#and it eats me alive for so long. its stupid. i feel stupid.

[spikedfearn]

Under The Blood Moon

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: in the humid belly of the night, you flee through the wild woods, breathless and bleeding, chased by a monster dressed in the skin of a man, and when he inevitably catches you, it's not to kill, but to keep. What follows is neither rescue or ruin, but a slow, savage claim written in blood, hunger, and heat.

wc: 8.1k

a/n: for this request, where anon wanted me to lean into Remmick's more monstrous side. My inbox is always open if anyone wants to submit more! also, thank you all so, so, so much for all the love, support, and general positivity you've all shown my fics lately—it genuinely means more than I can even put into words. I'm still blown away by the responses my fics have gotten in the last week, it warms my soul to no end every time I think about it <3 also have to credit axelboneboy for putting the idea of Remmick with a forked tongue in my head

warnings: heavy dubcon, dead dove: do not eat, blood kink, period sex, heavy breeding kink, monsterfucking, possessive behavior, coercive control, demon x human dynamics, religious imagery, breeding/ownership language, filthy talk, cockdrunk reader, forced orgasm, restraints/restraint kink, forced captivity, manipulation, southern gothic horror, explicit sexual content, obsession, violence, rough sex, blood play, dark romance,  somnophilia undertones (reader too weak to consent properly)

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! please enjoy!!

M I N D T H E T A G S

Your breath saws raggedly through your throat as you run, legs scraping through the underbrush, branches slashing at your arms, the wet slap of mud against your calves. Your shoes are long gone, lost somewhere back on the splintered path—the soles of your feet raw and stinging with every frantic step.

Your dress, once a soft, homespun cotton in faded butter yellow, clings wetly to your skin, torn at the hem, heavy with damp earth and blood from shallow scratches. The thin petticoat underneath is ripped, the neckline torn where it caught on a low-hanging branch. Your bare legs gleam with sweat and dirt under the fevered gaze of the blood moon. The rough, hand-stitched seams bite into your skin with every frantic movement.

Behind you—

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate.

Not rushing, no.

He doesn't need to rush.

The blood moon glowers overhead, a bruised red eye in the sky, bleeding sickly light through the skeletal trees. The mist writhes around your ankles like grasping fingers, every breath clogged with the sour, choking scent of wet moss and rot. The forest feels alive—the cypress trees hunching closer, the swamp water sloshing in unseen black pools, the night thick with the buzz of unseen insects and the sticky slap of humidity against your skin.

You tear through a thicket, thorns slicing your thighs, the pain sharp but distant beneath the roaring panic. Your dress snags again—this time you rip free with a sob, fabric tearing in your frantic escape. You don't stop. You can't stop.

Your lungs burn. Your heart pounds a frantic, desperate rhythm against your ribs. Your hands are scraped raw where you shove branches aside. You don't know where you're going—only that you have to keep moving.

You think for one stupid, precious second that maybe you've lost him.

Then you hear it—

A low, rumbling chuckle.

The sound rolls across the mist like thunder, like a beast amused by the futile thrashing of its prey.

You shove yourself harder, feet slipping in the mud, the trees spinning in dizzy circles around you.

You should have listened.

The warning plays in your mind now, mocking and merciless—the old women in town, whispering in the feed store, their wrinkled hands making frantic crosses over their chests.

Don't go out on the blood moon.

There's something that walks these woods. A devil dressed in skin, hunting for its next meal.

You had laughed it off. Old wives' tales. A story to get unruly children to behave. Of course you didn't believe it...

Not until the heavy footsteps started following you.

Not until the woods seemed to shift, herding you deeper and deeper.

Not until the laughter—low, rich, and terrifying.

Your foot catches on a root hidden beneath the mist. You go down hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Dirt and dead leaves cling to your palms as you scramble up, only to be yanked backwards by an iron grip around your ankle.

A scream rips from your throat as you're dragged across the ground, nails clawing uselessly at the earth, the taste of dirt and blood thick on your tongue.

"Well, lookie here," a deep, amused voice drawls from the shadows, thick with a Southern slur, soaked in heat and hunger. "Thought you could outrun me, lil’ hare?"

You kick, thrash, cry but—but it's useless.

He steps into view.

For the first time, you see him. Truly see him.

Broad-shouldered, wrapped in the kind of strength that speaks of old blood, of violence written into the bones. His bangs are slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead, catching the moonlight in glints of silver and soot. His mouth is a slow, cruel curve, teeth flashing when he smiles—serrated and sharp, dangerous in their promise.

And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Deep, burning red, like fresh blood spilled on freshly fallen snow.

They glint at you through the mist, pinning you in place, drowning you in a voracity so raw it almost hums against your skin.

You whimper, trying to crab-crawl backward, but he just tilts his head, slow and mocking, one hand reaching lazily down to wrap around your ankle again.

"You run real pretty," he murmurs, accent thick and sweet as sap dripping down the bark of a Maple tree, "but you ain't got nowhere left t' go, sugar."

The gnarled woods close around you, the mist swallowing your pitiful cries, the trees bending low to listen.

And the monster—

The one you were warned about—

Grins as he pounces.

The world spins in a dizzy, mud-slick blur as he crashes into you, the full weight of him knocking the breath from your lungs. His hands are everywhere—rough palms sliding up your trembling thighs, your waist, trapping your wrists above your head with a grip so strong it aches.

You thrash, wild and panicked, but it’s like fighting against a landslide.

Every frantic buck of your hips, every desperate twist of your wrists, every teary plea for help, only seems to amuse him further.

He straddles you easily, his thighs like iron on either side of your hips, his body radiating impossible heat. His breath ghosts over your neck—slow, savoring—and when he inhales, it’s with a deep, shuddering drag, as though he’s drinking you in.

You go still.

Frozen.

A scared little rabbit under the paw of a hungry wolf.

Slowly, he lifts his head, and when your eyes meet his, your heart lurches sickly into your throat.

Those eyes—

Red as the blood moon above.

Glowing, starving.

The corner of his mouth curls, a slow, predatory grin, delighting in your overwhelming fear.

"Y' smell it, don't ya?" he murmurs, low and thick with appetite. His nose brushes the curve of your neck, inhaling again, greedily, his voice gone almost reverent. "Sweet lil' thing...bleedin' just f'me."

Your stomach turns over, nausea and terror twining like barbed wire.

He slides lower, his body pressing yours into the soft, damp earth. You can feel every strong inch of him—the way the metal of his belt buckle digs into your hip, the way his thigh muscles tense against you like a coiled predator savoring the final moments before it goes in for the kill.

His nose trails down, brushing the hollow of your throat, the dip between your breasts—slow, agonizing, torturous.

You try to pull away—

He growls.

Not a human sound.

Something low, rattling. Monstrous.

His hand tightens around your wrists until your bones creak. His other hand snakes between your bodies, grabbing your skirt—what's left of it—and dragging it higher, baring your thighs to the muggy night air.

"No use runnin' now," he says, almost gentle, as if talking down a skittish animal. His accent thickens, each word dripping slow as syrup, artificially sweet. "Gotcha all laid out pretty...just how I like ya."

You whimper, twisting helplessly, but he just chuckles deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your ribs.

And then he goes still.

For one terrible, breathless second, he freezes—nostrils flaring, whiffing deeply, body tense as a drawn bowstring.

His gaze drops between your legs—to where your petticoat is soaked through, a dark, spreading stain betraying you to the night.

The change is instant.

A groan tears from his throat—raw, guttural, almost pained—and when his eyes meet yours again, they're molten red, desperate, devouring.

"God Almighty," he rasps, voice cracking like dry kindling. "Ain't nothin' in this world sweeter than a bleedin' cunt."

You sob, humiliated, terrified, as he shifts lower, his body dragging down over yours.

One hand shoves your thighs apart—roughly, possessively—while the other pins your wrists like shackles above your head.

"You don’t even know," he murmurs, almost tender, mouth ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath scorching hot, even in Delta’s sweltering humidity. "Don't even know what you’re doin' to me, sweet pea."

You can feel it now—his mouth, open and panting against the sensitive skin of your thigh, the tremble in his hands as he fights the urge to tear you open like a cat stretched over a fresh kill.

He presses his face against you, inhaling, low and deep, the sound of it filthy in the night.

And then—

He licks.

Long, slow, obscene—dragging his tongue up the seam of your cunt through the blood-slick cotton, a helpless whimper shuddering out of you before you can stop it.

He growls in response—a sound of such raw, savage pleasure you feel it bone-deep.

"That's it," he croons against you, dragging his mouth over you again, harder now, more desperate. "Let me taste it, baby...let me drink ya down."

You shake your head weakly, gasping, tears kissing along your water lines, vision blurry.

He only laughs —low and delighted—and tears the soiled remains of your petticoat aside with a quick, brutal rip of fabric.

And then there’s nothing between you.

Nothing but blood, skin, and his appetite.

Your thighs quake against the rough spread of his hands as he forces you open wider, his breath scorching hot against the most vulnerable parts of you, the parts that have never known a man's touch.

For a moment, he just stares—a low, reverent rumble building in his chest, vibrating through the muggy, blood-heavy air.

You choke on a sob, trying to squirm away, but his fingers dig bruises into your thighs.

"Nuh-uh, sugar," he murmurs, thick with amusement, the sharp scrape of his accent dragging down your spine like a blade. "You gone run enough."

You feel the shift—

Feel it deep in your marrow—

When he leans in and lets his mouth part against you.

A soft, wet, sinful sound fills the air as he licks—

And not just with any tongue.

When he drags it up your slit, you feel it—the unnatural split, the way the forked ends flick and curl separately, tracing obscene patterns through the slick, blood-slick folds of your cunt.

Your whole body seizes, a ragged, fragmented noise spilling from your throat.

He hums low—pleased, greedy—and licks again, slower this time, letting the twin points of his tongue tease your clit, your opening, flickering back and forth in a rhythm that makes your back arch high against the dirt.

"Mmm," he groans into you, nosing deeper, breathing you in like he means to fill his lungs with nothing but your scent. "Ain't never had a taste so fine. Like honey drippin' straight from the comb."

Tears streak from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, hot and shameful. You wrench your wrists uselessly against his grip, but he just pins you harder, his hand tightening like an iron shackle around your wrists.

He pulls back—just enough for you to see the blood slicking his lips, his chin—

And the red gleam of his eyes as he smiles, wide and mean.

"You wanna know what I was fixin' t' do t' ya?" he drawls, voice syrupy slow, full of wickedness. "When I caught ya runnin', I thought I'd rip that pretty lil' throat open. Watch ya bleed out all soft an' sweet beneath me."

You sob—broken, desperate.

His smile sharpens.

"Still might," he says, almost cheerfully, leaning back in, his nose nudging your clit so softly it makes your legs jerk. "If ya don't play real sweet for me, darlin'."

The implication settles heavy as stone in your gut—brutal, absolute.

Be good.

Or be dead.

You nod, trembling so hard your teeth chatter.

He croons a soft, pleased sound, rubbing his cheek against your inner thigh like a cat marking its prize.

"That's my girl," he says, thick and low, tongue flickering out to taste you again—slower now, more savoring. "Gonna treat ya real nice if ya stay still f'me."

You do.

You have no choice.

And he devours you.

The twin forks of his tongue work you open mercilessly—teasing, dipping, thrusting, flicking over the swollen nub of your clit in relentless, devastating licks. The sensation is too much—too sharp, too wet, too filthy—and you sob against the onslaught, your hips bucking helplessly beneath his iron grip.

He groans against you—filthy, hungry—and the vibrations make your vision white out at the edges.

"You taste like a blessin'," he mutters into your cunt, grinding the words into your skin with his mouth. "Sweet lil' Sunday sacrament, all laid out f'me t' worship."

You gasp, legs trembling violently, as the first orgasm builds—fast and brutal, cresting through you with the same merciless inevitability as the hunter pressing you down into the dirt, refusing to let up.

You don't want it.

You don't want it.

You can't want it.

But your body betrays you—spasming against his mouth, a shuddering cry breaking loose from your throat as you come, helpless and raw, against the wickedly incessant flicker of his tongue.

He moans as if your climax is the answer to damnation.

When you finally sag against the ground, limp and wrecked, he rises up over you—his mouth and chin slick with blood and slickness, his chest heaving, his cock straining hard against the rough denim of his trousers.

And for the first time—

There’s something in his face that’s not just hunger.

Something softer—

Something almost awed.

"Didn't think," he says roughly, almost to himself, "you'd be this damn sweet."

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours—a rough, possessive, almost tender gesture.

"Ain't lettin' ya go now, sweet pea," he whispers, voice cracking like a prayer. "Ain't never lettin' go."

His hands trail down your body—calloused, devout—and you realize with a sick, fluttering horror that he’s not finished.

Not by a long shot.

He’s only just getting started.

You’re barely aware of him moving—too dazed, too wrecked—until the earth suddenly tilts wildly beneath you.

He rises to his feet in one smooth, terrifying motion, hauling your limp body up like you weigh nothing at all. His arms lock around your thighs, hoisting you over his broad shoulder, your face bouncing helplessly against the curve of his back.

The rough weave of his shirt scrapes your muddied cheek, damp with sweat and the humid Mississippi night. His scent floods your nose—salt and soil, blood and musk, something darker, wilder, something inhuman.

You whimper—too weak to fight—as his hand slaps possessively against the back of your thigh, holding you steady like a trophy kill.

"Shhh," he croons, his voice a low rumble vibrating straight through the very marrow of your bones. "Ain't no good wigglin', sweet pea. Y'belong t' me now."

Your fingers scrabble weakly against his shirt, nails catching on the coarse fabric, but he just laughs—a low, satisfied growl that rolls through the mist like thunder.

He starts walking—long, lazy strides deeper into the woods—further from the safety of town, further from anyone who could possibly hear you scream.

The trees lean in overhead, their gnarled branches clawing at the blood-colored sky, the cry of the cicadas like a chaotic choir, being taken deeper into the ugly underbelly of the forest.

The swamp breathes heavy and wet around you, the thick reek of stagnant water and moss closing over you like a suffocating shroud.

You can't see where he's taking you.

You can barely think.

Only feel—the slow, relentless sway of his body, the iron strength of his arms locking you in place as you look at the passing blur of gnarled foliage and plant litter every which way you twist your neck.

And his voice—

Low, filthy, almost tender—

Whispering promises against the slope of your thigh, each word branding itself into your skin.

"Gonna keep ya," he mutters, almost to himself. "Chain ya up nice 'n' sweet...keep ya all soft an' wet f'me...pretty lil' plaything, made jus' fer me."

You sob quietly, the sound muffled against his back, not that anything other than things that go bump in the night would hear anyways.

He doesn't stop.

Doesn't waver.

Just keeps carrying you deeper and deeper into the black heart of the woods, where no one will ever find you.

Where you’ll be his.

Body and soul.

Whether you want to be or not.

The world sways sickeningly with every step he takes.

Your body hangs limp over his shoulder, the thin fabric of your torn dress sticking to your skin, soaked through with sweat, blood, and the sticky breath of the Delta night. Every time he shifts you higher, the calloused drag of his palm across the backs of your thighs sends a tremor through your aching muscles.

The woods are different here.

Deeper.

Darker.

The trees older, skeletal and gnarled, twisted into shapes that look unnaturally human in the bloody moonlight, the knots in the bark large and gaping like mouths frozen mid-scream. The air thickens, heavy with the reek of standing water, mold, the cloying sweetness of rotting flowers.

You choke on it—each breath a struggle, sticky and wet in your throat.

He walks without hurry, the heavy tread of his boots sinking into the soft, muddy earth. The mist clings low around his legs, swallowing the ground whole. Crickets scream somewhere in the black, distant and frantic, but otherwise the world is eerily, horribly still.

You try to lift your head, try to see, but it only makes your vision tilt crazily, a low moan of sickness rising from your gut, feeling the bile trying to crawl up your esophagus.

He chuckles—low and knowing.

"Easy, lil' thing," he drawls, one broad hand stroking up the back of your thigh like a man soothing a spooked filly. "Ain't no sense gettin' y'self all riled."

His bloody fingers trail higher—under the torn remains of your petticoat, brushing the damp, sticky mess between your thighs. He hums, pleased.

"Still drippin'," he mutters almost to himself. "Still sweet."

The mist parts ahead like a curtain—and then you see it.

The chapel.

Or what's left of it.

A crumbling ruin of warped wood and sagging stone, half-swallowed by ivy and moss. The windows are shattered, jagged teeth of stained glass glinting in the blood moon's light. The steeple leans drunkenly to one side, bells long since stolen or fallen.

It should have been abandoned.

It was abandoned.

But now—

It breathes.

The mist coils around its dirty white skeleton, hugging it tight, the trees bending low like penitents around a grave.

He shoulders through the warped doors, boots echoing hollowly against the splintered floorboards. The air inside is thick—choking with mildew, smoke, old blood, the slow, sweet rot of something long dead, something long past salvation.

He carries you down the nave like a groom bearing a bride—if the groom were a wolf and the bride a carcass.

In the very center of the chapel, where once an altar might have stood, there’s only a low, crude bed—little more than a frame of old wood lashed together with vines and rope, a soiled mattress bowed low in the middle. Chains dangle from the bedposts, dark with rust, heavy enough to hold an ox.

Your heart stutters against your ribs.

He stops at the edge of the bed and lets you slide from his shoulder like a sack of grain, dropping you onto the mattress with a grunt. The springs wheeze under your weight. You scramble weakly, trying to push yourself up, but he just watches—arms folded, a slow, wicked grin playing at the corners of his bloody mouth.

"Look atcha," he says, voice dripping slow and fond. "All scared and pretty."

You whimper, trying to scoot back—away from him, away from the bed, away from the chains meant to shackle you to the floor. To him.

He lets you.

For a second.

Then he moves—faster than you can track—grabbing your ankle and yanking you back down the mattress with a savage jerk that knocks the breath from your lungs, chuckling low and mean under his breath, smiling like a predator playing with its food.

He looms over you—all broad shoulders and hungry red eyes, his chest heaving, his hair sweaty and sticking to his face. The crumbling roof of the chapel overhead caved in like a skylight created by time and erosion, the moonlight streaming in creating a bloody halo behind his head.

You kick out at him, weak and feeble. He catches your other ankle, spreads your legs wide with ease, and pins them to the bed.

"Y'know," he says thoughtfully, almost conversational, "I ain't never done this before."

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

"Usually," he drawls, slow and deliberate, your blood dark and drying to his jaw, teeth sharp and daggered like the canines of a beast. "I catch my prey...an' I tear it open. Bleed it dry. Toss what's left t' the buzzards."

His hands slide up your calves, over your knees, rough palms mapping the shivering muscle of your thighs.

"But you..."

His grin widens, sharp and wicked.

"You got somethin' special in ya, sugar. Somethin' sweet. Somethin’ addictin’.”

His hands move higher, pushing the torn hem of your dress up around your hips.

"Gonna make a pet outta you," he murmurs, almost worshipful. "Gonna keep ya chained up nice and proper. Keep ya fed, keep ya warm...keep ya wet and loose."

You sob, twisting against the hold he has on your legs, but it only makes him chuckle low in his throat.

"Not just a meal, no sir," he says, voice thick with something like wonder. "Ain't never turned a meal inta a pet before."

He leans down, his mouth brushing your ear, his breath hot and damp and hungry.

"Gonna fuck ya every which way," he whispers, each word sinking into your flesh like thorns pricking your skin. "Gonna break ya in nice and slow. Make ya forget y'ever had a name b'fore me."

You shake your head, tears spilling over.

He just laughs—low and delighted—and kisses your temple, obscene in its mockery of tenderness.

"You'll see," he croons. "Ain't nothin' sweeter than bein' wanted, sweet pea. Nothin' sweeter than bein' kept and cared for.”

He shifts, reaching for the chains.

You hear the clatter of iron against wood, the heavy clink of rusted links.

Your blood goes cold.

You realize—

This isn't a nightmare you can wake from.

This is your life now.

Your body.

Your blood.

Your soul.

All belonging to him.

And the monster smiles.

The chains rattle in his fists, thick and rust-bitten, heavy enough to feel like fate.

You kick again, heart thundering in your chest, but it’s nothing against him.

He grabs your wrist with one hand, slamming it down against the splintered wood of the bed frame. The iron cuff closes around your wrist with a brutal finality, locking tight with a groaning snap of the old metal.

You cry out—a broken, pitiful sound that nothing but the cicadas will hear.

He shushes you—a low, almost tender croon—as he grabs your other arm, dragging it above your head and shackling it too.

The chains clink as you struggle, the cold bite of them against your bruised skin making you tremble harder.

"There we go," he murmurs, stepping back to admire his work, red eyes gleaming under the dripping shadows of the ruined chapel. "All trussed up like a good lil' prize hog."

You sob again, humiliated, terrified—but he only grins, predatory and bright, his chest rising and falling with heavy, panting breaths.

Slowly, leisurely, he kneels over you.

His hands trail down your body—dirty palms leaving streaks of blood, sweat, and swamp filth over the ruined silk of your dress. He hooks his fingers into the ripped neckline and tears—a wet, brutal sound of fabric giving way.

Your dress peels open like fruit skin, baring your chest to the swamp-choked air.

He makes a sound then—not quite a growl, not quite a groan—something broken and devout.

"Goddamn," he breathes, one palm spanning your ribs, feeling your heart rabbit helplessly beneath the thin shell of bone and skin. "Y'look sweeter 'n a sunrise after the flood."

His thumb brushes one nipple, watching it harden instantly under the humid chill.

You try to twist away—shame burning hotter than the blood in your veins—but the chains rattle uselessly, locking you in place.

He chuckles, low and dark.

"Ain't no hidin' from me, sugar," he says, rough and sweet, dragging his knuckles down your trembling belly. "Ain't no shame neither. Y'was made fer this. Made fer me."

His hands find the bunched remains of your petticoat around your hips.

Slowly—cruelly slow—he tears the rest away.

Until you're laid bare before him.

Blood-slick, shaking, eyes wide and wet.

He stares at you for a long moment—drinking in the sight of you like a starving man at a banquet that hasn't been permitted to feast yet.

You can feel the weight of his gaze—heavy and hungry.

"Mmm," he hums deep in his throat.

"Prettiest lil' pet I ever seen."

He palms your thighs, rough thumbs pressing bruises into the soft flesh as he pushes your legs open wider.

You sob—mortified, helpless—but it only seems to please him more.

"Lookit that," he murmurs, dipping his head down, close enough that his breath fans hot across your cunt. "Still bleedin'...still so damn sweet."

And then—

The flicker of heat—

The twin points of his forked tongue lash out, slick and obscene, stroking along the weeping seam of your cunt.

You gasp—body jolting violently against the chains—a sharp, helpless cry tearing from your throat.

He groans deep, low and guttural, as he licks again—slow, deliberate—tasting the blood and slick pooling between your thighs.

He moves with maddening patience—the split tips of his tongue teasing either side of your clit, circling, flicking, taunting.

"You hear that?" he mutters thickly, rubbing his mouth over your cunt, tongue dragging up every inch of you. "Hear how messy y'are f'me, sugar?"

You can't answer.

You're beyond answering.

Your thighs quiver against his shoulders, muscles locking and spasming as he devours you—slow, relentless, merciless.

He pulls back only long enough to watch you squirm—your face flushed, your lips trembling, your hips jerking up helplessly as if chasing the wicked flick of his tongue.

"Poor thing," he croons, mock-sweet. "Y'bleedin', cryin', achin'...and ya still openin' them pretty legs f'me."

He laughs—low and pleased—and dives back in, feasting like a man who'd been starved for a hundred years.

You can already feel yourself unraveling—

Can feel it building again—

That terrible, traitorous heat coiling low in your belly, shame burning so brightly it tastes like iron on your tongue.

He tongues you deeper, forked tongue writhing against your soaked, blood-slick entrance, and you sob, straining against the chains as your body gives in.

You come—

Harder than before—

Your cunt clenching helplessly around nothing, your blood and slick gushing against his mouth.

He groans, hips grinding into the bed, rutting against the mattress like he can't stand it, like the taste of you is killing him.

He pulls back, panting hard, mouth and chin dripping in a fresh coat of crimson.

When he looks at you—

It's not just hunger.

