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joeloverture · 9 months ago

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morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance.

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven.

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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01zfan · 2 months ago

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your birthday pt. 2 | s. es

husband!eunseok x fem. reader | 8.5k words

a part two i never thought i’d make. i actually love this couple so much i fear. i love them so much i accidentally wrote 3.5k more words than intended. if you are interested in leaving a one time tip or commissioning me feel free to do so here!

contains: unprotected sex, shenanigans in a room while other people are in the house

your birthday: one | two

Snow covered the streets and rooftops, not caring about the time of year as it continued to fall. The street was bathed in white, the lamp posts down the curb of the cul-de-sac illuminated the snow that fell in a never ending frenzy.

Wistfully you looked out the window at the scene setting before you. Your chin rested on top your palms and your elbows were perched on the windowsill. Your eyes scanned the landscape before looking up to the white sky. You couldn’t sleep, too captivated by how the snowfall that made your life seem like a movie. You wondered if you looked how you felt, like a character deep in thought or a musician getting ready to sing about love. You believed you could sing about it for the rest of your life, each song about something different. One song would be about the love you felt the moment you stepped into this house. Another would be about the room you stayed in. You would sing about the bed that wasn’t yours that creaked from years of use then no use at all. You would sing about the blissful drowning in memories that weren’t yours, hanging on the wall and heard in the whirring of the old family desktop.

The final song you’d sing, possibly the longest and the most heartfelt would be about the gleaming rock on your ring finger. All the love culminated to the diamond, cut and carved delicately to be put on a wedding band. You would sing the song long after your voice gives out from overuse, even after you realize their is no music left to sing along with. You let out a sigh when your fingers run over the engraved letters on the band, something that was a secret detail kept between you and your husband. You closed your eyes and breathed in deep, taking in all the nostalgia and love and beauty that almost became too much to handle.

When you opened your eyes again you heard the door open behind you. You looked away from the windowsill quickly, hands falling to the armrest of the chair as you used the stability to turn your body further. For a moment you were worried, eyes wide thinking that you woke up the other people in the house. A quiet apology was on your lips before you saw a cautious head poke past the door. Instantly you softened and let out a breath, your hands balling up in silent excitement.

“I thought you’d never show up.” You said quietly.

You didn’t try to hide your smile seeing Eunseok come inside before closing the door softly behind him. You heard the door quietly close, and you watched Eunseok step on the floorboards that wouldn’t creak as he made his way to the bed. He maneuvered around his room like a cat, on his tip-toes and keeping perfect balance. He winced silently as he got on the corner of the bed closest to you, like the smallest sound would trigger something.

“I was taking my time.” Eunseok whispered, looking past you for a moment to the view outside.

You took a quick turn to look outside again. Another layer of snow covered the ground. You smiled to yourself and subconsciously used your thumb to rub the gold band of your ring.

“What are the odds it snows this hard in March?” You spoke while still looking outside, looking up towards the moon to try and find it. Eunseok completely forgot about the world around him until he saw you turn back to him slowly with a smile on your face. “And what are the odds it snows on your birthday?” You add.

He couldn’t stop himself from looking down bashfully at your comment. He stopped trying to fight the blush that would spread across his cheeks when he’d suddenly get your full attention, but he absolutely couldn’t handle keeping eye contact with you while it was happening. Eunseok came up with ways to play off the fact that he still couldn’t look at you for too long without feeling like he was going to die—his hands would fly to his bangs to readjust his hair or he’d shake his head trying his best to muster up a cocky smile.

He fails to remain nonchalant when you move from your place on the recliner to reach towards him. Eunseok instinctually goes further onto his bed, trying to tease you while also trying to give himself some time and distance to get his head in the right place. But his plans are thwarted, they burst into flames when you follow him on your hands and knees. Eunseok tries his best to keep the sly smile as you add extra weight on your hands and knees, purposefully making the bed squeak underneath your body. Eunseok is no better, as he backs away from you his own body makes noise on top of the mattress too. When he gets to the headboard and realizes that there’s two sources of sound coming from this room when there’s only supposed to be one, he puts his hands on your shoulders, stopping you from coming any closer.

“You’re so loud.” He says gently.

You only cocked your head to the side, a confused pout on your lips. Looking at your face smoothed the clenched teeth and furrowed eyebrows Eunseok didn’t realize he had.

“I thought your parents slept through everything?” You asked.

Eunseok was twenty-five. He spent his life at twenty-three living with you. He watched you graduate university and look for a job in your field and at the same time, Eunseok started imagining a proper future with you; one that required him to leave his comfort zone and apply for a higher up position at his job.

At twenty-four he got the promotion the same time you landed a job. This was also around the same time Eunseok started looking at nearby jewelers and learning about different types of rings. At twenty-four Eunseok started planning your anniversary months in advance, long before you began thinking about it. At twenty-four Eunseok reluctantly started keeping secrets from you and hiding the shake in his hands as the date creeped closer and closer. At twenty-four Eunseok brought you to a beautiful restaurant while your friends and family set up the apartment. Like his birthday when he turned twenty-three Eunseok watched you navigate through the darkness of your apartment, talking about no surprises right before everyone revealed themselves. At twenty-four Eunseok got down on one knee and pulled out a ring, smiling to himself as the room went silent. He heard your confirmation the same time the room erupted in cheers and confetti was thrown.

At twenty-five Eunseok went from being your fiancé to your husband. You two went on a honeymoon out of the country where your eyes stayed on the ring, constantly looking at it and sighing in content disbelief. Eunseok repeated the phrase like it that much? with a proud smile on his face.

(He knew you would like it. He made sure you would. Before he even considered buying the ring he took your bestfriend, your sister, and your Mother—all on separate occasions, he had to make sure ones opinion wouldn’t be swayed by the other—to the jewelers. He presented the ring he had in mind to each one of them, asking carefully if it was you. He was delighted to see everyone believed it was the ring. Even your friend who wasn’t easily impressed by Eunseok gave him a nod of approval. He still held onto the not bad, Eunseok like a lifeline when he swiped his card.)

Eunseok was twenty-six and forty-two minutes old now and he knew about way more things than he did the previous years of his life. He was more sure of himself, too. He was a high performer at work and a happy husband, something that seemed so foreign to him when he was a teenager doing God knows what.

But even now, with all of his knowledge and amassed experiences he wasn’t sure if you were batting your eyelashes and pouting at him in a silent attempt to get him to make a move.

Even if Eunseok’s heart was hammering in his chest he wasn’t opposed to it. The sight of you in his childhood bedroom with the backdrop of the beautiful snowfall actually left him fighting the urge to close the space between your two bodies. You stood on your knees now, still looked at him with that glint in your eyes. Eunseok was weak, he was grateful to lean against the headboard to give himself some sense of stability. But the way you leaned back on your haunches with your hands balled up in your lap and your ring staring at him he felt his inhibitions slipping away by the second. He was happy to be back home, Eunseok needed his friends and family to survive, but this trip has tried him to no end.

His parents were extremely old fashioned. They were so set in their ways that Eunseok had to tell you about it incessantly the first time you came over. He sat in the driver seat of his car and lamented the way they were until you nodded your head in annoyance. At the time, before Eunseok’s parents referred to you as their daughter, the only thing you were worried about was them liking you. Eunseok was more worried that you would see first hand why he was such a rebellious asshole as a teenager.

Even though time had passed and Eunseok’s parents arguably treated you better than they treated him, he knew their traditional ways would keep you apart. The first night when you were getting ready for bed Eunseok’s Mom came up behind you, leading you up the stairs to his childhood room while his Father continued talking to him downstairs. When his Dad bid you a goodnight and he started pulling out the couch that turned into a bed he remembers the shock on your face. He remembers you trying to as respectfully as possible tell his Mom that you were fine with the two of you sleeping on the cramped twin mattress in his room. He smiled to himself as he laid out the extra set of blankets, already knowing what his Mother was going to say.

“Eunseokie is sleeping on the couch so you can sleep in his room.” She said with a smile. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Even though Eunseok knew his Mother was going to keep you two separated at night, he still felt unprepared. He foolishly thought he could handle being away from you for only a night, but he tossed and turned on the couch. He felt like a teenager again, scowling to himself and getting angry at his parents trying to impose rules on him. He was old enough to admit now that he was overreacting when he rebelled to having a curfew as a teenager, or when he’d get grounded for having bad grades and when he’d come home smelling like smoke. But he was a kid then, an ornery asshole with a million hormones running through his bloodstream. Eunseok was a man now—a man who needed to sleep next to his wife to get a goodnight’s rest, but a man nonetheless—he believed he was justified in his indignation at being told what to do.

So each night, almost twenty-six Eunseok turned into a rebellious teenager again. The only difference was that he wasn’t sneaking out of the house, but actually going deeper into it.

He stayed on one side of the staircase to avoid creaking and tiptoed past his parents room to sneak into his. Each night you were already up and waiting for him, a smile on your face as you leaned against the headboard of his bed. Eunseok got a kick out of seeing you be rebellious. On the first night your eyes would widen with each creak of the bed and you quietly shushed him a million times. Eunseok had to assure you that his parents didn’t wake easily and that he would go back down to the couch before morning came just to so you would cuddle with him.

He would’ve never thought you’d get so used to rebelling so quickly. The same girl that was nervous to even cuddle with his parents one room over was now staring at him with intent. You were nervous to even move on his bed the first night but now you played with your allotted decibels, he was starting to believe you purposefully overdid it just to get a rise from him.

You even traded your usual nightwear for a set that was reminiscent of his birthday three years ago. He didn’t want to pay attention to your set when he came in, but now that’s all he could think about. Especially the way one of your straps made it over the edge of your shoulder and draped down your skin so perfectly. Each time you moved even the slightest the silk moved with you.

Between your eyes boring into his and your chest grabbing his attention Eunseok wasn’t sure where to look. He was out of options, his eyes darting to the frames on his wall trying to recall his old memories instead of the image of you crawling on the bed towards him. Unfortunately Eunseok came to realize that it was already seared into his mind, burning everything else into a crisp. All there was in his mind was you, and here you were already in front of him still looking at him with those eyes. Your innocent question lingered in the air the suggestive nature in your voice imprinting on his mind.

When you pushed slightly against Eunseok’s hands, he let his hands travel down to your arms. He had the strap of your set pressed between his palm and your upper arm, and you seized the opportunity to come even closer to him. Instantly you leaned your body against his, letting out a sigh as you looked out the window. Eunseok willed his body to relax as yours settled against his. When you turned to face the window your other strap fell from your shoulder, and you made a clumsy attempt to pull it back up. It seemed to fall down even lower after you tried, forcing Eunseok to move his hands upwards to put them back on your shoulders. He moved his hands up and down your arms, trying to soothe himself by soothing you. The repetitive motions should help his heart go back to its normal pace and that itch spreading across his body that only you could scratch should go away.

Just as Eunseok followed your gaze outside to the snow he saw your eyes go back to his room. You inspected the room like you only saw it in snatches, in between the mornings before heading downstairs and the night before going to bed.

He didn’t know why having you in here felt so different. He was suddenly hyperaware of the pile of clothes in the corner of his room and the aged desktop in the corner of his room. Eunseok noticed the hobby items of the animes he used to watch, the dusty trophies from spelling bees and certificates of decathlons before he decided he wanted to be one of the cool kids. Something that should’ve been hidden in the night was illuminated by the lamp posts and the snow, letting you see the highlights of Eunseok’s childhood. He would’ve told you anything you wanted to know about his life without hesitation, and he was sure he talked about his past before becoming a delinquent before. But still, having you see firsthand the child he used to be was somber. He only watched you in silence as you took it all in, he turned his head from the snow to watch yours tilt and turn as you looked at his life story.

He watched you pause on the cork board that hung on his door. It was dedicated to birthday cards, a faded Have a great Summer! and a faded countdown that reached zero. Eunseok leaned forward to kiss the ball of your shoulder, finding comfort in having his skin against yours in another way. When you hummed it let him know you saw all of him, and you were beginning to digest it. He followed your eyes and leaned his head forward, looking down at your cheek that you chewed on absentmindedly.

“What are you looking at?” He asked.

You looked up at him from his side. He still ran his hands up and down your arms in a soothing motion, only stopping when you pointed to the board.

“What was the countdown for?” You asked.

He forgot himself what the countdown was for. When he remembered he laughed to himself quietly before letting out a sigh. A million memories ran through his head at once, the good, bad, and ugly that came with being a kid trying to find his way. Eunseok let the memories fall like the snow as he looked out the window again.

“It was a countdown for my eighteenth birthday.” Eunseok continued watching the snowfall as you started laying down, getting more comfortable on the bed. When your head resting in his lap he started touching your cheeks absentmindedly, watching another layer of snow coat the ground. “I was always in such a rush to grow up.”

Eunseok looked away from the snow to the window nook. He wants to laugh again at how melodramatic he was, how he’d sit in that nook and be a moody teenager. He remembers waiting there until his friends pulled up in their car before he’d sneak out to go somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Your cheeks were soft underneath the pads of his fingers. He didn’t take his hands away, only nodding his head towards the pillow that was still caved in on itself from years of use and the blanket that was jumbled in the corner.

“I used to sit right there.” Eunseok felt your head turn underneath his hands. “I would look at the sky and just think about what life would be like when I finally left.” He said.

Eunseok didn’t know why he was being so candid. He quietly walked up the stairs with the sole mission to cuddle, maybe even get a kiss or two. He would’ve never thought he’d be sharing the small details of his life he always kept to himself. But he also should’ve known by now that he could keep nothing from you; even if they were insignificant moments in his adolescence he only thought about in passing. Everything had the tendency to come to the surface when he looked at you. He was still trying to figure out why your presence always prompted him to speak. Silence was something Eunseok was praised for when he was a teenager. He wore the mysterious and quiet label like a badge of honor. When you were around, it was useless. Sometimes he felt like he was just talking to talk when you came around, like his body was forcing him to subject you to his voice. He never got better at controlling his urge to talk to you. Even now, his gaze cut back to the falling snow to point his finger through the white haze in the general direction of his neighbors house.

“Our neighbor across the street, can you see his house?”

He wasn’t sure if you were humoring him when you craned your neck to look through the downpour of snow. You nodded your head regardless of if you could see it or not before leaning your head back on his lap. Suddenly his throat felt dry. He didn’t even know what he was going to say, what this useless ramble was leading to but he still felt antsy for some reason. He tried to shake the feeling away by shifting his body underneath yours, using the creaks in his bed as a palette cleanser for his voice.

“He always puts up his lights up during Christmas the exact same day.” Eunseok puts one of his hands behind his body to keep himself propped up while the other continues mindlessly playing with your face. He thinks your eyes stay focused on the corner of the roof that’s visible through the snow. He doesn’t know, because now he really can’t bring himself to look down at you. “Like for as long as i can remember, he always puts them up on December 13th when his son comes from wherever he lives to help him. I think my Mom told me once he drives for three hours just to help his Dad put up decorations on the exact same day, every year.”

Even though your silent, Eunseok knows you heard him. He swears you’re looking at him as a teenager in the nook of his window, blanket curled in his lap as he looks across the cul-de-sac to his neighbors house. He swears you’re right behind him, looking down at the Father and son putting up the Christmas decorations together. He hopes you can see the things a small part of him doesn’t want you to see, that you can hear what’s left unsaid. He hopes you can understand the inner turmoil and how the lack of family traditions pulled at his heart. He hopes you can understand the battle he went through of thinking about the trouble he was going to get into with his friends while also wishing for a relationship with his parents. He prays you know he wanted more than day drinking on Friday mornings instead of going to class .You hum as you imagine Eunseok sitting in the nook of his window, looking across the cul-de-sac to the Father and son putting up Christmas decorations together.

