#making the cigarettes for him like he just fucking loves him its so funny. and then when we see stan actually doing his job he complains
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one-annon · 1 day ago
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PROTECTIVE ADAM DRABBLE
haha hi guys... so huge shout out to @quinngefail for trusting me enough to write out a bit for this idea they had! really not my best writing but its okay, i still had fun writing it <3 heavy tw! slight fatshaming and disability shame!! dont be like these guys
adam was never the protective type. he knew lawrence could hold himself up and he knew he could protect himself. he had no reason to be mean to others. of course, there were times where he would tell someone to fuck off. he hated it when people would stare at lawrence. not only was staring rude (funny from a voyeur huh?), but lawrence was his. the older man belonged to adam and he had a ring on his finger to prove it.
the two of them knew their limits with each other but others didn't. which, in adams opinion, it should be common fucking sense. who the fuck would comment on a guy's weight? thats like…asking if a woman is pregnant. well. he actually doesnt know if that translates right but…you get the point, don't you?
like that one time when they were at a restaurant. they were sitting across from each other, lawrence had ordered a nice glass of wine and adam had a dr pepper. really, they needed the rest. hard week for them both. they had been patiently waiting for their food and once it finally was in front of them, these fucking kids were seated across from their table.
both of them paid no mind. it didnt matter. truly, looking back at it, they shouldve left them alone. but in adams defense, they were looking at larry wrong. his larry.
"you really think hes gonna eat all that?" "course he is. look at him!"
adam had heard the whispers, he noticed the stares. he inhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool. he wouldnt ruin their date. not over this. taking a quick peek up at his stunning date, he took note of how unbothered lawrence seemed. maybe it bothered him more than it did the blond. or maybe not. he didnt even know of larry had heard those fuckers talking. he knew the man's hearing was getting just a little worse. he didnt mind. it worked. adam was loud anyway.
he let his hand move over toward lawrence's, locking their fingers together and watching him take a few bites of his meal. it wasnt a ton of food. he didn't get the issue. steak, a salad he had already finished, and a bowl of soup. of course, he also ordered fries that were mostly just something adam could steal off his plate, and they had shared mozzarella sticks and chips for an appetizer. but that wasnt too much. that was a good amount of food. they had no reason to make fun of him but adam had every reason to knock their fucking teeth in.
larry's gaze caught adams, a soft smile pairing with those beautiful blue eyes. he didn't seem bothered. not one bit.
"could you uh..go get me a drink, lar?" he asked, nodding over to the bar near the back of the restaurant. he wanted to have a small word with the very kind people next to him.
"oh, of course." lawrence lifted his hand, pressing a loving kiss to his knuckles. he always treated adam like a princess. would that make lawrence the princess' bride? haha. adam's never seen the princess bride and neither has the author. sorry.
the blonde took his cane in his hand, huffing out a tired breath as he stood up. "easy on your leg.." adam warned, watching him carefully and staying on high guard to make sure he didnt need to step up and assist his lover. he was fine. he could handle himself, adam. calm down. he heard the people across from them snicker. their eyes followed lawrence as he left for the bar and adam couldnt have been more pissed.
adam turned in his seat, eyes wide with the insane urge to set the building ablaze and a smile so sarcastically pissed off that he felt he could be the next big actor. he spread his legs just a little, letting his elbows rest on his knees. he clasped his hands together, staring directly at the table. "hey there!" he greeted, the gears in his head running on just enough cigarette smoke to keep the 'protect lawrence' and his 'destroy everything and everyone in your way' gears in overdrive and the 'think rationally' and 'work this out' gears held at a complete stop.
the table focused their attention onto adam, one of the members cocking an eyebrow and mimicking his positioning. of course, adam wasnt expecting them to take him seriously. how could they? he wasnt anything special. he was just an average looking loser with a boyfriend who owns a fucking bmw.
"hey there back!"
adam hated that fucking smile. little fucking demons is what they were. he lifted his head to check on lawrence. he was still at the bar, chatting with the bartender and waiting ever so patiently for adams drink. he wasnt even sure what he was getting and truly he didnt care. he had bigger problems to handle at the moment. "is there a fuckin' problem here?" he tilted his head.
the person mocking him shrugged. "im not sure what youre talking about."
the shorter had to resist the urge to stand and slam his hands on the table. of course they didnt know. why would they know what they just fucking did? that makes so much sense that adam almost forgot why he was about to break their fucking teeth in! almost.
"yknow, youre not exactly quiet when it comes to shit talking people. though, i suppose you would really like it for someone to do the same to you, yeah?" he motions to the outfit of another member. "like how your shirt has a cute little logo for nirvana on it but i bet you cant name three songs by the damn band, huh?"
before they could defend themselves, adam continued. "or how you," he pointed to another member, "have that beautiful necklace on! oh my it looks so expensive! but yknow i saw the same thing at claires! and, really i would say your outfit makes up for it but green just is not your color. i would maybe go for a dumpster fire red next time! which i dunno, i think a nice bitch blue would go great for all of you!"
one of the members stood up, which caused adams confidence to falter just slightly. he straightened himself up, his brain suddenly racking through old memory files to find the fight tips that scott had given him. just in case.
"who the fuck do you think you are, dude?" they shouted. other tables turned to look at the pair. adam wasnt sure what to do, so he did what he did best. he imagined it was scott. truly, he did this for every fight. it was a lot easier yelling at that fucknut than some stranger.
adam vaguely pointed to the bar, "oh, so its okay for you to insult my fiance but i cant insult you? i mean, cmon, i just told you that you all had trash outfits! you fucks were making fun of his body! not so fuckin' fun when its you is it?"
he wouldve keep going. he shouldve kept going. if it wasnt for lawrence wobbling his way back with a beer bottle in hand, adam probably wouldve gotten physical. larry carefully slid his way back into the booth, setting the drink down. the doctor took note of how riled up adam and the other table seemed to be. now that the member of the group had sat and adam had his drink, they could continue their date.
"i heard you shouting." lawrence whispered in that all too calm voice of his. "you dont have to defend me, adam. people are going to make fun of me, i know it. but i can handle it. im an adult too."
adam scoffed as he took a sip of his beer, "i fuckin hate people, larry."
"i know you do, sweetheart."
the date ended soon after, a quick kiss and a hefty bill that adam was shocked lawrence was able to pay for in full cash concluding their time spent at the restaurant. adam gave the table a very nice fuck you flip off as they left, taking larry's - his larry's - hand in his own and leading them out to that fancy ass bmw.
______
how 2 write ending?
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dirt-str1der · 5 months ago
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Theres no season 4 because theyre too scared to animate the canon gay couple. They know its going to change the dr stone mrm ecosystem forever
#its the smug way that xeno introduces stanley as 'ex military' like yes he used to work for the state but now he works for ME#Listen to my problems#like tsukasen is already so popular if theyre gonna introduce another hot guy x silly guy couple AND theyre adults AND theyre evil#itll be fucking game over. actually maybe not. since theyre adults. they only wanna do dj of kids#and the current stanxeno doujins all have a very specific mature bl vibe that tsukasen struggles to match#and its so fucking funny when he immediately cracks an inside joke because he doesnt like stanleys smoking habit but hes literally the one#making the cigarettes for him like he just fucking loves him its so funny. and then when we see stan actually doing his job he complains#that xeno likes overloading him with equipment because he wants him to be at his best#and near the end he... he SHYLY hands him a pack of chewable tobacco like 'here since you cant smoke in space' <- HUH#like thinking of his nicotine addiction is already crazy enough but SHYLY looking away and handing them to him ? what was that ? why#did he get nervous ? is he gay ?#im not even talking about the face grab scene because stanley was literally about to make out with him if senku wasnt standing right there#this isnt fanfic like he reached out in canon and grabbed xenos chin and forcibly tilted his head up to look into his eyes#and it wasnt for a contrived plot reason he just did that because he wanted to. and it was never explained#like senku staring at ryusuis ass can be explained away because he just likes guys but stanley doing that was so actively and aggressively#homosexual behaviour i cant stress how much he just randomly did that#and the focus on his lips in the previous panels before that part. also pretty funny#his lips that were so beautiful that everybody thought he wore lipstick but no theyre just a perfect shade of deep red
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cherry-romper · 5 months ago
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What they're like
+ Kafka, Reno, Iharu, Haruichi, Aoi, Hoshina, Gen
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Kafka;
What a fucking himbo
Is so incredibly dedicated to his dream it's so admirable but can be a yapper about it - mostly to do with Kaiju anatomy, his yap sessions end with everyone scrambling to take notes.
Isn't aware of how much people respect and care for him.
Sometimes can be a little overbearing, he DOES NOT have an inside voice. Reno and you often keeps him in check but he insists he's not talking loud.
Tells the DUMBEST jokes: "What two words, when combined, hold the most letters?" Then he'd piss himself telling everyone it's "post office"
Is unaware of his improving strength and tends to expect things to be heavier than they are and ends up launching things across a room.
Sometimes gets withdrawals from quitting cigarettes, especially after a stressful day and can get kinda irritable, but being around you and his friends helps curb the cravings. 
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Reno;
Opinionated, always willing to give out advice but doesn't often give it without being asked.
Loves doing things for people. Will go out of his way get people stuff if they need it but also knows how to put himself first.
Often quiet in social situations, more of a people watcher than pleaser
Very focused of improving, you can often find him in the training room or library when he has free time
Pushes people to do their best.
Is so down to help people if they ask him no matter what it is.
Once he's started something he'll see it through no matter what.
He's stubborn to a fault
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Iharu;
Hot headed but level headed
Easy to talk to, but often only talks about work - kinda to be expected.
Lightens up every room he's in
Doesn't like to see his comrades down in the dumps so will try his hardest to put a smile on their faces
The hypeman of all hypemen
Smart asf, doesn't need help studying but is so down for group study sessions
Can be quite envious of others constantly improving, sometimes you'll find him staring off Into space thinking about improving, lost in deep thought - often he won't even notice you till you shake him out of it, he will shout at you for "not announcing" yourself.
 Can be quite flirty on and off the field but mostly when his adrenaline is pumping. Back and forth banter and teasing insults do something to him.
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Haruichi;
Rich boy with really good manners
Cares about his comrades and treats them to meals when they all have the time
Has a skincare and haircare routine
Sleeps with a silk pillow
Absolutely loves having little rivalries with people, it pushes him to be a better fighter.
Completely dedicated to the force but the reservations about his family and the company he'll inherit one day sometimes hold him back from giving his all.
Takes mental notes on how the suits could be improved while he's fighting.
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Aoi;
Built like a brick.
Abs like a washboard.
As dense as his body is, he's very agile and quick to move.
Heaviest footsteps known to man
He absolutely loves his peace and quiet, though he's used to having to share his space and time.
Is big on respect but it's something he believes should be earned and not given.
Being ex-military, he's BIG on routines. Doesn't realise he even has one but you've noticed his little patterns.
Light sleeper, but quick to fall asleep. Once his head hits the pillow he is OUT.
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Hoshina;
Is terrifying when he's serious and knows it. He loves pretending to be serious to scare people, he finds their reactions hilarious. 
Finds everything funny. Will laugh just to fill silence. 
Always smiling, its almost uncanny. 
Loves his comrades but isn't one to admit that. 
Sometimes he'll go quiet in social situations and just watch everyone messing around, those little moments are his favourite and he treasures them.
Will linger over peoples shoulders when they're studying then make disappointed faces at their work, known nothing they wrote is wrong, he just finds it funny that he made them paranoid. 
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Narumi;
Will only give you the time of day if you're good. If you're average or below when it comes to combat, he will not even know your name.
Egotistical beyond comprehension. 
Cocky and sarcastic, gets away with talking back because he's the strongest. 
Adores back and forth teasing. If you can match him in combat he expects you to match him in wit too. 
Finds comfort in his own mess, reminds him he's still alive (he's just lazy)
Likes making little nooks/nests out of pillows to sleep/game in. Also a big fan of pillow forts.
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fictionalwh0ree · 1 year ago
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the gang dating a stoner hcs
warnings: mentions weed and alcohol
a/n: as someone who's a lowkey stoner, i wrote this with the reader being someone who doesn't look like they'd be a stoner.
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johnny cade
definitely doesn’t mind that you smoke
he’s maybe tried it once but never enough that he felt anything
one day he tries it with you
he immediately understands why you do it
johnny has a lot of issues and has a lot of baggage, smoking weed helps him calm down
you’re happy that it makes him happy
but that can also be dangerous
you worry about him getting hooked to the feeling, so you make sure he only ever does it with you
thankfully its illegal and since johnny is kind of skittish, he doesn’t go after it on his own
smoking with him is a mix of calm and paranoia
hes paranoid while you’re smoking
worrying about the smell, who’s around, your eyes, etc
but once its done, he’s calm
you spend many late nights just dozing off in each others arms after smoking
also many deep talks
overall, he’s grateful for you (and it) and he accepts your habits
dallas winston
he LOVES that you’re lowkey a stoner
there’s something about how you look when your eyes are all droopy and red that turns him onnnnn
(he also finds you being able to roll hot, idk why)
he definitely does it here and there
but he loves to smoke with you
on a rare night, you two will get crossed at bucks and will probably end up fucking
high sex is his favvvvv
he’ll take you to the drive-in after you smoke
those are probably the only times you’ll pay attention to a movie around him
he’s very rebellious so he doesn’t worry about you getting caught very often
he’ll even steal snacks for you
he lets you crash in his bed if you’re super slumped
you love cuddling with him if you’re high
something about the warmth and skin to skin just feels so much better
he definitely finds it funny when you’re high
he’ll laugh about you demolishing your food
he definitely laughs when you start sharing your high thoughts with him
and he finds it especially funny when you find something funny and can’t stop laughing
you’ve definitely been caught in some dumb ass situations where you look at each other and have to find a way to hold in the laughter
ponyboy curtis
definitely has never smoked
he knows its illegal, so he was definitely surprised to find out you do it
at first, you kept it separate from him
you know his brother would kill him if he tried
you didn’t smoke around him and were never really high around him
until one time you were headed home after a smoke session with your friends and you ran into him
he invited you to the drive- in with the gang
steve and dally could definitely tell
ponyboy could tell something was off but couldn’t pinpoint it
he bought you a popcorn and you couldn’t shut up about how much better it tasted
“has this popcorn always been this good?”
“it doesn’t taste any different than the last time we had it”
“are you sure?”
“are you okay”
dally definitely broke the news to him and it hit him quick
after that, pony started asking you questions about weed
“what does it feel like to be high?”
“does food actually taste better?”
