#tw fight

[jeanmarcoroni]

please.... deadpool & wolverine jeanmarco au...

photo credits

[digenerate-trash]

I desire yan!Whitney, him beating the shit out of people for just looking at what's his.

I would expect nothing less to be honest with you. you know that one scene in math where one kid looks at you in math and Whitney goes nuts??? I made it worse

(this is gonna veer off into violence hope that's cool. also gonna trigger tagging this for blood/yan antics/gn pc/Whitney shenanigans.)

Whitney is always a menace. He has just been getting steadily worse. Usually, he's a big fan of whoring you out when he can for cash or approval from his less-than-stellar friends, but even that's come to a rather strange halt. He's more interested in spending time with you alone now. He even started to ditch school taking you with him. 

You’re actually starting to worry about him. He's barely the same guy you met at the start of the year. He's still an asshole sure. But he is /different/. More people are starting to avoid you. And they whisper Whitney's name when you walk by, even when you're alone. People don't dare touch you or even talk to you anymore. Even some of the teachers have started ignoring you. You can't shake the feeling that this is all by design somehow. 

It all comes to a head in the middle of math, however. River gets called away to attend to something, but you're not sure what, You weren't listening as you lean into Whitney's shoulder. He plays with your hair gently and zones out. He's not in the mood for chaos today. He likes the feeling of you relaxed against him.

When you look around the room just for a brief moment you tense. A boy is staring at the two of you. This seems to jolt Whitney back from his daydream and he immediately spots the boy. His face contorts into a scowl as his grip on your hair tightens. 

“Why are you staring at them?” *his voice is loud though he doesn't yell. His gaze is locked on the boy and the class goes silent as they look over at Whitney. Then their poor classmate as Whitney waits for an answer. 

Everyone knows there's no correct response. He's doomed. He's been caught /looking/ at something that's Whitney’s.

The boy stutters a bit. But no comprehensible words come out. Whitney pushes you back into your own seat and nods to one of his friends before he charges the poor student. It’s not long before the boy starts to cry out for help. At first, people are laughing or cheering. It’s fun when it’s not happening to them, but soon The screams and cracks of Whitney's fist against the boy only get worse as time goes on. Whitney's friend guards the door making sure no one leaves. The cheers die out the class watches as Whitney goes far beyond a regular beating. 

You can see it, Whitney is still enraged. He's biting down on his own lip so hard that its started to bleed. His fist is dusted with bruises and his victim's blood. His forehead is covered in sweat as he finally pulls back. The classroom is still silent apart from the haggard breathing of the boy. whitney straightens out his shirt and looks down at the boy before spitting on him before returning to you. He pulls you up by the arm dragging you out of the classroom. No one tries to stop him as he leaves. 

You don’t know what to say to him as you're pulled to the front gates of the school. Should you say anything? Should you have stopped him? Could you have stopped him? Whitney's grip tightens on your wrist as he takes you down into the alleys near the school. He shoves you up against the wall before leaning down and kissing you deeply. 

You can taste the blood in his mouth he seems to want you too as he holds you still against the alley wall. When he pulls back your panting, Whitney finally smirks. It's that cocky playful look that you haven't seen in weeks. He seems to have finally relaxed a bit as he brushes his hair out of his face with one hand the other still holding you still. 

“We should probably skip the rest of the day. I doubt anyone is going to rat on me, but I don't feel like answering any questions right now.” Whitney says before he rubs his bloody knuckles off on his shirt, It wasn't clean before but it looks worse smeared with blood. He tilts your head up slightly grinning “But it's worth it” he promises. “No one is going to ever look at you again.”

[aheathen-conceivably]

🎶 We're all going down to the river's end, and wash our dirty hands clean 🎶

Antoine was smoking in the shadows, watching Giorgio talk to a pair of guys down at the end of the dock. They were standing next to a pile of crates twice his height. Jesus. It had to be a year’s supply of liquor.

Gio had told him to stay back, not to get involved unless it was necessary. But Antoine knew that Gio had seen him hit that man at the club. He knew that was hired muscle in case things went south for him.

As he took a drag off his cigarette, the scar on Antoine's brow tinged for a moment, the same way it always did when he thought about fighting. Everyone assumed he had got it from the war, not from some meaningless bar fight in the streets of Paris.

It was the same way that they assumed the scars up and down his torso were from battle. But he could trace each one to New Orleans, Lyon, and then when he wandered after the war, Spain and New York. Each one a new bar, a new street, a new language. Each one the same ending, the same spiral with nothing left to show for it all but a new scar.

Antoine was pulled from his memories by the sound of Gio’s heels on the hollow wooden dock. He was shoving stacks of cash deeper into his pockets, clearly and deeply uncomfortable. Antoine had no idea what Gio planned to do with the money, but it wasn’t this, running some shady ring on the backside of his family’s business.

As Giorgio reached Antoine he looked over each shoulder and then shoved two stacks of money into his hands. Antoine pocketed one and then took a drag from his cigarette, “So that’s it? It’s over?”

“No. It’s only a third. I’ll need to keep it in the storeroom and move it out quietly, a couple of crates at a time. They’ll pose as customers throughout the weeks, paying with a special coin that’ll tell me what they’re here for. But for you? Should be.”

Antoine shook his head gruffly. He didn’t need to count the money to know that it was more than what he cleared in months at the club. For a moment he thought, No, Gio, let me help you. I’ll move it for you, bring it to the clubs, keep it hidden behind the stage.

Then he thought of Violette, of the whole reason that he had agreed to do this in the first place, and he threw his lit cigarette onto the ground, giving Giorgio a tip of his hat before he walked away into the night.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

“So what are you gonna do? Kill me?”

