#Poison Box Ring

[shopdixi]

Gothic Alternative mystical labradorite poison box sterling silver rings and more. Only at shopdixi.com

[crownedinmarigolds]

Fangfest 2024 - Day Twenty - The Sun

It's almost funny when arguably one of the worst days of your life is the best thing that ever happened to you.

Ralph never considered himself lucky - just another awkward military brat who grew up trying to join the army counter intelligence program who then proceeded to lose his leg on his first deployment who then became an Instagram thot to avoid the horrors of fighting for his benefits as a disabled veteran. It was only after he was spite-Embraced by an incel Nosferatu and came out a waterblood that things started looking up. Now he didn't have to engage often with people who didn't understand his weird way of thinking, met the bestest friends he's ever had, was offered community (even if he rejected it in the end) from the fullblood Nosferatu, and of course met his beloved Khloworm.

The Sun card in tarot represents enlightment, joy, success and material happiness, even marriage. Ralph faces his life head-on because he has a purpose that motivates him, and also because he is surrounded by the immutable love of his entire coterie.

(Not canon YET but they are definitely going to drink the Formulae that gives you the ability to tattoo. Every member of Stakebait gets the staked heart tattoo, and Ralph of course wants ink of his lover covering up the mottled mess of his former tatts his Embrace messed up! Still a little messed up unfortunately, damn low-tier Nos Curse. Fear not viewer, Khloe designed and drew it herself.)

[sqoa]

cw stalking

☓☓☓ stalker!satoru likes exploiting his heightened senses to learn everything and anything he can about you. he doesn't even need to be in the fucking room to know that you're sitting with your thighs pressed together because you're still thinking about the letter he slipped under your door that morning.

the letter, in which he wrote the dirtiest details about yourself that not even you picked up on. like how when you're really horny you become restless and can't keep still for too long, or how when you cum your eyes squeeze shut and you almost look scared of the pleasure you're giving yourself. which he loves, because your fear is an aphrodisiac to him.

but you figure whoever it is that's stalking you is only stabbing a guess at what could be true. because there is no way he's someone you've fucked, because you don't fuck on a whim. the only other explanation you can come up with is that he's been in your home, either to install cameras or slip into the shadows late at night when you're touching yourself. which is a ridiculous thought, so he must be assuming.

until you come home from a particularly gruelling day to find a small box on your pillow.

it's black, and wrapped in a blue ribbon that looks hauntingly familiar to the shade of blue—you shake your head. with trembling hands you open the box to find three things. one of which is a baby blue vibrator, the same shade as the ribbon and a certain set of eyes you often think of when you touch yourself. you also find a smaller box with a note attached.

'a promise, until you trust me enough to replace it with the real thing, doll.' it reads, and doesn't make sense until you open the box and find a ring inside. expensive looking and glistening under the moonlight coming in through your window. it fits your ring finger perfectly when curiosity bests you and you slip it on. You should be panicked, locking your doors and calling the police but there's a horrible ache in your lower abdomen that has you awful restless, and you realise that perhaps your sweet-tongued stalker knows a little more about you than you do yourself.

weeks of gifts like this go by, from sex toys to expensive meal deliveries each night, you're starting to feel more like a sugar baby than a victim. and still, you haven't even given in to your stalker... you've been too scared to touch yourself, to put the box of toys he's gifted you to use, because each night as you fall asleep you dream of vile things done to you by a man you can't see the face of. you worry that if you give in, let him watch you fuck yourself stupid on the toys he brought you, you won't want to hate this. to hate the way he calls you his doll, like you're a toy to be played with, in a home he somehow has access to despite how many times you change the locks.

it's not until you're on a mission one day, alongside satoru gojo. you're in an awfully tight space together, stuck in an abandoned warehouse and boxed in by curses that you're sure he could handle in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. but you're here, pressed chest-to-chest and breathing in the scent of his sweat and cologne mixing together—sugar on his breath.

and you're just so needy, after weeks of denying yourself in hopes of boring your stalker away. you have to press your thighs together, satoru's hard abs against your stomach is too much: and the way he looks down at you, laboured breath and glossy lips parted... you have to look away. but when your gaze meets the ground, you catch a glimpse of something that you hadn't noticed before.

a ring on his finger, one that matches yours—hell, it even looks cut from the same gem.

and his voice is poison. "you've been hiding from me haven't you, my doll?"

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Granny's Sugar Cookies

Summary: Working in Hero Force’s mail room is the equivalent of being a poison taster for monarchs – it wasn’t a matter of if a disgruntled citizen was going to send Hero Force a bomb, but when.

Based off this prompt (X)

--------.

Travis, your supervisor, makes you take Disposal Training every two weeks to keep your skills fresh for the inevitable day something does show up in the mail.

“You’re lucky,” Travis says with his wide arms folded over his chest. He still wears the mail uniform from the 90’s with the pale blue, short-sleeved button down and the darker blue pinstripes. The Hero Force mask covering half of his face is in the new “regulation black” that every Hero Force personnel has to put on at the start of every shift. You hear Travis complain that they won’t let him wear the old brown one a lot. “But luck won’t ever take you further than training, kid.”

You aren’t a kid. In fact, Travis could almost be your kid. Your pension isn’t supposed to start for another three years, so that’s how long you need this job to last. There are rumors that Travis is trying to get you to quit before then as a way to prevent you from collecting retirement benefits from Hero Force. Save the company some money. You don’t think that’s true. You think that the extra training every second week is actually Travis’ way of being kind – you get to sit in the air-conditioned office for two hours and watch the same videos with your feet propped up.

Still, it is unusual that you haven’t opened anything criminal yet. Lots of people cautioned you against taking the job. Your neighbors, friends, your husband…even your eldest -who also works for Hero Force and who suggested it to you in the first place. They said it was the equivalent of being a poison taster for monarchs – it wasn’t a matter of if a disgruntled citizen was going to send Hero Force a bomb, but when.

“I don’t think it happens as often as people think,” you’d told your husband and child when the offer letter came. What you didn’t say was we don’t have a choice. You’d laughed and petted the coffee table. “Now maybe we can think about getting this old thing refinished, hm?”

Three years isn’t a long time anymore, not with a good 63 of them already under your belt. When the financial advisor ran the numbers and grimly told you how long you’d need to stay in the workforce, you’d been relieved. You’re fortunate that being a baker for most of your life has kept you reasonably fit and that you’re used to being on your feet.

Still, eight hours is a long time for anyone to be staring at bland white envelopes and brown boxes wrapped with yellow tape, so you’re thinking longingly of the bath you know your husband will have drawn for you at home when the blast doors slam down over the exit, trapping you and three of your coworkers in the sorting room.

You blink at the heavy metal plate that nearly took your (seemingly ever-growing) nose right off your face. The WARNING light hanging above the door is lit, casting the room in a striking red glow.

“You scanned that here?” Ring asks. He’s over at the sorting table, standing over the new hire’s shoulder. He gapes down at the screen held between her hands. It shows an x-ray of the box sitting innocuously on the sorting table. “Boxes with that dimension are supposed to be scanned in the disposal room!”

“It’s my last package,” the new hire says. You have to strain to hear her voice despite only being a dozen feet away. She’s already been given a nickname – Mouse. Fear makes her even quieter than before. “I-I thought—It’s to Strongwoman. Who would even think sending her a bomb would work? She got hit by a bus last week and the bus lost.”

“You know we don’t sort based on recipient,” Hawk says, pinching the bridge of her nose under her mask. She’s the veteran in the room, gaining her nickname from being the longest surviving member of the mail room after Travis and for having the highest number of successful disposals in history. Hawk eyed. “Your scan just told the defense system there’s a bomb in a vulnerable part of headquarters. We’ll be trapped here until they can get Demolition out to disarm it.”

“Or until it goes off,” Ring offers helpfully. Ring stands for ring the alarm, something he’s always doing. “Which it probably will before Demolition flies over from freakin’ California.”

Mouse hiccups. Her hands tremble on the scanner. “I-I’m sorry. Maybe it’s not…it could be something else?”

Ring and Hawk look at each other over her head. Ring tilts his head to the scanner. Hawk’s lips thin.

Translation: Unlikely.

“Maybe,” Hawk says. She puts a comforting hand on Mouse’s shoulder. “The only way to tell for sure is to open it.”

“Which protocol says we shouldn’t do,” Ring says.

You rub your nose. You don’t have to go to the bathroom this second, but you know your body. Protocol is not to carry a phone in the sorting room, so none of you have a way to you’re your husband and let him know you’ll be late. “How long do you think it will take for a disposal team to arrive? Supposing there’s one besides Demolition.”

Three heads whip towards you. There’s a range of emotions there, from surprise to dismay to dread.

“Oh no,” Mouse whispers, “I’ve killed Granny too.”

“If you survive, no one will ever forgive you,” Ring says.

Mouse’s eyes well with tears. “R-really?”

“Even Neon loves her muffins—"

Hawk hits him over the head hard enough his mask slips down over his eyes. While he curses and sets it to rights, she says, “Sorry, Granny. We’ll probably be waiting a while.”

You tug at your cardigan and shuffle over. The box is too big to be scanned in the sorting room – about the size of a case of flour you used to get delivered to the shop. The three of them make room for you on their side of the table. You squint at the screen. “What type of bomb is it?”

“Not like any I’ve seen before,” Hawk says. She takes the scanner from Mouse and angles it towards you. The box is shown in green and black lines. Inside is a cube of white and some curly bits. There are strange shadows across each shape, as if there are layers and layers of something over the top. “You?”

You raise your eyebrows. You thought it was common knowledge. “Well, I’ve never seen one before outside of training.”

Mouse starts. “Never seen—”

“Granny is lucky,” Ring says. He pats her on the shoulder like Hawk had. It’s nowhere near as comforting. “You’re just unlucky enough to have canceled that out.”

You pull out your glasses. You’re supposed to get the mask with your prescription over the eyes to prevent anyone from recognizing your personal eyewear. You think the prescription masks are itchy, however, so you regularly sneak them in your cardigan pocket. The scanner remains incomprehensible to you, even with them on. “It doesn’t look anything like it does in training.” You frown as the curls begin to look like ribbon the longer you stare at them. “Are you sure this is a bomb?”

“The defense system triggered on it,” Hawk says.

You wave your hand. These new AI systems are wrong all the time. You recently saw a news article about how the facial recognition software at the Hero Academy failed to pick out a top journalist, allowing him complete access to the campus. “They wouldn’t have us here sorting if the system were infallible.”

A strange look crosses Hawk’s face. “That’s one perspective.”

“It’s a state-of-the-art system,” Ring tells Mouse in a low tone. You imagine he thinks you can’t hear him or the faint laughter in his voice. “It’s not wrong.”

That grates. You may be new to the sorting room, but you aren’t wrong to question the systems. You point. “It could be cookies. See these disks here? Sugar cookies, I used to make a recipe just as thick. They’ve been very popular to send to Strongwoman lately; she must like them. And that’s the ribbon tying the box closed.”

“No,” Ring says. “No, it’s not cookies, Granny.”

Your spine stiffens. “I think it is.”

“Granny,” Hawk says tentatively. “Do you…often think things like these are cookies?”

“People do send the heroes a lot of baked goods,” you say. “It’s the best way to show gratitude!”

Mouse’s jaw drops. In a normal voice, she says, “You’ve been sending bombs onto heroes thinking they’re cookies?”

“Because they are,” you say.

“Oh my god,” Ring says. “Granny has seen a bomb, she just hasn’t recognized one before. Oh my god.”

You’re too old to stamp your feet. Instead, you narrow your eyes at Ring like you did when your eldest drew on the walls. “I have not. I open each package—”

“You open them?!”

“Protocol—"

“-and they’re always just cookies,” you say. You snag the package before any of them can move. “I’ll prove it to you!”

There’s a bit of a scuffle. Mouse doesn’t move out of the way of Ring’s lunge in time, and they both topple onto the table. Hawk tries to yank the package away from you, shouting something or other about better to be cautious or Granny stop! But you’re stronger than they think. They may call you Granny, but you’re only 63! Do they think you need a cane to walk?

You rip open the tape. Mouse screams. Ring whimpers. Hawk closes her eyes tight. You shake out the contents of the box.

A pink pastry plops out of the package and onto the scanning table. The three of them are frozen, eyes darting over the pretty ribbon curled into a bow holding it closed. With an indignant huff, you use a letter opener to cut the ribbon and flip back the lid.

Sugar cookies in six sloppy rows and stacked four deep sit inside.

“See?” you say triumphantly. “Sugar cookies!”

Hawk’s brow is furrowed. “That’s not—that can’t be—”

The bomb doors slide down and the WARNING light switches off. The system beeps three times and then falls silent. The quiet that fills the room sounds like victory.

“…so I can go home now?” Mouse asks.

“Yes,” you say smugly. You know it’s bad manners, but all the excitement has dropped your blood sugar. You snag a cookie and bite into it. “We all can.”

Ring and Hawk stay behind, staring from the box to each other and back again as you go home.

----.

You have two days off, and then Travis is off the day you come back so it takes three days for someone to tell you it was a bomb in that box.

That someone is Foresight, the leader of Hero Force.

He looks out of place in the sorting room, smiling and standing by the door as you shuffle from cart to cart to collect your jobs for the day. Travis is there with his arms folded and his eyes narrowed on Foresight.

“We call your class of power S-class,” Foresight explains. “The ability to change reality with a thought – it’s only been observed in a handful of super-powered individuals.”

“I don’t care what power she has,” Travis says. “You aren’t poaching Granny.”

“I would also like to stay in the mail room,” you say.

Foresight opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He looks bemused as he says, “Alright then. We do need to quantify your power. Does Thursday work for you?”

“Yes,” Travis answers for you. “We’ll be there.”

Your ears perk up. Maybe it will be a long meeting. Maybe you’ll have a chance to sit down. “Thursday it is then. I’ll bring some snacks for everyone.”

----

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Next week's story is already posted and is a follow up to this story (X) about Nadezh and Gannon

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

It Should Have Been You

Imagine: Pearline is Stack’s wife. She finds out the hard way when her husband continues his adulterous behavior.

Pearline Moore ONE-SHOT

Warnings: Smut. Angst, LOTS of dirty talk.

There is a humid, subtropical climate afoot in The South. Everyone takes shelter, and those with homes on raised beams above the waters that flow from the Mississippi River are the more fortunate. The rich, agricultural soil of The Delta is muddy and automobiles have a hard time getting through. A characteristic of alluvial deposition in deep water, where the river actively builds new land through sediments.

Shops close downtown, church’s postponed their congregations, and the plantation fields are overgrown and empty of sharecroppers picking cotton. The heavy showers beat down on rustic, tin roofs and bounced off the edges of iron tubs. Farm life make aggravated noises, stomping and shifting in their designated stalls surrounded by haystacks and various tools.

The weather didn’t keep Pearline Jacqueline Moore away from a local pharmacy owned by a Black Pharmacist named Robert Browning Jr.

Pearline wore her favorite riding boots, a trench coat, and a cloak hat over her moisturized curls with the help of Annie Minerva Turnbo Malone’s Poro Products. Her lush skin glistened from sweat and water as she hurried through downtown from her parked automobile. Pearline shoved past the doors to the pharmacy, the tiny bell above dinging softly, alerting Dr. Browning Jr. as he busied himself within a back room that he used as a storage unit.

She brushed her boots off on a mat as best as she could to keep mud from tracking the floor. Pearline removed her cloak hat, twisting it in her hands nervously, not realizing that she was ringing it out onto the floor. Her riding boots squeaked as she walked further into the pharmacy.

It was a bustling community hub with a strong focus on soda fountains and sundries. While they sold medicines, they also served as social gathering places, particularly during Prohibition, with soda fountains becoming popular. Pharmacists were not just dispensing medications but also providing advice and even counter-prescribing.

Pearline grabbed a basket and loaded it with random items, trying to appear less suspicious on why she was really there. She slipped past a newspaper rack and peeked at the headline on the front in bold, onyx print.

“Mrs. Moore? What you doing out in this awful weather?”

Pearline snapped her eyes towards the front counter.

Dr. Browning Jr. removed his reading glasses and stood dapper in a brown and beige suit with a maroon bow tie. He got rid of his suit jacket and replaced it with an apron, sleeves rolled up past his elbows revealing skin the color of pepper corn. He had a full goatee with a mustache that curled at the tips, sprinkled with gray hair and the hair on his head was close cut. He was a little over fifty years old and married to a stunning black woman from Alabama.

“Evening, Dr. Browning. My pantry is looking a little low. And I…I need some Arsenic to help with these pests hanging around my garden.”

Dr. Browning Jr. accepted Pearline’s basket and began ringing her up at his cash register. Pearline shifted her weight, anxious eyes looking around as if she were being watched.

“Would you like a vial of the poison or an entire bottle?”

“…I’m sorry?” Pearline inquired, seemingly lost as a nervous smile graced her heart–shaped lips.

“I’d suggest a bottle if the pest problem is serious. It’s quite pricy though, Mrs. Moore.”

“Oh! Oh…I think I should go ahead and buy the bottle. You never know, I may need it again.”

Pearline rushed to open her change purse, digging inside to grab a crisp twenty dollar bill. Dr. Browning Jr disappeared within his supply room for all but two minutes. He returned with a bottle of Arsenic, placing it within a box before gently covering it with a paper bag.

“That’ll be eighteen dollars.”

Pearline’s heart raced.

Pearline shifted her gaze towards the door, making sure no one was behind her.

“Mrs. Moore?—”

“Sorry,” she handed him the twenty dollars, “Keep the change. Thank you, Dr. Browning.”

Pearline accepted her bag, carrying it hugged to her slim–thick frame as she backed away.

“You need some help? I’m surprised Stack let you out in this mess.”

The mention of her husband’s name gave her pause.

It also filled her with rage.

“He’s a busy man, Dr. Browning. You know that. I won’t keep you. Have a good rest of your night.”

“You do the same, Mrs. Moore.”

Pearline entered her home, quickly shrugging off her coat to hang on a rack and she took a seat on a wine red chesterfield ottoman within the front foyer of her home to remove her boots. The rain had turned to drizzle by the time she returned home. Pearline wore one of many silky slips, a scandalous choice for wear in public, but she was on a mission.

Pearline lived in one of few luxury homes in The Delta with her husband, Elias ‘Stack’ Moore. It was surrounded by rolling hills and they had their own greenhouse where Pearline enjoyed spending time sipping herbal tea and tending to her botanical garden. Stack had it built for her as an anniversary gift because he knew how much it meant to her. Reminding her of days spent with her grandmother. A Botanist and Holistic Nurse.