“does it taste like a cigarette?”
you asked him if he wanted to try it one day so you waited until a day where his house was completely empty and smoked
after one hit, he was coughing like crazy
no amount of cigarettes could’ve prepared him for that
he couldn’t smoke very much because of the coughing but he got high and finally understood the food thing
tore apart any food available
he really loves to watch the sunset when he’s high
he thinks the colours and scenery are so much more detailed and pretty
he’s the type to turn into a poet when he’s high
but in the end the coughing was not worth it so he only does it very rarely (and only with you)
its a very special occasion when pony smokes, so you always make sure its a good experience and you do everything so darry will never find out
sodapop curtis
he’s definitely tried it before
he was not a fan
(he wasn’t inhaling it right so he never felt it and thought it was pointless)
he was very surprised when he found out you smoked
he always makes sure you’re careful with it
he takes extra care of you when you’re high
he makes sure you don’t have to talk to anyone
will take you to go get whatever you’re craving
he’s also a fan of the high eyes
he thinks its cute when you laugh at dumb things you wouldn’t usually find that funny
he’s very observant so he can definitely tell when you’re high and even if you’ve smoked at all
you taught him how to inhale
unfortunately he’s a bit of a paranoid high person so you don’t smoke with him
he always feels his senses heightened
this boy will hear a cop car coming from five blocks away and then panic as if you’re not sitting inside his house
however he is the type to EAT when he’s high
he’s like a bottomless pit
but hes also sodapop curtis so he’ll stay skinny anyway
darry curtis
darry definitely tried weed in high school
i mean he was on the football team
but he’s not a fan
too much risk not enough reward
so when it comes to dating a stoner
he’d probably rather not
but if he is
you just have to keep it separate
you don’t smoke around him and you’re never really high around him
he doesn’t mind the habit as long as you don’t let it affect your ambition
darry is a workaholic, he looks for a partner with drive
so as long as you smoking weed isn’t interfering with your job its fine
he would never date someone who is always high
he’s okay with it if its more of a couple days a week type thing
once you’ve been dating a while, he makes it clear that you can smoke and be high around him
because he’d rather you do it around him then alone or out on the streets
he thinks its cute when you’re high
he likes how you’re giggly
he’ll cook for you
and he likes how affectionate you get
he smoked with you ONCE
he, like sodapop, is the type to eat like there’s no tomorrow
after it was done, the entire gang unexpectedly showed up at his house
they could tell
darry’s eyes were practically bloodshot red
ponyboy took advantage of calm darry and got to stay out late
“get him high more often y/n”
they tried to keep their laughs to themselves but it didn’t work
two-bit especially could not contain himself around darry and couldn’t look at him without laughing
you definitely fucked after and the high sex was almost enough to get him to smoke again
but he could never EVER let the gang see him like that again
he only got high with you again after you learnt how to make edibles
two-bit matthews
two-bit loves that you smoked
funniest couple ever
you love smoking with and around him because he makes you laugh so hard
funny sober = super funny high
you two will laugh until you’re clutching your stomachs in pain
he’ll finish a whole chocolate cake high
two-bit is not a sit down and relax type of high person
there’s two potential reasons
a) he’s just like that
b) he’s always a little drunk so he just ends up slightly crossed
he’s super social and bounces off the walls
so sometimes you have to let him just go out with his friends
once he comes down from it all he’s super tired
you guys WILL take naps together
you’ll sleep from 11am-4pm
or you’ll go to bed at 2am and wake up at 1pm
it all depends but the two of you are heavy ass sleepers after smoking
the house could’ve blown up and neither of you would notice
steve randle
he has also tried smoking before, but never too much
he had basically forgotten it existed until you
he doesn’t like it when you smoke alone so if you’re not with friends, sometimes he’ll smoke with you
it actually helps him focus a lot
if he can work on a car high, he will
it becomes the only thing that matters
gets you dx discounts on snacks
he’s pretty quiet high so the two of you will often spend your time watching a move with his arm around your shoulder
he’s lowkey strict with it because he doesn’t want you to get caught
so he doesn’t let you smoke in very public places or in broad daylight unless you’re somewhere safe
doesn’t let you meet your dealer alone
he’s protective of you when you’re high because he thinks it makes you a bit more vulnerable
he’ll do all the talking
he doesn’t like people who spend their entire day high
he’s okay with it as long as you’re not a bum because of it
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notjustjavierpena · 1 year ago
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Cravings
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Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator
A/N: A while back, I saw a text post made by the lovely @kteague and immediately, it sparked a need for more husband!javi. This is the text post in question. It’s sososo great. You should go follow ❤️ It also made me realize that I haven’t written Javier going down on his wife, and honestly wtf??? This takes place before Lucas is born.
Summary: Javi isn’t perfect. He needs a nicotine high badly, but your pregnancy isn’t allowing you to tolerate the smell of cigarettes. He indulges in his next favorite thing to satisfy his craving; going down on his pregnant wife.
Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18 smut (mdni), nicotine withdrawal, javier is a menace to the pussy eating society, pregnant sex, dirty talk, eat up javi
Word count: 1.8k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49812556
Cravings
Javier feels extra twitchy today. He paces around the house like a caged animal, tapping his fingers on the side of his thighs, and considers throwing caution to the wind and just having that damn smoke. He has a packet of cigarettes stashed in one of the potted plants outside, but it’s for emergencies only. Like that one time that his Pop had called him to say that a tree had fallen down on the barn overnight, and the very thought of the cost and time it would take to fix it had made him fly out the door to smoke in the far back of the garden.
He does it for you though. He’d do anything for you. Especially now that Lucas Peña is making his arrival in less than three months. He remembers you going into your second trimester, and you’d been around his cigarette smoke only to run to the toilet to reject your dinner. He never wants you to feel like that again, so he quit cold turkey. 
“Perhaps it won’t be a problem when we’re having the next one,” you had said to him, and he had stubbed out the cigarette immediately. He didn’t need the rush of nicotine, because he had the rush of you already thinking of more kids. He knew that he wanted a family with you since he saw you, but only then he had known just how big of a family.
But Javier needs the rush now. He has been through all of the coping mechanisms; sweets, rubber bands on his wrists, even has run out of nicotine gum but he doesn’t dare go to the store in case he comes home with more cigarettes. Has run out of patches too, which he would like to plaster his arms in right now.
You are not home and he needs you. He has a rare day off and you are not home. When are you coming home? He watches the clock, hears the ticking, and wants to rip it off the wall. You’re usually home by now. Where the fuck are you? 
Fuck it. Javier speedwalks to the door to the garden.  He is just about to rip it open, harsh enough to be tearing it off its hinges when he hears the front door. 
“Javi?” You call out his name so heavenly, “Can you help me with the groceries?” 
Oh, so that’s what you have been doing instead of coming straight home to him. He finds you by the front door, barely successful in holding two brown bags and your keys at the same time. Without hesitation, he takes both bags from you and heads to the kitchen to place them on the counter.
“You could’ve asked me to pick something up, y’know,” he says as he busies his hands by unloading everything into their respective places. His hands shake; he needs something to hold onto but you won’t let it be you if the milk hasn’t gone in the fridge yet.
“I was passing by anyway,” you enter the kitchen and start helping him, and he can feel your eyes watching him with curiosity at his urgency, “What’s up with you?”
“There’s something up because I’m helping you in the kitchen?” He quips.
You laugh quietly, “Well… yeah.”
Javier doesn’t know if it’s funny, but he knows that he needs an excuse to get you worked up so that he can satisfy his cravings in the way that works the very best.
He finishes unloading the groceries, turns to you, and doesn’t even hesitate despite you holding onto a box of cereal; he kisses you right then and there. It’s a long, deep, and satisfying kiss with his hands rubbing up and down your sides. You gasp into his mouth, melt against him, and awkwardly put the cereal box onto the kitchen counter so that you can embrace him right back. 
“Thank fucking God you’re home,” he mumbles into you, relishing in the taste and warmth of your tongue. He is insisting in the way he holds you close, and starts to guide you out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. 
“Javi,�� you protest as you realize his motives. He doesn’t relent, and you reluctantly drag your lips away from his. He groans in frustration, but you find his eyes with flushed cheeks and he might just burst right then at the shy look you are giving him, “I can’t. I haven’t even… I need a shower.”
“No, you fucking don’t,” he opens the door, realizing that the window has been open all day to air out your shared bedroom. You shiver at the cold air and Javier feels like he might be seeing stars soon when he notices your nipples hardening underneath your top. He steers you to the bed by your hips, “Need it. Please don’t deny me, mi amor.”
“What’s gotten into you?” You groan after another kiss, one where Javier’s hand comes up to cup your breast as he devours your mouth. Then you let yourself be guided down onto the bed, legs hanging out over the edge and Javier kneeling down on the floor. 
“Ran outta nicotine gum,” he mutters, too busy undoing your last pair of jeans in a while; they’re straining against your growing belly but he knows how much you love this pair. He yanks them down over your hips after he has undone the zipper.
“Makes sense,” you lift your hips to help him. 
“So lemme have this?” He pleads. He notices the wet patch that has formed on your white cotton panties, refraining from chuckling to himself. You aren’t going to say no. 
“Yes,” your breath hitches in your throat as he finds your clit on the outside of your underwear. He rubs in lazy circles and watches the wet and shiny patch grow larger underneath his touch. He even dares to press his finger against your slit, digging the fabric just slightly into you. 
“Chica sucia,” he says softly as you let out a sigh of pleasure, “So filthy walking around with your pretty little panties so wet.”
“Hasn’t been like this long,” you argue, “Just since you kissed me. Still think I need a shower.”
Javier shakes his head, “Like you like this. Can’t stop thinking about this pussy.”
He slides your underwear down over your thighs, calves, and then ankles. He drops them onto the floor by your jeans, admiring your legs and the cute bows on the socks you are still wearing. You are so beautiful that he might lose his mind, growing belly right in front of him as he kisses his way up your right leg and hears your smile through your moan. 
“Javi,” you say when he loses himself in staring at your swollen cunt a little too long. He can see your clit jump in anticipation and it makes his mouth water, cigarettes long forgotten. 
He pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, large hands slipping under the backside of your thighs to bend and spread your legs simultaneously. He handles them roughly and places them flat on the surface of the bed, causing you to whine. Then his palms slide upward to rest on the swell of your belly, his broad shoulders holding your legs in position so you don’t clamp down on his head just yet. He isn’t in doubt that he’d be able to count your heartbeats with the way your cunt throbs. 
“Please,” you clench once, and slick drips from your slit. 
“Shh,” he coos. 
And then he goes down on you like he hasn’t in a long while. He credits himself with being enthusiastic about eating you out every time, but he rarely has the frustration of withdrawal from nicotine to accompany him in his hunger for your sweet taste. He runs his mouth over your whole cunt, kisses your jumping clit, and sucks the slick off where it has smeared across your folds. You taste better than ever, salty and slightly sweet in a way that a shower would have ruined. 
“Mhm,” he hums whilst satiating his cravings. Your breathy moans reward him more than he thinks a smoke could right now. His fingers start to dent your protruding belly, holding on tight as he flicks your clit with his tensed-up tongue over and over again. 
“Just like th— ah, fuck,” you reach for his wrists to desperately hold onto something. He goes harder, moaning into your pussy. It makes you shake on top of the sheets, gushing just a bit into his mouth and he swallows it down greedily. He wants more, dips down to slip his tongue into your cunt, and eats right from you. He fucks you open whilst nosing at your hard clit, the nub peeking out from underneath the hood to demand more attention. He will just have to suck it once and you’ll be screaming, but he needs a little more and reluctantly refrains from doing so. 
Your breathing has become more irregular by now, more high-pitched too. He knows you’re getting close but he keeps you dancing around the edge, tongue sliding through your folds as he bobs his head. 
“Fuck! Baby!” You cry loudly, bucking your hips to seek more friction. 
“Not yet, mi vida, just a moment more,” he mumbles against you, but his mouth still starts climbing up towards your clit again. 
You entwine your fingers with his, holding his hands tightly over your belly as your legs start to move involuntarily. Your feet flex, muscles rippling all the way to your thighs as you near climax.
“I’m… I-it’s gonna happen,” you whine at the ceiling, “Fuck, suck my clit. Javi— fuckfuckfuck.” 
He gives in, raises his head slightly to cover your clit with his mouth, and then he sucks hard. 
You come so hard that your legs find the strength to shoot up from where they are being held down on the bed. Your thighs clamp around Javier’s head, muffling the sound of your cries whilst he works you through every crashing wave of pleasure. 
“I’ll buy you that stupid gum,” you eventually say. 
“Huh?” Javier looks up at you.
“Your nicotine gum, I’ll go out and buy it later,” you clarify, letting go of Javier’s hands to throw your arms above your head on the bed. You stretch, letting out a soft moan, “It’s the least I can do.”
“You spoil me,” he crawls up onto the bed, lying down beside your exhausted body. You’re so perfect, he thinks to himself. 
“But first,” your breathing is finally getting under control again. You turn onto your side, and Javier finds himself supporting your pregnant belly as you move. You smile gently at him, reaching for his belt to unbuckle it with both hands, “I’m going to take care of you too. See… I too have cravings.”
Javier didn’t think that every passing second with someone could feel like his life had peaked. Yet here you were.
.
.
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bellshells · 10 days ago
Text
A Promise of Grim Death
Hi! First, I’ve never written for Art before- but I loved it. 10/10 will do again.
Second, I wrote, edited and posted this on my phone. Times are hard bestie, we do what we can. So if you see any errors in there, shh no you don’t.
Third, there’s a few TW here; I’ll do my best to list them all. But surely to god if you’re reading Art The Clown anything you know there’s going to be batshit times ahead. Okay, love you bye!
TW: language, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of gratuitous violence, murder (only a little one and it’s not too bad I promise), thoughts of a sexual nature (Art remembers that fucking is a thing), suggestions of grooming, suggestions of familial death, stalking, masturbation, art??? Is he his own trigger warning?
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Art had been trailing Sienna for hours. He followed her from Target to what he assumed was her new apartment, and now he sat in a parking lot downtown in a beaten up van. He had seen her go down an alleyway hidden somewhat on the corner of 86th and Maple a couple of hours ago, and whilst he waited for her to reappear, he thought of all the ways in which he could inflict the most unimaginable pain unto her.
He considered flaying, but that was too time consuming for very little pay off. He thought about some good old fashioned water torture, but he was still too impatient. Art was desperate to end Sienna. He wanted to watch the life drain from her eyes, the last thing she would see on this mortal plane was the smiling face of Art the Clown. He sighed silently, he didn’t miss talking per se, but he did miss being able to convey his annoyance. The bike horn had its charm; don’t get him wrong. But sometimes he missed being able to sigh, or grunt or scream. Screaming was also fun. After another thirty minutes of listening to Talk Radio, the only way to consume radio in his opinion, he decided to take action. Pulling his black bag full of items of his pleasure/your pain close to his chest, he exited his vehicle.
Rounding the corner to the alleyway, he surveyed his surroundings. The sun had long set and a low sitting fog had begun to settle. Art loved nights like this, he could often smell the fear of passersby before he could see them. For as they say, you never knew what could be lurking in the dark. For Art though, he could almost sustain himself off of the fear itself. Almost. He gave a trash can a big, jolly kick knocking it tumbling into two more. He genuinely found this very funny indeed, especially when the homeless man who was sound asleep between them jumped up in a daze. The man was all arms and legs, shouting incoherently. When he saw Art, a cold terror swept over his face and he tripped over himself trying to make his escape. Art was faster though, he gripped a handful of the man’s shaggy hair as he tried to run and pulled down, bringing his knee up to meet the man’s face in an expert blow. Art did this a further three times, with each connection to the man’s face, it concaved further in on itself until he was unrecognisable. Just a mass of blood and sharp pieces of bone, exposed cartilage and teeth. Lots of teeth.
A bang from further along the alley made him freeze. He dropped the homeless man immediately, and kicked him against the wall. Dodging behind a broken fire escape, Art saw a door open and a figure step out. He craned his head to see who it was, though he needn’t have. He knew it was her, opening a dumpster and throwing trash bags inside.
He eyed Sienna with a white hot fury as she closed the dumpster, his view partially obscured by the fire escape; but it was enough to see her fish a bottle of hand sanitiser out from an apron she wore around her waist. Art toyed with the idea of shooting her there and then. One swift bullet straight into her skull would leave such a pretty smattering of brain matter on the dull brickwork behind her, but no, he wanted to make this last. He wanted to hurt her. He took one step out from his hiding spot, but the sound of a gruff man’s voice behind Sienna stopped him.
