graceful curve

Neither Innocent Nor Guilty

Pairing: Wonho x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings(?): rough sex, semi-public, hair pulling

Summary: Lawyer!AU ~ In which you triumph over the infamously powerful prosecutor, Shin Hoseok, in court, so he finds another way to get what he wants in the courthouse bathroom.

[disclaimer] All of my knowledge about courtroom/legal procedure is wholly derived from my love of legal dramas and shouldn’t be taken as factual, lol.

“Isn’t it true you killed your son, Ms. Choi? You were angry that he planned to abandon you for the woman you had strongly opposed, tainting the family reputation you hold so dearly to yourself. He was going to ruin everything for you, wasn’t he? He was going to ruin that crystalline reputation you had spent so many years perfecting for the public, had spent and sacrificed so much to preserve, and he was going to throw it all away, am I right?”

The mousy woman in front of you wailed, face contorting and twitching in anger and indignation. Tears spilled out of her swollen eyes . “I WOULD NE-”

You continued relentlessly, raising your voice to be heard over hers. “And so you carefully plotted his death, didn’t you, Ms. Choi? You were so driven by your anger that you felt the only way to resolve it was to kill him yourself and to pin it on your maid-”

“OBJECTION!” The tall, broad-shouldered prosecutor shot upwards from his seat, eyes blazing as he stared incredulously at you, fists slamming into his table. “HEARSAY!”



“I heard you the first time, Mr. Shin.” The judge silenced him with an abysmal wave of his hand. The prosecutor snapped his mouth shut in anger, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched it. “Overruled. Ms. (Y/L/N) elicits a crucial development that is integral the proceedings of this court. As for you, Ms. (Y/L/N), I would thank you restrain yourself and to get to your point.”

You nodded tightly, shooting a defiant half-smile at the prosecutor, stomach flipping as you watched his eyes darken. “You fed your son a meal laced with arsenic with your own blood-covered hands as he looked on at you with nothing but love and ignorance. You watched the bright light fade from his eyes as he convulsed on your living room floor, and now you sit here, still refusing to take responsibility for your abhorrent actions. Instead you choose to not just end one life, but even more. Instead, you place the blame on the maid who has been employed by your family for a decade, the maid who is a single mother with 3 young children that depend on her for their living. So, I’ll ask you one more time, Mrs. Choi. Isn’t it true that you killed your son?”

The prosecutor had his fists balled at his sides, muscles coiling under the fabric of his tight fitting suit, his full lips drawn straight in a tight line. You did your best not to think of those hands on you, pinning you against a table. Your thoughts were scattered and incoherent under his gaze. He stared at you intently, wondering exactly who this new lawyer was that had broken his reputation as the shark of the prosecutors. It was guaranteed, or at least it had been before you, that the defendant would be jailed whenever they were pitted against him. He’d never seen anyone or anything like you before, so terrifying and formidable in the courtroom. Not to mention how perfectly your pencil skirt hugged every curve on your body, how your blouse enunciated the curve of your chest and highlighted the graceful curve of your neck. A match for him. More than that, even. When your tongue had darted out to wet your bottom lip as you concentrated on your papers, he had practically dropped all his papers, only barely playing it off as a slip of his fingers.

You did your best to ignore his burning eyes, focusing instead on the disheveled woman in front of you.

“I-I-I only wanted to protect him,” she gasped brokenly, entire body shaking in the effort to speak clearly. “I wanted to protect my h-husband. He killed my son,” she slurred, “he killed him.”

The jury inhaled sharply at her confession, a cacophony of murmurs breaking out in the group.

You released a small breath of relief, turning to give your client a warm smile. She had collapsed against her chair in disbelief, tears of joy welling in her large eyes as she returned it.


The jury barely needed any time to converge, returning after only a few minutes. Despite your confidence in your argument, you found your leg bouncing nervously, jostling your robes. You bit your bottom lip subconsciously, wanting nothing more than for the judge to hurry up and call the case.

“Nervous?” mouthed the prosecutor across the room, cocky smile twisting his full lips.

You tried to ignore how his broad chest pulled the fabric of his suit tight across his body, clinging to every muscle, outlining his godly figure. How was it even legal that someone like him was a prosecutor? You could feel the weight of his gaze on your body, burning and heavy, and you suddenly felt as if your mouth was very, very, dry. All you could do was scoff and turn to face pointedly away from him.

The corner of his mouth lifted as if he knew what you were thinking. Cocky bastard.

Both of you straightened as the judge cleared his throat. “Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”

The jury spokesman stood hastily, dotting the sweat beading at the edges of his receding hairline. “Y-yes, your honor.”

The judge glanced upwards. “Members of the jury, on the Case of Korea v. Park, what you say?”

“Your honor, the members of this Jury unanimously find the defendant NOT GUILTY of first degree murder.”

You let out a loud breath, lungs burning, but it was drowned out by the appreciative cries of your client as she threw her arms around you, tears of joy streaming down her face.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she shouted, voice muffled by your hair. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She repeated it over and over again like a mantra, no amount of words able to truly encapsulate the euphoric feeling. She hugged you one last time before running out of the courtroom, undoubtedly to tell her family the good news.

Despite having won your first big case, your thoughts kept wandering back to that sinfully attractive cocky prosecutor; you kept thinking about those long fingers digging into your hair, those full lips pressed against your throat, and that tousled mess of hair that you wanted nothing more than you thread your fingers through while pulling him closer, deeper into your body. “Agh,” you hissed to yourself, fingernails digging into your palm as you walked down the hall. You could feel your cheeks reddening. Couldn’t you have been attracted to anyone else? You reached up and pulled your hair out of the restraining bun so it cascaded down around your shoulders.

“Good,” a voice behind you said, “it looks better down.”

You whirled in surprise. Speak of the fucking devil. There he was, godly proportions, signature arrogant smirk and all, right in front of you. Why do bad things happen to good people? “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere mourning the case you just lost?” you asked, trying to ignore the insidious thoughts invading your mind as you drank in his appearance. He was even more attractive up close like this, the musky scent of his cologne filling your senses.

His eyes darkened slightly, smile a bit more wolfish. “Beginner’s luck.”

Anger sparked in the pit of your stomach, burning from the inside. “Or was it your incompetency as a prosecutor?” you asked lightly, cocking your head to the side and feigning innocence. “It seemed that way when I destroyed your argument in court.”

He growled, low in his throat at this response, eyes glinting. “Destroyed? I don’t remember that happening when I refuted the majority of your claims. Call it…” he paused, pretending to think, “a happy coincidence?” 

Your blood boiled at his arrogant smile, crimson tinting your vision as he flashed that infuriating smile at you as he crossed his muscular arms across his chest. “A happy coincidence? When your arrogant, entitled ass couldn’t even figure out the simple, underlying story of who killed whom? It was a simple case, prosecutor. Some shallow black and white case college students are given to analyze. Yet you still lost, unanimously.”

His eyes flashed darkly, and you knew you had gotten under his skin. “Who are you, Ms. Public Defender?” He stepped forward, voice low. You refused to step back, eyes trained on his. “I’d never lost a case before.” Another step forward. “Until you.” The smell of his cologne was all around you now, your thoughts clouding. You were close enough to grab the lapels of his tailored suit, if you wanted to, and you wanted nothing more than to rip it off his body, immediately.

You had to tilt your head back slightly to look up at him now, his frame taking up most of your view. You were glad there wasn’t anyone in the hall anymore. You wrapped a hand around his tie and yanked him forward, teeth grazing his ear. “Don’t take what I’m about to do the wrong way, prosecutor,” you hissed, spitting his title as if it were a curse. Then you pushed him back, your eyes drifting down to his full, soft lips as blood roared in your ears.

He blinked, a small smile crawling along his lips. “Take what the wrong wa-”

And then you were kissing him, furiously taking out all the anger you had bottled up in court when he refuted nearly all of your claims out on his lips now, nipping at his full bottom lip. His lips were as pillowy as they looked, you thought, your hand reaching up to fist in the fabric covering his chest. When he began to say something, you took advantage of his open mouth, sweet peppermint breath mixing with yours, and slipped your tongue in to tangle with his, teasing him until he began to reciprocate with just as much fervor.

When you finally broke the kiss he was panting and breathless, pupils blown with lust. Just as you began to step back, his arm caught you behind your back, pulling you into his chest. His lips, swollen from your violent kiss, grazed your ear. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since you first stepped into the courtroom,” he growled, jaw clenched in restraint. “Don’t continue to do this to me unless you want the consequences.”

You could feel his bulge through the layers of clothing, throbbing against you. There wasn’t anything you wanted more. “Bathroom. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, lifting you immediately and crashing through the doors of the bathroom, setting you harshly down on the cool marble of the counter. You pulled him in for another passionate kiss, heels digging into his back to push him closer into you, his bulge pushing deliciously into your crotch as your hands pushed his jacket off of his broad shoulders. An inferno grew in the pit of your stomach, growing uncomfortably warm, heat rushing down in between your legs. He moaned into your mouth, fingers gripping the edges of your blouse and ripping it open. The buttons flew and pinged against the floor but you had no patience to even complain.

“Hoseok,” he groaned in between needy, sloppy kisses against your jaw, your neck, “my name is Shin Hoseok.”

You pushed him backwards and slid off the counter, turning him with you so that your places were reversed, his back to the counter, and you dropped to your knees. “(Y/N),” you replied breathlessly as your fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, fingers grazing down his broad chest to the defined ridges of his abs. He shuddered under your touch, fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles whitened. You fumbled with his belt for a second, and he let out a noise of impatience that traveled straight down to your core. Finally, you got that damned belt off of him and hurriedly yanked his pants down with his boxers, which pooled around his ankles.