Pearline entered her kitchen and sat her grocery bag down on her dining table. She scanned the mess she’d created hours before, old photos cut into pieces, scattered along the floor. Her husband’s dress shirt resting over a dining chair with lipstick stains on the collar. A gut wrenching reminder of what Stack had put her through.

Pearline was every man’s dream girl. She’s beautiful, can sing, built like a brick house, and smart. She’d turned down many boys, all except Elias Moore. He was a little older than her by nine years, but when he set his eyes on her, he made it his business to court her. Stack was a man that moved with a carefree personality. He joked and smiled and charmed everyone in his path. Deep dimples and a smooth tongue.

The opposite of his stoic, quiet, observant brother. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore was known for bringing the smoke; the smoldering heat. You didn’t want to get to close for comfort and cross him. Smoke had no problems laying you out with a gun or his fists. You’d think he was made of railroad steel and cast iron.

Pearline was drawn to Stack’s playful energy and the amount of passion and chemistry they shared was like no other. Pearline didn’t care that she was falling head over T-straps for a criminal, Stack made her feel special. He bought her the lifestyle she’d always dreamed of. That made women envious, especially when he married her before leaving to Chicago. They had a beautiful barn wedding where all of The Delta attended.

But, Pearline had to learn the hard way that her husband was a rolling stone. He couldn’t keep his married dick to himself. Whispers of women he bedded while vowed to Pearline sparked heated arguments and lies that rolled off his slick tongue and past his plump lips. One woman living in Little Rock, Arkansas had him by the balls.

Mary.

And her lipstick is what stained her husband’s shirt.

Pearline grew tired of crying. Tired of sleepless nights and waiting for him to return home. Tired of the manipulation and the constant drama filtering back to her. Her so–called girlfriend’s side eyed her. Her mother chastised her for being weak and not going after her man like a proper wife should.

She thought about what it would be like to make him hurt. There was no man in town that she could even think to fuck as a get back. Elias ‘Stack’ Moore and his twin are practically gods within The Delta. Sleeping with some random man would only make her look like the fool. She wanted to kick him off his high horse. And her anger drove her to buy some poison.

And bake it into a chocolate pie.

It’s a luscious chocolate custard resting on a flaky, almost salty crust, topped with a springy meringue. For Pearline, it’s la pièce de résistance and whether times are good or times are bad, it’s always welcome and appropriate.

Stack loved her chocolate pie. She made it for him once a week. If she didn’t stop him, he’d sit and eat the entire thing for himself. At first, she thought to poison his moonshine, but that would only contaminate the entire batch since he prepared it in barrels with Smoke.

Pearline put away her groceries and then she grabbed the poison, setting to work on the chocolate pie.

Ingredients for the pie:

4 tablespoons cocoa or 1 1/2 squares baking chocolate

3/4 cups sugar

5 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 egg yolks, lightly beaten

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 tablespoon of butter

Ingredients for the meringue:

2 egg whites

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

4 tablespoons sugar

And a splash—maybe a cup of Arsenic.

As she moved about the kitchen, the smell of rain and grass brought in by the humid wind through her open kitchen windows, an apron secure around her petite waist, Pearline hummed to calm her nerves down and stop herself from crying.

She hummed a song she’d written.

Poison was seen as a discreet way to eliminate someone, with arsenic being a particularly popular choice due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic natural illness.

No one would be able to suspect. It could be something as simple as bad moonshine.

And Stack drank a lot of it. He was well on his way to becoming the next Delta Slim.

Smoke couldn’t stop his brother, that would make him a hypocrite. He had his own addiction to smoking.

Flour painted her cheek and chocolate splattered her apron. Pearline wiped sweat from her forehead as she stared down at the pie. She placed it on a towel before washing her hands to prepare dinner.

She couldn’t believe she was going to kill her husband.

Pearline dressed in a gold silk burlesque flapper cocoon dress with batwing sleeves and a deep plunge in the front. It glided across her skin and molded into the shape of her frame as she walked, the long train dragging along behind her elegantly. Her curly hair was styled in an updo with tendrils framing her oval face. She plucked away unruly hairs from her thick brows to keep them neat and smoothed coca lip balm on her lips.

Chandelier earrings in, skin the color of espresso, she heard the front door open from her place at her vanity. She listened, making out distant laughter and the familiar sound of her husband’s voice. He wasn’t alone. Pearline took meditating breaths to calm herself. She’d already done the deed. It was only a matter of time before he cut himself a slice.

Revenge. Sweet revenge. A desire for freedom. Divorce wasn’t even an option. She wouldn’t get a penny. He needed to die and she would collect all his money and move up north. Maybe New York. Sing in the Cotton Club. Make a new life for herself.

Pearline spritzed perfume on her skin, activating the squeeze bulb, opening with dewy gardenia, its floral heart blooming with African neroli before settling into the intoxicating depth of a merlot wine accord. The essence of magnetic beauty and luminous grace.

One final look at her reflection, Pearline made her way down to the kitchen. In the living room, helping themselves to bourbon from a drink cart, were Smoke and Stack. Stack poured from a decanter, filling Smoke’s glass tumbler full. He did the same for himself. They whispered, smoke puffing on a cigarette as he nodded his head in response to Stack’s scheming words.

Smoke drew his eyes towards the stairs, eyes that took in the sight of Pearline. She looked down at him, meeting his intense gaze, looking away to focus on her husband who not once stopped to acknowledge her. It took for Smoke to nudge his little brother for Stack to finally pay attention.

That cut deep. Pearline flicked her gaze away to her feet covered in kitten heels. She released a shutter.

“Baby…”

Stack left Smoke’s side to approach Pearline. She gave him a practiced smile before opening her arms to hug him. Stack buried his face against her neck, inhaling her perfume while his hands rubbed and groped her.

“Mmm, you smelling good. Looking good too,” Stack leaned back to admire her, “Beautiful, baby,” Stack kissed her hands, “I missed ya’.”

“Missed you,” Pearline bat her lashes at him and tucked her chin with a coy smile, “You hungry?”

“I sure am. Is it aight if Smoke stay for dinner?”

Pearline drew her attention to Smoke. He perched himself against the fire place, lighting the end of his cigarette, orange flame vibrant. He looked at her with this expression that Pearline couldn’t quite understand. He was always unreadable.

“Only if it’s okay with you, sis–in–law,” Smoke spoke with a rasp.

“Of course.”

Pearline hadn’t expected an extra guest. Now, she had to figure out how to get the pie out of the way. Smoke could sense things. He’s observant. He can probably tell Pearline was being sneaky and devious. Seeing as he possesses those exact qualities. She inwardly panicked, wanting to escape from Stack’s hold to dump the pie in the garbage.

“Saw that chocolate pie in there, was about to dip my finger in it but Smoke stopped me before I could…”

Sweat trickled down her temple. She looked between both twins, smiling as best as she could and laughing in a flirty way she’d always had. Stack kissed Pearline’s lips, humming softly as he smiled.

“I got the finest woman in all the fuckin’ world.” He boisterously said, flashing his golds, “Let’s go eat us some food!”

“I’ll set the table, ya’ll go on and drink. I’ll call to supper when it’s ready…”

Pearline turned to walk away, hips switching. She couldn’t control the fact that she had a dump truck. Stack popped her on the underside of her behind, the motion causing her deep brown cakes to jiggle around. Her breath hitched and she swatted Stack’s hand away with a roll of her eyes.

She gave Smoke a sideways glance, heat rising over her face as he watched the two of them.

Pearline entered the kitchen and practically sprinted over to the pie. She exhaled with relief, glad to find it untouched. Pearline lifted the pie and hesitantly tossed it into the trash. She paced for a minute, trying her best to come up with a lie.

She choked on her words slightly as she spoke.

“I–I gotta make a new pie!”

Stack entered the kitchen with his brows pinched together.

“What? Why?”

He searched the kitchen for the pie before walking over to the trash. He lifted the lid, peering inside. The pie was on its side and sliding out of the dish.

“It–uh–it was covered in flies. I saw a couple flies on it.”

Her eyes fell on the open window.

“Must of gotten in through the window,” Pearline released a nervous laugh, “No worries, Stack, won’t take me long.”

“Damn…”

Smoke leaned against the entryway to the kitchen. He removed the cigarette from between his lips, eyes dancing back and forth between Pearline and Stack. His eyes fell to the cupboard beneath the sink, squinting slightly.

“I was looking forward to it, Pearlie. You sure you wanna make another?” Stack asked with a disappointed look.

“Won’t take me long. Promise.”

Stack sucked his teeth.

“Aight, baby…me and Smoke gone be in there listening to some tunes while we talk business. Holla when you finished.”

Stack pecked Pearline on the cheek before leaving the kitchen.

Smoke lingered.

“Errythang aight, Pearlie?” Smoke asked with a hushed tone.

“Yes. Why you askin’?” Pearline replied, eyes darting away from his.

Smoke’s eyes roamed the kitchen before focusing back on Pearline with a penetrating stare, “Listen, Stack—”

“Don’t.”

Pearline held up a shaky finger. She shut her eyes to hold back tears.

“Smoke!”

“Be there a minute, nigga. Be patient!” Smoke shouted back.

He gave Pearline one final look before leaving her alone.

She should have never thrown that pie away.

Hearing his laughter enraged her.

Knowing that he was fucking his octoroon whore inflated her anger.

What the fuck that bitch got on Pearline? What she got over her?

Privilege

Freedom

Fare skin

Loose hair

The beauty standard of America

And Stack craved it. Even though he’d fucked around with other black women, the minute Mary crossed paths with him after she returned to The Delta to bury her mom, Stack wanted that old thing back.

Pearline baked a new pie, silently crying.

But the chaos in the kitchen with her constant stomping and slamming of things had Stack’s attention.

Pearline set the table, almost breaking their fine China.

Stack took longs strides, oxfords loud as he walked.

“The fuck goin’ on, Pearlie?”

He snatched his toothpick from his mouth, glaring at her.

“Diner’s ready!”

Pearline snatched her apron off and tossed it onto the counter aggressively. Smoke trailed in behind his brother, eyes wide and unblinking. He tracked Pearline’s footsteps, jaw clenching.

“I can see the table is set,” Stack swept his concerned eyes over the plates of food, “But why you slamming shit? Got something you wanna say?”

Pearline whirled around, a look of surprise and confusion etched into her pretty face.

“ME?” She inquired with a loud tone.

“Yeah, YOU.”

“Wow…After all the shit you been putting me through. And you askin’ ME if I got something to say?!”

Smoke raised his hands to diffuse the situation.

“Let’s just eat now, aight? Save this shit for later.”

Pearline pinched the bridge of her nose. Stack sat down at the dining table. Pearline almost shivered when Smoke lightly grasped her arm to get her attention. She held his gaze, fighting hard not to break down.

“Come eat, Pearlie…”

“I’m not hungry.”

Stack’s fork and knife clattered to the table. He chewed the rest of his smothered pork chop down before turned his attention to his wife.

“Whatever it is, just say it, woman. I ain’t been messin’ around!”

“Yes you HAVEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”

Smoke and Stack stared at her.

“Liar…fucking lying ass…piece of shit…”

Pearline opened her pantry and snatched up the shirt with lipstick stains. She marched over, balled it up, and threw it at Stack. He caught it, opening the shirt and when he noticed the lipstick stains, he froze.

“CARE TO TELL ME WHY THE FUCK YOU GOT LIPSTICK ON YOUR SHIRT?! A SHIRT I DISCOVERED WHILE TAKING IN DRY CLEANING?! A SHIRT YOU TRIED TO HIDE FROM ME?! YOU CHEATING BASTARD!”

Smoke fought to keep Pearline back. Stack stared off into space, no words, no more lies. What could he say to get himself out of this?

Pearline shouted between cries of heartbreak, “HOW COULD YOU? AFTER EVERYTHING? WHY DO YOU KEEP GOING BACK TO HER?! WHY, STACK?!”

Pearline snatched a butcher knife from the counter and launched it at Stack. He quickly pushed away from the table, the knife whizzing past his cheek and lodging in the wall. His chest rose and feel with rapid breaths. Smoke grabbed her up by her upper arms to keep her still.

“You crazy?! Tryna kill me?! That shit could’ve been in my head!!!!” Stack yelled, spit flying.

“PEARLIE! ENOUGH!” Smoke boomed.

“Get off me, Smoke!”

“You throwing knives, the hell, Pearlie?!” Smoke shook her to stop her from writhing.

“LET GO OF ME!”

Pearline slapped Smoke. Slapped him across his handsome face. He clutched his cheek that stung from her strikes.

“STOP PROTECTING HIM! HE’S A GROWN ASS MAN! YOU KNOW WHAT HE DOES AND YOU JUST LET HIM DO IT! FUCK YOU. BOTH OF YOU!”

Stack stood, tossing the shirt over his unfinished meal. He was ashamed to even look her in the eye.

“BE A MAN AND FACE ME, ELIAS! OWN IT!” Pearline laid into him with venom, “DO YOU LOVE HER?!”

“Pearlie—”

Pearline grabbed the chocolate pie and catapulted it, watching it hit Stack in the chest. He rocked back on his heels, arms outstretched, his eyes bugged out and his lips curled into a menacing pout.

“ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!!!!!!”

Pearline tried to catch her breath. Stack looked at her with wavering eyes. He titled his head down at his oxfords.

“I…Pearline…”

She gasped.

“You do…”

Smoke shut his eyes.

Stack gave her a cowardly look.

“You can’t even be a man and say it. You’re such a coward, Elias. Why did you marry me? To trap me? To have a notch on your belt? Afraid I’d find a man that really loves me? Your cracker slut is married to a cracker man In Arkansas and yet you can’t stay away from her and be loyal to me?”

Pearline clutched her chest as if she were going into cardiac distress.

“Am I not beautiful? What did I do to deserve this—”

“I have urges, baby. I’m sorry—I know it ain’t the apology ya’ want, but I…can’t control myself. I hate that I keep hurting ya’.”

“No,” Pearline shook her head as tears fell, “you ain’t sorry. You sorry you got caught.”

Pearline folded her arms over her chest. She exhaled, wiping tears away with her fingers.

She sniffled, “And the sad part is…I love you.”

She locked eyes with him. Smoke didn’t pull his attention away from her face for a second.

The grandfather clock on the wall within the living room ticked and ticked.

“I want both of ya’ll to leave.”

“Pearlie—”

“Fuck you, Elias. You don’t get to be sweet and charming. I want you to leave. NOW. Before I grab that knife from the wall, and cut your fucking dick off and feed it to you instead of this food I made!!!!!!”

Stack’s mouth was agape.

Smoke stepped aside.

Pearline made as if she were going to leave but instead she jumped on Stack, beating her fists on his back. Stack tried to grab her arms while shielding himself from being struck in the face.

“PEARLINE!”

Smoke picked her up and sat her on the counter.

“Get your shit, Stack. GO. We leaving.” Smoke ordered.

“Let her blow steam. I deserve it.” Stack said.

“Oh, so now you want her to kick your ass? She wanna kill you, nigga! Unless you wanna be scraps for pigs, I suggest you get your shit and leave!”

Stack looked from the dining table, to his wife, parting his lips to speak. Instead, he walked away, climbing the stairs to pack a luggage.

Smoke looked at Pearline, “If I let you go. Will you stay here while he gettin’ his shit?”

Pearline nodded her head slow.

Smoke released her arms and stepped back. He lit a cigarette and didn’t take his eyes off of Pearline.

“I’m real sorry, Pearlie. I know that don’t mean shit to you comin’ from me…but you don’t deserve this shit. You too good of a woman. Always been. I tried to get him to come home to you…I did…he can’t control himself with that bitch and…I hate to see ya’ hurting.”

“Smoke,” Pearline was exhausted, “You could have told me. You could have come to me. I need to be alone. Just leave. Please leave.”

She hung her head and started bawling. Her cries broke Smoke. Deep, sorrowful, body shaking. Her tears leaked to her dress. Smoke wanted to comfort her. He tried to touch her and Pearline flinched.

Stack’s footsteps caused Smoke to back off. He locked eyes with his little brother, glaring at him. Stack turned away, luggage in his hands.

Smoke allowed his eyes to sweep over her. He didn’t care if she fought him off. He didn’t care if she slapped him.

Smoke positioned himself in front of her, grabbed her face, and planted a kiss to her forehead.

That made her cry harder.

Word spread like famine.

And Pearline refused to feed into the nosy crowd.

She walked around town with her head held high and hips swaying seductively. No matter how hurt she felt, she looked ravishing.

Pearline entered The Chow’s negro store, picking up oranges and lemons, checking to see if they were a good batch before buying them. Bo Chow walked out from a room with a notepad and a pen behind his ear. Little Lisa took care of the line. Pearline helped herself to a jar of strawberry jam.

“Mrs. Moore! You’s doing alright?”

Bo pulled Pearline into a hug.

“I’m doing fine, Bo. Hello Lisa,” Pearline waved to her, “Grace good?”

“Is! She’s expecting.” Bo said with a side smile, glossy black hair falling over his forehead handsomely.

“Oh! My! Congratulations, Bo!”

Pearline beamed.

“I’m hoping for a boy this time.” Bo said.

“Just be glad for a healthy bundle of joy.” Pearline said.

She stood in line behind four people until it was her time to be helped. After paying for her items, she waved goodbye to Bo and Lisa before leaving the store.

The rain had finally stopped and in its place was that humid, Mississippi air. The sun shone down brightly, heating Pearline’s skin. She found her car and got in, heading back home.

Driving back, Pearline pulled up to her home, finding a truck she recognized immediately. Pearline stared at the truck, eyes fluttering with resentment. It’s been damn near two weeks.

Pearline couldn’t deny that she missed her husband, but at the price of her own happiness? Why should she have to put up with his constant disregard for her feelings?

It won’t last, Mary is just a phase.

She hated that she had that voice in her head.

After another minute, Pearline exited her car and with her groceries she walked up to her home. Pearline didn’t pay the truck any mind, expecting Stack to shout her name from the window and beg for forgiveness.

Instead, she caught a whiff of tobacco.

Pearline turned, eyes falling on Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore with his back against the truck. He stomped out his cigarette. He clasped his hands in front of him and over his crotch. He stared at her beyond the brim of his blue hat. Smoke pushed off his truck, one hand clutching onto the opening of his tweed suit jacket as he approached her with methodical eyes and careful steps.

