#I want to scream and shout i want to blow my brains out

[subtlesolitude-tailoredtaste]

I have been drowning in quicksand for 4 1/2 years.

Happy Birthday to me. If I ever amass a fortune it would go to proper funding and fight for legislation for safe humane abortions and safe humane assisted suicide.

Until then, I will shut the fuck up and smile at the table. Just like home just like family just like culture.

Shoutout to the Uber rides where the drivers waxed poetic about how hope is a harmful meaningless lie and useless and I should stop it “no offense” and I quoooooote.

Shoutout to the 47 year old for the sobering conversation, I hope it scares me enough to get up get out and get something by any means necessary fuck family. Thanks man.

Thanks mom for these past 4 years you broke my heart while I was trying not to break yours. It’s not your fault none of it, you’re not a victim you’re a survivor. I pray God grants her a thriving life.

🏳️🏳️🏳️

so many chances ya know. so much trauma most before age 10 lollll fear and self loathing. “What a waste, I’m sorry.” On a slab of rock buried if these customs cont to exist.

whatever happens happens, it is what it is.

attitude gratitude regardless. 🎈🎈🎈🎈🎈

[luvrlou]

Out with the Old, In with the New?

Pairing: Henry Hart x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Violence

Summary: When a certain supervillain returns to Swellview an old face pops back up.

A/N: just cause henry danger seems to making a comeback

Word Count: 1.8k

"Ray?" Henry's voice causes the man to jump and turn around.

He squares up to Henry before his brain computes who it is, and then he stands normally, "Henry, you can't do that!"

"Hmm?" He hums, staring at the man.

"Henry, you can't do that!" Ray repeats again in the same exasperated tone.

Henry makes a confused face, "I can't say your name anymore?"

Ray rolls his eyes before sitting down on the couch, "so what do you want?"

Henry takes a seat next to him, "you never talk about the sidekick you had before me, I'm just curious on who he was."

"Well first of all it was a she."

Ray dramatically looks off into the distance, his sidekick giving him a baffled look before shrugging and joining his gaze into the distance.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Ray were playing a very serious game of foosball when Schwoz started shouting for your attention.

"Guys! Guys! I found him!" He shouted, frantically flailing his arms in the direction of the many screens on the wall of the man cave, this immediately pulled you and Ray's interest from the game at hand to Schwoz.

"You found Doctor Rotten?" You sprinted over to the control panel.

Ray swiftly followed, "we've been trying to track him for months!"

Schwoz went on to tell you about his whereabouts while you and Ray mentally plotted your attack.

"Well let's blow some bubbles-" Ray began.

"-and give this doctor a taste of his medicine!" You finished his sentence.

Once you transformed you guys ran to the tubes, "I see what you did there." Was the last thing Ray said before you both disappeared up the tubes.

Once you guys got to the location that Doctor Rotten used to conjure up his evil experiments it wasn't an easy fight, well you wouldn't know, as you were immediately injected with some concoction Doctor Rotten had made.

"Y/N are you okay!" You heard Ray shout as you came back to consciousness.

You stirred before groggily speaking, "Ray? What happened?"

"That rotten son of a bitch grabbed you and injecte-" he began before he was cut off by you screaming and squirming around on the floor. He ran to your writhing body and held you down to the ground firmly.

"It feels like fire is running through my veins!" You screamed, whilst trying to catch your breath.

Ray scanned the room frantically trying to see if there was anything that even resembled an anecdote for the horrific condition you were in.

"Ray help me!" You yelled out in a pleading tone."

"I'm trying kid! I really am!" He shouted back, attempting to reassure you.

Then he spotted a large button, he hoped it would somehow stop the pain you were in. It was his last resort.

Ray jumped up and ran towards the big red button and smashed it down. He stood back, slightly confused at the button doing nothing. That was until...

An explosion.

Half of the building exploded, luckily not the side you were both on, although you still were severely impacted by the blast.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When you woke up you were lying on a bed in the middle of the man cave being towered over by Schwoz and Ray, both with very concerned faces.

"Guys... what happened," you tried to sit up before being quickly shoved back down by both men.

"You are not fully healed yet Y/N!" Schwoz frantically mumbled.

This made you instantly sit up, "Not fully healed yet!" You shrieked, "What do you mean not fully healed yet?"

Both men stood back whilst sharing almost scared looks, mentally deciding if they should tell you.

Then Ray spoke up, "well... we went to take down Doctor Rotten, you made a great pun by the way before we left," you jokingly winked as he said that. "Then we got there and he grabbed you and injected you with some liquid that made your blood red hot."

You nodded, "and then?"

Schwoz quickly spoke up, "Ray pushed a big red button and it made half the building explode!"

"What? Ray! A big red button really?" You shouted.

"C'mon! It didn't have any 'don't press' signs!" He attempted to defend himself.

You shook your head in disappointment, "Ray almost every red button... means an explosion!" Your voice got louder with every word until you were yelling once again.

"Well, you're still alive!" He shouted back.

You took a deep breath and spoke again, "did we at least catch him?" Your question made Ray look away in embarrassment, "we caught him..." you gritted your teeth, "right?"

"No..."

This caused you to yell again, "you didn't catch him!"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Ray's memory was cut off by Henry, "Hello? Can you tell me now? You've been staring at the ceiling saying nothing for 10 minutes."

"Oh right, yeah sorry! She moved to Brooklyn after a mission that went very wrong." He told him.

"Oh... did she have any powers?" Henry further inquired.

This made Ray smile as he reminisced, "yeah she could talk to people through her mind. Was pretty cool, except for when she would tap into your head and just scream as loud as she could."

The pair were cut off by Schwoz running through and yelling at them, "he's back!"

"Who's back?" Ray replied, jumping up off of the couch, Henry following his actions.

Schwoz sat down and started clicking random buttons on the control panel until the screens turned on showing footage of a tall man holding a vial of a bright purple liquid.

"Doctor Rotten..." Ray sneered, looking closely at the screens.

Henry followed him, a confused look on his face, "who now?"

"He's the one who nearly killed-" Schwoz spoke before Ray shouted.

"Don't say her name!" He yelled, "she doesn't get to be known as the one who Doctor Rotten nearly killed."

"Okay..." Schwoz grumbled, "he's at Swellview lab."

Henry and Ray quickly changed suits and went up the tube. They arrived on the roof and walked towards the mancopter, Ray started to flip the switches to turn on the helicopter before something caught the attention of the two guys.

"Fighting Doctor Rotten without me?"

They were both caught off guard by the girl who was walking towards them. Especially Henry, this unknown girl was his age and gorgeous.

It was you.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" Ray questioned, very confused yet concerned.

You smiled widely and walked over to him, "I've been trying to find this bastard for years, ever since we lost him, and now I want him gone for good."

Ray nodded in response before wrapping his arms around you, "I'm so glad you're okay."

You hugged him back, smiling widely at the fact you've been reunited with your old best friend, "I'm happy to be back."

"Right, guys! We don't have time for hugs and talking, we have a criminal to catch!" Henry spoke sternly, seemingly envious of the bond between Ray and his old sidekick.

"He's right! Let's go give this doctor a taste of his own medicine!" You exclaim, walking towards the mancopter.

"That line gives me bad memories Y/N!" Ray shouts after you while he runs up to the mancopter.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sticking to the plan you walked into the lab first, "Well, well, well look who it is... Doctor Moldy." You snicker at your own joke as you walk.

"It is Doctor Rotten-" The villain shouts before realising who you are and smirking, "well hello little girl, here for another round of fire blood?"

You smile back and stop in front of him, "I think it's your blood that'll be on fire."

On cue both of the other heroes break into the lab, coming up behind the evil man, who was preoccupied talking down to you.

Little did he know that in approximately 30 seconds he would receive a punch to the back of the head from Captain Man. Unfortunately, he didn't go out like a light, he was much stronger than anticipated so he immediately turned around and started trying to attack Captain Man.

You and Henry both seem to migrate to the side of the lab, watching the fight go down, "he's surprisingly good," Henry assessed.

"Who knew some 60-something bald man could take the Captain Man," you nodded before looking over to his new sidekick. "You're not jealous of me and Ray are you?"

This caught Henry off guard, "not at all! I understand that you guys had a close bond," despite seeming fine, his tone of voice told a different story.

"Trust me as soon as Doctor Rotten is gone I'm out of here, you have nothing to worry about. Now I'm gonna make this guy regret he was even fucking born." You smile and pat Henry's chest before sneaking over to the table with syringes full of glowing liquid splayed out.

At this point, Doctor Rotten is having to take on both Kid Danger and Captain Man. However, you have just found what you assume is the same poison that you were attacked with all those years ago.

To distract Doctor Rotten you tap into his brain and start to scream which causes him to grasp the sides of his head and drop to his knees. You happily saunter over to his distraught body and lean down.

"Payback is a bitch," you whisper, pushing your face against his before stabbing the syringe into his neck and injecting the fiery liquid, causing him to instantly pass out.

"Well, jobs done! Let's get back to the man cave girl and boy." Ray says while clapping his hands.

"About that Ray... I'm not coming, I'm going back to Brooklyn." You smile bittersweetly, "it was amazing fighting crime with you again, but it's not my place anymore."

This caused Ray to frown, "c'mon Y/N just for old times sake."

Henry suddenly felt quite bad for you both, and for feeling jealous. "I would love for you to come hang with us until your flight." The blonde smiled at you.

This made you smile and roll your eyes, "I guess I can come down for a few hours."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After hours of reminiscing, talking and many games of foosball Ray decided he was going to head to his bed.

"Shouldn't you head home?" You asked Henry as you stood up off of the couch.

He shrugged and stood up with you, "I told my mom I was staying at Jasper's tonight."

You laughed in response, "a rebel? I like it."

"Oh yeah?" He chuckled, scrunching his face at you.

"Yeah, you're cool Henry, I see why Ray likes you." You spoke softly and tilted your head.

This caused Henry to flush lightly, "you're really cool, Y/N."

"I think you should come to Brooklyn sometime," you walked closer to him, "come visit me sometime..."

He nodded, "sounds good, I'll be there," he mumbled, now realising the close proximity between you both.

"Sounds like a plan," you whisper whilst placing your hands on his shoulders.

As if on command his hands landed on your hips, "I think you're really pretty.

You grinned and leaned closer to his face, his breath fanning over yours, "and I think you're perfect."

He slowly lowered his head and let his lips meet yours.

[https-milo]

asks you say?

hmmmmmmm

maybe smth domestic w/ bakugo?

he works so hard when he trains he deserves a break with appy slices and milkshakes <3

ari you have a beautiful brain

15 MINUTES?

katsuki bakugo x reader

Summary: All he does is train, train, train. But that's so boringgggg!!

m. list

1k words

pre-established relationship • Year 2-A(literally not mentioned at all, neither is the final war) • fluff • mayhaps OOC bakugo

"Katsukiiii," You groaned in complaint as you flopped dramatically on his bed. He sat at his desk, hunched over the newest assignment Mr. Aizawa gave us. He didn't verbally answer but tilted his head up slightly to let you know he was listening, however, his eyes were still glued to the paper in front of him.

"I'm bored," You huffed, staring at him as you turned to lay on your stomach and kicked your feet.

"Why is that my problem?" Katsuki asked. He tried his hardest to sound annoyed, but you could hear the amusement hidden in his words.

"Because you're my super awesome and really strong boyfriend!" You replied easily with a cheesy smile.

Bakugo scoffed and rolled his eyes. But he put the assignment away and pushed back against his desk to roll away in his chair. He turned to face you, "What do you want to do?"

You placed a thoughtful finger to your chin, "Hmmm, I don't know!"

Katsuki's eye twitched, "You don't know?"

You giggled, "Nope! I just wanna be around you."

He opened his mouth to reply but couldn't find the words. He ended up scoffing again and crossing his arms, "You're so stupid." He turned away, an idea hitting his head. "You just want to be around me?"

"Yep! But watching you do homework was too boring," You yawned to emphasize your point.

"Let's go train," He said, standing up with a cocky smirk on his face. Your eyes widened as you stood up.

"I am not training with you," You huffed. "The last time we did, we had to explain to the class you weren't an abuser."

He scoffed, "Maybe you shouldn't have such weak skin."

"Maybe you shouldn't LAUNCH ME INTO A TREE?" You countered and poked his forehead. Katsuki rolled his eyes and dragged you by your hand out of his dorm.

"Fine, if you don't want to train with me, you can watch me," Katsuki said, leaving no room for arguments. You let him drag you to ground beta and sat on the sides as he stretched.

"This isn't going to cure my boredom, y'know?" You shouted once he started exploding different obstacles. Despite being far from him, you could hear his scoff.

"Maybe if you joined me, you wouldn't be bored!" He shouted back, blowing a tree into pieces with one blow. Your sweat dropped.

"I'm still sore from my spar with Kirishima a few hours ago," You groaned. For 2 hours, you sat aimlessly on the ground, picking at the grass while he screamed obscenities and different death threats at the inanimate trees. It was pretty entertaining to watch. But when you noticed his heavy breath and the way his body started shaking, you immediately stood up and flung your arms around him.

Katsuki hated being weak, but you noticed his warning signs like they were your own. It came so naturally to see his every action. But, because he hated admitting weakness or tiredness, you always made excuses for him to stop overworking himself that revolved around you - especially in front of a group of people. You'd be dead if you said "Oh Katsuki! You look tired, let's take a break, kay?" in front of the class.

"Katsukiiii, I'm hungry!" You complained, shoving your face in his chest to feel his accelerated heartbeat. He relaxed involuntarily at your touch, he hadn't even noticed he was getting tired. That was the biggest bonus when you watched him train, you made sure he didn't overexert himself. He took a few big breaths and you smiled slightly, looking up at him. He rolled his eyes and patted your back. "You know what sounds good?"

"What?" He asked as he chugged his water bottle. You didn't answer and just watched as he drank, literal hearts in your eyes as his Adam's apple bobbed and water dripped down his chin. He noticed your staring and flung water at you.

You shrieked, "Hey! Can't I admire my boyfriend?!"

"Not when I'm asking you a question," He replied as he rolled his eyes. "What do you want to eat?"

"Let's get some fruit! I want apple slices!" You answered.

Katsuki quirked a brow, "Apple slices? Are you five?"

You lightly hit his arm and huffed, "No! Is it a crime to enjoy the little things in life, such as apple slices?"

Katsuki bit back his chuckle and just dragged you by your hand again out of the forest. You laced his fingers with yours and smiled when he didn't retract his hand - not that you expected he would. It was just a good feeling to be loved.

"You're so stupid," He said suddenly. You looked up from your hands and noticed he was staring at you with the faintest shade of red across his cheeks. No one else would've noticed, but you were basically a magician when it came to what Katsuki Bakugo was feeling.

A cheesy smile appeared on your face, "I love you too, Kats."

Once again, he was stunned to silence and continued dragging you to the dormitory kitchen. You giggled at his flustered state. You didn't take any offense to him not saying "I love you", you were well aware of how emotionally stunted he was. He grumbled incoherently as he grabbed a couple of apples and started to cut them aggressively.

"You don't have to do that!" You scolded. You rushed over and took the knife from his hand. The whole reason you asked for apples was to get him to take a break! The audacity of this man! "I can cut my own apples!"

"Shut up, no you can't!" Katsuki replied, taking back the knife and blocking the cutting board.

You blinked at him for a second before laughing, "I can! I'm not actually five!"

Katsuki grumbled something under his breath before slamming a plate of apple slices in front of you. "Here. Eat." You nodded and grabbed the plate before you dragged him to the couches.

"Thanks," Katsuki quietly said, his arms were crossed and he sat on the end of the couch instead of right by you.

Swallowing your first slice you tilt your head at him, "What?"

He refused to look at you but sighed, "Thank you for stopping me."

