#Say Goodbye to Stained Teeth

[dental1234]

Say Goodbye to Stains: Teeth Whitening in Montgomery

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[heartkaji]

currently thinking about dante sparda who’s a feminist, 6’3, built—and oh, did i mention feminist?

“say, dante, what’s your opinion on men’s rights ?”

“irrelevant.”

dante doesn’t miss the slight pause you make before continuing to stir your drink. he sits in the booth across from you, enzo munching on fries opposite him as he sneaks a sip of his sundae.

“yer joking !” enzo says between belches. “something wrong with ya kiddo ? what do you mean men’s rights are irrelevant ?!”

but dante isn’t listening. he’s more concerned about the gap between your lips & coffee cup, the way you tilt it slightly above your mouth so as to not stain the glass with your gloss. your lips tug into a pout when you find the rim stained in coke pink regardless. you pull out a napkin & wipe it with a frown. cute.

“well, as a six three, employed and financially stable male,” dante clears his throat, smug, “i can’t help but turn my focus to more important things. for example, the widening gap between men and women’s wages. and we can’t forget the rising prices of feminine hygiene products, of course.”

enzo wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. he doesn’t miss the way dante’s pupils seem to flit over to you every now and then. he clicks his tongue,

“kid, please, y’know she hasn’t even looked at ya, right?”

“she will.”

you continue to scroll through your phone.

but dante takes your silence as intrigue.

“anyways,” dante pauses as if searching for the words, “i just think it’s important to raise awareness—”

“yer raisin’ my freakin’ blood pressure.”

dante shoots him a glare. “i just think that, as a six foot four male, it’s my duty to raise awareness about the issues women face and the obvious gender bias in america’s modern day economy.”

“y’said six three before, kid—wait, what’s yer’ height gotta do with anything ?!”

as if on cue, your teaspoon clatters to the ground, and dante, ever the feminist, is quick to lean down to pick it up—rattling the table and spilling enzo’s fries in the process.

“hey! watch it—“

“your spoon, lady,”

you blink. dante’s taken his time to wipe the spoon clean & present it with a napkin. you hesitate a little before obliging with a murmur, “thanks..?”

“you’re welcome,” he says smoothly, relaxing into the booth seat. “no woman should ever have to bend over in a skirt. i mean—unless she wants to. then it’s her choice. her feminine power.”

“oh !”

enzo chokes on a fry. you stare at dante for a beat too long & he can’t tell if you’re confused or interested, but dante has an ego bigger than his head so he decides upon the latter.

“say, lady, don’t you agree that men should always pay on the first date ?”

you raise a brow. “the first ?”

dante waves his hands. “all, really. i only mention the first because i know some strong, independent women prefer to pay too. i respect that. i respect all women, really.”

“right. and is this your way of offering to pay for my food ?”

dante’s pupils shift to your table. only now does he realize you’ve ordered the most expensive french breakfast on the menu, as well as a drink too milky brown to cost the same as your average cappuccino. his wallet aches heavy in his pocket. “with pleasure ! lemme just get my wallet out…hope i didn’t leave it in the hellcat…”

“huh? wasn’t our uber a toyota?”

dante bares his teeth, ready to strangle enzo when you giggle—

“oh, gosh,” you sniffle, wiping tears, “that’s enough, you two are hilarious.”

clearing your throat, you raise your hand to reveal the diamond settled on your finger. “i’m sure you’re lovely and all, but i’m happily engaged.”

“that’s okay! i support women having multiple streams of happiness—ow !”

dante rubs at his shin as you continue. “that’s nice for you, but i’m fine with my fiancé.” you set some cash on the table and dust your skirt off, standing up to leave. “thank you for the laugh, though, gentlemen.”

you wave them goodbye and make your exit.

“God, i love women.”

“seek help,” enzo mutters, as he sneaks a sip from dante’s drink again.

© 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈 ー do not edit, copy, translate or re-upload.

[melodyofmbaku]

Pour Me Another Lie (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “You’re doing good baby. Keep that up, Smoke’s gonna be nice to you. Gonna be real nice and give you what you want.” Stack encouraged with a kiss to her tear stained cheek.

Word Count: 2.25k

Warning ⚠️: They're a Trio. Smut (18+ Material) + Angst

A/N Ya'll loved the boys and Annie together as a trio in Her House, Her Rules. So heres more!🤠💁🏾‍♀️

Part 2 ____

“I ain’t know Annie’s working Hank’s bar now.” 

Cornbread was in the barn unloading the last batch of beers the boys had ordered and trying to make conversation while Filly stacked bottles behind him.

Smoke sat at the bar, flipping through a ledger. Stack leaned over the back of the couch, scribbling on a clipboard, mid-count.

Upon Cornbread's comment, there was a shift.

Smoke’s back straightened. His hand froze mid-air, glass halfway to his lips. Stack’s head turned slow like he hadn’t heard right, then let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“What you mean?” Stack asked.

Cornbread scratched his head. “I saw her. Earlier today. When I was dropping off at Hank’s. She was behind the bar. Serving.” He said it plain, like it wasn’t a live grenade.

The boys shared a look before Stack started. 

“That wasn’t Annie. Because Annie dont work, do she Smoke?” Stack shot at his brother over his shoulder. 

“Annie don’t work.” The older responded flatly.

“That’s right. Cuz Annie ain't got no bills. Annie got any bills Smoke?” He asked his brother. 

“Annie ain’t got no damn bills.” The older confirmed. 

A picture was forming now. Smoke didn’t like it. Hadn’t thought much of how she’d been slipping out in the afternoons lately—just as they were settling into sleep. Kissing them both goodbye like it was nothing.

Back by eleven. Smelling like sweat and sugar. He’d chalked it up to her wandering ways. She got restless. But she didn’t work.

Smoke stood from his stool, slow and measured. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But Cornbread wasn’t the lying type. The man was many things, but not a liar. 

He stalked closer as Stack kept going.

“Annie don’t pay bills. So she don’t need to be working for no money. Definitely not for no damn Hank, and especially not serving no drinks.” Stack concluded. 

Cornbread rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t trying to stir anything up. He just figured they knew. He let out a breath and tried to explain.

He’d been hauling crates with Filly—usual route. Made the stop at Hank’s around 5. Sun had teeth that day, hot on the back of his neck. 

Inside, the bar was its usual dark, sticky self. And there she was. 

Annie, behind the bar like she’d always been there. Dress stuck to her back, brow damp. Laughing at something Hank said.

She didn’t see him.

He wanted to wave. Say something. But Filly was already honking the horn, yelling about the next stop.

So he let her be.

“I ain’t lyin’. You can ask Filly too,” Cornbread said, nodding toward the young man hauling in the last crate.

“Yeah, that was Miss Annie at Hanks, can’t miss that laugh of hers.” The boy shared a smile, not knowing what he was walking into.

Silence fell thick as a quilt.

Smoke’s jaw flexed. Stack clapped a hand on Cornbread’s shoulder.

“Preciate you for stopping by.” Smoke said, a tight smile on his lips and a prompt for the man to hit the road. 

“You’re a good man, Cornbread.” Stack said as he started him towards the exit.

Cornbread hesitated at the barn door. “She ain’t in trouble is she?”

“Trouble? Nah, she not in no trouble.” Stack replied, smiling with his golds peaking out. 

But for some reason, Cornbread had a feeling she had walked straight into it. 

___

Earlier that day…

The house was still, heavy with the kind of silence that only came when the boys were down for the count.

Smoke and Stack had come home just before dawn—fed and full, stretched out like kings in the wide bed they shared with her. By the time the sun crept through the curtains, they were out cold, deep in the kind of slumber that wouldn’t break for hours.

Annie sat on the edge of the bathtub, taking her twists down and fluffing through her curls with slow, idle movements. The house was too quiet. She looked at the clock—just after noon. She’d already done her chores. Her hands itched for something else.

The days were long now. And with the boys sleeping till sundown and business slow this week, Annie had too much time to think. She’d stopped by Hank’s the day before to drop off a tonic for his gout, and he’d looked at her with those tired eyes and said, “Wish I had someone with hands like yours behind the bar. Just till Margie gets back.”

She hadn’t answered then. But now, hours into silence, she found herself slipping on a cotton dress and pinning her hair back. Nothing fancy—just a shift dress and low heels. Something easy to move in.

“I’ll be back before they even wake up,” she murmured to herself, grabbing her purse. “Just a couple hours. Help Hank out. Stretch my legs.”

She left a note on the kitchen counter, though she doubted they’d see it. They never looked for notes—they looked for her. The words she wrote weren’t a lie, not exactly. But she left out the part about where she was going—and why she wouldn’t be back before sundown.

__

Annie was in trouble.

Stack’s eyes bugged out. “You seeing this?”

Smoke didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Smoke was seeing it. He saw Annie—there, behind a bar, pouring a drink for a patron. Wearing that soft cotton dress she liked, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned. She looked pretty. Capable. Like she belonged.

And that made it worse. Smoke made it clear early on that he never wanted her to have to answer to another man for money. He would make sure that she would never have to. He had a big thing about taking care of his family. Taking care of his woman.

He loved that Annie made her own money and pursued he own passions. Smoke nurtured that entrepreneurial spirit in her, helped her with her business. And she made a fair amount from it. He’d pay for whatever herb she needed that grew across the country to be delivered. Just so that Annie could hone in on her craft and work on new treatments for her customers.

But where she stood right now? This wasn’t her business. This wasn’t her passion. It was the antithesis of everything Stack wanted for his woman. A threat to what he believed made him a man.

She spotted them just a second too late—two shadows seated at the back of the room, dark and still. Her heart sank the moment she met Smoke’s eyes. Stack’s face was easier to read—surprised, maybe even a little amused—but Smoke? He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

The boys had picked a table in the back of the venue, tucked away from view but still with enough of a vantage to see the action.

She dropped the towel and ditched the apron with haste and headed over the the boys table.

“I’ll meet y’all at the house,” Smoke said, voice flat.

“Smoke, I can explain,” Annie called out, taking a hesitant step toward him—but he was already turning away, flagging down the stock boy.

“Where’s your boss at?” Smoke asked. “I got somethin’ for him.”

Stack shook his head as he looked at Annie with a little pity. He personally wasn’t too fussed with Annie working. As long as the patrons kept their hands to themselves and Annie stayed strapped he thought she’d be fine.

But Smoke? That was a different story. Stack knew how his brother felt about their woman being in someone else’s domain.

The way Smoke acted, you’d think she was on the damn pole. 

Stack stood and stretched like he’d just finished a meal. “Let’s go, sweet bits,” he said, gently placing a hand on the small of her back to steer her toward the exit.

She resisted for a second, glancing back—hoping, maybe, that Smoke would stop her. Say something. But he was already disappearing behind the swinging doors.

Stack almost felt bad for Annie. Almost.

He wasn’t really mad—not the way Smoke was. He didn’t mind her working, not in theory. But working for another man in a place like this? And doing it behind their backs? That was where things got sticky.

She might’ve been able to get away with it if she opted for being a seamstress. But a damn barmaid? Stack wouldn’t be able to save her from her brother's wrath even if he wanted to.  The duo left the bar as instructed and headed home.

They were in the bed awaiting her fate as Stack pulled Annie back against his chest, his arms snaking around her to cup her breasts with slow, greedy hands. 

First he just held them, they were heavy and he loved that. 

“I could play with these — with you — all day.” He felt her relax into him. This would take her mind off of things until Smoke got back. Quell any anxiety.

Slowly he began to rub her nipples between his fingers expertly.  He was in his element and she was in heaven. He paid attention to her breasts and all she did was lean back and whine. Like a princess. At times her hands overlapped his as she joined him in teasing her tits. 

“You like that mama?" A kiss to her cheek "I know you like it when we give these girls attention. You're greedy for it.” 

She could feel his dick pressing against her back and her mouth watered. She slid her hands behind her back to grasp at the man’s covered cock. She listened as Stacks voice hitched. 

“Oh baby you’re so sweet, tryna take care of me.” Stack looked at his watch, did they have time? Could they have a little fun before his brother came back? 

“We gotta be fast.” he said but before they could get into it they heard the front door slam.

They paused their play for a moment when they saw Smoke walk into their bedroom and shut the door. 

He didn’t regard them. He slowly began to remove his cuff links and roll up his sleeves. 

As he was undoing his belt he looked up and locked eyes with Annie. Perhaps the only time he’d done so that night. 

 “You wanted to be seen, didn’t you?” Smoke asked. His voice was quiet, not cruel. That made it worse.

Smoke walked straight toward her — slow, deliberate, without saying a word. He knelt between her legs, ignoring Stack's hold on her, and slid his hands up her thighs to pull her hips forward, closer to the edge of the bed. His grip was firm. Possessive. It was a silent claim, and it told her everything words hadn’t yet said.

He shoved her dress up to her hips. She knew this was her moment. To plead her case — to appease Smokes anger. 

“Smoke — I can explain —“

“Shhhh”. Stack whispered in his wife’s ear. 

In response she struggled in his arms. Stack held her close to his body with a smile. 

“How about you show Smoke your pussy baby? I think he wants to see how greedy she is.”

She shook her head and tried to close her knees and avoid Smoke's hot gaze. 

Stacks hands were fast. Dropping from her tits down to her thick thighs quickly. 

“No, no. Keep em open.” His hands forced her knees back apart, for her sex to be exposed to his brother's view. 

“Be good.” Stack murmured —

“She hasn’t been,” Smoke said coldly, without looking up. “That’s the problem.”

When Smoke placed his mouth on her sex she threw her head back, eyes raised to the sky. She could feel him in every part of her body. His tongue expertly licked her from her clit to her opening snaking through her folds to sip every drop of her essence.

She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or thank him.

“Look at Smoke Annie. He tryna teach you something. He’s showing you what happens when you don’t listen.”

Smoke worked with experience and precision. He knew his woman and all her parts. Knew how she liked to be touched. It wasn’t long before she was on the brink of an orgasm, and then he just… stopped.

She gasped, and there he was, on his knees looking her straight in her face. Her lip trembled.

A tear slipped of her eye and began a trail down her face. Stack licked it.

Annie began sobbing. She could tell what kind of night it was gonna be. 

“Smoke only tryna help you baby. He’s doing it cuz he loves you.” he crooned into her ear before kissing her cheek. 

Almost satisfied with her ruin Smoke went right back to work licking into her sensually. 

Stack matched that and began to play with her nipples once more. He pulled them, obsessed with how she responded when he did.  The pain bit and then subsided and her shallow breaths encouraged him to keep going. 

She gasped. “Please.” 

“Smoke’s still mad about that bar,” Stack whispered. “But he’ll forgive you. He always does.”

Throughout this entire ordeal. Stack was his brother's mouthpiece. The older hadn’t said many words. Annie didn’t know where his head was at. 

“He’s quiet, huh?” Stack whispered, grinning. 

And it continued like that. Smoke sipping from her pussy and bringing her to the brink of her pleasure before stopping and starting back up again. He made sure to look her in the eyes when he stopped right before she orgasmed. 

He wanted to see her disappointment. Her frustration. For her to feel like how he was feeling right now. 

He kept her desperate and wanton with his ministrations on purpose. It was pleasure and punishment all at once.  

“Stack please. Please —“ She begged with little reservation. “I need it.” “Please let me cum.” She wailed as he her brought her right to the edge before pulling away and sitting back. Watching the confusion ripple across her face once more.

“You begged them like that too?” Smoke asked, still between her thighs, voice low. “You make those sounds for them?” His grip on her thighs tightened. 

It dawned on her once again that he’d left her hanging. He turned his attention right back in to suck on her clit. He rubbed his tongue against it, lapping at it, savoring the noises that came from her lips as a result of his wicked actions. 

But then she moaned his name. Not Stack’s. His.

It broke something in him.

Smoke growled low in his throat, and for a second the precision was gone — replaced by hunger, raw and unchecked. His fingers sank deeper, rougher. His mouth moved like he needed her to cry out again, louder this time, for him.

“Say it again,” he rasped against her sex. “Say my name like you mean it.”

And she did. Over and over again. 

Still he persisted. At a certain point in the evening Annie stopped begging and started repenting. 

“I’m sorry daddy. I’m so sorry.”  Now they were getting somewhere. 

Smoke paused. He didn’t look at her. But she felt the way his hands softened, just slightly, against her skin.

“Good,” he finally said before diving back into her sex, fingers curling inside her. 

“Smoke I — I’m sorry.” She let out desperately. Her head flung back. She wanted him to hear her. She meant it. 

“You’re doing good baby. Keep that up, Smoke’s gonna be nice to you. Gonna be real nice and give you what you want.” Stack encouraged with a kiss to her tear stained cheek.

Hearing her apologies and desperate breathless whines worked to subdue Smoke’s anger. He could feel the anger subsiding — sliding back into himself. The teasing wasn’t in vain. She was seeing the error of her ways. 

When he had had his fill of her moans and apologies, he decided to give in. 

“Annie.” The first word he’d said in a while. Her eyes were unfocused. 

