#guess i threw the no cws right out the window

[skywalkerslvt]

Pierced-Ellie Williams x AFAB!Reader

❥Pairing: loser!Ellie Williams x AFAB!Reader

❥Summary: After playing two truths and a lie with your best friend ellie, you reveal you have secret piercings. things ensue...

❥CW: smut, nipple play, reader has nipple piercings, fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), tribbing, ellie is a bit of a nervous loser in the beginning, top ellie, reader is sorta a power bottom, 4.2k words

❥a/n: This was supposed to be a really short fic but i went crazy (horny) and wrote all of this lmfao. hope u enjoy! <3

The basement was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a flickering lamp in the corner and the soft glow of the streetlights seeping through a small, grime-covered window. You could hear the muffled hum of the world outside, distant enough to feel like you were the only two people left in the world. The scent of old wood and dust filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of alcohol from the half-empty bottle of whiskey resting between you and Ellie.

Ellie was leaning back against the basement couch, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy from the booze. You both were sprawled out on the floor, legs tangled as you reached for the bottle once again. Laughter bounced off the walls as Ellie threw her hands up in defeat.

“You're really bad at this game,” you teased, shifting a little closer to her. “But hey, maybe you'll catch me in a lie this time.”

Ellie cleared her throat, her nervous energy spilling over as she sat up straighter. “Oh, yeah, for sure. I got you this time,” she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck like she always did when she was flustered.

You smirked, knowing exactly how to make her squirm. “Alright, here goes. I've broken my arm twice, I can speak a bit of French, and… two years ago, I got nipple piercings that no one knows about.”

Ellie's face went bright red, her hand freezing halfway to the bottle. She blinked at you, then laughed nervously. “Wait, what?”

You leaned in slightly, watching her face closely as you spoke. “You heard me. Nipple piercings. Two years ago.” You let the words hang there, watching as Ellie shifted awkwardly, her gaze quickly darting to your chest before settling on your eyes.

“Th-that's gotta be the lie,” Ellie stammered, clearly flustered as she fidgeted with the label on the whiskey bottle. “Right? I mean, I…you wouldn't…would you?”

You gave her a sly smile, brushing your leg against hers just enough to get her attention. "Guess you'll have to figure that out, huh?"

Ellie swallowed hard, her cheeks burning as she tried to come up with something witty in response, but all she managed was an awkward laugh. "I mean... y-you're messing with me, right?"

You leaned back, letting your gaze linger on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe I am," you said with a shrug. "Or maybe you just don't know me as well as you think you do."

Ellie looked like she was about to implode, her mind racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out if you were hitting on her or just playing the game. You could see it written all over her face—the nervousness, the uncertainty—and it only made you grin wider. She had no idea how into her you really were, and it was almost too fun watching her try to piece it together.

Ellie shifted nervously, clearly out of her element as her eyes flicked between you and the bottle, as if it might give her some kind of answer.

“Is that your final guess?” you asked, leaning in, your voice teasing as you watched her squirm.

Ellie swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “Yeah… yeah, that’s my final guess. The piercings, they’ve got to be the lie,” she said, but there was hesitation in her voice, like she wasn’t quite convinced.

You smirked, biting back a laugh. “Wrong.”

Ellie’s eyes went wide, her face an even deeper shade of red. “What? No way. You’re messing with me.”

“Nope.” You shrugged, acting casual as you leaned back. “That was a truth.”

Ellie blinked, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “There’s no way. You’re just messing with me to screw me up. I don’t believe you.”

You leaned in, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “You wanna check for yourself?”

Ellie’s eyes went impossibly wider, her throat bobbing as she swallowed nervously. “I—I… uh, what?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly looked away, fidgeting with the bottle in her lap like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

You couldn’t help but laugh, watching her completely unravel. “Relax, I’m kidding,” you teased, though the glint in your eye said otherwise. “Unless… you really want to know.”

Ellie’s whole face burned, and you could practically hear her heartbeat from where you sat. She stammered, her words falling over themselves. “I—no, I mean—wait, are you actually…”

You bit your lip, amused by how lost she was. “Nah, I’ll just show you. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over it.”

Before Ellie could stammer out another response, your shirt was over your head and thrown across the room. Her eyes were glued to your chest as you reached back to unclasp your lacy red bra.

Ellie's breath hitched as your bra fell to the floor, revealing the small silver barbells glinting under the flickering light. For a second, she just stared, her mouth slightly open, completely frozen in place. You could see her trying to form words, but nothing came out.

"Believe me now?" you asked, voice teasing as you leaned in, your chest close enough to brush against her arm.

Ellie blinked rapidly, her face bright red, looking like she might pass out from sheer embarrassment. "Holy shit," she muttered under her breath, finally managing to say something, though it sounded more like a dazed confession than an actual response.

You chuckled softly, leaning back just enough to give her some space but still close enough to keep her flustered. "Told you it was the truth."

Ellie's gaze flickered up to meet yours, her expression somewhere between awe and disbelief. "I—I mean... yeah, l believe you now." She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, her usual nervous tic in full force as she fumbled to find the right words. "I just didn't expect you to actually... show me."

You grinned, clearly enjoying the effect you had on her. "Well, I'm not one to back down from a challenge," you said lightly, your voice still laced with that teasing edge.

Ellie let out a nervous laugh, her eyes darting away from you as she tried to regain some composure. "Yeah, uh... challenge. Right." She was flustered beyond belief, and it was almost too cute how lost she looked.

Ellie's eyes were still glued to your chest, her breath shallow and uneven. You could feel the tension between you both, thick and electric in the dimly lit basement. The way she looked at you, completely entranced, sent a thrill through you.

"You can touch them if you want," you said softly, the invitation hanging in the air between you.

Ellie's head jerked up, her eyes wide and unsure. "I-uh, what?" She stammered, clearly caught off guard by your offer.

You smirked, brushing her knee gently with yours. "You heard me."

Ellie swallowed hard, her face burning even brighter. "Does it... does it hurt?"

You shook your head slightly, your voice dropping lower. "It hurt when I first got them, but now..." You leaned in, letting the words roll off your tongue, "...now it just feels good."

Ellie's eyes flickered back to your chest, her hand twitching like she was debating with herself. She hesitated, nervous, her fingers hovering near her lap as if she wasn't sure what to do. You could see the uncertainty in her, but also the undeniable pull.

Sensing her apprehension, you crawled closer to her, swinging your leg over one of her thighs so you could straddle it. "It's okay," you whispered, reassuring her. "I don't bite... unless you want me to."

That seemed to snap something in Ellie. She gave a shaky laugh, her hand finally reaching out, her fingers brushing tentatively over your skin. Her touch was featherlight at first, careful, like she wasn't sure if this was real or not.

"See? Doesn't hurt," you murmured, your voice soothing, though your heart was racing with excitement.

Ellie's fingers, still a little shaky, began to trace the outline of your piercings, her touch growing bolder as she got used to the sensation. You watched her face, the mixture of fascination and nervousness playing across her features. Her thumb brushed against one of the barbells, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips.

Ellie's eyes flickered up to meet yours, her breath catching at the sound. "Did I–was that okay?" she asked, her voice low and breathless, like she couldn't believe what was happening.

You smiled, biting your lip as you nodded. "Yeah, Ellie. That feels good."

Hearing that seemed to give her a little more confidence. She exhaled slowly, her fingers moving with more purpose now, gently rolling one of the piercings between her thumb and forefinger. The sensation sent a spark of pleasure through you, your body reacting to her touch in ways you knew she couldn't miss.

Her other hand hesitantly joined in, tracing the other barbell, her eyes locked on yours as if she was watching your every reaction, unsure but so eager to please. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, the warmth of her hands sending waves of heat through your body.

"Does this...feel good?" Ellie's voice was a low rasp, her own face flushed, eyes wide with anticipation.

"It feels really good," you whispered, your voice heavy with the tension between you. You arched your back slightly, pressing into her touch as her hands grew more confident, playing with your piercings in a way that had your breath hitching.

Ellie swallowed hard, her gaze dipping to your chest again as her hands continued to explore, experimenting with different pressures, watching your reactions closely. Her nervous energy was still there, but there was something more-something hungry in the way her touch lingered now, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

You could feel her pulse racing, her breath hot and shallow as her fingers tugged gently at the piercings, testing the waters. Every touch sent shivers down your spine, your skin alive under her hands. You leaned in, lips brushing her ear as you whispered, "You're doing so good, Ellie."

Her breath hitched at your words, and she stifled a groan as her hands moved more boldly now, her fingers teasing and pulling in a way that had your body arching toward her, craving more of her touch.

The air between you was electric, the playful teasing long forgotten, replaced by something far more intense. Ellie's lips parted, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she leaned in closer, her body pressed against yours, her hands still playing with your piercings like she couldn't get enough.

Ellie's hands were still moving over your chest, her touch growing more assured with each passing second, but there was still a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She swallowed, clearly trying to steady herself before she spoke again. Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with uncertainty and need. "Can I... can I try with... my mouth?"

You felt a surge of heat wash over you at her request, her shy stammer only adding to the electric charge between you. "Yeah," you breathed, your voice soft but encouraging as you straddled her thigh, the fabric of her jeans pressing between your legs as you ground down slightly. "Go ahead, Ellie."

Her gaze flickered up to yours, a mixture of nerves and excitement, before she leaned in. Her lips hovered just above your skin for a moment, as if she was gathering the courage, and then you felt the soft brush of her mouth against your nipple. Her tongue flicked out, gently grazing the piercing, and the sensation made your breath hitch.

Ellie's hands settled on your hips, steadying herself–and you–as she grew more confident. Her mouth closed over the sensitive skin, her lips soft but eager as she took one of the piercings into her mouth, tugging gently with her teeth. You couldn't stop the moan that slipped out, your hands instinctively burying themselves in her hair, holding her closer as the pleasure intensified.

At the same time, your hips moved against her thigh, the friction of her jeans sending jolts of pleasure through you with every slow grind. Ellie groaned against your chest, clearly feeling the pressure of your body against her leg, her mouth working more fervently now, her tongue swirling around the piercing before she tugged again, harder this time.

You gasped, your fingers tightening in her hair, your hips pressing down harder on her thigh. "Ellie.." you whispered, your breath coming in shallow pants as the sensations built inside you, a delicious mix of her mouth on your chest and the steady pressure between your legs.

Ellie pulled back for just a second, her lips slick and flushed as she looked up at you. Her eyes were dark with lust, her breath ragged. "Is this... is this good?" she asked, her voice low and strained, like she was trying to hold herself together.

You bit your lip, your head tilting back as another wave of pleasure washed over you. "So good," you murmured, grinding down on her harder, urging her to keep going. "Don't stop."

With a renewed sense of determination, Ellie dove back in, her mouth working over your chest with more confidence, her hands gripping your hips tighter as you rocked against her. Each pull of her lips sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, mixing with the rhythmic grind of your hips on her thigh. The heat between you was overwhelming, every touch and movement amplifying the tension until it felt like you might explode.

With a sudden surge of confidence, Ellie gripped your hips and gently pushed you back, guiding you to the floor beneath her. You gasped in surprise but quickly surrendered to her touch, your heart racing as you felt the cool floor against your skin.

Her hands moved with purpose, brushing up your thighs as she shifted to hover over you. The flickering lamp cast shadows over her flushed face, illuminating the desire in her eyes. "You okay?" she asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping back into her voice, but it was mixed with a hunger that made your stomach flutter.

"Yeah, Ellie. Just... keep going," you encouraged, feeling a thrill rush through you as her fingers slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, inching higher.

She hesitated for just a moment, her fingers brushing against your skin, and then she boldly lifted your skirt, exposing your thighs. The rush of cool air made you shiver as her fingertips danced closer to where you needed her most.

Ellie hesitated for just a moment before her determination surged back. With a swift motion, she shifted to kneel between your legs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your skin, as she pushed your panties to the side and used her fingers to part you slightly, allowing her to find that sweet spot.

"Can I... try something?" she asked, looking up at you with a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

"Yeah, please," you urged, your voice barely above a whisper, the heat pooling in your core.

With a teasing smile, Ellie brought her mouth back to your piercing, her tongue swirling around the metal as she simultaneously slid two fingers into you, pushing deeper as she began to stroke your sensitive spot. A gasp escaped your lips, the combination of sensations causing your body to arch instinctively toward her.

"Ellie!" you cried out, the heat of her mouth and the skillful movements of her fingers driving you wild. She watched you closely, her own excitement evident as she felt you tighten around her.

"Just relax," she murmured, her voice vibrating against you as she continued her exploration, her fingers working in and out while her mouth kept teasing your piercings. You could hardly keep still, your hips moving in rhythm with her fingers as waves of pleasure washed over you.

As Ellie continued to work her magic, she shifted her focus, her fingers moving more deliberately to target your clit while her mouth lavished attention on your piercings. The combination of sensations sent shockwaves through your body, making you writhe beneath her.

"Ellie, that feels so good," you gasped, lost in the bliss of her touch.

With every flick of her tongue and stroke of her fingers, the tension inside you built higher, the sweet pressure almost unbearable. "Just let go," Ellie encouraged, her voice low and sultry, her determination evident as she worked tirelessly to bring you to the edge.

And then, with a final flick of her fingers, you shattered, your body arching off the ground as pleasure washed over you in waves. "Ellie!" you cried out, your voice a mixture of ecstasy and disbelief at how incredible it felt.

Ellie didn't waste a second; she licked her fingers clean, a devilish grin spreading across her face. "Fuck, you taste so good baby," she said, her eyes dark with hunger. "I need more."

Before you could respond, she began kissing her way down your body, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin until she reached your thighs. She quickly removed your skirt and panties, leaving your slick cunt bare before her. Her fingers gripped your hips as she pulled you closer, her breath warm against you as she settled between your legs.

With expert precision, Ellie took her time, her tongue swirling around your clit, teasing and sucking in just the right way. Each movement sent shivers down your spine, your body instinctively responding to her every touch. "Ellie, yes!" you gasped, the sensations quickly building again.

She worked you closer to another peak, her eyes locked on yours, filled with both mischief and desire. You could feel the pressure mounting, a familiar tightening in your core as she expertly brought you to the edge once more.

With one final flick of her tongue, you let go again, your body trembling and shuddering beneath her as another orgasm washed over you. "God, Ellie!" you cried, the intensity leaving you breathless.

Ellie pulled back, wiping her mouth and grinning widely. "You really know how to make a girl happy," she teased, but you could see the need in her eyes, an unspoken desire lingering between you.

"Please," you breathed, your voice a husky whisper, "let me get you off." You could feel the heat pooling in your core again as the idea electrified you.

She looked at you, surprise flickering across her face before it shifted to a playful smirk. "You sure?" she asked, her voice low, excitement dancing in her eyes.

"Absolutely," you replied, determination flooding your veins.

With a swift motion, you shifted positions, settling yourself beside her.

You locked eyes, a silent agreement passing between you as you straddled her thigh, your fingers dancing down her body.

You guided her to open her legs wider, your body buzzing with anticipation. As you began to grind against her, the friction of your bodies sent waves of pleasure radiating between you. "Just like that," Ellie encouraged, her breath hitching as you pressed down against her.

Your movements grew bolder, your hands exploring the curves of her body as you brought your lips to hers, kissing her hungrily. You could feel the heat rising between you, the thrill of the moment igniting every nerve.

"Fuck, you're riding me so good, baby," Ellie rasped, her voice raw with need as her hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements. You ground down against her, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable as your slickness coated her, making each slide of your hips easier, smoother, and more desperate.

The wetness between your thighs mixed with hers, the sensation of your clits brushing together sending shivers through your entire body. Each movement was electric, your hips finding a perfect rhythm as you ground down harder, the friction driving you both wild.

Ellie's hands slid up your sides, rough fingertips grazing your skin before she cupped your breasts. Her thumbs brushed over your nipple piercings again, flicking them just right, making you gasp. "You like that?" she murmured, her voice thick with desire as she tugged gently on the metal, your nipples hardening under her touch.

Your body trembled as you pressed your chest further into her hands, the pleasure shooting through you with every little tug and pinch. Meanwhile, your hips rocked faster, sliding your wetness against hers in perfect rhythm.

The slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the air, each grind pushing you closer to the edge.

Ellie's hips began bucking up to meet yours, desperate and needy as your clits rubbed together again, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you.

"Fuck, Ellie," you moaned, grinding harder as the pressure between your legs built to an overwhelming peak. You could feel her trembling beneath you, her breath coming in ragged gasps, matching your own.

Your wetness coated her thigh, smearing across both of your bodies as you moved together, the friction just right. Every grind of your hips made your clits brush against each other, the pleasure intensifying with each slick, desperate slide. Ellie groaned beneath you, her hands moving back down to grip your waist, pulling you harder against her.

You could feel her arousal mixing with yours, the heat between you almost unbearable. "God, you feel so fucking good," Ellie groaned, her voice thick with lust as she bucked her hips up to meet yours, the slickness between you making each grind smoother, more desperate.

The tension in your core was building quickly, winding tighter and tighter with every movement. Ellie's fingers dug into your hips, guiding you as you rocked against her, the pressure of your clits rubbing together sending you hurtling toward the edge.

Your body trembled as you leaned forward, bracing yourself on her chest.

Ellie took the opportunity to reach up, tugging at your nipple piercings again, sending sharp pleasure shooting through your body. "I love watching you ride me," she rasped, her voice breathless as she pinched your nipples harder, making you gasp.

The combined sensation of her rough hands on your chest and the relentless friction between your legs was too much. Your hips bucked wildly, grinding down against her as your orgasm slammed into you. "Fuck, Ellie," you cried out, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your slickness dripping down her thigh as you came.

Ellie groaned, her own body trembling as she watched you fall apart above her, your hips still moving, slower now, but still grinding against her, drawing out every last bit of your release.

As you came down from your high, Ellie's hands moved to your waist again, guiding your hips back into a steady rhythm. You could feel her need, the way her body trembled beneath yours, the slickness between you making it impossible to stop.

You leaned forward, capturing her lips in a heated kiss as your hips started moving again, faster this time, the friction of your clits rubbing together driving both of you wild. "You're so wet," you whispered against her mouth, your breath ragged as you rocked your hips down harder, desperate to feel her come undone beneath you.

