#and without drops in it the bucket would be empty

[sensenmaedchen]

I don't even have it in me to apologize for getting "political". Trump essentially wants the population to be worked to death, growing uncontrolled and getting STDs without affordable medical treatment.

Don't forget to vote, wherever you live.

[iinthehexcore]

the last drop

summary: Work could be hard to find in the Undercity. Thankfully, you had found a job - at the Last Drop.

content: probably ooc silco, reader works at the last drop, silco saves you from a drunk dude, nothing too crazy, requested but not proofread! 1396 words

a/n: i have never written for silco before but he is one of my favorite characters! hope i did him justice wahaha!! i used 'jinx fixes everything' as a reference for the layout of the last dropw

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Work, especially work that is not... completely illegal, was hard to find in Zaun. Safe work, even less. But as someone who had grown up on the cold and harsh streets, you would take anything you could find. The Last Drop - last you had seen it, Vander owned it. It was the heart of the Undercity, the one warm place in the cold town. But Vander disappeared, and someone else took it over. Not as warm and inviting, but it was your best bet at a stable job.

The woman who interviewed you - if it could even be seen as an interview - only nodded, telling you to be there the day after at seven p.m. sharp. One minute later, and she would come find you.

Well, it was easy to say that you even turned up early. You did not want to know what would have happened if you hadn't. When you walked in to the empty bar, you saw another bartender.

"Hey," he looked up, throwing the towel on his shoulder, "You're the new bartender?"

"Starting today," you nervously said, pulling at your shirt.

"Cool," he nodded, "I'm Thieram. I'll help you your first few shifts."

Working with Thieram was fun. He was familiar with all the people who came into the bar, telling you funny stories of what they did while drunk and betting on who would be the most drunk that night. He even went to split up a fight that had broken out. Even though you had worked here for a little over a month now, you had yet to see the big boss.

The lady who interviewed you, Sevika, frequently sat at the booth hidden in the corner. In front of her always sat a glass or bottle of booze, depending on how her day went, together with some playing cards and a cigarette. Today, however, the bar was completely empty.

Either it was because there was finally a bit of sunshine in Zaun, or maybe a natural disaster was heading your way without you knowing. Even Thieram wasn't at work - something about 'another job needing to be done'. It left you alone with only one drunk man in the far corner of the bar. Only you, the drunk man, and a bucket of water.

If there was nothing else to do, then you could just clean. Though you truly care about Thieram, you could tell that deep cleaning wasn't his strongest suit. You had finally rid the ceiling of spiderwebs with the help of a chair, a stick, and a rag that was nearly falling apart. Sweeping the floor, wiping the tables, and lastly, cleaning up behind the bar.

Every bottle got neatly placed in their spots and the wood was nearly shining now that all the dirt and grime was wiped off of it. The pipes above your head had no more dust on them and even the lightbulbs were now clean.

As you were about to throw your towel down, you heard footsteps on the stairs. You never went up those - you knew Silco had his office up there. There was simply no need for you to be even near it.

Were you supposed to look him in the eye? Maybe not. Maybe you shouldn't even speak until he spoke to you. But it would be rude to not acknowledge him at all, too. You had no time to go over your options as you heard one of the bar chairs scratching against the floor.

There sat Silco.

The two of you looked at each other in silence for a moment. You, terrified. Him, almost curious.

"You are the new barmaid."

Not even a question.

He knew the answer. Sevika had told him about a handful of people coming to find a job, but she thought you the most capable one. Not addicted to Shimmer, seemingly healthy enough, and Thieram told her you were good at your job.

"I am, sir."

He only lowly hummed as you turned to grab a glass and the bottle of alcohol that was meant for Silco. Thieram made sure to remind you where it was multiple times - only the boss could have this. Unless he said the opposite, he would always get a glass poured for him. So, you did.

You carefully put it in front of the man, not sure if you should say anything. He didn't seem like someone who really did any small talk anyway.

"Did Thieram put you up to this?"

"Up to what, sir?"

He shook his head.

"It's Silco," he lit his cigar, raising the glass to his lips, "And the cleaning."

"No, si-Silco," you corrected yourself, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, "Wasn't sure what else to do, so I thought that I might as well."

It was hard to read him. All he did was hum in response, downing the rest of the gold liquid before disappearing back upstairs again.

Two weeks had passed, and thankfully, Thieram was back. The pub was packed - inside people were nearly sitting on top of one another, and the crowd even went on outside of the bar. You heard laughter, talking, screaming, a bang every so often. Sevika, back in her usual spot, just kept an eye out. As you glanced over, you saw her glass nearly empty.

Sevika and you weren't... friends. No one in the Undercity necessarily had friends. But you were both... friendly, at least. If no curse words or glares was considered friendly. What you had learned was that she liked to have her glass full, so you grabbed her usual bottle, stepping past some drunk guys before standing next to Sevika.

No words were exchanged as you filled up her cup, wiping away some spills as she nodded in response. More than enough, you thought. With a slight smile, you twisted the cap back on the bottle, turning to walk back to the bar.

Halfway through, though, your path was blocked. The group of drunks, the jugs in their hands nearly empty. You knew that these weren't their first ones, either. You took a deep breath, trying to squeeze past them, but it was simply impossible.

"Ah, look here," one of the men coughed, grinning weirdly, "The new barmaid!"

"Yes, and the new barmaid would like it if she could go by," you mumbled, the glass bottle in your hands.

The men looked at each other before loudly erupting into laughter. One jokingly wiped his non-existent tears away, shaking his head.

"Why? We not fun enough for ya?"

"Yeah, come on," the one in the middle leaned over, his face uncomfortably close to yours, "We're good guys, I swear."

"If you were, then you would let me pass."

He whistled, circling you as he now stood behind. There was still no way of getting through though - his friends just moved closer together, blocking your exit.

"Big mouth for a barmaid," he grumbled, "Maybe someone should teach you to shut up."

"You think so?"

A voice, raspy and low, accompanied by the smell of cigars. You slowly turned your gaze away from the terrifying man in front of you, your eyes falling on Silco. The man was hard to miss, but what was even harder to miss was the shining pistol he held in his hand, aimed at the man who had been bothering you.

"What?" He raised an eyebrow, cocking the gun, "At a loss for words?"

The man and his friends didn't say anything, the glasses in their hands shaking as they nervously looked at Silco. He just rolled his eyes in annoyance, pressing the gun against the man his temple before gesturing to the door.

"Get out."

You nearly let out a relieved sigh, holding the bottle close to your chest as you looked back at the ground. You felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn your head. Silco looked down at you for a moment before pushing the gun back into the holster.

"They will not bother you anymore."

He glanced at Sevika who downed her glass in return, wiping her mouth before nodding at the redhead next to her, both walking out of the bar. They could handle it.

"Thank you, Silco."

"No need to thank me," he glanced at the bar, seeing Thieram busy with all the other customers, "A drink will do."

[obsesssedblerd]

According to Shiu Kong, this little assignment was supposed to be simple. You and your infuriatingly attractive work partner, Toji, infiltrate a formal dinner party to get information about a target that you’ll have to assassinate later on, and then sneak back out without being noticed. 

It was simple, until it wasn’t. 

One of the target’s bodyguards had been eyeing you and Toji carefully for the last hour, despite both of you blending in with the rest of the couples at the party. “Maybe it’s because we both look good,” he told you when you mentioned it earlier, gesturing to your red dress and his dark suit, but you weren’t so sure. 

During a speech, Toji places a hand on the small of your back, then leans over to whisper in your ear, “Time to go. He’s definitely on to us.” 

You raise a brow. “Oh, are you finally admitting that you’re wrong?” 

“Shut up and walk with me.” 

You roll your eyes, but walk when he takes your hand and leads you behind the crowd, both of dropping off your empty champagne glasses on a tray when you pass a waiter. When you two slip into one of the venue’s quiet hallways, you feel the bodyguard trailing behind you—a small distance away, but still nearby.

“The entire party will be filled with skilled assassins,” Shiu briefed you two before beginning the mission, “If you are caught, you will be greatly outnumbered, so make sure you don’t get caught.” 

Toji also knows that the bodyguard is following you two. You can tell by the way his mouth presses in a tight line. He’s thinking of a plan. The door that leads to the car you both arrived in was on the opposite side of where you are now. To get out safely would mean getting the bodyguard off of your trail. He turns left, then tugs you down another long hall that’s filled with multiple doors. He quietly opens one, then ushers you inside before getting in as well, shutting the door behind him. 

You bite back a yelp when your back immediately hits a wall. “Toji,” you whisper, “is this a closet?” 

“Yes. That guy will more than likely think we took the door that leads to the basement. All we have to do is hide here long enough for him to disappear, then go back the way we came.” 

The closet wasn’t cramped to the point of extreme discomfort, but it was still on the smaller side. You can tell from the faint smell of cleaner that it was where the custodians stored some of their supplies. The tiny, dim light bulb above of you both is your only source of light. When Toji sees your brows furrow, he scoffs, “What? Got a better idea?” 

“...Why didn’t we just take the staircase that went towards the side of the building when we left the party?” 

“Too many people, dumbass,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blink in surprise. “Do you really think he’s that idiot’s only bodyguard? What’s better? One person pursuing us, or multiple people pursuing us?” 

It takes a lot to remember that you’re supposed to be quiet. However, you’re pissed, and it doesn’t stop you from whisper-yelling, moving your hands around animatedly. “First of all, you empty-headed piece of shit,” you hiss through your teeth. “I said the side, not the front. The side entrance of the building was down the stairs. The door is literally at the bottom of the staircase. The bodyguard was on the other side of the party when we started walking. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, we would’ve been gone.” 

Toji takes in your words, and the smugness fades from his eyes as he slowly makes the connection. Then, he exhales. “...Oh.” 

“Oh?” Now it’s you scoffing in disbelief. “Oh? That’s what you have to say? Didn’t you look at the fucking map that Shiu gave you of this place the other day?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, so I got the fuckass map mixed up. Cry about it later, let’s just get through this.” 

“Yeah, you always get shit mixed up and that’s why we always end up in dumb scenarios such as this one.” 

He glares at you. “Look, if you really think that—” When moving his hand, it knocks a bucket off of the shelf, and it clatters noisily to the ground. His eyes widen, and your heart drops. 

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. Quickly.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he quietly hisses through gritted teeth, and he drags a hand through his dark strands. It’s the first time you’ve seen Toji look worried. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart. “Do you think we can knock this guy out? Or even kill him and run?” 

“He’s more than likely got a gun, and back-up on the way,” he replies, and right on cue, you hear a gun clicking, as well as the bodyguard muttering something into a phone. Shit. 

Your breathing picks up. The only way you two were getting out of this in one piece is if the bodyguard abandons his plan after seeing you and Toji in the closet-

Bingo. “That’s it!” You whisper-yell again when your new idea hits you.

“What? What’s it? You got something???” Toji asks you, and the footsteps are dangerously close now. You’re out of time. 

Your eyes meet his. “Play along like you fucking mean it,” you tell him firmly. 

“What do you– mm!” His words are cut off when you grab the front of his jacket, push up to your toes and slam your lips against his. Once he gets over the initial shock, his hands are on your waist, and he’s shoving you up against the closet wall, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

It pulls a small moan from you, and you begin fumbling with his tie as his hand trails lower down your body, grazing your leg through the open slit of your dress. You run a hand through his hair, gripping slightly, and the sound he makes is between a groan and a growl. It makes heat rush through your entire being. You’re just beginning to pull his tie all the way off when the door to the closet opens. You hear a shocked gasp, and you and Toji break your heated kiss to look over at the bodyguard, whose face is flushed a bright red. 

“Do you fuckin’ mind?” Toji asks him irritatedly, slightly out of breath from the kiss. 

The bodyguard steps back and stammers out his apologies. “S-So sorry. I, uh, I didn’t think this would be– Please forgive me.” He shuts the door, and on top of the rapidly departing footsteps, you hear him clear his throat before saying, “No, no. False alarm. Just two guests having a private moment.” You grin, then laugh quietly. A split second later, Toji joins you. 

“Wow,” he breathes out, then looks back at you. His face is a bit flushed, and his lips were slightly swollen from kissing, but he’s mostly relieved. “Good idea.” 

“Thanks,” you say, “can’t believe it worked.” Your gaze drifts back to his lips, which now had hints of your gloss on them. “You’re a good kisser,” you mumble without thinking, and you immediately wish that you can take it back. 

“Yeah?” He asks, the corner of his scarred mouth lifting. 

No point in avoiding it now. You meet his stare head-on. “Mhm.” 

“Right back at you.” His voice is low; a bit sultry. When you feel his thumb lightly stroke your waist, you remember that his hands are still on you. Your arms are also still wrapped around his neck. “We should go, huh?” He asks. 

“Right,” you mumble, but don’t move. You don’t want to. “He’s gone now, so it should be safe for us to leave.” 

Toji doesn’t move either, and his eyes don’t leave yours. “Right.” You notice how they darken with hunger. Arousal swirls in the pit of your stomach, pools in between your thighs. 

He leans in and kisses you again, much slower than before, but still as intense. His lips drift towards your neck; kissing, then suckling a small mark onto your skin. “Toji…” you sigh blissfully as your head falls back to give him more access. “We’re in a closet,” you say, the last shard of common sense within you making a desperate attempt to remind him. 

“Shh…” He hushes, enjoying the way you shudder when his fingers drift even lower than before. “They think we’re fucking anyway. No one’s coming back for a while,” he assures, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “It’s just us.” You tilt your head to look back at him, and his thumb gently drags across your bottom lip, messing up your gloss even more. 

“Let me have you.”

----

a/n: hehehehehe cliffhangerrr 🤭

[yovrnewromantic]

𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐆𝐔𝐘

Benjicot Blackwood x reader

Ben was known for his brutality, receiving the name Bloody Ben from his opponents, but in your hands, he turns to putty. 💌 Based on a tiktok I saw where Ben was shy in the books

Looking that good while swinging a sword is cruel.

It’s borderline criminal how his biceps flex when he lurches forward. The way his eyes glint when he sees the first drop of blood and the absolute beast he becomes when he strikes down on his opponent sends a shiver down your spine.

Lowly grunts fly from Benjicot’s mouth countering his rival’s loud groans. The sound of metal clashing vibrates through the open air, atmosphere. Despite the fighting happening at the moment, it is clear to see that Ben is the better fighter— his harsh blows and agility unmatched. One last exchange has Ben’s foot flying to the center of his competitors armored chest, sending him flopping backwards straight onto his ass.

Applauds were immediate from the small crowd that had formed around the sparring match.

Underneath the attention, Ben flushes, waving at those around him embarrassedly.

You grin, heart full as Ben stares at his feet, approaching the steps where you reside. Leaning against the railing, looking down at him, you can’t help the taunt that slides off your tongue, like poison disguised honey. “Good job, Benny.”

His doe eyes look up at from the steps, the sweetness of your voice easing the tremble in his bones from his post-fight high. Boys have had their jaws broken for using that nickname, but he would never do that to you. Not you. Never you.

When you say it, it makes his blood run hot underneath his skin. Just being in your presence is a thrill, ten times over when compared to fighting. Trying to respond, he clears his throat, hand clenching the handle of his sword as he tries to untangle his tongue and respond to you without making a proper fool of himself. “I— thank you, uh, my lady.”

Ben clamps his eyes shut in shame.

Hunming melodically, you take a peak at the swarms of people behind you, chatting idle. As most know, hesitation was not in your nature. Without a second thought, you snag an empty pail of water. Taking a step down to become eye level, you tilt your head innocently, shaking the bucket on your wrist. “Would you mind escorting me to the well? I’m supposed to fetch some water and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed by your offer. At least he gets to hang out with you! he thinks. When you raise a calculated brow, your words dawn on him. “Ohh, of course, my lady,” he blushes, offering an arm.

Your hand grips the meat of his bicep as you saunter past his beaten opponents and warriors unto the path to the woods. The walk isn’t far, daylight guiding your way to the tree line rather than a lantern on your wrist.

Sneaking around with Benji was becoming commoner and commoner. His presence shifting from a want to a need.

As you grow older, the risk of you two being betrothed to another becomes slimmer, seeing as your parents had solidified their place in his court so any rumors that may circulate your virtue no longer mind you.

The silence is comfortable as the pair of you are overtaken by a forest of dark green. Branches snap underneath your feet. Ahead you see two noble women talking together, and walking your way. When they walk past you, they giggle.

One look at Ben and you can see his anticipation rising— his cheeks flushed red, finger rhythmically tapping against his steel chest, and the swift glimpses he takes at the side of your face.

“We’re not alone,” you snide. Benji’s eyebrows furrow and he shoots a look behind him. He opens his mouth to refute, but the words are swallowed by your tongue when you grip his chin and pull him closer.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t restrain the whimper that shrivels up his throat. His hands fumble against your soft skin as your hands push his chest, his back slapping against the bark of a tree.

While your tongue fights for dominance, Benji’s fights to get the taste of you out of your own mouth.

There’s something so addictive about you that Ben doesn’t quite understand. He had felt this way his entire life yet he had only just began to have the grace of kissing you this year.

A stupid part of his thought it would dim this overwhelming feeling to be near you, sedate the heart which you had already stolen, but instead, it heightened it.

Courage, similar to the one he gets from alcohol— when he first was brave enough to kiss you — powers him to grip the curve of your waist and slam your body into his. Your moan encourages him to flip you, your back pressing into the tree.

His hand finds a way under your skirt and the pads of his fingers dig into your exposed thigh, pulling it to meet with his hip bone. He doesn’t want any space between you. He wants you two to be one. Forever intertwined. He really needed to propose your betrothal.