You blinked before widely smiling. You moved closer to him, your shoulders were touching. The plate of apples sat in the middle of his right thigh and your left. You grabbed a piece and fed it to him, "Anytime."

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

"this wouldn't happen" I DO NOT CAREEEE 🔥🔥🔥🔥

[ervotica]

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

[kelppsstuff]

HI MOOTIEE anyways I got smth for ya

Of course it's Adam cause YEA.

what if Adam and his goth girlfriend who is an angel of course can be fluff can be smut anything you want

Thanks mootie have a wonderful dayyy

HIIII MY BELOVED!!!! Ahhhh I hope you like thissss I enjoyed working on it! Have a fantastic day for everyone reading! Also I low-key think I’m turning into a slut with all the smut I’ve been writing recently 😭

“Looking Pretty!”

Adam x Goth gf reader

Masterlist

Warnings: blow job

Taglist: @adamsfavoritesinner @sashaphantomhive @leathesimp @ladyninggs @michelleszn @sirenetgeblogger

—

Adam had first met you when he was on stage performing at a concert. You saw you next to Lute singing all the lyrics on the top of your lungs. He threw two guitar picks y’all’s way, one for each of you and moved on to the other side of the stage.

After the concert had ending Lute introduced you two. You were her sister, and he was her boss.

—

“Sir?” Lute called out to her boss. She was behind stage and wanted to introduce her best friend to her sister. “Yeah danger tits?” Adam asked looking over his shoulder for a spilt second. He was signing autographs for girl and guys, and even little kids.

“I’d like you too meet someone if you’d have the time.” Adam brain flashed to you and Lute together in the audience. Shirley his lieutenant. wanted to introduce him to you. “Sure thing. I’ll be back ladies.”

He and lute walked over to where you were, talking to the drummer. Adam felt his eye twitch. Said drummer always pissed him off — copied Adam 24/7.

“Y/N. This is Adam.” Lute said, taking your attention away from the drummer. You looked to the first man and felt a whole bundle of nerves and excitement gather in your stomach.

“Hi! I’m Y/N!” You stuck your hand out and Adam took it. “Never expected to see a big toy goth girl in heaven.” Leave Adam to be… Adam.

Lute was screaming in her head at Adam. That was her SISTER. And what if you said something slick back?! That’s her BOSS!

“Guess I’m special.”

“Sure babe, but you ain’t better than me.”

—

The thing that made Adam really start to notice you was your outfits. He loved all the necklaces you would wear, loved the make up you did most days. He also loves your fishnets.

He couldn’t count how many times he gotten hard when you would walk around in them. It gotten that porn wouldn’t even help him anymore, but the thoughts of you did.

Adam had invited you to every one of his concerts, and even if Lute didn’t show, you still did. You were his biggest fan, his biggest supporter.

—

Adam had to be on stage in thirty minutes and every thing had started to go wrong. First his guitar wasn’t in tune. Next his singer called out last minute, something about forgetting an date. So he would have to sing, and his throat had been hurting all day. Then he couldn’t find his mask. And finally while he was trying to calm himself down, there was knock at his dressing room door. He couldn’t get a fucking minute alone.

“Fuck off!” He shouted, trying to tune his guitar. But the person didn’t fuck off. You opened the door and poked your head through the door. “Need help?” Your eyes widened. You hadn’t ever seen him with out his mask.

He was handsome safe to say. Rich brown hair, golden shimmering eyes, and a stubble that suited him. He wore black ripped jeans and a white tank top, typical rockstar outfit.

Adam glared at you but the ultimately decided you could be useful. “Come here.” His voice had a certain chill, it sent shocks of excitement down your spine. You walked over to him, and stood waiting for what he needed.

Adam looked you up and down and silently cursed. You wore a short ass skirt, with a crop maroon tank top — that did a poor job in hood your tits from spilling in Adams opinion. The platforms you wore, made you a bit taller but Adam still towered over you. And you wore those fucking fish nets.

Adam sat you down on the couch and put his guitar in your hands. He got behind you and put his hands over your own. You noticed he wasn’t wearing his gloves, you had also noticed how vain-y his hands really were along with his fore arms. “Do you know how to tune a guitar?” His breath fanned over your ear and blowing you hair the faintest bit.

“No,” you went to turn your head around to him but he grabbed your chin with his hand and pushed your head to look back at the guitar. “You see these nobs? The make the strings tighter and loser.” Adam reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone.

Once he had his tuning app pulled he placed said phone your thigh. He didn’t move his hand away from it, at least not before gripping your fishnets, wishing to tear them.

“Adjust the nobs accordingly and the app will tell you if it’s in tune or not, and if it needs to be looser or tighter. Understand?” You nodded your head, and he reluctantly pulled away from you.

He started to look around for his mask. He couldn’t preform without it. He was surprised that he was comfortable with you seeing his face. Despite that, he knew he wouldn’t be comfortable performing without it.

You started to tune his guitar, slightly confused at first, but slowly got the hang of it.

Adam had trouble finding his mask. He would look at you and think thoughts that would, we’ll send him to hell probably. When he would look away — after telling himself to stop being creepy — it wouldn’t be long till his eyes were back on you. So yeah, he couldn’t find his mask.

You looked up over to him and saw him staring directly at you. Placing the guitar on the couch you got up and walked over to him. Normally you would be wearing necklaces that would move with your steps but he took notice in your bare neck.

“It’s tuned.” He hummed and acted on his intrusive thoughts. He pulled you closer to him by your neck. “You know what would compliment this outfit? A collar.” His hand wrapped around your neck, and squeezed the tiniest bit, his veins bulging.

Your breath got caught in your throat as you tired to find your next words. “What kind?” Adam took another step, you chest now pushing against each other. “One with my name on it.”

Cocky bastard.

"20 MINUTES TILL SHOW TIME!” Someone called out from the hallways. Adam clenched his jaw in annoyance. “Ya wanna suck me off before I go on?” He said in a joking tone, but holy fuck that would take away about 85% of his problems. He was pent up. He wasn’t expecting you to do anything. You’d always brush away his sexual comments, which unsurprisingly was more often than not.

You raised a brow and started to unbutton his pants. “You have twenty minutes.” His hand on your throat tightened and you started to get on your knees.

You brought the zipper and started to pulled down with your teeth. Most girls he fucked tried to act innocent. Always looking at the package he had to offer as if it was the first dick they seen. But you — you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes begging. Like a fucking slut. You pulled his pants down a little — along with his boxers and started to pump him. Getting him hard but you did need to do it for long — seeing as he was already leaning precum.

Fuck if he had twenty minutes he was gonna make it worth it.

“I’ve gotten a hand job before babe, I prefer a blowjob.” He really couldn’t shut his mouth.

You brought your lips to his shaft and started to kiss him gentle, and so soft he shuttered. You continued to move you hand as you slowly took him in your mouth.

Your mouth was warm and you started to suck him off. You couldn’t fit him all the way in your mouth — fulling his ego more — so you made up with the inches you couldn’t fit with your hand.

Your hand twisted around him and you sucked harder, making him throw his head back in a groan. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed the moan wanting to escape.

“10 MINUTES!”

It was like a switch in Adam. He started to thrust into your mouth, desperately trying to release his frustration. Spit started to fall past your bottom lips — fuck, I need to be neat, you thought, insanely hot, Adam thought. You rest reached up and started to play with your nipples with your now free hands.

You could feel your gag reflex kicking, tightening your throat up. That had done it for Adam. “Fuck!” He poured himself into your mouth. Some dripped onto you lips and chin.

You looked up at licking you lips and wiping your chin with your pointer finger, before sucking that as well.

You throat had started to become sore. “THREE MINUTES! ANYONE SEEN ADAM?!” You looked to the door, but something caught your eye. Adams mask was under a desk. You crawled to it, seeing as it wasn’t far.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m fucking you.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, handing Adam his mask.

Adam was wrong, it didn’t fix 85% of his problems. It fixed 100% of his issues. “TWO MINUTES!” That send Adam into over drive, but before he could put his mask on you grabbed his chin and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Your lipstick was ruined, but a kiss mark still showed on him face. “See you out there.” You grabbed tissues and walked out. Adam not far behind you.

—

Once the concert was over, Like normal you went to find Adam backstage. You stood behind him as he signed autographs. Your feet started to hurt from wearing play forms all day. Adam seemed to take notice.

“Take your shoes off.”

“And walk bare foot on this ground?” You raised you brow to him as if he was insane. Adam rolled his eyes and bent down on one knee in front of you.

He started to take your shoes off, you did little protest, happy to get them off. He then took off his own shoes and put your feet in them. Tying them tightly so they wouldn’t fall off.

Fans started to look in shock, people started to take photos while other glared in envy.

You kind of half expected Adam to wear your shoes — you didn’t know why — but he didn’t. He carried them for you and when you two left the building he slung an arm around you. “So this means we’re dating.” Even though it didn’t sound like a question, it was.

“If you can get Lutes blessing, sure.”

—

Fuck. Adam hadn’t tried to ever convince someone of something so much before. He spent a total of 5 months proving himself to Lute. Proving himself to you. He could see why Lute wouldn’t trust him. He was a huge playboy but in those five months he gave that up. Only wanting one.

So when Lute gave him his blessing to date you, another five months later he was asking for your hand in marriage. To which you both called him deranged.

—

Ahhhh I hope that was good? I feel like the ending was rushed so I may edit this sometime in the future

[bellshells]

A Promise of Grim Death

Hi! First, I’ve never written for Art before- but I loved it. 10/10 will do again.

Second, I wrote, edited and posted this on my phone. Times are hard bestie, we do what we can. So if you see any errors in there, shh no you don’t.

Third, there’s a few TW here; I’ll do my best to list them all. But surely to god if you’re reading Art The Clown anything you know there’s going to be batshit times ahead. Okay, love you bye!

TW: language, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of gratuitous violence, murder (only a little one and it’s not too bad I promise), thoughts of a sexual nature (Art remembers that fucking is a thing), suggestions of grooming, suggestions of familial death, stalking, masturbation, art??? Is he his own trigger warning?

Art had been trailing Sienna for hours. He followed her from Target to what he assumed was her new apartment, and now he sat in a parking lot downtown in a beaten up van. He had seen her go down an alleyway hidden somewhat on the corner of 86th and Maple a couple of hours ago, and whilst he waited for her to reappear, he thought of all the ways in which he could inflict the most unimaginable pain unto her.

He considered flaying, but that was too time consuming for very little pay off. He thought about some good old fashioned water torture, but he was still too impatient. Art was desperate to end Sienna. He wanted to watch the life drain from her eyes, the last thing she would see on this mortal plane was the smiling face of Art the Clown. He sighed silently, he didn’t miss talking per se, but he did miss being able to convey his annoyance. The bike horn had its charm; don’t get him wrong. But sometimes he missed being able to sigh, or grunt or scream. Screaming was also fun. After another thirty minutes of listening to Talk Radio, the only way to consume radio in his opinion, he decided to take action. Pulling his black bag full of items of his pleasure/your pain close to his chest, he exited his vehicle.

Rounding the corner to the alleyway, he surveyed his surroundings. The sun had long set and a low sitting fog had begun to settle. Art loved nights like this, he could often smell the fear of passersby before he could see them. For as they say, you never knew what could be lurking in the dark. For Art though, he could almost sustain himself off of the fear itself. Almost. He gave a trash can a big, jolly kick knocking it tumbling into two more. He genuinely found this very funny indeed, especially when the homeless man who was sound asleep between them jumped up in a daze. The man was all arms and legs, shouting incoherently. When he saw Art, a cold terror swept over his face and he tripped over himself trying to make his escape. Art was faster though, he gripped a handful of the man’s shaggy hair as he tried to run and pulled down, bringing his knee up to meet the man’s face in an expert blow. Art did this a further three times, with each connection to the man’s face, it concaved further in on itself until he was unrecognisable. Just a mass of blood and sharp pieces of bone, exposed cartilage and teeth. Lots of teeth.

A bang from further along the alley made him freeze. He dropped the homeless man immediately, and kicked him against the wall. Dodging behind a broken fire escape, Art saw a door open and a figure step out. He craned his head to see who it was, though he needn’t have. He knew it was her, opening a dumpster and throwing trash bags inside.

He eyed Sienna with a white hot fury as she closed the dumpster, his view partially obscured by the fire escape; but it was enough to see her fish a bottle of hand sanitiser out from an apron she wore around her waist. Art toyed with the idea of shooting her there and then. One swift bullet straight into her skull would leave such a pretty smattering of brain matter on the dull brickwork behind her, but no, he wanted to make this last. He wanted to hurt her. He took one step out from his hiding spot, but the sound of a gruff man��s voice behind Sienna stopped him.

“Get your ass back in here, we’re getting fucked in the ass behind this bar,” Sienna’s shoulders slumped as she turned to face the man, he too wore an apron and dried his hands on an off white towel.

“It’s almost like you want to drown in trash,” she said, the man gave her a sarcastic smile and held the door open for her. Art strained to hear what was said as the fire door slammed shut behind them, but the music emanating from within was too loud even for his sensitive ears.

He made his way over to the door and tried the handle to no avail. He pulled tightly and still the door wouldn’t budge, instead he decided to give it a swift kick. Fuck that door, he thought. Fuck it. Art wandered back onto the street, he counted back the buildings until he was sure he found the one that Sienna had emerged from. The blacked out windows of a bookshop confused Art, he was sure he heard music, and didn’t that guy mention a bar? A single flickering bulb hung limply above the entrance, it was a single framed door with a peephole that watched him as he studied the entrance. This had to be the place, but why did it look so sketchy? Art shrugged and pushed against the door, it opened slowly into a dark vestibule you couldn’t swing a cat in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed the walls lined with books were just a wallpapered effect. He brought a finger up and traced the seam where two panels joined. It was then that he heard applause, rapturous applause coming from below. He turned on himself, once and then once more until he could faintly make out a heavy black curtain hidden in one of the corners. Tentatively pushing it to one side, a narrow wooden staircase appeared before him. That familiar sound of music rose up from the stairs, and with one silent step, he descended them.

Art expected to find Sienna at the bottom, he deduced that she’d be behind the bar serving overpriced drinks to a newly gentrified crowd. And he did find that, but what surprised him was the unmistakable feeling of his heart pounding in his chest. Its beating was so ferocious he could hear it in his ears. It had been a long time since Art had felt his heartbeat. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he even had one anymore. But as he rounded the corner after the last step, he felt all too human indeed.

The bottom of the stairs opened up into a wide cavernous room with an arched ceiling decorated with twinkly lights. A bar on the far right hand side is where Sienna stood, chatting cheerfully with a customer as she wiped the bar top down. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Art didn’t care, for his attention had been entirely captured by the woman who stood on the stage. His black bag of goodies slipped from his shoulder and landed with a clang at his feet. This usually would have drawn attention, but the sound was disguised by the most beautiful sound he had heard.

She was tall this woman, not as tall as him of course, but she stood proudly in a red dress. Art couldn’t help but notice the way the velvet seemed to wrap around her body like an embrace. Her hair, long and the colour of fire pushed over her shoulders to expose her throat. He eyed it as she sang, the way it moved with each note. She was sultry in her movements too, her hands an extension of her voice, in her hair, on her hips, around her waist, thrust out into an equally captivated audience. Art swallowed instinctively and his mouth felt dry, he brought his fingers up to his lips and he noticed they were trembling. He stood until she finished her song, a long sustained note- impressive for any singer, but this was divine treacle dripping from her lips. The audience again were generous with their applause, this woman and her band, a drummer and some men with shitty jazz instruments basked in it. Art always took pleasure in killing musicians, artists or folk of that ilk. He enjoyed watching the life seep from them, their magnum opus often nothing more than a crimson stain upon his gloves. But this woman was wholly different, she was like a monolith of a bygone era. A penetrating gaze suddenly lowered, coupled with a flirtatious smirk of a red lip. A long white glove scandalously exposing the top of a bare arm, the most innocuous piece of flesh unexpectedly the most arousing promise of more. And boy did he feel that arousal.

