#getting two hours of sleep a night every night for like 3 straight years really fucks you up huh

[amyispxnk]

Mi Niña Hermosa

Masterlist

Summary - Javier gets you pregnant, but then he gets scared, leaving you to raise your little girl all alone. One day, he sees you working at a brothel to try and make ends meet, and realises what he needs to do.

A/N: for this ask! i hope you like it pookie<3 also please excuse any bad spanish! i tried my best with it but it might not be 100% accurate.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mentions of sex work and sex, violence, language, pregnancy/children, arguing, brief suicidal ideation, hurt+comfort, angst, men being men

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“Shh, shh, Carmen, mi amor. Está bien,” you plead with your baby daughter. She’s been up for the past hour because of yet another explosion a few blocks away. You think it was a car bomb this time, but does it really matter? All you know for sure is that Carmen is not going to let you sleep through the night because of it.

She’s almost 12 months old now, which means it's been almost 2 years since you last saw Javi. You hate yourself for it, but sometimes you look at your little girl and feel bitter. It’s not her fault, but she was the reason that Javi finally said goodbye to you.

You both knew it was a long time coming, but when you showed him a positive pregnancy test that night, you yelled at each other until your throats were raw and all your tears had been cried, before he slammed the door in your face and left you there. It was the final time you saw him.

Because of Carmen’s deadbeat father, you ended up in a brothel. It was one of the hardest decisions of your life, but you knew you had to do it for her.

“¡Muy bien chicas, salgan y ganen algo de dinero!” You want to jump out of this building, is your first thought. Crash all the way to the floor and forfeit this terrible life you’ve been ‘blessed with’. But you can’t. So you hold your head high, plaster on a smile, and walk out into the lobby of the brothel.

Your smile drops when you see him.

Of all the fucking brothels to go to, he chooses this one? The one you just so happened to start working at a week prior? That tenth-storey window looks even more tempting right now, especially when he locks eyes with you.

He’s with a man, blonde hair, blue eyes. You think that man’s name is Steve Murphy. Yes, you’ve seen them on the news. Who the fuck hasn’t? It just makes you even more frustrated. He left you and Carmen behind so that he could hunt down Pablo Escobar. He abandoned the two of you for fame.

Javi’s eyes dart back and forth between you and Steve, before he starts making his way towards you.

Hell to the fucking no. You turn on your heel and almost drag a man you noticed was ogling you for the past 5 minutes into one of the rooms, letting the curtains close behind you, separating you from Javi.

The time you share with that man is no different than any of the other men you’ve been with, all uncomfortable and gross for you, mind-blowingly good for him.

Sometimes you still think of Javi when you feel a man on top of you. He was the best you had, after all.

Outside, Javi curses loudly, drawing the eye of a few people and his partner.

“What the fuck was that, Javi? We’re here to question the girl, not chase after this random. Your dry spell that bad?” Steve laughs, clapping him on the back. Javi quickly shrugs him off, jaw clenched and gaze hollow.

“I know her.” He mutters. Yes, he knows you. He knows every part of you. Your smile, which he only saw on a rare occasion. Your eyes, which could always pierce him, see straight through his soul and see the worst parts of him. Your body, which you now sell because of him.

Steve is still yapping on about something or other whilst the storm inside of Javi swirls, growing and growing. You’re behind that curtain, selling your body. He knows why you’re doing it too, and it makes him feel even worse. He feels like he’s about to pass out as it all hits him at once.

What a piece of shit he’s been.

You don’t deserve this life. You deserve to be happy, supported and protected by someone, anyone who can help you. Not Javi though. He’s not fit to be a father. After what he’s seen, what he’s done, he could never care for something as precious as your baby.

But he knows what men are like. Knows that, somehow, he’s one of the better men in this country. It’s not a high bar to pass, this he knows too, but he figures that it must be why you have to work here to provide for yourself and his child. Fuck. He doesn’t even know the gender, the name. He wasn’t there for you at all, and he should have been.

It feels like there’s no going back though. How could he ever apologise enough or make it up to you? What he’s done is irreversible. Just from the way you reacted when you saw him now, it feels like it’ll be impossible to try to apologise to you.

He thinks of his father, his mother. How disappointed would they be? They probably already were, but with this? Abandoning a girl with a child he gave her?

They would surely disown him.

He feels like he’s been ungrateful too. After being raised by two loving and caring parents, how could he leave his own child without one? And with a life like this?

He runs a hand down his face, telling Steve to shut up. A loud shout from the man behind the curtain, surely finishing without giving you a moment of pleasure. He knows what you sound like when the sex is good. You barely made a peep in these past 5 minutes.

The man walks out, commenting on ‘how good that slut was’ as he walks past Javi and Steve, and it takes everything in him not to punch him square in the face there and then.

“I need to talk to her, Steve. 5 minutes.” Javi decides suddenly. He can’t let this go on.

“You better not be fucking on the job, Javi.”

He grunts in response, entering the room and letting the curtains slide closed behind him.

The entire world goes still, silent just for the two of you. Almost 2 years have gone by, and this is how you meet. The shame almost swallows him whole.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, before you can even register what’s happening, because he knows you’ll be ready to kick and scream to get him away from you when you do.

Unsurprisingly, your eyes well with tears, and your face twists into one of disgust.

“Why the fuck are you here.” You spit, holding your robe tighter around yourself.

“We were here for a job, and-”

“Do you think I actually care? You fucked off two years ago, I don’t want to see you back here now. Whatever it is you want, I don’t care.” You interrupt. Yes, this was going to be as difficult as he thought.

“Baby, please just-”

“Don’t fucking call me that! You don’t get to call me that!” You shout. He’s on borrowed time before somebody comes and escorts him out of here.

“Just listen to me, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pleads, desperate for you to listen. He doesn’t know how to get his message across to you.

Your tears burst forth, fat droplets cascading down your skin as you turn away from him.

“Go away, Javier. I don’t want to see your face ever again. I see it in her everyday and it already haunts me enough.”

His baby is a girl.

“I’m here to talk about her. I… I want to help. I’m so sorry for leaving. I got scared. I thought- I wasn’t ready to take care of something as precious as a baby… I thought you would get hurt if it was discovered that a DEA agent like myself had a child.”

“Yeah. Agente de la DEA, Javier fucking Peña,” you scoff, “who abandoned his child in pursuit of fame. To catch a bad guy. Some fucking hero you think you are.”

He can’t get angry with you. He won’t. However wrong you are about what you just said. He won’t do it.

“I don’t want fame.” He grits out. How much of an asshole is he that you thought he would leave you for fame? “I’m trying to help this country. It was dangerous enough for me to see you regularly, you know this. If I was seen with a woman and a child, they wouldn’t waste a second trying to kill you both. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I care about you. Please understand, baby.” He begs you again, hand carefully reaching for your shoulder and turning you to face him. You’re still sniffling, silent tears falling down your cheeks as you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Mírame.” He whispers, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up so he can see your eyes.

“Please, I’m sorry.” He says. He’ll say it thousands, millions of times, it still won’t be enough, but he can see that you’re starting to understand.

“It’s been 2 years. I had to be pregnant and raise her all by myself. Not once did you check on me.”

“I was scared. I was being a coward, I know. I… I won’t be surprised if you tell me to leave again, but let me help pay for her. I don’t want you working here. It’s dangerous.” He murmurs, eyes shining with emotion as he looks into yours.

You shake your head, and he gets ready to argue about it, but you pull him closer, squeezing the air out of him and shaking with sobs again.

“I’ve needed you for so long. I- I don’t know how I managed this long. I need you, Javi.” You choke out, his heart shattering with every word until it’s laid out on the floor for you.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” He soothes, running his hand through your hair.

Over the next month, he helps you leave the brothel, gives you some money to get on your feet. You still live apart, despite his protests that you’d be safer living with him, you’re not ready yet.

Today you figure will be the decider of that. He’s going to meet Carmen.

You rub your eyes as the morning sun hits you, rousing you from your sleep. The clock reads 9:37. Just over 20 minutes until your daughter finally meets her father.

The 20 minutes are spent waking and feeding her, before a knock on the door stops you.

You exhale shakily and walk to the door, opening it slowly.

“Hola, Javi.” You say softly. He greets you, equally timid. You notice he’s holding a little teddy bear in his hands, almost making you laugh at how it looks being held by this big brooding man, but you just shake your head.

“Come and meet her.” You murmur, opening the door further so he can step inside.

There, messing around on your bed, is the most beautiful little girl he’s ever seen. He can definitely see his features on her face. The lips, the eyes. She got your nose, thankfully he thinks, and her hair is a unique blend of yours and Javi’s.

“She’s so beautiful.” He whispers, and you just nod, still unsure of your feelings for him right now.

“Carmen, baby, say hello.” You coo, picking her up and bringing her over to Javi. He’s quiet, scared, as always. But then she babbles at him, clapping her hands together and trying to reach for him. The teddy. He almost forgot about it.

“Hola pequeña, soy tu papá. ¿Quieres el peluche?” He says softly, waving it around a bit before handing it to her and letting her play. You and Javi talk for a bit while she sits on the bed, but then something happens. She gets tired, which is normal around 2pm, but instead of crawling to you, she goes to Javi. Carmen wraps her little fingers around one of his larger ones, curling up in his lap. The two of you still, and it shocks you to see tears appearing in his eyes as he strokes her hair, letting her sleep on him.

You decide to move in with him that night, realising that you don’t want him to be away from you and Carmen ever again.

TYSM for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! 💞

[seokgyuu]

your boyfriend has been telling you he wants to bring someone else into the bedroom for a while. the thought only started to sound good when a certain boyfriend's best friend posts gym pictures on insta.

pairing: sung hanbin x fem!reader x seok matthew

genre: established relationship (hanbin x fem!reader) , smut MDNI!

smut warnings: cuckold, thigh riding, blowjobs, penetrative sex, dirty talk, usage of the words "princess", "baby", unprotected sex, creampie

wordcount: 4.4k

a/n: happy happy birthday @cheolism!!!!! see, i told you i would whip something up!! you probably didn't believe me, did you? ha! got you there. anyway. happiest birthday, my dear! i hope you enjoy this little piece of filth i made in your honour. one turns 22 only once you know!! in german we say: Schnappszahl! i love you loads, babes, have a wonderful day <3 (ps. it's been your birthday in germany for one hour already so theoretically i am not posting early!!)

“When did Matthew start working out like this?” 

You’re laying on your stomach on Hanbin’s bed, biting down on your thumbnail. 

“Like… a month ago? He’s been going to the gym forever, but only recently going every day.”

You nod. Yeah, he definitely looks like he hits the gym every day. Gosh, you still remember him as a small (he’s still relatively small), lanky pre-teen with braces and glasses that were too big for his face. None of that is left. Glasses are ditched unless he’s at home playing video games for no one to see. Braces have been gone a long time, leaving him with two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. And last but not least the lankiness has turned into buffness you couldn’t stop staring at on your phone.

“Why do you ask?” Hanbin now rolls over with his chair, eyebrows raised as he looks at your phone screen. You’re not quick enough to move, leading Hanbin to snicker as he places his legs on top of his bed, arms crossed.

“I can explain,” you say now, sitting up, but your boyfriend just grins at you.

“Can you now, princess?” He tilts his head and you bite your lip, suddenly forgetting all the explanations you could possibly come up with. You know your boyfriend - he isn’t the jealous type. If anything… he is the opposite. How many nights had he whispered into your ear that he would love to watch you get fucked by someone else, how he got hard just imagining you on someone else’s cock. All you had done when he said that was turn bright red and let him fuck you senseless after - with his own cock, not anyone else’s. 

And now, here you are. Looking at pictures of his best friend (really? out of everyone it had to be Hanbin’s best fucking friend?!) with Hanbin’s eyes sparkling mischievously. It’s obvious what he’s thinking. You clear your throat.

“I don’t- I don’t think you want him to get involved, do you?” You ask carefully and Hanbin leans forward now, smiling.

“Why not? Because he’s been my best friend for years?” He wants to know. When you nod, Hanbin climbs onto the bed, catching you off guard when he wraps his arms around you and brings his lips to your forehead, kissing it softly before looking down at you with yet another one of his beautiful smiles.

“I don’t think there is anyone I’d rather see you getting fucked by, my love.” He says it in such a soft and innocent tone, you can’t help but laugh, burying your head in his chest.

“You’re horrible,” you mumble and Hanbin laughs, bringing one of his hands to the back of your head, patting it lovingly. 

“I love you, you know that right? And if you’re really interested in Matt… I am sure I could arrange something.”

The thing is: you say no. Because why would you want to sleep with someone else when you have your perfect boyfriend right there? Your perfect boyfriend that has always cared more about your pleasure than his? That has made you cum more times than you can count? That perfect boyfriend that has never once let you down. 

You’re in the cafeteria with your bottle of water and a tray full of food but you can’t eat. Your leg is bouncing up and down and your eyes are focused on one of the trash cans at the far end of the room. Not because they are particularly interesting, but because Matthew sat down just a few tables further from you in nothing but a flimsy muscle shirt and ripped jeans and you really, really can’t look at him. So, the trash can it is. 

“Did you see a ghost?” Hao is suddenly next to you, making you flinch and almost knock over the bottle of water.

“Jesus Christ, Hao, next time whistle or something,” you say, frowning at your friend who just shrugs and instead begins eating his food. 

“You didn’t answer my question. Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? Is the cafeteria poltergeist back?” 

“What? No. No, I am fine. Totally fine. No ghosts.” You clear your throat and catch yourself sneaking a glance at Matthew after all, regretting it immediately. Because why is he flexing right then and there, laughing his cute laugh after when Gyuvin throws a napkin at him. This is torture. 

“Ah, right. Matthew,” Hao nods and your head swirls around, eyes wide. 

“Matthew, what?” You ask even though you already know. God fucking dammit Sung Hanbin! 

“Bin told me,” Hao confirms and you roll your eyes with a groan, “even though I was kind of offended you didn’t want me to be the first to join you two in the bedroom, Y/N.”

“If I were to ever let that happen I’d be single and you and Hanbin happily married with seven children in no time,” you mumble and Hao chuckles, shaking his head and pulling a hand through his hair.

“At least you’re aware I’m actually his favorite,” he hums at you and the desire to copy Gyuvin and throw a napkin at your friend is extremely tempting. 

“Whatever.” You try to focus back on your food, but your stomach is rumbling and your brain is somewhere totally different, meaning hunger was the last thing on your mind - at least hunger for actual food. 

Hao snickers and watches you, a piece of meat landing on his tongue.

“I think you should do it, Y/N. Hanbin has been dreaming of this moment. Honestly, no idea what he finds so appealing about watching his girlfriend getting fucked by another man, but believe me, you’d make him the happiest man on this earth if you were to bring Matthew into your bedroom.”

The words do more than either of you probably thought. They continue to linger in your mind even hours after Hao had said them, you now being in your dorm with your pen stuck between your teeth, eyes unfocused on the words you’ve been trying to read.

Bring Matthew into your bedroom. Have him be a part of your sex life with Hanbin. Make Hanbin the happiest man on this earth. 

It’s official: You’d be lying if you said the whole thing didn’t turn you on. Imagining Hanbin sitting on the little armchair in his apartment with his cock in his hands as you sat on Matthews stiff length, his strong arms wrapped around you as he thrusted up into your needy pussy…

The pen falls down and you are back in reality, flinching and shaking your head. This is crazy. You couldn’t possibly… a groan escapes you and you let your head fall on top of your desk, slamming your forehead against it a few times, before sitting back up and leaning against your chair, letting your thoughts roam free. Hanbin had literally asked you about this several times. He wanted to bring someone else into the bedroom and he even said that he wouldn’t mind it being Matthew. So, what was stopping you? 

“Fucking hell,” you curse as you pull both hands through your hair and get up, opening the door of your room to walk into the living space, where you are met with none other than Hanbin walking in… Matthew right behind him. You freeze mid step. 

“Hi, I called you, but you didn’t pick up, I hope it’s okay I brought Matt over, we were at the gym and the showers are broken and, well, your apartment is closer.” 

Yes, you can clearly see where those two have been. They are sweaty, hair slightly wet, muscle shirts clinging onto their chests. The tattoo on Matthew’s biceps pops out deliciously when he raises his arm to wave at you. Your eyes wander to your boyfriend, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“That’s okay,” you croak out, looking back at Matthew and somehow you just cannot stop yourself from checking him out unapologetically. His defined arms, the defined chest, the sweatpants on his strong legs. Your tongue slips out of your mouth and runs over your dried up bottom lip and Matthew can’t help but stare at you, feeling his cheeks heat up at the way you’re looking at him. 

He remembers Hanbin’s words and feels his knees go weak.

“She definitely wants you to fuck her, Matt. She just needs a little… nudge.”

Never had he ever thought his best friend’s girlfriend would ever want him to… do that. He swallows down whatever lump has formed in his throat and looks at Hanbin, unsure. Hanbin, who now walks over to you, his hand softly grabbing your chin, moving your head to look at him.

“I think I should hit the shower first, be a good girl and show Matthew the rest of the apartment, hm?” He kisses your lips softly after that, well aware of what his words just caused. Your eyes flicker up to him, wide and unsure and when he winks at you, squeezing your hand as he slowly makes his way to the door leading into the bathroom, you know that all you can do now is follow your gut. 

There is a certain kind of silence between Matthew and you once the door shuts behind Hanbin, a silence filled with tension so thick it takes your breath away. You watch as Matthew slowly drops his bag onto the floor, his shoes vacant next to it. His legs carry him over to you and with every step he takes, your heart picks up speed while the heat between your legs begins to feel almost unbearable. His eyes say much more than words ever could and when he comes to a stop, he lets them linger on your lips long enough for you to almost lose your mind. 

“So, what’s behind this door?” He asks, nodding in the direction of the bedroom door. The heat is about to make you pass out.

“B-bedroom,” you stutter back. Matthew grins.

“Well, what did Hanbin hyung say? Be a good girl and show me.”

Oh. Oh. A Wave of desire washes over you as you nod, your hand shaking when you push the door open, following Matthew’s hand movement and walking inside, his body right behind yours. He doesn’t close the door behind him, instead he settles on walking through the room, looking around. You try to steady your breathing, failing miserably.

“It’s a nice bedroom,” he says, nodding to himself, “I like the pictures on your wall. Did you take them?” 

When you nod, he smiles at you, obviously impressed.

“You’ve got a good eye.” 

As much as you appreciate the compliment - you can’t really focus on anything else but the way he looks in the dim light coming through the window. His arms, his slowly heaving chest. Your eyes roam over his body and you feel hot all over, wondering what it would feel like to touch him, to feel his muscles tighten around you. 

He notices, of course he does. It’s not hard to miss - the way you eye him up and down, the way your eyes linger a little too long on his chest, his arms. He feels his blood rush down, feels his dick getting hard at the mere idea of you checking him out, wanting him. 

“Maybe,” you begin, not sure where the confidence to speak is coming from but you accept it with open arms, “maybe you should change out of your sweaty clothes.”

His eyebrows shoot up for just a second before they settle back down. He can’t stop the smug smile creeping on his lips, not taking his eyes off you when he starts moving. 

“Yeah? Hm, I think you might be right.” His voice is deep and dripping in cockyness that has your pussy clenching. To make matters worse, he comes to a stop in front of you and immediately moves his hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head the next second to reveal a perfectly sculpted torso - abs and chest and collarbones that make your fingers itch to touch them. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, stepping closer to him with your hands stretched out, hands that he now grabs with his, pulling you right into him. While he should smell bad, courtesy of working out, he doesn’t. He looks sweaty, he is sweaty, but he smells heavenly. His cologne mixed with his own scent, musky and sweet at the same time, it lingers in your nose, gets your knees weak and Matt has to wrap an arm around your waist to stop you from actually falling to your knees. The smug smile seems to get even more smug. His eyes are on yours and his arm around you seems to squeeze every ounce of self respect you have left right out of you.

“Careful, darling.” His voice is merely a whisper. His breath hits your face and you can’t stop the whimper escaping your lips now even if you tried. That does it for him. He forgets all about his worries and crashes his lips onto yours, free hand now cupping your cheek, meaning both of your hands were free to find their own place to settle on. 

First, you let your right hand feel up his biceps, a moan slipping between your lips when he flexes his arm underneath your grip. The other hand is on his chest, nails digging into his warm skin, causing him to hiss. His teeth sink into your bottom lip and you feel like you could come undone on the spot. 

Matthew deepens the kiss, tongue now inside your mouth, wet and hot and perfect and you let both arms wrap around his neck now, his strong arm carrying you over to the bed, where he puts you down, his body now on yours, one of his thighs slipping between yours - giving you the friction you so desperately needed. His lips move fast and rough and you feel like your whole body is on fire when you begin to move your core against his thick thigh, embarrassingly already feeling a climax approaching. 

“God, you’re so pretty,” his breathy voice against your ear gets you even closer to the edge. You bite down on your lip, arching your back against him and he begins to kiss your neck, kiss it, lick it, bite down on your sensitive skin, one hand now under your shirt, grabbing your braless tits and squeezing them hard. 

“Fuck, Matthew-,” you cry out, nails back to digging into his skin, this time his shoulders. Your hips move uncontrollably against his hard thigh, his tongue now wandering down and finally flicking against your nipple after shoving your top up far enough. Everything inside of you is burning by now. Your clothes feel too hot and you sit up for a second to get rid of your shirt, the wild look in Matthew’s eyes as he watches you is intoxicating. You are quick to wrap your arms around him again when your upper body is freed and he is quick to kiss you again, just as rough as before. 

In no time you feel your first orgasm rush over you, a series of whimpers and moans landing in his mouth, against his lips, down his throat as he swallows them.

“Yeah, baby, so pretty when you cum for me, fucking hell, I bet you’re so fucking wet.”

The orgasm is mindblowing. It’s hot and feels forbidden even though you know it’s not. You know Hanbin is probably standing under the stream of water having to restrict himself from touching his cock, from getting off to the thought of you and Matthew alone in your bedroom. There is no time for you to come down from your high, not with Matthew parting from you only to shove you further up the bed with your newest obsession in the form of his arms. Your mouth waters and your eyes widen when you see the clear outline of his arousal between his legs and you can’t stop yourself from sitting back up.

“Can I suck you off?” You ask him.

He groans and nods, pulling his sweatpants down, leaving almost nothing to imagination anymore. His gray briefs are tight around his cock, a cock you can’t wait to taste on your lips and feel its weight on your tongue. You get on all fours, looking up at him and seeing his eyebrow twitch, a smile on your lips when you finally reach him, fingers in the waistband of his underwear, dragging it down his legs next, his thick cock springing free and smacking against his stomach, leaving a small stain right there on his skin. Moving forward, you grab his cock and lick over his stomach, the stain gone in no time, Matthew’s eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out, one hand now on the back of your head, watching you as you begin to pump his cock with one hand, the other helping you keep steady on the mattress. You eye his cock, tongue soon licking his tip clean and Matthew is sure he is about to pass out. His hips buck and you giggle, opening your mouth fully for him to slip inside, easily taking him down your throat, Matthew’s composure about to break. His hand fists your hair, head thrown back as he continues to fuck your mouth. Spit is dripping down onto the bed, spit mixed with his pre and you press your tongue against his shaft, letting him use your throat as much as he likes. 

“So, so good for me, baby, taking me so well, fuck.” 

His raspy voice has your eyes rolling back and your core starting to throb again. It won’t be long until you need a cock stuffing you full. 

“I see you are already acquainted with my princess’ ability to take a cock down her throat no problem.”

Hanbin entered the room with neither of you taking notice. Your heart does a flip, eyes opening and flicking over to your beautiful boyfriend who stands in the door frame, nothing but a towel around his slim body, the tattoo right underneath his neck as well as his v-line on full display for you to drool on Matt’s cock over. Your boyfriend comes closer to you now, Matthew not even taking real notice, too far into his desire. Hanbin stops next to Matthew, smiling to himself as he watches his most beloved girlfriend getting throat fucked by his best friend. The towel does little to hide how much he enjoys the view. 

“My perfect girl, I bet you’re so wet, aren’t you?” He pats your cheek softly, eyes warm but sharp. You want to tell him to get behind you, to fuck you as Matthew fucks your mouth, but you know that’s not what he wants.

“Matt, I think it’s time for you to give our little baby here what she needs.” Shit. You moan around Matt’s cock, dizzy from the way Hanbin seems to lose himself in authority in the best way. He’s confident and secure and you don’t think he’s ever been sexier to you. Finally, Matt lets his cock drop from your lips and you wipe over your mouth with the back of your hand, looking from Matt to Hanbin.

“You did so well, baby, ‘am so proud of you.” Hanbin leans forward, kissing your lips and then your cheeks and finally your forehead before looking back at Matthew and giving him the go with a nod. 

A few seconds later you’re on your back, Matthew’s cock deep inside you, wrapped in a condom Hanbin had handed him (“The only one cumming inside her is me, sorry bud,” he had said and Matthew had only nodded, too horny to even really care), fucking into you like a madman. Your back was arched and your fingers were wrapped around his biceps that were all nice and hard as he held himself up above you, his hips working at godspeed. 

Watching all of this from your desk chair, Hanbin had discarded the towel on the floor, his hand around his leaking cock, watching his best friend fuck his girlfriend just the way she liked it. His eyes are glued to your face, the way it is contoured in nothing but pleasure - your eyes closed shut and your mouth dropped open, the sounds coming out of it more than just music to his ears. You sound like heaven to him - like something no one could ever compare to. He licks over his lips, stroking his cock a little quicker as he lets his eyes roam over the rest of you; your tits as they bounce up and down, your legs crossed around Matthew’s waist. Everything about you is perfect and he can’t believe he got to finally see your pleasure from this point of view.

“G-gonna cum, fuck, sh-shit,” Matthew feels himself tumbling over the edge, his head dipping down to kiss your neck and lick up to your lips, pulling you into a kiss that takes your already harbored breath away. He moves faster, with less control and finally, when he feels you clench around his cock over and over - hot cum shoots out of his exhausted cock and into the condom, for a split second wishing there wasn’t one. 

He rides out his orgasm, kissing your lips and cheeks and moving down to your neck, your hands in his hair now, enjoying the way he twitches inside of you. When he rolls off your body, he is still trying to catch his breath, even more sweaty than before. With all of the tension and arousal gone, he now starts to feel blood rush to his cheeks, slowly looking over at you only to see you fondly smiling at him.

“Thanks,” you giggle, letting your fingers brush through his wet bangs. He smiles, showing his rows of white teeth.

“Right back at you,” he says, looking at Hanbin then, who has gotten up. He exchanges glances and nods, knowing that this next part is not for his eyes.

“Guess I’ll finally hit the shower then.” Matthew chuckles, getting off the bed and hurrying to the door that he ends up closing this time.

Hanbin is on top of you a second later, his lips devouring yours, hands on your face, cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. You sigh into his mouth, hands on his nape as you kiss him back, butterflies everywhere, your stomach feeling like you’re flying. 

“You did so well, baby, made me so happy, so horny, god, I love you,” he kisses you between every word and you giggle, wrapping your legs around him.

“I love you too, need you, too, please fill me up, Hannie.”

He nods, kissing the corner of your mouth before skillfully turning you around, slipping into your pussy through your legs flat on the mattress. Fuck. You love it when he fucks you like this. His mouth is right by your ear, his cock easily slipping into you, the moan he lets out making your pussy flutter.

“So wet baby, did he fuck you well, hm? Liked his cock in your mouth? Your pussy?” He whispers into your ear, his hips beginning to fuck you into the mattress hard. You cry out, hands gripping the bed sheets.

“Y-Yes! Liked it a lot.”

“Hm, bet you did. Bet you would have loved it if I had fucked you when you had his cock in your mouth, isn’t that right, baby?” His hips are so skilled, know exactly how to move to make you lose your mind, forget all your words. So, all you can do is nod your head yes.

Hanbin chuckles, kissing the back of your neck.

“I am so lucky to have you.” 

His speed triples after this. He ruts into you like it’s his life goal to have you coming undone on his cock, to have his seed spill into you and claim you as his. Your cries of pleasure make him go even harder, the sound of his cock slipping in and out of your wet pussy so lewd it has both of your heads spinning. When you feel your second climax approaching, you clench around him, Hanbin biting into your shoulder as he continues his thrusts. Neither of you will hold out any longer and so, when he gives you permission with a sweet kiss and a “cum for me, princess”, you can’t help yourself. Pleasure runs through every inch of your body, pulsating around Hanbin’s cock and taking him over the edge with you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s it, shit,” Hanbin empties inside you, hot cum filling your spent pussy and you cry out his name over and over again, just as he does yours. All through getting down from his high, he showers your back with kisses, hands caressing your sides. When he slips out of you and helps turn you on your back, you feel his release dripping out too and he is quick to stuff it back in with his slim fingers, your pussy clenching as you whimper in overstimulation.

“Bin!” Your hands both move to his wrist, eyes wide and he grins, the wrinkles under his eyes making you all soft inside. 