He was big. Much bigger than you had expected. It sprang loose from the confines of his boxers and he hissed from the sudden feeling of cool air. Tentatively, you took him in your hand, your thumb and middle finger only barely able to touch one another. He bucked against your hand, groaning as he threw his head back. You looked up at him through your lashes. His head was thrown back, neck muscle tense and jaw clenched tightly, fingers digging into the counter as he swelled in your hand. You hadn’t even done anything yet. You licked a long, experimental stripe from the base to the tip, lapping up the beads of precum that had gathered there, tonguing at the slit. He tasted salty, a distinct edge to him that you had never tasted before. You licked another long stripe, from his balls to the tip.

Fuck,” he hissed darkly, hips canting. You hummed against him, licking and teasing, working your way up and down the curve of his thick cock, until finally he couldn’t take anymore, his fingers fisting almost painfully into your hair. “Did you forget how to suck cock, (Y/N)?” he asked, pressing the tip against your swollen, glistening lips. “I can remind you.”

You smirked, satisfied with his response, and opened your mouth wide to take him into your throat, sucking him down deep. You looked up at him with wide eyes, fingernails digging into the skin of his muscular thigh with each downward suck, your cheeks hollowing. A string of curses fell from his mouth as he watched you, your full, glistening, ruby red lips wrapped tight around him as you sucked obediently. His fingers threading their way into your hair so he could guide your head as you bobbed.

But you were still going too shallowly. He fingers tightened in your hair and shoved himself as far back into your throat as he could. You choked at the sudden intrusion, air escaping your lungs as he forced your head all the way down, groaning loudly. You moaned as the tip hit the back of your throat and gaggedas you relaxed your throat so he could slam you back down again to the base.

“Shit, you look so good with your lips wrapped around my cock,” he groaned, as you took him in again and again, your cheeks flushed pink, drool and precum dripping down out of the edges of your mouth as he fucked your face. The lewd sounds of him sliding in and out of your mouth echoed in the empty bathroom. “Just like that,” he hissed, hips bucking as you hummed against him, “so fucking good for me.” Just as you began to feel as if your throat could take no more abuse, Hoseok released you. You pulled off with a wet pop, breathless and wrecked.

A shiver of pleasure worked down to his groin upon seeing you like this, your clothes torn and ruined, lips swollen, hair mussed, with drool and his precum leaking from the corners of your mouth. “As much as I would like to finish in that pretty little mouth of yours,” he said as he yanked you up and bent you over the counter, switching positions again, “I know how much you must want me to fuck you.”

You could only let out a coarse mewl in agreement, pushing your hips outwards desperately.

He pushed your pencil skirt upwards and yanked your panties down impatiently. You let out a heady moan in response, wanting nothing more that for him to be fucking you until you forgot your name. He positioned himself at your dripping core, barely pushing the tip in. You cried out in abject frustration.

“Tsk, tsk, so wet already?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he leaned close, his muscled chest pressing against your bare back. “Who knew you would be so submissive to me?”

You almost cried in desperation from the lack of anything. “Please,” you begged hoarsely, “please.”

Hoseok nipped at your shoulder, chills erupting every place his full lips ghosted over. “Please what?” he murmured, pushing half an inch deeper.

You moaned at the feeling of being spread so infinitesimally wider, juices pooling between your legs, but he refused to move. Not even an inch. “Please fuck me already, Hoseok, fuck me!” you gasped, in almost a sob of sheer frustration.

He plunged his full length into you without warning, giving you no time to adjust to his large size. You swallowed a sharp cry of pain at the sudden fullness. The euphoric feeling of being so completely filled overrode all your other senses. He pistoned into you relentlessly, every thrust rocking you against the counter, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “God, you’re so unbelievably tight,” he snarled, his hips smacking into yours with force that had you screwing your eyes shut, mouth gaping in a silent cry of ecstasy. Hoseok shoved three of his fingers into your mouth and you sucked on them gratefully, as they were the only things keeping you from screaming.

“What?” he growled, watching him fuck into you in the reflection of the mirror, your chin against your chest as your breasts bounced with each one of his deep thrusts. “Are you afraid someone will hear us? Someone will hear you mewling for me, begging for me to fuck you?” He continued to pound into you, almost animalistically, feeding the growing inferno flaming in the deep pit of your stomach, growing almost unbearably hot. “But you want to get caught, don’t you, (Y/N)? You want people to see you getting fucked like this in public, don’t you?”

He rolled his hips into yours deliciously. You felt delirious, only capable of moaning incoherently as you watched him fuck you. He was right, the high chance of the two of you getting caught and the thought that everyone could hear you only served to increase your arousal. As one of your hands drifted down to your clit, he grabbed it and pinned it behind you. “Only I am allowed to make you cum. Don’t touch yourself.” He pressed his cheeck agaisnt the side of your head, still maintaing eye contact with you in the mirror as he rammed himself into you, over and over. “I’ve wanted to fuck your pretty little ass since the second you stepped into the courtroom,” he rasped, “with that tight little skirt teasing me.”

You could only gasp as he continued to push into you, impossibly faster.

“I couldn’t even focus on my arguments, thinking about how pretty your pink mouth would look like wrapped tight around my cock.” He groaned lowly at his own words, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“Deeper, Hoseok, harder!” You were wrecked, your hair tousled, your cheeked pressed against the countertop as you arched your back for him to hit even deeper inside of you.

“Fuck,” he managed, snapping his hips. He pressed into the small of your back, forcing you to arch even further.

He hit a place in you that caused black to dance in your vision, sight blurring in front of you. “FUCK! HOSEOK!” You were sure the whole courthouse could hear you now, but you couldn’t care less.

“Found it,” he whispered. Hoseok repeatedly thrusted into the same place, over and over, and you felt the telltale prickles of your orgasm building, the coil in your stomach tightening even more.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you cried, “harder, harder!” Hoseok released the hand he had pinned behind your back to grab onto your hips, lifting you and slamming you back down on him with every thrust. Low groans rumbled from his chest at every noise you made. You ruined him. He lost focus every time you clenched around him, desperately trying to milk out his orgasm.

Hoseok fisted a hand into your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to look at your reflection. You barely recognized yourself in the mirror, eyes rolling back into your head in pleasure, drool trailing down the corner of your mouth. Hoseok caught your eyes in the mirror. “Watch me fuck you,” he snarled, his face next to yours in the reflection, hips slamming against yours and muscular chest pressed flush against your back as he fucked into you. A thin sheen of sweat covered his god-like body, jaw clenching in concentration as he buried himself into you again and again, never breaking eye contact with you the mirror. “You like watching me fuck you, (Y/N)?” He pulled your head to the side and sucked gently on the sensitive skin on your throat, causing chills to travel down your entire body and your knees to buckle.

“Hoseok-” you managed through breathy moans and gasps as you approached your high, “Hoseok, I’m going to come.”

Another wave of heat shot straight down to his groin upon hearing you say those words, your voice so breathy and needy for him. He reached down with one arm to rub circles on that sensitive nub. You cried out, your hand reaching up to dig into his muscular forearm, fingernails pressing in so deeply the nearly broke the skin.

“Scream my name,” he demanded, his own rhythm faltering as he neared his own orgasm, “I want to hear you.”

You screamed, white exploding in your vision as the coil in the pit of your stomach unraveled completely, pleasure igniting every nerve in your body, your entire body writhing in absolute euphoric satisfaction. “HOSEOK!” It was the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced, rocketing throughout your entire body in waves. Your finger nails dug so deeply into his forearm you drew blood. You don’t know how many times you screamed his name.

Hoseok stiffened behind you, body going taut like a bow as he released his heat into you, yanking your hips flush against his as he came. Ribbon after ribbon of his cum filled you and leaked out of your abused hole as he thrusted shallowly to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He groaned your name into your ear, dark and sexy. It sounded so right coming from him in that deep purr, claiming you as his.  

You remained trembling against the cold surface of the countertop for a few seconds before regaining any of your senses. The bathroom was silent except for the sound of your combined heavy breaths. Hoseok pulled out slowly. You heard him step away and reach to the side to pull out a wad of paper towels to soak up the cum dripping down your thighs.

His fingers were so gentle now. He was slow and careful, fingers trailing softly against the places where his hands had gripped you so tightly you bruised.

“I’ve got it,” you whispered, even though you wanted him to continue. You pushed yourself up from the counter as he stepped back.

The two of you redressed in a comfortable silence. Hoseok leaned back against the countertop as he buttoned his shirt and folded the cuffs back, a teasing smile on his lips.

You tried to ignore that flashing bright smile, sure that so many other girls had seen it before, instead busying yourself with the your ruined blouse. “Ah,” you whispered to yourself as you fumbled, “there’s really nothing I can do about these buttons…” You sighed, glancing at what remained of your blouse’s buttons scattered haphazardly around the floor. “You owe me a new shirt.” You glared pointedly at Hoseok, who choked out a surprised laugh.

He pushed away from the counter, reaching out to pull you in close again. All the breath escaped your lungs as he draped his suit jacket around you, buttoning it up slowly, his head bowing above yours as he fastened each button. “There,” he said, satisfied.

“Thanks,” you muttered drily, “but it doesn’t make up for a blouse.”

Hoseok laughed again, a sweet, gentle sound that contrasted so greatly with the rough sex you had just had. “Ok, Ms. Public Defender, I promise I will next time.”

Next time?  Your chest constricted at his words. But before you could open your mouth to make a snappy response, he cut you off.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but I guess I ‘took this the wrong way’.” His words may have simulated an apology, but there was nothing apologetic about his blinding smile. “Let’s not meet again like this. I want a date instead. How about I pick you up at 7 tomorrow, from where ever it is you live.”

You responded before you even realized. “8, and I’m going to your place.”

Hoseok’s grin widened. “See you in court.”

A/N: Forgive me, lord, for I have sinned. Requests for all groups are currently open! Feel free to drop a request (or just say hi!)