It's possession.

"That's it, baby," he rasps, voice raw, shredded with want. "Give it all t' me. Ain't gonna leave nothin' behind."

You whimper brokenly, chains rattling as you pull uselessly at your bonds.

And then—

You see it.

Him undoing his belt.

The clink of metal, the low rasp of fabric sliding down heavy thighs.

His cock springs free—thick, veined, flushed red—already weeping at the tip.

Your mouth goes dry with terror.

He crawls up the bed like a predator stalking wounded prey, his glowing eyes locked on you, his smile wide and merciless.

"Gonna claim ya proper now, sugar," he says, his voice low and trembling with barely-restrained hunger. "Gonna fuck ya bloody, fuck ya dumb...make ya forget the whole damn world 'cept me."

You sob, head thrashing weakly against the mattress.

He just laughs—low, light, loving—as he fits the head of his cock against your slick cunt.

And pushes in.

The first push of him inside you is a shock—

Stretching, burning, splitting you apart on the thick, heavy drag of his shaft.

You sob, twisting against the chains, but he just groans guttural and filthy, shoving deeper with a slow, brutal roll of his hips that forces your body to open up for him.

"There we go," he pants, sweat dripping from his brow to your heaving chest. "Takin' me real sweet, ain't ya, darlin'?"

The stretch feels endless, unbearable—every ridge and vein of him dragging against blood-slick, swollen flesh.

Your body tries to resist, clenching tight, but he's relentless—grinding deeper, forcing himself past the trembling, fluttering grip of your cunt.

"You fightin' me," he groans, voice ragged with pleasure, "but ya can't stop it, can ya? Body knows. Body knows who owns it now."

Tears spill from your eyes, hot and helpless.

The chains rattle with every shuddering breath you take.

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his skin sweaty and warm same as yours, trapping you together in the sticky, blood-sweet air.

"Y'made fer this," he whispers, voice breaking on the edges of worship. "Made fer me."

With a slow, grinding thrust, he bottoms out—buried to the hilt, your body stretched taut around him, trembling with the effort to contain him.

He doesn't move at first.

Just breathes—hard, shuddering—his cock pulsing hot inside you, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you'll wear the bruises for days.

"Sweetest cunt I ever had," he murmurs, almost dazed, rolling his hips just enough to grind against the blood-slick walls of your cunt. "Sweetest thing I ever tasted."

You whimper, wrecked, overwhelmed.

He starts to move—slow at first, almost lazy, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in with a wet, obscene slap of skin on skin.

The bedframe groans under the force of it. The chains rattle. The chapel breathes with the rhythm of it—an old, rotted cathedral witnessing your ruin.

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours, breath coming hot and ragged between clenched fangs.

"Fuck," he snarls, thrusting harder, grinding deep. "Ain't never...fuckin'...lettin' you go, sugar."

Each word is punctuated by a savage snap of his hips, driving you higher up the mattress, making the iron cuffs bite deeper into your bruised wrists.

Your world narrows to the brutal stretch of him inside you, the thick heat of his body pinning you down, the filthy grind of his cock dragging more slick, more blood from your battered cunt.

He groans again—a raw, broken sound—and pulls back to stare down at where your bodies meet.

Blood coats his cock, painting the base of it slick and glistening in the crimson moonlight.

He growls—a deep, vibrating sound—and slams in harder, hips jerking.

"Bleedin' all f'me," he mutters, awe bleeding into the filthy cadence of his voice. "Markin' me proper. Good lil' bitch, lettin' me ruin ya."

You sob—don't know if it's from the pain, the shame, the unbearable rush of something darker pooling low in your belly.

He leans in, dragging his split tongue up your throat—slow, languid—tasting the salt of your skin.

"Gonna fill ya up," he rasps, thrusting harder now, the rhythm getting ragged, desperate. "Breed ya good. Chain ya to this bed and fuck ya full every night till y'don't know nothin' but my cock."

Your hips jerk helplessly against him, legs trembling, blood and slick dripping down your thighs onto the ruined mattress.

He bites down suddenly—not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to bruise—right over the frantic pulse at your throat.

You keen—a high, broken noise—and the orgasm hits you like a lightning strike.

Your cunt clamps down around him, spasming violently, drawing a raw, broken snarl from his chest.

"That's it," he growls, fucking you through it, his cock thickening even more inside you. "That's it, dove, milk it. Milk it good."

You come undone—

Body locking, heart hammering, chains rattling—

As he drives you through wave after wave of brutal, bloody pleasure.

His rhythm falters—

Hitches—

And with a hoarse snarl, he slams deep one last time.

You feel it—

The hot, thick flood of him spilling inside you—

Coating your walls, mixing with the blood already slicking your thighs.

He stays buried deep—panting, shaking, his arms trembling where they cage you in.

For a long moment, the only sound in the chapel is the labored, broken gasps of breath—his and yours, tangled together in the hot, heavy dark.

He nuzzles into your throat, murmuring low, senseless things against your skin.

"My girl," he breathes, over and over, as if trying to convince himself. "My sweet girl."

You lie limp beneath him—wrecked, used, ruined—your body claimed in every way it can be claimed.

And somewhere—

Buried under the terror, the humiliation—

A dark, terrible heat begins to flicker in your chest.

You're his now.

There’s no going back.

And the monster—

The one you were warned about—

Whispers that maybe, just maybe—you don’t want to.

The world feels soft and hazy when he finally moves.

You’re barely aware of it—just a weak, blood-warm ache where your legs sprawl open, your wrists burning raw from the chains. Every nerve ending feels stretched thin, humming with the aftershocks of being wrecked and claimed and ruined.

He shifts over you—his cock sliding free with a wet, filthy sound that makes you flinch—and you feel the thick, sticky mess of blood and come seeping down your thighs.

You whimper weakly, body too used up to fight.

But instead of leaving you—instead of walking away like the monster you thought he was—

He stays.

He kneels between your ruined thighs, the broken mattress sagging beneath his weight, and for a moment he just looks at you—head cocked, hair wild and dripping sweat, red eyes burning.

Something like awe flickers across his face.

"Sweet lil' mess," he murmurs, voice thick, almost tender.

One large, calloused hand cups your knee—thumb stroking slow, idle circles into your bruised skin—as he leans in.

You feel the first press of his tongue before you can even gasp.

He drags that wicked, forked tongue up the inside of your thigh again, lapping at the blood and slick smeared there like it’s the finest ambrosia.

He groans deep in his chest, his hands tightening on your trembling legs to hold you wide open for him.

You sob—broken, humiliated—but he just keeps licking, slow and steady, cleaning you up like a beast grooming his mate.

"Can't waste none of it," he mutters between licks, his breath damp against your skin. "Every drop...mine."

You twitch beneath him, wrists jerking weakly against the chains, but there’s no strength left in you.

There’s no fight left at all.

He licks higher—over the tender, battered folds of your cunt—gathering the mixture of blood and seed with obscene thoroughness, his tongue darting deep, savoring every taste.

You shudder violently, a broken whimper escaping your throat.

He shushes you again—so softly, so lovingly it makes your heart twist.

"Easy, sweet pea," he croons against your skin. "Ain't hurtin' ya now. Jus' takin' what's mine."

His tongue splits and flicks, teasing your clit, making your hips jolt despite yourself.

"That's it," he murmurs, smiling against you. "That's my good girl."

When he’s satisfied—when every drop of blood, every smear of slick has been licked from your trembling body—

He pulls back, wiping his mouth lazily with the back of his hand.

He looks down at you sprawled out on the soiled mattress—swollen wrists chained, thighs open, skin sticky with sweat and tears—and his smile softens.

"Pretty lil' thing," he murmurs, reaching out to thumb the tear tracks from your cheeks. "Took it so good. Knew ya would."

You try to flinch away from his touch, but it’s pathetic—a trembling, fragmented twitch.

He hums low in his throat, pleased.

Slowly, purposefully, he reaches for the shackles binding your wrists.

For a sick, dizzy second, you think he’s going to tighten them—punish you for even thinking of pulling away.

But instead—

You hear the click of old iron locks giving way.

The weight of the cuffs falls from your wrists, leaving raw, angry bands of flesh behind.

You sag back against the mattress like a puddle of liquid bones and flesh, too stunned, too hollowed out to move.

He watches you for a moment—head tilted, red eyes gleaming—like a man admiring the final brushstroke of a masterpiece.

Then he moves.

He scoops you up with terrifying ease—one hand under your knees, the other cradling your back—lifting you like you're weightless.

You make a weak, pitiful sound against his chest, but he just hushes you—soft and sweet—pressing a rough kiss to the crown of your filthy, sweat-drenched hair.

"Shhh, baby," he croons. "Ain't gonna hurtcha. Ain't gotta run no more."

He carries you to the far corner of the chapel—to a weathered old pew tucked into the shadows—and settles down onto it, shifting you into his lap like you belong there.

Your thighs straddle his hips, your chest crushed against his filthy shirt, your legs dangling uselessly on either side of his body.

He rocks you—nice and easy—the way a man might rock a newborn calf.

And all the while, he talks.

Low, sweet, steady.

"Got a place fer ya," he murmurs into your hair. "Back in the bayou. Little cabin where nobody'll never find ya."

His hands roam lazily over your battered body—soothing, petting, possessive.

"Got a bed there," he goes on, voice almost dreamy. "Big enough to tie ya spread-eagle. Big enough t' keep ya wet and ready all the time."

You shudder in his lap—a broken, helpless thing—but he just rocks you harder, nuzzling into your neck.

"Teach ya how t' live on nothin' but my cock and my seed," he whispers. "Keep ya full, keep ya heavy...make ya forget the whole damn world but me."

You sob softly against his chest.

He smiles against your hair.

"That's it," he croons. "That's my sweet girl."

His hand slides between your thighs again—unhurried, filthy—and cups the used, swollen heat of your cunt, thumb stroking lazy circles into the mess he left behind.

You twitch helplessly in his lap.

"Always knew I'd find somethin' special out here," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Didn't reckon I'd find my forever meal...my lil' blood-slick pet."

He presses his mouth to your temple—a kiss, obscene in its tenderness.

"Mine now," he whispers. "Mine 'til the river runs dry."

The chapel groans around you—old wood settling, whispering, watching—as he rocks you slowly in his lap.

You’re weightless against him.

Soft.

Malleable.

The chains are gone, but you’re no freer than you were before.

Your body has surrendered.

Your mind—

God help you—isn't far behind.

He hums low under his breath, a tuneless, lazy thing—some old hymn twisted into something darker. Something damned.

His hands roam over you without hurry—stroking your bruised thighs, cupping the raw stretch of your hips, smoothing down the arch of your spine.

One of his palms cups the back of your head, pushing your face against his chest, holding you there like a possession too precious to lose.

"You feel it, don'tcha," he murmurs against your hair. "Way y'body melts into mine. Way y'cunt still pulses f'me even now."

You whimper—soft and splintered—and he smiles, wide and slow.

"Don't fight it, sugar," he says, low and coaxing. "Ain't nothin' left but me now."

You feel the slow, lazy roll of his hips beneath you—the thick, heavy press of his cock, still slick and blood-warm, nudging insistently between your thighs again.

You sob weakly, your body jerking against his.

But it’s useless.

Inevitable.

He shifts you higher, lining himself up, one broad hand guiding your hips as he pushes back inside—slow, deep, claiming.

You choke on a whimper, trembling violently in his lap as he fills you again—stretching your battered, blood-slick cunt to the limit.

"There we go," he croons. "There she is."

He rocks you on his cock—gradual, thick, obscene—grinding deep with each lazy roll of his hips, never pulling out, never letting you escape the feel of him inside you.

His mouth finds your ear, breath hot and heavy.

"Y'ain't even know my name yet," he murmurs, almost laughing. "Been takin' ya, ruinin' ya, bleedin' ya dry...and you don't even know what t' call me."

You shudder helplessly against him.

He presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw—filthy, tender.

"Remmick," he breathes.

"That's what ya call me, sugar."

Another slow grind of his hips—another thick, aching thrust deep inside your ruined cunt.

"Say it," he whispers, voice breaking sweet and sharp against your skin. "Say my name."

You sob—mind reeling, body burning—but the word tumbles out of you like a rejected prayer.

"Remmick."

He groans, raw and reverent, and rocks you harder, the weathered pew creaking beneath the slow, punishing grind of his body.

"Good girl," he pants, forehead pressing to yours. "Sweet lil' thing...mine now. Mine forever."

He kisses you then—

A brutal, clumsy thing—

Mouth crushed against yours, tasting of blood and salt and something older. Something primordial.

You sob into the kiss, legs trembling against his hips, your body clinging to him without thinking, without reason.

Remmick smiles against your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Ain't no runnin' now. Ain't no leavin'."

He rocks you again—slow, deep—every thrust branding you, sinking you deeper under his spell.

"You got my name now," he whispers, voice thick with triumph and devotion. "And soon enough, baby...you gonna carry the rest of me too."

His hand slides down, splaying wide over your lower belly—

Possessive, filthy, promising.

"You gonna carry me inside ya, sweet pea," he breathes, voice almost shaking. "Gonna grow fat an' heavy with me...my blood, my seed, my babies."

You sob against his chest—wrecked, overwhelmed—as he rocks you through it, slow and relentless, every movement carving your fate deeper into your body.

And Remmick—

The monster, the devil, the man—

Just holds you tighter, crooning low and filthy against your skin.

"My girl," he whispers. "My sweet, bleedin' girl."

The slow grind of him inside you never stops.

Remmick rocks you lazily in his lap—the pew creaking under the weight of his possession—each slow thrust pushing you deeper under, erasing everything but the burn and the stretch and the unbearable, filthy tenderness of him.

Your head lolls against his shoulder, sweat-soaked hair sticking to your temples, every nerve frayed to a live wire.

He strokes your back in long, rough sweeps—the calluses of his palms rasping over every bruise, every bite mark, every blood-smeared inch of you.

"You feel it, don'tcha, sugar," he breathes into your ear, voice sweet and sticky as syrup. "The way yer body listens to me now. Way it wants me even when you don't."

You sob weakly, too broken to deny it.

His arms tighten around you—one locked around your back, the other spreading wide over your hips, guiding you up and down the thick, blood-slick length of his cock.

"You was made fer this," he murmurs, his breath hot and humid against your skin. "Made t'be mine. Made t'be fucked full, bred fat, kept warm an' wet in my bed."

He rocks you harder—deeper—the swollen head of his cock grinding up against that raw, aching place inside you, making your whole body jolt and shudder helplessly.

Your wrists curl weakly against his chest, the instinct to cling overpowering even your fear.

Remmick hums low, satisfied.

"Good girl," he praises, voice rough and ragged. "Good lil' thing, clingin' so sweet."

He kisses the side of your throat—a slow, open-mouthed drag of lips and teeth—and you feel him smiling against your pulse.

And then his voice drops lower—softer, darker—as he begins to whisper.

"But if y'ever think about runnin'..." he murmurs, rocking you a little harder, his cock dragging thick and slow inside your cunt, "if y'ever try t'leave me, lil’ hare...I'll hunt ya down."

You shudder violently in his arms.

"I'll drag ya screamin' back by that sweet lil' ankle," he whispers, almost lovingly. "Chain ya tighter. Fuck ya harder. Make sure next time ya can't even walk."

You sob—broken, breathless.

He kisses your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears.

"Maybe I'll break that pretty lil' ankle," he muses, his voice so soft it’s almost a lullaby. "Keep ya bed-bound...keep ya needy...make ya beg for me t'feed ya, to fuck ya, to touch ya."

You whimper, hips jerking against him without meaning to.

Remmick groans low in his chest, thrusting up deeper inside you.

"You'd look so pretty like that," he pants. "All bruised up an' cryin'...beggin' me to keep fillin' this sweet lil' cunt."

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit—swollen, aching, blood-slick—and starts to rub slow, relentless circles.

You gasp, high and needy, clutching at him, legs trembling where they sprawl weakly around his hips.

"That's it," he breathes, rocking you harder now, rubbing you faster. "Cum f'me, sugar. Milk me good. Show me who ya belong to."

You sob, mind fracturing under the thick, unbearable pleasure—under the dirty, endless tenderness of his voice—under the awful, overwhelming rightness of it.

Your orgasm slams into you—sharp, brutal, dizzying—your whole body clenching down around him, sobbing his name against his throat.

Remmick groans, burying his cock deep one last time, grinding slow and thick against the fluttering spasms of your cunt.

"That's my girl," he whispers, voice cracked and worshipful. "My sweet, bleedin' girl. Mine."

He holds you through it—rocking you gently, slowly—cooing filthy promises against your skin.

"Never lettin' ya go," he breathes, voice drunk with possession. "Never."

And you know—

With a dark, shattered certainty —

That he’s telling the truth.

Your body trembles in his lap—used, slick, overflowing—and still, Remmick doesn’t stop.

Still buried deep inside you, he rocks you lazily—thick, slow drags of his cock against your raw, battered walls, the wet, messy sound of it filling the ruined chapel.

You whimper, limp and broken against his chest.

He shushes you, petting your hair, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your throat.

"That's it, sweet pea," he praises. "Just keep takin' it. Keep takin' me."

His hips move slower now—deep, grinding thrusts that make you feel every vein, every throb of him inside you.

You sob weakly when you feel the telltale pulse of his cock thickening again—feel the way he holds you tighter, groaning low in your ear.

"Poor thing," he breathes, voice shaking with hunger and something darker, deeper. "Ain't built t'keep up, are ya?"

He rocks you harder, the sticky, bloody mess of your body clinging wetly to him.

His mouth finds your ear again—voice low, filthy, almost laughing.

"Y'know why?" he whispers. "Y'know why ya break so easy f'me, sugar?"

You whimper, unable to answer, unable to think.

He licks the shell of your ear—slow, lazy—before speaking again.

"'Cause I ain't no man, sweet thing," he says, voice rich with wicked delight. "Ain't no mortal that tires out an' falls asleep after one fuck."

He grinds deeper—hips jerking, cock twitching inside you.

"A demon’s stamina," he murmurs, "ain't like a man's."

You shudder violently in his arms.

"I can do this," he breathes, voice low and full of terrible promise, "forever."

He thrusts again—slow, heavy, final—and you feel it.

Feel the thick, molten flood of him spilling inside you again—hotter, heavier than before, painting your ruined cunt, seeping out around his cock.

Remmick groans low, deep in his chest—a sound full of brutal satisfaction.

He holds you there—stuffed full, pinned tight—grinding the mess deeper with lazy, possessive rolls of his hips.

"There we go," he murmurs against your throat. "Fill ya up good. Mark ya so deep ya gonna leak me out fer days."

You sob, a broken little sound that only makes him hum in pleasure.

He strokes your hair, your back, rocking you gently in the wreckage of the chapel.

"You're mine now," he whispers. "Ain't no priest, no preacher, no god up there that can take ya from me."

He kisses your temple—filthy, loving.

"Belong t' me, sweet lil' thing," he breathes. "My pet. My meal. My mate."

You lie limp in his lap, broken open, owned.

And you realize—with a dark, awful clarity—that you don't even want to run anymore.

You belong here.

With him.

Forever.

And the monster—

The demon—

Your Remmick—

Rocks you slowly into the night, crooning sweet, filthy promises against your skin.

[saymio]

Little Girls Shouldn't Be Out Alone

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: running away from home might've been the worst decision of your life.. but its not because youre homeless now, its because you met him.

Warning: dead dove do not eat, brief knife play, dubcon, light bdsm, kidnapping/stalking, age gap, mentions of suicide + more.

A/N: not proof read. I tried doing the salesman justice..I promise

6.9k Words

...

the scene you were in was so cliche it was almost funny. your mother died not too long ago, and it was really hard for you because she was the one person in your life that seemed to really care about you. she was everything you wanted to be in life..growing up she was your idol, and to this day she still is... you just wished you had noticed it sooner.. maybe if you did you could've prevented it.. prevented her suicide. its been 2 months but it still haunts your brain, the scene of it. you wanted to throw up thinking about it. her bright smile ceased to exist, her intelligence couldnt impress you any more. it all ended with the gun going off in her mouth..intelligence splattered all over the walls of her shared bedroom with the gun laying next to her... and in result of your mothers suicide your father had to take you in. they had divorced when you were around 4 years old...you don't remember much. but living with him made you realize, your mother did the best choice she could've made then..even if she cried over it for years.

your father was an alcoholic, he didn't abuse you with hits and violence but he abused you with words. blaming you from the divorce and suicide of your mother. you tried to not let it get to your head..it wasn't your fault and he knew it. if anything the blood of your mother stained his hands.. but with the never lasting tournament he inflicted on you a part of you thought maybe he was right...maybe she didn't end her life over you but you could've prevented it. you were the closest person to your mother and vice versa..so..how did you never notice it? her suffering? did you miss all the signals..how stupid were you... she ended her life and you did nothing about it. you were useless...as per usual...

anyways...as you were saying. the scene you stood in the middle in was so cliche, it was like it belonged in a teenagers wattpad story. you were crouched down in an alley way, rain soaking you and everything around you as you sobbed into your hands. you couldn't live with your father anymore, you just couldn't. you knew if you stayed just one week longer..you'd follow your moms footsteps.. you hated this, you just wanted to live a happy normal life. apply for a nice university, move into a dorm, and visit your mom and dad during breaks... but the world wanted otherwise. here you were, drenched in water as you sat in the middle of nowhere...you had run away from home. you had no idea what to do next. your covered your backpack in a plastic bag but it barely helped. all your necessities were wet and your money was probably soggy by now. you're so stupid. couldve you just checked the forecast. to make sure the day you run away from home was a day the weather wouldn't freeze you alive? you couldnt do anything, nothing at all. should you just head back home? deal with your fathers screams for just a few months more before you could save up and move out? or should you just stay here..soggy and homeless... you knew what you were going to do... you'd stay here. you could take what the world would throw at you. you knew you could..but you just couldn't take another second of your dads tormenting. hes probably hoping you went off and jumped off a bridge or something..ending your fate just like your mother did.

you had fallen asleep, it was still raining and cold...but it was notably less than before. you were shivering, shaking in both fear and how frigid you were feeling. your teeth were clattering and you were being hyper aware of everything around you. if someone comes up to me all scary and intimidating I'll throw my backpack at them. it'll give me time to run away.. the sound of cars driving on the slippery wet roads filled your ears ever so often...the street was dead. if something happened to you no one would know.. squish squish squish you could hear the sound of foot steps echo around the streets...and it was getting louder..closer... until... "what are you doing here." a man holding an umbrella was standing Infront of you, he looked neat and tidy. the opposite of what you looked like at the moment. his suit was ironed to perfection, not a wrinkle in site. his hair slicked back neatly with gel.. and his features... they were striking and fierce.. he was handsome.. he tilted his head to the side and stared at you with his souless dark eyes. "well?" his tone wasnt soft but it wasn't stern either...it was like he was asking a child if they could hand him over the toy they've been playing with... you gulped down the lump that was forming inside your throat. "n-nothing..nothing important.." you spoke, barely over a whisper. you were nervous and scared. you felt like something was off about him, he just seemed too good to be true. handsome men like him always have something they hide from the rest of the world. he raises his right eyebrow at you, obviously not believing that you were doing nothing.. "do you need help? I could get you a new pair of clothes. this area is dangerous, did you know that?" he smiled at you, but it wasn't genuine at all. it was like one of annoyance...if he was so annoyed why would he offer a hand to you? it didn't make sense... you stared up at him from the floor, you felt like a stray puppy left in a box. and he was here to pick you up and become your new owner.. you knew this was probably a bad idea, you knew he was bad business. but.... you were so scared and cold in the rain..what would be worse than this? "yeah...I need help.." you spoke softly, you refused to look at him as you did so. you felt embarrassed....asking a stranger for help because of a stupid mistake you did with your own free will..you're pathetic... "great, I'd love to help you. follow me." he spoke, but it didn't seem like he was glad or happy to be at help at all.. he spoke with a deadpan voice, as if he was bored and wanted to get this over with. was this some sort of community service thing he has to do? help the homeless during the rain? whys he acting like he's being forced at gunpoint to do this... you got up from the ground, all wet and soaked in rain water. you felt so uncomfortable you wanted it to end..you grabbed your bag and followed him at a small distance... he lead you to a car. a black suv, it was clean and pretty...and it looked warm. you kept walking until you were right next to him, was he gonna let you inside the car? but you'd make it dirty and wet..and was this even a good idea??? heading inside a strange mans car in the middle of the night in the pouring rain.. but you didnt have much time to think much about it as he had opened a door to the car..the interior was a lot like him. clean, tidy and sleek... "well? get inside, don't worry about getting it wet. I don't mind." he smiled at you again, with the same fake smile that made your skin crawl because of the sheer eeriness to it. "ah- yes okay..." you crawled into the car, your wet clothes making a slight squeaky sound against the material of the car seat.. you set your bag next to you as he slammed the door shut...and it was pretty aggressive. the loud slam that echoed through the streets from it made you flinch as you stared at him walking around the car to the drivers seat.