“Look at me.” And she did. He held her gaze as he stroked her insides with his two fingers and thumbed at her clit. 

She could feel it coming, coupled with the way Stack tweaked her tits and the way pleasure was building in her chest. She was almost scared of how her orgasm would take her. Scared of the feeling that was to come. Still she held his gaze.

She mouthed the words ”Please” but no sound came out. The one final suck of her clit into his mouth did it and sent her over tumbling over the edge. 

She bucked and Stack was startled for a moment before he held her body to himself as her orgasm crashed over her. She was a fucking wonder. 

“Look at you. Look at you.” Smoke praised softly as she wailed — the sound came from deep within her. It was primal. Through it all, Smoke stayed on his knees, between her legs to lap at the essence that freely flowed from her. 

In a way, at that moment all of them could sit back a little easier. The tension in the room melted alongside her orgasm. As if they experienced the same oxytocin she did. They waited for her to catch her breath.

Slowly — Smoke stood up. 

He gripped her chin softly and looked down at her. She was wrecked. Her lips were parted and her chest moved up and down. His thumb skimmed her kiss swollen bottom lip. 

“Open your mouth.” He spoke softly. 

Annie opened her mouth almost immediately. Like she was craving what would come next. Like she was hungry for it — for him.

Her eyes locked with his as he spat into her mouth. 

“Keep it open.” He spoke once more.  

And she did. 

Smoke wanted to see. Wanted a visual on how they — how he — owned her. And how she wanted to be owned too. It was reciprocal. The two held each others gaze, almost communicating to one another through micro expressions. 

You hurt me. You’re mine and nobody else’s. 

I love you. I’m yours. I'm sorry. 

“Swallow.” She closed her mouth and her eyes and swallowed what he’d given her. 

Stack scrunched his nose up.  “Ya’ll nasty as hell.”

“Smoke?”  She breathed. He crouched down and pushed the tendrils of curls out of her face.  Her hand reached out to him seeking connection and he was quick to hold it. To rub his thumb over her knuckles and comfort her. To place a chaste kiss on her hand. 

He looked up at her frame. She wasn’t in no state to have any kind of conversation right now. 

“Yes baby?” he loved her so fucking much it was scary. His Annie. 

“ I never —“ she started before her cut her off. 

“Tomorrow mama. You're okay. You rest. We’ll talk all about it tomorrow.”

He reached up and placed a kiss on her head. It was shiny with perspiration but Smoke didn’t care. She was his. 

She sat back into Stacks chest getting comfortable as Smoke went in and wiped her down with a rag. 

They settled into a soft and comfortable silence. There was a reverence in the air. 

Stack stroked her hair and placed light kisses behind her ear. 

Smoke began whispering sweet proclamations of love into her skin. Almost in worship.

“You did so well.”

A kiss on her ankle. 

“You’re perfect.”

A kiss on her knee. 

“We love you so much.”

A kiss on the inside of her thigh. 

Annie basked in their love, letting the feeling wash over her — filling her heart with warm affection. 

Smoke’s position at her feet pouring praise into her skin felt symbolic. Despite what transpired that night, it was her who owned them.

He rose to see her face.

“You’re ours, Annie,” Smoke said softly, brushing her curls back. “Don’t make us doubt that again.”

Whatever happened today? It was water under the bridge. They’d talk about it tomorrow. She’d worked hard tonight — paid her penance. 

She was loved, safe, and protected under the watchful and attentive eyes of her partners.

The hurt had been seen. The apology had been heard. The slate, quietly, was clean.

And with that knowing, she let slumber take her over. ____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

PART 2 ___ Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines

[rawjutsu]

pilot.

pairing: snow leopard hybrid!gojo x bunny hybrid!femreader

keep up here

you’d always known you weren’t like the rest of your family.

they were sweet, safe, soft. born and bred for the countryside. all long fur and gentle hands and fertile, fertile hips. most of your siblings were married off by twenty, popping out kits like it was a full-time job. hell, your youngest sister just had twins and she’s barely out of high school.

but you?

you wanted more than a quiet little warren and a husband who grazes.

you wanted independence. a life. a job. a space of your own. no paw-holding, no matchmaking aunties, no more “you’ll understand once you have your first litter” speeches. so you packed up, kissed your mother’s tear-stained cheek goodbye, and caught a train to the city with your whole life shoved in two duffel bags.

big city. big dreams. a craigslist ad for a roommate–cheap enough, utilities included. a tanuki hybrid named shoko posted it, so you figured it was safe. probably a stoner, but worst-case scenario, she’ll hotbox the living room and forget to do dishes.

what you weren’t prepared for?

the front door opening to reveal him.

tall. lean. built like a big cat with a mean streak.

hair brighter than fresh snow, a tail thick enough to knock over a bookshelf, and eyes so pale and sharp they look like moonstone blades. he’s lounging against the doorframe like he owns the whole damn building. smiling so wide you can count every single fang.

instantly, your ears twitch. the fur along the back of your neck stands straight up.

every instinct inside you screams: run.

but you don’t.

you didn’t leave your family, your entire species’ expectations, and your safety net behind just to back out now. you will not prove your parents right. you will not run.

you clear your throat.

“u-um… is shoko here?”

“nah,” the predator hybrid says, voice warm and lazy like a sunbeam with claws. “this is my place. you must be y/n?”

the way he looks down at you makes your heartbeat stutter—like he’s already decided how you'd taste.

“but the ad was posted by someone named shoko?”

“yeah, she did it for me. i don’t really have time to do all that.”

he steps back, holding the door open with an easy flick of his tail. “come on in, little bunny.”

you force your legs to move. one step. another. your grip tightens on the strap of your duffel.

behind you, every internal alarm is blaring.

predator. bigger. faster. smiling too much. too many sharp teeth.

and he notices. of course he notices.

“relax,” he says, still grinning like a lion who learned manners. “i’m not gonna eat you.”

you don’t believe him.

not for a second.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

a/n: teasing my next series! this one will be bigger than my yuuta one and smth i can just keep adding on to! hope u guys are just as excited about this as i am <3 and yes i did enjoy zootopia and beastars a little more than i should've.

[wileys-russo]

filling the void II a.putellas x sister!reader

biiiig thanks to @girlgenius1111 for brainstorming this lil fic with me and listening to my rambles - would recommend listening to after the storm by mumford and sons for max angst as that was the soundtrack in my ears as i wrote this. filling the void II a.putellas x sister!reader

you'd known you were taking a rather large risk the moment you'd arrived to the event with your friends and realized just what it was. this was of course followed by the staggering domino effect of knowing who ran and organised it lingering in the back of your mind.

you'd not been responsible for the tickets, only accepting the invitation of a night out with your co-workers turned friends, your older friends to say the least with most of them in their early to mid twenties and you still only at seventeen, though majority of people would never guess so if meeting you for the first time.

having grown up with a significant age gap between you and both of your older sisters you'd only had so many years living in your childhood home with them before suddenly they had lives and jobs and partners all of their own, and one day it felt like you blinked and suddenly you were left behind.

weekly family dinners slowly strayed to become monthly or just on occasion, trying desperately to find any sort of common ground with your sisters which might attract them back to spending time with you like you all used to.

but time stood still for no one and they got older while still seeming to refuse to accept you did too, the things they enjoyed doing together not something you ever seemed to be included in.

gone were the nights you'd all spend curled up together arguing over what movie to watch, often followed by the spontaneous late night drives you were snuck out for afterward once your mami was asleep.

bribed with the promise of ice cream the three of you would sit on the beach and listen to the waves, talking about everything and nothing for hours and hours.

sometimes when you were much younger you'd fall asleep on the sand with your head on either alba or alexia's lap, their fingers carding gently through your hair they spoke softer as to not wake you.

when it came time to leave they'd argue for a moment over who was carrying you back to the car, alexia nearly always losing as she very carefully returned you to your seat, alba sliding in the back with you as your head was cradled safely into her shoulder, arm draped protectively around your back.

you'd stir a little as the engine roared to life, lifting your head slightly as alba softly pushed it back down to slump on her shoulder again. "go to sleep fresa." your sister would coo, kissing your forehead as you'd drift off again.

fresa, little strawberry.

the small red berry your favorite fruit growing up meant as a baby your face was always stained red with the juice, finding endless amusement in smushing them against your lips rather than eating them properly.

the nickname given to you by alexia who would always laugh as she tried to feed you one and you'd almost take her finger off in your eagerness, having to be extra careful once your teeth came in and suddenly the small nips hurt.

as a small child your affinity for the fruit continued, t-shirt often stained with blotchy red patches to your lack of care when eating, your entire family now dubbing you as fresa, the name affectionate and loving and sweet.

but now, now it felt like ashes in your mouth.

growing up with such a large age gap had made both your sisters fiercely protective over you. your first year of school an eighteen year old alexia walked you there hand in hand every single day, often leaving the barcelona academy early to make sure she was there on time to pick you up again at the end of the school day.

her heart would swell as your face lit up everytime you saw her, waving goodbye to your friends and sprinting over toward her, the footballer often still in her training kit would drop down as you launched at her in a tight hug.

swinging your tiny little hand in hers she'd smile in amusement at your bookbag which was nearly the same size as you as she listened to your excited little ramble about your day, waiting patiently while you forced her to stop so you could pick a bunch of wildflowers from a small park near your home which blossomed every spring.

sometimes they were a gift for her, sometimes for your mami, even sometimes for alba though that was a lot less as your fifteen year old sisters unpredictable mood swings could be truly terrifying at times.

the year your father died was hard for the entire family, but it seemed to fall hardest on you. still too young to understand why suddenly one day he just stopped coming home, and no one really knew for awhile how to explain it to you in words which made sense among dealing with their own grief.

it confused you that as you asked when he was coming home again everyone just seemed to cry, your sisters often pulling you into a hug so bone crushingly tight at times it hurt your chest a little as your shirt became damp from their tears.

of course with time you eventually understood why he no longer came home and had instead made a new home in heaven.

the tight hugs with your sisters you now offered to them rather than they just be taken from you at will as you all did your best to move forward together in this new scary norm.

back then you'd been a tightly knit family unit, bonded by a loss which would always leave a hole in that unit. but overtime with a support system full of love and care it began to close a little, relishing in the time you got to spend with your two older sisters who were your biggest idols and in turn your biggest protectors.

you cheered very loudly and very proudly when alexia played her first senior game for barcelona, sitting on alba's shoulders and watching in awe as your sister blazed up and down the pitch so fast she was like a superhero.

and back then to you both of your sisters were your superheros.

but now dismissed and brushed off by the two women you'd always looked up to and held on such a pedestal growing up left you with a wound carved a lot deeper than you cared to admit or either of them cared to notice.

though of course nothing was missed by eli who with now only you at home to look after meant the pair of you grew even closer. though even eli's subtle attempts to hint to her two eldest that maybe you were feeling a little neglected and left out were waved off.

as far as alexia and alba could see by your instagram you had an active social life and a good handful of friends you hung out with regularly. why would you want to hang out with them anyway if you had friends your own age? what teenager chooses their sisters over their peers.

but what they failed to see was all the over posting and the near forceful attempts to shove a healthy social life down the throat of your followers was to try and prove you weren't a loser.

prove you went out and had fun with your friends, so it hurt even more to not be able to answer the question of why wouldn't your own sisters deem you worthy enough to invite you to do the same with them anymore?

instead now on your own you'd been forced to watch on through a phone screen as the pair of them seemed to grow closer and you suddenly felt a million miles away, some days even on a different planet despite both their homes being a mere twenty or so minutes from yours.

you'd always been smart, you weren't by any means cocky or arrogant you were just intelligent. both emotionally and logically you found yourself head and shoulders above your peers, excelling through school and graduating a whole year early at only sixteen.

you'd hoped maybe this display of maturity and achievement might allow you a small crack to slither through to spend more time with your sisters, and for the weekend following your graduation it seemed to work with both older girls plastered by your side for the entire 48 hours of celebration with your loved ones.

but of course the moment monday rolled around they were nowhere to be found when you'd woken that morning, returning to their own lives and their own homes which just didn't seem to hold a place for you in them anymore.

discussing with your school careers advisor from afar the options which were laid out in front of you now you'd finished school, you found yourself put forward for a junior position with a local pathology lab.

at first they were quite firm they were looking for someone older and with more experience, but with a gentle forceful push from your advisor you were offered the chance to interview anyway.

you'd spent the days leading up to it doing your research, you'd always had an uncanny knack for retaining information and this was no different.

you'd reached out to both your sisters for some advice, hoping they might be proud enough to come see you and help you prepare. though when all you got back were simple texts wishing you luck and not even asking you call them afterwards with how you went, you deflated like a balloon someone had taken a pin to.

the day of the interview came and passed.

it hurt that neither of your sisters bothered to check in, though given they were on yet another weekend away together with a few of alexia's teammates you tried to tell yourself they were just busy and hadn't realized, deluding yourself as the days passed that anytime your phone went off it could be them.

but it never was and you knew deep down they'd likely forgotten all about it, and in turn it felt like they had forgotten all about you.

and when after a few days you'd not heard anything back from the lab you emailed your advisor thanking her for the support but that you were unsuccessful in the position.

but not even five minutes had passed before your phone started to ring and you clicked accept, your eyes widening as you were offered both the job and even an apology.

your chest swelled at the positive feedback that you were the ideal candidate and that in fact your age was an advantage, you might have been young but you were eager to learn with a good mature head on your shoulders and that was exactly what they sought out in a junior position.

that had been twelve months ago and now you were qualified to both take and test the blood with careful supervision, having assumed you might stay in the role only a few months while you worked out what you wanted to do next you found yourself quite drawn to pathology.

over those twelve months you'd found yourself withdrawing from your school friends, struggling to find common ground now you seemed to be in an entirely different life phase to them and through no malice you all just seemed to drift apart.

with a large chasm opening in your chest at the breakdown in relationship with your sisters, your sisters who at some point in time you'd go to for everything and anything, you sought that out elsewhere.

from your very first day you'd felt welcomed and looked after, everyone assuring no question you had was stupid and that the very best lessons came from mistakes made.

so taken under the wing of a few of the more senior girls working you found yourself invited out for dinners, then to parties and birthdays, then just to hang out as that chasm lessened a little with your new older friends offering you the life advice and comfort you'd lacked with alexia and alba stepping back.

which brought you back to now as you chattered eagerly with your coworkers turned friends, all of you grateful for the weekend off since the lab only operated monday through friday.

your heart started to race and you felt your head spin as you looked up at the very large manuelas banner stretched out across the top of the entrance, though that could be attributed to the large amount of alcohol you'd already consumed at pre drinks.

you'd tried to plead with your friends before you entered the line outside the club, already able to hear the thundering bass and laughter coming from inside but all you could focus on was the knowledge your sisters girlfriend was likely already inside.

you knew at least your sister herself wasn't going to be here, having seen on her instagram that alexia was out for dinner with her agent and management team celebrating a brand new deal she'd just signed with nike for a further three years under them.

of course you found that out through instagram as well, as you did with most updates about their lives or careers. the text thread with both of your sisters pushed right down at the bottom of your contacts, rarely speaking to them much these last few months.

you’d stopped going to alexia’s football games, she hadn’t seemed to notice which only solidified she didn’t care if you were there or not. instead you spent your weekends with your new older friends, the ones who actually wanted you around and cared for you in a way you hadn’t felt from either of your sisters in a long time.

though no matter which way you explained the olga situation and your worries you'd be caught out for being underage your friends were not taking no for an answer. promising they'd look out for you and that the chances of you being noticed among the hundreds of women crammed into the club was slim to none.

so with a sigh you allowed yourself to be pulled into the line to get in, your friends doing their best to distract you as your nerves were obvious, though they eased a little by the time you finally made it to the front.

you all had your tickets scanned, that was easy enough and without an issue you stepped forward, hovering in the middle of the group as you tried not to look nervous when you handed the bouncer your fake ID.

really it wasn't all that much of a stretch and you knew you passed for nineteen always having looked a little older than your peers, especially with the amount of makeup slapped on your face right now as you shifted and subtly tugged your dress down a little as it hitched up your ass.

when you'd bought the ID you knew better than to age yourself up more than a few years, nineteen was reasonable, achievable, anything more and you knew you'd be pushing it.

before anything else you'd contemplated just stealing alba's ID, but trying to pass for twenty seven was laughable and a disaster waiting to happen so you'd abandoned that thought quite quickly.

flashing the rather hulking and stern looking bouncer a smile as charming as you could manage, you withheld your sign of relief as he handed the ID back to you and nodded for you to proceed.

your friends dragging you inside your body sagged and they all announced this called for shots before you were even a few feet into the club.

you blinked a few times as you were pulled and jostled toward the bar, slightly disorientated from the tequila pumping through your blood stream, the amount of insanely attractive women surrounding you and the flashing strobe lights which pulsed above your head as the bass vibrated the floor beneath your feet.

a shot of something shoved into your hand you couldn't help but grin as the cheers rang out celebrating you, having been given a pay raise today at work on the anniversary of your first year with the lab.