It was foreign to him, alien almost. A dull ache in the pit of his stomach that had almost been entirely forgotten. He had once been a creature intent on satisfying his most carnal desires, and yet, in his contemporary memory- he was laden with an empty feeling of well, nothing. There was rage, and then, nothing. The only way in which Art could liken this feeling of sudden and irrevocable desire, was the desire in which he wanted Sienna Shaw dead. Not just dead, destroyed. Mutilated and destroyed and dead. Mutilated and destroyed and dead and finished. It was something that Art recognised deeply as an obsession, yet Art was also a master of getting what he wanted. What he wanted in that moment, was to hide.

Art noticed a small table set for two hidden partially behind a supporting pillar. He had a clear line of sight to the stage, yet he would be obscured from the bar. He would get to Sienna, he would, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, the threat of an erection that pushed gently against the front of his costume. Art’s first erection in a long, long time. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot. A flash of teenage panic behind his eyes. A memory of a girl with huge tits sitting in front of him on the school bus. A memory of another life.

He settled at the table and placed his bag in his lap, folding his hands over the top neatly. Art watched her intently, the way she interacted with her band, the way she fiddled with the cable of her microphone. He watched as it slipped slowly through her fingers, his dull ache became more of a throb. Art tried to skilfully cross one leg over the other without drawing any attention with as much grace a 6”4 monochromatic porteur de mort could muster. For the first time since Art had donned his costume all of those years ago, he tried to blend in. Act natural. He tried to be so inconspicuous he could almost be a waxwork in the corner. A forgotten project, or an antique put on display. Anything to not pull any attention away from this woman on the stage.

“This will be our last number,” the woman spoke into the microphone. The audience made noises of protest, but Art’s mouth ran dry once more. Her voice was like a gong in his ears, reverberating around his head. It was dizzying. It was thrilling. She smiled then, and Art’s chest deflated. His unfamiliar heartbeat arrhythmic, his brow sweaty. Christ, he thought, her smile was downright devastatingly lovely. He bared his bloodied teeth in response, a reflex responding to his unnatural thoughts. A defense against this monstrous vulnerability.

A couple of men on the table next to Art’s stood and moved toward the stairs, momentarily obscuring his view. Art banged his fist on the table furiously, the shorter of the two men jumped in fright and turned to look at Art, the shock on his face visible even in the dim light. Art shooed the man away with a flick of his wrist, his face twisted into a disgruntled snarl. These precious seconds lost, thought Art, she’s only singing one more song. He just wanted to look at her, he wanted to stare at her. He wanted his vision to be filled with nothing but this woman and the way her body moved to this number from the Great American Songbook. He remembered one of the nuns would listen to this song after hours, she would sit in the Reverend Mother’s office on the ledge of a large window. You could just about slip your wrist through the bars affixed on the outside, that was helpful if you needed to flick away the ash of a cigarette. Which she often needed to. Art remembered thinking this nun was rather pretty, for a nun that is. He would stand hidden behind a big filing cabinet and just watch her. She would pull her knees up to her chest and the skirt of her habit with them, letting the moonlight dance across her pale legs. Once, when he was fifteen, he remembered she caught him staring at her whilst she did this, instead of screaming for the Reverend Mother, she smiled and slowly pushed her stockings down her thighs, unclipping the suspender deftly with one hand. That same hand outstretched to him in silent invitation.

Art shook his head to clear his thoughts, he didn’t want to think about her. She was entire lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago even. No, he wouldn’t think about Sister Anne. Instead he would think about this other divine creature, this new one singing his favourite song. At least, it used to be. He was grateful that his little detour of memory had indeed killed his erection. A silent little breath of relief left him, he rubbed his eyes gently so as not to disturb his makeup. At least he could return his attention to the woman, he marvelled at her. She was beautiful, that was a given; but there was something else within her that drew him to her. Art found this physiological reaction complexing, he found it infuriating, but he also found it rather comforting in a strange way. It was like a piece of him that he thought had been lost forever. He supposed in fact not. He supposed that perhaps he just had a type, and his type was this one particular woman. Where usually he would look at someone; man or woman and feel the burning rage and desire to kill them in painful and obscene ways- with her, there was just this almost morbid desire to well, fuck her.

He remembered fucking too. He remembered liking it, loving it even. He used to fuck anyone that would let him, as even psychopathic killers have a line of morality they won’t cross. Boys, girls, nuns and everything in between. Art would fuck them. And he was good at it too. Perhaps a little sadistic, but he was good at making people cum. He wondered if he’d still be able to do it. He knew he still had blood in his veins, and his newfound ability of a racing heart was a not so unpleasant a surprise, but would his cock still work? Would it feel the same? Would he be able to-?

Art was drawn from his deep contemplation by a searing pain in his hand. He cried out, well, he would have if he had a voice. His eyes shot down to see a serrated blade used for cutting steak sticking out of the back of his hand, then a flurry of dark hair appeared over his shoulder. The maddening scent of apple and vanilla washed over him, it turned his stomach.

“You’re a real piece of shit turning up at my job,” Sienna hissed in his ear. Art moved his eyes to look at her menacingly, he brought a finger from his non-stabbed hand and pressed it to his lips and pointed at the stage. Sienna’s gaze wavered for a moment, flickering over to where the woman was finishing her song. Her last song. Art was furious with Sienna for ruining it. He’d add it to the list. “I won’t kill you in front of these people,” She said, “I need to keep this job, and it’s in your best interests if you go quietly. Don’t cause a scene, Art. You’ll regret it.” Art laughed at that, his shoulders bobbing up and down. Did she really think she could tell him what to do? Demand things from him? He swiftly pulled the knife out from the back of his hand and plunged it just as quickly into the top of her thigh. It was the fleshiest part so it wouldn’t kill her, she wouldn’t even bleed all that much. But it would give her a couple of hours in the ER, a minor inconvenience at best. He would have to be satisfied with causing her a minor inconvenience, there were more important things that required his attention. Sienna gasped with pain, her hands coming either side of the protruding blade. “Fuck!” She spat, her teeth clenched together. Art’s hand now ceased in its bleeding and would be right as rain come the morning. Annoyingly, so would Sienna. But that was by the by. “If you do anything to these people,” Sienna wheezed, “I will hunt you down.” Art gave a her a wave with his fingers, a saccharine smile plastered on his face. She limped off in the direction of the bar, the guy Art had seen talking to her in the alleyway rushed to her aid. He saw them talking animatedly, and he ushered her into a room behind the bar.

Art finally, finally returned his attention to the stage just as the woman finished her song. Art felt a sense of deflation as the final sweep of applause bounced off the walls. He joined them, quickly slapping his hands together. It was then, as the woman left the stage and the musicians started packing up their instruments that the house lights were raised ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the people around him to notice that there was a clown in their midst. Which on any day is odd, but on a cold late November night drew some raised eyebrows. The murmurs started then, and Art felt an unfamiliar discomfort. A heat raised on the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt embarrassment in a long time, even in his former life it had felt an age since the last time he had allowed himself to be embarrassed. Yet, as he heard the whispers and one interesting mention of Miles County he stood. He grasped his black bag and made his way silently up the stairs, acutely aware of the eyes that bore into his back with each step. Glancing over his shoulder, he longed for one last look at this woman, instead he found a poster haphazardly placed on the wall. It had her picture, her dazzling smile. Art gently pulled it from the wall and brought it to his lips, he didn’t kiss it, no, but he did run his lips over hers.

Back in his van, he produced the poster once more. It was an events poster by the looks of it, detailing all the acts playing at that bar, (which he now understood to be named The Speakeasy,) in the run up to Christmas. Art was derailed slightly by how impressed he was with the number of local acts on the bill, nodding in approval. He scoured the calendar at the bottom and found today’s date, November 20th. There he found three acts;

7:00- Sheena Morris

9:30- The Shortage System

11:15- Daphne Loveday and The Little Lovers

Art checked the time on the van clock, it was 12:45, that had to be her. Daphne Loveday. Daphne Loveday.

This woman, this holy apparition was due to perform every Thursday before Christmas. Art grumbled silently to himself. He hated the thought of not being able to see her again for a whole week. He could of course, follow her home tonight. See where she lived, observe her routine, get close to her even. But where Art’s usual vengeful fury lived, the familiar guttural need for blood was replaced with something else entirely. This feeling was not completely unknown to him, he had known desire and even love before. He loved his mother for instance, until he didn’t. He loved the Reverend Mother too, until her skull crumbled beneath his fingertips. He even had a minute softness for Vicky and well, yes, there was Vicky. But this was different. This was something else. This attraction, and he begrudgingly named it so, was an almost cosmic pull. Art had long since questioned his existence, human or otherwise, he knew better than to wonder why the things that happened to him happened.

Art turned the key in the ignition, resolving himself to no more play or plunder tonight. He felt that to take another life tonight would be disrespectful to her, to Daphne. No, tonight would be sacred to him. Whatever that meant. Sienna would have to wait. He pulled out from the parking lot and stopped just shy of the entrance to The Speakeasy, and saw Daphne’s band mates lugging their heavy equipment out of the front doors. They were wrapped up tightly in coats and scarves, the five men passed a lighter around them as they lit celebratory cigarettes. They chatted loudly, Art could hear their laughter as it carried down the street and through the slightly cracked open window of his van. He knew he was waiting for one last glimpse of her. One last glimpse and then he could go home. One last glimpse and he could go home and imagine the things he wanted to do to her. He refused to acknowledge the fact he didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to hurt her, but from the inside. He wanted to see the look on her face when that pain turned into blissful pleasure.

Focus.

Art watched intently as one of the men held the door open. Daphne emerged draped in a long green woollen coat, it hugged her waist and flowed just shy of the sidewalk, now glistening with the promise of a frosty morning. She pulled a large black suitcase behind her, getting caught on the frame of the front door. Before he could realise, Art was slamming the van door and in six quick strides he had grasped the handle of the suitcase and hoisted it over the threshold with ease. He collapsed the extendable piece and lifted it by its handle, waiting for further instruction. The musicians stood dumbfounded, he hadn’t realised that perhaps his silent approach and apparent theft of this woman’s suitcase would cause such an uneasy din to settle. The men eyed each other warily, each of them flashing a concerned look in Daphne’s direction. She, on the other hand looked surprised if largely unphased. This pleased Art. Pride swelled in his chest.

“Oh! Thank you,” Daphne said, her eyes alight with an almost humour. They were green, Art saw. She had the most beautiful green eyes. Art made a gesture for her to proceed and he would follow. Without looking at her band, she nodded and headed back towards the direction of the parking lot. Art followed dutifully behind her, refusing to glance back at the men behind him. He followed her to a silver minivan parked incredibly next to where Art had parked his own van. He could have just waited he thought, without outing himself so quickly. The rest of the band came around the corner as Daphne rooted her through pockets, producing a key. She unlocked the minivan and Art brought the suitcase to the trunk, opening it up and placing it gently inside. Daphne appeared next to him then and he caught a whiff of her. Incense and lily, and an almost metallic smell that he couldn’t work out. She smiled at Art again, as she rearranged some things already in her trunk, an old duffle bag, a pair of sneakers and a large black umbrella that almost took out Art’s good eye when she manoeuvred it. “Oops, sorry,” she giggled. Art thought he simply might pass away at the sound of her small laughter, once more he could hear his uneven heartbeat. It was thunderous. His stomach aflutter with the proximity of her body to his, twice she had accidentally brushed against his arm. Twice he felt the skin beneath his costume feel ablaze. “Thank you,” she said finally to Art. The other musicians had appeared and were adding their own cases into the mini van. Three of them had pushed the larger pieces into the body of the van, covering the back seats usually reserved for small children with black cased instruments. There was certainly no room for anyone else to sit, he wondered whether she would be going home alone.

“Oh fuck me,” said one of the men, he stood a ways off, tapping furiously on his phone. “The road’s closed between 75th and Main, there’s been an accident. Big pile up apparently,” he read from his phone, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Six cars, all dead.”

Yummy, Art thought.

“We’ll have to drive through Fair Creek to drop the stuff off,” said another, pinching the bridge of his nose. Daphne looked between them, Art stood back against the wall, hoping to disappear into the brickwork.

“That’s fine,” she levelled, “I have to swing by the ER anyway, see how madam clumsy is doing,”

Art shot a look at Daphne, she couldn’t possibly be talking about Sienna, could she? Fuck.

“I can take the van then,” said the first man, his hand outstretched for her keys. She dropped them into his palm and walked around the back of the minvan, she turned then.

“Hey, thanks for carrying my-“ she stopped short, looking for the clown. But Art had skulked back to his own van, headlights turned off and the window pulled all the way down. He could hear her perfectly, see her perfectly as she looked over her shoulder for Art. “Where did he go?”

“Who cares, that guy gave me the creeps,” said the new driver of the minivan. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing,”

Daphne, still craning her neck to look for Art, acquiesced. He watched her climb into the backseat of a beat up Buick LaSabre with four of her bandmates. The other two in the minivan. Art tightened his grip on the steering wheel, he imagined how impossibly close she would be sitting in between two of those men. How they would be able to smell her, to feel her touch. He snarled into the darkness.

Art contemplated for a minute after he watched the cars disappear whether he should head to the hospital. He knew she’d be there, but he also knew Sienna would be there and he just did not have the energy to deal with the bullshit that would come from that. Instead, he drove toward the disused factory he called home. He had made a cozy, well for him, little safe haven in the very far corner of the roof. He figured somebody somewhere must still be paying for gas and water, because he was always able to get a hot shower. He didn’t really feel the need to eat anymore, but sometimes he would heat up a can of beans or a hot dog for old times sake. It was strangely cathartic for him.

He flipped the switch on his tiny, definitely shouldn’t still be working TV when he got home. He was met with a rerun of FRIENDS, he remembered how much Sister Anne had loved that show. How she used to sneak away during evensong to watch it in the Reverend Mother’s private apartment. She would tell Art about it the next day, and Art would recite the lines of characters he had never heard, just to make her laugh. He turned the TV off again. He made his way down to the shower block, stripping himself of his costume along the way. It really was cold outside now, he could see it in the whiteness of his breath as he exhaled under the heat of the shower. He didn’t necessarily remember what it was like to feel cold, but he liked to see the flesh pimple on his skin. He liked it when it happened on his victims too. Maybe it was an open window that did it, or his breath on their neck, but either way, it pleased him.

Art pulled at his mask, it resisted coming away from his skin and he pulled harder. Wincing as bit by bit, his flesh was revealed. It had been a long time since he had removed his mask, too. He let the water drip down his face, using his fingers to rub away months of neglect. In truth, Art had forgotten what he looked like. The mirrors in the shower block had long been smashed, and he had no desire to go outside without his mask, so he felt the contours of his face. His nose, nowhere near as pronounced, and cheekbones not as sallow. He recognised he was thin, as he moved his hands over his torso, he could feel his ribs under his calloused hands. Then, has he cupped his hands over his genitals to wash them, he remembered a flash of green eyes. Bright and dazzling in the night. The erection that he had fought so hard in the bar, reappeared and Art looked on impressed. Another thing he had forgotten about, the look of his cock as it jutted proudly, curving upwards slightly to better fill a pussy. Or an ass, he wasn’t fussy.