Eunseok had matured in more ways than he could count since you two started seeing eachother. After he learned about your aversion to alcohol he stopped drinking carelessly, when he found out you were moving to go to college he started getting serious about his life too. You often argued that he was more mature than you, but his biggest setback now was that he would never mention it. He didn’t like to dwell on the past, he didn’t like to look back on the type of person he was as a young adult. Even now, he was only realizing in the moment that the antsy feeling across his body was because he wanted to say something else. He couldn’t find the words, and he looked down to you for help. He still needed you, the same way you needed him. It was a silent agreement between you two, signed and sealed by prolonged eye contact and gentle touches and delivered through words. When he needed the push you were there.

“I want something like that one day. Family traditions are so nice.” You say with a smile.

“Yeah.” Eunseok’s voice tapered off at the end as he snapped his gaze to the window. The blush creeped across his face again and sweat lined his palms as you intertwined his fingers with yours.

Eunseok’s other hand went back to playing with your face, but his touch was a little harder. He tries to distract himself, he almost tries talking himself out of what he’s going to say next by clearing his throat and watching the snowfall. He started uselessly counting the falling specks, losing track over and over again as he tries to stop himself from being vulnerable.

One

Two

Three

The feeling of your hand squeezing around his makes Eunseok lose count. He clears his throat, trying to will away the hot feeling across his body.

One

Two

Three

Six

Eight

Twelve

Avoidance of emotion is a terrible habit Eunseok has, one made instinctually through trying to hide his personality his whole life. The worst part was when sentiments were on the tip of his tongue but suddenly his throat would feel dry until he swallowed it back.

“What do you want to say?”

Eunseok was pulled from whatever number at the sound of your voice. He looked down at you already looking up at him. Your smile is so welcoming and your eyes are big and focused on whatever he’s going to say.

When he needed a push you were there.

“I was just gonna say that I can’t wait to have family traditions with you one day.”

Eunseok didn’t realize he was pinching your hand from the nerves until his eyes drifted away from yours. He loosed his grip instantly but you made up for it tenfold, gripping him so hard he could feel the creases on your fingers. Being overwhelmingly vulnerable about his future with you (as if the ring on your finger didn’t bound your lives together for better or for worse, from now till the end of time) made him nervous. Eunseok felt like he had embarrassed himself in some way until you got up from your place on his bed to be eye level with him.

“I can’t wait either.” You agreed.

Everything about you dripped in sincerity. The way your eyes had only gotten wider to show you were serious and your hand reached up to cup his face to let him know you were right there with him. Eunseok was amazed by how you put yourself out there seemingly for his benefit. You so easily repeated back his sentiment without hesitation, even after you had to pull the confession from him. He didn’t know how he got so lucky, how you made him feel so seen when he spent his entire life trying to be invisible. You had the talent of reading his mind, he hoped and prayed that you understood what he was trying to say when his eyes focused on your lips.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” You said.

Eunseok didn’t say anything else when he rested his hand on the back of your neck. Any extent of being vulnerable made Eunseok mentally drained. His endurance when it came to using words was slim to none, but when he failed on that front he knew he could always fall back on his physicality. Eunseok could admit that it was a little pathetic his emotions needed a breather after something as insignificant as hinting at having a family but he was okay with that. As long as he was able to distract you from the fact by kissing you until you couldn’t breathe.

When his thumb ran up and down the small space of your jaw and your hands went to grip his forearms Eunseok knew he had you distracted. He focused on you for a second longer, the backdrop of the snow seemed like you were carved out from a movie. He saw you part your lips and run your tongue over them quickly before you started slowly inching forward. He closed the distance even slower, tilting his head and pulling you in by his hand on the back of your neck.

The quiet sound of your lips making contact filled the space between the two of you. Your hand eventually planted into the mattress to steady yourself while Eunseok’s hands guided you through the motions, trying his best to minimize the sound of movement on his bed.

When you tried getting onto Eunseok’s lap he started using his hands to guide your body onto his bed. You didn’t know what he was planning but you let him do it anyway, maneuvering your body until he could guide your body down. He kissed you all the way down until your head was resting on the pillows, and his hands that touched your face started touching his sheets instead. You closed your eyes into the chaste kisses, pressing your lips gently against Eunseok’s as you searched for his hands. When you felt his wrists you grabbed at them, but Eunseok didn’t weave your fingers together like he usually did. He didn’t deepen the kiss either, only pressing hesitant kisses that got slower and slower. You could feel his anticipation falter with each old creek of the bed.

Finally Eunseok’s hands started clutching at yours, but they were contemplative before you tried deepening the kiss. Before you knew it Eunseok pulled away from you, and you lifted your head in a habit of chasing him.

“I’ve never done this before.” Eunseok said breathily.

You blinked up at him, trying to get the gears in your mind to turn. Instead the only thing you could think about was Eunseok on top of you and the way the glow from the lamp posts dimly lit the side of his face.

“We’ve definitely made out before.” You say back.

Eunseok knew you were using the term making out very loosely. Unsure chaste kisses to lips were nothing compared to what you two were accustomed to. When Eunseok ran his tongue over his lips he could feel the thin layer of drool coating them. But his lips felt nothing like the swollen warmth he’d usually be left with when you’d break away to catch your breath. The light catching on your lips didn’t resemble the usual sight either. When you two were actually making out Eunseok would always part from your lips leaving them a bitten red mess. Eunseok had a habit of sucking and lightly biting your lips, but he was too distracted to do anything beyond juvenile pecks.

He was amazed to see your eyes were still ogling him like he was teasing you. He felt your leg rub against his as he shook his head.

“I mean I’ve never made out with anyone in my childhood room before.” Eunseok says.

Eunseok doesn’t miss the way your head tilted to the side in genuine confusion at his remark.

“Really?” You asked.

Eunseok’s own head tilted at the genuine shock in your voice. He knew that his reputation preceded him in many ways before you met. Living in such a small town meant that word spread fast, whether it was true or not. When one member of his crew did something, it was assumed the rest of them were doing the same thing. So when word travelled that people in his clique were sneaking girls in and out of their homes late at night, Eunseok should’ve suspected that the common consensus was that they were all fooling around in their childhood rooms.

He could see instantly that you regretted how shocked you sounded. Eunseok saw that you were still frazzled from the kisses, catching you off guard to the extent that you weren’t able to hide your expression. Eunseok saw it as an opportunity to lean close, so close that his nose touched your ear.

“You think I was bringing girls over?” He asks.

Eunseok tilts his head slightly, a smirk on his face when he sees you trying to avoid eye contact. He presses even further, until his lips press against the shell of your ear and your hand grasps at his body as a reflex.

“Sneaking them in and out?” When you nod your head Eunseok tsks playfully and shakes his head. Before you can defend yourself, Eunseok drags his hand along the line of your jaw. His eyes follow his own hand, as if he doesn’t know where it’s going either. When his fingers rest lightly over your neck he feels you swallow underneath him. Eunseok’s eyes drift back up to your face, smiling to himself when you still avoid eye contact. “I thought you thought more of me.” He fake pouts.

Instantly you shake your head, but no words come out. Eunseok knows he shouldn’t be so cruel. He never debunked the rumors of him being a delinquent, to some extent it was true and he was also guilty of feeding into it. Eunseok would’ve never thought that it’d pay off like this in the future. He was able to see the gears helplessly turn in your head as you tried to think of a way to defend yourself. Just when the words were about to come out Eunseok flexed his hand over your neck again, adding the slightest bit of pressure. He watched your back arch off the bed from the sensation, and you whimpered weakly. He felt your pull at his shirt, weak despite your hand gripping his shirt so tightly it caused wrinkles.

Eunseok wonders if you were trying to be in charge tonight. The two of you were always impartial to roles in the bedroom, but on his birthday you always seemed to assert some sort of dominance. Even if it was breathlessly asking Eunseok to do whatever he wants to you, he always noticed that you tried maintaining control to some degree. But now here you were, gripping onto him pathetically and avoiding eye contact while you came closer and closer to him. Eunseok didn’t know if he preferred it this way, but he sure as Hell wasn’t going to complain. He only leaned into it, kissing your cheek before using his other hand to point your face towards his.

“It’s like our first time again.” Eunseok smiled against your skin before leaving wet kisses in the crook of your neck.

You whimpered, your hand travelled up to press into his shoulder blade. Eunseok went back to kissing and laving the warm skin on your neck, shuffling your body underneath his as he got on top of you. When the bed creaked again he noticed it was you who hesitated this time, bending your head towards his so he couldn’t kiss you anymore.

“What if your parents hear us?” You asked.

Eunseok didn’t stop devouring you, kissing your neck and jawline and cheek before repeating the same cycle. His other hand started pulling at you, silently urging you to start pulling at him too. When Eunseok felt you give in an inch, he took another mile. He raised form your neck completely to look down at you, his eyes drifting to all the spots on your neck and face that were glossy from his spit. He ran his finger over the crease of your eyebrow, smirking to himself.

Eunseok looks around his room for a moment before settling on the nook. The thought of having you on top of him right next to the window with the snow falling has him off the bed in seconds pulling at your arms to get you up. Eunseok feels pride swell in his chest at how you follow him immediately and how you’re wobbly on your feet for a second before he pulls you towards the window. You teeter unsure where to go but let your body be lead by him. He is so hasty that he doesn’t know what to do when he has you where he wants you. He notices the lack of space first, he forgot that he has definitely grown since he was a lanky preteen. But seeing your blown out eyes and feeling your hands impatiently grab at his body and sweats fills him with innovation. He scoots back to the window and sits on the nook, letting his feet plant onto the wooden floor. He purposefully manspreads, distracting you more as your eyes flit between his lap and his eyes. Your strap fell down again at some point, but you aren’t focused on it at all. He has to look at the strap before you realize it had fallen down.

“Come here.” He says gently, hands beckoning towards you.

You close the distance immediately. The strap is loose on your skin as Eunseok rubs the material between his fingers. Your hands already go to his shoulders, holding them in anticipation. He loves how easily you get wound up for him. It took him nearly a year to convince himself that you were truly always this ready for him and that you weren’t playing it up for his confidence. When he needed to prove it to himself all he had to do was stick his hand past the waistband of your matching shorts.

Instantly you gasped and he smiled to himself before looking up to you. Now it was your turn for your face to get hot and for Eunseok to be nonchalant. He still innocently played with the strap of your camisole, as if his other hand wasn’t teasing your slit. He played with the slick, purposefully messing with it in a way that caused the most noise.

“You still have to be quiet.” Eunseok said quietly.

You bit your lip and nodded, but you were still so loud. You were squelching between his fingers just from kissing and a little pulling at your skin. Sometimes he wondered if you ever rested, but he also knew he was no better. He was trying to fight the bulge from forming in his sweats since he opened the door and saw you in this set. That was the best part about sex with you—it could’ve easily been him being teased while you sat on the windowsill looking up at him evenly—it just happened to be him first.

So Eunseok exaggerated everything. He shuffled closer to the edge of the nook and briefly stopped playing with your strap to pull you in by your lower back. Instantly you got so close his nose pressed against the silk fabric of your camisole. Eunseok looked up at your head lulling to the side, and he pulled at you again until his chin was pressed against your stomach. He smiled at you losing your balance, how your hand quickly pressed against the glass of his window to stabilize yourself. When your legs pressed against his he wedged his legs between them, spreading them apart until you looked uncomfortable. You still bit your lip and moved your body whichever way he wanted, being so good just for him. He went back to the strap of your camisole, pulling it lower and lower, slowly revealing one side of your chest. He fingers continued making a show of how wet you were. Eunseok knew everything he was doing was so close to what you wanted but at the same time so far away.

“Please.” You dragged out your quiet plea, preening and lowering your hips to try and get his fingers where you needed them to be.

“Aren’t you worried—” He couldn’t even finish his question before you were shaking your head. His dick jumped in his sweats and he started pressing a little harder, right next to where your cunt was clenching around nothing. “Aren’t you worried my parents will wake up?” He asked.

“Don’t care.” You rushed the words out, but still spoke in a whisper. “I Don’t care.” You repeated.

To show that you were serious, Eunseok watched you quickly pull away from him to reach at the bottom of your camisole. In seconds it was off your body completely, thrown somewhere random in the room. Eunseok watch your hand greedily go up to your own chest and he started kissing at the skin of your stomach. He pressed his teeth to your skin the same time he pushed his index finger inside of you. He looked up to catch your expression, a wet mark left in the wake of his lips as you started teasing your nipple roughly. Your legs were already starting to get shaky, Eunseok watched you lean on him more and more for stability as he added in another finger. He was having too much fun messing with you. It wasn’t enough that he was ruining you in some convoluted way by finger fucking you in his childhood room right in front of the window, but he took the extra step to tease you by retracting his finger so it was only one again. Watching you pout was too satisfying, seeing your hands grab at your body to make up for loss of contact made his dick strain in his pants.

“Am I being mean?” He asked.

Eunseok made sure to be as sarcastic as possible, he even smirked up at you after he was done speaking. The smirk turned to a full blown smile when you nodded with your whole body, hands still groping your chest as you tried making sense of everything. The frosted glass was cold against his skin but he warmed it, and your hand left a foggy imprint in its wake.

“Want me to stop teasing you?” He continued.

You nodded again, adding a pathetic whine while doing it. You made it entirely too easy for Eunseok to be an asshole. He wanted to know why you seemed to like it so much too. Each time he pushed his finger into your heat you squeezed him tight, desperately looking for more. He felt your heartbeat, he felt you gushing around him. Your reactions made him want to be a delinquent again, the type that gave you so much it made you make noise. But he decided now wasn’t the time, and here wasn’t the place. He had plenty of chances to be mean to you in the future. So he was going to bask in the teasing and the fact that you had to be quiet even though making noise in bed seemed to be your favorite thing.

Eunseok added his finger back. Then he added another one. Then he reached his hand from your lower back to grab the other side of your chest that you were neglecting.

“Love seeing you fall apart.” He murmured against the skin of your stomach.

Eunseok felt his stomach lurch forward when your hand fisted his hair. You didn’t pull on the strands to assert dominance, you were using him as a human stress ball as consolation for not being able to make any noise. When he quickened his fingers your eyes screwed shut and you pulled even tighter. Eunseok had to swallow a groan as he tilted his head into your grip, trying to alleviate some of the force. He watched you slouch and felt your legs tremble against his. You were fluttering around his three fingers, and labored breaths were tumbling through your bitten lips.

“Close?”

You nodded your head immediately. Eunseok watched you rotate your hips slightly. He broke from the dominant haze for a moment at the look of discomfort that flashed across your face. He bent his hand that was inside of you, and when he knew he was getting it right your hand tightened in his hair again. He kissed and sucked on the skin of your waist, pressing his tongue flat before looking up to you again.

This time your eyes were open, wide and glassy. You also freed your bottom lip from your teeth, Eunseok swore he could see the indents in the orange glow of the lamp posts. You looked like peace despite you in the middle of falling apart. Even though you were directly causing pain to his scalp Eunseok felt something so tender and raw in your rough hold. He was here with you and you were right there, trying so hard to be with him.

“I’ll be better for you.” Eunseok murmured.

Eunseok watched you nod quickly, your pout deepening. The cogs were turning in your mind, trying to keep up with the words falling from his lips and the rough pace of his hands. You were getting pulled back and forth by him. He was sure his promise came as an echo to you, bouncing off the walls of your hazy, lust-filled mind. Then suddenly, Eunseok saw you come back to Earth. Your hand was placed delicately on his cheek, stroking the skin with your thumb. He had to blink away the bracket of tears threatening his water line to keep his eyes on you.

“You already are.” You said.