"vamos!" you all yelled and downed the drinks, your nose scrunching at the sambuca which burned its way down your throat.

doing your best not to cough or gag one of your friends clapped you on the back and kissed your cheek, grabbing your hand and tugging you with her onto the dance floor.

your friends following suit and yet another drink placed into your hand you found yourself finally able to relax a little, calmed by the mass of sweaty drunken bodies crammed into the room you'd all but dismissed your fears of being found out.

but really, you were caught out long before that first shot passed your lips.

olga had been stood on the second floor with her team, watching with eager grins as the line to enter grew longer and longer and the cheers rang out, glasses of champagne clinking as one by one her partners slipped downstairs to continue the celebrations.

olga however relished in the gentle evening breeze fanned with the fresh fragrant air of summer, having spent what felt like the last month packed into that club organizing every little detail to be as perfect as could be, so understandably she was in no rush to go and join the party just yet.

she had always enjoyed people watching, a smile curling on her lips watching the groups of atendee's below. some clearly already maybe a little too drunk she trusted her security team to keep everything at bay, in olga's mind as she did with all of her events she'd prepared a solution to any possible problem which might pop up.

well, she thought every single problem that could have arisen.

eyes scanning faces and nursing the now lukewarm glass of champagne in her hands olga's gaze passed you by without a second thought, making it a further seven faces before suddenly she snapped to attention as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over her head.

her grip on the half empty glass tightened and eyes narrowed as they locked in on you, the sound of your laughter floating through the air confirming her fears as her chest tightened watching you make your way easily through the security team and disappear inside.

the moment you did her phone was already pressed to her ear, champagne abandoned as she paced back and forth, olga dismissing one of her colleagues who popped her head out to check in with a wave of her hand.

"hola, amor?"

~

your worries were now long gone as you downed your third drink of the hour, bodies packed against you from all angles as you and your friends sang screamed along amid your laughter.

"your round chiqui!" you felt a poke to your cheek and rolled your eyes playfully, one of your friends shoving you halfheartedly. "vale vale i'm going!" you laughed at their insistence, shuffling and jostling your way through the crowd toward the bar.

finally busting out of the throng of drunken sweaty patrons you were able to breathe properly again, standing in line and running a hand through your hair tugging out a few loose knots.

"hola." you turned your head at the new voice, a tall brunette grinning down at you, the alcohol coursing through your veins impairing your judgement a little as you smiled back and returned the greeting.

"can i buy you a drink querida?" the girl asked, tone clearly flirty as you raised an eyebrow at her forwardness. you opened your mouth to reply however a different pair of eyes caught yours from the bar and suddenly your heart dropped into your stomach.

"no, lo siento." you apologised before turning to make your way away, the girl shrugging and turning to another woman on her other side, repeating the question as you pushed your way back in trying to find your friends.

though the longer your eyes searched the more desperate you became and so abandoning your plan you decided to just make a break for it.

"oye! pequeña?" your blood ran cold at the familiar voice calling out behind you, eyes widening as you ignored the urge to turn around, instead making a beeline for the door, mumbling apologies as you elbowed your way through the crowd.

you flashed a nervous smile to the bouncer whose eyebrows furrowed but before he could say a word you'd taken off, the man deeming he had other priorities as he made no move to follow you.

by the time olga made it to the front you were already gone, the security team confirming you'd left as olga dismissed their questions as to why she was looking for you, the older girl needing to keep this as under wraps as possible as she hurried upstairs already on the phone to her girlfriend.

~

your uber account linked to eli's you couldn't call one of those, so it was looking like you were walking home considering you didn't have the faintest idea of what bus would get you there.

you were grateful that the club itself was in the centre of town, plenty of people wandering around the warm summer night as the time had now passed midnight.

you were so caught up in your own head you hadn't noticed the car pulling up on the curb behind you, the slam of the door pulling you from your thoughts as you glanced behind you out of curiosity.

but the sight which met your eyes had them widening and the breath quickly snatched from your lungs, the furious hazel orbs burning a hole in your head.

"tienes muchos problemas." your sister growled, both of you locked in a stand off as you sized one another up and you swallowed hard, eyes darting around nervously.

"no!" alexia warned as she took a step closer and you bolted, quickly snatching your heels off and sprinting away as your sister took off after you.

"mierda!" alexia swore as you quickly disappeared, returning back to the car and instructing olga to drive as it was now suddenly a race to see who got home first.

your chest heaved, calves throbbed and lungs burned as you finally stopped running, almost home now and profusely sweating out the alcohol which was pumping through you.

adrenaline and fear having carried you to your final destination everything started to catch up as a wave of nausea washed over your body and you careered over, throwing up the remaining contents of your stomach onto the grass.

wiping your mouth with the back of your hand you forced yourself to your feet, darting around the back of the house and moving the trash bin as quietly as you could, shaking your head to try and remove the dizziness as you climbed up.

meanwhile back around the front alexia and olga arrived right as alba was dropped off by one of her friends, having been at manuelas herself and by the luck of god not running into you she'd only just checked her phone while in the bathroom.

"where is she?" alba asked confused as alexia jumped out, kissing her girlfriend goodnight and promising she'd be home soon, olga sensing this was now a family matter as alba waved and she was gone.

"joder when i get my hands on her, ten foot under in a grave!" alexia warned coldly, body tensed with rage as the two made their way to the front door, alexia pounding her fist against it and tapping her foot impatiently.

"ale!" alba pushed her hand away as she did it again, the door swinging open before another word could be said. "Dios mío. what is wrong?" eli questioned worriedly, alba paling a little as alexia rolled her eyes unfazed.

"mami do you know where your daughter is right now?" alexia asked coldly, eli frowning at the question. "i know two of them have just woken me up at nearly one in the morning." the woman responded calmly, raising an eyebrow as alexia huffed and gently moved the shorter woman out of the way striding inside.

"alexia what-" eli started, the blonde making a beeline for your bedroom as alba closed the front door, alexia all but kicking your door open as you froze like a deer in headlights, halfway through the window.

"oh que perfecto!" your sister was hauling you the rest of the way inside as you stumbled and almost fell, wincing as she grabbed your ear and twisted hard causing you to hiss and try to pull her hand off to no avail as you were dragged across the room.

"alexia? let her go ya mismo!" eli ordered as your sister shoved you to sit down on the sofa, towering over you with a murderous glare as you tried to stand again, quickly abandoning that idea as you slouched backwards with a frown, crossing your arms over your chest.

"mami do you know where she has been? where we found her? what she has been doing?" alexia was on the brink of exploding, and there was a time where perhaps you'd have teased her for the vein in her head looking ready to pop but long gone were those days.

"hija?" eli sighed tiredly, raising an eyebrow as she took a seat in the armchair in the corner of the room, alba and alexia's glares trained on you as you refused to meet their eyes.

"i was out with my friends mami, like i told you i was." you answered with a shrug causing your sisters to scoff. "tell her where." alexia continued to probe as you rolled your eyes, digging your grave a little deeper but beyond the point of caring now.

"at a club." you mumbled, picking at a loose thread of your dress. "más fuerte!" alexia growled in warning. "no, i heard her." eli held up a hand and you chanced a look up to meet her eyes, face unreadable.

"she was at manuelas mami, at olga's event in a club drinking with women twice her age! drinking, at seventeen in a club!" alexia hissed, fists balled by her side as once again your eyes rolled.

"you roll your eyes at me one more time hermanita and i will turn them black!" alexia exploded, taking a step toward you as alba grabbed her wrist and tugged her back.

"some friends hermana, sneaking you into a club and buying you alcohol? group of idiotas!" alba snarked adding in her two cents as your jaw clenched and you bit your tongue.

"do you have any idea how much trouble olga could be in if someone reported that there was minors at the club and drinking? she could lose her license, maybe lose her business, her team would be investigated-" alexia ranted on and on as you sighed quietly.

"no one would have found out alexia, stop being so dramatic." you muttered, and if you were all in a cartoon you were sure steam would have poured from her ears.

"pequeña since when are you this stupid? this reckless? this selfish!" alba spoke up again, shaking her head in disbelief, disappointed in you while alexia remained angry.

the last word caused a bitter smile to be painted across your face, body vibrating with a chuckle as alexia's eyes widened. "is this funny to you hermanita? are you laughing right now? because i will give you something to laugh about if-" alexia warned, cut off by eli clearing her throat in a silent warning.

"i went out with my friends and did a few shots, lock me up alexia!" your voice dripped with sarcasm as you pouted and held up your wrists mockingly as if ready for them to be cuffed.

"hija." eli's stern tone cut through that as your hands dropped and you sighed. "mami por favor i am tired and it is late, can i go to bed?" you asked quietly, eli's face softening as the older woman took pity and nodded.

"sit your ass down hermana we aren't done here!" alexia warned as you stood, her words ignored as you moved to kiss eli's cheek as she drew you into a hug, murmuring an apology to her as your sisters watched on in disbelief.

"mami. really?" alba scoffed as she gestured for you to head to your room and you shot your sisters a filthy glare. "you ruin my night, alexia's night, olga's night and you have nothing to say pequeña?" alba accused as you only shrugged.

"i was fine, i was safe, you had no reason to come here. you ruined your own night!" you snarled back, the sudden tone catching your sister off guard, not used to you pushing back like this and certainly not expecting that as a response.

"sit. down." alexia's larger form blocked you from moving, glaring down at you as you both stood chest to chest. "no. move, puta." you growled, the blondes eyes widening as you tried to push past her and she grabbed the material of your dress in her hands and shoved you back harshly into the wall.

"go on la reina, hit me!" you challenged with a twisted smile at the pure rage in her eyes as you raised your chin up, daring her to make contact.

"alexia! déjala ir, now." eli stood and warned firmly, alexia's grip loosening as you pushed at her chest sending her stumbling backwards. "you don't scare me anymore alexia. i hate you both! stay out of my life." you hissed, both your sisters eyes widening further at the venom in your tone.

but at your words and obvious lack of remorse toward the situation all the midfielder could see was red.

"careless, stupid, selfish little accident!" alexia hurled back angrily as you paused by your door, hot tears burning at your eyes as her words cut you deep like a dagger dragged down your back.

but you wouldn't let her see that they hurt so you refused to turn around and give her the satisfaction.

your anger deflating and now numb and tired you stepped into your room, door closing with a gentle click and a thud of your lock as alexia stood chest heaving with rage watching you go.

"she's seventeen drinking in a club and she gets a kiss on the cheek and sent to bed? mami!" alba echoed her sisters thoughts with a scoff as alexia watched your door for a moment more, your light turning out before she stepped away.

"she's a baby mami! our baby. she is out drinking and dancing and doing god knows what with older women, who don't know that she is a minor! are you blind? deaf? do you not care about her? her safety? she needs rules, consequences, discipline! she is out of control." alexia struggled out, eli fixing her with an unimpressed stare at her words.

"she is not a baby anymore and it would do the two of you some good to remember that hija's, if you have any hope of fixing this." eli spoke calmly as both your sisters faces scrunched up.

"fix it? por favor we have to be sorry? for what mami you are joking!" alba laughed bitterly, shaking her head and shooting a glare at your door with half a mind to kick it in and lay into you herself if no one else would.

"both of you. venga aquí." eli nodded for them both to follow her as she lead her two eldest daughters out onto the balcony, ordering they take a seat as she firmly closed the doors, your ears not needing to catch wind of any of this if you were still awake.

you were, sobs muffled into your pillow as your eyes stung from the salty tears pooled in them and the smeared makeup not yet wiped off your face, mascara stained tears carving their destructive little path down your cheeks as your body shook violently at the effort to try and stay as quiet as possible.

"mami it is late we-" alexia started, the night air cooling her flushed cheeks as eli took a seat across from them. "no, you woke me up and caused all of this, and now you will both listen to me." the woman warned as both girls nodded.

"before tonight, when is the last time either of you saw your hermana?" eli asked calmly as alexia and alba both shared a look, clearly struggling to remember.

"maybe your birthday? but mami-" alexia started, silenced by a hand held up her way. "my birthday was three weeks ago hija's, and it was just dinner. what did you do afterwards?" eli's tone was a little sharper now.

"we went to ale's house, i wanted to see olga since she returned from her trip." alba answered this time as eli nodded. "and did you invite your sister?" both girls hesitated before shaking their heads, starting to sense where this conversation was headed.

"but mami-" "no, i will ask the questions."

"tell me ale, how long has your sister worked at the lab?" eli asked quite casually as alexia opened and closed her mouth a few times. "eh, a couple of months?" she guessed, even alba wincing at that as eli hummed.

"no, one year. one year today, well yesterday. that is why she went out with her friends, to celebrate. i knew she was going to drink, she was honest with me about that as she always is. we went to dinner together on friday to celebrate her achievements." eli informed as alexia and alba shifted a little uncomfortably.

"she didn't tell us." alba dared to speak up, eyes dropping to the table at the fierce look from the older woman across the table. "no she didn't. i asked if she wanted to and do you know what she said said?" eli questioned, neither girl daring to answer.

"your sister said why mami? they won't care, they don't have time for a stupid dinner." eli's tongue cut like a sword through the tense silence rolling in like a fog around the table. "time. something the both of you no longer have for your sister it would seem." eli hummed, crossing her arms and resting them on the table.

"mami we-" "no, i am not done."

"growing up the pair of you have always had one another, three years apart and always close. always filled with love, always looking out for each other like we raised you to. always together." eli started as alexia awkwardly fiddled with the hem of her shorts.

"i know your sister is younger, much younger. but never did i think that would ever mean the two of you do not care for her and look out for her the way you looked out for one another growing up. you had each other, but when you both moved out she had no one but me." eli's tone became harsher as both girls sank deeper into their chairs, both on the verge of throwing up with guilt as her words hit home.

"i am partially at fault as i should have said something sooner. i know you both love her, i do. but she does not, she does not think you care and i can see why. i watched her try desperately to gain your attentions once you both left, i watched her heart crack that little bit more when she was rejected again and again. and it broke my heart because that is not how i raised any of my girls to be!" eli continued as alexia swallowed a hard lump in her throat and alba stared blankly down at the ground.

"i am getting older hijas, and so is she. i can see her now going backwards, she pulls away from you both and if you do not make attempts to fix this then she will pull too far and she will be out of reach. is this what you want?" both girls were quick to shake their heads.

"then do better, find a way to fix this. go to your own homes and think about why your sister does not feel she is welcome in them anymore, and why she no longer feels she holds a place in your life or that either of you deserve space in hers. before it is too late all together, you both need to fix what you have broke."

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

part two

[sourvers]

THERE’S NOTHING LEFT FOR YOU (MY FATHERS LOVE)

summary: duty or family? he always did chose duty behind bittersweet goodbyes and missed birthday parties. you’ve always tried to understand. but when your husband comes home one day, your 15 year old kid decides enough is enough.

or… your child yells at their father through a tear-stained face

contents & warnings: simon & john x mom reader (separate), angst, reader's child is named, absentee father, emotional manipulation?

cod main masterlist . ao3 profile

⤷ i genuinely don't know what came over me. while i absolutely love the idea of tf141 being amazing fathers... a part of me always thinks the opposite.

JOHN PRICE

He knows he's late. Beyond late.

Night had already settled across London's horizon. The sky blanketed with an array of stars. Each of them a touch brighter than the next; glimmering down on him, smiling even.

John's momvents are gradual, unwinding. Park the car. Take the key. Unbuckle the seatbelt. Open the door. It was timed, familer, known like the spurs of energy from his only, beloved daughter and the tender warmth from his wife's arms. You exuded it: the candid, honeyed sweetness that Price indulged in, gulp after gulp.

"Dad?"

John recalled when he first held his daughter in his gritty, calloused palms. Under the hospital's white, glaring lights and your ever asture gaze, John felt the bones in his body quiver, his eyes a deep sea of glisenting blue. The world mellowed, it was only him and her: a finite stone hurtling against a blodied reality. She was so tiny. Wrapped in nothing but a blanket, her nose twitching, her body tenderly warm, malleable, innocent.

"Hey honey, how's school?"

"I didn't go to school today."

"Oh? Why?"

"Mom's sick again."

John slipped the ring on your finger for two reasons. First, he adored you. You were like stardust against his fingers, a kind of breeze he'd beg to dance with, a woman he'd kneel before when he came home, bruised and battered like a wooden doll. Second, you are shrewed, clever, and undeniably effacious. To a fault truly. John sunk his teeth deep and swallowed every drop of mellowed forgiveness until it ran dry. Untill John stopped reasoing because every father should drop their kid off for the first day of kindergarten, because he should've been their clasping your hand when you fainted for the first time, because little Jen should've had her father come with her to 'bring your dad to school' day.

"Is she in her room?"

"Why would you care?"

John stops, the warm lamp light of the living room constraints him, the bitterness in his daughter's voice echos against the walls. Against him.

"Jenzelle. Drop the attitude-"

"Or what? Or what dad?" Your going pack your bag up and leave?"

"Jen," John sighs, "You know I can't control-"

"Of course I know!" Jen heaves, throwing her hands in the air, taking another step back, "You've always told us that. Told mom that. You told me that."