A breeze picked up, ruffling the bottom of her fitted, purple, floral–printed lapel dress. She wore white T–straps on her feet, and a hat with lace gloves to match the colors in her dress. Pearls decorated her ears.

“How you be?” Smoke finally spoke.

“…I’m okay.”

Smoke stood at the bottom of the steps, staring up at Pearline.

“Stack stayin’ wit me. He not there right now.” Smoke revealed.

Pearline tilted her head, eyes searching for the inevitable truth, “He’s with her?”

Smoke rubbed his hands together, eyes roaming the ground.

“She came knockin’. He answered.”

Pearline stood still and watched Smoke.

“Say sum’, Pearlie.”

Pearline exhaled.

“I want a divorce.”

Smoke frowned slightly.

“I’m tired, Smoke. I deserve better.”

Pearline turned away from Smoke to open her door. She sat her groceries down at her feet. Smoke climbed the steps, picking up the bag. Pearline didn’t say a word. The door swung open and Smoke followed her inside. He walked past the front foyer and disappeared into the kitchen.

Pearline sat her purse down and removed her gloves and hat.

She walked into her kitchen and her footsteps slowed down when she caught Smoke putting away her food.

“Smoke, I can handle it.”

“No, no, no, now…you have a seat.”

Smoke pointed to a dining chair. Pearline took a seat, crossing her ankles modestly and folded her hands within her lap all ladylike. Her back was straight, body screaming confidently, but her eyes told a different tale. She was sad. Lonely. Torn.

Smoke opened her icebox to pour her a glass of lemonade. He then grabbed a napkin, walking over to her and placing it on the table. He removed his hat and sat it on the table. Pearline didn’t say a word as she grabbed the glass, helping herself.

“Why you come checkin’ up on me?”

Pearline searched Smoke’s eyes.

“…Because ya’ mean a lot to me.” Smoke replied.

Pearline scuffed, “Sure I do, Smoke. Poor old Pearline.”

Pearline stood, smoothing out her dress as she walked towards her pantry, grabbing a bottle of wine.

“I need something stronger…”

She drank from the bottle. Smoke watched her with a single brow raised. They sat in silence, Smoke with a cigarette and Pearline with her almost empty bottle of wine. She grew warm and relaxed, tipsy and just as sad and angry as before.

“I wonder if Stack thought of her every time he made love to me…”

He blew smoke from his nose.

“Don’t wonder. Stop thinking about it.”

Pearline rolled her eyes at Smoke.

“Serious…”

Pearline sucked on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

“Smoke, am I not good enough? I’ve done things for this man…to please him…make him happy.”

Smoke glanced at her sideways while reclined back in the dining chair, legs wide.

“What things?”

Pearline laughed bitterly, “Doesn’t matter. And it’s personal.”

“You said the shit.” Smoke replied defensively.

“I’m just talkin’. Okay? Venting.”

“And I’m here to listen. Aight?”

Pearline stared at him intently.

“…sexual things…”

Smoke hummed, “Okay…” He made a gesture for her to proceed, “And?”

“…Settled here for seven years. Dealt with all the bullshit. Rubbed his feet and massaged his shoulders. Put my dreams aside to help him fulfill his. Gave him every hole to use…”

Smoke twisted his lips as he listened.

“I thought it made him happy. I guess not.”

Smoke studies his cigarette, the wheels in his head turning.

He licked his lips, “Can I tell ya’ a secret?”

Pearline looked at Smoke curiously.

“You? Opening up?” Pearline teased.

“It’s about you. So I don’t see why not.”

Pearline shifted to face him, hip jutted out enticingly. She propped her elbow onto the table, resting her chin against her palm.

“Well?” She uttered.

“I ain’t want Stack to marry you.”

A pregnant pause.

“…what? Smoke? You serious?”

Pearline didn’t know how to interpret what Smoke revealed. She drew her thick brows together, intrigued by what he said. And the feeling of butterflies.

“Why the hell not?” Pearline questioned.

Smoke struggled to answer her question. He puffed on his cigarette, smoke billowing from between his thick lips. His hand shook slightly until he flexed his chest to gain control of his muscles. He finally met her gaze, never looking away as he parted his lips to speak.

“Cause you should’ve been mine.”

Pearline was paralyzed with shock. She couldn’t believe Elijah’s words. All this time? He’d wanted her too? No way.

“Smoke–Smoke I–I–you’ve always felt like this?”

Smoke gave her a sideways look with unwavering eyes.

“I have. Still do.”

Pearline almost dropped her wine bottle.

She shot up from her seat.

“Go, Smoke.”

Smoke rose to his feet.

“You don’t feel the same?”

Pearline couldn’t believe his words.

“NO!” She shouted with a disbelieving expression.

“I don’t believe ya’, Pearlie. The way ya’ look at me…the way ya’ always looked at me.”

“Stop…”

Pearline brushed past Smoke, climbing the stairs to her room. Her vision blurred with tears. She could hear his footsteps behind her.

“Pearlie…”

Smoke moved around her swiftly, blocking her path.

“I love you—”

“HOW DARE YOU?!”

Pearline shoved at his chest, no use because he was too solid and strong to move. Smoke watched her fire herself out before locking her wrists in his firm grip. He leaned in, eyes boring into hers like he was staring into her soul.

“Go on and beat away, Pearlie. I mean what I say. I’m in love wit’ ya. And you deserve to be happy. I care about my brother, but I ain’t gonna keep fighting this feeling. And ain’t no way I’m a let you sit up here thinkin’ you ain’t the prize.”

Pearline blinked up at Smoke. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. Softly. Delicately. Reassuringly.

“…You bastard. How dare you take advantage?”

Smoke cocked his head.

“I’m pouring my heart out, and you say that?”

Pearline slaps Smoke. Hard.

“GET. OUT.”

Smoke growled, top lip snarled.

“You gon’ stop hitting me.” He warned.

“You deserve it.” She sassed.

Smoke toward over Pearline. She jumped slightly.

“So, you don’t feel the same?” Smoke’s husky voice challenged her.

“No.” Pearline replied, looking down his body with a slow sigh.

Smoke stood firm. Pearline peered up at him.

“…I’ll leave. But I’m still keepin’ my eye on you.”

Smoke gave her a once over before making his way down the stairs. Pearline’s chest heaved up and down with a shaky exhale.

Some nights later, Pearline got dressed to perform a new song she’d written titled Pale Pale Moon. She spent majority of the day emptying the closets and drawers of Stack’s things, part of her wanting to burn them but deciding it wasn’t worth it. Instead, drove down to a local thrift store and dropped the bags off without a backward glance.

He’d taken the things that meant more to him. His money. His jewelry. Leaving behind the one person he vowed never to leave. She’d done enough crying herself to sleep. And yet she couldn’t get Smoke out of her head. His confession.

Pearline deep down admired Smoke beyond him being her brother–in–law. She’d always known him to respect women and he always treated Pearline kindly. He would listen to her speak about things he didn’t understand, like how to grow certain flowers. He always took up for her, checked in on her, and stared at her with What Pearline now understood as deep affection.

She was seen with Smoke.

That’s all she ever wanted.

“Stop talking to her like that, Stack for I beat ya’ ass.”

“You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, Pearlie.”

“You just as important to me, Pearlie.”

Everything he’d ever said to her. Every hug, every smile, every look. All of it was much more. Much deeper.

Messenger’s gave her a standing ovation.

Delta Slim and his band played to the words of Pale Pale Moon.

Pearline felt alive. Her lush skin so smooth like the sultry blues music.

She needed a distraction from Smoke.

But his words the other day…

He told her that he was in love with her. Told her to her face and with no shame.

Pearline was dropped off by a friend to her home since she’d been drinking. She waved goodbye before entering, shutting and locking the door behind her. Pearline braced herself against the wall, removing her shoes. She walked the length of her front foyer and the sound of a lighter flickering caused her to grab a vase, ready to lunge it at whoever broke into her home.

Vase raised above her head, she turned the corner.

“Who’s there—”

Standing tall and wearing a soft blue shirt rolled up his arms and black slacks, was Smoke.

“You broke into my house?”

Smoke dug into his pocket, swinging a key ring in front of her face.

“Put that shit down before you break it.” Smoke ordered.

“Why should I? You show up unannounced.”

Smoke took it upon himself to take it from her. Pearline didn’t fuss. Smoke placed it back where she’d gotten it from.

“You performed at Messenger’s?”

Pearline’s eyes swept over his body. She drew her shoulders back, strutting past him, removing the silk scarf draped over the front of her neck and down her back. Smoke caught it before it hit the floor. He folded it neatly and placed it on the coffee table, patting it with his fingertips. Pearline gazed at him.

“You look lovely, Pearlie.”

“What do you want, Smoke?” Pearline asked with an exasperated look.

“The truth.”

“It’s late. You can see yourself out…”

Pearline crossed her arms and poked her hip out.

Smoke motioned towards the kitchen with his head, “What that arsenic for?”

Pearline’s arms dropped.

“Mhm,” He puffed on his cigarette, “You tried to poison my brother with that pie.”

Pearline exhaled, “I did. No use in lying. Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped him from sampling it.” Pearline replied with her voice laced with unshed tears, “Don’t matter, I ain’t gonna poison him.”

“Cause of me.”

“So? I chickened out, Smoke.”

“Why you keeping it?” Smoke probed with narrow eyes.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Pearlie…” Smoke clenched his jaw, “I care about ya’…And I need to know if ya’ feeling the same.”

Pearline bounced her foot.

“You won’t stop unless I tell you…”

Pearline locked eyes with Smoke.

“Smoke..I…I should have picked you. Then I know I’d be treated better.”

A single tear fell.

“You can still chose me—”

“It’s too late for that. Won’t do us any favors acting on those feelings, now would it?”

Smoke disagreed.

“It’ll do us more than just a favor, baby…”

Pearline nibbled on her bottom lip.

Smoke strolled up on Pearline. Her breath hitched, eyes closing when his body pressed against hers. He placed a hand on the nape of her neck, tilting her head. Smoke leaned in, closing the distance between them. Pearline parted her lips ever so slightly, giving Smoke and entry. His fluffy lips touched hers with uncertainty. Pearline snaked her hands up his chest and secured her arms around his shoulders.

Smoke intensified the kiss. Soft pecks turned into open–mouthed movements. Pearline’s skin tingled with desire. Smoke’s chest bloomed with passion. He’d longed to taste her. He regretted not making a move on Pearline when he should have. His little brother had always been the smooth talker, the lady magnet.

The sound of lips smacking and soft breaths.

The feel of his rough hands gliding over her hips to grab ass.

Pearline pulling him in closer with her hands clutching onto his shirt.

They kissed their way towards the stairs. Smoke broke away from her lips to pick Pearline up. She wrapped her legs around him, diving in for more. Their tongues battled for dominance as Smoke climbed up the stairs. They stumbled, knocked against walls, and snatched off each other’s clothes all the way to her room.

“I need you,” Pearline whispered longingly.

“I’m here…I’m right here…”

Pearline wiggled out of Smoke’s arms and she dropped to her knees in a flash. He snatched off his shirt and watched her pull his belt from the loops. She tossed it to the floor and with her eyes on his, Pearline opened his zipper and unbuttoned his pants.

“Let me pleasure you, Elijah.”

“Go on, bring him out.” Smoke commanded.

Pearline did just that. She hummed sensuously. It was heavy in her hand and warm to the touch. She jerked him a little, watching the way he licked his lips down at her. Pearline wrapped her lips around his head and started sucking with no hands.

“Ahhh, fuck…”

Pearline gathered spit on her tongue as she sucked. Smoke watched like he was staring down at a circus act. Pearline was doing tricks he ain’t never experienced in his thirty plus years on earth. She made spit bubbles and slurped it back up. Her tongue curled around his shaft like a slick tentacle. She would pop her lips off and spit on it. Over and over. Getting down right disgusting like some street walker.

“This how you do it, Pearlie? FUCK.”

She attacked his balls with gusto. Moaning and whimpering with a mouth full of his nuts and big dick. Smoke couldn’t believe his eyes. He guessed the saying pretty girls love sucking dick that his little brother always said was true. He had a woman at home that did it like this? Ain’t no other woman come close to Pearline.

“Pearlie…don’t stop…”

She inhaled his dick and stroked him with two hands. Bawdy blues and all. Smoke weaved his fingers through her soft curls and controlled her movements. He fed her mouth some dick since she worked so hard to make him cum. His eyes turned puppyish and he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth.,

“I’m a cum so fucking hard!”

Pearline did a disappearing act with his dick. Smoke almost saw heaven. He grunted deep with his release. Not a single drop wasted.

He stared at her as she licked him clean. He backed away, slapping his tip on her wet tongue.

“So nasty wit’ it. You suck me like I’m ya’ man.”

“I’m passionate about giving, Smoke. It’s my favorite job,” Pearline licked her lips, eyes staring at his dick like it was made of the purest gold, “Especially when it’s nice and big like this. One thing about me,” Pearline stroked him and tongue kissed his tip between words, “I was known for being the best dick sucker. I’m not ashamed to admit…when you’re good at something,” Pearline ran her tongue from base to tip, “you keep going…and going…”

“Dayum…”

She was sucking on him again. Smoke stroked her face, caressed her hair, told her how pretty she looked, and moaned her name.

“You nice and thick in my mouth again, Elijah. Wanna give me what I’m workin’ so hard for?” She teased.

“Pearline! Ahhhh…”

She gulped his cum down again, giggling at his face.

“Get up.”

Smoke didn’t wait for Pearline to do it, he picked her up himself. Smoke spun her around and let his hands explore her naked body. Toned and thick at the same time. He watched her ass recoil beneath his palm, chocolate ass bouncing like jello.

“All this body…I’d handle ya’ ass erryday.” Smoke talked slickly.

“How would you handle me, Papa?”

That papa drove him crazy.

“I’d bend ya’ over…stick my tongue in ya’ pucker and ya’ cat…make ya’ suck my dick outta my sleep…after a hard day,” Smoke whacked her on the butt, “Then I’d make nasty, messy, love to ya’ baby…all over this fuckin’ house…”

Smoke picked Pearline up and placed her on the bed. She crawled away from him and he followed like a predator to his prey, nibbling on her flesh with his teeth, licking the soles of her feet. She got on all fours and dipped her back like a feline. Smoke put his face in it, suffocating himself on purpose. Pearline moved her hips, riding his face.

“Smoke…” she moaned, “Just like that…eat Stack’s pussy…”

“This ain’t his no more…”

Pearline whimpered.

“It’s yours?”

“All mines, baby. All this twangy pussy…”

“Shiiittttt…”

Smoke resurfaced, growling. He put his face in it again and growled some more. Pearline arched her back and cried out when Smoke jabbed her entrance with a pointed tongue.

“I can’t see you…I need to see how you doin’ that, Papa…”

Smoke couldn’t agree more. He flipped Pearline over and she opened up so wide her hips ached.

“Can’t get no wider than that, baby…so eager…”

“Feast on me, Papa…let me watch…” Pearline begged.

Jagged, labored, and sharp breaths escaped her mouth. Smoke’s handsome face and those juicy lips munched on Pearline’s pussy with gluttony, exactly what she wanted to see from her position on her back. His eyes are low like he was high off of her tangy taste and his lips and tongue moved in sync with each other. Pearline tightened her vaginal muscles around his fingers that were seated deep in her pussy and just like that, she leaked on his tongue. As long as his tongue, lips, and fingers stay on her she’ll give him what he wanted.

“Your pussy is so pretty and tight, baby…” Smoke takes two fingers to gently stroke her cum covered inner lips with an enthralling and spellbinding expression on his face, bottom lip all pouty, and golds on display, “I’ll take care of ya’ Pearlie…anything ya’ need…ya’ pussy ate up…fucked real good…spoiled…loved on the proper way…I’m there…”

Pearline held her legs up like Smoke instructed. She begged for him to eat her pussy. Smoke wanted to taste that twat, taste the mixture of salty sweetness. The way Pearline moved like a feline on stage, captivating the audience, hips gyrating and ass moving in a slow motion, smoke wanted to dig his tongue in it and sample it. He wanted her to do all that on his tongue and his dick.

“I think these inches about right for ya’, huh?” His onyx eyes flicker up to gaze at her. The way his irises looked, she can feel his eagerness to fuck the shit out of her instantaneously. No words needed, just his eyes doing the talking. Pearline nodded her head slowly before chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Smoke,” Pearline started pushing her pussy against his tongue, humping as Smoke wiggled it and sucked away, “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

Her musk crowded his nose and grew stronger the more she creamed.

“That’s right…feed me this good pussy…”

“As tasty as you are…mmm,” Smoke showed her just how delicious she is, “Don’t you worry, Pearlie, I’ll give you what you deserve…”

“I…I–I deserve it…” Pearline struggled to form words between moans.

She stilled her hips so he could suck her up. Pearline gasped, hands shaking and unsure if she wanted to grab his head or the sheets.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—”

Smoke’s rattling breaths fanned her pussy. He licked his lips and stared at the beautiful flower before his eyes with an intoxicating gaze. He covered her inner thighs with soft kisses, listening to her calm breaths. He stared up the valley of her glistening body.

“I need you on top, Pearlie…”

Smoke gets up to sit on the end of the bed, helping Pearline climb on top of him. His large hand is on the back of her head, pushing her face towards his so he could make her taste his lips. Smoke smirked as he kissed her, slipping his skillful tongue into her mouth so she could taste that sweet pussy all over his taste buds. All you could hear was the slurping of lips and heavy breathing.

Pearline fumbled with his pants, his lips fighting to keep kissing her and each time she pulled on the fabric his fat dick would jump and brush against her pussy lips. Finally, skin-to-skin contact. Smoke’s muscular thighs, heavy balls, and that thick dick. Pearline didn’t even wait, as soon as his pants were pushed past his dick she squatted over him while his toned hips pushes his dick up to meet her.

“Elijah…” Pearline grabbed onto his shoulders.

All she can feel is solid, throbbing, long girth entering her from beneath. Her inner lips all the way to her clit pulsates with need. Smoke continued to pump her pussy at a slow pace with his hand reaching up to grip her throat. Pearline’s eyes are focused between her legs and she watched with awe at the seductive motion of his hips burying his dick deeper and deeper...his abdominal muscles crunched and the more noise her pussy made, Smoke’s thrust deepened.

She was staring back and forth from his dick to his face with a delusional expression—still in disbelief about how much dick this man possesses. Identical to his brother. Pearline is still in shock that she was fucking her brother–in–law. She let out a gasp and her head goes back so far Smoke had to cradle it. The closer Smoke pulls her body towards him, her erect nipples brush his lips. He opens his mouth wide, his long, thick tongue showing both stiff peaks some attention before gently sucking it.