you were sitting on the toilet, inside of this strange mans house...I mean, nothing happened yet so you should be safe right?... you turn to look at the shower that was running, waiting for the water to turn warm..and then you stared at the folded clothes. he grabbed some clothes he thought would fit you and sent you to the bathroom with it. you were confused, he was being nice..but for what? it seemed like he didn't want anything from you..maybe he was a little annoyed but he was still helping you.. he seemed normal.. you were so confused. he even put the clothes you were wearing and the clothes that got wet in your backpack into the washer. maybe humanity is just getting better and he's truly just a kind man who wants to help? you stare around in the bathroom, its almost all white with black accents. it was very modern and clean..paintings on the walls that probably cost more than your houses rent..because truthfully this man was obviously very rich. his house was huge and it seemed like he had rows and rows of guest rooms..it was impressive. maybe he was just a snobby rich guy that was trying to fix his attitude. so maybe that's why he seemed so annoyed and put off with you.. he was trying to fix his views on dirty poor people by helping them!! that had to be it..you just cracked the code!! you smirk to yourself and give yourself an imaginary pat on the back before checking the water to see if it was hot now..and when it was you stepped into the shower. the warm water fell onto your body, like it was engulfing you in a tight hug. even though you were in a strangers house, in an area you didn't even know existed...you felt like you were at home. taking a warm shower, getting ready to go out with your mom..... you and the strange man haven't spoken much, he just gave you clothes, put your old clothes in the washer, gave you food and sent you to a guest room.. he was cold, you'd expect a man that was willing to help a stranger from the streets to be nice..and warmer. but he wasn't. you were getting curious about him, what was his name? where did he work? why'd he even help you...but you decided to stay in your place. at the end of the day, you two were still strangers who would never meet again after this. the thought kind of left a pang in your heart. you wanted to know more about him..maybe..maybe he'll want to stay in touch..? but you highly doubted that considering how cold and silent he was. he probably just felt pity seeing such a young girl sleeping in the rain on the streets...he didn't do this to get close. just to make himself feel better.. that's how rich people just are.. you sighed and stared up at the ceiling of the room..you'd be out of there by tomorrow, left in the streets all alone again. you felt your eyelids getting heavy, you started to black out until you closed your eyes and fell asleep..sound asleep.

you woke up to the sound of knocking on the bedroom door, you could only assume it was the man that helped you last night because..who else could it be? you woke up, still droopy as you stretched and looked out the windows. it was bright out now...it was time to get up... you didn't want to but that didn't matter because this wasn't even your house. you got out of the bed and put the slippers the man gave you on. you pulled the shirt that was slipping off your shoulder up as you lazily shuffled your way to the door and creaked it open. you started up at the taller man, again in his neat suit and styled hair. he always manages to unintentionally..or maybe intentionally embarrass you. "still sleepy, huh? you should change and put your clothes in your bag. breakfast is being made." he flashes you another smile...a fake forced smile. its like he doesn't know how to smile or something...you just slowly nod your head at him before he turns around and leaves... you were hoping he'd get the sense of pity again and let you stay longer. you wouldn't mind being treated llke shit here if it meant you got to stay in this house. but of course..people don't like it when cockroaches sneak inside. you closed the door In front of you and did the bed. you didn't want to leave with a bad impression In case he even gets this weird savior complex again..you did the bed and packed your clothes, you headed your way downstairs to the kitchen with your bag in hand...that smell..it smelled like home. the smell of bacon filled your senses as you got closer and closer down the stairs. you haven't smelled something like that in the morning since your mother died, she would always make you eggs, bacon and toast. it was simple but you loved it. you just wished you had savored it more because with no shocker,, your dad doesn't cook. at all. you almost always order something and if you don't you're the one cooking. but even then, he always complains about how shitty your food tastes..even though you know its not true. you finally get to the end of the staircase, the stairs end right near the kitchen so you get a good look at what's going on. it seems he has a personal chef cooking up breakfast as he's sat at the table, sipping on coffee while on his phone. "ahem.." you awkwardly announce your presence to the man at the table, he stares up at you with a blank face. eyes full of nothing but darkness..the more you stare the scarier he gets. as if he were a walking body with no soul inside of him. "sit down. breakfast is almost finished." he speaks blankly, just like his face. something about the atmosphere feels a lot more awkward than before. it seems he isn't even bothering to smile at you like earlier...maybe something happened while you got changed? or maybe he's just not a morning person...you wouldn't really know but you started day dreaming. wondering about his life. maybe its because of how mysterious he is, or his face or wealth..you weren't really sure but something about him allured you. you wanted to know more even if he didn't want to know more about you. you didn't really care if the interest was one sided. you were just too curious... but again, not your place.. at least you felt like it wasn't..he was clearly not interested in having small talk with you. like at all. you didn't want to annoy him more than he seemingly already was. you wanted him to help you again because truthfully, no matter how scary he was or seemed..he was still helping you.. and you need the help. and appreciated it.. minutes passed and nothing was even muttered, a small cough or creak of the chair every now and then but that was it...and the silence was deafening. it was so awkward you could die..you were fiddling with your fingers waiting for the food, you almost just wanted to ask if you could leave now and that you didn't want to eat but.. that would be rude, and you didn't want to be rude. so you just sat still, letting the silence explode your eardrums. . .

"your food is ready" those four words felt like an angel had just saved you from hell, you were about to explode from the tension. and it wasn't the good kind. "ah, thank you!" you bowed your head at the lady that cooked the breakfast as she walked away.. you looked at your plate and then at the mans non existent one..he wasn't going to eat breakfast? he has seen your confused stares because he set his phone down and placed his chin on his hand, he was staring right at you. "I don't eat breakfast. I was just waiting for you to get your food." he stared at you before smiling at you, it wasn't as eerie or fake as the other smiles he's given you but..it was exactly genuine either. like a pity smile..something along those lines. "oh..thank you for waiting.." you bowed your head at him too before you began to eat..it was the same breakfast..the same one your mother had always made for you..what were the odds?..right? you felt yourself getting emotional, eating this simple breakfast just reminded you of your mother. but you couldnt cry Infront of this man...he'd probably just stare at you and do nothing about your sad state...you didn't feel like embarrassing yourself like that. not Infront of this stranger. . . . . "I finished..." you stare up at him, your entire plate is finished due to not eating all day yesterday. he stared at your plate and then at you, you felt kind of embarrassed..like he was judging you for eating.. "okay, should I leave you where I found you or at a house" he stared at you with a blank face, emotionless as he awaited your answer. you help in a frown at the way he worded it, sure he found you but...it felt like he was referring to you as if you were a stray animal. you bit the inside of your right cheek, you really didn't want to go. you wanted to stay safe in shelter but you didn't have a choice...you could either ask him to take you back to the place you dreaded the most, or a place you dreaded a little less... "take me back to the alley way you saw me in.." you stared at your lap as he nodded. he pushed his chair back before taking one last sip of his coffee. "follow me to the car." he pushed his chair back under the table as you got up right after him... I guess now my journey as a homeless person really starts now...I need to find a job soon...

time skip

its been a couple of days since the strange man helped you from the alley way. your delusional side tells you one day he'll be back for you so you sleep there everynight, letting a dumpster bin hide your sleeping body from those who pass by the alley way. todays its been awfully gloomy, cloudy, windy and cold.. you were hoping it wouldn't rain since you didn't want to stay there cold and wet again..and you highly doubted the man would be back for you if it did...you spent most of these days searching for a job, with no avail.. rejection after rejection ...it was wearing you down... how long would you even hold up for in these streets? you were barely 20 but you were already on the streets. not like you had a choice. it was either suicide or homelessness for you.. you decided to just take a break from searching for jobs today. you didn't have much money left from your savings but you had enough spare change to go to put your dirty clothes and buy an ice cream in the park nearby...you went looking around for a big enough plastic bag to cover your backpack in. you had a feeling it would rain hard again, you could smell it even. and you didn't want to play princess waiting for her knight in shining armor to come save her. you need to think ahead..and be smart..

as always..you were right. it was going to rain today, and it was raining hard. it brought you back to the day you were found by the man all cold and scared in the rain. you were lucky he didn't rape you, you were too trusting of him.. you were once again shuffled up in the alley way, wet and cold. you were sitting on the ground hugging yourself while your backpack sat next to you. at least you found a bag for it, at most it'd get a little wet but nothing compared to last time... your hair and clothes were soaked, you could feel water droplets form on your eyelashes as you tried to wipe away the water that was landing on your face with your equally as wet hands. you were scared..again. you were hoping to god the man would come back, you even place your backpack in view to the street and road Incase he passed by..he would know you were still there. your entire body was ice cold, your breath, fingers, clothes, you were freezing.. after a few hours of sitting in the rain you decided that it was about time you just go to sleep..no one was going to come by and save you again. you leaned your head onto the dumpster next to you and fell asleep. the sheer cold and wetness of the situation didn't leave your senses but..it was almost like you had forgotten about it while you slept. . . . "again?" you heard a voice, a very familiar voice..you jumped out of your sleep and looked up at the person standing infront of you. it was the man that had helped you last time this happened. you felt your cheeks warm up, both at how embarrassing this was, and how sweet (?) it was.. he came back to check on you. whether it was out of worry or pity, you couldn't tell. but either way it made you happy to see someone checking up on you. he just started at you, with the same dark, soulless eyes as always. he just turned around and started walking away. you didn't know whether you should follow him or not..but you trusted your guts and you did. he led you to the same suv as before, it even looked the same. clean, sleek..like you hadn't gotten it dirty that day you got in. "get in" he stared at you, waiting for your response. his sentence threw you off a little, it was as if he was commanding you...but you didn't pay much attention and got inside the car. watching him as he slammed the door again..and walked around the car into the drivers seat. he was still the same.. but in his defense its only been 4 days since he had helped you.

you two were sitting at the dining table, his cook had made the two of you steak with some veggies.. you weren't that hungry but you still ate to be respectful..the same awkward silence corrupted a seemingly 'wholesome' moment. you wanted to say something, it was itching inside your throat. you just wanted to ask his name so you didn't have to call him a stranger anymore.. but he still didn't seem interested. why the hell would he help you if he wasn't interested in even getting to know your name? this was the second time. and even if he denied it was obvious he went there for you..to help you. "you, what's your name." he had put down his fork and knife and stared at you, obviously asking you the question. but you still felt unsure if you should answer. what if he was looking at someone else..or what if he was insane and talking to himself..you were so lost in your thoughts you didn't even notice how his face was changing. he was getting irritated with you. "well? I asked you a question." his voice was more stern than before, his eyebrows were raised and he looked at you with an expression you couldn't read. it was probably annoyance though. "oh- I'm sorry..I've just been kind of out of it...my names y/n" you stared at him and give him an awkward smile. you fiddled with your fingers under the table, you didn't know if he was going to keep talking. "I can tell. well y/n, what are you doing outside all alone? don't tell me you're this young and so in debt you had to go homeless." he stared at you, his facial expression changing to disappointment. but you ignored that and processed what he said first, what does he mean he can tell? did he bring you here just to insult you?? you internally scoffed before shaking your head not to him. "I'm thanfully not in any debt... I just left my home for personal reasons.." you weren't staring at his face but you could tell his facial expression changed, he simply just hummed at you and took a sip of his wine. "what about you? what's your name..and how old are you? you felt it was fair to ask him questions back since he had asked you some. it isn't rude to just be curious right? "you can just call me sir. and I'm 42 years old.. old, huh?" he sarcastically laughed and took a sip of his wine. all that you were thinking was, why was he trying to be so mysterious?? "oh..okay..sir" it felt awkward calling him sir, what if it was a weird kink of his..he could've atleast given you a fake name if he wanted to be like that.. . . . . "thank you for helping me again sir" you bowed at him, not too 90 degree angle but just enough for your thankfulness to be clear. "I appreciate it." you smiled at him, and unlike his smiles..yours was genuine. you truly were happy to have been 'safe' from the rain. even if it soaked you for a while... you were at the alley way again, the sky still looked cloudy and sad. you were scared itd rain again but that's a worry youd have to think of for later. "youre welcome y/n." he just gave you another fakeass smile, the one that's painfully obvious like he's doing it on purpose before he got into his car and drove off. leaving you there to figure out what you should do if it does rain again. but you werent too worried..maybe he'd come back..?

history repeats its self, at least it was for you. you kept finding yourself hugging yourself for warmth in the same alley way, with the same rain pouring down on you. was this strange man gonna save you from this rain aswell or has he given up on saving you from the cruel weather. maybe its still you gulp up the courage to go back home because the weather was driving you insane. the mans help wasn't even helping , it was just giving you a false sense of hope. you sat there for hours, under the pouring rain. and even worse, this time it was thundering. your skin was cold and freezing, every inch of you was soaked in water. you wanted to melt into the ground, the scene was so pathetic. you were pathetic. . . . after what felt like an eternity you came to the conclusion he truly wasn't going to help you. you were nothing but a prop to fuel his ego.. you let your heavy eyelids close as the rains soaked you and everything around it... you would just sleep it out..and find somewhere to sleep that wouldn't leave you like this. . . . you fluttered your eyes open not long after you had fallen asleep. you weren't fully awake yet but you have a strange feeling that someone was looking over you...watching you... you turned your head and rubbed your eyes. you stared at the person watching you, it was the strange man!! he was here to save you from the rain one last time.. your eyes brightened as you stared at him, but something was off. he was holding something..your eyes were a little fuzzy so you couldnt see properly but you knew it wasn't an umbrella like always..he was also getting soaked in the rough rain. before you could ask him about it you felt something hard hit your head. like you've just been struck a pipe... you stared up at the man, eyes going droopy as you fell to the ground... did he just hit you? what...what was happening..why you..?

you woke up in a barely lit, red room. you were confused and scared. you didnt remember much.. just the fact that you were hit by some sort of pole and woke up here. did karma finally get to you for not helping your mom in her time of need? were you going to get raped and killed here?? you started to hyperventilate, you wanted to scream for help but you found it hard to even make noise..your throat was closing and it felt like you were going to pass out again.. your breaths were rapid and your body was shaking. you wanted to get away but you couldnt. your wrists were bound to a chair that seemed to be super glued to the floor. you were pulling at the restraints, you were gasping for air. your eyes were slit as they darted around the room..looking for anyone that could help you... "fuck you look so hot when you're scared" a figure walked out from the shadows of the room...it was the man that had been saving you from the rain??! his dark eyes pierced holes into your head, you were trying to process what the fuck was happening.. he stepped closer to you and stopped right Infront of you. you pushed against the floor and chair, trying to find a way to magically get away. your eyes were wide and filled to the brim with fear, your breathing only got worse as you started to let out choked sobs. "p-please..don't do anything to me please..please.. let me go....I wont..tell anyone..please" you closed your eyes shut, not wanting to look at the man that you were hoping just hours ago would come save you. when you wanted to be saved you didn't mean it like this.. your salty tears dripped from your chin onto the collar of the dry shirt you were wearing. it seemed while you were out he had changed you out of your wet clothes and into the same pair you had worn last time you were here.. your head held low as you were sobbing for your dear life, he hasnt done anything to you yet but you knew he was going to. his cold hands touched your chin, yanking it up to stare at him. the action only made you sob harder, your eyes still glued shut. you didn't want to look at him, you did- "open your eyes and stare at me if you don't want to end up dead." you flinched and opened your eyes quickly, your large eyes stared up at his. they were wet and teary...you just wanted to be free..you didn't want to be here..before you could act upon anything he leaned down and licked one of your eyes, licking away the forming tears that were prickling at the corner of it. you didn't know if this was some sort of weird kink of his or if he did it just to make you uncomfortable but you hated it. it felt uncomfortable and too in your space. you hated this foul man. disgusting. your face was a mixture of uncomfortability, anger and fear. and he loved it. "I love that weird face you're making, doll, keep doing it" he smirked at you..he was staring you down. making you even more uncomfortable than before. he was a freak, was he into peoples pain or something?? can he just let you go.. he stared at you even longer..inspecting every little movement your face made...he loved it. he loved seeing you in discomfort and fear. it fit you, really well. "ever since I've seen you I've been mesmerized... don't mistaken my words as a confession though. this isn't love. this is desire." he reached his hand out to your head, patting and petting you. ruffling your hair and making it all messy..as if you were his pet. "you know, when I saw you..I thought to myself.. 'little girls shouldn't be out alone'..especially in the rain.. where gross men like me could stick their slimy dicks inside you with no consequence." his hand wandered down from your hair to your cheek, down to your neck.. his large hand gripped at your neck, causing you to squirm under the fear he might choke you to death. his eyes and list scrunched into a smile as his hand pressed on your neck, watching you squirm under his grip. "I wouldn't kill you before putting my dick inside you. so calm down, will you?" he grips tighter around your neck as his other hand crawls its way down up body....

he stripped the clothes you had on from your body, you were sitting on the chair, naked. your wrists are still bounded to the chair so you couldn't move or go anywhere. you felt so gross. a random middle aged man was manhandling your tits, grabbing them so hard it left red marks on them. you were holding in moans, you were scared but fuck did his hands feel good on your sensitive nipples. but you didn't want him to know you didn't want him to know you were feeling go- "AH!~" you let out a mixture of a scream and a moan, his right hand had snuck its way down from your chest to your now wet pussy. he shoved two fingers inside, no warning, no prep, just shoved them in. only using the wetness of your pussy to help his movements. your back arched against the chair, you were moaning in both pain and pleasure now. he was handling you like a piece of meat, roughly 'massaging' your boobs and ruining your insides. he made rough scissor motions with his fingers, occasionally curling them inside of you. it hurt so bad, it hurt. so. bad. "you cried and sobbed like you didn't want this but look at you now. moaning under me. you were even wet when I put my fingers in. slut." his voice was deep and full of need,, he took his hand away from your tits before he slapped you. really hard. the skin on your cheek stung and was probably starting to turn red.. but it felt good..even thought you didn't want this, and all you wanted to do was go home...his fingers..they felt too good to go back. "fuck I wanna make you go through so much pain, I want to ruin you. fuck." his fingers continued to ravish your insides as he shamelessly started to rub his hard on. he was getting so turned on by this. a scared young girl, pleasuring the older scary guy Infront of her so he can make it out alive.. he wanted more. he took his hand out of your pussy, your clit was twitching. needy for more. you whined at him, you wanted to cum, you wanted to release.. you wanted it all... he scoffed at you before spitting onto your face and giving you another harsh slap. "stop complaining bitch, be grateful anyone would even want to fuck a dirty mutt like you." he tsk'd at you before turning around and grabbing something from a small box nearby. your heart was pounding, your mind was racing and your hole was pulsing. the way he disrespected you, the way he spoke to you.. it turned you on. were you just needy for approval and wanted to do what it takes to impress the guy? or maybe it was so you could keep your life..or maybe you were just insanely horny. you didn't even know at this point. you didn't know what was taking over you. the man turned around...holding a knife. you started to feel your heart race in fear again, your breath hitched as you tried to push away from the chair...and of course you couldn't. he stepped closer, and closer, an closer. until he was barely inches away from you. he raised the knife and pointed it at your stomach, pushing it into your skin.. not enough to stab you or make your bleed, but enough for it to hurt. it was like getting a shot at the doctors office that lasted too long for your comfort. you shifted under the knife, you were uncomfortable. not that scared but you were anxious..you didn't like the thought of a sharp knife being pushed onto the skin of your stomach that much.. "you look cute like this. I would cut you but I don't think it's time for that right now." he smiled at you, like you had just won a grand prize..and frankly you think you did. you didn't want to deal with more pain than what you were already feeling. he put the knife down, dropping it onto the floor. your pupils were blown. he looked so hot like this. it was scary but, hot as fuck. "opinions on getting your insides ruined?" he spoke, flashing his signature fake smile.

you were finally free from the chair, your wrists felt so much better. they felt less imprisoned.. but you didn't have much time to think about that as your insides were getting rearranged by the man you had once found safety in. you were in mating press, your thighs were rubbing against the skin of your stomach. loud gross sounds of skin slapping and wet pussy filled the room, he was filling you up. you let out loud unstable moans as he ruined you. his face was stuffed into the crook of your neck as he bit and nipped at it harshly. leaving dark bruises and hickeys on it as he kept slamming into you. your felt sweat dribble from your forehead as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. it felt. so good. you could hear him panting, louder and louder as his dick was hitting places you couldn't dream of reaching on your own. it hurt a lot, it felt like you were going to get split open any second now but..the pleasure..the pleasure of your pain and of his thick cock was flooding your brain. you'd worry about the pain later.. "fuck you look so hot when your insides are getting blown out" he grips at your neck, hard as he fucks you like a ragdoll. your hands fly to his, gripping and clawing at his hand. an attempt to unblock your airway, to no avail. his movements started to get rabid and sloppy, he was close. you knew he was. he let go of your neck, leaving a faint bruise due to his grip before he slapped your cheek again. the stinging, it only got worse. you felt like every inch of your body was getting ruined and beat. and truthfully, you loved it. "fuuu- fuuck.. sir- i- fuck..m' gonna cum! m' close! please let me cum! please please please!" your words were fast and sloppy, you were close, you needed to cum you needed it. he spat on your face again, making you feel like a disgusting piece of meat..but you loved it. you wanted to make him proud. he took his left hand and started to rub your clit as he slammed into you. each time it got faster and faster. "cum for me baby, show me how much you love my cock..fuuck.." you arched your back against the bed as it started to make a loud annoying squeaking sound from the rapid movements on it. "fu- ah~! fuckfuckfuckfuck yes yes please ah more more please ah ouh..~" your loud moans filled the room as you came all over his cock, leaving a white ring of sticky substance at the base of his dick. shortly after he came inside of you, filling you up with cum with a loud(ish) grunt. he didn't stop though, he kept moving, not only to help you out your high but to bring you to another. this man doesn't intend to stop until youre full of bruises and unable to walk..

Another note: I REALLY HOPE THIS IS GOOD, I fr spent all day on this (started at 8am, its already 8pm rn omfg) I hope I portrayed his character well, idk if I made him too mean or tame or wtv idk hshshhs, reqs are open!! pls check blog rules before u send them though:)

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

[babysfirsthaze]

need gross perverted caitlyn so bad.........

Untitled (Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader)

Synopsis: uhhh gross Cait I've been promising since January, or something. Sorry. Doing my best out here. CAITLYN KIRRAMAN IS TRANS TO ME, SHE HAS A PENIS. She violates you but it's hot I swearrrr.

Content: f! reader, cnc, spitting, lots of spit, brief fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, nutting inside, sex referred to as rape, heavy degradation, praise (because she's dignified like that), hand holding, cnc again, the cnc is very heavy, seriously dead dove do not EAT, she starts off mean and gets nicer when she starts fuckin you, aftercare kinda, the aftercare is pathetic, you shld really get a better wife...its rape the kink is rape don't read it if you don't like that. not proofread

A/n: SORRY I PROMISED THIS AGES AGO AND IT'S ONLY COME OUT NOW I KNOW I KNOW I'M SORRY. I started writing this back in February and then shit got hectic and I got cheated on and just ohh my god I couldn't. But it's done now I hope it was everything yg dreamed of,,, gross Cait nation ily please don't have died on me :(

Caitlyn has missed you. She’s been out all day, getting work done, getting, frankly, incredibly pissed off. You’re all she can think about as she addresses a meeting full of idiots, as she stomps around and barks orders. Your soft body, the way you smile at her, the way you looked so cute this morning, when she got up and left the house before you woke up. You’re all she’s thinking about as she stuffs her key in the door, pushing it open roughly with her shoulder so she can see you. When she finally does you look up from your book, startled. You weren’t expecting her home quite this early. She doesn't look happy, and you slowly put your tea down on the coffee table, before sitting up against the couch. “Hi, Caitie. How was work?” 