“Get your ass back in here, we’re getting fucked in the ass behind this bar,” Sienna’s shoulders slumped as she turned to face the man, he too wore an apron and dried his hands on an off white towel.
“It’s almost like you want to drown in trash,” she said, the man gave her a sarcastic smile and held the door open for her. Art strained to hear what was said as the fire door slammed shut behind them, but the music emanating from within was too loud even for his sensitive ears.
He made his way over to the door and tried the handle to no avail. He pulled tightly and still the door wouldn’t budge, instead he decided to give it a swift kick. Fuck that door, he thought. Fuck it. Art wandered back onto the street, he counted back the buildings until he was sure he found the one that Sienna had emerged from. The blacked out windows of a bookshop confused Art, he was sure he heard music, and didn’t that guy mention a bar? A single flickering bulb hung limply above the entrance, it was a single framed door with a peephole that watched him as he studied the entrance. This had to be the place, but why did it look so sketchy? Art shrugged and pushed against the door, it opened slowly into a dark vestibule you couldn’t swing a cat in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed the walls lined with books were just a wallpapered effect. He brought a finger up and traced the seam where two panels joined. It was then that he heard applause, rapturous applause coming from below. He turned on himself, once and then once more until he could faintly make out a heavy black curtain hidden in one of the corners. Tentatively pushing it to one side, a narrow wooden staircase appeared before him. That familiar sound of music rose up from the stairs, and with one silent step, he descended them.
Art expected to find Sienna at the bottom, he deduced that she’d be behind the bar serving overpriced drinks to a newly gentrified crowd. And he did find that, but what surprised him was the unmistakable feeling of his heart pounding in his chest. Its beating was so ferocious he could hear it in his ears. It had been a long time since Art had felt his heartbeat. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he even had one anymore. But as he rounded the corner after the last step, he felt all too human indeed.
The bottom of the stairs opened up into a wide cavernous room with an arched ceiling decorated with twinkly lights. A bar on the far right hand side is where Sienna stood, chatting cheerfully with a customer as she wiped the bar top down. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Art didn’t care, for his attention had been entirely captured by the woman who stood on the stage. His black bag of goodies slipped from his shoulder and landed with a clang at his feet. This usually would have drawn attention, but the sound was disguised by the most beautiful sound he had heard.
She was tall this woman, not as tall as him of course, but she stood proudly in a red dress. Art couldn’t help but notice the way the velvet seemed to wrap around her body like an embrace. Her hair, long and the colour of fire pushed over her shoulders to expose her throat. He eyed it as she sang, the way it moved with each note. She was sultry in her movements too, her hands an extension of her voice, in her hair, on her hips, around her waist, thrust out into an equally captivated audience. Art swallowed instinctively and his mouth felt dry, he brought his fingers up to his lips and he noticed they were trembling. He stood until she finished her song, a long sustained note- impressive for any singer, but this was divine treacle dripping from her lips. The audience again were generous with their applause, this woman and her band, a drummer and some men with shitty jazz instruments basked in it. Art always took pleasure in killing musicians, artists or folk of that ilk. He enjoyed watching the life seep from them, their magnum opus often nothing more than a crimson stain upon his gloves. But this woman was wholly different, she was like a monolith of a bygone era. A penetrating gaze suddenly lowered, coupled with a flirtatious smirk of a red lip. A long white glove scandalously exposing the top of a bare arm, the most innocuous piece of flesh unexpectedly the most arousing promise of more. And boy did he feel that arousal.
It was foreign to him, alien almost. A dull ache in the pit of his stomach that had almost been entirely forgotten. He had once been a creature intent on satisfying his most carnal desires, and yet, in his contemporary memory- he was laden with an empty feeling of well, nothing. There was rage, and then, nothing. The only way in which Art could liken this feeling of sudden and irrevocable desire, was the desire in which he wanted Sienna Shaw dead. Not just dead, destroyed. Mutilated and destroyed and dead. Mutilated and destroyed and dead and finished. It was something that Art recognised deeply as an obsession, yet Art was also a master of getting what he wanted. What he wanted in that moment, was to hide.
Art noticed a small table set for two hidden partially behind a supporting pillar. He had a clear line of sight to the stage, yet he would be obscured from the bar. He would get to Sienna, he would, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, the threat of an erection that pushed gently against the front of his costume. Art’s first erection in a long, long time. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot. A flash of teenage panic behind his eyes. A memory of a girl with huge tits sitting in front of him on the school bus. A memory of another life.
He settled at the table and placed his bag in his lap, folding his hands over the top neatly. Art watched her intently, the way she interacted with her band, the way she fiddled with the cable of her microphone. He watched as it slipped slowly through her fingers, his dull ache became more of a throb. Art tried to skilfully cross one leg over the other without drawing any attention with as much grace a 6”4 monochromatic porteur de mort could muster. For the first time since Art had donned his costume all of those years ago, he tried to blend in. Act natural. He tried to be so inconspicuous he could almost be a waxwork in the corner. A forgotten project, or an antique put on display. Anything to not pull any attention away from this woman on the stage.
“This will be our last number,” the woman spoke into the microphone. The audience made noises of protest, but Art’s mouth ran dry once more. Her voice was like a gong in his ears, reverberating around his head. It was dizzying. It was thrilling. She smiled then, and Art’s chest deflated. His unfamiliar heartbeat arrhythmic, his brow sweaty. Christ, he thought, her smile was downright devastatingly lovely. He bared his bloodied teeth in response, a reflex responding to his unnatural thoughts. A defense against this monstrous vulnerability.
A couple of men on the table next to Art’s stood and moved toward the stairs, momentarily obscuring his view. Art banged his fist on the table furiously, the shorter of the two men jumped in fright and turned to look at Art, the shock on his face visible even in the dim light. Art shooed the man away with a flick of his wrist, his face twisted into a disgruntled snarl. These precious seconds lost, thought Art, she’s only singing one more song. He just wanted to look at her, he wanted to stare at her. He wanted his vision to be filled with nothing but this woman and the way her body moved to this number from the Great American Songbook. He remembered one of the nuns would listen to this song after hours, she would sit in the Reverend Mother’s office on the ledge of a large window. You could just about slip your wrist through the bars affixed on the outside, that was helpful if you needed to flick away the ash of a cigarette. Which she often needed to. Art remembered thinking this nun was rather pretty, for a nun that is. He would stand hidden behind a big filing cabinet and just watch her. She would pull her knees up to her chest and the skirt of her habit with them, letting the moonlight dance across her pale legs. Once, when he was fifteen, he remembered she caught him staring at her whilst she did this, instead of screaming for the Reverend Mother, she smiled and slowly pushed her stockings down her thighs, unclipping the suspender deftly with one hand. That same hand outstretched to him in silent invitation.
Art shook his head to clear his thoughts, he didn’t want to think about her. She was entire lifetime ago, two lifetimes ago even. No, he wouldn’t think about Sister Anne. Instead he would think about this other divine creature, this new one singing his favourite song. At least, it used to be. He was grateful that his little detour of memory had indeed killed his erection. A silent little breath of relief left him, he rubbed his eyes gently so as not to disturb his makeup. At least he could return his attention to the woman, he marvelled at her. She was beautiful, that was a given; but there was something else within her that drew him to her. Art found this physiological reaction complexing, he found it infuriating, but he also found it rather comforting in a strange way. It was like a piece of him that he thought had been lost forever. He supposed in fact not. He supposed that perhaps he just had a type, and his type was this one particular woman. Where usually he would look at someone; man or woman and feel the burning rage and desire to kill them in painful and obscene ways- with her, there was just this almost morbid desire to well, fuck her.
He remembered fucking too. He remembered liking it, loving it even. He used to fuck anyone that would let him, as even psychopathic killers have a line of morality they won’t cross. Boys, girls, nuns and everything in between. Art would fuck them. And he was good at it too. Perhaps a little sadistic, but he was good at making people cum. He wondered if he’d still be able to do it. He knew he still had blood in his veins, and his newfound ability of a racing heart was a not so unpleasant a surprise, but would his cock still work? Would it feel the same? Would he be able to-?
Art was drawn from his deep contemplation by a searing pain in his hand. He cried out, well, he would have if he had a voice. His eyes shot down to see a serrated blade used for cutting steak sticking out of the back of his hand, then a flurry of dark hair appeared over his shoulder. The maddening scent of apple and vanilla washed over him, it turned his stomach.
“You’re a real piece of shit turning up at my job,” Sienna hissed in his ear. Art moved his eyes to look at her menacingly, he brought a finger from his non-stabbed hand and pressed it to his lips and pointed at the stage. Sienna’s gaze wavered for a moment, flickering over to where the woman was finishing her song. Her last song. Art was furious with Sienna for ruining it. He’d add it to the list. “I won’t kill you in front of these people,” She said, “I need to keep this job, and it’s in your best interests if you go quietly. Don’t cause a scene, Art. You’ll regret it.” Art laughed at that, his shoulders bobbing up and down. Did she really think she could tell him what to do? Demand things from him? He swiftly pulled the knife out from the back of his hand and plunged it just as quickly into the top of her thigh. It was the fleshiest part so it wouldn’t kill her, she wouldn’t even bleed all that much. But it would give her a couple of hours in the ER, a minor inconvenience at best. He would have to be satisfied with causing her a minor inconvenience, there were more important things that required his attention. Sienna gasped with pain, her hands coming either side of the protruding blade. “Fuck!” She spat, her teeth clenched together. Art’s hand now ceased in its bleeding and would be right as rain come the morning. Annoyingly, so would Sienna. But that was by the by. “If you do anything to these people,” Sienna wheezed, “I will hunt you down.” Art gave a her a wave with his fingers, a saccharine smile plastered on his face. She limped off in the direction of the bar, the guy Art had seen talking to her in the alleyway rushed to her aid. He saw them talking animatedly, and he ushered her into a room behind the bar.
Art finally, finally returned his attention to the stage just as the woman finished her song. Art felt a sense of deflation as the final sweep of applause bounced off the walls. He joined them, quickly slapping his hands together. It was then, as the woman left the stage and the musicians started packing up their instruments that the house lights were raised ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the people around him to notice that there was a clown in their midst. Which on any day is odd, but on a cold late November night drew some raised eyebrows. The murmurs started then, and Art felt an unfamiliar discomfort. A heat raised on the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt embarrassment in a long time, even in his former life it had felt an age since the last time he had allowed himself to be embarrassed. Yet, as he heard the whispers and one interesting mention of Miles County he stood. He grasped his black bag and made his way silently up the stairs, acutely aware of the eyes that bore into his back with each step. Glancing over his shoulder, he longed for one last look at this woman, instead he found a poster haphazardly placed on the wall. It had her picture, her dazzling smile. Art gently pulled it from the wall and brought it to his lips, he didn’t kiss it, no, but he did run his lips over hers.
Back in his van, he produced the poster once more. It was an events poster by the looks of it, detailing all the acts playing at that bar, (which he now understood to be named The Speakeasy,) in the run up to Christmas. Art was derailed slightly by how impressed he was with the number of local acts on the bill, nodding in approval. He scoured the calendar at the bottom and found today’s date, November 20th. There he found three acts;
7:00- Sheena Morris
9:30- The Shortage System
11:15- Daphne Loveday and The Little Lovers
Art checked the time on the van clock, it was 12:45, that had to be her. Daphne Loveday. Daphne Loveday.
This woman, this holy apparition was due to perform every Thursday before Christmas. Art grumbled silently to himself. He hated the thought of not being able to see her again for a whole week. He could of course, follow her home tonight. See where she lived, observe her routine, get close to her even. But where Art’s usual vengeful fury lived, the familiar guttural need for blood was replaced with something else entirely. This feeling was not completely unknown to him, he had known desire and even love before. He loved his mother for instance, until he didn’t. He loved the Reverend Mother too, until her skull crumbled beneath his fingertips. He even had a minute softness for Vicky and well, yes, there was Vicky. But this was different. This was something else. This attraction, and he begrudgingly named it so, was an almost cosmic pull. Art had long since questioned his existence, human or otherwise, he knew better than to wonder why the things that happened to him happened.
Art turned the key in the ignition, resolving himself to no more play or plunder tonight. He felt that to take another life tonight would be disrespectful to her, to Daphne. No, tonight would be sacred to him. Whatever that meant. Sienna would have to wait. He pulled out from the parking lot and stopped just shy of the entrance to The Speakeasy, and saw Daphne’s band mates lugging their heavy equipment out of the front doors. They were wrapped up tightly in coats and scarves, the five men passed a lighter around them as they lit celebratory cigarettes. They chatted loudly, Art could hear their laughter as it carried down the street and through the slightly cracked open window of his van. He knew he was waiting for one last glimpse of her. One last glimpse and then he could go home. One last glimpse and he could go home and imagine the things he wanted to do to her. He refused to acknowledge the fact he didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to hurt her, but from the inside. He wanted to see the look on her face when that pain turned into blissful pleasure.
Focus.
Art watched intently as one of the men held the door open. Daphne emerged draped in a long green woollen coat, it hugged her waist and flowed just shy of the sidewalk, now glistening with the promise of a frosty morning. She pulled a large black suitcase behind her, getting caught on the frame of the front door. Before he could realise, Art was slamming the van door and in six quick strides he had grasped the handle of the suitcase and hoisted it over the threshold with ease. He collapsed the extendable piece and lifted it by its handle, waiting for further instruction. The musicians stood dumbfounded, he hadn’t realised that perhaps his silent approach and apparent theft of this woman’s suitcase would cause such an uneasy din to settle. The men eyed each other warily, each of them flashing a concerned look in Daphne’s direction. She, on the other hand looked surprised if largely unphased. This pleased Art. Pride swelled in his chest.
“Oh! Thank you,” Daphne said, her eyes alight with an almost humour. They were green, Art saw. She had the most beautiful green eyes. Art made a gesture for her to proceed and he would follow. Without looking at her band, she nodded and headed back towards the direction of the parking lot. Art followed dutifully behind her, refusing to glance back at the men behind him. He followed her to a silver minivan parked incredibly next to where Art had parked his own van. He could have just waited he thought, without outing himself so quickly. The rest of the band came around the corner as Daphne rooted her through pockets, producing a key. She unlocked the minivan and Art brought the suitcase to the trunk, opening it up and placing it gently inside. Daphne appeared next to him then and he caught a whiff of her. Incense and lily, and an almost metallic smell that he couldn’t work out. She smiled at Art again, as she rearranged some things already in her trunk, an old duffle bag, a pair of sneakers and a large black umbrella that almost took out Art’s good eye when she manoeuvred it. “Oops, sorry,” she giggled. Art thought he simply might pass away at the sound of her small laughter, once more he could hear his uneven heartbeat. It was thunderous. His stomach aflutter with the proximity of her body to his, twice she had accidentally brushed against his arm. Twice he felt the skin beneath his costume feel ablaze. “Thank you,” she said finally to Art. The other musicians had appeared and were adding their own cases into the mini van. Three of them had pushed the larger pieces into the body of the van, covering the back seats usually reserved for small children with black cased instruments. There was certainly no room for anyone else to sit, he wondered whether she would be going home alone.
“Oh fuck me,” said one of the men, he stood a ways off, tapping furiously on his phone. “The road’s closed between 75th and Main, there’s been an accident. Big pile up apparently,” he read from his phone, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Six cars, all dead.”