Ellie groaned into your mouth, her hands gripping your waist even tighter as she bucked her hips up to meet yours. "Fuck, you feel so good," she gasped, her voice breaking as the pleasure became too much to bear. "Keep going, baby, don't stop."

Your bodies moved together, faster and faster, the slick sound of your wetness mixing with hers filling the room. Every grind of your hips made your clits brush against each other, sending sparks of pleasure through you both. The heat between your thighs was almost unbearable, the need to push her over the edge driving you harder, faster.

Ellie's breath hitched, her body tensing beneath yours as her orgasm built. "I'm so close," she groaned, her voice shaky as her hips bucked up wildly. You could feel her trembling, her body on the verge of release, and you ground down harder, determined to push her over the edge.

With one final grind, Ellie's body tensed, her back arching as she came with a shuddering moan. Her hands gripped your hips so hard it almost hurt, pulling you down against her as her orgasm washed over her, her body trembling beneath yours.

You slowed your movements, rocking gently against her as she came down from her high, her breath ragged and uneven. You pressed your forehead against hers, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat and arousal as the last waves of pleasure faded away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room your heavy breathing. Then Ellie let out a breathless laugh, pulling you down into a soft, lazy kiss. "Fuck," she whispered, her voice still thick with pleasure. "That was incredible." You smiled against her lips, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

"You're pretty incredible yourself," you teased, pressing one last kiss to her lips before collapsing onto the floor beside her, completely spent.

[xeeljii]

I need joost whimpering into my neck so bad its not even funny anymore IM GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE (touching grass rn thanks)

can i write a little something .... ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

WARNING! Explicit RPF! 

CW: 18+, f! reader, dry humping sorry im in my dry humping era, drunk! Joost, established relationship, needy so needy Joost.

Late at night the window to your shared apartment is still open letting a little breeze in, it is the middle of summer and you are just laying on the living room couch watching TV ready for bed when you finally hear the ring of the doorbell. Joost had been gone since the midday with his friends and now so late you guessed he must have had a good day if he wasn't even able to use his keys.

You get up, turn the TV off and open the door with a soft smile on your lips, he is hanging between Appie and Stunje, red to the tip of his ears and so obviously drunk. His eyes are closed, his face is hanging low, he looks like a rag doll as both his friends hold him trying to keep him from falling, you laugh slightly at the sight.

"Thanks for bringing him home." You say voice low to not wake him but as soon as the words leave your mouth he raises like coming back to life at the sweet familiar sound of you.

He opens his eyes quickly, pupils unfocused and hair all tousled on his forehead. He smiles brightly his whole face lighting up and the so beloved dimples appearing.

"Liefde!" He all but screams as he lets go of the shoulders of his friends and throws himself all over you.

He is never mindful of his size even less so when he is drunk, he rests all his weight on you and you do everything to hold him and not fall backwards. You place a hand securely on his back as he rubs his face against your neck, he bends down in an awkward position to sniff at your perfume. You feel yourself blush quickly when he starts placing kisses on the exposed skin still very aware of the presence of his friends who break in laughter when they realize what he is doing.

But he doesn't care, he can't care when you smell so nice and feel so good and soft under his hands.

"I'm so sorry." You say mortified, they just continue laughing before Appie speaks.

"This one kept whining about missing you at the bar then when we got in the taxi he kept trying to call you but couldn't figure out how to unlock his phone so he threw a fit." You can see the image so clear in your mind it is so embarrassing and so adorable all at the same time.

"You are his screensaver you knew that right?" You blush deeply, you didn't know, but it is not surprising Joost is practically bordering on obsessed with you.

Joost is holding you tightly and shamelessly planting kisses on your warm skin completely ignoring the conversation happening right in front of him, then he gets bolder and starts sneaking his hand right under your sleeping camisole. You wince.

"Okay we are leaving." Stunje says saving you any further embarrassment you throw him an apologetic smile and a thank you before everyone says their goodbyes and leaves.

When the door is finally closed you can breath a little easier, you pull hard at Joost's shirt trying to peel him off you.

"You are such a handful." You say, so much love dripping from your tone it comes out with no bite.

"I missed you~" He whines into you stretching the last syllable.

"I can see." You start pulling him towards the bed room, he stays pressed close to you not allowing you to leave his embrace even by an inch.

When you get to the bed he finally releases you a bit but only to push you down onto the mattress, you fall with a soft thud in the middle.

"Hey!" You chide.

"I missed my baby." He says with furrowed eyebrows standing over you, he is so whiny when he is drunk, he is so clingy and so needy.

"Just take your clothes off and come to bed." You say rolling your eyes, you do have work early and whatever he is trying to get at can't happen.

He quickly does as he is told and starts crawling on top of you only on his boxers.

"I have work in the morning." You remind him softly before he gets ahead of himself.

"I know." He mumbles, cute little pout adorning his puffy lips. But knowing doesn't stop him from much and he makes himself a little place between your legs wrapping the muscle around his hips before he lets himself fall right on top of you.

"You can't sleep like that, you are crushing me." You pull lightly at his hair to get him to move but he doesn't and you already know that he won't.

"I really missed you." He says in that airy breathy tone that has you dampening in your panties.

He reaches a hand over your camisole stopping over your breast, his head is pressed right against the crook of your neck. He starts softly massaging at the mound of fat over the fabric and you can't help but sigh at his touch. He is kissing at the sensitive skin over your pulse and licking intently to pull more sounds from you.

"Joost." You whine unsure if you are asking for more or chiding him again, but he just likes the way you say his name so it only spurs him on.

He feels the nipple harden against the soft fabric and wants to touch directly so bad, he pulls his hand away before moving it to the hem of your shirt and pulling it up all over your breasts. At that he finally pulls slightly away from you just so he can admire at your beautiful forms, without even touching him he is already twitching in his boxers and a dark wet spot forms at the fabric of his underwear.

"So pretty." He says before he bends down chasing back after your warmth again.

He goes straight for your nipple wraps his lips around the sensitive skin and starts sucking as much of you into his mouth as he can, his other hand massages at your chest. His hips start moving against yours, he is grinding hard against your pelvis, moaning agains your tit on his mouth and groping hard at the other one with his big warm palm. You involuntarily start grinding back, back slowly rising from the mattress to match his pace.

You feel him so hard against your core, his length pushing right against the fabric of your shorts, he is breathing so heavy against your chest nose buried against your skin moaning as he sucks on you. He keeps rubbing himself on you, harder, faster, he is going to crush you, you really feel his whole weight on you as he wildly uses your smaller frame to get off. You feel him twitching even between the layers of fabric still separating you, you already know his body so well.

He pulls away from your nipple, grabs with both hands at your waist moving you harder against his body, you feel his hips start to stutter, he bends down again and searches for your neck, he is panting and leaving wild kisses and love bites everywhere he can reach, he can't help himself he needs to mark you so bad right now, alcohol high on his bloodstream he forgets any reservation.

"Let me come." He says in a whisper accentuated by a hard thrust.

"Can I come baby?" He asks sweetly as he licks under your ear.

"Please" He whines against the sensitive skin of your neck, you feel his deep voice sending waves directly to your cunt, you are so wet, your clit is so hard and throbbing at his words alone.

"Please touch me." He whimpers right against your hair.

"Please touch my dick." He is begging now, so close, just needs a little help, just needs the smallest touch from his sweet kind girlfriend to get off.

And who are you to deny him?

So you move a hand low between the two of you, reach inside his boxers, you don't even bother pulling them down and just stroke him hard and fast, your hand clenching around him tightly just how he likes it and twisting around the tip. Just within a few movements he is coming, on your hand, on his underwear, on your pajamas. Long white stripes dirtying everything with delicious heat.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." He continues mewling against your throat as he weakly thrust against your palm with the last waves of his climax.

He pulls enough strength to kiss your lips messily before he finally collapses onto you with a deep content sigh.

You still feel yourself throbbing inside your shorts but before you realize it he is already fallen deep asleep holding softly at your tit with a big warm hand. Sleeping so peacefully like an angel, like he didn't just use you to get off. You roll your eyes with so much fondness.

"You really are a handful." You say almost in disbelief kissing at his cheek as his face rests pressed on your neck breathing softly.

You pull your hand away and wipe it on the duvet. He is going to have to wash that tomorrow, and your pajamas and his boxers, it is his fault it all got dirty. And he will probably wake you up with head as an apology for leaving you high and dry and you will most likely not make it to work on time because he won't be happy with making you come just one time, no, for the grieve offense of not making you finish he will want to pull as many orgasms from you as he can before you are begging for him to let go, all overstimulated and pretty on his mouth. But all of those are problems for tomorrow you, so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him closer before his comforting weight over your body on you drags you to sleep.

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A/N: idk where this came from idk lol not proof read etc

ps. this is not THE DRY HUMPING fic this is just me being insane

[girliism]

ghost face!artrick !!!!!!

(cw: mentions of blood and murder descriptions)

“god damnit, art hit the fucking ball higher.” patrick watches one of the coaches assigned by the academy berate art again, calling him an idiot under his breath. patrick tightens his grip on his tennis racket, imagining himself beating their coach in the head with it. “hello, earth to zweig.” hands clap in front of his face “switch with donaldson.”

art and patrick were the last ones left in the locker room. “you can’t keep letting that loser talk to you like that.” art slams the locker shut. this is conversation him and patrick have every time after practice. “what exactly would you like me to do? he’s an asshole that just like to pick on me.” patrick could hear in art’s voice how he was in fact hurt by what their coach says no matter how he tried to hide it. “i’ll do something about, don’t worry.” patrick through his arm over his best friends shoulder giving him a smile.

a few nights later patrick was driving around slightly tipsy, swerving a little on the empty road. art feared for his life in the passenger seat. “dude, you’ve got to slow the fuck down. where the hell are we even going.” art asked, before taking the beer bottle from patrick’s hand, stealing a sip. partick took his eyes off the road to watch art’s lips wrap around the bottle. the same bottle his lips were just wrapped around.

they parked across the street in front of their coaches house. “what the fuck are we doing here patrick?” patrick ignored him, reaching in the back seat. “put this on and follow me.” art stares at the black robe, ghost mask and voice box patrick threw at him. the two of them cross the street taking place behind a tree right outside their coaches house. “stay here and count to sixty then call his house phone, be scary.” patrick instructed him, shoving a burner phone into his hand running towards the back of the house. art had no idea what the fuck patrick was up too, if he wanted to prank call their coach why’d didn’t they just do it at his house?

when art reached sixty he dialed the number listening to the ringing. art watch though the window from his place behind the tree as the man inside got up to answer the phone.

“hello.”

“hello.”

“who is this?”

“who is this?” art echoed his question back to him not knowing what to say.

the man on the other end scoffed. “alright kid very funny, have a nice night.”

the dial tone rung in arts ear. his coach had hung up on him and was walking away back to his living room but art called back.

their coach picked up the phone.

“you hung up on me, i just wanted to talk.”

“then go talk to your mommy.” he went to hang up the phone once again.

“wait. let’s play a game.”

even from far away art could see his coach getting agitated. “listen kid, i don’t know what you think you’re trying to do but fine, i’ll play your little game.”

“good, i think we should play hmm… i spy.”

a laugh came through the phone. “i spy? you can’t even see me.”

“who said i couldn’t see you.”

there’s a pause and art can see his coach stand a little straighter going to look out his window.

“i’ll go first. i spy with my little eye something… black.”

it was at this time patrick had found a way into the house and was sneaking up behind him.

“what’s taking so long, go on guess.”

“my microwave.”

“nope.”

“the remote?”

“wrong again. almost at your last guess.”

the man is looking around his kitchen. “the-the oven.”

“oh, we have a loser.”

“ok kid, you’ve had your fun now go find someone else to terrorize.”

“but wait, you didn’t even ask what it was.”

patrick’s robed and masked figure towers over him from behind, and before the coach could answer a gloved hand taps him on the shoulder.

“i spy with my little eye something black.”

watching from outside, art sees their coach quickly slam the phone into patrick’s face causing him to stumble. what art wasn’t expecting to see was his best friend pull out a knife, slashing it towards the man who was quick to throw up his arm.

the blood the flowed from the cut on the man’s arm awoke something in patrick. his grip tightened on his knife charging at the man. art pulled his ghost mask on and ran towards the house. when art got into the house their was broken glass everywhere and patrick sat on top of the man, drawing back his hand the was holding the knife behind driving it straight into the older man’s gut. “patrick!” art shouted at him, eyes wide not believing that he just witnessed his friend fucking stab someone. “what the fuck are you doing, we were just supposed to scare him.” patrick pulled the knife free, some blood squirted from the wound landing on patrick’s mask. “but dude, this is so much better.” the bleeding man reached his arm out towards art. “help me.” he choked out, before patrick stabbed him again.

patrick stood up point the knife in art’s direction. “alright your turn.” his turn? “i can’t, i can’t fucking murder someone.” art was shaking his head. “he’s not gonna feel anything he’s already half dead.” patrick took off his mask and pulled art’s up, getting close to his face. “this guy art, he’s a fucking asshole the world won’t miss him. think of all the times he talked down on you, called you a disgrace that you can’t play for shit.” memories flashed through art’s head of everytime their coach made him feel like shit and suddenly he was reaching for the knife in patrick’s hand pulling his mask back over his face.

“please don’t.” blood was trickling out this side of his mouth, but it all went deaf in art’s ears as he brought the knife in his hand down into the man’s stomach over and over. all patrick could do was just stand there. the world had went silent for art he didn’t even realize what was happening till patrick finally pulled him off. “i think he’s gone now dude.” art ripped his mask off. the two of them stood there. “we have to go.”

the walk back to the car patrick felt he had just done the purest line of coke ever and was riding the best high, art on the other hand was spiraling. “dude what the fuck did we just do.” art stopped infront of patrick’s car. “something our entire team will be thanking us for, we’ll not us specifically but you know what i mean.” how could patrick be so calm about this. “we just fucking murdered someone patrick!” art paced back and forth hands pulling at his hair. patrick placed his hand on art’s shoulder stopping him. “honey, calm down. no one’s gonna know it was us so stop freaking, it’s not like you didn’t enjoy it.” the smug smile on patrick’s face was pissing art off and he shoved patrick away from him. “enjoy it? i didn’t fucking enjoy that you psycho! and because of you we’re probably going to jail. god! why am i friends with you all you do is get me into trouble all the fucking time-” patrick kissed him. all the adrenaline mixed patrick’s repressed feelings for him and the way art was yelling at him had a tent growing in patrick’s pants.

art didn’t push patrick away he opened his mouth kissing him back. “is it weird that i kinda want you to fuck me right now?” patrick panted. art shook his head pushing his lips back on patrick’s. the kiss was messy and rushed, noses bumped and tongues twisting around each other. patrick reached behind art opening the car door turning the two of them around so he could fall into the backseat with art on top of him. the black robes they were wearing are pulled off and thrown into the front seat. art kissed and bit at patrick’s neck and patrick’s hands slid down the front of arts chest pulling at his belt. “fuck, want you.” patrick bucked his hips up. art’s never seen patrick act like this. “what a slut killing turns you into?” patrick nods his head. art laughed undoing patrick’s belt pulling his pants down freeing patrick’s cock then his own.

taking a condom patrick always has in his glove department, art slides it onto himself. patrick sat up on his elbows watching art gather spit into his mouth before dropping it down on his hole. with strong hands, art held open patrick’s legs sliding into him with a low groan. “fuck, dude no prep?” patrick’s wince turned into a moan when art bottomed out. “you’re so tight it’s not even funny.” art bit his lip pulling his hips back before thrusting them forward. patrick’s head fell back with a moan. if you would have told art earlier that he would be fucking his best friend in the backseat of his car after killing their tennis coach he would have laughed in your face, but here he was, cock dragging in and out of patrick’s ass. the car shook with the force of art’s thrust. “you fuck me so good.” patrick slurred, hand coming down to jerk himself off in time with art’s thrust. groans and moans fill the small car. “i’m so fucking close pat.” art mumbled, patrick hummed saying he was too. art slotted their mouths back together and when his dick punched perfectly into that spot inside patrick his mouth fell open a loud moan came out and he came all over his and arts stomach tightening around the cock inside him. “holy -fuck- art!”

art pulled out taking the condom off and cumming all over patrick’s soft cock. the two of them sat there for a while catching their breath, taking in each other’s fucked out state. they drove back to art’s to clean up (they may or may not have showered together) before crashing out. the next day all over the news was how local tennis coach was stabbed to death in his home.

(happy october 1st! 🎃)

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Thirty-One - One Flew Over

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism (New, This Chapter) Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt

A/N: Welp, splitting this chapter ended up doing a whole lot of good - this second part of it ended up being over 25k words 😅 Anyway, hope it was worth the wait!

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Shuichi Iguchi had had more than a few roommates during his time at Jaku Hospital’s Psychiatric Ward. Some better than others. Some way worse. He tried not to judge them by first impressions, nobody was at their best when they came in here after all.

That being said, his first impression of his newest roommate was particularly hard to ignore.

“Let me the fuck out of here!! You can’t fucking keep me here!!” he screamed as he pounded hard on the door, aiming repeatedly for the impact-resistant glass window, “I’m fucking serious! Call Sensei! He didn’t mean it! Fucking call him !!!”

The door finally opened, just a crack, enough for one of the orderlies to peak in and scold him.

“Shigaraki-san, if you keep this up we’re going to have to relocate you to the quiet room. You’re agitating the other residents.”

“Just try it bitch! I’ll relocate your fucking jaw!” he screamed right back in her face.

The orderly promptly shut the door on him, Iguchi guessed to go and grab some backup to help restrain the man he now knew as Shigaraki.

Iguchi frowned as he watched him pound and howl his already hoarse voice away at the door. As violently angry and coarse as he was, Iguchi couldn’t exactly blame the guy. It was well after dinner at the time they threw Shigaraki in here, quiet and bed hours, the only time they were locked in these rooms. Most other times they had decently free range of the ward. But of course, if this was all the  newbie had seen so far, there was no way for him to know that.