He smells like moon water, blood, and sweat. It only makes you tug his hair harder.

Not far from you, a throat clears.

As your heart momentarily stops, Benji’s lips are separated from yours in an instant.

A boy not much younger than you, awkwardly stands, his cheeks pink with embarrassment for coming across your endeavor.

Before you can blink and before the boy can even speak, Ben has the tip of his sword to his throat, the edge of the silver pressed onto his Adam’s apple. “Get the fuck out of here,” Benjicott sneers, “Or do I have to make you?”

Shaking with fear, the boy shakes his head, eyes wide like a deer and dashing like one when the sword is off his throat and seethed back into Ben’s holster.

Then, he turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips as his hands move to grip your hips. “Now, where were we?”

Giggling, your hand pushes his cheek away from your face, making him stumble in his footing. He pouts, watching as you step off the tree and pull a leaf from your skirt. You tilt your head at the leaf before giddily biting your lip and pulling Ben back in by the collar. His eyes light up, expecting another kiss, but when he closes his eyes, all he feels is your fingers filtering through his hair.

His eyes flutter open when you smack a wet kiss on his cheek. Ben watches you walk away, skirt swaying. Leaves crunch underneath you as you continue down the dirt path to the well, basket throttling in your arm as you disappear and reappear between trees. Dumbly, he touches the spot where you kissed him.

The tip of his finger catches a crunch by his ear. Swiftly, he grabs the object. The leaf looks small and withered in his palm. He can only imagine how much of an idiot he looked like with a brown leaf tucked in his hair— the same space where you usually bury his gifted flowers in your own hair.

“Come on, Benny!” you call out, your sultry eyes finding him from just a glance over your shoulder.

Ben is quick to follow because who is he to oppose you?

ima be honest, i don’t what the fuck this is. this shit is so bad

not edited or proofread ❌ lowkey i refuse to believe in Davos Blackwood so…

Had this in my drafts. Leave me alone if this makes you want to throw up.

[twistedsanctuary]

𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Fish on the beach near where you live are mysteriously disappearing. Your father, a fisherman is still working hard to find some, to get income. And you, his only child, want to help. Nobody had thought what type of fish you'd see.

Genre: Yandere

Media: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Floyd Leech, Jade Leech

Note: English is not my first language. Expect grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. Hopefully, this will suffice. This is my very first story that will have different parts.

Warnings: Not proofread, Disturbing content.

I. Curiosity

If you look at it this way, the irony of fighting your exhaustion is that it also requires energy to fight back against it. Bored and tired. That's what you are right now. You've already studied and done the assignments for your class tomorrow. The only available things to do at home are play with the neighboring kids outside. And yet you don't feel like playing, despite their protests to join.

The kids had come to the extent of crying out that they'll play your favorite game just to make you play with them. They've mentioned how dull the game of tag and hide-and-sink would be without you. Somehow, like the light of the party. Listening to the calming crash of waves and the ear-piercing squawking of seagulls flying by, it's been a therapeutic experience to let the sand sink over your bare feet. The water ever so relaxingly gazes at your toes, its warm waters have given somewhat like a salon for the rich people.

Basking in the sunlight, the sun slowly going down; there still rests (Name). Admiring something in the distance of the ocean, you've come to notice the sky. It's almost past 4 P.M.

It's windy today. The children's shrill laughter drowns out because of the waves that sounds ever so therapeutic— Strands of hair flap on your face gently, following the direction of the soft wind. With a blank mind, your eyes stare up.

One... two... three... four... birds. Three fly in the same direction while a single one went on a different path, your eyes followed the direction of the singular bird, until it's lead you to see your father in your peripheral view. Your eyes land on him as he throws in his net in his Johnboat, plopping his bucket hat on his head with no care of it's untidiness. It's almost night, so why is he setting off for sea, when he usually does it early in the morning?

"Papa, are you leaving to fish again?" Taking a break from your little relaxation, your palms push down the sand to support yourself to stand up and stride to your father.

Noticing your presence, his head turns to where you are, promptly giving you a wide eyed stare before reverting back to his usual-slight empty smile. He nods and continues to pack his lures. "I'm having trouble findin' fish today," said by him as his smile dropped slowly. There were a few mumbles that came out from him that we're audible to you.

"As well as my other fisher friends." His eyebrows furrow with pure concern and confusion, his eyes glint a perplexed emotion while staring at the horizon of the dangerous waters beyond. "I'm gonna go check 'gain, this time... farther than my usual fishing boundaries." He then goes on to push his boat into the water. Before the boat fully floats on the water, (Name) proposes to be of help to capture fish alongside him.

"Papa, wait I'll help!" Stretching out your hand to reach out for nothing, as if stopping him to catch up by doing one step closer. Boredom is a killer and it always finds you. What else to do, when you're just sitting in the sand waiting for something to happen?

"Sure kiddo." He ushers you with a gentle smile, pointing at the boat with his head to indicate for you to get in the boat. Smiling widely, you hurriedly get in the boat as your father pushes it.

"Okay kiddo, can you help pull the net?"

"Not that I'd expect fish to show up..." He mumbled.

"I'll try..!" You exclaim and hear your father chuckle while you stared at the ocean and beyond. Gripping on the edge of the boat in anticipation. When the boat started to be carried by the waves, he jumps in and starts maneuvering the boat with two paddles. The ocean breeze blows softly against your skin, a few seagulls flying along with your boat, as if guiding your journey until it redirects into another direction. Soothing, one might say. A few shared silence between you two as you bask in the silence of the sea, away from shrieking children, away from the vendors in the village. Silence.

"Enjoying it too?" interjected your father, rowing the boat while keeping track of the distance between the boat and the land. It was but a mere speck to your point of view, a dot. That was how far the place was. Only a small island with mountains and places that your people had built for entertainment and cultural significance.

You feel the boat slightly sway; preparing to throw, your father stands up; net in hands and tosses the it in the air, which takes a form of a pancake-like structure, landing in the water and sinks down. Your head peers down at the bottom of the sea, subtly seeing fishes swimming away, fast. You help your father pull the net that wasn't heavy. Hearing the sigh of disappointment from him, your eyes train at his face, displaying signs of stress and anger. "I knew it, we can't find more of 'em when we get farther." Seeing him like this, aches. Deciding to look away from his saddened state, your eyes move to the side as you focus on your surroundings instead. Something catches your attention in the water, something.

Something moved. It was not the water, it's under the water. You didn't see it, for it quickly dived back down. Your heart skipped a beat for a moment. It wasn't as big as the fish your father would catch; it was much bigger. You'd imagine something like your big dining table at home, you could only estimate at that size.

Only, however; your imagination gets the best of you as fiction fogged your mind.

You might not see it, but it sees you. You could have sworn that there is a head of a person. But you knew nobody else set sail except for your father. Nobody set sailed, it was just your father that left to fish.

And no human would be able to submerge underwater without breaching out for oxygen, staying there for a long time.

Floating in the still water with just a glorified wooden bowl, you squint your eyes in the direction where you saw the moving being. You've yet to tell your father about what you think you saw... but bothering him would not be such a good idea. Burdening him further with your imagination would just give you a patient smile and a pat in the head.

He's currently fixing the net, emptying it and placing the barely collected fish that plopped in the boat. Ignoring his mumbling, you lean into the side of the boat to get a clearer view. Something barely emerge from the waters, spotting half a head, hair that droops down to their face, eyes and forehead above the water, watching you. It was a boy. His skin seemed unnatural, it had green tints. Despite being far from your reach, an unnerving stare was exchanged between you and him. An unknown message behind his emotions. And despite that, you don't know what expression you were wearing; too lost in his unwavering gaze. You've no idea of the threat about to befall you when you're leaning closer to the edge of the boat.

You are curious.

Closer, and closer, and closer you got. Almost falling off the boat. You swear you could see the creature, the boy; smiling with it's eyes squinting ever so slightly as his brows raises.

As if broken from a trance; the boat shakes, a strong grip reached out for you, tugging you back with your wrist. "You could've fallen, be careful!" You turn around seeing your father's worried face as the boat sways back and forth because of your father's erratic footsteps towards you. you turn to face the creature again, only to realize it's gone...

But it's somewhere nearby. You're curious, so it was too. It has to be. He must've seen how close you were to the water. Sitting up straight and shaking your head, strong heartbeats pump out from your chest, you clutch it with a shaky hand, "Sorry, Papa." You try to laugh it off, stuttering while looking down at the boat. Your father smiled and pats your head, flashing you a slight smile as a sign of comfort. "Be careful next time, 'aight?" Sitting back down, you nod in agreement.

The boat starts to sail once more, paying no mind to the relaxing scenery or the wind that blows with delicacy. Next time. Thinking... will it come back? Will you see it again if you come with your father when fishing? You want to see it again. Try to understand it.

You keep staring from where you saw the boy, until you see something floating near the boat. Gasping at it... because it's something chubby?... You're tempted to reach and grab it, but before you could take an action, you see it disappear under the surface of the water before going deeper. "Eh?" Thinking it was just an illusion from your wild imagination, you shake your head to hopefully clear your mind. Your love of the ocean is taking a toll on you. Rowing back to the island, you can only hope to be part of another expedition with your father to see those things once again.

That lingering feeling of curiosity stays on you, and so did the boy about you.

As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

However, cats have nine lives.

What was the problem with using one?

II. Newfound addiction

When returning to the shore, you're still searching for signs of the mysterious boy. But you didn't see anything... until a few days later. The sun is still shining brightly; the sky is bright and blue, filled with a tint of white from the clouds gazing down upon you. The soft sound of waves hitting the shoreline returns you to your senses, as these past few days have been dense. So... peaceful... calm. You take a deep breath as the feeling of plump lips kisses you from behind on your temple, your head softly held by their touch. "Mama..." You whisper as she stands behind you, breaking the interaction and silently gazes lovingly at you from behind. You don't look back, simply staring at the ocean with wonder.

She holds your hand in return, whispering sweet things to you, and responding. "Yes, dear?" Looking up to glance at her face with a faint smile, she gave you one of her beautiful grins and squeezed your hand gently with eyes that softly stared back at you. "I wanna go explore the island today... Can I?" No amount of games could satisfy your growing boredom. You know how to play each of them and win them all. There's no challenge anymore. Nothing to overcome. Perhaps a new pace of hobbies would change it?

Not breaking contact with you, she acknowledges it with a closed-eye nod and caresses your cheek lovingly. "Of course, dear. We could stay here long." She takes a small pause, humming to herself in thought. "I'll wait for you here back here, m'kay? Be back before nightfall." Excited and thankful for being given permission, you smile sweetly and nod. Your mother lets go of your face, falling to her sides. You sprint towards the shore, your mother smiling behind you warmly as she waves for the temporary goodbye.

You've been eyeing this cave near the mountains that connected to the shore, it seemed like a good place to stay in the meantime... If you don't mind the crawling crabs there. It isn't submerged in the water, in fact, the cave is still near the sand. If your guess is correct, the water would only reach until your calf.

Enthusiastic about the thought of having a cave for yourself, you saunter to the entrance- watching where you step, you momentarily look up to see your father tying the net. You stare in his direction for quite a while, thinking of when you could join him once more on one of his expeditions. After that experience, you didn't feel like playing with the others anymore. You were seeking adventure... maybe that's why you were interested in exploring.

Maybe... just maybe, you want something new.

Being deep in thought and frozen in place, your father had already noticed you. Deciding to acknowledge you, he smiles and waves. Despite being far, he had already seen you clearly by your stature. You wave back at him, sharing the warmth of the greeting. It was cut short when you spotted another person, possibly a fellow fisherman speaking to your father. Finally deciding to continue your small adventure for the day.

However, forgetting to look down on the shore... you step on something that felt like broken glasses. Looking down with discontentment, you lift up your foot to see a broken beautiful shell.

Oh...

Oh, what a waste. A pretty shell like that would've been so good in a collection... Well, it still could be. You can still collect broken shells. It'll be a special collection, unlike any other.

A sea shell collector that collects broken shells.

You bend down to grab the seashell, grunting as your hand becomes wet with saltwater as you gather all the broken parts and bits of the seashell. Dusting off the remains of the sand in the item, you stood back up and admired it up close. It glints an interesting hue of blue and purple that gives a harmonic mixture of colors.

Trying to find where to keep this precious item... You pause. You don't have anywhere to place it, or keep it. You keep in mind about your clothes that have no pockets on them. There is another you've forgotten. You look up and the winks of sunlight make your eyesight blurry. The sun is about to fall, indicating the soon-to-rise moon. This shore gives a feeling to those theatres you and your family have gone to. Where everything seems like it's out of place, and then everything comes together.

You look around one last time and collect more shells before turning your back to the sea and start walking to where your mother is. Hands clenching on the broken shell, it pierces through delicate skin with its sharp edges, threatening to draw blood around it. Dangerous, you'd think. Preventing yourself from adding more pressure further. This shell was a reminder to you. You wanted—needed to see more. Exploration.

Like the forest. The forest is always beautiful.

When you and your mother arrived at your small hut, it was quiet. The candles lit in all corners of the room. The prominent smell of burning wax digs into your nostrils, taking in its scent. The fire pit had also been burning, in the center of the room. Your father must have felt cold from the upcoming weather. You notice your father in the corner, sitting down on the floor reading a book. Once again, like instinct he looked up with glee, then looking down at what was in your hand.

"Enjoyed collecting?" He asks and you nod unreservedly, quite proud of what you have achieved today without anybody. You hear your mother walking to the kitchen to prepare for supper later. His hearty chuckle fills the room as he gestures for you to sit on the floor next to him. In which you comply, still holding out the broken seashell. "So ya'v started to collect sea shells, ha?" He continues, closing the book he was reading. "That's how me 'n your mother started out.~" He smiled fondly at the memory he's replaying on his mind. He stopped, realizing it's been silent when he started to daydream about the memory.

"Did you make new friends?" He asks very eager for your response, looking up and placing a finger on his chin, pretending to think about what you would say.

"No." A very blunt and dry response was only given to him. Your father sighs and smiles, like surrendering. "That's 'aight. It's hard makin' friends." You smile in agreement. That was exactly what you thought too. Yes, you've had your fair share of friends... but... it gets tiring to keep socializing. You just want to shut everyone out and start from scrap.

Maybe someday. Just maybe. You think back to when you saw the boy.

III. A Friend

Once more, you see yourself back at the shore to hunt for sea shells. This time, you have come prepared. A small bag to carry for your future seashell collection and a bucket. It was all you could borrow from your mother when you asked her for an item to carry your seashells. After that, you asked for permission to let you explore, in which she's allowed you.

You walk inside the cave, further noticing that it was indeed just until your calf, which is safe... hopefully. You've made further exploration inside the cave only to find out it wasn't large at all. Only 10 steps ahead and you're already at the end of the cave. You've claimed this cave as your castle. Thinking of how to make it yours, you decided to decorate it using the rocks available; given to you by Mother Nature herself. With all your might, you grabbed all the big rocks you were able to carry and placed them inside the cave. You arrange them and place them one by one so you can block the water from entering the side you've blocked it from. It took skill to successfully keep the water away from the other side. A little break later, you're ready to continue once more by scooping out the water using the bucket you have. It gets you and your clothes wet in seawater in the process.

Now, there's finally space for you to place your soon-to-be sea shell collection. But you separated the destroyed shell out of all the others. Exhaling with contentment, you leave the cave to find more shells to add. You've gone a pretty long way in finding new shells. Using the bucket to dig and find some, but nothing popped up. But that did not render you to stop. You keep going and continue your search.

And you see one, glistering with an orange hue with brown spots all over. Near the water, almost ready to be dragged away to the ocean and never to be seen again. Observing it farther as you walk closer to it, with eyes that squint; it looked like it had the same design as the one that you crushed. You dared pick it up before it got dragged into the ocean, grunting as standing up felt so... lazy. You look up and... then you see it.

The boy from under the ocean.

[formerlympp]

happy belated birthday

“Happy belated birthday, Lily!”

“We wish we could have celebrated last week—”

“No more apologies!” Lily said firmly. “You are ruining the fun!”

“Sorry.”

Truthfully, Lily had been a little sad that most of her friends were unavailable to hang out on her actual birthday the previous weekend, but she certainly wasn’t angry about it. They were all in their thirties after all, and being an adult put a damper in most things, but especially, she discovered, birthdays.

They’d more than made up for it tonight, however, having spent the evening at a fabulous Italian restaurant before retreating back to Lily’s flat for cake, snacks, and buckets of alcohol. Lily already knew she’d be paying for the two glasses of wine at dinner and decided if her Sunday would be spent nursing a hangover, she may as well ply herself with margaritas and make it worthwhile.

She was sipping her third in between bites of her birthday cake—an unpleasant mixture with more sober taste buds, surely—when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Mary cried out, jumping unsteadily to her feet before Lily even sat down her plate.

“Don’t tell me you ordered more food, Mary! We’ve already eaten our body weight in tortilla chips and salsa, not to mention—”

But Mary was out of sight without replying and Lily’s interest left with her brunette friend. It didn’t take long for Mary to return, though when she reappeared, she had a tall man—a man dressed as a firefighter—following behind her.

“Look what I happened to find!” Mary announced loudly, gaining the attention of all the girls in the group. “Is it getting hot in here—?”

The sudden uproar of her friends nearly startled Lily into dropping her drink. A couple of her friends ran quickly to the kitchen, empty glasses clutched in their hands, nearly knocking over another couple of women who were digging through their bags, searching for something…

And then Lily realized what she would have spotted immediately in sobriety.

“Mary… Mary, you didn’t!”

Mary, looking quite pleased with herself, was about to reply, when a second man came into view behind the first and stole her attention.