Yummy, Art thought.
“We’ll have to drive through Fair Creek to drop the stuff off,” said another, pinching the bridge of his nose. Daphne looked between them, Art stood back against the wall, hoping to disappear into the brickwork.
“That’s fine,” she levelled, “I have to swing by the ER anyway, see how madam clumsy is doing,”
Art shot a look at Daphne, she couldn’t possibly be talking about Sienna, could she? Fuck.
“I can take the van then,” said the first man, his hand outstretched for her keys. She dropped them into his palm and walked around the back of the minvan, she turned then.
“Hey, thanks for carrying my-“ she stopped short, looking for the clown. But Art had skulked back to his own van, headlights turned off and the window pulled all the way down. He could hear her perfectly, see her perfectly as she looked over her shoulder for Art. “Where did he go?”
“Who cares, that guy gave me the creeps,” said the new driver of the minivan. “Can we go? It’s fucking freezing,”
Daphne, still craning her neck to look for Art, acquiesced. He watched her climb into the backseat of a beat up Buick LaSabre with four of her bandmates. The other two in the minivan. Art tightened his grip on the steering wheel, he imagined how impossibly close she would be sitting in between two of those men. How they would be able to smell her, to feel her touch. He snarled into the darkness.
Art contemplated for a minute after he watched the cars disappear whether he should head to the hospital. He knew she’d be there, but he also knew Sienna would be there and he just did not have the energy to deal with the bullshit that would come from that. Instead, he drove toward the disused factory he called home. He had made a cozy, well for him, little safe haven in the very far corner of the roof. He figured somebody somewhere must still be paying for gas and water, because he was always able to get a hot shower. He didn’t really feel the need to eat anymore, but sometimes he would heat up a can of beans or a hot dog for old times sake. It was strangely cathartic for him.
He flipped the switch on his tiny, definitely shouldn’t still be working TV when he got home. He was met with a rerun of FRIENDS, he remembered how much Sister Anne had loved that show. How she used to sneak away during evensong to watch it in the Reverend Mother’s private apartment. She would tell Art about it the next day, and Art would recite the lines of characters he had never heard, just to make her laugh. He turned the TV off again. He made his way down to the shower block, stripping himself of his costume along the way. It really was cold outside now, he could see it in the whiteness of his breath as he exhaled under the heat of the shower. He didn’t necessarily remember what it was like to feel cold, but he liked to see the flesh pimple on his skin. He liked it when it happened on his victims too. Maybe it was an open window that did it, or his breath on their neck, but either way, it pleased him.
Art pulled at his mask, it resisted coming away from his skin and he pulled harder. Wincing as bit by bit, his flesh was revealed. It had been a long time since he had removed his mask, too. He let the water drip down his face, using his fingers to rub away months of neglect. In truth, Art had forgotten what he looked like. The mirrors in the shower block had long been smashed, and he had no desire to go outside without his mask, so he felt the contours of his face. His nose, nowhere near as pronounced, and cheekbones not as sallow. He recognised he was thin, as he moved his hands over his torso, he could feel his ribs under his calloused hands. Then, has he cupped his hands over his genitals to wash them, he remembered a flash of green eyes. Bright and dazzling in the night. The erection that he had fought so hard in the bar, reappeared and Art looked on impressed. Another thing he had forgotten about, the look of his cock as it jutted proudly, curving upwards slightly to better fill a pussy. Or an ass, he wasn’t fussy.
Experimentally, he stroked his length once. His head rolled back with a remembered pleasure. It all came back to him with that single stroke, how fucking good it felt. How fucking good it felt to be buried to the hilt in some sweet thing. How fucking good it felt to have someone’s lips wrapped around his end, gagging on his length. Art stroked himself again, this time letting his eyes flutter shut, this way he could imagine Daphne’s hand in place of his own. Imagine the kisses peppered down his back, and her other hand cupping and gently squeezing his balls. If he could moan, he would’ve and loudly. As soon as Art quickened his ministrations, he knew it would be over all too soon, so he stopped. He shut off the water and wrapped himself in a too small towel, trudging his way back to his room. There, he fished out the poster he had taken from the bar, a soft smile plagued his lips as he refreshed his memory of Daphne’s face. Climbing up onto his bed, or rather an old army cot he had found, he lay back, one hand on his cock- the other holding her picture up to the light. He gripped himself harder this time, like he used to like it. Art bared his teeth as he rubbed his finger over his tip, a surprising amount of liquid had emerged and he used it as a lubricant. Quickly, he moved onto his knees, he placed the poster of Daphne on the bed in front of him, and began fucking his hand. His hips moved quickly into his waiting fist, her eyes never leaving his as with a would be grunt, he ejaculated over his hand, spilling his cum over the poster. It dripped onto her face in big lumps. Years of his cock not being used, he deduced. He panted, exhausted. It was one thing swinging an axe around and another making yourself cum. Falling back onto the bed, he pulled the poster with him. Daphne’s smiling face now littered with his seed, inexplicably, he felt the flame of arousal burn deep in his core at the sight. He gently smeared it over her face, paying particular attention to her mouth, as if by some miracle he could shove it inside there. He longed to have her taste him, just as with that thought he longed to taste her. To have her wetness fill his mouth, cover his face and drip down his chin. He gently tapped his teeth, they were rotten, he knew that. But he wasn’t sure what Daphne would make of them, and in that moment he felt a pang of self consciousness. Resigning himself to sleep, he pulled his threadbare cover over his bare shoulders. He felt a contentedness he hadn’t felt since before he was, well, what he was. It felt different going to sleep that evening not full of rage, but with a lazy arousal that more than likely meant when he awoke, he could treat himself once more.
As he closed his eyes, he told himself that his plans for Sienna would have to wait. The rest of Art’s week would be spent in conserving energy for this next Thursday. He had a concert to catch.
77 notes · View notes
konigsluvr · 8 months ago
Text
SWEET 『cigarettes after sex』
MASTERLIST
popular girl x quiet nerd simon
warnings: kissing, horny and simp simon, cuming untouched. And sweetness ♡
cute little series I'm starting. I hope you like this as much as I do. Enjoy and leave any comments on where I can improve, but please be nice, I'm sensitive 💋 this isn't proofread as its currently just past midnight and I'm sleepy and don't want to overthink about posting this. xxx
『★』
Simon thought you didn't notice him staring at you all year. You're popular and he's... a nerd. The amount of picking on you would endure if you did anything with him... you didn't want to think about it.
Yet you couldn't help but smile at your Math teacher as he assigned Simon - the top of the class - to help you with your studies.
Here's the catch, you act dumb and stupid to fit in with your friend group when in reality, whenever there's a test, you never fail to achieve the A+.
"You won't be disappointed," you respond, heading out of class to see it empty.
None of your friends waited for you after class but you brush that aside, looking around for Simon. A minute later, you find him by his locker, taking all of his books and transferring them into his bag.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. "Hi Simon," your sweet voice rang out.
He jumps, dropping his bag, his books scattering on a pile at your feet. He stumbles over his words, eyes wondering over your gorgeous face. His mind was reeling at the fact you knew his name?!
"I... uhh..." he clears his throat, gathering himself. His crush, his godamn crush since forever, is talking to him. Him. "Everything okay?" His voice steadies out, playing it cool.
Your lips quirk, not realising his voice was so deep. You have to look up, yourself standing at 5'5 and him standing at 6'2. You're both 17, so there's still growing to occur.
"Yes, everything's good," you speak, unable to stop your gaze to trailing to his arms. Its so obvious he works hard at the gym. "Mr Barnes assigned you as my study partner."
His eyes widen slightly, taken aback. "Me and... you. Study partners?" He speaks slowly.
He sees your eyebrows furrow. Fuck sake, idiot, he curses in his mind, being an asshole isn't the way to go.
"Um, yeah, for Maths. My grades have dropped so..." You trail off. Does he not like you? You were so sure. He's always glancing at you.
His pause makes you reinforce the idea he's never liked you. "I'll get a new partner," you speak, beginning to step away.
He grabs your wrist, and your eyes snap to his. God, your eyes and politeness... is he still grabbing you? He is! Fuck! Think, think, think!
"Tomorrow after school?" He questions, way too nervous. He bets you can feel his hand shaking. "Your place?" Too bold, Simon.
But you smile, warm, lovely. "Sure, meet here after the last period?" Your unable to tear your gaze from his stunning chocolate eyes, so attentive and aware.
He finally let's go of your hand, relief filling him. He nods, feeling much too shy to speak.
You return the smile and walk by him. As you walk to the main doors, you turn and wave goodbye, and he is already looking at you. You see his lips form a small grin and wave back subtly.
『★』
"Today was so boring," you huff out to Simom as he sits in the passenger. He sits too still, scared to make the wrong move in case you would call off this whole thing.
You find it funny he didn't respond. So you ask a question as you turn out of the car park and drive to your house, which is fifteen minutes away. "How was your day?"
He takes a few moments to reply, "good," his deep voice speaks. You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't. The truth his, his day has been terrible but his mood is ecstatic (on the inside) about being with you.
Fifteen whole minutes, he had to sit there and pretend he didn't care. Staying silent like a complete douchbag. The smell of your perfume, your pretty outfit - a black jumper, faded blue jeans, Converse, pretty earrings, hair, and makeup. Just you simply being next to him made him hard, his mind running wild.
No, no, no, no. He needs to respect you. He's 17, not a little boy. He is a virgin after all, you definitely were not. The amount of stupid boys that took your attention will never deserve you in all the lifetimes. He's stronger, more respectful, just so, so much better for you. He noticed your smile was strained and he wanted to punch every asshole that made you like that. He covers his crotch with his hands, hoping you don't notice his hand placement.
He's so wrapped up in his own thoughts that you opening your car door and exiting snaps him out of it. He ushers out, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he takes in your families property. A simple, modern but classy home. Adorable. His gaze quickly returns to you, pausing as he sees your looking at him already.
"You work out?" You question, noticing he's wearing a black sleeved long sleeved gym shirt. He wore it just for you. It shows off his muscles perfectly.
"Six days a week," he speaks, trying to show off a little. Douche, again. But you smile and he smiles back.
"I do pilates sometimes," you reply, walking up to your front door. Pilates, Simon thinks of you doing the workout, so feminine and simple.
You both enter and you close the door behind you both. "Would you like a drink?" You ask innocently, looking up at him. You knew you were standing too close.
He swallows thickly, his gaze glancing down to your lips for a sweet second. He got even harder. For fuck sake, Simon. Answer the damned question! "Water would be nice, thanks."
You nod. "My room is upstairs, down the hall to the right," you speak, turning and walking to the kitchen.
He stands there silent for a few moments, watching your body sway. He shakes his head. Stop it now, he thinks. He walks up the stairs as he takes in everything about his small journey. At the end of the hallway, there's a picture of younger you.
He always knew you were an only child, makes sense how much you're put together with your parents attention focused on one child. He can't help but smile, seeing how cute you are. You must've been around 5 or 6 he's guessing, your eyes still the same sweetness.
He enters your room and sits on the edge of your bed, looking around once again. Clean, tidy, and... pink. Lots of light pink and white everywhere. Now he knows what your favourite colours are. Bingo.
He hears your soft footsteps coming up. He takes a quick breath, needing to calm his nerves desperately. Just your presence has him all giddy. You enter the room and close the door behind you.
"Here you are," you talk softly, handing him his water. You sit further up on your bed so you're in the middle of it. He thinks for a moment, copying you timidly. You face him. "I hope you like popcorn."
He nods, looking down, noticing you have a bowl of popcorn. Now he knows your favourite snack. Bingo, again!
You relax for a little while, scrolling on your phone as you chew on some popcorn while Simon takes sips of his drink here and there.
You come off your phone and hear your mother coming into your room. You have no time to prepare yourself or to even warn Simon, but he's already looking at her.
"Hi sweet girl!" Your mother exclaims happily, entering the room, hands on her hips. "How was school-" she cuts herself off, finally noticing Simon. She grins. "And who is this handsome boy?"
"Mom!" You scold, stepping off your bed, ready to usher her out, but she pulls you into a hug, kissing your cheek. You turn back at Simon, and he's gazing with a gentle expression, happy to see you and your mother's bond. "His name is Simon," you respond, pulling out of the hug.
Simon feels a slight blush form on his cheeks, shy once more. Your mom stops gazing at him too fondly for your liking and whispers in your ear, "he's a sweet one, I can tell."
You smile at her and glance back at Simon. "He's helping me with Math," you reveal.
Your mother's face brightens. "That's amazing, honey! Anyways, I'll leave you two to it, don't forget to lock the door-"
"Mom," you scold firmly this time. You love her dearly and you know she can tell that you like Simon.
She winks at you and leaves. You close the door and lock it. Simons muscles tense. You locked it? He doesn't want to think any further but he can see a blush on your face too.
『★』
Two hours. Two whole hours, Simon has spent one on one, simply inches away from each other. He easily covers his straining cock by having the popcorn bowl in front of it. He holds back jolts when you reach your hand for a snack.
You spent half the time looking at him and the other half wondering how his voice is so matured and dreamy. You did all the questions from your homework book and you played dumb on a few so he could lean in and explain it.
Simon grew comfortable in your presence. You are warm, soft and gentle. Everything he loves is you.
The thing he didn't expect at all was when you kissed him. You fucking kissed him. You and him! Kissing! He was explaining the most boring equation of all, leaning in more close, taking the pencil from your hand, your hands brushing together. He talks and continues talking when you catch gazes, noses nearly touching.
He wasn't sure whether Math turned you on? Or having someone tell you what to do? He was completely at loss, but once your lips touched his, the gates of heaven opened. You tasted of strawberries, sweet and addictive.
It was such a brief kiss, lasting a few seconds at most. His jaw goes slack afterwards. It was just a kiss, you don't want anything else. Maybe your thanking him for helping you? Both your hands stayed down at your lap, same with his. He's afraid if he touched you, he would never let go.
Should he confess? You've been staring dumbly at each other for about 30 seconds now.
"You're getting the hang of everything," he whispered smoothly. You sigh, feeling yourself growing wet. He was so good-looking and kind, too kind. He was huge, height and muscle wise, but his hands were so gentle.
In the moment, you place the popcorn on your beside table and climb on his lap. His eyes blow wide open as you take his face and lock your lips together once more. He moans into the kiss, making you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer.
He opens his legs, hands hesitantly holding onto your waist. Should he push you away or hold you closer? You deserved so much better than him. He's never kissed anyone before, and he's probably doing horrible. But he picks option two, he pulls you closer, fingertips pawing at your waist. He was right, warm, and soft.
You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, poking your tongue into his mouth, and he let's you, opening his lips, getting drunk off your taste. You sigh into the kiss. He's really good. You wonder how many girls he's been with, jealousy plaguing your mind.
You grind down on him, hips moving back and forth, needy to calm down your pulsing clit. He was rock solid. You swallow up his strangled moan, hips bucking up into yours like a pathetic mess.
Your hands move behind you, taking his hands and placing them on your asscheeks. He squeezes, becoming lost in everything you're doing. He wants to be in your mind, what are you thinking right now?
He pulls away and you look at him confused. His expression was pure pleasure. "Shit, no- fuck-" he groans, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.
"What's wrong?" You speak softly, stroking his hair. Due to you leaning more down, your clothed pussy was right against him. He felt his stomach tighten, pleasure rippling through his body. Don't cum, don't you fucking dare, Simon. If you speak once more with that honey voice of yours he's done for.