“Sorry, baby. Just making sure what’s yours stays in there.” He kisses the top of your nose and you roll your eyes at him, swatting at his shoulder.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth.”

Your boyfriend just laughs, kissing you lovingly, free hand caressing your cheek. 

Someone clearing their throat in the door makes you part again. There stands Matthew, his eyes glued to the both of you with something like uncertainty in his gaze.

“I just- uh, I just wanted to know where, uh, where you kept the towels.”

You can see clearly that he’s been watching you longer than a few seconds. You and Hanbin share a look before you burst out laughing.

“Maybe we should take a shower together. All three of us,” You say, grinning from Hanbin to Matthew. They both are visibly surprised at your proposal, Matthew looking a little unsure when his and Hanbin’s gaze meet. 

“Sounds like a wonderful plan to me, sweetheart. I could definitely use another shower after this.” Hanbin grins happily. And Matthew thinks that maybe he could get used to this. 

[csuitebitches]

How to Wake Up Early

I always wanted to be one of those girls who would wake up early, go for a run and be super productive with their mornings. The issue is - i really love sleep. Every time i would start a routine, i would eventually fail. I would wake up to turn the alarm off, think to myself “5 mins more” and boom- it’s suddenly 8:30 am and i need to leave for work in less than 1 hour.

Two videos on YouTube really changed my mind. One was Andrew Huberman’s, and the other was Jihyo, a k-pop star.

I came across Andrew Huberman’s video about dopamine, and somehow, it helped me to understand why the difficulty waking up early is so important. Now I’m no expert of neuroscience, but let me explain to the best of my abilities.

Dopamine is essentially the build up to the reward; it is not the reward. It is the satisfaction and happiness you feel (when your body releases), after you have achieved something that was painful/ required you to struggle a bit. In order to receive this reward, you have to feel pain, because pain and satisfaction are directly related to each other. Satisfaction without pain is useless and does nothing for you essentially.

That got me wondering: for me, waking up early is difficult. It’s painful. I dont want to do it. But if I do it, its my first win of the day. It’s the first challenge I have overcome of that day, and I always do feel amazing after. The dopamine release after the struggle of waking up and winning the battle of not going back to sleep is definitely there. I feel more confident because a) I have done the “right” thing b) selfishly, i can do something so simple that a lot of people struggle with c) it weirdly makes me feel more confident and like I’m doing the first step of being an adult right.

Jihyo’s video was quite random - she did some show where it shows her daily life when she’s not working. Parts of it made me feel like she’s unable to just relax with herself (probably because her body and mind are so used to chaos, performing, her girl group living together for so many years) so she busies herself a lot. I took the positives from the video; she’s extremely disciplined which I admired, she gets her chores done, she’s good at ensuring that her space is truly her space.

So I decided to build a relatively foolproof routine; but mind you, it does require quite a bit of willpower.

I’ve developed a habit of waking of waking up at 5 am. I head straight for a 30-45 minute meditation and then at least an hour long workout. I stack my habits that way; right after meditation, I put on my running shoes. I used to really struggle with waking up, even if I had to wake up late. This is the strategy that worked me, see if it works for you.

1. Reset your space the night before

This makes you feel less stressed in the morning and also genuinely makes you feel like you have your shit together. Put your clothes away, keep your bag in its place, clean up your desk, reorganise your make up and skin care products. You’re going to go to sleep and wake up to a clean space.

Make sure you define both your bedtime and wake up time. My bedtime is 9:30 pm - so i manage my chores, reading, dinner, everything around that.

2. Early dinner

I’ve noticed that early dinners help me sleep better. I’ve built the habit of casually walking for 25-30 minutes post dinner (not right after eating, after about 15 mins). I’m not walking fast to a point where I’m sweating and puffing, I’m casually strolling outside. During this time, I don’t listen to music, interact with anyone or my phone. I use this time to connect with myself and think about whatever I feel like.

3. No devices before sleeping

I don’t want to stimulate myself before sleeping, so I prefer reading before bed. If you don’t like reading, you can instead do your skincare, maybe revise some physical study notes, etc.

4. Using Alarmy app

This app is torture and I swear by it. This little thing makes you a solve a challenge of your choice in order to make the alarm stop, like math problems, puzzles, etc. I chose 5 math problems.

5. Keep your phone across the room

Don’t charge it near your reach. Keep it as away from you as possible.

6. Stand for two minutes after shutting off the alarm

Don’t allow yourself to snooze, or go back to bed. This is the part that really requires you to tell yourself: “i am not going back to sleep. I’m going to wake up and do the things I have to do for my own benefit.” Remember - the states of heaven and hell are not outside of you, they’re inside you. They are mental states. You have to fight with your lazy demon and tell him/her/whoever that NO; we are NOT going back to bed.

I charge my phone across the room so that forces me to walk first thing in the morning. To stop myself from going back to sleep, after i have shut the alarm off, i just stand for 2 minutes. I dont sit, or go back to bed. I stand and tell myself, we’re doing this. We’re going to wake up and have an amazing day.

Your mind is like a child with tantrums and mood swings. Your rational self has to discipline your mind the way a parent would to a child.

7. Turn a small light on

Not something that is jarring or overwhelming, but enough to help you start waking up. I turn my phone’s flashlight on and keep it on my desk.

8. Be consistent, even on weekends

The biggest mistake you can make is not being consistent. Your body doesnt recognise weekends, your mind does. Your body doesn’t know that tomorrow is Monday, so its time to wake up early. By staying consistent (yes, I wake up at 5 am on weekends too), it allows my body to develop its own body clock and not wrecking the system I’ve kept in place.

What do I do if I have a late night?

It really depends. Let’s say I come home relatively early (+2 hours around my bedtime) around 11 pm, and im in bed by 11:30. I’ll wake up somewhere close to 5 am, like 6 am instead. The next day I ensure I’m in bed by the bedtime I’ve kept for myself and wake up at 5 am again.

If I come home really late, like 3 am - i keep my alarm exactly 8 hours from that time. I need to get sleep, but oversleeping is an issue and that wont allow me to wake up early the next day. I want to get enough sleep where im rested for the day, but not excessively. Unfortunately, sleeping so late would definitely mean that i wont be able to fall asleep at my dot 9:30 pm bedtime, but i turn the lights off and get ready to sleep by then anyway, and mentally prepare for my 5 am wake up call.

[rxmqnova]

Hi. So this is based on something similar that happened on a family holiday once.

WandaNat mums and kid reader.

R is half asleep when we arrive at the airport. Mums are busy with Yelena and the twins so we get quickly sat on the suitcases and wheeled inside.

Everyone enjoys the first day on holiday, until it comes to bedtime. R can't find her baby blanket anywhere. The whole family look and nothing. Until Natasha thinks back and realises it's still in the car.

Knowing we can't sleep without our blankie Natasha calls in a favour and makes the 8 hour round flight to pick the comfort item up.

The next morning (where we're super grumpy and demand that mummy Wanda carries us around) we shuffle into the living room to find both mama nat and blankie curled up on the sofa.

Totally exhausted we curl up with mama and sleep almost straight away.

We never realise what mama had just done for us. But Mummy does. And she falls more in love with her for it.

Please and thank you 😊

The pink bear blankie

Y/N: 3 years old Billy and Tommy: 10 years old Wanda: Mommy Natasha: Mama ——————————————————

NO ONE'S POV "Sleepy, mama" Y/N whines, burying her head into Natasha's neck as the redhead only just took her out of the car, one of Y/N's small hands playing with Natasha's ear piercings while the other one is wrapped around her mama's neck tightly.

"I know you are, sweetheart. You can sleep on the plane, yeah?" Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss to her baby's cheek while rubbing her back.

"Boys, you got everything?" Wanda asks her two sons, raising an eyebrow as they've been arguing about something.

"Yes, mom" Both answer.

"Yelena, do you have everything?" Natasha asks her sister, knowing she's the one who's most likely to forget something.

"Yes, yes, Natasha. I have everything" Yelena rolls her eyes, taking her suitcase and walking inside just behind the boys and Wanda.

"And now you, детка" Natasha sits the tiny girl that's been in her arms on her suitcase, getting a tired smile in response. "Is that fun, Y/N/N?" She asks with a chuckle, looking at her daughter who's tiredly smiling and looking around. (baby)

———

The flight was fine. Y/N fell asleep as soon as Natasha sat down with her on her lap, the boys were busy with watching a movie, Yelena was listening to some music and Wanda with Natasha had finally some time to talk and just enjoy each other's presence.

As soon as the family arrived to the holiday house they're staying at and unpacked some of their things, they went on the beach.

Everyone had a great time, especially Y/N as she got to build a sandcastle with both her mommies while Yelena was doing silly things with the twins.

"It's bedtime for Y/N, baby. Come on" Wanda smiles, lifting her daughter up with a playful groan. "Say night night"

"Ni-night" Y/N says, resting her head on Wanda's shoulder and giving everyone in the room a wave.

The tiny girl would normally complain about going to bed, but today has really worned her out. Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss to her baby's forehead and telling her goodnight along with the others.

Wanda carries Y/N into the bedroom, placing her down on bed, but the tiny girl sits up immediately.

"Where's my blankie, mommy?" Y/N questions, not seeing her little pink bear blankie anywhere in bed.

"I'm sure it's somewhere around, baby" Wanda assures, looking for the item.

She's one hundred percent sure Y/N had her blankie when they left their house, so it must be somewhere around, right?

After minutes of looking around, Wanda just sits her daughter on her hip and carries her back to the living room where is the rest of the family playing uno.

"Everything okay?" Natasha asks, noticing her wife and daughter's presence in the living room.

"Have you seen Y/N's blankie? " Wanda asks, getting a no from everybody. "Can you help us find it?"

"Alright, let's go, boys" Natasha smiles, standing up.

Every single person starts looking for Y/N's blankie. They search through every single corner of the house, but the baby blanket is just nowhere.

Natasha goes through her mind, trying to picture the whole day and then it clicks. Y/N last had her blankie in the car, so they must had left it there.

"You can stop looking, I think I know where it is" Natasha sighs, walking over to Wanda who looks at her with hope the blankie is found. "I think it stayed in the car"

"Oh no, what do we do now? Y/N won't sleep without it" Wanda sighs.

"Mommy" Y/N whines, making her way over to her mothers. It's already way past her bedtime and she's extremely tired, but without her blankie she just won't sleep.

"I know, honey" Wanda sighs once again, lifting Y/N up and sitting her on her hip. "How about you try to sleep without your blankie tonight, hm?"

Those words are enough to make Y/N cry and Natasha volunteers to try to put Y/N down as it's time for the boys to go to sleep too by now.

So while Wanda's tucking in the twins, Yelena's occupying the TV and Natasha's walking around the whole place, rocking her crying daughter back and forth while humming her a lullaby.

But after two hours of not making any progress, she gives up. If they want to get some sleep during the vacation there's only one thing to do.

"Nat, are you sure? It's so late and the flight is so long" Wanda sighs.

"I am. Y/N obviously won't go to sleep without it. I'll just grab it and be back by morning" Natasha smiles and pecks Wanda's lips before placing a kiss to Y/N's head who is now in Wanda's arms. "I love you"

"I love you too" Wanda smiles back, stealing one more kiss from her wife and then watching her leave.

———

Y/N slept for like 3 hours in total during the night. Both, her and Wanda, are absolutely exhausted, but if there's no blankie, there's just no sleep.

"Noo, mommy, no" Y/N whines, lifting her tiny legs up, so Wanda wouldn't be able to stand her on the ground.

Wanda doesn't have the energy to deal with another tantrum, so she just goes with it and somehow manages to make a quick breakfast for her and Y/N with her grumpy daughter attached to her hip.

Y/N eventually decides to watch a cartoon in the living room after breakfast. And because she refuses to walk once again, Wanda carries her there.

"Mama" Y/N whispers to herself, a grin appearing on her face when she spots her mama curled up with her blankie on the couch and sleeping. "Mommy, down!" She immediately orders, trying to wiggle out of Wanda's strong hold.

And as soon as Wanda manages to stand her daughter on the ground, Y/N runs to the couch, climbing it and cuddling up to Natasha and the blankie.

Wanda can't help but smile on the sight. She still can't believe Natasha just flew all the way to New York and back just to pick up Y/N's blankie.

Her smile widens when she realizes Y/N's already fast asleep, curled up into her mama's side with her blankie secured in her arms.

Y/N is still just a little girl and surely won't realize what Natasha did for her, but Wanda knows. And this is exactly why she fell in love with the redhead in the first place.

Natasha would do anything for their children and that's what Wanda adores the most. And every single moment like this just makes her fall more and more in love with her wife.

----------------------

WandaNat masterlist

Masterlist

[chlmtsdoll]

i need some dad art moments from u !!! 🩷

Yes yes yes. I don’t want kids so writing out the fantasies in my fics helps the girl instincts pass iykyk. 😉

Fluff | Dilf Art | he’s a soft parenting kinda guy so here <3

It had been past your girls bed time when you were found snug, on the couch as you sat cuddled up with Art in front of the tv. The two of you were getting ready just in time to start your movie night after setting your eight and two year old daughters tucked away for the night. So as they were sound asleep, you and your husband could finally get some time to wind down together. Just you and your Art.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight, sweets ?” Art questioned you with a fond smile as he relaxed against the pillows by your side, a blanket and remote in hand with him.

“Hmm, I feel like a drama tonight, I dunno- or.. romance?” you slowly began to grin as you always wanted to get Art to feel the feels with you when it was your turn to pick the movie. Which led him to playfully groaning as he shook his head. Every week it was the same pick with you.

“Baby..” your husband chuckled as he pulled your legs across his lap. “You always wanna watch a drama- - I’m not sure if I’m up for tears tonight.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly as Art furrowed his brow in nervousness that you’d put on something that would have him reaching for the tissues for two hours.

“But crying during movies is fun!”

“Sure it is, but, there’s tons of other kinds of movies- - it is October now. What about something spooky?” The man did his best to convince you of watching anything other than another sappy film and you sighed as you sat in thought of his suggestion of scaring you into being paranoid all night.

“I suppose… but nothing too much. I wanna sleep tonight.” You titter and Art smirked.

“You’re fine. And if you do get scared, that’ll give me an excuse to hold you all night without you complaining that I’m suffocating you.” Art pulled you into his chest smoothly and you let out giggles as he wrapped both his broad arms around your body covered in your soft colored pajama set and comfy slippers.

Art was leaving kisses on your face before you heard the sound of tiny feet hitting the floor boards from the hallway. Approaching the living room, you and Art both looked down the way in which you heard the noise, sitting up when your two year old came running to the both of you.

“Daddy!” She yelled as she climbed the couch and collapsed straight in Arts embrace without any notion to you in your husbands grasp.

“Hey ! Hey.. angel, what’s wrong ? Did Lily wake you?”

Your daughter shook her head, and you leaned up as the tired child mumbled a bunch of unknown phrases with the occasional “daddy” in between being all the two of you could understand. You’d still been working on her vocabulary at the time being. So far, all she really knew was to ask for food, daddy, mommy (although she hardly used it because she always just wanted Art) and well.. Art.

He was her whole world these days. Most of the time ignoring you whenever her dad had been their to play and let her do parkour off of him. They were conjoined at the hip and it did give you more time to rest when Art had been home to be with the girls when you’d been the one with them most of the time while he was at tennis. It was like the moment he walked through the door they hadn’t even known of your existence anymore. Art would make jokes about being their favorite, but deep down he knew to remind the girls to love and appreciate their mama as well.

You smiled fondly as you reached to stroke your daughters hair, she laid her head on Arts chest like she’d been ready to go to bed. Wrapping her little arms around her dads torso as best as the sleepy girl could, like he was a pillow made just for her. It made your heart swell.

“I guess she couldn’t sleep again.”

“Yeah.. couldn’t sleep, my love?” Art coo’d as he glanced down at the baby, holding you and her as well as he could in his lap. He’d gotten better at it when it was a necessity to make himself shareable for all three of his girls. Most of his time at home with you all had been filled with each of you wanting him more than anything really, so luckily there was more than enough love to go around even for the busy man.

You leaned in and kissed the girls head softly before standing up.

“Well baby, it’s way past your bedtime. You gotta sleep so let’s get you up to your room-” as you reached to lift her from Arts hold, it was immediate whines and cries that come from the two year old.

“No!” She huffed and her pout was clear as she clung to Art away from your hands. Your shoulders dip in defeat as you sighed and looked up at your husband who already had an all knowing look on his expression of how this always went.

She had been like this gradually the last couple of weeks. She wouldn’t go down in her own bed or anywhere else unless Art held her to sleep. She wanted him every second of the day when it was time for her naps or just in general. Which hurt your heart at times when he’d be off at work because the little one would cry ferociously for her dad even with you. And as precious as you thought it was when they were together — her curled up in his arms, sought sound asleep with her cute cupids bows to her lip slightly agape against him, and eventually he would fall asleep with her as well. You wanted to be cuddled by your husband to sleep some nights too.

“C’mon baby, you gotta go to sleep. Daddy and I will stay with you, okay?..” you tried to take her hand, get her to want to sleep in her own bed with her own stuffed animals and right across from her big sister. But her stubbornness didn’t budge. She just fought off your hands and held on to Art as best as she could, tucking her face away in his shirt as you speak with soft whines.

“Princess, mommy wants you to sleep in your bed tonight. We gotta listen to her wishes…” Art tried to help with his soft but taunting tone. And your little one only pouted more, she turned away from you and hugged Art as the waterworks started. Your husband sighed and glanced back up at you.

“Just.. for tonight, why don’t we let her stay with us, babe?”

Art’s gentle nature matched his voice as he cradled his daughter closer in his embrace, leaving less space for you.

“But what about movie night..” you could of pouted too if you hadn’t remembered you’d been the one co in charge here, but Art only gave you a reassuring smile as he held the back of your head and brought you in for a sweet kiss.

“We can still have a movie. We’ll just have to keep quiet till she’s asleep than I’ll bring her back up. How does that sound, sweetness ?” Your husband handled it all so well, even better than you at moments you had to admit. Though you knew by the time your daughter had fallen asleep and your movie was over, you’d definitely be too beat for there to be any time to allude to anything else you and your husband could of spent doing. But you had to accept that. And even with your hand softly easing up on your little girl, you could only let it slip away with a soft breath before kissing goodbye your night alone with your husband.

“Fine, I guess it’ll be alright for tonight.” You spoke softly before looking down at your little one and rubbing her back tenderly.

Art couldn’t say he didn’t hope that he could’ve gotten just one night in between your daughters tough bedtime streak to enjoy you, especially since he just got a break from work. But as much as it would have been hard to say no to you, it was even harder for him to disregard his baby girl asking for him to bed. He just couldn’t resist. And to you it was never easy either — with the way she pleaded to be coddled. She had her daddy’s eyes, blue orbs with just a swirl of brown hinted in there looking up at you with pre-readied tears. His features standing out in her was always your weakest point especially when Art had looked right back at you to ask of her to stay. The night would come when you’d just have to send her back to bed. But that wasn’t gonna be tonight.

As the evening went on, you and Art did finish your movie and the man made sure to keep both of his girls supported comfortably by his side, you palmed the side of your daughters cheek as well as Arts and looked up to watched as his tired eyes stayed on the screen ahead of you three.

“How are we supposed to make more babies if we can’t even get one out of the way?” You whispered with an endearing smile as you traced the light patch of subtle on his face and Art couldn’t help but chuckle softly before leaning in to kiss your temple.

“The right time will come, my love.”

[wh0re43van]

Boyfriend pt 3 (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You wake up at Warrens house, then finally indirectly break up with your boyfriend.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of Warrens wounds from the fight, mentions of weed

A/n: Okay y’all, i think this might be the last part. I could probably continue this for another part or two if i really wanted to. (i have a couple rough ideas) but I’m probably gonna focus on other fics.

Pt 1, Pt 2

As I open my eyes, I’m startled for a split second, not recognizing the bed I’m in or the ceiling I’m looking at, but the familiar scent of weed and the sound of a bong bubbling while a Green Day CD plays in the background reminds me that I’m at Warrens house. I sit up in his bed, the t-shirt of his that I’m wearing hangs off me, still smelling of his cologne.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty,” Warren says between coughs, I sit up in the bed yawning.

“Why’d you leave me,” I frown, looking at the cold spot next to me where Warren fell asleep last night.

“Well, I waited for you to wake up for like an hour, I got bored,” he laughs, standing from the couch then walking to the bed, bong in hand. I smile at the boy in front of me. His disheveled brown hair that’s falling into his bruised face, the white tank top that hugs his torso snug and his grey sweatpants that don’t leave much to the imagination. “Does this make up for it?” He hands me the glass and the lighter.

“Only if you go get me some water,” I smile sweetly, accepting the bong.

“Anything for you,” he winks, making my heart flutter as he turns to walk up the steps. I take a small hit from the bong before laying back down on the bed, watching the smoke I blow out cloud above my head and dissipate into the yellow light in the ceiling.

‘How did I get here?’ I think to myself. Just last month I had a routine. I was comfortable- albeit bored. I knew what every day was going to consist of, there were no surprises. I woke up, smoked, then either went to work or went to Dakota’s house. If I went to my job at the library, I had a set task list; the exact same every day. If I went to Dakotas, we either went on deliveries or argued because he’d been cheating on me again. Sad, I know, but that’s how it was, and I was fine with it. Everything’s different now, not in a bad way though. Warren invaded my thoughts and my heart as soon as we reunited, and I don’t think he intends on leaving anytime soon. I’m grateful for him. He’s made me see that life can be exciting-and messy. I’ll never be able to think of sex the same for the rest of my life, regardless of what happens with us.

‘Us,’ I think to myself. ‘What are we?’ Are we friends with benefits? Is he seeing other girls? He wants me to break up with my boyfriend, but I don’t even know where he and I stand. I’m going to break up with Dakota- for many reasons- but, do I really want to jump straight into a relationship again? Is that what Warren wants? Will he lose interest once I’m single? Regardless, I don’t want whatever me and him have to end; That’s the only thing I know for sure.  

“Here you go, beautiful,” Warren interrupts my thoughts, his voice bringing a smile to my face as he hands me the glass of water.

“You’re so chivalrous,” I giggle before taking a sip of the cold water. Warren crawls over top of me and flops down on the bed, laying on his back with his toned arms crossed above his head. He smiles and sighs, turning his battered face to look at me with heavy eyes.

“What?” I giggle, unsure of why he’s staring. His grin stays plastered on him as he shakes his head.

“Nothing… It’s just if you had told 13 year old me about this past month, I would have never believed you. How did I manage to get the most beautiful girl in Fayette County in my bed, wearing my shirt…only my shirt?” he says in a dreamy tone as he props himself up on a bruised arm. I can’t help but blush at his words. He knows exactly how to flatter a woman.

“Oh stop,” I giggle. “You’re quite the looker yourself,” I smirk as crawl on top him, sitting on his stomach. “You look really good in this wifebeater with your busted lip,” I run my hand up his chest and to his face, brushing my thumb over his healing abrasion. He brings his strong arms to my hips, leaning into my hand on his face. “You look dangerous,” I wiggle my eyebrows, smirking. He laughs as he flips me over so that he’s hovering above me, he slips his hand under the t-shirt I’m wearing, ghosting over my bare core.

“You have no idea,” he whispers lowly in my ear before nibbling on my neck, sending electric shoot through my entire body.

“I don’t think that I thanked you properly for defending my honor,” I smile, before pulling the shirt up and over my body, leaving me completely bare underneath him. His eyes scan my body as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“This view right here is thanks enough,” his sultry tone resonates in my ears as he runs his busted knuckles over my curves, leaving goosebumps on every inch of skin that he touches.

“I have a little bit more to offer,” I smirk as I sit up, shoving him on to his back. He watches in anticipation as I settle between his legs. “I gotta say,” I purr slowly as my hand ghosts over his crotch. “You looked really hot fighting for me,” I smile through my lashes as I slide my fingers under the top his waistband.

“And I’d do it again, especially if you’re my reward,” he brings a rough hand to my cheek, pushing my hair out of my face as he stares bullets into my soul. I’ve always adored his dark eyes, the color of freshly brewed coffee; bitter yet comforting. A single glance from the man below me is enough to make my core ache.

“You know Warren,” I begin as I slowly pull his sweats down, holding his gaze. “When you look at me like that, you could get me to do absolutely anything you want,” I say before biting my lip in anticipation as I slide his boxers down to reveal his semi hard cock awaiting my attention.

“Mmm, I could say the same thing about you, darlin’,” he groans out, his deep voice sending chills down my spine straight to my core. I spit into my hand before grabbing his cock, pumping it a few times to fully wake it up. He hums at the contact, his body relaxes as he lays flat on his back, laying his arms above his head. I cup his balls in one hand and his base in the other as I slowly sink my mouth down on him until he hits my throat, earning a low moan from the back of his throat.

“You always treat me so well, baby,” Warren groans, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure. I begin to bob my head up and down on him, hollowing out my cheeks. “Mmm, atta’ girl. Just like that, beautiful,” he sits up to watch me gag on him; a feeling that I’ve grown to love. Every ounce of praise he gives my goes straight to my stomach, fueling the butterflies that are erupting. His eyes, dark with lust, gaze down at me. I lose myself in the moment. His moans and words of praise fill the room as he repeatedly thrusts against the back of my throat. My jaw starts to go numb, but I ignore it; The site of Warrens face contorted in pleasure and the compliments falling from his blushed lips is worth every ounce of pain.

I see his hand go the night stand, picking up my vibrating phone. I pull away from him, catching my breath as he puts the phone to his ear.

“What do you want?” he asks with a sly grin before gently guiding my head back to his erection. I’m confused, but I obey and slip him back into my mouth. “She’s right here, but she’s a little busy at the moment,” he smirks into the phone.

‘Oh god. It’s got to be Dakota’ I think to myself as I kitten lick around his tip. I hear him raise his voice on the other end of the line.

‘Yep. It’s Dakota,’ I think I hear him ask warren to put me on the phone, followed by some curses. Warren laughs as he thrusts deep into my throat, making me audibly gag.

“She can’t talk right now man, her mouths a little preoccupied,” he winks at me, my cheeks burn red. I can tell Warren is enjoying this- maybe a little too much and I hate to admit that I also find this situation extremely hot, so I play along. I take his entire length into my throat, past my gag reflex until my nose is nestled against the small patch of brown hair decorating his skin.

“Fuck! Just like that baby,” he moans loudly, chuckling into the receiver. He begins to thrust deep into my throat, groaning in pleasure. “What’s she doing?” He laughs breathlessly as his free hand uses my hair to hold my head in place as he violates my mouth. “Mmm, I’ll spare you the details, dude,” he says, his stupid grin not leaving his face. I can hear Dakota cussing Warren out. His eyes focus on me as thick strings of spit drip from my mouth around him as he fucks my throat, my gagging filling the room. Warren uses my hair to pull my head back, spit rolling down my face as I gasp for air. He holds the small phone up to my mouth. “Do you like gagging on me y/n?” he asks I nod my head still trying catch my breath. “Use your words beautiful,” he says with the biggest shit eating grin, using his eyes to motion to the phone.

“I fucking love it,” I say breathlessly, a smirk falling across my own face as my knees becoming weak from how aroused I am. With that, he shoves his cock back into my mouth.

“Holy fucking shit,” he growls in a way I’ve never heard before as he drops the phone on his chest, Dakotas small voice still shouting on the other end of the line. Warren grabs either side of my head guiding me up and down his cock a couple more times.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. I’m cumming,” Warren groans as he releases deep into my throat and onto my tongue, I lap up every last drop, pulling away gasping again. “Did you swallow all of it, darlin’?” he asks, panting as he wipes a tear from my cheek. Dakotas frantic voice still chirping through the small plastic brick.

“Yes sir,” I giggle opening my mouth, sticking my tongue. Warren smirks, grabbing my ass to scootch me up to him. “Good girl,” he says against my lips.

“Warren!” I hear Dakotas infuriated voice boom from the phone. Warren laughs holding it up to his ear again. Dakota bellows every slur, insult, and curse word I’ve ever heard through the cell until Warren cuts him off.

“Yeah that’s why I fucked your girl,” he laughs loudly, his shit eating grin plastered proudly on his battered face. “Bitchass cuck!” he shouts before ending the call, tossing the phone to the side.

“Warren, what was all that about,” I giggle as he attacks my bare skin with kisses and love bites.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He pants against my skin. “Turn over, beautiful, I’m not done yet,” he slaps my ass, standing to remove his tank top, his dick still hard as ever. My stomach flips as I get on my hands and knees on his bed. He comes up behind me, pulling me to the edge of the bed, using his hands to spread me open. Wasting no time, he licks a long strip across my core, earning a whimper from me. “You taste so sweet baby,” he coos before inserting a finger inside of me. I whine at the contact. He begins pumping his finger inside of me. “You really liked that, hm? You’re soaked,” I can hear the smirk in his voice, all I can do is nod my head as he curls exactly where I need him most.