Eunseok let out a sigh and leaned his head against your stomach. Your were like a warm pillow, jumping with each sharp inhale and exhale of breath. His eyes were focused on the wall as he went to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves with his wet fingers.

“I need you to fuck me though.” You said. Eunseok swore the snow stopped and his desktop stopped whirring in that moment. He looked up to you and your hand squeezed his cheek, forcing his lips to pucker. “Please.” You added, as articulate as possible.

After wrapping such a tempting proposition in a pretty bow, Eunseok couldn’t control himself for the second time that night. He got up from his stoop and pulled at your waistband. Your hands started pulling at his shirt and sweats at the same time, trying to quickly undress him as he smashed his lips against yours. Eunseok couldn’t be pulled away from you, he pushed you further and further back towards the edge of his bed as your hands started reaching for any part of him.

You almost tripped when he pushed your shorts down to your thighs, and you actually fell when the back of your legs hit the back of the bed. Your body caused the springs to creak when you fell, but Eunseok didn’t clench his teeth or try to silence it. He seemed to be striving for it. He made your body squirm on the mattress when he took off your shorts, and made them sound off again when he flipped you over onto your stomach. When you tried to crawl further onto the bed he stopped you by a hand clasped over your shoulder. He knew you were confused, he was confused himself. The only thing that was in Eunseok’s mind was the sincerity in your voice when you told him so nicely that he needed to fuck you. Your voice made his hands pull off his clothes quickly, it made him not waste time getting on the bed to mount you. He only stood next to the bed while you were laying on your hands and knees in front of him, looking back as you settled into your position.

He at the very least took time adjusting your legs on the bed and pressing a hand to your lower back to deepen your arch. He also asked you if you were ready, to which you very impatiently gave the affirmative.

Eunseok wasted no time working up to a fast pace. The moment he felt your walls let him in he was pulling back and smacking his hips against yours. It knocked the wind out of you first, them it made his bed scream, but he didn’t stop. In his mind he was able to rationalize a quick burst of noise rather than prolonging it, even if he wished for the former. You let tiny whimpers and moans slip out underneath the pressure of the mattress. He looked down at you taking him in, each time he pulled out his dick was covered with another layer of your slick. His hand left your lower back for a second to point at your left hand balled up in the sheets.

“Gimme your hand.” He said.

Instantly you started flailing your hand behind you, too focused on not crying out to actually give it to Eunseok. He grabbed your wrist that fit so perfectly in his hand and pinned it to the same spot on your lower back. He focused on hitting that spot deep inside of you, and before he knew it one of his feet was propped up on the bed beside your body. You were really weak now, losing your form as your hand tried turning to grab his wrist. Eunseok pressed deeper, driven still by your order of fucking you. He leaned close, so close that your body was flat against the sheets and one of your legs slipped off the bed completely. He accommodated you immediately, and the screaming creaks of his bedsprings turned into quick steady croaks.

“You like that?” Eunseok’s other hand went to the back of your neck and he felt your walls clench around him. He moved his hand a little higher on your back, moving your pinned wrist to a slightly uncomfortable position. It seemed like that’s what you craved the most, because the tone of your sounds became whiny and weak. “You’re so quiet I can’t tell.” He teased.

Eunseok patted himself on the back at the sound of your incoherent babbles. The only word he could make out was close.

“I love you too.” Eunseok squeezed his hand on the back of your neck and watched you attempt to get an arch back. He threaded in a love confession to your babbles on his own accord, knowing that was something you tended to say when you were almost there. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your other leg slid off the bed when you came. Eunseok had to move his hand from the back of your neck to clasp over your mouth preemptively to get ahead of the shaking moans that ripped past your parted lips. They were muffled and warm against the palm of his hand, and he muffled his own grunts on the clammy skin of your back. You felt the warmth inside of you and heard three more heavy creaks of the bed until Eunseok stopped moving on the final one. He stayed inside of you, his body pressed flush against yours as both of your hands pressed laid on top of the mattress. Eunseok intertwined his fingers with yours as you both caught your breath. Your wind came back to you through wheezes while Eunseok did deep inhales. You were still babbling about something, which Eunseok silenced with kisses to your tear stained cheek and the corner of your lips.

Your feet helplessly dangled over the edge of the bed, impossible to get your footing or placement on the ground. Eunseok’s warm body crushing you almost lulled you to sleep, but then the thought of his parents catching you like this in the morning made you fully alert. You bent your leg to kick the back of Eunseok’s thigh, pulling him out of his own trance. He was too busy thinking about those family traditions before sighing, pushing his dick deeper into you one last time before pulling out completely. You still seized around him like your body wanted him but he continued to pull out. He looked down at your cunt briefly, seeing if you had pushed any of him out. But it looks like you took every last drop, and he bit his lip to hold back a smile until you stayed moving.

When the bed creaked underneath you he hissed and his hands went to your body to try and still you. Eunseok watched you look back at him with actual confusion, head tilted to the side.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?” You grumbled, making the point to make extra noise while you clambered off the bed.

#commissionz #seriez: your birthday #01zfan: eunseok #eunseok smut #riize smut

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space-mango-company · 7 months ago

Text

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #atreides reader #dune #dune part two #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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sorrowsofsilence · 10 months ago

Text

Burning Out • III

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 5.4k

General fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter Three - One of Us is Broken Glass (EDITED 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered-yelled, furrowing my brows at him in distaste.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of me again with an expression filled with fear and distress.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled a bit too loudly as the door below us rattled once more.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah's intense gaze locked onto mine as he begged, “Just this once Y/N.”

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in to Noah's desperate request. His hands gripped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me towards him. With complete desperation, Noah kissed me intensely.

+++++

NOAH

My earbuds blasted music as I strolled along the sidewalk, glancing at the houses Y/N and I had passed by earlier. A few of them still had lights on despite the late hour, so I kept walking until I reached a cul de sac lined with townhouses. Putting on a ski mask and pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt, I adjusted my backpack straps and began scoping out each house, searching for a potential target. My eyes eventually landed on one with a dimly lit living room and the sound of a cat meowing at the door. Normally, I would avoid houses with lights on, but something about this one drew me in. Was it the cat? I've always been a sucker for felines.

As I approached the front door, I scanned for any security cameras while listening to the cat's cries from inside. When I confirmed that no one was home, and it was just the cat waiting for its owner, I knew I hit the jackpot.

Sighing to myself, I accepted that this was the house I had chosen for tonight's target. Maybe I could take a few minutes to pet the cat before the guilt sets in. Unzipping my backpack, I retrieved my metal tools and got to work on picking the lock. With my phone in hand, I timed myself to see how quickly I could do it; it was the only way to make this mundane task somewhat enjoyable.

Using a tension wrench and pick, I twisted and turned, feeling for the springs and listening for the pins to drop into place. It took some trial and error, but after twenty-eight seconds, the lock clicked open and I stepped inside.

The cat greeted me immediately with loud purring and winding itself between my legs. Kneeling down, I scratched behind its ears as I flipped through its collar with my covered fingers. The cat was large, with an orange-gray coat and white markings that swirled around its

As I stroked the orange cat, I couldn't help but smile at the name - Juice. The cat purred loudly, enjoying the attention. I stood up, knowing I had to get to work quickly. Grabbing my flashlight from my bag, I made my way into the living room. As I went to turn off the lamp to avoid drawing attention, my eyes wandered over the walls adorned with various band posters against the light green paint. My gaze stopped on the sleep token poster above the couch, bringing memories of Y/N's smiling face flooding back into my mind.

Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear

Shaking the lyrics out of my head, I took it for a coincidence, before looking through various drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I made my way through the first floor of the house, scanning each room for a bathroom, and searching for valuable medications that I could sell for a profit. The guest bathroom offered no luck, so I decided to head upstairs.

The stairs creaked under my weight as I ascended to the second floor, and once I reached the landing, I spotted another bathroom and eagerly opened its medicine cabinet. My heart raced with excitement as I saw various prescription bottles inside: Diazepam, Adderall, Zolpidem, and even cough syrup containing Dextromethorphan. This was my lucky day, but I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

Stuffing the bottles into my bag, I moved through the hallway towards the nearest bedroom. Juice followed me, meowing loudly at my every step. I tried to shush him, but he remained persistent in his demands for attention.

Pushing open the bedroom door, I was hit with a familiar scent of perfume. It took me a moment to place where I had smelled it before.

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around, trying to figure out where to start searching; until my eyes landed on a collection of polaroids taped above the oak wooden bed. I walked closer, and my heart sank at the sight of a woman's smiling face in each photo.

It was her house - Y/N's house.

I couldn't believe it. Out of all the houses I could have broken into, it had to be hers. Whatever sick strings fate was trying to pull, it’s turned the one good thing that’s happened to me, into a twisted game.

Feeling guilty and scared of being caught, I quickly scanned her room for any valuables before turning to leave. But just as I was about to make my escape, I heard someone opening the front door. Panic surged through me as I fought to think of an escape plan, and my hand instinctively covered my mouth, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Juice?”

It was her. Fuck.

Looking around the room frantic, I debated where I was going to hide. Closet? Bathroom? Under the bed?

“Juju baby? Where are you?”

I heard Y/N's footsteps fade towards the kitchen and took this as my cue to make a move. Every step I took across the room was accompanied by a loud creaking sound, and I cursed myself for not being more stealthy. She must have heard me; there's no way I could make it to the bathroom now.

Juice watched me with curious eyes from the corner of the room, but it was too quiet downstairs, and I knew Y/N was listening. Suddenly, Juice's head snapped towards the door at the sound of Y/N's muffled footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart raced as he ran out of the room, leaving me alone and anxious. I quickly slid behind the closet door, peering between the cracks.

The hallway light flickered on and my breath caught in my throat. Y/N screamed before her laughter echoed through the house.

"Jesus Christ, cat! You scared the shit out of me!" she exclaimed.

Oh god, what am I going to do?

Juice came back into the room and landed on the bed, staring at the closet with wide eyes. As soon as Y/N entered, I knew I had to get out of there.

"What? Are you hungry? Your bowl is full," she said, shaking her head as she pulled off her sweater. This was my chance to escape.

I carefully slid out from behind the closet door while her back was turned. But just as I was about to pass by her, she threw her sweater into the hamper and turned around. In a moment of panic, I grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with my hand to stop any screams.

She struggled against me but I held onto her tightly.

Why didn't I just run? Why did I think this was a good idea?

With a racing heart, I turned her around to face the mirror, hoping she would see that I meant no harm.

But tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered, looking back and forth between my masked face and the gun in my waistband.

Of course, she would be afraid.

I was a masked vigilante with a gun.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said softly, my voice trembling. I knew I had to run as soon as I let go of her. She would never know it was me, and everything would be okay because I could just delete her number and never see her again...right?

Y/N's body trembled in my arms as I held her tightly. Even though I squeezed her for comfort, I knew she was far from being soothed.

"I'm going to leave, and you're going to let me. Got it?" I stated firmly, taking a deep breath before closing my eyes and preparing myself to leave this house forever.

"Please don't make a scene," I added, releasing my grip on her body slightly. As I began to step away, Y/N turned around and kicked me with all the strength she had.

"Fuck!" I cried out, doubling over in pain and protecting myself with my hands. As I tried to recover, Y/N fled the room. I knew I had to follow her; there was no way I could escape without her knowing what happened.

"You fucking creep! You followed me!" Y/N yelled, her voice dripping with anger as she pointed a knife at me when I finally exited the room. ""You're a lowlife piece of shit! Get out of my house or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass…Noah."

I locked eyes with her, feeling a wave of shame wash over me as she spoke my name with complete disdain. How did she know it was me? My clothes were different and none of my tattoos were visible.

My body shook with pain and I hunched over, leaning on her door for support.

"Please, Y/N, don't call the cops," I begged desperately.

"Why shouldn't I call the cops?" she screamed back at me, tears streaming down her face. She reached for her phone and began to dial 9-1-1, causing my stomach to drop even further in fear. I couldn't get caught - I had too much at stake.

I pleaded once more, but Y/N pressed the button and I could hear the faint ringing of the operator on the other end. Panic set in and my hand instinctively reached for the gun tucked into my waistband. Y/N's face went pale as she noticed the weapon, her lips trembling in terror. I had never seen anyone so afraid before - not even the woman from our job weeks ago.

"Hang up," I managed to whisper through dry lips. "Y/N, hang up please."

But it was too late - Y/N had already spiralled into a panic attack, gasping for air. We sat there in silence until we heard loud knocks on the front door.

"This is LAPD!"

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, frantically thinking of a plan. Usually, if you call 9-1-1 and then don't answer their call back, they send someone to check on your location to make sure you're okay. But I didn't expect them to come this quickly.

Y/N looked between me and the door, wiping away smeared lipstick from her face. Do I hide? Do I surrender?

My gaze landed on her lips and the smeared lipstick. If only we had been making out... Wait a minute. If we were passionately kissing and she accidentally called 9-1-1, it would explain everything. I quickly removed my sweater and tank top to make it look like we had been getting intimate.

Please play along Y/N, please.

+++++

Y/N

I pulled away from Noah, trying to catch my breath as I noticed the lipstick smudged on his lips. His request was so outrageous that I couldn't help but scoff at him.

"Come answer the door with me and pretend we were just making out," he pleaded, his doe-like eyes pleading with mine. "I'll tell you everything about myself if you do this for me."

I hesitated for a moment, before nodding quickly and allowing Noah to take my hand and lead me down the stairs. He held onto my belt loop as we approached the door, opening it to reveal a uniformed man standing there.

"Hi officer?" Noah said in a confused tone, panting heavily as if we had just been in the middle of a passionate make-out session.

"Evening," the man replied, his eyes darting between us in concern.

Noah pulled me closer and wrapped his arm around me, while I played along by giving the officer a puzzled look and placing my hand on Noah's chest with false admiration.

"We received a call from this location and wanted to check in to make sure everything is alright," the officer explained, eyeing us both suspiciously. Noah must have sensed it, because he pulled me even closer and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Despite everything that had happened between us, our bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, an undeniable chemistry between us.

The officer scanned my lips before turning to study Noah's face, analyzing our deception.

"Oh really? That's odd," Noah furrowed his brows and looked down at me. I chimed in, reaching into my pockets for my phone.

"I didn't call anyone," I said,"I must have butt-dialled while you were...pushing me against the wall," I whispered through gritted teeth, loud enough for the officer to hear.

Noah's lips curled into a sly smile and he even winked at the officer. "I was away on a trip for two weeks, you know how it is."

The officer coughed awkwardly and began to look away, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "Alright well, stay safe you two. Have a good night."

"We will," Noah gave him a breathy laugh.

I apologized to the officer as I pulled Noah away from the door and closed it behind us. Noah let out a breath of relief, his tense muscles relaxing.

I took a few steps back, still wary of him.

"Okay, now get your shit and go," I demanded, glaring at him. "I never want to see you again." I wiped my lips, trying to forget the feeling of his hands on me just minutes ago, his mark staining my body.

"Please, let me explain," Noah pleaded, holding out his hands and taking a step closer to me. I could see the genuine concern in his eyes and it made my walls start to crumble. But I couldn't let myself trust him again so easily, so I took another step back.

"Fine," I conceded with a sigh. "You have five minutes. And put your shirt on, it's weird that you're standing here half-naked."

I led the way into the living room and plopped down on the couch, motioning for him to join me when he came back down the stairs.

Noah sat as far away from me as possible, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. We sat in silence, both feeling a sense of deja vu after our earlier encounter in the park; this time was different though.

"So," Noah began, looking at the carpet.

"So," I echoed, watching him cautiously, "you didn’t strike me as a professional criminal."

"That's what makes me good at it, I suppose." A small laugh escaped Noah's lips before he stifled it. I rolled my eyes at him.