"Simon?" You whisper, hearing his breathing come out in quick pants. He whines into your shoulder, and you stare at your wall, completely confused. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you down onto him as he jerks his hips up a few times, riding out his pleasure.
"Are you..." you pause, thinking about the situation. You saw he was hard, it was obvious with the grey sweatpants he was wearing. But did he seriously just cum under a minute of kissing?
You wait until his breathing goes normal, his body relaxing. You try to get up off him, but he holds onto you tightly.
"I'm sorry," he speaks, the most embarrassed he's ever been. He's made you uncomfortable. He knows it. A disgusting pervert, that's what he is. He pulls his head from your neck, missing the smell of you. He looks up at you half-lidded.
Your hands stroke his cheeks. You grin. "Did you cum?" You speak gently.
He swallows, wanting to look away, blushing furiously. "...yes."
"Don't think you weren't so sneaky with the popcorn bowl," you respond, laughing as you watch his reaction to you catching him out.
He groans, resting his head against yours. He's dreading at the thought of letting you go. The prettiest, sweetest girl ever. So soft and warm, he thinks, sighing.
You laugh, making his head snap up at the sound. "Thank you."
He wants to throw himself off a cliff. He said that out loud. For the love of-
"I take care if my skin," you respond, cupping his face, "all over."
He feels himself grow hard again and that's when he can't be close to you anymore. Crossing boundaries is something he doesn't do, especially around you.
You yelp as he lifts you off him, not a muscle straining, carrying you like your as light as a feather. He places you on the bed and he stands up, covering the dark patch on the crotch of his sweatpants.
You giggle, covering your mouth. "I can give you a t-shirt of mine to cover up."
He nods. "Thanks."
You get up, grabbing a random t-shirt and handing it to him. You gaze up at him, tilting your head. He didn't understand how you were looking at him so happily, he was an asshole to you and was disrespectful-
"Would you like a ride?" You question.
He allows his eyes to admire you for a while before responding. "It's okay, my house is just five minutes away."
"It is?" You question, your smile widening.
He swallows. Damn you, you're teasing him. "See you tomorrow," he grumbles, walking to your door.
"Wait!" You exclaim, grabbing his book bag and handing it to him. You lean up, holding the back of his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.
His right hand itches forward to hold you, but he stops himself. No, you've already taken enough from her. What have you given her? The fucking creeps.
He simply nods, keeping his feelings to himself and walks down the hall. It takes every cell in his body to not look back at your face. He can feel your gaze trailing on him.
"Thanks for letting me stay," he thanks your mother, giving her a nod. But she squeals, hugging him close.
"My little love likes you, I can tell," she speaks hushed, not wanting you to hear. Don't give him hope, don't. His mind still races, even your mom can see it, your gaze with more shine as you look at Simon.
He nods again, brain running a million miles an hour to even form a sentence. He walks away from the kitchen and leaves through the door. He closes it behind him and walks down the drive.
He waits until he's completely off the property before grinning and laughing, all while holding your t-shirt to his crotch. The street is quiet, not a soul around. He walks away, an extra leap in his step, happiness fulfilling him.
All in one day, you met up with him, you drove him to your house, you studied in your room, you kissed and he... he cringed hard, not wanting to think about it. You had him wrapped around your finger. He keeps smiling, though. Next Thursday, he'll be with you again.
『★』
EEEEK SO CUTE!!
Guys, Simon is NOT a perv!! I just wanted to include his conflicted thoughts because he loves her so much and doesn't want to make her uncomfortable 🤧. I'm not sure how many parts I'm hoping on doing, mayyyyybe 4... or 5... 😙. For you smut girlies, yes, there WILL be smut in upcoming parts and I hope my writing will be up to your expectations. Have a lovely day💗
Also!! Please note I am not trying to sexualise the characters at all, they will be turning 18 soon and it isn't a shock to anyone that they are doing these kinds of this at 17🤭
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messenger-of-babel · 1 month ago
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Till Death Do Us Part
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Summary: Chris is plagued by memories, nightmares, and the dream of you. (Chris Redfield x reader)
Word Count: 2.8K
Notes: UNIT OF A MAN CHRIS REDFIELD. I love how he looks in Re8 (re7 Chris broke my heart and cut the brakes on my car fr). Veryyy minor language, I swore like once. It's funny I came here to be a resi blog and look at how the turn tables. Anyways, Chris stans rise up y'all are so nice~ xx
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Alone in the car, Chris was left with his thoughts a little longer than he would have liked.
Thumbing the lighter, he brings the flickering flame to his mouth, lighting the stick that hung from the press of his lips. With a deep inhale and slow close of his eyes, he lets the nicotine work its way around his system, blissfully whisking the worries from his mind. His muscles loosen under the layers of tactical and cold weather gear, finger relaxing on the gun trigger and letting the weapon rest in his lap. These were the moments that Chris Redfield let the memories catch up with him.
 His team was setting up in their operation in Miranda’s village, voices occasionally cutting in through his radio, but they didn’t need him right now. He could have a moment to himself among the chaos of it all, and deep down he knew his team gave him the space deliberately. For a moment, he stopped running for just a second and let his mistakes settle in.
Most of the time he thought of Piers.
He thought of the young man who came to him all those years ago and dragged him out of the pit he had dug himself into. The stern face of the young soldier who tore away the coffin lid of alcohol and blacking out in alleyways, pulling him back into the light. Who made him a captain again, who never gave up on him. The very same friend who pushed himself past the limits of being human to save Chris. To save the world.
When he was younger and more guilt ridden, he had played out the 'what if' scenarios like clockwork. What Piers would be doing now if he was alive, if Chris had been able to hand the mantle over to him like he intended. It had morphed into what Piers might have done if Chris had died instead, taken his place in the escape pod and been granted the chance to see the sun again. It was endless nights of lost sleep; the dreams being replaced with nightmares every time he thought of one of those situations. His sanity and his mind hung on by a thread in those moments, doing everything he could to not relapse into the place he was before Piers. He slipped more often than he'd like, but the seared face of Piers haunted the back of his eyelids like a ghost, and eventually, he always put the bottle back down.
The second person he thought of was Jill.
She was still alive, but not the same person she had been back in S.T.A.R.S. He couldn’t blame her though; he was hardly the same either. He was more rugged, more gruff, weather beaten and fucking tired. Despite the times she caught his gaze and bluntly told him to stop worrying, he never really could. She was like his lifeline back to the Chris of the past, where he cracked smiles more often than not and spent time making jokes at the captains expense. That kind of Chris who was young and full of cheek, brimming with the audacity of youth.
and with youth came naivety and innocence.
Joining the S.T.A.R.S team as ex-military he thought he had seen everything, which had given him the boisterous ego infamous among the RPD. The fact that he missed that naivety drew a copper taste to his mouth, forcing himself to swallow and take another drag of the cigarette. Back when Wesker was Captain Wesker, and Chris's loyalty was intact and oblivious to the sting of betrayal. When he still had Barry and Dewey and Dooley and Brad. Things were simpler, despite how often he liked to brag about what went on in his job. Yet at the end of the day, he was still passionate about serving and protecting the people he loved. He thought he was making a difference.
Jill never said outright that she was mad at him, she was his partner after all. Guilt had clawed way for a burning rage when he thought he had lost her, settling in his chest like a poison. Then she had come back, with a fire in her eyes that spoke to kill him. They had worked their differences out over the years, overcoming the scars of that ordeal together. The mansion, the canyon, the incident in Africa, all of those they had talked past with more than a bottle of whisky between them, and for like a small moment it was like it had never happened. They moved forward, together. stronger. He was more grateful for her company and support than he showed, and he knew that Jill would be uncomfortable if he brought it up.
Currently his mind was stuck on Ethan.
Ethan Winters, who he had lied to about the situation involving his family. He knew that Ethan deserved to know, deserved to know about Mia, his daughter Rose. Maybe his heart had gotten more and more calloused over the years, building slowly till he felt very little at all. It was so easy to make the calls, to think of the bigger picture all the time. For the greater good of the world, unable to see the pain he caused when he took away the only world that Ethan cared about.
And now Ethan was fighting tooth and nail to get it back.
Chris respected how the man had marched bravely into the face of death for the sake of his family, to get back his daughter. Even though Chris had warned him not to and Ethan caused an insurmountable amount of inconvenience in his wake; Chris respected him. He knew that Ethan would unlikely forgive him when he found everything out, would curse him for hurting who he had thought were his loved ones. Chris knew he had failed him already, so the sting of that thought had dulled each hour he spent in this cursed village. The village that Ethan Winters was currently burning down in the name of love.
Chris wanted to shake the man down, to tell him to stop fighting and to let him and his team handle it. That his emotions were getting the better of him, and he wasn't going to get anywhere with just willpower and a handgun. He wanted nothing more than to tell him he was being an idiot, and that Chris himself would never make such stupid decisions. Yet he couldn't make the words form in his mind, knowing he himself had been just like him once, willing to throw himself in the way of everything for one person.
You.
Chris had made many mistakes in his life, but you never were one. If anything, you were the one thing that was going right for him when everything seemed wrong. When he had come knocking on your door late at night, worn out from work, you always welcomed him in with a warm smile. No one knew about you two, and that's the way both of you preferred to keep it. You were a regular cop working with the RPD, letting you both trade glances with each other in the hallways and a few too many stolen kisses in the evidence room. He had a faint feeling that Jill suspected something, but if she knew she never said.
He loved how warm you were, how kind-hearted. Late nights lying in your bed talking about life, the past and the future. Leaning over his chest with sparkling eyes one night, you had told him why you had become an officer. Something with a wage big enough to pay for your two younger sister's tuition, so they wouldn't have to face the level of poverty you had. Something that could help others get off the streets, keep the kids safe and away from the drugs and addictions that plagued Raccoon's backstreets. With a soft smile on your lips, you told him of how you wanted to buy your mother a bigger house one day, with enough money sent home each week that she would never have to wonder if she could afford heat in winter again.
His breath was stolen at the genuine way you told him of your childhood, your upbringing and struggles. The way your eyes still glimmered with life after everything, that you were still able to see the good in things. The way that you used it to make yourself stronger. Although he had been in S.T.A.R.S, in that moment he wanted nothing but to have a fraction of the sheer strength you had.
Then had come the Arklay mission, which he left for so suddenly there was little room for more than a brief peck on the cheek and a reassurance that he would be back. That hadn't been enough to smooth the worry lines from your forehead, but you let him go anyways, fingers uncurling from the material of his uniform. He wished he had looked back just a little longer, held you just a little closer, not knowing that would be the last time he ever saw you.
Of course, everything in Arklay happened, the memory of that making him sigh and tap his fingers restlessly on the windowsill. Another drag of the cigarette brought his shoulders down from bunching near his ears. exhaling the plume slowly, he closed his eyes and let himself indulge in the thought of you. It was nearly your anniversary, a week off in fact. It was the only time he allowed himself to think of you, the only time he could let himself remember the curve of your smile and the glow of your eyes. If you had been allowed to be together, you would be celebrating your 24th anniversary this year. He wondered how many of those you might have been married for, if you would have had children or any on the way. Where you would have moved to, the house you would have wanted, the life you could have built.
But it hadn't worked like that.
He had left to chase Wesker, hoping he could end it quickly and come home to your arms, body tracing its way home like a beacon. He saw traits of himself in the way Ethan fought, fighting for his daughter and wife the same way Chris had fought for you. Instead, all he got was the news of Raccoon being destroyed, and taking his heart with it. His eyes had been locked onto the grainy TV of the European hotel room, shock making tears sting the back of his eyes. He had raced back, Wesker be damned. He could always chase him down again, but you? He didn't think he could survive another night restless like that again.
He had run home like the fear of God was under his feet, eventually finding Jill. It had been an accidental reunion, and he had been more than glad to see her alive. Someone was alive, which meant that there was hope. But when she regarded him with sad eyes and a slight hitch in her tone, he faltered. He wasn't sure if he had ever felt more fear than he did in that moment, vision blurring at the corners as she pulled something from her jacket pocket to give to him.
Maybe Valentine had pieced it together after all.
For all the horrors, monsters and battlefields Chris Redfield had seen, nothing had hurt him more than seeing your badge lying in the middle of her palm. He had demanded answers, not even caring if the tears burnt themselves to the forefront, but Jill refused. her lips were sealed tight, looking down and away from him.
"For your own good." She had said firmly, jaw set tight. "You don't…you don't want to know. They wouldn't have wanted you to know." She said softly, before quietly muttering her apologies. That had sealed the deal for him, heart beating out of time in his chest. All he could do was close his fingers around the cold piece of metal he scooped from her palm, blood stained and sharp.
Chris was no fool. he knew what had happened in Raccoon prior to it being bombed. The terror on the streets, the outbreak that spread like fire. he knew of cops and S.T.A.R.S members alike that turned, but he had always had a hope that you had gotten out. You were smart, so much smarter than him. But as Jill handed him your badge, he knew that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, you were gone.
Not knowing what happened to you exactly ate at him for years, plaguing his nights and soaking his sheets with sweat. It was the same dream, hand extending out towards him, pain written on your face. "Help me." you'd plead to him, over and over. He'd try his best, but he wouldn't be able to stop the way that your skin fell from your bones, melting off your muscles and running blood down your fingertips. He tried to hold you each time, trying to keep you together as you thrashed and screamed. His touch only seemed to make you decay further, skin rippling and warping under his fingertips. With a final ""Help me," you'd lunge for his neck without fail, jerking him upright with wide eyes and a rabbiting heart. He wasn't sure what was worse, wondering if you had turned and gone though the pain of becoming infected, or experienced the horror of watching a bomb come down on you instead of a rescue chopper.
It was too hard to imagine, so over the years he built his own story. It had started originally that you died doing something heroic, saving a family or some poor civilian. That was in your nature, always kind-hearted. It slowly morphed into you fighting for your life, bravely tracking down horde after horde to defend what survivors you could find before taking your last stand, being the hero he knew you to be. However, in his old age those stories lost their shine, and the comfort they brought turned into a grimace. Nothing could take away that you lost your life too young. So now he thought of a different one, a special one he only indulged in for this time of the year.
One where you were waiting at home for him as usual, radiant and beautiful as ever. He'd be able to come back home from this mission, taking his weary body up to your embrace and letting himself rest there as you welcomed him back. Hip popped as you leant against the front porch, wearing the same uniform he had left you in all those years ago. He could gaze into your bright eyes again, cover the smirk on your lips with his own when he kissed you, hand on your waist to remind himself that you were real. He'd take you out to some local restaurant you had both made your favourite, something he imagined you found together when you moved out of the city. In a quieter place like the countryside, just what you wanted. He'd take great pride ordering the meal you liked, something that he knew by heart. It was a dream where he got to see you all dressed up, smiling at him from across the flickering candlelight, reaching over to envelop his hand with yours. Then he would cast his eyes down and see the ring on your finger, filling his heart with warmth.
That was something that his nightmares couldn't even touch. The thought of you becoming a zombie, one of the infected and rotting away in his arms was banished the nights he let him indulge in the fantasy. A world where his leaving hadn't damned you, where his touch still meant promises for the future, not a death sentence.
For a full moment it would all feel warm and vivid and real, as if you had come down from your heavenly seat just to bless him for another moment. In that small corner of his heart, the rot couldn't touch you. You beamed up at him as radiant as the day he left you, a smile forever etched into his mind.