“Fuck Warren,” I whimper, desperate for more of his touch.

“You’re so fucking stunning,” he runs his hand down my back and over my ass, admiring my body while he slips another finger inside of me, I whine in response. It’s strange the kind of affect he has on me; With one touch from his hand, I’m soaked. I’m so pathetically attracted to this man, I’m almost ashamed. He fuels a lust deep inside of me that I never even knew was there. No drug is any match for the way that Warren can make me feel.

“Fuck me, Warren,” I whimper out as his fingers pump into me. “Please, I can’t stand it, I need you Warren, please,” I plead in a way that I’d never imagined I would beg a man.

“Anything for my girl,’’ he coos, pulling his fingers out to lean down and place wet kiss on my lower back, nibbling at the skin, sure to leave a mark.

‘His girl’ the phrase fills my heart with joy.

Soon, I feel Warren slowly pushing into me. His hand reaches up, snaking gently around my throat as he pushes deeper and deeper into my sopping wet cunt. I let out the unholiest of sounds as he stretches me out.

“Fuck,” my voice comes out shaky and desperate as he begins to thrust into me.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his grip on my throat tightening as he pounds into me. He slaps my ass, making me gasp loudly. He rubs his hand gently over the stinging skin. “This is mine,” he growls lowly, then he wraps his other hand around my torso, pulling me up to so that my back is flush against his chest as I rest my knees on the bed. This new angle allows him to hit even deeper inside of me, making me see stars. I lean my head back on his shoulder, my eyes rolling back in their sockets. He grabs my face and ducks his head down to pull me into an intense kiss. His tongue explores my mouth as he pounds my pussy into oblivion.

“You’re all mine,” he growls against my lips, his grip tightening on my throat a bit. My knees go so weak that his arms are the only thing holding me up, keeping our sweaty skin pressed together.

“Fuck Warren,” I pant out, barely audible. The rubber band that has been tightly winding in my stomach snaps, sending ecstasy to every cell of my body. My walls convulse around him while he continues to thrust into me mercilessly. “That’s my girl,” he groans lowly in my ear, reaching down to rub my clit to encourage my orgasm. I come completely undone around him, my body begins to shake as I scream out his name, the pleasure almost to much when he reaches his own release. He pumps me full of his cum, fucking it deep into me as I clench around him. His warm seed drips out of my cunt around his cock as he rides out his orgasm, surely leaving bruises underneath every fingertip gripping my neck. He finally slows down, pulling out of me before picking me up with shaky arms to lay me gently on the bed. I lay with my eyes closed trying to catch my breath, a sweaty puddle on the disheveled bed. Warren lays down beside me. “I’m sorry, was that too much?” he asks sincerely, placing a loving hand on my stomach. I open my eyes, turning to look at him.

“Are you kidding,” I giggle weakly. His worried expression quickly matches my own. “Warren that was amazing,” I crawl up to lay on his sweaty chest, his quick heartbeat is comforting as it rings through my ears.

“You can always tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he says honestly as he traces circles on my back, using his other hand to run his fingers through my hair.

“Warren Lipka, you know that you can do no wrong,” I giggle as I snuggle further into him. He laughs lightly, the room is filled with a comfortable silence.

“Hey, how ‘bout we get cleaned up and I take you to that new cafe that opened up in town?” He offers. I sit up to meet his gaze, he has a serious expression on his bruised face.

“What? Like… like a date?” I smile a bit sheepishly. He smiles right back.

“I’d sure like it to be,” he says hopefully. My grin stretches from ear to ear as I stand from the bed, tugging on his arm.

“Well, come on then. I don’t want to go on our first date with your cum dripping down my leg,” I laugh as I pull him into the bathroom.

“Hm, I don’t know. Sounds kinda hot to me,” he chuckles as he closes the bathroom door behind us, pulling me into a deep kiss before he turns the shower head on.

[pedge-page]

Insatiable

Part 3/Finale to Cravings and Crash

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie and reader spend some time apart before realizing that’s actually really stupid—and solid communication happens for once :) 

Notes: it’s finally HERE! Thank you all so much again for your words of praise and keeping with these two absolute idiots in love. Honestly intended the first one to just be a one-off drabble throw away thought, but I’m glad everyone enjoyed it so much to ask for more! I’m spitting this out earlier than expected. Don’t know if I’ve done them reasonable justice but this is what I’ve got—hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, mentions of m oral, pussy eating king returns, cum eating, missionary, doggy, cowgirl, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, bit of possessive and jealous Frankie, mentions of drug use, drugs present, language

18+ ONLY

- - - - 

You had cried when you got in your car. And again when you went to your cousin’s house to crash until you signed your new lease. And then again every night for a week straight.

You had NEVER cried this hard over a boy before.

Except this wasn't some boy—this was Frankie. The guy who comforted you through all your dates that stood you up, and shitty boyfriends, albeit few, that left you feeling less than worthwhile. The same Frankie who stood around you like a guard dog when you went drinking together so no one would even think to slip something in your cup, but who YOU have to comfort during horror movies because he's a big scared kitten. Who lets you sleep on his shoulder for five hours in the car no matter how uncomfortable it was for him, never once moving, but still ate the food you didn't like off your plate "because he's a garbage dump who'd eat anything, even mold." 

The first guy to tell you that you were beautiful when you weren't even trying to impress him. Who brings a hair tie with him when you go to eat because you always forget yours and get your hair caught in your fork. Who pushed you to take charge of your life and break up with your loser first love, and it was the hardest and best decision you could have ever made.

And you know what? The ONLY guy who made you cum 9 fucking times the FIRST time he went down on you.

You called Santi that night because you needed to let loose, and the only other person you trusted to hold you up outside of Frankie was Pope.

“So how is he?” Santi asked, as you immediately double fisted your first two shots. 

"I don't wanna talk about him tonight."

Santi nods, eyes widening as you don’t even resist the bitter taste going down your throat. He holds his finger up towards the waitress to order 4 more glasses.

You really didn't want to think about Frankie. The more you thought about him, the more confused you felt, and you couldn't afford to be confused about your purpose in his life right now. You knew battling addiction isn’t a linear healing process. That it would get worse before it got better at times. You're his friend. You're helping him. That's it. 

Frankie spent a whole year being physically intimate with you, but never once asked or made a move for anything more emotionally. So why let yourself get carried away even thinking about something more?

To even consider if you wanted more...

You snatch the shot glass out of Santi's hand right before he was about to sip it and catapulted it down your throat, the burning sensation taking your mind out of the gutter.

Fuck Frankie for not keeping his shit together. Fuck him for being hot and cold. Fuck him for using you when that's exactly what you’re here for.

It's much easier to keep it all that way. Easy to encourage him with sex to avoid overthinking his intentions. Easier to constantly verbalize it, knowing he won’t deny it, as a means of reassurance to yourself. 

But absolutely fucking HELL he’s being so difficult lately. The sex—wasn’t just good. It was fucking phenomenal. you could physically see how much better he was just moments afterwards, even if you were blacking out and falling asleep not too long after. He was so hungry for it too, why deny? But he’d been holding back too much now—getting too tense, crashing, then stressed again. You needed to get things back on schedule with him so he’d be happy again.

And gentle, nurturing, innocent, sober you just wasn't doing the trick for him anymore.

You barely hear Santi over the pounding in your head: "When we was the last time you got laid? You need a distraction from your Fix-a-Fish hobby."

You gulp down the last of the vodka on the table, suppressing a slight burp.

"I'm 'bout to do both tonight."

That was 4 weeks ago. You didn’t achieve either that night.

Fish didn't seem too upset when you left, ultimately making the choice much easier. You looked so fucking stupid walking in there, basically demanding sex from him when he made it clear all year that you were only there for HIM and not the other way around. He didn’t want you like that. 

Good. Makes staying friends that much easier.

Or it did, for a little while. 

You couldn’t get over the way he made you feel when all was well—when he’d serenade you so easily in affection like Querida, Carino, Hermosa, and you could barely contain the butterflies in your stomach each time. You had never once heard him even refer to his dates or ex girlfriends in the same manner. It was both confusing and arousing. He treated you like a best friend some times, but adored you like a lover more. 

Hadn’t the man heard of friendship boundaries? Aside from the fact he made you orgasm every minute of the day, what was Frankie like as a lover? What more could he possibly do to cross that line?

Who the hell treats their friend like that?

That last month, however, felt more realistic. Grounded in the truth of your relation. You didn’t realize how much he had gotten to you with sweet words first that made the change in his attitude so unbearable. 

You wanted to go back to being selfish with his unbridled love.

You hadn’t gotten off in over a week, a new record. But as you lay in bed, conjuring any and all pornos, audio eroticas, pillows, aching fingers, even the dusty vibrator still wrapped in its new plastic, nothing was getting you to that same addictive feeling that Frankie gave you every single day.

You should have called him to return his shirt you had accidentally packed in your bag in a haste to get out of there. But it still smelled like him. You felt perverted getting wet just by holding it in your hands, but it was doing the trick, and finally you could touch yourself without additional lubricant assistance.

All the memories that tumbled from then on only made the ache between your legs worse: The first night, Frankie between your legs, begging you to let go so he could force more orgasms from your shaking body. “Doing s’good for me, cariño. Give me more, fucking starving” ; when he held you in his lap as you grind down on his bulge, his head buried under his shirt that you were wearing as his lapped at your nipples, “Don’t you dare hold back those beautiful moans, wanna hear you singing when I’m devouring you”; when he’d come home from work and didn’t say a word, just grabbed your wrist and lead you to his bedroom, lied on the bed, slapped your ass a few times to get you to straddle him higher, higher, until you were right over his lips. He didn’t even wait for your hesitation, immediately bringing your hips down and crashing his lips on your pussy, shaking his head like a mad scientist at work, hell bent on discovering what makes you cry faster.

You pulled your fingers away from your slick cunt. No amount of memory would compare to the real thing—and it wasn’t all the acts that you needed, but the intimacy, the familiarity that came from Frankie—THAT’S what always sent you over the edge.

It scared you.

Santi was half right. You did need to get laid. Needed someone who wasn’t Frankie to remind you that you don’t rely on him for some shit like getting off (although you had developed a keen preference by now). You needed a new hobby that wasn’t thinking about Frankie all the time. YOU needed a distraction.

He was half wrong, however, because you knew very well that you’d be drowning in lame date after lame lay a million times before you got over the addictive feeling of being around Fish this past year.

It never felt like a chore. Well, obviously, you were getting ate out like a Sunday brunch. But it was everything else that made you want to keep staying around, even after he maybe didn’t need you anymore.

You realized then that leaving was the best for you and him. You had somehow managed to score a  date tonight, the first one in over a year, with a James. Or Jonathan. Or Jimmy. Something J. I think.

I’m excited. I’m going on a date. I’m going to have fun. I’m excited. Im going on a date. Im going to have fun.

You didn’t even have the care to shave tonight before you begrudgingly left for dinner and a movie.

-

He couldn't say it then. Frankie remembered so vividly the image that he wishes he could forget: you standing there, so meek and vulnerable, spilling your tears as you tried to level your emotions with your feelings and confront the fucked up situation he put you in. Maybe if you had screamed, yelled at him and cussed him out for being such a dick, then he could have told you how he truly felt.

He was always better at being shouted at by others from being in the service. The guys would let their tempers soar and just shout, honesty tumbling through like a flood, and then everything would be out on the table, and shit would get DONE.

The apartment is unforgivably quiet and cold.

He's noticing little things you left behind: your nice moisturizer, expensive shampoo, a paper towel holder. He thinks you’re mocking him by leaving bits of you around his place, so he collects them in a bin and waits for you to come retrieve them. But you don't contact him for the first week.

He starts to think maybe you left those things for him. You bought all these things while you were here, forcing him to use them with you:

"Your face is as dry as a desert; you need moisturizer, not body lotion.”

"You can't use a 4 in one hair and body wash!"

"Who the fuck doesn't have a holder for their paper towels?"

It wasn't all just sex when you were here. He remembered coming in to the bathroom when your feet were soaking in the tub, and you explained you were rubbing your calluses off your feet. He joined you, sweats pulled up above his knee as you held him down to get the stone on his crusty feet, the whole time laughing and squirming because it tickled too much. He fell on his ass in the tub desperate to escape your strangely strong grip around his ankle, getting his clothes all wet.

And despite how well he had known you even before your arrangement, he continued to learn new things about you. Like you took night showers, and could only go to bed with your hair in braid. He'd come to see you, agitated in his room all morning, waiting for you to finally wake up so he could distract his craving. He’d walk into the kitchen where you were already cooking him breakfast, slip his arms around your hip, and pull your braids out lovingly to smell scent of your shampoo waft off in waves, closing his eyes and feeling his jitters dissipate, instantly calming him like no other remedy.

Found it funny that you couldn’t use a regular spoon for cereal, always replacing it with a tea spoon because the other ones are “too big” for your mouth to fully close around. A sentiment he suspected to be a load of BS when you had no problem swallowing his cock whole and then gulping down his cum without spilling a drop.

Or when you got red sauce all over the laundry and had to borrow Frankie's shirt to sleep in. He liked that you smelled like him, that it draped over you so pretty, and you'd never wear pants underneath. He'd put you in his lap and make you hold the shirt up with your teeth, showing off your perky tits. His thumb circled your hip bone, large hand clasping your waist to keep you upright while he'd kiss your nipples, and then make you both look down and watch as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, sucking the juices off as he finger fucked you over top him.

He can't help but feel his twitch of his cock stir in his pants at the thought.

Ok. Maybe the sexual parts were a big part—how could they not be? That’s all it was, at first. And he was able to pretend like it was too. But the more time he spent with you. The more time he got to really know you, live with you, breathe you in, unravel you and bind him to you so that you had no sanctuary untouched by him, it was all over before it began. 

He sat down with Pope a week after you left: 

“You look like shit.”

Frankie grumbled, shrugging it off. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten like he used to when you were around. His beard was growing in more patchy and less manicured than before.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“Don’t wanna talk about her tonight.”

Jesus, a broken record with these two, Santi thought. But he knew Fish much better, knew the exact reason why he called him out instead of all the boys together is precisely because he needed to get this off his chest. “She thought you were stressed, needed time. Clearly she was right.”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard that he could form diamonds.

Santi cleared his throat, twirling the ice in his glass casually. “Course, I didn’t tell her you’re head over heels in love with her. Why didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t think he could again. “Imagine how that would have gone? She was crying right there. Right in front of me, BECAUSE of me, after I’d treated her like shit for weeks until her breaking point. Would have given her some fucked up idea that that was my expression of loving her. If I’d said it then, she would never have believed me. Would have ruined everything. Including our friendship.” He pauses, staring down at his rough hands. “She deserves better,” he said weakly, more to convince himself than anyone else.

Santi leans back against the booth. He’d heard the Frankie pity train before, but this was much lower than usual. “And friendship is still good enough for you?”

“I’ll take whatever she’ll give me at this point. I can’t lose her.” 

“You can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Frankie thought about that for a while. He had realized too late he didn’t actually still need you. He hadn’t really “craved” cocaine like before. He no longer needed you tending to his every reaction, overly serving his necessities and desires, always a few steps away to brighten his smile, or warm the house with your laughter, your cooking, your terrible taste in movies, all for the sake of keeping him sane and sober.

But damn it all, he still wanted you.

Frankie goes 4 weeks of the hardest withdrawal of his life. You were right, he was getting better at not thinking about cocaine. But without you here, he's more agitated than before. It's not that he craves it now, but rather craves a substitute to get him through your absence.

He's itching for his phone, for the number of his dealer he should have blocked and deleted so long ago.

He shouldn't. It would devastate you. You'd think it's your fault because you weren't here to distract him, only making the whole lie he’s been telling himself that you could still be just friends more abundantly evident. Pushing that useless tale even further, rooting it in your mind.

 In truth, it is your fault that his entire happiness is now emotionally and physically tied to you, but he can't really blame you for leaving him since he's the big idiot. He had the entire year to make it right, damned be the consequences of your possible rejection.

He’s clenching his fist at his sides, debating whether to text his dealer. He doesn't even want that shit, at least not the way before. He just wants a distraction from the real aches that you've left behind.

And if he did... wouldn't you come back to him to make it right?

You’re so clear in his mind that doesn't even struggle, doesn't hesitate as he pays the money and carries the little pouch in his hands. He gets back to his apartment with vigorous haste, slamming the door behind him, and sits it on the coffee table, staring.

Even if you don't come back to him, getting just a little bit high would help take his mind off it all. He'd be able to stop thinking about you, even for just the night. Just to get some sleep.

Just to stop feeling.

He shakily tries to undo the tightly sealed bag, but few particle traces catch in his finger tips from outside the plastic, and he instantly wafts the infinitesimal scent of it on his finger tips. He stops, feeling something he's never felt before when staring down at the thing thats caused him so much trouble in his life:

Disgust.

-

You considered calling Frankie a million times, but how soon was too soon? Would he think you were just desperate to get ate out again? Would he deny you the second you wanted to see him, thinking it was just a booty call again? You had made some stupid choices, like going on a shitty date with a guy you weren’t even interested in, just to get over Frankie, so that you could avoid thinking about how badly you had shattered your friendship.

And going right back to being his friend, which included sharing one of your reckless decisions you make on your own, was one of them. He’d be interested in hearing about it, right?

You dial him up quickly.

You rock back and forth on your heels, unable to sit still.

The phone rings out to voicemail.

He’s never missed a phone call from you. Not even at 2am on a work night. He's never on his phone, and yet still always managed to answer your calls even if it’s on the last ring.

He's just avoiding you again. It's fine. Santi said he'll get over it eventually. That you’ve done enough worrying for him, and need to take care of yourself for a change.

You glance at the key he gave back to you, and not even a moment later, are soon slipping on shoes and heading out the door with it in hand.

-

You unlock the door and slowly walk in to the familiar layout of Frankie's apartment. It's entirely dark, curtains drawn save for a small crack in the shades. You call out his name tentatively, the eeriness of the place making you anxious. When you see the bathroom light on and door slightly ajar, hearing the rushing sink water running, you sigh relief.

Thank God.

You gently push open the door. "Fish?" You see him, heart skipping a beat at how much thinner, paler he looked now than before, eyes sunk from lack of sleep.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and your heart breaks at how different he looks but STILL has the brightest, softest, loving smile at you.

Your eyes drift down, smile fading, horror quickly overtaking your face at the unopened baggie of white powder sitting at the sink. And his face drops at the realization.

You take one step back, unable to close the gape in your lips, petrified. "Fish—I—holy fuck..."

You had never seen him doing it, never seen him freshly blown high from it. The closest you ever got was what the boys would tell you, or seeing the long aftermath of his crash. They were always first on the scene and quite frankly, ensured you were never the one to find in him these states. You had never been able to mentally prepare to have to handle it now.

"No—no no no! It's not, I didn’t, I didn't! Look—ok it looks like I did but I swear I haven't touched it. It’s still sealed! I’m. I'm dumping it down the toilet."

You don't trust his word, seeing as the bag is here, albeit fully wrapped up, seal unbroken like he said. But here, nonetheless. With him. In front of you with no denial that it was his. 

He gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your waist. “Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want you to leave the first time…”

“And it’s taking you being high right now to admit that?!”

I’m not high, seriously. Check me.” You peer down closer, and aside from his rampant heart beating against your leg and big round eyes, there’s no trace of smell or lingering white powder anywhere on him. But you’re hesitant.

“I bought it but then realized It wasn’t what I really wanted…”

He licks his lips quickly, his brown eyes pleading up to you, biceps flexing against your ribcage.

Your chest is pounding, the encasing feeling of Frankie refusing to let you back away making you feel like a trapped rabbit. 

“Please believe me,” he breathes.

"Your eyes are dilated as fuck Frankie!"

"That's because of you!"

You both hold your breath, a pregnant silence ringing in the air.

“I—I’m. Um. I meant." His eyes trail off sheepishly as a warm blush takes over his face. 

He stands up, rubbing the back of his head. He can tell you’re patiently waiting for him to get over his blubbering awkwardness so he can explain properly. To find the words he’s combing his brain for. And find them he did: 

"I miss you, Querida.”

He breathes slowly, time catching up and suddenly stopping. 

You glance toward the bag, still fearful that he had gotten to this point while you were gone. “Frankie. I’m—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. For your needs—“

“I don’t need you to fix me. I haven’t craved that shit for a while, still don’t even now. I just wanted you here with me.” He snatches the baggie and chucks it in the toilet, immediately flushing it.

You want to say that might not be great for the plumbing, but Frankie’s hands are on yours, holding them securely to his chest. “I just want you. I should have said it before you walked away.  Should’ve said it a year ago, when I knew I didn’t want to pretend this was just some—some drug replacement.” He goes quieter. “I didn’t want this to be nothing. I thought when we had sex, maybe you’d feel the same, but you didn’t—”

“I was afraid about what would happen to you If our dynamic changed, Fish. I was worried it was just another high. So I tried to make things go back to how they were since it seemed to be working so well for you before,” you rambled. He can see the shininess in your eyes, feel how your body is no longer resisting him and instead, cradling his neck with affection, empathy, nurture, all the things he’d been depraved of for weeks. “But then it made everything worse and I didn’t know what to do—“

He cut you off, as if suddenly things didn’t line up. ”Why did you come back?"

You lick your lips, eyes unable to meet his. “Well I called, and you didn't answer. And I wanted to check up on you, and tell you... um—I mean I always tell you about… I went on a date, my first one in over a year."

Frankie's eyes blankly drift lower, down to your feet, his arms retreating. He takes an awkward step back. "How... how did it go?" He asks slowly, feeling the distance between the two of you growing again.

You throw your hands up in the air, unable to express yourself. “He was…Handsome. Funny. Charming. Paid for me, made me feel pretty, treated me real good—“

He nodded, unable to bring his eyes anywhere else but back to the back on the sink as he listened. “S’good. That’s what you deserve,” he says, jaw tensing.

“Yeah. Yeah it is what I deserve.” You pause, here goes everything. “Except the whole time, I hated the fact that he was nothing like you." 

Frankie’s attention darts back to you as you cup his scruffy face in your hands. "You're irritable, and sassy, and needy and clingy, and you pout when you don't get what you want. And you don't listen to me or stop when I tell you to stop—“

A roasting fest? Now?? “OK, That's, Jesus, I get it—“

"And I love all those things about you.” You hold his gaze, feeling his breath seize in his chest. “And I miss being here. I miss waking up with you every morning, and your smug face being the last I see before I go to sleep. And it took me until after I left to realize how I actually felt about you. This whole year with you has felt like this perfect—“

"High?"

Your brows furrow shyly. “I didn’t want to put it that way, for obvious reasons. But fuck it. Yes. I don’t—I don’t wanna let that go.”

His fingers tense around your waist, almost begging you to say it, spill it out for him and don’t hold back ever again. 

“You got me addicted to you, Francisco."

You aren't aware of how fast he moves, his hands grabbing your neck as he smashes his lips to yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest when he sucks every breath from you, barely separating from your lips to utter "I've waited—so long—for you—“ He hoists you up on his waist and brushes out of the bathroom with your legs wrapped securely around him, his kiss hot and full of passion the entire time. "Wanted you since you first let me have a taste of you.” He slams you on the bed, the familiarity of you two being in this exact situation settles on you. “Wanted you to want me. Want more.”

He continues to engulf your lips with his, his moans vibrating against your tongue. "I shouldn’t—“ he hastily bites your lip with a grunt “—shouldn't have pushed you away—treated you so bad.” He pauses his assault. “I was so scared you didn't want me like that. Couldn't handle pretending I could be okay with it.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matching yours. "Frankie, I want you."

"Good," he smiles, leaning up to remove his shirt over his shoulders. You whine at the sight. Draping himself over you, his lips never leave your body as he kisses down your chest then back to your lips. You’re unable to bring yourself to action as his body dictates both of your moves.

You feel his bulge pressing painfully against your core, eliciting an obscene moan from your throat. "Frankie—Let me take care—“

"No. Fuck no. I'm taking care of you tonight. And tomorrow, and every fuckin’ day after," he growls.

He kisses you once again but then slowly backs away. "Um, if... if you want that."

He feels your hand tangle in the hair behind his neck as you bring his face back to yours, teeth clashing for dominance. "I want it," you whisper, sucking his lower lip and biting it possessively.

His jaw hitches. “Prove it."

You unbutton your pants, taking his large hand and guiding it down your panties in haste. His digits make contact between your folds, the two of you sighing.

"Oh f-fuck. You want this, don't you?"

"Want you so bad, Frankie. It fucking hurts.”

His fingers dont leave your dripping cunt, spreading your slick around your swollen clit. His other rips your string underwear off with incredible strength. He then helps push your shirt over your head, and you immediately unclasp your bra. Frankie growls lowly at the sight of your perky breasts bouncing from their release. "Fuck, I missed these.” His mouth wraps around as much fat of your tit he could before biting, making you lurch. 

“I—I’m not gonna be slow—I wanted to—“

"Jesus Fish, I don’t care, just take me!"

He plunges two of his thick digits into your soaking heat, making your back arch off the bed. He takes the opportunity to suck a nipple back into his mouth, half his body hovering over you to keep your form perfectly positioned between his mouth and fingers. They teasingly thrust in and out slowly from your hole, intentionally dragging out his torture against you. "So mean to me, baby." His teeth nip at your nipple with a smug grin. "Takin’ my sweet little pussy away from me like that. I barely touched you and you're absolutely soaked. Were you wet on your way here?"

"Frankie I haven't... haven't been able to get off in weeks."

"How long?"

You moan out loud, eyes rolling back as your brain turns to mush. Your hand tries to guide his wrist faster but he slaps it away, continuing his teasing ministrations.

"Answer me!"

"Since the last time you touched me!" You cry.

He haults his movements. 

The girl who bragged about cumming an average of 6 times a day just grinding on a pillow, now telling him she hasn't been able to orgasm in a month, because of him.

Ohhhhhhh fuuuuccccckkkkkfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. “That why you went on your little date, huh?"

You nod shamefully.

"Did you fuck him?"

You whine, eyes burrowing in confusion that he still expected you have coherent thoughts while he had you in this compromising position, teetering on the brink of your much needed orgasm.

"Your date.” He repeats, his wrist slowing down entirely. “Did. You. Fuck. Him."

“No—no! I didn’t even let him kiss me goodnight. Couldn't even get wet for him, that's how bad—Frankie, fuck! please!—bad you've got me fucked up."

He speeds up his hands, satisfied with your confessions. They are thrusting perfectly in and out at record speeds as his jaw clenched around your tit, watching your eyes roll back as your first orgasm in WEEKS overwhelms you fast. You’re shaking violently, legs desperate to close but Frankie pries them open with his strong hand, continuing to dominate your cunt with his incessant fingers.

You feel something else coming as he continues to ram his wrist against you, fingers digging so deep, curling so effortlessly that you can’t stop the gush of liquid squirting out of you. “Oh shit, oh fuckfuckFUCK that’s it! That’s my girl, holy fuck yeah—yeah keep going, Cariño, so fucking good.” He continues to finger fuck you repeatedly, working you through it as your pussy continues to contract and release your spend.

You hardly have time to process your embarrassment as he's shifting below your hips, throwing your thighs over shoulder and giving your soaked pussy a longing look. Your clit twitches excitedly. Cool air is blown on it, making you fist his hair harder. He presses his large nose into you, inhaling your scent like bloodhound, growling like a man possessed at the sticky coating. "I fucking missed you, Hermosa," he groans, and his mouth latched right on to your pulsing cunt. You gasp, hands fisting his hair as he rolls your overstimulated clit with his tongue, jaw opening wide to practically swallow your pussy whole, sucking away everything you're giving him.

Whether he was talking to you or your pussy, it didn’t really matter to you. All you could process was the rough feeling of his fat tongue and scruffy face rubbing perfectly between your legs as Frankie got reacquainted with his former addiction. "FrankieFrankieFranke-ohFUCK!"

You can’t stop him, can’t even warn him as the overstimulation send you into a fit of gasps, cumming again, legs squeezing his head as painful pleasure courses through you. His upper back is littered in your scratches, the red marks raising his skin like tiger stripes.

You're struggling to catch your breath with ragged moans. He slows his licks to draw it out, letting your spasms pass. His sinful, lidded eyes have never left your face, absorbing every reaction from you, committing it to memory.

"You really have neglected this poor pussy," he teases, kissing your clit as his fingers begin to spread your glistening folds once again.

You can only nod, arms covering your face as he starts to rub the pad of his thumb on your swollen nub again. “It’s—not as good—unless it’s you.”

He grits his teeth in satisfaction. “S’okay. M’ gonna take care of you now. Gonna fuck you real soon."

You whine when he pushes his fingers back in to your tight heat.

"And then, when I’m done fucking you—We're gonna fuck again," he laughs.

You’re a bit frightened with how he’s looking at you: like he’s fucking possessed by a hungry, malicious demon.

He makes you cum on his fingers again, then his lips, then both at once. He’s pinning you down so harshly, you have no choice but to take the endless barrage of orgasms he’s forcing from you, almost as if he’s trying to make up for the time you two have been apart. 