He had her slim waist in a firm position as he rocked her up and down his dick. It was a sensual dance.

“Why you fuckin’ me like you love me?” Pearline whispered.

“Cause I do love ya’…”

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” Pearline whined.

It was too late for that.

“I’m ‘bout to tear that ass up,” Smoke warned her with a forceful, guttural voice. He picked Pearline up by her waist and turned her around, “Spread your fucking thighs...c’mon, baby, open that pussy up I need that shit so bad...yessss...got this pussy driving me crazy, Pearlie...this wet ass pussy...make love to this pussy all fucking day, baby…”

“Oh, my goodness!”

"Pussy getting wetter with papa’s fat dick up in it?” 

Pearline moaned in response. This was the most vocal Smoke had ever been. He couldn’t wait to have her.

"Pearlie…fuck…" Smoke moaned, "darling...I swear to God,...do you know how I’d kill to be up in this? Huh? Make you mines...I’m stroking it…all this wet pussy wrapped around my fucking dick...alla ‘dis ass? dassit baby...fuck on daddy like that…”

Pearline couldn’t help herself as she leaned over, ass high while she rode Smoke’s dick in reverse cowgirl. She looked back at him, curls in her face and heart racing from the workout she was giving her pussy. She could feel Smoke’s fingers graze her ass cheeks before they were on lower lips. Pearline’s peach fuzz tickled his thumbs as he spread heropen so that he could watch the way his dick pushed past her swollen vulva, producing more cream. 

“Damn, Pearlie…it’s like ya’ pussy been wanting this dick…you’re so wet…”

“Unh, yes—”

“Ohhh, you work it like that, huh? That’s how you riding this daddy dick?” Smoke groaned and it made your clit twitch. 

“You makin’ this dick hella sloppy,” Smoke said and she heard the obstacle in his voice to hold his nut off. Pearline was working the tip of his dick now, all that beautiful dark skin and the muscles in her back mesmerizing him.

“Elijah…” Pearline moans, but it’s so low with how loud her pussy is.

Smoke was in a trance watching her ass bounce and clap against his crotch each time she came down on his dick. The cotton candy pink center in contrast with her deep brown skin made him salivate.

“Ooh—”

“Papa hittin’ that spot? Yeah? Here, lemme hit it for ya’ some more.. ooh, baby, ya’ takin' it…there ya’ go…hmmmm, pussy is yankin’ me...here some more dick for, ya’…”

Pearline looked back and saw the intensity in his eyes and then she could feel his dick in her stomach. Her face felt tight and hot and the heat from Smoke’s body had her shimmery skin sweating. Pearline felt tears pricking her eyes and her mouth fell open, drooling with lust. This shit was too good. 

“Ima cum on this dick, Papa!”

“Gon’ head that’s what the fuck I want,” Smoke said menacingly, “Where the fuck is it?!”

“Ohhhhhhh, Shit—”

“Bounce on that dick…just like that…bring that ass down on me, girl...ahhhh, fuck…you do it so nasty on this wood, girl...so fucking nasty. Been wanting me to fuck ya’ tail up…you like fucking the other twin, baby?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Pearline’s ass flopped down in Smoke’s lap, her walls like a tight capsule squashing his dick for dear life.

“Fuck, Pearlie…”

Smoke stood with his dick still buried inside of her and turned her around with her back arched, knees on the bed, and feet hanging over the edge. His eyes swept over her body as he spread her cheeks apart. Pearline glanced back, eyes lowering between his legs. Thick. Veins pulsing. She reached behind to spread her creamy folds for him. Their eyes met and he purposely sank into her agonizingly slow. 

“I love the way you moan when I push all this daddy dick deep inside of you…” Smoke pulled out, doing it again, “Like ya’ singing the blues to me…”

“It makes my pussy feel so full, Papa...I love the way you fuck me...it feels so good, baby, don’t stop stroking me…”

“You love knowing you fuckin’ Smoke, huh?”

Pearline’s warm, wet, tight pussy gripped his dick and when she reached back to grab for his balls, she couldn’t believe how heavy they were. If he keeps going at a slow pace like this, making her pussy cream and sound like this, Smoke gon’ erupt and make a large mess all in his sister–in–law’s pussy.

His hands were slapping her ass around to let her know she made his dick feel good with the loving he was giving her. It was deep and his words were nasty but his strokes were patient and savoring—like he wanted to stay in her married pussy as long as he could and make her moan as much as her voice box can produce. 

His thick dick is slow and torturous sliding in and out her, pussy lips snug around the head of his dick every time he enters her. Smoke would slide all the way in, her pussy making all kinds of noises, then he would pull all the way out. Pearline knew why he was doing this—sliding in and pulling out. He loved the way his wide tip pushed past her walls. He loved the warmth and her juices making his dick all sticky.

He was taking his time, learning the hole his brother fucked, the pussy his little brother neglected. Smoke could only imagine slippery and sticky Pearline could make his dick. She was creaming and oozing out with each stroke and it’s all over his dick and balls.

“You like it messy, yeah?” Pearline asked with a gasp in between. 

“Arch that fuckin’ back.” That was his response. 

“Like this, Papa?” She whispered as she pointed that plump ass further in the air, shaking it a little for him, “I want you to hit the bottom of this wet pussy...hold it there and feel me squeeze that dick…”

“Pearlie…”

“You like it messy, make your pussy cum—”

Smoke grunted.

“This shit mines? I thought you said we ain’t suppose to be doin’ this here?”

Pearline whimpered when he pushed deep enough for her to feel pressure. He was playing with her. She loved it.

“We ain’t…it’s wrong…”

Smoke hooked his hand around the front of her neck and he peered down at her with a mug on his face.

“I shouldn’t be fuckin’ my pussy? Thought ya’ wanted this dick?”

Smoke gave her two forceful strokes as a reminder. Pearline’s eyes crossed. He did it again, watching her face contort in the vanity mirror across from them.

“Talk to me, baby. Want it?”

“Yes, yes, please, give it to me…”

His punishing strokes hit Pearline out of nowhere, knocking the wind out of her chest and tearing her guts up. 

She continued her shit-talking while her ass clapped back on him, “Yes, Elijah, fuck this pussy, take it, I’m a cum all over that dick...fat dick making me cum right now...oh my God…that big dick making me cum right now…uhhhhhhhhhhh…”

She was cut off from Smoke’s hand on the back of her neck, pushing her face down into the mattress. 

“This fuckin’ pussy...I’ll get ya’ knocked up, baby. I swear I will.”

Her lips parted and she started drooling on the bed. 

“I know you feel these nuts banging that clit...that’s what I’m talkin ‘bout.”

“SMOKE!”

“Yeah? Yeah, baby?” Smoke teased. 

He was beating her walls out.

“Don't you ever think you ain’t special...look at all this…you ain't playing with no lil’ boy…you know what a beast can do to ya’ sexy ass…”

Smoke was reminding her that this is what she’ll be getting tonight, the next morning, the day after that…

Smoke pulled out and rubbed her clit back and forth with his dick, and all she could remember before seeing stars was pushing out a fountain from her pussy—wetting up the sheets, the hardwood, and Smoke. He kept going, his dick rubbing her swollen clit back and forth. 

“This pussy is too fat and juicy...wet pussy dripping...making a fucking mess on this dick...keep it up and I’m sucking on ya’ pussy again.” 

“Please…I wanna feel your lips again, Papa.”

Smoke groaned.

He got down behind Pearline and ate to his hearts desire. She reached around and grabbed his head. Smoke massaged her ass while french kissing her pussy from the back. Loud, smacking of the lips.

“You think you can steal this pussy from your brother every night?” Pearline dirty talked.

Smoke’s tongue worked harder. When he was finished, Pearline turned over onto her back, thighs spread and knees to her chest with her fingers pushing her puffy folds back to show him where he needed to nut. 

“Clean Big Papa dick off first,” Smoke is knelt on the bed near her face. All she can see hovering above her is the underside of his dick and his balls. Pearline extended her neck, mouth wide and tongue flicking before grabbing him by the balls. Mouth engulfing him, Smoke swipes two fingers over his tongue before bringing them to her clit while she sucked.

“Get that motherfucker nice and wet too, baby…”

Her lips pop off his dick, “Drain that dick in me, Papa.” 

“Shit, get ya’ pregnant? Pearlie don’t say sum shit that’ll get ya’ in trouble…let my dick go.”

Pearline’s lips left Smoke’s tip. She looked up at him with glossy eyes.

“I wanna cum like this,” Pearline spread her thighs so far that her feet touched the bed on either side of her. Smoke walked around and between her legs, his erection in hand, jerking downward to open his slit and show her his tasty pre-cum. 

“Damn...my dick...shit so stiff I could bust from the sight of ya’ pretty ass,” Smoke was back inside of her, “ima always have ya’...ya’ love me, girl?”

The gruff tone mixed with his words has her breath uneven and her heartbeat a little faster.

“...Wha?” Pearline was astounded. He was still sexing her missionary, her body moving back and forth against the bed in time with his strokes. 

“I said...do ya’ love me?” His jaw clenched tightly and his eyes were serious. 

“...Yesss…” Pearline turns her head away because now she can’t look at him as her tears begin to cloud her vision. Smoke wasn’t having that. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. His brows are furrowed and his lips are parted.

“I love ya’. I love you and I ain’t letting ya’ go...I want ya’ to remember that and take every fucking word I’m saying seriously, Pearlie.”

Smoke’s lip had curled up and his eyes were so intense that she could literally feel them burning into hers.

“Do ya’ understand me, girl? I fucking love you...”

Pearline weeped. Smoke’s tongue found its way to her nipples and he starts sucking each one softly. His patience. It didn’t matter how long it took for him to finally have her, he made that his mission. Her happiness means the world to him. She had moments of insecurity but his reassurance makes her realize it doesn’t matter. He dreams of all the ways he can take care of her, how he would treat her better and love her better. She’d wake up happy knowing she was properly taken care of. She’d feel more at home with him than she ever felt with Stack. And she believed him.

Smoke buries his face against her neck and with his hands wrapped around her shoulders to keep her still and his hips pistoning in and out, Pearline can feel him pushing all the love that he could deep inside of her.

She locked her ankles around him and shut her eyes tight to stop her tears. He was licking, sucking, and biting all over her neck. Pearline continuously gasps in his ear with each deep thrust of his. Her hand is on his firm ass and she start forcing his hips down even more.

“Dig fucking deeper,” She whispers to him. 

“Dayum...dayum,” He groaned in her ear, “Pearlie…I wanna cum inside of ya’!”

“Yes!”

“I’m about to bust this shit wide open—”

Her mouth went wide with ecstasy and Smoke’s hand was on the back of her head to watch her face while he forced himself deep inside, stopping at the precise moment he heard her try to utter a sound before doing it all over again and making her eyes roll. Smoke kissed and nibbled along her jaw. Her pussy didn’t make no sense to him.

Pearline felt the same about his dick. He was really stretching her out and the way his biceps trembled she knew he was about to cum heavy and hard. Pearline widened her legs for him some more. Smoke brought her ankles up to rest on his shoulders and he lifted to his hands, dropping dick off in her.

“It’s right here for you...cum in your pussy, Papa...this your pussy,...this your pussy, Papa...this your pussy—”

“Take my cum...take all my cum up in this pussy...ahhh...shit...I got more for ya’...that’s it...goddamn this pussy won’t let me go...keep cumming—”

Pearline could feel the sensation of his cum filling her pussy up and that’s when her own orgasm extended from the bottom of her pussy all the way up to the surface and made her spasm beneath him. It was fucking, but with so much affection for each other. Smoke eases out of her and even with him not there she still felt stretched out and aching. Smoke is on his back next to her, his dick still rigid. Pearline turns to the side, one leg coming up to rest on top of his while her feet rubbed against his inner thigh. She looked up to see Smoke staring at her—just studying her face.

“I love you.”

Pearline’s shyness took over. The intensity in his eyes. She knew he meant it.

“You really love me?” Pearline asks with a shaky and sweet voice.

“Real shit, baby...real shit.”

She beamed and hid her face. Smoke chuckled.

“I can’t believe we just had sex.”

“We made love, Pearlie.” Smoke corrected.

The harsh reality of what just happened loomed over her.

“…What does this mean?” Pearline asked with a small voice.

“It means whatever ya’ want it to mean…but just know, I can make ya’ happy, Pearlie. Let me love ya’.”

Pearline sits up.

“Smoke…if Stack finds out—”

“So what?”

“You came in me! What if I get pregnant? We ain’t had sex in months! He would know!”

“Pearlie…”

Smoke stilled her. Pearline locked eyes with him. Smoke tried to find the words to say.

“What is it, Smoke?”

He was crestfallen.

“Pearlie…Stack…Stack been seeing Mary more…cause he thinking of how to get her away from Arkansas without her husband finding out she pregnant.”

Pearline cocked her head back. A fresh wave of tears swam in her eyes.

“W-what? What you sayin’? She pregnant with his baby? Smoke? No…no, no, no, no—”

Smoke wrapped his arms around Pearline.

“You knew all this time?!—”

“She just found out. She came to tell him. Pearlie…”

Smoke lifted her into his lap. He allowed her to cry, stroking her back and kissing her hair. She cried for a while, shaking against him. Smoke stared down at her, his thumb caressing her cheek.

“Pearlie?”

“…I should have killed him.”

Pearline sat up in Smoke’s lap. She had this far away look in her eyes.

“Stack a grown man. I can’t keep blaming you for his faults, Smoke. You’ve done enough to protect him and look after him. He never knew how to watch his own back without you being there…”

Smoke dropped his eyes. Pearline finally looked at him. She tilted his chin up, her eyes flicking from his face to his chest.

“Why didn’t you steal me from him? Why did you let him take me away from you?” Pearline contested with a knot in her throat.

“…why did ya’ have to fall in love wit’ him instead of me?” Smoke brazens.

Pearline held his gaze, even as tears streamed from her eyes.

“It should have been you.”

@blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

[xoladydeadpoolox]

@fightlikeaguurrl​ submitted a photo

"You think I'm getting fat? Be honest..."

“I’ll be honest, its going straight to your ass and I’m not complaining because I like it.”

[invincibledc]

||DC X SONIC!READER HEADCANNONS||

Summary: HEY?! A wild blue hedgehog that’s as fast as flash?! WHAT THE—

Sonic!reader who accidentally travels into a comic universe, dc as a choice and accidentally standing in the justice league HQ. “Uhhh.. meow?” The hedgehog says with a shrug. Immediately the hedgehog is running as quick as the flash? Barry or Wally, whatever you think is the flash at the moment is trying to catch the damn hedgehog. But the hedgehog only thinks of this as a game! Smiling before feeling his legs get caught in a glowing yellow rope.

“State your business and name!” The lady with the lasso says holding the animal up. Sonic!reader spits the truth out by how he has accidentally traveled into this universe. The team didn’t want to believe it, but you were still in the lasso of truth. So you were telling the truth. The hedgehog is already friends with flash, who wants to see how fast the hedgehog can do. And seeing how they both can do speed off and stop time while staying slow, yeah they both are downing food together.

Hal who literally makes fun of the quick hedgehog, that was before Sonic!reader took the ring off his finger so quick, flash laughed with the others. Batman only smiled a little before it quickly gone away.

Superman is gushing over how small the hedgehog is. He can’t help but not take Sonic!reader seriously. Really he can’t take the male hedgehog seriously because of how small and how funny and how they are determined to help people. It’s adorable to the man of steel!

Wonder Woman who adore the small hedgehog as well, after learning the adventures Sonic!reader has done and fought during. Wonder Woman smiles at the hedgehog, Sonic!reader then tells about how they have a female friend that wields a hammer. Immediately Wonder Woman is sat down when Sonic!reader describes the hammer and how big it is. Now Wonder Woman needs to know lore.

Gotham villains hate to see Sonic!reader coming when literally next minute they are in jail or in the asylum. Literally poison ivy and Harley were ready for their plan to succeed. But when they took a step forward, they were already in the asylum with a hedgehog swinging cell keys playfully in a guard uniform. “Already ahead of ya! Bye bye!” Then the blue hedgehog is gone.

The hedgehog being wrapped in a blanket like a baby because he got a bit tried when running. Clark is trying not to cry while holding the hedgehog. “Clark…give me the hedgehog.—" Bruce tries to grab the hedgehog. But the super immediately flies away.

Sonic!reader Who does his idle animation whenever speeding away from danger, mocking them as he wags his finger. “Gotta try harder than that!”

Catwoman having her whip around the blue hedgehog, having him hogtied. Sonic!reader is grumbling like the gremlin they are while catwoman, aka Selina is contacting Bruce. “Bruce..I got a hedgehog that says he’s with you..” “sigh..here I come.”

Barry and Wally just watching Sonic!reader speed around, they laugh at how adorable and excited the house. They Wally speeds over to try and stop sonic!reader who got stuff in a box.

“That’s so crash!” Bart says smiling at Sonic!reader who burned into a empty street with their speed. The fire shows a detailed chili dog. “I don’t know what that means, but yeah!” Reader says smiling and high giving Bart.

Impulse who likes Sonic!reader like a brother. Always asking for races and who can shove most food, but honestly it makes impulse and the flash family kinda disappointed to see that you aren’t really like them as you throw up. You eat for energy, they have to eat or else they die. Impulse still likes you treat you like you are part of the flash family, just like the flash does as well.

“You’re too slow!” Sonic!reader says when speeding pass impulse, aka Bart. Bart smiles at this and zooms to catch up which his new brother figure.

Batfamily vs Flashfamily wanting custody over the small hedgehog.

Bruce just training and seeing how fast Sonic!reader is and his potentials before treating Sonic!reader like son he just picked up. (He basically did) Bruce seeing how childish and smart mouth he can be reminded him of one of his sons, so he just basically “adopted” this small hedgehog.

Dick is just not amused at another speedster, what he is amused that this so called “speedster” is named Sonic and is fast like the flash. Reader just shows up in the manor holding up a chili dog with a goofy smile. “Want one? It’s still hot.” Dick couldn’t help but smile at the adorable hedgehog male and took the chili dog. Only he took the chili dog because he wanted to seem nice

Damian who couldn’t care what you are and who you are. Thought he is amused by how quick you are to have the audacity to talk back to him. He found out your weakness and smirks every-time the face of the hedgehog’s face drops at the word “pool.