#74- Belly bulge (Wincest)

Requested by @kittenofdoomage​ for my kink list (master list here).

Warning: smut, belly bulge kink

Word Count: 900

A/N: My first time writing this kink! Hope you enjoy! XOXO

Sam has lost weight. It happens every now and then, when they have a particularly stressful or active few months and Sam can’t devote hours to lifting weights and bulking up. His natural frame is lanky and thin, more slender than Dean, sleek muscles that mislead people into thinking Sam’s not nearly as lethal as he is.

Dean fucking loves it.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

27,29,32 with sirius?

Smoker!Sirius is my unhealthy addiction. I don’t care about anything else. 

27. “If we get caught I’m blaming you”, 29. “Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now” and 32. “You’re blushing”


“This is a terrible idea,” you whispered as Sirius dragged you down the corridors, unseen and unheard.

“You getting cold feet already?” Sirius remarked slyly, brow arched, smirk curving.

“Shut up, before Filch catches us,” you murmured, but you couldn’t smother your grin.

“ Hey, If we get caught, I’m blaming you!” Sirius hisses, turning around another corner.

Please,” you scoff, “You don’t let anyone take the credit for your terrible ideas.”

“This is true,” he mutters, “You know me too well,” A smirk curves the edges of his words. You can’t see it, but you hear it, and it lights fires in your heart

Moonlight soaks the corridors and paints the walls as you slink through shadows, narrowly avoiding Filch. You wished Sirius had waited until after James had returned with the invisibility cloak, but Sirius is an impatient creature, and if he is inspired, he will dive in headfirst; the same way your soul did whenever Sirius smiled at you.

The two of you approached the boys bathroom on the fourth floor and your brows creased as Sirius pushed the wooden door open, the hinges groaning in protest.

“Hurry,” Sirius urged, “Someone may have heard that…” With a final glance down the empty corridor, Sirius closed the door behind you. You stepped forward and you shuddered against the cold.

You stared as Sirius advanced toward an old, full length mirror mounted to the wall. “Now is no time to gawk at yourself, Sirius…”

Sirius snorted. “I found this the other day. I’ve yet to add it to the Map…” Sirius plucked his wand from the inside pocket of his leather jacket began to trace invisible shapes onto the mirror. You watched, mesmerized, as his clouded reflection followed every movement, sketching secrets onto the glass from another world.

With a final flourish of his wrist, Sirius whispered an incarnation and tapped the glass and, suddenly, it was no longer glass, but water. Ripples spread from the tip of his wand, distorting his reflection as though it were dancing with waves, and you gaped at Sirius, bewildered. Sirius smirked at your expression and stood aside, stretching one arm out, motioning for you to step forward.

“How on earth did you find this passageway?” you murmured in awe, stepping toward him.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“No, you just kiss,” you breathed, the word ‘kiss’ rolling effortlessly off your tongue. Sirius stepped closer toward you, you could see an entire universe painted inside his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

“I feel like I don’t have a choice,” you joked and Sirius smiled, his lips a beautiful constellation mapped against a midnight sky. He took your hand you knew in your heart you were prepared to follow him through the gates of hell.

The two of you passed through the mirror and entered into the mouth of a dark passage way. Sirius turned and muttered an incarnation you didn’t quite catch, you assumed it was to seal the mirror so no one could follow you. Then, he turned back and whispered ‘lumos’ and the tip of his wand sparked to life, casting shadows away with white light.

His other hand still grasped your own and you interlaced your fingers. It felt natural for your hand to slide into his, and you felt the insolent magic that crackled in Sirius’ veins spark in the cage your clasped hands formed.

Your shoes slapped against the damp ground as you followed Sirius down the passageway. You approached a spiral staircase that the two of you descended and you continued to jog down the narrow pathway, leading to, what you assumed, would be Hogsmeade. You felt drunk on adventure and high on adrenaline, especially with your small hand still within the warm embrace of Sirius’ larger one.

And then you reached the dead end.

“What now?” you asked with a cocked eyebrow and Sirius released your hand. You suddenly felt ten degrees colder. Pointing his wand to the wall, he traced the same patterns to the wall until it reacted the same as the mirror did, the once solid wall wrinkling beneath Sirius’ wand.

Sirius took your hand again and the world felt right again. “Follow me.”

You stepped through and found yourself in a cellar, shelves and shelves of bottled alcohol sitting pretty before your eyes.

“The Three broomsticks?” you whispered before a single laugh burst from your lips. You clasped your hand over your mouth, hiding your smile of disbelief. Sirius grinned, reaching for two bottles and popping the lids off with ease.

Two hours later, the two of you were sprawled on a flannelette blanket, fire whiskey humming in your veins, laughing about old memories and smiling at that whiskey-sipping smile Sirius gave you when he was completely unveiled.

In the amber glow of the dimly lit room, you admired Sirius as though he were an impressionistic masterpiece. Your eyes sketched the image of the boy with silky hair and pretty eyes, smoldering cigarette between his lips, his voice like silver and his laugh like the rain. He looked beautiful, tendrils of smoke dancing around him, his lungs taking another drag of the carefully rolled poison hanging from his lips. He was a midnight sky studded with stars and you were addicted to him.

Your heart thundered in your throat and you baptized it with holy water as you took another swig, relishing in the burning sensation that trickled down your throat. Tendrils of smoke lingered on his lips and faded in the air like ghosts as Sirius gazed at you, unbeknownst to you, Sirius’ eyes were following the graceful curve of your neck as you tipped your head back and sighed.

Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?” Sirius suddenly rasped and your gaze snapped to him, eyes wide.

“You’re drunk,”

“Drunk on love.” You cringed. “Cheesy, I know, but I’m a rather shitty liar so what’s the point of lying about my feelings for you…”

“Sirius,” you mumbled, “don’t do that…”

“What? Admit my feelings for you that I’ve squashed down for five years? (Y/N), I can’t do that anymore. I’ve…I’ve been trying to find the right moment but I’ve realized that there is never a ‘right’ moment. Not when there’s a war going on…” His eyes glinted like a shooting star tearing across an inky black sky. “The point is…I really like you. You’re bloody beautiful in so many ways and I–you’re blushing

You ducked your gaze sheepishly, staring at the bottle in your hand. “It’s the alcohol…”

Sirius scooted closer toward you, leaning forward and cupping your cheek. You leaned into his touch, closed your eyes, felt the warmth of his hand glow against your rosy skin.

“Can I–?”

You nodded. Without hesitation, Sirius closed the distance and captured your lips in a kiss that resurrected every dead star inside your soul. Fireworks busted behind your eyelids, and simmered in your veins as you savored the smoky taste of danger and fire whiskey burning on Sirius Black’s lips. You wanted to inhale him like air and breathe him out like smoke.

Beautiful,” he murmured against your lips when you parted. You believed him.

no more prompts please

'Till then You're beautiful, and I Just Stare

Okay so @frenchibi   and I talked about this fic like months ago and now I finally wrote it!! HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FLUFFIEST FLUFF OF LIFE!!!

Rating: M (non-explicit sexual content)

Ship: Iwaoi

He tastes like the popcorn, the salt still on his tongue as it presses into Oikawa’s mouth. His hands flatten against and grope Oikawa’s body, pulling at his clothes as they back into the bed, kissing like he wished they always would.

“Are you sure?” Iwaizumi breathes, and Oikawa falls back, looking up at the red tint of Iwaizumi’s cheeks, his shirt already pulled off and he can’t find any reason in his head to say no, so he nods.

When Iwaizumi smiles Oikawa wonders if he knows how bright it is, how light his head feels looking at it and when he kisses his chest he hopes Iwaizumi can’t feel the butterflies fluttering where his heart should be. He giggles, letting a butterfly escape and Iwaizumi looks up, paused.

Oikawa just stares at him, his cheeks progressively getting hotter as Iwaizumi smiles. He kneads his thumb into Oikawa’s ribs and watches as Oikawa squirms, laughter bubbling out in strained gasps. His chest feels as though it might pop and he struggles to find air. Even when he stops the giggles keep coming and Oikawa can’t stop smiling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” he gasps and Iwaizumi just smiles and shakes his head rolling off of him onto the bed.

“Noooo- don’t stop-” Oikawa whines, and he turns on his side, looking at Iwaizumi in the dim lamp light, the white sheets making his eyes even brighter.

“Well if you don’t stop giggling-”

Oikawa sits up, sliding over into Iwaizumi’s lap and sliding his palms up his chest.

“Take me-” Oikawa teases, biting his lip and pressing close.


Iwaizumi kisses him softly, running his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, and feels his lips turn up in a smile when he rolls him flat again on the bed. He chases after him into the center of the bed, trailing kisses up his stomach and chest. He unbuttons Oikawa’s jeans and tries to strip them to the floor, but his ankles get caught in the folds and tangle his feet. Oikawa laughs, and Iwaizumi groans having to pull away to fix it, their burning chests growing hotter with embarrassed laughter.   

They pull everything apart, from their clothes to the very fabric of their hearts, pressing closer and closer until they can’t feel any space between. The dim light falls gently into the night, and Iwaizumi kisses Oikawa in every spot and on every part until nothing and no one but each other fill their minds. Until dawn breaks the black sky, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms too tired to even say goodnight.

Oikawa wiggles his toes in the morning. When he wakes up to the soft light drenching the white bed in warmth, he wiggles his toes and moves slowly. He rubs his eyes and feels the tension in his bones release, waking up alone among the pillows.

“Hajime?” He sits up and looks for him and the moment he does Iwaizumi walks through the doorway. His smile brightens when Iwaizumi sees him and the soft sound of his steps coming closer make Oikawa’s cheeks burn pink. He crawls between the sheets to Oikawa, capturing his lips and cupping his cheeks. Oikawa clutches the blankets and tries not to giggle, the butterflies in his chest dancing again until Iwaizumi yanks the white sheet over them. Oikawa falls back onto the pillows and Iwaizumi’s follows, limiting their world to just the two of them.