By the time his tastebuds are content, he brings himself back up to you, messily kissing your lips so you taste yourself, his beard and stache now soaked in your cum and rubbing along your chin.

You gasp when you feel his hard cock sliding along your folds. He rolls his hips against you, your copious slick letting him glide effortlessly, tip nudging your clit.

“Frankie,” you warn, unable to handle his teasing now.

He grabs the base of his dick. “Beg. Beg me for it,” He commands with a godly voice you’d never heard him use before. He slaps the underside of his throbbing member repeatedly against your pussy with a taptaptaptap. “Tell me you want it.”

You don’t care for the fat tears spilling down your cheeks as you whine like a bitch in heat. “Fuckyou, Frankie,” you seethe, anger building with your desperation. “I fucking want it, want it so bad, want you to ruin me, please, Fish, fucking please put it in already!”

He grins, big and sadistic as he watches your face contort with the first push of his tip into your wetness. “Oh F—“ he breathes, eyes closing as your tight walls do their best to accomodate his size.

Your eyesight is blurry, waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body, delirious as he bottoms out. Where he belongs. Where he’s always meant to be.

He presses his forehead to you as his hips start rutting.

He’s hardly fucked you for a few seconds, but the pressure building inside of you, desperate for this moment again after months, isn’t giving you a choice to savor it. “Fish—fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK! ‘M not gonna last!"

He growls excitedly, driving his cock more harshly into you, reaching that special spot he’s decided is only his to abuse. “It’s okay, babygirl. You cum for me. You're always so good at it."

And you are, you really are. “OH FUCK FRANKIE!” You scream. Your body agreeing with him so much that your abrupt orgasm squeezes around him so hard, his movements stop altogether.

“Oh shit—“ he hisses, your pussy greedily milking the cum right out of him. He only pauses for a moment, shaking over you for a moment as his first orgasm subsides before his hips are moving of their own accord, his cum forced out with each thrust.

“Keep goin’, pretty thing. Give me more,” he grunts. 

You nod deliriously, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he pounds your battered puussy.

He pulls out, the sudden withdrawal making you whine with emptiness. He sinks to his knees again, yanking your knees up to your chest. Your pussy twitches, his cum spilling out and sinking down your ass.

He lets out of primal groan from the back of his throat before smashing his mouth on your cunt, sucking your clit and tongue fucking your hole like a cream filled pastry. You feel the descending bob of his Adam’s apple against your rear as he swallows the mixture of your cum, drinking it like liquid life from the source. “We taste—so—fucking—good, Princesa,” he taunts, tongue lapping your little clit in quick succession before shaking his head back and forth aggressively against your mound, smearing the obscene mixture across your folds and making a mess.

Oh fuck, he’s so gone.

He quickly gets on his knees, turning you over on your stomach like you weigh nothing. His hands grip around your hips, bringing them flush against his crotch again as you arch your back for him. He puts his palm on the small of your back, keeping you right there, pressed tight against him as his cock slides back into your eager and cum coated cunt.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, setting a faster pace this time. You hadn't realized just how much Frankie was holding back the first time you had sex. He leans over your body, hands splayed past your shoulders, fisting the bed as he rails you deep, his thighs crashing against you with harsh slaps. Your temple lands against his cheek, meeting eye contact. He smiles, breath caught in his throat like running a mile at your fucked out expression. 

He continues to fuck you like an animal. A soft hand grips your chin lovingly, tilting your head further back so his lips meet yours with each punishing grind. You’re surprised by how much you love the hold he has on you, willingly submitting to him without being told. Drunk on each other’s lust.

You suck greedily around his tongue, hand reaching behind the two of you to play with his soft brown curls, refusing to let him leave your mouth. He stutters with a few more thrusts before halting, eyes scrunched closed. “AUUGHHH—haaaahh!” You feel the twitch of him inside you, draining his balls some more of his plentiful seed. 

“Fuck, fuck I love it when you cum inside me!” You confess. The action makes you fall forward, mouth burying into his pillows as you muffle your own cry of your release again.

He pulls out of you and flops to the bed. You think maybe he is done, after having cum twice now, bur Frankie is quick to bring you to straddle him, his dick never once softening as it presses incessantly to your entrance again. He licks his lips, watching his cum spill down your thighs, right to his creamy cock that refuses to fully part from you. 

“Frankie,” you moan, unsure if you can take him again.

“Want you just like this. Ride me,” he breathes. He’s covered in sweat, out of breath and shaking with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline if it were possible. His hands gently wrap around your waist as he guides you. Eyes so lidded, transfixed on the area where your mound slowly swallows him again.

You’re nodding, body taking over all actions, completely starved for the man under you. 

He leans up to get a good look at you, taking it slow, burning this in head to remember.

"Thought about you... everyday.” He whispers, mouth parted in lust, gliding your hips along with steady rolls. “Couldn't sleep."

His hands down along the curve of your ass, to your thighs spread out over him, before rubbing up the length of your back, holding you as close to him as he can possibly bring you, your tits pressing against his chest. He struggles to breathe evenly as your creamy pussy continues to tighten around him each time he breaches you, the two of you moaning softly into each others’ open mouths. He occasionally catches your lips, slotting perfectly as you grind against him.

His mouth finds its way back down to your pebbled nipple, biting gently before kissing it better. He brings his face back to yours. “So perfect for me,” he whispers.

You start grinding on him more fervently, lifting yourself on your knees ever slightly and baring down on him. He grits his teeth, sinking further down into the bed, eyes never leaving you as his digs his nails into the meat of your hips, forcing you to bounce harder. 

“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. MY girl, my beautiful girl.”

You bite your lips, feelings your clit catch on his public hairs. The sloppy squelching of his cum being driven out of your heat by his thick cock is no match to the heavenly sounds you were making atop him. The vein in his neck strains like he’s suffocating himself from air, refusing to slow down, to take a break, to let go for even just a moment.

“More. Give me more,” you moan, confidence soaring as you feel him begin to meet your hips with every thrust. “I want all of you, Frankie.”

He shouts out, lifting you up, his feet digging into mattress as he fucks you from below. “Fuck, fuck!”

You want to throw your head back, ride out this high, but the dangerous allure of him watching you brings your focus down to him, watching the way the two of you are getting off to the other falling apart.

“Just like this. You n’ me. Want it just like this. Forever.” He mumbles repeatedly, ragged pants uneven as he fills you the way you had been unknowingly wanting for months.  

You feel the build of your umpteenth orgasm building in your lower tummy. “Frankie-F-Franke! I’m—I’m gonna—“

“Do it, Querida, do it f-for me.” He thinks he can starve off the low build of his third orgasm of the night, just enough to make you cum for him once more.

You feel the heavy knot in your stomach snap. With absolutely no hesitation, no doubt behind your word, you cry out, “I love you!” as you cum harder than any time before.

Lifting you both practically off the bed, Frankie’s hips seize, pressed so tightly against yours there was no room between you. He shouts loudly, animalistic, snarling with his teeth baring at you and 0 control left in him, immediately emptying his load deep inside with each heavy pulse of his cock against your cervix, painting your walls white with the last of his cum that his balls could give you.

You collapse on top of him, the two of you sucking  air like you were underwater for years. Neither of you say anything, covered in sweat and cum, but finally being able to relax from the pent up release that’s been building there far longer than it ever should have been.

His hand rests against your lower back, somehow pressing your naked body closer to his. 

“I love you,” you whisper again to his collarbone. He brings your eyes to his, and this time he knows you mean it.

-

Frankie wakes to a cold bed.

His arm reaches out subconsciously for your body, but only feels cool empty sheets at his side. His eyes fly open, head sitting upright as he scans his bedroom. There's no sign of you. None of your clothes are scattered on the floor, no immediate trace of your scent. He feels a strong pain in his chest suffocating and stabbing him all at once.

He lies back flat on his pillow, fingers rubbing his forehead. He has two thoughts: the first thought, the one he'd rather think is true, is that it was all dream. You hadn't come home to him.

Before he could bring himself to consider the pain of the second thought, the fear is instantly squashed when he hears the door creak open, your sweet soft smile and gentle eyes landing on him.

‘Hiiiii,” you whisper in a singsong, gentle morning voice. Tip toeing bare foot on the hardwood floor, he see’s you’re dressed in nothing but one of Frankies slightly torn over sized, faded band T shirts that swallows your body. Your bed head still evident, eyes baggy yet happy from the events of last night.

He didn't realize he had held his breath the moment before you walked in, afraid that rather than having dreamt it all, that it did happen, and you had left him anyway.

"I made you tea," you hummed, setting the two cups down by his bedside table.

Your ears go red at the image of him: sheet pulled half way up his hip, his bare chest and torso visible as he props himself up with his elbows to get a good look at you. And the WAY he's looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, has you sheepishly avoiding his big brown pupils, sliding in to the covers and nuzzling your head against his shoulder.

He wraps his arms around you, unwilling to let you sneak off again. “Don’t wake up before me like that again.”

You giggle. “Frankie, it’s 4 in the afternoon.” 

He checks his digital clock by the bed, true to your word. You both had fucked so hard, so long last night that he didn’t even realize it was well into the morning by the time you had drifted to sleep. 

He lies back down in bed, encircling you to him again. He can more clearly see the damage of last night’s episode on you: bite marks along your tits, hickies against your inner thighs and swollen lips. he doesn’t even need to touch your pussy, feeling its puffy soreness pressing against his leg. He kisses you gently yet passionately this morning, cradling your head so you can’t back away. Not that you want to—he doesn’t feel any resistance in your movements as you devour his lips. 

“I love you,” he says clearly. He can feel the way your breath hitches, the blush on your cheeks at the confession. “I love you, and I’m so sorry it took me so long to say it. I’m sorry I caused you so much confusion and I—“

“Okay, Fish. It’s okay. I know.” You bite your lip, pushing your hand against his chest so that he’s lying down on his back. “But I’m not sure I forgive you just yet.”

A brief moment of confusion wracks his face before you’re clambering on top of him again, your naked lower body straddling his under the sheet. You fist the t shirt of your head, letting your soft supple breasts fall. Frankie immediately grabs them tenderly with both of his warm hands, his breath quickening. His length twitches, hard as a rock and pressing right against his lower stomach as you glide your slick folds along him.

“I think you should keep making it up to me.” You align the tip of his throbbing cock against your swollen entrance and sink down, hands seeking purchase on his chest, scratching the skin there as he fills your sore cunt, taking him down to the hilt in one go.

You let out the tiniest, sexiest whimper, and Frankie is ready to drop everything he’s ever owned just to hear it again. So smitten with you, he’s grinning harder than he has his entire life. Like a big dumb idiot.

Your big dumb idiot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Querida: I love you.”

Tagging people who either requested a part 2/3 or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

- - - -

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Permanent Taglist: @harriedandharassed 

[d3adp00ls]

I’m still waiting for that angst fic pookie 😍🫶

Clingy

Vanessa (fnaf movie) x reader

Summary: Vanessa has been a lot more distant a lot but you didn’t think she would miss a important night like this. (I KNOW MY SUMMARY IS BEAUTIFUL)

Contents: Angst, Yelling, Tears, stressed Vanessa, Established relationship, hurt no comfort (yet), Vanessa gets slapped 😬, somebody needs driving lessons lol.

Word count: I'm pretty sure my dog knows.

Side note: 🦗🦗🦗🦗🦗

Pt.2 Pt.3

✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮

You were sitting on the couch in your shared home with Vanessa, watching a TV program that featured extravagant rings that cost more than your entire life. Recently, Vanessa had been coming home later than usual, and every time you tried to bring it up, she would dismiss your concerns or accuse you of being too clingy. You tried to brush off her words and the hurt they caused, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore your feelings. Eventually, you gave up and started going to bed before she came home. However, tonight was supposed to be different. You had pleaded with her to come home early and she had promised she would. Filled with hope, you had prepared a romantic candle-lit dinner and even bought her a gift. But as the minutes turned into hours, the food grew cold and the gift remained untouched on the table. You sat on the couch with a half-finished glass of wine, tears welling up in your eyes.

She was supposed to have arrived hours ago, and you had debated whether or not to just go to sleep. But as you were about to doze off, you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling and the front door opening. Vanessa, your late girlfriend, seemed oblivious to your presence as she quietly closed the door and went straight to the kitchen without acknowledging the food you had prepared for her.

With a clenched jaw, you stood up and cleared your throat, causing Vanessa to finally notice you. "Y/n? What are you doing up?" she asked with a confused and slightly worried expression.

You wanted to scoff at her question. How dare she ask that when she had promised to be here? "Oh, you know," you shrugged, taking a few steps towards her, "Just waiting for my girlfriend who was supposed to be here almost four hours ago." Your voice rose with pent-up anger towards the end, and you could see Vanessa flinch slightly at the sound of it.

"Y/n…I lost track of time, I'm sorry, really I am, I-" She started to apologize, but you cut her off, not in the mood for her excuses.

"Do you know what today is?" you asked, your voice heavy with disappointment. Vanessa looked even more puzzled, and you let out a sigh as you walked over to the table and picked up the small gift box you had prepared for her. You fiddled with it between your fingers, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"June 7th," you said, looking back at Vanessa, hoping she would finally understand. But she still looked confused, and you felt your heart sink. "The day we started dating, two years ago. Does it not ring a bell, Vanessa? Or were you too busy thinking about work or some other woman while you were out all night?" you couldn't hold back your anger any longer, and you let out a loud yell, tears now streaming down your face.

"Oh…" Vanessa mumbled, finally realizing her mistake. You nodded, wiping the tears from your cheeks, but they kept coming.

"Yeah…" you said, your disappointment evident in your voice.

"Baby, I know I've been really busy and lost track of time, but please try to understand-" You cut her off abruptly, rolling your eyes and turning away.

"Here we go again…" you mutter under your breath, feeling her glare burning into the back of your head as you make your way to the bedroom. You toss the gift box in the trash on your way, feeling frustrated and angry.

"What do you mean?" she asks, following you into the room. You let out a sigh and close the door behind you, but she stops it with her foot and pushes it open, grabbing your arm and spinning you to face her.

"Don't you dare walk away when I'm talking to you," she says coldly, but you scoff and pull your arm away.

"No, you don't get to act like you haven't been doing the same thing for the past week. You always do this, yet whenever I try and speak up about it, I'm the bad guy? That's complete bullshit!" you yell, jabbing your finger into her chest.

"And don't even try to pretend that you've only missed spending time with me once. You do it every single day," you continue, your voice cracking as tears start to well up in your eyes.

"Every time you tell me you'll be here, you never are. And when I try to talk to you about it, you just shut me down and tell me the same bullshit excuse or you just flat out tell me to get over it. But it's getting harder and harder to ignore, Nessa. And this morning, I had to beg you to stay. You said you would, and I believed you. But then you showed up later than ever and didn't even respond to my messages. You didn't even remember what today was. At this point, I’m convinced I’m just some inconvenience to you." Your voice breaks as you continue to pour out your feelings, wiping away the tears that are now falling freely down your face.

She looks at you in surprise, wanting to reach out and comfort you, but you take a step back and wipe away your own tears before taking a deep breath and looking away from her.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm not important to you, Nessa. I just want to spend time with you and feel like I matter to you. Is that too much to ask?" you say, your voice barely above a whisper now.

Vanessa let out a heavy sigh before shaking her head in frustration.

"Y/n, I love you, but I have responsibilities and obligations that I can't always put on hold for you," she said with a huff.

You looked at her with hurt and confusion in your eyes, crossing your arms and turning away. "Am I not important to you anymore?" you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Vanessa's sigh pained your heart as you heard it. "Of course you are, but you just don't understand," she started, but you interrupted her with a pleading look.

"Then help me understand," you begged, taking her hands and pulling her closer to you. You pressed your forehead against hers, desperate for her to see how much this was affecting you. "Please… I want to understand," you whispered, gazing into her eyes.

She looked away, her jaw clenching as she pulled her hands away from yours. Your heart sank as she avoided your gaze, and you clenched your fists in frustration.

"Okay," you said quietly, finally accepting that she wasn't going to explain. You pushed past her and left the room, heading to the living room.

You didn't hear her follow you as you grabbed your coat and began putting on your shoes. As you searched for your keys, you heard Vanessa enter the room and stand in the middle of it, watching you. But you didn't acknowledge her as you grabbed your wallet from the table behind her.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her tone a little more stern.

You ignored her and continued searching for your keys, finally finding them between the couch cushions. You stood up and began walking towards the door, but she grabbed your arm and turned you around forcefully.

"I asked you a question," she glared at you.

You glared back and snatched your arm away, walking past her towards the door. But she followed you, grabbing your arm more harshly this time and turning you around.

"No, you don't get to leave-" she started, but before she could finish her sentence, you had already raised your hand and slapped her across the cheek.

You were shocked at your own actions and immediately regretted it as you saw the red handprint on her cheek. You both stood there in silence and shock before you finally mumbled a quick apology and left.

She eventually made her way back to the bedroom, her heart breaking as she heard your car speed away. If she had stayed just five seconds longer, she would have heard the sound of another car zooming by and a loud crash. If she hadn't fallen asleep just ten minutes later, she would have heard her phone ringing.

But she would see all of that in the morning.

✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮✰✮

BRO I HAVE BEEN PROCRASTINATING THIS FIC FOR A WEEK I LITERALLY HAD IT FINISHED JUST NOT EDITED and then i was supposed to post it earlier but im on the phone with some friends BUT FINALLY I POSTED IT also ill post part two sometime this week hopefully ANYWAYS TOODLES🤪✌🏾

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Susceptible - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Fully clothed grinding, very slight dirty talk, very light exhibitionism in a sense, no use of Y/N, female-hinted reader because of skirt/makeup mentions but other than that there's no real gender mention.

Wordcount: 4950

Summary: You spent a small fortune getting a ticket to Carmichael Haig's show on the promise of his new act showing his audience something the world has never seen before, as well as the possible attendance of one Jack Delroy, but will two hours of bullshit be worth the risk?