Experimentally, he stroked his length once. His head rolled back with a remembered pleasure. It all came back to him with that single stroke, how fucking good it felt. How fucking good it felt to be buried to the hilt in some sweet thing. How fucking good it felt to have someone’s lips wrapped around his end, gagging on his length. Art stroked himself again, this time letting his eyes flutter shut, this way he could imagine Daphne’s hand in place of his own. Imagine the kisses peppered down his back, and her other hand cupping and gently squeezing his balls. If he could moan, he would’ve and loudly. As soon as Art quickened his ministrations, he knew it would be over all too soon, so he stopped. He shut off the water and wrapped himself in a too small towel, trudging his way back to his room. There, he fished out the poster he had taken from the bar, a soft smile plagued his lips as he refreshed his memory of Daphne’s face. Climbing up onto his bed, or rather an old army cot he had found, he lay back, one hand on his cock- the other holding her picture up to the light. He gripped himself harder this time, like he used to like it. Art bared his teeth as he rubbed his finger over his tip, a surprising amount of liquid had emerged and he used it as a lubricant. Quickly, he moved onto his knees, he placed the poster of Daphne on the bed in front of him, and began fucking his hand. His hips moved quickly into his waiting fist, her eyes never leaving his as with a would be grunt, he ejaculated over his hand, spilling his cum over the poster. It dripped onto her face in big lumps. Years of his cock not being used, he deduced. He panted, exhausted. It was one thing swinging an axe around and another making yourself cum. Falling back onto the bed, he pulled the poster with him. Daphne’s smiling face now littered with his seed, inexplicably, he felt the flame of arousal burn deep in his core at the sight. He gently smeared it over her face, paying particular attention to her mouth, as if by some miracle he could shove it inside there. He longed to have her taste him, just as with that thought he longed to taste her. To have her wetness fill his mouth, cover his face and drip down his chin. He gently tapped his teeth, they were rotten, he knew that. But he wasn’t sure what Daphne would make of them, and in that moment he felt a pang of self consciousness. Resigning himself to sleep, he pulled his threadbare cover over his bare shoulders. He felt a contentedness he hadn’t felt since before he was, well, what he was. It felt different going to sleep that evening not full of rage, but with a lazy arousal that more than likely meant when he awoke, he could treat himself once more.

As he closed his eyes, he told himself that his plans for Sienna would have to wait. The rest of Art’s week would be spent in conserving energy for this next Thursday. He had a concert to catch.

[sturniololoco]

can you do a the sturniolo triplets little sister story where they have a bunch of friends over and it becomes a lot for y/n and she gets overwhelmed and runs to the bathroom or her room and one of her brothers notice and calm her? thank you <3

Too Much

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) x The Sturniolo Triplets

Warnings: People, crying, panic, etc.

SLS's POV

Today was Friday, the day I've been dreading all week.

it's my brother's 20th birthday, only that wasn't the problem. It was the fact that they were inviting a whole lot of people to our small house for a party.

and I don't do people.

Matt keeps telling me that I will be fine, that I just need to relax, but I can't stop the endless worrying from filling my mind.

-

It's now 8:00. There was a knock on the door and my brothers went downstairs to greet the three influencers who walked up into our kitchen. I smiled from my seat on the island, and this process continued.

Over 20 times.

The room was stuffy with too many people. Every time I moved, I could feel someone touching my arm or hitting my back. There was screaming, singing, and dancing everywhere. The music was so loud that I could barely hear myself think.

The only thing that registered in my brain was get out.

As soon as I made my way through the crowd, I sprinted up the stairs and into Nicks's bathroom.

I slammed the door closed and fell to the floor. I closed my eyes, put my hands over my ears, rested my head against the bathroom wall, and finally let the panic set in.

Matt's POV

I could not find SLS/N anywhere. I tried asking my brothers, but they were occupied with our guests.

I was trying to find her to make sure she was okay. She's never been good with loud noises and too many people, so I knew this was definitely pushing her limits.

I decided to look in Chris's room, even his bathroom, but still didn't find her there. She wasn't in my room either.

After weaving my way through the crowded space, I managed to make it up the stairs to Nick's room.

Then I heard crying from the bathroom.

SLS/N's POV

I lift my head up as the bathroom door is pushed open, still not taking my hands off my ears.

"S-Someones in h-here!" I shouted, so no one would try and talk to me.

It didn't work. I was surprised to see Matt come in and close the door behind him, sitting on the ground next to me.

All he has to do is open his arms, and I immediately jump into him, falling apart in his lap. He sushes me comfortingly, stroking my hair.

When my breathing slows down and the tears stop flowing, I say,

"I'm sorry I ruined your night." Feeling terrible that he's in here sitting with me instead of enjoying his special day.

He lifts my chin up, making me look at him before saying,

"Sweetheart, you did not ruin my night. I'm just glad that you're okay, and I'm sorry we put you through this." He says, wiping the stray tears off my face.

I just nod, not wanting to let the sobs I was holding back out by opening my mouth.

He stands up and helps me to my feet. Grabbing my hand, he leads me out of the room and to Nick's bed, motioning for me to sit down. I do so, laying back and pulling his covers over me.

matt walks over to the dresser, coming back with Nick's noise-canceling headphones.

"Why don't you watch a movie and relax, and I'll come check on you in a bit." He says to me, slipping the headphones over my ears, and then giving me a kiss on the forehead.

I smile at him giving him a little wave as he leaves the room, blowing me a kiss.

I sigh contently as I scroll onto Netflix, grateful for having a brother like mine.

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

I want him back

Hii, this story is inspired by Olivia Rodrigo's "get him back!", I hope you enjoy it and comment if the reader should get revenge on him or forgive him.

Absolutely! Here’s a more polished and enticing version:

From a summer love to a withered romance in spring, filled with shouts and screams about everything. Max was a lot. He was exhilarating, showing you a new world every time he took you out, with riches and extravagance that would blow anyone’s mind. Yet, he was also egocentric and temperamental, acting as if he were superior.

From midnight dances on a private yacht to screaming matches in his house, from following him around the world for his races to him flying you out to buy your forgiveness or silence. How cruel it is that my heart loves him while my brain hates him. It's ridiculous how you can still love someone who has hurt you so much. But the real question is: is it love or want?

If I had to choose right now, I want him back. I want to make him regret every comment, every flirtation with my friends while telling me I was the only girl, every demeaning action, and every instance of gaslighting. Yet, at the same time, I want him back because I miss him. I miss his blue eyes that I get lost in, the restless nights we spent together with endless kisses and laughter, and I miss his love.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to drink a whole bottle of wine by myself, I think, as I send Max a text: "I want you back." My friends are going to kill me, I think, as I start looking through our old photos together. Is it mean that I want his heart just to break it, but at the same time wanting to stitch it back together?

My phone buzzing distracts me from my thoughts. "Fuck," I mutter as Max's contact appears on my screen. "Missing me, liefde?"

Annoyance courses through my body as I toss my phone onto the bed. If I were smart, I would’ve left him on read and blocked him. However, it seems I’m ready to make the second bad choice of the night.

"Don't act as if you don't miss me. You were never a good actor or a good boyfriend, if we’re being honest," I reply.

"Wow, harsh. But if we're being honest, you wouldn’t be reaching out if I was that bad. And you're wrong about me missing you because I never stopped thinking about you," Max answers as fast as he drives.

"You always had a way with words when you needed to. Maybe I do miss you, but that doesn’t change how much you hurt me. Convince me you’ve changed, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll consider giving us another shot."

"Done," Max responds with a single word and an attachment. As I open it, I find plane tickets and paddock passes. I wonder, should I get back together with him or break his heart?

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Better Story, Improved Effects." Mickey Altieri X Reader.

Soooo I was re-watching Scream 2 last week while sick in bed and something finally clicked in my brain and I realized oh fuck, I love Mickey. So shit, here we are, his first smut! I dunno where this all came from but maybe it was just lying dormant under the surface and now it’s all out here to play and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! Big shout out to @eggsandbeer for the title, beta reading and to her and ALSO @ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds for the help on his character and all the hyping up since this was my first time writing him.

---

Part two now here.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.3K. Mickey Altieri X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: Drinking. Cheating. You Are Randy’s Girlfriend. Shit Talking. Rude Behaviour. Manipulation. Making Out. Grinding. Dirty Talk. Vaginal Fingering. Oral Sex. Blow Job. Eating Pussy. Teasing. Banter. Orgasm Denial. Extreme Frustration. Bad Mouthing Randy. Filming. Sex Caught On Tape. Dub-Con. Voyeurism. Exhibitionism. Spanking. Masturbation. Cuckolding. Vaginal Sex. Squirting. Cream Pie. 

—

The last way you wanted to spend your Friday night was attending a party solo and thoroughly annoyed with your boyfriend, and yet here you were.

You had been looking forward to unwinding from a hectic week with Randy, some drinks, getting a little messy, perhaps a bit publicly indecent. Then that turning from a kind of foreplay of its own to hastily finding a dark corner secluded enough to hook up with a minimal, (but still a very exciting and arousing), risk of getting caught. 

But no, sadly, instead of getting to do any of that you were walking up to the party already well underway totally alone and all because Randy had other plans he didn’t bother making you aware of until about an hour ago. He bought a ticket to go see some movie he had already seen a hundred times, a fact you pointed out quickly that had him replying with equal speed, saying, “But I’ve never seen it on the big screen!”

As if that makes it all okay and would quell your negative emotions and upsetness about him leaving you behind and kicking off his weekend without you. He made some over the top, big and grand promises about making it up to you tomorrow and you rolled your eyes with an unconfident, “Uh-huh”.

It left your lips before he proceeded to try and smooth his departure with a few kisses that you barely returned and on top of that didn’t do much of anything to smooth down your ruffled feathers. He left in short order and you finished getting ready for your night out in a huff. Did you pour some extra effort into looking good so he would feel extra bad and stupid for ditching you for some lame movie? Yes. Was that just a touch petty? Also yes but who could blame you?

Soon as you pushed your way through the bothersome cluster of assholes that were all hanging out and talking in the doorway, for some fucking reason, seriously, who does that? Your first order of business was getting a drink. 

The first one went down too quickly and quietly, you didn’t leave the drink station in the kitchen and certainly didn’t talk to anyone yet. One of your hands on the countertop as you gulped down the sticky sweet mixture. You made a second drink after the first and then decided to venture out and seek something out to make you forget about Randy, at least for a little while, the living room that was filled with music and people seemed like as good a place as any to start. 

He was hoping he might see you here tonight but seeing you here alone was an unexpected treat. He’d caught sight of you the second you walked in although you did not spot him right off the hop. 

He’d been keeping his eyes on you for a while and if Meeks was here there was no way he would have gone this long without latching himself onto you, he is many things, loud, opinionated, and fucking clingy. He doesn’t think there is a single time he had seen you two together where Randy hadn’t been hanging off of you, like he needed to touch you in some way at all times or he would be in physical pain otherwise. To be fair he isn’t sure he would be much better if you were his. None of your other friends were about and your expression told him you were upset, about what he didn’t know, and would he be a good friend if he didn’t walk over and check in on you? 

You on an average day was already a treat for the eyes but on a night out like this, when you poured in that extra effort was truly something to behold. He made his way over to you, sliding up beside you, a hand tapping you on the shoulder as he asked, “What’s with the frown?”

Your head snapped up, looking to see Mickey right beside you, hand hovering over your shoulder and smile on his lips but eyes concerned. “Is my bad mood so obvious you clocked it from across the room?” You follow the question up by taking a healthy sip from your drink.

A raise of his eyebrows as he brought up his own cup, he’d crouched slightly when greeting you but standing back up to full height and with a half shrug as he said, “Well it is kinda hard to miss when blue is very much not your colour.”

You stifle a laugh into your cup before saying, “Cute, very cute.”

A grin breaks out on his face, he already got you laughing less than a minute into him walking up, this was a great sign. “Soooo what’s up?”

“Ahhhh-” A dismissive wave of your hand as you raise your cup for another sip, and he laughs, a shake of his head as he points to you, “No, no ‘ahhhh’, something is up so spill!”

“I don’t wanna bring down your night.” You say honestly.

He scoffs, “Doubt that you could do that, and what are friends for if not to listen to whatever is eating you?” 

He made a good point. Maybe if you vented and got it all off your chest you would feel better? So you give in much easier than you probably should have. A heavy sigh and you take his hand with the one that wasn’t currently holding your drink, urging him as you say, “Okay, c’mon.”

Mickey brightens at the contact that you initiated as he lets you drag him off through the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard. 

Sitting on the back patio you proceed to spill your guts, the thump of the music lessened now that you were outside, much easier to hear each other and talk properly. When you finished filling him in he was less than impressed to learn of the reason for your bad mood, what kind of idiot was Randy to ditch you like this? He was of course, nothing but sympathetic to your plight and your pain but also that not so small and sick part inside of him saw this as a golden opportunity, a perfect way to hopefully do what he had been dying to for months. He just had to play it right. 

He started easy, saying, “Wow, no wonder you are so upset.” 

You exhaled with a nod as you leaned back in your chair and that led to him following up with, “I mean I knew Meeks was a fucking idiot but this might be one of the dumber things he has ever done.” 

A small shocked laugh spilled out and it emboldens him, he wants to lean closer to you but doesn’t want to push, not yet so instead he is continuing further before you could hope to respond, “Like does carrot top have any brains at all to rather pass up a party with you for a fuckin’ movie? I bet if I cracked his skull open all I’d find is some loose un-popped corn kernels and a pool of that artificial butter schlock they serve at the theatre he is at right now.”

“Damn Mickey, tell me how you really feel.” You responded before you giggled and he said with a sure nod, “I will! Randy fuckin’ Meeks is totally fucking brain dead for doing this and you should be pissed up at him.”

“Yeah?” You ask, fingers circling the rim of your cup and he said loudly, arms outstretched, “Yes! I mean Christ! What, you don’t think he deserves just a little bit of your ire for pulling this stunt?”

He makes a compelling argument. 

He had you smiling, had you laughing and more importantly, he validated your feelings. The more you both talked, the more he decried Randy’s actions and backed you up as your second drink was finished, you felt it. The annoyance, the anger, the unfairness, you ended up telling him a few more things, disagreements and issues minor in nature that Randy had done to upset you, things you think you would be over but when a bit tipsy and upset, venting, it all comes bubbling up to the surface. 

It really couldn’t have gone better, you giving him those few more insights gave him more chances to plant further unrest between you and him. 

You felt insanely heard and listened to, and maybe it was your overall mood, maybe it was a bit of the drink, but everything he was saying made sense, perhaps Randy wasn’t that great a boyfriend, this movie thing might be indicative of a bigger problem in your whole relationship. Your head felt confused but that was lessening, the longer you chat, the more he insists Randy’s behavior is fucked up, you find it harder and harder to deny that it held weight and made sense.

All and all the conversation was around a half hour before he was encouraging you to get up, saying, “Enough about that asshole, it’s Friday night and look around, it’s a party! He’s out having fun and you should be too.”

He was right again and you told him as such, feeling less burdened, lighter and overall excited to have fun and put those awful feelings aside for the time being. “Yeah! No more moping, fuck him, it’s his loss.”

“Hell yeah it is.” You get up and the pair of you end up marching back into the party. Another drink, talking about not as heavy topics, snacks, sitting in on a card game or two, watching part of a movie that was playing on the tv, and a few hours later you were sitting almost shoulder to shoulder watching a very spirited game of beer pong. 

You’d switched to water for a reprieve and during a small lull you said to him, “Hey Mickey?”

A questioning hum that had him turning his head to look at you, “Yeah?”

“Just wanted to say thanks for this. I was feeling really fucked up earlier and if you hadn’t stepped in I woulda had a totally shit time tonight but you completely salvaged it. So uhm, thanks.” 

He smiles, a shrug before he says, “Least I can do, I sure as shit wasn’t about to let you sit around all dramatic and morose.” 

You laugh before trying to defend yourself, “Dramatic and morose, huh? I don’t know if it was that bad.”