He opens his eyes to Iwaizumi hovering over him, biting his lip and breathing in the hot air trapped between them.

“Morning-” He whispers and Oikawa can only smile, letting his cheeks push close his eyes as his face numbs with joy and Iwaizumi sits back on his lap.

His hands are warm when they grace the curves of Oikawa’s body in the faded light. Iwaizumi brushes his thumb over Oikawa’s navel pressing in a little and making him squirm and giggle, then plays his ribs like piano keys and watches him sing.

“Oh does that tickle?” Iwaizumi says and Oikawa can’t speak the words, his breath so scarce in his lungs he can barely even breath.

“Iwa-” He gasps, and Iwaizumi keeps laughing.

He turns from side to side and pushes at Iwaizumi’s hands until he just gives in and covers his face, laughing in their small space and Iwaizumi stops letting Oikawa catch his breath.

His laughs are smaller when they kiss again, and Iwaizumi trails his lips across his cheek to his lips, pressing deeply into them and making Oikawa’s heart stutter.

“Keep your eyes closed-” He whispers against Oikawa’s lips, and he pauses, holding his breath before nodding and then feeling the aftertaste of Iwaizumi pressed against him when he leaves.

He scrunches his nose at the bright light when Iwaizumi lifts the sheet away but keeps his lids closed. He tries to figure out Iwaizumi’s movements by the sounds around him, by the feeling of the bed dipping farther down and then the kiss of something light landing on his head.

“Okay- open your eyes…” Iwaizumi crawls close again, watching Oikawa’s eyes float open and look up into the air.

In the waves of the morning light dance small white feathers, drifting down onto Oikawa, scattering across the bed like snow. Iwaizumi throws more into the air, holding his ripped pillow to his chest and watching Oikawa’s eyes. Their brown irises shake with excitement, and his lips part for a breathy laugh and a smile.

“What- why… Iwa?” Oikawa just shakes his head, feathers falling from his hair and into his lap. He picks one up and twirls it between his fingers, looking all around him at the falling white down. When the feathers have stopped falling and rest around them on the bed Iwaizumi settles closer to Oikawa.

“Hajime…” Oikawa can’t seem to say anything else, his heart overwhelmed and swollen with a warmth like the sun. Iwaizumi slides down on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and staring as Oikawa throws the feathers in the air, his smile so wide it almost hurts.

“Do you remember the first rated R movie we ever watched?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa tries to remember, but he can’t think of it so he shakes his head and lays back next to Iwaizumi.

“We were like 14- and we stole it from your mom’s room. It was some old cliche love story with a lot of cursing and a sex scene.” He chuckles,

“But in the morning after they had sex, the woman woke up in the bed covered with feathers, they were flying everywhere and it ended with her being perfectly happy.”

Oikawa can’t seem to stop blushing as Iwaizumi talks, the mention of sex clicking in his head, his body feeling warm all over and his heart remembering again too. He turns over onto his stomach hugging his pillow closer to hold onto the feeling.   

“Well, when the movie was over you got up and said that’s how you wanted to wake up- after your first time you wanted to wake up and watch feathers fall from the sky and just lay around and cuddle with the person you loved until the sun went down.”

Oikawa tries so hard to remember that moment, and he can feel it, he can feel the reality the thought of it all but he can’t picture it.

“Hajime, why do you remember that?” Oikawa’s lips break into a grin as he presses his face into his pillow then looks over his shoulder at Iwaizumi. 

“I’ve been planning on being that person ever since-” His voice is soft through his smile, and he picks up a feather and runs it across Oikawa’s butt, the sheets kicked down to their legs, and up his back following it with his eyes until they meet Oikawa’s again.

“I wanted to give you that perfect moment- that perfect first time.” He whispers and lets his fingers reach out for a strand of Oikawa’s hair. He just stares for a moment, charting the stars in Oikawa’s eyes, and memorizing the curve of his back as he’s spread out naked on the bed. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Oikawa’s shoulder and breathing in his scent.

“I love you,” He says, and Oikawa’s heart sinks, his smile still wide at everything the morning has brought, at the memory of the night before and he feels giddy. 

“I love you too,” He whispers and his smiles grows bigger, their foreheads pressing to each other and their noses bumping. His insides are restless and tight, his toes curling and his smile growing; he can’t control his rapture, the realization of everything warming him from the inside out.

“We had sex…” his eyes are wide as he giggles. It sounds so childish but his heart feels that way too- like it’s filled with air and laughter and so much joy it’s going to pop and he can only smile through it. 


Iwaizumi nods at him, and Oikawa rubs his face into the pillow making Iwaizumi laugh. He watches his giddy wiggling, and his expressions as he laughs, picking up a handful of feathers and sprinkling them over him. When he’s calmed down and just stares at him Iwaizumi leans closer and presses his lips to Oikawa’s melting forward into him.

“I love you,” He whispers and Iwaizumi slips his tongue out, pulling their bodies closer and letting their hearts beat erratically; pressed together as close as they can be.   

Call Me A Tree, Because I Am Pining For You

Klance Fanfiction

3862 Words

Completed Oneshot 

It’s really just fluff and pining

Summary: Lance likes Keith’s abs and Keith likes Lance’s legs and they are pining fools also Good Uncle Coran makes an appearance. (also every time there is a — it switches who the main focus is)

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“Try Me” (M)


Member: Sehun from EXO

Genre: Smut (M), A little bit of angst

A/N: This is a scenario i had in mind for awhile and it’s inspired from the fic Talk Now by my favorite scenario blog @noonatrash so be sure to check them out they’re awesome!

Summary: You and Sehun have a strictly sexual booty call relationship and Sehun makes you submit to him a little too easily.

It’s been 2 weeks since you last spoke to Sehun. It felt good. It felt different. You’ve had some time to reflect on the way you handled things. “Never again” you mumbled to yourself, disgusted at your own behavior.  He made you feel so numb, to everything. He made you feel good but also so mad and you didn’t know how to handle a guy like him but you were hooked and there was nothing you could have done about it.

You were sitting at home on your bed, dim lights and the silence of the night coming through your window. Your phone screen lit up showing an unfamiliar phone number. You crooked your face to the side presenting a confused expression. “Who the fuck is calling me at 2 am? This better not be Chanyeol on about how I drank all his bubble tea again”. You decided to answer the call, already ready with an excuse for drinking 3 cups of bubble tea. You picked up the phone and waited for the other side to start talking but only silence draped the other line.

“I need you.” A familiar voice appeared as your eyes widened. “You have to be kidding me” you thought to yourself, letting out a scoff. “Don’t you have some other poor girl to booty call Sehun?” he was surprised at your sudden response. “Yes. But none of them are you.” He let out a breathy response. “Sehun, I thought I made myself clear last time we saw each other….” There was a short silence, “You mean when I fucked you to submission and you screamed my name all over my apartment?” he said smugly. “Sehun we’re over.” You announced once again before you quickly hung up.

Sehun hasn’t left your mind the entire week after he called you again. Why did he think you would act this stupid again? He really doesn’t know anything about you, you thought to yourself.  Sitting on your couch and drinking another bubble tea cup you stole from Chanyeol’s apartment.  It was another Friday night that you didn’t have a date to. The only company you had was the chocolate bubbles and the 5th season of Friends. You weren’t even bothered to wear pants, you were wearing your black revealing lace panties and a long V neck shirt that was a bit transparent but you couldn’t care less.

Your drink long gone and already on season 6 when you heard a loud knock on your door. You glanced at the clock, “2:30 AM” you scoffed to yourself. “If it’s who I think it is, then I might as well have fun with it.” You mumbled to yourself as you got up to open the door.  Swinging the door to an all too familiar face, you flashed your fake smile at the tall broad shouldered man. “What are you doing here Sehun?” you let out a laugh but he didn’t look too amused. 

“Why don’t you answer my calls anymore?” you remembered you blocked his number last week and didn’t even get those calls in the first place. “Sorry I’ve been busy” you put out an overly fake frown and crooked your head to the side. He pushed you aside and let himself in. he walked up to your couch and wrapped his arms above his chest, leaning against the side of your couch. “Busy? I see….” He laughed. “I’m sure watching Friends in your underwear is real tiring.” He crooked his head at you. “It sure is more fun than sucking your dick” you let out. He scoffed at your statement, “Playing hard to get are we?” 

you took one step closer to him sporting an all serious confused look on your face. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought your lips inches away from his, slightly touching. “Is there something in the words “We are over.” That you do not understand Oh Sehun?” you looked straight into his eyes. He leaned closer a bit and grabbing your waist to bring you to a kiss right before you pulled away and waved your finger at him. 

“Ahah if you wanna touch my lips again then it’s gonna cost you way more than just touching my waist Oh Sehun.” You smirked at him. He let out an impressed giggle before grabbing you by your waist and lifting you on his shoulder, one hand on your ass. He walked over to the dining table across the room and dropped you on the glass table, throwing the candle stands you had on the floor and sliding you further. He spread your legs apart with one brief action before standing still between your legs. “fine.” He said, looking at your underwear.

He grabbed your underwear and roughly tore them apart, letting out a growl. Grabbing your hips, he slid you closer to his body and it only took 2 seconds before you could feel his tongue on your clit. He didn’t go easy at all. He flicked his tongue on your clit, teasing at first but giving in faster than you. He attached his lips on your heat and sucked on your clit while swirling circles around it. He bit it slightly, earning a loud moan from you as you arched your back and grabbed his hair. You could feel his smirk against your opening right before he licked it and entered his 3 fingers in. pumping hard back and forth until you finally graced him with another moan, trying to hold in to not let him enjoy himself too much. He crawled all the 3 and hit that spot in you he knew all too well. 