Jen's face scrunches up, her lips pressed into a firm line, just like her mother-

"Don't look at me like that dad, don't."

John takes a gentle step forward, stretching his hand to her shoulder, "Honey, please. Sit, we'll talk. I'll call your mom-"

Jen swats his hand away, stepping backwards, "That's what I've been trying to do for the past fifteen years of my life."

Her words are blunt, sharp, faster than any bullet John has-

"Do you love me dad?"

John melts, his hand quivers. Jen swallows and her eyes grow red, glossy, hot. Yet, her voice is hushed, mumbled under her breath like a mere whisper. A prayer. A quit plead hidden behind her crescent smile and brilliant, bright eyes.

John swallows, "I love you and your mom more than anything in this world."

Jen squints, as if gazing at a puzzle. "Then where were you dad? I know it's stupid but-" Jen huffs, hastily wiping the tears from her face, gazing to the ground before glaring straight into John's eyes, "You said you'd keep me safe. That I'd never be alone."

He did say that, whispered it into her ears when she scraped her legs. When he tucked her into bed and when the fireworks shook the house. He engraved it in his heart when he held her for the first time. And after every ‘I love you’.

“Then why at the hospital, did I spent every night alone since fourth grade? Alone dad. Alone because you couldn’t answer. I took care of mom alone and you-”

She points her finger at him, John freezes.

“You love your job more than me, don’t you?

No no no baby, that’s not true.

“Jen-”

I love you baby. You, your mom. I love how you take after her. Whatever you said is not true. It’s not true. God, it’s not true.

“Honey I-”

I’ll retire, quit, drop the job whatever. But please don’t say that honey. Please.

“Don’t try dad. Don’t try.”

The stars are out; glimmering, dancing in the night sky. The paper he’s writing on is strangely wet.

SIMON RILEY

They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

"Why dad? Why?!"

It really doesn't.

Simon learned to be silent. To stitch his mouth close and chop his tongue off from the beginning of childhood leading into his career.

Neverthless, he believed his indifference- the apathetic glaze of his eyes- would never reach your eyes or his son.

"I've tried everything to make you stay- I brought home medals, took honours classes-"

"I know that."

Sean grimaces, his eyes painfully red. "Of course, you knew," he seethes, "You always seem to know everything!"

Simon was taught not to flinch or cower, his back straight and stiff. Accompanied by flat indifference.

Simon still smells the savoury aroma of dinner: its scent lingering in the living room. He notes how the recorded player is not fully off and how there is only one hanging photo of all three of you: when Sean was born, Simon gingerly cradling him in his burly arms.

He's a ghost.

Simon recalls how twilight casted its shadows over your home fifteen years ago. How violently his legs shook; caving under his own weight when he fell to his knees before you, grasping onto your shins and knees for dear life, begging, asking.

"What if I'm not a good father?"

"You're going to be a wonderful father, Simon, don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I don't want to hurt... I don't want to be-"

"You won't."

"You never cared about us," lashed Sean, "You were never there, and don't give me the stupid 'military' excuse."

For the first time since he arrived home, Simon spoke ever so calmly, "It is true."

"I saw the papers. I heard what you and mom were talking about over the phone."

Simon's eyes widen slightly.

"She asked you to retire dad," Sean's lips quiver, "She never asks of anything too big. You know this."

Simon did know that: how you desperately pleaded with him. At that moment, he imagined your clenched fist, the hot tears streaming down your cheeks and the grit in your eyes. The same one he spent nights picturing over and over again.

"Why dad? Why were you never just there?"

Because I'm a coward. Because I'm afraid.

"You know the answer."

Sean's bloodshot eyes stare daggers into Simon's. Acute and tenacious while he backs away, "Keep telling yourself that."

'Go call him', screamed Simon's mind, battering against his head, 'Do something, anything. Please.'

Simon stood there frozen.

A self-made ghost in his own home.

For what purpose?

cod masterlist .

[talesfromawannabewriter]

The light in his life

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Adam groaned as he finally woke up from another barely restful sleep. He sat up and ran a hand through his short, chocolate locks tiredly before sitting up and getting out of bed. His mind and body went into autopilot as he took a shower, cleaned his face and teeth, and took his medication before finally donning a robe and heading downstairs to get some breakfast.

He automatically grimaced as he heard his wife's laughter before he even entered the kitchen. He saw Lilith pacing as he animatedly talked to a friend on the phone. However, her face stained when she noticed his presence.

She turned her back on him and continued her chat. Adam felt his irritation stir within him as he grabbed a mug and poured some coffee in it.

Abel: Morning Dad!

His lips pulled upwards at the sound of his seventeen-year-old. He turned around and saw his son eating on the marble counter. His smile doubled as soon as he saw Abel's.

Adam: Morning bud.

He went to sit down next to him and try to enjoy his morning with his son. Keyword, tried. He was just about to read the paper when he was barraged by Lilith.

Lilith: Well, I'm off I'll be gone for the majority of the day, but I'll be back here around four thirty or so to pick you up. When I get back, I want you both in your suits got that?

Abel: Yes mom.

Abel replied before going back to his breakfast. Adam sat there confused, however, picking him up and Abel to where?

Adam: Um Lilith where we are going tonight?

Lilith pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily: Adam I thought I told you this already. Tonight is the company party.

Adam: No, that's not right the company's anniversary isn't until a few months from now.

She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms: No, this is the anniversary of when your parents' company and my parent's company merged. Don't you remember? Because before that little contract was sealed another contract was sealed between us.

Adam knew exactly what she was getting into, she was talking about their marriage. About seventeen years ago Lilith's parents were having a rough patch with their own company. Even if their business was still lucritive in certain areas.

They decided to get help from Adam's parents, and they said that they could simply merge their companies as one. That way they would all still have rights to them as one day their children would too.

However, there was only one way for a merge such as this to happen. One minute Adam was being introduced to a beautiful girl the next he was standing at the altar saying I do. What made it even worse was that they were only eighteen at the time.

No, the worst possible outcome is being married to this beautiful yet cynical creature. At least there was one small yet noticeable light that came from this, Abel.

Adam was pulled out of his thoughts by his wife snapping her sharp, well-manicured fingers in his face.

Lilith: Ahem, as I was saying since this is our "family" company party Jr. is allowed to attend. But I want you to make sure he stays on his best behavior for the ENTIRE evening. Is that clear?

Adam: Crystal.

Lilith: Good, then I'm off.

Adam's hardened gaze followed her retreating form as she left. Not even bothering to at least say goodbye to their son. Adam started to take in big gulps of his drink, trying to ready himself for the day.

--

Adam downed yet another glass of champagne trying to keep himself busy as he watched the guests mingle about. Abel was not that far away talking to a few of the employees' children. Though Abel tended to be on the shyer side his friendly character always brought others to him.

Adam: (mutters) At least you're having a good time.

The sound of a familiar voice drew Adam's attention to Lilith.

Adam: (mutters): And so are you.

She wasn't that far from him yet didn't take any note or acknowledgment of him there. Or maybe she did, and she simply didn't care. Adam however did take notice in the topic she and her friends were discussing.

Him.

Despite everything in him screaming to walk away he got a little closer to them and listened closely.

Stella: So, tell me darling what is he like in bed? Is he at least desirable then?

Lilith: Ugh, don't make me laugh he is HORRENDOUS under the sheets. It's like he has no idea what to even do with it. And it was one thing back before he started taking those damn happy pills. Because at least then he wasn't bad to look at. Now every single time I have to lay with him it's like a walrus is trying to squash me!

Her friend let out a haughty laugh: Oh, I can't even imagine the horror of that brute naked let alone actually bedding someone.

Lilith: What makes it worse is that he practically has breasts now. Breasts Stella! But that's not even the absolute most dreadful part of being married to him.

Stella: Oh? What is then?

Lilith: I have to do all the work! I run his company; I run the house, and he even wants me to run him ragged in the sheets!

Stell: (gasps) You're not suggesting-

Lilith: Yup! From the very beginning, he had me do all the work while he lay there on his back like a log. A true bore and pathetic excuse for a human being. I'm glad I only had to birth one child so I could stop pretending to want to bed him.

The rest of the conversation was drowned out as stared down at himself. A hand going to his extended waistline and grimacing. He really had let himself go hadn't he?

Retracting the hand back he used it to scrub over his face in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. Instead, he decided to find something stronger than champagne to drown himself in.

[revehae]

ghost (r. fantasies)

warnings: masturbation, grave desecration, kind of angst

wc. 742

heeseung version posted on my enha blog @/ireverie. i am not plagiarizing myself guys

haechan misses you.

he can’t take it anymore. nights spent skin-to-skin with you in his arms, nights spent with your body on top of his as you rolled your hips, nights spent with him panting in your ear as you rode the soul out of him all taken away in one second before he even got the chance to say goodbye.

three whole months have gone by since then and to him, it still feel yesterday. one minute, he was confident he would come home to you waiting for him like you always did, and the next, he got that phone call.

haechan fists his cock as he perches on your grave, jean-clad knees stained with dirt. he doesn’t care. cheap denim jeans are replaceable; you aren’t. he tries to touch himself the way he remembers you doing it, picturing your warm, soft hands and pretty, gem-embedded nails wrapped around his cock.

his eyes flutter closed. you would start slow and steady, looking into his eyes as you pumped him, smiling up at him with your gorgeous, enticingly sweet eyes. haechan moans at the thought. you always knew exactly what what to do to make him lose his mind. only after he got all worked up, tip leaking profusely with precum, would you finally go faster.

haechan speeds up. his eyes snap open for a moment, glancing around to make sure he’s alone. it’s the middle of the night, no one should be around unless, much like him, they’re a freak in violent need of help. sensing no one, he allows himself to close his eyes again and resume the image of you in his head, eagerly jerking him off.

the tip of his heavy, aching cock is sticky with precum that coats the palm of his hand. it covers his whole shaft as he inadvertently smears it everywhere, rapid palm lubricating his cock the way your mouth would. you used to love that about him; he always comes so much.

“fuck,” he groans louder than intended, the very thought making his dick twitch in painful delight, in sweet yearning.

haechan desperately wants to go even quicker, but he forces himself to have some kind of restraint, wanting to do this the way he knows you would if you were still here with him where you belong instead of six feet underground.

at first, it was chilly outside to haechan. but now the cool, crisp air goes unnoticed as the scalding heat burns his sensitive ears down to his flushed cheeks down to his bobbing neck. you would, he remembers, nibble at the flesh behind his ears, kiss his soft cheeks, and suck at the quick, throbbing pulse in the base of his neck.

“calm down, hyuck,” you would tell him, giggling in his ear. god, he loved that sound. he still does. he would give anything to hear it again, one last time.

he sheds the jacket, feeling suffocated by how increasingly hot his body is getting, and tosses it onto the ground. haechan knows he’s close, that’s the only reason he’s making himself be patient. you never wanted to finish him too quickly unless you were impatient yourself. you liked to to draw it out, to make him wait.

it was fair, haechan thinks. he was always so busy, so caught up with work and the like that he rarely had time to spend with you. it was only fair that you made him ache just the way you did when he was gone for days, sometimes weeks on end. 

haechan wishes he would have gone about things differently. had he known his days with you would be numbered, he would have dropped everything to spend every available second with you. he would have never taken time with you for granted.

but he can’t hold back anymore. he needs to come. he needs you, but he knows that this as close as he will ever get to feeling you again. he teeth sink into his bottom lip a little too hard as he releases with a moan of your name followed by curses, shooting ropes of cum onto the nature-weathered stone of your grave and the dirt in front.

haechan breathes for a while, relaxing. he glances around, but still spots no one. then, he glances back at your grave, a heavy pang in his heart. 

“come back,” he whispers wistfully, knowing you can’t hear him, but hoping you can.

[fratboyrrrry]

The Quiet Between Us.

Description: Their affair was a slow-burning secret—hidden in glances, stolen time, and sheets tangled with guilt. What started as innocent conversation turned into touches that lingered too long, kisses that couldn’t be taken back, and nights they were never meant to share. She belonged to someone else. But with Harry, she felt seen. Wanted. Alive.

Warnings: Infidelity, sexual content, guilt

WC: 1K (very short.)

Part II

**

You hadn’t meant for it to become anything.

He was someone you weren’t supposed to look at like that—especially not when your hand was wrapped around someone else’s. Especially not when you were the picture of commitment, of stability, of normal.

And yet, there he was.

Harry.

He was the kind of man who could set a room on fire just by walking into it. There was something unspoken in the way he carried himself—relaxed and slow like he didn’t owe the world anything, but quietly watching, always.

You met him at a mutual friend’s party. One of those wine-glass-in-hand, low-lighting, music-just-loud-enough nights. You weren’t even supposed to go. You were tired, drained, and your partner had begged off with a vague “headache” and a distracted kiss on the cheek.

But Harry noticed you from across the room, like gravity pulled his gaze.

And when he introduced himself, shaking your hand with that stupidly soft smile, everything in you twisted.

That night, nothing happened. Just talking. Too long, too close. A lingering glance when your fingers brushed reaching for the same glass. A smile that felt like a dare.

But he made you laugh in a way that felt rare. Raw. Like he was seeing through you.

It was a slow unraveling after that.

**

He texted you the next morning. Casual. Friendly. “You left your scarf at the party. Thought I’d save it from the wine stains.”

You hadn’t left a scarf.

The messages turned into coffee. Then long walks in places you weren’t supposed to be with him. Then him showing up to one of your favorite bookstores with his hood up, sunglasses on, like you were both playing a dangerous game.

But neither of you said it.

You didn’t say that you thought about his voice when your partner spoke. You didn’t say that sometimes, you checked your phone before bed, just hoping he’d text. You didn’t tell anyone that your dreams were changing.

And Harry didn’t push.

He just looked at you like he knew.

**

The first time it happened, it was raining.

You were supposed to say goodbye. You told yourself this wasn’t going anywhere. You weren’t that kind of person.

But then you were in his flat, soaked from the walk, your jacket abandoned at the door. His shirt clung to his chest, his curls wild from the rain.

And he kissed you like he’d been holding back for months.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t delicate. It was teeth and breath and hands tangled in hair, bodies pressed too close, too fast, too needy.

You ended up against the wall, his thigh between your legs, his mouth everywhere—your neck, your jaw, your collarbone.

“You can still leave,” he whispered, breathless, forehead pressed to yours.

But you didn’t.

You grabbed his face and kissed him again, harder this time.

His bedroom was quiet, lit only by the city lights leaking through the window. You fell onto his sheets still half-dressed, his mouth trailing down your body like he was learning it piece by piece.

He didn’t rush.

He tasted you with his hands and his mouth, dragging it out until you were shaking. His voice broke when you moaned his name, and when he finally slid into you, you felt your entire world tilt.

You both moved like it was the last time—fast, desperate, tangled in limbs and low gasps. The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, your breaths in sync, his name falling from your lips again and again.

When you came, you cried out into his shoulder, and he followed seconds later, groaning into your neck, his hands gripping your hips like you might disappear.

After, he didn’t say anything for a while. Just curled around you, his chest rising and falling too fast.

“I’m not sorry,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer.

Because neither were you.

**

After that, everything shifted.

You told yourself it was a one-time mistake. But you started lying. Small things at first—where you were going, who you were with.

But your body knew him now.

You craved him.

He’d send a single text—“Can I see you?”—and your pulse would spike like you were doing something illicit. Because you were.

And every time you went back, it was the same.

The kisses got messier. The touches bolder. He fucked you like you were something precious and forbidden at the same time.

Sometimes, he’d be rough—his hand around your throat, your hands bound in his belt, your moans muffled by the pillow. Other nights, he’d make love to you slow and aching, kissing every inch of your skin like he was apologizing to it.

Neither of you talked about the future.

You didn’t talk about your partner. He didn’t ask.

But the way he looked at you after—his arm wrapped around your stomach, his lips pressed to your shoulder—it said everything.

**

One night, after round three had left you wrecked and half-asleep in his bed, he ran a hand down your back and said softly, “If things were different…”

You turned your head, half-dazed. “They’re not.”

“I know,” he whispered.

But the way his fingers tightened around you… it told a different story.

**

You started dreaming in halves. Living in between. The guilt clung to your ribs some days, but the truth was undeniable:

You belonged to someone else.

But your body, your heart, your soul—

They were his.

**

A/n: I’m not too sure about this, lmk what you think, is it too rushed? i feel like it is 😅

[januaryembrs]

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader

Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!

Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.

length: 3.9k

Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!

authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!

Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard. 

Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already. 

But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears. 

In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger. 

“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly. 

“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line. 

He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about. 

But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour. 

“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard. 

The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl. 

“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?” 

She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog. 

“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails. 

“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy. 

Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven. 

She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with. 

“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in. 

She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was. 

–

“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode. 

“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous. 

“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was. 

He was just a kid. 

They were just kids. 

And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult. 

Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him. 

And if that had been true, then where were they? 

He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering. 

And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours. 

Which was when he ran to get his dad. 

By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank. 

He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks. 

Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been. 

But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier. 

His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son. 

“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together. 

They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave. 

–

“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”

“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about. 

She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”

He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien. 

Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel. 

“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,” 

And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other. 

He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do. 

He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him. 

So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military. 

But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell. 

Not until the second day of her shiva, that was. 

-

“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life. 

Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again. 

She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning. 

“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,” 

He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on. 

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it. 

But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left. 

“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly. 

“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”

He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated. 

“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder. 

“I missed you too,” 

“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here. 

But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.

Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person. 

Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,” 

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.

“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly. 

“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together. 

He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias. 

Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway. 

And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard. 

“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. 

She was a mother. 

“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers. 

He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body. 

“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again. 

She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”

“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?” 

“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself. 

“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite. 

She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him. 

He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight. 

At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.

And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.  

He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.

He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked. 

“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way. 

He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely. 

She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them. 

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,” 

She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?” 

He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave. 

But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.

He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in. 

And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.

He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.) 

Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful. 

“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-” 

But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely. 

Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset. 

It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes. 

He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them. 

[nameless-pirate]

Kid: smutty headcanons

Summary: just some smutty Eustass Kid headcanons. Tags: nsfw, for both afab and amab reader Notes: I have permanent Eustass Kid brainrot. I love him.

– MDNI –

I actually don't think he's that much into one stands. I've seen a lot of fics and headcanons portraying him as such, but I don't really buy it. He's a ride or die kind of a person and I think he prefers to have one person (maybe two if we count Killer) with whom he can explore kinks and sexual fantasies.

That being said, he's most definitely not a virgin. He wouldn't want to die without having sex and the pirate life is dangerous, so one day when they stopped on one of the islands for longer, he had a brief and sweet sexual affair with one of the tavern staff. If he goes out to have fun and the mood strikes, he usually goes for blow jobs.

He masturbates a lot. It's a great way to relieve at least some of his frustration. So he does it in the morning, before going to sleep, every time he showers, and whenever he's bored.

Not going to sleep with you on a first date, but also not going to let you go without a hot make out session after which both of you would masturbate in the shower (separately!).

Not going to sleep with you on a second or third date either. It's not a strict rule, but he'd prefer to wait. The anticipation is part of the fun. But I think he'd also like to feel more secure before going all in.

Because once you two have sex and it's as good as he'd imagine or better, he's not letting you go. He wants you close. Forget personal space. He wants to be your number one priority and touch you whenever he wants. The first week after you spent the night together will be spent in bed. Killer provides the food. He knocks on the door then leaves the plates in front of it.

Loves blow jobs, hand jobs, and any other forms of you touching him. It doesn't even have to lead to anything, you can just keep your hand on his dick, and he'll be happy.

Once he performs oral sex on you, get ready for a long pleasure session. He usually prefers to work you with his hand, so when he decides to go down on you, it's not an appetiser or dessert; it's the whole damn meal.

Soft during the first night. Gentle even. He wants to learn about your body and what you like.

Once he knows what makes you moan, it's game over. He wants you loud, so he'll focus on whatever you like till you scream his name.

During sex, he wants to hear his name only screaming or as a whisper/whimper when you beg him for more.

A huge fan of quickies.

Holds the record for the number of destroyed panties. Say goodbye to your favourite pair of undies. He'll rip them off.

But if you say that you'll stop wearing underwear altogether, he can't stand that. You need to open a lid to get to the inside of a treasure chest and he likes to rip it off. It's part of the experience. So he'll tear it off you with his teeth or his hands.

(afab) This doesn't apply to bras. Free the boobs and let him glance at your nipples.

(amab) He gives the sloppiest blowjobs. He leaves lipstick stains on your thighs and bruises on your hips as he pushes you to fuck his mouth harder. He NEVER forgets about the balls. He'll lick or suck them at the beginning. Definitely fingers your ass while blowing you.

(afab) Eating pussy? More like devouring. He loves everything about your pussy. He always starts by saying how lovely you smell before taking a long lick along your slit. There’s nothing he enjoys more than the sound you make when he swirls his tongue around your clit. And since he likes to use all the tools he has at his disposal, he’ll finger you while eating out. Pussy or ass—your choice.

Up for anything. “Don’t knock it off till you try it” is his motto in bed.

He loves to fuck you from behind but if he’s nearing his orgasm, he wants to see your face. Happy and all fucked out—just as he loves it.

He can and will go multiple rounds.

Prefers to cum inside of you. That’s how he marks you as his.

Leaves you with hickies, bruises, and scratch marks. And you better not cover them—those are masterpieces he’s proud of.

[slowdrawl]

Whiskey and Want |dbf!Joel x f!reader|

| 18+ MINORS DNI | {series masterlist}

Chapter 9: Technical Difficulties | wordcount |3.3k| {TLOU AU, modern-ish, no outbreak, Sarah lives!}

| a/n | hello babes, sorry this one is a little late, I'v'e been playing around with a few new ideas and this one was sitting on the backburner as they do...

" “You ain’t slick, Bird,” he says, voice low with more gravel than the driveway.

“You sure about that, Cowboy?” You wink at him, a smirk taking over your face as you try to stifle a laugh but fail. "

Warnings/tags: 18+ only, minors DNI, SMUT, blackmail, slow burn, forbidden romance, angst, yearning, intoxication, strong language, emotional vulnerability, age gap dynamics, possessive sex, guilt. series warnings after the fic. reader uses she/her pronouns and has hair. no real major physical descriptions of the reader. no use of y/n but has the nickname Bird, Birdie, etc. reader has a backstory

Joel wakes up slow, head thick with a hint of whiskey and the ghost of you—skin all soft, grip tight, the way you broke apart underneath him last night, gasping his name like a goddamn prayer. But it’s blasphemy.

Sheets twist around his legs, damp with sweat, he's still in your bed. Your bare shoulder peeks out beside him, your breathing is slow, steady in sleep. He looks down at his t-shirt, wadded up at the foot of the bed and shakes his head as more memories of last night flood in.

Oh yeah, great, more laundry to do.

Your mouth around him. His name a curse and a prayer, your legs trembling around his hand. He hadn’t even fucked you, not really. Not all the way. But it felt like it. Like too much. Like he crossed a line that doesn’t uncross.

The sun cuts through the room, bright and unforgiving, stabbing his eyes as he squints, watching you. Your lips are swollen, parted just barely enough to show teeth, a dark hickey, his mark stains your collar.

Nice one Jackass, Bird can’t really wear turtlenecks in July can she? Fuckin’ idiot.

He drags a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake it off—guilt, need, the whole mess. Kev’s his best friend, it’s been that way since he moved in next door, and here he is tangled up in his little girl’s bed, truck parked in his god damn driveway like a neon sign screaming trouble.

His gut twists, want, regret, something darker, churning deep in his stomach. He didn’t even fuck you and it still feels like he’s wrecked the entire world. He marked you up, called you 'mine' like he meant it, like you are  his. Let you cry out underneath him in the room he helped your dad paint. What the hell is wrong with you? Now he's just stuck staring, chest tight, cock half-hard again just from the fuckin' sight of you. He shouldn't even be here, but he is, left with his head still spinning with the thoughts of the way you felt under him.

He slips out, quiet, barefoot on the floor, careful not to wake you, grabbing the phone off the bedside table, he pulls his jeans on, heading for the hallway.

Guess we’re going commando today too.

He walks down the stairs and sees his flannel still on the ground in the foyer and throws it on, leaving it unbuttoned over his bare chest, it’ll do for now. He considers just bolting, truck probably shouldn't be sitting in the driveway for everyone to see, kinda weird for it to be parked here instead of next door. He hesitates, weighing the pros and cons, but he stays.

He’s tired of running from this, from you, he’s already fucked everything up, what's the point of hurting you more by leavin’ early without a goodbye.

He’s caught in a daze, replaying every second. Your thighs around his waist, the way you begged, how he damn near lost it and gave you everything like he owned you.

The kitchen is silent, the coffee maker hissing as he starts it, leaning on the counter ‘#1 DAD’ mug in hand.

Ironic.

The coffee drips slowly, its bitter smell filling the air, and he's halfway through pouring when his phone buzzes from the other side of the kitchen. He walks over and grabs it, it's 8:03 squinting—he sees Sarah’s name and he answers, second nature, mid-step, flannel open, shirtless beneath.

“Hey, baby girl, you’re up earl—”

Sarah’s voice cuts harsh, “Dad? Why’re you answerin’ Birdie's phone?”

Oh, fuck.

His stomach drops to the floor, mug clattering as he sets it down, coffee sloshing over the edge. It was an honest mistake, same phone, similar case. He’s bad with tech, and too old for his own good. He doesn’t even know how FaceTime works—now he’s shirtless on the phone with Sarah in your kitchen, at the asscrack of dawn.

//

You wake up, sheets a mess, searching the bed but it’s empty already. You hear voices downstairs.

This can’t be fuckin’ good.

You grab the closest piece of clothing that isn’t covered in bodily fluids, and throw it on in a daze—another hand-me-down from dad, Pink Floyd this time, Dark Side of The Moon across the chest.

Your legs are bare, jeans twisted on the floor, and you stumble downstairs in your underwear. Your heart is pounding. Joel’s in the kitchen, and the smell of coffee is fresh in the air, he’s got your phone propped up on the stove, standing there with his chest out. Caught like a fuckin’ dumbass with Sarah staring right back at him.

Yup, not good, deep breaths.

You smooth down your hair as best as you can and tuck it behind your ears, not that there was any hiding the way you looked right now. You’re sure you look exactly how you feel. Fucked.

You snatch the phone, “Why do you have my phone? Weirdo?” you say, trying to sound more confused than pissed, than caught.

“Hey Sarbear, your dad’s trying to steal my shit now I guess,” you force a smile that feels a lot like a lie, “musta’ grabbed it by mistake, fuckin’ old man. Dumb as hell.”

“I see...” Sarah says, you can see the cogs turning in her head. “At eight? Why’s he there? Looks like you just rolled outta bed.”

Joel’s staring you down on the other side of the phone, something between “I’m sorry” and “We’re so fucked” in his eyes. He looks around, then back at you and mouths “sink’s broken,” pointing at it and shaking his head, eyes shifting, a look that says he’s not even convinced flashes on his face.

“Yeah, I did, was gonna have a shower but the damn thing’s broke, my dad’s out of town so I borrowed yours to fix it for me.” You say, saving face, honestly, you’re kinda proud of yourself. Shower is a lot more convincing than the sink, why the fuck would you need to fix the sink that bad, that early.

You walk into the living room, away from Joel, and sit on the couch but he follows you like a lost puppy, off camera. Two cups of coffee in hand, one for you. You try waving him away, clearly telling him to fuck off, but he doesn't listen.

Joel is clingy. Wouldn’t have guessed that but okayyyy.

“Oh, okay, anyway. I miss you both!” Sarah says, tone relaxing, back to chipper from suspicious.

Thank you God, I promise I’ll go back to church after this, you’re real.

You lean back on the arm of the couch, kicking your feet up and trying to act natural to keep Sarah convinced. You’re talking about school and her coming home next week. Joel’s just sat there watching you squirm, eyes dark and heavy. He grabs your feet and pulls them onto his lap, rubbing the same stupid circles into your ankle as he did a few nights ago. He’s being a fuckin’ menace, it’s like he knows that your skin still burns from where he touched you, the way he grins at you verifies it.

Sick fuck. Why am I turned on?

Conversation trickles and then fizzles out completely, Sarah seems content having finally got a call in and she hangs up with a “Love you, Birdie, I can’t wait to see you soon! Girls night!” It makes your heart feel full and your stomach flip at the same time, she doesn’t deserve this mess, she's too dang pure.

Joel’s shoulders relax a bit more when Sarah’s voice airs out of the room. You slump further into the couch, realizing just how hard your head is pounding, hangover bouncing in your skull. He’s still right there, still too damn close, rubbing up and down your legs, sipping his coffee—slow. He’s stuck to you, fingers trailing, lingering too long. Protective.

“Another fuckin’ close call.” He says, casually sipping from the stupid dad mug.

You drop your phone and let out a long, heavy sigh, “close call? That was a fuckin’ nightmare.” You scoff, “why did you answer my phone?”

“Didn’t mean to, guess I’m just a dumb old man, huh?” He replies, smirking, “Wasn’t so dumb when I had you cryin’ my name, sugar.”

You whip your head toward him.

Your voice is flat, sharp. “Didn’t fuckin’ happen.”

He lifts both brows. “Didn’t have to.”

You flush. Punch his arm. Sip your coffee to hide the fact that your thighs are clenched.

And then his phone buzzes on the table.

(8:57 AM) Tommy ICE: Told kev yet? Prick

Joel scoffs, loud. “Fuckin asshole.” He doesn't reply, just tosses the phone aside, his brooding stare flicking over to you when yours lights up as well.

(8:58 AM)T-Mills: Bet he’s still there, huh? Little bird

Joel’s eyes narrow, snagging it, chucking it with a growl. “Fuck him, just ignore that shit.”

He’s clingy, but not soft. Shifting closer to you on the couch, one hand on your thighs now, like he’s got nowhere else to be. “Ain’t leavin’ yet,” he mutters, sitting tight to you, flipping through channels with the remote like it’s his house.

You’re torn. Guilt chews at your stomach, but he’s warm, solid, taking up all of your space, and you can’t shove him off. His arm drapes over the backrest, the other creeping up and then back down. The silence is thick with last night’s heat, he’s got you just where he wants you and he knows it.

I hate him.

The morning drags slow, the sun climbs high, spilling heat and light through the windows. He’s still sprawled out beside you, muttering to himself, flipping between shitty daytime TV and baseball highlights, drinking from your cup of water like it's his. He’s not exactly all over you—again, he’s brooding Joel after all—but he’s there, touchy in a gruff way, tracing more idle circles, closer and closer, making your pulse jump.

Tommy texts him again.

(11:32 AM) Tommy ICE: u still fucking there?

(11:33 AM) Tommy ICE: pervert.

He still doesn't reply to his messages, and his “Fuck off” is sharp, a protective edge cutting through. He turns his phone off now.

You’re both feeling content on the couch, Judge Judy’s yelling on the TV. Given how hungover you are, it sounds like a lullaby, and you try to nap off what’s left of your headache.

Eventually Joel reaches over and shakes you awake, stupid—big brown eyes crinkling at the edges. He whispers, “I gotta shower, Bird. Can I borrow yours or should I leave you to sleep?”

You look him dead in the eyes, mischief gleaming in yours, half-lidded. You respond, “Mhhm you can babysit long as you like, old man.”

He’s not laughing, but you don’t care. You’ll have your fun riling him up, even if you’re exhausted.

His gaze narrows on you, brown eyes darkening. He replies through a bit lip, “Keep it up, watch what happens.” As he lifts himself up off the couch and heads for the stairs.

As the shower runs upstairs, you figure you'd better reply to some of the text messages burning holes in your pocket. You scroll through and see Karlie’s name lit up, blue dot next to it, a message from last night. You must have missed it.

(2:02 AM) Karlie: Liam was at Sam’s tonight and said he saw you with two old dudes who were fighting?? Was it who I fuckin’ think it was? NEED DETAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You sigh and write out a reply, making a mental note to call her when Joel leaves—if he's planning on it. At this moment you’re not entirely sure. You scroll back up and see Tommy’s text from earlier, “bet he’s still there, huh?” Your stomach twists. Why does nobody know how to mind their own business in this damn town?

Your fingers hesitate over his name, contemplating.  Wondering if there’s even a point to opening it. You know that he’s going to keep texting you, he’s incessant, never knows when to call it quits. Sure, he’s pissed at Joel—understandable, he almost always is. But you wonder if he would actually call your dad and tell him about what happened. The thought makes you nauseous. You decide to reply—maybe being sweet on him again will stop him from trying to ruin both of your lives.

(12:40 PM) You: Sorry I ran out on you last night, people were starin and it made me jumpy. Say the word and we can try again, maybe some bar grandpa don’t know about.

In typical Tommy fashion, he replies nearly instantly.

(12:42 PM) T-Mills: is that a yes or a no? don’t lie to me birdie.

Jesus Christ, will he ever give it up?

(12:42 PM) You: he’s not here tom, wanna come check?

You hit send on the message and hold your breath, clutching the phone to your chest and praying he believes you. You’d rather not have to go to Joel’s funeral or visit your dad in prison for taking him out. Your phone vibrates your ribcage. You pick it up—slowly—and look down.

Your jaw goes slack, stomach bottoms out, and you feel like throwing up—mouth dry like you just ate a whole sleeve of saltines. (12:44 PM) T-Mills: already did

Your phone buzzes again, you feel faint. It’s a picture.

Joel’s truck in the driveway, and when you zoom in you can see—clear as fucking day.

It’s Joel on the couch, through the living room window, bare chest, #1 DAD mug up to his lips. If you zoom in further, you can barely make out his other hand on your leg.

What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy? Is he gonna wear my skin like a suit?