Maybe if Iguchi explained a little about the schedule here, he might calm down a bit…

“Th-They um…” he started hesitantly, “They lock the doors at night—”

Iguchi didn’t even get a full sentence out before Shigaraki whipped around and spat, “You think I can’t see that?! Mind your own business you fucking hafu !”

…

Okay, yeah no. He had absolutely nothing to say to that.

Iguchi was bad at confrontation even on a good day. And he had a feeling that if he poked his roommate too hard, he would make this a very not good day.

Er, night.

So he just watched the guy pound his fists tender against the door for a few more seconds, before laying down in his bed on his side. Accepting his miserable fate of listening to that shrill, scratchy voice of his for the rest of the night, since the orderlies seemed to ultimately decide to just let Shigaraki wear himself out rather than actually try and manhandle him into a timeout.

Iguchi wasn’t sure if there was such a thing as a “good” first impression in a psych ward. But Shigaraki had for sure proven that there were bad ones.

Continue on AO3

[fairykazu]

WISH UPON A STAR FT. SCARAMOUCHE ! cws: best friends, mutual pining, requited, fluff, modern au, teens, gn!reader notes: guess what they wished for. this has been in my drafts since forever. so sorry about that. masterlist | moonflower masterlist taglist: @ainnofinway @lovemari @lily-lmao @aethion

it was friday and it was usually the days where you and scaramouche hang out and relax from school, which is almost always turn into a sleepover. both of you were in his room, underneath a blanket fort. leaning on scaramouche's shoulder, you yawned, "scara, did you know it's going to have a meteor shower tonight?"

he shrugged you off, your head hitting the pillow besides his torso, "really?" he liked how you didn't mind that your head hit the pillow, instead resting nicely on his shoulder. he didn't want you to know that he actually liked it.

you nodded your head, boring your eyes into his indigo lensed ones. he turned around quickly, ignoring your gaze as his ears burned. "when?"

"around 11:50, i think." ignoring his antics, you answered, smiling. "i hope we would see it by then, if your mom lets us."

"don't worry, she will."

he replied quickly as you furrowed your brow, "are you sure? how would we even see them?" as long as you could remember his mother is protective over him, but luckily, not to a point where she's overbearing. regardless, she hates when scaramouche gets rebellious which is bad for her since he likes to rebel whenever he can. you try your best to prevent it, but you end up wrapped into whatever he wants to do.

his answer was blunt, as sharp as a newly forged sword, "sunroof."

you scrunched up your face, scaramouche likes when you do that. it's funny to see your reaction to his seemingly careless replies. "the sun roof? seriously?"

it's clear that you aren't taking him seriously, maybe it's time to amp it up a bit.

he confirmed it and took it a bit further by crawling out of the fort to point up. he could hear the blankets rustle behind him while you crawled out of the fort from the tiny opening. looking where he was pointing at, you wanted to cry. despite his family being rich, his mom liked to spend it rarely, making sure it goes to the right places, which is smart. she is smart but man, how could you guys even see the stars from this one-by-one square?

well, not really one-by-one, but it's big but not big enough to see every star that's possible to see with the human eyes. you wanted to cry but instead you turned around, hearing scaramouche's chuckles. "did you really believe me?"

your frown pressed into a thin smile, "what?" you were in disbelief because not only did he lie, he's laughing at you. wow, rubbing salt in the wound is really cruel.

he liked to pull pranks or jokes on you because your reactions are almost always funny to watch. but seeing the doubt set into your face, it made him feel a bit guilty. so he decided to uplift your spirits instead."im lying! of course, i won't make you watch it from this window because this-" he drew a rectangle with his fingers. "- is too small for you. when it's around the time, let me know and i'll show you how we'd watch it."

"what?"

"i just know a place."

when he said, 'i just know a place', you didn't expect it to be on the roofs of the house and how you got there? you don't even know nor remember. it kind of just happened within a blink of an eye.

scaramouche was chuckling to himself quietly as you looked at him, dumbfounded. no one in this house ever discovered that he had dug up tunnels and pathways in secret. so of course, he had a pathway to go up the roof. is this really true?

kind of. mikoto figured it out it was him but despite it, she never tattletale on him so it's technically a secret. if you ask him why he did it, he'd just smirk but in reality, he was a devoted liv and maddie fan.

you two sat on the roof, where scaramouche laid out a blanket for the both of you. scaramouche threw up pillows in which you caught, "are you comfortable?"

"as comfortable as a person can be on a roof."

"good enough." scaramouche replied, climbing up and adjusting the corners of the roof. you're just happy that he didn't make you sit on the slanted roof but instead, where he had his hideout on the flattest part of the roof.

you took two of the pillows and set them down. scaramouche immediately hogged both of them as you frowned, "that was two for two of people sitting here..." you pointed to yourself and then him. "two people, scara. me and you."

"...uh huh, i'm following?"

"you're insufferable." you replied as your face lit up. "wait."

"what? what are you doing? you're making me scared."

you pretended to stretch your back as you declined on him, resting full body weight on scaramouche. "humph! what are you doing??"

"you're a hogger, you know that? this is what you get and you can't push me off." you said, expecting him to fight back or roll you off gently. but instead, you hear,

"fine. what time is it?" thank god, he changed the subject because you wouldn't have known how to continue it after he agreed with your antics for once. "around 11:40."

"good, we can wait out here then."

"good..." you glanced everywhere but where he was. "scara, i don't think your roof may not be the safest place for us to stargaze." you said, recalling your complaint from earlier.

scaramouche lifted himself up as he watched for you if you fell, his hand near your head in case you did. "either this or the sunroof."

"thank you for blessing me with the opportunity to see this beautiful night sky, scara!" you replied quickly as he hid his chuckle.

waiting for ten minutes just to pass away is taking forever, scaramouche thought as he annoyed you by poking you. it was easier to just watch paint dry than wait for the incoming meteor shower. but he looked at you while you began to fight back with his poking by poking him back, it was worth it.

"scara! the stars!" you jolted up as scaramouche pulled you back into his embrace. when you turned to his face, he explained, "i don't want you to fall down and die. i don't want to be linked to your death, how would i go to the ivy league colleges now?"

"uh huh."

but did you really care? no... you rested your head against his chest, noticing how his heartbeat was increasing. you wanted to make fun of him, but you didn't want him to notice so was yours; you kept your mouth shut.

you asked, as he was tapping your arm, "scara, isn't the stars so beautiful?"

scaramouche agreed with you but not for reasons you may think. as you looked at the stars, he looked at you.

"wait, scara! wish on the stars."

"that's so childish."

"but i heard they come true!"

"... fine but im not doing it because you said so."

"i know, don't worry."

[buggybambi]

promise me? | carmen berzatto

rating: | cw: mentions of mikey’s death/funeral, a few timeskips, afab/fem!reader, angst/fluff content, unfinished ending i guess (i’m so down to write a part two if yall ask for it tbh)

nav post

request: “a more angsty idea would be that reader was dating Michael and no one knew she was pregnant when he died… so in order to avoid making their family sad/starting conflict, carmy agrees to pretend that they’re dating and it’s his kid? “

Since the funeral four months ago, your world had felt.. emptier.

Michael Berzatto was your everything. He was the boy in high school who threw rocks at your window, who climbed inside to make out with you on your bed until he fell asleep holding you close, only sneaking out to avoid your parents learning about his visits.

He was the guy who would make a big deal out of every small accomplishment. He was the person who you planned on spending the rest of your life with.

That was until everything happened. One phone call from the Chicago Police Department, and your entire view of the future had been shifted. There was one less person in it.

You didn’t talk to his family much anymore. His younger brother, Carmen, was the only person you really kept in touch with. You called Sugar every so often, and you’d send Donna a check-in text every week or so.

You knew Carmy was in New York, and he hadn’t come to the funeral. You weren’t expecting to see him again until he showed up on your doorstep.

The one thing he wasn’t expecting? You to open the door, tears in your eyes and a pregnancy test in your clenched hand.

“Hey, are you okay?” is the first thing Carmen says. He wraps his arms around you, trying to soothe you in anyway he can. A slight head shake from you and you taking a step back, holding the test out for him to see.

“I’m pregnant. The one person I should be able to tell.. isn’t fucking here.” Your soft voice breaks his heart. It’s the rush of realization that comes first.

The fact that, you’re pregnant with Mikey’s baby.

And Mikey is dead.

“Y/N, we can.. we’ll figure this out.” He promises in a whisper, and you shake your head, more tears streaming. “How?! How am I supposed to do this by myself?” You ask, and you fall into Carmen’s arms, crying on his shoulder. He could care less about the tear stains on his white tee.

If Mikey were here, if there was a way to talk to his dead brother right now, he know what he’d say: “take care of her. Take care of my baby for me.”

“You aren’t alone. You have me.” He swears.

It’s what his brother would want.

“Promise me?” You request quietly. And he nods, rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“I promise.” He repeats.

──

You knew bringing up the pregnancy to Mikey’s family would be.. rough. Sugar and Donna would be upset, with Donna resenting every choice you make.

It would be chaos. So, you kept it a secret, which was harder than it seemed.

You and Carmen had it planned out. To start “dating” two months later, and lie about the timeline of your pregnancy. No one had to know other than you two.

You and Carmen announced your pregnancy to the Berzatto clan three months later, seven months after Mikey died. All of it felt rushed and you found yourself having to force yourself to slow down.

Thankfully, though, Carmen was by your side through it all. Moving in with you and helping set up the nursery, which you made sure to send photos of to Natalie and Donna.

You were there for him when he took over the Beef. It was a while before you found the strength to go back there again, reminiscing on the times you spent in there with Mikey. Him flirting with you as you volunteered your time behind the counter.

Once you had, you found yourself in the same spot you were nearly a year ago. Laughing with Tina and Marcus, threatning jerks with Richie. Even making friends with the new chef, Sydney.

Carmen thought it was good for you. He found himself smiling in the back office as he heard your familiar, light laughter and calming voice.

“You were deeply missed!” Marcus says as he hugs you while you laugh. “So, how’s pregnancy going?” Tina asks as you sigh. “It is a bitch sometimes. But this little one will be worth it.”

“Can I just say.. thank you for bringing a smile to my brother’s face. Seriously. He hasn’t been this happy in a while.” Natalie says as you nod. “It isn’t just me. You guys play a huge part in that.”

“Yeah kid but none of us are having his baby.” Marcus points out. “I should hope not.” You reply, and that’s when the kitchen fills with laughter.

It felt like you were at home again. Carmen wasn’t the only one smiling again.

──

You stood in the nursery, your bump larger. It felt surreal to believe how far you’d come.

You were in your third trimester, 38 weeks pregnant. The nursery looked gorgeous, with a shelf close to the door holding photos from the maternity photoshoot you and Carmen did as well as sonograms pictures.

You wanted to memorialize Mikey in the room as well. A frame sits on the shelf near the sonogram, containing a photo of Natalie, Carmen and Mikey as kids.

You run a hand over Mikey’s spot in the photo, shaking your head and setting it on the shelf. “I remember the day that photo was taken. Mike hated that shirt. That was the only good photo that our mom decided to keep.” Natalie says, entering the room with a glass of water for you.

You accept it, only to nearly drop the glass when a tightening in your stomach forms. It’s at that moment you realize - your water broke, you’re having contractions and.. you’re in labor.

It’s a frenzy from there. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. You waddling-running out to the car, Natalie following behind with the bags while you begin calling Carmen’s phone repeatedly. Time feels like it’s slowed.

It isn’t until you’re at Chicago Medical and being wheeled down the hallway to your labor and delivery room that you realize two things:

1. You’re actually having this baby.

2. Mikey won’t be here to see it.

Some part of you, the part that hasn’t been hitten by the grief yet and the same part that won’t accept he’s gone, is now being hit with the grief. The realization he won’t just come into the room and come back into the room or your life again. It doesn’t rush over you, it drowns you instead.

Maybe it was just the pregnancy excitement and rush. Things hadn’t felt real since the funeral and now? Now they were forcing themselves to be accepted. Forcing you to realize that this is occuring.

It isn’t until you’re alone in the room that you allow the tears to break free. Your vision feels blurred as your heart aches for a man whose gone. One who isn’t here anymore and you can’t change that.

The sight that Carmy finds in the hospital room hurts his heart. It’s quiet, the beeping of monitors that are keeping an eye on your vitals, the baby’s vitals, contractions is the only noise filling the room. You’re seated upright, your eyes exhausted.

“Hi. How are you?” He asks softly as he walks over. He hesitantely puts a hand on your face to brush some of the hair away, and you allow it. You sigh, your face relaxing when he cradles your face like you’re the most precious thing.

“It hit me.” You say softly. “I let myself grieve for a week before his funeral, and then at least three afterward. And then I found out I was pregnant and I bottled it up because I couldn’t do it anymore. And now it hit me again. That I’m having his baby and he’s not going to get to meet him, or her.” Your fists clench at the anger of it.

There are five known stages of grief. Denial, anger, barganing, depression and acceptance. You were on the second stage: anger.

There’s nothing Carmen can say. No words to make it all better, he knows that from his own experience and people trying with him. So, instead, he stays quiet and he lets you get it out.

You exhale, laying back with his help as he props a pillow for you. “Thank you for being here.” You say softly as he takes your hand in his, entertwining your fingers. “I made a promise to be here with you through all of this.”

He intends to keep that promise.

──

‘Roan Michael Berzatto’. Eight pounds, six ounces. Born at 11:37 AM.

Most of the labor process felt like a blur. You remember crying, a lot, and Carmen holding your hand and letting you squeeze while you push, doctors and nurses overlapping each other as they speak to you. Sweat pooling on your forehead as a nurse wiped it away.

Roan looks like Mikey. He has his eyes, his nose, even the same small smile when he sleeps. It’s faint, but it’s there.

His entire hand wraps around Carmen’s pinky while he holds him. There’s a warm aura in the room, the sunlight filling the room perfectly.

You sit, watching them. Carmy walks over and sits beside you on the bed while he puts your son on his legs, as you look down at him. “He really does look like Mike.” You say softly, and Carmen laughs.

There’s a quiet in the air before he speaks again. “I love you.” He says softly. “I know maybe this isn’t the right time to tell you that, but I had to. We agreed to tell everyone this is our son and I want to keep that up, but I want more for us. I want you and I to.. be something more.”

You don’t say anything more, instead you lean over and press your lips against his, letting yourself embrace him. To take in what it feels like to kiss him, be this close to him.

Your world was suddenly full again.

[eternitariant]

Lesson Five: Practical Skills

cw: language & suggestive flirting ? i guess

"You think you can handle me, Trick Shot?" you challenged, smirking at him and he swallowed nervously,

"abso-fucking-lutely." he whispered hoarsely,

"then i'm yours." you chimed and he started taking one of his bracelets off and slipping it onto your wrist,

"Finally." he breathed, the widest smile plastered across his face and his eyes glittery with the threat of happy tears.

"Now that i'm part of your collection, can we fix my window? It's gonna be freezing tonight." you playfully whined and he laughed,

"Can i trust you with a hammer?" he asked raising his eyebrows,

"You know i collect butterfly knives, right? Can i trust you with my heart?" you rebuked teasingly and his expression dropped into something incredibly serious,

"You can trust me with every part of you."

"Don't get soft on me now, Hockstetter." you quipped, getting up off the stairs and heading towards the basement to find the toolbox.

Your basement was crazy dark and the light had been blown for like a year so you were sort of feeling along the wall to find what you needed. As you fumbled around, you stepped in some kind of puddle and prayed it was water,

"Yuck." you groaned, continuing on your mission to gather the tools. It took less than 3 minutes for Patrick to come searching for you,

"Alright, you've officially been out of my sight for too damn long." he announced, coming down the creaky steps,

"Christ, obsessed much?" you snarked and he chuckled,

"So much." he whispered, resting his head against yours,

"Channel those feelings into something productive and help me or i'm hiding from you for at least an hour." you threatened and he threw his hands up in the air to imply his surrender before he began to search with you.

Eventually, you found everything you needed to temporarily fix the window some random guy had been thrown through and made your way back up to fix it. Patrick asked you to help hold some timber steady so he could secure it against the window frame but you were very obviously struggling,

"You're so much shorter up close." he remarked and you sneered up at him,

"Fuck you."

"One thing at a time, sweets." he sang and you rolled your eyes as you smirked.

Despite your being vertically challenged, the window was boarded up in no time at all. You exhaled heavily and put your hands on your hips,

"Well... i've worked up an appetite. You hungry?"

"Starved." he falsely sulked and you brushed past him to get to the kitchen, "whatcha doin?"

"Cooking dumbass... what? All your time peeping through my windows you never saw me do it before?" you griped and he tongued his cheek,

"Ha. Ha." he leaned over the opposite side of the island bench, "I saw, i just never actually thought i'd be in here while you did it."

"I guess some dreams do come true." you shrugged, playing it off as he shamelessly stared at you,

"yes they fucking do." he said under his breath.

[xelasrecords]

Violent Need

Han Jumin x MC

NSFW

Attempting to kill herself to hurt Jumin has consequences. MC is about to find out what.

A/N: It occurred to me that I mostly write slow scenes. Time to remedy that!

CW: referenced suicide, hate sex (oral), getting off to violent imagery

Words: 1.8k

Masterlist Read on AO3

"Why is it always you?"

Jumin didn't budge from her balcony. His breath was still laboured, his black tie dangling loose from his collar. The wind roared against the bolted windows. She could barely make out the street far below, but she knew it was stranded. Nobody with good sense would take a stroll at this hour.

She pulled her night robe tighter around her. It was a comforting embrace that she would never get from him. "I'm sick of seeing you here."

His jaw hardened. "I am only here when my presence is needed. Had you not triggered the alarm, I wouldn't have come," he said. "Understand that I put your feelings into consideration. I'm not the heartless monster you make me out to be."

She cackled. "A monster with a heart is still a monster." The sound that escaped her throat was raw, dry sand scraping against inflamed flesh. "You don't put a fucking tracker on someone you love. You trust them."

Jumin snapped his head at her. His knuckles that gripped the railing were turning white. "Was I wrong in guessing that you were trying to kill yourself?"

She met his gaze steadily, those grey eyes so devoid of warmth that if she cleaved him open, it might as well reveal a hollow husk of a body. "No."