Another moan took you by surprise; you closed your eyes and shouted “FUCK” at the top of your lungs, encouraging him to continue. But it wasn’t a surprise to you when you felt emptiness again. He pulled his fingers out and stood still in front of your burning heat again. “Get up.” He said, panting. You sat up on the table and shot him a look, not doing as he said. You saw him flick his tongue and move his head from side to side slightly impressed from your persistence.

He grabbed your thighs and pulled you to his body. You raised your eyebrow at him, looking at his now hard cock. “See something you like?” he smirked at you. “Yeah” you said, he smirked again. “My lonely bubble tea that I didn’t get to finish” you giggled. His smirked dropped at your sound and his grip on your thighs hardened. He grabbed your waist and slid his lower body between your legs, expecting you to wrap your legs around his waist again like always, but at his surprise you didn’t. Instead you swung your legs in the air, shooting him an innocent puppy eyed look in your eyes. You knew exactly how to play him. 

Approaching your lips, intending to kiss you roughly, you turned your head away and blocked him with your hand. “It’s a shame you think that little tongue game of yours is enough for me” you laughed in his furious face. “My bad” he let out and pulled his jeans down, shoving his entire length in you in one sharp go. An instinct made you grab his shoulder with your fingers, leaving white marks all over it from the sudden pain.  He began to move his hips against yours, grabbing your thigh with one hand and his other hand busy on your clit again. His thrusts were rough and desperate almost like he was aching for you. His dick thirsty for you those past 3 weeks.  

Dropping his head back and moaning your name, the grip on your thigh marking blue marks all over. You could feel his hand giving up on your clit until you finally felt that spot you liked so much. Stars in your eyes and a ball of warmth in your stomach, you came breathing out a warm moan against his ear. He came too and made sure that you knew what name came out of his lips.

Avoiding his lips once more, you got up from his embrace and headed straight to the shower. He leaned his hands against your dining room table, panting and shaking his head at your actions. A dark thought dawned his mind and he was not ready to give up just yet. Not until he got to taste your lips.

You got into the shower, facing the wall and striking a smile at your actions. Before you could turn on the water, you felt a hand on yours. Turning on the cold water, it hit your back and you hissed at the sudden sensation. Before you could notice, you were pinned against the wall face on. His lips reached your ear and hands gracing your curves until they got to your hips, gripping them tightly, tighter than his earlier grip on your thighs. His cock stroked your entrance and without any words he entered you again. He pinned both your arms against the wet wall and bit your neck, drawing hickies all over it. 

His thrusts were even worse this time. He was really desperate and you could feel your walls responding. You let yourself let loose and you let your head drop back on the crook of his neck. He looked at you once before he sped his hips and went even deeper in. working on your G spot with a couple hits and your entire body gave in against the wall. He let his cock enjoy your orgasm a little longer before you felt his warm cum on your back, being washed away by the cold stream from the shower head.

Sehun turned you around to face him, pinning your back against the wall. He kept his gaze on your lips, not letting anything else distract him. “What’s the cost?” he asked seriously. “This thing” you pointed your finger between the both of you. “Is on my terms now.” You said, keeping your gaze on his lips too. Your eyelids closed as you felt the touch of his lips against yours. Kissing you passionately, his lips cold and wet from the water and drops falling from his chin, he gave into you.

SasuSaku Month Day 16 - That Day

Rating: T

Pairing: SasuSaku

Summary: Sasuke will always remember that day. The day his daughter was born. The day his wife nearly died. The day he opened himself up to one more being.

A/N: Oh my god. This took way longer than I anticipated… I was planning to have it done days ago. I feel bad being this late with a prompt, but I still hope you guys like it! I really have not proofread this one nearly as well as the others, but I think I could do that tomorrow. It’s so late here, and I need to get up for work soon. I did some research on birth, since I don’t have kids and i’m by no means a medical professional. But yeah, hope you like this fic! (~4000 words)

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Shape of You

//Here it is! So, I removed some of the parts that I couldn’t necessarily fit with the story as well, but only a few parts. (Mostly the ones that repeated over and over) Hope you like it! I was so fascinated how great this fit with Jerome. Although, with how I did the story I felt like not all of the song went with it, so like I said, I did pick and choose what lyrics I used, and I hope your fine with that.

(Also I was really nervous posting this ahhhh)

Title: Shape Of You.

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol, slightly inappropriate dancing. Slight “sexual” situation? Just like kissing and stuff?  I feel like this is the most “inappropriate” thing I’ve written so far? Maybe it’s because of the break I took in writing, or maybe it’s this dang song because dang this inspired me. I think it helped to get me out of my rut? So thanks for requesting! 

Rating: Mid fluff. //


The club isn’t the best place to find a lover
So the bar is where I go
Me and my friends at the table doing shots
Drinking fast and then we talk slow


When y/n walks in the room, her mind races. She knows that this bar was notorious for having some of Gotham’s biggest criminals hanging out in it, as it was run by one of them. Or, it had been. She wasn’t really sure of who ran it now, but she didn’t care much. Her gaze sweeps the room, and she can feel her heart beat faster just at the prospect of him being there. Little did she know, he was there.

And he noticed her.

Jerome sat at a booth in a corner, the rest of his group talking and drinking loudly. Barbara noticed that he wasn’t paying much attention to what is going on, so she taps his shoulder.

“What’s up with you?” She asks, tilting her head. Jerome’s gaze turns to her lazily, and he drums his fingers on the table.

“That girl over there…who is she?” He wonders dreamily, his head turning back over to y/n. Barbara shrugs, sliding over another shot to him.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you go see?” Jerome’s lips curl into a large smile, and he downs the contents of the glass before standing up fluidly, making his way over to her through the dancing crowd. He moves behind her, keeping his distance.

She sits perched on a bar stool, and something about the graceful curve of her neck sends shivers all throughout his body. He moves forward soundlessly, and wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. He can feel her tense to his touch and she turns her head to see who it is. He moves forward so he’s next to her and she makes eye contact with him. His heart beats faster when her eyes widen in realization. Before she can say anything, he motions for her to follow him back to his table, leaving without a word. She complies quickly, following behind him as if in a trance.

Come over and start up a conversation with just me
And trust me I’ll give it a chance now
Take my hand, stop, put Van the Man on the jukebox
And then we start to dance, and now I’m singing like Girl, you know I want your love Your love was handmade for somebody like me

When Jerome sits back down, he pretends as if she isn’t there. He wants her to approach him, he wants her to talk to him. He wants her to decide. So, she does. She slides onto the booth, sitting next to him. This causes Barbara to cock an eyebrow at him. Jerome glances over at him, a sloppy smile on his face.

“Hey.” She mutters, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest. Jerome leans forward, his face only inches from hers.

“Hey doll. Tell me, what’s your name? I just gotta know.”

“I’m y/n.” She mutters, her gaze dropping to his lips for a brief second. Jerome narrows his eyes slightly as he studies her face, trying to figure out why he’s so drawn to her. Besides y/n’s obvious beauty, he couldn’t quite place it. So, he set out to figure it out. He nudges her slightly, scooting out of the booth and taking her out to the dance floor, pulling her too him.

“Y/n, tell me,” he pauses, guiding her body to the rhythm of the beat. He begins to say something, but his words are lost as he lowers his head, burying his face in her neck.

“Wh-what?” Y/n asks. He lifts his face up, his eyes meeting hers, his gaze unapologetic as he searches for any emotion in her eyes, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

“Are you here alone?” He asks, his voice growing slightly deeper. Y/n’s lips part and her head tilts as a smile spreads across her face. Feeling bold she pulls away, which causes his head to snap up, his eyes widening ever so slightly. She shrugs, turning around.

“Why? What’s it to you?” Before she can even manage two steps, he pulls her back to him, y/n’s back pressing into his chest and stomach.

“I think you know,” Jerome mutters, once again guiding her to the music. She turns around to face him, letting him guide her dancing still. His hands travel from her arms down to her hips, and he pulls her closer to him. Jerome stares down at her, halting all action.

“You know I want your love. Something about you-I don’t know what it is, I can’t quite place it…but I want to figure it out. The best way to figure things out is to investigate.” He presses his lips to her cheek in a kiss. “So, that’s what I’m doing.”


Come on now, follow my lead
I may be crazy, don’t mind me
Say, boy, let’s not talk too much
Grab on my waist and put that body on me
Come on now, follow my lead
Come, come on now, follow my lead

Y/n’s face turns red, and he pulls back, staring down at her.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, halting all movement. Her heart pounds so quickly in her chest that she fears he might hear it. When she doesn’t answer, Jerome’s eyes close as he curses himself for being too brash, for coming on too strong. Before he can move, before he can say anything, y/n’s hand moves up to his head and she pulls him in, kissing him softly. Jerome’s eyes pop open, his pupils instantly widening, both from the alcohol and the rush of adrenaline that shoots through his body at her touch. His arms wrap around her as he pulls her as close as she can get, closing his eyes and kissing y/n, all the while the two of them dancing to the music.

When Jerome finally breaks the kiss, he shudders slightly, inhaling deeply and stopping his slight dancing. He swallows harshly before peeking at her, once again trying to figure out what she’s thinking. Her eyes are open wide, her cheeks slightly flushed. Jerome smiles easily, moving back over to her and wrapping his arms around her once more.

“I assume this means you came here alone, unless you’re one of those girls.” He nuzzles her neck, his breath tickling her skin as he laughs. “But you aren’t one of those girls, sweet-cakes, are ya?” She shakes her head, smiling slightly. His eyes close as he lets out a relived sigh. “That’s what I was hoping,” he murmurs.