“Shut up,” she grunts, stomping her way over to you. Then before you know what's happening she's got her weight on you, and you grunt, feeling yourself pushed back against the couch. Ah. Alright. This is what we're doing. 

“Missed you so much,” Cait all but slurs, grabbing at your shirt, long, slender fingers clumsily trying to pull it off. “Gonna rape you, okay? Gonna rape this pretty fuckin pussy.” And then she pauses, slightly, you can feel it; a nod from you, yes, Catie, you can rape me, and she's grabbing at you like it's the last chance she'll ever get. Her mouth latches onto your neck, it's less a kiss and more like she's trying to eat you alive. “Fuckin whore. Missed you so much, fuck, baby– gonna hurt you so bad.” You groan in response, squirming slightly where you've been unceremoniously slammed into the couch. She licks a stripe up your neck, and begins to pull off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor by the couch. She smells like sweat and the last notes of your perfume, her hands are rough, her breath heavy, her muscles twitching and shaking. 

“Stupid fucking– mm,” she's too overwhelmed to insult you, so instead she just grabs your face, kissing you wet, heavy, slow. You're pretty sure you feel her spit in your mouth. One of her hands tangles in your hair, grabs a fistfull of it, and the other moves down your body, grabbing, groping, exploring. 

She pulls roughly at your hips, trying to tug you closer to her. “Come here.” She kisses you, again, licking her tongue into your mouth, everything feels vaguely sticky and wet. You pant, trying your best to process everything that's happening. “Fuck, Caitie– slow down,” “What don't you understand about shut up?” she spits, literally, leaning up over you and spitting on your chest. She gathers the saliva with the pad of her thumb and brings it down to your nipple, circling around the sensitive skin and watching as the temperature change makes it perk up. The stimulation sends tingles down your stomach and you bite your lip to suppress a whine. She groans, a sadistic sort of grin on her face, and kisses you again, leaving open-mouthed, wet kisses on your face. She can taste the sweat and the makeup on your skin, it makes her dizzy. She is so, unbearably hard, and you look so good under her. 

You whine, and she pinches your nipple. “‘S gross, baby,” you're pouting, and right hand on the bible, Cait feels her heart stutter. “You don't like it?” She spits on you again, just so see that pout, saliva landing right under your eye. “Take my fuckin dick out, baby. Stop complainin. I know you like it, fuck– yeah, that's it, good girl, good baby…” The metal of her jean buttons is cool against your fingers, and you can feel warm saliva rolling down your cheekbone, to your hairline, as you pull her trousers off, palming her through her panties. She is indeed, very hard. You can feel the warm wet of her precum leaking through the fabric, and she lets out a long, low moan, pressing her face into your shoulder. And she bites, making you gasp, the sting deep in your muscle. 

“Oh you fucking bitch, what a good girl. Hmm? Does that- ohh, fuck, fuck. Let me- shit, baby. C’mere.” 

The first thing you register is her cold, harsh hands on your thighs, pressing them apart. You can feel her wedding ring on one finger, the metal digging into your warm skin, and she scoots up to get a good look at your pussy, wet and waiting for her. “Good girl,” she croons, dribbling more spit onto the sensitive skin. She presses a thumb to your clit, harsh, making you gasp and arch your back. She grins. “You gonna take it, sweetheart?” She works her length out of her pants, circling her thumb around your clit as she gets them off, a little awkwardly. You nod, and she begins to work her middle finger into your entrance, jerking off her tip in time, groaning under her breath. Her slender digits stretch you out deliciously, curling into your soft walls and making you mewl, her technique practiced and precise- she knows her girl, knows what gets you off, what makes your eyes go fuzzy and your pussy go nice and loose. She mutters something about fucking slut you don’t quite catch, and then grabs at your thighs to rest them around her hips. 

Cait presses her tip against your entrance, azure eyes half-lidded and filled with lust. “Fuck, I missed you,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your love like she’s talking right to your pussy, but her left hand dips down to entwine her fingers with yours. She squeezes, hard. And then with a groan she presses the head of her cock into your pussy, your warmth squeezing her so wonderfully tight, and she can’t help but press her weight further, burying her length in you, eyes closed in complete serenity and bliss. 

You on the other hand, are struggling. 

“Caitie- Cait,” you whine, trying to reason with her, squeezing her cool hand in your own. Her girth always stretches you out, you’d think after years with the woman it’d get easier. But no, the stretch still stings, and she still goes so deep you can feel it in your tummy, poking at your insides. She responds by rutting into you, forcing you to just take it, you both know you can. “You’re fine,” Caitlyn says almost soothingly, still pressing on your clit, she’s trying really hard not to just fuck you senseless right now. She’ll wait. And eventually you do relax, the pain subsiding to a pleasant full feeling. Immediately she’s taking the opportunity, pulling her hips back and snapping them forward again, cock bullying your newly accustomed walls, earning a lewd squelch. “Tha’s it,” She groans, beginning to fuck you properly, her weight pressing yours into the couch, sticky, hot skin smothering you. The sensation fills your tummy with warmth and you moan loudly, back arching to take her dick better. 

Cait growls into your skin, thrusting her hips hard, as if trying to get out all her frustration on you in a single round. Your walls squeeze her so good and she can hardly think straight, her head spinning, the only thoughts in her mind about pounding you, raping you, emptying her load so deep in your pussy a part of her becomes embedded in you forever and she never has to let you go. Hot, overwhelming pleasure fills your body, blooming from between your thighs all the way up to the back of your throat. “Baby- mmf, fuck,” you mewl, squeezing her waist with your thighs, which earns you a harsh slap because it slows her down and she can’t have that. Almost as an apology she shifts to kiss you, licking into your mouth, encouraging your tongue to push into hers so she can suck on it. 

The feeling is mind-numbing, and you whimper into her mouth, unable to do anything but take it, take her mouth, her dick, her treatment. She fucks at a relentless pace already, bullying your pussy and giving your clit enough attention to make you cry. The smell of sweat and sex fills the living room, your book layed neglected on a couch cushion, and the only thing you can hear is Cait groaning, muttering into your skin, and the steady plap, plap, plap sound of nasty sex. You can barely get a word in and when you do, she swallows it up greedily like it’s the only thing she's been craving. She fucks you like it’s the last chance she’ll get, like she’s been waiting, waiting to fuck you like this since the first time this morning some idiot made her jaw clench. 

“Fuck, baby, such a good whore…love this pussy, sh’takes me so well, huh? Yeah, yeah…” Cait trails off somewhat breathlessly, burying her dick so deep it makes your eyes prick up and all you can do is gasp uselessly against her lips, overwhelmed by sensations and already feeling your tummy start to clench as your orgasm approaches. Your eyes flutter, and she hisses as your left hand finds her back, raking harsh, red lines into her pale skin. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t change pace. Just pants and growls into your ear, hitting that spot so deep inside you over, and over, and over, making that knot so impossibly tight you think you might cry. 

Suddenly she changes the way she touches you, going from slow circles around your clit to fast, hard side-to-side motions. “Ah-..!” You squeal, nails digging further into her back, the unforgiving pace of it all making you writhe, making your body feel like it’s on fire. “Fuck, fuck, right there, fuck, Caittttcaitcaitcaitcait!” You babble, thighs shaking and pussy squeezing so tight around her. She groans your name with an almost predatory look in her eyes, moaning loudly when your release does come. She works you through it relentlessly, keeping up her bruising thrusts, working your clit till you stop shaking, till you moans becomes whines and then squeaks. At that point she shifts her weight, leaning over your body and pressing herself completely against you. She ruts into you, chasing her own release, teeth bared and drooling onto your shoulder, her fingers gripping onto your thigh and gripping it so hard it hurts. 

“Take it, take it, take it, take it,” she repeats like a mantra, rutting into you every time she says the words. You can feel her dick twitch, pulse against your walls- and then with a heavy groan she cums, shaky hips pressed flush against yours. Even through your hazy mind you’re lucid enough to appreciate the way it fills you up, a warm, gooey feeling you can’t get anywhere else, from anyone else. She stays pressed up against you for a few seconds while you both catch your breath, before pulling out gingerly. 

“Good girl,” she hums, pressing kisses up your shoulder to your neck, your cheeks, your mouth. She laps up any drool that wound up on your chin, hands running appreciatively over your twitchy body. “Took me so well. Such a pretty girl, hm?” One more kiss, “Sorry I spat on you.” 

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

OHHHHHH.

One moment while I find that gif of Tom Hanks -

Found it!

OVERHATED CHARACTERS POLL: Owen Strand (9-1-1: Lone Star)

Feel free to explain your position in the comments or tags, but any harassment, over-the-top fighting, or personal attacks will result in you being blocked. Do not attack real people, be they fans or creators, over fictional characters.

[lipringlrh]

HE DOESN’T WANT ME WHEN HE’S SOBER PART 2 (LANDO ENDING)

read: part one | logan ending

summary: lando’s your best friend but seems to like you when he’s drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when he’s drunk.

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

wc: 1.8k

Lando wouldn’t admit it to anyone but that night was the worst sleep he’d ever had. He left as soon as he found out you’d left with Lily and Alex, and made his way to your house just to find out you weren’t there. He messaged Alex to get no response and contemplated waiting outside your door until you came back, whether it be days or months, he’d wait for you. But, after almost falling asleep numerous times and getting laughed at by a group of teenagers, he made his way back to his apartment, knowing you’d be looked after.

He was awake almost all night, messaging and calling you and regretting everything in its entirety. He didn’t fully know if you had even seen him kiss the person that resembled you, he only felt it deep down, but even if you hadn’t, he shouldn’t have done it, and he could never apologise enough. He thought of how to explain his thoughts but nothing would suffice; nothing would ever be able to explain how he felt.

At some point in the early hours, he finally drifted off, but awoke not much later to an aggressive banging on his door and a voice screaming at him to hurry up. He wished the voice was you but it wasn’t and he hated it. He rushed to his door, barely having time to pull on some grey joggers before opening it to an angry Alex, very close to breaking the door down.

“Are you stupid?” Alex questioned, fuming, pushing his way into Lando’s house, “I know that you’re in love with her so what are you doing?”

Lando looked like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t explain his actions, he didn’t even want to think about them. All he remembered feeling was grief at watching you walk away, so when he found someone that looked eerily similar, he took the chance to kiss them and create the image in his mind of kissing you. It didn’t last long. He realised too quickly that they didn’t smell like you and the way they kissed wasn’t the same. He hated it, he didn’t want to kiss anyone but you.

“I know, I didn’t mean to-”

“What, you just tripped into her mouth then?” Alex questioned, pushing a finger against Lando’s chest.

“No- no. I don’t know why I did, I really love them I promise. We almost kissed but then they walked away, I was hurt, I didn’t think they wanted me,” Lando almost cried, his voice cracking.

“You do this every time you go out. You kiss her every time you go out and she follows, you don’t get to pull that card. You might be upset but I promise you’re not even feeling half of it,” Alex spat, not caring if he hurt Lando because he hurt you much more.

“Help me apologise. I need to apologise, please Alex, please help,” Lando begged, wanting you to more than anything, “Please Alex, I’ll do anything.”

Alex sighed. At that moment, he hated Lando for what he did, but he’d been wishing for you both to get together since he first saw you both together, making heart eyes at each other. He contemplated in his head whether to help or not. He always envisioned you together but always wanted what's best for you and right now he couldn’t tell if that was Lando or not. But looking at the state of him, red, wet eyes, begging for his help, he wanted to believe Lando regretted everything and would do anything to prove he loved you.

“Okay, but I’m not letting you be forgiven easily, I want you to prove it,” Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. A feeling of simultaneous relief and guilt eating him alive.

Lando promised Alex over and over again, and in between each syllable, promising himself also that he would give you the world in apologies, and whatever happened he deserved it, but even if there was the slimmest chance you could forgive him, Lando would take it and cherish it.

Alex messaged you and you told him it was fine to bring Lando over, as long as he didn’t expect much, and so they turned up less than five minutes later. Alex left you both alone in the kitchen to sit with Lily in the living room after repeating countless times he was a shout away.

You almost broke down just seeing him but managed to keep it in. You didn’t want him to explain, you didn’t care to hear it at the moment, but as soon as Alex left he began spilling out apologies and trying to explain himself, which you quickly shut up.

“I want some space,” you sighed. You wanted Lando close but you wanted everything you felt for him gone first. You couldn’t believe he ever felt the same, not after that.

“Of course, I understand,” his voice broke as he stepped back, trying to show you he would do anything you said.

“Not like that, Lando. I mean it, I don’t think I can see you for a while.”

“Oh-” he said, “When can I see you again?”

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be, this is my fault,” he sighed, clearly upset and looking at the ground, “I’ll go, I’ll see you soon.”

After he left, you broke down crying, debating your decision on if you handled it right. You already missed him, and still loved him, but you also didn’t want to see him. Alex explained the whole morning, and his perspective, giving you hope you could fix it with Lando, especially after Alex’s approval, which you trusted more than anything.

The next few times you saw him were at hangouts with your shared friends. You knew he’d be there as none of your friends would invite him unless you were completely sure you didn’t mind him there. He stayed away, but didn’t make it awkward to the people around you, and always gave you a shy smile when you caught his eye.

He didn’t try to text or call again, despite wanting to more than anything, and instead waited for you to make the first move whenever you were ready. You had missed him more than anything, in both an “I love him” and “he’s my best friend” way, and it was killing you from being away from him, especially after how well he listened to your instructions.

You were at a mutual friend's get-together, a small barbecue in a back garden when you decided it was time. You had been debating texting him but after seeing him, you decided you couldn’t wait.

He was standing alone in a corner beside a flower patch and some grass, drink in hand, and surveying everyone that was there when you walked over. He didn’t know how to greet you and so awkwardly moved his hands between going for a hug or a handshake. You laughed and hugged him, both of you holding on tightly, unhappy to let go.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered gently, looking down and playing with your fingers, slightly nervous to admit it to him after all this time.

“I’ve missed you too,” he grins, adding on, “So much,” with a quiet whisper.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, trying to make small talk before delving right in.

“Okay, I’ve not really done much. Races have been okay.”

“I saw,” you smiled, “You’ve done really well.”

“You watched?” he questioned, a little surprised. You met his eyes and nodded, explaining how you could never miss one.

“Do you want to talk inside?” you asked, heart pounding as you said it. He nodded immediately, without hesitation, and followed you in through the double glass doors into the kitchen, but only after picking out a daisy from the grass next to him and offering it out to you, causing both of you to grin.

He closed the doors behind you both, blocking out as much other noise as possible, ready for you to begin. “I want to know how you feel about this and about me,” you started, voice shaky.

“I’m sorry, I’m still so sorry. I love you and I want what’s best for you and I can’t even find an excuse, I was being stupid and thinking how you’d never want me. It was all nothing, you’re the only person that’s ever meant anything, I’m so sorry. I will do anything to fix this- anything.”

“Lan,” you let out a breath, “You still want me?”

“More than anything,” he grinned and you stepped forward to reach him, locking your arms around his neck.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you pull his face down until his lips are almost touching yours. He was smiling so much you thought it might be impossible to kiss him but you pulled him into you anyway, finally kissing him again.

“Stop smiling,” you laughed, pulling away to say it before immediately kissing him again.

“What? Can I not be happy? I’m getting my girl back,” he pulled away, grinning harder, then trying to drag you back in, which was almost successful until you pulled away at the last second.

“I can barely kiss you like this and I’d really, really like to,” you giggled, tugging him back again to enjoy another impatient kiss.

Your hands were running all over his head, completely ruining his hair, but he didn’t care. His hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close. When you finally parted he still kept you close, resting his forehead on yours.

“Are you sure you want this?” he questioned, his breath still heavy.

You kissed his cheek and looked straight into his eyes, “More than anything, I promise,” you paused for a moment, “But you’re going to have to grovel to repay all the lost time we’ve had.”

“I’m going to prove to you that I’m all in, that I want this more than I could possibly explain,” Lando promised, meaning every word. He was already planning out exactly what he wanted to do - he knew he had to work to become your official boyfriend, but he would do everything possible for you.

You just stared at him, showcasing the biggest smile you’ve ever had, eyes full of love, knowing you weren’t ever going to let each other go or even risk it again.

“God I love you,” he grinned, ignoring the fact he still hadn’t caught his breath and pulling you into another, more intimate, kiss.

taglist in reblogs

[skzfairyyydreamz]

Replaced? (Part7)

Genre: Skz smau, Text posts, Non!idolAu, Angst, friends to enemies, Mini series

Pairing: Bsf!skz , Fem!Reader, Stoner!Skz/Stoner!Reader, Bartender!skz, Club manager!Chan, Club security!Changbin, Bottle girl!Reader

Warnings: ‼️Slow build‼️strong language (obvi coming from the profanity queennnn) , mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of fighting, mentions of/implied SA, mentions of anxiety plz let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: thank you guys sooo much for all the love on this mini series, and my biggest apologies for the wait! i pinky promise NOT to take a whole month to post the next part!!! but with this series coming to an end prepare yourselves for non stop CHAOS DRAMA and ANGST! all feedback, reblogs, and replies are SAUR greatly appreciated !!! thank you for sticking around and reading my silly little stories!

© Skzfairyyydreamz - Plagiarism is a crime. Do not repost, alter, translate or copy without my consent.

<<<Previous | Next >>> Word count: 4K Screenshot count: 30

After what felt like 30 long and silent minutes of everyone collectively cleaning up the after math of that night, you finally broke the silence.. 

“Honestly Thank you guys sm for staying to help me with this crazy ass mess .. and you know…”  you spoke nodding your head in the direction of your bedroom referring to jeongin while avoiding saying his name like it was some type of bad omen.  

“No, Ofc!” Changbin spoke. 

“You know we wouldn’t leave you alone after all that happened tonight.” Felix added as he finished pushing all your furniture back into its designated places.  

“please" chris scoffed “as much time as we spend in this apartment, we’re practically your roommates! Ofc we’d stay to help out. ” he added as he came out the kitchen holding what sounded like a garbage bag full of empty solo cups and broken glass.  

“Girl go get some rest you're gonna need it, gimme that.” minho said while taking the broom and dustpan from your hands and shooing you away.  

“Agreed! ” Felix walked up behind you kissing the side of your head and gently rubbing your shoulders “You’re free to go shower and change or get comfy however you need darling.”  

“Nuh uh, you s-?” You turned around but he shut your protest down rather quickly. “I’m positive princess, go. We’ll take care of everything out here”  

“But -” 

“GO...I got it!” he turned you around ignoring the pout on your face as he nudged you in the direction of the hallway.  

It was nearly sunrise, and you were absolutely dreading the idea of having to face jeongin when he woke up. Even then in that moment walking into your bedroom to prepare for a shower, you dreaded even being in his presence. Just the thought of him possibly waking up at any given second was eating you alive, REGARDLESS to the sound of his grizzly bearlike snores and the sight of drool sliding down the sides of his mouth, indicating that he was VERY much sound asleep. However, You never even made it passed the doorframe of your room before the anxious knots in your stomach told you to turn around and run right back down that hallway.  

“ lix ... i cant- I cant do it.” you whisper panicked running up to him and grabbing his hand. 

“cant what baby ?”  “ i feel so nasty and guilty, i can't even look at him right now what if we wakes up!??”      

“ baby... first of all you have nothing to feel guilty for. And secondly, he slept through the sound of you trying bash sophies face in with glass liquor bottles...  I'm pretty sure that dude is not waking up any time soon my love” he let out a chuckle. “What if he does thoooo!??” you whined “ im not ready to face him babe what will i say to him huh??? Oh, hey there jeongin i just tried to kill your girlfriend because shes such a shitty unfaithful stupid little bitch, how did you sleep?” felix cackled out loud this time pulling you into a hug and kiss to calm your racing mind. “ okay okay I'll get your clothes for you, no worries princess”  

“ugh, thank you so much lix youre actually an angel“ 

“no problem jagi , tshirt or hoodie?”  

“hoodie” you continued to pout slightly , while trying to brush the weight of tomorrows worries away  “sweatpants or shorts?"

“shorts please” 

“mkay, be back in a jiff!!”  he began walking down the hall to your bedroom “pink towel, black loofa please!!” you yelled out to him. 

“you got it!” he answered back “you're so amazinggg, you deserved the world!! “ you thanked him aloud once more “ i already have her” he sing songed back to you as you smiled to yourself thanking the heavens you could go a least few more hours avoiding the inevitable.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           ~~~~~                                                                                                                                                                                           

“... no im telling you it was weird as fuck! Like her whole aura just completely changed when she saw him.” ( felix) 

“putting two and two together he clearly had to have said or done something to her for her to be so angry. We’ve known y/n for a long ass time and I've never seen her more mad than she was tonight.” (minho) 

“besides trying to murder sophie..” (changbin) 

“yes... besides that! Also not to mention his face was bright fucking red when we came back upstairs and they were the only two in the apartment.” (minho) 

“it WAS! Idk what happened but im pretty positive she smacked the shit out of him.” (changbin) 

“ hold on?... Yall left her ALONE  with that fucking scumbag?” lix raised his voiced stressfully running a hand through his hair as he scooted closer to the edge of the sofa, beginning to get more irritated by the conversation he and the boys were having. 

“WHOA! Hold on!” minho pointed at felix also scooting to the edge of his seat jumping quickly at the only opportunity he had to both calm felix down AND defend himself. “ it wasn't like that at all, the three of us went downstairs to get the birthday cakes out the car while y/n came upstairs because she had to use the bathroom. Alex was actually already here setting up his DJ equipment before y/n even got back!” 

“yeah thats true.. And that really only took about 10 minutes, truth be told. ” (chris) 

“and where tf was jeongin?!” (felix) 

“he and sophie had ran out to get ice” (changbin) 

“Listen, all i know is whatever happened it is NOT to be taken lightly. y/n is a tough girl and not much is going to make her cry so we WILL be getting to the bottom of this TODAY, THIS hour.” (chris) 

“ SHE CRIED!? ... oh imma kill him” felix let out a sinister almost emotionless chuckle as he slightly rocked back and forth in his seat being only seconds away from crashing out. 

“wait deadass? When??” (changbin) 

“im deadass. It was before the party started like right when the guests started arriving. I went in the kitchen just to chat with her and i noticed she was having a moment, she tried to brush me off but you know i always call her bluff.” (chris)

“and what did she say? Because Bin tried to ask what was wrong and she seemed too angry to even speak, she gave us a look but that was about it. she just poured herself a drink then went out to get some air on the balcony.”  (minho)

“ she didn't really tell me anything all she said was that she felt stupid and violated.. So ofc i told her i would handle that shit right then if she just told me what happened, but she insisted on dropping it and initially I wasn't going to but i just let it go and held her for a little bit once i saw her shed a few tears... however she did promise me that we would talk about it later and shes good for keeping a promise so ofc i trust her to do so.” (chris) 

“yeah... im ready to go to jail” Felix let out yet another emotionless chuckle. 

“okay, something definitely did happen between the two, yes. But lets just breathe and hear it from y/n first before we start collecting bail money.” ( changbin) 

“man fuck all that fr! I need answers this shit is really starting to eat at me” (felix) 

They were so caught up  in their conversation that they didnt even hear you come out the bathroom and back down the hallway. 

“So is sleep out of the question?” you spoke, making your Prescence known as they all snapped their heads in your direction. 

“entirely outta the question my love, we have quite a few things to talk about” felix responded patting the spot next to him on the sofa signaling you to sit and join the conversation.  

You hesitantly took a seat next to Felix on the sofa across from minho and chris, as changbin was sat in the loveseat to your right. Taking  a look around the room you let out a shaky sigh really not wanting to have this conversation after the hectic night you had but you knew you couldn't put it off any longer or they all would lose their fucking minds.  

“Take your time kiddo, no pressure.” Chris spoke softly sensing your body tensing up. 

“Whenever you're ready love, we trust you.” felix added holding your hand and kissing the back of your knuckles. 