Jumin threw his hands up and walked away from the window. "Should I have sat around while your vitals deteriorated then? Your oxygen saturation was plummeting." He raised her chin and slid a trembling hand down the necklace of bruise around her neck. His touch was delicate. She was his fragile doll that he was determined to put together whenever she fell apart. There were too many cracks to be deemed lovable, but Jumin loved her still. "Under no circumstances can you die. You are needed in this association. I need you."

A pleasant sensation stung down her spine. She would not burn alone in the hell he put her in. He had to bleed as she bled. She threaded her fingers through his ink-black hair and jerked him close. "Whatever do you need me for?"

"You are the only one who understands me."

She nodded. "Why do you think I didn't strangle myself all the way through?" Her lips smoothed into a cold smile. "Ending my life permanently was never my goal. Chipping away yours is."

Jumin drew in a sharp breath. "I will still love you even with nothing left of me. You don't know what I've done to keep you safe. You have no clue of the things I'm capable of doing for you." He leaned his forehead against her as his voice dropped low. "You will stay alive and whole. That's an order."

She twisted her hold on his hair until he winced. "Any other rule I have to abide by?"

"You're moving in with me."

A weight dropped on her stomach.

She stumbled backwards into her bedroom. The temperature abruptly fell as the adrenaline of hurting him left her. She would be forcibly removed from the only place she felt safe in. "This is the only place that's mine. You are not taking this away from me."

Jumin stalked towards her with great caution as if she were a feral cat, and she felt like one. She hated that he always tried to appease her anger. It was her right to be furious. He had no right to take it away from her.

He took, and took, and took. All the material things he gave her were the pitiful apologies she had no use of.

"You are a danger to yourself," said Jumin. "You have proven that you are not to be trusted alone."

Her eyes darted around her room wildly, taking in the pieces of furniture that she had arranged to her comfort. The sharp-edged hand mirror that Jumin would wrench away from her the second he noticed the dried blood on it. She had forgotten to clean it before triggering the alarm. The blooming dahlia on her dressing table, the only living thing she cared to take care of.

How was it possible that she had no power over Jumin when he was blinded by his love for her? She wanted to be the poison to his existence. The person harbouring more feelings should be dependent on the receiver. Love made you weak, but Jumin used it to fortify his claim on her instead.

This was her present for nurturing the monster in him.

"What will I have left once you take away my home?"

"Calm down," said Jumin. It did nothing but to further incense her. "A relocation is not a complete removal. You will have freedom—within reason—in my penthouse. There's a new room already set up for you. We can decorate it to mimic this current interior. Everything will be tailored to your comfort."

"'We'?" she spat. "I will take no part in dolling up my prison."

"I'm not abandoning you. You will still have your home, with me." Jumin sighed. He stood a few steps away from her, oceans away from the person she once cared about. "I wish you would want me like I want you."

"How do you want me exactly?" Her voice shook with contempt. "Chained to your bed so I can't go anywhere without your permission? Kept on a leash so I have to trail after you like a dog? Sedated so I can be pliant and quiet?"

Jumin studied her, searching for a truth that did not exist. "Would you like that? Would you reciprocate my love if I indulged in your fantasies?"

Her skin crawled at his inference. There was no breakthrough. Every word she threw at him would simply be twisted to his convenience. "What you have for me is not love."

The cords in his neck went taut. "That is the one thing you fail to understand about me."

"You wouldn't have assumed my fantasies if you loved me. You would have asked. My thoughts would matter to you."

"I see." Jumin rubbed his lips with his forefinger. "My apologies. Tell me, what do you like to fantasise about?"

She snatched at his wrist and sank her fingers between his wrist bones, digging into the strains of muscle. She straightened her posture; she was a tall woman, but Jumin had the ability to make her feel smaller, lesser, as if everything that made her could be easily crushed. She supposed there was some truth in it.

"You, dying." She guided his hand to slip into her panties and rubbed at her clit while letting her robe fall around her shoulders. "I picture you dying."

A flash of hurt passed across Jumin's face, but he recovered in the next moment. He kissed her neck and curled two of his fingers into her entrance. She groaned, but they slipped in with some effort.

"I want to see blood around your lifeless body." She gasped when he hit the right spot and her breasts rose and fell at a quickening pace. Jumin's expression when he stared up at her was darkened with lust that he often tried to keep at bay. "Stabbed to utter deformity. Ripped apart until you couldn't haunt me anymore. I want to stain my hands with your blood. I would forever be marred by you."

Jumin pushed her against the wall, his hands never leaving her. "Do you really hate me that much?"

Her gaze flicked to him, desperate for another taste of his pain. But he wore his hunger for her as a shield. There were no chinks in his armour. "It would be proof that I had done something. That I could reduce you into nothing and emerge a victor. I would fucking wear you like a badge of honour."

Jumin slid to his knees and pulled down her panties. The sight of him lowering himself for her should have been glorious, but it filled her with derision. It was just a ruse. They both knew who really held the power in this relationship. "I am not terrified of you."

She sneered down at him. "Killing you would be the best thing I had ever achieved."

Jumin let out a long-suffering sigh and balled up her panties before stuffing them into her mouth. There was a warning in his eyes that made her heart falter, a reminder that this was the person who had destroyed her beyond redemption. "As much as I love your nightmare tongue, I need you to be quiet."

He perched her calf over his shoulder before she could knee him on his face. She had half a mind to do it. But his mouth latched onto her core, tongue swirling in her and sucking her and her thoughts shattered.

Jumin laved at her until her hips bucked. She pushed his head against her and he tightened his bruising hold on her thighs. It was almost comical, how he was allowed to hurt her, but not herself. Her body wasn't even hers, and it was made apparent by the pleasure that Jumin continued to rip out of her.

When Jumin added three fingers and stretched them out, her back arched off the wall. It burned at first, but it quickly dissolved into a pain that she longed for. She was getting close, and she bit on the cloth in her mouth to avoid screaming out Jumin's name. He would not get the satisfaction of winning over her body. This ecstasy was for her and her only.

Her keening grew more desperate and her movements more frantic, but Jumin suddenly stopped. He held her hips against the wall and slowly stood up.

She spitted out the soaked panties. "What—"

"We can finish this at my penthouse," Jumin stated calmly, slick glistening his chin. He glanced at her panties on the floor with disinterest. "There is no need to put on a new underwear when we leave. You won't meet anyone at this hour, and Driver Kim knows better than to comment on your indecent state." He combed through her rustled hair and trailed his fingers down the valley between her exposed breasts.

Her vision turned white. She yanked on his tie until blood rushed to his beautiful, detestable face, until he started choking and coughing. "You're not a good person. You think you're doing the right thing to save me, but you're just as demented for using my body against me. You made me like this. You planted this hatred in me. It's your fault I can't love you."

Jumin pried her fist open with great effort. After taking several moments to catch his breath, he secured her night robe back in place with robotic efficiency. "I'm doing this for your own good. You will understand in the future."

"You should be afraid of me," she gritted out, venom lacing every drop of her word. "I will ruin you. I will."

Jumin's lips curled into a bitter smile and he kissed her, forcing her to taste herself. "You already have."

-

Footnotes:

🤷🏻‍♀️

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[lerexclamationpointpeter]

•guessing game•

Peter’s Spider-Sense alerts him, but there is no danger.

CW: tickle fic, horrendously disgusting tooth-rotting fluff, romantic relationship, angry!Pete, flirting, teasing, kisses (no tongue 😐👍), cursing, ultimately sfw but has some suggestive tones, mention of web restraints 🫠, fem!reader, you are basically this universe’s MJ, imagine any version of Peter you want (you could even come up with your own version 👀)

Peter and the reader are in an established relationship

Bold text means it’s a flashback

Slanted text is for emphasis

Small slanted text is a thought that wasn’t said out loud

Enjoy

Partially inspired by this post from @sugars-fluffy-escapes

It had been a long day. Peter was exhausted.

It started just like any other day. He woke up, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, kissed you goodbye, and headed to class.

Of course, going to school never quite worked out for him.

He was lucky if he was able to attend all of his classes for the day (attend, not be there for the entire lecture). Today, he didn’t make it to any classes.

Why? Because Doc Ock got bored and decided to play New York City Sandbox Simulator. Pete swore this guy became a super villain just to have something to do.

The fight lasted almost all day. By the time Peter got home, you could tell he was pissed.

After hearing him knock on the window, you rushed over to open it for him. As he climbed inside, you noticed that his entire demeanor was different.

At first, you thought he might’ve been hurt. When he took off his mask, you saw that his eyes were drooped in a way that made him appear annoyed and defeated. There was no part of his face that looked warm and welcoming. This terrified you.

Usually after patrol, he greeted you cheerfully with one of his many nicknames for you. Even if he seemed sad or upset, he at least did that.

This time, he didn’t even make eye contact with you. All he said to you was, “Thanks,” and then he beelined to the bathroom to take a shower.

It was very clear that he was not in a good mood right now.

You wondered if it was a good idea to ask him what was wrong. Would that make him feel better? Would that make him snap at you? Was it best to just try to give him some space?

You crawled into bed, pulling the covers up over you. As you waited for Pete to get out of the shower, you decided that it would be best to just keep quiet until he wanted to talk.

Eventually, he emerged from the mist and steam in the bathroom. He threw on a pair of pajama pants (just pajama pants, no shirt), climbed into bed, wrapped his arms around you, and just as he was about to kiss you goodnight, he saw the look on your face.

His agitation was immediately replaced with concern.

“You okay, bug?” he leaned back to look into your eyes.

You barely looked at him before breaking eye contact. This worried him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

You hesitated, opening your mouth to speak, but closing it instead.

“Hey,” he said, taking on a more serious tone. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He spoke in a way that was firm, but gentle. You had a habit of bursting into tears when he did that, but you held it in this time around, not wanting to irritate him any further.

You swallowed, “I uh… Are… Are you mad at me?”

He furrowed his brows, confused.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

You made eye contact with him now, feeling a little relieved. You thought quietly for a moment before speaking.

“W-well, I just.. thought that you seemed angry and.. I didn’t know if it was something I did, or-“

“No, no, baby,” he cuts you off. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. I could never be mad at you. It was just a hard day, that’s all.”

He holds you tighter, feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry my mug is so mean,” he whispers. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the 24 foot tall robotic octopus that keeps throwing me off of tall buildings and running away.”

He earns a small chuckle from you, easing the tension. Peter smiles, but his smile fades quickly. His expression softens as he connects the dots.

“You saw that I was mad, and your first thought.. was that I was mad at you?”

This realization affected him more than he led on. He was supposed to protect you and keep you safe. Y’know, the whole point of the superhero thing?

Instead, here he was, scaring you. Pushing you away. Making you afraid to talk to him.

You broke eye contact with him again.

Pete let out a soft, defeated sigh. He tightened his grip on you again, holding you as close as possible.

“You know I’d never hurt you?” he says, his tone firm and gentle again. “Like, ever? Never in a million years? Even if I was angry?”

You nod. You knew deep down that if Pete was mad at you, he wouldn’t even do so much as raise his voice.

He’d crawl into bed with you, just like he always does.

He’d tell you what was bugging him, you’d apologize, he’d probably apologize too for some reason, then he’d ambush you with kisses and the two of you would promptly go to bed.

“I know,” you said, feeling stupid. “I’m sorry I even-“ you start to say before you can catch yourself.

Pete makes a loud incorrect buzzer sound, startling you a little and making you laugh.

“That’s the wrong answer,” he says playfully, “You’re actually only supposed to apologize when you’ve done something wrong. Try again.”

He looks at you with a shit-eating grin. He’s done this to you so many times.

The first few times, he’d caught you in a loop, going back and forth between you accidentally apologizing, and him doing the incorrect buzzer. This time, he knew you’d stop apologizing before it could even start.

Being an annoying little shit was a gift of Peter’s. In hindsight, it was only a matter of time before he found out your biggest weakness.

He leaned his head into the crook of your neck, ready to fall asleep with you in his arms, safe and sound. But, of course, he couldn’t resist adding one more quip.

He exhaled, his hot breath hitting your skin. Every hair on your body stood up.

“Yup, that’s what I thought,” he said, his lips getting closer to your neck. His only intention was to kiss you there.

Much to his surprise (and delight), you giggled.

——————————

Ever since then, after a long, hard day of being Spider-Man, this became a tradition of some sort for the both of you.

Pete would come home after patrol, take a shower, and then absolutely wreck you. It was like his way of decompressing after a day of getting beat up.

He noticed that you didn’t really fight back, but he never questioned it.

Frankly, he was having too much fun to care.

He figured that you were just one of those people that curled up into a ball as a very poor, but very cute, way of trying to hide.

On this day in particular, Pete had spent the whole day with you. He planned for it. There was no long, hard day of being Spider-Man. This meant that you could spend some time together.

Unfortunately, that also meant that your tradition couldn’t happen today.

But you were craving it. It was the only thing you could think about.

After spending the whole day with Peter, and his teasing? You barely survived.

You and Pete laid next to each other, your head resting on his shoulder. He put on a movie a little while earlier that you weren’t really interested in.

You contemplated telling him that you weren’t into the movie, but that would put you in a situation that petrified you.

‘Is there something else that you wanna do?’

You could already hear him saying it. You could already imagine the heat moving towards your cheeks as you sit there, speechless, thinking about what the hell you could possibly say to get yourself out of this one. Even just imagining that was flustering enough.

But there was nothing wrong with thinking about it, right? No, of course not. You can enjoy your little daydream while Pete watches TV, and he’d have no idea at all that you were thinking about the night he discovered that you were ticklish.

He had no idea that you were thinking about the slow, mischievous grin that grew on his face after hearing you giggle. The way he locked eyes with you. The way he told you, “You are so fucked,” without saying anything at all. The reality setting in that the only thing you can do is wait for him to attack. Then, the reality setting in that once he attacks, the only thing you can do is wait for him to stop.

He didn’t know you were thinking about the dramatic, exaggerated stories he told as he toyed with you.

——————————

He had effectively overpowered you, sitting on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“…And then, just when I thought it was finally over…” he paused for a comedically long time, looking directly into your eyes.

He enjoyed the tension building up. He loved making you feel the imminent dread of what was coming next. He loved the nervous giggles you let out as he stared at you with a stone-faced expression.

“…I heard his footsteps,” he teasingly walked his fingers up your side as you squirmed beneath him. “Getting closer,” he took a step, “and closer,” he took another step, “and then…” you hid behind your hands, shaking, laughing, waiting for him to strike.

When he didn’t, you peeked through your fingers, only to find that he was still staring at you. His face was still entirely serious, even though you were covering your eyes.

Why is he so committed to this bit?? Does he want to fluster me to death??

…

Yeah, of course he does, what am I even saying?

“…And then…” he paused again.

And then what??? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST GET IT OVER WITH ALREADY.

He was far too good at this.

He took an obnoxiously loud deep breath in, gathering all the air he possibly could into his lungs. And in an instant, he was blowing the world’s biggest raspberry on your tummy. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also digging his fingers into your ribs at the same time.

You screamed so loud that you thought someone would file a noise complaint.

——————————

He didn’t know you were thinking about how strong he was. How easy it was for him to trap you in his arms. Even if you had attempted to fight back, it would’ve been useless.

He certainly had no idea that you were thinking about the time you yelled, “Stop!” and he laughed at you. You weren’t sure if he was catching on to how much you liked this, or if he was laughing because he wasn’t about to stop any time soon. Either way, he didn’t stop any time soon.

There was one thing you were very glad he didn’t know.

He didn’t know that the way he looked at you after one of those days made you weak.

You thought about how tired his eyes would look after taking his mask off. You thought about the relieved sigh he’d let out as he hugs you. The kiss he’d plant on your forehead before he tells you how awful of a day he had. The timber in his voice when he tells you you’re gonna know all about it when he gets out of the shower.

He didn’t know that as soon as the bathroom door closed, you hopped into bed, throwing the blanket over you, giggling and kicking your feet as soon as you were underneath. It was on days like that where you thanked the entire universe that Pete only took 10 minute showers.

All you could think of was how warm he’d be. How close he’d pull you to him. How many glances you’d take of his chest.

If Peter knew what you were thinking about right now, you’d be reduced to jelly in seconds. There was no way you could ever tell him about any of this.

But you wished he knew. You wished you could make him understand. But it would never happen. You’d rather get water boarded by the CIA than tell him.

Suddenly, Peter felt something. His Spider-Sense. He instinctively put an arm around you, looking around the room.

“Pete? Is something wrong?” you asked him.

He looked around the room for a little longer, scanning every area he could see. He found nothing. Everything was fine. He relaxed a little, but was still on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you asked again, feeling a little anxious now.

“Nothing, angel,” he shook his head. “I… I thought I felt my Spider-Sense.”

He thought he felt his Spider-Sense?

You always imagined that to be an obvious feeling.

“What made it go off?”

“I’m… I’m not sure. But it felt like it went off for you,” he paused. “Are you okay?”

You paused.

“I.. I think so.. Why? Am I in danger?”

Peter looked around the room again, scanning for absolutely anything dangerous. Nothing. He listened for any strange noises. Nothing. He tried to sense if anyone dangerous was in the building. Once again, nothing.

“No.. You’re completely fine,” he said, his brows still furrowed.

Now you were really confused.

“If I’m not in any danger, then… why did it go off?”

Peter closed his eyes, trying his best to focus on where this feeling was coming from. The longer he waited, the more clear it became.

It was his Spider-Sense, but it was different this time. It felt warmer. Gentler. When he was in danger, the feeling was comparable to almost getting hit by an oncoming train. Right now, it felt more like a tap on the shoulder.

Why was he getting tapped on the shoulder, and why did it make him think of you?

He opened his eyes, trying to make sense out of any of this.

A tap on the shoulder… for you?

Wait, no.

Maybe…

Maybe it’s a tap on the shoulder from you?

“Is… Is there something that you want to tell me?“ he questioned. “Is there something you feel scared to tell me?”

Uh oh.

Wait.

Hold on a minute.

How?

You tried your best to hide the shock on your face, but you already felt the warmth spreading across your cheeks. You cleared your throat.