His silence speaks volumes. 

You speak his name in a questioning and warning tone and he holds up his hand, a wishy washy and wavering hand motion as he said, “Ehhh-” 

A scoff of mock offence bracketed with a laugh and you playfully punch him in the shoulder, “You dick! I thought you were saving me from my shitty boyfriend for the night! I didn’t know I was just trading one asshole for another.” 

He plays up the impact, rubbing his shoulder as if it actually hurt and he says, “I’m just being honest, I thought you liked me when I was honest.”

“Honest or mean?” You fire back with a grin and he says, “There’s a difference?” 

“For the average person, yes.” 

All the back and forth was very fond and fun. You were feeling much better than you had been earlier by now and you suggested, “Wanna get out of here? Go for a walk?”

“Sounds good to me.” 

You had no destination in mind. Just fresh night air and more conversation. As you meander about the topic, unsurprisingly considering you were talking with Mickey, the talking turns to movies. 

“What do you mean you haven’t seen Stab?” He asked dramatically aghast, way too loud and head up towards the sky as if God themself would have the answer he seeked and you laughed, “I just haven’t!”

“Well we can fix that, no, we should fix that.” He insisted, a wave of his hand encouraging you to follow as he changed course, you turn to follow, a small jog to catch up to him, “What is it that good?”

“God no! It’s garbage.” He said with a look over his shoulder towards you as if you were nuts for even suggesting it was good. You laughed, “Right, so it’s garbage and so I have to see it?”

“Naturally.” He said with a confident nod, hands sliding into his pockets as you fell in step beside him and you say, “Isn’t it not out of theatres yet? I doubt a show is gonna be happening past midnight.”

“No worries about that, I got a bootleg.” He assured and you asked incredulously, “A bootleg of this garbage movie that you don’t like?” 

“Do you not own bootlegs of movies you hate?” He asks and you say, “No because I’m not a fucking psycho unlike my present company apparently.” 

He laughs the comment off and soon you are at his place, you had never actually been here before. It was late but you weren’t in a rush to go back to your own abode alone, leading you to step into the door he was holding wide open. Wasn’t a bad place at all and you had it to yourselves, it was slightly cluttered but clean and no off putting smells or gross dishes or garbage so hey, a big win and a leg up on many other college living spaces you’d seen in your time here. 

Your eyes wander over the space, posters littering the walls, books scattered around and other items as he puts the tape in before coming to flop down beside you with a smile, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” 

The couch wasn't half bad, there was more than enough room on it for you and him and yet you didn’t stay far apart for long. As you watched and talked, Mickey pointing out flaws and inaccuracies, jokes and riffing you and he scooted nearer, until this moment right there, where you were just about shoulder to shoulder. One of his hands was on his own knee, the other one gesturing to the tv screen as he said, “I mean have you ever seen organs look faker? The colour is totally off, the blood spray should have been bigger and this is supposed to be outside! Where’s the steam?! The inside of a freshly ripped into body should be hot.”

It wasn’t like horror was your favourite genre and you are sure it isn’t his but you could appreciate the passion he held for the craft, for authenticity of film making, you keep the mood light tease, “Oh yeah because you know just what a murder scene looks like, right?”

He laughs, hardly managing to stifle it before he says, “You don’t know everything I’ve done, I could have all sorts of life experiences you are unaware of but besides that it doesn’t take a killer to know that based off the body's internal temperature if sliced into like that-” Another point to the screen, the mangled torso with the mess of red and innards on display, “-it would steam up in the fall evening air.” 

You hum with a nod and then a line read on screen was so bad he started up again with another joke that had you laughing in a way that made it hard to breathe. He was piling on, you leaning into him fully now and then that is when his hand makes contact, again only after you touch him first. 

A simple move from his own knee to yours, both cracking up and as you come down his hand doesn’t move, instead a simple squeeze as his gaze shifts from screen to you and back again. He is wearing that sideways grin that before tonight sure made your own stare linger a bit longer than it should for a person with a boyfriend, but now? It was having a different effect. 

You’d thought about it, mostly before you got with Randy, but Mickey was a really attractive guy, you got along absurdly well and tonight he treated you amazingly, was here for you in a big way when you needed him. You weren’t even tipsy any longer, you can’t blame the feelings he was giving you on the alcohol. You were only human and him encouraging you to feel your emotions, validating them, the close proximity and clear chemistry you both had wasn’t helping this either. You were positive he was into you. 

Were you seriously considering this?

He interrupted your thoughts, “You having a good time?”

The question startled you. Not just because he spoke but what he said, Mickey was a pretty self assured guy, the question might sound insecure in nature but it wasn’t spoken in a tone that lended to that. You play along and respond, “Yeah, yeah I am. Why do you ask?”

“Oh just know that what we got up to tonight probably wasn’t what you were initially planning to.” He responded with ease, not insecure, just concerned and you sighed, he was a really good guy wasn’t he? 

“Yeah it wasn’t but that isn’t your fault it’s Randy’s for ditching, besides what we did almost all of what he and I would have anyway plus some extra stuff.”

You gesture to the screen and the movie you certainly wouldn’t have seen were it not for him. He asks next, “Well glad I could help give you a good Friday night but that almost all has me curious, what exactly did you miss out on?”

You were painfully aware of the fact that his hand was still on your knee, your eyes drew down slightly at the maintained contact, your shoulders still pressed together, your thighs touching, you leaning into him has created multiple points of contact that you were only just paying attention to now. His body was warm, he smelt good and the question he asked made your mind run back to your intentions at the start of the night, of that semi public risky fuck you wanted to have with Randy. 

A subdued shrug, so small that if his eyes weren’t locked onto you and your shoulder on his he might have missed it, “Nothing two college kids in a relationship wouldn’t normally get up to post-party.”

“Ahhh.” 

The silence that followed was heavy and tension filled and he said, his eyes moving over you in a way that could be read as more than just ‘friendly’, “Shame I can’t help you out with that.”

Fuck it.

“Couldn’t you?” The question was spoken with your gaze raised, gaging his reaction, the slight raise of his eyebrows and confusion on his features meets the small uptick of the sides of his mouth, “What about Randy?”

“What about him?”  You bite back with a casual shrug.

This was too perfect for him but he still had to play this right. An amused exhale before he reminds you, “He’s your boyfriend?” 

“And yet I am here with you, alone in your place and on your couch with him nowhere in sight.” And any remaining gap was closed by you, leaning that last bit, one hand meeting his cheek and you tugging him closer to kiss him. As soon as you made that final move, as soon as your lips met his all bets were off, this was happening, patience and hard work pays off and he can take.

The response you draw from him is immediate, a soft groan, his hands moving, finding your waist, shifting his body and adjusting his posture to better return your sudden affection. You move with him, allowing him to do what he wants, take more of the lead, something he seemed to do with a startling amount of ease, as if he expected you to not only bend but to be into it.  

You were very much into it. 

It wasn’t like what you had with Randy was bad but he was relatively inexperienced when you got together and still wasn’t the most confident without some major prompting and praise. He was a good kisser but more than that you had a great rhythm off the hop, found a solid groove with a natural give and take that seemed to feed into one another beautifully. His hands feel good on your waist, they are grounding and it drives you to want to touch him further. The thumb on your hand still cupping his face swipes over his cheekbone and you tilt his face to be closer still, a move he permits along with your other hand starting on his side before wandering up the expanse of his chest through his shirt. 

His hands slip lower, you feel a rough press of him over your hips and then his hands on your outer thighs and he tugs, a further adjustment so you are underneath him, he is leaning further forward, his body starting to cover yours as the make out hastily progressed. The need overwhelms you first, he breaks the kiss and his lips drags down your jaw and further still, kissing over your neck and you arch, squirming your hips, grinding against him and he smiles against your throat from how well this is going so quickly. 

Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt, tangling, twisting, you pull, desperate for more contact as you grind again, he nips lightly at your pulse and you moan again, softer and so sweet, addicting for him to hear. Another few passes of tongue and of teeth that have your thighs hugging his hips and the next grind that happens is mutual, as is the breath that is caught in your respective throats. “Fuck, you’re better at this than I imagined.”

The smile on his face shifts to a grin that is outright cocky, one of his hands on your hip he pulls, makes you grind on him in a way that has your head falling back with a sigh and he asks, “Have you imagined me like this a lot?”

Your hands don’t stop wandering his body, feeling him and when you don’t respond right away, more concerned with the next move of your hips and the subtle rush of pleasure, he continues, “Thought about me being the one doing this when you’re with your shitty little boyfriend?” 

A shake of your head,  but you don’t stop, you start to tug, a silent plea for him to take off his shirt and one he gives into as you say, “He’s not that bad.” 

He is sitting up on his knees, the lack of contact makes you want to complain but the fabric is peeled away and thrown to the side and any possible complaining is forgotten about. A scoff, “Sure, yeah, he’s a real great guy, hence why you were just grinding yourself all over me with your tongue down my throat.” 

A laugh that is too light all things considered, “Shut up.” 

He listens. Your hands on his shoulders yanking him until he is against you once more, your mouth crashing into his. Your body was warm and soft, you were talking about this being better than you imagined but he was stuck with the same realisation, you were a good kisser, had amazing give and take and of course the mental aspect, you were in a relationship but ready and willing, touching him, kissing him, it had him aching in his jeans. He started to tug on the bottom of your top and you broke the kiss in a hurry to free yourself of the constraining material. The sight of you in your bottoms and the pretty lace framing you up top turns him on so much more.

It progresses quickly after that. You spread below him on your back, your tongue parting his lips allowing his into your mouth, an action he completes with a small groan his wandering hands choosing to settle, particularly one finding its home between your thighs and you arched into his touch with a hushed, “Fuck yes.” 

He lets out a pleased hum, your hands work with his, removing the remaining clothing to give him better access and when there is the last layer between you and his touch he asks in a tone that is as humorous as it is sickeningly sweet, “Am I allowed to speak?” 

A hurried nod as you squirm, his fingers brush over you more firmly and he says, “You’re fucking drenched. I don’t think I’ve ever felt someone get this wet from just a little making out, how hard up for it are you?”

“Very.” Your breath hitches and he knows he’s found the right spot to focus on, fingers swirling over your straining clit through your damp panties. “Is he not doing what he should be?”

Your brain feels foggy, you are far more concerned with the sensation starting to wash over you, limbs feeling heavier, eyes half lidded and rocking your hips with the movement of his hand, “Who?”

He laughs, “Who? You already forgot all about him? That tells me everything I need to know that poor ol Meeks isn’t satisfying you.” Before any protest or defending of your boyfriend could leave your mouth he is tugging the crotch of your panties aside and feeling the bare heat of his fingers against you makes you gasp, head falling back against the arm of the couch. 

You try to push out what you wanted to say, try to tell him, “I-I didn’t forget M’ just, ugh, distracted, you-you’re distracting.”

“Awe yeah, I’m a really big distraction, do I make it hard to think?” He asks as his fingers pick up the pace, pressing more firmly you moan and nod, “Yes! You do.”

“I could make it worse.” He teases and he moves quickly. Still shirtless, in just his jeans he is on his knees and tugging you further down the length of the couch, underwear half on, your legs over his shoulders his head dips down and his strong but soft tongue licking that first stripe over your clit has you crying out with an arch of your back. 

He did make it worse. You couldn’t think properly as soon as the make out started, your mind was far too busy with him and the taste, feeling, the pleasure, it stole all logic and sense. With his lips wrapped around such a sensitive part of you, cradling your clit and sucking indulgently, pretty mouth latched on and tongue lathing over you between his lips, fingers digging into your hips and ass as he held you where he needed, you felt like you were threatening to fall apart in less than five fucking minutes. 

Panting out his name, heels digging into his well toned back, fingers scrambling against the corduroy like material of the couch cushions as the feeling built, if he kept this up you’d be cumming against his talented tongue in about two more minutes. Thighs squeezing his head as well as your erratic breathing clues him into how close your end is and he pulls back, the wet strand of spit, the leash connecting his mouth and your clit breaks as he moves back, his fingers take over, messy circles drawn and you whine as the edge backs off from the change in pressure and technique, “How are you doing up there?”

His own voice sounded rough with arousal, the knowledge that he is into this, getting off on eating you out makes another wash of arousal soak into your brain, heart still pounding as you tell him, “Good, so good, please Mickey, keep going.”

“Keep going?” He asks, his head resting on your inner thigh as his fingers continue to dance over your pulsing clit, your tongue darts out, wetting your bottom lip, a nod as your eyebrows draw together, “Yeah, please? I was getting close, an-and your mouth is, fuck, amazing.”

He preens under the praise, “Oh is it?” He is playing dumb as his thumb comes down and he pulls your clitoral hood up, nerve dense tissue exposed and vulnerable, he blows gently and you shiver, body tensing, Christ, how were you so sensitive that even air passing through his lips felt this good? 

“Ye-yeah, I wanna cum, please, please-” And he decided to tease you further still, he leaned in, tongue out and your eyes are wide, teeth tugging on your bottom lip, desperate to feel him again, for him to keep going, to push you over the edge. Less than an inch from contact he pulls back with a sigh, “I dunno-”

Your head tips back with a loud groan as you roll your eyes, “Fuuuuck, Mickey, c’mon, I’m dying over here!” 

“Yeah? Does it hurt, yet?” He asks and you do notice a distinct ache along your swollen walls, a throbbing pain of denial in your clit steadily building and how awfully empty you feel at this moment. 

“Starting to, yes.” You bite out and he says, “Maybe I should be nice and help you out.”

“Yes, please, please be nice to me.” You beg and with your head still back, staring up at the ceiling you are unprepared when he licks over you again, the yelp that leaves you makes him snicker before he says, “Sure, I’ll be nice, I’ll get you off.”

You ramble, babble out your thanks and his mouth is back where it should be, lips locked over your clit, licking, sucking, one of his hands sliding between your thighs and two fingers delve inside to aid further, you clench around them with a stuttered moan of his name. It takes about three minutes for you to be on the edge between him working your clit and his fingers fucking in and out of you, curling just so in and out again and again. “God, Mickey, don’t stop, don’t stop, M’ almost there-”

And then he does just that.

He stops, his fingers stay lodged inside of you, fingers pressed to that sweet spot he’d found with ease but no longer moving and you want to cry, you ask in completely frustration, “Mickey what the fuck?” 

“I know, I know, I told you I’d help you out and M’ gonna, soon as you give me something.” You are looking down the length of your body to him between your spread thighs and are just about ready to agree to anything so long as he’d make you cum. “What is it?”

The grin on his face is positively wolfish, he licks again over your clit and you inhale sharply, “Nothing big.” 

“No?” You ask and another lazy lick combined with a rock of his fingers he says, “No. I just want you to tell me I’m better than Randy is and I’ll make you cum your brains out.”

Your heart drops, you shake your head, for some reason, that wakes you up, makes the heat inside you cool, you feel like that is the line, that is too far, you say, “No, I-I can’t do that.”

He tsk’s, “Shit, guess you don’t want to cum that bad then.” He didn’t stop though. He didn’t pull away, far from it, he goes back to eating you out and fingering you he just kept fucking stopping before you could cum and he kept on posing that question, your juice painting his chin. 

“You wanna admit it yet?” And you kept on telling him, “No-no, I-I don’t ha-have anything to admit.” 

It made him laugh. He had two fingers three knuckles deep inside you, right now and felt your clit pulsing in pure frustrated need in his mouth less than two seconds ago but sure, you had nothing to admit. “I can feel how hot and worked up you are, how many times have I edged you already? You are a really, really bad fucking liar.” 

“M’ not lying!” You attempt to assert but your voice wavers, “No? So I’m not better than Randy? He makes you sweat and tremble like this before he’s ever even made you cum once?”