"I know you don't believe me, but I didn't follow you," Noah said, covering his face with his hands. "The odds are astronomical, Y/N. I genuinely have no idea how I ended up at your house instead of any other one in the neighbourhood."

"Then why did you choose this house?" I asked, raising an accusative eyebrow.

Noah shrugged, "I don't know. There's no method to it. I saw your light on and heard your cat, and chose it. That's all."

"Sure," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, "maybe one day you'll admit that you're actually a stalker."

"No," Noah shook his head, "are you even listening to me?"

He sat up straight and leaned over his knees, staring intensely at me. "I swear on anything- God, Satan, whoever you want- that I had no idea this was your house.

“Even over the dead bodies of my parents."

His eyes bore into mine as he spoke and I felt a lump form in my throat. The pain in his expression made my heart ache.

"You have dead parents too?" I asked quietly, the tension in the room dissipated, filling with a sense of knowing.

Noah licked his lips and furrowed his eyebrows. He snapped his gaze away from me and slumped back over his knees, staring at the floor.

"My mom died of cancer," he began, "and my dad couldn't handle it so he killed himself. I was only twelve years old, but luckily my best friends took me in. They're like brothers to me."

My mouth felt dry as I listened to him. It suddenly made sense why he didn't say sorry when I told him about my own parents' death in the park. He knew that apologies wouldn't change anything and sympathy would just feel like pity, especially in this situation.

"So why were you in my house in the first place?"

Noah avoided my gaze, clearly ashamed of his actions. "Stealing, larceny, thievery - whatever you want to call it. It's one of the easiest ways to make money on the streets besides dealing drugs."

"So you're a burglar," I said, nodding and forcing a smile. "You really know how to pick 'em, Y/N," I mumbled under my breath, finding some humour in the situation.

"I wouldn't be doing this if we didn't have to," Noah replied, sinking back into the couch with his tattooed neck on display. "We owe a lot of money to a dangerous man, and this is our only way to keep up with his demands."

"Who?" I asked, my curiosity piqued despite my attempt not to stare at the intricate snake design on his neck.

Noah closed his eyes. "I can't tell you for your safety."

I let out a dry laugh. "My safety was gone as soon as I offered you to sit on my couch."

"Touché," Noah chuckled. "But that's one thing I won't disclose."

"How long have you been...doing this?" I watched him closely as he turned his head.

"Long enough," he answered cryptically.

"How long, Noah? If that's even your real name."

He raised an eyebrow. "It is. Noah Sebastian, if you want to be specific. My friend Jolly always referred to it as "the grand fuck up," and it all started when I was fourteen. Since then, we've been paying off our debt every month.”

"And what exactly is 'the grand fuck up'?" I asked, noticing the letters on Noah's knuckles for the first time as he ran his thumb over them.

"It was my first job, and Jolly said I needed to do it to become a man and join the pact," Noah explained, his eyes fixated on the letters. "I stole an expensive car without knowing it had something valuable in it. The car belonged to a notorious criminal who caught us, giving us two choices: death or working for him. We chose to work off our debt and be free once it's paid off."

"Who is included in 'we'?" I inquired.

"My three friends and me," Noah replied with guilt evident in his voice. "I screwed us all over, and it's been seven years of nothing changing."

Noah closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears and the guilt that consumed him. My heart softened, wanting to comfort him and take away his pain.

"What does your tattoo say?" I asked, shifting the topic.

Noah looked at his fingers again, blinking rapidly. "Bad omens."

"Bad omens?" I repeated.

He moved closer to me and held out his hands for me to see. Without thinking, I took his hands in mine and studied the words etched onto his skin.

"An omen is a sign of things to come," Noah explained, watching my fingers trace over the letters. "But everything that comes our way seems to be bad."

"That's no way to live," I shook my head, turning sideways on the couch to face him.

"I've always lived that way," Noah shrugged, giving a small smile.

My heart ached at his words, reminding me of my former self stuck in a cycle of hopelessness and despair. A year ago, I would have said the same thing if someone had talked to me about possibilities and starting fresh. But I had worked hard to leave that behind and create a new life for myself. It was possible, but Noah was still trapped in his never-ending cycle, unable to see any glimmer of hope or change.

“I don’t even feel real anymore unless I’m in pain,” He confided, the agony evident in his voice catching me off guard. “It's not like I enjoy this cycle of suffering, but it's become my norm. I don't know how to function without it.”

Noah scoffed and looked away, trying to distract from his words. “Sometimes I wish I could just give up. Maybe then I'll see my dad again.”

My chest clenched at his words and I sat up on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “What keeps you going?” I prodded, intrigued by this mysterious man.

“My brothers. I have to fix things for them and make up for what I've done.”

“And after that? What then?” I pressed, completely invested in his enigmatic words.

Noah fell silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, lost in his thoughts. I wanted to know what was going through his mind, but we sat in silence once again, the only sound coming from the soft ticking of the living room clock. Juice had emerged from hiding and cautiously made his way into the living room. He let out a small meow and jumped onto the couch next to Noah. After sniffing him, he rubbed his head against Noah's sleeve.

“I don't know,” he finally whispered in a despondent tone, raising his hand to gently pet Juice's fur. The hair on my arms stood up as I watched Juice melt into Noah's touch - immediately accepting him and showing him love.

“You look like you could use a hug,” I surprised myself with the offer, standing up and opening my arms to invite Noah into my personal space.

He looked at me with surprise, asking "Huh?"

"Come here," I motioned for him to stand up, and after a moment of hesitation, he did.

Noah’s lanky figure approached me, and I wrapped my arms around him, pulling his body towards mine in a protective embrace. I stood on my tiptoes to place my head in the crook of his neck, squeezing his body against my chest. Noah’s breath hitched in his throat as he held himself stiffly before easing his body into our entwined limbs. His arms held me close, his head resting against my own. As his chest shook through his complacency, I breathed deeply, sighing into our hug. Noah joined me in a deep exhale, listening to our breaths as we held onto each other, exchanging memories through our hold.

I’m sorry you lost your parents. I’m sorry you’re stuck. I’m listening.

“You don’t have to carry it all yourself. Humans aren’t made to be solitary creatures.” Boldly, I held my hand against Noah’s head, capturing him and all of his wounds. As I ran my fingers through his hair, Noah’s shoulders began to shake.

Can one of us be saved?

I can't forgive you, but I can't look away I have to tell myself it's better, better this way It's killing me

Soft sobs left his lips, his body vibrating through his tears.

Don't wait for the light Just fall asleep, embrace the night

The man crumbling before me was not a terrible person. He was merely a lost soul, fastened to routine and never-ending affliction.

Perhaps, I can be another step to helping him find himself. He reminded me so much of my past; I couldn’t leave him.

Even if I got hurt in the process.

+++++

NOAH

Y/N's arms were a haven, comforting me with her gentle embrace. Her fingers ran through my hair, unearthing deep-seated memories as she held onto me.

It was hard to believe that just an hour ago, everything had been a chaotic mess. Yet here I was, crying in this woman's arms. I didn't deserve such kindness, especially after invading her privacy and trust like I did.

I hadn't opened up to anyone in a long time. My only family were Ruffilo, Folio, and Jolly; they were the only ones who saw my pain. But Y/N's touch had broken down all of my walls, causing me to completely shatter. It was baffling how someone I had only met less than 24 hours ago could have such power over me. Yet here I was, vulnerable and exposed in her embrace.

How could she be so kind and selfless? She listened and understood. Her parents were gone too. She knew the feelings of abandonment.

Keep telling myself that I was the victim You were the one that pulled away I've got a cold heart, this is the sad part I don't think I can change

But the difference was that I was corrupt. I was not the good guy; my presence was tainting her.

Can one of us be saved? I feel like I'm better, better in a grave Better in a grave Better in a grave

“What’s the next step from acquaintances?” she tried to lighten the mood, giving me a small laugh.

I pulled away, my body already infected with the remembrance of her touch against my limbs. I wiped my eyes, face reddening at the embarrassment. I can’t believe I just cried on some girl’s shoulder. She was no longer just some girl.

“I mean, I don’t know if we should even be considered friends. I broke into your house.” I scoffed, wiping my nose with my hoodie sleeve as I sniffed.

“What about acquaintance-squared?” Y/N said, “I think now that I know you’re not just Noah, we’ve upgraded.”

I laughed, “Level two friendly strangers?”

Y/N joined me, the sound that left her body angelic. Part of me wanted to listen to her melody forever.

I knew then that I was fucked. Her hooks snagged me this morning, but now they were embedded, scars bound to be permanent. There was no way I could just leave her as a forgotten memory as I had thought earlier.

She knew too much.

“Sit down. I’m going to make you something to eat.” Y/N said, smiling kindly. My phone began buzzing in my pocket; I knew it had to be one of the boys.

I immediately shook my head in protest, “No Y/N, I should go.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I don’t deserve your hospitality.” I pulled my phone out and checked the caller ID. It was Ruffilo. 32 missed texts.

Jolly: You alright?

Jolly: Almost done?

Jolly: It’s been almost two hours since I’ve heard anything.

Jolly: You should’ve been done within the first hour.

Jolly: Your location says you’re still there; where are you?

Jolly: Noah answer your fucking phone.

My anxiety must have been visible on my face when I saw the messages because Y/N noticed and asked, "Where do you live? Can I at least give you a ride home?"

I shook my head, "It's fine, I can walk."

But when Y/N checked the time and saw that it was three in the morning, she insisted, "Noah, it's not safe for you to walk alone at this hour."

I almost scoffed at her concern, but instead placed a hand on her shoulder and reassured her, "Y/N, I'll be okay."

She made a frustrated face and pouted her lips, which for some reason sent my heart racing.

"Noah," she marched towards the front door and grabbed her keys while slipping on cow-shaped slippers. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

"Let's go pretty boy."

"I'll walk," I said firmly, putting my phone back in my pocket.

Y/N furrowed her brows again and glared at me, causing butterflies to stir in my stomach. What is happening to me?

"You look cute when you're angry."

Y/N opened the door and pointed outside. "You think I'm cute when I'm angry? Then I'll be fucking gorgeous if you're not in my car in two seconds," she seethed.

I raised my hands in surrender and chuckled, "Okay, okay, I'm coming."

We squeezed into her small silver Chevy Spark and I joked about its size. "Could you have gotten a smaller car?"

She turned up the heat before fiddling with the music, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, I must say I didn't expect to have an over 6-foot-tall thief in my passenger seat."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she had a valid point. The guilt gnawed at me once again. Y/N pressed play and the song blared through the small speakers. She turned to me and asked for the address.

"If you know where the Marlborough Motel is, that's where we're headed."

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she looked at me. "Wait, you actually live near there?" Her expression crumpled in sympathy when I nodded. But I refused to accept her pity. We lived in that rundown motel, but it was still better than nothing.

She drove out of the driveway and towards our destination while one of us listened to the song blasting through the car speakers, its lyrics piercing my ears.

You played the cards, you know I wanted to see Behind the curtain, always pulling the strings in my head

But now I think it's time to cut the ends I won't make the same mistake again

Once she dropped me off, I would leave her behind forever. I had to, for my sanity, and hers.

“I mean, housekeeping must be a blessing?” Y/N said gently, giving me a quaint smile.

“Yes, I enjoy the smell of cheap laundry detergent and a stranger filtering through my stuff.”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I gazed out the car window, taking in the rows of illuminated houses and streetlights as they passed by. Exhaustion weighed down my body, but I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. Jolly was going to have a fit when I got home - especially now that I had dragged someone else into this mess and failed a job. Just another checkmark on the list of my screw-ups. And to top it off, I had nothing to show for all the trouble I went through.

But then my mind snapped back to reality as I remembered my backpack - the one with the gun inside. The one I had carelessly left behind at Y/N's house. Panic set in as I realized she would find it, along with all her prescription medications neatly stored inside. My heart raced at the thought of her finding those bottles.

My throat felt tight at the realization, but I swallowed the nerves, reminding myself that I’d never see her again after today. I’ll forget about her, and this. I won’t need to see her disappointment.

You got what you deserved And that was me You saw me at my worst You saw the worst in me

We arrived at the motel and I sighed, realizing the light was still on. No doubt the boys were still up waiting for me. Y/N and I sat quietly for a moment before she turned to look at me.

“Well, level two friendly stranger.” Y/N coughed, breaking the awkward silence in the cramped vehicle. I looked at her and forced a smile. She smiled back, but my heart ached with the realization that this would be our goodbye. I studied every inch of her face, trying to imprint her features into my memory. I knew I couldn't face her again after this.

"Thanks for this wild adventure," she chuckled. "It was definitely a confusing situation, but I'm glad you were my first criminal experience."

Unsure of how to respond, I attempted to make a joke. "And thank you for being my favourite victim."

My own words stung as they reminded me of my past felonies, but I supposed she truly was my favourite victim. If it wasn't too messed up to say something like that.

"Will I see you for your usual coffee?" She asked, hope seeping through her eyes. How could she want to see me again?

"Yeah," I replied with a forced laugh, lying through each breath. "See you then."

I stepped out of the car and turned to wave before opening the door to the motel room. My heart ached as Y/N drove away.

Goodbye.

Tell me that I'm wrong Tell me that I'm wrong

Chapter four

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @Anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

#burning out fanfic #smut #bad omens #bad omens cult #joakim jolly karlsson #joakim karlsson #metal #noah sebastian x reader #Nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #nick ruffilo #Noah Sebastian #Noah Sebastian smut #bad omens smut #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian fic

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onboardsorasora · 6 months ago

Text

Maybe Max is new to his neighborhood and hears about his direct neighbor, Daniel but never sees him. Realizes he sees lights in the townhouse next door at very random times but no one else seems worried.

Their mutual neighbour Vicky checks on the house for Daniel often. Because he apparently keeps weird hours. She feeds is fish for him.

Anyway he's heard a lot about this guy, the neighbors at their end of the cul de sac love him, even though he's often absent. And they take care of things for him. Daniel's lawn never gets unruly, and someone takes in his mail for him. Max wonders just how safe it is for so many people to have a key to your home. Especially if they know you're not there. They always talk about seeing him and Max can never say hes had the pleasure.

It's probably almost 3 months of that when Max gets home late one evening from a night out. He sees a lone lamp light on in Daniel's house and the front door is open. Max is on alert.

He goes to the house, slowly. He has Vicky on speed dial but it's like 1 am so he'll assess then call the police if anything. He goes up the stairs and pushes the door open, there's shuffling upstairs- definitely the sound of someone rummaging.

Max is no hero, he calls the police. Fifteen minutes later and there's a patrol car. The officer that gets out, Esteban, doesn't seem too worried about the situation. Which makes Max annoyed because he very clearly stated that the robber person was still in the house.

Esteban walks to the front door, doesn't even draw his gun.

"ki Ki ki" he calls out, weirdly. Max furrows his brow in confusion

"rraaa rrraa!" Calls from inside. Esteban chuckles and enters the house, Max follows him.

"Danny, you left your door unlocked again. Your neighbor is worried." Esteban reprimands up the stairs.

"ah shit. Right. My bad." A sharp accented voice groans then there was the sound of rapid footsteps down the staircase. A man jumped onto the bottom landing and Max swallowed thickly.

A tangle of curly hair, framed a hot face pulled back in a chagrined smile. Corded muscle bulged as he rubbed the back of his head. He wore a dirty tight blue shirt and large, navy almost cargo pants that Max recognized as those from a fireman.

His hot neighbor was a fireman.

"Sorry about all the trouble. Thanks for like looking out though." His neighbor, Danny, greeted, sticking his hand out for a handshake. Which Max took.

"oh it's- it's no problem. Can't be too safe y'know? I'm Max by the way."