Leave and get in a taxi, then kiss in the backseat
Tell the driver make the radio play, and I’m singing like
Girl, you know I want your love
Your love was handmade for somebody like me
Come on now, follow my lead
I may be crazy, don’t mind me
Say, boy, let’s not talk too much
Grab on my waist and put that body on me
I’m in love with your body
Come on, be my baby, come on
Come on, be my baby, come on 
I’m in love with the shape of you

Jerome drags her off the dance floor, not glancing back as they stumble out of the bar. He quickly flags down the car that he arrived in, yanking the door open for her. Y/n climbs in and Jerome follows close behind her, shutting the door. He grabs y/n’s face in his hands and kisses her, one hand sliding down to her waist to pull her closer. She pulls her head back, smiling brightly at him.

“I’m so glad I ran into you,” he mutters, pushing a strand of her h/c hair out of her eyes.

“Yeah, about that…” Y/n laughs nervously. Her laugh sends shivers up Jerome’s spine, and he smiles adoringly at her. “It wasn’t really…a… coincidence. I was looking for you,” she mutters, suddenly becoming shy as she looks down at the ground. “I just- I really admire you, and…I wanted to…” Before she can say anything more, Jerome kisses her quickly. When he has her attention her places both hands on either side of her face, staring deep into her eyes.

“Do you know how wonderful you are?” He whispers, tilting his head. “That makes it even better. All of it. You’re like me.” Y/n’s gaze sweeps over his face. His pupils are unnaturally wide, taking up almost all of his eyes so barely any of the blue-green is visible. She smiles softly, and his hand slowly falls onto her knee, resting there. “We’re going to have fun, you and I.” He murmurs. She sighs softly, relieved that he didn’t find it weird that she had gone out looking for him. Jerome kisses y/n, closing his eyes.

And, for the first time, although unknown to him, a love for y/n plants itself in his heart.

villainpunk  asked:

Not saying I want you to write this, but... I'd love a fic involving Bruce tending to Harvey's scars. Like giving him a little massage, that'd be nice. But then he'd end up doing both sides because you gotta be even, right? 😝

THIS IS SO SWEET! I don’t know where this Harvey Dent love is coming from but i’m right there with y’all! Here xx

“If you would stop squirming so much, this would be over much sooner and with considerably less discomfort.”

As he attempted to close the last small stitch which he was applying, Bruce gave a satisfied grunt as he finally sealed the deep cut which was gracing the high curve of Harveys’ cheek.

“Easy for you to say,” Harvey grumbled as his wound was tended to, “you were not slammed across the face with a bike chain.”

“You’ve shot me six times over the last ten years.” Bruce pointed out.

“And it will be seven if you keep this up.” Harvey countered unapologetically but there was a hint of humour in his words.

Looking down at the head which lay tilted against his lap for support, Bruce rolled his eyes. Harvey had placed his head there to ensure that he did not flinch away too much when receiving medical attention and it also gave Bruce the best access to the cut itself.

It had not taken a lot of convincing for Harvey to make himself comfortable though as his cheek rested against the solid muscle which passed for Bruces’ thighs.

“Shut up, Harv.”

Moving his hand away from the wound, Bruce instead ghosted his fingers along the bruising which surrounded it as he circled the affected area with a soothing touch.

Cracking open his good eye, Harvey gave him a searching gaze.

“What are you doing?”

“Relaxing you,” Bruce answered honestly, “the tension in your face will make the wounds take longer to heal.”

Grunting noncommittally, Harvey closed his eye again as Bruce picked up one of the antibacterial wipes which were included in his kit and cleaned his hands thoroughly with it. It would not be any good for Harvey to pick up an infection from his dirty hands.

Bruce returned his hands to the unscarred side of Harveys’ face as he stroked one hand up along his jaw and gently traced the edges of his acid scarring which divided his handsome face with the other.

“Bruce…” Harvey muttered in warning.

Ignoring him, Bruce placed his two fingers at the edge of Harveys’ scalp and used his fingertips to gently follow the curve of his forehead towards his ears. As his fingers separated, the contrast of the different halves of Harveys’ face became apparent as Bruce focused on the differing sensations which crossed his fingertips.

The non-scarred skin was soft to the touch with only the recently sustained injuries providing any variation from the smoothness and Bruces’ fingers slid across it without meeting any resistance. He also took some care to avoid the freshly sewn cut as he massaged the skin around it.

However, as his fingers reached the scarred skin, he felt Harvey tense beneath him and Bruce paused to release a calming breath. If Harvey rejected the movements then he would accept it but as he continued to gently massage his fingers across the torn flesh, he was not forced away. The various pits and ridges of the scarring was an interesting sensation and, although many of the nerve endings were damaged beyond repair, Bruce was careful to avoid pushing down too hard in cause it caused any excess pain.

Bringing his fingers towards the nose, Bruce started to slowly massage Harveys’ face and as his fingers danced across his skin, he took great care to apply an equal amount of attention to both sides. Tracing his fingers across Harveys’ jaw, he slid his hands down Harveys’ throat before gently running them back up the sensitive flesh, making sure to apply enough pressure to relieve any tension which may have been building there.

Practically purring in contentment, whatever reservations Harvey possessed about Bruce touching his scarring had melted away as he took pleasure in the soft ministrations.

Bruce was not treating him like glass, his touch was soft but it was firm and unflinching as it repeatedly stoked along his ripped face, and he felt a low hum of serenity in his chest.

Bruce had never treated him as fragile, as a monster which possessed the thinnest ties to sanity, and it had afforded his touch an almost euphoric quality.

“Bruce?” He murmured, the words issuing from his mouth with no emphasis.

“Yes, Harvey?” Bruce asked wryly, his happiness that Harvey was allowing him some uncharacteristic free access to his scarring causing him to feel almost giddy.

Opening his mouth, Harvey looked uncertain for a moment and whatever he had intended on confessing left him just as quickly as it had came and he snapped his mouth shut again.


Squirting a small amount of antiseptic moisturiser onto his fingertips, Bruce warmed it for a moment between his hands before gently applying and smoothing it across Harveys’ face, paying particular attention to his fresh wounds and scarring as they both settled back into a comfortable silence.

Harvey would never say the words, Bruce understood that, and he did not need to hear them to know the depth of Harveys’ affection for him.

Smiling with content, Bruce continued to run his fingers delicately along Harveys’ features, each one still beautiful despite their tragedy, as he silently willed his partner to sink into a peaceful sleep.

AO3 Link -

i’ve drowned myself so many times to give
the world what it wants out of me.
i remember when i was 9 years old and i thought this older girl in my Sunday
school class was cute.
i hide it very well.
i couldn’t let the world know i admired the two curves that graced her chest.
i drowned myself.
i remember hearing the other girls in middle school giggle over their boy crushes.
the vibrations “whose yours?” were thrown at me so many times only to be met
with my uncomfortable silence.
i drowned myself.
i’m in high school now and i’ve been asked
“you got a boyfriend?” so many times.
the waves of truth thrash against my throat crying to be set free
i just smile and say no.
i drown myself.
—  some things don’t change with time

anonymous asked:

Oh my goodness #9 from the reasons not to kiss her is such a Warren prompt. (Please? <3)

a/n; wrote this real quick before a lecture instead of doing my readings also listen to lord huron’s ‘the night we met’ when reading for Extra Pain also @kurtwxgners @mvximoff @rax-writes hope u enjoy

she is so good. she is so good, and you cannot ruin one more good thing

It’s somewhere around four in the morning, but it doesn’t really matter to him. He doesn’t really sleep much these days. Hasn’t for a while. Sitting up in the bed, Warren looks down at your sleeping form tangled in the sheets beside him. Your eyes flutter slightly in your sleep and the moonlight filtering through the room is making you look like you’re glowing. His heart twists in his chest and he tries to ignore the way you seem to reach for him in your sleep. You’re beautiful like this. You’re always beautiful, but seeing you in the bed beside him could be enough to bring him to his knees. All smooth skin and graceful curves, you are perfect. Too perfect for someone like him.

He remembers the way you clung to him only hours before, how soft your lips were against his skin as you kissed his scars and tattoos and told him he was beautiful. You weren’t supposed to care about him. You were never supposed to trust him the way you seem to. He is battered and scarred and damaged and all he knows how to do is hurt people and he’s pretty sure it might kill him if he let himself hurt you. His heart is screaming ‘stay’ with every fibre of his being, and it feels like there’s some unknown outside force pressing him back into the bed with you, even as his head whispers ‘go’. 

He knows which one he has to obey. 

The sheets are warm around him as he pushes them reluctantly aside, wings reflexively stretching out behind him as he rises to his feet, leaning down to tug his clothes back on. You shift slightly in the bed, reaching out towards the spot he just vacated and the gesture feels like a knife to the heart because it’s so much harder to leave knowing you want him to stay. He starts towards the door, knowing this kind of clean break has to happen. Knowing it’ll be so much harder to make himself leave if he waits till you’re awake. 

His body seems to rebel against him, and he stops by your desk, only really half aware of his actions as he grabs a scrap of paper to scrawl a message on. 

I’m sorry. I’m not good for you. Take care of yourself. 

He leaves it on his pillow and pads silently out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him as he leaves, trying to forget how painfully numb he feels as he walks away from you. You are far too good for him, your trust too willing, your eyes too earnest and kind. You are too perfect for him to know what to do with so he leaves. It’s better this way. He can’t break what he never lets himself hold. 

Saturday / Masamune x MC

Week 1


He doesn’t know it yet, but in the moment it takes for the glass to pierce the floor, splintering in graceful curves, and nicking at table legs before stopping at her feet, Lord Date Masamune falls in love.

It comes out of nowhere and his mind scrambles to catch it, still not used to the speed at which his thoughts change whenever her apron teases too close to his fingers. He should really be going, judging by the sun’s shadow crawling in through the slit at the entrance where the fabric sways against the breeze.