You bite the inside of your cheek and refuse to meet his gaze. You want to thread your fingers in that stupid sexy messy hair and grind on his tongue until he makes you cum, not have this stupid battle of wills.

“Mmm, yeah that is why you aren’t able to look at me, because I am so far off base.” He sounds unbearably smug and he slides his fingers out of you and you almost break, you want to sob and plead for him to continue but he is sucking the mess that had coated his fingers and you again feel your mind going blank at the visual. 

He is getting up and his erection pressed against the denim looks like it has to hurt, he was starting to undo his pants and said once he was standing at full height, “How about you return the favour though and see if your tune changes?”

That sounds way too appealing to you especially because you could pay him back with some torture of your own and torture you do. After taking in the sight of him bare, your mouth is practically watering, he looks frankly delicious and you intend to dine happily. Your hand locks around the base and you lean in, eyes staring up at his face as your tongue makes the first pass, intent on taking in his expression and how he reacts to the movement. It is positive to say the least, the slight inhale, the tensing of his muscles, and the small curse that spills out. Your tongue flicks over his flushed tip, tasting the ample pre-cum that he had been leaking, your lips close, a chaste kiss before you begin to move down one side of his shaft, he is impossibly hot and throbbing in your grip. 

This is going to be too easy. 

Is what you initially thought but you would also be very wrong, because even as you let him breach your mouth, even as you begin to suck and take more of him in, you don’t feel in control or empowered. You feel weaker and hotter, he made you feel so fucking good with seemingly such little effort that you being able to do the same, to pull such reactions out of him makes you want consider his previous offer more seriously. 

You try to push those thoughts away as you blow him.

You gag yourself, choke on him and it makes him groan your name, his hips buck, he fucks in and out of your lips stretched around him and drool slips out, slides down your neck as you hold his hip with one hand, the other around the base of him still, hand working him in tandem with your mouth. You look up again, his eyes are still on you, on the length of him sliding between your slick lips, his neck and chest blooming red, flush from pleasure painted over his features as he pants and you squeeze your thighs together. 

All in all you used your mouth on him for around five minutes before you break, pulling him out you ask, out of breath and needy, “Fuck me?”

Randy is coming inside after going to get himself some breakfast, it’s around ten AM, sun shining and he is carrying a stack of mail and thinking about giving you a call soon to make up for him bailing last night. The movie was a good time but he missed you, he didn’t do much after the movie, came back here and went to bed basically, he thinks you will probably be up soon. He is about to sit down on the couch when something catches his eye, namely, a tape half in half out of the VCR. He comes forward, he pulls the tape out and there are no markings whatsoever on it, odd. 

He is curious enough that he thinks why not, he shrugs and pops the tape in, he walks back around the coffee table and is flipping through the mail again but what he hears gives him pause, makes him stop. 

Hearing a very familiar modulated voice greeting him, “Hello Randy. Been a while. Seems like some stuff has changed for you, like the cute girlfriend, she’s new. I like what I have seen of her, how much I have seen of her, thought you’d be interested to see what she was up to last night that I managed to catch on video.”

And the voice over cuts out and instead he is hearing your voice, gasping out, “Mickey oh my fucking God-”

He pauses flipping through and looks up and what he sees playing out on the screen makes him gasp.

The video shows a well lit apartment, the main focus of the shot is a couch, the view is from the side and bent over the arm of the couch pointing at the lens is you, not a stitch of clothing on, fingers digging into blue fabric, open mouthed and moaning, with who the fuck else but Mickey Altieri behind you. He was fucking you and seemingly you were loving every second of it, your face twisted in bliss and rocking back onto him, “Yes, yes, yes-”

“Good?” He asked with a laugh and your head pitches forward, a shaky nod and you hum the affirmative, “Mmhm!” 

“Yeah it is, fuck you’re tight.”  His hand reaches out, he grabs your hair, wraps the handful around his fist and he tugs hard, you cry out and clench down on him making him suck his own teeth from the sharp jolt of pleasure, he is pulling your hair so your head snaps back up, making sure he is showing off your gorgeous expressions for the camera. 

Little did you know that when he passed by the camera set on the counter earlier to grab his bootleg he turned it on, that it had been running this whole time. It didn’t take much to edit it, or to add the voice over or for him to sneak it into Randy’s apartment either, honestly it was too easy if anything. 

Randy had dropped the mail and was slowly sitting down, he can’t stop watching as you rock yourself back, helping impale yourself on Mickey and moaning the whole way. His hand that wasn’t pulling your hair is sliding down and the cry that tears from your throat makes what he is doing obvious, fucking you doggy style and toying with your clit at the same time has you telling him in a few more thrusts, “Shit, oh, ohh Mickey, fuck, I-I’m close again, fuck-” 

“You gonna give it up? You gonna say what we both know is true?” He prompts and you shake your head, “I-I cah-can’t, Mickey, just, let me cum, please-”

“Not till you say it.” His hand is out of your hair and laying a hard hit onto your ass that makes your back arch and finally you can’t take it any longer, your confession pours out, “You’re better than him okay?! Fuck, fuck! You’re so, so much better tha-than Randy, make me feel so good, he-he’s a joke next to you, God, don’t stop!” 

“Oh there you go, see? Doesn’t being honest feel so, fucking, good?” Those last three words are bookended by a brutal thrust, another strong move of his fingers and finally you break, nodding along, agreeing as you cum chanting his name over and over like some broken and fucked up prayer, trembling the entire time as the pleasure tears through you and threatens to make you collapse. 

“What the fuck…” Randy asks quietly as he continues to watch the scene unfold, watch as Mickey keeps railing you totally dumb and you agree with all the fucked up things he asks, drooling and telling him, “You’re so good, so much better, keep, ah, keep fucking me, please!”

“You think I’m able to stop now? Not a fucking chance.” 

He can’t bring himself to turn it off. Even as you continue to insult him, even as Mickey makes you parrot back that Randy is quote, “A shit fuck-ing boyfriend who doesn’t deserve you.” 

When you say it though it sounds a lot more broken and pathetic, "He-he's a shit fu-fuck-ing boyfriend who-who doesn't deserve meeee-"

Randy gets shamefully, embarrassingly, painfully hard as Mickey fucks you harder and harder, fucks you through another two more orgasms and a few more good position changes. Watching you ride him while he has a hand locked around your throat is hard to take, but the worst has to be when Mickey has his arms wrapped around you, fucking up into you and you are just trying to take it, legs shaking and too weak to do anything else but cling to and kiss him as he has you, as he holds you. That sloppy kiss is broken, your eyes squeezed shut as you are telling him for the fourth time since the tape started, “Mickey, I’m close again, God, yes!”

And not only do you cum, not only do you sob out his name as Mickey’s hard dick slips in and out of your well fucked hole, no, you end up squirting too, something Randy didn’t even know your body was capable of. Your moan bleeds, cracks at the edges and the man fucking you laughs, a blissed out joyful sound of disbelief, “Holy shit!” 

The amount that comes out of you is impressive, he watches as the camera picks up the rivulets of liquid as they race down Mickey’s shaft and his sac and the quickly darkening stain under the pair of you as he doesn’t relent even for a moment. Mickey kisses you, deeply, sloppy and to add further insult to injury, after you are coming down from your orgasm, he breaks that same kiss he initiated and asked, “Randy ever make you squirt like that?”

And you laugh, eyes rolling back and a shake of your head as you breathlessly admit, dumb and cock drunk as you tell him, “No way, not once.” 

The tape doesn’t even stop there, it goes on until Mickey is the one warning you minutes later of his impending orgasm and it is like you become possessed, your hands lock behind his neck, a burst of energy, motivated, you ride with abandon and Mickey doesn’t even have to ask, you are too far gone, you are the one who begs, “Cum inside, don’t pull out!”

He should get up.

He should turn off the tv.

He should take out the tape and smash it to bits but no, he does none of those things. He watches helplessly as Mickey’s hands grip your hips so hard Randy bet’s they will bruise as he holds deep and unloads inside of you. Mickey let out a groan of your name and you shiver and Randy is sure you can feel every pulse of him as he fills you. 

The come down is sickeningly and stomach turningly intimate, he feels as if he is intruding on a private moment even though you are his girlfriend. He watches the kisses passed back and forth, the soft touches and he is about to wonder when the tape WILL finally cut when he hears that mocking voice of Ghostface again, “Pretty hot, huh? I think they make a good couple, what about you Meeks? You enjoy the sequel?”

And the screen goes black.

He sits there staring at the tv set for all of thirty seconds before he gets up and goes over. He doesn’t hesitate to hit rewind. He should talk to you, confront you about what happened, what this means, what you did but when the tape finishes rewinding he doesn’t do that. 

He takes his original seat and frees himself from his pants and guilty enjoys the second of what is sure to be many viewings with his dick hard and hot in his palm.

[malk1ns]

november 8 2024 @ capitals, 4-2 win

the next part in my soulbond series (1, 2, 3, 4). hope you like it!

Sid can feel this season rapidly slipping out of his grasp.

He’d had a lot of talks with Kyle over the summer. Kyle was up-front about his plans for the year, honest and forthright about what he realistically thought the team could do. Their final conversation before Sid signed his extension ended with Kyle telling him, the Penguins are your team, Sidney, but if the direction we’re headed isn’t how you want to finish your career, I understand. It’s up to you.

He’d signed. He’s staying. It wasn’t ever really a choice.

Sid thinks there’s still a part of him that hoped, though. He’s never going to give up on winning, never going to stop chasing the ultimate goal, and the part of his brain that asks his barber to shave down the hair on his temples until the gray is less visible is the same part that clung to the idea of contending.

And, well, anything’s possible. They’re not even a quarter of the way through the season. But.

Worse than the team, though, Sid can feel Geno slipping away.

Geno’s been avoiding him since the Islanders game. After the hellish Carolina blowout, Sid tried to pin him down for a conversation, to actually talk about this bond and how they can fix it, but Geno slipped away, insulated from Sid on the plane by the poker game group and practically running up to his hotel room when they landed in DC.

For a moment Sid even considered going to morning skate to corner him, but Geno’s gameday routine is even more rigid than Sid’s own, and Sid can’t bring himself to mess up Geno’s rhythm, not on a day like today.

Games against Washington always have a little extra importance. Sid takes every game seriously, of course he does, but he won’t lie and say that the Capitals don’t stand out on the calendar more than the rest. Especially now, with records in sight and careers coming to an end.

It’s why he loses his temper and screams on the bench when they blow another lead again in the second.

Losing to an opponent because they’re just better than you is one thing. But what Sid can’t abide, won’t tolerate, is a lack of effort, sloppy play and ignoring the details and fundamentals, making careless mistakes that lead to chances against.

His line is playing well. He can’t say the same for anyone else.

At intermission, Sully stays out of the room at first, and Sid lets loose all his frustrations with the year so far, his anger at the losing streaks and his own struggles, and shouts the team down until they’re properly cowed. And when the coaching staff comes in again, Sid marches up to Sully and tells him to take Geno off the top line.

He says it loud enough for most of the guys to hear, but he doesn’t look over to see what face Geno’s making.

Geno’s been on his wing because of a bond he clearly doesn’t want, and Sid’s been taking advantage of it. If Sid can’t score with the wingers he has, he deserves any failures coming his way.

He spares a thought for his parents, somewhere up in the stands because Sid’s getting close to yet another milestone. Maybe he should tell them to go home.

It was the right decision. Partway through the third, Geno reads a rebound like only he can, breaks the tie, and the Penguins don’t look back.

Winning in Washington always means a lot, but even watching Alex smash his stick and yell at himself on the Capitals’ bench as time ticks down doesn’t make Sid feel better. He keeps his head down when he strips out of his gear, spends entirely too much time on a cooldown bike, and is the last one on the bus, barely making it before Sully would have started yelling about him being late.

At least they have the weekend off.

Sid can feel Geno watching him on the plane. Normally after a road trip like this, Geno would commandeer the window seat next to him, sprawl out and get his legs in Sid’s space, jostling him until Sid relaxed enough to laugh and poke back, the two of them picking at each other until they settled enough to get some sleep.

Nobody takes the empty seat next to Sid this time. He tugs his hat over his eyes and purposely thinks about nothing. At least it’s a short flight.

When they’re deboarding in Pittsburgh, for the first time ever Sid reaches out with the bond on purpose.

The recoil he gets from Geno is enough to send him practically running to his car, racing through the quiet streets to Sewickley faster than he’d normally drive. He feels sick.

Geno might hate him. It was Sid’s lagging production that pulled him into this bond, after all, chained Geno to his side for a week until Sid stopped being selfish and forced them apart again. Geno had been sick, Geno hadn’t been producing, and the second Sid let him free he scored, so… Sid can’t say with confidence that he wouldn’t be furious if their roles were reversed.

He’s so wrapped up in his own self-recriminations that he doesn’t realize Geno’s coming over until he hears a key in his lock, and suddenly Geno’s presence in the back of his mind is inescapable.

“Sid?” Geno calls, and Sid, sitting at his island in his dark kitchen, drops his head into his hands and waits.

When Geno finds him, he swears long and low, a tumble of Russian that Sid would have gotten the gist of even without the bond pulsing concern and guilt his way.

He flinches when Geno flicks the lights on, blinking up at where Geno’s suddenly looming over him.

“We need to talk,” Geno says, and Sid stares at him helplessly, because what is there to say?

Geno shakes his head and sits on the stool next to him, pressing their knees together. Sid feels a wash of relief at the contact so powerful he has to blink away dizzy darkness from the corners of his vision. Geno frowns, the downturned corners of his mouth digging lines into his face. In the harsh overhead lights, he looks haggard, skin pale under the remnants of his summer tan and the bags under his eyes dark and pronounced.

“My fault,” Geno says, holding up one big hand when Sid opens his mouth. “It’s me who starts this, like, after Sochi. I’m think probably I know it’s there and we’re ignore for so long it’s say, no more, has to happen. We have to fix or we’re sick for season.”

Sid shakes his head. “It’s me who made it…whatever,” he says, gesturing. He doesn’t know the right words for what’s happening to them, never read up on bonds because he never expected to have one. “Like, I needed you and made it…this.”

“You needed me,” Geno repeats, and his voice is toneless, but Sid feels a soft bloom of…something in the bond, something that makes him want to reach out and touch.

“I always need you,” Sid mutters, staring at his hands instead of Geno’s face. Almost twenty years together on this team and it shouldn’t feel so strange to admit, of course they need each other, but something about saying it now, out loud…the way he’s feeling, the way he can tell Geno is feeling, makes the words feel fraught.

There’s a long silence, and when Sid looks up, Geno’s biting his lip. “Don’t know what to do,” he admits, and Sid shouldn’t feel relief there, but at least he’s not alone in feeling totally lost.

There’s no real literature for this, not really. They haven’t even been able to have more than a few quick consults with bond specialists since they’ve been on the road.

Sid startles a little when Geno reaches out and covers Sid’s hands with one of his own. His palm is a little damp, but he’s warm, and his hand is big enough to cover both of Sid’s where they’re twisting in his lap.

It’s late. They both should get sleep, even with two full days off from games.

They sit in Sid’s kitchen in silence as night deepens outside.

[astaroth1357]

The Brothers are Damsels in Distress!!

I was flicking through my feed, saw something and went: "But what if Rapunzel??"

Content: Hints of Fairytale AU, but on crack

Scenario: One morning, through utterly inexplicable means, a portal opens up and drops one of the brothers into a cottage-style tower straight out of a fairy tale. The whole room is enchanted so they can't break out on their own. Their only means of communication are their phones and a crystal ball they can use to see what the MC and others are doing.

How are they taking this?

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

This man is livid. Fuming. Almost apoplectic.

He has no idea what being has decided to put him in this position, but he's already planning on making them Cerberus' next chewtoy the moment he finds his freedom.