Tim basically being DR. Eggman for Sonic!reader but more chill and totally not a villian. Tim just wants to know how a hedgehog is talking and is fast like the flash. Maybe he would pull on your quills to get a sample

Jason just reading the hedgehog books, maybe even bringing a comic book to Sonic!reader’s liking as the hedgehog has an oversized shirt with a goofy ahh smile. “Sup Jay!” Sonic!reader says with a smile. Jason just stays quiet and prays that he doesn’t show cute aggression at this hedgehog ass motherfucker.

Sonic!reader who just relaxes in the Wayne manor, talking to Alfred who just freshly made him some chili dogs. Yeah reader can get use to this.

[numbersq-blog]

Ken Doll

Inspired by this post

It was a normal day at the headquarters, no major villain or alien attack, magical related problems and no annoying civilians.

Till there was a mixed up in the fridge, both Flash and Marvel have similar lunch boxes.

Flash: *minding his own business quietly eating his lunch, too tired to realize that his lunch is not the same one he brought*

Cap: *walking by* “Hi, Flash” * does a double take* “…………. whatcha you eating?

Barry takes notice how Marvel’s voice goes hoarse at the end of his sentence.

Flash: “my lunch”

Cap: “you sure?… causethatlunchdoesn’tlooklikeyourlunch”

Flash: “hmm?” *looks down to he is eating green with purple yolk eggs, bright orange piece of meat (maybe), and others weird colored food?

Flash: “this is your food”

Sounds more like a statement than a question

Cap: “kinda but yes”

Flash: “not safe for humans”

Cap: “yeah”

Flash: “am I going to die or go crazy?”

Cap: “ neither”

Zeus: “he may go crazy”

Cap: “crazy maybe”

Hercules: “can’t blame him”

..

..

..

Flash: “Marvel, what’s going to happen to me”

Cap: “ hopefully nothing”

Cap takes his “lunch”

Cap: “call me when you notices the changes”

Flash: “what are the changes”

Cap: “ you’ll know when they happen”

The next day

~ring~ring~ring~ring~ring~ring~

Cap: “hel-

Flash: “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!”

Cap: “I’m guessing the changes happened”

Flash: “WHY WOULD YOU BRING THAT LUNCHBOX TO THE WATCHTOWER AND PUT IT IN THE FRIDGE!!!”

Cap: “I needed a control environment for it”

Flash: “………….aaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”

Cap: “meet me at the watchtower”

————————————————————-————

Watchtower, men’s changing room

Flash: “I’m going to kill him”

Green lantern (Hal): “kill who?”

Flash: “ack!”

GL: “why have you been sitting with a towel wrapped around your waist for the past 20 minutes?”

Flash: “I made the mistake of eating Marvel’s “lunch”” *answering both questions”

GL: “oh yeah, whatever is in his lunchbox is not really food, but then again he doesn’t really need to eat”

Flash: “Argh, it’s not my fault, are lunchboxes are similar and I was too tired to realize what I was eating”

GL: *chuckles* “So what did his lunch do to you? You got explosive diarrhea or are you seeing hallucinations?”

Flash: “sighhh, it’s easier to show than explain”

Untying his towel

GL: “woah dude I don’t swi-WOAH WTF”

Flash: “yeah I know”

GL: “what happened to your thing”

Flash: “I don’t know, I accidentally ate Cap’s food, he told me to be on the lookout for the changes” * gestures downwards to his thing. “ in the next morning I woke up with a purple and yellow p-

BOOM

Marvels: “IM HERE IM HERE, HAS YOUR EYES TURNED PINK”

GL: “..?”

Flash: “….no”

Marvel: “good, it’s just the one that poison your body slowly”

Flash: “HOW IS THAT GOOD?!”

Marvel: “it’s a more easily fix”

Flash: “oh for the love of GOD… THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, WHY DID YOU EVEN HAVE THAT LUNCH BOX IN THE FRIDGE WHEN IT DOSEN’T EVEN CONTAIN A MEAL-“

Marvel: “well it wasn’t really for human eating”

Flash: “BAT WAS TOLD YOU MULTIPLE TIMES TO NOT PUT YOUR WIRED SHIT IN THE COMMUNAL FRIDGE-“

Marvel: “I didn’t think anyone would eat purple eggs”

Flash: YOU HAVE MADE COMMENTS ABOUT LUNCHBOXES LOOKING SIMILAR”

GL: “Dude, calm down before you burst a vein”

Flash: “IM NOT GOING TO CALM DOWN, YOU TRYING WAKING UP IN-

Marvel: “flash”

Flash: “THE MORNING GOING TO PEE AND HAVING PURPLE AND YELLOW”

Marvel: “ALAKAZAM!”

*plop*plop*plop*

GL: “…….”

Flash: “…….”

Marvel: “ummm, it will grow in 8 hours, try not pee, you can use your butt, but that will cause some problems late- that I can fix but it will be awkward- try not to do anything strenuous for the next 24 hours once it grows back”

GL: “……”

Flash: “…….”

Both staring at the fallen objects

Marvel: “bye!”

..

..

..

GL: *covers his area* “oh my god”

Flash walks very weirdly to his locker and pulls out his phone

Flash: “Iris, baby, about date night”

[elleetlalune]

🏹⋆˙…𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖲𝖤 𝖯𝖮𝖮𝖱 𝖴𝖭-𝖠𝖬𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖢𝖠𝖭 𝖦𝖨𝖱𝖫𝖲 (pt.1)

💭...박성훈

sʸpnos𝓲s: You were betrothed to a man your father had chosen, in an attempt to escape this toxic marriage, fate brings Park Sunghoon to you. Will he find a way to save you from this unwanted life? Will this un-convenience bring you two closer than you intended?

…warnings: smut , not an ella story without angst, mentions of abuse, noncon, infidelity, curse words, blood, mysogyny, arranged marriage, mentions of self-harm, kissing, skin-ship, protected sex makes a comeback, missionary, pillow talk, marking, fingering, oral (f receiving) nipple play, cum eating, reader who knows nothing about life.

Life hated you.

Or maybe you hated life for being so cruel to you.

You wake up to the sound of porcelain clinking and soft voices down the hall. The sheets smell like lavender, too sweet for your taste—like everything else in this house.

The ring on your finger is heavier than usual. Maybe it’s because yesterday he kissed your hand in front of everyone, like he was rubbing it in the wound the engagement your father had written into your life like a signature you didn’t get to sign, had left.

You sit up, fingers brushing the velvet box still resting on your nightstand. It’s dark green with gold trim, too elegant for the cheap diamond inside. You didn’t even open it last night, just stared until sleep came to you.

You hear voices again. Your father's. He was never a man of many words, yet evertime he spoke it felt like daggers in your porcelain skin.

You tug on a sweater and slide your feet into mismatched slippers, padding across the cold floor toward the window instead of the door. The garden is bathed in weak sunlight, in perfect symmetry. And you hate it for being beautiful.

You hated your life for looking so beautiful.

The wedding is in four months. Four. Your mother told you that with a kind smile and eyes that didn’t quite meet yours. She hasn’t worn her wedding ring in years.

Downstairs, they’ll be waiting for you. He will be waiting for you—Youngjae, your fiancé. Chosen by your father. Polished, politically connected, and entirely love-less.

You don’t hate him. That might’ve been easier.

He’s just... a product of everything you were raised in.

Just like you.

You meant nothing more than a mere handshake.

You stare at your reflection in the glass—your face blurred by the condensation gathering at the corners of the windows. It’s like the house is trying to erase you, bit by bit.

You don’t remember the last time you cried. You’ve learned to hold things in. Your father always said it was more noble to suffer quietly.

Nobility. A word used to excuse every kind of cruelty that came out of his filthy mouth.

You hear the knock on your door before you see her. “Are you up?” your mother’s voice, muffled but warm. You want to hate her, too. But you can’t. She was the first woman to suffer in this house, after all.

You don’t answer, but she opens the door anyway. She always does.

“I brought you tea,” she says, setting it down on the nightstand without meeting your eyes. That’s something she learned from your father. Don’t look too closely, and you won’t have to feel guilty.

She sits at the edge of your bed like she used to when you were younger. Back then, she’d bring you stories. Fairytales, mostly. Girls with wings. Girls who ran away. Girls who turned into storms and made the sky cry with them.

Now, she only brings tea.

Afraid you'll run away.

“He’s waiting for you downstairs,” she says softly.

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“No,” she replies, standing up. “But he asked for you.”

When she leaves, you don’t touch the tea. You stare at it like it might kill if your lips touched it, like it was another poison in the house.

Downstairs, the voices were louder. Laughter this time. Male voices. Your father’s. Youngjae’s. You imagine them shaking hands, sealing deals, building empires out of other people’s lives.

Your life.

You glance at the velvet box again. Then you stand.

You are porcelain, like your father said. Breakable, yes. But also sharp.

And it was burning for you to sharpen it on them.

The stairs creak beneath your weight. The house is too quiet for how many people live in it, for how loud it used to be when you were small and stupid and still believed love was whom you loved.

You pause halfway down, listening.

Youngjae’s voice is way too smooth. Trained. He laughs like he means it. You know better.

“Ah, there she is,” your father says when he sees you, standing up slightly like the perfect host. He gestures toward the table as if the sight of you is a formality.

Youngjae turns. His smile is lacking something. Probably reality? or love?

“Good morning,” he says.

You nod. Nothing more.

Breakfast is laid out like a magazine cover—perfectly cut fruit, folded napkins, coffee poured into porcelain cups. You sit where you're expected to, between your father and the man who serves as your magazine fiancé just like this breakfast.

“How did you sleep?” Youngjae asks, casual, like you’re strangers on a second date instead of victims of the same stupid agreement.

“I didn’t.”

He falters. Just slightly. But then the fake smile returns.

Your father doesn’t flinch. “She’s just nervous. That’s all. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You keep your eyes on your plate. “I’m not hungry.”

He ignores you. “We were discussing the venue. Youngjae’s mother suggests the Seraphim estate, it has a lovely garden. Perfect for photographs.”

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. Not enough to bleed, but enough to remind yourself you’re still in your body.

“I’d prefer something smaller,” you say quietly.

Youngjae leans forward. “But don’t you want something timeless? A memory to hold onto forever?”

You look at him then. Holding the gaze for as long as you can.

“Some things aren’t worth remembering.”

His smile slips. For a second he looks scary. But then it’s back, wider now.

Your father laughs like it’s a joke.

It wasn’t.

This whole thing is the joke.

And you think Youngjae understood that.

You excuse yourself before the tea reaches your lips.

The garden’s edge leads into a path lined with roses that don’t smell like anything. You push past them, shoes sinking into wet mud, sweater slipping off your shoulder like even your clothes are trying to leave you behind.

Your fingers are clenched around the rusty iron key you managed to steal from your father’s office drawer.

You were careful.

Strict parents raise sneaky kids.

The key fits the gate at the far side of the estate, the one that opens into the woods. You've never dared to use it before. It’s old, rusted, half-forgotten like your own voice most days. You slide it into the lock.

It clicks.

As soon as you close it,

you don’t get the chance to move.

“You know that’s trespassing,” a voice says behind you.

You freeze.

Not your father’s voice. Not Youngjae’s. Not one of the perfectly groomed staff trained to look away.

This voice is softer.

You turn.

He’s leaning against the brick pillar near the hedges, sleeves pushed up, hands in his pockets like he owns comfort. The sunlight hits him sideways—eyes dark, skin brighter than it should be in this kind of story.

He’s not from here. You know that immediately.

He doesn’t belong to this world.

Which is probably why you want to talk to him more than anyone else you’ve ever met.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say instead.

He raises an eyebrow. “Neither are you.”

You hate how fast your heart is beating.

“I was just… walking.”

“With a key,” he points out, eyes flicking to your hand.

You hide it behind your back, uselessly. “Who are you?”

He shrugs. “Just someone passing through.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“I could say the same thing to you.”

“Do you always spy on girls in forests?” you ask.

“Only the ones planning prison breaks,” he grins.

You don’t know whether to run away or go back inside.

And maybe that’s why you stand there, doing neither.

“I’m Sunghoon,” he says finally. “And you… are trouble, I think.”

Your mouth twitches. “And you’re lost.”

“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer, just enough to make the air feel different. “Or maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Sunghoon watches you for a moment too long, as if he was deciding something. The air between you feels thick now, charged with a sensation that you haven’t felt in ages. Not in your father’s house, not with Youngjae’s robotic smirks, not with anything you’ve been forced to wear as a life.

This is new.

“You really should go back inside,” he says, his voice losing some of its earlier cockiness, replaced by something quieter. "Before someone notices you’re gone."

You glance back at the house. Everything’s still in order. You can hear the faint whispers of people inside, but the distance between them and you is… a chasm.

“Maybe I don’t want to go back,” you mutter, and you can’t believe the words are leaving your mouth. You never speak this way. You never confess.

But there’s something about the way Sunghoon stands there, a half-smile playing on his lips, a stranger but not a stranger, and you can’t help but feel the edges of something cracking.

Maybe just your bones.

“Then don’t,” he says, voice low. “But be careful. Not everything out here is as free as it looks.”

You swallow. It sounds like a warning, but it feels more like an invitation.

He moves closer, closing the gap just enough for you to feel the heat coming from his taller frame. For a second, you wonder what this moment is.

But you can’t think about that. You have to leave. You can’t stay here.

You turn your back to the gate, your hand reaching out before you even think about it.

“Wait,” he says, stepping forward. “What's your name?”

You pause, fingers brushing the cool metal. It feels like an anchor.

"Yn, I'm Yn" You say, they say strangers are dangers but he feels safer than your own home.

"What are you running from, Yn?" He asks, his voice gentle, his eyes searching for yours.

“I’m not running,” you lie, your voice steady despite the shiver in your body. “I’m just… walking.”

His gaze lingers on you, reading you like a book.

“Sure.” He doesn't believe it but he nods. “If you say so.”

And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, Sunghoon steps back, his hands finding his pockets once more. “Don’t let me stop you.”

You look at him one last time before turning back to the gate. The key fits perfectly closing it just like opened it, but your hand lingers on it longer than necessary, as though trying to pull you back in the house.

After a long walk in the deserted woods, you go back.

You tread back into the house, footsteps quieter than your pulse. The air is colder now, small shivers covering your body.

You make it barely past the threshold before the storm finds you.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The voice—his voice. It isn’t raised for the sake of volume. It’s raised because he wants to feel in charge, he wants to be the man he can never be.

You don’t answer right away. You’re still unlearning the instinct to flinch at the sound of male yelling.

“I asked you a question,” Youngjae spits, closing the distance in two long steps. His suit is immaculate, his expression anything but that. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glass cabinet behind him—mud-smeared slippers, sweater hanging off your shoulder, cheeks flushed from the cold and hair messy from the wind. You look alive, and that's wrong.

“I went for a walk,” you say, your voice trembling.

“A walk,” he repeats, with something like disgust curling beneath it. “Through the servants’ gate?”

You stare back at him. “Would you rather I took the front door and embarrassed you properly?” your voice raising by a decibel to match his.

He doesn't smile.

He doesn’t speak.

Because mister's hand answers for him.

It strikes your face, sharp and clean. Your head turns with the force of it, cheek blooming into pain so fast it instently turns bright red.

You don’t stumble. But you wish you had. It would’ve made it easier to fall into whatever role he wants you to play.

“I told you,” he whispers, voice lower now,“you don’t make me look like a fool. Not in front of your family. Not in front of your father.”

You taste metal.

His hand lifts again—but this time, it’s not for your cheek. It grabs your arm instead, his nails digging hard into your skin, shaking you like you’re nothing more than an unruly object that won’t bend the way it’s supposed to.

“You belong to me,” he breathes.

“No,” you say.

It’s not loud. It’s not even angry. But it stops him. For a second, he stares at you like he’s trying to decide whether to destroy you completely.

You tear your arm from his grasp, stumbling back one step, then another. You hold his gaze, and if your lip is trembling, you don’t let it show.

“If you ever touch me like that again,” you whisper, “I swear to God, Youngjae—”

“What?” he snaps. “You’ll tell your father?” his voice is mocking.

“I’ll bury you.”

It’s a lie. Maybe. But the way you say it makes even him hesitate.

He scoffs, disgust curling his mouth. “You’re pathetic.”

He turns on his heel and walks away, like this was a waste of his time.

You wait until his footsteps vanish into the corridor before you allow yourself to breathe. Then you touch your cheek.

It’s hot. And it stings. And it reminds you that porcelain doesn’t just break.

It cuts.

You got to your room.

One second you were downstairs, and the next you're standing behind the door, staring at it like it might open again and swallow you whole.

And then—as soon as the door closes shut.

Then the tears just start.

No warning. No soft trickle. Just the kind that hits like a hurricane, all at once, and suddenly you’re on the floor with your knees to your chest, gasping like you can’t get enough air.

You press your sleeves to your face, trying to muffle the sound, but it’s no use.

Your shoulders shake. Your throat burns. Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You cry because your cheek hurts like hell. You cry because he touched you like that. You cry because no one stopped him. Not your mom. Not your dad. Not even you.

You cry because you’ve been trying so hard to be good. And strong. And quiet. And now you’re just… tired.

The floor is cold, but you don’t move. The crying doesn’t stop right away—it drags on, messy and loud, until it leaves you empty. Until all that’s left is the ache in your ribs and the sting on your skin.

You wipe your face on your sleeve. It’s wet. It smells like the garden you weren’t supposed to be in.

And then, really quietly, barely a whisper:

“I want to leave.”

You stand up, looking through your endless drawers, taking out a small blade, staring a it for a moment, hesitating, hoping you don't cut too deep.

It softly grazes your wrist, it somehow feels softer than anything else in your life.

The red blood trickles down, it's warm and it's free.

Tears won't stop, but atleast it doesn't hurt as much.

The next morning, the sunlight is softer, like it’s trying to make amends for the weight of yesterday. But it doesn’t fool you.

You wake up to the softest light through the curtains, the coldness of the room was what woke you up. The tear-wetted pillowcase reminds you of how little sleep you really got.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How much pain can live in your bones without making a sound.

Your body feels heavy, like you’re made of metal instead of flesh. Your arms are sore from how you spent the night clinging to yourself.

You don’t want to get up. Don’t want to face the world. But you do, anyway. Because there’s no other choice. Because you have no other option but to keep moving. Even if your feet don’t feel like they belong to you anymore.

You get out of bed, dragging your feet, the cold floor sending sharp shocks up your spine. You try to smooth down your hair, but it’s hopeless. You don’t look in the mirror, don’t give yourself the chance to see what kind of mess you’ve become. You don’t want to know.