(12:44 PM) T-Mills: lyin’ don’t look cute on you little bird. I suggest u smarten up and kick the geezer to the curb before ur daddy does it himself.

He’s got proof now. A blade sharper than his bar taunts, and it’s aimed right at Joel’s back.

You stand up from the couch on shaky knees and walk over beside the window the picture was taken through, doing your best to peer through without anyone on the other side being able to see you.

You don't see any sign of Tommy. No Chevy. He must have just done a drive-by earlier and left.

Still, your heart beats hard in your ribcage and you slide the blinds closed. You walk toward the front door to check it. Tommy has officially creeped you the fuck out. You wouldn't even be surprised if he decided to break into the place just to get some petty revenge on his big brother at this point.

You slide the chain on the deadbolt just in case and turn to go back to the living room—but you crash into Joel walking through the foyer. It spooks you, ripping a shrill out of your throat, causing you to jump backward toward the doorframe, full fucking adrenaline rush.

Joel looks back at you, mix of confusion and concern knitting his brows together, he catches the look of genuine fear on your face and his look softens, like he’s offering you safety in his eyes. He walks up to you, slow and careful. He reaches out a hand to you, gently wrapping it around your waist, rubbing it up and down your side.

The contact puts you at ease immediately. You stand there for a moment, silent, letting your heart slow and taking Joel in. His hair is still wet from the shower, slicked back and off to the side, he smells like your body wash—mint, and him. Your gaze lowers from his face to the rest of him and—wait, what the hell.

“Why are—are you wearing my dad’s shirt?”

For some reason, he’s got on the black Vancouver Grizzlies shirt you bought your dad from a vintage store in Gastown two Christmases ago. It’s a bit too small for him, it stretches taut across his chest, the sleeves are tight, making him look even beefier than he is, biceps bulging, chest broad as fuck.

Fuckin’ contractors.

“Because it's 85 degrees outside, kid—and the only one I have here that’s not covered in cum is a long sleeve,” he says, deadpan, nonchalant, like it wasn’t kind of an insane thing to do.

‘Sorry Kev, borrowed your shirt ‘cause I cleaned my jizz off your daughter with mine last night.’

Surely that would go over great!

You don’t really have words, and he looks good in the shirt so you just reply, “gotcha,” and head back toward the couch. Trying to forget about the photo Tommy sent. You don’t want to tell Joel about it. Not now at least. You have a pretty good idea as to how he would take to it, and you’re not feeling up to dealing with his reaction.

The couch cushion dips down beside you, Joel grabs your legs and swings them over his lap like it's second nature now. “Sarah’s comin’ home soon… oughta plan a party, you’d help me set it up, yeah?”

You nod, half-distracted, his fingers lingering on your knee, pressing just enough to keep you on edge. Domestic as hell, but tense. Last night sits heavy, unspoken, and every time his hand moves, you feel it all over again, tight in your chest.

The TV is still sitting on the History Channel, some old dude is going on about Egypt, or Aliens; maybe both. Neither one of you are really paying attention to anything being said—you’re just looking at the screen. Every touch feels amplified, each drag of a finger like striking flint. You adjust your feet, rubbing your ankles together like you’re scratching an itch there, dragging them over his crotch, slow. Keeping your head forward, acting focused on the TV. But you can feel Joel’s eyes burning through you. You try your best to keep a straight face as he adjusts himself, straining in his jeans, he’s not stupid.

“You ain’t slick, Bird,” he says, voice low with more gravel than the driveway.

“You sure about that, Cowboy?” You wink at him, a smirk taking over your face as you try to stifle a laugh but fail.

That one hit hard. He’s on you. Both of your wrists held above you in one of his hands, but still he was somehow gentle, mouth ghosting your earlobe, a combination of soft lips and stubble burning down your neck—rough and soft all at once. You’re caged beneath him on the couch. The same one you’ve spent countless Sundays sitting on with your dad and him, watching the Rangers and LOST. In the same living room you’d exchange birthday and Christmas presents with Sarah.

He reaches down and slips the shorts off of you, taking you apart, breath hot, eyes dark with something you can only describe as predatory. He’s whispering sweet, filthy fucking nothings in your ear, hands dipping under the waistband of the boyshorts you threw on and then back up. Scraping calloused hands up and down your belly, tickling and toying with you until you’re ready to snap. You lay there, body alight, soft whimpers being coaxed out of your throat.

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you turn your head. ‘Dad’ flashes on the screen, an incoming call.

Fuck me, not now.

Joel’s lips curl, and something even more sinister floods his pupils. Something wicked.

“Why don’t you answer it, Birdie?”

series warnings!!! fluff, smut, angst,unprotected p-in-v (please wrap it up), f/m masturbation, fingering, large but legal age-gap (joel is in 40's reader is in mid 20's), size kink?, choking, pervy!obsessive!joel, pervy!mean!Tommy, grinding, spit, cumplay, possessive/rough sex, praise, sex on the phone, drinking/smoking, strong language, sneakin around, lowkey obsessive and reckless Joel, blackmail, competency kink, risky sex, infidelity/implied, semi-public sex, breeding kink lowkey, overstimulation, a tiny bit of coercion, dirty talk, oops its a creampie, brief mentions of grief and implied suicide, Tommy is a jerk in this one, guilt and betrayal, bar-fights @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @brittmb115 @mystickittytaco @your-nightmaredoll @leenieweenie12 @orodaeh @jokesonthem

[ddejavvu]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader ft. remus and sirius

summary: james is surprisingly willing to help you despite only having known you for a few weeks.

contents: reader is on her period, james barges into the bathroom because he's That Close to his friends

Sharing both a room and a bathroom with three men after having shared with four women is jarring, to say the least. Your old roommates could be slobs, of course, but there's something about James's habit barging into the bathroom whenever he pleases that doesn't sit right with you at first. You understand why he'd done it before you'd gotten there; you're sure they all had. You had no problem brushing your teeth beside Lily or Marlene while they were showering or peeing, but now that you're equipped with different tools than the rest of your roommates, it just feels wrong for them to see.

You first encounter it on a Monday morning, an appropriately terrible day for a terrible experience. You've just gotten up, and you're using the bathroom before you get dressed for the day, when James decides he needs to shower right then and there. He shouts a quick, 'Comin' in, mate!' Before turning the knob with the broken lock and storming right in, not giving you enough time to announce your presence.

"Ah- James!" You think you'll die right then and there, hands hovering over your crotch as James realizes what he's done. He's butt naked, probably tired after practice and in need of a steamy shower, but he's not any more enthusiastic about you seeing his parts than you are of him seeing yours, and he scrambles to cover himself up.

"Uh- sorry. I didn't realize it was you, I thought- I thought you had classes this morning. I apologize," He smiles kindly, though his eyes bulge where they're glued to your own, "Uh- you can... get back to business."

Neither of you had looked each other in the eyes for nearly 36 hours, but eventually the awkwardness died down, and you moved on.

Until the second time.

"Y/N," He calls, while you're in the shower, behind the flimsy curtain, "Listen, I know you're in the shower and all, but I'm running late, and I really need to brush my teeth. I don't want to rush you, can I just- just pop in there for a second? I swear I won't look."

You're at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish while the water streams around you. You appreciate his consideration, you know he doesn't want to scare you off or cross your boundaries, but it's a bold request. You're covered, sure, but the bathroom light is on, and you're sure you've got a silhouette behind the curtain. But you're going to be a while longer, and it's not fair of you to hold James up.

"Uh- sure," You stammer, covering up your chest like he'll be able to see through the curtain with laser eyes, "Come on in."

He doesn't hesitate to rush inside, but he's considerate enough to close the door after himself so that no one else stumbles upon you. You appreciate it, but you're frozen as he brushes his teeth quickly, bidding you a cheery goodbye like he hadn't just skimmed over giving you a heart attack. He shuts the door on his way back out, and there's not an ounce of awkwardness in his tone when he chats with you about his day later.

The third time, the third time is the kicker. You've started your period, the first time since you've been staying with James, Remus, and Sirius. You're sure they wouldn't give you a hard time for it, they seem decent enough so far, but there's just something mortifying about putting a used pad in a man's bathroom trash can.

You've changed your sheets before anyone can see the red stain, but your panties haven't been as fortunate yet. They're laying stained and wet on the ground beside your equally mangled shorts, hopefully not transferring the blood to the fabric below.

You don't get any warning, not enough time to hide them when you hear James's heavy footfalls by the door. He barges in without warning, face shifting to apologetic for only a split second before he registers the bloody clothes on the floor.

"Aah," He yelps, "Fuckin'- Are you wounded? You- oh." His sex education catches up to him, realizing why you've got blood only in the pad of your underwear, "Uh- right. Sorry."

"Get-" You start with a hiss, but you rein yourself in, trying to be kind, "James, can you- can you please get out?"

"Yeah! Yeah, right, I'll-" He motions over his shoulder with his thumb, "Uh- the guys are coming, so I'll head out. And-"

"The- what? Remus and Sirius are on their way back?" You panic, regretting your late wake-up. You could have really used the time they spent at breakfast to clean up."

"Yeah, they're- at the door."

"Close the door!" You urge him, as you hear the two other men enter the room. James does as he's told, but instead of stepping out, he steps in, panicked by your harsh tone of voice.

"Not- no!" You gush, but when he tries correcting himself, you lunge for his hand.

"Don't leave!" You beg, but rush to explain yourself when he frowns worriedly at you.

"I don't-" You whisper, "I don't want them to know I'm in here. Like- like this. If you leave they'll know. Just-" You fall silent with a sigh, "I don't know."

"Right." He nods, keeping his voice down so that it's muffled to Remus and Sirius, "Uh, I'll-"

"James? Mate, m'coming in," Sirius's voice comes from just outside the door, and you and James stare at each other, terrified. He rushes to slam his back against the door, and Sirius is unable to turn the knob.

"No! Uh, you can't-" James stammers, clearing his throat and steeling himself, "Use the bathroom in the hallway. I've got the squirts, mate, you don't wanna be in here with me."

You're lucky that Remus and Sirius groan in disgust, because it muffles your quick snort into your fist.

"You fuckin' animal. I told you not to cram those sausages down your throat," Remus snaps, "Now we can't use it for the rest of the day."

"Yeah, yeah, I've learned my lesson," James promises, shooting you a knowing wink, "Now get out!"

You're fairly certain you hear Sirius groan 'gladly', but you can't be certain. Their footsteps recede, then the outer door shuts, and once again you're alone with James. You wait for him to leave, but he lingers for a moment, politely avoiding staring at your soiled clothes.

"Right, well, they won't be back for a while. Do you want me to leave, too?"

"Uh- no, it's- it's okay," You decide, "You know."

"Yeah. Do you need any," James cringes before he even offers, "Help? I mean, I'm sure you've got wiping down, just- do you want, like, chocolate or something? Doesn't that help?"

"No! No, James, it's alright," You assure him, touched by his offer even if you're also embarrassed by it, "I don't want you to go to any trouble."

"No trouble," He shrugs, letting himself out of the bathroom and hovering in the doorway, "I know where Remus's stash is! He probably won't even notice it's missing, he's got so much. I can snatch some for you?"

"Really, it's okay," You smile kindly at him, still doubled over on the toilet with your elbows covering what you don't want him seeing, "Just- a moment alone, please?"

"Right," He nods with a grin, shutting the door, "Sorry!"

You breathe deep when you finally have a moment alone, cheeks burning with mortification. You're not sure you'll recover from this for a month, conveniently just enough time for it to happen again. You clean yourself up swiftly, not eager to spend more time in the bathroom that's revealed you to your roommate thrice in a month now.

James is kicked back on his bed when you reenter the main room, and he shoots you a kind smile that you bashfully return. You get to work putting new sheets on your bed, but when you move your pillow, you find a chocolate bar tucked under it.

If the sly grin on his face as he turns the page of his book is any indication, he's heard your light chuckle, and knows you appreciate him.

[omgidklolwtf]

Your First Kiss with Caleb

Content: first kiss, confession of love, romantic picnic

Your phone begins vibrating in the back pocket of your pants. You glance to see who it is as a picture of a red apple flashes across the screen. Caleb is calling. Your heart leaps into your throat. It’s been 3 days since you’ve heard his voice due to him being cut off from any cell service in the deepspace tunnel. You clear your throat to calm the excitement before answering. “Caleb you dummy, about time!” You hear his soft chuckle that makes the corner of your mouth curl up in a smile. “Hey pipsqueak. I just got back and saw your text. Take this test to see how allergic you are to romance…sooo, why did you send this to me?” He asks in a mocking tone. “Did you take it yet? Tell me your results, I want to know how unromantic you are.” He scoffs. “I don’t think I did anything recently that would count, though…” You are quick to remind him of the time he left the tangerine you gifted him on top of a scented candle. The one with a hand painted red panda face. He begins laughing, “did you smell burnt tangerine?” Come to think of it, you didn’t. “Well…no.” Caleb pauses before saying, “then aren’t you jumping to conclusions? It was a temporary head for the candle, otherwise it’d look creepy.” That explanation makes sense now that you’re thinking of it. A floating panda head is not all that cute in reality. “I didn’t think about that when I made it. I was focused on making sure it looked cute. Okay, a tangerine red panda doesn’t sound too bad. It’s a little romantic, even.” Though you can’t see his face, you can tell by his tone he’s making the face that has you coming unglued the second you see it. A raised eyebrow, that obnoxiously sexy twinkle in his violet eyes, and a smirk that makes you weak in the knees. “So, " he questions, "do you wanna follow up on whether or not I’m allergic to romance?” You respond with a long “hmmm” to pretend to be assessing his earlier answer. “Your result is…you passed.” He chuckles low before returning your “hmmm” as he says “I wonder if I’ll get the overwhelming romantic result one day?” Just as he says that you hear an alarm sounding in the background. Caleb has to clear the flight line so your goodbyes are rushed. “Gotta go Pipsqueak. I’m off soon. Since you’re off tomorrow why don’t you head to Skyhaven? I’ll cook you dinner and we can finish that model airplane we started.” Before you can respond the phone disconnects. You text Caleb a huggie apple emoji before placing your phone into the back of your jeans and packing up your stuff. You’re off the clock in 5 mins so the association won’t mind if you sneak out early.

You rush to the station but learn the next shuttle to Skyhaven doesn’t depart until 7pm. Since you have 2 hours to kill you decide to freshen up in the station bathroom. Good thing you did because after seeing your reflection for the first time in 8 hours you realize you look a mess. You comb through your hair, brush your teeth, and reapply your lip and cheek stain in the shade apple soda, Caleb’s favorite type. The first time Caleb saw you wearing it he pretended to bite your cheek like an apple. You swatted him away, calling him an idiot. Ever since then, you wear it every single time you see him. Even though the trip from Linkon to Skyhaven is relatively quick, the time drags. Once your feet touch the platform in Skyhaven, you begin heading to the road, looking for the uber you called from the shuttle. To your surprise, Caleb is leaning against the side of his car, his posture relaxed, hands resting in his pockets, one combat boot crossed at the ankles over the other and head tilted to the side with that damn smirk watching you cross the platform. He is still dressed in his flight uniform, aviator sunglasses at the tip of his nose so he can peer at you from above the lenses. You run the rest of the way and jump into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Caleb!” He catches you, squeezing tight as he chuckles against your cheek, “hey Pipsqueak.” You squeeze him in return before letting go enough to lean back and look into his eyes. “How did you know I was here?” He shrugs casually before releasing you the rest of the way and reaching for your bag. “I had a hunch.” He effortlessly grabs your bag with one hand, tossing it into the backseat of his sports car and opening the door for you with his other hand. “Let’s go home.” You snatch the aviators off his face and put them on as you slide into the front seat. He rolls his eyes at you but doesn’t hide the grin that spreads across his face. You know he secretly loves seeing you wear his things. His basketball t-shirt, his jacket, even his old farspace fleet uniform.

When you arrive at Caleb’s house, the summer sun is finally setting. The view from Skyhaven is actually breathtaking. Caleb notices your admiring gaze and moves quietly to your side, his hand going to the small of your back. “Pretty huh?” You nod in agreement and glance up at him. You notice however his gaze is on you rather than the sunset. You feel heat spread across the bridge of your nose before elbowing him in the side. “Caleb you dummy.” You begin walking towards his door so he can't see how flustered his comments make you. You press your thumb to the lock pad, knowing Caleb registered your fingerprints to his door so only you can enter his house. Caleb catches up to you in two long strides and instructs you to go wash up for dinner while he disappears into the kitchen. His house smells divine, and you can tell he’s made your favorite and his specialty, braised chicken wings. Along with kimchi rice, cucumber salad and lemon ginger curd for dessert. “Wow it smells delicious!” You say as you enter the living room. “All your favorites” he replies. Caleb has two plates in hand as he heads for the door to his balcony. “Does this earn romance points?” You follow him, about to retort how you plan to taste it first when suddenly your breath hitches in your throat. Caleb set up a picnic outside, with candles, blankets, plushies and pillows. The view from his balcony is a front row seat to the sunset you were admiring earlier. You watch him set the plates down before he gestures for you to sit. “Dinner and a view m’lady.” He makes a half bow towards you, grinning from beneath the fringe of his tousled brown hair. You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and take a seat on the squishy mound of pillows. Your earlier conversation replays in your head and you can’t help but feel a little foolish for trying to provoke Caleb. Was he doing all of this because he wanted to or because he was settling a score?