"Daniel. Sorry we're literally meeting like a thief in the night or whatever. Vicky told me you'd moved in, but we've been short shifted at the station." Daniel explained and Max blushed that Vicky had updated Daniel about him.

"are we all good here? I'm gonna tell dispatch that you're buying a box of donuts for the night shift." Esteban teased and Daniel groaned again

"I'll remember to close the door!" He called when Esteban left.

"I take it this happens often?" Max asked and Daniel blushed.

"too often," he grumbled. "When I do a double or triple I tend to forget that doors aren't like self closing outside of the station."

Max snorted, he could see the problem.

"I hope I'm not coming off as creepy or anything but do you wanna like get some coffee? After I've maybe slept for thirteen hours?" Daniel hedged and Max smiled.

"We can have it at my place." Max offered and Daniel grinned back.

"Sure."

#ok this was like a million more words than i originally intended #litsrally planned to write a something seomthing maxs new neighbor is a fireman and then this spiralled #lmao #maxiel #max/daniel #my ficlet

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billys-pretty-babe · 2 years ago

Text

Morning Sun

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary : Waking up beside Billy was one of your favorite things in the entire world, especially the way his skin looked in the morning sun.

Warnings : Suggestive comments, swearing, brief mention of Billy having to protect himself from Neil

Word count : 704

A/N : It's nearly midnight, I have classes in seven-ish hours but I feel bad after not writing and publishing for a few days.

The birds woke you up along with someone's dad mowing their yard and children screaming in the cul-de-sac of Cherry Lane. The Mayfield-Hargrove family was all out of town besides Billy, left behind to watch the house. You gently rolled over because Billy was a light sleeper, he had to be when Neil was around, and you didn't want to wake him.

Billy laid on his stomach, his limbs strewn about in the small bed, one leg hanging off the bed, one of his pillows on the bedside table near his lamp. The sun lit up the room and hit Billy's skin as you traced his soft back muscles before he clenched his fists, flexing the muscles as he noisily stretched, his back cracking in a few spots along with his shoulders.

He made a soft sound and nuzzled into the one pillow that remained on his side of his bed. "Where'd my pillow go," he asked as his words slurred. You laughed and leaned over him to grab his pillow. "Lift your head." He lifted his head and you placed the pillow under him, moving his hair so he wouldn't pull it before he laid his head back down. He rolled over to look at you, his eyes hazy, sleep still heavy in them and he lovingly smiled at you, placing his warm palm on your cheek.

"You been awake long?" You shook your head, "Three minutes at most." He nodded and lifted his left arm, inviting you to lay close to him and you smiled before scooting to him as you cuddled up to him, throwing your leg over his waist. He kissed the top of your head and you smiled and placed a kiss to his chest as you ran the pads of your fingers down his back, gently rubbing.

He hummed and yawned loudly and obnoxiously. "Was that necessary," you asked as he loudly smacked his lips and he chuckled, making your head slightly move with his chest. "Very," he said in response before intertwining your fingers together and bringing your hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on each knuckle.

He looked at the clock on his wall and groaned. "It's not even eight yet and those fucking kids are already screaming." You laughed at him and he looked at you, glaring as best as he could with heavy eyes. "Well, we'd be well rested if it wasn't for someone's late night antics." Billy smirked as he remembered the activities from the night before that went well in the early AM.

"No regrets." You both laughed as you tightened your leg around his waist before he rolled the two of you over so he was on his back. You ran your fingers through his slightly tangled hair as he hummed, his eyes shutting. "You tangled it." You laughed as your eyes rolled. "You kept telling me to pull it, it was bound to get tangled." His eyes fluttered open before he smirked and you knew he was going to make a witty comment. "We got tangled together last night." He chuckled and you kept a straight face and he tickled your side, "Oh come on, you know that was funny." You grimaced slightly, "Baby, that was the worst joke ever." You both laughed and you put your head on his chest, playing with his necklace.

"I like this," Billy softly said, "it feels so natural just basking in whatever the fuck this is." You laughed, knowing exactly what he was trying to say as you nodded. "I know what you mean." He nodded and found your hand once more as he held it again, gently lifting it up to see the linked bracelet with his initial on it along with a lifeguard float, something he gifted you not too long ago.

"I love you." You smiled up at him and kissed his jaw, light stubble on it that gently scratched you. "I love you too, B." He smiled and kissed your forehead before loudly yawning again. "I need more sleep." You hummed, your own eyes shutting as you felt his warmth radiating onto you. "Me too." He softly laughed and held you tighter before the two of you fell asleep to the sounds outside.

#billy eddie steve babygirl loves soft!billy #stranger things billy #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove x female reader #billy eddie steve babygirl fluff #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #soft!billy hargrove #william hargrove

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stevesjockstrap · 9 months ago

Note

hallo hallo hallo, I am here to send you a prompt? If you’d like to do it? (You don’t have to, feel free to ignore this ask)

I feel like Steve would radio-in with everyone post-S4 after a nightmare or something, just to make sure he’s okay, but when he calls Eddie he sounds super upset by it even though he’s trying to play it off and act calm, and after Steve puts the radio away to go back to bed, Eddie goes “oh fuck no” and drives over to check on him in person?

Again feel free to ignore this, I was going to write it myself but I’m tired and have other fic stuff to work on so I thought I’d send it to you since you have requests open :)

have a good day 🩵

Hiiii 🖤 Thanks so much for sending this and for being patient with me!

Keep My Hands In Yours

• @stcreators event 05: dynamics whoops I forgot I was doing this

The ground shuddered under him and Steve looked frantically around at the group. “Move!” He managed to yell and leaped a few feet away, just as the dirt fissured under where he had been standing. Where they’d all been standing. He heard screaming and rushed back over to the edge, where Dustin was grappling to hold onto the edge of the crevice.

As he tried reaching for him, he turned into Robin. And then Max. And then Will. Their faces dirty, their eyes wide as they screamed for his help. As they lost their grip before he could reach for them and Steve screamed with them as they dropped.

Shooting up in bed, he was still screaming. His throat was on fire, his stomach in knots.

Knocking his lamp off his bedside table in his rush to grab for the walkie.

“All call check in. Repeat. Check in. Now. Over.” He realized when he heard his own voice that he should’ve waited another minute to calm down. Even to his own ears it sounded panicked and crazed. Oh well, as long as everyone responded he’d deal with their concerns tomorrow. His heart hammering in his chest, he waited for anyone to answer.

“Henderson clear. Over.” Dustin’s sleepy voice crackled through first.

“Wheelers clear. Over.”

“Sinclairs clear. Over.”

Steve paced his room as one by one they all checked in.

“It was a dream. It’s just a dream. They’re okay.”

“All good here. Steve, man, you alright? Over.”

A sob ripped out of his chest at Eddie’s question. After another long moment of trying to calm down, he knew if he didn’t answer he’d have everyone over here.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Uh all clear. Good night. Over and out.”

He threw the walkie onto his bed and went to the bathroom, running cold water to throw on his face and the back of his neck. Letting himself ignore the hot tears as they came.

Eddie stared down at the walkie for half a second after Steve’s shaky answer. Then he was shoving the blanket off of him and looking for pants on the floor in the dark.

He’d never heard him sound like that before. Even in the middle of the upside down he was confident, in control and solid. Something was wrong.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he went to their tiny card table to grab his keys and scribbled a note to Wayne. At Steve’s. Meatloaf in the microwave.

It wasn’t until he got in the van and saw the little blinking time that it dawned on him. Three in the morning. Steve must have had a nightmare. Called the check because it was a bad one and needed to make sure everyone was okay. He sped through town, cursing Steve’s parents in their Loch Nora cul de sac all the way on the other side of Hawkins.

He quickly parked next to Steve’s beemer and rushed to the front door, letting himself in.

The deathly quiet house sent a chill up his spine. He’d never really been here alone at night. Movie nights and pool days with the kids were never still or silent.

As he walked down the hall towards Steve’s room, he came out of the bathroom. He looked terrible. Face red and blotchy, dark circles under his eyes.

“Eds, you didn’t have to come. I’m fine,” he sighed, almost collapsing into the doorway.

“No you’re not.”

“Eddie… I-“

Closing the distance between them, he stopped his next lie with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Steve looked up at him with wide wet eyes and Eddie’s heart clenched. “D-do what?”

“Be the strong one all the time. You don’t think I have nightmares? Wake up screaming and look down surprised I’m not torn to shreds again? Huh? And I’ve only been through this shit once. You’ve-“ he reached out and took Steve’s shaking hand in both of his. “You’ve been strong for a long time. You can let it go now, okay? I’ll hold onto you.”

Steve let out a long breath and nodded, letting Eddie guide him back to his bed. This was new, but they’d been dancing around each other since Spring Break. Lingering touches and glances. Hurrying to look away before the other caught them.

Laying on their sides facing each other, their hands still laced together between them, Eddie watched as Steve’s shoulders finally relaxed from their protective hunch by his ears. His breathing slowed, but his eyes were still wide and never leaving Eddie’s face.

Taking the chance, Eddie slowly pulled their conjoined hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. When he didn’t protest, he kissed across all of them before looking up into his eyes again.

“You take care of everyone else. But who takes care of you? All alone in this big echoey house.” He let go of his hand to push the wet droopy hair out of Steve’s eyes and off his forehead. Tucking the too long hair behind his ear, tracing down his jaw with his fingers. His gaze lingered on his lips, watching as they parted on a gasp.

“Eddie, please,” he breathed, so softly he may have missed it if he wasn’t staring at his lips.

“Anything sweetheart, anything you want.”

They searched each other’s eyes for a heart stopping moment before both moving at the same time. Eddie’s hands cradling the back of Steve’s head to angle his face up to deepen the kiss.

Kissing Steve was otherworldly. He could write dozens of songs about the way his lips move against his own. Eddie pulled him closer by his waist and felt his groan rumble through his chest. Softening their kiss, he pecked chaste kisses to his bottom lip then his jaw before pulling back.

Steve kept his eyes closed after Eddie pulled away. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Eddie to remember who he was kissing. He wanted to stay in this bubble, this perfect moment forever.

He received a kiss to his forehead and it shocked him enough to open his eyes.

“Hi.” Eddie was smiling softly, his lips red and wet. He looked so soft, Steve wanted to kiss him again.

“Hi,” he said, uncertainly. His throat was tight again, new tears threatening to spill over.

Eddie noticed, of course. “Stevie. Hey. What is it?” He cradled his face again, so gently, wiping the tears off his cheeks as they fell.

Clenching his fists in Eddie’s shirt, he could only hold onto him and cry as he let the fear and worry and despair wash over him. It was strangely cathartic, crying in front of someone for the first time in as long as he could remember. Usually breakdowns were saved for when he was alone in his car or the shower, where he’d not bother anyone else.

“That’s it, let it all out,” Eddie said lowly.

It sent a new wave of sobs through him. He found himself pulled against a warm chest, tears soaked up by a worn soft band tee.

When the sobs subsided, the sniffling and tears slowed to a stop, wordlessly they moved as one until Eddie was on his back with Steve’s head settled on his chest. Deft fingers played with his hair, soothing the last gnawing doubts in his mind.

He fell asleep listening to the steady beat of Eddie’s heart. Everyone was safe. And now so was he.

🖤

Title from Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan, the bf has been listening to the album on repeat and this song is so steddie

#answered #mine #fic request #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #finntheehumaneater #Steve just needs so many cuddles

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 7 months ago

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Sparkle

cw. pre!release, gn!reader, step 1

pairing. tamarack x reader

notes. a cute anonymous request i received not too long ago. it made me think of the cute dialogue in step 1's prologue if the MC has a crush on tamarack and finds her special. first love, amirite?

"Oh no!!" Tamarack's sudden screech of dismay brings you to a halt.

You look at your neighbor in worry, "what's wrong?"

"I forgot my scarf at school!" Tamarack answers with a frown.

She's right, you realize. Where normally a muted pink scarf, hand-knit from Granny herself, rests on Tamarack's shoulders, there is nothing. Neither of you had noticed at all that it had well-loved scarf had still been in Tamarack's cubby when you left your schoolgrounds in favor of heading home.

Today was supposed to be a particularly fun day at the Baumanns.

Mom had work so you'd be spending the afternoon with the cozy family next door. Granny had made stollen the night before and you'd all be eating it together once you got home. Then once you ate your fill, it would be back to your normally scheduled programming.

You'd play in the confines of their backyard until the urge to explore grew stronger. Then you'd go off the beaten path and play in the autumnal woods surrounding the cul-de-sac until it was time to go home. If you were lucky, maybe Mom would even let you have your own sleepover.

While you doubted a missing scarf would be enough to ruin your day, it still is a damper on the mood walking home from school.

"Do you have an extra in your bag?"

"No," Tamarack sighs, shoulders sagging forward in disappointment.

You would have thought everything was in the messenger bag Tamarack brought everywhere. It's much like Mary Poppin's magical bag with how much Tamarack manages to squeeze in it. If she were to ever pull out a bed or a lamp from it, you wouldn't be surprised in the slightest.

"We can always go back to school and get it," you offer. You turn back around in the direction you came from. "Mrs. Murray might still be there!" The chances are slim but they aren't entirely zero.

Your teacher had been there when you left, at least. So were Qiu, Darren and Baxter who all planned on having some sort of dinner at The Diner Table before going to the Murray's for a sleepover. Maybe if you turn back now, you'll be able to catch them.

Tamarack shakes her head, sparkly hair dancing in the wind, "it's okay." The shorter girl shudders. Autumn may be her favorite season but not even Tamarack is a match for chilly weather without her scarf.

"Wanna wear mine? I'm not cold."

"Really," Tamarack brightens almost immediately at the suggestion.

You nod with a grin, "you let me use your scarf all the time anyway." So it's nothing to let your best friend wear yours when the shoe is on the other foot.

Your scarf unravels with ease when you tug at it due to the lazy manner you threw it over your shoulders earlier.

"We're scarf buddies now!" Tamarack puffs her cheeks in an eager grin, her fuzzy eyebrows angled for mischief. "Ones that switch scarves."

"Allow me, Miss Baumann," you mimic the honorable bows of knights in books and movies, accent posh and haughty.

Your actions only serve to make Tamarack giggle, hopping giddily in place. Her heavy bag jingles with her movements, thudding against her audibly. The giggles and hopping eventually subside but Tamarack's ruby eyes shine regardless as she wipes her clothes down with small hands. Once she deems them proper enough, she bows using her the ends of her overall shorts as a dress, curtsying. "Thank you, Knight [First]," Tamarack replies as regal she can manage.

You share another laugh as you straighten up. With your friend standing still for once, you set to work. It's not difficult at all but you still make careful work in wrapping it around your friend's shoulder as she often does, tying it just so.

It isn't Tamarack's handiwork but you know it'll stay wrapped squarely around her shoulders indefinitely until she decides to take it off.

"Oops," you giggle when you realize her hair has been smooshed under her scarf as well. "I'll fix it!"

Tamarack snickers as well, raising her chin although it doesn't truthfully do much to help you in moving her hair outside of its scarf prison.

Sparkle. Tamarack does nothing but sparkle.

From the shiny speckles dotted throughout her gold hair to how her eyes light up whenever she's excited. You wonder where she gets them from. Neither Granny or Mr. Baumann's hair sparkles. Maybe they did once long ago before they got old and the sparkles faded from their hair. But I've seen pictures of Tamarack's dad, there are few scattered throughout the drawing room in the Baumann family hair. He doesn't got any either.

As for the one picture you found of Tamarack's mom. (Something tucked far into the corners of the house that isn't easily seen in the slightest. It's the only complete family photo you've ever found of the Baumanns. Tamarack was very young in the photo, nestled in her mother's arms while everyone smiled at the photographer. If everyone was so happy in the photo, you wonder why it seldom sees the light of day.) Her hair is brown and there aren't any sparkles to be seen there either.