“Uhm, w-what do you mean?” you tried. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Pete closed his eyes again. You were starting to wonder if he could read your mind.

God, you hoped he couldn’t read your mind.

“It just feels like there’s something you want to tell me, but you’re hiding it from me,” he opens his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Damn, I’m not even safe in my own head.

You couldn’t lie to him, but you also couldn’t just outright say it to him either. You didn’t think you could say this out loud even if you were completely alone with no sign of human life for miles.

This was going to be difficult.

You looked down at your hands and fidgeted with them.

“There is… something I’m not telling you…” you start.

He puts his arms around your waist, gently guiding you to lay down on your side next to him.

“What is it, baby? What are you so afraid to tell me?”

He looked so concerned.

You break eye contact, which Peter usually sees as a bad sign. What’s different this time is that a smile slowly creeps onto your face. Now, he’s intrigued.

“What’s so funny?” he says, not being able to stop the smile from forming on his face too.

You smile harder. You already know that your face is bright red. You can’t help it. You’re reducing into jelly.

“What is going on?” Pete laughs, now staring to feel amused by this entire situation.

You open your mouth.

Then close it.

Then open it again.

“It’s not so much that I’m scared… It’s more like… I’m embarrassed.”

Okay, that was a good first step. You admitted to being embarrassed, but not by what.

Pete squints his eyes and looks at you suspiciously.

“Just tell me what it is,” he says.

Nope. Not gonna happen, asshole.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

His expression softens.

“Why not?”

There is a pause. You take a deep breath.

“I feel too embarrassed to say it out loud. Even if you weren’t here and I was completely alone, I still wouldn’t say it out loud. That’s how embarrassed I am,” you admit.

Peter nods, understanding the predicament you’re in.

“That’s okay, bug. We don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.”

You feel bad. How do you tell someone something without saying it out loud?

Definitely not doing charades. Or Pictionary. Even if you knew sign language, you weren’t doing that either. There has to be some way to make it easier for both of you.

And then it hit you. You both knew that you couldn’t say it, but what if he could?

“What if… What if you try to guess what it is? I’ll give you hints and tell you if you’re right,” you suggested.

Pete thought about it, and nodded. The smile from earlier came back.

“Okay. Let’s do that then. What’s the first hint?”

You looked off to the side as you thought of a good hint. Something vague, but truthful.

“I’m thinking about something that you do…” Pause. “…that I like.” That seemed vague enough.

Peter raises his eyebrows.

“Something I do that you like?”

You nod.

“Is it… when I make corny science jokes?”

You shake your head.

“Huh, really thought that would be it,” he replies sarcastically.

“Is it… my dancing?” he asks.

“Nope. Not that either. You are a good dancer, though.”

He grins at that. He loved when you complimented him.

“Thanks. But if it’s not my jokes or my dancing, then what is it? Give me another hint.”

You try to think of something else.

“It’s something that most people don’t like.”

He squints.

“My… dancing…?”

You roll your eyes.

“No, Pete, it’s not your dancing. But while we’re on that subject, most people don’t like your corny jokes either.”

“Ouch.”

You both laugh. Pete thinks again for a moment. He’s drawing a blank.

“I’m gonna need another hint from you, missy.”

Time to think again. What else could you possibly say to him to make him understand?

Thinking…

Thinking…

…

There was only one more thing you could think to say. You shut your eyes so you didn’t have to see his reaction.

Here goes nothing…

“I only feel comfortable when you’re the one doing it… to me.”

Whoomp, there it is. Can’t take that shit back now.

You swear to God if he doesn’t figure it out now, you might just explode.

…

Silence.

…

More silence.

You opened one eye. You were greeted by a confused looking Pete, clearly still trying to put the puzzle pieces in the right places.

Time to explode.

“It’s something I do… that you like… that most people don’t like… and it’s something that you only let me do to you...” Pete looked like he was becoming more and more confused by the second. “What is something that I do to you… that most people don’t like?” he asked himself.

You watched in real time as the wheels turned. You saw the moment a lightbulb turned on. You started to brace yourself for what he was going to say.

“Oh, wait,”

I was wrong about earlier. NOW it’s time to explode.

A sly smile spread across his face.

Oh God. He knows.

“Are you thinking about-“

Don’t say it.

“-our little-”

Do NOT say it.

“-tickle fights?”

Fuck, he said it. He said the thing.

At this point, you couldn’t even answer him. Your entire face was burning. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. The only thing you could do was hide under the covers.

You hear Pete laughing. Now that he’s figured it out, you were gonna have to accept that you would never know a moment of peace for the rest of your life.

He lifted the blanket so he could see your face. Now you were hiding behind your hands.

“Why are you hiding from me?” he teased, knowing damn well why you were hiding from him.

“Stop teasing me!” you muffled.

He chuckled, “Why? Are you blushing?”

This boy just wouldn’t stop.

“How can I help teasing you when you act like this?” he purred.

He pulled the blanket over your heads so that both of you were under the covers.

“So, that’s what you were so afraid to tell me? You like it when I tickle you?”

You whimpered pathetically, doing your best to curl yourself into a ball. Pete enjoyed this.

“That’s what you were soooooo embarrassed to say this entire time?”

You did not appreciate that tone, which is exactly why he used it.

He placed his arms around your shoulders, cradling you. He rubbed your arm with his thumb, moving it back and forth. As much as he loved to fluster you, he also wanted you to feel comfortable telling him things like this.

“I don’t see what’s so embarrassing about that,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You relaxed a little. As difficult as it was to have this conversation, you were grateful it happened. There were no more secrets between the two of you. You didn’t need to hide anymore.

You unraveled from the ball you were trying to turn into, snuggling closer to Peter.

You looked up at him. He looked down at you.

“There she is,” Pete said softly, admiring you.

You glared at him playfully before pushing your head into his chest.

“Aaaaaaand she’s hiding again,” he sighs. “When will you learn-” Pete takes hold of your wrist as he rolls on top of you, pinning it to the bed, “-that you can’t-” his other arm slithers around your waist, his hand now pinching at your side, “-hide from me?”

You did your best to try to wriggle out from underneath him, but you were trapped under his body weight. He was too strong. The only thing you could do was laugh.

“PEHEHETER, WAHAHAIT!” you screamed.

“Wait? Wait for what?” he continued to tickle you. “This is what you wanted, right?”

Yup.

“Oh wait, did you want me to tickle here?” he pinched a little higher towards your ribs. You screeched.

“Or maybe here?” he squeezed at your hip. “Or did you just want me to tickle all of these spots at the same time?” he moved his hand sporadically up and down your side.

It was unbearable. His fingers were so precise. Every move felt intentional. You were completely at his mercy, and it was everything you ever wanted.

Peter was having just as much fun. He loved the way you struggled beneath him. Your shrieking laughter was music to his ears. The way you insincerely begged him to stop only made him want to keep going.

The fact that you trusted him enough to let him do this to you made him feel so special. He spent so much of his time worrying about keeping you safe, constantly wondering if he was doing enough to protect you.

Knowing that you were okay with him putting you in such a vulnerable position made him feel like he had done something right. He was the only one who was allowed to touch you like this, and he did not take that for granted.

He stopped tickling you for a moment to pin your other wrist to the bed. He leaned down, acting like he wanted to whisper something to you.

“Hey, can I tell you a secret?” his breath hit your neck, giving you goosebumps.

This was his favorite way to tickle you. This was the way he discovered you were ticklish in the first place. The sensation was so intense that it made you fall into silent, wheezing laughter. That’s why he loved this method.

He knew that every time he said something, his breath sent you into hysterics.

“Please? I just need to tell you something real quick. It’s really important.”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR SEHEHECREHET,” you shouted as soon as you were able to breathe in.

“No, no, no, no, you’re gonna like it, I promise!” he lied.

You heard him inhale and you knew what was coming next.

“NONONONONONO DON’T-“ he blew a fat raspberry.

You let out one last scream before falling back into silent laughter.

Pete finally decided that you’d had enough. He kissed the sensitive area on your neck, then continued to peck upwards until he reached your cheek as you let out the last of your exhausted giggles.

He let go of your wrists and lifted the blanket, rolling back onto his side and pulling you into his embrace. He let you take the time to catch your breath.

Once your breathing slowed to a normal pace, he spoke.

“I love you so much, you know that?”

Of course you knew that.

“I love you more,” you replied.

Pete kissed you on the lips, letting it linger for a moment. He massaged your scalp as he held you, wishing he could just stay here with you forever. Then, he decided to be cheeky again.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said, “Just pin your arms down and tickle you.”

It only occurred to you then that he never attempted to hold your arms down before tonight. He’d sat on top of you, held you close to him so you couldn’t get away, and he got to your weak spots before you could cover them, but he never pinned your arms down.

“Why didn’t you do it sooner?” you joked.

He smiled, “Because I didn’t know that you wanted me to. I didn’t know you liked it that much,” he answered, “Besides, it’s not like you were putting up that much of a fight anyway. I thought it’d be too mean.”

Peter was many things. A superhero, a little shit, an asshole. But he was also incredibly considerate. You weren’t sure what you did to deserve this boy, but you were so happy you had him.

“But now that I know you do like it that much,” he said, “maybe next time I’ll web you to the bed and tickle you until it dissolves.”

I quite like that idea.

“Oh really?” you challenged him playfully.

“Mhmm. Maybe I’ll make a special batch of web fluid just for you.”

“A special batch?”

“Yup. I’ll make it last twice as long.”

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

A/N: this is my first fic pls let me know if i did good or if i should never write anything ever again 👍

[jacenotjason]

Bob's Endings - Class of 31 AU

(theres art here I swear dont leave) Alright quick explanation: The class of 31 au doesn't have a cohesive timeline. It has multiple endings and possibilities depending on the characters choices. There are technically 6 endings (out of 12 currently, though I do plan to write more!) involving Bob:

all the characters die

they all survive

only one dies (x4)

these are all the endings where they're murdered. I drew them and gave them a little monologue to go with it like it was a Class of 09 ending. anyways enjoy!!

obvious cw for blood, death, cursing.. all that

RADFORD:

“Have you ever been cold? No, like really cold. So cold that it’s painful. So cold, your fingers turn purple. So cold, your palm gets frozen to the metal floor and you tear off your skin pulling it off. Yeah, that was fun.

Okay, listen, I thought the freezer was a good idea. I was high as hell on Xanax, and when we were all running I knew I couldn’t get far. I could hardly see my own feet, so hiding was my only option. I had two options, the freezer or the garbage chute. I shut off the freezer before I hid in it! Then, it was more like a… moist closet than an actual freezer.

When I heard Bob walk passed it, but not open the door, I thought I was so lucky. Then, the freezer made this sort of… aching sound? I heard the fan turn on and realized he knew full well I was in the freezer.

I don’t know how long it took for my body to actually shut down, I just realized that I couldn’t see my breath anymore, because I wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t move, either. Bob watched the whole thing like it was a cinematic masterpiece. The little window on the door frosted over after a while, but I knew he was still out there.

I’m the reason my friends got away. I was putting on a show for the cannibal and they all found an exit. They don’t even care, I know they don’t.”

STREBER:

“Woow, who would’ve guessed? Spending the night in a creepy mansion to play Fuck, Marry, Kill after a cannibal escaped prison was a bad idea?

..[Streber drops the bimbo accent]

I’m kidding. I don’t sound like that.

Dying wasn’t that bad, honestly. The pain of getting my arm ripped off only lasted a second, and it was a little fascinating. Once the adrenaline faded, I mean. It was such a mindfuck. I could still feel my arm attached to me, but I could see it in his hand. It’s just a psychological thing, a ghost limb I’m pretty sure, but fuck it threw me for a loop. I bled out fast, the world went dark and then I was dead.

But.. man, what a shitty way to die, right? In a slutty vampire outfit in an abandoned mansion in a shitty town after saving the lives of guys I don’t even like. Assholes owe their lives to me.

I guess this is a good time to get stuff off my chest. Last words, regrets? Hm…

I regret giving Radford bulimia back in high school. Actually, no that was Kevin’s fault, never mind.

I… regret coming to this house in the first place. No, that doesn’t count.

I regret shoving Kevin off the balcony. Yeah. I saved his life, lost mine, and I bet that apathetic mother fucker doesn’t even care. He’s probably upset that he dislocated his arm, but hey, at least you’re still alive!

…

It’s probably weird to hear me say big words, huh? Hahah...”

ETHAN:

“ ‘The ultimate possession was, in fact, the taking of the life. And then... The physical possession of the remains.’ Ted Bundy.

…I love that quote.

In a way… Murder is a little flattering. If I could speak or move... I’d thank Bob. Life was boring, my death was interesting. It was straight out of a movie.

I was running, and then the platform of my boot awkwardly folded over, causing me to collapse to the floor. My ankle wasn’t even that bad, but I acted like it was completely ruined. I even did the horror movie thing where you scoot away backward, while the killer slowly approaches you, knowing he’s got you cornered.

I was so giddy with endorphins. As much as I wanted to pretend to be scared, I couldn’t help but laugh. I wasn’t scared, I was overjoyed. Like.. like… when you reach the height of a rollercoaster and you know the big drop is coming… Like when you hang upside down on the monkey bars and feel the blood rush to your head! Singing together with all your friends, all our voices cracking in sync as we reach the hallelujah chorus! Bowser casting his big fucking ring of fire and knowing full well you're not going to beat this boss right now but you’re gonna fuckin’ try anyway! Watching my little sister graduate middle school! Halloween!!

Feeling the cold steel plunge into your abdomen.. feeling your blood drip onto the floor and knowing it's never getting out. Hearing that your body was never found, and only you and your killer know where it is…

It’s flattery. It’s empowering, it’s art… on a certain level, it’s so fucking rad…

..

I’m glad the others got away. I was the only victim... I was special.”

KEVIN:

“Watching your dad kill himself kind of fucks you up.

I don’t know what happened. I just.. Stopped running. I wasn’t tired, I wasn’t cornered, I just… stopped running from him.

When he found me, I just stared at him. His whole sadistic thing just disappeared… He stared at me, too. If I had the energy, I probably would’ve opened my arms in surrender, but instead, I just stood there with my arms to the side. He got the memo, though…

We were inches apart, and I wasn't scared. I wasn't scared of the murderer looking straight into my eyes.

What fucked me up is just how upset he looked. A murderer, a cannibalistic murderer was staring into my eyes and he looked terrified of me.

After that, he sort of…nudged me against a wall. He didn't shove me or grab me, he just sort of waved me against it and I followed. He slit my throat easily. It was a quick slash, and I was dead. It didn't feel like this was for him. He didn't kill me because he wanted to or because he wanted to eat me. Maybe that's how it started, but it felt like… a mercy kill.

He didn't do anything with my body, either. He let me slide to the floor, then left.

…

I hope there are therapists in the afterlife.. or like a 4chan message board I can rant on, because what the fuck does this mean.”

one day i will have the courage to share the ending doc ok today is not that day

[madaboutmunson]

All that’s left of me, is just a memory

Prompt | "Amnesia" & “Candle”

WC | 1476

Rating | T

CW | Someone is tied up, swearing, mcd

Tags | Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Lives, Eddie Munson Returns

——————————————————

He didn’t remember how he got here.

There was the warm light glowing in the bitter cold night outside Uncle Wayne’s trailer, with the police tape billowing in the wind.

The noise of the door creaking snatched his attention as the howling wind tried to fight the hinges for the right to claim the last door Chrissy Cunningham had ever passed through.

That he remembered.

He remembered being so afraid he got in his van and high-tailed it out of there.

To Rick’s, he thought, or to the lake at least, but he didn’t truly remember.

His stomach growled loudly. He was starving.

A crunch in his mouth, a crunch underfoot. The screaming of sirens and the screaming of someone else, or something else. He dove into water but he was on dry land. Yes, it must have been the lake. He should go to the lake.

But he couldn’t go. He knew he had to be here. It felt right, but why?

He clenched his fists in frustration or hunger or rage, and something snapped.

Eddie opened his ringed fist. In it was a blackened, slightly used birthday candle.

He looked around and couldn’t see anyone or anything, but occasionally he heard rustling from within the trailer.

Icy fear poured in rivulets through his nervous system as he stood at the bottom of the steps that should have been so familiar to him. They should have been welcoming, but the night made shadows of weird and terrifying things as the light from above began to be blocked out by the slight overhang of the roof.

He should turn back. But, back to where exactly?

The tightness in his stomach made itself known, and that was enough to try and take the first step.

Eddie instinctively threw himself backward onto the worn grass below as the door was flung open by the weather, as if to make his path clear.

“Welcome home, I guess?” he said to no one but himself, but the half-joke eased his fear somewhat, as he walked up the concrete steps he’d leapt down, stomped up, and slumped against hundreds of times.

There was no light in there, only what penetrated the rotting wooden boards and metal sheets that covered the windows. But here in the darkness, he suddenly realized he didn’t need the light. In fact, the absence of it only made his surroundings sharper.

Something else caught his attention: a strong scent. He couldn’t place it, but it made his mouth water, and the pain of hunger stabbed at his insides.

He snapped his head towards his old bedroom door. He could hear music, a beat at least.

Yes. Someone was here. Someone could help. They could explain.

He grabbed for the door handle and wrenched it open to be met with a muffled sound in the darkness.

A man was tied up there. Eddie rushed to help him.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, man. I’m gonna help you,” Eddie assured.

But the man’s wide eyes were absent of hope and slowly began to fill with tears as he tried to squirm out of Eddie’s reach. He was terrified and worse than that he was… what was that? Sadness? Anger? Regret? Eddie couldn’t pick it out. Not over the music, it was so loud, a pounding bass line and drums intertwined together.

“Look man, stop squirming around. I’m gonna help you, and then maybe you can help me, okay?” Eddie tried to reassure him again, but the man shook his head, the tears falling from his eyes skirted the moles on his cheeks.

He stepped back. Maybe this guy had something wrong with him, maybe he didn’t want Eddie to untie him, maybe he’d asked someone to keep him tied up, like in those old werewolf movies or something?

“Alright, easy big fella,” Eddie said and approached again carefully, “I’m just gonna remove the gag, alright?”