When he opened his eyes next you were gone, and he was back to sitting in the car preparing his assault on Miranda. There was a weak voice in the back of his head telling him that you were still waiting back home and all he had to do was finish this mission. He kept it alive, even through the crackle of the radio as his team patched in; already in position. He crushed out his cigarette, reloading his gun by muscle memory. As he exited the car he cast one look up at the bleak sky before patting the smooth, RPD police badge tucked into the lining of his vest, right over his heart.
"happy anniversary babe." he murmured softly, and he knew somewhere, someplace, you were smiling on the other end.
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hearts4kaulitz · 2 years ago
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BILL HCS .
nsfw hcs will only be for afab readers
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SFW ,
he loves to do your eyeliner. he will literally sit in your lap for hours just to give you the ‘perfect’ liner.
when he first met you, you like BLINDED him with your attractiveness like it felt like a blur when he was first round you just because your so cute.
he teaches you german phrases if you ask some might be dirty
smoke n drinking sessions together. sometimes you can guess what kind of cigarettes he’s smokes, same for alcohol
most of ur smoking and drinking sessions end it makeouts… or more
bill wakes up super early, if your not an early bird he loves to play with your hair or just watch you rest.
y’all probably have a shirt you both share, it probably says “whore working” on it or something like that…
he’s worn your bras before, he kept playing with the cup part like he was a toddler.
NSFW ,
he whimpers if he’s into it enough
absolutely LOVES to go down on you. he loves to grab your thighs while he eats you out
he’ll cut his nails one he has the feeling y’all r gonna do ‘it’ cause he doesn’t wanna hurt you
if you ask, he’d praise you but i dont think he’d have the heart to degrade you. he wouldn’t want you to think less of yourself.
PLEASE pull his hair, it encourages him like hell
cause his torso is so long you love to kiss down to it before sucking him off…
he would take notes of where your sensitive parts are so he could use them to make you get all riled up
he loves when his or your eyeliner gets messed up during it, it makes him feel proud for some reason
he’s not that vocal he really just groans alot but like i said he would whimper if hes really into it.
if you ever had those smoke or drinking sessions late at night it mostly likely turns into yall just fucking like animals until dawn..
its so funny when he takes his pants off in a rush and nearly trips cause their so tight.
absolutely LOVES when you put on his shirts afterwards.
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arivsxq · 2 months ago
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Pairing: Jungkook X reader
Theme: angst, friends to lovers to enemies
Warning: +18, mention of drugs, smut, angst, JK is kinda an asshole
Song: Friends-Chase Atlantic
Word count: 1k+
A/N: hey, I was bored last night so I thought “why not write a little one shot?”. Hope u like it and sorry english is my second language so I tend to make some mistakes. Have a great dayyy
One thing I learned in the past few months is to always keep your promises. I didn't do that which led to, me lying to every single person I love only to be with the man that I loved. Can you even call it love? I think so. At least from my perspective, but from his? Did he love me or did he love the rush of excitement that came with the forbidden romance between us? I don't know and I probably won't ever know but what I know is that we both screwed up. The promise we made many years ago had its purpose and we ignored it because we were blinded by the mind-blowing sex we had when none of our friends were around.
Now we're sitting here, pretending like the past months never happened, keeping up this facade for our friends in the hope that they will never find out. The smell of weed lingers in the air, taking me back to the night before everything went down. "You want sum' "J.T. holds a package of cigarettes in his hand. I stretch my arm slightly to take one and light it up before I blow out the smoke into the cold night air. "I thought you wanted to quit" His raspy voice reaches my ears, making me stop my movements for a second. "I've changed my mind" I try to make my voice sound as normal as possible but even an idiot could see that something was off.
We were very close, even before our 'little romance' but now I couldn't even look into his eyes. "You guys are fine?" Cora asks. "Yeah, why wouldn't we?" and another lie. "You two seem off. I just thought you fought or something" She's right, we fought but that's the consequence of fucking your best friend behind closed doors. They drop the topic fortunately and out of one cigarette becomes a joint. Our five friends talk and laugh but the only quiet ones are me and him.
"I should head home now. It's past midnight and I have practice tomorrow" I get up from the bench and take my bag. "How do you get home?" Dane asks, reminding me that he had quite a few drinks by now. "Walkin' " I feel his gaze on my body and before I can think any further he stands up and says "I'll drive you". I want to say something. I want to say no, I really want to but I can't because our friends are listening. I wave them goodbye and start heading into the dark with him behind me like a guardian angel.
"I can walk" my voice echoes through the darkness, making him let out a laugh. "What's so funny?" "When will you stop lying, y/n?" I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. "You are scared of the dark. You hate walking around at this hour"
"Things change" my answer makes him laugh again. "I still wonder how the others never found out because baby you are a terrible liar". My eyes widened at his statement but also because of the pet name he always called me when no one was around.
"I'm not a liar" another lie. "You are. You never have practice on Sundays". Fuck this son of a bitch. How does he remember every detail about me and makes me feel things I shouldn't? "I'm not the only liar here" my arms crossed in front of my chest, trying to make myself feel less exposed. "You're right but the difference is that I don't deny it" I want to rip this damn smirk off of his face, that he always makes when he knows he's right. He gets on his bike and puts his helmet on while I stand there dumbfounded. "Get on top" he throws the other helmet and I catch it. My eyes roll before putting it on and hopping behind him onto the bike. He puts on the engine after making sure my hands are secured around his waist that I knew so well and before I could feel my heart beating faster, we drove off into the night.
***
I should've known better when he said he wanted to follow me upstairs and make sure I would get home safely. But I was too dumb to think twice or maybe I hoped that this would happen. That's the reason why he's pounding inside me, right? Making me cry out the noises that he loved so much while my acrylic nails bury into his skin. I feel his muscles flex under my touch. "Fuck" he curses when my walls clench around him. His heavy breaths tickle the side of my neck while his tattooed hand goes down to stoke my waist. Soft moans escape my mouth and I feel his lips again.
My legs feel numb, the kiss deepens and I feel him hitting the spot that makes me want to scream out his name. It's like he can read my mind. Fuck you Jeon. "Do it baby. Say my name" he grunts beside my ear. I whine at the pleasure that starts building up inside me and as much I hate him, I still can't get enough of him. "Say my name baby. Tell me who makes you feel good"
"Fuck you, Jungkook" is the only thing I get out before the knot in my stomach explodes and my orgasm rolls all over my body.
He moans at the feeling of my walls tightening around him and increases his speed, pounding faster into my dripping core. "I missed you" did he? "Fuck I missed you so much" my heart clenches and I feel what I did when he whispered sweet nothings when he had me in his arms. And that's the moment I start thinking that maybe he has changed. Maybe we can try to be something again but this time stop lying about it. Dumb little girl. Because the next day I wake up he's gone...again.
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willowser-but-nsfw · 2 years ago
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love the thought of touya being just another clueless virgin todoroki. can't stop thinking about it. dabi the pure i'm ajfbeusjqj.
yeah, i'm sure being on the streets has exposed him to all kinds of stuff and he probably saw way too much way too soon, but i also think — he was a little teenager in a young man's body when he woke up. puberty is stressful enough on its own, but at least one can grow through the stages; touya woke up and just was. had hair in places he didn't have before and probably had acne and his body reacted in ways he was very unfamiliar with. do we think enji was giving him the sex talk at thirteen ? as fucking if ajdjwuajka.
he's really on his own, just like always.
not only is his body changed, but it's also eating itself. assuming this was before the point in which he burned through his nerve endings, he was probably in pain all the time. wrapped up like a little mummy. nobody is getting close enough to touch him, and he certainly doesn't know why they'd want to or why he'd want them to or what he even would want them to do. and he's angry, too, and lost and bitter and probably scared. wouldn't surprise me if he just — didn't; want anything to do with intimacy or have time to ponder it. i mean, he has no real examples of people in love, and the only one he does makes him sick.
so, no, he really has no clue that you're into him — in any way, shape, or form.
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his humor is so dry that it's funny and he's always got some smart-ass thing to say; watching him and spinner argue never fails to make you laugh. there's a certain, standoff-ish way in which he cares for the people he's with, his people. won't say anything about getting toga something from the family mart — just does it and then drops it in her lap without a word. sometimes you catch him and twice sitting outside, drinking and talking in low voices about topics too heavy for most to carry. whatever issues arise in shigaraki's plans, dabi is quick to squash, without hesitation.
burns or not, his face is handsome, and there are times when he's speaking that you can see hints of the man he is underneath, who he was meant to be; the soft edge of his jaw and roundness to his cheeks, how full his eyes are, the bumped ridge of his nose—
"got a staring problem?"
dabi is leaned up against the trunk of your car, shrouded in cigarette smoke. not once does he look over at you, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the waning moon reflecting off the water; not really here — on the pier with you and the loads of supplies taking up all the space in your backseat — but somewhere else. wherever he goes when he's quiet like this.
"well," you shrug, smile in your voice, "i wouldn't call it a problem."
"oh, yeah?" he murmurs, uninterested, before snorting once and blinking himself back into reality. the end of his cigarette lights up with one last, long drag before he's flicking it over the edge and into the water below. "you ready yet?"
underbeath you, the trunk creaks as you scoot closer to him and the warmth emanating through his hoodie and you hum, considering. "no, i don't think so."
dabi scoffs, finally turning to look at you with a lazy swivel of his head. the moon isn't as bright as it could be, and in the shadows, his eyes are dull. "the hell are we doin' out here, anyway?"
"i don't know, talking, i guess," you shrug again, biting back a smile when his face screws up. "there's no privacy back at the bar."
"what, you need a room to lock yourself up in or somethin'?"
you don't think dabi returns your school-girl feelings. not once has he moved his eyes down to your lips, even when you pulled one between your teeth, nor has he paid your legs any attention in this skirt, and he hasn't so much as moved an inch closer to you. unless he's just that oblivious — but he's a cute guy, funny, little scary; surely he's well versed enough to know when someone's flirting with him, right?
"no, i just mean," for emphasis, you scooch the last bit closer, nudging your knee against his elbow. "like, privacy for us."
maybe you're making a huge ass out of yourself and he's going to shoot you down any minute, but — for the first time all night, it seems as if he's actually looking at you. seeing you, with his eyes trained on your face as his brows begin to furrow.
"what do we need privacy for?"
"i don't know," you let out a small laugh when he glances down at your leg, the hot point of contact between you. "guess i wanna be alone with you sometimes."
any minute now.
just waiting for him to shut you down, once and for all. put an end to the little game you keep trying to pull him into. then you can finally let your crush die and move on and hopefully the tension you feel with him will dissipate, too.
but dabi just snorts again, straightens his shoulders and pushes off the car so he can look at you head-on. "for what? this the part where you gut me like a fish and toss me—"
"no, oh my god," you slap your hands over your face and shake your head, laughing into your palms before swatting at him to shut him up. "how much more obvious do i need to be? should i kiss you now or later?"
and then a long, silent beat goes by before he wheezes out a strained little laugh, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and turning to hide his face. dabi shakes his head, stuttering out half-sentences that don't entirely reach your ears, that maybe aren't meant for you. "—the fuck is wrong with—"
"so, i'm guessing later is probably better."
"you're—" he laughs, a little hollow, and faces you with a hand on the back of his neck, fiddling with his pitch-black hair. whatever nonchalance he thinks he's wearing is paper thin. "i don't even—what the fuck."
still not a no, you reason; if anything, his eyes are wide, much moreso than that usual half-lidded stare of his. bright now, too, like something has flickered to life on the inside. you wonder if the skin of his cheeks is warm, and you feel your belly flood with butterflies at the thought.
dabi keeps his distance and his mouth is still agape — from shock, maybe — but the corner of his lips are curved, as if he's amused. there's not much else he manages to say, just rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, chewing at the inside of his lips until the wind is getting nippy and the time for privacy has run out.
when he gets into the passenger seat of your car, all he does is scratch at his cheek and murmur, "you're fuckin' weird," but the air inside is stuffy, even turning the windows foggy, and though the cab is dim — you don't miss the way his eyes begin to drift to your mouth, every now and again.
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binkszamsstuff · 2 years ago
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Red
Very dark Steve! Mob Steve! Non con! Reader and Steve have a child. Angst!! Lots of grammar and spelling mistakes I’ll edit in the morning or never who knows🤷🏻‍♀️❤️
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Red. the pain, the hurt, the passion, the love, everything was red. He was toxic, he was the obsessive. And you were his feen, his drug, his obsession , his love. But the days blurred, the lines no longer were standing, they had fallen. The fights, the late nights, the guessing and questions that went unanswered by him. It was a house on fire, it was red.
There was no time in the day to plan, with his anger, and yours. It was spontaneous, the fight had started because of steves affairs. The lying, the cheating, he ruined you, tore down all walls, made you just as obsessed with him as he was with you. Just to leave you in the dust, to cheat. To add gasoline to the fire that was you, or what was left of you anyhow.
Peggy was a glossy, classy woman with the perfect bubble of power and wittiness. She was everything you weren’t. You were messy, hazed with trouble, a woman gone mad by a man who drove her there. You were his frankenstein, you were old pieces of yourself glued back together again. The young, innocent, naive, funny, charming, and free girl was now chained to the scars he left.
You ran out of the house in the early morning, he came home late yet again. You had stayed up waiting for him, going to confront him in his act. Thats exactly what you did, but the end was not what you pictured. You hopped that he would hold you, say you were wrong, make love to you like in the beginning.
“Are you cheating on me?’ you asked quietly, you sat on the bed. You couldnt took at him.
“I dont want to have this conversation with you, it’ll only hurt you” steve spoke. That was all the answers you needed. You started to yell, scream, through insult after insult.
“I knew it! You’re scerwing peggy! Huh you’re fucking your secretary!” you yelled in his face crying. He rolled his eyes at you and shoved you to the side going to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
“Im tried of this steve” you sobbed walking to the closet grabbing any bag in sight packing up everything.
Once steve heard you say that so defeated he knew that you were serious about leaving him. You and him had lots a fights because of his actions but everytime he kissed it better. He drew back in promising his love and that it will never happen again. But it always does. Steve now had his suite jacket off, his selves rolled up, strands of his hair in hs face,
“You’re not leaving me” he stated
“Watch me” you said back in anger, masking the sadness.
“y/n i own you, you’re mine! You cant leave me baby” he said getting angry.
“You cheated steve! Again. I-i cant do this i cant sit here and wait for you to love me again. We are not the people we were when we first started dating. I cant and wont be the drunk housewife waiting for her husband whose never gonna come back because his mistress.” you were out of breath from crying and talking so fast while packing.
Steve stepped closer “baby come on its me! Its us! We always get through stuff like this!” he tried to manipulate you with his soft words but this time it wouldn’t work. the naive girl you used died, not even a ghost left of her
“We wouldnt have to “get through this stuff” if you didnt cheat and fuck other women.” you held up air qoutes while talking.
“I love you” steve pulled you in near, kissing the top of your head. You sobbed in his chest, hurt, angry, betrayed. The three year relationship was now smoke, the fire was all burnt out. The engagement ring heavy on your finger, it was a line of whispered lies and i love yous.
Steve drew you to the bed, kissing his way up your neck. His hands sliding down your frame gripping your hips. His false hope whispered in your ear and apologies that didnt have any meaning stuck to you, like a cigarette burn. He took off your clothes and gently laid you on the bed. ‘When was the last time he was gentle with me?’ you thought to yourself as he kissed and licked at you lower lips.
“Say something baby, tell me you wont leave me, that you love me” he begged like he was the victim. You stayed silent, numb.