Notes: There is SO MUCH BUILDUP I'm so sorry I'm so weak for worldbuilding and plot I swear the other one I have planned will be shorter OTL I have never written a reader before but I am a huge fan of them, especially the DDverse ones I've been binging oop, so I hope this is a good first attempt! It's been a few years since I've written anything like this and probably a good decade or so since I last posted anything, so here's hoping I post more in the upcoming future~ This is also completely unbetaed so if you see any mistakes please let me know <3 The Manhattan Center is also real but didn't fit my needs entirely so I mashed it together with the theatre I went to as a kid lol

~~~~~~~~~~

Carmichael Haig was back in town and you had no idea why you were here. 

He had left for what felt like both forever and not nearly long enough for a few months to do his tour, seeing his smug face everywhere you looked between both digital and paper news and making your distaste grow a little more each time. You had been fond of his trickery for a time, but his move from magic man to skeptic had sucked all the fun out of the act, his determination to not only find the real but humiliate the fakes way past annoying to straight up sickening to you by this point. Tonight’s show proved to be another big presentation of the latter you’d decided when it’d been announced officially, promoted by your favourite talk show host - and current celebrity crush - Jack Delroy; his smile was wide for the cameras but it didn’t reach his eyes, you could always tell between them by now and he did not seem to be as pleased as the two talked about it that night.

‘I’m going to show the world something they’ve never seen before,’ Carmichael had said, his usual smug look in place as he hammed it up for the cameras like he could really pull that off, Jack running with it like the patron saint of patience he had to be.

‘Big talk, you sure I can’t convince you to give our wonderful audience a taste tonight?’ he asked, the crowd cheering at the mere thought of getting to experience his new act an entire month early, but if there was even an iota of temptation within him to share he hid it perfectly. He waved the offer away to everyone’s disappointment, Jack pouting on everyone’s behalf and putting those big eyes on display as his own plea; the ratings, you imagined, would be wonderful for a segment like this when his show was already starting to slip down the line, but even that was no use.

‘You’ll all get a chance to see it on the 13th,’ he promised them as he turned to face the audience, the place and date scrolling across the bottom of the screen yet again, they’d been flashing it every single time it was mentioned to the point where you were sure you’d see it in your sleep tonight, rolling across the bottom half of your dream. ‘Or, those of you who’ve been able to get your tickets will, we’re selling out fast,’ he smirked with a tip of his glass, yet another thing that’d been brought up and hammered home; you’d gone to the Manhattan Center to check a couple days ago, just out of curiosity, the ticket price absolutely ridiculous to the point that you were convinced they’d never sell out, but now you guessed your distaste of him wasn’t as widespread as you’d secretly hoped.

Jack slapped his leg in mock disappointment, Carmichael looking back to him at the sound. ‘Guess you’ll have to tell me all about it the next time you’re back in town, I had asked Gus to pick one up for me but it seems he missed that call,’ he joked, Gus’ surprise at the blame of his absence being placed on him getting a big laugh as his face fell and he tried to explain himself. 

Carmichael placed an understanding hand on Jack’s shoulder and leaned in closer, the other man leaning in in return as if to receive some kind of secret. ‘Well then, it’s a good thing my date canceled on me,’ he retorted, and when he pulled his hand back he revealed a ticket, Jack’s eyes going wide as he accepted the gift with a big smile, pointing to it before shaking Carmichael’s hand with a thanks.

Ah, so that was why you were here again.

You knew you’d never be able to get a seat on Night Owls because the thought of Jack seeing you in the crowd made you blush all the way to your shoulders, even on your bravest of nights you hadn’t been able to even call and see if there were any tickets left, but to maybe share an audience with him? To sit in the same room as him where you could steal glances if you were able to find him, with no risk whatsoever of him catching the way your eyes lit up when you looked at that handsome face, that dangerously attractive body? That was doable. 

It had cost an arm and a leg to convince that scalper to hand over one of the tickets he was parading around outside the Center, but it was worth it as you stepped inside, your heart racing because, unless he wanted to risk the aftermath of Carmichael calling him out for not going, he was here; somewhere in this building was the man you’d been dreaming about since his debut a few years ago, the one you watched nearly every night without fail just for that hour where he looked at you, talked to you, noticed you even if it was through a camera, and that was all you’d needed until tonight.

You’d gotten a pretty shitty seat despite the price but you didn’t mind, it actually worked out for you considering you weren’t actually there to see the show but to look for someone in the seats in front of you, and you hoped that you’d be able to spot him from where you were in the far back corner. As long as he wasn’t, say, the exact opposite of you then you probably stood a chance of at least a glance, since his ticket came from Carmichael himself you guessed that it was probably close to the front if not front row center just to mess with him and prove that he’d come, and you felt all the hair rise on your arms and neck when Carmichael walked on stage early to very loudly greet someone who’d just walked in.

There he was, leaving his seat to meet the other man in the middle, and he was so much further than you expected but it was still him, big smile in place, hair perfectly combed, his crisp suit being wrinkled by Carmichael’s hands as he gave him a showy hug, and he was beautiful. You froze in the middle of the row, unable to finish the walk as your eyes stayed on him, the people trying to get by you not as starstruck as they attempted to squeeze past when you ignored their presence.

‘Sorry,’ you murmured as you sat as fast as you could, eyes still trained on him as he waved to the crowd to prove that yes, he did honour the gift and was there to see this big new act he’d been promised. You let out an embarrassingly needy whine when he sat back down and you became unable to see him again, the mass of bodies behind him obscuring all but a sliver of the back of his head from this angle, and you’d be damned if you had to spend the next 2 hours stuck like this at a Carmichael Haig show of all things. The person at the end of the row finally arrived and you made your move, hurrying down and taking one last glance before getting ready to make this whole thing a little more bearable. ‘Excuse me,’ you nearly stuttered as the person, a man older than yourself who definitely gave off the air of being a Carmichael fan, looked up at you, ‘would you want to trade seats with me? I was really looking forward to the show but I was too late to grab an aisle seat.’

It’s a blatant lie but the quick glance from before proved that you could see him better from there, and the chance of getting to look at him for the next two hours was worth the look the man gave you at the request.

‘Which one are you?’ he asked, looking down to the few empty spaces still waiting for their owners, and you pulled out your ticket to double check, seeing that it was R51; wow, you didn’t realize how far away R was from A until you saw it firsthand. He looked back down to your seat and considered it, looking you over midthought when he thought you weren’t looking, and he almost got away with it if not for the fact that you felt his eyes on you. ‘$100,’ he decided, the offer knocking the wind right out of you.

‘What? The seat was already $350,’ you choke, giving away the fact that you were really, really late to the party.

‘Take it or leave it, I had the sense to order on time,’ is all he says to that, and you looked back at your possible view before sighing heavily and reaching for your wallet; goddamnit, Jack, if only he knew how worth it he was. You hand over the money and step aside, the man pocketing his fee and leaving the seat for you as promised, and the view is just barely better but there he is again, perfectly in view due to what can only be a miracle, the hole in your wallet feeling a little less big as you watched him turn his head to talk to someone, giving you a perfect side view.

He really was handsome, captivating even from this distance, and you swoon a little as the audience finished filling out, the lights dimming and obscuring your view a little more save the grace of the stage lights that illuminate him from the front as Carmichael walked back out on stage and started the show. You’d never been one for spacing out but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, the $450 price tag of this shitty aisle seat all for him and not feeling so bad even as Carmichael charms everyone around you. He didn’t look to the side that often, you guessed he didn’t actually know his neighbour since the seat was a gift, but the times that he did, where he laughed or sighed at the theatrics or even put his face in his hand because he wasn’t having too much fun, were all cataloged away in your head forever, the perfect souvenirs to last you a lifetime of home viewing after this. 

At about an hour in according to your old watch, Jack looked about ready to get up and find any reason to leave, which you couldn’t blame him for, the acts themselves were pretty damn good you realized in the times you actually paid attention, but it was getting so tiring to see Carmichael explain away all of their tricks, to see the joy leave their faces at being called a fraud or having all their mysteries revealed, and it was clear Jack felt the same down in row A. After a particularly rough walk-off from a woman who was trying very desperately to convince Carmichael that she could really read his mind and ending up with the humiliating reality that everything he answered to was false to get her to out herself, you noticed that when you looked back to his seat that Jack isn’t there, and you were in the middle of wondering where he went when the person coming up the aisle came into view so suddenly that it took your breath away.

It was Jack, his brow twitching slightly to keep a neutral face, his footsteps heavy as he tried not to stomp and draw attention to the fact that that last one really pissed him off, his hands already reaching into his suit pocket for something. You tried not to stare the closer he got but it was hard, years of being able to look all you want training your brain to look look look as he approached, and you forced yourself to stare straight ahead at the stage as he reached you. Your hands were clenched tight in your lap as he went to pass row R, and you were in the middle of thinking you were going to make it when he fumbled the small box in his pocket and dropped it with a low curse, the cigarettes he apparently smoked bouncing to the side and coming to a stop between your recently shined shoes.

Your head snapped down so fast you felt it in your neck as he came to a stop beside you, the two of you locating the box at the same time, and you stiffened as he reached for it before realizing how rude that would be despite his own sour mood. ‘I’m sorry, could I bother you for a second,’ he asked, his smile back in place despite being a bit tense, and you stuttered out a confirmation as you leaned down to pick them up.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself, Jack’s hand frozen in midair as he reached for the box, his smile relaxing a little as he looked from your hand to your face.

‘Did I find myself a Night Owl in this sea of skeptics?’ he wondered aloud, your cheeks brightening in a way that really made you pray it was dark enough not to notice. 

‘I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,’ you lie, and he crouched down so he could hear your whispers as the crowd reacted to the next act.

‘I take it you’re also not very impressed,’ he figured, hitting the nail on the head based on your expression alone. He chuckled at your silent confirmation and looked back down to the cigarettes, his fingertips just barely touching yours as you both held it, you didn’t even know when he’d grabbed it and you let go before it got awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Well, if you don’t tell my producer that I’m smoking again, then I won’t tell Haig that you didn’t like his show, deal?’

You sucked in a breath as he moved the box to his left hand, offering up his right for a handshake this time to seal the deal, your heart pounding as you shook on it, his smile more genuine than you’d seen all night, you could always tell. He stood back up as the act finished and Carmichael went back to his disproving, his mood dropping again as his need to escape rearose. You both offered a look of disdain at the stage before he stood back up to move again, something stopping him midstep before he turned on his heel and leaned back down to you, a shiver running down your spine at how close he was so he could be heard.

‘Have you ever been to one of my shows?’ he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, his warm breath accidentally hitting your neck and rendering you unable to do anything but glance at him and shake your head no. ‘You’d have a much better time, I’ve got some great stuff coming up,’ he pitched, either completely unaware of your predicament or just used to people acting like this around him, either way he didn’t react when your eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to watch him lick his lips so fast you almost missed it. ‘The next one’s already booked up but if you go down to the studio and give them this card, you should be able to get a spot for a night you’re free, I'd like to see you there.’

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a business card, flipping it around to the blank side on the back before resting it on the arm of the chair. A pen was found next, and he scribbled a quick note to the ticket seller on it on your behalf, signing it and handing it over with that big showman smile of his. You took it and placed it in your own wallet, the previous hole instantly filled with its presence, his mood clearly raised by the interaction as he wished you a quick goodbye and resumed his journey outside, oblivious to the fact that you were about to disrupt the entire theater if you didn’t find a place to scream and fast. 

You gave him a few minutes to reach the doors before jumping to your feet and making for the bathroom, your heels clickclacking on the tile the entire way until you found the correct door. The place was empty, which was great because once you caught sight of yourself you knew that it was bad enough he saw you this way, no one else should get the pleasure; your face was redder than you’d ever seen it, your pupils blown from the exchange and you could’ve sworn you could actually see yourself shaking you were buzzing so hard, your grin so wide anyone else would’ve assumed that Santa had just given you the toy you’d always wanted for Christmas early. 

You tried to calm yourself as you ripped off some paper towels and dampened them, patting them against your cheeks and neck to bring your body temperature back down to a normal person’s, carefully avoiding your makeup that you were thankful you spent the time putting on just on the ultra rare off chance you’d run into him. When you were ready to go back - and after a quick internal debate on whether you should try and meet him outside for another, less hushed conversation already - you made sure to calm your breathing before heading back out there, taking a quick moment to look for him before making the trek back to your seat. 

When you got back you noticed that no new act was on, Carmichael already talking to the audience and projecting himself up on the screens for all to see, you rolling your eyes as you collapsed into the rich red velvet and preparing for more of his bullshit until Jack returned, if he felt like it that was. Everyone around you was concentrating on his words, staring right ahead as the theater fell silent save for his voice and the sound of a ticking clock; ah, he was trying to hypnotize everyone, that must’ve been his big final act that he’d promised his audience. You weren’t impressed, you’d tried to be hypnotized before at a party in your youth, it hadn’t worked then so it wasn’t going to work now you knew, so you sat back and prepared to at least enjoy whatever he was going to make the audience do.

Your thoughts went back to Jack as Carmichael’s voice slowly got drowned out, the ticking a bit louder in your ears despite the distance, but you didn’t mind because it was nonsense anyway, ‘Now who’s the skeptic,’ you think to yourself as you sink deeper into your chair. You vaguely heard the words, ‘Your greatest desire,’ in your ear before you felt a hand on your shoulder, your eyes leaving the stage to travel up until you saw Jack standing just behind you in the aisle, his smile from before now more like a smirk as he motioned towards the doors like he wanted you to follow him. 

You looked back at the stage as Carmichael invited someone from the audience up to stand with him, some poor hypnotized fool who was bound to be humiliated along with everyone else who stood with him tonight, and you decided that you’d rather not see that again before standing and following Jack. There was a small hallway between the theater and the doors on that side of the back wall, the two of you out of view from everyone else but Carmichael’s voice still reaching, and you were about to wonder if he was leading you outside to just leave or talk when he turned and pushed you against the wall with a muffled thud. Your back met cold paint as your chest met with his, your eyes locking as he cornered you where no one could see, a confidence he saved for the cameras now focused solely on you as he looked you over the same way you’d done to him a thousand times over. 

‘I couldn’t wait for you to come to my show,’ he whispered, his voice impossibly low as he held you in place, a knee parting yours and making you gasp, ‘you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘You’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you managed to get out, his eyes closing as he leaned in to grin against your cheek.

‘Is it working?’

You didn’t dare answer but you might as well have because your silence was enough to spur him into action, your head falling back against the wall as he started to kiss your neck, your hands grasping at anything because this was crazy. The man you’d wanted for years was kissing you not even 30ft away from a room full of people, anyone could come around the corner at any second and catch you, and you bit your lip at the thrill of it all. You’d had dreams like this before, ones that left you panting into your pillow when you awoke, but the real thing was so much better as he sucked a mark into your soft skin, your hand leaving his arm to cover your mouth lest you alert anyone within hearing distance to your current predicament.

You let him do as he pleased, let him ran his hands over your sides and down to the edge of where your lifted skirt was resting against his thigh, your legs shaking as your body tried not to grind against him; it was only due to him holding you that kept you standing as a matter of fact and he seemed fully aware of it as his nails scratched softly against your bare leg. He seemed to love all your reactions to what he did, he was in the entertainment business after all, every noise of approval that slipped through your fingers must’ve been like music to his ears but you had to hold back no matter how much you wanted to indulge him. Being denied what he wanted only made him work harder for it, the assault on your neck moving to your shoulder and collarbone instead of your covered lips, your mouth watering for just a taste as he started to move against you, one hand pulling your waist away from the wall by your lower back as the other moved up and under your skirt.

The first grind of his body against yours was decadent, you swore you could feel it in your soul the way he wanted you just as much as you’d wanted him, like he’d been watching you back through the screen for years and also craved this very moment, and now that he was getting it he wasn’t going to stop, you didn’t want him to stop. You’d never seen him act anything like this before in all his years on TV, a greedy flash of excitement running through you at getting to see such a new side of him quickly overcome by pleasure as he cupped your ass and pulled you even closer. You knew you couldn’t get undressed here, if you’d made it to the bathroom then maybe he’d be doing more but he hadn’t lasted even that long, but even with that desire being restrained you still wanted him here and now. Never in your life had you been this desperate for release but he was bringing out a demon inside of you that desired and needed and wanted so much that you were willing to throw your modesty out the fucking window for just a second of his hot skin pressed against your own, but this would have to do while the show still went on.

‘Jack…’ you moaned as your hand, moist from your panting, gripped his arm once again, Carmichael’s voice getting louder in the distance as you grew closer to your release.

‘Come home with me,’ he begged into your ear, his movements getting rougher as he also grew close, you knew you’d both have to leave before everyone saw you but it was worth it, god it was so worth it. ‘I want to have you all to myself, I need to taste you-’

You bit your lip and led his face away from your neck so you could look into his eyes, his mouth parted as he tried to control his own panting, he was coming apart at the seams for you right here in the hallway, the ticking in your ears either your heartbeat or a clock far away. You moaned his name again as you felt the heat build in your stomach, your back arching and pushing your body into him even more as the door to your right opened.

‘Dreamer, here, awake!’

All at once your knees gave out and you collapsed to the floor before that final wave could push you over the edge, your head heavy and your vision swimming as the body against yours vanished into nothing. ‘Are you okay? What happened?’ Jack’s voice from above asked as his worried expression came into view, the smell of rain and cigarette smoke invading your senses; the sound of the audience in a similar state of confusion drifted around the corner as Jack crouched down next to you, just back inside from his break from the show, the realization that you weren’t as immune to hypnosis as you’d thought hitting you like a bucket of cold water. You just panted in shock, surprise, and waning lust as Jack looked you over in concern, your hands moving to pull the bottom of your skirt down to cover your exposed legs in embarrassment, the scratches you were so certain he’d left behind not there, because he hadn’t been there.

‘I’m fine,’ you force yourself to say after you’d caught your breath, Jack believing you but still helping you to your feet like a gentleman, of course he would never act that way, that was only how you’d wanted him to act, you’d had dreams like that for god’s sake, the real Jack would never-

‘Is the show over?’ he asked as the roar of people applauding overtook the chatter, Carmichael now silent, and you avoided his eye as you started to edge towards the way out.

‘I think so.’

‘What was the big mind-blowing act?’

You put a little distance between yourself and him but he didn’t notice, Jack heading for the corner so he could look at the stage as he waited for your reply. ‘He hypnotized everyone,’ you answered curtly, his reaction big and full of surprise as he looked over the size of the crowd in an awe that wasn’t present for the first hour and a half.

‘Everyone? You should’ve come found me, I would’ve loved to see that.’ He was still looking at the room beyond, your eyes on him as he watched everyone else.

‘I got a little overwhelmed,’ you mumble, and he finally looked at you with that same concerned expression again, and it’s too much after what you’d just thought you’d seen, your eyes finding the floor.

‘What did he make you see?’ he asked, his curiosity quiet but still there under the concern, but you couldn’t answer him. ‘Do you need a ride home, or are you okay to drive?’

He’s too kind, he would never act that way, he would never say that to you.

‘I took a cab, I’ll be fine,’ you tried to say, but still you quickly found yourself being led to the front door as the audience swarmed around you, his hand on your back to make sure you stayed standing, a true gentleman. It had started raining while you were inside which explained the scent pairing with the smoke that covered up his cologne, and you just stood under the marquee as he hailed a cab for you as the sea of skeptics washed around you like rushing water. You hopped inside but he didn’t shut the door right away, leaning down in the rain once you were seated, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to get in when he spoke.

‘I do hope you come to my show, preferably Friday’s, it’s gunna be a good one, I promise,’ he said with that big genuine smile again, your heart pounding as your cheeks glowed red for a reason other than embarrassment as you gave him a small nod.

‘I’ll be there,’ you promised back, and he tapped the roof of the cab before shutting the door and letting you go. You looked out the back window as you drove away, the both of you waving as he ducked back inside and out of the rain, and as soon as you turned back around to face forward you found yourself reaching for your wallet. His card was in your hands as you looked it over, all in all it was an uninspiring, plain business card, and you flipped it over to read what he wrote for the ticketmaster on the back.

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

Your cheeks turned red again as you put the card away, the cab driver giving you a look in the rearview mirror as you held your nearly empty wallet, now with one business card, to your thumping chest. Oh yeah, it definitely was all worth it after all.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wanting to spend a night out with a guy?

I'm twenty, study in university and still live with my parents. I've been planning to move out since I was eighteen, but they told me to keep living at home and not get a job so I could focus on studying while they take care of me financially. This arrangement has worked mostly well in the past years save for a few small conflicts, but it's escalated in the past 3-4 months.

The issue is my time schedule. I have a very active social life, am active in the local art scene, do political work and a lot of extracurricular stuff for university (I'm a straight A student, I might add!). Because of this, and because I'm a natural night owl, I usually come home late several days a week (between 10pm and 2am) and stay out all day for most of the week. This means I can't do a lot of chores, and usually there's a lot of housework because my mum has a bit of a cleaning anxiety and wants to make sure everything is spotless 24/7.

Enter this guy, I'll call him Tim. I met him at a festival last summer and we became long distance friends. Tim has visited me for a day several times before, but this weekend he offered to come over for two days and we agreed to spend the night stargazing together without sleeping. I loved the idea and immediately said yes. It was gonna be just us, a couple energy drinks, and some bench in the city center, and I was really looking forward to it.

The thing is, my mum does not like Tim. Like, at all. She thinks he seems very sleazy and generally distrusts him because he feels "too nice" for her. Mind you, he's just a somewhat shady looking guy who is generally pretty anxious he might make a bad impression, so he overperforms the whole "respectable member of society" act a bit around new people. I've introduced him to my friend group and even the more sceptical people absolutely love him and think he's a very sweet, helpful person. In basically every stressful situation I've ever seen him in he's been deescalating, protective and helpful, and he has on several occasions been my first source of comfort when things went to hell.

Today I told my mum in an offhanded comment that I won't come home between Sunday and Monday and the situation escalated completely. She was crying, accusing me of ruining her month, saying I didn't care about this family, it got ugly. The main point she had was that I was staying out all night with someone who's a total stranger to her and she doesn't trust him at all. In the end we compromised that Tim and I would spend the night awake, but not in the city, at home.

I feel really humiliated by this whole situation and honestly, kind of betrayed, because I was promised stuff like this wouldn't happen, and it just hits in a much safer situation than ones I've been in before (I used to get blackout drunk and sleep at parties a lot.). I'm a legal adult, have been for years now and it's so disappointing that my parents still treat me like a child sometimes and are so judgy towards my friends too. At the same time, I'm wondering whether I've acted wrong too by not telling her about this earlier and not taking her concerns that seriously. I forget sometimes that I talk to Tim every day for hours, but my parents only briefly ran into him once, so of course their view of him is skewed.

PS: I should add that when I told him about this, he immediately apologized, asked if I needed anything or wanted to change the plan and decided to dig out the least offensive outfit he could find so he'd make a good impression on my parents. So he's definitely trying his best.

[tmntheadcanons]

tmnt 2003 headcanons: sleeping

Leo:

The room needs to be pitch black, dead silent and ice cold for him to fall asleep.

And he is a very light sleeper. I feel like he was always a bit like this but also trained himself to wake up quickly and easily when he hears something.

And he sleeps straight on his back like he is in a coffin.

And he sleeps with one pillow and it's the same, flat pillow he has been using for the last 10 years.

He won't go to sleep unless he knows everyone is home.

I think the difference between him and Donnie would be that Donnie doesn't let himself sleep but Leo actually can't sleep. I feel like he's naturally a bit of an insomniac but when he tries to sleep he kinda spirals in his own thoughts and stresses himself out.

But it's not always stress that keeps him up it'll be like the song Mikey was singing the same four lines of all day is now violently stuck in his head keeping him awake and he's thinking about how he is going to murder his brother in the morning.

Mikey:

Sleeps with a minimum of 5 pillows. One for spooning, two for his head, one for his feet and one to violently throw off the bed while half asleep at 3 am.

He can really sleep anywhere though. (And he will)

He talks in his sleep. He'll mutter a lot of non-sensical stuff and also he'll sometimes just straight up laugh in his sleep. And he rolls around a lot during the night.

I think Mikey has the wackiest dreams. His dreams are very vivid and if someone shows up in his dream he will go out of his way to tell them about their guest star appearance in his absolutely off the wall bonkers dream.

Also he is the one who has the most nightmares

He likes to sleep with a little bit of noise. He likes the tv playing or music playing while he's falling asleep and if it's dead silent he'll find it a little unsettling.

Same with lights, he likes to have a lava lamp or some sort of soft light on in the room.

I think he would go absolutely feral for one of those galaxy project lights.

Also he's totally a blanket hog.

Raph:

The second his head hits the pillow he is out.

He could be mid conversation and just pass out. But it's only ever when he knows he can. He's good at staying awake if he needs to keep watch but if he's relaxed he can fall asleep in like 30 seconds.

And he sprawls out when he sleeps. He will starfish.

Or be half hanging off the bed.

And he violently snores.

And talks a little bit in his sleep too but not as much as Mikey, just every once in a while.

His dreams are super mundane. He'll come back from an absolutely wild experience, fall asleep and then dream about like doing the dishes.

But every once in a while he'll get a bad stress dream. I could see it being something social related like humans finding out about them and freaking out, or his whole family being upset with him because of something he did.

I feel like Raph would like a bit of white noise when he sleeps, like a fan or something. He doesn't need it to fall asleep, but he likes it.

Like Leo, he is also a bit of a light sleeper, but he falls asleep again pretty quickly after he wakes up.

Donnie:

He's good at staying awake for long periods of time but once he's out, he's OUT.

Must be physically shaken to wake him up.

He is frequently sleep deprived so every once in a while he will crash and sleep for like 14 hours. Most nights he goes to bed way too late especially when he's working on something but usually when he's finished he'll have a recovery day.

Like I said with Leo, his issue is that he doesn't let himself sleep. He won't actually go to bed he will just suck back coffee and keep doing what he's doing. However, I could see him having similar issues as Leo after Good Genes or SAINW, where he overworks himself at night to avoid spiraling thoughts while he's trying to fall asleep.

I feel like he's bad for being like "Okay I'm going to stop working and actually go to bed" and then instead of sleeping he sits in the dark on his computer on the internet until 4 in the morning.

He curls up when he sleeps he never sleeps just flat on his back.

But he'll always wakes up in a weird position he'll be like upside town on his bed in what looks like a yoga position and be like "How did I get here?"

[andie-platonically]

Fantasy High characters as songs by The Mountain Goats

1. Kristen Applebees - Before I Got There

“And the tapestry above / Torn down, trampled then re-hung / Now illegible forever / An oracle with no tongue/ All of this, all of this / All of this before I got there”

I think this song so perfectly mirrors Kristen’s relationship with both Cassandra and Ankarna. Like, both of them had been corrupted and used to further other people’s evil plans with no regard to their original followers’ intent. Until Kristen arrived. Until she lovingly restored them to their original forms with such respect to why they were created, and her compassion is one of my favorite things about her character.

2. Riz Gukgak - Ground Level

“You can light a cigarette / against the cooktop if you need to / feel the heat against your forehead / let it bleed through / you’re never gonna get by / on three hours of sleep a night / unless you absolutely have to / and then you get by alright.”

I almost picked Bones Don’t Rust, which you should also add to your Riz character playlist but I went with this one instead. We see Riz take up smoking in Junior Year, we see him not sleeping and overworking himself throughout the series, and I think a lot of that does come from a place of going beyond his breaking point, steadfastly refusing to break, and thinking that means he’s okay.

3. Fabian Seacaster - Wage Wars Get Rich Die Handsome / Great Pirates

I’m cheating and giving Fabian two songs because he changes so much throughout the series. Here’s the first one:

“Stay independent, make adjustments as needed / it’s losers all the way down, you stay undefeated / wage wars, get rich, die handsome.”

I think this song is peak Fabian from Freshman Year. It references motorcycle riding, the narrator genuinely thinks he’s such hot shit, and I mean like, come on. Wage wars, get rich, die handsome. It’s literally perfect. But Fabian grows. He changes. So here’s the second song I picked for him:

“On the morning when I stop looking back / I’ll be up to see the sunrise in deep, bruise black / And bright, blood red / And pale desert rose / And several other colors like those / great pirates, testing the waves.”

Okay, so obviously it was fun to use a Mountain Goats song with pirates in it, but also, I interpret this song as being about moving on from your past and looking towards an uncertain future. So much of Fabian’s arc has been him figuring out who he is beyond his dad’s legacy, and so I think this song works really well with that. (I probably could have picked any Jenny from Thebes song and it would have a lot of those themes, but come on, pirates!)

4. Fig Faeth - Cry for Judas

“Speed up to the precipice / and then slam on the breaks / some people crash two or three times / And then learn from their mistakes / But we are the ones who don’t slow down at all / and there’s nobody there to catch us when we fall.”

I think Fig’s self destructive tendencies are more evident early on in the series (see: all her affairs with middle-aged men) but honestly, the way she puts herself on the front lines again and again for her friends is just as destructive imo. Also, this song gives such difficult child-energy, and I think sometimes this is how Sandralynn sees her. This kid who didn’t deal with her curse because it didn’t seem important when her friends had other things going on. This kid who skips her classes, is straight-edge except for drugs. This kid who was knocked unconscious in her first combat and wanted everyone to think she spent the whole time fighting.

5. Adaine Abernant - Up the Wolves

“I’m gonna get myself in fighting trim / scope out every angle of unfair advantage / I’m gonna bribe the officials, I’m gonna kill all the judges / It’s gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage.”

Trigger warning to those who need it: Sunset Tree is about abuse, which is obviously quite prevalent in Adaine’s arc Freshman/Sophomore Year. It was between this and Lion’s Teeth. What I like about this song for Adaine is that it is tragic, of course it’s tragic, but it also shows her rage, not just for herself but for Aelwyn too. This is a girl who took what her parents did to her and said that’s not fair and punched her dad so hard in the face that he died. I also think that given how Adaine’s relationship with her mother is so much more complicated, the other parts of this song work well with that.

6. Gorgug Thistlespring - The Slow Parts on Death Metal Albums

“Drive home alone and listen to the slow parts / In a new universe / trying to find the mask that still fits me / shaking the curse.”