The man nodded, and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief and pulled apart the gag with a surprising amount of ease. So easy, he wasn’t sure how the man hadn’t bitten through it, but Eddie didn’t get to investigate that or the mystery sharp pain he felt, because the man started screaming at the top of his lungs.

“HELP ME! PLEASE GOD HELP ME! SOMEONE PLEASE! PLEASE HELP ME!” he yelled as he tried to wriggle away from Eddie.

“I am helping you, man. Shit. Calm the fuck down,” he tried to console him, but the man continued to scream and pray and call out names, and the music was so loud now. Obnoxiously so. Thrumming and crashing and the yelling and the hunger pains and his head hurt.

“SHUT UP!” Eddie yelled, clutching his head, and almost everything fell to silence, except for his stomach and that beat.

Eddie tore the room apart looking for where it was coming from while the now silent man cowered against the wall, but he found nothing.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just got overwhelmed with all the noise. I didn’t mean to scare you, okay. Come on, let’s get you out of here,” he said much more softly, approaching the man.

The whites around his handsome hazel eyes were on full display. The man looked horrified. His eyes looked like he was still screaming, but his mouth was firmly shut.

Eddie proceeded to try and help, trying to find the knot in his binds by following the weird sticky rope he had been tied up with.

As he leaned forward, the music started up again, and that scent was stronger than ever. It made him at odds with himself; he could tell the man was afraid the closer he got, but he couldn’t stop himself from getting closer. Until he was closely looming over him.

“It’s you,” Eddie snarled, “You’re making all the noise.” The man violently shook his head, eyes glistening with tears. “That aroma, what is that? Did you douse yourself in perfume? What is that?”

The man’s body shook, but no reply came.

“ANSWER ME!” Eddie roared in a voice that didn’t feel like his own, “SPEAK!”

The man’s plush, quivering lips began to part as Eddie’s chest heaved with anger.

“What are you? Why are you wearing his clothes?” The man’s trembling whisper fell from his lips.

Eddie would reply, but he didn’t know the answer. He couldn’t even concentrate on forming one because the scent, the pounding beat, and his hunger were back with a vengeance.

But as the man made a last-ditch attempt to get away, with a lightning speed reaction, Eddie stopped him and grabbed at the sign around the man’s neck that had flipped over.

**HAPPY RE-BIRTH DAY, EDDIE!**

**EAT UP! YOU WILL FEEL MUCH BETTER**

Eddie swallowed thickly, his eyes no longer fixed on the sign, were now fixed on the sun-kissed neck of the man below him. Two beauty marks sat on the man’s skin there, as if to show Eddie where to strike.

No, he couldn’t do that, eat someone. That was messed up. Eddie tried to turn away. He turned his eyes back to look at the man who was gasping for air and crying, it looked like, but he couldn’t hear it over the pounding beat. The beat coming from deep inside this man.

Eddie didn’t want the man to silence the music this time. He wanted to hunt it down, claim it for his own, and silence it himself.

But he couldn’t kill someone, he couldn’t eat someone. That was ridiculous. He even scoffed at his delusional thinking.

He scratched his head and reached for the bizarre ties that had the man bound again. He struggled to find any knots, just more gross ropes. The longer Eddie searched, the more his eyes flit back to the man’s neck, back to the loud rhythm that sang to his very soul.

The next thing Eddie knew, he had the man’s jaw firmly in his grip, twisting his head until a blood vessel began to raise in his neck.

He felt a haze descend upon himself as his tongue flicked out to lick the skin there, a slight hint of salt from sweat, but mostly the promise of something sweeter, richer than anything he had ever tasted in his life.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whimpered, “I’m just so damn hungry.”

Eddie tasted and licked softly at the man’s neck. Before he knew what was what, his teeth began to graze over the skin, slowly increasing with pressure until he scratched the surface.

A taste hit Eddie’s tongue, unlike anything he’d ever tasted before, igniting his very being with a droplet of it, and soon Eddie found himself clamped down on the man’s neck, gorging himself on his essence, and all he could do was hold the man still and gulp down his spoils until the music stopped.

[foxymoxynoona]

Amended Drabble: Pregnancy Announce #1

I have an Amended drabble request about Jungkook and Isabella telling their family that they're pregnant, but I decided I wanted to do two drabbles about it. So here is the first one, sort of a prequel, and I'll respond to the ask with the second one once I write it (since that one will focus on their family announcement.)

Story: Amended Characters: Isabella & Jungkook Words: 2610 CW: Fluff, some language, mentions of sex, references to earlier unplanned pregnancies and doubts

A shriek outside the window made Jungkook and Isabella both glance at it in alarm, though neither moved. About a minute later the shriek came again and this time an expression of concern flickered across Isabella’s face. Jungkook didn’t notice, his gaze unblinking at the dark glass, his reflection showing he was miles away right now in his mind. A third time the shriek came, this time further away.

“God that sounds like a person,” Isabella admitted, because it did and it needed to be said, even though she knew it wasn’t. It didn’t sound quite like a person. 

“Coyote,” Jungkook guessed, still not blinking.

“A coyote is more of a yip, isn’t it?”

“I dunno. Fisher cat?”

Isabella chewed her lip. She picked up her phone, but the timer showed when the face lit up and she threw it back down. But not looking wasn’t making time go any faster and she needed something to distract her before she lost her mind. She unlocked her phone and opened YouTube and pulled up a video of a coyote yipping.

“It’s not the same,” Jungkook mumbled. “Something else…” Isabella scrolled down in the comments, idly reading what others had said below. Turned out she wasn’t the only one who’d gone to YouTube to solve the mystery of shrieks in the night. One poster suggested a red fox, so she clicked on a related video.

“That’s it,” Isabella said as the sound happened again outside, moving further away, only a second before an identical sound played from her phone’s speaker. 

“What is it?” Jungkook asked. The lack of movement on his face was borderline uncanny, like he’d turned into a mannequin and yet retained his ability to speak, though in a more monotone way than he normally did. It couldn’t be helped, this partial phasing out. He was trying to be calm. Trying not to stress. Trying not to care, whatever happened. It was fine. Anything was fine. ‘Nothing’ was fine. 

“Red fox mating call.”

“Cool.”

“I guess—”

The timer went off on Isabella’s phone, startling her so badly she gasped and dropped her phone on the bed. Jungkook grabbed it and silenced it and now the life returned to his body as his stomach did a nervous flip. Isabella’s too. 

“I’m scared,” Isabella admitted after a moment of them just staring at each other. “I know that’s stupid,” she rushed out. “But I’m scared it’s going to hurt this time if it’s not…”

Jungkook nodded and gently took hold of her arms, still nodding as he insisted, “I know. But the trying is fun. It’s only been a few months. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“But I just have a feeling this time… if I’m wrong–”

“If you’re wrong, nothing happens except I fuck you a little more this month.” He tried to be light about it. It had only been seven months. Seven months was not much trying in the grand scheme of things, but he knew Isabella was frustrated by seven months after two unplanned children with zero months of intentional planning. He had thought the anticipation as her expected period date approached each month was part of the fun, but Isabella was already tired of it, and to be perfectly honest he was getting tired of it too. Tired of that little twinge of disappointment in his gut when each month taunted a bigger fear: what if this is going to be really hard for us? What if we have fertility problems? What if it’s my fault?

Ok, they’d had the experience now of counting the days, or hugging each other after a disappointing period, even the false hope when a period came late. Jungkook had never expected to know a woman’s period cycle as intimately as he did Isabella’s now, including that it was not very consistent, which was especially cruel when trying to get pregnant.

Isabella gave him a watery smile and took hold of his hand as they crossed to the bathroom sink. They’d done this part before too, taking a test after she was two weeks late, just across the date that an early detection test claimed to be able to tell. It had been negative. 

And now she was late again. Later than last time. They’d decided to wait a little longer to take the test so as to avoid the disappointment, and yet each day in which her period didn’t come left them a little more nervously hopeful. Any day now, any day now, any day now. But the blood didn’t come, even after a day of cramps, and Isabella grew nearly sick with anticipation until she couldn’t wait another day to do the stick test. She had to know. She didn’t want blood to give her the answer this time.

“Your hand is kind of shaking,” Jungkook noticed.

“Shut up!”

“If it’s negative, it’s negative. Nothing wrong. The doctor said to give it a year before we–”

“I know that,” she huffed. He’d been saying it more for himself than for her. Because it was going to be negative. It had to be. This was just another month like the last seven had been. They couldn’t just be pregnant. It didn’t just happen, even though it was something they were trying to make happen, the reality that she could actually be pregnant– well, that wasn’t real. None of this was real. Jungkook felt detached from it all. He felt outside of his body but didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it when it was just going to be negative again–

Isabella had admitted she thought she was pregnant, she’d finally said the words outloud to him a few hours ago after they had carefully avoided the subject other than a morning check of “Hey so did you start your period yet?” “Nope.” Her confession, that growing disbelief, sent Jungkook rushing to the store for the test. It had been hard to wait for the kids to fall asleep with the box waiting on the bathroom sink. Whatever the result, celebration or disappointment, it would be just between Isabella and Jungkook for now.

“You look,” Jungkook said as they approached where it rested beside the sink now. He kept his eyes carefully averted so he wouldn’t see anything.

“You don’t want to?”

“Ok, I can,” he said. 

“You scared to touch my pee? There’s a plastic cap and I wiped it–”

“I’ve never been scared of your pee.”

“Sicko.”

“You look.”

“No,” she said and shook both her hands and took a step away. “No, you do it. You tell me what it says.” Six times in her life she’d taken pregnancy tests, and twice they had been positive, and all those complicated feelings simmered in her belly now. Her first positive test had been gut-wrenching; she’d felt like her life was over before it even began. Her second positive test had been guarded joy, because she’d really thought things with Stig would be different, and that had turned out so terribly that it left a bitter taste in her mouth now. Before Jungkook, a negative pregnancy test had been such a relief –which felt terrible to say now, as if it somehow undermined how much she loved and appreciated her two wonderful children. But the circumstances had never been good, and right now those were the feelings swirling around, louder than her real children or this dreamed-of child she and Jungkook were trying to make. She suddenly felt seventeen again, terrified in her gut that she was right, she was pregnant, everything was going to end.

Jungkook swiped the stick up and looked at it, eyes already narrowed in preparation of deciphering hazy pink lines.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, dark gaze leaping to her. The words rushed out on a breath, ephemeral compared to the bold answer on the test. “It’s positive. Oh my god, it’s positive.” He couldn’t believe his own words as laughter bubbled up from his chest and he held his arms out. “It’s positive! We’re having a baby!”

Isabella promptly burst into tears.

“No!” Jungkook laughed, trying to pull her into a hug that she evaded. A wave of guilt and shame rolled over her, making her skin crawl, and she didn’t want to be touched for a moment. “What’s wrong! Bella?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just… It’s positive?!” She’d been so convinced herself earlier, and yet seeing the obvious ‘+’ on the test overwhelmed her. Old feelings overwhelmed her, all the fear and shame and panic of that very first pregnancy test at seventeen, the guarded hopes of the next one, and now… 

Jungkook just stared at her, not sure what to say or do as she wiped at her tears. His own exuberant joy paused, replaced instead with fear at this sudden show of disappointment from her. But she had wanted this! She said so! They’d been trying for seven months! And now it was positive and she looked like she’d been hoping for the opposite! 

“It feels wrong, it feels wrong,” she admitted, clasping her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, it feels wrong, I can’t be pregnant again…”

“You… don’t want a baby with me?”

The question got the answer she knew to be true, “I do! But… it doesn’t feel like… it feels like I fucked up again. It feels like we shouldn’t have done this. What if everything goes wrong now? What if–”

Her question made immediate sense to him and his deep sigh of relief washed over her shoulder as he successfully pulled her into a hug she now decided she did want.

“No, no, baby, everything will be different this time. Everything.”

“It just– always before it’s like yay a baby but everything else is terrible and then it goes wrong and– and I know it’s going to be different!” she insisted, letting herself be held. “I know that! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry, it’s just like all these old– just like muscle memory feelings–” She wasn’t making sense.

“No, I get it. But it’s us this time. You are married and loved and we’re doing good and our kids are doing good and our family is going to freak out and this– we wanted this. We did this on purpose. Everything is different this time.”

“I know but… but is it… it’s really true? We’re going to have a baby…”

“We’re going to have a baby,” he said again. She still had the test clutched in her hand as she slid her arms around his waist. “You and me, Bella, we’re having a baby.”

It was his cologne that did it maybe, or the warmth and softness of his arms around her, or the firmness of his shoulder beneath her chin. A positive pregnancy test had never really been a cause of celebration before, but Jungkook’s chest was moving quickly with excited breath and his hold was tight and she could feel the vibrations of his body. 

“We’re having a baby,” she repeated, feeling the words crystallize. “As long as nothing goes wrong– I mean, it’s early and things can go wrong– it’s so early and–”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” he said, choosing to believe it because in the moment it felt like it must be true. “Everything is going to be good. It’s going to be so good!”

“We’re really pregnant. Oh my god, we’re really pregnant…” The thrumming of her heart began to shift from panic to excitement. She felt the shift. He caused the shift.

“We’re pregnant!” he agreed, and wrapped her tight in his arms and spun her around. “Oh god, I’m so scared.”

“No, you can’t be scared, I’m scared!”

“No, you already cried, it’s my turn to be scared now,” he laughed, but he only partially meant it because in the moment, everything would go well, and he would figure it out, and anything was possible.

“No, you wanted this!”

“I do want this,” he immediately agreed. “And so did you. We didn’t do something wrong.”

She nodded and wiped the last of her tears away, her other arm still draped around his neck, “I know. Oh god, don’t ever tell our kid I cried like this when we found out. They’ll think I didn’t want them. I do!”

“I know.”

“I just can’t believe it… it’s really going to happen…”

“I just needed a few months to warm up,” he snickered. “Wanted to make sure I put the best baby in you, you know? And now we’re going to be golden.” He pulled her in close, feeling like if he didn’t hold her he’d vibrate apart. The budding frustrations of seven months of disappointment were gone in an instant, replaced with the unbelievable fact that it had worked and right this very second, a baby was growing in Isabella. A baby for them to raise together from the start.

Isabella tossed the pregnancy test aside, no longer needing to hold it to confirm the truth, though it would be a while before she fully believed it. Jungkook’s joy as he danced her around the room was infectious and papered over those old learned fears. 

Suddenly he stopped and nudged her towards the bed, “OK, wait, we have to be gentle now, no more rough-housing. You lay down and put your feet up–”

“Koo, that doesn’t start right away.”

“No, no, you need to rest, you have a big job to do now.”

“Yeah, I know but it’s like the size of a comma right now. I don’t have to immediately get into bed–”

“When is your doctor’s appointment? I’ll go–”

“We just found out five minutes ago! I don’t have a doctor’s appointment yet!” she laughed. His smile made it unclear whether he was joking or truly scrambled, flustered by this development. 

“Ok but I’ll go to them all. You and me are doing this together, every step. And Ezra and Lily –they’re going to be so good at this. And my family is going to lose their minds! And–”

Isabella felt that same giddiness, even though they ought to think more about who they told and when, considering just how early it was. But for the moment, she pushed away even those shadowy fears, and just held her hands out to him,

“But right now, it’s just our shared joy, so give me a kiss.”

“Whatever you want, Isabella. Anything you need, just ask.” He leaned in for the kiss but kept smiling too big, and when Gidget started pawing at the door, summoned by the commotion from her plush bed downstairs, Jungkook threw the door open and announced, “We’re having a baby, Gidget!”

“Don’t just start telling people yet!”

“She’s a dog! She won’t tell anyone! I have to tell someone.”

“Fine. But no one else, we should have the doctor confirm everything first–”

Jungkook suddenly leaned down to kiss Isabella again, Gidget bundled in his arms like a baby, tongue lolling from her mouth and feet scrabbling as she yipped to be a part of whatever was happening.

“Sure sure,” Jungkook beamed. “Ah, should we save the test? Put it in a baby book or something?”

“What?! No! Gross!”

“But it’s positive.”

“We’re not saving the pee stick,” Isabella laughed.

“Ok, right right… how about I’ll take a picture of it.”

“That’s a better plan,” Isabella agreed as he tossed Gidget down and ran to do so. And she felt in her gut that Jungkook was right: everything was different this time. Everything was golden. And he was going to be such a good dad.

Jungkook really fucking hoped so. 

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 13

CW: Carewhumper, non-con touching, referenced stalking/non-con bathing/nudity, gaslighting, panic attack

PART 12 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 14

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

All of this could be worse, Elliot had to constantly remind himself of this fact; so, so much worse.

At the very least he didn't find himself in the trunk of a Honda or a crack house bathroom, just the sparsely decorated home of Chris, being far more tidy than he'd like to give him credit for. Said man had disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Elliot to stew in bewilderment. The spots where skin had met skin started to itch.

Focus, come on. Neither the lonely houseplant next to the TV nor the properly aligned armchair could help him; behind the bed he was placed in stood a dresser with a full ashtray on it. The sun that had so rudely woken him up before already moved on, but the window it entered through didn't budge an inch, letting the muffled sound of cars driving up and down the road flow through the glass. They were at least on the third floor.

Jump, a harsh force pulled at his stomach, now. What else would he break in the process?

The smell of vanilla and sugar let him come to a bit more, a sour taste gathering at the thought of what's next to come. Even though Elliot had no idea why he was taken again, the animal part of his brain prepared for the worst regardless; knowing this time could be dangerous in a whole different sort of way.

"Do you like pancakes?" Morris called out, looking back from the kitchen to check if this was still real, if Elliot was really with him now, "Of course you do."

Did he? Elliot wasn't so sure about it anymore, he couldn't get his next steps on track: a rescue he couldn't remember, the warm welcome, the fact that Amber was just old news - where did this suddenly come from? What do you call a joke nobody's laughing about?

Wrapped up in the hysteric circle of repetitive thoughts, his hands started to knead hills and valleys into the blanket and rewarded his already tense arm with a short sting of fire. Elliot usually avoided to, but looking down at his palms, he noticed the rough red lines of dark scab across them.

"Did I fall?" he whispered to nobody in particular.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, you were bleeding; your knees too. Don't you feel that?" The well-meaning hint fell on deaf ears.