“prettybaby i love you. Say it back! I need you! I cant live with out you!” both of you now naked on the bed. he pushed himself into your entrance, all you could do was cry.
Steve begged and whined for you back but little did he know the car was running outside waiting to escape him and this burning house.
Steve fell asleep hugging you, his head resting on your tummy his arm wrapped around you. You ran your fingers through his hair, soaking up what was left of the man you used to know, he was burned alive, gone. You slowly pushed him off of you and got dressed, grabbing the bags on clothes and bathroom care you walked out. You looked around the house as you left, the nicknacs and photos of you and steve. The nursery that sat empty. Steve promised children but then came peggy. You kissed your engagement ring and then placed it on the entry table by steves keys.
Getting in the car and speeding off in to what was left of the mess steve made of you.
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One year later-
A wail of a new born was calling out to you in the dead of the night. You never got frustrated being a single mother, reminding yourself when you caught yourself being negative that you could still be with steve. Penny was three months old and her blonde curly hair was sticking in every which way. It made you giggle.
“Hi! Mommys here its okay penny girl” you picked her up rocked her in your arms.
She might be steve daughter but you never let her know what pain she was created from, you would never let her end up like steve nor you.
“Mama loves you” you said as she closed her big eyes again just needing comfort from her mom to make her feel better. Steve didnt know that the night that the two of you had sex before you left was the cause of a beautiful little girl. He had tried to call, and text you put after smaing you phone and leaving to state of New York for Washington you knew he wouldnt find you.
You lived in a little white house with a garden in a small town tucked away from the crazy and hurt.
You sat in the rocking chair in pennys room rocking her, your tiredness was catching up to you. Just as your eyes started to close he spoke from the depths of the darkness that was the closet.
“Oh prettybaby you are such a good little mommy, just like i knew you would be” he walked closer.
You screamed. Getting up with penny in your arms backing away from him trying stumble to the door backwards,
“Get out. Steve get out! I-i cant-” you sobbed your hold on penny grew tighter.
“Baby its okay, i wont hurt you. y/n im so proud of you, look at the life you built for our little girl, now i am mad you didnt tell me you were pregnant. But baby she is gorgeous. Now i need you to decide either you come home or we can live out here. Ya know i kinda love it here. Good thinking babe this is great place to rise kids”
You sobbed harder.
“How did you find us” you asked crying, so scared.
“Oh baby dont be naive, i will always find you”
“You cant be in our life, your toxic and i wont rase my daughter in the life we used to have. She wont end up like us! You cant be here! You ruined me!’ you sobbed and hyperventilated. He slowly walked closer like approaching an injured animal
“Baby i know i know, i was wrong and mean and cruel to you. I was blind i thought you would always be there for me. I took you for granted. Shes gone y/n, i got rid of peggy, shes taking a long nap and i aint ever gonna hurt you like that again. I need you baby…..and i need to be in my daughters life. I cant live without you nor am i gonna be able to leave her all alone now too” he explained
“I wanna have a good life, nothing like the one we used to have. You scare me steve and you’ve hurt me” you said looking at little penny who had a frown on hef face, she could read the distress from her mother.
“y/n look at me!” steve grabbed your face in his hands and made you look at him. “I will make it up to you i promise. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you baby. I cant live without you” you shock your head no
“Its okay i get it y/n we need time, but im not going anywhere” steve spoke again.
“Come on lets put penny girl back in ger crib and go to bed” steve guided you to the crib and put penny down. She was right back to being cozy and sleepy. Steve pulled you in a hug while you sobbed into his chest, he was sliding his hand over your hair while shushing you.
“Come one lets go to sleep.” steve took your hand in his and leaded you back to your room. You laid down still crying, steve undressed himself down to his boxers and then joined you. He spooned you.
“I’ve missed you so much baby” was the last thing you heard before falling into slumber because you had cried yourself to sleep in his arms.
The house was burnt but in its ashes something new rose.
Authors note; i know some people will not understand why she didnt fight more, and the reason why was because she was in shock. It been and year and he shows up and shes like oh crap he found me and our now daughter. She is really scared of him and numb. Also steve is a mob boss by the way.
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lanaxoxoxoxoxox · 1 year ago
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guitar strings, darlin'
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musician!bur x afab reader
warnings: none, just a silly lil blurb with some silly lil fluff
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
Wilbur and I were in a weird stage of friendship. We hang out almost every day (every other day at the very least), but if we separate for whatever reason, when we finally meet again, its as if nothing came between us. Many people, including the other members of Lovejoy, say that we're lucky to have that. Though, I don't think much of it. That's just Wilbur and I.
Wilbur and I first met at one of their first live gigs. They were playing at my local bar, so I decided to help out a local band near me. My thoughts then were, "Not like it's gonna hurt me! Nothing will come out of it for me anyways." And those thoughts? 100% wrong. Turns out, Wilbur has seen me play at the gigs I play, and happened to notice me in the audience at their gig. They asked me if I wanted to join, and I was starstruck. I was starstruck by not only getting asked to be part of Lovejoy, but by Wilbur. I mean, what can I say. He's practically an angel. He's sweet to everyone he meets, even if they're a total prick. He's funny, and god, he's pretty. Like, top tier level pretty. His eyes remind me of old brick libraries and the smell of burnt out cigarettes.
Obviously, I accepted the offer. And that's where I was brought to at this current moment. Sitting alone in the recording room with Wilbur, recording and trying out different stupid lyric ideas, with the light of an old lamp in the corner besides a burning candle.
"We need a good adjective to describe what the singer is feeling that still goes along with the rhythm of 'One Day'." I stated. Wilbur nodded his head in agreement, playing with the strings on his guitar.
Will's head looked back at me. "What if we make the chord using these notes?" I looked at his fingers, observing the notes he was demonstrating. I looked back at the guitar in my hands, struggling to find the right positions that he was in.
"How do you manage to put your fingers in that position?" I laughed. Wilbur laughed back at me, placing his guitar to lean on the desk besides us. He leaned over to me, and grabbed my hands and adjusted my fingers to the right strings. I looked up at him as he did so, getting lost from admiring the small features on his face.
I didn't even notice when Will was done with my hands until he made eye contact with me. I quickly looked away and fixed my hair. Wilbur chuckled, and lifted my chin up. He looked at the moon necklace displayed on my collarbone.
"That's a pretty necklace you got there." he said, playing with the metal. I blushed in response. He seemed to notice, but sighed, and sat back down. He then pulled his chair closer to mine.
"Can I tell you something, Y/n?" he asked. I nodded.
"I think I'm in fucking love with you."
My eyes widened at his words. Those were the words I have been waiting to hear for months at a time, and they finally came.
"I think I'm in love with you too, Wilbur." I smiled.
Wilbur looked at me and pulled my chin up slightly. "Can I kiss you?"
Instead of responding, I closed the space between us first. I could feel Wilbur smiling into the kiss. His lips were soft and slightly parted. Wilbur was the first one to pull away and he laughed. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that."
I giggled and wrapped my arms around his neck, giving him one more peck on the lips and sliding my face into the crook of his neck, giving him a hug.
"LET'S FUCKING GO! I knew it was gonna happen! Ash owes me £50 now!" Mark yelled outside the door.
Wilbur scoffed at Mark and Joe standing outside the door. "Oh fuck off!"
─── ・ 。゚☆: .☽ . :☆゚. ───
ahhh i love this fic so much 😭
likes reblogs and any sort of feedback is very appreciated
love ya!! <3
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cvrnelians · 1 day ago
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smile like you mean it - chapter one
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You knew filing for divorce would be no easy feat. But filing for divorce from Roman Roy?
"No easy feat” might as well have been synonymous with “impossible."
Content warnings: alcoholism, drug abuse, miscarriage. 18+ only.
You’re broken up.
Separated, split up, estranged, whatever. You’re living apart, en route to what you can only foresee as painstakingly drawn out divorce proceedings. Brutal divorce proceedings, because you’re not just dealing with a “normal” human being. Unfortunately for you, the demise of your relationship has taken on a life of its own. Things always did when there was money involved.
You’re broken up.
Evidently, Roman doesn’t care.
But there’s a catch, as there usually is with your husband, and with the Roy family in general. You had hoped he would be largely unfazed by your decision to leave him, as he was with most things. You had hoped that he would sign the papers without even giving them a second look, send you a belittling text message or two, and move right along. You tried to make things as clean as possible. You hadn’t asked for a single thing—not his money, not his various properties, not his ridiculously expensive cars (yes, cars as in multiple), no valuables. Nothing.
Nothing.
Part of you knew better, though. He certainly would care that you were filing for divorce. He loved you. He loved you enough to marry you. He loved you enough to marry you without a prenup for fuck’s sake, going against any shred of common sense he had left. You had married into one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in New York. Did you really have the audacity, the gall to file for divorce from Roman Roy—the Roman Roy? You? You?
Roman loved you as much as he was capable of loving anyone. That wasn’t much by other people’s standards, but for him, that meant something. You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone, which by any sane person’s standards (and your own) seemed like a lot. And it was. But he had finally pushed you to your limit, and you were fed up.
And now you were suffering for it.
It was funny. In trying to make things as convenient and non-combative as possible, you had only made things harder on yourself. It wasn’t the divorce that Roman didn’t care about. It wasn’t you he didn’t care about. Of course not.
It was your boundaries. Roman didn’t pay any mind to those. He never could.
…which was why he had taken it upon himself to barge into your new apartment uninvited, at two o’ clock in the morning on a Tuesday. He arrived seconds after you returned home from a miserable night out, forcing open the door before you had even gotten the chance to take off your coat, turn around, and lock it. He had shoved the door open with such force that it hit you square in the back, making you stumble over your own two feet.
“Jesus, Roman!” You were breathing heavily, shaking from the adrenaline that accompanied someone sneaking up behind you and ramming into you full force.
“Just who the fuck do you think you are?”
🌃 Several years ago 🌃
Your boss is really kind of embarrassing.
There is an awkward, anxious energy to Kendall Roy that you cannot help but identify with. To those that didn’t know him, the “confidence” he tried so hard to embody probably came across as arrogant and idiotic—as if an incredibly affluent nepotism baby wasn’t unlikable enough.
But you did know him, at least to some extent. You had been his personal assistant for a little over a year. To you, Kendall seemed like the type of person that lied awake at night overthinking. He seemed like the type of person that practiced positive affirmations in the mirror every morning, and listened to podcasts hosted by hack motivational speakers in order to pump himself up. He seemed like the type of person to go all out on some fad juice cleanse with the intention of “reaching peak wellness,” only to smoke half a pack of cigarettes that same day in order to calm his nerves. His chief concern, apart from earning his father’s approval, was with making everyone think he was cool. Hip, if you will. But no matter how many designer suits or expensive sneakers he bought, to you, Kendall was a dad. A white collar dad, no less.
In other words, your boss was a dork.
He ruminated a lot, he talked a lot, he felt a lot. And why wouldn’t he? He was carrying the burden of a major media conglomerate like Waystar Royco on his back with very little support or guidance from anyone else. And in spite of his age, Kendall Roy seemed like he would do well with a bit of guidance.
“Hey, can I talk to you real quick?” he asked, peeking out from the doorway of his office. You turned to look at him as you hovered over the Keurig, which seemed to be malfunctioning. You had to hold back a sigh. To Kendall, “real quick” usually meant up to half an hour or longer. Typically, you didn’t mind talking to your boss, but you were feeling desperate for some prolonged silence and a heavy dose of caffeine. You had slept in later than intended, and in your discombobulated scramble to arrive to work on time, you had neglected to have the two cups you usually drank when you woke up. Yes, two.
Because working for a Roy was fucking exhausting.
As fair as he could be and as well as he paid you, your dynamic with your employer was this: when he said “jump,” you said “how high?” twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. You picked up takeout for him at all hours of the day and night, scheduled meetings—sat in on, took notes, and got yelled at in said meetings—fielded calls from people he did and didn’t want to deal with, ran whatever errand he could think of, and—although he didn’t want anyone else to know this—made sure he went to his AA meetings. He even asked you to pick his kids up from school a few times. You were starting to think that Kendall would pay you to breathe for him if he could.
“Yeah sure,” you said, trying your best not to sound exasperated.
Kendall was pretty perceptive when it came to your mood, however, and he barely stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have one for you already. I bought it on my way here.”
“You got me coffee?”
“You mentioned that you like a good cappuccino, so.”
“Oh! Thanks, Ken. I really appreciate that,” you said, beaming.
He smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your sense of gratitude quickly died down when you realized that this probably wasn’t good. It was generally never a good sign when Kendall gave you little peace offerings like this. The last time he bought you coffee, he was preemptively apologizing for piling a bunch of new job tasks on you; a direct result of firing most of your colleagues, including some of your favorite ones.
“Have a seat,” he said, sitting down at his desk, pushing the massive cup towards you. You cleared your throat and stepped into his office, closing the door behind you. “Sorry to call you in here right as you’re walking in. I just have a few things I want to go over with you.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.”
You didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Like he was nervous, like he knew something you didn’t, like what he was about to say would feel like pulling teeth—not only for him, but for you, too.
“Alright, um. So I wasn’t going to mention this to you because honestly, I think it might be…well, you might not…I’m not sure how it’s going to be received. And in my view, I mean. It’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. I’m not that guy. I promise, I’m really not! It’s just—”
“Ken?” you asked. His anxiety was rubbing off on you, giving you the urge to bite your nails.
He sighed. “I would never, ever want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
You raised your eyebrows, taking a big gulp of your cappuccino, made just the way you liked it. You had a feeling you were going to need it. He placed his head in his hand, his thumb and middle finger splaying across his forehead to touch his temples. “Ah god, I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Your heart was beating loudly in your ears. Was this really it? Was he firing you? Were you getting let go? Your mind was racing, trying to recall if you had done anything that warranted being kicked to the curb. Did you do anything even slightly detrimental to the company, anything at all? Did you even need to? Waystar Royco wasn’t exactly fair, or employee-friendly for that matter.
“Is everything okay?”
Your voice sounded just as pathetic as you felt.
“Yes. Well, sort of. No. Maybe.”
You were about to say something when Kendall’s eyes suddenly shifted towards something above you, and he covered his face with his palm dejectedly. And then you heard a loud banging noise, making you jump. You turned to see who was easily one of your least favorite people in the world: the obnoxious, antagonistic, arrogant, irritatingly well-dressed imbecile that was Roman Roy.
He slammed on the glass windows of Kendall’s office with both hands, making everyone nearby turn and stare. They all should have been relatively unfazed by this nonsense by now. On the days that he was actually at work, if Roman wasn’t being disruptive, there was something very wrong.
“Did he tell you?” he asked, his gaze honing in on you. His voice was somewhat muffled through the glass, but the volume at which he was speaking more than made up for it. His tone was half maniacally happy, half mocking. There was no other way to describe it. “Is he telling you? Is he telling you right now?”
“Jesus Christ, not this,” Kendall muttered.
“So, did you give her the good news?” Roman asked, shoving the door open so hard that it hit the wall, making the desk shake.
“Seriously, man?” Kendall groaned.
You suddenly felt hands clutching onto your shoulders from behind, making you seize up. You were hit with a wave of what had to be a laughably expensive cologne, but not a nice one. It was more sleazy than anything. ‘Drug dealer cologne’ were the words that popped into your head, if that was even a thing. ‘Creepy guy cologne.’ ‘Guy who thinks that just because he has money means that he can do anything he wants and get away with it cologne.’ To make matters worse, his hands were ice cold.