“Two?!” came a gleefully tipsy whoop from somewhere behind Lily.

“What’s this?” the second man said. “What’s the emergency, James?”

“Oh, they’re in character,” Mary announced to the room.

“We’re in what—?”

The first man, James evidently, swore loudly before turning to the man behind him and urgently saying something in a low voice. Suddenly the second man let out a bark of laughter before backing out of the room. His laughter continued even after he’d ducked out of site.

“Look, there’s been a mistake,” the man called James began, casting an uneasy look at Mary and then behind his shoulder.

“It’s quite all right,” Mary said in her most assuring voice. “I only ordered one, but we’ll pay both of you, not to worry. This is Lily—” Mary gestured, “—our lady of honor, tonight—"

His face turned a violent shade of pink, and Lily realized what he was about to say a second before he said it: “No—no. That’s—it’s not that. We’re not strippers. We really are firefighters and came here in response to a call to the station.”

Silence fell over the room at this before the group of girls broke into a furious round of giggles.

“Mary! You called the actual bloody firehouse?”

“This is the last time we put you in charge of anything!”

“Quick, someone snap a picture—”

Mary looked a mixture of embarrassed and deeply amused. “Oh, sod off, all of you!” She rounded on James, who appeared to be trying—and failing—to make himself blend in with the floral wallpaper behind him. “You could make it clearer on the internet, when people search, you know!”

James cleared his throat. “Erm. I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Mary, leave the poor man alone,” Lily said, now rising to her feet, surprisingly steadily, and heading toward the pair. “He’s only trying to do his job. Go have a glass of water, love.” She turned to James and then nodded toward the hallway. “Let's get you out of here.”

He looked relieved at her suggestion and did not linger a moment longer than he had to, not even to say his last piece to Mary, which Lily found commendable. Lily led the firefighter to the front door, but before opening it, turned to face him.

“I’m terribly sorry about the mix-up. I hope we didn’t put you out too much.”

James smiled for first time, seemingly more at ease now that he was away from the rowdiness he’d unexpectedly walked into. “It’s all right. This will make for a good story. Although…” James leaned back to look out the window of her front door before his attention returned to her. “Although I reckon my mate is going to enjoy taking the mick for a while.”

“Nonsense,” Lily said. “Take the ego boost. A bunch of women thought you made a living taking your clothing off.”

He laughed in reply, and Lily enjoyed the sound of it. She wasn’t wrong, he was very nice to look at. Especially a moment later when she was met with a lopsided smile.

“Well, I reckon it’s always good to have a back-up plan if I need a career change.”

“Just keep the outfit, if you can.”

“Yeah?”

She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks pinken under his focused gaze. “Yeah. You… haven’t you ever heard the saying, women love a man in uniform?”

James laughed again and nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I have. Well look, I’d better go. And you need to get back to… what is it, a hen do?”

“Oh, no, just celebrating my birthday.”

“Really? Well, happy birthday then.”

“Thank you. It’s been an interesting night, to say the least.”

“Well if it gets more interesting in a bad way,” James began, now rummaging around in his coat pocket, “which I hope it doesn’t, mind… you can reach me here.” He proffered a small business card out to her, and she took it without hesitating.

“James Potter… what kind of firefighter carries calling cards on him?”

The lopsided smile returned. “Depending on if I hear from you… the lucky kind, I reckon.”

Lily laughed, tucking the card safely in her hands as James reached for the door. She was going to need to store this card somewhere for her more trustworthy sober self to find in the morning.

“It was nice meeting you… Lily, I believe it was?”

She nodded. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

As she watched the small firetruck drive away, Lily couldn’t help but wonder if she might have just received the best belated birthday gift in her life.

[beholdthebangs]

Movie Night

Sam x F!Reader

~ 18+ ~

Synopsis: Smut - Best friend Sam is at your place for your weekly movie night turned sleepover. After years of being just friends, he finally gets bold and pushes your relationship to another level.

Warnings: Oral (F on M & M on F), throat fucking, fingering, penetration (M on F), teasing, praise, swallowing, dirty talk, piercings

Word count: 4.0k

A/N: Sam going longer than a few months without trying to fuck his best friend is unrealistic but let’s just play pretend ^_-

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“What’s next on the list?” Sam scrolls absentmindedly through a page of recommended movies as the credits roll on the comedy that just finished playing on your TV.

You shrug. “What genre are you feeling?”

He slumps down on the couch next to you, arms dropping limply to his sides. “Something I can fall asleep to.”

You lean over his body to snatch the remote from his outstretched hand. “Horror, got it.”

“Nooo!” he whines dramatically, lazily grasping at the remote. You easily hold it over your head and out of his reach, searching for a paranormal movie. One time you’d put on The Exorcist and he spent the entire night demanding you lay back to back to “make sure no demons come in.” When asked what you two would do if it were to happen, he couldn’t provide any answers. Lucky for you, he gave it up at 4 that morning because apparently ghosts don’t stay up that late. At least you got a solid two hours of sleep that night. “Let’s compromise,” Sam pleads. “Instead of terrorizing me, let’s watch a rom-com. Some cheesy shit.”

“Not all rom-coms are cheesy, Samson.”

“You keep saying that, and we keep watching them, and each one is always worse than the last.” You nudge his thigh with your knee, rolling your eyes at his complaints as if he hadn’t gotten invested in all of them. You’d noticed the small gasps and intent gazes at the plot twists. The facade he wanted to put up was see-through. “Whatever you put on, can we please go watch it in bed?”

“You know the rules. Finish your popcorn first. I don’t want pieces of it in my sheets.”

Sam groans, grabbing the plastic bucket from the coffee table in front of him. He dips his hand to the bottom, pulling a claw of white popcorn out and shoving it in his mouth. You stare with amazement, mixed with concern that he’s about to choke on a kernel. The second he finishes chewing, he tosses you the nearly empty bowl and jumps off the couch, heading into your bedroom. You begin cleaning up the mess left in his wake.

While Sam’s immaturity requires a specific skill set to tolerate, you’re pretty experienced. You’ve been friends for years and have considered him your best friend for much of that time. Picking up his messes is a side effect of all the entertainment and comfort he’s provided you and it’s a sacrifice you’d make any day. And sure, it would be nice if he didn’t somehow leave behind popcorn on every surface in your living room on movie nights or rip the sheets off your bed in his sleep every time he stayed over, but that’s not Sam.

You join him in your room a few minutes later, flipping on the first rom-com that crosses the screen. Sam is already half-asleep. As you settle in next to him, he grabs at your arm and pulls you in, nestling his head on top of your shoulder while his knee presses to the side of your leg. His hot breath blows on the neckline of your tank top as you rub his back absentmindedly.

To no one’s surprise, Sam is awake by the middle of the movie and invested in the sexual tension building between the main characters. You’ve moved to sit with your back propped up by your pillows, knees pulled to your chest. Sam eventually slides down the bed and pulls one leg closer to him, spreading them just enough to settle himself between your thighs to use your stomach as a pillow. His fingers rake up and down your bare calves as he makes comments about the, yes, cheesy dialogue. Regardless, he’s enjoying himself like you knew he would.

Around 1 am, the characters break up over an easily avoidable misunderstanding and you feel fatigue crawling over you. You stretch your legs out, nowhere to rest them but over Sam’s shoulders and down his torso. His cheek rests against your thigh as the movie lulls with an abundance of exposition. His fingertips begin drawing random lines along your outer thighs, hiking further up your legs to snag along the hem of your pajama shorts. Sam slowly turns his head to the right, his soft lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

To say that nothing romantic had ever happened between you two would be a lie. Sam is a hot skater boy with blond hair, blue eyes, and a sense of humor. He’s pretty universally attractive, and you’re not blind to that. Early into your friendship, there was certainly a question of if you’d grow into something more, but the timing had never felt right. Drunken kisses had been shared, cuddling was a normal occurrence (one where you always chose to ignore the boner pressing into you), and you frequently saw one another in minimal clothing. Still, none of that had ever felt like this.

Sam presses a kiss to your thigh. He waits a moment as if to give you the opportunity to stop him. You don’t yet, frozen with anxiety or maybe just anxious to see what else he does. Without any movement, he places another slow kiss, and another. You let him do as he pleases, lips wandering up your leg to where the hem of your shorts had once rested, his hands having pushed it up enough to gain access. His kisses turn sloppier, the tip of his tongue dragging on your thigh before his lips close against you.

“Nothing to say?” he mumbles between pecks.

“Nothing.” Your voice is hoarse, coming out as a whisper.

“Good.” You can feel Sam smirk before attaching his lips to your thigh, sucking into the delicate skin until it hurts. You writhe against him, his hand shooting up to grip your leg and hold it still. He pauses his assault on your thigh to lick over the fresh bruise before moving up an inch and repeating the process. His attacks grow shorter as he works his way up to the crease between your leg and your pelvis. His thumb pulls your shorts up to the edge of your pelvis and he chuckles. “No underwear, Y/n?”

“I never wear underwear to bed.”

“So you’ve been naked under these,” Sam pulls at your thin shorts, “every time I’ve stayed the night? Every week for years?”

You giggle. “Yeah, I have been naked under my clothes.”

“Naughty girl,” he tsks, ignoring the sarcasm in your voice and delivering a quick bite to the fat of your leg that makes you yelp. Sam flips to his stomach, face between your legs now as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. “So… can I see?”

“You wanna check for yourself?”

He hums, pulling your shorts tight to you with his hand balled up on your stomach. You feel the fabric teasing at your slit, Sam’s eyes trained on the inseam as it sneaks between your folds just enough to run against your clit. “I can see how wet your pussy is.” You blush, your hand running through your hair as you prop yourself up to look at him. His eyes flicker to yours. His head is backlit by the TV, messy blond hair glowing around the edges. Despite the angelic view, his face is dark, pupils big in the dimness of your bedroom as he tugs on his lip ring with his teeth. He stares at you with hunger, breath coming out heavy over your lower stomach, sneaking through the exposed gap of fabric between your tank top and shorts. “Is this gonna fuck everything up?”

You stare down at him through hooded lids, tongue running along your lips. “No. We’re just drunk.”

“‘m not drunk,” Sam utters, face moving closer to your covered core.

“Not drunk either,” you whisper back.

Sam hooks his finger in the crotch of your shorts, slipping the fabric to the side and tucking it to your inner thigh with his thumb. Your pussy is exposed to him and he leans in, running his flat tongue up the length of your slit while maintaining his intense eye contact. You want to watch him taste you, take in his expression as he gets what he’s wanted for so long, but your head falls back against your pillow the moment his tongue piercing meets your clit, an involuntary gasp sucked through your lips. He lingers there for a second before pulling back. You manage the strength to lift your head, stealing a glance between your legs. Sam’s eyes are rolled back, slack jawed. His eyelids flutter as he brings himself back into the moment, a moan bubbling up from his throat like tasting you is all he’s ever cared about. When you lock eyes again, any restraint he has remaining leaves with the lust filled look on your face.

Sam’s tongue flicks over your clit until his lips wrap around it, sucking. The cold metal of his lip piercing introduces a unique sensation working in tandem with his needy mouth to pull out your desperate whimpers. Your head presses to your pillow, back arching as you buck your hips against his face. Sam grabs at them, fingernails pressing into your flesh as he begins to lick from your dripping hole up to the swollen nub he’s been so mindful of. The feeling of his tongue entering you takes you by surprise and he moves it inside you, dragging it along your walls while you ride it.

“Can’t fucking do this,” he grumbles, pulling back. You shoot up, leaning on your elbows as you watch. You don’t think your fragile, desperate state can live with these touches stopping so abruptly. Instead, Sam practically rips your shorts down your legs, throwing them aside. His middle finger prods at your hole, gathering slick before driving it inside your pussy, twisting and curling upward to nuzzle the rough spot of skin hiding below your stomach. His tongue returns to your clit as he pumps into you.

“Sammy,” you whimper, reaching down to tangle your hand into his soft shaggy hair.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he coos, the question feeling rhetorical and teasing. As if anything could be wrong right now.

“Don’t stop.”

“N’ gonna,” he assures against your clit, not bothering to pull away for a second time. He adds his ring finger into your cunt, grunting at the way you stretch to accommodate it, slick spilling down his digits and mixing with the spit he’s left all over the flesh between your legs. “Can you take one more?”

You bite your lip. “Y-yeah, I think so.”

“Bad news, babe, but my cock is bigger than this. G’nna have to stretch ya out.” When you don’t answer, he quickly breaks, adding, “If you wanna take it. I didn’t mean to assume—”

“I want your dick, Sam.” He grins up at you, pressing a kiss to your clit and pulling his fingers out to slowly prod his index against the tight ring of your pussy. You whine as he pushes his way in, giving you time to adjust to the thickness before he picks up his pace. He’s glued onto your expression and you try your best to hold his gaze, letting breathy groans out each time his knuckles meet the skin of your pussy lips, fingers reaching deep inside you. A part of you had always wondered if it was true that guitar players were good at fingering. His long, dexterous digits have thoroughly convinced you. When they curl up into your slick walls, you see stars. Your hand curls up in his hair, tugging on his roots as he admires you with your guard down, letting yourself enjoy his touch.

“I think I’m gonna cum in my pants if I don’t fuck you right now.”

“You think you’ve stretched me enough to take it?”

Sam pulls out, sinking his fingers into his mouth and letting his tongue lick off your sweet taste as if getting it straight from the source hasn’t yet satisfied his taste for it. “I’m willing to give it a try.”

He moves to stand at the edge of the bed as you look down at him, hands tucked under your head. Sam crosses his arms in front of him, gripping the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it haphazardly over his head, dropping it on the ground next to him. One of your hands snake down your torso to your clit and you rub it gently as you watch him undress. He shoots you a shit-eating grin, shaking his head. His shorts are pushed down off his legs as he’s left in tight green boxers. Sam turns to the side, the light from the TV spreading over his body and silhouetting him. Your fingers dip to your pussy as you study his shape, the lines of muscle on his arms and stomach growing sharper with the dramatic shadows cast over him. The bulge of his hard cock sticks out from his body and though you’d felt it pressed against your ass before, you’d never allowed yourself to think about the size of it. Never imagined what it looked like, felt like, tasted like. Now the possibilities are swirling around in your mind and you need answers now.

Sam knows what he’s doing. He’s giving you a show on purpose, thoroughly enjoying the effect it has on you. His fingers dip into the tight waistband of his underwear, dragging them down his hips. The fabric snags on his dick and he makes a scene of painstakingly pulling his boxers down, revealing his length an inch at a time until it springs out. “Sam,” you whine, fingertip running circles around your clit as you wait desperately for him to rejoin you on the bed.

He looks from his cock back over to you, eyes wide with an eyebrow cocked, lips pressed together. “Yeah, babe?”

You raise both eyebrows, climbing to your knees to crawl over to the edge of the bed. “Let me suck your dick.”

“I’ll make you a deal, ‘kay?” Sam sits you up on your knees, tugging at the hem of your little tank top until you lift your arms over your head. He peels it off your torso, pausing to bite at his lip as he reveals your perfect tits before guiding the straps off your arms and discarding it. Sam pushes you backward as he crawls on top, holding himself up on his palms. His cock drags up your stomach, a line of clear, thick precum leaving a trail behind. “You can suck my dick…” he grabs your hip, flipping you onto your stomach underneath him, “if you cum on it first.” His body presses down on you, nudging your knees apart enough to slide the head of his dick along your slit. Pulling his hips back, he nestles it to your slick hole and slowly rocks it into you inch by inch.

You grip the sheets below you, the bottom of your chin rested on the mattress as his length slips inside. The ring of your cunt strains against his girth and you’re thankful for that third finger pushing you closer to your limit. Sam continues, painfully slow, until his hips push tight on your ass. He tugs your hair, tilting your head to the side and pressing his lips to your strained neck. “Fuck, babe. Fuck! ‘re you good?”

“Mm-hmmm,” you hum. The blond doesn’t waste another second as he pulls his hips back and snaps them to you, his cock bullying through your suffocatingly tight walls with each thrust. Your body jolts forward as he fucks harshly into you, mouth attached to your neck to leave bruises identical to those on your thigh. His hand is back on your hip, holding you tight to stabilize you, forcing you back onto him as his tip nudges the sensitive spot inside. His cock feels like it’s in your stomach, convinced you’d be able to see it shifting your organs around if your stomach wasn’t pressed to the bed.

“S’ fucking tight,” Sam slurs, holding himself in you in the last word as you squeeze around his length. “Wish I woulda done this years ago, babe.”

“Me too,” you admit, voice pitched higher than normal, words falling out like moans.

“Yeah? Wish we coulda spent all these movie nights fucking?” You nod, your cheek pushed into the mattress. Sam props himself on his elbows, using the extra height to pull himself nearly all the way out of your cunt before ramming it back inside. He continues this slower, deeper pace on you and what was still left of your functioning brain finally leaves, cries pouring from your lips. “Can’t believe you’re letting me put my dick in you like this, babe. Look so pretty around it.” His fingers rub over your scalp, massaging it as he tugs into the hair falling from it, so twisted up in you. “Can’t keep squeezing me like that or I’m gonna fill you up.”

“Gonna cum, Sammm,” you groan, his throbbing cock tugging on the tight ring of your pussy as he grinds into you. His hand slips under your stomach and finds your clit, fingers slipping over the little button with precision and a quickness that rivals your own despite your extensive experience playing with it. His skilled fingers paired with repeated snaps into your g-spot have you on the edge of your orgasm, burying your face into your blankets and reaching above you to dig your hands into your pillows. He bottoms out in you one last time, short little thrusts keeping you full as you clench desperately to him, your cum flooding over his dick and threatening to leak out and soak your bed. Sam’s free hand is twisted into the sheets as he tries to ride out your orgasm without reaching his. He puts great effort into holding back his groans, coming out instead as grunts which only spur you on.