Though Elliot did feel that. An all-too familiar burn started spreading its stinging tendrils out to reach his elbow first and if not appeased quickly enough, it would only grow further. On some days, it crawled up behind his eyes.

But not yet, there was still time. Finally ready to act, Elliot threw the heavy covers off his legs, which were not tied together despite the uneasy memories. He could work with that.

The cooked batter already built up bubbles, he could see it from where he was standing now, the kitchen also being the entrance area and final room to separate them from the outside world. After flipping it over to reveal a perfectly browned crust, Morris at last noticed him: "I thought of you, moving north into the wilderness to ride moose and become a park ranger or whatever. She got me good; upstate, my ass!"

Jesus Christ, what is he going on about? Elliot had read an article about brain damage some odd months ago: poor Morris probably had an aneurysm during the time they didn't see each other, and hopefully would be blessed with another one soon. This had to be it. He, for one, didn't act like a guy who got invested in a spontaneous religious awakening.

Elliot swallowed hard, interrupting the senseless yapping and looking into Morris' steam-covert face that only underlined his unsettling glassy expression: "I can't do this again. Please, I give you everything."

They faced each-other while still keeping a good distance, with the door to the hallway practically only a jump away. Elliot could make it.

"The bathroom is on your right," Morris said through a patient smile, "Freshen up a bit."

--------

Coward. Even a splash of cold water on his puffy eyes didn't soothe the lingering frustration; if this were the Olympics, he'd be awarded the golden medal for backpedaling, especially when it came to his own survival. You dumb fucking coward.

Elliot even lacked the guts to lock the bathroom door. When push comes to shove, one could bet Morris would just kick the hinges in.

Where had the time gone; the time he should have used to prepare, to take action against Morris? Not boxing, naturally, but something... anything meaningful. All that followed was well deserved, it seemed, the punishment for wasting away in his childhood bedroom and staring motionless at a wall for eight months.

The bathroom mirror gave a flash of relief as Elliot pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Think! 

For the first time in a long year, he looked at his reflection. A broken man glared back through empty eyes. Single beads of water ran down his chin to be soaked up into his shirt, already damp with the stench of fear and sweat.

The shirt he wore the whole night; a shirt he did not wear yesterday, one he did not even own, meaning that Morris had to- Oh god.

Maybe he should think less, before losing the last bit of sanity.

Not that it mattered, Elliot's only goal was clear: convince Chris to leave him alone, even when he had to bear his unorthodox signs of reparation. Smile and nod and play Crazy Eights until he opens the door: old habits and such. Nothing to lose this time, he could do it!

As Elliot awkwardly stalked back to the kitchen, the stinging had already engulfed his whole left hand and throbbed with every horrid expectation. One favor Morris could do him, if this went south too, was to cut the damn thing off already. Turning around into the kitchen fully now, he was greeted by the same stupid grin that send him away. At least one of us is having fun.

Elliot was gently led to the table and forced to sit tight until the chef was gracious enough to join him; dragging his chair to position it opposite to his guest. A stack of warm pancakes was placed carefully in front of both; they didn't look half bad.

So this was the apology breakfast then.

"Here you go, Ell!"

The cutlery slid right next to the plate and with Chris closer than ever before, Elliot could feel his body heat on his face. By reflex, his head curled down to make himself as small as possible, as if mesmerized by the pancakes he was blankly staring at.

"Say when." A thin stream of sticky maple started to coat them: the apology syrup, surely.

He would have appreciated all the effort in a different context, but with his sweaty right clenched around the butter knife, any sense of domestic bliss was lost.

Elliot felt his mouth go dry in anticipation; bile already collecting further.

None of them had noticed how heavy their breathing went, so Morris decided to be more brisk and let the hand he had positioned so innocently on the backrest slip down the small of Elliot's neck.

This is the apology- the-the apology...

The touch of rough fingers against his sensitive skin made Elliot shudder violently and writhe away from the contact. Even though that wasn't a "when", the steady drizzle of syrup stopped in its flow.

Letting his hand wander even further down to dip under his collar and between his shoulder blades, Chris too was mesmerized. His skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch; stroking back and forth, up and down to soothe his boy who was nearly losing it again. So tense.

He knew it only got worse the longer this medicine he demanded was held back, so why not enjoy the last calm moments for a while. Brushing the peach fuzz at the base of his hairline awarded Chris a low whine. So pretty.

His left arm was sore by now and already cooking up a storm, Elliot could feel it.

Morris felt glad his guest was deadly focused on the meal he made them, otherwise his bright red face would only prove how excited he was getting.

He hadn't missed how much longer Elliot's hair had grown, still happy that he managed to wash it last night. Speaking of which, was he always this pale and skinny? He did look kinda rough, Chris determined with a frown, they hadn't taken good care of him, wherever he'd been before.

Not for much longer, of course.

Elliot too had learned from his mistakes, though he never expected to use his newfound knowledge. Enjoying a bite to wake up god-knows-where; no, thank you! It made little sense to take his meds and just drug him still, but he had to anticipate senseless acts from a senseless man.

Elliot wouldn't look up, hell no, that face just helped to make him throw up faster.

"Sorry, but I'm not eating this," Elliot murmured, unsure if there was a gentle way of teaching him that.

Morris looked sheepish: "Oh, is it burned? The first ones always get a little bit more...crispy."

He neither took silence nor no for an answer, but two could play that game.

"So, what do you want to do after this?", Morris asked. He hoped to get the best use out of their intimacy before the inevitable temporary mood killer.

"You talk a lot." Sadly, not one coherent sentence. So Elliot refused to give in to the chit-chat.

"I'm just excited," Morris admitted quietly while desperate to hide the red blotches on his face.

Excited about what?

He had to sound like a broken record by now: "Did I do something wrong? I didn't tell anyone, I swear!"

Morris sighed.

"No, no, I'm not angry with you, is that so hard to believe?" He couldn't stop playing with full, dark strands of hair. "I just said these things to buy more time."

Collecting what remained of his shaky words, Elliot failed to bite his tongue any longer. Sweet-talk me all you want.

"Y-you said, you'd kill my mother."

Morris would never, scout's honor! That woman was huge.

"Yeah, I didn't mean that, obviously!" came the annoyed huff.

Obviously, like Morris wasn't a dangerous man to be around. Obviously, like it was Elliot's fault for believing threats against their lives.

"Wouldn't make a difference if you had told them, either."

A difference for Elliot nonetheless, one could suppose, seeing how drenched in tears he suddenly was. In another life, one where he got to be less of a disappointment, he told his parents and doctors the truth to make peace with himself. 

At worse, new accusations only fast-tracked Morris tardy rendezvous with justice. Dragging an unconscious stranger through the streets perhaps did raise some eyebrows... Do you even know about the warrant? Maybe you like a spark of danger.

Unable to protest, free-flowing tears got thumbed away by a caring hand and unbeknownst to Elliot, Morris simply loved that he let himself cry freely.

In the open space behind them, a phone started humming anew. The unhappy musician was finally lucid enough to recognize the melody this time: Für Elise.

In case he had been smart enough to spend the last months growing a backbone, he would have spat Morris straight in the face. The sheer audacity made all tears ebb in an instant.

After what had been more than enough time with strange hair between his fingers, Morris took a seat and let his head drop into his hands: "I hope that doesn't bother you, I'm just gonna let it ring."

Actually, it did bother Elliot, but in a whole different way.

"Where's my phone?", he asked instead, because surly, whatever scenario he was dragged into, Morris considered him sympathetic enough to gift him one call. Like in the movies.

Bet he isn't dumb enough to let it lie around.

The response he got was a worthless shrug: "You didn't have one on you."

How well did that freak search me?

The only other explanation was him losing it during the fall, where and when this supposedly happened was a whole different mystery to him. Taking a hesitant forkful of batter into his mouth, Elliot hoped his good manners would earn him a blink of silence: time he needed to think about his next steps. For now, it only brought a satisfied grin onto himself.

After a few more minutes, the ringing died down.

--------

It became extremely clear that Elliot's plan would go up in flames. A chat with Chris, to smile and look pretty, forcing half a pancake down his tightening throat - he really put all into it. It wasn't enough.

His face burned brightly now too, from fear or rising nerval misery was unclear, all he knew was that it hurt. Pearls of sweat slipped along his fingertips into his lap while Morris was too busy cleaning up the table: "I guess you're full for now, huh?"

The low coo only made him twitch in his seat. Elliot had to stop losing himself.

"How's your...the-the rabbit. You had one of those, right?" Chris asked, turning towards the sink to put the dishes in.

"Good," Elliot tried to say, but any effort to speak was cut off by a choking flare that shot up his neck. The ache hit him without warning throughout every muscle fiber and surged right back into its birthplace, over and over, until nothing but a hollow wheeze shook his body.

It hadn't been this bad in a long time; his skull threatened to split into pieces and if nobody was here to help, then Elliot was glad to take the job.

Fuck Chris and his absolution, if he didn't want to finish what he started, so be it.

This wasn't an abandoned crack house, he didn't need to leave the building, but just had to find someone who lived here too.

Move, the force demanded again, now; and this time Elliot listened.

Without second thought, he slid from the chair and leaped for the door, even closer to it than ever before.

One -two- three steps now and with the door latch just in reach, he-

A thick arm quickly wrapped around his waist to throw him unceremoniously against the nearest wall. His left hand was on fire.

"Let go!" Elliot gasped loudly; too close to screaming for Chris' liking, so a skilled grip around the neck made him shut it quite nicely.

"Calm down, it's alright. Just don't be loud." At least right now. Nobody minded him being noisy elsewhere...soon, he couldn't expect this right off the bat. "Look, I'll let go, but the door is locked anyway, so don't freak out again."

What Elliot tried didn't came as a surprise, but hurt him nonetheless. Morris was more disappointed than upset.

"I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just trying to help!"

Still pressed against the wood-chip wallpaper, one fist grabbing his left arm and one flat on his chest, Elliot could do nothing but take ragged breaths. He was going insane, without question.

"Then help me," he wailed, "nothing of this is alright, I want to leave!"

"You want your next fix, but I won't let that happen, sweetie," he replied sullenly, noticing how Elliot cringed at the pet name. There was enough time to find one that fit.

"I'm not a fucking junkie!" he tried now, his breaking voice didn't make this any more convincing, much less his mood.

"Then why so antsy, huh?"

"It hurts," Elliot mewled, trying to pull his hand free, "just stop!"

"Why? I'm not even holding on tight..."

What was this man going on about? Elliot wondered if he was that dumb; or maybe found it funny.

"You know why," he whispered baffled.

Morris' disappointment spread. He knew what that meant, an imminent truth he tried to sugarcoat for a while: the answer to the question of why Elliot didn't show up for the Oratorio, or any other show after that.

Loosening his grip on the arm, but still pressing Elliot closer against the wall, he took his time to inspect the damned hand in question, to really look at his past fuck-up.

It was clearly thinner and paler, even compared to the rest of Elliot, except for the gnarly red scar line that ran from his wrist all the way to the back of his pinky. Fresh new wounds aside, the weakly curled up pair of fingers, four and five respectively, refused to spread out, not held by force but lack of it.

Morris could feel the rigid metal wires under the dewy, paper-like skin. A few pins in there, or a plate at least. The noise when knife met bone played on loop in his ears: the moment once sharp crunch turned into soft smacks.

This wasn't supposed to happen, all of it was simply wrong.

"Why does it look like that, Ell?"

"You tell me, asshole!"

The tension between them rose high again, and with their faces just inches apart, Elliot prayed that he overheard his insult. Any more pressure and his fingers would just snap on impact.

Despite it all, the confused man didn't pay him any mind, too focused on the fruit of his labor: "That doesn't make sense, it should be back to normal by now."

Through the smoke of pain and leftover narcotics, Elliot wondered if he could be braver this time around, as he pulled the hand back to his side.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I want - I need to go home. I don't understand why you're doing this at all. You're so-"

Different, yes. His Elliot was on the best way to finally understand. Chris didn't want to confess yet, it would be too much at once.

"I missed you." The soothing tone was put on in good faith.

"Missed?" It was practically spat at him. Missed what? Beating me? "Didn't you do enough already?"

Craving revelation, though refusing to back down, both men clenched their jaw tight.

"You need to stop, Morris," Elliot had one last desperate offer to give in case Chris really was insane, not in the pop psychology sort of way, but by being a seriously sick man: "I-I can visit you, okay?!"

Why visit when you can just stay?

"Elliot, quit being so formal."

A buzz ripped them apart. Go to hell, Elise!

Gladly, Morris let go of his chest to stomp over to the kitchen counter.

"Fucking Belanger, I swear to god." With a swift motion, the call was ended. It was obvious that dear Chris tried to keep his facade alive, even with all nerves on edge.

"That's my - uh, that's not really my boss, he only annoys me sometimes."

Elliot nodded wordlessly, as if he could give a rat's ass about Morris and his little pusher friends running around town, playing UNO all night long and ruining other people's relationships.

"Just ignore that, he's from Quebec so," he rolled his eyes excessively, "y'know?!"

No, Elliot didn't know. Respectively, he knew nothing, even after spending all morning with him. The oh-so obvious reason for his stay was still a blank hole of ignorance for him.

He couldn't believe a single word coming from that bastard's mouth, he was a liar back then, and he would be one on every single day to come.

Elliot didn't even register how badly he was shivering.

"We just take it slowly," Morris offered, but struggled to cleanse the atmosphere, "only talk and spend some time together. Do you know Azul? The game with the little tiles?"

Elliot sensed how this would go, the bile in his mouth started having the horrible aftertaste of moonshine and ichor.

Oh god, I can't do this again.

Dizziness hit him from nowhere and took all leftover strength from his already drained body. Panting heavily, Elliot didn't remember how he ended up on the cold floor, just how he kept on shaking whilst staring at Morris through blurry eyes.

As if underwater, no words reached him.

He'd laugh at himself, how the thought of another game night made his already wild panic spike, if his lungs didn't trick him into believing he was drowning on land.

I can't do this again, I can't do this again.

"Hey!"

A weight was placed on his chest, wrapping around his ribs and holding him close - so, so close as if to press all the fear out of him. His mind was racing, partly happy the oncoming lightheadedness alleviated the pain being pumped into him with every fluttering heartbeat.

Inhaling was needles in his lungs, exhaling pointless. The air refused to leave against the source of the comforting pressure.

"-need my pills," was the last thing he could force out, before the rest of Chris' heavy body buried him in a tight embrace. Next to Elliot's ear, he shook his head and shushed him gently.

"You're good for me" he murmured, fighting to keep the clutch, "I'm sorry, we'll make this work."

Unable to help himself, Elliot gave in to the dark walls that were closing in around them, praying for unconsciousness to take him away quickly.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[shads-shipposts]

Can I offer a protective Allan in these trying times?

CW: Being a burden/annoying

WC: 505

——————————————

Sakharine scoffed. “That idiotic and obstinate mindset of yours will land you at the bottom of the sea.” His tone turned sweet, persuasive. “Come now, be sensible! A man like Allan does not have the patience to have a child following him around asking questions. He has no time for such annoying burdens.”

Allan expected another sharp remark. Maybe even physical violence, as Shadow had shown an affinity for both. But Shadow’s response was far more sickening and left a hollow ache deep in Allan’s chest.

Shadow flinched.

Allan exchanged a glance with Tom, who stared back with a mix of pain and anger.

Guess I know one of her weaknesses now.

Allan felt no triumph in the revelation, just a sinking feeling in the pit in his stomach. He despised empty victories, and this was certainly one of those.

“Enough,” he growled.

He tried pulling Shadow back into him, hoping to offer some comfort. Some reassurance that that wasn’t how he viewed her at all.

But Shadow jerked out of his grip, heading for the door and shoving Tom out of the way as the man tried to comfort her. The door slammed behind her, Tom wincing at the sound.

“Tom,” Allan ordered. “Keep an eye on her.”

Tom nodded and quickly left the room, yelling Shadow’s name.

Allan turned to Sakharine, itching to drive his fist through the man’s skull or maybe put a bullet through it. “What the fuck was that about?” he spat.

Sakharine threw him a scornful look. “Mind you tongue-“

“Mind your own,” Allan interrupted. “Shadow is not a burden to me, or anyone else on this crew!” His voice rose, white-hot anger burning just beneath his skin. “You have no right to treat her like that because you’re pissy that she doesn’t trip over herself trying to appease you!”

“Look at that, the mutineer has a soft spot,” Sakharine sneered. He prodded Allan with his cane, the blade still sheathed but the threat still very much present. “Mind how you speak. That girl may know the events, but she doesn’t know the location of the treasure. Any loyalty to her or faith in her is misguided and ill-placed.”

Allan stepped forward, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction as fear flickered in Sakharine’s eyes and the older man staggered back. “Don’t think for a second I won’t kill you,” he warned, voice now deadly soft. “Don’t think for a second your money or status makes you invulnerable. I could give the word and my crew would tear apart without hesitation.” His next words scarcely rose above a whisper. “While you’re still alive.”

“Get… get away from me,” Sakharine choked out, the crack in his voice destroying any visage of bravery.

“You may control the money, and the law, but you do not control me.” Allan straightened and turned away. “You would do well to remember that, boss.” Spitting the last word like poison, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door so hard the window shattered.

[pencilpat]

Sanders Sides: College AU - Part 6

Character sheets | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“Did you not enjoy meeting me?” Patton tries to ignore the sweat on their skin as though these simple questions are an interrogation. “I did enjoy meeting you, J! You’re fun to talk to.”

Patton continues to be tangled in the coils of Janus's not-well-thought-out revenge plans. Virgil is struggling over the changes his partner is exhibiting. Remus and Roman decide some things matter more than drama from high school.

3,012 words

[CW: manipulation, drug mentions, character experiencing psychosis, mentions of panic attacks, alcohol mentions, discussion of holiday related trauma, abusive father mention, abusive mother mention, codependent familial relationship]

▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸▸

The charms on Patton’s phone clack against each other as they walk down the street, glancing hurriedly around for a particular park bench between a bakery café and a bar. They glance at the texts from their new friend J one more time, scrolling up slightly through several days of messages just to check they have everything right. It’s midday on a weekend, and Patton may or may not have had to tell a small fib to get time away from the others; nothing terrible, they just told them they had some shopping to do.