Maybe this means Tamarack's sparkles are something special. A Tamarack thing.

That makes a lot sense in your fifth grade mind.

Berry red eyes look up at you, framed by fluffy locks with sparkles interwoven in each strand.

Pretty...

"[First]?"

You blink with a start, "huh?"

Tamarack raises an eyebrow curious but she smiles despite her confusion, "come on let's go," she hops once more.

For a moment you wish you hadn't offered your scarf to the girl so you could bury your face in it. You still feel the fluffy soft strands underneath your fingertips. "Yeah, let's go," you follow after the forest-loving girl who has already started skipping ahead, unaware to your plight.

#look she's writing #our life #our life: now & forever #olnf #our life x reader #tamarack baumann #tamarack baumann x reader #tamarack x reader

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fantasyqueen502 · 2 years ago

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Mrs. Miller: Chapter 3

Summary- (Before the infection/apocalypse) A look into the life of Mrs. Miller. It's Sarah's 1st birthday and the Millers live each day to the fullest.

Relationship- Joel Miller X female Reader

Rating: PG Mentions of a chronic illness R in the last third dipictions of sexual intercourse

Word Count: 1,268

One Year later…

Pink and white balloons tied to mailboxes and fences of the cul-de-sac.

"Happy birthday to you." Everyone in the neighborhood sings.

The two brothers descend the steps of the home to the picnic table out front. Joel leading with Tommy following close behind with a camcorder in hand. Joel places a tower of cupcakes onto the table lighting one cupcake with a candle.

Sarah bounces excitedly in Y/N's lap at the head of the table.

"Happy birthday, dear Sarah!"

"Happy birthday to you!"

"Blow out the candle." Y/N kisses her child's curly head of brown hair. She looks to her mama then back to the candle. Opening her mouth wide, taking in a deep, dramatic breath before blowing a wet raspberry onto the flame. Fortunately this does the job.

Everyone cheers and claps. Conversing with one another, enjoying the cupcakes or burgers and hotdogs Mr. Adler prepared on his grill.

Sarah grabs a fistful of pink frosting shoving it into her mouth, in the process smearing it all over her face. Taking another handful smearing pink frosting across her mama's cheek. Y/N doesn't mind, she grins down at the child who giggles at her work.

"What about pop pop, Sarah bean." Tommy instigates camera ready as Joel takes a seat next to his girls.

Sucking on her fingers looking up to her uncle Tommy at the call of her name. Looking at her dad who makes faces at her.

"Pop pop wants some birthday cake." He points to his brother. She squeals, giving a two tooth grin. Wiping her frosting and spit covered hand across Joel's face.

"Yay!" Everyone cheers.

"How are you feeling?" He mumbles into her cheek, seen to others as him just being affectionate.

"A little tired." She shrugs avoiding his eyes.

"Cake!" Sarah shrieks, holding up a handful of cake.

"That's right." Y/N coos clapping as the child copies the gesture with glee.

~•~

Cleaning up the yard by the light of street lamps. Collecting party hats and paper plates that littered the grass into trash bags in hand.

Tommy groans, reaching down to pick up the thirtieth plate. Twisting his body left and right with a wince. "Man, I'm tired."

Joel scoffs. "Wait till you have a kid." He advises. "Then you'll truly know what it means to be tired."

"Boys!" Catches their attention. "It's getting late." Y/N informs. "Do we need to prepare the couch, Tommy?"

"I'm alright, Y/N. Kiss Sarah goodnight for me."

"I will. Get home safe." She waves stepping back inside.

"Y/N looks good." He says looking to his brother busying himself with knotting the trash bag. "Treatments must be going well."

"She decided---to uhhh…." Joel struggles to say. "We decided to---uhhh---stop…" He swallows. "Stop the treatment."

"Oh." Was all Tommy could say. "I'm here for you bro, and the girls." he assures.

"I know." He nods, clearing his throat. "C'mon. Need to put these in the bins."

~•~

Joel exhales a breath rolling his stiff neck and shoulders when entering his and Y/N's bedroom. Spending the past few hours putting away the many toys and clothes Sarah was gifted. The sound of a running faucet grabs his attention. Turning to see Y/N in the bathroom taking off the wig she had been wearing that day.

Her H/C short with patches littering her scalp. Leaning into the mirror, turning her head, tracing them with her fingers. Ruffling through drawers on his side of the bathroom. The buzzing of clippers sound and without hesitation shaving the front of her head.

He makes his way to the doorway. Silently watching her e/c eyes taking note of his presence. He watches the many scars in various states of healing become visible from the numerous surgeries that promised results.

Struggling with the chord to reach behind. He stands behind her taking his clippers into his hand helping her with the back. Rounding her ears and base of her neck. Finishing his work turning the clippers off.

She exhales, her shoulders releasing tension. Running her hands over her head, closing her eyes.

The clippers turning back on startles her. Looking to the mirror catching Joel running the clippers straight down his head of curls. She gasps, eyes wide holding her hands over her mouth.

He smiles continuing to lop off his hair. As tears welled up in her eyes. Now her turn, she takes the clippers helping him with the back.

"So handsome." She gushes, running her hands over his head.

"You pull it off better, mama." Giving her a passionate kiss. She swoons.

"Wait here." Taking the baby monitor from their bedroom into the bathroom turning the volume up. "We never got to have mommy daddy time." She whispers.

"Can't have that."

"No, we can not." She agrees. Placing the monitor on the sink.

"If you're not feeling up to it. At any moment--"

"I'll let you know." She shimmies off her panties. Stepping out of them her flowery sundress is his only obstacle. Turning the shower on she turns peeking over her shoulder with sultry eyes. "Unzip me."

He does so. Tracing his finger down her spine making her shutter. She turns, gathering the hem of his shirt, lifting it up, placing hot kisses to his broad chest.

Stripped bare, stepping into the hot water breathing in the steam. Suddenly feeling bashful she tries to hide herself, but he unwrapped her arms from her chest with the scars from many entry points from chemo. He traces them with his thumb looking at her wrists where more marks are laid. He places a kiss on them. His hands ghosted around her in an embrace. Thumb skimming her shoulder blades. Anchoring herself by his shoulders to lower him to her level, capturing his lips. There was tension in his muscles and a stiffness she wasn't used to. His hands almost cradling her. "I'm not fine china." She reminds.

He stifles a chuckle giving a nod. The water coasting along his brows. "Tough as nails." He smiles. She hasn't seen him smile without a sadness behind his eyes since her diagnosis.

"So treat me as such." She purrs, digging her nails into his back. He groans, watching his slack jawed expression as she drags all the way to his hips. A thrill stirs within her seeing she had succeeded in awaking the lust within.

His hold of her tightens, pulling a gasp from her throat as he spins her 'round, pinning her to the wet linoleum. She grins, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. Breath hitches in her throat, his hand interlocking with her own. "Right there!" She breathes. "Oh, Joel." She moans the knot in her stomach tightening. With her heart drumming in her ears the rhythmic thrusts of her love. His hips stalls as he groans grow deeper.

"Almost there." He moans. "Oh, Y/N."

She lets out a shuttery whine. "Slower." She urges wanting the moment to last.

"Oh---J-Joel." Her back is arching. He grunts burying his face onto her neck, hot breath fanning her neck. Letting out a long moan as she squeals. Her legs buckle as he wraps his arms around her waist as she leans into him chuckling.

"Still with me?" He coos.

"Mmm." she hums. "This tops when we christened the house." Mouth now flooding with the taste of copper.

"Nothing beats our wedding night." He chuckles, guiding the both of them under the stream of the shower head. "To be young again."

"God knows how we didn't have Sarah sooner."

Author's Note: I did not except so many readers and love for my little one shot idea. I decided to change the title hopefully there is no confusion to "Mrs. Miller" an idea that blossomed into my own story using context clues from the games and show of what happened to Sarah's Mother.

(Hopefully the tag list worked. It's my first time doing one. Please let me know.)

Series chapter order:

Mrs. Miller

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 2

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 3

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 4

Mrs. Miller: Chapter 5

Tag list:

@impala1967666

@minaxcarter

@blairfox04

@pedr0swh0r3

@thomasshelbee

#Joel Miller X F!Reader #the last of us #Joel Miller #Sarah Miller #Y/N #Mrs. Miller #joel miller x reader #imagine #Joel miller X Y/N #hbo max #Mrs. Miller: Chapter 3 #padro pascal

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slightly-more-valid-prongs · 2 years ago

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“oh my god!”

regulus runs down the path and out of the gate, skidding on small patches of ice until he reaches the edge of the road. he stops abruptly, looking at the ground all around him and crushing the ground beneath his right heel. “james! come quickly!”

james sprints out of the front door behind him, running straight into a slick section of the path and falling flat on his back, winding himself. regulus chuckles, pulling him to his feet and wrapping his arms around his waist, “careful, it’s slippy.” he gestures for james to look around, bouncing gently on the spot and shaking his hands by his side. “look! look! it snowed. it’s everywhere.” he proves his point by crunching the snow beneath his boots, still grinning.

“wow. it never snows.” james leans back, looking at the frosted rooftops around their cul-de-sac before noticing the sky. “reggie, look up. all the stars are out too.” he gently tips regulus’ chin upwards, pointing at a bright star. regulus’ grin widens even further, his eyes illuminated by the lone street lamp. he reaches around james, softly grabbing his shoulder to pull him down to his height and begins to point out the constellations. “there’s the plough, then if you go over here there’s ursa major. if you keep going over here, there’s leo. the regulus star is in leo-” regulus continues to point out all of the constellations he can see, whilst james attempts to follow along, completely clueless. eventually, he gives up and turns to look at regulus, watching his mouth move, slightly upturned in the corners.

“you’re my favourite star.”

#marauders #marauders era #post hogwarts #hp #regulus #regulus black #james #james potter #regulus x james #james x regulus #starchaser #jegulus #starchaser fluff #jegulus fluff

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hoppingonjim · 1 year ago

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learning love again (i) - holland march

chapter one. summary: i really wanted to make a little fic about holland meeting his old love again and again throughout the course of his life. so here we go! cw: mentions of losing virginity, talk of america/political views of war, brief mentions of the vietnam war

she was eighteen when they met. and nineteen when the military swept him away. it was for america and back then she could understand, there was no higher pleasure for a man than dying with stars and stripes adorning his heart. there was no greater shame than hiding behind a borderline.

a street lamp was the first time his eyes soaked her up. limbs crossed over, back against a void of color. with the eyes of bardot and the body of cardinale he swore he fell in love. did her mind possess curie? a streep lamp stalked above him as he inquired her for her name.

“mary.”

“that's my mom's name. that was also jesus' mom's name.”

“that's nice.”

the woman only gave a smile. eyes glanced upwards to the canopy that flickered above, “what's your name?” the boy would only watch for a brief second, fingering his pocket for a pack and lighter.

“holland,” soon a companion of a light screamed between them, making messy love to the stick suddenly dangling below his cupids bow, “my mom liked the country holland. so. now i'm named holland.”

“ah.” the closeness grew far. the repellence of smoke sniggering in her nostrils. until they flared, “i don't like people who smoke.”

in a matter of seconds the cigarette found the soles of his boot, “that better for you?”

a smile dressed itself in the light swirling above, “yes.” when her wrist grew itchy of her curfew she suddenly kept the distance between the two close, “i'll catch you later, okay holland?”

she was eighteen when he dressed her in a luxury menu. treated her eyes to the cul-de-sac of spaghetti. the vines and checkered table cloths that draped over glossed wood. an ambiance of gold and the adriatic.

“what's the cheapest thing on the menu?”

“you're not getting the cheapest thing.”

a crinkle popped from the furrowing of her eyebrows, quizzically she watched him, “what do you mean? it's not cheap here. i don't want to blow money..”

that sentence would see its hand once holland gave her a swooshed hand motion, “you're yapping. i'm paying. buy what you want.”

she was eighteen when he alleviated a confession with a staggering stutter.

“i t-think i l-love you.”

tangled limbs resting in limp sheets. joints deep in discombobulated slumber while the sun beckoned for a crowing rooster. navy coating her clothed back. navy encapsulating his matching boxers.

“think or you do?” her voice bore no volume. a mingling whisper.

“i do.”

“i do too.”

she was eighteen when he held a virgin in his arms, nineteen when his sheets were the last to feel virginity. nineteen and lonesome, she wore the title of his only companion. in those navy sheets roses fell scattered and trampled. his parents enjoyed their slumber next door as they made love, innocently. giving their minds over to passion and their bodies to the palm of the other. with moans waltzing with low groans, the gentle sun remained hushed. the sudden man snapped his hips, celestial bodies tuned into comic ballads. beethoven's symphony ringing out with every muffled crack that leaped from her voice. breathless and panting.

"holland, how are you not worried about- holland, oh my god you're inside of me- oh my god your dick is- oh-"

"doesn't it feel wonderous?"

the suns kiss on the wavering weeds outside stood a void from inside the window pane. and when she gave herself to him, and he found a climax, their bodies fell into one. the velvet curtain closing as the scent of diminished chastity grew thick. a question echoed about his first time and in came a lie. vulnerability husky under the guise. and while they tip toed under their new title to the washing machine he swore to himself his lips would never behold the truth. his virginity was washed up on those sheets too.

she was nineteen when home seemed like a good option. here was the time for picnic play of war to unveil a realistic shoulder. for little boys to mold into their mossed figurines. under a street lamp she found squalor plucked on her knees. the collection of rain fall staining a once stunning plaid hem. the velvet curtain withdrawing to the sight of her hands gripping onto the bulk of his jean clad thigh.

“stay, please-america will never know. just stay, stay?”

the girl he had assisted into transcending womanhood mirrored a child once more. breaking over. porcelain lips shattering with every deafening word. his own were lost on the train he was sure he would be taking. a mind heavy on decision and a heart torn with two sacrifices.

“i love my country mary, right now america needs to be my love.”

“will america remember if you die though? i will! i'll remember if you die! i'll remember your name holland, and your eyes.. america will call you lifeless and put you in a bin of meaningless men. just stay with me.. please.”

“get off the sidewalk mary.” a tone imitating the wading winds that croaked the downfall.

“you aren't being made to.”

“i'm staying with america, mary.”

“but i love-”

“go home mary.”

she was nineteen when she was thrown the pitiful ending with her knees soaking up abandoned down pours. the array of dusted water pooling around her once pure white dress. on the sidewalk she surrendered to fate with rain soaking her flag.

he was twenty one when he took a train. when he casted aside her letters that piled on his front stoop. distractions were something he couldn't tear himself from. on the train he sat with empty pads beside him, the others crammed ahead. their eyes gaunt at the faces of their weeping future widows. swallowing his affection, his eyes found his creased palms. still he felt blessed to feel her touch, to dance with streams of her stranded tresses. to guide her into the land of absolute pleasure he could grant. with a grumbling stomach he continued to feel full of home made mac and cheese. the only dinner she could properly serve. in his lips he could taste the entire year he knew her for. from when he questioned her identity to when he left her questioning his heart.

she was twenty one when she spotted a doppelgänger of the man she wasted pens on. where she discarded stamps.

“is that, holland?”

her sister, tall and eclectic, wondered aloud. her neck claimed by a dangling ring gifted by the man that had rang their doorbell numerous times in one week. all mary could remember about the man was that he was taller, muscular, his name was either jackson or jake- mary was unable to remember.

with a tense throat she glanced at the man who had clutched her butterfly heart in the creased palm of his hand before he'd drop the butterfly into a discarded moth. the man who ushered her thorned moans into his ears, the boy who made earnest love to her on navy sheets.