The two of you eat and talk without pause. This is the one person on earth you could never get sick of spending time with. The solar string lights above click on and a chilly breeze makes you shiver. “Are you cold?” Caleb asks as he reaches for an extra blanket. He moves as if he’s going to wrap it around you but you stand before he can. “It’s getting late. Thanks for dinner it was as good as I remember.” As you turn to head inside Caleb grabs you by the wrist and turns you to face him. “You can’t leave without the Colonel’s permission” he says as he brings your hand to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss atop it. “Caleb what are you doing?” He responds in a lowered tone, “looking at you, duh.” His gentle smile makes your heart race, and your hand feels small in his grip. You default to sarcasm, convinced you will just play this off as pretend like you always have. Every time the boundaries blurred or one of you came close to crossing a line you both would back down and call it a joke. Never allowing things to go farther. Even though you always wanted to back then. Even though you want to right now. This time though, neither of you moves to break the hold. “Ok Caleb you win, you’re very romantic. Your future girlfriend will be very impressed.” He moves to take a step closer to you, the air suddenly becoming thin. “I won’t get a girlfriend.” You can’t help but laugh, knowing full well all the girls in Skyhaven have been bidding for Caleb’s attention since he arrived. “Please, I’ve seen the way these girls trip all over themselves when you’re around. You could have any one of them.” Caleb moves another step forward, which forces you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact with him.

His violet gaze burns a hole through you, the attention suddenly makes you self-conscious. You begin to lower your gaze when he hooks your chin with his finger, forcing your eyes to meet his once more. “You don’t normally let me win this easily pipsqueak.” He’s not wrong, you rarely back down first. You decide to see how far you can push him. “Kiss me then.” This is not the first time you’ve taunted him with the request, but it is the first time he hasn’t immediately scoffed and backed away in defeat. Instead he raises his left hand to cup your cheek. He leans down, his gaze ping ponging between your eyes and your mouth. He’s hovering just above your lips, holding himself in place and giving you the option to decide to kiss him or move away. You’ve wanted to kiss Caleb for as long as you can remember. You’ve wanted to do everything with Caleb. You raise onto the balls of your feet, bringing your mouth the rest of the way to meet his. The kiss is feather-light. You get the sense he is restraining himself, and just like the romantic dinner, perhaps he needs some gentle coaxing. Assurance this sort of attention is wanted, invited. You whisper his name onto his lips, “Caleb,” before wrapping your arms around his neck, and tugging him towards you. A gentle plea for more. You slightly part your mouth, taking his lower lip between yours and gliding your tongue along it. This was all the encouragement he needed. Caleb moves then, crushing his chest flush against you, his arms caging you in his hold. He tilts his head, angling it so he can deepen the kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth and claiming it in the most intoxicating kiss you’ve ever experienced. You instantly become molten in his arms, your knees feeling weak as he kisses you again and again. The contact with his body sends electricity shooting from your head to your toes. If you hadn’t already been in love with Caleb, this kiss would make even the dead come alive. Which is exactly how you feel kissing him under the July moon on his balcony. Reborn. You let out a soft whimper, the pleasure overwhelming you. And Caleb groans at the sound, walking you backwards until he is pressing you against the wall. His hand around the back of your head, cushioning you from hitting your head as he does so. He breaks the kiss and looks at you, pupils flaring with desire. He is panting as his brings his forehead to yours, assessing if you’re alright. If it was too much. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His eyes search yours, a hint of worry flashes in his expression. “Y-you didn’t. I’m fine. That was perfect. You’re perfect.” Caleb tenses slightly at that but doesn’t move away.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits and the doubt you felt earlier was extinguished. Love and reassurance and longing bloom even further in your chest at his words. A part of you always hoped but never dared imagine it possible that Caleb could have feelings for you. It has long been your impression that Caleb viewed you as a pseudo-sibling. The annoying little sister-like tagalong who always wanted to be wherever he was. But you have admired and loved Caleb since that first day he came to live with you and Gran. When he declared he would always protect you. “Really? Why?” you ask with a teasing tone. However Caleb does not echo your tone. Instead his reply is tender, “maybe it’s because I love you a little more than you realize.” His confession knocks the wind out of you. You feel the swell of emotion rising like a tidal wave, ready to unleash itself. How many times had you wanted to tell Caleb the exact thing he just confessed? How many times did you cuss yourself after the explosion happened and you thought he died. And your opportunity to tell him your true feelings died along with him. You would not make that same mistake again. “I love you too,” you whisper into the night air. Caleb is frozen like a statue, as if he stopped breathing on the spot. “Say that again.” A command not a question. “I love you Caleb.” His arms tightening around your waist. “Again,” he says. Your heart thunders in your chest. “I’m in love with you.” You barely get out the last word before his mouth is colliding with yours again. He lifts you off the ground, arms holding you firmly as your legs wrap around his waist. Your first kiss with Caleb and a confession of love under a canopy of twinkle lights is about the most romantic thing you could imagine. Damn it. You chuckle at the intrusive thought, smiling against his mouth. "What?" He asks with a smirk, "yep I'm winning that romance title" somehow knowing exactly what you were thinking. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before setting you down on your feet. He kisses your forehead, cheek, nose, and lips gently. “There’s no pressure. I want whatever you’re willing to give me. And whatever you want is what I’ll offer to you. Whether it’s my unique scent, a uniform filled with memories, or the authority to command me.”

[ireverie]

ghost, lhs

ᯤ he misses you

ׂ╰┈➤ masturbation, grave desecration, kind of angst

heeseung misses you.

he can’t take it anymore. nights spent skin-to-skin with you in his arms, nights spent with your body on top of his as you rolled your hips, nights spent with him panting in your ear as you rode the soul out of him all taken away in one second before he even got the chance to say goodbye.

three whole months have gone by since then and to him, it still feel yesterday. one minute, he was confident he would come home to you waiting for him like you always did, and the next, he got that phone call.

heeseung fists his cock as he perches on your grave, jean-clad knees stained with dirt. he doesn’t care. cheap denim jeans are replaceable; you aren’t. he tries to touch himself the way he remembers you doing it, picturing your warm, soft hands and pretty, gem-embedded nails wrapped around his cock.

his eyes flutter closed. you would start slow and steady, looking into his eyes as you pumped him, smiling up at him with your gorgeous, enticingly sweet eyes. heeseung moans at the thought. you always knew exactly what what to do to make him lose his mind. only after he got all worked up, tip leaking profusely with precum, would you finally go faster.

heeseung speeds up. his eyes snap open for a moment, glancing around to make sure he’s alone. it’s the middle of the night, no one should be around unless, much like him, they’re a freak in violent need of help. sensing no one, he allows himself to close his eyes again and resume the image of you in his head, eagerly jerking him off.

the tip of his heavy, aching cock is sticky with precum that coats the palm of his hand. it covers his whole shaft as he inadvertently smears it everywhere, rapid palm lubricating his cock the way your mouth would. you used to love that about him; he always comes so much.

“fuck,” he groans louder than intended, the very thought making his dick twitch in painful delight, in sweet yearning.

heeseung desperately wants to go even quicker, but he forces himself to have some kind of restraint, wanting to do this the way he knows you would if you were still here with him where you belong instead of six feet underground.

at first, it was chilly outside to heeseung. but now the cool, crisp air goes unnoticed as the scalding heat burns his sensitive ears down to his flushed cheeks down to his bobbing neck. you would, he remembers, nibble at the flesh behind his ears, kiss his soft cheeks, and suck at the quick, throbbing pulse in the base of his neck.

“calm down, hee,” you would tell him, giggling in his ear. god, he loved that sound. he still does. he would give anything to hear it again, one last time.

he sheds the jacket, feeling suffocated by how increasingly hot his body is getting, and tosses it onto the ground. heeseung knows he’s close, that’s the only reason he’s making himself be patient. you never wanted to finish him too quickly unless you were impatient yourself. you liked to to draw it out, to make him wait.

it was fair, heeseung thinks. he was always so busy, so caught up with work and the like that he rarely had time to spend with you. it was only fair that you made him ache just the way you did when he was gone for days, sometimes weeks, on end. 

heeseung wishes he would have gone about things differently. had he known his days with you would be numbered, he would have dropped everything to spend every available second with you. he would have never taken time with you for granted.

but he can’t hold back anymore. he needs to come. he needs you, but he knows that this as close as he will ever get to feeling you again. he teeth sink into his bottom lip a little too hard as he releases with a moan of your name followed by curses, shooting ropes of cum onto the nature-weathered stone of your grave and the dirt in front.

heeseung breathes for a while, relaxing. he glances around, but still spots no one. then, he glances back at your grave, a heavy pang in his heart. 

“come back,” he whispers wistfully, knowing you can’t hear him, but hoping you can.

[hornyroyale]

pillow talk

Art the Clown x Reader

(SMUT)

5.7k words

Also posted on AO3

———————

Halloween.

One year ago, there was a massacre in Miles County. The now dead suspect was a tall, scrawny clown. The outfit contained half black, half white jumpsuit, with fluffy black pom poms. A white, painted face, with black details on his face. Bald white head with a little black top hat finished his look. When the police arrived at the scene, the clown shot himself through the mouth, admitting him as deceased.

Maybe.

Who knows.

Little kids flooded the streets with their parents, going door to door, filling their baskets with sweet, teeth rotting treats. One of the funniest holidays in the world. For kids, it’s the free candy and dressing up as their favorite things. For teens, it’s the amount of alcohol they consume at parties. For adults, it’s nothing, because they already hit their mid life crisis and can’t be happy anymore.

Doorbell rings, and a bowl of candy is swiftly picked up by the insider and she opens the door to meet with a group of kids. A smile reaches her face, adoring the cute excitement they have at the sight of the king sized bars in a plastic bowl, and she could tell that her house might get populated quick if the word gets around.

The kids leave and she waves to them goodbye, smiling as the door shuts, and soon the bowl is placed on a nearby table. Heading to the kitchen, she opens up the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen tator tots. Her airfryer opens up as she dumps a serving of the mini potatoes. The airfryer shuts and she turns it on, waiting for her snack to heat up. Her house rings with the doorbell once again, and she picks up the bowl of candy to meet with a little girl with her mom in the cutest tinkerbell costume.

With a cute giggle, she holds up a plastic pumpkin that had goodies in it. A king sized kitkat meets with the others and the face of the little girl lights up. The insider smiles at the young girl, saying her goodbyes so that she can go back to cooking her snack. Shortly after she shut the door, another ring echoed and she opened the door with the bowl again just to be met with a man.

Not sure if it’s a man, but it sure is a clown.

His outfit consisted of a jumpsuit that had a half black, half white scheme going on, as long with black puffy buttons and a white collar. He had stained, fingerless gloves wrapped around his hands. His face was painted white, his whole head was white. With his white face, he had black paint around his eyes, mouth, a dot on his nose, and expressive eyebrows, all completed with a cute little black top hat. A creepy grin was met on his face as he held out a black trash bag, implying he wanted candy.

The insider is frightened by his “costume” but she will admit, it’s really creative and well done. Best one she’s seen all day, even though the ones before were all kids, and this is an adult.

“Well hi there!”, she greets with a smile, even though she’s secretly terrified of this terrifier. “Your costume is very well done!”. She did figure that if he worked hard on it, it would mean a lot if she would compliment it.

The clown still has a grin on face while holding his big bag out in hopes to get candy. Even though he might be too old. The insider picks up her bowl of candy and the clown eyes sparkle. She grins at his reaction and chuckles, but he still doesn’t peep a word.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”.

A nod comes out of the clown.

There’s silence between the two and she can tell he’s getting impatient.

“You know, clown guy. Keep a secret for me?”.

The clown nods eagerly, and soon his bag opens wider when she grabs a handful of the candy bars and drops them in his bag.

“Don’t tell anyone I gave you a bunch of king sized bars, I don’t want anyone getting jealous”, she teased. “It’ll be our little secret”.

A wink appeared on her face, and the clown shut his bag that contained his candy, also returning the wink. The bag flew over his shoulder like he was Santa carrying a sack, and his hand gave a friendly wave to her as he bounced away. She shut the door, also waving goodbye. The noise from her airfryer went off, telling her that her tater tots are done.

.

.

.

“Dude are you on your way?”.

“I’m hurrying as fast as I can Sienna. My fucking shirt has a stain on it so I have to improvise”.

Her phone was mounted up against her desk’s mirror and she scavenged through her closet for a shirt that was close to her original design. All she had on was a black lace bra, green miniskirt, fishnets, and black boots that went up her shins. Her hair was down in curls with green hair spray shining through. She was supposed to be a seductive, sexy joker, but with her shirt dirty, her outfit isn’t complete.

“I might not be able to show up for a while. I’m gonna quickly wash my shirt and see if the stain will come out. If not, I’ll just be a boring Joker I guess”.

“Well I wish you could hurry. Allie hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts at all or Brooke’s as well. Has she messaged you?”.

“Not that I know of. Her phone’s probably dead anyways”.

She picks up her phone from her desk.

“I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. Love you lots!”.

“Love you too Y/N”.

She hung up, then grabbed her stained shirt and headed over to her laundry room. Luckily her parents are out of town, because there’s no way they would let her leave the house in a slutty costume, but Halloween is the one time a year a girl can dress like a total slut. Regina George would be proud of her.

Her washer was opened wide, and she tossed her shirt, as well as some other white clothes that were in the dirty clothes basket just so she could be a little helpful around the house. The washer was then shut, and bleach was poured in where the detergent goes. Apparently if bleach gets on your skin, it could make it soggy and slimey because of the pH level. Hopefully nobody has to go through that. I bet it would hurt.

Just thinking about that made her shiver, and she was extra careful when pouring the bleach, but it ran out before she could even fill to the brim. She shook the jug over it to get extra drops before she just gave up and did with what she had. She closed the detergent drawer, then started the washing machine, the empty bottle was placed on the shelf above, and she made a mental note to go shopping to buy more so that her parents don’t get upset.

She picks up her phone and shoots a text to Sienna.

Y/N: how’s the party?

Sienna: I’m fucked up right now

Sienna: My mom is pissed at my brother too because he brought a dead animal to school apparently and he’s blaming it on the clown that massacred a ton of people last year

Y/N: didn’t you see that clown the other day lol?

Sienna: It was probably some loser dressed up as him, but apparently that worker was found dead after I left

Y/N: crazyyy. maybe it was him

Sienna: I’m starting to think it was

Y/N: a clown came to my door early. adult man, in a black and white clown costume, bald. isn’t that your guy you saw too?

There was no response from Sienna.

Bubbles would pop up.

But no response.

Y/N: Sienna?

Still nothing

Her phone might’ve died as well.

The doorbell rung, but with her being shirtless, she quickly grabbed a hoodie that was hanging up on a hook and put it on so that way she wouldn’t expose herself to a potential little kid. Grabbing the bowl of candy, she opened the door expecting a group of kids waiting for candy.

It’s the clown again.

Something’s different with his costume.

There’s blood all over.

She’s frightened because of the conversation she just had, but she needs to keep her cool that way she won’t be his next target, even though she’s saying silent prayers in her head so that she stays alive. She puts a smile on her face and greets him once again.

“Hello there! I see you added some color to your costume!”. She giggles awkwardly. The clown nods with a big grin on his face. There’s no telling if it’s fake blood, and with the slight scent of iron, there’s no way that it is.

That’s real blood.

“Look at the both of us, we’re both dressed up as clowns, except yours is way better than mine!”. Trying to keep the conversation as positive as she can, she hopes that he’ll go to someone else instead. The silence starts between them, and she knows that’s not good, but she can’t think of what to say. The clown takes a small step towards her and she blurts out something without even thinking.

“Do you want to come inside for a bit? I’m waiting for something to get out of the washer”.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why did she say that?

Without thinking twice, the clown welcomes himself in like he owns the place, and sits down comedic like on a chair in the living room. Not much she can do now, she just dug her own grave. But, in most horror movies that she watches, a lot of victims die from being rude to the killer, so maybe he’s like them.

She sits across from him, managing distance, but not too obvious.

Should she offer a drink, a snack, ask him why he came back?

Thumbs twiddle on her lap so that she can think of something, but this clown makes himself feel at home. She wishes she could get a word out of him, but he doesn’t make a noise at all. Not a single peep.

“Do you want a beverage? Or any snacks? You are my guest, I hope I can make you feel welcomed”. He nods his head aggressively but again, with him being silent, it’s hard to understand him.

“Can I get you something to write on so that I can know what you want?”.

The clown just stands up and walks over to her, and now her life is at risk, she at least thinks, but he holds his hand out, implying that he wants her to stand up. Hesitating, she grabs it and he pulls her up, then walks her to her kitchen. She stands there as the stranger goes through her cabinets, looking for goodies.