I’m gonna be so real, I really struggled with this one because I just don’t relate to Gorgug as much, but I’m so infatuated with the idea that he listens to the slow parts of death metal albums, and I do think that this song, to me, fits the fact that Gorgug doesn’t really fit the roles anyone expects from him. He’s not just a mindless raging half-orc, he’s also kind and shy and gentle and loving. But he does have a lot of rage and he reacts violently at times and his parents love him but they don’t always know what to do with that.

Bonus song! Jawbone - Midland

“Come and stay with me as long as you like / I live outside of town where the straight highway curves / three years I lived next door to the airport / so nothing you can say to me can get on my nerves.”

Jawbone collects fucked up teens like pokemon cards, so I every time I hear this song I think of him. Also, the way the narrator of this song gives the subject time and space to go through things and assures them that yeah, I’ll still be here, is so very Jawbone-coded imo. Also, later in the song, he says “stay till you can grieve like normal people do / I’ve got room, room in my house for you.” Like, every line of this song is just so Jawbone I need y’all to understand.

Bonus song #2! The Bad Kids - When a Powerful Animal Comes

“Speak in gestures only we can understand / we’ve made mistakes / everyone spots their own mess / when the dawn breaks / we get so exhausted / lost kids, just wasted / sleep in short shifts then rise to our feet / life is short and life is hard and life is sweet.”

This song is the most Bad Kids shit I’ve ever heard in my life. If it’s not in your Bad Kids playlist, you gotta add it now and Weary Adventures by Skull Puppies haha anyway It’s just literally so perfect. It’s just these kids with the weight of the world on their shoulders, so fucking tired of saving the world. It’s literally the overall arc of Junior Year!

[thelastofhyde]

the likeability paradox.

chapter 2. the revving of engines.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller’s not made it this far in the age of the apocalypse just to die at the hands of some adrenaline-crazed, no-brain-having fool who barely knows where to place her hands on the steering wheel. hind-sight fully intact and ever-so eye opening, he should have said no before frank could even finish his question: can you teach the girl to drive? 

warnings. no use of y/n ( joel’s nickname for the reader is sol ), panic attacks, perv!joel, slightly dark!joel, soft!joel ( for like a second ), a smidge of fluff, gun violence, murder, smut ( unprotected piv sex- don’t be silly, wrap that willy-, public sex, car sex but also not, exhibitionism, possessiveness, murder kink [ kinda but not really, joel just gets... more enthusiatic at the thought of protecting the reader], mentions/implications of panty stealing, male masturbation, sex as a form of payment, glory-holes, dubcon. joel has a massive c*ck because i said so <3 )

word count. 16.7k

hyde’s input. this took criminally too long to write but i did warn you that i’m a slow writer, so hopefully this makes up for the wait. think i may be a little in over my head with this one because, woof, there’s a lot going on. i’m still trying to wrap my head around how many people enjoyed the first part, i’m speechless. thank you for every like, comment, reblog, ask that has given me the motivation to not just write a second part but to turn this into a whole series. i’m really looking forward to sharing joel and his sol’s story, and i hope i’ll be able to write it in a way that not only conveys the love i have for these two idiots in love but will also make you guys fall in love and root for them too. more to come of these two soon ( soon = whenever hyde feels like it )

read on ao3. series mastelist. previous chapter. next chapter.

The journey has been one of silence.

It all begins three days prior to arriving at their destination, with a dishevelled Joel startling awake. Sitting himself upright, a string of grunts and groans flow from him as several new pains in his back make themselves known, one for each year he’s lived. Sleeping on the couch is no place for a man of his age, but it has become his abode more frequently as of late whilst Tess has let herself get acquainted with the likes of a recently widowed woman.

Why on earth the two women seem to insist on occupying his and Tess’ shared mattress for their sweat-provoking and sheet-tangling endeavours when the widow’s own bed now harbours one less occupant, Joel is none the wiser.

“You sly fox!” It occurs at an hour much too early for Tess’ level of excitement, a spark of something in her voice he’s not quite heard in nearly a decade now, back when she’d let it slip that she’d made contact with someone over the radio. “Keeping this all to yourself!”

Blinking out the sleep-induced blur in his vision, his hands rub over them in a further effort to clear his sight. The couch squeaks beneath the weight of him as he leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his pointed knees. Confusion leaves him in a questioning grunt.

“C’mon, Joel, the jig is up!” She’s insisting on maintaining her enthusiasm, and the man has to wonder just how good her night must have been for her to be so chipper come barely an hour past sunrise. “So, who is she?”

With only the sparing of a clueless, sleep-filled glance, Joel’s risen to his feet and shouldered past his companion. Headed straight for the minuscule kitchen, where once he would have boiled a kettle and prepped himself a mug of instant coffee, nowadays he’s lucky to find enough water to fill a single unwashed cup. He does just that, watching the water fill only a third of the plastic before downing it in one gulp.

Tess is hot on his heels, following him through their cramped living space. He sighs, resigning himself to the reality he’s faced with: this is not a conversation she will let him walk away from. Be whatever it may be, the woman is hunting for some answers. “What’re ya talkin’ about? Ain’t keepin’ shit from you.”

He’s reminded, much to his own dismay, of a time she’d accused him of cutting deals on the side without her, back when her distrust and his aloofness had kept their newfound partnership on edge.

“Oh, really?” Her voice never loses that sense of excitement, and he’s beginning to wonder whether he should be grateful or resentful of this. The smile on her lips spreads wider over her face. “Then explain these, casanova.”

There, dangling over her extended pointer finger, lays a blur of lace.

It is a dainty little thing, a blush of some pastel colour that’s oh so feminine it makes his toes curl at the thought. A tangle of fabrics so delicate he fears they’d fall apart with just a taste of his calloused touch.

It is delicate, it is soft, it is dirty.

And it is yours.

Was yours, till he’d ripped it down your legs and stuffed the fabric into the back of his jeans. It was a mindless action, at the time, and one he’d forgotten about, tucked away in the unmarked box in his mind where he’d learned to place most things involving you. Sleep-filled eyes, and wine-stained lips, and serenity-inducing laughter, and heavenly-soiled lace. Forgotten about, until he’d been stripping himself off at the end of the night and the garment stumbled to the floor at his feet, calling for him like Tess’ lover cried her name in pleas of more.

He’d tasted the softness of lace that night, first on his lips and then around his cock, tangled in the unforgiving grip of his frantic hands.

The fabric had not been forgotten since, always within reach of the man. Where some kept trinkets of silvers and golds as their symbols of luck, he kept your lace, tucked safely in the back left pocket of his jeans, awaiting his nervous fiddling in times when stress ran high and only the softness of the fabric would pull him back down to earth

“They ain’t mine.” Still, he snatches them out of her grasp.

Back left pocket, tucked back into safety.

“Never said they were,” she has a point, but it only serves to frustrate him. Because of course she wasn’t implying they were his to wear- never in a month of Sundays would the likes of Joel Miller fit himself into such well-kept lace-, but she sure as hell believes they are his. “Thought I’d be nice for once and clean some of your clothes, since you seem to have forgotten how to. They fell out your pocket while I was busy folding some trousers.”

Convenient.

That’s what it is, considering that in their who-knows-how-many years of partnership, the woman has not taken the time to tend to his washing. He’d asked her, once, body recovering from a near-fatal stab he’d taken to the abdomen. She had not said no to his request. Or, rather, she had not simply used the word no. Ask me again and I’ll finish what those raider’s started.

Every surface of the room captures his attention, from the ripped wallpaper to the tattered remains of what once were curtains, anything other than Tess, who hovers at his shoulder like a fly to shit.

He needs something to do, to distract.

Thinking of the days ahead, he begins a list of things they’ll need- gauze, food rations, water, more gauze. Joel has still yet to sharpen their knives, displeased with them since the moment he’d noticed Tess’ struggling to cut through a cable wire. Did they have enough ammo? Maybe he’d need to grovel for some more off of Bill-

“Who’ve you been fucking, sunshine?”

Frozen where he stands. mind in disarray, heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, blood somehow both everywhere and nowhere in his body at once. All he can think is that Tess knows. sunshine. She knows, she knows, she knows.

She knows and she’s going to tell Frank, who’ll tell Bill, who’ll place a target on Joel’s head and hit bullseye the moment he so much as tries to step anywhere near you, and then where will Joel be? Back to facing only the dull grey skies and locking himself away in bone-chilling solitude.

Clarity befalls him.

She’s teasing. Sunshine. It’s not an answer to her question, it’s a name meant to mock him. Tess has no clue, not a single incline to guess what events had transpired in the stillness of the night the last time she’d dragged them out to Bill and Frank’s. She doesn’t know.

“If you don’t want to tell me,” the words leave her in a sing-song tone, and for a moment he needs to remind himself this is a woman his own age, not a teenager. It would be easy to confuse the two. “I’ll just have to figure it out myself!”

He won’t be the one to tell.

“Laura Silver.” It’s the first name that comes to mind, and the image it paints in his head brings forth a repulsion unlike no other. He’d rather lick shit off a stick than subject himself to her company willingly. By the twisted-up look on Tess’ face, she seems to agree.

“Really? Isn’t she a bit... chatty for you? And, like, way too happy?”

She has no idea.

The questioning glances only amplify once the two set off, each stop they make along the way- to eat, to sleep, to rest their deteriorating joints- punctuated with that feeling in the air that Joel dislikes so much. The unsaid, the unfinished, the more. It makes his stomach lurch with anxious thoughts and his heartbeat cease under the stress they bring.

Birds tweeting, wind howling, leaves rustling becomes the soundtrack to their travels, guiding them onwards with encouraging notes and filling the empty pockets of silence that sit between the four, five, six steps he walks ahead of her, fingers curled around a weapon and eyes trained on anything that moves the wrong way. The guts and gore of clickers stabbed and bloaters beaten wet their clothes in the early hours, yet they dry come noon, coating their every inch in a sickening syrup.

“You both got another thing coming if you think he’s gonna let you through the door like that.” Joel had not experienced anything like it since the ages when he’d arrive home hours past his curfew, knees scrapped on gravel and clothes stained in mud, stood beneath the dimming porch light as his mother washed him.

Only, it is Bill who holds the hose instead of the woman who’d raised him.

Freshly hosed down, a trail of dripped water marks the space he crosses through the house out into the backyard, losing Tess along the way as she calls dibs on showering first- as if Joel wouldn’t immediately put himself last in any scenario that involves her.

What he finds is a garden in gloom, infant rosebuds so young and new to life they’ve yet to lose that tinge of green that separates them from the rest of the bush they inhabit. It is the image of winter, casting its blue hue on everything it touches, from the leafless trees to the wolf-eyed dog, who’s tail begins a slow wag from its place upon the floor before the mutt’s jumping up all four paws and bounding its way over to him.

The German Shepherd crashes into him like a wave, nearly sending him stumbling backwards. It’s grown in the past weeks, he realises, large paws a little more suited to the length of its stretched back. He fights a fearsome battle to contain the man within him who longs to clap his hands down on the dog’s fur, with an inhale of breath he hopes will drag down the words of praise and greeting aimed towards the pointy-eared creature, Joel manages to dismiss the animal with a shrug.

It follows him, even so, as he takes another step out into the yard.

Frank’s familiar figure sits within a chair. He’s calm, staring out at his decayed world as though he’s merely waiting for the passing of time to bring back the colourfulness his flowerbeds once possessed. His hair sits the same, his clothes look the same and, yet, something is off. Joel can’t quite put his finger on it, all he knows is that this man is half the man he’d bid goodbye to weeks ago.

“Sorry for dragging you guys out here again so soon,” his words are gentle, like always, yet his voice is ragged. Joel wonders if he too had caught that damn cold. Maybe him and Tess brought it into the house, leaving behind a tally of germs for the three occupants of the home to choke on. Maybe you’d caught it too. Maybe you were in need of someone to make you soup and fret over the temperature your body keeps. Maybe he should have returned sooner. “But I’m sure Bill’s already filled you in.”

Bill has done no such thing.

Joel shakes his head. Frank’s never one to push him to talk, accustomed to the likes of a man who’s short on words and spreads any dose of warmth his soul may posses sparingly. It’s a trait he appreciates, the patience to never expect more. Frank talks, Joel listens, both of them agree on this dynamic.

“We’ve got nothing for you this time, I’m afraid," Joel swallows a snarky then what d’ya call us out for. He’s not subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man who’s known him too long, who chooses to combat the raising of his hackles and the frowning of his brow with calmly spoken words. “But we’ll owe you one. A favour, I mean.”

That recaptures his attention. His shoulders lower in tow with his hostility and the dog nuzzles its muzzle into his hand, forcing him to uncurl his fist. “What’s the catch?” He asks because he knows Frank, and he knows that Frank knows him, that Frank chooses his words wisely when they’re alone. He wouldn’t be beating around the bush, keeping his words vague and his tone secretive, if it weren’t for the fact that Joel, likely, will not enjoy partaking in whatever favour they’re about to ask of him.

“We’ve got a truck, in the garage,” he shares, like this is news to Joel, like he’d never seen the vehicle in question. "And it’s been a while since it’s had a run-around, breaks are probably squeaky as sin, and-”

“Get to the point.”

Frank smiles, less uneasy as Joel’s usual candor nature gets in the way of his brooding image, interrupting his silent streak with a rushed out jumble of words the man’s sure would sound harsher were they directed at anyone other than the friendly-eyed artist. “Can you teach the girl to drive?”

Joel’s ability is not being questioned, in truth, but rather his willingness.

The request is sensical, understandable for a girl your age- whatever that may be- to have no experience behind the wheel. The damned mushrooms had likely already taken hold of the world by the time you’d reached the legal driving age.

It is not a difficult task either, he supposes, with no need for every intricate little road rule to be passed down. So long as you can learn to spin the wheel, shift the gears and control the pedals, you’d be good to go.

Agreeing to it would also, in theory, be agreeing to the prospective scenario where Joel Miller finds himself trapped inside the small, four-wheeled confines of a moving vehicle with someone who grinds his gears and haunts his thoughts. There’s so much room to suffer in the solitude of your presence, so much potential to think up what-ifs and if-onlys in his head as you stare back at him, eyes beaming rays of pure-heartedness. I don’t like you, Joel. It’ll echo in the distance between you.

“Bill can’t do it?” His question is met with a grimace, and he wonders if the man had already attempted. Perhaps you are beyond teaching in his eyes and so they’ve settled for calling in Joel to deal with your unsalvageable driving skills. Perhaps they know you already dislike the man and figured there’d be no harm in giving you more reason to, when he loses his patience and scrutinises your driving skills.

“She won’t let him,” Joel’s head snaps up from the floor, eyes shifting from the mutt enjoying the carding of his fingers over its head back to Frank. The greys in the man’s hair seem to have multiplied, the wrinkles on his face a little deeper. Joel’s struck, his stomach twisting up, with the reality of noticing his friend is growing old. “Said she’d sooner trust a clicker behind the wheel than Bill. She asked us to call you guys.”

You called.

You wanted him here.

You guys. Sure, it may be the collective of both him and Tess. But he’s still a part of that equation, meaning you’d willingly brought him close, beckoned his return to the heaven he’d left you in.

One shower later and he’s wadding his way out back, into the garage. Hair still a mess of towel-dried curls, clothes fresh and a little unfitting- he’d stolen them from Frank, after overhearing the man inform Tess he’d taken the liberty of burning their blood soaked clothing.

He’d agreed to the deal, much to Frank’s delight and his own shame, mind too enraptured by the prospect of solitude with you to judge the situation at hand clearly.

The door creaks, a beg for oil, and announces Joel’s arrival far sooner than he would have preferred, stumbling upon the scene of you. More specifically, the back of you, doubled over. Everything from the waist up digging through the backseats of the vehicle, seemingly searching for something, while everything downwards sits on full display for his starved eyes to feast upon. Boot covered feet, the hem of the most nonsensical skirt resting upon bare calves, the curvature of thighs beneath silk, the stretch of tightened fabric against your ass.

Joel thinks himself a strong man, but he is weakened by the sight.

You startle at his entrance, rushing to straighten yourself so quickly your head smacks against the top of the car’s door frame. A hiss and a pressing of a hand to your head is not enough to comfort the witness of your harm, crossing those three steps forward needed to grip your jumper-covered shoulders and spin you to face him, eyes immediate with their scanning of your features, frantic to confirm you’re not teary-eyed, nor pouty-lipped, nor in the beginnings of a concussion.

“I never heard-" You pause whatever you wish to say when one of his hands covers your own, cradling the back of your head. He’s well-aware this is too close, too unlike him, too noteworthy. But he can not seem to care enough to welcomed back the distance that so often sits between you. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Sorry to disappoint ya.”

He surely is.

Disappointed, confused, conflicted. Here you stand, no runny nose, no bloodshot eyes, no scratch in your voice, no need to be cared for. It’s a selfish thing, to feel his heart lurch at the fact you’re in full-health, no pesky cough in sight, but his distaste towards the feeling only makes it double in size.

“No! Sorry, I just,” you’re the first to inch back, head tilting to meet his stare with your own. He follows suit, taking your unvocalised desires and stepping away from you, hands back by his own side and vowing to keep themselves there. “I thought it would be Tess teaching me.”

So maybe you’d never called for him.

He’s just the tag-along, the con to Tess’ pro, the consequence to Tess’ presence. You view him like the sun views the moon: a small, dim, lifeless rock that sits in wait every waking day, orbiting around Tess’ planet.

It is not news, yet it stings like it. A fresh wound added onto the litter of marks that ache his soul. The pain leaves him in the only way he knows how anymore; a face devoid of emotion.

“Not,” you’re uneasy. Thrown-off. Squitterish. Hands tuck up into the sleeves of your sweater and eyes glass over with worry. The possibility that he scares you both lights his soul on fire and sends it to drown in a lake made of his sorrows. “That there’s anything wrong with you! I just... figured you’d have better stuff to do.”

He doesn’t.

“Yeah, well, I ain’t doin’ it for free,” his proverbial foot shoots into his mouth, slamming shut whatever small window of opportunity he’d stumbled upon to say the kind thing, to do nice by you for once. I don’t like you, Joel. But he could change that, if he just changed his attitude. and his nature. and his sense of being. so, just about everything about himself. it would not be much for the promise of a piece of his Sol. it’s much too late for that now and, so, he commits to the role life’s already chosen for him to play, the heartless bastard. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Jesus christ, Sol, didn’t your daddy ever put ya behind the wheel?”

Joel’s anger is unjustified.

He’s aware of this, in the back of his mind, yet any rational voices burn into silence at the heat of his ire. Only twenty, or thirty, or forty minutes since you’ve hit the open road, since he’d buckled himself into the idea of being alone with you, and the car feels like it’s closing in on itself. Every inhale a struggle for oxygen, every exhale a subdued desire.

Perfectly manicured nails grip the steering wheel.

Counting trees had worked, if only for a while, to keep his focus off everything occupying the driver’s side. The novelty wore off as you passed the thirty seventh in a row, where Joel’s eyes finally drifted off from the view ahead to the one on his left.

A pair of lips sit parted in concentration.

He’d needed a new distraction, one he found as he popped open the glove compartment and found a man of his taste’s holy grail. Well, at least the holy grail that was found in materials rather than between the thighs of- CDs! Rock, country, punk. The 70s, the 80s, the 90s. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, Johnny Cash. That’s what he’d found, a collection Bill must keep to hold an emblem of what the world once was: loud, rhythmic, lively. Now static, quiet, lonely. Not even a full verse into Ring of Fire and you’d switched the volume off. "I can’t concentrate with that crap playing.

Half a thigh, exposed by the slit up a skirt.

Now he has nowhere to turn, to let himself run off to in thoughts that promise the sweet salvation of distraction. Facing forward is not an option, the empty road ahead holding no ounce of his attention. Focusing on the right as the world passes by outside the window holds no merit, and no amount of trinkets nor garbage that litter the nooks and crannies of the car helps. His eyes always find their way back to you.

Breathtaking in the most painful way, you sit unaware of the effect you have on him. As you shift from third to fourth gear, as your thigh tenses to press down harder on the gas pedal, as nimble fingers unnecessarily practice using the indicators. You don’t see how his frown deepens and he scorns you with his stare.

“He was a bit busy making a name for himself,” you utter a reply minutes too late, when he’s already convinced himself you hadn’t heard him.

Your focus is strict, eyes glued on the road as if you’re afraid an obstacle- be it something infected, or something animal, or something malevolent- will come your way. And all the while, Joel’s sat in shock, pure fucking eye-widening shock, as the words you utter slowly seep into his brain. Minute as it may be, it’s the first detail, the first piece of history you’ve offered of yourself. An absent father, the words cause a dull ache in the left side of his chest.

God, he’s being too quiet, he needs to ask more while you’re willing to answer.

You switch to fifth gear with a delay that would have cost you points back in the days of capitalistic civilisations. The gear-box makes an ugly noise of which the engine follows up with a growl of its own.

Panicked, your hand shoots straight back to the gear-shift, curling around it so tight the white bones beneath your knuckles threaten to rip through your skin and put themselves on display. The car slows with the release of your foot off the pedal and he presumes you mean to lower the gears too- perhaps, you’ve thought it best to maintain the safety net provided in the third gear- but you must not be thinking straight, must lack proper motor-control over your body, as your hand pushes down on the stick and, slam!

The car comes to a complete stop.

The sharp pain that cuts up his neck as whiplash takes over, the weight of his upper-half flying forward and stopped only by the seatbelt that crosses over him, it becomes near non-existent as a strangled cry and a whimper of pain comes from the driver’s seat.

A scrambling of hands, a forceful push onto the pedal, a handful of panicked breaths and fearful mutterings of something involving bill and kill and will. None of it helps in the face of your problem. You’re stubborn, however, trying once more to push the stick forward, and getting nowhere. Joel tells himself to remain delicate in his touch and composed in his heart as his hand clamps down on top yours, curling his longer digits around the gear-stick and giving it a tug upwards, effortless in his attempt to shift the car out of reverse and back into the first gear.

Your eyes meet his. Watery, and big, and full of fear.

“Musician?” Conversation, that will distract you in your moments of panic. He’ll talk you through the fierce currents of racing heartbeats and sweaty palms, till your waters are calm as can be.

The hand that still sits atop your own gives a soft squeeze.

“Deep breath, Sol,” He leads by example, filling his lungs with a sharp, deep inhale through his nose. You follow, nodding as if you’re in a trance yet you mimic him nonetheless. Deep inhale, through the nose, inflate your chest. “Atta girl. You’re fine. car’s fine. Ya just stalled it, s’all. Happens all the time.”

He’s hopeful to be helpful, but then the first tear wins the war over your composure, slipping down your cheek as you shakily exhale. Another few- four, he thinks, but can not say for sure- follow suit, staining ugly cristaline rivers down the globes of your cheeks. Another inhale from Joel, another exhale from you. You breathe in tandem, as if relying on the other to remember such a human act is necessary for survival.

It’s purely instinctual, something as uncontrollable and unpracticed as the beating of his heart or the blinking of his eyes, the way his free hand captures ahold of your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb swipes over the bottom of your eye, so close that he feels the tickle of your lower lashes, collecting whatever tears threaten to fall next.

Let them stain his skin instead of yours.

“Ya dad,” maybe you need clarification, something to stall the rapidly speeding thoughts that race through your mind. “Was he a musician?”

At first, silence. More deep breathing, less shaky exhales. Your tears still wet his thumb but they no longer seem to be spilling down your cheek, collecting on your lashes like the dust on a shelf. He thinks of wiping the tears off the untouched side of your face, mostly to settle whatever part of him feels shaken at your distress, yet, as he slowly raises the hand that sits atop yours on the gear-stick, you halt him. Fingers tangle messily with his own and squeeze so hard he feels the pressure deep in his bones, threatening to snap like twigs.

And, then, you shake you head.

No.

Nonverbal, yet entirely understood by him.

Your dad was not a singer. You hear him as much as you feel him. You’re slowly returning. To the car, and to a rational state of mind, and to him. A few moments pass, slipping between you with as much ease as his thumb stroking over your wrist, pushing down just that little bit till he feels the fading thrump-thrumps of a panicked heart. He speaks once you’re ready, once the slow rise and fall of your chest lulls his own self into a state of calm. “Gonna need ya to turn the keys in the ignition, think ya can do that?”

You do as he says, inadvertently placing your trust in him and his words, and turn the key. When the car shudders yet fails to come alive, your head snaps right back to him, eyes a pleading mess for answers, guidance, help.

It does wonders to his ego, to that caveman mentality that sadly resides in some corner of his mind. Needed, useful, protective. Things he doesn’t get to feel with Tess, doesn’t need to feel with Tess. She takes care of herself, and him, and never asks for a damn thing in return. But you need him, need his calming words and his knowledge of vehicles.

For once, he’s a necessity instead of a casualty in your life.

“Foot on the clutch, Sol,” his pointed words hold no mockery, becoming a metaphorical rubber-dingy that he tosses your way, one more thing to pull you into the safety of a calm shore.

This time, the engine roars back to life.

You’re elated, a smile splitting up your cheeks even as you let the car crawl to a start, wheels turning slowly as you give the gas a light tap. He sees the way your shoulders sag, like a ten-ton weight has just been stripped off them.

“Told ya, s’just a stall,” it’s the nicest I told you so he can offer, especially as the lingering of that nasty feeling still creeps over your actions, subduing you in a way he doesn’t quite enjoy. You should not be meek, nor placid, nor doubtful yet that is all he sees as he watches you hesitantly drive the car into second gear. “Used to happen t’me all the time. at the worst times, too. like... intersections and shit. can’t count the times I got flipped off by some truck driver.”

You giggle. Quiet, girlish, subtle. Joel almost mistakes it for a tickle in your throat, a discomfort you catch yourself coughing over. But, no. Your shoulders dance, your lips tilt up, rapid little breaths sneak out your nose. It doesn’t even matter that it’s at his expense, the fact he’s the one to rouse such a delicate reaction despite his rough voice, and rough words and, well, rough everything, it’s enough to settle his soul with a deep contempt.

You continue slowly, not daring to test the power of the car. He says nothing, not a word about the waste of Bill’s fuel nor the painfully boring pace at which the world flies by outside the window. You’ll speed up, he knows it, once you get your momentarily lost confidence back. Talking seems to be your first approach to easing the tension in your stiff arms. “Actor.”

He hums in question, quirking a brow despite your gaze being fixated on nothing but what sits ahead.

“He was an actor. A wannabe actor,” you’re soft spoken, trying your best to keep that shake in your voice under control. “My dad. So... you almost had it right.”

“Anything I might know him from?” He tries, and fails, to match the lightness of your voice, his own far too gruff, and dark, and jagged to replicate the smooth edges of your own.

“Not unless you had a thing for cheesy teenage romcoms.”

The words seem to take control of him, forcing their way out before he can so much as recognise their existence. “I didn’t but my dau-” If you notice the way he halts himself, you say nothing.

“Wanna know the most ironic thing?” He senses no real humour behind the few chuckles you let out, eyes lost ahead. Joel wonders if you’re truly seeing the road, or merely looking at it, letting the world blur as your focus sits elsewhere. You await no response before continuing. “The only role he could never master was the present father.”

A father placing his dreams over his child, the idea is one he can’t quite wrap his head around.

Joel had had big dreams, once. Dreams that involved world tours, and golden records, and screaming fans. Those dreams were shoved aside, not even a whisper to be heard in his mind, the moment he held his bundle of joy for the first time. Screaming her little lungs off, tiny body covered in fluids he could never name, eyes staring wide back at him as she took in the image of her father for the first time. She became his new dream, his only dream. To hold, protect and love.

Just like the stage, he eventually lost that dream too.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes the words out, quiet beneath the hum of the engine.

“Why?” You’re not harsh with your delivery. In fact, you even glance momentarily in his direction and shoot him one of those smiles, the ones that steal the spotlight away from everything else and render him frozen beneath it’s shine. Nonetheless, Joel fears he’s done it once more, offended you without even trying. “It’s not your job to apologise for someone else’s mistake, Joel.”

The silence which settles between you once more feels less like the awful quiet of drowning beneath crashing waves and more akin to the static of an untuned radio, with its antenna out of place and detecting no signals. It’s calming to sit like that with you and somewhere between the hum of the engine and the world passing by outside the windows, Joel’s mind wanders off into dangerous territories.

Territories where he thinks of this exact setting, you driving and him sitting in the passengers side fighting off the sudden languid feeling that grips his soul, only in his imagination it’s later, deep into the night. You’re not alone on the road, a collection of cars passing by and driving ahead, and the smell of cheap beer fills the car. Snoring from the backseats, a sleepy girl finally given into the call of sleep after a long day. The image of his hand reaching over the console to find yours, matching silver bands clinking together as he lets himself entwine his fingers with yours.

He jolts up straight, head no longer resting on the window and eyes blinking away whatever make-believe daydream he’d inflicted upon himself, when a sound of anguish comes from your seat.

Selfishly indulging in his silly fantasies, Joel’d failed to notice your silence was not the same as his. While he bathed in warmth, you quivered in coldness. Your nails now threaten to leave marks on the steering wheel, your lips point downwards in a frown, your thigh shakes nervously with each measly push of fuel you give the car.

It’s cruel of him to keep you driving in this state.

“There’s a gas station a few miles from ‘ere,” his words are punctuated by a defeated sigh, already beating himself up mentally for not noticing soon enough the state you’ve been sat in. “Pull into it.”

If Joel had a nickel for every time he’s seen you in this position, he’d have two nickels.

Your chest heaving with every breath, your back pressed to his front, your closed legs stood between his own. Flashbacks to the kitchen, all you’re missing is a knife in your hand and a counter-top for him to box you in against.

He’d believe the idea of popping the car’s hood and teaching you a little about the interior of a vehicle was a good one, a smart one, a chance to gain some knowledge that may prove itself useful. The plan was to show you where things sat- the engine, the dip-stick for the oil, the battery- and hope the momentary distraction would be enough to unravel your nerves, leaving you primed and prepped to drive you both back to the home Joel would never share with you.

As marvellously innocent and simple as his plan was, he’d failed to take into account one important detail: you’re your own person, capable of things he’d never think to predict. So, when you’d stepped out the now parked truck a few minutes after him, sweater left behind and nothing but some flimsy, practically see-through white camisole, he’d just about felt all the blood drain from his face- and head straight to his crotch- while his eyes done little to hide the glaringly obvious staring at your breasts they indulged in, the blush of colour from pebbled nipples beneath the fabric enough to have him salivating at the thought of putting his mouth on them. "I’m not staining my favourite sweater with oil", that had been your excuse for torturing him so cruelly.

He’s no better than the old perverts who used to drool over a woman jogging down the street.

“Ok, so, this,” you shuffle forwards, feet crunching down on some crumbling gravel below. Before Joel can let relief flood over his senses at having just that slightest bit of distance between you both, you bend at the hip and lean across the vehicle, hands grabbing at a familiar yellow stick. “Is the dip-stick?”

Hearing your voice but rendered incapable of listening, he’s frozen. The fingers at his side ball into fists as that familiar beast seduces itself over his senses, flashing images in his mind of all the places he’s yet to place his hands. Your neck, your waist, your thighs, the wanton desire to map out your every trace and burn it into his memory is endless, all-consuming.

Your voice calls out his name.

He hums, you repeat your question, to which he huffs out an agreement, tongue too heavy to form words.

“Then this,” you stretch further, fingertips reaching for the top right corner. Not quite reaching your desired object, you shuffle two steps back and send him into turmoil as your ass presses tightly into his crotch. Like a wounded animal, he sucks air in through his teeth and clamps his hands down on your hips. Initially he means to move you but, inevitably, he holds you against him. “Must be the battery.”

The jeans he wears seem to have grown a little tighter. Uncomfortably so. Still, he can’t bring himself to care, nor to readjust them, grip only clamping itself down tighter on you at the sheer threat of removing them.

He’d thought back to that night, more times that he cares to admit to himself. At first, it was a means to an end, a memory of lustful images to drive him towards some quick pleasure and relieve the pressure of stress off his shoulders, giving him the chance to actually get some sleep. Your taste on his tongue, your hands in his hair, the weight of your body keening back into him. He felt it for days. Weeks, even. Ghosts that haunted his skin.

Then came the guilt, seeping in like rain through the crack in Tess and his ceiling.