“no.. i don't- no..” a stammer pushed through. the sight of a scraggly man holding the mature hand of a golden decorated lady.

mary glanced down at her very own strands of hair. plain brown.

she was twenty one when she realized it indeed was the real man. the con artist bishop.

#the nice guys #holland march fic #holland march x you #holland march x reader #holland march smut #holland march #jackson healy x reader #jackson healy #the nice guys fic #the nice guys smut #the nice guys 2016

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gregor-samsung · 1 year ago

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“ All’atto di redigere il testo di un parlato radiofonico si dovrà dunque evitare in ogni modo che nel radioascoltatore si manifesti il cosiddetto «complesso di inferiorità culturale», cioè quello stato di ansia, di irritazione, di dispetto che coglie chiunque si senta condannare come ignorante dalla consapevolezza, dalla finezza, dalla sapienza altrui. Questo «complesso» determina una soluzione di continuità nel colloquio tra il dicitore e l’ascoltatore, crea una zona di vuoto, un «fading» spirituale nella recezione. Ad ovviare la qual calamità radiofonica è in particolare consigliabile: a) in ogni evenienza astenersi dall’uso della prima persona singolare «io». Il pronome «io» ha carattere esibitivo, autobiografante o addirittura indiscreto. Sostituire all’«io» il «noi» di timbro resocontisticoneutro, o evitare l’autocitazione. Al giudizio: «Io penso che la Divina Commedia sia l’opera maggiore di Dante», sostituire: «La Divina Commedia è ecc.»; b) astenersi da parole o da locuzioni straniere quando se ne possa praticare l’equivalente italiano. Usare la voce straniera soltanto ove essa esprima una idea, una gradazione di concetto, non per anco trasferita in italiano. Per tal norma inferiority-complex, nuance, Blitz-Krieg e chaise-longue dovranno essere sostituiti da complesso d’inferiorità, sfumatura, guerra lampo e sedia a sdraio: mentre self-made man, Stimmung, Weltanschauung, romancero, cul-de-lampe e cocktail party potranno essere tollerati; c) evitare gli sterili elenchi dei nomi di persona quando non si possono caratterizzare o comunque definire le persone chiamate in causa. Meglio omettere dei «nomi da manuale», che infastidire l’ascoltatore citando nomi destinati a spegnersi appena pronunziati, come faville lasciate addietro per un attimo dalla corsa d’una locomotiva; d) operare analogamente con le date. In un esposto di carattere storico le date costituiscono opportuno ammonimento, gradito appoggio e gradita eccitazione per la memoria. Tali appaiono al viaggiatore le indicazioni chilometriche. Delle date si dovrà misurare il valore e l’intercorrenza più conveniente. Si dovranno gerarchizzare, distanziare le une dalle altre; e porgerle comunque con garbo all’attenzione di chi ascolta, quasi le richiedesse opportunità, necessità; e) astenersi dal presupporre nel radioabbonato conoscenze che «egli», il «qualunque», non può avere e non ha. Inibirsi la civetteria del dare per comunemente noto quello che noto comunemente non è. A nessun uomo, per quanto colto, si può chieder di essere una enciclopedia. I lemmi dell’enciclopedia rappresentano la fatica di migliaia di collaboratori; f) entrare subito o pressoché subito in medias res: non tener sospeso l’animo del radioascoltatore con lunghi preamboli, con la vacuità di premonizioni superflue che il valore cioè il costo del tempo radioparlato sono ben lontani dal giustificare, dall’ammettere. “

Carlo Emilio Gadda, Norme per la redazione di un testo radiofonico.

NOTA: durante la sua collaborazione con la RAI (accettata per necessità e mal sopportata), presso i servizi di cultura del Terzo programma (1950-55), Gadda redasse un breve vademecum a beneficio degli autori radiofonici e destinato a circolazione interna (veniva allegato ai contratti per i collaboratori). La prima edizione delle Norme (ERI, Torino, 1953) apparve senza il nome dell’autore ma firmata in calce «IL TERZO PROGRAMMA»; seguì una seconda edizione (ERI, Torino, 1973), questa volta a nome di Gadda. Il testo fu quindi accolto nelle raccolte postume degli scritti minori dell’ «ingegnere».

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candlelightkiss · 1 year ago

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Nothing ever happened in Tunsdale. Nothing's ever quite right either. Tucked in the corners of a supposed suburban dream, it was no surprise that the small town went unnoticed. A moment stuck in time was all it was.

The neighborhood was built upon routine; a linear structure never to be disrupted. Rows and rows of white picket fences, culs de sac painted varying shades of blue, and street lamps that flicker and fade with age. Every morning, the air smelled of dewy leaves that plaster themselves onto the roads and windowsills. The dogs barked at the barren streets at night as the air grew brisk.

Families knew everything yet nothing about one another. The tall lady next door saunters outside adorning jewels on her wrist. The strange man that mows his lawn every day at noon lives alone, and he's happy with that. The ragtag group of high schoolers is the only presence on the streets at night, what a nuisance they are!

That's what they see, but not what they know. They don't know the tall lady's piling debt, the pleas from her daughter studying in the big city. They don't know about the man's family that no longer wants to associate with him. They don't know about the parents who see their kids as an afterthought. But this is Tunsdale. Surely, nothing ever happened here.

#writing #moodboard #moodboard writing #moodboard aesthetic #writers of tumblr #writer #writeblr #creative writing #writing community #aesthetic #aesthetic moodboard #small town #small town aesthetic #small town moodboard #short story #short writing #whimsical world

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ilovecupcakesandtea · 1 year ago

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Chapter 1 Chapter 3

The bed was a welcome sight after a long night of doing inventory at Melvald’s. Joyce had offered to stay and help him but she’d helped get Steve the job a little over a year ago and he hasn’t felt right asking her for help since. It wasn’t much but it was better than hopping from place to place around town, never staying anywhere longer than six months. It was just past three in the morning, he could have been home sooner but he couldn’t get himself to keep his pace in the last hour. Steve had taken his shoes off at the door and thrown himself into bed, not having the energy to get ready for bed, that would be future Steve’s problem. He didn’t have work tomorrow so he set his phone to do not disturb and plugged it in.

Steve woke up to a crashing noise coming from somewhere in his room. He had no clue how long he’d been asleep but judging by the damp spot on his pillow, it was at least a good sleep. It took a minute before he realized his whole room was shaking. Thank goodness for all the drills he’d been forced to do in school, knowing his best bet was to get under his desk. After a minute or two the shaking had stopped. Steve carefully looked around in front of him to make sure there wasn’t anything broken that he’d have to be careful of while crawling out from under his desk. Looking around his room he noticed that not much had broken other than the lamp that had previously sat on his night stand. It was one of the good things about not feeling like he could really make his room his own, there wasn’t really anything around that could break.

Slipping on a pair of shoes from his closet, he left his room to check on the rest of the house. Steve flipped the switch to his bed light in hopes of lighting up the hallway only to find that the electricity had been disrupted by what he was assuming had been an earthquake. Going back into his room to grab his phone to use as a flashlight, his phone screen reading five fifteen. What luck he had, only getting two hours of sleep before being woken up. The hallway was clear of anything broken thanks to the lack of pictures, his mom having chosen to fill it with art instead which he was grateful for this time. The rest of the house wasn’t as lucky, broken vases and various antiques. In the living room there was a large tree limb surrounded by broken glass.

Going outside he saw a large tree blocking the entrance to his cul-de-sac, a smaller tree leaning against the Heartford’s house, and most of his neighbors standing in their driveways. Steve knew at least one of them would have someone to call to take care of the downed trees and any other damage that had been caused but who knew what other damage they couldn’t see. It could take someone minutes or hours to get to them and he wasn’t willing to wait that long, having a hard time getting a signal on his phone to check on the kids he used to babysit. The Johnsons to his left were in their seventies so he wouldn’t dare ask them to help with the clean up, though he knew George would try to get Steve to let him help. Allen Heartford was the kind of guy to call someone before lifting a finger to even do something as small as tighten a screw, just as useless as the other husbands on Steve’s street.

Once Steve made the rounds to his neighbors that had been standing outside to make sure everyone was alright, he went to the shed to get his chainsaw. If he wanted to be able to leave any time soon it would be up to him to get it done. George came over to offer help as expected and made sure Steve knew he didn’t have to do it. Two hours later and their cul-de-sac was no longer blocked but Steve had been up so long at this point that he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep anytime soon so he offered to take care of the tree leaning against the Heartford house. He was about half way done when Karen came out with a glass of cucumber water for him and offered chocolate chip muffins she’d just baked now that the power had been restored. Steve took the water but turned down the muffins, Susan was always trying to offer him baked goods. Something about it just always felt off and her baking was never good.

After finishing the last tree, taking a shower, and calling the insurance company about the living room, he was finally able to call all of the kids. Thankfully everyone was ok with no major damage. Steve wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep now but he hoped the knowledge that everyone was ok would help give him enough peace of mind to try.

It had been about thirty minutes of him failing to sleep when he heard his phone go off. There was no need to check it now since he’d already checked on everyone but since it was obvious sleep wasn’t happening he picked it up.

Steve didn’t know what to think. Not only did it seem like his parents were just giving him the house but they couldn’t even bother to call him with such big news. It had him wondering how long they had been thinking about not coming back.

Steve had always complained to Robin about how much he hated the way his mom had decorated. He felt like he couldn’t really live in the house, like his parents would be upset if they’d found even the tiniest speck of dust or dirt. He loved the idea of being able to start over and make the house his own finally, it wasn’t like his parents ever even lived here in the first place. The only problem was he didn’t have the money for all new furniture, he had some money he had set aside to move out which he wouldn’t be needing anymore. Maybe he could sell all the furniture on facebook marketplace and use that to start over. That could be enough, it wasn’t like he would need to do every room in the house right now anyways.

Immediately Steve was thinking about all the things he could do before getting new furniture. Thought of all the things they had left behind, all the miserable family photos on the walls. The only problem was he had no way of bagging these things or boxes to put them in. He was already in need of a trip to the grocery store, might as well go now and get an idea of the damage around town while he was out.

Thankfully there hadn’t been much damage that he noticed on the way, glad to see Melvald’s looking unharmed. His mind was still on the house as he turned his half full cart down the cereal aisle, stopping in his tracks when he noticed a familiar figure standing in the aisle. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d seen or talked to Eddie last, assuming he’d been busy with work. The timing hadn’t been the best, he’d finally worked up the courage to do something about the feelings he had for Eddie. Robin had been pushing him for a month to just do it already but when he’d finally given in was when Eddie had stopped answering his texts as much. They still texted a little but Steve had been wanting to talk to him in person.

Deciding that he’d rather take the chance now, even in the middle of a grocery store, than go another several weeks without another opportunity. He started walking forward again when Eddie turned enough to see his face. He looked absolutely exhausted, maybe he’d started working more? As much as he had wanted to, Steve realized that now probably wasn’t time to tell Eddie. He could at least catch up with him and maybe find out what had him so exhausted. He’d already waited weeks, what was a few more for someone like Eddie?

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steddie dads #steddie fan fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

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billie-venus-wrote-a-book · 3 months ago

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Has Anyone Heard of Elmsbury-Gallows?

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Elmsbury-Gallows Short Story

[this series can be read in any order]

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Posted to a paranormal experiences forum on 4th August, 2019

I live in England in the rural West Midlands, someplace between Tamworth and Burton but I won’t get into too many details since I’m not a fan of doxxing myself; I will say though, that Tamworth is closer to where I am but Burton is where I go for work and it’s about an hour and a half drive there from where I live. However, the lengths of the journeys back home really vary since I really enjoy the longer drives down rural backroads through the countryside, especially in the winter as nighttime drives are my favourite. It’s just something about the curling of the road only visible a few feet ahead of the car, as if the map is just rendering in as you move along it.

I’ve taken a different route home nearly every journey back out of Burton, but I’ve been working there for nearing on seven years now so I have pretty much all of them committed to memory, regardless of season, and I’ve only ever gotten lost out there twice: once being the first time I ever tried to take a detour home, and the second time in January of 2015 on my way back from an evening shift.

I wasn’t the last to pack up that night, but the rush hour traffic out of Burton made it so I actually left the town around 7:30pm, still with an hour and a half before I even got remotely close to home. I remember driving away and watching in my peripheral as the lights reflected in my rear-view mirror gradually became more distant, dying down and fizzling out as I turned into a new-build estate that I often cut through to get onto a B-road that led through the countryside back towards my hometown. The housing estate was very pristine and new, built a year prior to this event, I think, and I once got lost in there trying to cut through since every junction, semi-detached red-brick nightmare, and cul-de-sac looked so similar. The light in each window was a pale yellow, beaming down onto the pavement below though never reaching the road; it made me feel safe and hidden there in the dark, despite my headlights on low-beam; the only other lights in the neighbourhood were the small modernist patio lamps out front of the houses, but as soon as I turned onto the B-road home, the winter evening swallowed the light behind me, leaving me floating through that darkness only really found deep into the rural countryside.

I drive a 1989 Toyota Camry, so on nights like those I tended to listen to my old cassette tapes- I collect them, and have dabbled in making one or two janky mixtapes. I remember what I listened to that night: it was the album Squeeze by The Velvet Underground. With the stereo on, I continued my drive as usual, flicking my full beam headlights on and off as the rare other driver came round the camber on the other side of the road. In between these sparse encounters, it was only me and the road unfolding in front of me listening to the hazy sound of 60’s rock.

This was my first drive back home from work after coming back after Christmas, so the route must not have been as fresh in my mind as I thought it would be, and I only realised that I missed my turning as I drove into a town that I didn’t recognise. I would describe it best as ‘sleepy’, though sleeping as though it were having an uncomfortable nightmare. As my tyres crunched on the road, they made an almost hollow rumbling, as if the whole place were built on a concave housing something curled up underneath it. The town was entirely overrun by fog: thick, impermeable fog that flowed and meandered like water over the pavements and through the cracks under doors. It was a little run-down, but looked like it had once been quite quaint.

I pulled up on the side of the road, switching on my phone to check Google Maps for a route out of here, only to find that I had no signal. I decided it was no matter, though, as I’m pretty adept at navigation, and it wouldn’t be difficult to just turn around and retrace my steps until I came back across the turning I missed.

So, I did. I reversed, and drove back down what I thought was the road I had just driven along, back onto the B-road and finding the turning and making it. I tried very hard not to focus on how little I recognised this road and just continue driving. A few minutes later, I arrived back in the town I had just left from.

This, obviously, confused me- I hadn’t been too clued in on which road I was driving down, but I was damn sure that I hadn’t just driven in a circle. I crawled my way through the town looking for any road signs, until I came across a small Tudor pub called The King Henry. I decided to park up and go inside, set on getting directions out of here and back towards my hometown. By this time, I think it was nearing on 9pm.

I entered the tiny pub and made my way towards the bar. There was a kid manning it, they looked around 16, with a mess of bright ginger hair, painted black fingernails and a black t-shirt with some manga cover on it, I think? I don’t know, I’m not really into all that kind of stuff. I asked if I could talk to their boss, to which they craned their head over their shoulder and yelled: “Muuuuuum!” into the back room. They gave a thumbs up before a shorter woman, also with bright ginger hair, made her way over to me. She asked what she could help me with and I told her I needed directions back towards Tamworth- I figured she was more likely to know how to get there rather than directly back to my home. I figured I’d get to Tamworth and just take the main roads home. The woman told me I was in a town called Elmsbury-Gallows, and that my best bet at getting out towards Tamworth would be to go southward on Main Street onto Elmsbury Way, then head towards Deerfolk Way before veering off right onto Eastford Road. This, I was told, would lead me out of town- I’d then continue forwards until I hit a roundabout and take the third exit towards Tamworth. I asked her for a pen and sticky note so I could jot down the directions and stick them to my steering wheel so I wouldn’t forget.