The scars from the previous night glowing in their glory sitting at your arms, you just cover them with a long-sleeved top. You don't even look at them.

But even without looking, you know.

The room smells faintly of lavender, too sweet, just like the night before. You wish it didn’t. You wish you could get rid of every trace of this place.

The sound of footsteps outside your door makes your heart skip. The clock indicates 8am. You don’t expect company.

But the knock comes, soft and hesitant, before the door opens ever-so-slightly. It's your mother’s voice, low, careful. “You awake?”

You don’t answer.

But then, she’s inside. Stepping in slowly.

She looks at you, eyes a soft, too knowing. “I brought you breakfast.”

You don’t say anything, just watch her place the tray on the table.

She doesn’t speak at first. It’s like she doesn’t know what to say to you anymore. She hasn’t looked you in the eye since yesterday, and it shows. She’s scared. Of what you might say. Of what you might do.

She saw everything, from the yelling to the slap, yet she stayed silent.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t answer.

She bites her lip, she wants to say more but doesn’t.

She stands there for a moment longer, then quietly leaves without another word. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you with your own thoughts and the memory of yesterday still carved in your chest.

You don’t touch the food. You just sit there, watching the steam rise from the plate, trying not to think about how hungry you actually are, or how easy it would be to just leave it all behind.

"Well.."You murmur to yourself standing up, just to sit back at your dresser, brushing the soft strands of your hair, who seem to be rebel this morning, applying some lip-gloss, and a faint blush, and lastly some perfume.

You just want to feel pretty.

It's an odd thought when you’re surrounded by everything that was supposed to make you feel beautiful—your father’s expectations, your mother’s stupid silence, and Youngjae’s compliments that held no real meaning to them.

But why would you need anyone's approval? When you don't even have your own.

You stand in front of the mirror, taking in your reflection. The hair that had been a tangled mess now sits neatly faint curls at the ends of it sit perfectly, and the blush on your cheeks isn’t for anyone else. It’s for you.

The knock on your door comes again, this time more urgent, more insistent. You freeze.

Your mother.

Again.

The door creaks open.

Your mother steps in again,

Her eyes meet yours, the hesitation in her gaze barely noticeable. “Youngjae’s waiting downstairs. He-”

“I’m not going,” you interrupt, surprising even yourself.

Your mother blinks. It’s not the answer she expected, and she looks as if she’s been caught off guard. She doesn’t speak right away, instead focusing on the way you stand—your chin lifted just slightly, your shoulders back. It’s like you’re a different person than the one who’d cried last night.

“You can’t keep running away from him,” she says quietly, but there’s a little something to her voice, one that wasn’t there before. “This engagement is happening, Yn. It’s been decided. It’s your duty. Your responsibility.”

“I don’t care about duty,” you reply. The words come out before you can stop them. It feels like you just grew tired of everything. “I don’t care about responsibility. I just want to be free.”

Her gaze softens. “I know,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I know, sweetheart.”

For a moment, it's almost like she's back, your mom not your father's puppet.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you add, quieter this time. Your voice suddenly stops, cracking at the end. It’s one thing to feel trapped, to be told you have no choice. But to say it out loud? That’s a whole new kind of terror.

Your mother’s hand shakes as she reaches for the doorframe. “You have no choice,” she repeats softly, but this time it’s not a command—it’s a begging, your mother is begging you.

She steps back, leaving you alone.

Again.

It started with a window.

Or more specifically—the loud noise it made as you shoved it open, halfway through convincing yourself this was a good idea.

You paused to listen.

Silence.

You slipped one leg over the windowsill, then the other. The grass was cold when your feet hit it. Wet with dew. You didn’t care. You just ran.

The house behind you was still glowing—light from the guest wing, your father’s office, Youngjae’s room—but none of them noticed. None of them saw you slipping away in your sweater and dirty sneakers.

The air was cold, and you hadn't brought anything to cover yourself, and you were all alone, but it didn't matter cause anything was better than staying at where you were supposed to call home.

Until you hit the edge of the woods.

And then you weren’t alone.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice spoke behind you. “Where you running off to in such a hurry?”

Three of them. Maybe four. Men. Big. Loud. Drunk, or worse. You hadn’t even seen them—just heard the laugh, the bottle clinking, the way they looked at you like you were some kind of treat for big boys like them/

You stepped back. One of them stepped forward.

“Lost, are you?” he asked, grinning. “We can help.”

You turned to run, but someone grabbed your arm.

"Leave me alone!" You hissed trying to get out of their strong grip, but you were dying of cold, and your bones were weak.

"Come on..." One of them sighed," A little fun can't kill, can it?"

And then—

Thud.

The sound of a fist hitting flesh. Hard.

You spun around just in time to see one of them hit the ground, groaning.

And him.

Sunghoon.

Standing there, he's your savior, jaw tight, knuckles red, his eyes were totally different from the first time you saw him.

“She said no,” he said simply.

"Fucker.." one muttered before they all walked away, or maybe ran.

You were still frozen in place, your hands were trembling.

Sunghoon turned to you, chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted a marathon.

“You okay?” he asked his voice gentle.

You nodded, though your heart was still beating in your ears.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Something about the way he looked at you made the words stuck in your throat.

He tilted his head, studying you like he saw straight through the skin and bone.

“Are you running from something, yn?” he asked.

You almost laughed.

Something?

Try everything.

But instead, you looked at him—

“Yeah.”

His eyes grew a little wider, as his eyebrows rose, but he just nodded and gave you his coat.

"Do you have anywhere to stay?" He asked putting the coat on you.

"No, I didn't really think it through." You sighed.

He shrugged, brushing dirt off his sleeve like he hadn’t just bodyslammed a grown man into a dumpster. “Then come to mine.”

Your head tilted. Like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t some stranger you’d just met two nights ago in a creepy forest.

You stared at him. “Your place?”

He looked at you. “Unless you’re planning to camp out on the curb with your charming new friends.”

You flinched slightly. Right. That.

“I’m fine,” you said, a little too fast. “I’ll just… figure it out.”

But he didn’t move.

He just watched you, his gaze made you shiver, goosebumps appearing all over your skin.

“You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re not exactly safe either, you know. You just beat someone half to death.”

“I could’ve let them touch you,” he said, calm. “But I didn’t.”

That shut you up.

The silence was very awkward.

Finally, he sighed and looked away.

“Look. I get it. You don’t trust me. You shouldn’t.” His voice was quiet now, almost tired. “But I don’t want anything from you. Just... sleep somewhere safe. Please.”

He turned like he was about to walk away.

No second glance.

Just... leaving.

And you stood there—on some cracked branch, shaking from cold or fear or anything to be honest.

“Wait,” you said.

He stopped mid-step.

but he didn’t look back, he was holding his breath.

You swallowed.

“I’ll come.”

Now he turned. Eyebrow raised. he hadn’t expected you to say yes.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

You nodded, even if it felt like your spine was made of paper. “Just… don’t be weird.”

That made him smile. Not the usual stupid arrogant kind Youngjae would flash you.

“I’ll do so.” he said.

You sighed, and looked away at the now far long gone house, you might do something stupid.

Like fall for the boy who saved your life.

“Lead the way,” you muttered, stuffing your hands in your pockets.

He walked beside you in silence as he lead you to his house.

The walk wasn’t long, but it felt that way. Probably because your brain wouldn’t shut up. You’d just agreed to follow a guy you didn’t know to a place you’d never been, and your legs were doing the walking like they had a mind of their own. Great! Amazing survival instincts.

Sunghoon didn’t say much. He didn’t try to make small talk or ask questions. Just walked beside you like the night wasn’t freezing and you weren’t a walking bundle of anxiety.

You snuck a glance at him once. His jaw was tight, eyes on the ground. Maybe he was nervous too. Or maybe he was thinking about dinner. You couldn’t tell with him. He had one of those faces—god only knew what he had going on his mind. You hated how curious it made you.

The house was... not what you expected. It wasn’t a mansion or some shady abandoned one. Just a small, clean place at the edge of town.

He unlocked the door without a word and pushed it open.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside.

It was warmer inside, you let out a small whimper of satisfaction at the change of temperature. It was a little messy—papers, a hoodie on the couch, a half-empty mug on the table—but it was okay. Since it's not home.

He shut the door behind you and locked it. You didn’t flinch, but your hand twitched at your side anyway.

“I’ll get you something warm,” he said, disappearing into what looked like the kitchen.

You stood awkwardly in the living room, unsure if you were supposed to sit or just hover there like a ghost. Your fingers played with the hem of your sleeve.

A few moments later, he came back with a mug. You took it with a quiet thanks. It smelled like cinnamon and honey.

“Guest room’s down the hall,” he said, nodding toward it. “You can take the bed. There’s extra clothes in the drawer, probably too big but better than freezing.”

You nodded, god were you able to do anything except nod?

He paused like he was about to say something else, but just scratched the back of his neck.

“I’ll be in the other room. Door locked. So, you know... you don’t have to worry.”

You blinked. “That’s... good to know, thank you a lot Sunghoon, you're very nice.” You were screaming at yourself, very nice? Who even says that.

He gave a small shrug. “You looked like you needed someone to be."

“Goodnight,” he said, already walking off.

You stared after him for a second, then down at your drink.

Next morning,

You wake up to the smell of coffee. Sunghoon is already up, leaning against the counter with two mugs in hand.

He offers you one. You take it, fingers curling around it.

“I can’t stay hidden forever,” you say. “I need to run—for good. My wedding… Youngjae… my father—I can’t go back.”

He studies you,finally he sets his mug down and crosses his arms.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” he says flatly. “It’s not safe. The roads are watched. He'll find you before you know it.”

You blink. “Then what do I do?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You stay here a little longer. Lay low until I figure something out. If you try to run away now, they’ll catch you. And we’ll lose our chance.”

You hug the mug to your chest. “I can’t! My father probably already sent people after I disappeared last night."

“I know.” He steps closer. “That’s why you stay. Not because hiding is a plan, but because rushing is suicide.”

Your heart is beating so loud, you're sure Sunghoon can hear it. “So… I wait?”

He nods. “I’ll find a safe route. But tonight, don’t go outside. Promise me.” he said his hand falling on yours.

You swallow. “I promise.”

He gives you a small, tired smile. “Good. Now eat."

You do as he says, as you watch him stand up to go get ready for what seems like work.

After a few moments, he comes back dressed up, a backpack on his back.

"I'm going to work, just call me if you need anything, make yourself at home." He says, before leaving.

You watch the door click shut behind him and the house settles into silence. He’s gone off to work—whatever that means—and you’re left alone with his mess.

The kitchen is messier than last night : dirty mugs on the counter, crumbs on the table, a half‑empty loaf of bread. You set your coffee down and roll up your sleeves.

You got nothing better to do anyways.

You start with the dishes, stacking mugs in the sink and rinsing them one by one. Hot water steams your face, and for a moment you feel… useful.

Next, you sweep the floor—wooden boards that creak beneath your broom. Dust bunnies roll into neat piles at your feet. You think about how this house isn’t your home, but it’s the only quiet place you’ve had in days.

You move through each room, fluffing pillows on the couch, folding his hoodie and placing it on a chair. You straighten the stack of books on the coffee table—mostly gardening manuals, a few novels. On one shelf, you find a framed photo of him as a kid, standing in a garden that looks just like his own. He smiled so easily back then.

You wipe a smudge off the window until the light spills cleanly through. Outside, you can almost imagine everything is right in the world.

The bathroom mirror is next. You spray cleaner and wipe until the glass gleams. Your reflection stares back—tired eyes, messy hair.

You step back and breathe out. The house looks better.

You let out a content hum, smiling.

You didn't even notice you had spent the whole day cleaning.

A soft click from the front hall makes you start. You freeze, hand on the rag.

Sunghoon reappears in the doorway, coat over his arm, eyes softening when he sees you.

“You didn’t have to,” he says quietly.

You shrug, setting the rag down. “I wanted to.”

He steps inside and drops his bag by the door. “Thank you.” He awkwardly smiles and pats your back.

You smile a little. No words needed—this is enough.

He watches you for a moment, then nods. “Come eat. I brought food.”

The sheets were stiff, smelled faintly like detergent and dust. You lay on your side, eyes fixed on the shadow of the ceiling fan spinning slow above you. The room was dark, save for the streetlight leaking through the blinds, slicing soft lines of orange across the floor. You thought he’d gone to bed.

But then came the soft creak of the door.

You didn’t move, just watched as Sunghoon stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. His hand gripped the frame. Hair a little damp. Hoodie hanging off his shoulder. Silent.

“…Can’t sleep?” you asked.

He stepped in slowly, the door clicking shut behind him. “Didn’t think I’d fall asleep with all the pacing you were doing.”

You exhaled something close to a laugh and scooted over slightly—not enough to say stay, but enough to say I won’t bite.

He sat on the edge of the mattress first. Then leaned back until his head hit the pillow beside yours. His shoulder didn’t quite touch yours.

It was quiet. Almost too quiet.

“Thanks for… letting me stay here,” you said finally.

Sunghoon’s eyes stayed on the ceiling. “It’s not charity. You needed somewhere safe.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

Silence again. You could hear the faint buzz of the fridge in the other room. A car passing outside.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. Voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his head a little toward you. “What do you mean?”

“This whole thing. Running. Hiding. Pretending it’s all going to work out just because I want it to.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond at first. Then, “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

You rolled onto your back, hair fanning against the pillow. “It’s just… he’s going to find me eventually.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tensed. You caught it even in the low light.

“If he does,” he said, “he’ll have to go through me.”

That made you look at him. Really look.

“You say that like it’s nothing,” you murmured.

He turned toward you too, eyes dark in the dim room. “It’s not nothing. But it’s not like I’d let him take you back.”

Your breath caught a little. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” A beat. “Maybe I hate watching people get trapped.”

Another silence stretched out between you. This one not so heavy. Just… unsure.

“Do you always talk like this in the middle of the night?” you asked, voice barely teasing.

He smirked faintly. “Only when the girl I just met ends up in my guest bed talking about her arranged marriage.”

You groaned and hid your face in the pillow. “God. That sounds so bad when you say it out loud.”

“It is bad.”

Another pause.

“You could stay,” he said, suddenly. “Longer. I mean. If you wanted.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “Sunghoon…”

“It’s not pressure,” he said quickly. “I just… I’d hate to see you go back to that stupid excuse of a man.”

You turned your head toward him again. His face was perfect, light coming from the dimly lit lamp on the bedstand casting a golden hue on his features.

You stared for a moment too long.

“Okay,” you said, softly. “Maybe just a little longer.”

His smile this time was bigger, he looked relieved, and happy.

His eyes dropped to your lips, making you unconsciously lick them, you could feel the heat emerging from his body, he slowly leaned in, stopping right before your lips, you nodded, silently giving him permission.

His lips found yours in honeyish kiss, it felt like heaven, the way his hands pulled you towards him as if he was afraid you'd leave him, as if you were his.

You did your best to kiss him back, you hadn't kissed much people, ever.

His lips captured you lower lip and nibbled on it softly biting it,"Mmm..yn" he hummed against your lips, before suddenly stopping.

"Am I.." He paused panting slightly, "Crossing any boundaries..?"

You were too breathless to answer so you just pulled him in for another stolen kiss, his lips were perfectly molded against yours, as if this was the love you were meant for in the first place.

"I want you, Hoon." You let out, "I want you to ruin me." you knew you'd be in big trouble if your father ever found out about this..fleeting romance but you couldn't care less.

"Are you sure? " His tone was more gently than a mother's caress, his eyes were never looking away from yours.

"More than ever." It was the green light for him.

This time, his lips didn't land on yours softly like earlier, this time it was all pent-up desire.

Your tongues were fighting a war, a sloppy one, he swiftly pulled you on his lap, gripping your hips tightly.

His lips travelled all over your body, leaving marks on your neck and collarbone, all while soft hums fell from your lips, you had never done this before, you know.

Soon enough both your clothes were on the floor, far forgotten.

He cupped your face and whispered in your ear, his lips brushing it ever-so slightly. "You look so beautiful under me, to my mercy."

You shivered, blushing at the compliment.

His hands immediatly went to your breasts, fondling them and kneading, "Hoon.." You whimpered, your body pushing forward as if hoping to feel the warmt of his body.

"Mmm..So fucking perfect." He smirked, his mouth catching a hardened nipple, sucking it while the other begged for the same.

He kept on humming, and you kept on squirming, silent moans leaving your red lips.

He finally left your nipple with a pop, looking at you straight in the eyes.

"I've been wanting this for so long.." His usually fierce eyes were drooping, he was staring at you like were his last meal.

Another passionate kiss was shared between you both, and just like before, you couldn't get enough of his sweet taste.

His lips were nearly fighting yours, his tongue deep in your mouth.

And sneakily his fingers dropped to your aching core.

"Ah!" a small gasp left your lips when his fingers teased your entrance, only fueling his arousal even more.

He slowly pumped his middle finger in and out of you, meanwhile his yes never left yours, as if he was hypnotized.

Moans and lewd noises were all you could hear, as your hips grinding mercilessly against his fingers when he added another.

"Already so wet and ready for me." He chuckled darkly staring at his slick fingers when he pulled them out before sucking them clean, causing a faint blush to spread on your cheeks.

"mmm..tastes just like I imagined, baby."

At this point, he hadn't even done much yet you were shaking, like litteraly trembling from anticipation.

He positioned himself with your entrance, dragging his fat tip along your drenched folds.

"Please, hoon..." You were begging him to fill you up just good.

"Since you're so polite."He chuckled and softly began thrusting his lenght in your tight hole.

The lewd sounds you were making were beyond embarassing to you, but Sunghoon couldn't care less, he only cared about how warm and welcome your pussy felt.

"Fuck this pussy was made for me." Only a few blabbered words were let out by you as moans continuously fell from your swollen lips.

You had done this before, but never with someone who truly cared.

The bed was rocking against the wall with every thrust of Sunghoon's hips.

He became even faster, gasps and cries were all you could say.

"Hoon!" You cried out as you felt yourself reach your high, "Cum on my cock, baby. Milk me.." His moves were sloppier now as the knot in your abdomen unraveled.

He came down from his high soon after you, filling the condom up.

His arm wrapped around your waist, and you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Hope you don't regret." You muttered looking at him,

"Never."

The next morning, the air was earingly quiet, and calm, almost as if everything would go wrong.