“y/nnnnie dont look so upset” changbin spoke next “ you know we’re not here to scold you, you did nothing wrong we just want to protect you and know that you're safe.” 

“ we just want to know what happened is all babe.” felix pulled you into a hug and began rubbing your back to calm you down.  

“ i know i know...” you took a deep breath and let out another heavy sigh.  

“just relax a bit, I'll go make some tea.” minho spoke before getting up and walking to the kitchen.  

It took about an hour-long conversation to tell the guys what alex had did and explain everything in detail. Emotions were very high but somehow you were able to calm them all  down and convince them to let it go at least for now. Chris had kept insisting that you press charges against him but you let it be known that you genuinely didnt feel the need to because one, you were more than proud that you found the strength to defend yourself when you really needed to, plus you were almost positive that nasty smack you gave him would leave a bruising. Secondly, you knew that regardless to lix being calm in that moment, he was definitely still on hots and there would be absolutely nothing nobody could do to stop him from beating alex’s ass again the next time he saw him. So for you the score board was 3 to 1, in your head it was perfect girl math. (LMAO) and truth be told you really didn't want to get lix involved and have him end up with assault charges for beating this man's ass multiple times. You just wanted to let it go and forget it all for as long as you possibly could.  

After the conversation had died, everyone just sat in complete silence with their own thoughts for a few minutes. Tiredness, worry and deep frustration sketched over the faces of everyone in the room. Not that you didn't already know this but this moment made it so evident how much your friends and boyfriend truly, truly cared about you.  

“ughhh! That was alot..I need another blunt” Felix broke the silence with a deep sigh.  

You lifted your head off of his shoulder to get up from your spot on the sofa, reaching for your stash box sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “I’ll roll , yall can meet me on the balcony in 5” you left a kiss on the top of Felix's head before walking out to the balcony. 

A few minutes had passed before both chris and lix joined you on the balcony, while bin and minho stepped out on a breakfast run for you guys. It was a bit passed 7 a.m the sun was out and the birds were chirping. You sat in silence while the joint rotated between the 3 of you. What you would normally consider to be a beautiful morning, had actually become the one thing you were dreading the most. You tried to at least enjoy the morning breeze against your skin as you ignored the burning feeling in your chest that jeongin would be waking up pretty soon and you would then have to face yet another conversation you did NOT want to have.  

Just as you finished up your smoke session and went back inside you heard the door to your bedroom creak open with jeongins voice immediately following “hey, where's Sophie? She didn't stay?” 

“Speak of the fucking devil...” you whispered to yourself.  

“bro .. what exactly are you trying to say to me right now?!” jeongin raised his voice, you could see frustration visibly building within him.  

“jeong listen.. You really need to start seeing sophie for the person she truly is or youre gonna end up broken in the end.” you said as calmly as you could.  

“so what im supposed to breakup with her and end my relationship because you say so?!” 

“jeongin if you'd just calm down and listen to what i have to say you would understand where im coming from.”  

“well wtf are you saying y/n? Stop beating around the bush!” 

“basically me and sophie got into a fight last .. and it almost got physical.” 

“what?? y/n tell me you did not hit her?? what could have possibly happened while i was asleep for y'all to even get into it like that?!” 

“i didnt get the chance to but you can thank chris and felix for that” 

“so what youre telling me is that you get drunk and sassy then start picking fights with your friends? I swear you cant leave drunk women unattended for shit” jeongin rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair as he walked away to pick up his phone, most likely to check on his girlfriend. 

“wth? jeongin when i have i ever not been able to hold my liquor?! It was the end of the night the party was already over by that time and i had already sobered up, just shut up and listen for a moment.” 

He let out a sigh as he flopped down on the sofa with his eyes still glued to his phone “im listening” he replied with annoyance lingering in his tone of voice. 

There was a quick moment of hesitation as you shared a nervous look between chris and felix “ you know you're my best friend and i love you right?”   

Breaking his gaze from his phone, He finally looked up at you clearly super annoyed with the conversation at this point “ ...yes” he replied with a blank stare. 

“ and you know I'd never lie or do anything to hurt you right?” 

“right ... except try to beat up my girlfriend” he said in a low sarcastic tone rolling his eyes before looking at his phone again 

“it wasnt unprovoked, jeongin! theres more to that story!” 

“like i said , im listening!! But im not hearing shit?!” 

“sophie kissed me!” chris blurted out, not being able to take your stalling any longer.  

And just like, the air and the whole atmosphere of the room had entirely changed like a press of a button. His face went to stone as he stood up from the sofa with his phone tightly gripped in his hand.  

“what did you just say?” he raised his eyebrow challenging Chris in a cold tone. 

“she had been making advances and throwing herself at me from the moment you passed out in y/n’s room, i told her NO multiple times and she literally forced herself on me in the kitchen.” 

“bullshit!” he glared at Chris. 

“Lix and i walked in on it .. we literally seen it with our own eyes, jeong..” you defended Chris in the softest voice you could, really not wanting jeongin to get any angrier than he already was. 

“BULLSHIT!” he repeated, turning to scream in your direction this time. 

“YO! WATCH IT! Felix yelled back at him wasting no time to defend you. He quickly stood up in the middle of you two, reaching behind himself to grab your hand once he realized the loudness of his deep voice had startled you. 

“wtf is this some sick and twisted joke?!” 

“jeongin, mate ..we have no reason to lie to you. I know this is a lot to take in right now and its gonna be rough but Sophie is no good ... we’re your closest friends and we just want what's best for you.” chris tried to calm him even knowing that was likely not to happen. 

Jeongin said nothing, he just let out a sarcastic dry laugh as he walked away from the conversation. The apartment stood quiet waiting for him to return back to the living room. And when he did, he followed the silence, quietly flopping back down on the sofa once more to put on his sneakers.  

And that was Chris’s last straw, jeongin’s silence had sent him over the edge. “SO WHAT?? IM A LIAR NOW?.. AS  LONG AS WEVE BEEN BEST FRIENDS THIS IS HOW YOU ACT OVER A FUCKING GIRL THAT DOESNT EVEN DESERVE YOU TO BEGIN WITH!?” 

Jeongin kept his silence as he continued to take his time putting his shoes on almost as if he was ignoring Chris. 

“Well if that's what you think wait for minho and changbin to come back and ask them yourself, they were here for it was well!” 

“nah I'm good” jeongin put on a false nonchalant act.  

“so you don't believe any of us is what you're saying? Minho, bin, y/n, lix, and i are all just gonna lie on your girlfriend unprovoked??” 

“i just dont undertsand when we started ganging up on eachother instaed of talking shit out ??!” 

“IS THAT NOT WTF WERE TRYING TO DO RIGHT NOW??” chris barked back. 

“ yall BEEN holding hostility against sophie, you think im fucking dumb i peeped the energy shift a WHILE ago!!” 

“ thats because sophie is a fucking werido jeong!” you jumped in to defend chris once more “Shes been doing hella weird and shady shit for a long ass time, but for the sake of YOU we tried to keep the peace and keep it under wraps! I even distanced myself from her a while ago because shes been lying on me and acting hella phony. Youre like my little brother ofc i didnt want to bring it up and end up putting you into a predicament where you had to choose between her and your friends that would be fucking ridiculous ..” 

“You think i wanna be doing this right now?! Jeongin us having to have this conversation is hurting my fucking heart because you love so blindly!! you dont even realize what this girl is doing to you!” your passionate argument had turned into screaming at this point and you were afraid that the love you held for your best friend and the action of trying to protect him had gotten lost in translation.

“i dont realize what shes doing to me?? wtf is she even doing ?!!?” he barked back at you  clearly clueless and stubborn not even putting any effort to try and understand your point of view. 

“oh my... fucking goodness ..” felix let out a loud frustrated sigh as he slouched back into the sofa. He and chris both facepalming simultaneously as you just stood there looking at him like he had four heads.. 

“dude.. She basically cheated on you! She kissed me.. ANOTHER MAN!! That man being one of your best friends and your roommate...that's literally right under your nose!! so she clearly doesn't give a fuck about you, she didnt even have the decency to do it outside of your friend group, jeongin” at this point chris knew good and well that the only reason jeongin continued to argue back was because he was embarrassed and in denial. 

He stood quiet for a few seconds just upset and breathing heavy not really having much to say to continue defending sophie (because what is there even to defend DROP THAT HOE!) 

“so what, she just left after that happened?!” jeongin spoke again attempting to argue back 

“no... I tried to take her fucking head off because why would she ever do some grimey shit like that?! But these two wouldn't let me hit her so i kicked her outta my fucking house.” you spoke with annoyance.

“ that shit dont make no fucking sense why would she try to kiss chris when we’re literally dating and everyone that was in here knows that!!” he raised his voice again 

“bingo dipshit!” felix’s frustration had began turning into sassy side remarks  

“THAT RIGHT THERE IS OUR POINT EXACTLY!!” you screamed starting to feel like you were talking to a brick wall 

“not TRY might i add .. she DID kiss me. She quite literally grabbed my face and kissed me after i told her to stop.” chris added in a sarcastic tone, he was pissed that this conversation was even still going on. 

“call her.” felix chimed in but jeongin just glared in his direction not saying anything. 

“call her right now with all of us here and ask her why she got into it with y/n last night 

He went silent once more ignoring felix entirely before getting up from the sofa to go grab his jacket and keys. 

This silence was much thicker than each one previously, and it left loud feelings of frustration and utter disbelief lingering in the air.  

“jeong, you deadass?..” you spoke again, standing frozen. All the anger in your body wholly dissipating, being replaced with the hurt that was painfully evident in your voice as it trembled slightly. 

Realizing how badly he fucked up, jeongin once again chose to stay silent and avoid your gaze. 

“Denial is a fat bitch to swallow isn't it?” felix scoffed. 

“ Fuck off, felix!” jeongin bit back as he began walking towards the front door 

“right back at ya cunt!” felix barked in a harsh tone as he flipped him the bird 

“you're mad at the wrong people idk wtf else to tell you but if you wanna choose to be stupid for this fucking girl than have fun with the outcome!” chris dusted his hands with the situation and walked away as jeongin walked in the opposite direction, storming out of the apartment slamming the door behind him  

You stood there staring at the door almost stuck in a trance. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to come back through that door or for this to just be some bad dream  but it most definitely was not.   

Slowly turning around towards felix who was already slowly making his way towards you feeling the sadness in your aura. He gently grabbed your hand immediately rubbing his thumb over the back of your kunckles in an attempt to comfort you. Your watery eyes met his apologetic ones and he could feel everything you were feeling in the that moment. He was pissed because every single thing that you were scared of happening had just come true.  

“ lix.. Please tell me i did not just lose my best friend over this bitch..” your voice was almost a whisper with a barely audible sob leaving your mouth before you could even finish your sentence. The tears began to fall at a rapid pace and there wasnt much lix could even say to comfort you. “ i knew it... i knew this shit was gonna happen!” the tears kept flowing He felt so defeated, and the only thing he could do was the one thing he does best, and that was hold you. He held you on the sofa for hours. You had cried and cried, fell asleep, woke up and cried some. Minho and changbin had come back and immediately realized exactly what had happened. Chris filled them in on all the details of how ridiculous jeongin was being and of course they were just as heated as the rest of you were. The guys had all ended-up crashing in your guest bedroom before felix had woken up and carried you to your bed so that you could rest properly. It was definitely needed after so much emotional destress on top of you being awake for 24+ hours and all the partying and drinking that had happened right before all the drama.  

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[fidogo]

ghost x reader in a winter apocalypse au | wc: 1.4k | warnings: cannibalism mention, guns, vague predator/prey kink

part 1 part 2

damn 2 within hours cause my brain was pumping and with a header now

“You’re not going to eat me, right?” 

It’s a stupid fucking question to be asking this late into the night. Ghost stares at you, flames flickering his eyes. He keeps his skull mask on, making it extra difficult to deduce what his silence implies.

Something inside you told you to follow him. He hadn't hurt you, and you've got nothing left in your cabin. It sits empty right now, windows smashed, door torn off. All your hard work at making preserved and cured meats, down the drain. In the brief moment that Ghost began to walk away, you made a decision. Better to be traveling in a pack with a wolf than being hunted by one.

God, this was so impulsive of you. When he let you go, you should’ve hightailed it back to your run-down cabin. Instead, you've turned yourself into a pet, hoping to get fed off of scraps.

Ghost had built a fire effortlessly, his survival skills methodical and precise, clearly leagues better than you're own. But he introduced himself and let you sit at his fire anyway.

Up here, society had essentially collapsed when the freeze happened. Survival skills in the back of your mind prickle at Ghost being fine with you camping with him for the night. But then again, with how quickly he restrained you earlier, he knows you don't pose a threat to him.

Your stomach churns as you think, the woods silent save for the cracking of the fire, and the gentle calls of nocturnal birds.

There’s a chance Ghost might kill you still, or worse. He told you his name is Ghost for fucks sake. You felt the thickness of his body when he straddled you, pinning you to the snow. Felt the effortless strength that kept your bucking hips from freeing you. Felt the warmth lick its way up your body at the pressure and friction-

A piece of jerky lands at the snow by your feet.

You blink up at Ghost. His mask is partially pulled up to reveal a jaw covered in blonde stubble. There are deep gashes in them, scars that make you shiver. Shadows dance along his face, the pockmarks, and chunks of missing flesh slashing along his jaw in an ugly manner.

He chews on a larger slab of jerky, teeth gnashing into mystery meat. Fuck, you hope it’s not another person. Maybe he’s letting you stay so he can eat you later. Going to keep you safe and fed until he runs out of his current supply. Your muscles tense, seconds away from sprinting deeper into the everwinter woods when he speaks.

“‘ts cow. You can eat it.” His mouth is full, and he doesn’t even bother to look at you. You pick up the jerky, mentally cringing at how tough the meat is. It's hard to get through, nearly leather at this point, but at least it tastes like beef. You chew slowly, savoring the feeling of eating after a long day of stupidly tracking him.

“I don’t eat people,” Ghost says. You believe him, letting yourself relax a little. He’s still a threat, but he’s not a cannibal at least. 

“Except for pussy, I guess.”

You choke on a piece of your jerky, coughing unexpectedly. He fucking what? Your body heats up, and you stare at him, not entirely sure what to say. He’s already tugged his mask back down, and he gives you a look you can’t decipher.

You stare at the fire, jerky abandoned for now, and adrenaline pumping. You should've gone home when you had the chance.

"Why didn' ya use that?" You reluctantly look at your odd companion, your body somehow still too warm despite the ice-chilled air. You follow Ghost's gaze to your rifle. Oh. That.

Perhaps the only thing of objective value you still own (you're partial to the pictures tucked safely inside your dry bag). The rifle kept you alive. It was either learn to shoot or starve, so you learned.

"Never shot a person," you answer flatly. It was one thing to shoot a squirrel or a buck, but another human being? You feel heavy at the thought.

"Lucky then," Ghost grunts staring at you. He's not wrong. You know you had been fortunate to only come across the lone trader and not anyone worse. You think of the people who broke into your home and feel a wave of nausea. If you had been home...

You stare at your rifle.

"You've shot people?" you ask, already knowing the answer. He chuffs at you, sending you an incredulous look as if to say 'Of course I've shot people. How daft are you?'

Ghost sets up a little sleeping area too close to the fire, and pats a spot on his tarp next to him.

“C’mon. Too cold for ya to sleep without my body heat.” He’s wrong of course. Between the fire, your own little bedroll, and your parka, you’d be fine for one night.

You set your bedroll down by his anyway.

The plastic tarp he's placed will keep you further insulated from the snow. And a little extra body heat couldn’t hurt. When you let your eyes finally close, you pretend your thighs squeezing tight is to somehow maintain heat, and has nothing to do with you imagining the man behind you between your legs, scarred lips savoring the wetness of your cunt.

You wake up to sunlight streaming in your face. You wince, turning into your bedroll, trying to block out the light while your brain slowly reboots.

Ghost is already awake; you hear him packing up his gear already. The fire has almost completely died, nothing but smoldering embers left.

He pushes at your arm lightly, as if he was waiting to do so until you woke up on your own.

"Need ya to get up," he says, voice gruff but somehow still soft. Your sleepy mind puzzles over the contradiction. "Need to pack the tarp."

The logic makes sense to you, but you stay stone-still, focusing on the slight pressure of his hand stroking your arm through your parka. You wonder how his skin would feel against yours, warm and rough and demanding-

You practically jump up, thoughts propelling you into action. Ghost stares at you from where he's squatting. His gaze is pinning, and you feel as if you were a beetle stuck on its back. Fleshy underbelly exposed.

He eventually drags his eyes down to your bedroll, and then back to you. You huff a little, feeling embarrassed before you start to pack your things. Ghost rises to his full height, waiting.

"Going to the safe zone. You can come with me or not." He says it so casually as if it were normal.

The nearest safe zone was maybe a week or two away by walking. It's dangerous; this territory's full of large predators, cannibals, and weirdos in general. Not to mention the weather itself...

But he seems like a man who could make it, someone who knows what he's doing. And he just offered you a get out of jail free card.

You stare up at him. Frozen, as little snowflakes begin to swirl in the air. They land on his eyelashes, dusting his white camo jacket.

Your eyes widen slightly, as it finally clicks that he's probably military. Or some crazy doomsday prepper who happened to correctly guess "snowpocalypse." Regardless, better to stick with the predator at the top of the food chain.

Another thought bubbles to the front of your mind: he didn't try anything with you. He had talked about eating pussy and then had his thick body huddled against yours for warmth and....nothing.

You should feel elated at that, but something hollow rings through you. A hungry emptiness; you shove it deep down. You cannot afford to give those aches any legitimate thought.

"I'll go with you." You nod at him, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You turn back to your bedroll, packing it up as quickly as you can. Pangs of excitement jolt through you, your heart feeling light for the first time in a long time.

Ghost grunts in acknowledgment.

"A'right then. Gotta feed yourself though. Can ya do that?" he asks, and you can see his eyebrow raise in question. He's not going to hold your hand through this, not going to carry you to the safe zone.

You nod at him, glancing at your rifle. This is your best chance, and you've hunted a few critters over the last 8 years, what's a few more for a week or two.

You were finally going to the city.

[mymoshangthoughts]

the thing about my mobei jun hcs are that i believe two things are equally true

mobei jun is helplessly in love with (airplane) shang qinghua and would do literally anything for him, finds him charming, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, would simp 100%, very in love

mobei jun absolutely hates that sniveling motherfucking stupid piece of dumb shit (airplane) shang qinghua and spends many days thinking about how nice it would be to pop off his stupid little head so that he'd stop with all the fucking bullshit and also, fuck that guy

like i think he finds pathetic crybaby airplane to be the cutest thing ever. and he simultaneously thinks he's the most obnoxious bastard ever.

to be fair, i think most of his hate comes solely from the fact that:

airplane is clearly lying to him, has been clearly lying to him, their whole fucking relationship is basically a lie from day 1 and getting him to say anything sincere is like pulling teeth

airplane is not his type. oki bear with me, i know that i SAY two-faced crybabies are his type and thats because THEY ARE. but its like, he doesnt REALIZE that's his type and it's also the type he hates. highkey, this man has 'uncle issues' and realizing that his type is lowkey similar to his uncle is a reality that he is NOT ready to cope with. so he very much THINKS thats the type of person he hates most, even tho he's weak to it

airplane is NOT RESPONDING APPROPRIATELY TO ANY OF HIS COURTING ATTEMPTS, NOT EVEN GIVING AN APPROPRIATE REJECTION. IT IS MADDENING. try being strung along for many years with someone who keeps kinda giving you HOPE they miiigggghhhttt like you back, but then they rescind it just as quickly. over and over and over until you kinda hate them a little bit

i just love the contradiction of mobei jun being very ready to be a devoted and loving partner while also being very ready and happy to punt shang qinghua into a death-cave, oki? like he's been strung along for WAY TOO LONG not to have some hang ups about his shitty not-boyfriend

in other words, our beloved ice demon king is a motherfucking tsundere. to his very core, this trsundere is dying at all times because he simultaneously loves and hates the object of his affection and feels deeply embarrassed by his own feelings and equally shameless about them. mobei jun is pretty much ready at all times to completely deny any affection ever held for shang qinghua with a cold passion AND to shamelessly announce that this is his consort, his husband, the owner of his heart, and the only one he ever wants near him and the person he cares for most in this world

our precious tsundere king is sliiiggghhttly just trying to guard his heart from breaking because shang qinghua basically sends him every single mixed message in the world and LOOK IT MAKES HIM A LOT INSANE

when he tastes even a whiff of rejection from shang qinghua, mobei jun is ready to close himself off and haughtily sniff "i never liked that human anyway, fuck off. im not crying at all". at the slightest indication that shang qinghua returns his affections, he's ready to throw away almost all of his pride and cling to him desperately

i love him so much. mobei jun is so fucking silly and i love it. he absolutely is mad at shang qinghua and holds a grudge against him (for various reasons). but he's also so down bad for shang qinghua that it's a bit sad lmfaooo

expanding upon my previous thoughts of "shang qinghua totally tricking mobei jun into marrying him without his knowledge", i'd just like to say that i think it's a particularly amazing thought with regards to mobei jun's Very Conflicted Heart in mind

like he's split in equal parts "omg omg omg im his!? he's mine?! WE'RE MARRIED?!?!?! HE LOVES ME?!!? HEAD EMPTY, NEED QINGHUA, WHERE QINGHUA, MUST QINGHUA, LOVE QINGHUA, AHHHHHHHHH, NEED HUSBAND NOW" and ".........im going to kill him. im going to skin him alive. im going to roast him over one of those fires he loves so fucking much and eat his organs in front of him while he pleads for his life. THAT MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE HIM IM GONNA--"

[tinytinyblogs]

Do it again, and things will get ugly.

Yandere skz not pleased with your little habit—make sure you understand that.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

You’re completely immersed in your book, the world around you fading as you turn the pages. Reading is your favorite escape, a quiet comfort that brings you peace. But just as you’re sinking deeper into the story, a hand suddenly snatches the book out of your grasp. You blink, startled, realizing that Han is standing in front of you. Without warning, he hurls the book across the room with a force that sends it crashing against the wall, the loud thud jolting you out of your peaceful reverie. The book lands on the floor, pages crumpled, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. “Have you even noticed I’ve been here this whole time?” His voice cuts through the silence, filled with a sharp edge of anger that makes your heart skip a beat. “Are those stupid words more interesting to you than me?” There’s frustration in his tone, but there’s something else too—a raw vulnerability, as if he’s trying to mask his own insecurities with anger. You look up at him, seeing the mixture of hurt and irritation in his eyes. It’s more than just frustration; it’s a deep-seated insecurity that rears its head every time you lose yourself in your hobbies.

He hates the way your books seem to draw you away, making him feel like an outsider, as if he’s competing with words on a page for your attention. And no matter how much he tries to ignore it, it eats at him, making him question how much you truly care. He lets out a harsh breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to steady himself. “Do you even care that I’m here?” he demands, his voice breaking slightly. “Or am I just supposed to sit around, watching you get lost in your own world, feeling like I don’t even exist to you?” His words hang in the air, heavy and filled with an ache he can’t fully hide. You open your mouth to respond, but he continues, the frustration spilling over. “Maybe I should just burn all those books—would that finally get your attention? Make you look at me, instead of always burying yourself in them?” There’s a desperation in his voice now, a vulnerability that’s almost painful to witness, as if he’s baring a part of himself he doesn’t want you to see. For him, it’s not just about the books or your hobbies—it’s about the fear that maybe he’s not enough to hold your attention, that he’ll never mean as much to you as those stories do.

And as he stands there, waiting for you to say something, you can see how much this truly bothers him, how much he longs for reassurance that he’s not invisible to you. "If you want to keep those books, you'd better not get too lost in them," he says, his voice low and firm, each word measured and carrying an unmistakable warning. He steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours, trapping you between his arms as he braces himself on either side of you. The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, leaving you feeling cornered, as if there’s nowhere to escape his scrutiny. "I don’t like it when you ignore me," he continues, his tone tinged with a simmering frustration. His eyes are dark and unwavering, searching yours as if demanding an answer, needing to know that you understand what he’s saying. There’s a raw, almost possessive edge in his voice, a silent insistence that you remember he’s here—that he’s the one who should have your attention. He leans in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his presence consuming the space between you. “Make sure you’ve got that in your mind,” he says, his voice soft yet laced with a hint of a warning, as if he’s daring you to look away or challenge him.

