite apiece over the wounds. The ropes were cut, what was filched was returned to its owner, give or take a little scavenging of their own. Jacob and the others were left with their tokens of the Son. Outside, the wolves went on enjoying the meal Mina had left for them. Up until a titanic thunderbolt struck the cabin and sent them scrambling. The building went up like a great bonfire.

“I know, my friend, you were clearly looking forward to digging more graves. But you must admit my method is quicker and far more thorough in erasing evidence.” The nettling cadence waned. “I suggest you avoid wandering away from the castle for some time. Considering your state.”

Not while dressed in this, at the very least. It’s clear this insignia draws as much ire as it deters.

“A fluke,” the Count huffed. “Such degenerates as those are rare. The chattel know better. Besides, the folly was in drawing attention by playing Good Samaritan to the wrong victim and her maudlin pleading. Something else to keep in mind.” Jonathan tried and failed to keep his head down as the hook landed in his mind and turned his eyes up. Dead blue against burning red. “At least for as long you insist on holding to your last few years as…this.”

Jonathan bit into his last strip of the dried pork. Loudly.

“Five years. That’s all.”

“Four and a half.”

“Four and a half I mean to savor. In-between being waylaid.” The careful placidity fractured as his free hand drifted up to the back of his skull. Still aching. “I think I shall finish off the Golden Mediasch tonight.” His hand was plucked away by Mina’s own, her chilled fingers seeking out the tender place under his hair. Her fingertips felt the scabbing patch.

I should have skinned him.

“You are welcome to stroll through the fire and do so,” the Count hummed. But his smile stopped short of his eyes and his own hand swept Mina’s away to thumb at the ache. “The Mediasch is barely more than fruit juice. You will want something stronger.”

Jonathan didn’t argue. Nor did he protest when the horses of his ex-hosts were commandeered for the return to the castle. Quincey thrilled at the sight of them almost as if they had arrived riding wolves. Was this the business they went on? Tunet and Pretekár were quite new—and solid obsidian as the horses before had been—but it was good to see them gain more company. And they’d picked piebald this time!

“They’re beautiful. Do they have names yet?”

“Thought we’d leave that to you,” Jonathan managed lightly enough. Or nearly so. Quincey frowned at him, nose pricking at the smell of dried blood.

“Papa, are you alright? You—,” his eyes landed on the coat, “—what happened?”

“Just a quick lesson from our new friends about minding their moods. I was tossed and landed in a less than opportune pile of rocks.”

Quincey scowled at that and scrutinized the stallions.

“Which one? I’m not riding him. Or petting him, even.” He considered. “At least for a month.”

“Seems a cruelty too far. I suppose I just won’t reveal the guilty party.”

“And what if I get on the wrong horse and I get tossed and land on a rock somewhere? What then?”

“Then you will get back up and be perfectly alright. Or am I misremembering the night you fell asleep on the side of the north turret and fell through half a tree on your way down?”

“Yes, well. They were fairly soft branches.” Quincey fought and lost the attempt to keep his smile up. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“The horses weren’t the actual business, were they? You could have gotten them yourself.”

“That’s true. The horses were only picked up afterward. Quite a bargain, not counting the lumps.”

“Then what happened?”

Jonathan looked at his son. His Sweetheart, though the boy had finally started to bud into that stage that visits all adolescents, demanding a shedding of childhood names. There was a dusting of stubble barely fringing his jaw and his mother’s own whorls outgrowing the edges of his last haircut. But the eyes were still a child’s. Bright and molten as the sun at dusk.

“…There was some trouble two days ago. I aided a girl trying to leave behind some people who hurt others. Who hurt her. They had some less than scrupulous plans for the future and had already bypassed local authorities to get where they were by the time I crossed them. So I reached out for some assistance.” And, because he felt the air prickling with observation, “Your Father was very keen to educate them on the difference between the laws of other lands versus the Law of his land. And your Mum has always been of a rescuer’s bent as a rule. So.”

“So Mum and Father caught them? Together?” The sunset eyes gleamed at the prospect.

“They did,” Jonathan nodded.

“Were they bandits?”

“Of a sort. But they won’t hurt anyone now.” Jonathan watched from the corner of his eye how the boy, so near to a young man, glowed over the notion of being a son to heroes.

He got to the tower before he felt his eyes begin to sting as sharply as his head.

#I'm beginning to think I simply cannot go more than 0.5 days without making a novella #oops #anyway enjoy the One and Only scenario in which Dracula and Mina would willingly work together on literally anything:#Their Damsel/Jonathan is in peril. Time to do some mauling about that.#anyway #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #dracula bad ending #blood of my blood #my writing

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