After establishing that he can't teleport out, break the walls, jump out the window, tunnel through the floorboards, or just blow up the room out of spite... he finally accepts his fate.

Lucifer... is miserable. He's doing his best to conserve his phone battery so he can still coordinate with his brothers from a distance, but watching them stumble around cluelessly through the crystal ball is honestly painful. He quite frequently shouts at the feed like a football dad screaming at a TV.

He puts all his hopes in MC and Dia coming up with something because everyone else is mostly useless... There were multiple instances where he just holds his head in his hands, resigning to the idea of being stuck there until he's just a dried out skeleton.

Even if they finally get to him, he won't be happy. He'll be humiliated by the whole affair and trying to anything in his power to save face and get out on his own as much as possible. Anyone who values their lives will forget that it ever happened in the future.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Lucifer! Lucifer!! Let down your-gah!!

*they rub their head and feel something wet hit their fingers*

MC: Was... was that a tomato?!

MC: You know what, fuck you man!! Go help yourself!! 🤬

Mammon

He's flipping out.

An extrovert like Mammon trapped in a room like that all alone?? He'll go stir crazy in three days tops!

It took twenty minutes and 3 selfies for anyone besides the MC to believe that he was trapped in there. ... Then MC raking his brothers over the coals for them to actually start treating it like a priority. He really didn't do it to himself this time, dammit!!

Mammon's ADHD brain is already going mad after a few hours of nothing to do. MC gets piles upon piles of texts ranging from, "Are ya any closer yet??" to "MC, if ya can't get me out of here, take care of Goldie for me... my car too."

They have to reassure him multiple times that he would not, in fact, die in there if they could help it. Though after his phone goes dead from the constant spam, they do start to worry...

If there was any bright side to the situation, Mammon gets to watch his treasured MC absolutely tear his brothers a new one if any one of them so much as think about giving up or postponing the search. Their anger is truly frightening... so good thing he isn't there! Ha!!

When they finally find him, he's never lept for the MC so fast... Literally. He literally jumps. He wants out of there FAST.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Mammon! Mammon!! Let down your-

Mammon: *leaps from the tower, knowing they'll find some way to catch him*

Mammon: FREEDOM!!!

MC: Oh dear God, don't just jump!!! 😫

Leviathan

Panicking like crazy and running around in circles. Can you even comprehend how many premieres he's going to miss like this?? The spoilers!!!

After the MC gets a hold of him through the phone and they tell him to hang tight and if he figures out where he is to let them know.

So uh... He had intends to keep his phone usage down to a minimum so he could conserve the battery life. However, he figures he could at least do his mobile game check-ins and the next thing he knows his phone dies during a weekly dungeon....

Honestly? His soul might have died along with it.

He spends a lot of time staring at the crystal ball, hoping in vain that one of his brothers will watch TV or something, anything that could give him something to do.

That was his only way of communicating with the others and, more importantly, the only source of entertainment an otaku like him could have in a room like this! Does he look like a cottagecore enthusiast?? No!!!

If anyone is in his bedroom, he'll try to zoom in on Henry's fishbowl and talk to him to decompress... He already feels like such an idiot for wasting his battery life. Henry, why is he so stupid...?

Yeah, he's going to be bored and moping until somebody comes to find him. But at least he won't mind the isolation as much so they're not too worried about him going crazy in there. He'll be fine... right?

Bouns:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Leviathan! Leviathan!! Let down your-

Levi: *scrambles to the window* MC, DID YOU BRING A CHARGER?!?

MC: PRIORITIES, LEVI!!!

Satan

He is naturally furious, but also weirdly intrigued. Is this like one of those escape rooms MC sometimes talks to him about...?

Much like Lucifer, he quickly finds that trying to break through stuff wouldn't get him anywhere... as the heavy countertop he smashed into smithereens again the wall shows him.

Tantrum out of his system, Satan is probably the most rational the seven. He does his best to communicate to the others where the tower is based on the landmarks he can see, but he also uses his phone sparingly to conserve the battery.

While they all work to track him down, he keeps himself busy by listening to their plans through the crystal ball or searching for any weak points on his own, because what good would just sitting around do him?

He's surprisingly flexible. If the group plans to look for him from above, he sets out cushions on the floor just in case of any falls. If they want to look for him on foot, he makes sure to light as many candles as possible to give them a makeshift beacon to guide them.

By the time that they actually find him, he's already figured out a couple ways to help get him out depending on the possible exit points and has prepared accordingly.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Satan! Satan!! Let down your-eh?

*they watch as a looong chain of tied together sheets, tablecloths, and towels gets tossed from the window, followed by Satan using it to calmly rappel down*

MC: U-uh.... Never mind! I guess you got this. 😅

Asmodeus

Asmo would be living his best life if only anyone could actually see him up there!

Asmo is all down for playing the role of the helpless, beautiful victim in need of rescuing but how is he supposed to pull that off if he's trapped all alone?? There's no attention! No pageantry!!

After getting the situation across to his brothers, he also kills his phone battery by posting selfies and livestreaming the situation to his adoring public. They're so scared for him, but he's not worried. MC will come find him, after all!

By the time they actually arrive to come get him, Asmo has already dolled himself up to play his newfound role perfectly.

After his phone dies, he keeps himself busy in small ways... Like practicing his relieved expression in a mirror for a few hours. Or using the curtains and his sewing skills to make himself just the cutest gown!

MC: *stand under the tower*

MC: Asmodeus! Asmodeus!! Let down your... hair...?

Asmo: ✨️COMING~!!✨️

*the MC watches as yards and yards of beautiful strawberry blonde trusses indeed gets thrown from the window above, all connected to a very hammy Asmo standing on the window sill*

MC: ... It's only been two days, how did you even grow all that?!?

Beelzebub

Very confused, upset, and hungry. Somebody please help him!!

The minute that Beel sends the message that he is trapped somewhere, it was really all hands on deck. MC and Belphie were freaking out of course, but all of his other brothers were just as worried as well. This is Beel here! He's going to be so hungry out there!!

And hungry he is. He went through an entire two weeks worth of rations stored in the room within an hour. By the end of the day, he's so mindlessly hungry that he starts taking bites out of the tables, chairs, and even his phone...

Since he can't use half of a phone, Beel has to watch his brothers work through the crystal ball while he gnats on the drapery, feeling guilty about making them all so worried...

At least this time his brothers don't argue nor fight with each other at all. Everyone understands what the priorities are and they follow whatever roles they are to the letter. They want to find him ASAP and they even take turns comforting Belphie with MC while they search.

By the time they find him, the whole family is willing to bust through the walls with pickaxes if that's what it takes to get to him. He would feel really touched by all of their efforts, but he's just so hungry... need... food.....

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Beel! BEEL!! I BROUGHT BURGERS!!!

Beel: MC... s-so hungry.... 😓

MC: You stay right there, don't move a muscle! I'm coming to you!! 😫

Belphegor

... Deja vu, right?

So this isn’t Belphie's first rodeo. He's practically a "stuffed up somewhere he can't escape from" veteran now. Though this place was more... cozy than the attic.

Call it the cow in him, but he's always had a soft spot for cottagecore. It's so homey and comforting, just perfect for lazy naps under fruit trees! The atmosphere is so relaxing...

So he naps. A LOT.

He ends up communicating a lot more sporadically with everyone than the others. Largely due to the long periods of unconsciousness. But like, could you blame him? What was he even supposed to do in there? MC would figure something out again.

Whenever he goes over to check the progress, he shoots out sarcastic texts about his brothers' dumb ideas to pass the time. It's very apparent how unconcerned he is about this from the get-go...

Does he know when they are on their way to get him? Surprisingly yes. Does he manage to stay awake until they show up? Unsurprisingly no. Go figure...

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Belphegor! Belphegor!! Let down your hair!

Belphegor: .....

MC: ... Belphie?

Belphegor: .....

MC: Bitch, are you seriously asleep?!

Belphegor: ....zzzZZzzz....

MC: ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!

[subtlesolitude-tailoredtaste]

I’ve been betraying myself for my mother since I was 3 all to not cause any kind of level of disturbance. What will these Ethiopian ppl that (spoiler alert gathered around her hospital beds repeatedly during my childhood just to see if she’d die now hahaha) ahhhh perspective too much not even therapy suffices.

I will end up running like she ran right. I pray with everything inside of me and on me that I do not make the same choices or fall to indecisiveness the way she did. I thank god my mother sacrificed and only had me my father should have never procreated and did not have more than 1 bc mom and God knew the inhumanity of allowing him to father another child and she stays married to the deadest of beats a lazy mean African bootyscratching waste of a man. No. lol only to repeatedly find versions of the fuckery. I have been well kept luggage well looked at for and then when mother takes me out of her luggage I must wear act be who she said to be if she changes what that is so must I. I was free and then I came back bc I felt sorry and guilty that she was unable to get out of her fucking shit now I am old luggage I cannot do exactly or be exactly who she says I must. And that is why she is miserable hahahahahhahahahaha and that is why I am stuck and drowning and trapped and wasted potential talent flesh bones skin and organs. lol ahhhhhhhh

When I get thee fuck out and away I could die the next day just I pray for one good fucking day of all else and I cont to fail.

I tried. I really did. Now what happen now and forward God be with us all. I’m sorry mama in the key of Eminem as long as it gets me the fuck away proper and better AHHHHHHHHJDJFJFNFJFJCBCHXHXHFHCHFHFHFHFHFHFHTYTH

[swift-creates]

title: Protecting the Wrong Person

category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Diana Prince

warnings: some violence, swearing, descriptions of injury, blood, accidentally hurting someone

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 17: Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

Clark stumbles across Batman confronting the Red Hood and intervenes, but (especially with the Bats) things are never as they seem.

notes: one of the first fics I wrote for this month! I really like this one tbh

Diana flew beside him as they quickly zeroed in on Bruce’s position, the docks at Gotham Harbor. “Try not to sneak up on them,” she’d said as they set off from the zeta tube. As if Clark needed reminding. The last time he had accidentally startled Bruce, he’d ended up with a Kryptonite batarang stuck in his palm. But Diana didn’t seem too worried about it, and neither was Clark; today was a peaceful day, and all they wanted to do was pick Bruce up early for a Watchtower briefing (and if they were accused of intending to sneak an episode of the Gray Ghost on the Watchtower surveillance screens before the meeting, they would surely deny it). 

“Nearly there,” Clark said to her now. They were approaching the harbor, and he could see Batman and Nightwing facing down Red Hood. He tensed when he realised the rogue was armed, gesturing casually with twin pistols as he spoke, but their heartbeats were steady. They had it under control. Diana and Clark would not intervene unless it was absolutely necessary. He reined his senses back in to keep from eavesdropping — Bruce was always going on about privacy, despite the fact that he was always keeping tabs on everyone. 

Batman said something, and Hood replied. Nightwing chimed in before gesturing to Hood, probably admonishing him for being so nonchalant with the pistols. His heart jumped into his throat as the criminal visibly scoffed and gestured even more pointedly at both of them, leveling one at each vigilante. 

The gun was pointing straight at Bruce’s face. Hood’s finger shifted on the trigger, and Clark saw red. 

~

Bruce watched fondly as Dick and Jason bickered over who had really taken out the last henchman. 

“It’s my bullet.”

“And it would never have hit him without me kicking that panel into place.” 

“All you can take credit for is the rebound. I shot it!” 

Bruce resisted the urge to reach out and indulgently pat Jason on the shoulder (or even more embarrassing, ruffle his hair). “Nightwing, Hood. Good work.” Dick looked content enough with that, but Jason rolled his eyes perceptibly. 

“It was good until Big Bird tried to take credit for my moves.” He jabbed one pistol at Dick, and Bruce tried to imagine him pouting under his mask. 

“Little Wing, put those things away, you’re gonna shoot someone,” Dick said admonishingly. 

Jason scoffed. “Please. As annoying as you are, I think I can not accidentally put a bullet in either of you. Comes from, y’know, having years of experience handling firearms and some fucking common sense.” He pointed the other at Bruce. “See? Not dead.” 

Bruce opened his mouth to chide him, but couldn’t. 

One second Jason was standing in front of them, then there was a flash of blue and red.

And then he heard Jason scream.

His body was moving before his brain knew he was, every instinct pulling him to pull his son away from the attacker. It took him a second longer than he liked to recognise who it was rearing back for another blow, and every bit of his panic and anger and shock snapped into his voice as he shouted. 

“SUPERMAN.”

He froze at his name, and Bruce looked to Dick, but his eldest had already made it to Clark, wrapping his arms around familiar broad shoulders and yanking harshly back. If it had been just about anyone else, the super would have refused to budge, Bruce knew. But it was Dick, and he was close enough to see Clark’s eyes widen as he went down willingly. 

Dick had always adored, borderline idolised Clark, trusted him with his life and the lives of his team and everyone else counting on them to save the world. But now Dick — cheery, gentle Dick — was snarling and pressing a Kryptonite dagger to Superman’s throat. “Get away from him.” He obviously had it handled (wait, where the hell did he get-? Nope, never mind, not now), so Bruce moved to Jason and felt the mask of his expression crack. 

He was lying in the ruins of what used to be a brick wall, helmet cracked, one leg bending at an unnatural angle, the jagged edge of a bloody bone poking out of his side, and he was screaming. His baby boy, his son, who could take bullets without flinching and stitch himself up with barely a sound, was screaming in pain. 

Bruce dropped to his knees beside Jason and reached for his helmet, pressing his thumb to the button that disabled the electric safeguards and pulling it off to cradle his son’s face. “Jason. Jay, can you hear me?” 

“Nnh- B-Bruce?” 

“Shhh. I’ve got you. You’ll be okay.” 

Distantly, he heard Diana land behind him and pull Dick and Clark apart. “Kal-El, what have you done?” she whispered. Clark made no reply. 

Blood bubbled from the side of Jason’s mouth as he let out a plaintive whimper, and Bruce stroked his hair soothingly before tearing himself away and rounding on his best friend. 

“You made this mess. You’ll fix it,” he growled, jabbing one finger into the symbol on his chest. “Take him to the Watchtower.”

Clark winced, probably at the look on Bruce’s face rather than the jab. “Bruce, I,” was all he said before Diana slipped past him to look Bruce in the eye. 

“He’ll react better to me, and you know it.”

“…Fine.” She frowned, but didn’t reprimand him and went to gingerly pick Jason up. 

Jason gave a strangled cry of pain, and Bruce was at his side in an instant. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe for me.” He felt something in his chest constrict at the sight of Jason struggling to regulate his breathing. Brushing bits of rubble from his hair, Bruce leaned over to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “That’s it, Jaylad. You’re doing great.” He stepped back to let them go, shooting Clark one last glare. 

Dick watched them from a nearby crate with eyes narrowed like a panther’s, smoothly returning the dagger to his belt and falling into step behind Bruce as Diana and Clark lifted off and he headed to the Batmobile. “I know he didn’t mean to,” he muttered, the first words he’d said since pinning his role model to the wall with a lethal weapon, “but he did.” Bruce agreed, pausing to squeeze his shoulder briefly. If he spoke, he was going to start yelling and never stop. 

They got into the Batmobile and headed to the Gotham zeta tube. He would start yelling, but not at Dick. And the faster they got to the Watchtower, the better. He didn’t want Jason to wake up alone. 

[manias-wordcount]

I really love your work. Are you able to write a request for Baal x male reader angst where the reader dies in her arms? I just played her story quest and its pulling my heart strings.

Put i really just wanted to say I appreciate your help

Staring at the Moon(Ei/Baal x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗼𝗸 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽, 𝗜 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗮𝗱 𝗯𝗰 𝗶 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝗺 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺. 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗱𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗻 𝗶𝗺 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲. 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗶 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝗹𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗰 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹. 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘁!