He had no right to touching you the way he had. Here you are, a glimmer of light that brings warmth into the coldest of place, while there he is, a thunderstorm of emotions all wrapped up in the darkness of rain clouds, threatening to stain and dampen everything he puts his care into. His daughter, dead. His brother, gone. And, hell, even Tess has nearly slipped through his weak hold countless times. So, how dare he subject you to the danger of his caress, mark you with the touch of death his heart seems to bring?

Hours of tossing and turning, unwrapping himself from Tess’ arms as he’d crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to go wear his footprints into the floorboards of their living room, pacing back and forth as withered hands ran through greying hair, searching for some solution to this... this swelling in his heart, ache in his bones, longing in his loins at the memory of you.

Bill had asked him once, years ago, what his greatest weakness was. He’d been wise enough to gruff out a harsh nothin’.

His answer has changed, since then.

You reach into the darkness of his spiralling mind and drag him back with three words. “Texas, you good?”

He doesn’t quite give you an answer. Not a vocal one, at least, settling for giving each of your hips a squeeze when words fail him. He’s gazing in admiration and wonder, eyes trailing themselves over the way you’re struggling to stretch further, the tips of your fingers fighting to reach the object you’d been trying to identify. One moment, you’re huffing over the fight to touch the car’s battery, and the next, you’re sending two tidal waves down Joel’s spine: panic and arousal.

Maybe, you don’t mean to do it. It could be purely accidental, an action you don’t even take a second to consider after years of living solely in the presence of two men who bare no interest in bending you over any surface. But, you do it.

You whine.

It’s born from pain, your entire frame shooting upright while clutching your hand close to your chest. Joel knows that alone should be enough to vanish any explicit thoughts from his mind. The hunger only grows though, his insides twisting up at the notion of you being hurt, needing comfort. A kiss to a bleeding wound, he’d deliver it no questions asked.

His hands are still around your waist. Your bodies are still pressed together. He feels every shaky inhale, every heaved exhale. It’s a struggle to pry your injured hand away from the safety of your chest, pulling backwards till your elbow juts outwards and your open palm sits level with his mouth.

It’s your pointer finger, a dark, angry looking mark running halfway down your fingerprints.

“'S the matter with ya,” worry has always been something Joel expresses loudly. Raised voices, frantic movements, heavy steps. His brother had called him out on it, the morning after his parental care led to a heated argument and the slamming of doors, from both the pre-teen and the adult in the Miller household. It’s a flaw that’s only worsened, with time and circumstance, and it keeps him from saying what he really means. Are you okay? “You some kind of idiot or somethin’?” I can’t stand to see you hurt.

“I didn’t think-”

“Clearly fuckin’ not!” Be more careful. “Touchin’ the damn battery like the car ain’t just been stopped!” please.

He’s better with actions, gentle in the physical even as he berates you verbally. He pulls in air through his nostrils before blowing it out through his puckered lips, directly onto the mild burn imprinting itself on your delicate skin. You hiss as his cooling breath makes initial contact and your hand jerks back, fighting to stray away from him. Joel fixes his grip, making sure you don’t get too far before he blows a second breath.

“I’m fine,” you’re an awful liar, the grimace on your lips doing nothing to reassure him. At least you’re smart enough to not waste any more energy on fighting against him, slumping forward to rest your hand on the truck’s open hood. “Didn’t even hurt that much. I just wasn’t expecting it to be hot.”

With no acknowledgement thrown your way, he huffs out another couple of breaths, mind already running off in thoughts of what comes next. A superficial burn, it should heal in a matter of days. If you’re lucky, the injured skin will merely peal away to reveal a fresh layer. If you’re unlucky, a blister will swell in it’s place.

Joel only aims to ensure your luck.

Bowing his head and leaning down, he captures your finger between his lips. Your breaths catches in your throat as this new angle, new proximity to your face allows his eyes to take in the way your own seem to roll back, lips parted with something unsaid. He drags the tip of his tongue over your wound, which pulses and burns hot beneath his muscle. His tongue flicks back over only for him to lick at the burn once more, this time with a flattened tongue, smothering it in his saliva.

The suckle his lips give is purely selfish.

“That kinda-” A fluttery sort of noise leaves you, a pleasant little thing that seems unable to decide if it wants to be a giggle or a moan. It settles for something in between, unknowingly spurring Joel on to suck around your digit again. “It kinda tickles.”

The hand he holds against your hip travels north, halting abruptly as the top of his thumb reaches the swell of your breast. Being so affected by a braless chest is something Joel thought he’d left behind in teenage-hood. The way his cock twitches in his pants at the knowledge that yours sit bare beneath the thin cotton camisole gives him deja-vu.

In a rushed- and entirely unthought over decision- Joel switches the direction of his trail of fingerprints to move south, slipping down past where cotton sits tucked beneath silk. The skirt is soft and inviting. All his sick mind can do is picture you lain across a bed with silk sheets, your naked curves, and pert nipples, and dribbling cunt a whole different kind of soft and inviting.

Skin meets skin when he arrives at the top of the skirt’s slit. He wastes no time, fingers dragging themselves under the material to feel the recently discovered terrain of your full thighs. With supple skin, warm and pliable beneath his hold, he indulges himself in letting his grip dig in and squeeze the meaty flesh.

All the while, his tongue licks over your burn.

“Otis does that too,” you’re struggling to keep your grip on the car, a delightful realisation for Joel. You’d played the innocent for far too long last time, hardly exposing your desires till push came to shove and your knife went clattering out your hand. Now you force yourself deeper into his touch, your finger applying pressure to his tongue as it pushes down on the muscle and tickles his tastebuds with the bite of your painted nail. The quiet voice of his subconscious wants you to push deeper, till your digit hits the back of his throat, his eyes sting with tears and he’s gagging around you. “Tries to lick wounds better-”

The sight of you shutting up, lips parted in some unheard noise as his hand cups the entirety of your clothed pussy, sends a wave of heat to Joel’s already burning loins.

The furnace of your two intertwined bodies shields you both to the slowly dropping temperatures, with no time to spare and no care to give to the grey skies that roll in while he rolls your concealed clit beneath two fingers, pinching once or twice, possibly thrice, in hopes of pushing his emotional aches onto you physically.

Fighting against the tight squeeze of your underwear’s band around his wrist, two fingers, a pointer and a middle, smooth their way past your pubic bone, over your aching mound and dip down to swipe over your slit. A soaked mess, a warm and sticky coating, welcomes them as Joel strokes the outer surface of your cunt in a lax manner, taking his time to admire how soft your lips feel, how warm your skin burns, how hard your entrance throbs, all the while he’s coating your cunt it’s own liquid pleasure. His mouth drops your hand, the grip his own has on it tightening once more. Though, this time, it’s not from the need to keep you in place but from a primal, possessive desire that seduces his rationality. “Quit comparin’ me to your fuckin’ dog.”

The hand down your pants has a mind of its own, trading the teasing strokes up the length of your seam for the tight squeeze of your walls around his fingers as they penetrate you- two at the same time, no consideration for the discomfort the sudden sting of breaching your entrance brings.

You seem to like the pain, enough to let go of the vehicle and melt back into Joel. Your head meets his shoulder as your eyes roll back and your mouth falls slack, legs writhing to fight for more friction. He remains frozen, face a stoic slab void of expression if not for the crease in his brow where his eyebrows have furrowed. The fingers in your cunt curl, slightly, testing your patience with the way they press into the spongy tissue.

“Joe- ah...” You fail to say his name, your two lips barely getting the chance to touch as he curls his finger a second time. This time harder, with more certainty in the way he’s touching you. “Move, please.”

Your lips, parted in gasps and cries that threaten to cut his fun short with the way they likely have his cock staining his briefs in precum, become public enemy number one as he decides they need to be shut, silenced, occupied so that he can hold off blowing his load again before he’s even had the chance to feel you clench around his cock.

With your finger still drenched in his spit, a fat bead of it dripping down the back of your hand, he shoves it into your own mouth, disgustingly intrigued with the way you welcome it so eagerly and drink down the taste of his saliva.

Now you’re silenced, Joel gives an experimental thrust of his hand, dragging both his fingers out till only the tips tease at your entrance before slamming them back in. The moan you let out is muffled, a sound that titillates him yet no longer threatens his sanity. You find another way to ruin him, however, body jolting and ass rolling back into his form when he starts to set a steady pace to leisurely fuck his fingers into your cunt.

“Tried to be fuckin’ good. Kept my hands to myself, didn’t- Fuck!” He must reach something inside of you, knuckles deep and slick spilling down his hand, that has you mewling, eyes no longer shut as you crane your neck to stare up at him and your hips roll backwards, momentarily smothering his clothed cock between the swell of your silk covered cheeks. “Didn’t bring up anythin’ ‘bout the last time I saw ya. But you just ‘ad to go and ruin it now, didn’t ya?”

“Leasehmm,” you hum the incoherent babble around your own finger and Joel can’t stop himself from forcing it further into your mouth, laser stare sharp enough to burn holes into your throat as he watches you gag.

“C’mon, you can do it,” you’ve got him trapped between your legs, both your thighs and the walls of your cunt clenching his hand in a vice grip as he continues his ministrations, satiating the taste for warm flesh he’s been craving since he slammed the door to the kitchen and tried to fool himself into thinking he could simply make his way back to Tess in her drunken state, crash down to sleep on the couch and wake up the next day as if everything that had transpired in the moonlight was just another one of his perverted fantasies. Awakening with the taste of you still on his tongue threw all hope out the window. “Use your words, pretty girl.”

With an awkward bend, the pad of his thumb brushes over your neglected clit in a gentle circling motion, coaxing you further and further to that ledge of ecstasy he aims to throw you off, plunge you into the heavens of a blinding orgasm. Crooking his fingers and grinding his cock into the base of your spine become practiced movements, a kind of push and pull dance his body plays with yours, guiding you both to the beats of your erratic hearts.

“Mmmoel,” bless you, really, for trying so hard to speak while chocking on yourself, yet making no attempt to shove his hand away. Your well-mannered nature has never made him so hard- and, trust that it has done so plenty of times- as you melt yourself into a writhing mess in his arms, blown out pupils and spit dribbling out the corner of your mouth all the while you do as he bids. “Mmhop.”

“‘S the matter, sweet girl? Hmm?” You’re close, he knows it. Feels it, when your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist through the soft skirt, nails biting flesh even through the layer of silk. He half wonders if this is it, this is where you’re going to rip him off you and slap him in the face with the harsh truth: you’re too good to be touched by the likes of him. Only, you simply clutch onto him and let him continue to play you like he’d once played a guitar, fingers plucking at the right strings and pressing on the right cords to make you sing a melody so sweet even the angels themselves would cry at its sound. “Cat got your tongue? Feels good, I know. ‘S okay, you can let go f’me, not gonna hold it against ya. Just gonna hold ya through it, yeah? Keep ya real safe in my arms while this pretty little pussy of yours takes what she needs, m’kay?”

The longer you take to tell him to stop, the more debauched the images of you in his mind become. Once wishes of butterfly kisses and sweet surrenders beneath his naked embrace, now desires to have you on your knees crying, begging, praying for him to smother you with his sins.

With another thrust, he fucks a third finger into your cunt, stretching you even wider and trying his damn best to ignore the fact you’re still so tight despite the thickness of his fingers. That’ll only lead to his thoughts derailing to how much tighter you’d feel clamped around the girth of his cock.

He’d been modest, back in his younger years, shrugging off the cries of past lovers regarding his well endowed state as nothing more than flirtatious fiction, the kind of thing women would tell their man to make him feel special. Only a few years ago he’d started to second guess his assumptions as he began to chase his highs with faceless bodies and all kinds of holes- mouth, cunt and ass.

Most of the time his concubines get no chance to truly see his cock, too busy having their face shoved down into gravel, or into some brick wall in a sketchy alleyway, or, simply, the darkness that consumed the walls of the cubicle which kept them from seeing just who exactly they were fucking would also take away their chance to know what they were getting themselves into, what was about to get in to them.

Their first reactions always seem to be a crying sort of sound, a sick pleasure washing over him and having his balls tightening. Then comes the complaining of too much, too fast, too good, their bodies at odds with themselves and unable to decide if being impaled by him is their worst nightmare or their sweetest dream.

Before they can ever decide, he’s ripping away from them and fucking himself to completion with his own hand. A mumbled thanks and- if it was one of those kind of deals- a drop of a med kit or some food rations to their feet, Joel would be tucked back into his worn jeans and out of their sight before they're able to catch their breaths and realise he’s left them there, stretched open and fucked out with no orgasm to show for it.

With you, he’d be different though.

There's no need for his own pleasure if it came down to choosing between it and your own. The sheer thought of nuzzling his mouth between your thighs and lapping at every inch of your pussy, till his muscle aches and his jaw locks, is enough to have him on the precipice of cumming untouched. So, to think of a scenario where he slips his cock inside your velvet walls and doesn’t leave you a spasming mess after several earth shattering orgasms, over and over till a ring of your mixed juices decorates the base of him and you’ve milked him dry, that feels impossible.

“Wait, Joel, ah! Please, please,” your head thrashes to the side, ripping away from your burned finger. You're trembling, feet pushing up onto their tippy-toes as he fucks higher and higher into you. The hand around your wrists finds a new home curled around your jaw and his thumb begins it’s torturous circling of your clit once more, pushing and guiding and bullying your aching cunt towards an orgasm that’s sure to leave you breathless and- “Stop!”

This time, it’s Joel who’s recoiling his scorned hands.

Pants fill the air, a desperate fight for oxygen as you stand before him, legs shaky and perked nipples chafing against the see-through fabric of your camisole. Thunder cracks above, a deep and trembling noises that Joel can’t help but feel fits the ambience, turmoil in both the sky and his heart.

He knows its for the best, to have you put your foot down and put an end to this ridiculous pursuit of lust Joel’s imposing on you. Not only have you made it clear you do not like him, but you’re younger, full of life, heart too mellow for a soul as dark as his. Still, disappointment floods his bones.

Both hands back at his side, he clenches them. Wrong move, only serving to remind him one of his hands is smothered in your wetness, a schlick squelch bouncing up to his eardrums. You’ve turned to look at him, at some point. He notices the slight swell of your lips and the blown-out pupils, try though he might to ignore it.

Staring right at him, you seem to be almost waiting on a reaction.

“'S gettin’ dark, should prolly think of headin’ back,” Joel won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing him beg, not when he knows it’ll get him nowhere. The hood, that’s what he should be focusing on. He shoots a hand up and slams the hood shut, fighting the urge to let his stare linger on the stain his pleasure soaked fingers leave behind on the blue painted metal. “Bill and Frank’ll be wonder-”

You call his name.

He can’t look at you, fingers fidgeting with some scab on his hand.

You try again. louder.

A sigh of resignation. He turns to face you, leaning back against the truck. The quirk of his brow enough to encourage you to get on with it, say what you need to say. Paint him in shame, call him some names and then let you both be on your way.

You seem to take it as an invitation to approach. One step, then two more when he fails to back away. With a final step, you’re stood right before him, forcing yourself between the space of his parted legs. he’s never had you this close before, at least not with you facing him, and it’s almost too much. The familiar anxious pit in his loins creeps back, leaving him all too aware of the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins.

You smell... christmassy. burnt wood, dusted cinnamon, mulled wine. warm.

He can’t remember the last time he even thought of Christmas.

He jolts at the feeling of your hands on his thighs, the coldness of them burning through the rough material of his pants. He’s not sure when it happened but he somehow finds himself sitting on the truck’s hood, hands splayed out on either side of him and knees bent over the edge as he parts way for you between them.

Your hands smooth up the muscles of his thighs, up and down in repeated motions. Soothing, calming. His heart beats a little slower with each movement.

Only to jackhammer against his ribcage as your touch begins to move higher.

“I didn’t mean stop as in, stop touching me,” you breathe out the words like they’re the most delicate of secrets, only for his ears and your own to know. Fingers threading through belt loops. A pull or two. He’s vaguely aware of the sound of metal clinking as you release him from the strain of it’s buckle, and the biting sound of teeth unzipping. “Just... just wanna see you... feel you this time, when I... if that’s okay with you.”

He’s nodding his head before you can even finish your words, nearly crumbling as your fingers brush against his bulge. “'S more than fine by me. Shit, that’s... Yeah.”

A pathetic man, that’s what he’s become, a meek shadow to the man who moments ago had you on the precipice of cumming around his fingers while you babbled incoherently. You seem to have turned the tide, whether you’re aware of it or not, hand sinking beneath the withered band of his boxers.

You don’t give him the relief he wants- needs- instantly. Instead, you tease, fingertips dancing down the underside of his shaft and following the trail of a vein he doubts you’re even aware of. Sliding back up to his tip, you revel in the weakness he displays as you brush over heightened nerves, sensitive to your touch and stained in earlier excitement.

“You’re warm,” is not exactly what he’d expected you to say, if he’s honest. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it, mind firing into overdrive as you fully wrap yourself around his cock. Ignoring the chafing, you work your hand over him, grow familiar with the length of him, tip to base. “Big.”

With your free hand, you do your best to peel back the layers of fabric till nothing stands in your path of gazing at his cock, heavy in your palm and red at the tip.

“Yeah? ‘S bigger than you’re used to, ain’t it?” Joel coos, you nod, tongue darting out to wet your lips as your eyes meet his. Wide, glossy, intrigued, a mirror of the scared look you’ve worn when you’d stalled the car.

Joel groans at the memory, the way he’d taken care of you, coaxed you back to a rational state of mind.

He wants more of that, more chances to protect you.

Even if it’s against your own mind.

“‘S okay, Sol, you’ll learn to take it,” you keen at his words, sinking closer to him, shoes scratching on the gravel beneath you. You squeeze your hand around him and he chokes on an inhale. “Gonna teach ya to take it like a champ.”

He reaches behind him, tugging the gun out the back of his trousers. He was stupid to place it there in the first place, a rushed action he’d made when stepping out the vehicle. He hadn’t wanted you to see the weapon, to be reminded that the world outside Bill and Frank- the world Joel resides in- is not safe, not from infected and certainly not from people.

Before he can put it to rest on the hood, you snatch it out his hand.

You’re inspecting it like it’s the first you’ve ever seen, yet the way you perfectly wrap your hand around it and point past his shoulders tells him otherwise. There’s familiarity in your stance, like you’d once lived under rules where Bill didn’t prohibit you from touching a firearm. It has him wondering, longing to know who you were before. Where you’d come from, how you’d met the two men you share a roof with.

You play with the safety, snapping his attention right back to the present.

The sight of the gun in your hand fills him dread. And misery. And a sense of nausea. You’re far from weak, no matter how much he’d like you to be, but there’s just something fundamentally wrong with the image of you holding such a destructive weapon.

You should be holding Otis’ lead. Or a canvas depicting Frank’s recent masterpiece. Or the end of some wine bottle Bill’s struggling to open.

Or Joel’s hand.

Instead of speaking his mind, he pries it from you with a huff- from both of you- and lays it to rest somewhere towards his right, out of sight and out of mind. “ 'S not some toy for a girl like you to be messin’ about with.”

“Neither are you,” you make a point to rack your pretty nails over the untamed curls of his pubic hair, the occasional flash of silver a reminder of his aging state. You don’t seem to notice, or care, too busy bringing the attention back to his leaking tip.

A sound adjacent to a growl escapes him, feral and domineering. Shame exists within him, for a moment, witnessing himself be at such a loss of control. When his hands find purchase on your waist, the feeling dissipates and what takes it’s place is pure adulterated need, throbbing in his very core.

He tugs you forward, closer, catching the way you’re struggling to reach him, hand gripping his thigh for support.

“Y’gonna hurry on up ‘ere,” impatience punctuates the soul, driving him off the cliff of sanity and plunging head first into the rocky territories below. “Or d’ya need me to do all the work? Lay ya down, nice and pretty on the hood so i can fuck you?”

You deny his offer with actions, clambering your way into his lap, legs splayed out either side of his thighs. The skirt bunches awkwardly between you both and steals his view as you rest down against his stiffness and smother it in the warmth of your clothed cunt.

There’s dampness on your panties, teasing him as you give an experimental roll along his cock, holding it tight between both your bodies.

“Shit, Joel,” a hiss through your clenched teeth and your face twisting up in something- pain? arousal? both? he can’t quite pinpoint it. Your hips roll again, this time reaching higher, teasing him with a visual of what’s to come. “Feel so thick, don’t know how I’m gonna-”

“Didn’t I already tell ya-” he grabs at your skirt, irritation clear in the way he rips it up the length of your legs, exposing your skin inch by inch. “You’re gonna learn to take it?”

Your hand dives under the fabric before his can, fingers curling around his cock once again and giving him a salacious stroke, taking your time gliding over the smooth skin and sensitive head. “Mhmm. You gonna teach me?”

He nods, affirmative.

The next few minutes are nothing but messy grinding. Like a pair of hormone-crazed teens, you explore the joys of rubbing up on each other. Two pieces of wet wood searching for that spark in between. You make the most effort, working the muscles in your thighs to slide up the length of him and to grind back down, the wet patch in your panties growing with each stroke. Joel sits back, allows himself the rare luxury of being taking care of. The last time he had a pretty girl in his lap, she had solace in her eyes and a couple twenties stuffed down her sparkly bra.

“What d’ya bring me ‘ere for,” he’d berated his younger brother after, his anger seemingly coming across as unserious to a giggling Tommy, “was fuckin’ depressin’. Kept lookin’ at those girls and thinkin’ bout if their poor dads knew what they were up to.”

He can’t help but wonder if Bill and Frank know what you’re up to.

“Hey, hey, wait,” the words tumble out of him erratically as he catches up to your actions, the hand around his cock suddenly holding it still as you raise your hips. His hands pull and grab at the fabric of your skirt, a frustrated grunt slipping out of him as he hoists it up past your waist. This time, you’re covered by a shade of baby blue cotton instead of lace, less sultry yet far more appealing in his eyes. Comfortable, that’s what they look like, the kind of pair he’d find you wearing stood in a kitchen in the early hours of the morning, one of his wrinkled old t-shirts the only thing keeping your frame concealed. Joel’d always had a good imagination, and it serves him well, decorating his mind with several images of a domestic bliss he’d never get to share with you. “Lemme see.”

You’re a smart girl, it’s one of your best qualities, and so you need no further instructions to understand what Joel’s asking for.

He watches like a hawk as your fingers tug your panties to one side, a pretty window of slick covered skin that has him involuntarily jutting his hips up off the truck, his head slipping up your seam and pressing into your clit, an action that sparks the reaction of your own hips grinding down. You recover quick, hand back on the task of gripping his base and holding him, while your over reaches back to grip his knee, giving you a place to steady yourself on as you straighten your thighs.

“This what you want,” your voice calls through the lustful haze in his mind as he takes in the sight of you sinking down onto him, the head of his cock fitting snuggly between your velvet walls. It’s almost enough to make him cum on sight. “To watch? Me sitting on your dick?”

Joel wonders if you’re trying to shame his desires. Ultimately, he’s too lost in the way you cling around him to really care. If anything, he almost wants you to be disgusted by him, making the act of devouring your pleasure that much more sinful.

Hands grip at your hips, with moon-shape indents forming around where his nails dig into your flesh. Patience is a virtue he scarcely possess but he forces it on himself, fighting back the need to slam you right down on him and carve a home out for his hot cum inside your empty womb. He can’t allow himself the fast-paced indulgence he’s used to, not when he sees the deep breaths you need to take or the pained wrinkle in your brow with each inch you sink deeper and deeper down on him with.

He let’s you take your time, eyes starring with a crazed expression at the point your bodies meet. Once he’s fully nestled inside the warmth of your cunt, your forehead rests against his own and he’s forced to look into your eyes and once again notice the way your pupils sit dilated in lust.

It’s a sight he’d like to get used to.

“Kinda regretting this,” dread plummets through his heart and a ball forms in his throat. Your walls hold him in a vice grip that seems to contradict your statement, until you clarify. “Thinking I could take it like this. I’ve never, you know, in this position before-”

“You’re doin’ great,” Joel’s own voice sounds pained, straining beneath the buzzing energy that’s begging him to relinquish control to his lust. It would be so easy, effortless even, to grip your hips and fuck you down onto him like you’re nothing if not a hole to get himself off in. Unfortunately, his heart stands in the way. “Shit, fuckin’ better than great.”

Neither of you keep time of how long you sit like that, pelvis to pelvis, his cock buried into the hilt and a puddle of your wetness collecting along his pubic bone, the bristle hairs providing a rough friction for your clit.

Eventually, initiative is taken, and you work up the nerve to roll your hips.

The view he’d been enjoying is stolen as your skirt slips back down to pool around you both, his hands too occupied gripping at your waist as your own find home on his sturdy shoulders.

Another roll of of your body, slow and steady, lighting every nerve in his cock on fire with the sweet burn of your cunt fighting to keep him inside, refusing to let him slip too far out before you’re filling yourself back up again. Your lips fall open in a pathetic moan, the sweet smell of your breath hitting his nostrils as you sit forehead to forehead.

And Joel wonders if there’ll ever be a part of you he’s not enamoured by.

Your confidence grows as you begin to set a pace, bouncing yourself up and down in his lap as Joel grips here, there and everywhere on your body. A pinch to your hardened nipples, a trace of your hidden thighs, a cradling of your face. There’s not an inch of you he wants to neglect, staining his fingerprints all over you with every frantic touch.

This is nothing like the back-alley exchanges of body heat he’s grown accustomed to, this is nothing rushed and everything felt. It’s a carnal hunger for the feel of flesh and the taste of sweat. It’s feral, and lustful, and downright intoxicating. It’s the need to get his fill of you over, and over, and over again, till the fountain of your velvet warmth overflows with his seed and has nowhere else to run but down the length of your full thighs and dripping onto his emptied balls below.

“Joel, please,” he decides he likes you much better like this, your whole body gripping itself around him-arms, legs, soaked cunt- in search of a sweet salvation only he can bring as your usual bright smile and quick tongue become reduced to nothing but whimpered breaths and desperate prayers. “I’m- God, I can’t-”

Your thighs tremble as he tightens his hold, keeping you steady when the exhaustion of exhilarating yourself on top of him begins to take a hold of you. The need to take over becomes primal, blunt nails tearing into the meat of your thighs and bouncing you down on him with an effortless look he hopes will fool you out of noticing he’s seconds away from blowing his load prematurely, mind and body too close to the edge of nirvana from simply having the weight of you on him.

He just needs to get you there first.

“Hate this fucking skirt,” the grumble was meant to be a thought he keeps to himself, but the giggle it rouses out of you makes it worth the slip-up, your own hands delivering the mercy of helping him drag the length of it farther up, marking a clear path for his own to sneak under and find your pulsing clit. “Don’t wear it again.”

A few tight circles with just the right amount of pressure has you melting deeper into him, your arms curling around him as your head lays itself to rest upon his shoulder. Your every breath delivers a brush of heat against his already burning skin and he wishes there were no plaid shirts nor camisoles resting between your heartbeats.

“But it’s so,” he must have struck gold, found some hidden gem in the combination of the pressure of his fingers on your clit and the rhythm at which he’s fucking you down onto his cock, for you clamp down on him so tightly he worries you may cut off his circulation. “soft and, oh, yes! and it- it fits me so perfectly-”

“Not sure if you’re talkin’ bout your skirt or your pussy,” he grunts out, a teasing smirk on his mouth that dies the instance his lips press to your neck, nose chasing the scent of your lingering shampoo.

“You’re so-” He’s so, what? You don’t get to finish, hand fisting into his hair and moans falling from your lips like autumn leaves.

“Tsk, look at ya,” he certainly is, and loving every inch of you he sees, hips rolling down with the guidance of his hands, head tucked safely away from the world in the crook of his neck, hands gripping any part of him they seem to reach. If art is subjective, then you’re the damned Mona Lisa, The Starry Night, The Birth of Venus. “Can’t even fuckin’ speak properly, mouth’s good for nothin’ when you’re full of cock.”

You nod into him, hips moving faster, nails digging deeper, moans getting louder. He’s got you so close, a few more thrusts till he’s sure to have you flying off the handles and cumming around him.

You whine his name.

He meets the roll of your hips with the raising of his own.

A pull of hair, a bite of skin, and then you’re-

“Oh shit, ain’t this a pretty sight.”

Joel’s blood runs cold.

You’re frozen against him.

Just past your shoulder, directly in Joel’s eye-line, by the gas station’s entry stands a man. He’s younger than Joel, maybe even younger than you. His clothes are stained in all sorts- sweat, dried blood, mud- and are tattered, as if he’s been wearing the same thing everyday. The strap of a backpack sits over one shoulder and he seems to be carrying no weapons but the hunting knife in his belt.

The intruder- if he can even be called that out in the openness of the world- takes a couple steps closer but they’re not full of confidence. If anything, his frame seems just as shaken as you both, fingers fidgeting with the adjustable cord of the bag’s strap.

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” he seems to be trying to play it cool, but fails to let out the light-hearted chuckle he intends to, a noise more similar to a choke taking its place. “Heck, give me a little performance even”

Joel’s not sure what’s gotten into him- if it’s the fact he’d been moments away from making you cum, or the dropping temperatures that have you sinking deeper into his warm body, or the sheer desire to possess you so intimately under someone else’s knowledge- but he finds himself rutting up into you again.

You don’t join in, limbs still locked in shocked, yet a moan is breathed into his neck.

“Shit, man,” the stranger sounds amazed, as if not even he thought Joel would gift him such a sight. His hands find something new to fidget with, struggling to undo the buckle of his tattered leather belt. “Pull up her skirt, lemme see how she’s taking you.”

He obliges and bunches the fabric up in his hands, exposing the sight that lays beneath. It’s not the explicit sight the man must be hoping for, the snug fit of his cock inside your cunt mostly concealed by your pushed-aside panties.

Unable to stop himself, Joel wonders if this man would prefer you in something more scandalous than the blue cotton that he so deeply adores.

“Sorry- Fuck! Just, it’s just been a while,” the buckle comes undone at last, a button and a zipper follow. One hand dips beneath the waist band of the man’s boxers. “Swear I’m not trynna be a creep, or nuffin’. Can you... could you squeeze her ass? Wanna see how much of a hand full she is.”

This time around, you let out a sound that’s less pleasant to Joel’s ears, a far cry from pleasured as he so greedily cups a handful of your ass. The realisation that, though your body may contradict you with the canting of your hips into his or the continued arousal you drip between your pelvises, you’re not enjoying this, hits him like a truck.

You’re not moaning in pleasure, you’re whimpering in fear. You’re not shaking because you’re cold, you’re shaking because you’re scared. This man is scaring you.

Joel is letting him scare you.

“Swear I’ll just- A few minutes and I’ll be out your hair, ok?” The man’s fumbling, bag dropping off his shoulder down onto the floor as he works over his cock. Joel wonders if it’s uncomfortable, stroking himself without the help of spit to ease the slide, and scoots his hand over to his right, fingers slipping over the hood in search. “Just really need this, man, you’ve no idea how it gets out here on your own-”

Nothing usually crosses Joel’s mind when he pulls a trigger.

Becoming numb to it, blanking one’s mind, treating it as normal. It’s the only way to come out the other side of it without it weighing on your conscious. It was built over time, the first few months a struggle to even touch a gun after what happened on outbreak day. Shooting humans had always been the easy part, reminding himself there’s an evil in them he doesn’t need to meet to know it exists. The infected, he’d struggled, compassion sinking deep into the pit of his stomach as he’d glance at their once-alive eyes, now nothing but a breeding ground for some mushroom.

The shot rings out, moments after the bullet hits its target and, this time, you cross his mind.

Defenceless, shaking, clinging onto him. It’s shameful to admit that it turns him on, has his balls throbbing with unloaded cum, to protect you. To play the role of saviour, supporter, guardian to the fearful girl in his lap.

He doesn’t even care enough to spare the dead man a look, eyes back on you.

You’re already staring right back at him, shock written all over your face. “You... You killed him.”

“He was holdin’ a gun, Sol,” he’s not sure if it makes you feel any better. You do, however, seem to shuffle closer to him, chest to chest as you take in what he’s telling you. “Was gonna fire a few rounds into me and then where would that leave ya, huh? Free for the taken.”

Thunder roars above your heads.

Your brows furrow, conflictive expressions taking over you while you assess what’s just happened. He tries not to think too much about the fact his cock is still very much nestled inside your soaked pussy, throbbing with the impending release life keeps stealing away from you both.

“You killed him.” You repeat, more sure in your words this time.

“I did.”