When he pulls out and frees you from the pin to your bed, you slowly turn over. His cock stands tall, practically dripping with the remnants of your orgasm as he takes his place standing at the end of your bed. You’re breathing heavy as you admire him. The TV has turned to a black screen now, the whole room dark with the exception of the moonlight sneaking under the curtains. Sam leans forward to stroke your leg. “Whenever you’re ready, pretty girl.” His hand runs over his dick, the sound wet with your cum serving as his lubricant. Slowly, you push yourself up and crawl to meet him. You stare down the thick pink tip sitting at eye level as you prep to take it in your mouth. “On your back.”

You glance up at Sam, his eyes stuck on yours. His hand falls to your cheek, thumb stroking it sweetly until you turn your back to him, sitting down and settling yourself on your back. He’s still hot upside down, jaw angled sharply as he looks down his nose at you.

He tucks his hands under your shoulders and pulls you closer so your head slips off the end of the bed. Your eyes flicker up as you adjust to the new position just in time to see Sam guiding his cock to your lips. He slides the head along your slightly parted lips and before you can register it, he’s pushing between them. Your lips close around the ridge of it, your tongue exploring the hard flesh in your mouth. He gives you a moment to lick up his precum, not wasting any time once you’re finished, slipping his cock further into your mouth. His tip pushes into your throat as his balls press into your face, groaning as you take him so good. His palms fall to your breasts, squeezing at the fatty tissue and pinching at your nipples as he begins to slowly thrust himself in and out of your throat in shallow movements.

“Your mouth feels so good, baby,” he whines. “Gonna swallow my cum?” His length is too thick and deep down your throat for you to respond. Sam’s hand moves to your neck, giving it a tight squeeze as he snaps his hips in uneven patterns. “I can feel it throbbing when I hold it down your throat,” he tells you, as if you couldn’t feel it too. He picks up the pace, your mouth falling open to let him push in and out with less restriction. Each time his head bumps into your throat, you let out an involuntary wet noise that he seems to love, hitting it harder each time. “Fuck, babe…”

Sam’s palms suddenly move to the sides of your face, fingers hooking under your chin as he holds you still, fucking into you with thrusts growing slower and harsher until you feel a warmth sliding through you and settling in your stomach. He starts to pull out but holds his tip in your mouth, another spurt of cum coating your tongue as he gives his cock a rough stroke to milk it out. His dick eventually leaves your mouth, your lips staying parted as you try to catch your breath and recover from the abuse on your throat from his mean cock. He crouches down to look you in your eyes. “Be a good girl and swallow the rest. Did so good, babe.” You follow his directions, closing your mouth only to gulp down the milky cum that rests inside before falling back to a panting mess. He kisses your cheek and stands back up, helping you back up only to lay your head on the pillows at the other end of the bed. Sam crawls in next to you, holding you tight as you recover, his own breathing somewhat heavy following his orgasm.

“You’re a good best friend,” he coos, stroking your hair as he pulls your head onto his bare chest. You snuggle into his warm body, your own body temp having come down as you lay still, naked above the covers. “Just wish you would’ve told me you’d let me fuck you years ago.”

“Wish you would’ve told me you could fuck like that.”

“You thought I would be a bad lay?” Sam asks, his hand on his chest as he hangs his mouth open dramatically. “I don’t practice every night for nothing.”

“Is that why Jodi finally let you get a lock on your door?”

He groans. “Don’t talk about my mom while you’re still digesting my cum.”

“Noted.”

“So… same time tomorrow?” You laugh. “Seriously. I’d save a lot of tissues if I can just use your mouth. It’s the environmentally friendly thing to do.”

You shove his side playfully, prompting him to wrap you up in his arms. “Don’t blame me for that. Use a sock or something.”

“So you don’t want to do that again?”

You roll your eyes as he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I didn’t say that.”

Sam smirks, stealing a kiss. “You can admit that you’re addicted to my cock.”

“‘m not admitting that.”

He shrugs, letting you go so he can get out of bed to grab his boxers, tossing your tank top and shorts over to you while he’s at it. “That’s okay. You’ll admit it tomorrow.”

[gremlinmodetweeker]

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Tangled Possibilities

Very simple Monster Hybrid!König post today. I hope you enjoy, even if the post is very short!

TWs: mentioned sickness

Wordcount: 1.4k

Art from This Post

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Tangled Possibilities

Training with monster König did not go well. In fact, it went so far from well that you’d positively say it was horrible. You swore up and down as he chased you around the gymnasium, only stopping occasionally to loop through the rafters above like a big cat.

“König! Get down from there!” you yelled up overhead.

The monster only crawled around further, looking almost like a bat with how he used the talons on his big feathery wings to maneuver through the beams. His long furry tail trailed through a series of loops along the ceiling behind him.

“König!” you called again, your hazmat suit crinkling as you stomped your foot.

Finally, he snapped his head to look at you.

Even though you were his trainer, looking into the empty sockets of his eyes had chills crawling up your spine. He croaked out a small caw, then turned away to go back to playing with the metal beams in the ceiling.

You watched his massive body twist and turn as it wove amongst the beams above. On one hand, you were truly impressed that he was able to do it without getting stuck, but on the other hand you hadn’t even managed to get his control cage on his back before he had bounced away to do his own thing.

You muttered curses under your breath as you watched him playfully swing by his tail from side to side as he chirped happily.

“I need to clean you!” you whined.

König took a moment to stop swinging. He looked at the rake by your side, then at the massive sponge and bucket on the other. Without another word, he dropped down to the floor with a reverberating thud and scrambled to your side.

“Clean,” his voice sounded like a hoarse death rattle, “Clean!”

You sighed as you held up the rake, “If you stay still I can clean you.”

“Clean!” he parroted again before rolling onto his back and splaying out his tattered black wings, “Clean! Clean!”

You slowly trudged over to his side. You grimly noted that his feathers were rough and patchy and his black fur was tangled in thick knots. Evidently, he hadn’t been able to clean himself properly since his last trainer.

“Okay, so,” you sighed heavily, “you’ve got a lot of matts. I’m gonna need to go grab some scissors, okay?”

König whined and rolled on his back playfully.

“Just stay here,” you warned him before hurrying off to the handler equipment room.

You flicked on the lights and looked around the room haplessly. Evidently, whoever had been here before hadn’t had so much as a thought of consideration as they dumped everything into a mound. All the equipment had been haphazardly thrown around recklessly. To your horror, they’d completely jumbled all the organization of the room. What was normally a neat and tidy room had somehow turned into a muck room since you had gone to train König in the gym. How they’d manage to undo all the careful maintenance you and your cohorts had been practicing for ages was beyond you.

You scrambled to look through the ruins. You came across collars and chains and balls and more as you searched through the piles. You had the horrible feeling that you’d never find the trimmers. How could you when the room was like this? You worried that König would be off in the rafters again if you didn’t manage to find it soon.

Just as you were about to give up hope, you saw a glimmer of steel. You sighed in relief as you pushed a heating blanket aside to find the trimmers buried underneath. How you managed to find them was beyond you, a simple chance of fate, but you took it with both hands and lifted your hope and the trimmers from the pile.

You were used to making a mess by now, but something clattered to the floor when you brought the trimmers to your chest. You screwed your brows together and looked at the ground.

It was just a simple rope puzzle. It lay on the floor, tangled more than usual, but it was obviously meant for some of the more intelligent hybrids. It was just something to keep them busy. Something to keep them occupied.

Something to keep a hybrid like König occupied.

It clicked in your head. You no longer cursed whoever had wrecked the room before you. Instead, you’d bow and pray at their feet if they walked in that moment. Praise the bastard for giving you the answer to all your problems in the form of a simple puzzle.

You scurried out of the room with your new toy as quickly as you could, nearly forgetting the trimmer in your excitement.

When you made your way back to the gym, König was predictably up in the rafters again. 

“Hey!” you yelled as loudly as you could, “hey König!”

You heard a low rumble up from behind you.

You slowly turned and looked up to see König hanging upside down like a bat from the rafters, his head just a few feet above the door. You wondered how long he’d been hanging there, almost like some winged opossum.

“You!” you yelled and held up the trimmers, “come down here so I can clean you!”

König chuffed and crawled up his body to get back into the rafters. You huffed and puffed as he weaseled his way through the beams to get away from you.

“Hey!” you yelled at his retreating form, “wait, get back here!”

“No.”

You ignored the shivers up your spine when he spoke, a natural side effect of the nachtkrappe voice, and charged after him. You crashed across the runway, your hazmat suit crinkling like a paper bag with each and every single one of your movements. You could probably be heard from the other side of the gym at this rate. You shoved the thought aside and pushed forward.

“Hey you ugly mutt, get down here!” you howled as you scrambled after him.

“No!” König croaked back and swung from the rings hung from the ceiling. You couldn’t help but groan. Now that he found the rings there was no way he’d be coming down soon. Not unless…

“I have something for you!” you yelled as loudly as you could. Your lungs burned with the effort as you hung your other tools by your side.

König, to his credit, at least momentarily paused at your suggestion. However the flight rings proved to be too tempting and he was soon winding round and round the red and white plastic again.

“Come on!” you complained loudly, “we can do ringwork later, we need to clean you first!”

That got his attention, at least.

König lunged down directly at you. You squawked loudly as you threw yourself out of the way of his big grey talons. He thankfully didn’t baffle you with his wings and instead curled his long tail around your legs, tripping you in the process.

You pulled yourself to your feet and brushed yourself down. The rubber suit was thankfully durable enough to withstand a bit of wear and tear, but you still checked to make sure it was intact. You’d hate to get sick because of a small tear in the suit. Whatever nachtkrappe’s carried, you didn’t want to catch it.

“Okay, so,” you pulled yourself together, “I have an offer for you.”

“Offer, offer,” König parroted as he tilted his head back and forth, the fluorescent light glinting off his tusks and horns menacingly.

“So,” you held up the trimmers and he hissed, “stop that! Look, if you let me trim some of the matts, I’ll give you something fun.”

“Fun?” König thankfully perked up.

“Fun!” you repeated and held up the rope toy, “this is just a little rope puzzle. You think you can finish it before I finish trimming you?”

König snorted out a plume of putrid smoke, “Ja.”

“Ooo, confident!” you chuckled as stepped closer, “well, let’s see how well you do.”

You tossed him the rope. He struggled to catch it in his front claws on his wings, but he managed to carefully lace it through his fingers and settle on his front.

You flicked the trimmers open and sauntered over to him. You picked up the rake along the way with a smirk.

Finally, you had a way to make him sit still.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[gloomwitchwrites]

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, fake kissing, real kissing, suggestive themes, teasing

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Part Eight of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Price takes you to the first safehouse.

Chapter Seven // Chapter Nine

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

Dead people pale rather quickly.

Price is sensitive about it, shielding you from the two motionless men as he helps you toward the door.

“Don’t look,” he murmurs.

But you do.

Sick curiosity is like a sponge absorbing a spill. Even with Price’s arm around your waist and his verbal instruction prompting you not to, you still glance down, still gaze into milky, soulless eyes. It’s such a human thing to go against the grain, to do the opposite of a given warning when you know that it’s best to do as you’re told.

Blank expressions and sagging skin. Bloodless.

Why is it such a shock? Why do you gasp, stepping to the side as if the dead man will reach out to snag your ankle?

“I said to not look,” chastises Price, but there is no irritation in it. There is sadness, and a defeated sort of tone that draws up memory.

A memory of rattling pops. Drops of red on concrete. A splintered, downed door. Unmoving limbs all piled together. Reaching. Reaching and clawing toward the exit.

“You’re fine,” continues Price, squeezing your hand. “You’re safe.”

Are you? Are you safe?

Shakings hands indicate otherwise. A tremble in your lip and the stinging burn of tears are a story all its own.

It is betrayal. A sharpened axe of the executioner.

The bucket is full, contains a head, and it is this man’s face staring back at you.

It could have been you.

It likely would have if Price hadn’t been lurking nearby. That is an issue all its own. One you want an answer for but won’t ask. Not now. It isn’t the time.

You cling to your savior because it’s the only security you have. Who can you turn to? Not Alex. These are his men on the floor. It is his text you saw. Alex’s friends can’t be trusted, and even the few friends you did manage to make might just be Alex’s pawns. It’s possible that you have no one.

Only Price.

But even that is rocky.

Three years and no contact. Did he come on his own? Did someone send him? Does any of that even matter?

Price herds you around the unmoving figure, opening the apartment door, and poking his into the hall. “Clear.” He glances back. Grimaces. “Sorry.”

“For what?” you whisper.

Price shakes his head, gaze momentarily dropping to the floor before returning to your face. “Nothing.”

The hand grasping yours tightens, fingers intertwining as he tugs you out into the empty hall. Price’s warmth is refreshing yet so familiar. You remember him—at least your body does—because it instinctually sinks closer to him, keeping pace without effort.

And Price doesn’t let go of your hand, and you do not dare break the connection. Walking hand-in-hand down the hallway like a couple on their way to the grocery store, you briefly forget where you are and what has happened. That is what you tell yourself, what you picture in your mind. If you don’t, you might burst into tears.

This is Thirst all over again.

This is Dimitri. Nikola. The safehouse.

All of it.

Didn’t Laswell say that this move, that this “fresh start,” is a chance to forget and begin again with no shadow hanging over your shoulder? Where is she? Why is she not keeping tabs? Or maybe she did and Price is the one sent to deal with you like he did three years ago.

Price comes to a stop at the elevators and glances around. Frowning, he twists to look over his shoulder.

“What are you looking for?” you ask softly.

“Stairs.”

“They’re at the opposite end.”

“Fuck,” mutters Price. Still, he doesn’t release your hand.

Pressing the down arrow, Price slides a little closer to you, shoulders nearly touching. When the doors open, revealing a few people inside, his fingers stiffen. The pause lasts only a second before he steps on, tugging you along with him.

Using his height and large, muscular upper body to his advantage, Price guides you to the very back of the elevator. Instead of leaving the two of you to loiter at the back, Price pins you into one of the corners, creating a cocoon with his body. Moving in close like a lover, Price places one large hand above and to the right of your head. He leans in, lips dangerously close to yours.

“Play along,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, before closing the distance.

Price’s lips play a dangerous game. There is no stagnant gentleness but full pursuit. There is no reason for Price to be kissing you like this, for his tongue to slip inside, or for him to lightly suck and nip at your bottom lip.

Everything in you responds, coiling tight, hands reaching to grasp the front of his jacket, to pull him closer until his need rubs against your lower belly. That one touch is enough to break the kiss, for you to pull back and inhale.

Price’s hand not on the elevator wall comes to rest at the left-side of your throat. His fingers turn inward to grasp, to pull you back to his mouth. You open for him in the quiet. You open for him as the elevator stops and dings. You open for him as the doors surrender to passenger demands and more people pile in.

“Giggle.” Price is nearly voiceless. In sudden embarrassment, you do giggle. Once it’s out of your mouth, Price is on you again. Tasting. Tasting so much more than he’s ever taken.

You shift to the left, glancing over his shoulder, questioning whether anyone is looking. Everyone else in the elevator is purposefully keeping their gaze averted.

“Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snaps back to Price, and you’re met with a heated stare. The space between your legs immediately warms and you squeeze your thighs together instantly, silently denying the connection.

The elevator dings, and the people standing just beyond Price’s back begin to exit. He waits until they’re all off before grabbing your hand and guiding you away from the wall of the elevator. Rushing toward the entrance to the parking garage, Price keeps you hidden from view, his massive shoulders and upper torso a shield from outside eyes.

Near a dark corner of the second level of the parking garage, Price approaches a black SUV with tinted windows. The sight of it there instantly draws forth the need to escape. It is a biting dog that won’t quit. Digging your feet into the concrete does nothing. Price drags you along without even glancing back.

Approaching the front passenger door, Price opens it, pulling you in front of him. With one hand on your waist, Price helps you slide into the seat. His fingers linger too long, and when he finally removes them, their phantoms remain. Hopping in the driver’s seat, Price starts the vehicle, backing out of the parking spot quickly, and heading for the exit.

Briefly, just before the two of you turn onto the street, the voice inside your head tells you to open the car door and toss yourself onto the pavement. It insists that you should run and run and run until everything is behind you again.

With the thought comes an itch in the tips of your fingers, a sudden internal jolt to do as it says.

But where would you go? What would you do?

Someone will come after you. Someone will find you.

Might be Alex. Might be Price. Or someone far worse.

“You did that on purpose.”

Price turns a corner. “Did what on purpose?”

You turn your head in his direction, frowning. “In the elevator.”

Price’s mouth is still a brand on your lips. They’re slightly tender, perhaps even a bit swollen, and there is no doubt that Price meant every kiss. People pretending don’t come together like that. They don’t engage with such passionate need.

Price stares out the windshield, but you catch the smug smile. “Was I better than your boyfriend?”

Yes, is what you want to say. Because it’s true. Alex never kissed you the way Price did.

“That’s not the point,” you snap.

“Lying to me about liking it?” Price tilts his head enough for his gaze to momentarily sweep in your direction.

“Eyes on the road,” you mutter, deliberately staring out the windshield.

Price makes several more turns before turning onto a highway. “I’m taking you to a transfer location before we move on to a safehouse.”

“The same one?” you ask, unsure of how that would work exactly. That safehouse is on the other side of the country.

“No,” answers Price. “Different.”

You lick your lips. Swallow. Saliva sticks in your throat. “What if I don’t want to go?”

Price laughs in disbelief. “You’d rather face Obolensky?”