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗹𝘆

𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 || 𝗔𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗛𝗖𝘀

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You feel…cold.

  It’s in your veins. Traveling up your bloodstream. Squeezing at your lungs. Squeezing at your heart. Thrashing its way to your brain. Filling up your ears and stuffing itself through your tail. Invading your body. Invading your mind. Making it hard to think and hear and see and but by archons, did it leave you to feel. Because whatever it is, whatever it’s doing, it’s making you feel so, so cold. So, so lost too. And afraid. But that’s weird. That’s extremely weird because you’re not someone who gets afraid. You’re brave. You’re strong. You’ve been all your life. You lead armies that can move mountains. You serve archons and you look them in the eye. You’re not afraid. You’re never afraid. Never. So why…

  “Please…”

  Why…

  “You can’t do this to me.”

  Why are you whimpering?

  You open your lips. You crack your eyes. Your archon- your goddess- hovers just above you. But for some reason, she looks so tired. She looks so scared. So helpless. Like the strength and fearlessness of her spirit has been stripped away. This can’t be your Lady. This can’t be your Ei. And yet, it’s her face that appears before you. It’s her hands that are reaching out and holding your cheeks. Her warm, warm hands against your cold, cold cheeks. And it’s her tears that are falling onto your face. Splashing down and dropping onto your neck and your eyelids and nose and your chin and your lips. You’ve never seen her like this before. Your strong, strong Raiden reduced to tears. What happened to the two of you? What happened to her? What happened to you?

  And why you do feel so cold?

  You flick your ears back. A force of habit. Something you always do yet can’t always control. But for some reason, it’s harder than you remember. And one of them doesn’t quite move like you want it to. You reach your hand up. It burns- every time you move. Oh, how your body aches and aches and aches. Screaming in a silent pain as if you were to do anything but exist. And yet, you grit your teeth. You puff out your harsh breaths. And you still manage to lift your arm high enough to reach the top of your head. Your fingers extend- searching for the feeling of the right ear.

  Only to find nothing where it’s supposed to be. 

  Nothing except a pool of your own warm blood. 

  You let out a cry of alarm. Your eyes blow wide and you start to thrash. Ei reaches out and grabs at you. She pulls you into her lap and holds onto your arms as if to keep you from moving. She calls your name. She pleads with you. She cries for you. But it’s not enough. Because even as your body screams and shouts in pain, you can’t help but struggle to free yourself. To stand up. To find a mirror or a pool of water or something to see what you look like. What else had you lost? What else was stolen from you? Your Lady won’t show you. Your Lady won’t tell you. But her tears fall and they warm your skin. Since when did your lady cry? Since when did the tears of another warm your body? When? When?

  It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t. You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re important. You’re a fox envoy for the great and powerful Raiden Ei of Inazuma. You’re a general in her and her sister’s army. A military strategist that won them wars. You’ve guided them even as they lead you. You lead them even as they guided you. You’ve done so much for Raiden Ei and Raiden Makoto. You've done so much for them- so much for Ei. You earned their respect. You earned their trust. Their admiration. A spot at the top right next to them, serving them with grace. Serving Ei with grace. You have generations of warriors running through your blood. You have years and years of experience beneath your skin. You’re a hardened soldier. You never falter. You never fail. Never. Never.

  So why are you not kneeling before your lady at this time? Why are you not paying your respects to her? Serving her? Why are you not fighting alongside her? Why are you not fighting for her? Why is your head in her lap instead? Why is she holding you so tight, as if in mere seconds you’re disappearing? Why is she looking at you like that? Why is she crying? Why is she crying for you?

  “Please…”

  Oh…

  “I can’t lose you now- I still need you.”

  You.

  You’re dying.

  You’re dying, aren’t you?

  The realization hits you like the blunt end of a weapon to your chest. You’re dying. You’re dying. You don’t know how. You don’t when it happened. You don’t know when it started. You’re starting to even have trouble recalling the reason why you’re here. So far, far away from home. Bleeding out while something cold travels throughout your body. Something that makes it hard to think. Something that makes it hard to hear. To see. 

  Like mist clouding your vision, a fog is starting to lay waste to your mind. For a moment did you forget? Did you forget your own name? You must’ve of- the fear that consumed in that moment could have only been because of that. Or maybe…maybe you forgot something else. A memory. A purpose. A promise. You don’t know. You’re too cold to think. You’re too afraid to remember. All you know is that your lady is with you now. But it’s starting to become even harder to perceive her. Why is her face moving in that way? Why is her lips twisting up in a frown so awful? A sob so terrifying?

  Why are you leaving her? Why do you have to go?

  You don’t want to go. You don’t want to go!

  “Please,” You beg, but you don’t know who you’re talking to. The stars? The heaven? Surely not your Lady. Because you only gripped onto her harder, trying to root yourself in her presence. But it’s getting harder to do that. It’s getting harder to breathe. To think. To remember. Where are you again? What happened to you? Are you…are you dying? “Please, someone…”

  Are you losing? Surely you can’t be. Because your Lady is here with you. She’s holding onto you tight. Her arms are around yours. Her fingers are brushing themselves through your hair. She’s being mindful of your ears. Did you hurt them again? You hope you didn’t. You’re usually not that clumsy in front of your Lady. But that’s the weird thing. You can’t remember. 

  Did you win the battle? Did you win the war? What were you fighting for again? Where are you again? Is this home? Are you home? Where are the sakura trees? Where is the fresh air- salted by the ocean and its winds?

  It’s getting dark all around you. Perhaps it’s nighttime. Maybe that’s why you’re having trouble recognizing this place. Maybe that’s why you feel so cold too. You’re feeling tired now. Perhaps it’s time for you to go to sleep. Your ear hurts. And your body aches too. And there’s a voice calling your name. It sounds so far away. It sounds like your Lady too. Your Lady Ei. But that’s weird- your Lady Ei doesn’t plead with anyone. She never begs. She never cries. Why does it sound like she’s pleading for you? Why does it sound like she’s begging for you? Maybe you’re hearing wrong. After all, it sounds so, so, so far away. Whatever it is, you’ll deal with it later. You’re feeling a little tired. You’re feeling a little cold. You’re feeling a little far away from yourself, honestly.

  Perhaps all you need is to close your eyes. Perhaps all you need is to get some rest.

  “ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ….”

  Things will be better when you finally wake up. Yeah…

  “ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᶦᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵐᵉᵎ ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵃʳᵉ ᵈᶦᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵐᵉᵎ”

  Everything will be fine.

  “ᴾᴸᴱᴬˢᴱᵎ”

  Once you finally wake up.

[artofhazbinhotel]

Staticmoth playlist

Thrill of First Love (Falsettos)

Some lyrics as an example:

Leave me, love me, ha, don't be a fool

Want me, feed me, no one so cruel and cheap

What I love I devour, what you love you devour

What I covet I keep

The Chess Game (Falsettos)

Some lyrics as an example:

Life's a shame and every move is wrong

We've examined every move as we move along

Winning is everything to me

Nothing is everything to me

Winning is everything to me

Nothing is everything to me, except sex

Temporary Bliss (The Cab)

Some lyrics as an example:

I can't keep sleeping in your bed

If you keep messing with my head

Before I slip under your sheets,

Can you give me something please?

I can't keep touching you like this

If it's just temporary bliss, just temporary bliss

Fuck Away The Pain (Divide The Day)

It's such a shitty thing he did,

The way he said goodbye

You can take it out on me if you like

Fuck away the pain, erase him from your brain

Fake it like you love me, come on baby touch me

Show me where it hurts, this dirty little curse

You don't have to be ashamed

If you wanna scream my name

While I fuck away the pain

Take it Out on Me (Thousand Foot Crutch)

Some lyrics as an example:

It's not working, it's not worth it

You wanted it to be picture perfect

It's not over, you don't have to throw it away

So scream if you wanna, shout if you need

Just let it go, take it out on me

Fight if you need to, smash if it helps you,

Take control, take it out on me

Here we go Again (Demi Lovato)

Some lyrics as an example:

So how do you get here under my skin?

Swore that I'd never let you back in

Should've known better than trying to let you go

Cause here we go go again

Hard as I try I know I can't quit

Something about you is so addictive

You think that by now I'd know

Cause here we go go again

Your Love is my Drug (Ke$ha)

Some lyrics as an example:

What you got boy is hard to find

I think about it all the time

I'm all strung out my heart is fried

I just can't get you off my mind

Because your love, your love, your love is my drug

Your love, your love, your love

Disgusting (Ke$ha)

Some lyrics as an example:

It's disgusting how I love you

God I hate me, I could kill you

Because you're messing up my name

Gotta walk my talk my fame

But I just wanna touch your face

It's disgusting how you've changed me

From a bandit to ew, a baby

Thinking I gotta change my name

If I'm gonna walk this walk of shame

Look at what you do to me, it's disgusting

Boy Like You (Ke$ha, Ashley Tisdale)

Some lyrics as an example:

I know you know I'm wrapped around your finger

You're so, you're so beautiful and dangerous

Hot and cold, don't you see the light, boy?

I could blow your mind, boy

Let me be your new toy

I do want and I get what I want when I want it

But I'm not gonna stop until I get what you got,

Til I got it

Paparazzi (Lady Gaga)

Some lyrics as an example:

I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you until you love me

Papa-Paparazzi, baby there's no other superstar

You know that I'll be your papa-paparazzi

Promise I'll be kind,

But I won't stop until that boy is mine

Baby you'll be famous,

Chase you down until you love me, papa-Paparazzi

Love Game (Lady Gaga)

Some lyrics as an example:

Hold me and love me,

Just wanna touch you for a minute

Maybe three seconds is enough

For my heart to quit it

Let's have some fun, this best is sick

I wanna take a ride on your disco stick

Don't think too much, just bust that kick

I wanna take a ride on your disco stick

Let's play a love game, play a love game

Do you want love? Do you want fame?

Are you in the game? Dans le love game

Super Psycho Love (Simon Curtis)

Some lyrics as an example:

Flirt with you, you're all about it

Tell me why I feel unwanted

If you didn't want me back

Why'd you have to act like that?

It's confusing to the core when I know you want it

And if you don't wanna be,

Something substantial with me

Why do you give me more? Babe I like you want it

Say that you want me everyday that you want me

Every way that you want me

Every way that you need me got me tripping

Super psycho love

Toxic Valentine (All Time Low)

Some lyrics as an example:

I live a lifestyle full of first impressions

I've got my hands full of unhealthy obsessions

He bites my lip, I'm sure to follow

We take a drink til we're guilty and then hollow

Sex and white lies, handcuffs and alibis

He lays his halo the pillow when he sleeps

His heart beats red wine, my toxic valentine

Bipolar Baby (Forever The Sickest Kids)

Some lyrics as an example:

He's kind at times,

He's the first to pick a fight

And convinced that he's always right

He's up and down and in and out of this world

He's always out of line, always out of line

He drives me crazy all of the time

Bipolar baby, one of a kind

She's so Mean (Matchbox 20)

Some lyrics as an example:

He's a hardcore candystore give me some, boy, boy

He'll make you take him to the club

And then he leaves with his friends

He likes to stay late at the party

Cause the fun never ends

And all his clothes are on the floor

And all your records are scratched

He's like a one way ticket

Cause you can't come back

Saying yeah you want him, but he's so mean

You'll never let him go, why won't you let him go?

Push (Matchbox 20)

Some lyrics as an example:

And I'm a little bit angry

Well, this ain't over, no, not here

Not while I still need you around

You don't owe me, we might change it

Yeah, we just might feel good

I wanna push you around

Well I will, well I will

I wanna push you down

Well I will, well I will

I wanna take you for granted

I wanna take you for granted

I will, I will

Self Inflicted (Katy Perry)

Some lyrics as an example:

I can't stop, don't care care if I lose

Baby, you are the weapon I choose

These wounds are self Inflicted

I'm going down in flames for you

Baby, you are the weapon I choose

These wounds are self Inflicted

One more thing I'm addicted to

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.117 The other shoe

We started the night at a bar in a fancy rooftop hotel in San Myshuno. Sophia and I didn't bother dressing up because our only goal was to meet the man that had my sister all googly-eyed, and that didn't involve nice clothes. Jace Laurent was his name. He was from Tartosa and frequented the bar where we had the party. His fancy job title didn't fool me once he explained the role. He said he was a nano-simfluencer for a company called Trend Team. Apparently, he was heavily into fashion and was seeking the attention of brands on social media so he could score an endorsement deal. Basically, he was unemployed. True, I was technically unemployed too, but at least I left home and come back with money like normal working sims.

But after a while, I had to admit he wasn't as much of a schmuck as I thought he'd be. He was definitely weird, but seemed like he'd be kinda fun to hang out with once we got to know each other better.

"Would you stop grilling him??" Alessia shouted.

"I'm not grilling! I'm just trying to get to know him. Isn't that what you want?"

"Yeah, but stop with the 20 Questions!"

"How else am I supposed to get to know him, Less??"

Like, seriously! What was up with her? First she yelled at Sophia on Winterfest for trying to stay in the conversation and get to know her, and now this? I hoped ol' dude was up to handle her moods because if I couldn't win with her, no one could.

"Don't mind her," Jace said. "She's just a little pregnant."

"I'm sorry...WHAT?!"

His proud, smug face melted into discomfort and mortification.

"Oh no...she didn't tell you."

"We're in love, Luca," Alessia shouted. "I asked him to move in."

So many questions buzzed around my brain like a swarm of bees, but the frustration flowing through my veins was stronger than the urge to get answers. I was so done with this seemingly endless stream of accidental pregnancies around me! The mere thought of another person turning up pregnant ignited a fiery anger within me so intense I could almost taste it. Okay…I wouldn't actually resort to violence, but the urge to lash out, to release my pent-up frustration, was as real as all these unborn babies in my life.

"We have to go," I said, getting up from the table.

Alessia yelled after us, questioning our abrupt departure, but I didn't care. My only goal was to seek shelter in the safety of my home because the fortress I built around my emotions had finally been breached. Falling apart was imminent now. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the pressure that had been building up all week erupted from my mouth as I hollered. I never felt so out of control before. I paced, tugged on my hair, and screamed some more. Sophia stood off to the side for a moment, watching, allowing me to get it out, but then she marched up to me and embraced me tightly as if she were trying to squeeze hope back into me. We collapsed onto the couch and cried together. I probably should have waited to tell her about my hospital visit, but how much more could it hurt? We were already at the bottom.

"Sophia," I said through my tears, "I gotta tell you something."

She sat up to hear my story and wiped my face.

"I went to the doctor. That's where I was earlier... I have low fertility too. I'm so sorry!"

To my surprise, she didn't sink deeper into despair, like I thought she would. She held my hand and showed me the most incredible display of bravery I had ever seen.

"Awwwww, Luca! Are you okay? This isn't your fault. It's no one's fault. It just...is."

I knew she was right, but life really sucked at the moment, and I didn't know how to withstand against all those blows anymore. I thought I was strong enough, but now my wife had to hold me up.

"It's just not fair," I yelled. "Alessia, Yasmine...and even Dub! None of them were trying to get pregnant! Why won't it happen for us? I feel like we're being punished for something, but I don't know what it is! I just want to start a family with you. What's so bad about that?? I've done everything to stay positive and hopeful, but I can't do it anymore! I can't do it, Sophia!"

She wiped my tears and tried to soothe me, telling me it was going to be okay, just like I did for her at the beginning of all this.

"Hey...listen...we can't give up yet, babe. We've got one more trick up our sleeve! How about tomorrow I do the IVF? Forget those treatments!"

"Are you sure? That's surgery."

"It's outpatient. This is my last chance to carry my own child. I have to take it."

"Okay. But only if you want to. I'm fine with adoption if you change your mind, but...I really hope it works."

"Me too."