“Can I get a name at least?”.

He stops, and fear runs through her body again. A knife shines on her counter and he picks it up.

This is it.

She’s gone now.

Her parents will come back from vacation and see their dead daughter dead in the kitchen.

Eyes are slammed shut, but nothing happens. Instead, various fruits and vegetables are cut up to look like letters. A banana peel is cut in half to create an upside down “V”, and the banana goes through the center to make it an “A”. A carrot in a straight line, and chopped up cucumbers to connect to the carrot to make a “R”, and finally, two pieces of celery together in the shape of a “T”.

Art.

“Art?”.

‘Art’ nods his head up and down with a fat smile, happy that she discovered who she was.

Art the clown.

The same name of the clown in the Miles County massacre.

This was the clown.

Standing in her house.

He could kill her any second.

Silence fills the room again, for a long period of time, and she can tell that he’s starting to get impatient, but she doesn’t know what to think.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to get to know you Art”. She extends her hand for a handshake and he takes it, not breaking eye contact with her.

Oh why her.

Why is it that she has to be the one in danger?

Finally he lets go of her hand and he has a bigger smile on his face.

This might just be her fate.

Her washer goes off, cutting the silence and she turns her head towards the laundry room. Excusing herself, she walks inside and opens the washer, pulling out her wet shirt. The stain did disappear, but no use anyways. It’s not like she could go to the party now. She’ll be dead. She turns around and almost jumps at the sight of Art leaning against her door frame, huge smile, and raising his eyebrows up and down.

Well, he is a clown, gotta stick to the part. Coming toward her again, he grabs her wet shirt and shakes it like crazy to get some water out, then hands it back to her, pointing at her hoodie.

“You want me to put on my shirt? I need to put it in the dryer first”. Still with his arms crossed, he doesn’t move. This freaks her out more.

Well she is a slutty joker. Might as well have a wet shirt to add more to the character.

“Okay, I will. Look away though”. She teased. His hands covered his eyes in a clown-like manner and he would open his fingers to reveal his eye, but Y/N would roll hers with a smile and shoo him away. Turning around this time, she was able to slip her hoodie off and put on her shirt. The water stuck to her body, and it was cold. Her bra was showing through the material and she clenched from the feeling. Wet clothes are really uncomfortable. She pats the clown on the shoulder and he takes his hands off his face and makes an “O” shape with his mouth.

Subtle claps are made and he jumps up and down.

“Does it fit with the slut aesthetic?”.

Rapid nods come from him, and he comes closer to her quickly and holds her face like he was a grandmother with her grandchild. Guess he likes seeing another clown. Her hands go on top of his and she smiles up at him, removing his off her face.

“Glad that you like it. I am supposed to be at a party tonight and I really hate to cut this short, but I’m sure if I don’t show up, my friends will be really disappointed in me. I promise that we’ll get to talk more later”.

He didn’t like that.

Smile slowly fades and this is when she knew she fucked up.

His head was shaking and he grabbed her hand so that she couldn't leave. Looking pissed, he yanked her hard closer to him, and he had a sinister glare to his face.

“Okay, fine. I won’t go. I’ll spend the night with you. I’m sorry. Can I atleast tell her that something came up?”.

The grip on her hand was released harshly, and she grabbed her phone that was sitting on the dryer. Sienna still never responded to her from earlier, but whatever, she already figured out who he was anyways.

Y/N: something came up, i can’t make it tonight i’m sorry

She set her phone back down, and began to take her wet shirt off, but Art stopped her.

“C’mon can I atleast change into comfier clothes. The tightness doesn’t feel good”.

A finger met with her face, and he booped her nose, then he ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. Her eyes widened as he came closer to her and she stepped back towards the wall, and he came closer.

And closer.

She shut her eyes tight preparing for the pain, but instead the knife slipped under her shirt, and it got torn off, along with a part of her bra, making it fall, and she quickly covered her chest so that he couldn’t see anything.

“I could’ve taken it off nicely, but all up to you I guess”.

His shoulders shrug, and he goes for her pants next but she stops him.

“I’ll just change out of them. Much easier. I’ll be right back”.

Heading to her room, she kicks off her boots and finds a pair of sweats and a shirt she can wear to cover herself up. Shorts were quickly removed, along with her fishnets. She tosses them into her hamper by her door, just to be met with, again, Art. This time making her jump and finding anything to cover her body up with. He opens his mouth to indicate a silent laugh.

He walks towards her again, ripping the blanket away to reveal herself to him, and like the clown he is, he grabbed one and squeezed it like it was a horn. Then again, and again, and again, until Art pushed her back on the bed and ripped her underwear right off.

Like an actual rip.

Now she’s butt ass naked in front of a total stranger, and not just any stranger, but a fucking murderer.

Whatever it takes her to survive.

Art admires the exposed body, and with his half gloved hand, he traces from her collarbone, down to her pelvis with his finger. The light sensation makes her jump, and he stops the movement. Little breaths made her chest go up and down, and in between her thighs, wetness started pouring out of her pussy. A hand went up to his mouth, and his glove reached his mouth. His teeth gripped onto the cloth and he slowly removed it off of his hand, then spat it out onto the floor. The same thing happened with the other, and soon his hands were completely bare. Fingers crawled north of her body, up to her mouth, when she was met with his index and ring finger. They poked at her mouth, in which she opened slightly, and he put them in her mouth. Her tongue traced his fingers which tasted like metal, probably from the blood. Not very hygienic, but she didn’t even care. Saliva coated his fingers, and he took them out of her mouth, and went down to her soaking pussy.

He would lower them closer, then pull back, look up and smile, and repeat his actions, completely torturing her with a stupid smile on his face. She would feel his wet fingers tap her pussy so slightly, but not any friction to please her.

Whines started to pour out of her mouth.

Art the clown likes that.

A lot.

He likes hearing victims cry and make noises while he’s torturing them.

Makes him want to do more.

His slender fingers finally connect with her core, coating her wetness all over herself. He plays with her some more, walking his fingers around her hole, but prevents himself from actually entering.

This irritates her.

“Damn it! Stop with the teasing you fucking clown!”.

He stops, and pulls his hand away from her.

Bad mistake, Y/N.

He pulled a small scalpel out from his sleeve and presented it like he was a magician, and held it to her neck. Sweat beads started streaming from her forehead, and Art wagged his finger. Her face is still needy, and the scalpel to her neck turned her on even more. Hips buck up into the air, her dripping pussy throbbing, begging for touch.

“…please”.

Art the clown likes that.

How he loves torturing her.

A hand went back down to her core, and a single finger applied pressure to her clit. Her body jumps slightly at the feeling, biting her bottom lip. Art finally slips two fingers inside of her, the tight warmth makes his cock harden. The clown suit is baggy, so it hides his bulge, so poor Y/N won’t see his massive “head”.

Fingers dance inside of her, curling, feeling, pumping. With his free hand, that’s where his scalpel is, and he traces the cold metal along her bare body.

The blade goes around her nipples.

It goes around her belly button.

It goes back up near her neck.

Until.

He makes a small cut on the side of her neck, cold blood trickling down her neck, onto her bed. She clenches her jaw, and her gash throbs in pain. Art lowers his head into the crook of her neck, his fingers still moving inside her. A wet feeling against her neck. It’s his tongue. He catches the blood that’s falling, then he presumes to suck on her slash. He was a cannibal. He likes to taste people, and taste what’s inside. For some of his unlucky victims, he’d eat them alive, and no meat gets fresher than that. Other times, he’d wait until he already killed them, then rip them open and eat their insides.

Not the only part that he likes eating.

Her gash stops bleeding, and not a trace of blood is found on her neck, only a little on her bed. His iron efficiency is going to be really crazy.

Soon, he pulls his fingers out of her, and wipes it on his pant leg, just for him to lower himself to meet with her inner thighs.

Getting eaten out by a man in a clown costume was not on her bucket list for tonight.

Getting eaten out by a serial killer, who came over covered in someone else’s blood, and who might kill her next, was not even in her thought process for her future.

Here we are.

Kisses are planted on her thighs, his hands rubbing up and down her leg as he gets closer to her cunt. Small specks of black paint are left from where he kissed her.

He’s hungry.

Scooping her body up, and pulling her closer to his face, his tongue darts onto her pussy, gathering her wetness up, then smearing it all over. His hands rest on her outer thighs, and under her ass, squeezing the fat in his hands. For a psychopathic clown, he sure knows how to eat pussy.

Usually when she gets eaten out, she’ll grab at the person’s hair, but unfortunately, Art is bald. Such a shame, she can’t grab his “hair”, then yanking him up so she can see his mouth covered in hers and his wetness. Her hands instead just grab at her sheets, and occasionally rubbing the top of his head, and when she did, he’d grip her harder, his nails digging into her flesh. The pain does make her shriek, but the overwhelming pleasure overrides it.

He pulls her cunt closer to his face, his nose poking at her region, eating her pussy like he hasn’t eaten anything in years. Her thighs squish around his head more when her nerves start building up. A man’s dream really, getting his skull crushed by a woman.

His face is removed from her pussy, and his face paint is smeared all over the place. White paint on her upper-inner thighs, while black paint is smeared around her pussy, where his mouth was just at. On his face, the paint dripped down to his chin, unevening out his makeup. A hand grazes her thigh,and he turns his back to her, reaching his arm behind to a zipper that’s on his back.

He wants her to unzip him.

Legs shaking from the amazing tongue work that just went on, she kneels behind him, and reaches up to his zipper, guiding it down. A thin, light muscular body comes out of the suit, and he’s not wearing anything underneath.

Not even underwear.

He turns around, and does jazz hands with a stained grin. He did surprise her.

With a big cock.

A light giggle comes from her lips, and she looks down and makes eye contact with his second head. It’s about above average in length and girth, circumsized, and a throbbing pink tip with leaking precum. He moves it around a little by shaking his hips, and also just moving it on his own.

(I literally found out dudes can move their dicks on their own without touching it a few days ago)

His mouth mimics a silent laugh, and he stands proud on the side of her bed, flexing his cock. Since he is standing in front of her, she crawls on her hands and knees to the edge, then sits down. Face to face with his dick.

Her gaze fixates on his rod, then she looks up at him with big, innocent eyes. The clown looks down at her, no longer smiling.

He wants her bad

He needs her bad.

She can see this.

A light kiss on his tip makes his body shiver, and her mouth performs small licks around his tip, testing the waters. His hand falls on her head, pushing her closer to his cock. Better act soon before he kills her for teasing him.

Just the thought of that gets her even more wet.

Death is scary.

But imagining him fucking her, and as soon as they orgasm together, he kills her with his cum inside, which seeps out on her bed. He’d leave a note with her blood on the walls, and her parents come home to see their daughter’s corpse, exposed on her bed with her killer's seed dripping out of her, and the killer’s name all over her room.

She wraps her lips around his head of his dick, and twirls her tongue around. Art bites his bottom lip, and pushes her head down again, craving more of her wet mouth. Her hands rest on his lower abdomen, giving herself a base to control her bobs.

Her throat feels fucking amazing.

It’s hard for him to control himself, even though he’s craving to pound her throat so hard that she chokes on his massive cock, and dies, just for him to fuck her dead body. But an alive body is way better than a dead one.

One hand moves to his cock, pumping him as she slides her mouth all over him, then she moves down to sucking on his balls.

She maintains to look up at him.

His face is totally different from his usual smile, and it’s not a frowny face. His eyes are half open, and mouth gasping for air. His grip in her hair tightens, his hips moving slowly, craving more friction.

Her mouth pulls off.

“You want to throat fuck me? Don’t you?”.

A small nod comes from the clown.

“You’re the one in control here. Do it. Fuck my throat til i can’t breathe anymore”.

Another nod comes from him, and he makes sure that he’s positioned right for her. Hands grab at both sides of her head, and he thrusts in and out of her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. He wishes it was her pussy, he wants to fuck her pussy bad. Her mouth is amazing, don’t get him wrong, but her tight pussy throbbing on the bed is what he’s craving the most.

A tap is felt on his pelvis, and he stops pounding her throat. Her mouth gets removed from his cock, and she leans back on the bed, not breaking eye contact with him. After she gets in his full view, she looks up at him needy, spreading her legs open wide for him to enter.

Not even a hesitation before he gripped onto her hip with one hand, and the other guiding his cock inside her. He immediately shivers and rests his head in the crook of her neck. A pillow comes under her back and behind, and immediately, Art begins to fucking pound her.

Sadly, he doesn’t make noises at all. Y/N wishes she could hear his moans when entering her tight hole. His actions tell enough, eyes rolled back, mouth gaping open, and he barely entered her. Her body falls back more on the bed, and her arms go around him, hands on his back.

One hand of his slams against her bed, right aside her bed to give himself support, while the other is still on her hip, stabilizing her body for him as she gets fucked by a wild animal.

She pulls him tighter to her, their sweaty bodies connecting and making funny noises. His back begins to sweat, making her lose her grip, but her nails dig into his back to keep herself close.

The noises of skin slapping skin and her loud moans fill the house, and luckily, she is home alone. Her parents wouldn’t appreciate her getting fucked under their roof, especially with a murderous clown being the one that’s fucking her.

Her leg gets scooped up, and it rests on his shoulder, and he leans forward, pushing more of himself inside of her warmth.

Until he stops.

He pulls out, and taps on her chest. She looks up at him, confused, mostly at the lack of communication and also why he would stop. He swirls his finger in a circle, indicating for her to turn over, so that her ass faces him.

She swaps positions and as soon as she puts her ass up in the air for him to adore, he slams himself back inside, hands on her ass as he pounds so deep that his cock is hitting her cervix.

It really isn’t wise to put a dick that reeks of blood inside of her, especially a stranger’s. He probably doesn’t have any STDs, but it’s still a little unhygienic. Who cares though.

Her moans are muffled into a pillow, drool coating her mouth and the cushion. He gets amusement out of her, watching her ass jiggle on his dick, her hands clawing at her bed sheet. All because of him.

She arches her back more, and an upcoming orgasm is coming her way. Her core feels like it’s burning with pleasure, and her wetness seeps out. His cock is hitting her in all of the right places, and he connects their bodies together. He’s close to her ear, and she can almost hear him gasping for air. A hand cups her tit, and he goes as deep as he can, his mouth nibbling on her ear lobe.

Tension builds in her lower half, and she’s about to snap. Strings of curses and moans fall out of her mouth. A gentle slap on her ass makes her jump, and that is what makes her about to snap. Her breathing speeds up.

The knot in his stomach bursts, and a huge wave of pleasure goes through her. Eyes roll back into her head, her legs shake, and she collapses on her bed, Art pulling out of her.

He takes his cock in his hand, and strokes it so he can cum as well. Anywhere is a target. He could cum on her ass, her tits, her face, in her mouth, even inside of her. She turns around onto her back, leaving an open area for his semen to fly onto. Right there, on her perky tits.

More strokes go on, and his twitching cock is ready to burst. He points it at her chest and a white load shoots out from his dick, landing, mostly, on her tits. The rest flew off either in her hair or on the bed sheets.

The both of them try to catch their breaths, and Y/N is trying to comprehend what just happened.

A murderer went to her house, wanted candy for trick or treating, came back to her house later at night covered in blood, someone else’s blood, he messes around in her house, and fucks her.

Art leans down, and gives her one last kiss on her inner thighs, before supposedly leaving.

She just sits on her bed.

Her pussy is too sore to even move.

Her legs are shaking from the mind blowing orgasm she just got.

Cum is dripping off her chest.

What now?

She grabs a random shirt that’s on the floor to wipe off the semen, then tosses it in her hamper. She tries to get up off the bed, but her balance is very uncoordinated, and she collapses. Her comfy clothes that she had lying out fell on the ground while she was getting fucked, and she reaches out to grab them. She lazily slipped them on, and tried to stand up again, using a bookshelf as her balance.

Something falls on the other side of the house.

He’s still here.

She limps towards her doorway and looks around.

“Art?”.

Obviously no response, the fucker doesn’t even talk.

She comes out of her room, hand on the wall as she glides down the hallway, and sees a shadow in her living room.

And a bag.

A trash bag.

She goes towards the bag, and as soon as she gets too close, the clown jumps up behind her, and throws her on the couch, her head hitting against the back hard. He smiles at her rubbing the back of her head in pain, and he wiggles his fingers like he was a magician. The bag got opened, and he stuck a hand in there and pulled out an item.

It looked to be a saw.

Fear was obviously present in her eyes.

Art jumped at her, but not too close to actually get her, and she flinched. This is amusing to him. And he jumped again, and again, and again.

He slaps his knee and lets out a silent laugh, pointing at her like she’s a fool.

He drops the saw back in the bag, and pats the top of her head, then blows her a kiss as he picks up the bag, throwing it over his shoulder, then proceeding to comically walk away. He turned around when he got to the door, and he lifted his little top hat to her. She waved a small goodbye, and soon vanished. When he stuck his fingers in her mouth, they almost tasted like salt.

Wonder who’s blood he’s covered in?

Weird.

Dude must like salty foods