Felix

Felix’s grip on his glass tightens so much that his knuckles turn a stark white against the dark wood of the bar. He watches you, his gaze unwavering, stormy, his jaw set hard as if biting back words he doesn't want to say. Every so often, he brings his drink to his lips, taking a slow, controlled sip, but his eyes never leave you. His attention is riveted on you, locked onto the way you throw your head back with laughter, the way you lean in, smiling, as you engage with the people around you. He’s watching every detail, every casual brush of your hand, every animated gesture, every sparkling smile you offer to those sitting beside you. The laughter surrounding you fills the space like a bright, airy melody, but in Felix’s mind, it’s a sound that grates on his nerves, reminding him of something he hates to admit, something he can’t help but resent. He watches you throw yourself into every conversation with that effortless charm of yours, capturing everyone’s attention without even trying. It's something he’s never understood about you—the way you seem drawn to the energy and approval of others, the way you seem to thrive under their gaze.

And you do it all so naturally, like it’s second nature to you, as if it’s simply who you are. But the thought gnaws at him, unsettling him in a way he can’t control. Why do you care so much about what they think? He wonders why his own presence, his own attention, doesn’t seem to be enough for you. Isn’t that all you need? He’s always been there, always the one standing closest to you, watching you, knowing all the little things that make you laugh, the ways your eyes light up, the little gestures you make when you’re deep in conversation. But as much as he knows you, as much as he feels connected to you, this part of you—the part that shines for everyone—remains just beyond his grasp. As soon as the two of you were alone, he grabbed your arm and dragged you back to his place, his grip firm and unrelenting. The door slammed shut behind you, echoing through the room and leaving a tension that was thick and unsettling. His sudden change in demeanor left you feeling uneasy, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. He fixed you with a cold, penetrating stare, his gaze so intense it felt like it was stripping away every layer of defense you had.

"Is it fun getting their attention?" he asked, his voice low and laced with a quiet rage that made his words all the more frightening. The question hung in the air, his deep voice dripping with accusation, making it feel like he could shatter you with just a look. "Is it fun to bask in anyone else's attention but mine? Because from where I’m standing," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "it doesn’t look like there’s anything ‘good’ in you having me but acting like you’re so starved for attention that you have to seek it from anyone else, like some lonely soul without a lover." He took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one calculated, closing the distance between you as his towering frame loomed over you. The intensity in his eyes didn’t waver, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. "This is my warning," he murmured, his voice chilling and measured. "Consider yourself lucky. If I find out you pull something like that again, I’ll make sure you never have the chance to grab anyone’s attention. Ever again." The promise was dark and unmistakable, sending a shiver through you as his gaze held you firmly in place, every word he said echoing in your mind.

Seungmin

It felt profoundly unfair to Seungmin when you didn’t show any gratitude for all the effort he poured into everything he did for you. Every small gesture, every thoughtful act, meant the world to him, yet your indifference stung deeply. He couldn't shake off the frustration that churned within him, particularly when he sensed your ignorance of all his hard work. As you simply nodded at the dessert he had painstakingly learned to make once he discovered it was your favorite, he felt a flicker of anger ignite inside him. The spoon he held felt like a fragile thing in his grip, and he squeezed it tightly, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to contain his emotions. Moments later, unable to bear it any longer, he slammed the spoon onto the table with a sharp clatter that broke the silence, the sound reverberating in the air like a sudden thunderclap. He stood up abruptly, the movement sending a ripple of shock through the room, and began to circle the dining table, his frustration palpable with each stride he took toward you.

He stopped directly in front of you, his expression a mix of hurt and exasperation. “Do you even realize how much I put into this?” he demanded, his voice low but charged with emotion. “I wanted to do something special for you, and all you can do is nod?” The tension between you crackled, and he could feel his heart racing, caught between his desire to express his feelings and the hurt that came from your apparent indifference. His hand trembled with barely contained anger as he faced you, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. “All the things I do for you...” he began, his voice strained, carrying the weight of his frustration. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, trying to rein in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to spill over. He needed to calm himself, to gather his thoughts before he let his anger get the best of him. “All the things!” he continued, his voice rising slightly as he struggled to keep his composure. “Can’t you at least say a damn thank you?” The plea hung in the air, echoing with a mix of desperation and hurt.

He looked at you, searching for any sign of acknowledgment, any hint that you recognized the effort he poured into every small gesture, every thoughtful act he had done for you. "Eat this. Now." Seungmin’s voice was low but laced with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His eyes held a stern, unyielding gaze, the kind that left no room for argument. He leaned in closer, his tone taking on a dangerous edge as he spoke, "And from now on, you’re going to be more aware, more grateful for every single damn thing I do for you. Understand?" He held out the spoon firmly, his grip tightening as if daring you to defy him. The way he looked at you made it clear that he expected nothing less than compliance. His expression was a mixture of frustration and something else, something deeper, that sent a chill down your spine. "You wouldn’t want to see me mad again, would you?" he added, his voice dropping to a quiet but potent warning. The threat lingered in the air, a reminder of the weight his anger carried, and his gaze bore into you, making it clear that he expected you to listen.

Jeongin

He gets visibly frustrated whenever he sees you stumble or drop something, his eyes always drawn to your every clumsy move, each one stirring his concern. Ironically, he’s just as prone to accidents himself; he knows firsthand how easy it is to get hurt in a split second. Perhaps that’s exactly why his frustration with you grows—it’s not just annoyance but genuine worry because he knows just how much a small misstep can lead to something serious, as he's experienced so many times himself. To keep you safe, he’s become hyper-vigilant, watching over you more closely than you might like. He practically has eyes in the back of his head, always noticing when you’re about to trip or reach for something potentially hazardous. Sometimes, his protectiveness feels almost smothering; he keeps such a close watch that you feel he’s always in the room with you, guiding your every movement, as if trying to control every factor around you. Even when he’s not physically present, you’ll receive a flurry of messages, checking in on what you’re doing and reminding you to be cautious.

Just as your fingers hover over the knife handle, his hand darts out, intercepting you with a firm grasp. “How many times have I told you not to cook by yourself?” he says sharply, his tone tinged with impatience and a protectiveness that feels like it’s crossed the line into control. His gaze is unwavering, locked onto you with an intensity that leaves no room for argument. You let out a sigh, a flicker of frustration and defiance slipping into your voice as you answer, “But I want to. I can handle it. I’m not as helpless as you think.” His expression doesn’t soften for a moment. If anything, your words only seem to harden his resolve. “Just because you want to,” he begins, his voice a low, steady warning, “you think that means I’m going to stand by and let you mess with something that could hurt you?” His eyes flash with an almost parental authority, a refusal to back down. “That’s not how this works.” With a purposeful motion, he nudges the knife away from your reach with the toe of his shoe, making his stance clear.

“If I say no, it’s no,” he states firmly, his voice carrying an edge that’s impossible to ignore. He grips your wrist with a sudden, unyielding force, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to make you wince. The pressure is intense, almost as if he wants to leave a lasting mark, a reminder of his control. His gaze is sharp, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach churn. “Understand?” he asks, his voice low and clipped, each word carrying a weight that makes his intentions unmistakably clear. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he continues, his voice tightening. “If I ever catch you doing something I told you not to…” He pauses, allowing the silence to hang between you, thick and charged. His eyes hold yours, unblinking, dark with a fierce resolve that sends a chill down your spine. “I’ll make sure you learn to obey me.” The words linger in the air, a promise and a threat, making it clear that he won’t tolerate any disobedience. His grip remains firm, unyielding, almost daring you to defy him as he lets the message settle in, making sure you know exactly what he expects from you.

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 22

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x dealer!Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, angst, cursing, grief, sadness

I woke up in the late afternoon hours after a restless night of crying. My eyes were swollen and heavy, my body weak and exhausted. I hadn’t eaten since the news broke, and even the thought of food made me feel sick. My stomach growled in protest, but I didn’t care. Hunger was the least of my worries.

I had kept myself locked in my room all night, ignoring the calls and messages that had poured in. Willow had left several voicemails, her voice cracking as she begged me to let her in. I couldn't face her, or anyone, for that matter. I didn’t want comfort or questions. I didn’t want to feel anything at all.

But as the afternoon became the evening, I knew I had to eat. My body felt too weak to keep ignoring its needs, no matter how hollow I felt inside. Something quick and easy, I thought. Just enough to at least one of the aches in my body.

Dragging myself out of bed, clutching Ralph tightly in my arms. The house was eerily quiet as I shuffled down the hallway toward the kitchen, every step heavier than the last.

When I opened the kitchen door, my eyes immediately landed on the chicken sitting on the counter. It was still there, untouched since I abandoned it the moment I thought Nate was dead. 

The sight of it, something so simple, sent me spiraling all over again.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself. Tears streamed down my face as the memories of that night flooded back. Chris teasing me about the chicken. The kiss he gave me before he left. The stupid little flick of the fairy lights that had made me smile.

And now he was gone.

I clutched Ralph tighter, holding him against my chest as if he could somehow shield me from the pain. My sobs came hard and fast, shaking my whole body. The room spun, and I sank to the cold tile floor, my back pressed against the cabinets.

I cried until I couldn’t anymore, my tears leaving streaks on my face and my throat raw from the effort. The chicken sat there, mocking me, a reminder of what could’ve been.

I don’t know how long I sat there on the floor, staring at nothing. Time seemed irrelevant, just like everything else.

I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in Ralph’s fur. “Why, Chris?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why did you leave me?”

The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of my shallow breaths.

I didn’t know how to keep going. How to live with this empty ache where Chris used to be.

All I wanted was to see his face again, so I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers trembling as I unlocked the screen. My thumb hovered over the camera roll before I finally opened it. Scrolling through the photos, I stopped on one I’d taken of Chris just days ago.

He was holding Ralph, with that playful grin on his face. The image felt so vivid, so full of life, it made my heart ache. I stared at it, my eyes tracing every detail, the curve of his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his hair fell perfectly without him even trying. How could someone so alive be gone?

Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away, determined not to spiral again. I needed to do something, anything, to distract myself.

An idea came to me, something simple but meaningful. I decided to make a little setup in my room for Chris, a small space just for him.

I walked to the office next to the dining room, where we kept the printer and all the other little odds and ends my mom liked to hoard. Connecting my phone to the printer, I selected the photo of Chris and Ralph. The printer whirred to life, and within moments, the picture slid out, warm and vivid.

I picked it up carefully, holding it as though it were something fragile. The photo felt so real, like I could reach out and touch him through it.

Mom loved having photos around the house, so I knew there were bound to be some spare frames tucked away somewhere. I rummaged through a drawer in the office and found a small, simple silver frame. It wasn’t fancy, but it would do.

I slipped the photo into the frame, smoothing it out to make sure it sat perfectly. Staring at it again, I felt a bittersweet pang in my chest. “Perfect” I whispered, my voice breaking just slightly.

With the frame in hand, I walked back to my room. I placed it on my bedside table, positioning it so I could see it the moment I woke up. Ralph sat beside it, a silent reminder of one of the last happy moments Chris and I shared.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like a piece of him was here with me, even if just in spirit. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the photo for what felt like hours, lost in the memory of the man who had somehow managed to leave such a deep imprint on my heart.

The space was nice, but it still felt like it needed more life. The framed photo of Chris and Ralph on my bedside table was sweet, but the area seemed too plain, too empty for something that meant so much. My eyes flicked to the wall behind it, and an idea crossed my mind.

Fairy lights.

I immediately thought about the ones hanging in the treehouse, how Chris always flicked them on and off in that odd little pattern of his. They would look perfect here, draped on the wall behind the photo and Ralph, giving the space a warm, comforting glow.

But as quickly as the idea came, I shook my head. I didn’t want to touch those lights. That was how Chris left them, his little quirk preserved exactly the way he’d done it. Moving them felt wrong, like I’d be erasing a piece of him.

I sat on the edge of my bed, conflicted, staring at the framed photo as though it would offer me an answer.

“No” I whispered to myself. “The lights stay where they are.”

It felt silly, but those lights in the treehouse meant more to me now than they ever had before. They weren’t just decorations, they were a memory, a connection to Chris and the moments we shared.

Instead, I decided I’d find another way to make the space feel more alive. Maybe I could add a small plant or a candle, something soft and comforting. For now, though, I let the simplicity of the photo and Ralph keep me company. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

And that was enough effort from me today. I crawled back into bed, my room once again cloaked in darkness. The weather outside had taken a turn, with heavy rain and howling winds rattling the windows. The eerie atmosphere should have unsettled me, but oddly, it was a little comforting. Maybe a distraction was what I needed.

I grabbed my phone and opened Netflix, scrolling until I landed on Gilmore Girls. It was familiar and safe, exactly what I needed to escape my thoughts. Two episodes passed in a blur, but my mind still refused to quiet. Desperate for more distraction, I switched over to YouTube, hoping an ASMR video might help me fall asleep.

I prefer listening to ASMR with headphones, so I reluctantly got out of bed, trying to feel my way through the pitch black room. The wind outside battered the windows, and a chill seeped through the cracks, sending shivers down my spine.

Then it happened.

That familiar glow on, off, on, off flickered through my window again. My breath hitched as I froze in place. It wasn’t possible. My heart pounded in my chest as I turned toward the faint light. 

“No” I whispered, shaking my head as my pulse quickened. “Not again.”

I froze, staring at the flicker of light. My chest tightened as my mind spun in circles, refusing to make sense of it.

“All I wanted was a distraction” I muttered, my voice trembling. “And all I’m getting is reminders,” 

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes as frustration and sorrow consumed me. “I need to take the batteries out” I muttered, my voice shaky. “I can’t keep torturing myself like this.”

Grabbing my phone for light, I stumbled toward the balcony door, my heart pounding with every step. I shoved it open, and the icy rain instantly soaked through my clothes. The wind whipped against me as I stepped outside, teeth chattering from more than just the cold.

And then I saw him.

Chris.

Standing in the treehouse, drenched from the rain, illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of the fairy lights. His hands gripped the railing, his face shadowed but unmistakably his.

The world stopped.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the wet balcony floor, unable to breathe. My phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the ground as I stared, my vision blurred by tears.

“Chris?” I whispered, the word barely escaping my trembling lips.

He didn’t move, but his eyes, those familiar eyes, locked onto mine. They were haunted, filled with something unspoken that only made my heart ache more.

“This isn’t real” I choked out, my voice raw. “You’re not real.”

Chris climbed over the balcony, his movements careful but swift, like he was racing against my spiraling emotions. The moment his feet hit the floor, he was in front of me, dropping to his knees and pull me into his arms before I could think to protest. His warmth engulfed me, the familiar scent of him cutting through the storm in my chest. I froze in his embrace, my mind screaming to pull away, but my body betraying me, leaning into the solace I’d craved for what felt like an eternity.

Realistically, I didn’t know whether to feel relief or anger. My heart raced, caught in a brutal tug of war between the two. Relief because he was here, alive, standing in front of me when I thought I’d lost him forever. Anger because he let me believe otherwise, let me break into pieces and drown in the darkest depths of grief.

My hands shook as I tried to steady myself, gripping the edge of the balcony for support to get myself back to my feet. The storm raged around us, lightning cracking in the distance, illuminating his soaked figure in brief, harsh flashes. He looked like a ghost, haunted, tired, but undeniably alive.

“You..” My voice cracked as I tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper. “You’re alive?”

Chris nodded slowly, taking a cautious step forward, his hands raised slightly as if approaching a wounded animal.

“I can explain.” he said, his voice low but steady, though his eyes betrayed the turmoil within.

I stumbled to my feet, my body swaying as a fresh wave of disbelief hit me. “Explain?” I shouted, the storm swallowing my words as I stared at him, my chest heaving. “Explain what, Chris? That you let me think you were dead? That you-”

My voice broke, and I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as I tried to hold myself together.

“Please, Y/n” Chris begged, his voice low and steady, though the weight of his plea made my chest tighten. “We can explain.”

“We?” I asked sharply, my voice cutting through the sound of the storm outside.

Chris turned his head in the direction of the front of my house, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for the right words. My heart raced, sensing something I wasn’t going to like.

“Yeah” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. He shifted his gaze to the driveway below.

I followed his line of sight, and my breath caught in my throat. Standing there, drenched from the rain, was Nate. He was standing in front of his car, hands in pockets, staring directly at us with an expression that was impossible to read.

My mind reeled as the pieces began to fall into place. 

He was in on this too?

a/n: sorry for any tears that were shed

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @bernardsbunny @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend @lvrsturniolo @sophand4n4 @ilovepurpledragons @mattsside @riasturns @sturnslutz @chrisstxrnsaxe

[zorangezest]

Your OCs took over my life because of your Butcher Vanity video and I think I understand your lore enough to ask a question. Please correct me if I get anything wrong.

So, Roro, a necromancer, runs a boutique/creates clothing and is in some kind of symbiotic relationship with Yin. As a result of their partnership, Yin kind of physically unravels? And, in a comic you posted, Yin kind of looks stitched together?

Necromancy seems like it would require being good with a needle and thread. Creating clothing definitely seems like it would necessitate it. Is Roro so involved with her work that she's like 'To repair Yin, I need this very specific needle and this very specific thread made of this very specific material because my work deserves this much and I have standards'?

GOT SO EXCITED WHEN I SAW THIS LEGIT CACKLING AND RUBBING MY HANDS TOGETHER. TIME TO LORE DUMP ABOUT MY OCS BEWARE THE YAP

First of all—I eat theories about ocs for breakfast lunch and dinner so thank you for the ask! Let’s begin!!

Necromancers in this universe are a little different than how they’re traditionally in media—yes, they can bring back the dead, but they’re VERY BAD AT IT. In fact, that’s not what they’re supposed to be doing with their powers in the first place! Despite all this, their work is widely recognized and legalized!

Roro is a necromancer, but she doesn’t run the boutique—that’s a separate character entirely who’s getting a post to herself soon! The boutique, and its owner, are extremely vital to necromancers, because it’s where they get the bodies made. You are correct that bringing back the dead requires being good with a needle and thread! The process of necromancy itself in this universe is catching a ghost, and sewing a body for it. Who better for the job than the fashionable owner of a boutique?

Ok! Let’s look at the characters!

Roro and Yin are the central characters of the story and they are siblings! Yin has been dead for a long time, and he actually came back from it…really well?? Probably threw a party down at necromancer HQ when he was brought back or something. That being said, he’s very far from perfect, and very far from human, and everywhere he goes people get the intrinsic primal feeling that hey, this guy should be dead! This guy needs to die! Unfortunately for Yin, that means he just can’t seem to stop getting killed by people…well, the closest he can get to being killed, anyway.

As for Roro, she’s been alive for…much longer than she should be! All necromancers are, for spooky lore reasons. She’s had more time to think than anyone who’s ever been alive, and now she’s driven by a lunatic single-minded purpose to do her job, and do it well, and catch as many ghosts as she can! One day she’ll bring her little brother back better, and maybe her parents too, and all her neighbours, and all her friends…if she can even remember their faces.

There’s so many characters in this story and many key locations that i hope to keep fleshing out! I haven’t even gotten to the whole thing with ghosts yet!! This is going to sound extremely corny but to have people interested in this stupid world I’m building is the reason I’m an artist I think. THANK YOU IF YOIVE READ THIS FAR HAHA the yap returns…..

[cayleeuhithinknott]

matt knows how much you hate to see christmas end.

the christmas tree stands in the corner of the living room, twinkling softly with its white lights and a few stray strands of tinsel that somehow ended up there after all the decorating chaos. you’re sitting on the couch, staring at it like you’re saying goodbye to an old friend. matt’s on the floor by the tree, already halfway through unboxing ornaments, carefully placing them back in their little slots.

“you know we don’t have to do this right now,” he says, glancing back at you. his voice is gentle, but there’s a teasing edge to it. “we could just leave it up forever. make it a, uh…year-round christmas tree.”

you smile faintly, hugging your knees to your chest. “don’t tempt me.”

matt smirks, turning back to the tree and plucking off a glittery snowflake ornament. “seriously, though. if it’s making you sad, we can wait a few more days.”

you shake your head. “no, it’s fine. it’s just…” you trail off, shrugging. “i don’t know. it’s stupid. christmas is over, and now everything feels kind of… boring again.”

he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder. “boring? come on, we have so much exciting stuff coming up. like, uh…” he pretends to think, tapping his chin dramatically. “laundry day. cleaning the fridge. oh, and let’s not forget the thrilling saga of returning that sweater your aunt got you.”

you laugh despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “wow, can’t wait.”

he grins, clearly pleased with himself, and turns back to the tree. “see? i’m full of great ideas.”

but as he continues taking down ornaments, you can’t help but feel a pang of sadness. the cozy glow of the tree, the scent of pine, the warmth of the holidays—it’s all disappearing too quickly. you stand up and walk over to where matt’s sitting, grabbing an ornament and turning it over in your hands. it’s one of your favorites, a little ceramic reindeer with a chipped ear.

“remember when you dropped this last year?” you ask, holding it up.

he glances at it and groans. “don’t remind me. you acted like i’d broken a family heirloom.”

“well, it’s cute,” you say, placing it gently in the box. “it deserves to be treated with care.”

“noted,” he says, shooting you a playful look. “no more reckless ornament handling.”

you smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. matt notices, of course he does, and sets down the strand of lights he’s untangling.

“hey,” he says softly, nudging your knee with his. “what’s really going on?”

you shrug, sitting down next to him. “i don’t know. i just… i love christmas. it’s my favorite time of year. and now it’s over, and everything feels kind of empty.”

he watches you for a moment, then leans over and bumps your shoulder with his. “you know, it doesn’t have to feel empty. we can keep some of the christmas magic alive.”

you raise an eyebrow at him. “oh yeah? how?”

he grins, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous sparkle you’ve come to know so well. “well, for starters, we could leave the tree half-decorated just to annoy everyone who visits.”

“matt.”

“or,” he continues, ignoring your tone, “we could eat christmas cookies every day until, like, march. just drown our post-holiday sadness in sugar.”

“matt!”

“or,” he says, turning to face you fully now, “we could just look forward to next christmas. because you know it’s going to be even better than this year. we’ll get an even bigger tree, put up even more lights, and—get this—we’ll start watching christmas movies in october. we’ll go full christmas overload.”

you laugh, finally feeling the weight in your chest start to lift. “october, huh? that’s a little extreme, even for me.”

“oh, come on,” he says, grinning. “you know you’d love it.”

you shake your head, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “maybe. we’ll see.”

he leans back against the couch, looking up at the tree. “besides, christmas isn’t just a day, you know? it’s a vibe. and i’m pretty sure we can keep that vibe going as long as we want.”

you glance at him, your heart softening at the way he’s trying so hard to cheer you up. “you’re such a dork,” you say, nudging him lightly.

“but i’m your dork,” he shoots back, winking.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through your chest. somehow, matt always knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

together, the two of you finish packing up the ornaments, working in comfortable silence with the occasional joke or playful jab breaking the quiet. when the tree is finally bare, matt stands up and stretches, offering you a hand to help you up.

“ready to drag this thing out to the curb?” he asks, nodding toward the tree.

you sigh, but there’s a smile on your face now. “yeah, i guess so.”

as you both wrestle the tree out the door, leaving a trail of pine needles in your wake, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. christmas may be over, but with matt by your side, you know there’s plenty to look forward to—this year, next year, and every year after that.

a/n: 2 posts in one day wow! i stole @strnilolover little sparkly divider sorry!!! anyway im sad christmas is over so im projecting it onto this😍

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @claireezz10 @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222

[missmeinyourbones]

THE RUST THAT GREW BETWEEN TELEPHONES

in which suna is annoying (shocker). slightly suggestive? tw: hickeys/bruising 

Sometimes you swear life is laughing at you, and sometimes it is. But other times, it’s just your boyfriend.

Waking up this morning with an alarmingly noticeable hickey on your neck was not what you meant when you said you were looking for a new accessory to wear out to brunch. 