You stood at the doorway with your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from nerves. The same cardigan clung loosely to your frame, and your shoes—mud-stained from two nights ago.

Sunghoon was in the kitchen, stuffing some leftover rice and eggs into a container, pretending not to look at you too often. He did, though. Every few seconds.

He glanced up again. “You sure?”

Your fingers tightened a little around your sleeves. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“I know,” he said softly.

You stepped off the porch. The gravel crunched beneath your feet. Sunghoon followed, shouldering a duffel bag you hadn’t even seen him pack.

The sky was still pale, not quite morning-blue yet.

“Where are we even going?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Far enough.”

You nodded once. The bag he held was heavier than it looked, and he adjusted it on his shoulder as he came around to open the passenger door of the old truck he’d driven here last night.

“Here,” he said, holding the door for you.

You didn’t move. Your eyes were flickering between him and the woods.

Then—

“Took you long enough.”

It was him

You froze.

Sunghoon's grip on your hand tightened, his iris was trembling.

Your father stepped out from behind the rusty fence, two men trailing behind him. One of them, you recognized.

Your heart dropped.

Sunghoon stepped forward instantly, placing himself between you and them,

“I’m not going with you,” you said, your voice was shaking, you were afraid of going back to the nightmare of a life you had before.

Your father laughed, it was mean. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Yes,” Sunghoon answered, “she does.”

“And who are you? The stray boy who picked her up off the side of the road?”

You felt Sunghoon stiffen beside you.

“I’m the one who kept her safe,” he said. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Your father’s gaze darkened. “Enough.”

He turned to you. “Get in the car.”

You took a shaky step back. “No.”

One of the men moved. Sunghoon grabbed your wrist, tried to shield you, but they were much stronger.

And just like that

You were being pulled away.

Sunghoon was yelling your name, fighting against two men who were twice his size.

And then the door slammed shut.

The truck drove off.

And here you were, back at home, back at where you are supposed to call home.

The moment you enetered the house, Youngjae didn't wait, he just simply pulled you in your shared-bedroom and let the nightmare start.

"So? Thought you could just run away like that?" His grip on your wrist was horribly strong and bruising, turning the area purple.

"Leave me alone..."You whispered, tears were flowing down your once beautiful and full of hope eyes.

"Should've thought it through when you fucking ran away, bitch" He fisted your hair pulling you towards the wall, "What a fucking stupid bitch" He laughed, he was laughing like he hadn't ruined your life the moment you saw him, he was the biggest nightmare.

"Please" You dropped to your knees, begging him, crying "Don't hurt me, I'm begging you" Your pleas and cries echoed in the room, but he just didn't have an ounce of sympathy in him. "Too bad, I'm in the mood."

He violently shoved you down the bed, "Did he fuck you yet, slut?" Another pull at the hair "Or am I the first?" He was laughing like a maniac, and you had just lost hope.

"I'm gonna put a child in you and no other fucking man wil want you." he was going to do it, he was going to trap you.

"Please-" you begged before a sharp slap came to your face, "I don't another word from you, get it?" He yelled.

and that night,

you knew

you were trapped.

He had left, but somehow you still felt him, on you, his disgusting touch all over your body.

You were bruised from head to toe, and you felt filthy.

You had been scrubing under the shower for what felt like an eternity but yet you still felt utterly disgusting.

"What did I do deserve this? What have I ever did wrong? Why me? Why do I always suffer?" Your silent pleas were only heard by you and whichever angel was with you, your back was against the bathtub, he was still inside of you, he had trapped you, he's a monster.

You had reached a limit, no thoughts apart death were behind your eyes.

They had ruined you, the one joyful, happy, extroverted, out-going, beautiful yn was gone, they killed her.

They killed you.

They killed you.

They killed you.

You marched slowly towards the kitchen, your turned all the stoves on, the other of gaz filling your nostrils.

You took a small lighter, the one your mother used to burn you with, you looked from the top of the stairs .

Everyone was asleep.

You waited for a few moments before your lit a small part of the curtain on fire, you left the house.

just for it to burn down a few seconds later.

You killed them.

Just the way they killed you.

Screams echoed, you recognized your mother's screams, your father's but most importantly Youngjae's.

You could've felt bad for the maids and butler's who perished along the devils.

But you weren't yn.

They killed yn.

You were the version they made.

Not the one you once were.

[shopdixi]

Find our collection of magical Autumn and Fall Aesthetic Boho and Witchy Sterling Silver Amber rings at shopdixi.com.

[astaroth1357]

Solomon: MC- *takes a knee*

MC: Oh my God

Solomon: -will you marry me? *pulls out ring box*

MC: What?

MC: Didn't I poison you?? Gak! *falls to their knees instead*

Solomon: I switched our cups. *opens the box to show a small vial of powder*

Solomon: Say yes for the antidote!

MC: God I hate you so much-

[applecaviar]

The land of no return Part #7

Sorry it took me so long. Enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8

Art: omi-resources

Now the clock doesnt move, it only weighs. And I, locked in this body, sharpen my teeth to bite the rage. Because if I don't know how to run, let the world learn to crawl with me.

Zayne

Days turned to nights, and nights blurred into an endless, agonizing expanse of time as Zayne struggled to escape the torment of his own thoughts. No matter how many hours he spent hunched over operating tables, no matter how many lives he saved or hearts he mended, he couldn't escape the agonizing images that plagued his mind.

The thought of her with Elijah, tangled in his sheets, her hair splayed across his pillow as he moved over her, consumed him. It ate at him like a cancer, a poison that seeped into his veins and tainted everything it touched. He could see it all, the way her back arched, the way her lips parted in a silent cry of pleasure, the way her body yielded to his touch, accepting him, welcoming him deep inside her.

And it was that last thought, the image of her giving herself to another, of allowing another man to claim what was once his, that pushed Zayne to the brink of insanity. He paced the sterile hallways, his heart pounding, his breathing ragged, as he tried to shake the thought from his head.

Late at night, when exhaustion finally claimed him and he collapsed onto his bed in the on call room, the nightmares began. Dreams that left him thrashing and sweating, his heart pounding against his ribs. He'd wake with a strangled cry, his body drenched in a cold sweat, the phantom sensation of her touch still burning on his skin.

And the cycle would repeat, a never ending hell of despair and self loathing. Zayne would stumble through his days, a ghost of his former self. It was a living nightmare, a waking hell that he couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried. And in the darkest, most honest part of his heart, some small, broken fragment knew that he deserved it. He deserved to suffer like this, to be punished for the unforgivable sin of letting her go.

So it was no surprise when he finally collapsed.

The world spun violently around Zayne as he stumbled out of the meeting room, his vision swimming, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow. He'd seen the unmistakable shape of a small, velvet box as it slipped from Dr. Elijah's pocket and clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

His heart seized, a bolus of icy dread settling in the pit of his stomach as the horrifying realization crashed over him. He couldn't ask. Not now. The thought of her, of her slender finger adorned with another man's ring, made a bitter taste of bile burn the back of his throat.

This can't be happening

He slammed the door of his office behind him, his hands shook as he braced himself against the smooth wood, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he fought to regain some semblance of control.

But it was no use. The dam that had been holding back the flood of his anguish for months, for years now, finally shattered. A choked, strangled sound tore from his throat, a noise that was half sob, half scream, as the weight of his despair came crashing down upon him.

He staggered to his desk, collapsing into the chair as the first of many bitter tears began to fall. They streaked down his face, cutting tracks through the pallor of his skin, dripping onto the desk below. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks, a physical manifestation of the pain that consumed him.

"This can't be happening," he choked out, his voice a broken, ragged whisper that sounded foreign to his own ears. "It's too soon. Too fucking soon."

He'd pushed her away, had told himself that he was doing it for her own good, that he was setting her free. But in doing so, he'd condemned himself to a lifetime of hell, a never ending purgatory where the thought of her with another man would haunt him until his dying day.

Was this how she felt without me? Was this the agony that gripped her heart, the despair that darkened her days? Did she cry like this every fucking night, drowning in the same despair that's suffocating me right now?

The realization that he had done this to her, that he had caused her such unimaginable pain, was too much to bear. He deserved this, he knew. He deserved every second of the pain that ripped through him, every moment of anguish. He had brought this upon himself, had forged the shackles of his own misery with his own hands.

"Fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of his office. With a vicious snarl, he swept his arm across the desk, sending papers, pens, and other things flying. The sound of shattering glass filled the air and he swiped a heavy textbook off the edge, watching with grim satisfaction as it smashed against the wall and crumbled to the floor.

Then he lost control of his evol.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Everyone knows it. When someone breaks your heart in a thousand pieces and you bend down to pick them up, there are only nine hundred and ninety-nine.

Y/N

You stare at your phone, your brows furrowed in confusion as you read the message announcing the cancellation of your monthly checkup. A sense of unease settles in the pit of your stomach as you try to make sense of the sudden change. Without hesitation, you dial Yvonne's number, your fingers trembling slightly as you hold the device to your ear.

"Hi, Yvonne," you say, your voice tighter than you intended as she picks up. "I just got a message saying my checkup is cancelled. What's going on?"

"I'm sorry for the short notice, Y/N," she says, "It's just that... well, Dr. Zayne is not in the hospital at the moment. He's going to take a few days off, but as soon as he returns, we'll get you in right away."

You hesitate for a moment, knowing it's not your place to ask, but the words slip out before you can stop them, the need to know overriding your better judgment.

"Is he... is he okay?"

There's a long, heavy pause on the other end of the line before Yvonne responds, her voice softening with a note of gentle sympathy. "Well, he...he's had a rough week," she says, a hint of hesitation in her words, as if she's uncertain about revealing too much.

You push down the urge to press further, to demand answers you no longer have the right to know. "Okay, thank you for letting me know. I appreciate you telling me...as much as you could" you hang up the phone, a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

"He lost control of his Evol and himself yesterday" 

You jump, a startled gasp escaping your lips as the familiar voice cuts through the silence of your apartment. Lost in your thoughts of Zayne and his absence, you had completely forgotten that Elijah was still there with you.

Whirling around, you find him standing in the doorway of your kitchen, his tall frame leaned casually against the doorframe. He's looking at you with concern and something else, something you can't quite put your finger on.

You feel your heart clench, a painful, wrenching sensation that steals your breath away. The urge to know more, to understand the details of what happened, is overwhelming.

"Is he...?" you ask, hating the tremor in your voice.

"He will be ok," he says, a note of certainty in his voice. "He's a strong man, Y/N. Stronger than he sometimes believes. He just needs time and space, to find his way back from the edge."

You nod, a numbness settling over you as the weight of this new information sinks in. Zayne is hurting, struggling, and a part of you aches to be there for him, to help him find his way back to the light.

Elijah steps closer and reaches out to cup your chin gently in his hand. He tilts your face up towards his, his thumb brushing softly over your lower lip. You feel the warmth of his skin, the gentle pressure of his touch.

"Don't worry about your appointment either," he murmurs "You have me to keep a close eye on you."

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss. It's a brief gesture, a peck really, but it carries a weight of affection and desire that makes your heart flutter.

Pulling back, he smiles at you, a gleam of something playful and inviting in his eyes. "I got the snacks ready," he says, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you want to watch the movie now?"

As he speaks, he starts to lead you towards the living room, his fingers intertwined with yours. The room is dimly lit, a soft glow emanating from the flickering screen of the television. The couch is already set up, a soft blanket draped over the back, and a tray of snacks, popcorn, chocolates, and a selection of your favorite candies, sits on the coffee table.

As you settle onto the couch, Elijah drapes the blanket over your lap, his hand lingering on your thigh for a moment before he joins you, pulling you close. You lean into his warmth, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace.

For a moment, you allow yourself to forget about Zayne, about his struggles and his pain. You focus on the here and now, on the comfort and affection of the man beside you.

But as the movie plays on, you find yourself growing increasingly restless, a fidgety energy building within you. You had hoped that losing yourself in the story unfolding on the screen would provide a welcome distraction, a much needed respite from the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling in your mind. But as the minutes ticked by, you discovered that your heart was not in it, your focus constantly drifting to the man who was not sitting beside you.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to refocus on the movie, but it's no use. Your mind is a mess, a tangled web of memories, all centered around the one person you can't seem to forget, no matter how hard you try.

In a moment of desperation, you make a split second decision, a reckless choice born of a desire to silence the constant ache in your heart. You turn to look at Elijah, your eyes meeting his in the flickering light of the television.

And then, before you can second guess yourself, you're moving. You swing your leg over his lap, straddling him, catching him completely by surprise.

"Y/N, what are you...?" he starts to ask, but you don't let him finish, silencing him with a kiss that's the exact opposite of the tender one he had given you earlier.

It's a hungry, desperate kiss, a kiss fueled by a desire to forget, to lose yourself in the heat of the moment. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly as you press yourself against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Elijah hesitates for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he tries to read your intentions. But as you deepen the kiss, as your body molds against his, you feel him start to respond, his arms coming up to wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

Your heart races and a part of you knows this is a mistake, knows that you're using Elijah, trying to fill a void that can never truly be filled. But you can't stop, can't slow down, as if possessed by a desperate need to lose yourself, to erase the lingering ache of Zayne's memory. Your hands roam feverishly over Elijah's chest, tugging at his shirt, popping buttons in your haste to feel his skin against yours.

His breath hitches, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels your urgency "Y/N," he rasps out, "Is this what you really want?"

You can only nod, too far gone in your desperation to form words. Your eyes remain squeezed shut, unable to face the reality of the situation, unable to see the truth in his gaze.

In a flurry of movement, you're both undressing, a tangle of limbs and fabric as you stumble towards the bedroom. The cool air brushes against your exposed skin, pebbling your flesh with goosebumps.

His hands grip your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he lifts you effortlessly, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you towards the bedroom, his heart pounding against your chest.

As he lays you down on the bed, the softness of the mattress enveloping you, you feel a flicker of hesitation, a moment of doubt. But it's quickly consumed by the heat building between your thighs, the desperate ache to feel something, anything.

As the last of your clothing falls away, you find yourself bare and exposed, your naked body laid out beneath Elijah's darkened gaze. His eyes rove over your curves, a hunger burning in their depths. As much as his desire is evident, you can't shake the feeling of unease that settles like a stone in the pit of your stomach.

You gasp as his lips close around your hardened nipple, a shock of sensation jolting through you. But even as you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more, you can't help but compare it to the way Zayne would worship your body, his mouth hot and insistent as he lavished attention on every sensitive peak and valley.

A whimper escapes your lips as his hands map the contours of your body, his fingers skimming over your skin with a cursory touch. It's not the reverent caress you crave, the one that makes you feel cherished, adored, like a goddess beneath his fingertips. No, this is different, more urgent, more demanding, as if he's trying to claim you, to brand your flesh with his touch.

As his mouth trails lower, his lips brushing over the quivering flesh of your stomach, you feel a pang of disappointment, of longing. Zayne's lips would linger here, his tongue swirling around your navel, teasing the sensitive flesh, before dipping inside to taste, to explore. But Elijah is already moving on, his descent purposeful.

You tense as you feel his breath ghost over your most intimate place. But as his mouth closes over your aching center, you realize with a sinking heart that this isn't what you need, it isn't what you've been craving.

His tongue, while skilled, is not slow like you remember Zayne's being. It's not coaxing out your pleasure with lazy, teasing strokes, but rather demanding, insistent, as if he's trying to prove his ability to satisfy you. But all it does is leave you wanting, a gnawing emptiness consuming you.

You're comparing everything, each touch, each kiss, each caress, to the way Zayne once loved you.

So you pull Elijah up, one hand gripping his shoulders tightly as the other aligns his hard length with your dripping core. A moan escapes your lips, a sound of desperate need and aching want, as you feel the head of his cock nudging against your wet folds.

In a moment of pure instinct, you whisper a name that tears through the air between you like a knife. "Please, Zayne..." The words are a choked sob, a desperate plea torn from the depths of your soul.

You feel him thrust inside you. It's a hard, deep thrust, a desperate attempt to claim, to make you his. But even as pleasure sparks through you at the sudden intrusion, you can't suppress the cry that tears from your throat.

It's a sound of anguish and ecstasy, a twisted mix of the pain of your loss and the fleeting pleasure of being filled, of being taken. And as Elijah stills above you, the reality of what you've said hitting him squarely, you feel a wave of tears spill down your cheeks.

The moment is shattered, the illusion of passion and desire replaced by the harsh truth of your lingering love for Zayne. And as you lie there, impaled on Elijah's cock, you feel a profound sense of guilt, a deep ache in your heart that no amount of physical pleasure can ever ease.

Elijah pulls out of you abruptly, as if your words have burned him, searing his very skin. You can't bring yourself to look at him, to face the hurt and anger that must surely be etched on his face. Instead, you turn your head to the side, your tears now flowing freely, sobs wracking your body with their intensity.

You hear the rustle of fabric, the sound of clothing being hastily thrown on as Elijah dresses, his movements sharp and agitated.

He doesn't say a word, and you're grateful for his silence. You know you couldn't bear to hear the accusations, the recriminations that would surely follow. Instead, you lay there, naked and crying, as you watch him walk out of your bedroom.

You curl in on yourself, feeling a deep, abiding shame, a self loathing that cuts through you like a blade. Even through the pain and the guilt, you can't deny the truth of your heart. You're still in love with Zayne, still aching for his touch, his presence, in a way that you know you'll never stop. And in that moment, you realize that you can never truly move on, never find happiness with anyone else, until you've faced the truth of your feelings and learned to let him go.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

I hope the space in your heart that belonged to me is still empty so I can enter again. Because I know you're not really gone, as long as there's a single window open to let the wind whisper my name to you.

Zayne

Zayne paused mid stride, his brow furrowing as he heard his name called out. He turned to see Dr. Elijah falling into step beside him, a grim expression etched on his face. Of all the people to run into on his first day back at the hospital after his... incident, Elijah was the last person he wanted to see.

With a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes, Zayne greeted him. His tone was casual, but there was some tension. He knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that this conversation wouldn't be about work.

Elijah's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Can we talk in your office? It's... private."

Zayne felt a flicker of unease, but he nodded, leading the way to his office. As they walked, a heavy silence stretched between them, a palpable tension that spoke of a conversation long overdue.

Entering his office, Zayne gestured for Elijah to take a seat before settling himself behind his desk. He leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he studied his colleague, trying to read the thoughts behind those guarded eyes.

"What did you want to talk about?" 

"I'm leaving Akso Hospital. I need to have a meeting with you to go through all the paperwork and ensure everything is in order before I depart," Elijah stated, his tone formal and businesslike.