“Alex,” you correct, automatically,

“Still sweet on him after all that, love?”

“John. Stop.” This time you turn to him, redness coiling between your ribs.

There is no denying the connection you and Price have. Three years later and it’s still fucking there. It’s still sitting in the crevices like seeds in the concrete seeking the sun.

“No ‘Captain’ this time? When you’re mad with me, you usually call me by my title.” Price says it with a bit of rough sweetness. He’s teasing but he’s also pushing like a disgruntled boyfriend.

“You’re changing the subject.”

Price shrugs and signals, taking an exit ramp into one of the nearby neighborhoods. When he doesn’t answer right away, you give up, leaning back in the chair to watch the houses go by. Some of them are clearly well loved and looked after while others have boarded up windows and overgrown lawns.

“Laswell wanted to send someone else,” says Price, cutting through the silence. “I told her that would scare you. Volunteered to do it myself.”

“Is that the only reason?” you ask, hoping that he’ll answer truthfully.

“No,” is all he says, leaving it at that.

Price pulls up to a house at the end of a street. The white paint on the side of the house is starting to peel and there are bars over the windows on the first level. He turns onto the long driveway that ropes to the back and ends at a carport. Price comes to a stop beneath it. The enclosed side faces the other houses and the open side faces the house itself.

The car is off and Price is at your door before you even have a chance to place your hand on the interior handle. There isn’t any conversation. Price offers you his hand and you take it, sliding your fingers over his palm. As he helps you out of the SUV, his other hand lightly hovers on your waist.

He’s the one who shuts the SUV door. He’s the one who walk with you up the small steps. He’s the one who punches in a keycode (not a key) and brings you inside into a kitchen. It’s plain. Simple. Minimalist. But clean.

Price heads down the short hallway into what you guess is the living room. You follow, find only a sofa sitting in the empty space. Standing in front of a thermostat, Price makes a few adjustments before turning to you.

“Hungry?”

You shake your head. “No. Thank you.”

“Coffee? Tea?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

Price nods and heads into the kitchen. Retrieving an electric kettle from one of the cabinets, Price fills it up with water before plugging it in and hitting the tab. Heading for a different cabinet, Price removes two mugs. You said you didn’t want anything and yet he’s making you some anyway.

“Shower is upstairs,” he says, digging around in the pantry for bagged tea. “Up the stairs. Second to the right. First is the bedroom.”

You nod, tugging on the sleeves of your shirt. Price glances in your direction and frowns. “Something wrong?”

Everything, John.

“No,” you shake your head, stepping out into the hall.

On soft feet, you enter the living room and head for the stairs. Pausing at the base, you glance over your shoulder at the front door. The voice telling you to run comes again, but you squash it, knowing this isn’t the time.

“There are extra clothes in the bedroom,” calls out Price from the kitchen.

You don’t answer him. Instead, you head upstairs, stopping at the first door.

“What the fuck,” you mutter, staring down at the lone mattress on the floor and the worn dresser pushed up against the wall.

It is a “transfer location” so it’s understandable that the amenities of a safehouse might not be extended to a place like this. Sighing, you yank open the dresser. Digging around, you find some black sweatpants that will fit and an oversized Harvard sweatshirt.

Taking them into the bathroom with you, you explore all the cabinets. There is shampoo and conditioner along with razors and body wash. The towels have seen better days but they’re clean and smell fresh.

You don’t need to shower. Price dragged you into the one in your apartment, but you didn’t really bathe. You just stood under the hot water until you couldn’t stand it anymore and your legs didn’t shake. But taking another one is just an excuse to put some distance between the two of you.

It isn’t until you start peeling off your clothes that you notice the blood. Not everything came off. There is blood in places you didn’t notice before. The mirror isn’t much help. It’s old and your reflection is slightly blurry. You check everything. There is dried blood under your nails and on the back of your neck. It’s in your hair too.

Turning on the water, you stand under its spray until it grows cold and runs clear. You take your time removing yourself from the steamy room. You take even longer drying your body and hair, putting on the clothes you picked out.

It isn’t until you open the bathroom door that connects directly with the bedroom that the world suddenly comes to a halt.

Price is standing next to the mattress. It’s no longer bare but covered in multiple blankets and a small pile of pillows. Next to the bed is a small folding table no taller than your knee. On it is a steaming mug of tea. There is another mug of tea but it is in Price’s fist as he brings it up to his mouth to take a sip.

All of this is true, but that isn’t what’s stopped you.

Price is…hardly wearing anything. It’s just a pair of grey sweatpants. No socks. No shirt. No hat. Just an expanse of bare skin and brown tufts of hair across his broad chest that trickle downward to disappear below the band of his pants. Your eyes follow it down, and when you glance back up, Price is staring at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s what we have to sleep on?” you blurt to try and cover up the heat rising in your cheeks.

“There a problem?” asks Price with such casualness it’s maddening.

“Yes,” you reply instantly.

Price shrugs. “It’ll be a tight fit but we’ll both fit.”

We. Both.

“What?” you stammer.

“Don’t want to sleep with me, love?” Price takes a drink. “It’s just tonight.” The cocky swagger in the way Price says it causes your stomach to flip.

“It’s fine,” you reply sharply, making sure to go to the opposite side of the bed.

Once there, you ease down on it. Price doesn’t hesitate. He moves as you do, grabbing the other mug of tea and presenting it to you.

“Just in case,” he says softly.

You gently take it, making sure not to accidentally burn yourself or Price. Bringing the mug to your mouth, you inhale the rich scents descending upward with the steam.

“Thank you.” You take a sip and your body instantly warms everywhere, the heat of the tea quickly moving through your body.

Price sinks down onto the mattress. Leaning back, all the muscles in his stomach and chest flex and lengthen. You try not to look, to keep your gaze averted, but you completely fail. Price is doing this on purpose, and that is entirely clear when he absently rubs his hand over his stomach muscles. Physically, Price is the epitome of a Greek god who’s never said no to a donut. Muscles mixed with a bit of softness.

It's mouth-watering, and it takes everything in you not to scoot a bit closer.

“Do you always sleep with your captives?”

Price laughs. “You’re not my captive.”

“But I can’t leave,” you counter.

“You want to leave me?” Price’s voice drops. It’s low. Husky. Not a threat but a questioning of intention.

“I enjoy my solitude.”

Price nods. “I know you do.” Stretching, Price sets his mug on the little table and pushes up from the mattress. He switches off the light, returning to the makeshift bed moments later.

“Give it here.” Price goes onto his knees and leans over your body, taking the mug you placed next to the bed from off the floor.

He sets it aside and then holds back the covers. “Get in.”

You do so instantly, not caring that you’re submitting to his command. Maybe it’s how the bit of moonlight cuts through the blinds that do it. The way it shines across Price’s body, highlighting the best bits. He’s careful, keeping some space between, easing in beside you but not grabbing or pulling you close.

Knowing that you’re too weak to fight off your desire for him, you turn over onto your side, silently telling yourself off for even taking this line of thought. The heat under the covers is stifling. It’s warm under all these blankets and Price’s natural body temperature is only making it worse. You keep fidgeting, keep shifting, hating that you can’t really leave but wanting to do so anyway.

Price is silent beside you and you have no idea if he’s asleep or awake. If he’s watching you or if he’s annoyed by your constant twitching. And the heat is only growing worse. Maybe you can convince him to turn the thermostat down or even crack a fucking window.

But if you turn toward him, are you admitting that you want him? If you move toward him in the dark, will he take that as invitation?

Fuck it. You need to get this over with. Sweat is already collecting under your breasts.

Flipping over, you turn your resolve to steel. Pushing up onto your elbow, you reach out with one hand, resting it on his shoulder. Price is turned away from you, and when your hand makes contact, Price turns into the touch, rolling onto his back. The hand on your shoulder slides with him, gliding over his chest to rest near the other shoulder.

“John,” you breathe, suddenly losing your words.

Moonlight from the window slices down his face, highlighting his eyes and full lips. They’re slightly parted and his eyes are half lidded. The look on his face isn’t one you’d give to a good friend. He reaches across his body and wraps his hand around your wrist, resting his forearm against yours. His thumb hovers over your pulse point. You know its pounding because every thought in your head is consumed by the mere idea of Price rolling over to trap you under him.

“It’s—you’re—”

No. No no no no. You’re losing your nerve.

You lick your lips. “You’re…hot.”

Confusion, then surprise drifts across his features before shifting into something sultry. His thumb runs over your pulse point and his mouth curves into a smile.

“Not upset with sleeping with me?”

Price’s hand slides down your arm in a caress. It’s wonderful. Every nerve ending is firing. Singing. It’s the truest intimacy you’ve had in years. Alex is—was—thoughtful and caring in the way he handled you, but it also felt a little hollow, like he never fully wanted it.

And Price is right there. Warm and close and moving closer.

“Like a fire,” you blurt. “Or an oven. I’m overheated.”

Price pauses, immediately pulls back. “Apologies,” he coughs. “I—misunderstood.”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “Could you open the window? Just a bit?”

Price rolls out of bed and you instantly feel the cold. You want to call him back, to recall the words you spoke and shove them down your throat. With a little bit of pressure, Price opens the window slightly. The breeze is lovely. Soothing.

Price slides back under the covers but he keeps his back to you. You do the same, pretending that everything is fine. That everything is okay even as your heart thunders in your chest. You stay like that until you hear Price’s soft snoring. Counting the seconds and minutes is agonizing, but you do it for your safety.

This is your chance to leave.

With extreme slowness, you place one hand flat on the mattress, pushing yourself up to a seated position. Price doesn’t stir. You attune to the silence, waiting until you hear Price’s gentle snore. Shifting your weight away from him is the hardest part. Any sudden movement might startle him awake. You can’t have that.

You are on your knees on the floor and then your feet. Moving. You are moving silently toward the door. So close.

Everything is fine. Everything is good.

Until it’s not.

“What are you doing?” Price’s sleep-laced voice travels across the room.

“I—”

He sighs heavily. “Get away from the door.”

“I’m thirsty,” you say over your shoulder.

“Then I’ll grab you a water.”

In moments, Price is right there, standing behind you, his chest pressed to your back. One hand is on your waist and the other is on your hand that clings to the doorknob.

“Let go,” whispers Price.

“You can’t keep me here,” you murmur, wanting to leave but wanting to stay.

“I am keeping you here. Obolensky can’t have you. Not when you’re under my protection.”

You turn to the left, shoulder bumping into Price’s bare chest as you address him. “Is it only him I need protection from?”

“You think I’d hurt you?”

No. Never. Price has never hurt you.

You glance away, staring at the far wall, not wanting to admit the truth.

“Tell me,” he prompts. “You think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” Your gaze returns to his face. “But I’m not an animal. I don’t belong in a cage.”

Price’s hand on your waist tightens. The force of it is enough to draw your bodies together entirely. “This is not a cage.”

“It feels like one.” You lick your lips. His gaze follows the movement. “Last time you gave me a choice. Why not now?”

“Because no one knew about you then,” answers Price immediately. “Now they do.”

You twist in his grip, facing him fully. You’re pinned between his large, broad chest and the door. “Who is they, Price? Is it Alex? Dimitri?”

“Dimitri is dead,” he growls. “And Obolensky is a pawn.”

“For who?” Price’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t answer. “Who, John?”

He shakes his head. “Dimitri answered to Damien and Damien answered to someone else.”

You scoff. “Yet you won’t say who.”

“Do you understand how much was lost?” asks Price. “Damien’s behavior that afternoon wasn’t over a few guns or a couple hundred dollars. He lost a nuclear arsenal. One that he promised to deliver on.”

“What?”

Price keeps his hand on your waist but the other rests beside your head, trapping you further. “Dimitri is rotting in the dirt and Damien is fish food. Their boss saw to that. He is the target. Has been for years.”

All the pieces are falling into place like raindrops from crying clouds.

“But I never said anything,” you choke out. “You were there, John. You talked with Dimitri. Why didn’t they come after you?”

“We staged it to look like I was taken out. The only possible connection they had was that someone talked at the club.” Price sighs heavily. “How they even found out about the club is up in the air. Never figured that out.”

You sniffle, holding back the phlegm but not the tears. “I was collateral.”

“No—”

“Stop, John. Don’t lie.”

The hand on your waist squeezes before sliding to your back. Price yanks against him, dragging you away from the door. “Nothing was supposed to happen to you. Nothing.”

“Stop,” you murmur, suddenly reading how hard he is and how soft you are. There is nowhere for your hands to go but his bare chest. They rest there, palms flat, fingers sliding through his chest hair as they splay wide.

“I’m sorry,” murmurs Price, and the slight rasp in it melts your resolve. His head lowers, the tip of his nose brushing against the side of your face.

You start to turn into it, to meet him, but pause at the last second. There is a roaring in your ears. A bright light behind the eyes. You are a torn piece of paper. Two sides that cannot come together again unless glued.

You believe him. And it’s not because of his words but because of his actions.

Price rushed to you when Damien had everyone gathered in Thirst’s main room. He didn’t hesitate. He got you out, had you taken care of, only to slip right back in when you needed it the most. Without Price where would you be right now?

Dead, perhaps. Or worse off, lingering in a place where you wish for endless sleep.

“Let me protect you.”

You swallow, lips parting slightly. Price’s gaze is focused in on your lips, missing nothing.

“Alex won’t give up. He’ll look for me.”

“He’ll fucking regret it,” growls Price. “If he touches you, he’s dead. But he won’t even have the chance.”

“You don’t understand. He’s…”

You trail off, unsure of how to proceed. Alex is sweet on you, but there has always been a slight separation, a detachedness you couldn’t quite place. Now you know, but it doesn’t explain everything. There were times when Alex seemed a bit possessive around other men you interacted with. He didn’t like it when they talked to you for too long or showed more interest than he cared for.

But that might not explain that Alex cared for you. He did try to have you killed. He is working for someone who wanted to clean up their loose ends. But why all this work? Did he simply put it off? Why play the long game? Was Alex or anyone else involved sure you were who they thought you were?

“He’s what?” asks Price softly, his tone encouraging you to continue.

“I’m not sure, John. I—I just know he won’t stop looking for me.”

Price nods. “I agree. He has a job to do. But I also think he felt something toward you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Think I wasn’t watching the two of you in that restaurant?” he laughs. “I saw all of it. Maybe Alex is a good actor but his behavior toward you seemed genuine.”

“And yet he tried to kill me,” you reply dryly.

“He ordered his men to kill you,” corrects Price. “From what I understand, Obolensky likes to do it himself. Thorough. Clean. Doesn’t make sense, unless he couldn’t look you in the face as he did it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, John.”

“No,” he says softly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Price’s hand on your back rubs gentle circles. It’s a soothing touch and this intimacy is different from all the other times you and Price have been this close. His head is still tilted forward but he’s not as near as before. The two of you can look at each other without brushing noses.

“Still want that water?”

“I wasn’t getting water.”

Price chuckles. “I know.”

“I’d like to go back to bed,” you say.

“And sleep this time? Not wait for me to fall asleep so you can make your escape?”

You smack his chest. “Fuck you.”

Price smiles, and it drips with mischievousness. “Fuck me? Is that right?”

“Control yourself, Captain,” you tease.

His smile widens. “There it is. Knew you’d say it.”

Your head turns upward. This time, your lips align with his. Maybe it’s sleep drawing you to do this, or maybe it’s your heart which won’t slow its rapid beating. Could be the twisty coil in your stomach that is rapidly moving downward, heating the space between your legs, making you ache for him.

You are open for him, presenting yourself, giving Price your lips like an offering. He knows this, because Price’s gaze tracks the movement and his own lips part slightly like he’s just as desperate to form the connection.

“Back to bed,” he rasps, and you hate that he says it.

Price pushes off from the door, his hands falling to his sides. Before you is a rugged man. Bare chested. Running his fingers through his hair absently as he watches you. It’s unfair how close he is, how easy it would be to fall into him, but the distant is a canyon.

You need to accept this. Survival is at stake.

Do you want him? Yes. You’ve wanted him for a while, and this reunion is only drawing up all those old thoughts and feelings. They are being crushed and stretched like damp clothes. You’re hanging on the clothes line, swaying in the breeze.

Stepping away from the door, you follow Price back to the blanket covered mattress. He doesn’t slide beneath until you do. There is hesitation in the way he waits, like he wants to draw you close but is desperately needing your signal.

Sighing slightly, you melt into the worn mattress, turning on your side, facing him. Price fully inserts himself beneath the blankets, shifting across the makeshift bed until he’s nearly on top of you. You reach for him the moment he reaches for you.

Hand on chest, arm draped over your shoulders, a closeness of warmth that doesn’t seem to bother you now. Every breath is a number, and you count them until the room dims and you slip into dreamless sleep.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @tapioca-marzipan @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @daemondoll @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi

[skyfallscotland]

Onyx Storm, by Rebecca Yarros ⚡️

She was the first to choose me, to elevate me above all others, the first to see every ugly side of me and accept it all, and every single person in this fucking canyon will die before they remove a single one of her scales.

Oh boy, here we go. This is probably going to be the longest review I've done (as it should be, I suppose) and I think I'm going to have to separate my likes and dislikes into separate posts and link them, just to at least try and be more concise.

To be completely honest, I didn't really enjoy the book all that much. When I finished it I just felt confused, empty, and completely overwhelmed. I cried.

It might sound a little stupid to other people, but I think if you've lived with depression, you know how much stock you can end up placing in the little things like this, and your hobbies and obsessions, and what you pour your time and energy into.

So it's hard when you don't enjoy things as much as you expect to. I didn't have lofty expectations for the book at all, in fact I had no clear idea of what exactly I was expecting plot-wise, but I did expect to really like it. A lot of small things piled up to make this unenjoyable for me at times as an experience and I'm having a bit of a hard time with that.