Lightning lights up the darkening sky.

“I should be scared of you.”

“You should.”

One last rumble from the storm clouds.

“But I’m not.”

The heavens above seem to open as cold, thick drops of water fall from the sky, quickly soaking everything they meet. The gravel, his shirt, your hair. The rain seems to have no boundaries, slipping between you both and filling the little gaps it manages to find.

Neither of you move from where you’re seated, letting the cold overtake your bodies. you both use it as an excuse to move closer, arms tangling around one another as you stare each other down with judgement, assessing what either will do next.

You call the shots, experimentally rolling your hips, testing the waters to see where he’s at.

Joel meets you just where you want him to, touches more frantic than before and far more sloppy, neither of you conscious of the goosebumps that line your skins as you indulge in one another’s bodies, fucking beneath the pouring rain like some silly scene out of a romance film.

"I was protectin’ you,” he breathes onto your neck, mouthing at your flesh and enjoying the thudding of your pulse beneath his tongue. “Keepin’ you safe, Sol. ‘S what I do, what I’ll always do.”

It’s unclear if the words are meant to assure you or himself.

It doesn’t take long till you’re both back at the edge of glorious relief, the unmet orgasms from earlier rearing their heads all at once and flooding over both of you. One of his hands snakes it’s way under your skirt to rub at your clit, while one of your own threads itself in his hair and tugs sharply, till he feels a sting in his scalp.

What a sight it is to behold as you cum, eyes rolled back, lips parted in a mute scream, soaked hair sticking to your forehead and every other place it touches. Joel wants to see you through to the very end, hold you while you shake and break completely on his cock, but the warmth that creeps up his loins takes that priviledge away.

Only as the first spurt of thick cum shoots out of him does Joel manage to rip you off him, jostling you further up his lap and providing him with the friction of your ass cheeks to sooth over his spasming member as he paints your lower back and inner skirt in his pleasure.

He watches you falling apart in the heat of your orgasm and his bones ache a little less, his soul feels a little lighter, his heart seems to beat a little better.

Joel never manages to put his thoughts into words quite properly.

“You’re not,” he breaths out, shaky. You’re still rutting against his limp cock, soaking him with your slick and whimpering into his shoulder as his head bumps against your aching clit, the come down from your orgasm hitting you harder than his. He’s vaguely aware of how tightly he’s gripping you, arms holding you flush, anchoring you down against him as the rain continues to pour. “You’re not real.”

You’re mumbling something but it falls on deaf ears as Joel fails to reel his thoughts in, eyes skittish as they jump from watching water crash against the windows of the deserted gas station to the limp body of the stranger, cock still in his hand and a bullet straight through his forehead, a sick red washing away along the gravel.

“...Here. I’m real, Joel,” a kiss pressed to his forehead. You’re gentle with him, whispering into his good ear and he wonders if you know he can hear you better on this side, he’d never mentioned it. A hand coaxes his own off your waist and guides it upwards, pressing against the left side of your chest. Rapid thumps. You mimic the movement, hand pressing against his own heart as you rest your forehead against his. “I’m here. We’re both here.”

Joel drives back.

There’s no prior discussion where you agree on this. He simply cleans you both up- to the best of his abilities-, sits you down in the passengers seat and walks his way round to the driver’s side. iIt’s silent, and this time it’s the uncomfortable kind. The kind that wrestles with his mind and puts discomfort in his heart. There’s something unspoken between you both and he does not know how to begin to talk about it, not without the risk of messing it all up.

You don’t protest this time around when he turns on one of Bill’s old CD’s, and, so, Billy Joel sings you all the way home.

At some point, he convinces himself you’ve fallen prey to sleep, eyes closed and head slumped to the side, searching for the safety of something to rest itself on. Slowing to a stop, he takes his time undoing your seatbelt and maneuvering your lax limbs till your head meets his shoulder. The drive onwards is slower, more careful as he drives over any bump in the road and each turning he takes less sharp.

“I owe you a thank you,” you eventually mumble, weight still leaning against him and eyes very much shut.

He nods, though you do not see it. “Okay.”

It’s all he can think to say, unsure what a girl like you could ever thank him for. All he’s done since the moment he met you is dampen your shine and stain your kindness with rough hands and a rougher heart.

“For, you know, not telling Tess,” your response brings more questions than answers. Not telling Tess what? “I just... She’d hate me, if she knew, and she’s some of the only family I have left. I couldn’t stand to lose her over a few... mistaken moments between us.”

Joel wonders if he’s part of this short list of family you have.

He doubts it.

“Don’t see why she’d care,” he’s choosing to ignore that word, mistaken, yet it’s not enough to stop his fingers from twisting tighter around the wheel, tension in his wounded heart.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” you wrestle down a yawn and nestle your head deeper into the crook of his neck, body hunched in a position he can’t imagine to be too comfortable. he keeps this thought to himself, decidedly enjoying this false image of tender touch. You ground him, weight down on his paper-thin mind-state like a rock that promises to keep all his pages in place. “You’re careless.”

There you go again, displaying such casual cruelty.

You’re careless.

How twisted life is to give him everything he’s worked so hard to be- a man feared, untested, unmessed with- only for his every want become his waking nightmare as it sits on your own lips.

I don’t like you, Joel.

“‘S that why ya don’t like me?” He can’t help himself, even if he wanted to.

“I don’t like you because you-” A pull of breath. An opening of eyes. A raise of a head. You don’t make it far before he’s raising a hand off the wheel to encourage you back down to rest upon him, half-worrying he’ll be strown apart by the next gust of wind should he lose the weight of your head on his shoulder. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“You never brought me that dress.”

There’s no answer he can give that won’t incriminate him and steer you on the clear path to see just how caring a man like him can be. Every fabric he’s seen the wrong colour, the wrong length, the wrong style for you. The closest he’d gotten to finding a dress worthy enough of slipping down your skin was stripped from the corpse of a woman Joel’d been tasked with disposing of. In a moment of weakness, he’d nearly taken it, till his skin began to crawl with the implications of gifting you a dead woman’s dress, the last piece of clothing she’d worn while her blood was still warm and her lungs filled with air.

You fall asleep, for real this time, not even stirring as he maneuvers himself out of his jacket and drapes it over your damp figure, body sinking deeper into his own- as deep as the console between you allows.

Night has taken hold of the sky by the time he pulls into the fenced community, headlights lighting up the path back into the garage. Pulling the car to a stop, Joel eases your weight off him and steps out the car, mindful of how he closes the door over. He makes his way around to the passenger side and pries the door open to find you still sleeping, peaceful as can be, the dull army green of his jacket contrasting the pastel shade of your skirt.

He takes a moment, sinking to his knees, and let’s himself indulge in the image of you like this a little longer, before the watchful eyes of Bill or the curious glances of Tess stand between the ways Joel longs to look at you. Softness greets his thumb as it brushes over your cheek. You seek out his warmth, chasing it even as he moves downwards to swipe at the dribble of spit threatening to spill out your slacked lips.

If he were a better liar, perhaps he’d claim this was his way of attempting to wake you up.

“What happened?” Frank is the first to greet him, eyes blown a little wider than usual as he takes in the sight of you curled against Joel, one arm round your back and another under your knees keeping the weight of you off the ground. “Is she okay?”

“Nothin’s happened,” the man’s reactions to Joel’s return to the house has brought on more pairs of eyes, Tess and Bill flooding out the kitchen to catch a glimpse of him in the hallway. “She’s just tired. ‘S been a long day and-”

“Your clothes are wet.” Bill’s eyes are glaring, tearing apart every detail they can pick up: the gentle grip he holds you with, your sweater thrown over his shoulder, the peaceful manner in which your sleeping form sinks into his warmth, the jacket that’s slowly slipping down your form to reveal bare shoulders and soaked cotton.

His tongue feels heavy, his mouth turning to sandpaper as the anxious feeling of being watched dries up his senses. Hardly aware of it, he’s straightening his spine and puffing his chest, staring the older man down before flickering over to where Tess stands, face much kinder looking as she watches you sleep. “You just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna show me her room ‘fore my back gives out?”

That seems to get the ball rolling, all questioning and staring left behind as Frank guides him three doors down and slips the door open, stepping aside to let Joel in. He doesn’t bother hitting the light, a part of him not wanting to pick up any details to linger on around your room, using what little light the moon provides to find his way over to the bed. Frank’s gaze is burning a hole in Joel’s back even as he drops you down onto the mattress, and it’s almost like he can hear the buzz of energy radiating from everything the man wants to ask him.

It’s not till the four of them sit the dining table and Joel’s shovelling a fork-load of food into his mouth that the next question comes.

“Why was her sweater dry?” It’s Tess who asks, punctuating it with an obnoxious sip from her glass.

All eyes are on Joel, a spotlight she’d shun directly on him and leaving him on display. Bill, in particular, seems to be clinging to his every movement, anticipating his answer with the clenching of fingers around the steak knife in his hand.

“What?” It’s all he can manage without the fear of saying too much.

“Your clothes were all wet. But her sweater, on your shoulder, it was dry.”

How had Tess even noticed that?

“She took it off,” it takes a couple minutes to answer, a pause he tries to play off as simply his need to chew on the food he shovels into his mouth at last. It feels heavy, slipping down his throat, like he can already anticipate it’s return to the surface alongside his bile. “Said somethin’ bout not wantin’ to get oil on it when I told her I was gonna show her the different parts of the engine.”

Silence.

Eyes shooting back and forth.

Tess looks at Frank.

Frank looks at Bill.

Bill loathes at Joel.

And then, “oh.”

Tess says it like it’s the start of a sentence, an audible ellipses that she’s refusing to elaborate on.

“Oh.” Joel parrots, hoping they’ll drop the topic and allow him to go back to the raging waters thrashing around in his thoughts.

Luck is not on his side.

“That makes sense,” the woman continues, attempting to cut the tension with an airy chuckle and a shrugging of her shoulders, as if doing so will ahake the tension out of everyone else’s. “Was worried that poor girl was running around with her tits out in front of the likes of you.”

Bill grips tighter around his cutlery, knuckles white under the dining room light.

Straightening up, a momentary lapse of judgement and a foolish flash of red hot possession shoots over him, embarking him on the road to saying perhaps the dumbest thing he’s ever said.

“Would that be so bad?”

A hand smacks down on the table. A chair scrapes, another following right after.

“Bill,” Frank’s tone is nothing if not a warning, hand on the man’s forearm as he soothes his thumb over his skin.

“It’s late,” it comes after a deep breath, the kind a shrink would teach you to use in times of stress, or fear, or anger. Bill isn’t even acknowledging Tess, fully focused on Joel. “You should get going.”

Plates half full, bellies half empty, the four of them step away from the table. Tess slips on a jacket, one she’d not had prior to arriving, and passes Joel a loaded bag. He figures she must have had her pick around the old clothes shop, loitering whatever was left that could either fit them or keep them warm through the remainder of the cold months.

He throws it over his shoulder without question.

The air has shifted, a tense feeling floating around the atmosphere that exists between him and Bill. Tess and Frank are seemingly unaware of it, laughing and talking amongst themselves as the group makes their way to the front door.

Joel is the last to step out and, in doing so, he pauses, glancing backwards into the open doorway.

hHe calls out to Tess, all three heads turn.

“Need a piss.”

“Take your time,” it’s the friendlier of the two men who responds, threading his arm around Bill’s and dragging him along with him. it reminds him of why he likes Frank more. “We’ll walk Tess to the gate.”

He watches the three figures fade away into the dark of the street, carefully stepping back into the house once he feels the safety of distance. He tries to keep his footsteps light, suddenly aware of how quiet the place feels without the panting of a dog or the rustling of someone in the kitchen. He counts the doors as he goes- one, two, three- and turns the handle of the third.

The room is still dark, but that’s okay. He’s used to darkness. His eyes carefully scan the floor with each step he takes closer to the bed, watching out for any discarded dog toy or worn clothing splayed across it. At some point, his steps meet carpet instead of cold floor. He’d not noticed it earlier, but then his sense had been rather focused on the precious cargo he carried.

He finds you where he left you, hair a mess upon your pillow and chest rising steadily in the breaths of deep sleep. Only, you’ve gained a companion, the unmistakeable beady-eyed stare of the German Shepherd meeting Joel’s in the dark. The dog makes a noise, half whimper half whine, and the tip of its bushy tail begins to beat against the mattress, matching the rhythm of Joel’s heart.

Like before, he lets his hand brush your cheek. Instead of wiping saliva, he brushes a few stray hairs away from your peaceful face. You shift and he panics, fearful you’ve awakened, only to relax as you sink deeper into the pillow.

His hand lingers longer than necessary.

Another whine from the mutt gives him the will to at last pull away from you, trading your soft cheek for the smooth fur along the dog’s head. His fingers card through it, nails digging a little to scratch at Otis’ scalp.

“You take care of her,” for me. “Alright bud?”

He must be losing his mind, for he swears he feels the dog nod.

The steps he takes on his way out are less careful, though he’s slowed by the amount of times he seems to insist on turning back to glance at the bed. Maybe it’s for comfort, the peace of mind of knowing he’d brought you back safe and sound.

Maybe it’s with longing, his aching joints begging for him to crawl his way in beside you, cocooning you between himself and the ball of fluff behind you.

Shaking his head, an array of self-aimed insults plough through his mind, Joel curls his hand around the wooden frame of the door, steadying himself to glance back one last time.

“Joel...” He freezes, caught in place. How long have you been awake? How do you know it’s him? How are you so softly spoken when your voice is hoarse? “Turn the lamp on,” a yawn. He hears rustling and imagines you readjusting yourself into whichever position brings you most comfort. The thought of if it ever gets lonely, sleeping with no one to hold, crosses his mind. He refuses to let it linger. “Don’t wanna wake up to the dark.”

He shuffles over to where he sees the outline of a lamp, fingers sliding around in the dark till they hit a switch and a lovely orange hue overtakes the room, bringing it to life. Little trinkets, scattered papers, a couple pictures in frames line the desk in front of him. He’s seen too much for comfort, avoiding looking at anything else in your space till he finds you, curled up in the bed too big for one, Otis’ head resting on your hip.

You still have his jacket over you, ignoring the warm comforter you lay upon.

He thinks he musters up a smile. If he does, you’re returning it, eyes sleepy and lips lazy in their movement. It’s a peaceful moment, the kind Joel doesn’t get many- if any- of these days. He won’t waste it by speaking what’s on his mind. Your eyes slowly drop once more, surrendering to exhaustion.

The bedroom door creaks behind him on the way out.

[meteor752]

The Double Life Kids headcanons 3

A whole lot has happened since the last of these headcanon posts, like, a whole lot. The last post was before the kids even went to the Empires server

So, I thought I’d do one of these again, cause I like making headcanon posts

All the kids except Liana share the same birthday, since Liana spawned as an egg and hatched like, a month later. They wouldn’t usually celebrate their birthdays in anyway, especially after their parents deaths, but when they were separated it became a tradition on both ends to get a cake and blow out their candles, celebrating both them and the ones on the other server, counting down the years until they could see them again. Liana gets a cupcake on hers

Zee (The Lizzie + Skizz child) uses She/He pronouns

Skim uses They/Them

Liana, Jekiv, and Gertrude are girlbosses while Johnny, Novo, and Jassy are boylosers. Wes is somewhere in between

Johnny brought Lily the Warden with him to Empires, and later to Hermitcraft, and then back to Empires. She’s his little sister, and where he goes, she goes

Gertrude bites in her sleep. It’s not always aggressive, usually it’s just lil love bites, but if she’s having a particularly vivid dream or is very stressed out, then she can leave pretty extreme chomps. It’s usually just her pillow or blanket, but sometimes Novo falls victim to her sleep biting. He doesn’t mind

Johnny hates using a bed to sleep, and exclusively sleeps in a hammock.

Through trial and error, and many years of work, Wes, together with Jassy, BDubs and one of his many steeds, managed to overcome his fear of horses. He even got his own, an Ardennais named Dweller

Jekiv also got his own horse, but instead of breeding one he kinda, made one. Virgil was his first successful resurrection, that didn’t just crumble into dust immediately. He’s not very friendly and struggles with obeying him, but he’s (mostly) fully alive which is all that really counts

fWhip was the one who made Liana’s prosthetic, and Doc later made improvements to it so it would hold better and be more comfortable. She has many stickers on it, just for funsies

In the good ending, where the kids all got a happy ending together, Gertrude and Jekiv were finally able to meet their other dads. Jek was thrilled to get another chance to bond with his dad, and Gert was just happy to have her dad back

Jassy also got to reunite with her little brother, Hermes

Johnny is very face blind. It usually isn’t a problem since everyone around him dresses and look very distinctively, but in Empires where everyone he knows wore entirely different outfits in varying aesthetics, he struggled a lot. It just became a habit of the kids that if you wore something different than you usually wore around him, you’d immediately tell him who you are and let him inspect you for a bit

Wes has little control over his volume. It’s kinda strange for him, as he doesn’t really take notice of it himself. When talking to him, he can go from almost whispering to straight up yelling without even realizing it. The rest of the kids are used to it, but it’s usually a surprise to any new people

Liana drinks exclusively expensive whiskey, Jassy loves tequila, Novo is a huge fan of cheap wine, Gertrude likes rum cocktails, Jekiv drinks straight Vodka, Wes sticks to cider, and Johnny makes his own moonshine. Drink nights are a mess

Speaking of which, Liana is the messiest drunk to every messy. She has absolutely zero filter, and for some reason loves to spit out random pretty miserable and dark facts that she’s read about. She tends to clonk out after like two hours though, so it’s just to put up with it

Nobody ever calls Johnny Johnathan. Nobody, except Keralis

Liana and Jassy’s first wedding was less because of love and devotions, and more because they were 14 years into life on the double life server and everyone was fucking miserable, so they thought an event could help cheer people it. It did, but like barely

This is why they remarried, to have an honest chance to express their love for each other. Also an excuse to wear fancy clothes

Jekiv and Wes, in the good ending, got married shortly after reuniting with each other on their new server. It was a very quaint ceremony, but still lovely

Gertrude and Novo are still waiting for the other to propose, and they will just keep on waiting

Also, since this will be posted on the two year anniversary of my first ever post about the kids, I thought I’d share some scrapped ideas and other bts stuff. It’s not a lot since I’m one person using Hero Forge and posting stuff on Tumblr, but there’s some things lol

Jassy was first meant to be a set of twins. It was scrapped for many reasons, one of them being the “one child per couple”, but when I was still working on their first designs I had two wips. The original idea was that one of them was going to take inspiration from some other Naruto character, I think Hinata is who I settled for, and the other was going to have more of a fantasy vibe, to fit the theme of Shrek. This was another reason this was scrapped lol, but for a short while the idea of twin sisters Hinata and Princess Fiona excited

The kids were originally going to go to Hermitcraft. This was before we knew the portal led to Empires, so I was planning of having them enter the portal and exit in Grians base. The main reason this got scrapped was of course that we found out that the portal led to Empires, but also because I knew next to nothing about the Ren The King storyline during season nine, which I was planning to have be a big part of it, with Gertrude and Liana taking center stage as the main characters

To piggy back of the last one, I was planning to make a part two to Logbook, Jekiv’s fic where he wrote journal entries throughout their 20 year stay at the Double Life series. The premise of the sequel was that Liana was to have found the journal before he left it behind, and that she was going to keep on writing in it during their time on Hermitcraft. I even started a rough first draft of it, but as the Hermitcraft storyline was scrapped, so was the journal entry sequel.

Novo and Jekiv are both based off of dnd characters I’ve used in the past, a Bard who can’t play any instruments, and a character who picked up and slowly mastered necromancy halfway through a campaign. It wasn’t planned at the beginning, but it felt fun to pay homage to it, even if I would be the only one who understood the reference.

Some scrapped design ideas is that Liana was gonna be part Vex (Scrapped because it was too messy), Novo was gonna have more of a purple shade in his hair (Scrapped because it didn’t look right, but his signature colour is still purple), Johnny was gonna have a blue fire motif (Scrapped because I like the red fire vibe more, fit him better), Jekiv was gonna have red hair (Scrapped because he just looked exactly like Cleo that way), and Jassy was gonna be entirely green (Scrapped because it looked weird and didn’t fully fit since Joel isn’t green and like no one designs him like that, she does still have some green to her tho).

I mentioned this in a previous post but Liana went through many names before I settled on Liana (The first one I came up with lol, it just stuck). These names (Sharina Ace Sage Aurelia Francesca Octavia Monroe) along with Xelqua and Jellie became her middle names

Not a fucking day goes by where I don’t regret having Jassy constantly change her hairstyle. I painted myself into a corner for that one, and by god am I suffering

And, as a final little thing to celebrate my two year anniversary of not knowing peace because of these fucking kids, I thought I’d show you all a little comparison of the first ever hero forge design I made of the kids, and the most recent one, both to show how they’ve grown but also how I’ve gotten better at using the site lol

Ah, my babies

The funny thing is, that while yes they have changed and evolved over these two years, they canonically have not grown at all lol

Anyways, happy two year anniversary kids

[corvivale]

HELLO OH MY GOD I ! completely forgot to set up asks here I’m . so sorryHEBDBAH

BUT YES !! I DO !! SO. SO MANY HEADCANONS. I’ll list a few of my favorites!!!!! :3

• cecil is the type of guy to Not get sick a lot— and I like to think it’s because of his weird immortality curse . like, he would get sick normally as a child, but after all of the horrors he went through, he just .. never really gets sick. once every blue moon however he gets a tiny little cold and he’s the biggest baby about it ever .just absolutely inconsolable. and carlos indulges him and encourages it every time by taking care of him btw

• cecil is AUDHD . thisisnt even a headcanon at this point this is just factual . I actually……. Have an entire paper about this in the works …… it is currently 16 pages long. let me know if any of you would be interested ..

• often whenever cecil is with carlos, he’ll keep his two main eyes focused on whatever he’s looking at in the moment, but he always has at least one of his extra eyes fondly locked on carlos at all times

• when cecilos first brought esteban home, cecil was an absolute WRECK. he was so filled with anxiety that he spent many sleepless nights just straight up sitting by his crib for hours staring at him to make sure he didn’t spontaneously combust or something. he was very overly protective and obsessively read every single baby book he could get his hands on cover to cover Multiple times. carlos got concerned about this and called abby about it and she told him that he was exactly the same way with janice when she was born, and he just needs to let cecil have his little freak out for now so he gets it all out of his system. eventually, cecil ends up so exhausted he conks out for several hours on the couch and then he’s just normal after that (mostly. he’s still an anxious freak at times and we love him for it)

• cecil was avg. weight during the very early years of wtnv, just like how he was described in the beginning, but I like to think he embodies the ‘character gains weight to signify they’re more fulfilled with life/happier now’ trope. depressed insecure isolated little weirdo in an apartment complex with 0 cooking skills —> more confident little weirdo with a loving husband who cooks for him and reminds him to take care of himself when he forgets/doesn’t feel like it . something something now that he’s with carlos he’s actually aging and changing and growing now .. something something he rediscovered his humanity with carlos… etc….

• part of cecil’s love language is Definitely jjst . sharing sweet little drowsy moments with carlos. those quaint, ‘domestic bliss’ mornings he wakes up to— seeing carlos lay beside him with his hair all frizzy from sleep, brewing a warm cup of coffee in the morning while carlos makes breakfast, cuddling and sleeping in on lazy days .. you get the gist. I like to think he loves little cat nap moments as well- just curling up on the couch, intertwined with one another, the only sound in the room being their respective breathing and heartbeats. it helps cecil relieve a lot of pent up tension

• cecil sleep-hosts sometimes. like carlos will wake up to cecil very drowsily mumbling the details of last week’s community calendar or some shit, completely knocked out. he’s perfect

• since cecil can’t cook very well he definitely is just like an annoying cat every time carlos cooks/bakes. like, carlos will be making something, and cecil will either be standing very close behind him looking over his shoulder, or he’ll be sitting up on the counter beside him licking the spoon or something

• ^ on that note I feel like a lot of their dynamic is jsut. ‘carlos doing something productive while cecil either watches or just sits with him enjoying his company.’ like their afternoons consist of carlos sitting on the couch reading a book while mindlessly playing with cecil’s hair, cecil’s head draped against his lap, and both of them are completely silent. they just like being together! carlos’ love language is more tied into his work and getting things done/achieving some sort of practical goal, while cecil just enjoys being along for the ride

• cecil emotes vaguely like a cat. his tail perks up/gets all puffy when he’s startled, his pupils cartoonishly dilate depending on his mood, his tail flicks at the tip sometimes when he’s just stationary/bored/focused and lashes when he’s agitated, etc.

• cecil is AFAB, and has had top surgery! I draw him with top surgery scars, and I don’t know I just think it weirdly makes sense ? anyway . he’s genderqueer and he has a very lax relationship with gender in which he doesn’t really understand why people make such a big deal out of it, and however people address him is typically fine with him!

• since cecil is very artistic and he often expresses his creative writing skills on the radio, I like to think he writes carlos little meaningful poems and prose here and there<3

• due to his ADHD cecil is often forgetful and has to be (lightly) assisted with tasks sometimes. he’s the type of guy to leave untouched, completely full cups of liquid all over the place, having forgotten he made them (me too girl). carlos makes him very specific and written down grocery lists and gives him gentle reminders about things when he needs to, and cecil is very thankful for his patience. any time cecil messes up on something, he gets really upset and self-critical about it, but carlos is always there to reassure him it’s alright and it’s no big deal and they’ll figure something out

• ^ cecil takes stimulant medication and an antidepressant! just like me fr

• cecil is somewhat strict about routine and can grow pretty distressed when plans spontaneously change. I feel like carlos and cecil are on opposite sides of the spectrum when it comes to this, so like. he and carlos will have a plan to do something but last minute carlos is like “hey what if we did [] instead for [insert more practical reason]” and cecil is like “uh no what no what. That is not the plan!!”

• ^ another thing like this is .carlos will try and be helpful and like organize cecil’s space for him without telling him about it in advance but when cecil sees his space organized he’s like really freaked out about it because yeah it was messy but it was methodical. he knew where everything was but now he doesn’t and oh god ohhh no change bad

all of this is just shameless projection. btw .let me know if you all would want more of these ..? I have.too many

ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK!! THIS WAS A VERY FUN POST TO MAKE:) @www-pinkhearse

[lemon-koii]

❛ ،其 ::Twisted wonderland family hcs

My headcanons and thoughts on what the twst cast's family is like

●°●°●°●

Pt 2(Savanahclaw), Pt 3(Octavinelle & Scarabia), Pt 4(Pomefiore & Ignihyde), Pt 5(Diasomnia)

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒖𝒍

𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝑠𝑒ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠

His parents are divorced sa thats why they dont get along well. His mother got full custody of him while his dad only got 2 hour visits every saturday

He has an little sister named who is a year younger than him. He doesnt know that he has a younger sister since his parents never told him and they got divorced after his sister was born a few months. Plus she lives with their father. She doesnt know about it too

His mother had him when she was 25 years old and his father was 27 years old

When he was a child he had mixed feelings about his father visiting him every once a week. His father is a "good" man. He's much more calm, less controlling and always have a pleasant smile on his face. But whenever he visits, it doesnt go Riddle's way of spending time with his father but, his mother and father arguing and screaming for 2 hours straight. Sometimes, his father only stays for 45 minutes or an hour

Now that his older, there's still a tiny hope in him to talk to his father. But he's scared since he was never close to him and if he tells his mother about the call

He once saw a picture of a baby with pure white hair in his mothers drawer and she got really mad and screamed at him so he never bought up the topic ever again. Although, he still wonders about it

𝑇𝑟𝑒𝑦 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟

He has 3 younger brothers a 1 younger sister. The first 2 are twins who are 4 years younger than him, the 3rd brother is 5 years younger and his sister is 7 years younger

Trey and his sister are the only ones in the family with magic. He got his UM at 12 years old and his sister got hers at 10 years old

His parents got married when they were 20 and meet eachother in their teens. Had Trey at the age of 28

His father is quite a care free and easy going but strict when needed type of dad.

After when Riddles mom went to their bakery shop to confront the parents, Trey's dad didnt got mad at him but told him to always stay in line and never stand out so that no trouble would get in his way again

The bakery have been past down frim the mothers side from Trey's great-grandmother, reasoning its popularity

The last name "Clover" came from his mother since she never changed her last name when she got married since she wanted to keep her family name

In general, the Clovers are a pretty normal family(except for Trey im sorry) so there not much to say about them

𝐶𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐷𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑

(We already know that he has two sisters and his father is a banker. As far as i know, he hasn't mentioned anything about his mother)

His mother used to be a model before she gave birth to his older sister. Now that she's jobless and finacially dependant on her husband. Which is spending them on clothes, products, alcohols, make up, designers and other things

Both his sisters go to a rich ass private school(NRC is better than theirs) that focuses more on sports

His sisters are slightly jealous that Cater has magic. Although they never really did anything about it except dumping their chores on him and telling him to use his UM to complete it all

His sisters always calls him, asking him how school is then proceds to ask about Vil. So does his mother

His father is a cold, patient, no-nonsence and well mannered type of person, although he's rarely home. If he is, he's either working on his office or sleeping. So Cater rarely spends time with him

There are 6 animals in their household since each of them have their own pets

Cater has 2 ferrets, named Cizy and Yena

His mother has a pomeranian, both his sisters have a British shorthair cat and his fathers has a Gecko

𝐷𝑒𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑆𝑝𝑎𝑑𝑒

Since he was raised by his mom alone, im taking it that she gave birth to him when she was 18 years old from a night with her boyfriend(Deuces dad)

Both his parents used to be in gangs. His father was well respected and known in the delinquent community while his mother wasnt that much known but was still respected

They quited when they found out that they will be having a child(Deuce)

His father died before Deuce was born due to old delinquent enemies wanting revenge as they thought that he had gotten weak from his new domestic life

His fathers death affected his mother so much that Deuce's grandmother was the one who took care of Deuce when he was only 4 months old

Even after this, his mom stayed strong for Deuce and doesnt want gim to follow her's or his fathers footsteps. Which failed(ifykyk)

His mom was always busy when he was a child to provide for the both of them, so she would always hire a babysitter and occationaly, call Deuce's grandmother. Even so, she would still try as much as she can to spend time with him

But due to Duece growing up not being always spending time with his moma and his absent father, it led him to his delinquent life

𝐴𝑐𝑒 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑎

His family is suprisingly normal???

His mom is an accountant and his dad is a sea-man

While his brother is a profecional basketball player

His brother is 21 years old

Him and his brother are half siblings since his mother already had his older brother before she remarried and then Ace was born

Even if their only half related, they still treat eachother like real brother. His older bro would beat up anyone commenting anything bad about their family

His mom is a Filipina and his dad is british so Ace his half and while his brother is full Filipino

His mom is a loving and up to date with trends type of mom while his dad is...moody.

As much as Ace loves his dad, he cant help but feel his guard up whenever he's in the same room as him.

Ace doesnt like if to much good things happen to much since i gets his hopes up of having a good day but he knows that sooner or later that day that something bad will happen

Like, when he was joking and talking about basketball with his father. At first it was light hearted and jokes, then it turned to him getting lectured. Them as a family having a movie night turning into a silent fight between his parents.

Empty promises and him remembering peoples footsteps

Ace has trust issues due to this but doesnt show it. And he's good at acting about it too since no one ever noticed this

Ace and his cousins from his moms side get along really well unlike with his cousins from his dads side

He had a jejemon phase because of his brother and cousins. He would fake puke every time they mention anything about it

His mother was 27 when she met Ace's father who was 29 and his brother was 2 years old

Lived in the Philippines until he was 9 years old and they moved to the queendom of roses

●°●°●°●

Apologies if there are any typos since english isnt my first language

(▪︎Pretend that Philippines is an existing country in Twst)