Zayne listened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the news. But before he could process the implications, before he could think of the logistical challenges that Elijah's departure would pose, a question tumbled from his lips, unfiltered and raw.

"Is Y/N leaving with you?" The words were out before he could stop them, a desperate, almost anguished tone coloring his voice.

He watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as Elijah's expression shifted. "No, she is not," he said, his voice flat and cold.

Zayne leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his eyes searching Elijah's face for any hint of deception. "You're leaving her?" he asked, a note of disbelief coloring his tone. "Does she know?"

"You really think I would leave without telling her? Without giving her a reason, an explanation?" His voice rose, incredulity and anger lacing his words.

He shook his head, a gesture of disgust. "I'm not you, Zayne. I won't disappear without a word, leaving her to pick up the pieces of a broken heart." The accusation hung heavy in the air, a painful reminder of Zayne's past mistakes.

Before Zayne could formulate a response to Elijah's accusation, the doctor leaned forward, his eyes boring into Zayne's with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "Do you still love her?" 

He didn't need to think about his answer, didn't need to search his heart for the truth. It was a truth that had been with him since childhood, a constant presence in his life that he could never deny.

"Since the day she skinned her knee on the playground and I gave her my ice cream to make her smile again."

A soft, wistful smile tugged at the corners of Zayne's mouth as the memory played out in his mind. He could still see it, as clear as day, the image of a young Y/N with tears streaming down her face, her little lip trembling until he had offered her his favorite treat, watching as her sorrow transformed into a brilliant, heart stopping grin.

"I've loved her in a way that's been a part of my very being, a constant presence in my life that I can't imagine living without," Zayne continued "I loved her when I was a gangly, awkward teenager, and I love her now, as a man who knows what it means to lose the one person who truly matters."

His gaze never left Elijah's, a silent challenge in his eyes. It was a challenge for Elijah to argue with the truth, to find a way to refute the depth and longevity of Zayne's love for her.

Elijah rose from his chair abruptly, the sudden movement startling Zayne. He stood tall, his shoulders squared "Then make things right, because you don't know what it's like to be destroyed by the same person who showed you what true love feels like."

With those words, he turned and strode towards the door, his hand reaching for the knob. But before he exited, he paused, looking back at Zayne over his shoulder.

"No hard feelings," Elijah said, a tiny smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "But I hope she rejects you and finds someone who's willing to stay, no matter how hard things get." It was a parting shot, a verbal jab that landed with painful accuracy.

Zayne watched as Elijah pulled open the door, anger and defensiveness surging through him. But he held his tongue, knowing that responding with a cutting remark would only make things worse.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

The winner takes it all

Y/N

You sat across from Elijah in your living room, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest, making each breath a labor. This moment, this confrontation, was something you had been dreading for days now. After that night, after you had cried out Zayne's name, Elijah had vanished. No apologies, no explanations, just a deafening silence that felt so much like the abandonment you had experienced before.

As you sat there, your hands twisting nervously in your lap, you forced the words out, hating the way they tasted on your tongue. "I'm sorry," you said "I really am. I didn't mean to call out his name..."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "There are little things, things you do that I've noticed. Like the way your nose scrunches up when you're angry, or how you chew on your lower lip when you're nervous or hungry"

There was a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The way you tilt your head to the side when you're listening intently to something. The way you hum when you're cooking, a little tune that you don't even realize you're singing."

As he spoke, you felt tears welling up in your eyes, a hot, stinging sensation that made your vision blur. But the real pain came when he fell silent, his gaze still locked onto yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you.

"Now tell me something about me I don't know," he said, his voice was filled with a quiet, desperate hope.

You opened your mouth, desperate to say something, anything, to make this right. But the words died in your throat, a painful realization washing over you. You couldn't think of a single thing, not one detail about Elijah that he didn't know already.

"I'm sorry," you choked out "I don't know what to say." Tears began to stream down your cheeks, a bitter mix of sorrow, guilt, and regret.

Elijah's expression softened, a flicker of compassion in his eyes as he saw your tears. "Don't apologize," he said "Tell me something about Zayne that he doesn't know already."

You flinched at the sound of his name, your hands clenched in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to think of something, anything to say.

"The answer isn't 'I don't know', right?"

You knew he was right, knew that there were countless things about Zayne that you had discovered over the years, little quirks and habits that only you seemed to notice.

You stood up abruptly, mirroring Elijah's movement, a sense of dread washing over you as you saw the resolute expression on his face. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape.

"I want the one thing you can't give me," Elijah said, "and I can't give you what you want." Each word felt like a brick, stacking up to build an insurmountable wall between you. "So I have to walk away."

Tears blured your vision, as the cruel finality of his statement hit you like a physical blow. You shook your head, a desperate, useless gesture, as if you could somehow deny the truth of his words.

"E-Elijah, please..." you stammered, your voice breaking on a sob.

"We're done, this is over"

Elijah walked towards you, his steps measured and slow, as if approaching a wounded animal. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, your tear streaked face pressing against his chest. You could only cling to him, as the cruel reality of your situation crashed over you like a wave.

He held you like that, rocking you gently, murmuring words of comfort into your hair as you cried. Minutes ticked by, or maybe hours, as Elijah let you cry yourself out. Your tears eventually slowed, turning into the occasional hiccuping sob, before finally subsiding altogether. Your eyes, red rimmed and puffy, gazed up at him with gratitude and sorrow.

"Thank you, Elijah," you whispered, your voice hoarse and raw from crying. "For everything. Thank you for helping me, for loving me..." Your words trailed off, a fresh wave of tears threatening to overwhelm you at the memories of the time you had shared.

Elijah looked down at you, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It was the easiest thing I've ever done, Y/N" he said softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Loving you, that is. It was the easiest thing in the world."

I had so much more angst to give but... I don't want to make you guys suffer anymore.

I hope you liked this part. ☺️

Tag list

@lioria @midiplier @gawa-ng-gabi

@certainduckanchor @asakiyu @crazyzombieblaze

[raphael-angele]

The Gift

POV: It's Regulus' birthday and he's opening presents at the breakfast table.

Regulus: Okay, so far I got a journal that cannot be opened unless I'm the one holding it; thank you, Evan. The Cain's Jawbone book; thank you, Barty. A brand new stationary set; thank you, Pandora. And a silver snake ring that has a needle that injects poison to whoever it punctures; thank you, Dorcas.

Pandora: Happy birthday, Reg.

Evan: Happy birthday, buddy.

Barty: Yeah, yeah, yeah, happy birthday and all that. So which one is your favorite?

Dorcas: You kidding? I win by a mile.

Evan: Oh, I almost forgot *pulls out a small box* This is from Potter.

Dorcas: Why was James Potter giving you a gift for Regulus?

Barty: And why was he with you in the first place?

Evan: Calm down. We bumped into each other in the halls and he asked me to give it to Reg.

Regulus: *opens the box* oh wow.

Pandora: What is it?

Regulus: *shows it to Pandora*

Pandora: Aww, that's so cute.

Barty: What is it?

Pandora: It's like an small pin of the golden snitch but instead of a ball, it's shaped like a star.

Regulus: *reads the note* "Still can't believe I caught you. JP"

Dorcas: Aw, Now that's just romantic

Barty: If Potter wanted to be romantic, he'd realign the stars to say, "I am untterly, undoubtedly, and deeply in love with Regulus Arcturus Black. I say with with sound mind and body. Love, James Potter"

Regulus, putting the pin on his robe: So whose gift is that one? *points to a box*

Everyone:

Regulus: ...no one?

Evan: *inspects* Well, it's addressed to you. And it says Happy Birthday. Maybe it's from your parents?

Regulus: Unlikely. Give it? *takes the box* Really nothing written on here.

Barty: Open it.

Regulus: *opens it and gasps*

Dorcas: What is it?

Regulus: *looks over at the Gryffindor table* Nothing *packs up the gifts, stands and leaves* Thanks for the gifts.

At the Gryffindor table:

Sirius: Hey, the birthday boy himself.

James: Oh, hi, babe.

Regulus: Hey. Sirius, a word? *they move a bit farther away*

Sirius: So what's up? Did you need something?

Regulus: The gift.

Sirius: Yeah? What about it?

Regulus: ...help me put it on?

Sirius: ...*smiles softly* Yeah, okay.

In the bathroom:

Sirius: You okay in there?

Regulus: *comes out of the stall with a roll of bandage*

Sirius: What do you think?

Regulus: *runs his hands through his torso, looks at the mirror and turns to the side*

Sirius: It's not too tight right? I think I hooked it on the right row.

Regulus: *cries*

Sirius: *goes up to him* Hey, hey, c'mon, don't cry. It's okay. What's wrong? Is it too small? Does it hurt?

Regulus: *shakes his head* No. It's perfect.

Sirius: Aww, I'm glad. Feels better right?

Regulus: Mhm.

Sirius: *sighs* I told you to stop using bandages to bind. You're gonna hurt yourself.

Regulus: I didn't have a binder to use.

Sirius: Well now you do. And this is a lot safer and comfier. Right?

Regulus: *nods*

Sirius: Yeah. Now, you have to promise me that you won't wear it for too long. If I find out that you've been binding longer than what's safe, I'm confiscating them. Understand?

Regulus: Mhm. I promise

Sirius: Okay.

Regulus: *hugs Sirius tightly* Love you

Sirius: *kisses the top of his head* Love you, too. Now, let's get you to class.

[dearlenore]

NOW OR NEVER. / T.BRADFORD / SUMMARY - Life is too short for Tim Bradford to not propose..

PAIRING: police!reader x tim bradford / w/c: 1.3k / comfort

a/n: this was such a cute request tysm! / anon’s request here

The weight of the black velvet box burned a hole in Tim’s pocket. He had carried it for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. Waiting for the right time to ask the person he loved to be his fiancée. To spend the rest of their lives together.

It wasn’t nerves that had stopped him. It wasn’t doubt, either. Tim Bradford was a decisive man. He didn’t hesitate when making tactical decisions in the field, and he certainly wasn’t hesitating now. He wanted you. A future with you.

The two of you had been dating for almost a year, and every moment had reinforced that you were the person he wanted by his side. The laughter, the stolen glances, the way you challenged him, called him out on his stubbornness, the way you made him feel like more than just a cop with a tough exterior—it was everything.

So why was he waiting?

Maybe it was because every time he saw you curled up in his hoodie, or laughing at one of his dry jokes, or patching up a scrape he barely noticed from work, he thought, I want this moment to last forever.

He wanted it to be special. He wanted to make sure that when he asked, it was in a moment that reflected just how much he loved you.

He just didn’t know that life had other plans.

Half an hour had passed and Tim was anxiously waiting for you, the soft candle glow only serving to make him more anxious.

You were supposed to meet Tim at a small , lowkey restaurant you’d both fallen in love with downtown. It wasn’t fancy but it was yours. A place where it was just you and him.

Your last text to him wasn’t out of the ordinary either.

Hate to keep ya waiting prince charming, finishing some paperwork , wait for me xoxo

But you’d never shown up.

He sat at the table, checking his watch every few minutes. He tried to push down the nagging feeling creeping up his spine. You were always punctual. Maybe you hit traffic. Maybe you forgot something and had to go back home. Maybe—

Then his phone rang.

“Hello?” He answered, expecting it to be someone from work. Perhaps an update or maybe even you.

“Bradford.” Grey’s voice was tense. “Is y/n with you?”

His heart skipped a beat. “I- I thought she was at work, I’ve been waiting here for 45 minutes.” He glanced down at his watch.

There was a pause.

“Her car is in the parking lot but she left 25 minutes ago and she won’t answer the phone.”

For a moment there was a ringing in his ears, a familiar panic that he’d experienced far too many times. Tim was already standing, throwing cash onto the table as he strode out the door. “I’m on my way.”

By the time he reached the station, his worst fears were creeping in like a slow poison. Your phone was going straight to voicemail. There were no signs of struggle in the parking lot, but your keys were on the ground next to the driver’s side door.

He knew what this meant.

You hadn’t just left. Someone had taken you.

The squad hit the ground running.

Angela and Nyla took lead on digital tracking, while Lucy and Aaron combed through surveillance. Tim paced like a caged animal in the conference room, the ring burning a hole in his jacket.

“She was fine this morning,” Lucy said quietly, her voice cracking. “We got coffee. She was talking about getting a dog. Said you were finally ready.”

Tim nodded, throat too tight to answer. The thought of you—your voice, your laugh, your warmth—ripped something raw inside him.

He was going to propose. Tonight. That wasn’t supposed to be a last chance.

Two days.

That’s how long it took before a break came through—a security cam from a gas station on the outskirts of the city. You. Disoriented. Hurried. A man behind you, hand on your arm.

Tim didn’t wait. He and Angela were out the door in seconds, sirens blaring.

They found the shack twenty minutes later. Deep in an overgrown lot behind an abandoned gas station. A rusted padlock, a sliver of movement inside.

Tim nearly tore the door off the hinges.

And there you were.

Huddled in a corner, blood dried at your temple, eyes glassy with exhaustion. But alive.

“Y/N!” he breathed, voice breaking as he crossed the room and pulled you into him, arms trembling.

Your fingers fisted in his jacket. “Tim…”

“I got you,” he whispered. “I got you. You’re safe now. I promise.”

Back at the hospital, the doctor said you’d be okay.

Bruised, shaken, a minor concussion. Nothing permanent. But the fear—Tim could still feel it in his bones.

You kept looking at him like you weren’t sure he was real. Like maybe he’d vanish if you blinked too long.

So he stayed. Sat beside your bed, held your hand through the night. He didn’t say much—didn’t trust his voice—but he kissed your knuckles every few minutes like a prayer.

It was 4:13 AM when you finally spoke. Quiet. Raw.

“You were gonna propose, weren’t you?”

Tim froze.

Your eyes met his, searching. Not angry. Just tired.

“I saw the ring,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Before they grabbed me. It fell out of your jacket at the precinct. I was going to pretend I didn’t notice.”

Tim exhaled slowly. Ran a hand over his face.

“I was,” he said. “Yeah. That night.”

A long pause. Then: “You still want to?”

The breath whooshed out of him like a punch. “What?”

Your fingers laced with his. Tight. “I don’t want to waste time, Tim. I don’t want to go another night wondering if the last thing I ever said to you was sarcastic.”

He choked out a laugh. “It probably was.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t have the ring. It was still in his locker, where it had been since everything went to hell.

But that didn’t matter.

Tim leaned forward, forehead resting gently against yours. His hands trembled as he cupped your face.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

You blinked, startled.

“I don’t have the ring right now,” he said, “and this isn’t how I wanted to do it, but I’m not waiting another damn second. Life’s too short. Too unpredictable. I almost lost you, and I can’t—I won’t let that happen again without making sure you know how serious I am.”

“Tim—”

“I want forever with you,” he said hoarsely. “Even if forever’s messy and hard and sometimes terrifying. I want it anyway. With you.”

Silence. Then a soft, tearful laugh from your lips.

“You really are a dork.”

He smiled. “Is that a yes?”

You pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like salt and survival and the rest of your life.

The official proposal happened a week later.

You were curled up on the couch in one of his LAPD hoodies, (despite having your own) your legs over his, your head resting on his chest. The scar at your temple was still visible, but healing. And Tim—he couldn’t stop staring at you.

“Hey,” he said, reaching for the small velvet box.

You looked up. “Tim…”

“This time, I’m doing it right.”

He opened the box. Your breath caught.

“I’ve fought bad guys, cartels, and two very angry raccoons in a trash can, but nothing’s ever scared me like almost losing you,” he said. “Marry me, Y/N. Please.”

You kissed him again. “I already said yes.”

“Say it again.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know weather boy.”

[darkbluekies]

The OCs search history <3

Silas:

"How to take care of ptsd in partner"

"How to make someone stop crying"

"How to make your partner forgive you"

"Best restaurant"

"Dark web"

"Diamond ring/neckace/earrings/bracelet"

"Best steak"

"How to stop people from gawking at my partner"

"Protein powder"

"Best soap to wash away blood from skin"

"Best detergent to wash away blood from clothes"

"Best cleaning supplies to wash away blood from walls"

"Best spray to keep blood smell away"

"Five star restaurant booking"

"Why are my clothes thrown out the window?"

Dr Kry:

"Morphine"

"Book series without explicit scenes"

"Healthy recipes"

"How to frame someone for murder"

"Am I secretely perverted"

"Forged signatures without watermark"

"Protein shakes"

"What happens if you mix poision with alcohol"

"Puzzles"

"PG-13 rated movies without angst or horror"

"Plushies"

"Needles"

"How to become an author?"

"How to know if your strict childhood has had any impact on your mental health"

"How to get over your phobia for germs?"

"Strong caffeine drinks"

King Edmund (let's pretend he has internet for a hot minute):

"Is it really dictatorship if I let people complain"

"Ptsd test"

"Why doesn't my wife talk to me?"

"Nightmare analysis"

"How to cheer up an angry wife"

"Can a queen rule over a king?"

"How much alcohol can you drink before you get knocked out?"

"Beatiful dresses for a queen"

"Jewelry for a queen"

"Are public executions a good fear tactic?"

"How do women's anatomy work?"

"Can you punish theft by death?"

"Can you cook rats?"

"Why are little kids scared of me?"

Jerry:

"Is drinkable bleach a thing????"

"What to do if your s/o is a fucking loser"

"Is saying 'you're an idiot' synonyms for 'i love you'?"

"Guns"

"Knives"

"Sexy outfits that doesn't make me look like a fucking clown"

"How to ask someone out on a date without sounding like a loser"

"Impressive date ideas"

"Alcohol that will make me forget today, yesterday, tomorrow and a week forward"

"Spare parts to motorcycle"

"Why am I so fucking cool?????"

"Why am I so fucking miserable?????"

"How to hug your s/o without it being cringe"

"How to make your motorcycle go much faster?"

"Boxing gloves"

"40 boxes of *your favorite snack*"

Hedwig:

"Aestethic wedding ideas"

"Is baby trapping illegal?"

"Is nepotism really that bad?"

"How to guilt trip someone"

"Utterly obsessed with my partner"

"How to be a good kisser"

"Dark web"

"Buy hitmen"

"How to bankruptcy someone"

"How to impress your partners parents"

"Best flowers for dates"

"Best hotel resorts for couples"

"Can you become a super model without school grades"

"Love poems"

"Poison"

"*your adress*"

"Best perfumes to seduce someone"

"*your instagram*"

"*your name*"

"How do I know if I'm blocked on social media"