They clutch their phone at their chest, nervously glancing up at a bakery with the correct name. They look around the sidewalk as they come up to it, landing on a bench right outside. The green painted wood stands out cheerily in an area of town where most color comes from neon signs promising your wildest of parties. It’s empty, however, and they hum to themselves and sit down, smoothing out their overall-dress with a heavy sigh.

Pat: Hey J! I’m here, where are u?

They fire off a confused text, rubbing their forehead and adjusting their glasses. The bakery wafts warm smells out at them that nearly, almost, cover the reek of the bars all around it. It’s a quiet little spot that seems so out of place… It’s kind of cute, with a wood cabin façade on the front of the brick building and rows of pastries in the window.

🍏❤: Look up

Patton rereads her message twice, glancing up and blinking rapidly around. From the glass door of the café, they finally see her, waving them inside with a glimmering smile and black gloved hands. Patton sighs in relief and enters the store, face to face with her.

“Hi J! I thought you might have bailed on hanging out for a moment.”

“Oh, Pat, please. I would never turn down an opportunity with you.”

Patton giggles slightly. “You say that like we’ve been friends for years instead of this being our third time even meeting up!”

J shrugs at them, a wry grin crossing the corners of her lips. She gestures around at the incredibly cozy looking bakery with armchairs and coffee tables instead of restaurant tables. “Is this more your thing than the bars we tried last time?”

“Oh!” Patton touches their chest, appreciating being thought of like that. “Um, yes, this is nicer and calmer. Those bars were a lot for me. So was being drunk.”

J smirks. “Yes, I could gather that considering you almost threw up in the bathroom.”

“Hey, don’t kick someone when they’re down, J!” Patton jokes, patting at her arm repeatedly. Looking over at the counter and the menu above it, Patton sees pastries, several coffees, and a whole separate menu of hot chocolates. “I guess it is getting close to the holidays,” they murmur as the two of them approach. Janus glances at them, but just proceeds with ordering a mint cocoa. Patton ends up settling on a Mexican style hot cocoa, which has never let them down in deliciousness before.

As they both sit down, Janus leans her chin on her hands. “So, what is it about the holidays that made you look like a shellshocked war vet all of a sudden?”

“Oh!” Patton tries to wipe anything but a smile off of their face. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to worry about it!”

“Hm, who said I was worried. Curious would perhaps be a more accurate word. Don’t you enjoy them? Sitting down with those you love and pretending, for just a moment in time, that all is well…” Janus trails off in thought, eyes closing.

“I think it’s all that pretending that I don’t like about it, actually. I had to pretend everything was just fine one too many times on Christmas day.”

“Oh?”

Patton flinches at their own revealing words. The distant image of their dad’s used needles on the coffee table alongside wrapping paper rotates in their mind, a thought they can’t banish. They knock their knuckles on the wooden armrests three times, taking a breath and holding it for a moment. The image moves on. “Yeah, the holidays weren’t… the best of times, growing up. Well, nothing was really the best of times back then.”

J says nothing for a moment, before realizing Patton has stopped. “Leaving me on a cliffhanger, Pat?”

“I don’t really like talking about it-“

The conversation is cut off by the appearance of a barista who sets their drinks in front of them with a wave. Patton picks up the red mug they were given, blowing on the steam and floating around a lone cinnamon stick inside of it. Decidedly not making eye contact. J stares at them, resting her gloved hands over the warm mug and drinking in the heat on her cold limbs. She massages her throat, deciding on a tone of voice to use. Concern? Guilt tripping? Passive aggressive? ‘Genuine’ kindness?

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she says, settling on a compassionate, slightly upset tone. “But I just want to help, in any area I can.”

Patton shifts in their chair, and meets her eyes again with a tired sigh. “No, it’s okay, I know you just… just want to help. I don’t like talking about my childhood a lot of the time.” Janus nods, preparing to catalogue information for later. “It wasn’t a good one. My dad wasn’t a good guy, honestly, but- but he was very good at pretending to be. Went to church every Sunday, did substances in his free time, you know, typical hypocritical religious man.” Patton laughs uncomfortably, and Janus tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. Patton sips their still scalding cocoa, trying to hide or divert somehow. “A-anyways, he’s gone now. I don’t talk to my mom either, so… yeah.”

“Seems like you have a storied past, Pat. Does your… boyfriend take good care of you, at least? Did you take him out somewhere like I suggested?”

“Oh, he does take good care of me, yes! We both help each other with our mental health a lot.” Patton rubs their hand over the side of the mug anxiously. “I tried taking him somewhere during school hours as a surprise like you said might work, but I don’t know, I think it just upset him. There’s been some personal drama in our friend group.”

“Oh, has there?” she says. Janus represses the urge to be pleased with herself, because Patton seems upset in a way that even she doesn’t feel comfortable toying with.

“Yeah… Our housemate’s brother had to be kicked out.”

“Really?” she says, faux shocked. “And what caused that?”

“He was… involved with drugs,” Patton whispers. “And it was really- It- It could have put my friends in danger. We were being harassed by his dealers.”

“Was he not your friend as well?”

“Not… not in a real, genuine way. We would argue more than actually enjoy being around each other. We had very different ideas about right and wrong.”

“And what are your ideas on right and wrong, Pat?”

Patton chuffs out a light laugh. “Well, the main point of contention we argued on was that drugs are absolutely never a good thing, especially if other people are involved too.”

“Right, and that’s why you were out drinking alone when we met.”

Patton tenses up and hides in another sip of too-hot cocoa. “That was my first time ever- I do not go out. Not, at least, before we met.”

“Did you not enjoy meeting me?”

Patton tries to ignore the sweat on their skin as though these simple questions are an interrogation. “I did enjoy meeting you, J! You’re fun to talk to.”

“Well, at least I have that going for me. God forbid I secretly be a drug dealer or something, could you imagine?”

“You’re… not, are you?”

Janus’s smile falls dramatically into a near cartoonish disappointed frown, and she raises an eyebrow at them. “I was joking, no, I don’t do any substances but booze.”

“Okay, good, ha,” Patton relaxes a slight bit, breathing out a low breath. “How about you, J? I revealed some childhood of mine – how was yours?”

“Definitely just as bad as yours, sweetie.” It’s Janus’s turn to awkwardly sip at her mug, feeling small all of a sudden, as though the entire world is watching her rather than the single, spectacled gaze of her new 'bestie.' Patton stares at her curiously until the silence is making her uncomfortable. “I haven’t talked to either of my parents since I was 15 if that tells you anything.”

“Why’s that?”

Janus sighs through her nose, eyes closing tiredly for a moment as she picks her words carefully. “I got kicked out to put it simply. My parents were very traditional, only second-generation immigrants with a whole lot of strong ideals and desires about my future. They didn’t take kindly to having a trans kid, to say the least.” Patton nods, eyebrows creased sympathetically, encouraging her to keep going. “I made it on my own from there. Now, here I am. Voila.”

“That was a lot of words to tell me almost nothing at all, J,” Patton teases her lightly.

“I don’t prefer divulging so much information when I’ve met someone all of three times.”

Patton shrugs, humming. “That’s fair, I won’t pry! I don’t have a crowbar anyways.”

Janus chuckles, rolling her eyes just slightly. “Ugh, wordplay. Anyways. How is your drink?”

“Oh, it’s very nice! Hot cocoa never misses though, so it’s to be expected,” Patton smiles across at her. Janus hums, drinking deep from her mug, letting the warm feeling replace her pain just for a moment. She needs to remain unrecognized, but damn is it rough to get around without her crutches. The mint and chocolate taste does a good job of flooding her sense out. She sighs out a breath, peeking at Patton through one eye.

“This is nice. Very relaxing, quiet. Never thought I could enjoy an activity that is basically just sitting there.”

“Well, just sitting there can be nice! Especially with a friend.”

Janus smiles, though whether it’s a reaction to the kindness or a grim nod to how far from friendship this really is, even she couldn’t tell you. “I’m glad you feel that way, Pat. I suppose we can do more things at ‘your pace’ from here on; I’ve realized I just might need the relaxation. Plus, you are ever-interesting to learn about.”

Patton smiles at her sheepishly, and her lips split into a smile as well, teeth bared and glimmering under her thick black lipstick.

--

They’ve attempted to practice this song before, so Virgil lets himself get very, very into it, banging the drums like he has a personal vendetta against percussion instruments while Roman attempts to keep up on his bass guitar. Roman sweatily plays the last notes of the song, but Virgil doesn’t stop playing, seemingly just starting right back into the drums for the chorus in a loop, his eyes closed and face scrunched up.

“Virgil!” Roman attempts to call out to him four times, and eventually just walks up to him and catches the cymbal as he was about to hit it, muffling it and finally startling him out of his trance. “Earth to emo, the song’s over already!” Virgil just stares at him for a moment, panting with wide eyes.

“Uh- Sorry. I got caught up in it.”

“No kidding,” Roman snarks, leaning against his kit. “How are we supposed to have a successful recording if you are dead set on becoming the next Def Leopard?”

“Sorry, jeeze,” Virgil mumbles. He begins getting up and moving towards their water bottles, and Roman can’t help noticing how stiff and uncomfortable he looks.

“Virgil?” he stops him. “Hey, is something amiss?”

Virgil sighs, chugs a large gulp of water, and then wipes his brow. “Yeah, it’s- I’m fine, it’s nothing serious.”

“You are acting fishier than sushi Sundays, just tell me what’s up.”

Virgil groans. “I dunno. Patton’s just been… weird lately. Have you noticed it at all?”

Roman tries to think, tapping his chin. “Nothing outside of their usual oddities.”

“They’ve been veering into really upsetting territory for me lately.” Roman makes an inquiring hum, and Virgil grimaces. “Really quick to tell white lies and immediately assure me it won’t have any consequences. They also stay up in the living room most nights instead of coming to bed with me early like they used to. And they keep leaving the house for seemingly no reason.”

“Not necessarily the most unlike them they could act, but it is odd. Do you think it could be new rituals? Do they need their meds adjusted?”

Virgil shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know. They haven’t needed their meds changed in at least half a year; they’ve been really stable anxiety-wise? It’s just- just weird, and I don’t like it. It keeps making me have panic attacks.”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that. Have you spoken with them about it yet?”

“No, I’m too nervous that I’m just being… being over-cautious.” Virgil pulls up his hood, gripping the sides of it and worrying with the fabric. “What if I bring it up and they think I’m being crazy?”

Roman touches his hands with his, for once gloveless, fingers, looking at him seriously. “You know for a fact Patton would never in their life call you crazy, especially when you are just concerned for them. Whatever it is, I know they’ll let us know when they feel like they can. Until then, I know it’s asking much from you, but trust them.”

Virgil grimaces, but it fades into a soft smile. “Thanks for reassuring me, Rom, I’m sorry. Just get a little anxious sometimes.”

“Oh please, in another universe, the name on your birth certificate is ‘Anxiety’ Addams instead,” Roman teases. Virgil scoffs, then swipes Roman’s bangs into his face, leaving him sputtering on his own hair as they both laugh.

--

Roman is already settled cozily in bed and half asleep when his phone begins ringing, and he groans at it dramatically for ruining his sleep. He fumbles on his bedside table and pulls the bright light into view. He nearly drops the phone in his urgency to pick it up the second his sleepy eyes register Remus’s contact name.

“Remus! You’re calling me?! You dick, just text me when I te-“

“Do you hate me, Roman?”

Roman just kind of freezes in place, listening to his twin’s very heavy breathing. “Remus? Are you okay?”

Remus laughs shakily on the other end. “Change of environment finally caught up with me. The stress of ignoring you did too, I guess.”

Roman cups the phone against his ear as though it could count as comforting Remus across the phone line. “I don’t hate you, no. I don’t think I could manage it as much as I like to pretend I can.” Roman replies to him with as much sober sincerity as he posed the question. “You’re my brother, you know?”

“Being their son didn’t make them love me. I don’t know why you’d uphold family ties so much after everyone else got rid of me.” Roman hears Remus’s breath hitch, and he knows instantly that he must be feeling things grabbing his legs again. It’s a common but very distressing hallucination for him.

“Remus, mom and dad can suck shit,” Roman declares, and to his happiness, it draws a more genuine sounding chuckle from his twin. He can’t help smiling at the sound of his stupid laugh. “Maybe family ties are bullcrap, but whatever you and I have isn’t anything like how mom and dad ‘showed love.’ We actually love each other, like real fucking family.” Roman pauses, listening to Remus breathe again, proving his twin is there to himself. “I did promise I’d always take care of you. Nothing about that has changed.”

“It has though, y’know?” Remus’s voice shakes slightly. “We’re adults, like fully now, and we can’t be that close anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be healthy for two 20ish bros to share a bed, no offence but I don’t like you like that,” Remus jokes, making Roman snort out a laugh and roll his eyes.

“Remus, you’re such an idiot. I do concede that I never want to share a bed with you again because you stink,” Remus laughs on the other end, but Roman continues. “But us doing that isn’t the extent of brother-ness. You were sick, like really sick, back then. We can care for each other… outside the context of suffering, too.”

“Even though I went and stayed with her? Do you really think Virgil could handle you still talking to me regularly?”

Roman sighs. “Look- Just- Some things are more important than that stupid godawful fight from high school. You and I weren’t even involved, we just had to physically put ourselves between them.”

“Didn’t know Virgil was capable of being that scary TBH,” Remus mutters, pronouncing each letter of the acronym.

“Yyyeah, me either up until then.” He sighs. “We couldn’t exactly not take his side, you know?”

“We could have not taken sides at all!”

“Remus, look, Janus isn’t – or at least wasn’t – a good person or a good friend, and even if you’re talking to her, don’t bring her into me and Virgil’s lives if you can help it. Please?” Roman listens to him breathe in deeply.

“I won’t, don’t worry about that. Look your highness, I need to go and smoke a joint, or else this episode is just getting worse for the night, but Roman?”

“Yes Remus?”

“I promise I won’t ignore your texts anymore. See you never, loser.”

“See you in tartarus , you jerk,” Roman says playfully, rolling his eyes. “And… Love you.”

There’s a pause of silence and shifting for a bit longer than comfortable. “Love you too, Rom,” Remus says, quickly hanging up and leaving Roman alone in the darkness again.

[valyalyon]

August, 2023

CW: Domestic violence, verbal and physical abuse, brief descriptive details of sexual violence. Minors DNI.

August 1, 2023. 9:00pm.

I’m a mom, now! I feel overjoyed, exhausted, and entirely overwhelmed by love. His name is Theo, and he’s just 2 hours old. I’m staring at him in the bassinet. He’s so sweet… My soul feels light for once. I always wondered if it was possible to feel this happy and free.

Harvey’s been hanging around, typical Harvey fashion he only wants to be around for the “important” windows of time. Not because he considered them important, but because he knew other people would be there and he wanted to save face. Anyway, he left 5 minutes after the nurses left the room, 10 minutes after the birth of our son.

I think he went back home. I don’t care.

I have Theo, and nothing matters. Love is a bond forged through shared experiences, and Theo had been mine long before his birth, and before mine.

August 4, 2023.

Back home with Harvey and Theo. Theo is still melting my heart with every second. I’ve been breastfeeding and staying up with him, making sure he’s clean and taken care of. He latches onto me easily, and hasn’t given me any issues. I don’t know why I’m so lucky, but I love him endlessly.

Harvey might not be the most emotional, but he is always financially taking care of us, and making sure I don’t have to work again until I’m ready. I’ve been working since I was 15, and while I have a full time job now, I’ve had 2-3 jobs at a time, for years. I’m just saying I’m tired.

Getting to spend this time with Theo, without having to worry about working to pay bills? It’s nice.

August 11, 2023.

I had been heating up pre-packaged meals for Harvey and I since I returned from the hospital, since I didn’t have the energy to stand in the kitchen and cook, and since Harvey absolutely refused to cook. On our 1 year wedding anniversary, 10 days after the birth of our son while I still hadn’t recovered, I decided to spend a little extra time to make him a fresh meal.

It took me a little longer than it would have if I was healed, but by the time he arrived home, the food was ready for him and I served it to him.

I walked to his side and kissed him, “Happy anniversary, Harvey… Thank you for everything you do for Theo and I.”

“Is this really what you fucking made?”

“What? You… you said you like this.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you stupid? Just because I like it, doesn’t mean I want it. Get me one of the packaged steaks or something,” his voice was getting louder, “hurry the fuck up!”

I quickly turned and started to get the packaged meal out of the fridge. I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough, because when I turned to walk to the microwave, I heard him get out of the chair violently causing it to screech against the floor.

“Harvey?”

He hit me right across the face. It was just a slap, but it was hard, “you’re fucking useless aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” I quivered in response, trying to get past him to microwave his meal for him.

He grabbed me and shoved me hard into the counters. He then grabbed my hair and threw me onto the ground. He picked up the food and put it in the microwave. He stood there waiting for it to finish, “stay on the ground, bitch. You don’t deserve to get up.”

August 30, 2023.

The second time that he beat me, he did it until I blacked out. A combination of punches, slaps, shoves… I don’t know, I disassociated during the beating.

When I came to after the black out, he was above me. He was inside of me.

“Harvey… We had to wait 8 weeks… Please, stop… You’re going to hurt me,” I was whimpering, the pain was already happening.

He put his hand over my mouth, and continued, even as the pain got worse for me, and I began to scream under him. Once he was finished, he pulled out and left to clean himself, leaving me to sit up.

I was laying on our bed, in a puddle of blood from what he had just done to me.

August 31, 2023.

Harvey held me and Theo in his arms today… he cried and apologized for the night before. I can’t leave him, Theo and I need him.

I keep seeing my bloody face in the reflection of Harvey’s eyes, above me — but I know I can’t go anywhere. This is the home I have created.

Note from Valya

Definitely one of the darker posts I’ve had to write for this story. Still, I hope it was a nice read and that D’s motivation to keep her family together was clear. See below for more of Dreams, Ink and Embers.

DIE MASTER LIST OR #LYONDIE