It's not even the book itself, so much as the fact that I kind of feel like I'm the only one who didn't love it, on the outside looking in at a fandom I’ve given a lot for, and worse, that it's killed my drive to write anything for the universe at all.

Overall, and this is my biggest problem, I feel stupid. So many things did not make sense to me. I finished this book feeling like I no longer understand the world building, the foreshadowing, the characters—nothing.

It didn't feel like a cohesive story, there was a lot of info-dumping and more than a handful of threads picked up and pulled on, and never looked at again. I don't have the answers to questions I've had for years, I only have new questions, and a lot of things that happened well...they don't actually matter at all. You could pick a bunch of things and pull them out of the story and the end result will be the same.

Someone on Goodreads said "Onyx Storm felt like a kid lost in a supermarket trying to find their mother." And wow, yeah. Yeah, it did. We went down all the aisles, every single one, and in the end we left without the groceries.

I feel almost like I need to apologise to Iron Flame, because really, her issues feel negligible to me now, in my personal experience. At least then I understood what the hell was going on.

Is this a chicken and egg scenario? Am I the idiot? Even if I am the idiot, should it be written in a way that idiots understand? Because I do not understand, Rebecca. I'm lost.

There just wasn't consistency.

There was no 'kill your darlings' in this book. It felt like there was a lot of fan service, and honestly it really felt like someone had gone onto the subreddit, grabbed a bucket of every theory ever mentioned and then went 'oops' and dropped it all in.

I feel like we shouldn't be learning about how magic works in the second half of book three. You're over 400k words in and you're going to choose now to tell me the dragons actually don't have their own magic? You told me in book one and two that they did. And now they're just four-legged venin?

None of this would be as big of an issue if it was news to Vi, but it's not. We're constantly just having things she apparently knew this whole time dropped on us with zero explanation over and over and over again. If you want to keep things from the reader, write in third person.

I spent half the book going back and re-reading things because I just didn't understand what was going on. Maybe it’s the OCD, maybe I'm an over-thinker, maybe I'm just dumb, but that kind of thing doesn't do it for me, it seems unbalanced and illustrates a lack of continuity from book to book.

In terms of characterisation, I wanted a more badass Vi and I got her, but it feels like there's a massive character development gap missing between 'I don't want to even know the truth in case you hurt me again' and 'I'm going to poison someone, blackmail them, and threaten their children.' Did they deserve it? Sure, but it felt out of place to me.

I've made another post here with the things that frustrated me and the questions I still have, and one here with all the things I did love. Because there were things. There were times I smiled, and laughed, and cried, and quotes I adore.

Ultimately though, my rating for this (on my personal scale) is it’s a good book, it just didn’t do it for me.

And personally? I really really wish it had 🥺❤️‍🩹

[vanillanaps]

As I Lay Dying | Bucky Barnes

Request - if i gave you the prompt “death of a relationship” with mr bucket barnes, could you help give me the best angst ever?

A/n - This is the first fic ive been able to write in over a year. There was a lot of writing and deleting but I think I finally got it right 😭 Anon, I hope this was every thing you asked for.

Category - Bucky Barnes x Reader, angst

Warnings - Infidelity, broken hearts, authors first fic in a year, no hard feelings if it’s shitty, not proof read as always.

Word Count - 1.5k

♡♡♡♡

When you fall in love, the world you once knew changes in a heartbeat. You find this special someone whom you seem to never stop thinking about. This special someone who can make you smile, even in your saddest moments. This someone who you suddenly want to share every single small detail in your life with. This someone who you fall so madly in love with that you can’t even remember life before them, nor do you want to imagine the rest of your life without them. Love is supposed to be full of happiness, laughs, kisses, hugs, and passionate sex. Love is supposed to make you feel like you’ve been doped up on drugs for the last three years. Love is supposed to make you feel whole, not…empty.

And yet, there you were. You hadn’t moved a single muscle since those words came flowing out the love of your life’s mouth. It almost seemed silly. You questioned yourself, wondering how you didn't see it coming. Had you been so blindly in love that you hadn't noticed your boyfriend slowly slipping through the cracks of your fingers, into the hands of another woman.

Your eyes never left him. Even in a moment like this, those stunning blue eyes still had that soft and innocent charm behind them, even though that was everything he was not. They were low and soft, almost as if they were filled with true remorse, but if they were, he wouldn’t be here, leaving you for another woman. He’d be down on his knees, begging you for your forgiveness.

“Y/n,” Bucky called, a softness in his voice as if he was trying not to startle you, “Please, I just need you to say something–anything.”

“When did it start?” You asked, voice completely shot from the lump that had formed in your throat and refused to leave as your tears ran in a continuous stream down your face, “I just don’t understand Bucky, I mean, we were happy, right? We were in love, we were good!”

Bucky cleared his throat as he crossed his fingers together and lowered his head, “It started a few months ago, at Tony’s new years party.”

Your heart dropped, further than it did before, “But–but,” you took a beat, trying to piece the puzzle together. Confusion, sadness, anger, all mixed into one on your face, “......You proposed to me that night..”

He took a deep breath as his leg bounced anxiously up and down, “Y/n, i’ve never told you the truth about Nat and I.”

If it would have been possible, by now, your heart would’ve been sitting in your lap, “What?”

♡♡♡♡

Four months ago; One hour til New Year’s

The atmosphere was loud and heavy. It was Tony Stark’s annual New Year’s party and it had never failed to thrive, if anything each year the crowd grew. But Bucky didn’t mind. Not when he’s had you on his arm for the last three parties to make them more tolerable.

Currently, Bucky sat at the bar, nursing his glass of bourbon as he watched you mingle. A small smile on his face as he took in your beauty, wondering how he got so lucky to have someone like you as a lover. Truthfully, he’d never imagined finding happiness, not after all that happened with Hydra. He always thought he was too fucked up to love and to be loved and yet, you loved him for every part of him. The good and the bad.

The presence of someone standing besides Bucky pulled him from his thoughts of you, “You seem happy now.” The voice spoke softly.

Bucky kept his eyes on you and nodded, “I am..”

Nat pauses for a moment as she sips her drink before turning her attention towards you as well. She thought about her next words carefully, knowing that what she was about to say, what she was about to do was completely wrong, but she couldn’t help herself, “....Do you think you ever could’ve loved me the way you love her?”

This time it was Bucky that paused, wondering why now of all time would Natasha ask him this, When he was finally happy, in love and carefree, but nonetheless did he answer, “...I tried to, but you didn’t let me.” He answered honestly, turning his attention away from you and towards the redhead in front of him.

She fought the smile that threatened to appear on her face, finally meeting Bucky’s gaze, “Things were different back then Barnes. I was a Widow and you were my Winter Soldier trainer.”

“Times might’ve been different back then, but my feelings were real Nat, regardless.” Bucky admitted.

This wasn’t right, Nat shouldn’t be doing this. You were her best friend, hell she’s the one who introduced you to Bucky. But, if she was being honest with herself, in her whole life, the only good thing she had was Bucky and she couldn’t help but wonder if her time had expired, “And–what about now?”

Time seemed to slow as her heart beated out of her chest as the two started longingly into each other’s eyes. It was wrong, it was wrong beyond all levels, but they just couldn’t help themselves as they quickly slipped out the backdoor of the party.

♡♡♡♡

His words ricocheted through your brain as he came clean about history with Nat then told you the truth about the New Year's party. You were at a loss of words, confused on how he had thoughts of you being the one, yet slept with another woman minutes after those thoughts were formed. The man you had loved for the last three years had happened to be a complete stranger to you. He had cheated on you and proposed out of pity. Out of sometype of way to make him feel less of an asshole. To let you go through with started to plan your wedding whilst he was screwing your best friend.

As for Nat, you couldn’t believe she could betray you like this. You didn’t understand why she never told you about her and Bucky’s relationship and you sure as hell didn’t understand why she’d set you up with him if she knew deep down, her feelings were still there. That one day she’d want to try again with Bucky. But instead, she drew the sharpest knife on planet earth and drove it right through your heart. At a time like this, Nat was supposed to be the one you called. The person to pick up snacks, drive over to your house and let you cry on her shoulders for hours. Nat was supposed to pick you up when you were down, not the one kicking you to the ground.

You sobbed as everything sunk in. You weren’t sure on what to do, how to feel, but you knew one thing for sure. You never wanted to see their faces again, from this every moment, Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanoff were dead to you.

“Get out.” You cried, shaking your head as you shot up from the couch, rage coursing through your veins, “You’re such a piece of shit! Three years! Three years of my fucking life down the drain because of you!”

“I’m sorry, Y/n, truly. I am.” Bucky tried, watching you pace the room.

A scoff left your mouth, shaking your head, “Is that supposed to make me feel better? An– I'm sorry Y/n?” You mocked him, “You know what, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the fact that I thought you could love someone. Clearly you are more fucked up than I thought you were!” It was a low-blow, you knew that, but you were running off anger. Every vein in your body was burning. Emotions running high as you were crying one minute and laughing like a crazed woman next, “I hate you! I hate you now, I’ll hate you later, I’ll hate you for eternity! You and Nat fucking deserve eachother! Two lowlife scumbags!” You pointed to the door, “Get out! Just get out, get out, get out!”

Finally, Bucky rose from his seat on the couch, slowly making his way to the door but not before stopping to grab his pre-packed bags. He fought the urge to look back at you once more. Dropping his key on the counter, he walked out the door and out of your life forever.

At that moment, your legs gave up on you. You dropped to the ground and continued to cry your life away. Your heart was in more than a million pieces and you had no idea on how you were even to begin on how to piece them back together. Within an hour, your life had changed drastically. The love of your life and your best friend, both gone in one sweep. Now, as you were alone, you felt nothing but sadness. Wondering why this had to happen to you when you had finally gotten to a good place with your life. It was true what they say, with true love comes a painful heartbreak.

You had experienced the amazing highs of a new love blossoming, but now you were facing the death of a relationship.

[sammysficfactory]

Missing Blanket

husband!dad!miguel x blackcoded!reader

tags: fluff🤭

summary: when miguel loses gabriella’s favorite blanket, all hell breaks loose.

wc: 1k words

notes: gabriella is a daddy’s girl, i could give miguel the family he wants, beta read

beta reader comments: aww thats so cute, not Miguel got the credit

Miguel was screwed. Utterly screwed. Your daughter Gabriella was having a fit because Miguel had lost her favorite blanket. Miguel was looking high and low, far and wide for this blanket. You still wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, so he was by himself. He holds Gabriella to his chest as he looks for her favorite yellow blanket.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m gonna find your blanket, okay? Daddy’s gonna find it.” He says calmly, trying to soothe her panicked state. Miguel feels terrible seeing his little girl so upset, so he’s on a mission. Miguel is all but turning the house upside down looking for the blanket when he hears the click of the front door lock.

“Miguel? Gabby? Where are y’all?” You ask, a bit frantic at the sound of your daughter’s cries. You spot Miguel holding your daughter and looking frazzled as he whips his head left to right.

“What’s wrong with my baby?” You coo at your daughter, concern painting your features. Gabby lifts her head to look at you before making grabby hands at you, motioning for you to pick her up. You take her into your arms, making a face to ask Miguel ‘what the fuck happened?’

“Daddy can’t find my blanket!” She sobs, answering your question. Your face drops in panic. ‘You did what?!’ you mouth at him. Miguel grimaces. ‘I don’t know! It’s like it just vanished into thin air! I don’t know what to do!’ he mouths back frantically, shrugging. You roll your eyes, sighing as you rub your daughter’s back.

“It’s okay, mommy’s gonna help find it.” You kiss her temple before going to the third floor of your home, checking every room for that damned blanket. You start in the bedroom you and Miguel slept in, sitting your daughter on the bed as you frantically look under the bed, in your dirty clothes hamper, and in your closet to no avail. You grab your daughter and go across the hall to her old nursery, checking the crib, the empty diaper bag, and the dresser full of clothes she couldn’t fit anymore. You leave and go to the bathroom, checking anywhere a blanket could fit, all without success.

You go down to the second floor, first checking Gabriella’s playroom. You look in and behind her dollhouse, check her toy chest, inside her lego bucket, and her small bookshelf only to find nothing. You rush into her room, checking under her pillows, blanket, and bed. Next you go into her drawers, closet and dirty clothes hamper, just to see absolutely nothing. You check the second floor bathroom, doing the same thing you did on the previous floor.

Finally, you get to the first floor. You sit your daughter on the couch as you frantically search with Miguel once more, checking under the couch, under the table of your dining room, in your kitchen, and hall closet. You come back to your living room, plopping on the couch and sighing in defeat before an idea pops up in your head. You snap your head in your husband’s direction.

“Miguel, did you check the basement?” You ask. Miguel looks at you as if you’re crazy.

“The basement, why would I check-” Then it dawned on him. Since he had the day off, Miguel offered to take Gabriella to school and start laundry before the weekend began. Your laundry room was in the basement. The two of you rush down to your basement and Miguel opens the dryer to see the very catalyst for your daughter's distress. The two of you sigh in relief.

“Look Gabby, daddy has your blanket!” You say, pointing to an exhausted Miguel who was holding the yellow blanket. Gabriella’s cries cease almost immediately when she sees her blanket in her father’s hands. Miguel hands her the blanket with a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you, daddy.” She says, wiping her tears and quickly grabbing the blanket before nuzzling her face into it. Miguel pinches her cheek gently with a small smile.

“Thank you, honey.” Miguel winks at you, kissing your cheek as he takes Gabriella into his arms. You roll your eyes playfully, a little bitter that your husband got all the credit for your idea.

You all walk back up the stairs together. Gabby’s face was smiley and satisfied, very different from the tired but fairly relieved expression you and Miguel shared.

“Mommy, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?” Gabby asks poking you every other syllable. You shrug before playfully nibbling her finger, resulting in a fit of laughter from her.

“I don’t know girl, ask your father.” Miguel glares at you, resulting in you glaring back. Miguel quickly averts his eyes, visibly intimidated. Since becoming a mom, your death stare has gotten better. Sometimes you’d need it in the store when Gabby was about to have a temper tantrum and she would get it together immediately. Your daughter turns to Miguel.

“Daddy can we get pizza for dinner?” She asks, showing off her trademark large and sparkly puppy eyes. You had to give your daughter her props, she knew how to get what she wanted. She’s also learned that her father was in the palm of her hand fairly quickly. Miguel makes a pained face, clearly torn between not wanting to say yes and not wanting to tell his precious daughter no.

“Okay, I’ll order pizza.” Your husband sighs in defeat, he was no match for the big sparkly brown eyes your daughter had. Gabriella rejoices in victory, doing a little dance and a song.

“We’re getting pizza. We’re getting pizza.” She repeated constantly in a sing-song voice. Miguel rubs his temples, you figured it was a stress induced headache and that Gabriella wasn’t helping.

“Gabby.” You warn. She grins sheepishly before apologizing and continuing her dance quietly, humming her to her tune. You and Miguel laugh quietly at her run of the mill antics.

“That’s your dramatic ass daughter, Miguel.” You snort. Miguel shrugs, shaking his head.

“Sure is.” He grins as he orders the pizza online. After ordering, he tosses his phone onto the coffee table and leans back in his seat.

[hubbvrd]

Hey can I request #18 with joe burrow 😊 Thankyou

summary — Joe takes you out on a date to the drive-in movie theater, where you get a little closer

pairing — joe burrow x reader

words — 1758 words

THE SUN WAS slowly setting on the horizon as Joe skillfully parked his car in one of the empty parking spaces.

About an hour and a half ago, Joe had spontaneously texted you that he would pick you up for a date.

You had tried to get a little dressed up because you didn't want to go on a date with Joe in your cozy outfit, which consisted of pajama pants and a loose shirt that was way too big for you.

In fact, you had just managed to swap your outfit for a pair of comfortable jeans and a T-shirt before Joe collected you.

And now you were in a large parking lot in the middle of nowhere, with the drive-in movie theater opening in less than an hour.

"Come on, I've got everything ready." Joe grabbed your hand after you got out and led you around the car to the trunk, which he opened, leaving you in awe.

The back seat was folded down so that you had more space inside, while countless cushions and cozy blankets were spread out.

There were even a few fairy lights to keep you cozy for the next few hours while the movie was playing.

"Wow, Joe. This is incredible," you exclaimed almost enthusiastically with a broad grin on your lips.

"I knew you would like it" Joe replied with a grin and looked over at you.

A soft giggle left your lips. "You're great!"

You gently pulled Joe over to you to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Joe's cheeks turned slightly red within a few seconds and he began to scratch his neck nervously.

"Uhm, I'll get some snacks and drinks then."

Without waiting for an answer from you, the older man had already made his way through the parked cars towards the snack bar.

With a contented sigh, you dropped onto the edge of the trunk and began to untie your Convers and slip them off your feet before sinking into the large, cosy cushions and covering yourself with one of the blankets.

From the seat in the trunk, you had an incredible view of the big screen that was a few meters from Joe's car.

Around you, other couples or friends were sitting next to each other on the roofs of their cars or in their trunks. A few soft voices wafted over to you, otherwise it was pretty quiet.

And in this silence, you began to feel the butterflies in your stomach slowly picking themselves up and starting to fly little laps.

Joe and you had already been on one date or another, but none of these dates had ever involved an intimate moment. But you were more than sure that this would come to an end today.

Because the two of you in a cramped room with countless pillows and blankets would probably end in physical contact. And that's what you desperately wanted.

You loved to cuddle, so you wanted closeness and affection quite often and let others feel it too.