When she vanished off into the back room, a tall man came up and sat next to me at the bar. He greeted me warmly, as if we knew each other, then gave me a wide grin, though his glasses had magnified his black eyes so largely that I couldn’t make out any smile creases next to them in order to tell if he was being genuine or not. He shook my hand when I introduced myself, telling me his name was: “Reverend James Fairfax, but you can call me ‘Jim’, everyone does.” When he asked why I was in Elmsbury- clearly sensing an outsider- I hesitated, a nagging feeling at the back of my head warning me not to tell him I’d gotten lost. I ended up telling him I was just passing through, though my lie was quickly revealed when the owner returned from the back room with my sticky note with directions on it. She said hi to Jim, who gave me a look of something close to triumph? Like he knew all along that I had lied to him. I quickly got up and headed out, back to my car.

When I reached it, there was a man leaning against it, chain smoking. He was short, dark haired, and flinched when I gently tapped his shoulder and asked him to get off my car. He was clearly very drunk as he had been leaning all of his weight onto one hand propping him up on my bonnet, which had left a handprint seared into the frost. I watched him stumble away to lean against a brown VW Beetle as I got back into my own vehicle, sticking my directions to the steering wheel and muttering them to myself before setting off. I started my car and drove off towards Elmsbury Way.

***

The fog was so unbearably thick that I had to lean forward in the driver’s seat and squint at the road to see better. It had been about fifteen minutes, and I think I got onto Deerfolk Way when my car stalled; stopping with a splutter in the middle of the road, headlights flickering off and my cassette tape ejecting from the stereo and into the passenger seat. I sat for a moment, listening to the deathly silence of the night, no longer assisted by the streetlamps of the town since I’d driven a little way out now. I cursed loudly, and am ashamed to say I threw a little tantrum in my car and cried quite pathetically. It felt it was unfair that this was happening, although there was precious little I could do to change things. I didn’t want to open my door and get out and risk letting the heat escape from my car into the cold January night, so I checked my phone to see if I had signal enough to call for help: very much not to my surprise, it was a dead zone. I cried again.

I had stopped on a small gravel road between a sprawling crop field and the outskirts of the forest that surrounded Elmsbury-Gallows- neither of which looked all too welcoming, and I seriously didn’t like the option of a probable 30-45 minute walk all the way back into town. There did look to be a small farm up on the hill past the crop field, however none of the windows had any light in them, and since it was now human contact I was looking for, it didn’t strike me as being very promising. Honestly, at this point I was more so looking for a bed to sleep in for the night. I think now is a good time to mention that I’m a man of about 6’5 and 300lbs, so sleeping horizontally in the backseat of my car wasn’t looking too appealing to me if I wanted to keep the blood flow in my arms and legs.

I was just about to brave the walk back into town when a small trickle of smoke caught my eye, rising above the treeline. A forest fire? Borderline impossible in the UK in January. Campers then, maybe. Also, borderline impossible in the UK in January. Someone must live out there. From where I was, the smoke didn’t look that far out, and I resolved that my best bet was to walk towards what I had decided was my saviour in the forest and ask if they had a spare room. This sounded like a flawless plan to a brain running on a 6am start, four coffees, and a pot noodle from lunchtime. As I picked up my things and zipped up my coat against the burningly cold outside, I reassured myself that I was physically imposing enough to scare off anything that wished me harm: we don’t really get nighttime predators like wolves or bears in the UK anyway- I think the biggest wild animal I’d ever seen up until that point had been a fox. Regardless, I picked up a big stick as I walked into the forest: nobody’s gonna mess with a 300lb giant wielding a tree branch. I checked the time: 10:43pm.

Basically, as soon as the road disappeared behind me, the little cabin came into view. It sat squat in a clearing, camouflaged against the forest save for the tiny orange rims of the windows which I guessed was the light of the fire inside being absorbed into the tightly-drawn blinds. Smoke trailed up from the chimney, and under the awning on the wooden deck I could see an axe sticking out of a chopping block, bits of splinters and kindling littered around it. The place smelled very strongly of pine- I guessed because it was a pine forest, but it was overpoweringly strong here. I breathed a small sigh of relief, happy that the cabin was closer to the road than I thought and a little impressed with myself for taking this risk and having it pay off.

I knocked on the door and tossed aside my big stick, now wanting to appear as non-threatening as I could in order to maximise my chances of being allowed to stay. I was expecting an old, lumberjack-type to answer the door, or maybe a little old lady, but the woman who made eye contact with me through the gap of the open door looked no older than 35. The chain latch was pulled taught, a line just under her singularly visible wide hazel eye, and she asked me what I wanted in a low voice. I explained to her my situation, trying my best not to come across like some kind of serial killer, and after a moments hesitation she undid the latch and let me in, saying that she had a spare room her family used sometimes when they came to visit her. Before closing the door behind me, she poked her head out onto the porch, looking from left to right very quickly, as if she were checking for something. The warmth of the cabin pressed in on me, and I awkwardly took off my coat and hung it on a deer ivory hat stand.

The cabin was homely and a lot more modernized than I initially thought it would be. There was a large, hand-crocheted rug on the floor of the living room, along with matching handmade blankets and pillow-covers. The fire glowed a sultry amber in its hearth, and I briefly noted the presence of a hunting rifle mounted on the wall above the mantlepiece, looming over the framed family photos and bric-a-brac. My host was a short- though most people are short to me- pale woman wearing a cable-knit blue sweater and baggy grey joggers tucked into Ugg boots. She had short-cropped curly blonde hair and a sour expression; when we made eye contact again, she slid her chipped, bitten fingernails back up into her sleeves. I thought she looked a little nervous of me, so I introduced myself and tried to think of a way of saying “I’m not a rapist, I promise!” without sounding like I was in fact a rapist. I’m not, and I wasn’t- just to clarify.

She told me her name was Imogen, and followed that up by offering me some hot chocolate. I sheepishly asked if she had any food I could eat as well, only now realizing just how starving I was. She told me to help myself to what she had in her fridge. I opened it, craving a bacon or sausage sandwich: something substantial, but was disappointed to find that there were no meat products whatsoever. At the time, I assumed she was vegetarian. I poured myself a bowl of cornflakes, thanking her through a mouthful of them for the hot chocolate she’d made me. Something about watching a grown man scoff down cereal and cocoa like it was his first meal in months as he profusely thanked her for letting him stay seemed to indicate to Imogen that I wasn’t so much of a threat after all.

We chatted for a bit, I can’t really remember what about, but at some point I must have asked her why she lived out here in the forest- politely, of course, I actually used to like the idea of a little secluded cabin in the woods. Used to. She told me that she loved nature, and that she had a friend who wanted to be a conservationist that she was meant to go to uni to study biology with back in the 90’s. They had both worked in the National Park which apparently the town had, though she told me that it had been closed down a number of years ago. I asked why it had closed and she hesitated, staring off a little past my shoulder for a moment before telling me that her friend went missing one evening in the park. They never found her.

There was a moment then, and a ghostly whistle of wintery wind hit the cabin. Wanting to change the subject, but not really knowing how, I pretended to shiver and asked if it ever got scary out here alone in the woods. She raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking back towards the hunting rifle on the wall, which caused me to quickly clarify that I only meant to ask if she had any ghost stories. Look, I was in a strange town in a little log cabin in the woods- why wouldn’t I want to hear a ghost story?

Imogen told me then, a little up-front, that so long as The Moonsilver Hunter didn’t find us, we’d be safe. Initially, I thought she was joking- given the context, I assumed she was just referencing a local legend that I wasn’t privy to as an outsider- so I chuckled and asked her who The Moonsilver Hunter was. She stared at me, deadpan, then repeated a tale in the cadence of an old children’s story.

“The Moonsilver Hunter,” she told me, “Is an old fairytale- a local one, anyway. My dad used to tell it to me to scare me to sleep. I think they even once told it to us in primary school after a kid went missing in the forest; it’s actually a pretty famous case, made National News, you’d recognise it if you saw it- the kid went missing on a Cub’s hike in the forest, no trace of him was ever found except three milk teeth showing up in a dog’s vomit weeks later?”

I actually had heard about this, and told Imogen that. She said she thought I would have, then continued, “well, The Moonsilver Hunter is pretty well-known around here, ask any 80’s or 90’s kid and they’ll be able to tell it all by memory,” she shook her head, realising she was getting a little side-tracked, “anyway, the story goes that The Moonsilver Hunter was originally a young man who lived out in these woods with his father in the early 1900’s, though some people say it was the late 1800’s- hell, I’ve even heard someone say once that it was in the English Civil War period but, whatever—” she redirected herself, “—he lived out here with his ailing father. A senile man who he cared for alone out here in a little cabin as they had both been shunned from the town. Together out in the forest, they began to develop a sort of folie-a-deux- this shared madness that would feed one another’s delusions which all started when the young man’s father began talking about a ‘moon-silver wolf whose hide is strong as armour, and whose blood is pure and holy as an Angel’s’.”

She smiled to herself, “I will always remember that part—anyway, the man’s father would talk on and on about this wolf, saying how in his younger years he really wanted to capture it as a trophy: to wear its hide and drink its blood in the hopes of achieving a sort of immortality. As the cabin fever began to eat away at the young man’s mind, he started to think about going out and capturing this wolf: rationalising that he could use its hide to protect himself from attacks from townsfolk, and its blood to heal his father’s ailments and slowly deteriorating mind. This madness grew into a righteous conviction, and one winter’s night, he packed his rifle and net and ventured out to track and trap the beast.”

“So, he wandered out deep into the forest until the early hours of the morning when a little off into a glade, he saw the shining hide of the moon-silver wolf. Taking his chance, he aimed and shot, hitting the wolf in its side and knocking it to the ground- he ran up to it, elated that he had actually managed to get the thing, and aimed to slit its throat to bottle its blood before carrying it back home to skin. So, he cut, and as the blood pooled in the bottom of the little glass bottle a scent wafted up from the wolf: a scent like red wine, honey, and ambrosia- like a warm-baked cake or sweet, honey-roasted ham. The blood was said to be angelic, after all, and the smell alone was enough to convince the young man that this was fact. Not only could this blood heal his father, but couldn’t it also give him immortality? There was certainly enough to go around.”

“Overcome, he put his mouth to the wound he had opened and began to drink. After drinking his fill, he tried to pull away, only to find that his tongue seemed to be stuck to the wound like it was an icy pole, and with each pull a new part of him stuck, until his head had entirely fused with the wolf’s, tearing it from its body and attaching itself to his neck. Now with the head of the moon-silver wolf, the man was overcome with an animalistic, primal bloodlust, and to this day he stalks the woods at night, hunting rifle on his back, empty bottles strapped to his waist, seeking to track down and drain the blood of anything awake after sundown.”

I sat for a moment, stunned, asking if she still believed the story. I felt a little pang of fear as she emphatically nodded her head ‘yes’.

“He was what took Sydney. He made her missing.”

She followed that pretty harrowing statement up by telling me that The Moonsilver Hunter was drawn to the smell of meat, and to the sight of light, and that the real reason she was out here was to finally catch him and kill him for taking her friend.

I was regretting not taking that 45 minute cold walk back into town, now fairly certain that The King Henry had a sign outside that said it rented some rooms upstairs. Imogen was clearly not too well, and I didn’t want to make any wrong moves that could make her lash out at me in fear. I was pretty confident that I could overpower her on my own, if worse came to worst, but I probably couldn’t overpower a bullet.

I made some obvious excuse to go and eat the rest of my cereal in my room, and though I could tell she saw through my bullshit she let me go anyway. I walked into my room, repeating to myself over and over in my head that this was just for one night. In the morning, I could get her to drive me out into town or call for help on her landline.

My little room for the night was cozy, and I remember being impressed that the bed frame and chest-of-drawers looked to be handmade from pine wood. The prospect that Imogen had maybe hand-crafted most, if not all, of the furniture in her house- and possibly even the house itself- overshadowed her concerning neurosis and I truly felt like a guest in that moment. I had my own little en-suite: I tried turning on the shower, but it didn’t work, so I resorted to just to washing my face in the sink and using the mouthwash I prayed wasn’t that expired from the little cupboard above it. When retrieving it, I tried not to make too long of eye contact with the empty prescription pill bottles filed inside the cabinet- at least Imogen seemed to be taking her meds, or have been taking them. I sank down into bed, checking the time on my phone: 12:03am. I prayed that the night would pass quickly so I could just get home.

***

I think it was around 4am when I woke up needing water. I was annoyed: I had been hoping that I could get this all over with fast, so I decided to just grab the water before I could procrastinate doing it and get back to sleep as soon as possible. I stood up, and realized that I probably didn’t want to accidentally bump into Imogen wearing just my boxers; I really couldn’t be bothered to put my work uniform back on just to grab some water, so I threw on the bathrobe that I saw hanging in the bathroom and decided that would simply do.

I shuffled into the open kitchen, flicking on and off the lights until I found the switch for the ones that just illuminated the countertops. The sound of the water filling my glass was so loud against the silence of the night that I nearly missed the whistling coming from outside. It was a sharp, commanding whistle, like a hunter calling for his dogs. I froze, trying to convince myself that I was just sleep deprived and Imogen’s story had got to me subconsciously until I heard it again. And it was closer. And it was calling out to me.

I looked up, and against the blackout blinds, the silhouette of a wolf’s head peered in. I had to cover my mouth to stifle a yell- my first thought was that it was somehow Imogen trying to scare me: that she had told me that ghost story to rile me up and was now fucking around outside in a costume to really hammer the prank home.

It wasn’t funny. I damn near shit myself.

The shape on the blackout blinds was still, unmoving, though I could see the shadow of plumes of hot breath slowly drifting up from it as if the thing were panting. It was leering at me through the blinds, and we both stood in this strange acknowledgement of each other, silently. It lifted a thin hand, putting it to its lips as it shushed me. I know it shushed me because I heard it. A single, loud, rushing shushing noise, piercing through the cabin. I stood there, stunned into silence, as it turned and walked round the side of the cabin, my eyes following its silhouette against the blackout blinds, once catching its eye through a gap between the blind and the window as it circled round the front of the house. It’s eye was round and tiny and humanoid- like taxidermy. I had to wait for a few minutes before I felt like I could move. Before I was sure that it had gone.

I lay awake until I saw daylight peeking round through the edges of the blinds in my room- only then my mind felt it was safe enough to sleep.

***

In the morning, Imogen told me she had called into town. Apparently, a local who lived up on Johnson’s Farm (the farm up on the hill near where I broke down) had called the local police about my car since it appeared to have been abandoned. I got home alright, albeit a little unsettled- someone actually whistled at me to get my attention as I zoned out at a green light, and it made me jump. I hope Imogen is okay- I still get a little worried about her alone out there in the woods as she’s clearly not well mentally. I’m trying to pretend that fear stems solely from a place of rationality like that.

It's been years but this occurrence still sticks with me- I think I may have even spoken to my therapist at the time about it, since I was scared it could have been a hallucination of some kind, but it was a one-off as far as I’m concerned. I haven’t had any visual hallucinations since then. It actually wasn't until recently that I looked to see if I could find a route to Elmsbury-Gallows, mainly to check up on Imogen again. Every road map, local library, local encyclopedia, anything I tried to look into to find the town came up with nothing. As far as everyone else is concerned, Elmsbury-Gallows does not exist.

#here have the short story #reddit mods keep taking my post down bc of long paragraphs im gonna punch something #anywaysss:3 #horror #horror writing #internet horror #original story #short horror story #creepypasta #original horror story #r/nosleep #nosleep #ARG

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