A dragonfly hums above, its buzzing an alarm, a constant reminder. He stays all the same and drinks her in, wondering why the part of him that makes no sense and has no right fixates at the curve of her neck when he should be on his knees, helping. He steels himself to scrape his chair back, but the moment she looks up, shard in hand and her frown blazing into his face like a gush of wind, his courage deflates so suddenly it leaves him lurching.

Oh no, he thinks, oh no, and there’s a roar in his ears. His brain doesn’t know the proper protocol for pretty girls who look straight into his eye, so he’s caught wrestling between getting up and leaving and never showing his face again, or clenching his jaw so he doesn’t blush hard enough to give himself away.

There’s not enough time to make a decision before she’s there, fingers squeezing, urging him up and away, fussing over him without crowding too close.

“Are you all right, milord? Please be careful.”

Amidst the flurry her hand flutters against his in a movement so small it barely registers on her face, but he’s flying back, almost crashing into the table behind him and dislodging it where it stands. He steadies it on reflex, no longer meeting her gaze.

“Don’t get too close!” he chokes out.

He knows it’s harsh the second she stills. Something unpleasant squeezes around his heart. Oh no, he thinks again, oh no, and forces himself to relax, smoothing his face into something akin to softness, hard as it may be for the One-Eyed Dragon.

He should be going. He can hear Kojuro’s urgency. In that moment he’s grateful neither he nor his cousin are here.

The moment stretches on and it becomes a moment too long, a moment he’s lost forever, until he spies, out of nowhere, the slight lift of her mouth, like the sun peeking out after a storm. Then a short breath before her lips bite together. Her face scrunches up, and he can tell whatever she’s doing it’s clearly a losing battle.

The most surprising thing happens then: she breaks and a burst of laughter escapes. High and clipped, a sound of pure delight. And he’s just standing there for the fool that he is, letting the sound wash over him, feeling it stream inside and pooling at the pit of his stomach.

It warms him to his core.

So he lets go.

And in the moment it takes for Lord Date Masamune to cough into his sleeve, eyes twinkling and cheeks tinged with fire, hiding the little, shy smile that lights up his whole face, a chef’s daughter falls in love.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

Week 1: Masterpost

They Work in Mysterious Ways

Originally posted by asosyalbey

Harry Potter x Soulmate!Reader, James Potter x Lily Evans, mentions of unrequited Severus Snape x Lily Evans, Sirius Black

Length: 1585 words

Warnings: female!reader, another take on soulmates, au, mentions of pureblood misogyny, tons of gifs, vague, combination angst and fluff

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‘Curiosity’  – by Jeszika Le Vye

 “He crept cautiously forward, head down. The sand hissed at him as the waves retreated, skittish and mercurial, like the wild child crouched among them. Another step forward.

A dozen feral eyes pinned on him; gleaming reflective stares. Several finely-boned, hairless cats crept around the stones she perched on. They measured him for potential as food, as threat, as intruder. He paid the savage stares no mind and focused on the girl.

She was smaller than any sphinx he had seen. From a tangled mass of dark hair, several black horns emerged in graceful curves. Her eyes were the sky grey of the water and just as cold. However delicate her bones appeared, he did not doubt her threat to him.

It was not a fear of claw and fang, of lean muscle. The air around her was scattered with stones and debris, levitating like waiting fists. Behind her larger boulders crept from side to side, like an irritated tail, flicking back and forth.  He was all too conscious of how delicate his own bones could be.

In those bones, he felt a purring vibration, a tension of things in motion stopping, for an instant. The stones hovered, poised in the air waiting on the feral one’s aggression. He took another step forward. Her eyes followed him, waiting. The stones, waiting.

“I bring no harm, but a gift.” he promised her. Did she speak? Did she understand the words he spoke? He raised his hands, palms forward, a universal signal of truce. “I can give you knowledge.”

Around her, the rocks wove slowly upwards, still waiting. There was a flash in her eyes; not the blunt aggression of a wild animal but the hungry curiosity of a sharp mind. A look no amount of living wild could dull. A look he mirrored back at her.”

celepeace  asked:

I'm sorry if this has been asked before, but I'm interested in keeping pigeons as pets! What pigeon breeds have the calmest and most affectionate temperament? I would be looking for birds that would enjoy cuddles and attention.

Of all the breeds I have interacted with, my favorites are 

The Utility King.

These are the meat breed bred for the squab industry.

In places like CA with local farmers markets, these get purchased and released by well meaning people who don;t realize that they have either served up those heavy set weanlings (4-6 weeks old at time of sale) to the hawks OR doomed them to sun burn and starve to death. (EVERY white furred, feathered, scaled or skinned animal sunburns due to lack of protective pigment.)

Like meat breeds of other small animal species, Utility Kings are mellow and sweet natured. Often found at 4-6 weeks of age, they bond closely to their handlers and are exceedingly loving.

But they are BIG! This pigeon is bigger than many bantam chickens!

Racing homers

Largely visually indistinguishable from Ferals because most ferals ARE purebred homers who failed to make it home, but lived.

Racing line birds are generally CRAZY-high energy! But not all racing type comers are actually bred to race.

There are a variety of beautiful color bred Flying Type Racing Homers!

Homers are the most intelligent breed of domestic pigeon, but also physiologically closest to the wild Rock Dove and MOST physically and mentally sound.

I hope to get into an offshoot of the homing pigeons called the Show Type Racing Homer, which differs in build and temperament from the above Flying Type

While Flying Types are built for speed in the air, the Show Type is built for elegance in the show pen. The whole body is a showcase of smooth, graceful lines and curves.

It is one of THE most physically sound exhibition breeds! Nothing is exaggerated. Nothing more than color is embellished.

This is a smooth, proud bird whose sole purpose is to exemplify a beautiful homer.

They still have Homer intelligence, but not being built for flightiness makes this one of the mellowest tempered, hardiest birds out there.

I cannot WAIT to get into these!

The Luscerne Gold Collar

Oh, these broke my heart. Have you ever seen anything so lovely?

They are absolutely terrible parents, but it’s because their babies are SO quiet and still that their feeding response is never triggered.

Breeding these is a BAD idea for any one who does not have the time/ energy to bottle feed hatchlings!

But they are wonderful, sweet tempered pets.

The Old German Owl 

Is one of the first breeds I ever researched when getting into pigeons, and, what a sweet, sweet, bird!

This hen had been here for half a week in this video, and it’s OBVIOUS how kind her breeder was to her! 

She is friendly and out going, and just look at that sweet little face!

The Old Dutch Capuchine

Was another of the first breeds I ever researched. 

Lots of fluffy embellishments, but pigeon-shaped, well balanced, functional and hardy.

But I  have saved the best, my personal favorite, for last.

The Classic Old Frill

I CANNOT gush enough about this breed!

If I could only keep one pair of birds for the rest of my life, it would be these!

Not only are they startlingly beautiful, (God damn, are they gorgeous!)

But they are hardy, friendly, fantastic parents.

with just the BEST temperament!

They are SUCH cuddle bugs!

For keepers and breeders alike, I cannot reccomend these highly enough!


Character/Pairing: Sam x Reader
Emotion: Hot
Random word: Green
Requested by: anonymous
A/N: *fans self*

You paced back and forth across the floor in the library. “What if–no, that won’t work… How about we just–” you cut yourself off again with a muttered expletive.

Sam let out a soft laugh and you looked over at him. 

“What?” you asked, your cheeks coloring a little. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly. He didn’t look away. 

You bit your bottom lip. “Obviously, not nothing,” you said. Your eyes flitted over his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, your heart skipping, no… leaping over more than one beat.

A smile touched the corners of his eyes. “Like what?” he asked softly.

Your face grew more warm and it bloomed out into your chest. “I–I don’t know,” you said. “Like that.”

“Am I not allowed to look at you now?”

His expression was making you feel dizzy and you crossed the space between the two of you quickly and sank down onto the couch near him, genuinely worried your knees were about to buckle. “I didn’t say that,” you said. His eyes were still searching your face and he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth, his eyes crinkling again in a smile. You gulped. “You’re not allowed to do that, though,” you said, and it came out in a whisper, suddenly creating an intimate atmosphere.

“Do what?” Sam asked.

“…Bite your lip like that.”

His smile grew wider. “Then you aren’t either,” he said. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you realized with surprise you had just repeated the same action. “Oh.”

The air between the two of you crackled with electricity and it felt both like and eternity and a flash that you held each others gaze before Sam crashed into you, his strong hands pulling you against him, his lips setting you on fire. One of his hands pressed the small of your back, pulling you closer, the other tangled in your hair, slid to your waist. He clasped your face, his thumb trailing across your jawline, down the graceful curve of your neck.

You kissed him back eagerly, your heart fluttering. You were in disbelief; this was happening. You bit at his bottom lip playfully, both of you breaking into abashed smiles, your chest and cheeks glowing. He pressed his forehead against yours and looked into your bright eyes. “You are allowed to do that,” he whispered breathlessly. He leaned over you and you fell back against the couch. He was kissing you again hungrily, his hips pressing into yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and were lost in him… 

Mixed Metaphor

So apparently, I am doing this HLWeek thing.  Below is a short written for Day 2 - Favorite Scene/Moment. I could sooner choose my favorite moment of Han and Leia as I could choose a favorite star in the sky, but what came to mind is the look Han’s face (or the series of looks) when he goes to say goodbye to his Princess at the beginning of the Empire Strikes Back.  He is so vulnerable, both hopeful and hurt before he throws up his shields again.  

I actually wrote about this exact moment here:

But here’s an original based on the idea of that vulnerability he has around Leia.  Might possibly connect to the short I wrote yesterday.  Maybe.  ;)


He’d always had a good sabacc mask.  If there was one thing he could count on in this scrap heap mess of a galaxy, it was that he could keep his cards close.  No one saw anything he didn’t want them to.