Until now, you had only ever dreamed about what it would be like to cuddle up in Joe's arms and how it might feel. But today, today you would finally take the step and find out what it would be like to lie in Joe's arms.

"I see you've already made yourself comfortable," Joe's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. In his hand he held two Coca Cola bottles and a huge popcorn bucket.

"Yup," you grinned, "and I see you bought the biggest popcorn bucket on the stall?"

"Yes, so that we can still have some during the movie. I know how quickly the popcorn always runs out."

Joe handed you the two bottles of Coke and the huge bucket of popcorn, which you held securely, while Joe took off his shoes and then lay down next to you at a distance.

His aftershave immediately caught your nose and your heart began to beat a little faster within a few seconds.

Joe's proximity made you slightly nervous, so you began to wonder if the movie would distract you so much from Joe's proximity that your heart wouldn't race incessantly and you would almost go crazy.

"What...what are we actually watching?" you started some kind of topic, trying to keep your physical reactions to Joe's closeness under control as best you could.

While Joe told you a movie title you'd never heard before, you kept reaching into the bucket of popcorn to keep yourself occupied.

A short time later, the screen was switched on and three commercials appeared until the movie finally started and you began to hope you could distract yourself with the movie.

But this seemed to be more difficult than you thought, because in the middle of the movie Joe slid so close to you that your knees touched slightly and the butterflies in your stomach did somersaults.

"Are you okay?" Joe whispered softly to you as you began to play nervously with your fingers under the blanket.

A glance to your left in the dim light of the fairy lights and the screen showed you that Joe's eyes were looking at you curiously, not too far from your face.

"Um, yeah," you mumbled softly before pulling your hand out from under the blanket and reaching into the popcorn, then shoving the handful of popcorn into your mouth and chewing with relish.

As you kept shoveling a load of popcorn into your mouth and began to notice that the butterflies in your stomach were slowly calming down, you automatically became more relaxed.

But this only lasted until you suddenly felt Joe's arm around your waist, gently pulling you towards him.

"What... what are you doing?" Your voice sounded rather nervous, while the spot on your hip where Joe's hand was resting immediately began to tingle.

"You're sitting too far away," he realized and wrapped his right arm, which had been resting on your hip, around you.

Joe's warmth immediately enveloped you and your head automatically found its way towards Joe's chest, where your head rested.

Joe's fingers kept gently stroking your arm, on which goose bumps were slowly spreading. And while you tried to concentrate a little more on the movie, in which you didn't even know what had happened, you felt Joe put a blanket over you and he pulled you a little closer to him.

A smile formed on your lips as you savored the closeness to Joe and absorbed his touch, hoping that this moment wouldn't end too soon.

- - -

A soft yawn left your lips as you sauntered over to the trashcan to put the empty popcorn bucket in the trash.

The movie had ended a few minutes ago and by now it was getting pretty late. Every now and then you had already dozed off, as Joe's closeness and warmth had surrounded and enveloped you so much that your eyes had automatically closed.

The bucket landed in the garbage can with a thud and as you strolled between the parked cars back to Joe's car, you pulled Joe's warm hoodie over your head.

It had gotten pretty chilly, so you grabbed Joe's hoodie without thinking twice.

You immediately stopped shivering as the warm fabric and Joe's smell surrounded you.

You buried your nose in the fabric for a few seconds, taking in Joe's scent completely, before slowly walking back to the car to wait for Joe.

The older one had left about five minutes ago, saying that he had to go to the toilet.

Another loud yawn escaped you as you began to shake out the remaining popcorn crumbs from the blankets and another smile crept onto your lips as you began to think back to the last step and a half that Joe and you had spent cuddled up together.

It wasn't just you who had enjoyed that time to the full, but Joe too. At some point, Joe had wrapped his arms around you quite protectively and rested his head on yours, occasionally stroking your arm, lost in thought.

When you thought back to the last hour and a half, the butterflies in your stomach, which apparently didn't even finish work today, started to fly again.

A yawn next to you made you flinch, so you clutched one of the pillows tightly, possibly having to chase the person who had approached you away with the pillow, which was probably not the best defense.

"Hey. It's just me!" Joe almost shouted, throwing his hands up in the air as you swung the pillow ready to strike.

"God, Joe! Don't ever scare me like that again!" you grumbled quietly and lowered the pillow.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I didn't mean to scare you," he began to apologize to you guiltily and then took the pillow from your hand, which he carelessly threw into the trunk and then closed it.

"Let me take you home."

- - -

Fifteen minutes later, when Joe turned into the street where you lived, it took a lot of effort to even begin to keep your eyes open.

During the drive, you had both enjoyed the silence that had surrounded you except for the radio, which Joe had turned down quite a bit.

"So, here we are." Joe stopped in front of your house and looked over at you. "This really has been a lovely evening."

"It was," you agreed, hoping you wouldn't blush as the fond memories began to play out before your eyes.  "Thank you for the date."

Your lips gently touched Joe's soft cheek before you undid your seatbelt and just before you were about to get out, you remembered something else.

"Oh, I still have your hoodie on." 

Your hand reached for the waistband of the hoodie, but before you could even begin to pull it over your head, Joe's words stopped you.

"Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." He gave you a warm, honest smile, which the blood slowly start to rush to your cheeks.

"Thank you, Joe. For everything," you almost whispered before you kissed him on the cheek again and got out of the car.

Joe waited until you had disappeared inside your home before he drove home too.

With the door slamming shut, you leaned back against the door as your nose buried itself in the fabric of the hoodie again and you closed your eyes, heart pounding, and reviewed the day. And you could hardly wait for Joe to pick you up for your next date.

[strniohoeee]

Vanished

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Chris is struggling to come to terms with Y/N no longer being in his life. Stuck in the memories of the past, and having to fight with himself to see her again🫂

Warnings⚠️: None….I mean just heartbreak, so get those tissues ready😭

Songs for the imagine: Ooo Baby Baby- Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, All I want- Kodaline

Vanish

Noun

Disappear suddenly and completely

[Play Ooo Baby Baby]

“Chrissss you’re here” I shouted jumping off of my bed and running up to my boyfriend

“Of course my love, I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything” he said kissing me

“Chris it’s just my 22nd birthday it’s nothing special” I said looking down

“Of course it is! To another year of health and happiness” he said hugging me tightly

“You’re amazing. What would I do without you?” I said pulling him tightly to hug him

“The real question is what would I do without you” he said kissing the top of my head

“Mmm probably crumble to the ground” I said giggling

“Something like that” he said laughing

“Oh babe! I got you something” he said pulling away

“Chrisss why? You know I hate gifts” I said tilting my head at him

“Well I know, but I’d never show up empty handed on your birthday. Now shut your eyes” he said tapping my nose with his pointer finger

“Fineee” I said shutting my eyes

I heard him walk to my living room and my brows furrowed as to what he got me. Truly hating gifts, but Chris expressed his love through gifts, so I went along with it.

“Okay now open” he said standing in front of me

I opened my eyes to see Chris smiling brightly and holding a vinyl record in his hands. I looked down and my mouth dropped as my eyes went wide

“You didn’t” I said grabbing the vinyl from his hands

“Oh but I did” he said smiling

“Chris I’ve been searching for this album forever, and couldn’t find it well, not an original at least ” I said looking at the album. It was Smokey Robinson’s and The Miracles 1965 Going to a go-go album.

“Trust me I’ve been searching for this album for months, and I’ve had to hide it from you” he said looking at me

“How did you find an authentic album….these are so hard to come by” I said tracing my fingers along the cover

“Lots of dead ends and lots of people helping me, and by people I mean Nick and Matt searching for hours and looking for a receipt authentizing them” he said giggling

“You’re perfect. Like this is the best gift I have ever gotten” I said hugging him again

“Put it on” he said kissing me on the cheek

I walked over to my record player and put the vinyl on. Hearing the little scratch it does before playing the song, sending shivers down my spine. I loved my record player

“Oh my god this is my favorite song” I said clapping my hands together

Ooo Baby Baby started playing and I shut my eyes letting the music take me far away.

“Dance with me?” I asked him sticking my hand out

“Babeeee you know I don’t dance” he said getting shy

“But please it’s on my bucket list to dance to this song with the love of my life” I said pouting

“Alright fine” he said dropping his head and standing up

He joined me as I wrapped my arms over his shoulders and his hands around my waist. We swayed to the music as I looked into his eyes.

“I love you, and I know I haven’t said it in a while” I said looking up at him

“You don’t have to say it, I know my love; and I love you too” he replied, smiling down at me.

“You’re the best thing that has happened to me” I said in a whisper

“I’m thankful I met you when I did” he said kissing my forehead

“I want to stay like this forever” I said looking up at him

“We can stay like this for as long as you want” he said laughing at bit

“If I could just freeze time I would” I replied

“I would too” he said in a whisper

I leaned the side of my face over his heart as we swayed to the music. Listening to the thumping of his heart as I smiled and let a tear slip from my eyes. God I loved him so much.

“Never leave me Christopher” I say in a whisper

“I would never” he said rubbing my head with his left hand

The song finished and we parted ways as I turned the music down. He walked over to my bed and sat down.

“Thank you again Chris” I said as I turned around

“Anything for you my love” he replied blowing me a kiss

I shuffled over to the bed.

“You okay baby?” He asked me as he began to scoot up on the bed

“Yeah my back just hurts today. I’ve been super busy” I said cracking my back

“Come lay down, and I’ll rub your back” he said winking at me

“I could never turn down one of your back rubs” I said winking back at him

I laid down on my stomach next to him, and he began to rub my back gently as I melted into his touch. Chris was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, and I truly hoped he knew that.

[Play All I Want]

Chris POV

I sat down in front of her, my heart breaking and tears beginning to fill my eyes. I mean I just couldn’t believe what I was going through.

How I just sat here with her infront of me…so close yet so far away. I couldn’t come to terms that this was my reality. Oh how badly I wish I could turn back the hands of time and really hold on to what we had…. I really took a lot for granted.

Reminiscing on our past memories whether they were good or bad, and wishing so badly I could go back to that. If I knew our story had a bad ending I would’ve held on to her a bit tighter.

It’s been two months since I last saw her, and looking at her right now was making me sick. Wishing I could kiss her lips again or hold her tight against my body and whisper how much I loved her. God this was painful….

Silence consuming us as I sat here not sure what to say, or what to do. Struggling to find my voice as I racked my brain for words to express to her.

“It’s been a while” I stated looking down

“I wasn’t even sure I would be able to come here today, but I knew I had to. Had to see you one more time to finally realize that this is over, and not something I made up in my brain” I said finally looking up

“Your mom came by my house two months ago when she came to pick up the last of your belongings ,and she dropped off a letter you wanted me to read” I said, looking at her….waiting for her to say something

“I was so fucking hurt that I left that letter on my dresser for two months. I mean I couldn’t even come to terms with us being over, and you not in my life anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to read it, but I knew when I decided to come see you today I would finally have the courage to open up the letter with you” I said shaking my head

“Well…I’m going to open it, and read it out loud because I want you to hear it for yourself again” I said picking up the letter and showing her

I sniffled and wiped my eyes. Running my fingers over the cover of the envelope titled ‘Chris<3’….. I almost chickened out, but I came here for her and to be able to step away from us and move on with my life

“Well here goes nothing” I said looking at her as I opened the envelope and pulling the letter out

I began to read out loud

Dear Chris,

To my sweet sweet boy oh how I love you so much. I’m so grateful for everything you have taught me in life, and for all the love you have shown me. Before you I was so depressed and felt like I had no meaning in life. But when you came along you showed me that life is beautiful, and I began to see in colors again.

I remember the first day I saw you I thought wow he’s so immature and annoying….but look at us we ended up together. I mean that wasn’t on my agenda, but love has a funny way of finding those who aren’t looking for it. I sure wasn’t looking for love, but here we are you swept me off my feet what can I say.

I can’t even begin to describe how you changed my life for the better. I know we had our ups and downs, and we argued a lot (you are very hard headed, and I know you’re thinking ‘no I’m not’ right now, but yes you are!). I know you would beat yourself up over a lot of things, but Chris nobodies perfect. However you were the closest thing to perfect! So stop beating yourself up my love.

You’re very hard on yourself, and I don’t think you realize how great you truly are. You’re so focused on being perfect that you let life fly by your eyes. Take a step back and just enjoy what you have! Please don’t take life for granted.

I remember when I first told you I was sick, and that I wouldn’t be around for a long time. I expected you to run and leave me, but you sat with me. And we talked…we talked about life, and we cried, and we laughed and most importantly you helped me live life. I know a lot of days were hard because I wasn’t feeling well. You were there to help me complete my bucket list, and that I will forever cherish even in the after life! And when it was getting close to the end you never stopped losing faith and you never let me think about death. With you I was alive….more alive than I’ve ever been. I want you to know that I fought for you, and if you’re reading this it’s because I lost my battle. However I need you to keep fighting in life, and if it’s not for yourself then fight for me okay!

When you purchased me the Smokey Robinson and The Miracles album you made me the happiest girl ever. I know that you knew it was getting really bad, and I was at the end; but you never made me feel like I was dying. I’m thankful that you never treated me differently even though you were suffering on your own.

I know you said that after I passed you’d never date again because I was your soulmate, but I want you to move on in life. Keep me as a memory and a special part of your story locked away in your heart, but don’t close yourself off to love. When you find the perfect girl (which you will), and you get married my only request is that you dance to Ooo Baby Baby at your wedding! Make that promise for me.

Now I know you don’t believe in reincarnation, but I do and I promise you we will find each other again. If you ever hear Ooo Baby Baby just know that I am here with you. Don’t ignore it because it will be a sign of me.

I know you will be sad and in pain, but I want you to keep your head up and push forward in life for me. You will be okay one day. So once again thank you for always being there for my Christopher, and I hope to see you in another lifetime!

I love you with all my heart….till next time

Sincerely,

Y/N

I let out a shaky breath as I broke down sobbing. Closing the letter back up as I put it back in the envelope. Putting the envelope in my pocket.

Vigorously wiping my eyes and my nose as I broke down sobbing. I never cried in front of Y/N, and I’m sure she was looking down on me laughing as I tried to hide my sobs.

I inhaled shaky as I licked my lips and batted my tears away.

“Fuck man….you have such a way with words” I said looking back over at her

“Life is so unfair…I finally found the one thing I was so sure about in life, and just like that it’s swiped from my hands. If only we could’ve froze time” I said shaking my head

“I miss you…I miss you a lot. Most nights I wake up from this bad dream reaching over to grab you only to realize you’re not here anymore, and my bad dreams are a reality” I said swallowing thickly

“I know I always said I love you, but man if I could get one more chance to say I love you to your face. How your face would crinkle up and your eyes would squint at those words” I said laughing a bit

“God… I just I just miss you man. I’m not sure how I’m going to keep pushing in life, but for you I will” I stated as I fixed the flowers in front of her

“You were my best friend, and my soulmate. I’m going to miss our corny little hand shakes and our slow dances. You know I took your record player and the Smokey Robinson album. And I play it every night, often falling asleep to it. It brings me the same comfort your embrace would” I said as I looked at her

“Most mornings I wake up swearing I hear your voice, or smell your perfume. Hoping you’re going to walk through my bedroom door with bags of snacks screaming my name like you always did…..just hoping you’d wake me from this bad dream” I said licking my lips and wiping my nose

“But I think I’m going to go. It was nice seeing you, and I’ll be back more often” I said standing up

“You look beautiful” I said as I wiped the dirty and rocks off of her tombstone

“I miss you and I love you dearly, and I hope you’re doing okay” I said as I leaned down kissing her tombstone

“Until next time my love” I stated as I let my finger brush off her tombstone, slowly walking away.

I walked away wiping my eyes and taking a deep breath trying to gather myself. Unable to come to terms with having to walk away from the love of my life’s tombstone.

Never seeing her again was going to be the worst part of my life, but I always promised her that I would keep it pushing just for her.

My beautiful girl….oh how I missed her

5 months later

It had been a solid 7 months since the passing of my Y/N. It was still hard, but I was taking it day by day. Having my family and hers to keep me going in life. I still wake up from bad dreams searching for her, and that’s something I’m sure I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.

I visited her grave every 2 and a half weeks. Just sitting and reminiscing with her about anything I thought of that reminded me of her, or memories we always laughed about. It truly helped me feel better about losing her.

Every corner I turned or everywhere I went something always reminded me of her. It brought a smile to my face but a pain to my heart. I began to believe that she was showing me signs of always being with me, and it made my heart flutter.

Three months ago a blue and black butterfly would always land on or near her tombstone whenever I was there. I swore it was just a coincidence, but when it happened every time I began to believe in reincarnation like she did, and started to think it was her showing me a sign.

Today I was heading to a flea market with my brothers to do some shopping. It was something they loved to do, but I cared less about. I tagged along because I hadn’t really been leaving the house. I figured I could use some fresh air

We were walking around when I decided to branch off from my brothers and look at some other things.

I landed on a booth selling old record players, and immediately my mind went to Y/N. Oh how she would’ve loved to be here, and I’m sure she would’ve bought one.

The guy was helping someone else as I was looking at the record players.

Suddenly I heard a record scratch and Ooo Baby Baby started playing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my eyes went wide. I turned around and saw the record player in the far corner.

I walked over to it and looked down. It was an authentic 1965 Going To a Go-Go album playing. Just like the one I purchased my Y/N. A smile crept up on my face and I began to think about that night we shared dancing.

When suddenly something from the corner of my eye caught my attention, so I looked down. Tears came to my eyes when I saw a blue and black butterfly had landed on the record player. Not moving, just standing there with the wings spread.

I smiled and laughed a bit…she was right about reincarnation, and that I’d find her again.