Like his soul. He leaned down to face you, and you reflexively jerked away. “So beautiful, did he give you the good news?”
“No!” Kendall snapped, attempting to reach over the desk and swat at him with a piece of paper. “Absolutely not. You cannot touch the employees. You know that I could fire you for sexual harrassment right now if I wanted to?”
Roman scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took his hands off of you, holding them out in front of him defensively. “So I’m guessing you didn’t tell her, then. Terrifying Ken, really. I’m quaking. How would I ever recover?”
“I already told you that wasn’t going to happen. Get out. You can hire your own assistant.”
What? “I’m sorry, what?” you asked, trying to avoid looking at Roman. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?”
Kendall looked at you and sighed. He was quiet for a few moments, like he was contemplating something. You surmised that he was probably just overwhelmed by his brother loudly barging into his office so early in the morning. “Overwhelming” was the perfect word to describe Roman’s presence, among other things. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course. This. But it’s not happening, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“Au contraire mon frère,” Roman said. “I’m COO now, remember? I need somebody to bring me coffee and pick up my drycleaning just the same as you.”
“So hire an assistant.”
“I am hiring an assistant.”
“Hire your own!”
“Oh, great idea, Ken! But oh, oh, you know what? You know what? It’s actually a really stupid fucking idea because I clearly said that I wanted your assistant. You might’ve understood that if you had been listening.”
In the midst of their little back and forth, you felt frozen. Even from only having just a handful of interactions with him, you hated Roman. You hated him when you knew of him, and you hated him when you met him. You already kind of hated working in the corporate world, but being able to afford to live in the city and having Kendall as a boss made it all at least somewhat bearable. If you had to be Roman’s assistant, it was over for you. There was no other option. You would have to quit your job. If you didn’t, you were in for the most demoralizing experience of your life.
Why was this even happening? You figured this situation had absolutely nothing to do with you, that there was some kind of underlying argument going on between Roman and Kendall and that you were just being used as a pawn in the game. You were a fairly decent assistant, but nothing remarkable. There was no reason why anyone would or should adamantly argue to hire you. It was crazy how people with money and power could change your entire livelihood on a whim.
“Besides, Kendall, you already have Jess. You don’t need two assistants, that’s diva behavior. And Dad already said I could. You won’t even notice that she’s gone.”
“Yeah?” Kendall mocked. “Really? You’re dicking my employee around just because Daddy said you could?”
“Ew,” Roman laughed. “Did you seriously just call our dad Daddy?”
“It was in a mocking tone!”
“Yeah, okay, Daddy.”
“Roman,” you interrupted. You knew you probably weren’t going to be able to level with him, but you had to try. If there was even a slight chance that you could remain in your current position and maintain your sanity, you were going to reach for it. “Kendall has me doing some seriously low-level tasks. That’s why he still has Jess. I’m basically an intern, I’m just here to learn. You’re probably going to want someone more experienced.”
Roman shook his head and tutted at you. “Aw, Ken. You’ve really got to keep your diminished sense of self-worth in check, it’s starting to rub off on your employees.”
“I’m going to talk to Dad, you are going to leave my staff alone, and we are going to hire you an assistant,” Kendall said slowly, as if he was talking to a child.
“Yeah, because Dad is always so willing to back you up, right? Old reliable. I’m sure that’ll work out great for you.”
The room was dead silent for the next few moments. They were doing that weird sibling thing where they were having a conversation just by looking at each other, a conversation you weren’t part of. Roman had struck a nerve, just as he knew he would.
“Did you wanna say something else, or?” Roman asked.
Kendall wouldn’t look at you, instead losing his staring contest with Roman to aimlessly move some things around on his desk.
And just like that, it was over. You were fucked.
“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”
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cum-a-calla · 4 months ago
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jesus christ metalhead rory got me feelin' all kinds of ways you just KNOW he reeks of pot and eats pussy like its his job
he sure fucking does, anon. he loves anything that makes you give him that fuck-dumb, brainless, open-mouthed look on your face. he loves it when you come into the metal bar/venue he works at, likes watching you laugh with your friends and likes to make fun of you for ordering your little drinks, he likes the way you visibly fluster when you try to sneak peeks at him across the room just to realize he’s already looking at you, a little smirk on his mouth while he works the tap and wipes the bar down, while he walks plates of bar grub to other patrons between taking orders. he likes watching you walk away when you leave, and isn’t it funny how he’s always on a cigarette break the moment you and your friends start gathering your things to leave? isn’t that funny
((song recs for thrust focus:
“total fucking bliss” - world peace
“patricide - world peace
“pound for pound” - wound man
“man slaughter” - wound man
“he-man” - wound man
“inhuman joy” - regional justice center
“bastard land” - scalp))
he eventually likes guessing what you’re going to order, making drinks a little too strong just to see you sputter and make that cute little face when you take a sip. he likes to make fun of you - aw, come on, girly. too much? c’mon, you can take it, i know you can. do it for me, lemme see you take it. and he doesn’t talk a lot, does he? but when he has extended exchanges with you, it’s always just to the line of innuendo, his words filtered through the look on his face. you know the one - heavy, lidded bedroom eyes, teeth showing through his smirk. just a touch too much eye contact. a little too intimate… but it’s not unwelcome, is it, anon. reading about the electricity between people is fluffy and cliche, but wouldn’t you guess - every time your fingers collide when you hand him your ID, your card to pay, a tip, whatever - any time your fingers touch, it makes your cunt throb. that’s all it takes. and he can see the way you focus on it, the way you are physically unable to look away from his hands - slim, thick-knuckled fingers, veins climbing up into his forearms. and what do you know, those forearms are connected to those biceps, and it’s fucking over. by the time you remember to breathe and look at his face, he’s already watched you eyeballing him. and he loves it. the man doesn’t mince words, he’s so quiet and standoffish, but the little twitches and tics in his expression are undeniable. he fucking loves it. he loves watching you watching him.
but you know what he likes most?
he likes when you come later at night to a show. lots of local thrash bands, metal bands, powerviolence, grindcore. lots of gnashing guitars, lots of screaming and grunting and guttural, cathartic, barely comprehensible words. sweaty, lurching people in the crowd, so many vests and patches and studs. and he waits to meet your eye and watches you as he walks out of the venue, down the steps, knowing you’ll follow him. just a cigarette break. just a little fresh air in the dark.
and who are you to question him when he goes into the alleyway?
and who are you to say anything when he likes to push you up against the wall and crush his lips against yours, against your throat, biting, moaning, and it’s impossible to miss the way he grinds his cock against your hip, hard in his dirty black cutoffs, worn thin and old and full of holes, rips, old faded patches that are long since unable to decipher, the ink all rubbed and washed away through time. and still able to hear the music throbbing in the building, how can you resist the way he kneels down and yanks your skirt up, yanks your shorts down, whatever, just so he can push his face between your legs and eat you right there in the night air? buzzed, heady, hot and desperate. licking your cunt like he’s never had the pleasure before, like he might die in the next hour. sloppy, drooling, pushing his fingers roughly inside of you and licking, kissing, sucking until you’re yanking his hair and covering your own mouth so you can cum just a little quieter, just so you don’t attract too much attention - people occasionally pass by the mouth of the alleyway and they either actively ignore or barely notice. such is life in a big city downtown. who cares? who cares who sees this rabid man with his nose pushing into the soft mound above your pussy, his tongue busy attending every inch of the wet pink flesh inside?
who cares if he occasionally yanks your hips back and the clink of him undoing his belt seems to reverberate above the growling inside the venue? bass and guitar throbbing, the pulse-quick pounding of a band inside, slower than your heartbeat and harder, tantalizing, absolutely animalistic. his hips when he finally plunges his cock into you and pushes your face lovingly against the rough wall, grit on your face. he knows all the bands, he knows the songs. his hips know when to thrust, when to speed up and slow down, and he uses it to his advantage, he bottoms out and fucks you hard enough that you have to keep yourself from screaming. one hand in your hair, one hand digging into your hip, and then both hands, fingers digging into you, his impatient grunts and moans and panting. needing you. owning you. purposely fucking you in half so that even tomorrow you’ll be sore, you’ll remember him through the little pretty bruises his fingertips dig into the soft soft meat of your thighs, your hips, sometimes your tits. the bruises he sucks and bites into your throat and shoulders.
the way you can be away from him for a week, two weeks, longer. but every time you enter the bar, his face lights up just a little bit, his little secret smile, the way he rakes a hand through his hair. the way he leans over the bar and his unwavering gaze. the way he says, “well, hi there, girly.” and guesses your drink, as if he can’t see the leftover bruises on the side of your neck from last time.
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saltymothball · 2 months ago
Text
my unpopular takes on beetlejuice beetlejuice SPOILERS!! (long post)
(i am a fan of the original pls do not come for me) these are just my thoughts on the sequel :D please feel free to add yours too
context! im writing these notes as i watch so theyre a little disorganized
for reference i also rewatched the original immediately prior to the sequel
not opening with the classic beetlejuice muisic ?? even the stage show opens with that music where is it (EDIT- restarted it and it actually does open w the music, but it is much less fun/campy an and more of a spooky remix so i forgot)
its not plot necessary but i do wish we learned how BJ fixed his shrunken head and death by sandworm
where are the maitlands ???? 0 mention of adam and barbra at the beginning ?
BJ's ex wife intro was a very creative concept but i wish they did it with more sfx props and less cgi/green screen
Astrid is like very boring, theyve done nothing to get the audience (me) invested in her?? disney wish vibes like who is she
call it a headcanon i feel like lydia wouldnt be this fucking awkward of a parent ?? she had good role models ie adam and barbra (even if her own parents werent as active, by the end of the original movie it implied they were now living in a healthy family dynamic
the mother daughter drama feels really forced, reminds me of the out-of-place tension between wednesday and morticia in the 2023 show
all angles are super close up and feel like horror angles. the scene where astrid befriends that boy ?? felt like someone was gonna come up and kill them the ENTIRE interaction (edit i guess that makes sense but it nerfed the scene)
IMMEDIATELY knew his parents are dead btw. not showing their faces is so clearly they are dead. not an ounce of mystery. theory the boy might be a ghost too?
theory astrids dad isnt dead bc Lydia cant see him
the witching hour wrong ?? last i knew it was 3am not 12am. weird thing to get wrong
its like not a silly campy vibe ?? its like uncomfortable.
dont like lydias new man hes pushy and gross
i miss adam and barbra
it doesnt make sense that no one taking lydia seriously ? delia knows she can see ghosts and has also experienced beetlejuice
lydias fiance is a horrid excuse for a partner (how tf did she meet him like did he just walk in bc the plot needed another person to hate lydia
not the dead protester joke :(
the spill-your-guts/pregnancy felt really idk,,, icky??? dont know how to explain it but it uncomfortably long
follow up- a lot of the visual ghost gags felt very gross/gorey ? like in the original movie the gags were inbetween silly/sexual/spooky-but this one feels more like blood and guts instead of spiders and snakes. exhibit A) otho casually shoving corpse barbra out of the way when looking at the closet with delia / exhibit b) the guy with the cigarettes at the end of the original
theory that astrid is going to end up seeing ghosts by the end of the movie
love the "eeee!" noise BJ makes when people say his name
ok BJ with the guitar after lydia tells him off was legitimately funny
i know astrid is an angsty teen but my god she is so hostile towards lydia
calling it at 56mins the boys parents are SO dead bc they deliberately didnt have lydia meet them
listen i have nothing against jenna ortega but it feels like she is type-casted to play exactly one character now, like let the girl play something other than a monotone gothy teen
"they found a loophole and moved on" okay whatever that means
astrids awkwardness w this ghost boy is pretty cute. he is so definitely a ghost though
yup called it hes a ghost
"my mom was telling the truth... shit" lmao
this boy feels very sus bc why are you trying to bribe her w her father
still no info on how lydia and rory met ??
MURDER HOUSE ?? TH BOY IS A MURDERER ??? okay thats a good twist ill give them that
astrid going into the afterlife to see her dad feels very "lydia going to the afterlife to see her mom" plot from the stage show ?
astrid honey you have too much faith in this ghost boy
oh my fucking god delia did you really get poisonous snakes....so on brand for her
Beetlegeuse literally carrying the whole movie
every scene he's in is absolutely giving
william dafoe is pretty good too but adding him just feels like he is william dafoe and not the character hes playing (who is also an actor)
delia correcting herself from saying fuck is really funny like girl was that scripted
okay ok astrd seeing her dad working in immigration was pretty neat
i had actually forgotten abt BJs ex wife until now ? doesnt seem like she actually adds much to the story beyond giving BJ a new reason to pursue lydia... which he was already doing...?
are they all going to end up in the afterlfe wtf
the afterlife desert takes place on the fucking moon of saturn ?? okay
is it just me or is the sandworm not claymation... like maybe its just the way it looks but i swear it looks like they cgi'd it but then cut down the frame rate
damn lydias husband really got eaten by piranhas.. what a way to die oh my god
there was no real stakes to astrid switching her soul? they resolved that so fast like lydia just grabbed her and they ran
oh their husband/dad is back now everything is fixed...? like all that hate towards her mom is now gone bc her mom was telling the truth about seeing ghosts? dad just resolved the only conflict
beetlejuice didnt even help get astrid back he went on a pee break and the plot progressed
love bad cop william defoe
"are you filled with fear and trembling?" "yes im shitting my pants" absolutely gold
BJ on fetchquests this whole movie fr
the soul sucking lady please she ate bobs nametag :(
ok wtf they really solved ghost boy dilemma in 5 seconds, BJ ex machina... like he rlly just got him like that ??? anticlimactic
ok good astrid apologized for being a shitty kid
rory please stop kissing lydias neck
i kind of hate the modern nods like the self securing seatbelt in the priests car, or the influencers at the wedding, really weird unnecessary detail
BJ and Delia wedding crashers my fav
how did Beetlejuice get into the church ? if he is a demon like previously established, shouldnt he NOT be able to step on holy ground
enjoyed the slapstick moment of lydia punching rory, good moment
her red dress omg !! pretty
BJ himself is just too funny, making the priest sing top tier
i still miss adam and barbra :( if they can cgi that dead guy in star wars i think we couldve brought alec baldwin and geena davis who are in fact still very alive and look great
they really didnt make me interested in BJs ex wife other than she is pretty and looks like morticia addams ?
BJ making everybody partake in singing is very silly
everybody dancing at the wedding scene must have been fun to film, everybody looks like theyre jamming
lmao whos dog was that in the hallucinations ?? is that the dog who killed the maitlands
"ghoul squad" ok monster high
oh finally his ex is here
lydia so casually pushed out of the way lmao
why does BJ have more etherial powers than every other ghost?
offering rory to the soul sucking lady is so good
theyre really just gonna sandworm for the plot resolution again ???
his ex wife was a threat for all of 4 seconds
lol the legal marriage loophole was kinda funny
is delia like forever dead ? is she a ghost now? is beetlejuice dead?
i still love delia. "i will find charles and we will haunt you both" good for her
are the influencer wedding guests dead
everything got wrapped up very quickly
good on delia for still loving her husband even though that shark absolutely annihilated him
what ?? astrid is married now???
WHAT ??? SHES GIVING BIRTH ?????
oh ok its a dream
having a second pregnancy bit felt really weird
they alluded to another sequel :(
please remember i am actually a huge fan of beetlejuice !! no hate to the franchise these are just my personal opinions on the sequel. i would love to hear your thoughts as well !!
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