You’ve already spent about twenty minutes of your getting ready process on trying to cover up the harsh bruise that formed on your skin overnight, and with each pump of foundation and stroke of concealer, your frustration grows. 

Amid your horror, you hear a borderline squeak. Something that perfectly reflects a mumbled snort of laughter behind a stupidly long and calloused hand. 

You let your gaze sharply adjust to the silhouette in the reflection behind you. Suna stands exactly how you’d imagined him, watching your feeble attempts at trying to cover his bite with a shit-eating grin hidden behind his fist.

He’s utterly amused by the scene playing out before him. You? Not so much. 

“Choke.”

He almost does at your blunt words paired with your gaze of daggers. When he removes the hand covering his mouth, he holds up his palm in defense. You don’t miss how he does his best to hide the smirk pulling at his cheeks. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he innocently sings.

Your glare somehow gets even colder, before you scoff and ignore his words. You go back to rubbing at the mark, hoping to disperse its bruising a bit before furiously going in with yet another layer of concealer.

Suna shakes his head as he tries to keep a straight face, walking towards your back facing him. Nearly out of spite, you start rubbing harder at the mark. 

“Hey, hey—stop, alright?” he grabs your wrist with ease, before making eye contact with you through the mirror once more. “It’s not that bad.”

A lie. You both know it is that bad. In fact, it may be one of the worst ones he’s given you—it looks like he practically bit and sucked on the same spot for about an hour and a half straight. Maybe he did, you can't quite exactly remember where his lips were when his hands were—

As if reading your mind, Suna catches your eye and raises his brow at your dirty thoughts. 

“This isn’t funny,” you remind him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

“And I’m not laughing,” he insists, hands resting comfortably on your waist as he watches you (try to) blend out the makeup smothering the bite.

“But you want to,” you practically scoff. “I can tell by that stupid look on your face.”

He hums a laugh into the crown of your head.

“Maybe that’s just my face,” he reasons. You decide to bite back a fresh comment when he gently pokes the irritated skin.

You whine a bit at the sensitive prodding. Pathetically frustrated with the situation at hand, you whimper out a half angry half embarrassed mumble, “Hurts.”

He hums mockingly, cooing above the skin as he whispers, “Want me to kiss it better?” 

His lips lean in to skim the maroon bruise, but your hand swats at his cheek before he can successfully make contact. 

He whines at the gentle smack, pulling away with an amused smirk.

“That’s how it got there in the first place, dumbass,” he hears you mumble beneath your breath as you give up on the makeup, trying to play around with the collar of your shirt in any way that hides the ridiculous bruise on your neck. 

Suna watches you fumble with the material, face muffled in the side of your neck that isn’t marked.

“Not my fault you wore that dress last night,” he breathes evenly before daring to nip lightly at your jaw, “looked too good.”

“Good enough to practically eat me alive?” you retort with something that sounds like embarrassment.

Suna coos at your dramatics. He returns his attention to the prized possession he left on your neck. 

He nods, showing no regret and rubbing a soft thumb over the mark, “And then some.” 

Sighing in defeat with a groan, your hands fall flat at your sides.

“I can’t go out like this.” 

“You could gimme a matching one,” Suna casually slings an arm around your shoulder, exposing his neck dramatically in the process, “and consider it payback.”

You glare at him through the mirror, before glancing at his barren neck—because, unlike someone, you’re cautious with your marks. 

Your reaction not being the one he wanted, he tries again.

“Or,” he draws out the syllable before smoothly turning his head, “you could let me mark you up some more.”

You scoff, eyes stuck on the sore mark that seems to make itself known no matter what.

“And how would that help?”

“If you’re covered in ‘em, it takes the attention away from the big one,” he says simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.  

Though you let out a tiny laugh, it’s quickly hidden by your sarcastic response. 

“Can’t argue with that foolproof logic.”

His face returns to your neck, now determined to make you feel better after getting a taste of your amusement. “Stop being grouchy and let me love on you,” he nearly whines.

With a pathetic pout, you lean into his touch. He allows his head to lift with his hand, thumb smoothing out the worry lines forming on your forehead.

“M’sorry, though,” he softly breathes. “If you really hate it that much, I won't do it again next time.”

The insinuation sends a small panic through your core when you hear yourself quickly interrupt, “No–” 

“—Hm?” Suna pulls back to see your flushed face, nearly as red as the mark adorning your collarbone. 

With his eyebrow raised in amusement, Suna knows he’s won. 

Actually, he knew he’d won the second he spotted the mark on you this morning—when you were too sleepy to care and too sore to realize. As if he read you like a book and planned this all along, he feels victorious in his calculated actions.

“No, it’s not…” you do your best to grasp onto what's left of your dignity, “it’s not that.”

Suna hums, encouraging you to continue as he rubs a sweet circle on your side. 

“...I do like it,” your voice eventually comes quietly. Your eyes avoid his gaze in the reflection when you elaborate. 

“I just don’t want other people to see me like this,” you look down, playing with your hands shyly when you breathe, “just you.”

Suna swears he falls in love with you all over again every single day, and you always call bullshit on his cheesy declaration. But it’s true, and right now proves it. Over something as silly as a stupidly inconvenient hickey, you still find a new way to make him want to throw up with how much he adores you. It nearly makes him sick to his stomach in the best way possible.

He softens when he teases you with a squeeze to your waist, “Yeah? Just me?”

You groan at his prodding but nod into his chest nonetheless. Repeating history, Suna uses his hand to gently have you look at him.

When your eyes meet him, he leans in slowly. 

“Well then,” he coos against your lips, repeating your prior words back to you, “I can't argue with that foolproof logic.”

Needless to say, the two of you were late to brunch—and when you do show up, no one questions your turtleneck. 

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Angst, blood, discussion of injuries, heavy emotional moments for reader, heartache.

Spoilers for cannon

Part 11

Scotch and Screams - Part 12

The waiting was the worst part.

Time in a hospital stretched unnaturally, moving at an agonizing crawl. The hum of fluorescent lights, the distant beep of machines, the faint scent of antiseptic—all of it felt suffocating.

You hadn’t left Chibs’ side since they let you into his room, except for the brief moments when the nurses made you step outside. Even then, you lingered in the hall, listening, waiting, counting every second until you could return.

Now, you sat slumped in the uncomfortable chair by his bedside, arms wrapped around yourself, Chibs’ kutte still draped over you. The leather had warmed from your body heat, but it did little to chase away the chill seeping into your bones.

A soft knock at the door pulled your gaze upward. A nurse stood there, holding a small plastic cup in her hand.

"You should eat something," she said gently, stepping inside. "I know it’s not much, but it might help."

She set the cup down on the rolling tray next to you before giving you a knowing look, the kind reserved for people who had spent too many hours beside a hospital bed. Then, without another word, she left, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Your eyes dropped to the cup.

Orange fucking Jell-O.

The sight of it sent an unexpected pang through your chest.

It was the same kind they had given you when you had been in the hospital. The same one you had forced yourself to eat, spooning the gelatin into your mouth even when everything inside you rebelled against it.

The same one that had made Chibs grimace in exaggerated disgust when he had tried a bite.

"Well, now I feel personally offended. Makin’ me eat that garbage, shame on ye.”

The memory came so vividly, so suddenly, that it felt like a punch to the gut.

You could almost see him, sitting beside you, arms crossed, expression twisted in pure betrayal at the taste still lingering on his tongue. Could almost hear the way he had grumbled about hospital food, swearing he’d smuggle in something real if they kept you in there too long.

Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled around the small cup, gripping it tightly, but the moment you tried to pull the lid back, something in you cracked.

The room blurred.

The Jell-O trembled in your grasp, then before you could stop it, a sob wrenched its way free.

It hit you all at once, the weight of everything pressing down like a vice.

The explosion.

The blood on the pavement.

The way Chibs had been thrown like a rag doll, body limp and motionless, the sheer terror of seeing him like that.

Your shoulders shook as you hunched over, the silent tears quickly turning into gasping sobs.

It wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair.

One moment, he had been standing there, alive, teasing you, making those damn sarcastic remarks that always managed to pull a smile from you. The next, he was lying in a hospital bed, bruised and broken, unresponsive.

You clutched the Jell-O tighter, knuckles whitening.

"You bastard," you choked out, voice thick with grief. "Your making me cry over you Scotsman."

You had thought—believed—he was untouchable. That the chaos of the world couldn't reach him.

But that blood on the pavement, the too-still rise and fall of his chest, proved otherwise.

Tears dripped onto the plastic cup in your hands, and with a trembling breath, you set it down.

Your hands reached out instead, fingers ghosting over Chibs’ before finally lacing them with his. His skin was warm, solid beneath your touch.

"If—when—when you wake up," you whispered, voice barely audible, "I swear Filip, I’ll never make you try Orange Jell-O again."

The words were shaky, broken, but they made something inside you ache even more.

Because he should’ve been there to grumble about it. To smirk and roll his eyes and say something cocky in that thick accent of his.

Instead, there was just silence, the hours blurred together.

The stupid fucking Jell-O sat untouched on the tray beside you, its bright orange color standing out starkly against the sterile white of the hospital room. You didn’t have the heart to throw it away.

You didn’t have the energy to move at all.

The weight of exhaustion was creeping in now, pressing down on you, but you refused to close your eyes. Every time you blinked for too long, you saw flashes of the explosion—the moment Chibs had been thrown back, the sickening sound of his body hitting the pavement.

So you stayed awake.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, there was a quiet knock on the door.

You turned, surprised to find Juice standing there, holding two cups of coffee.

He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his usual easy-going energy noticeably muted. The dark circles under his eyes told you he hadn’t slept either.

"Hey," he said softly, holding out one of the cups. "Figured you could use this."

You hesitated. Your stomach was still twisted in knots, but the warmth of the coffee in your hands was grounding. You murmured a quiet "thank you" before taking a small sip. It was bitter and strong, exactly what you needed.

Juice pulled up a chair beside you, his gaze flickering to Chibs.

"He’s tough," he said, like he needed to remind himself as much as you. "You know that, right?"

You nodded, but your grip on the coffee cup tightened.

Juice sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "The guys are taking turns checking in. Gemma’s making sure no one crowds you, but…" He glanced at you. "You don’t gotta do this alone."

The words made your throat tighten.

You weren’t alone. You knew that. But in that moment, with Chibs lying so still beside you, it felt like you were.

Juice stayed for a little while longer, talking about nothing in particular—little things to try and distract you. He didn’t force a conversation, didn’t push you to talk. He just sat there, offering quiet companionship in his own way.

When he finally left, Bobby was the next to appear, carrying a brown paper bag.

"You eat yet?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

You shook your head, and Bobby muttered something under his breath before shoving the bag toward you.

"You’re gonna eat," he said firmly. "Don’t argue."

You didn’t have the energy to.

The muffin inside was simple—just blueberry or some other fruit, something easy to stomach—but even after one bite, you weren’t sure you could finish it. Still, Bobby gave you a look that made it clear he wasn’t leaving until he was satisfied you had at least tried.

He stayed longer than Juice had, talking about baking, about the guys, about anything but the fact that Chibs was still unconscious. You listened, nodding occasionally, but the words felt distant.

The visits continued throughout the days or was it weeks yet ? You didn't know.

Tig showed up at some point, sitting on the edge of the windowsill, his usual chaotic energy subdued. He didn’t say much, just ran a hand over his face and muttered something about how "this kinda shit never gets easier."

Even Opie came by, standing in the doorway for a long moment before finally stepping inside. He looked at Chibs, then at you, and exhaled heavily.

"Need anything?" he asked.

You shook your head.

"You sure?"

You weren’t. But you nodded anyway.

Opie didn’t push. He just gave your shoulder a squeeze before walking out again.

Eventually, the room emptied again, leaving just you and Chibs.

You knew you should try to sleep, even if just for a little while, but the thought of closing your eyes, of waking up to something worse, made your stomach churn.

You turned back to Chibs, squeezing his hand gently.

"You’ve got half the damn club checking in on you Filip," you murmured, voice hoarse. "You really gonna sleep through all of that?" You tried to huff out a laugh but it sounded wrong.

There was no response, no flicker of movement.

You swallowed hard, shifting in your seat, your fingers curled tighter around his.

"Come back," you pleaded, voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

But still, he didn’t stir.

And for the first time since the explosion, the weight of everything became too much to bear.

Curling up in the chair, knees pulled to your chest, you let your head rest against the edge of Chibs’ bed, your hand still clutched his.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

And in the quiet hum of the hospital room, you finally let yourself close your eyes, as you slept the world outside Chibs’ hospital room had continued.

Your fingers curled around his hand, tracing the rough skin with the lightest touch, like you could keep him tethered to you, like you could will him to wake up, even from the depths of your slumber.

But when you woke again you saw that he hadn’t.

He just lay there—too still, too quiet. And the longer you watched, the more the panic clawed at your throat, whispering fears you didn’t want to name.

So you stayed, tried to push away your fears with magazines and tidying up the sterile environment, but there wasn't enough to occupy you.

So you just— stayed, even when the steady ache in your back from the hospital chair turned into something sharper.

Because if you left, even for a moment—

What if he woke up alone?

What if he didn’t wake up at all?

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

Gemma and Tara.

You barely registered their conversation at first—just murmurs of concern, of logic you couldn’t bring yourself to hear. But then, Gemma’s voice cut through, firm and undeniable.

"Enough, sweetheart. You need a break."

You blinked, looking up at her, confusion furrowing your brow. "I’m fine."

Gemma scoffed, arms crossed. "Bullshit. You’re running on fumes. When was the last time you ate? Or slept?"

You swallowed, glancing away.

Tara stepped closer, softer in her approach. "I know it’s hard to leave," she said, voice gentle, "but you’ll be better for him if you take care of yourself too."

Your grip on Chibs’ hand tightened.

Gemma sighed, crouching down in front of you, eyes sharp but not unkind. "Look, we ain’t askin’ you to go home and take a spa day. Just come with me for a bit—we’ll grab some of his stuff, get some air. By the time we get back, maybe he’ll be awake."

Your mind clawed at the last part.

Maybe he’ll be awake.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through you. What if you did leave, and he opened his eyes to an empty room? What if he needed you and you weren’t there?

As if sensing your hesitation, Tara added, "I’ll be here, I'm on rotation, If anything changes, I’ll call immediately. You won’t miss anything."

Gemma placed a hand over yours. "C’mon, sweetheart," she murmured, softer now. "He wouldn’t want you runnin’ yourself into the ground."

Your throat tightened.

Because she was right.

Chibs wouldn’t want you like this—exhausted, running on fear alone. If he could see you now, he’d give you that half-smirk of his and tell you to get some rest, to stop worryin’ so much.

Slowly, reluctantly, you nodded.

Gemma squeezed your hand once before standing. "Good girl. Let’s go."

You turned back to Chibs one last time, brushing your fingers over his knuckles. "I’ll be back soon," you whispered, voice barely audible. "You better not go anywhere, Filip"

But he remained still.

And with that, you forced yourself to step away.

Outside, the air was cool, crisp against your skin. The sky had started to shift to late afternoon hues—warm gold fading into hints of dusk. It felt strange, surreal, like the world had continued spinning while yours had stopped.

You got into Gemma’s new car in silence.

She drove without a word at first, her gaze steady on the road, her usual sharp edges softened just a little. She didn’t push, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.

Instead, she let you sit in it.

Let you feel.

It wasn’t until you were halfway to your destination that she finally spoke.

"I see the way you look at him."

Your fingers twisted together. "He kissed me," you admitted quietly. "Just… the corner of my mouth. Right before—"

Gemma smiled slightly. "Sounds like Chibs."

You let out a breath, your chest aching. "I just… I don’t know how to do this."

Gemma glanced at you, expression unreadable. "Sweetheart, if you’re waitin’ for permission to love him, you’re wastin’ time."

Your throat tightened as you stared out the window, the streets blurred past, late afternoon light giving everything a warm, almost golden hue.

It felt wrong. Like the world should be darker somehow.

"You ever been to his place before?" Gemma’s voice broke through the silence.

You hesitated, shaking your head. "No."

She nodded like she wasn’t surprised. "Figures."

You swallowed, fingers tightening in your lap. Chibs had always felt… steady. A constant presence, warm and solid. He didn’t rush things. Didn’t push. And even though there was something unspoken between you—something simmering just beneath the surface—he hadn’t let you too deep yet.

And now here you were, stepping into a space he’d never shown you, gathering things for him like you had any right to be there.

Like you weren’t still trying to figure out what, exactly, you were to him.

Gemma had Chibs keys.

She used it without hesitation, pushing the door open like she owned the place. Maybe, in some way, she did. Not this apartment, not him, but the way she looked after her boys, the way she inserted herself where she saw fit.

You followed her inside, feeling like an intruder.

The space smelled like him—leather, soap, whiskey, something earthy beneath it all. It was simple, lived-in but not cluttered. A couch that had seen better days, a half-full ashtray on the side table, a bottle of Jameson on the counter.

"Alright," Gemma said, clapping her hands together. "Let’s grab what he’ll need. Clothes, mostly. Razor. That good cologne he wears."

You swallowed, nodding.

You wandered to the bedroom, hesitant at first, but Gemma didn’t seem to have the same reservations. She went straight to the closet, pulling out jeans, t-shirts, a hoodie. "Hospitals get cold," she muttered, more to herself than you.

You moved to the dresser, fingers skimming the surface before carefully pulling open a drawer. Inside, stacks of neatly folded shirts. The familiarity of them made your throat tighten—how many times had you seen him in that black SAMCRO tee? Or the soft gray one that clung to his shoulders just right?

Your fingers brushed over the fabric, and for a second, you could almost feel him. The warmth of his hand on your back, the way he leaned in close when he spoke low, the quiet honey in his voice when he said your name.

He should be here.

Not in a hospital bed. Shouldn't have been bleeding on cold pavement.

Here.

With you.

"You good?" Gemma’s voice was softer than usual.

You blinked, realizing you’d gone still, hands clenched in the fabric of one of his shirts. You forced a nod, clearing your throat. "Yeah. Just… feels weird."

Gemma gave you a knowing look. "That’s ‘cause you care, sweetheart."

Your breath stuttered slightly as you blink rapidly.

She didn’t press, just grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and started packing. "Grab his shit from the bathroom, would ya?"

You nodded, moving on autopilot.

The bathroom was small but tidy. A toothbrush in a cup by the sink. Aftershave. A bottle of cologne you knew the scent of immediately.

You grabbed everything you could think of, your hands moving on instinct.

And then—

Your breath caught.

A hair tie, stray hairs still wrapped around it.

It was sitting on the edge of the sink, near his razor, stretched out like it had been pulled from a wrist and abandoned.

Yours.

You swallowed hard, fingers ghosting over it before picking it up. You’d lost it in the clubhouse weeks ago. You’d figured it was gone, lost to the chaos of SAMCRO.

But he had it.

Had kept it.

"Your a werido, Scotsman" you mutter to yourself

Something about it unraveled you though, you just wouldn't admit it.

"Find anything interesting?" Gemma’s voice came from the doorway, startling you.

You turned too fast, guilt flashing across your face even though you’d done nothing wrong. You held up the small band, trying to keep your voice even. "I lost this at the clubhouse."

Gemma’s eyes flicked to it, then back to you. And then—that smirk. The knowing one. The one that made you feel like she saw everything.

"Guess not," she said simply.

The hospital hallways felt different coming back.

Before, there had been a frantic kind of urgency, a need to get to Chibs, to be close to him. But now, walking through those sterile corridors with his duffel bag clutched in your hands, there was a weight in your chest that hadn't been there before.

It was strange—stepping into his space today, gathering pieces of his life, had made you feel closer to him. More real in whatever undefined thing existed between you. But now that you were back, your stomach twisted with something uneasy.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the way you hadn’t eaten properly in days. Maybe it was just the emotional toll of the everytying.

Something unspoken pressing against your ribs, making your breath come short.

"I’ll go check on him," Gemma said, nodding ahead. "You good?"

You nodded, distracted, gripping the strap of the bag. "Yeah. I just—I need the bathroom real quick."

She gave you a look—half concern, half understanding—before walking ahead, heels clicking against the tile.

You turned toward the bathroom, needing a second. A breath. A moment to ground yourself before you saw him again.

Because of course he was going to wake up.

Of course, he was.

You had every intention of walking straight to his room after the bathroom, but something about the way your heart clenched in your chest made your steps slower, made the world blur just slightly at the edges.

And then you heard voices, was Chibs awake ? You let yourself hope.

You paused just outside the door, hands tightening on the duffel bag, no the voices where lighter, Gemma’s voice ... and someone else.

You followed in behind Tara, her starched doctors jacket sliding in the door in front of you. Your eyes settle on Gemma and another woman her skin is a deep, warm brown, smooth and radiant, face framed by dark, curly hair.

Tara’s voice—sharp, annoyed. "Hospital is for family only."

A beat of silence.

Then—"I’m his wife." Sharp, clipped.

Everything—stopped—suspended in that moment.

Wife.

Your brows knitted together before you could school your features, for a second, you thought maybe you’d misheard. That exhaustion had gotten the better of you, that your mind was playing tricks on you, that you were slipping into some fever dream where nothing made sense.

You were standing there, weren’t you? Holding a bag filled with his things? Things you had packed with careful, aching hands, imagining him waking up, imagining what he would need—

And yet, someone else was his wife.

His wife.

Chibs had a wife.

Filip hadn’t told you.

Why hadn't he told you.

The duffel bag felt too heavy now, your fingers numb around the strap. Your lips parted, but no words came out, your mind grasping for something—anything—that would make sense of this.

It wasn’t just shock, it felt deep and gutting, curling like nausea in your stomach.

You had thought—no.

You hadn’t thought.

Because you hadn’t dared to let yourself believe that whatever this was between you and Chibs meant something more. You hadn’t dared to put words to it, to claim it, to let yourself hope.

But hope had crept in anyway.

In the way he touched you—small, careful, lingering.

In the way he looked at you—like he saw something, something worth protecting.

In the way his lips had brushed the corner of your mouth that night, something almost there, something unspoken that you had been so sure meant something.

And now—Now, you felt stupid.

Like a child who had convinced herself of some kind of fairy tale only to be reminded, the world didn’t work that way.

A voice cut through your thourghts, sharp and thick with an accent you didn’t recognize.

“Who are you, lovey?”

And the only thing you managed to get out—

"I'm—I—I should go."

[99solaris]

forgotten • droid

pairing: elasticdroid x fem!reader wc: 4k warnings: angst, frustrated arguements, mentions of death scare (no actual injury or death happens), no resolve song pairing: slow dancing in a burning room by john mayer a/n: brick was kissed before i threw it at your head <3

You don't know how long you have been staring at the front door. You could probably point out every flaw of it, the dents, the scratches, anything. By now, it might as well be imprinted onto the inside of your eyelids. Eyes flicking from door to the handle, you feel as if its mocking you, your own brain conjuring up phantom movements paired with imaginary sounds of the clinking of keys. Hoping it will open soon and stop the plague upon your mind - but it never happens. 

From the dinner table, you keep your eyes on the door. Your friends at the table have noticed your absence from the conversations flourishing an hour ago but they kept it going, not wanting to make it worse for you, and yet;

Someone from the friend group sighs loudly, hands up in defence and decides to take initiative to speak up: ''If you stare harder, you might burn a hole in the middle of it,'' a comment that earned a small snicker around the table before they spoke up again, ‘’I don’t think he’s coming.’’

All turn their attention to them, the person next to them elbows them in their side muttering a just audible ‘’don’t be rude’’. It's a statement that has been on everyone's mind for while now. It’s quiet around the table, eyes scanning the company, switching back forth to the person opposite them to then you. Looking for any response but you can’t even bear to pry your eyes away from the front door and look them in the eye. Picking at the skin around your fingernails, playing with the table decor with the other hand - anything to keep you from meeting their gaze.

‘’He will be here any minute,’’ you manage to get out, a slight quiver in your voice that, with a weak attempt, try to hide with a quick smile that falters as fast as it was put on. Shoulders slumping as your eyes go warm and tears pricking at the corners. ‘’I know he will.’’ 