“I love you” I whispered

And with that the butterfly flew over my left shoulder and was gone with the wind, and just like that it had

Vanished.

The End

YALLLL I BOUT NEAR CRIED WRITING THIS🥹🥹 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it🤭🤭. Thank you all for the support, and I’m sooo close to 1,300 followers like WHATTT?? I love yall🤞🏽🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[creepyclothdoll]

Ant Problem

I really thought it was a dog. I swear. I swear I didn’t know.

How could I? Vi never told me anything. She just expected people to know.

Walking into Grandma Vi’s house was like walking into a halloween haunted maze made out of ant traps. Flypaper hung from the ceiling and walls like streamers. The floor was littered in dusty plastic traps, and empty and half-full boxes of borax and liquid ant killer were stacked along the walls. The smell of the place was strange and cloying. Soap and poison. 

I never liked being there. She made me uncomfortable, even as a kid, when her paranoia wasn’t her defining trait just yet. 

She was a neat freak back then. Her rules were foreign to me, but not as foreign as the genuine outrage she expressed when those rules were broken. I didn’t even know what a coaster was, why was I being snapped at for putting my water cup down? You’re not sleeping in the attic bed, why are you so pissed at me for leaving it un-made? Don’t get mad at me for not drying the entire shower after I’ve used it– I didn’t even know anybody did that.

Grandma Vi would never tell you what weird unusual protocols she expected you to follow, she’d just fly off the handle when you didn’t do it, and that’s how you’d find out that it was disrespectful to wear a hat indoors or not offer to wash the dishes as a guest. She’d turn up her sharp jaw and suck her thin teeth and scowl endlessly.

I could honestly say that I missed that version of her. 

Compared to this Grandma Vi, that one was a delight. 

This Grandma Vi collected dirty paper dishes in her room. She stacked them high. She sprayed them with bleach. She refused to let me wash them– the sink drains were all clogged in the house now, stuffed with paper towels and borax. 

“Ants could get in through there,” she explained. 

When I brought Grandma Vi her groceries, they had to undergo a period of “disinfecting,” in which they were double-bagged in black trash bags and sealed for two days. This, Vi reasoned, would suffocate any insects that might be passengers inside the lettuce or the cornflake boxes. 

No sugar, obviously. Ants loved sugar. 

I tried not to eat in front of Vi. The day I spent as her full-time caretaker, I unwrapped an egg sandwich in front of her and it sent her into a panic attack.

“You’re dropping crumbs all over the floor!” she screamed.

I wasn’t. And even if I was, it’s not like the floor could get any dirtier. Vi would not let me vacuum because I did it wrong. Vi didn’t vacuum either– she couldn’t. Just walking around the house left her fatigued. Her hair had always been long and thick, but it was so hard for her to care for now that she’d had it shaved near to the scalp. She’d struggle to lift anything heavier than a spoon. 

I reminded myself of that daily. Grandma Vi was a sick, dying old woman. She was in pain. She was used to independence and solitude. This was the worst she’d ever felt and the most disempowered she had ever been. 

And, importantly, my dad was paying me to do this. Because someone had to. 

So I tried not to hate her guts. And I ate my meals outside, on the picnic table in what used to be her garden, even in the winter. I refrained from cleaning without her permission. I never, ever, ever used the front door. 

The front door could let in ants.

The ant obsession– I never found out where that came from. My dad just shrugged it off as one more drop in a giant bucket of assorted mental illnesses. 

“She’s been getting worse ever since Grandpa Joe passed,” dad said to me over the phone while I called him, crying in my car one day. Vi’s husband had been gone since before I was born. If there was a tolerable version of her, I never met it. “Grandma Vi relied on him. When your mom was growing up, Vi was actually a very quiet, mellow person. She was never… nice. But she felt safe. She had security. She didn’t feel like she had to go on the attack all the time.”

I hated imagining my mom as a child in this horrible house. 

“Your Grandpa Joe was a nice person,” dad said. “Not like her at all. I believe that missing him is a big part of what made her crazy.”

I didn’t argue with him, but I didn’t think he was right. Because in Grandma Vi’s halloween haunted house of traps and poison, every single photo of Grandpa Joe– a tall, dark, handsome man with a very kind smile– had been turned backwards to face the wall. 

The first month I was there was quiet. Then the scratching started. 

It sounded like a raccoon climbing around on the roof and walls. Every time I thought it was done, it started up again. It was the deep of night, and I couldn’t sleep. I slipped out of the attic bed where Vi still expected me to sleep and climbed the ladder down to the main floor. There was a porch light outside. I hoped it would scare away any animals. 

But as I started unlocking the back door, a sharp, cold hand grabbed my arm. I jumped. Vi was there, her dark eyes wide, her wrinkled face pulled tightly into a mask of pure terror. 

“Don’t open the door,” she hissed.

“I’m just turning the light on,” I said. I unlatched the door.

Vi screamed, and I felt a sudden hot pain across my face. I put my fingers to my cheek and felt blood. Vi had scratched me. I swore, and she re-latched the door. I ran to the bathroom to wash my new cuts out in the clogged sink. 

When I found Vi again, she was in bed. She wasn’t sleeping, though. And she definitely wasn’t sorry. 

“If you attack me again, I’m leaving,” I said to her. 

“You oughtta be grateful,” Vi said. “You don’t even know what you almost did, stupid.”

I refrained from calling her the names I was thinking of calling her in my head. I swallowed those teeth and asked,

“What did I almost do?”

Vi laughed. 

“You were just gonna let in those ants.”

In Vi’s house, I was never to leave the house at night. I was never to open the back door at night. I was never to open the front door at all. I was never, under any circumstances, to let anyone else inside the house. 

The scratching would come every few nights. Once it started, Vi finally started asking me to fix things around the house. She didn’t let me clean, but she did make me go up on the roof and look for holes. Nests. Anywhere ants could be living or trying to get in. And for once, to her credit, I did find some damage. It looked like termites, maybe. I sprayed bug killer and sealed up the chewed spots.

One day, Vi screamed at the top of her lungs in the middle of the night. I ran into her room to find her frantically springing from her bed. She collapsed into a dresser and knocked over the stack of paper plates she kept there, sanitized with bleach. She was staring at the window with pure horror. I didn’t see anything out there. She wouldn’t tell me what she saw. She only wept and shook and cried Joe’s name over and over. The next day she had me cover that window with cardboard and plastic and seal it. And then I had to re-seal it, because she saw a microscopic space that no one else would notice. Big enough for a potential ant to get in.

“You never met your Grandpa Joe,” Vi said to me out of the blue one day. Her room was lightless and stuffy, and she had spent her recent days sitting in bed and doing nothing but listen to audiobooks on an old cd player. “You never saw him.”

“I heard he was nice,” I said. 

“He’s dead,” she said. “He’s never coming back.”

“My dad says he’s with us in spirit,” I said. “He says he can feel him sometimes, loving us.”

“Listen, you moronic little girl. He’s dead. He’s not with us. So if you ever see him around, you better tell me. And you better keep the doors locked.”

I was taken aback.

“Have you seen him?” I asked.

“No. But the ants have. They’ve seen him and they know what he looks like. And I’ve seen the ants.”

Vi would deteriorate a little bit at a time, and then a lot at once. When I started, I wondered if we’d develop some sort of closeness over time. That was a very silly idea. The more Vi needed me, the less she could stand me. She would snip at me and scream at me. The first time she needed my help in the bathroom, I was punished for helping her with a long string of insults and criticism which, at this point, I had learned to tune out. 

I brought her a bowl of corn flakes in a paper plate in bed. She commanded me to spray her stacks of paper plates with bleach while she ate. 

“I don’t think that’s safe,” I said. She shot me a dagger glare.

“You want ants in here?” she said. 

“I just think this is an unventilated room and it’s not safe to spray bleach all over everything.”

Vi responded to this by throwing her bowl of corn flakes at me. Cereal splashed all over the floor. Milk soaked into my sweater and my hair.

“That’s it,” I said. 

I took my wet sweater off. I changed pants. I took the vacuum cleaner out of its dusty closet. 

Vi screamed and screamed at me as I cleaned up the mess. I took all of the paper plates and put them in garbage bags. I took down the flypaper. I threw the empty borax boxes in the dumpster. 

Vi couldn’t do anything but sob while I took over the house. When I got thirsty, I set my cup down on the table without a coaster. 

I was worried the neighbors were going to call the cops with all the yelling and crying going on, but no one did. Once, I looked out the window and saw a dark man in dark clothes standing on the sidewalk across from the house. I couldn’t see his eyes under his cap, but I thought he was looking at me. There was something familiar and disturbing about him which I couldn’t place. And then he was just gone. I looked away for a second and he had disappeared.

The sun went down. I came into Vi’s room with her dinner and her pills.

“You hate me,” she glared. “You really, really hate me. I must deserve it.”

“Vi, I cleaned your house.”

“You’re gonna let in those ants.”

“If ants get in, we’ll just stomp them. Listen, I’m not gonna live here and help you if I can’t live in this house.”

“Then you better let me die.” She scowled at me. I rolled my eyes. 

There was a scratching sound at the front door. Vi jumped and pulled the blanket up like a child afraid of the dark.

I stood up to go see the source of the noise.

“Get back here!” Vi shouted. “I’m just seeing what it is,” I said.

“You stupid bitch! Get back here!” Vi screamed louder as I walked up the hall to the front door. The scratches sounded heavy, huge. Not like a raccoon at all, but something bigger. For a second, I had a sudden, irrational thought– it was that man I saw before. It was that tall man with the cap. And when I opened the door, I thought, I would see him standing there, his uncannily and unplaceably familiar face grinning at me. And his teeth would be black, and his eyes dark and gleaming. I got scared. My fingers stopped on the latch. 

I flipped on the front porch light.

I peeked through the hole.

Of course there was no man. It was a dog.

A big black lab. He had a collar around his neck. He scratched the door again, tail wagging.

I hadn’t seen this dog around the neighborhood before, but to be fair, I hadn’t been able to get out very much in the past few months. It could very well be a neighbor dog. He was big, but he looked skinny. His dark coat shined slick in the porch light. 

I unlocked the front door. The dog looked at me through the screen, its glittering dark eyes docile. 

“Hi,” I said to the dog. The dog wagged its tail slowly. “Are you lost?”

The dog didn’t whine or bark, but only pawed at the door again.

Vi would never, in a million billion years, let me help this dog. But Vi wasn’t in charge anymore. So I opened the door.

I only meant to step outside and check his collar. But the moment the door was open, the big black dog strode into the house. 

Not a labrador, I realized. Maybe some kind of great pyrenees mix. It was big. Huge, even. It crossed the threshold and I swore it seemed to grow.

Not a pyrenees. A dane.

As the dog brushed past me, I reached my hand down to pet his dark coat.

My fingers passed through something grainy, crunchy, and moving. Something which slithered in rivers around my fingers, millions of tiny legs–chitinous, feathery, pinching.

Not a dane.

Not a dog.

The creature didn’t move right as it lurched down the hall. The legs bent wrong. The body writhed. It moved quickly, with purpose. 

I was too shocked to move. The dog-thing swelled up into an enormous, amorphous mass, and flooded into Grandma Vi’s bedroom, where she was already screaming.

I ran to her. I did hate her, but I ran to her. Maybe I meant to help her. Maybe I just wanted to see.

Either way, by the time I got there, there was nearly nothing left of Grandma Vi but a thrashing corpse. 

I couldn’t tell when the wild flailing stopped being her death throes and started being purely the erratic undulations and tossings and turnings of millions of tiny black ants, moving her bones. 

They crawled all over the floor. They crawled all over the ceiling. They crawled over my arms and legs. Not biting, just moving over me on their way to and from her.

I turned and fled the house.

The ants didn’t follow me. They were far too engrossed in dismantling their quarry.

I really didn’t know. How could I? Vi never told me.

She expected me to just know. 

[midsummer-semantics]

under the dancing lights

Small break while I do a million other things but here's *checks calendar* day 16 of @steddieangstyaugust.

Prompt: Halloween

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Underage Drinking, Cemeteries, Canon Complaint (question mark???), Ambiguous Ending

divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

He isn’t sure why he’s out here. It’s not like there’s anything left, anything calling him to action. The kids are old enough to trick-or-treat without supervision, Robin is with Vicky at a party he didn’t want to third-wheel to, and everyone else…

The point is, traipsing through Roane County cemetery on Halloween night seemed like a good idea when Steve is three Jack and Coke’s deep and unsure of where he fits into the regular world. He bought a dozen flowers on the way here just before the shop closed for the evening, like he couldn’t risk showing up to the cemetery empty-handed for some reason. 

Barb’s grave is overrun with flowers 365 days a year, three years running. Steve leaves several of the carnations in the bundle he carries at the tombstone, begging forgiveness as he does every few months. He hasn’t told Nancy what he does, even when he’s accompanied her a few times. He simply stays silent, lets Nancy grieve, and returns a few weeks later to replace the dead ones when no one is paying attention.

Next is Bob Newby, whom he didn’t know, but the kids did, so he drops a couple of flowers off out of perfunctory expectation.

Billy is the one of the hardest, his grave near Steve’s dad’s grandparents’ joint plot. He tends to spend a little more time here, aware of how the plot feels under his knees, remembering how Max looked as she lifted in the air under Vecna’s influence. Sometimes, Steve comes just to sit, to stare at Billy’s name and curse his existence, even if it brought him Max. Other times, Steve sits and talks, tells his rival how his step-sister is doing, how Steve learned to plant his feet, how regardless of what a piece of shit he was, no one deserved to deal with the bullshit the Upside Down had to offer. He leaves one flower out of obligation, but he doesn’t linger like he normally would.

He leaves a few at Chrissy’s grave, not just because she died, but because he knew her, even vaguely because she was a cheerleader while he was still on the basketball team. And because Eddie would want him to.

He flips off Jason’s grave as he passes it.

Three years — less than, technically— since the first death. Almost three years since Steve took Jonathan’s nail bat and made it his weapon of choice against the monsters that lurk beneath their feet. 

Over half a year since Max went into a coma that doctors — UD connected or otherwise — or Eleven haven't been able to wake her up from. 

Seven months since Eddie Munson was added to the list of people Steve couldn’t save.

The sun has dipped well past the treeline on the edges of the cemetery by the time he reaches Eddie’s grave. There’s no one else around, thankfully, but Steve knows it’s only a matter of time before some idiot high school kids make their way to the cemetery to get trashed and try to see a ghost or fuck near one of the graves. He should know, he was one of those idiot kids not too long ago.

There’s writing on Eddie’s headstone, scrawling letters spelling out MURDERER in red spray paint. One of the R’s is backward, Steve notes, rolling his eyes, a gesture that makes his vision swim a little. It’s not the worst thing that’s been blasted across the headstone since it was placed, but it’s by far the dumbest. He sets the remaining flowers down at his feet as he crouches to examine the writing closer. It’s dry, but it can’t have been there for more than a few days considering he was just here for Eddie’s birthday and had cleaned the last slur himself. He should have brought a bucket and brush instead of the stupid flowers, but he’s a little wobbly from the alcohol and the idea of going back to his car for any reason other than to go home and pass out alone sounds terrible. He’ll come back tomorrow and clean it, plus whatever gets done to it tonight probably. Maybe he should have brought his nail bat. Camped out next to Eddie’s grave and waited to see who exactly is doing it so he can make sure they know never to do it again.

Steve loses his precarious balance, falling back on his ass in the cold, damp grass with a soft “oof!” The flask in his back pocket digs into one cheek, and he shuffles around until he can extract it, then leans back on one hand while the other holds the cool metal.

“Probably stupid to drink more, but I doubt you’d give me shit about it,” Steve says to the grave, holding the flask up like he’s making a toast before closing his eyes and taking a swig. He actually hates whiskey, but it was all that was in the house since it’s his dad’s favorite, and beggars can’t be choosers.

Still, he coughs a bit as the straight liquor burns a path down his throat — he really should have brought some kind of chaser with him, but hindsight and all that — and then lays back on the grass as soon as it clears.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing through the slight roil in his stomach, and imagines what it would be like if he simply sank into the ground beneath him. Not like if vines were to spring up and drag him under, but if he just slowly melted into the earth the way one feels like they’re melting on a really plush mattress.

It’s only a slight comfort that the grave he’s lying on is empty. Otherwise, his vision of being swallowed by the earth might come with the extra twist of Eddie’s hands dragging him down Evil Dead-style. 

He snorts to himself, his head lolling back and forth a bit. Eddie would have loved that reference, he knows it. He may not have known him for long before. . . before, but he’s sure of it regardless.

After a moment, he brings his hands up to rub the heels into his eyes, waiting until he sees stars before he opens them. The stars continue to blink for a few seconds as his eyes adjust to the inky black sky.

Wait.

No.

There are stars dancing. Little lights swaying to and fro in front of his face, with more popping up around him. He turns his head in awkward directions against the grass, knowing he’s getting foliage in his hair the whole time, watching as more blink to life.

He shuts his eyes again as he sits up, but when he reopens them, they’re still there. It’s too late in the year for fireflies, too cold this late at night at the end of October, and yet the lights dance regardless. 

“Whoa,” he breathes, feeling a distinct sense of deja vu to when he was blitzed out of his mind on Russian truth serum and staring at the ceiling of Starcourt.

One of the stars comes close to him, wisping against his cheek like a tickling feather before flying away. Another does it to his left arm where he’s holding himself up, another to his hip where his shirt has ridden up slightly under his windbreaker. Steve giggles uncontrollably as another brushes his forehead and he turns his head to follow them. There’s another, and another, and another, and as he reaches out to catch one—

“Having a good night, big boy?”