Oh sure, sometimes he’d let it loose.  He was nothing if not demonstrative.  If a part crapped out or a system went slack on the Falcon, you’d hear about it.  If some knuckle-headed pilot or two-faced informant ran his mission afoul, they’d know he was pissed.  And if one of his friends was in trouble, he would use everything he had - charm, resolve and outright violence - to get them out of harm’s way.

But, those were the things he wanted you to know about.

There were other things, much more subtle, uncomfortably nuanced that Han held close to his heart.  

The way Chewie’s unflagging loyalty made him feel like a son, a brother, and a father all at once.

The way Luke’s boyish exuberance brought back a childhood that Han would rather forget and made him wish it had been spent with a passel of kids to pal around with and protect.

And pretty much anything having to do with Princess Leia Organa.  

What people didn’t realize was the shape his mask took.  It wasn’t cool indifference.  It was blustering pride.  It wasn’t heated, molten anger.  It was all those things.  That’s what made it so damn good.

Whenever he felt that pesky little organ activate, that thing both mysterious and unavoidable in the upper lefthand center of his chest, he would throw up the mask again.  His chameleon-skinned cover would take whatever shape it needed to.  

He could admit to himself more readily than to anyone else that it wasn’t always pleasant, for him or for those he came in contact with. He was an opportunist, he was a pragmatist, he was a survivor.  It was all he knew, and it had served him pretty well for the first 30 years of his life.

Didn’t seem to be working as of late though.

As a pilot and an accidental engineer, Han knew a lot about machines.  They were cool hunks of metal, plasticine, and glass twisted and shaped by fire and air, then run by the same combination.  Give it a source of power, enough oil and a space to do its thing and it’d purr for you like a moon cat.

He’d thought of himself that way for a while.  He ran on anger, oiled it in charm, and gave himself enough freedom to do his thing.  

The thing about machines was, they didn’t do well with water.  They could withstand a little bit, but a steady stream of it would corrode the inner workings, maybe cause a short, and a torrent would douse the whole damn thing, possibly taking it to a state of no return, no repair.

He thought about love that way.

A little bit was fine.  His inner workings were strong enough to withstand it, maybe they could even do with a little cleaning, get the gunk off, keep ‘em nice and shiny.  But a steady patter, a sprung leak, now that could be a problem.  He’d worked over the last couple years to keep the water at bay, to live in that comfy place between just enough and not too much.

But, lately, it seemed the leaks were springing up all over the place.

The sound she made when she was absorbed in a task, a little growl in the back of her throat both frustrated and pleased with her progress.  

That damn hair.  No matter what she did with it, it was always so silky-looking, such a rich dark color, the color of chocolate and whiskey and all good things.  But, she never wore it down, so he would have to imagine how he’d untwist those braids, where the do ended and she began.

The time he’d made her laugh.  Really laugh.  A few months into this dangerous game.  He hadn’t really meant to.  To be honest, he’d been furious, attempting to plug an actual leak in the main hold of the Falcon.  He and the Princess had been fighting over which way to turn a wrench (like she would know with her lily-white politican’s hands) and they’d pulled the whole damn enclosure off.

The water had come out in torrents practically drowning them and he’d sputtered and hissed like  that selfsame moon cat forced into a bath tub and she had laughed, so loud and long that his anger had been doused and all he’d been left with was a bubble of joy so intense that there’d been nothing for it but to burst.  He’d laughed with her, drowning in her half moon eyes and bright white teeth and that sound, so full and rich and full of life.

It had taken a week to dry out the Falcon, during which time he’d been grounded and springing more leaks than he could cope with.

His head hurt as he thought through this bizarre metaphor.  Since when had he become a damn poet?  

He glanced around the Falcon quiet and sleeping, settled into the hangar for the night with all the other good little ships.  He frowned into the silence, wondering why it felt off.  Everything was in its place, the ship was in better shape than she’d been in a while, fitted with a new converter that Leia had secured for them after a particularly impressive weapons run.

And there it was.


He…missed her.  

She wasn’t far.  Tucked into her quarters off in the bowels of the base.  Safe as she could be in a rebel encampment just out of reach of the Galactic Empire that wanted her dead.

But, somehow, through some bizarre series of circumstances, he felt deep down in his bones, past the masks and the machine parts and all the wet, wet, wet, that he needed her here.

Shaking his head, he sprang from his seat and looked for something to do.  This wasn’t him, this wasn’t smart.  He was getting attached, he was becoming a sodden fool, and if he kept going like this there’d be no coming back, no drying out.

He should really leave.  Should’ve left after that first mission, that first reward.  

But the truth was, he was thirsty.  And the scarier truth was, he might not be a machine after all.

That would mess up the whole metaphor.

So, he found something to do, a thing that didn’t really need doing, in the cockpit of his ship.  It as a tangle of wires that functioned well-enough but looked like hell whenever he opened the navigation panel.  

He got to work, but as kept happening lately, his fingers felt larger and clumsier than they usually did.  His focus would wander, to the graceful curve of her neck or the frosty determination of her stubbornness.  He even found that sexy.  Most women were so easily coaxed from one mood to another, but Leia would stick to her guns as long as she damn well pleased.

There was only one sentient he knew that had the same level of bullheadedness…

“Han,” he looked up to find the object of his musings wringing her hands at the entrance to his cockpit and the damn mask fell right off.

She was pale and a little mussed, a couple wisps coming out of her clumsily coifed hair.  Her big brown eyes were wide and her mouth was reddened, as if she’d been chewing on her lip (like she did when she was nervous).  And most importantly, she was here, looking at him, talking to him.

The bubble of joy burst into a bright smile across his face.


Creepypasta #1135: I Believe In Goatman

Length: Long

Goatman lives. I know it. I remember, the first time I heard a story about him, I didn’t believe it. Ghosts, I believed in. Spirits, sure. But a half man, half goat creature that wandered the woods and terrorized people? This was too much, even for my fertile imagination.

My grandfather grew up in Northern Ontario, where his family worked in the mining industry. He was the first one who ever told me about Goatman. One bitterly cold winter, when he was just a boy, a huge snowstorm blew through the area.

He remembered, at dinnertime, his father talking about how, when he was making his way home after gathering some firewood in the woods, he saw in the distance the figure of a man walking through the forest, bent against the wind and snow. He had called to him, but received no answer. Everyone thought it was a wandering vagrant, or someone who had gotten lost as the storm blew up, and was searching for shelter.

That night, though, Grandpa said that his family had woken up and seen what looked like a man walking around the house, looking in the windows. Come morning, they went to check it out. Instead of fresh human boot or shoe prints in the snow, they saw cloven hoof-prints. And that’s where the story ended. His story, anyway.

My grandparents had moved a couple of hours away from that area, and I grew up living next door to them, in a gold mining town. I am an only child, and my best friend was my cousin, Tanya, who lived in the same town. We’d spend every summer in the woods around my grandparents and my house. Those woods had a magical quality to them. They felt extremely safe and wholesome, like the Hundred Acre Wood from Winnie the Pooh or something. We’d play for hours in those woods, pretending we were Celtic princesses, or pioneer women. But one day, we wandered a little too far.

This was Northern Ontario, so our entire town was surrounded by bush and rock, being part of the Canadian shield. Not far beyond the safe, happy-feeling woods behind my grandparent’s house was the lake the town had taken its name from. When I was little, it was a beautiful spot, but the mine had drained it do some exploration. A chain link fence surrounded the perimeter and our parents had always warned us not to go near there – it could be really dangerous.

Tanya was a show-off. At sixteen years old she was only one year ahead of me, but boy did she lord it over me. She was petite, with graceful curves, blonde hair, blue eyes and a flawless complexion. Boys fawned over her. I, on the other hand, was an awkward fifteen year old, with thick, long brown hair, glasses, braces and an acne problem. She was sweet, and always told me I was pretty and helped me to feel better about myself, but she made no secret that she thought she was drop dead gorgeous.

Tanya was also a lot more worldly than me. I was bookish, naive, and didn’t have experience with boys. She’d already had several boyfriends and had tried smoking and drinking – two things I refused to do. So, it didn’t surprise me when she said we should travel down to the fence that bordered the drained-out lake and flash the few guys who would be sitting in their diggers that were working there.

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En Avant, Ch. 11

When Lena had returned to the common room, the floor by the doors to the kitchen was covered by several bags of groceries.

Grinning, she made her way over and stuck her head through the doorway, intending to ask if Satya or Amélie needed any help putting things away, but her words caught in her throat when she got a good look at her girlfriend.

When Amélie had said she might “possibly get some clothes” in her note, Lena hadn’t quite thought about what that would mean. Perhaps that she’d pick up some comfortable, casual outfits. Maybe a nice blouse and a pair of slacks.

She had not even considered the possibility that Amé might purchase a dress.

The material was a violet shade that complimented her skin tone, with a high neckline and a bodice that tightly hugged her torso before flowing into a layered skirt that fell down to mid-thigh. The sheer sleeves bloused out as they ran down her arms, and a scooped back showed off her tattoo, the bottom of the scoop passing just below the black widow’s abdomen, drawing attention to the graceful curve of her neck and shoulders.

Charcoal tights hugged her toned legs, and a pair of black pumps gave Amélie a bit of extra height without being quite as dramatic as the heeled boots of her combat suit.

She’d gotten a haircut while she was out, styling it shorter, and they’d done something to add a lovely sort of wave to it, and Lena noticed the twinkle of a new pair of studs in her ears that matched the color of the dress.

It was elegantly, casually, effortlessly beautiful, and the combined effect had stolen the breath right out of her lungs.

Fuck, Lena thought as she tried to remember how to breathe again, I am so gay.

Bonus artwork by @atheris-art!