Somewhere, Jaime, to others known as Droid, is at Puffer’s house filming content for the podcast and extra material for Patreon, ultimately deciding to stay longer after Puffer requests they could order out and eat dinner together. He hasn’t been looking at his phone for hours, completely obvious to the messages and calls from you and your friends. When they finally wrap it up it’s 10:51pm. As he grabs his jacket he sighs, knowing he’s getting way later than he had promised. He pulls out his phone that’s been in his back pocket on Do Not Disturb, so as to not ruin filming, he notices the many notifications. Emails, Instagram, 20 calls, 15 messages. All messages following the same pattern: ‘’Dude, where the fuck are you?’’ and ‘’Hey asshole, are you really trying to win the title of worst boyfriend of the year? Cuz you might win it.’’

He’s about to text them back about what they mean by all that, seeing as he didn’t believe he had done anything wrong - maybe it was a prank? A stupid one at that, he points out to himself, since he always prides himself in the role of being someone’s partner. But as he goes to answer, he sees your name pop up under unread messages:

4:34pm - Mi Amor: Hope filming is going good but don’t have too much fun without me (like that is possible!!!) I’ve decorated the place to the best of my abilities, ready for the guests to arrive!! [2 images attached]

5:19pm - Mi Amor: Guests are coming soon.. are you running late? I can probably delay food till you get here. Let me know!

6:54pm - Mi Amor: Honey, are you alright? Can you text me anything so I know you’re alive? You are scaring me..

Reading the texts feels like a punch to the gut. He feels sick to his stomach as he stares at the pictures: A ‘’Happy Birthday!’’ banner, confetti hanging from the ceiling, a table decorated - all the stuff you had dragged through the door in multiple bags, pulling out every item beaming with pride and grinning ear to ear about how excited you were to use the new decor for the occassion. The second picture, you standing in front of the banner, striking a pose between number balloons. His face drops and a chill runs up his though his body feels like it's burning. Fuck. Shit. One hand running through his hair, tugging at the ends, the other clutching his phone. Your birthday. It’s your fucking birthday.

‘’Hey man, you good? You’ve been standing there for like a solid 10 minutes just freaking out, dude,’’ the voice of Grizzy from behind him makes him jump. His eyes leave his phone screen and Grizzy is quick to notice the glazed over eyes. ’’Whoa, hey, what’s wrong dud-’’ ‘’I’m a fucking asshole,’’ he cuts him off quick, ‘’It’s my girl’s birthday.’’ His voice breaks, knowing the judgement he could be facing from his friends and most importantly, you. Grizzy's mouth forms an ‘o’ and eyes widen, ‘’Fuck dude, it’s late!’’ he exclaims, earning the attention of the rest of the crew, poking their heads out in the hallway. Jaime rubs his face, ruffling his hair with a heavy sigh putting his phone in his pocket again. ‘’You better go home now, she’s for sure pissed at you.’’ Jaime doesn’t respond but throws on his jacket, shoving his feet into his shoes and half-assed tying them, putting on his helmet and running out the door. 

At home, the guests started leaving the house around 9pm. Despite the situation, you had tried to make the most of it, even though the energy wasn’t really there for you, or anyone even, to try and make it anything other than what it was. You had attempted to join in on the conversations, had the chances of snickering to a few of the jokes cracked and even with a dampened appetite, ate the food you had spent precious hours and valiant effort to make. When it got to saying your goodbyes to the guests, all of them saying their farewells followed by heartfelt yet empty apologies of how sorry they felt by your boyfriend’s actions on your day, you were unbelievably tired. From keeping your hopes up about Jaime coming home or your friend’s endless support, you didn’t know. You couldn’t hate them though. They were only trying their best to help you but it only irked you, every time being reminded of the longing you had for Jaime to be here at that very minute. His arm slung around your shoulders as he fires off the last jokes he had left in him of the evening, the sound of his laughter vibrating in chest and bounces off the walls, the both of you waving goodbye. But he isn’t there. It’s just you, alone at the door, hug after hug, reassuring arm squeezes, soft, small back rubs from your friends. 

‘’When he gets here,’’ a friend starts while putting their shoes on, ‘’you tell him to do better than this shit show.’’ You nod meekly watching them get ready and as they finish up, give your cheek a friendly small peck and walk out the door. You watch as they back out of the drive-way and drive off, standing there for a good minute, just in case he decides to turn up at the last second. Still nothing. You close the door reluctantly, lock it and turn around to face the empty, silent house. Walking towards the living room, you see how the confetti is giving up its hold on the ceiling and falls to the floor. You give a half-hearted snort to how absurd it is, somehow seeing yourself reflected in the action. There is food left in respective pots and pans, half filled glasses of different coloured liquids. You look at the two plates of food you had saved for Jaime, something you’ve always done for him, knowing how bad he can be with scheduling his own time. 

So, you occupy yourself. You start cleaning up. Washing dishes, glassware, utensils, empty pots. Removing table decor. Pulling at the leftover confetti on the ceiling, deflating the balloons for good, tugging at the banner from the wall, feeling a frustration bubble in your chest. You gather it all and throw it all into a trash can, noticing how your chest is heaving. In the trash can is all the time and effort you had spent on making today special. A collection of the money that has been wasted on not having used its full potential. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you feel your knees buckle beneath you, sinking to the floor. The tears are building up, tears shake in the dam of your eyes, blurring your vision. It all feels too much and the silence in the house feels so loud in your ears. You clutch at the fabric of your clothes as you can feel it all building in your throat. You want to hold it back but you can’t. The sob tumbles out from your mouth and it doesn’t stop. Sobs are racking your body and you feel like your head is going to implode from the sheer volume of it. The tears are falling freely and they feel hot on your cheeks. You feverishly wipe at your face, hand on your chest trying to regulate your breathing but it’s all to no avail. Curled up, on the floor, you sit there and let it all out, grief of the events and the uncertainty of your boyfriend’s fate.

When Jaime finally gets back to the house it’s 11:24pm. He’s nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek, fumbling with the key to unlock the door. Shaky hands try to steady themselves as he unlocks it, cautiously pulling at the handle, his eyes pressed shut awaiting the outburst. But when he walks in and closes the door behind him, it’s eerily quiet. He opens his eyes to a dimly lit house where you wouldn’t have guessed a birthday had been held. He carefully pulls off his jacket and shoes, placing his helmet on the shelf before he moves further into the house. ‘’Amor?’’ he calls out softly as he scans the house for your figure. He notices the saran wrapped plates of food on the kitchen table, a clear sign of you having been waiting out for him. His heart was already heavy but this surely added even more weight that it felt like he could sink into the floor right then and there.

He turns around towards the living room and notices a lump on the couch. You, sleeping on the couch. Somehow having managed to crawl from the floor onto a softer surface and passed out. He maneuvers around the room and around the couch to squat down next to you, taking in your peaceful state of soft snores, always finding it so endearing to watch you. He slowly reaches a hand up to gently place on your cheek, thumb rubbing the soft skin beneath. 

‘’Babe?’’ he whispers, noticing the slight change in breathing. He calls again, just a bit louder, which manages to wake you up. Eyes fluttering open but not fully, the dim light of the room enough to make you squint. With furrowed eyebrows you try to make out the figure in front of you, eyes sore from the amount of crying you had done earlier. It’s first when you register the gentle caress on your cheek and the familiar smell of cologne it connects in your head and the knot in your chest returns.

‘’I don’t want to talk to you,’’ you croak out and Jaime notices it instantly, hitting himself over and over in his head because if there is anything he never wanted to happen, it’s you crying over something he had done.

‘’Babe, please,’’ he says as you move to sit up, groaning slightly from the ache in your body of a mixture of laying on the floor, sleeping position and how overworked your chest has been. He carefully places his hands on your knees, nearly hovering over the fabric, ‘’please, I am sorry.’’ He sounds so sincere and it aches but it is replaced by annoyance.

‘’Sorry?’’ you reply through gritted teeth, swatting at his hands that he nearly loses his balance. You stand up from the couch and he follows suit, your faces mere inches away from each other. ‘’You’re sorry?’’ you repeat, pushing at his chest, ‘’a sorry is not going to cut it, Jaime.’’ Your skin feels hot and there’s a prickly feeling in your hands. You shook your head as you turned away from him and moved a small distance away from him. ‘’Recording extended over time and Puffer asked if I wanted to stay for dinner and-’’ he tried explaining himself but was cut off by you. ‘’Stay for dinner? Oh! So, my birthday dinner wasn’t good enough or what?’’ your voice has raised a fair bit, edging on yelling but you don’t want to go there. A promise to yourself that yelling doesn’t solve any issues. 

‘’You know that’s not what I meant,’’ he says, hands hanging by his side in defeat, ‘’I just thought I might as well since we were having fun and I was there-’’ ‘’You promised you would be here today, Jaime!’’ you say, voice cracking a bit at the end of the sentence, ‘’It is, or at this point, it was my birthday!’’. You wrap your arms around yourself, grounding yourself as much as you can, finding it hard when the issue of the uncomfort is standing in front of you. ‘’You promised this morning,’’ you say, taking a deep breath before continuing, ‘’I sent you messages hours before just to make sure, even our friends did, no one heard from you! You basically ignored me the whole day,’’ you pick up speed, everything tumbling out as your voice starts to tremble, ‘’And worse is, you could’ve been in a horrible crash or even dead for all I know!’’. His heart skips a beat at the anguish he had put you through, knowing how you’ve made it clear to him, nearly swear on his life, that you want him to text whenever he’s going for a ride and when he’s safe at the location. ‘’And all you can say… is that you’re sorry?’’ you end with another well of tears teetering on spilling, near burning your eyes from soreness.

Jaime knows you’re angry and rightfully so, he gets it completely but it also pisses him off how you’re picking at him and you won’t let him utter a word into the conversation, so without much thinking, he decides to speak: ‘’I forgot, okay?’’.

And right then and there, he knew he fucked up. He sees how your whole figure slump, the arms that once held your frame falling to your sides, how your face twists from annoyance to hurt. He sees the tears welling up in your eyes, how you start picking at the skin around your nails, he knows that your brain is in alarm mode. And that’s when your lips start to quiver and the tears start falling as you raise your hand to cover your mouth. He hears a cry that shatters his heart, escaping your lips and takes a step forward towards you, but you take a step back with the other hand reaching out in front of you to tell him to keep his distance. You feel as if the whole room is spinning and your heartbeat is thumping loud in your ears. 

‘’N-no, baby, babe, hey,’’ he sputters, stumbling over his words, ‘’I didn’t mean that, you know I didn’t mean to say that, fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that-’’ ‘’You forgot?’’ you choke out, ‘’do you even care about me?’’. He’s quiet, dumbstruck, thinking of how he can get himself out of this hole he has dug himself into. It feels like ages as you two stand there in the living room, only accompanied by the sound of Oso’s yawning and the low buzz of the lit lamps. You are about to leave, saying that tonight is enough and you just want to sleep but his voice stops you. 

‘’I do,’’ he manages to utter, ‘’I do care,’’ a lump forming in his throat as his eyes glaze over for the second time that day. Jaime places his hands on his chest, calming his own breathing and the thumping of his heart. He can not afford to lose you, not now. ‘’Listen, okay, you’re so important to me,’’ he starts, ‘’there’s barely a minute where I don’t think of you-’’ ‘’But you forgot me today,’’ you interrupt and he sighs, looking up at the ceiling before locking eyes with you again. ‘’Yes, I forgot today and I know that it makes me a giant asshole,’’ he continues. ‘’Oh really?’’ you sarcastically mention and he could say something back, but he chooses to leave it there and keeps going: ‘’I was too caught up in recording and I didn’t have my phone on me and I know these are bad excuses but you have to believe I would never mean to hurt you and especially not like this.’’

Your eyes are closed, head turned away from him, the tears drying on your cheeks. You know he’s telling the truth and you want to believe, but how it looks right now, it’s getting harder to trust it. ‘’You are barely here,’’ it comes out as a whisper, faltering at using any power left in your voice as you voice the concern that has been harbouring in your chest, ‘’I mean, you are here, but you aren’t here, with me.’’ You wipe the already dry tears away, brushing the hair out of your face, ‘’If you aren’t recording something at Puffer’s house, then you’re in the office recording or spending hours on streaming,’’ you sniffle, ‘’and I know that it’s your job and you love your job,’’ you explain and it pains you to admit it, ‘’and I knew what I got into when I agreed to be yours and move in but,’’ you sigh, turning your head to face finally face him but not daring to make eye contact, not yet, so you suffice with looking at the wall behind him, ‘’sometimes, I just wish that I was as important to you as your job is.’’

He’s listening intently, nodding along to your words, knowing all that you’re saying is true – he’s just been too blind to see it lately. His hands lift from his chest and his arms open in an open invitation to a hug. It’s an attempt at most, since he’s not even sure it will work and he does notice how you hesitate. You haven’t forgiven him, yet, your body moves as if you are like two magnets. The steps towards him feel so heavy. Stopping just right in front of him, you can feel the body heat radiate off of him and from here, you can see how red his eyes are from the tears that have fallen from his eyes. It’s like looking into your own eyes, who might as well be as puffy and red as yours. ‘’Don’t take this as an apology,’’ you say and he nods. He knows. 

You lean in, wrapping your arms around his waist as he engulfs you in his, holding on to you as if you are his only life line. You hide your face in his chest, taking in the comforting smell of him as he rubs his hand up and down your spine. ‘’I really am sorry,’’ he mumbles into your hair, ‘’I am such an idiot.’’ His hold on you tightens slightly, placing a kiss on the top of your head as he completely lets go. His body goes against his own will as his chest starts to rise and fall at a faster speed, hiccups getting caught in his throat. You know he’s holding back. ‘’It’s okay,’’ you murmur against the fabric of his hoodie. Not an acceptance of his actions but a confirmation that he can let go. And he does. 

His head falls from the top of your head, burrowing itself into your neck as he weeps, whining half-intelligible apologies mixed with continuous ‘’I love you’s’’. Hands grabbing whatever they can as if to make sure you wouldn’t leave him. When he has calmed himself enough, you slowly move your hands to take a hold of his head, placing two careful hands on either side of his face and you take it all in. The red eyes and nose, the tear stained cheeks, his hair completely disheveled. He’s biting down on his lip, haltering the tremble that’s coursing through his body as he awaits your next action. He looks crushed, absolutely ruined and absolutely beautiful. Your heart softens a bit seeing the man in front of you. You slowly brush away the hair from his forehead, placing a gentle kiss to it and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a stray tear falling. Despite it all, he is still the man you fell in love with. ‘’I’m sorry,’’ he whispers, lip quivering and it sounds so earnest it’s painful. 

‘’I’ll try to be better,’’ he says, reaching his own hands up to cover yours, ‘’I mean it, I’ll do anything, really, like, I can set up a couch close to my set-up so you can be there next to me when streaming or, uh, I can dial it down, ya' know? Less streaming and all that.’’ You shake your head at his efforts, trying to give him the slightest of smiles you could muster. ‘’I can’t tell you what the solution is,’’ you say softly, studying his eyes for any reaction, ‘’not right now, at least, but we will figure something out.’’ His mouth forms a thin line as he nods, not quite satisfied with the response, wanting to fix this issue more than ever. Neither of you say much after that, taking in the silence around you and looking at each other, exchanging minor smiles as he rubs his thumb on your hands, still pressed against his face.

‘’Will you hate me if I say it again,’’ he questions, trying to make a crack at the tension and it works, enough to make you do a small laugh and he smiles from hearing it, having missed the sound. ‘’I am sorry,’’ he repeated, taking a hold of your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. ‘’I know,’’ you respond with a nod. No one says anything but like a silent question hanging in the air you both know the answer to, you both start moving to the bedroom with your hands still linked to each other. At the bed, you both get rid of the worn clothes and climb under the covers. You scoot closer to him, intertwining your legs with his. With cautious movements, he raises his arm to let you lay flush against each other. You get as close as possible, his arm wrapping around your frame and pulling you even closer. Your arm maneuvers its way under covers and the weight of his arm, placing a hand under his shirt on the small of his back. He hums low at the contact, nuzzling his nose against your head and places a kiss along your hairline.

There you lay, chest to chest, limbs intertwined, listening to each other’s breath, feeling the heat radiating off of each other. Something that is so comforting that you could fall asleep in an instant, but before you get the chance, you hear him trying to clear his throat, followed by a hushed but audible: ‘’I love you.’’ You don’t respond immediately, taking the chance to move your head from his chest to look up at him. His eyes are closed but not asleep. You lean up, to the best of your capabilities from your current position, brushing your lips against his. Soft, careful, attentive. He’s wary but responds with the same motion. ‘’I love you too, honey,’’ you murmur against his lips before returning to your previous position, finally feeling a somewhat sense of relief. The exhaustion rolled over both of you quickly, falling asleep in each other's arms.

You'll figure it out. You always do.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Billy opens his eyes in September 1985, in Hawkins hospital, and he's not happy to be alive. If you asked him, he would've preferred to stay dead or — unfortunately he never was dead — in a coma. Lying in bed like a withering away vegetable, blissfully unaware of his own existence or non-existence.

Gods have not been that merciful. Hargrove wakes up and doesn't even know his own body anymore. He needs to learn everything anew, starting with walking, or eating usual food — like an 18-year-old baby, for fuck's sake.

He's also bitter at everyone — yeah, for not fucking telling him !!

Except for Neil. Neil gets another kind of bitterness — quieter, darker, drowned in neverending pain.

Max gets a

"Fuck off, Maxine and shut the damn door." Said to the wall.

The gang of monster-hunters aren't even allowed to take a peek at her angry (and "that dude is so badass") brother.

Owens gets a

"Just leave me alone, Doc. I'm clean, and don't give a fuck about conquering the world anymore. Wasn't able to take a piss without a catheter until recently. I've got problems of a different level to deal with now."

When Steve opens the door to Billy's room, he actually gets talked to.

"Billy? .. Can I come in? .. Hey .. Hi."

Hargrove doesn't look like himself. He's too skinny, un-tanned, has some kind of a scanty beard, even longer hair, and looks like Jesus Christ.

Steve still can't believe it's happening. To come back to life after what Billy's been through? Impossible.

Maybe they put a dummy in the hospital bed.

The dummy opens its eyes, reluctantly turns its head towards Harrington, who is still hovering over the threshold, and doesn't say a word.

"How ..?" Steve's clearing his throat, cause sounds suddenly get stuck in it. "How are you .. feeling?"

The mannequin, who is probably Billy after all, blinks sadly and curls his lips

"Awesome, amigo."

Whew, damn, he's talking.

"Does .. does anything hurt?"

The guy looks at him like he's the dumbest idiot

"My ass hurts. I've been lying here for so long, I don't even know anymore if I have one or not."

Harrington wants to giggle, but that would sound extremely impolite.

He bites his lower lip.

"You look good."

Billy grins maliciously, and Steve is still shifting from foot to foot

"You're.." What's wrong with him?

"Listen, you're.."

"Get out."

"Uhm .. what?"

"You think you're so .. nice? Paying a visit to a poor sick guy? Why? To be a good fucking person? Get the fuck out of here."

"A good .. what?!" Steve tries to move closer to the bed but .. that's definitely stupid. He just feels like a ridiculous scarecrow in the field, with his ears burning

"That's not .. Hargrove. I actually .."

"Fuck you. I don't need you to come here."

"Okay, just .."

"Get lost!" Billy raises his voice

"Can I .."

"NURSE !!"

God.

"Alright! Get better!"

Asshole. Steve slams the door.

***

Three days later, he again tries to visit the boy who is definitely a nobody to him, and Billy again refuses to see him.

You know what, this is just too much ..! Silly games in the sandbox.

As if they weren't two reasonable adults. As if Steve hadn't watched Hargrove die horrifically, and as if he hadn't accompanied him to the hospital in the ambulance that night. Well, he himself was pretty beaten up, and needed a ride to the hospital, so it was kinda .. on the way, but still.

He sort of cared.

Was worried sick, to be honest.

And, listen, Steve generally doesn't take rejection well when he cares about something. Someone.

He's also sure of one thing — water wears the stone away.

So Steve shows up at the hospital again. Just to remind Billy of his existence, hang around the hallway, and when the door opens, give him a deliberately friendly smile and a wave of his hand.

Maybe he's here not to see Hargrove at all, he's got other stuff to do. Maybe he was just passing room number eight by accident.

Harrington is amused at Billy's face every time the guy catches a glimpse of Steve in his vicinity.

The patient either switches on complete indifference and sits there with a pompous ass face, as if they don't even know each other, or hisses like a pissed off cat.

Or he conspiratorially whispers something to the nurse when Harrington peers through the half-closed door — most likely asking her not to let Steve into the room under any circumstances.

But the former king didn't fall off the banana truck either. He has his own ways of influencing others — and begs nurse Miller, who seems to him more compassionate than nurse Fieldstone, to pass Hargrove a note

Dude, talk to me.

Steve turns to Max with a request — to collect some tapes from her brother's room, Metallica, Scorpions, Ratt, Mötley Crüe and his other favorite bands,

And asks Mrs. Miller to give them to the moody patient along with an expensive new Sony cassette player, which Harrington bought yesterday on Main Street.

The next day the player is waiting for Steve at the reception — Billy refused to accept the gift, but Harrington does not give in.

"Could you please put it in the drawer of the bedside table, preferably when he is asleep?"

The plan seems to have worked, at least the player is no longer returned. The guy must be climbing walls from hospital boredom.

One day Harrington gets lucky — he's going up to the second floor and bumps into Hargrove, who is being wheeled somewhere in a chair

"Oh, hi! Hello, Mrs. Miller!"

The nurse nods to him. Billy will not make a scene in front of all people, so he reluctantly grits out through his teeth

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Great."

Steve notices Billy's cheeks turning pink, and the boy is hiding his eyes — he's obviously not very happy that they met like that, when he is in such a helpless state, for Hargrove has always been the machiest macho, hated any manifestation of weakness. And here he is — in a wheelchair.

"Where are you going?"

The guy's patience snaps loose

"Fuck off, will you?"

Well, let's not tempt the fate too hard.

"Have a nice day, Billy!" Steve is impeccably polite, unlike the frowning patient. However, was that not a whole conversation?

Harrington definitely calls it progress.

..

One wonderful autumn day, Steve decides to take an ultimate risk. He is in great mood, and he wants to share it.

Harrington swerves through the streets, listening to the radio while driving, a soft smile playing on his lips. On the way to the hospital, he stops at the "Hawkins Bloom" flower shop and buys a bouquet. Whether it's chrysanthemums or dahlias, he doesn't know.

"What kind of flowers does your girlfriend prefer? Here's a beautiful autumn combination .."

"That's not for a girlfriend. It's uh .. for a friend .. he's in hospital? Something more modest, perhaps? But tasteful. Not cheap."

He feels like he's making excuses

Why the hell ..?

Jesus.

Billy definitely won't like this idea, but Steve's gonna do it anyways.

Cause he feels like it. That's valid enough.

So Steve buys the flowers and brings them to the room. He enters brazenly, without asking permission, puts them on the nightstand and moves it away from the bed — so that Billy cannot reach the bouquet and throw it at the visitor.

Oh, and let Hargrove puff, huff and even chuckle stupidly a couple of times as much as he wants — nothing escapes Steve's attentive eyes — blushing and demanding

"Take away these ugly fucking twigs! Are you out of your fucking mind, Harrington?"

Also, threatening him with physical violence

"I would so whip your ass with it, honestly."

Now that's an interesting offer, now we're talking

Harrington only winks at him, smiles

"Get well, okay?"

And rushes out of the room.

..

Like hardest ice under the persistent heat of the bright spring sun, Hargrove has no choice but to start thawing off, little by little.

One day, Steve arrives at the hospital during reception hours, pokes his head into room number eight

"So how are you? Maybe we should talk?"

Hargrove defiantly rolls his eyes and sighs as though he's so hopelessly tired

"You're such a fucking pain in the ass."

Steve shrugs.

"We are broken up anyway, even though we weren't even together for real, Harrington. Never. For the record. So don't get too carried away."

Billy keeps on grumbling

"You think you brought flowers, gifts, notes, so what? I'm not your chick, for fuck's sake!"

"Well, can we be friends?"

"Nah."

That's fine. He'll come around.

Oh, and did Steve forget to mention they did hook up before all the Mindflayer business went down? Must've slipped his mind in all the commotion.