The sheer boldness of the statement, the borderline challenge, the unsaid ‘I dare you,’ makes Moon pause. You’re scowling up into his face, eyes blotted by shadow and staring him right in the eye. He’s frozen- hand poised, fingers curled slightly, tensed, ready,

“Do it, then.” Your voice is solid, not quite accusatory, but something else, “Come on. Kill me.”

Your hands- when had you gotten them free?- came up and gripped him by the wrist, jerking his hand down so his palm is solidly on your throat, his fingers pulled back slightly so they're touching you as little as possible. You force him to keep his hand there for several seconds, still keeping him frozen in the moment with your eyes burning into his- dark, intense, unyielding,

You released his wrist and he pulled away, shifting his weight off of you to kneel on the floor by your outstretched legs. His eyes are fixed to a scrap of red cloth a few inches from his little finger. A piece of your jacket. The only evidence of the fight- no, not really a fight, a struggle, because you hadn’t been harmed, he hadn’t hurt you,- that had happened in this room. You sit up, and he knows you are looking at him. 

“Coward,” you say, and stand up, turning your back on him. 

[hardtobcmysxlf]

the coping mechanisms are not healthy over here...thank goodness I have therapy tomorrow and tell her about all this bullshit that's happened...

[bendingthelaws]

6

When tensions are high, it's only a matter of time till someone snaps.. TW - they are talking about a dismembered eye, so blood mention lightly, death mention, autopsy mention, but nothing graphic

Declan stepped in front of Colin instantly and brought him to a halt.  Karsten also had started to move from behind the desk.  A human can only take so much physical and emotional strain before they snap, and Colin Masterson just had.

The situation had just gone from bad to worse.  As if an eyeball that potentially belonged to a Colin’s intern wasn’t bad enough, said now the damned man had just lost his mind. Declan and Karsten were between Colin and Serena, but that didn’t seem to mean much to the man.  It was about to get ugly and quickly.  “Colin, hey man.  This isn’t going to help anything, and if you don’t stop then Dec and I are gonna stop you.  Rena is just doing her job, man.  Calm the fuck down, don’t make us calm you down.”  Karsten knew COlin better than Declan did, so he was the first to speak.  Hopefully just being blunt about it would get the damn man to think straight.  Otherwise, Karsten was quite sure that Declan’s elbow was going to meet Colin’s nose in quite forceful way.

If it had been anyone other than Declan and Karsten to step into his path, Colin might have taken them out due to the white hot rage that was coursing through his veins at the situation that he had found himself in.  He respected the Detectives too much for that though. He stopped before there was a physical confrontation and held his hands up. 

 No matter how disturbed and upset he was with the current situation, he knew that the cop was right.  Serena was doing her job.  How many times had he told her not to guess when giving answers to the police and him?  Now he was the one that was asking to do the opposite.  This case was getting to him far too much, but how could anyone expect it not to?  It was HIS intern that was being sent back in pieces for fuck’s sake.

“Whatever.  I need answers.  Do whatever you have to do to get me the answers I need, but I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry the fuck up.”  His hand scrubbed over his face as Colin left his office.  He needed to step out or there was going to be a confrontation again.  His nerves were shot, his patience gone, and his tact obliterated.  Destroying friendships wasn’t going to help anything.

Serena stood next to Spencer, almost behind him, watching the other three men as the situation finally deescalated..  It wasn’t till Colin had left the room she relaxed and let out a breath that she’d been holding due to the tension in the room.  Still on edge, she was at least assured enough to return to evidence collection without fear of being interrupted in a way that would disturb what she and Spencer would need.  There would be other evidence techs who would come in after they were done for all trace evidence, but all the visible biologicals were hers. 

“Thanks guys,” she gave the two detectives a tight smile before returning to work.  Serena had known Colin for years and never once seen him behave like that.  Even in the courtroom when he and Colt would spar, he would keep his composure.  It was just further evidence of the toll this case was taking on him.  If something didn’t happen soon, it could be all of them like that.

“Hey, no problem, doc. You do what you have to do, doll.  He’s just stressed but that’s no excuse.” Karsten glanced over towards the door Colin had gone through.  He wasn’t sure that the other man wasn’t going to come back in and raise hell again.  The pressure and stress Colin was under had to be immense, and a man could only take that for so long before there had to be an outlet.  That outlet could not be a member of the team though, that would bring no good.  “ He’ll come around when his head clears.  Finding this gem this morning can’t have helped him.  I just want to keep this from getting worse.”  Karsten blew out a breath as he watched Serena and Spencer doing there thing.  He was always fascinated how they worked in tandem, not having to actually say anything to one another at times.  They had their own language from working together for years.  Looks and small motions indicating what they needed..  

Declan stood off to the side observing as well, and keeping an eye on the door to make sure that everything stayed calm.  Karsten saying it would have gotten worse was an understatement.  If Colin went after Serena, worse was going to be a mild description of what happened.  Neither he nor Karsten would have let the prosecutor actually touch her, which meant it was going to get physical, and physical meant ugly and possibly bloody.  He’d prefer to leave the blood to the goons that had the intern.

“How much more do you have to get?”  Karsten wasn’t trying to rush them, but he had a feeling if they were too much longer he and Declan were going to have to keep running interference with Colin.  The first time wasn’t fun, repeats were going to just get worse.  This was one of the few times he was regretting leaving the Taser down in the car.

“She’s got it all.  Once we get it all in the evidence bags and in the cooler, we will be ready to get out of here.”  Spencer answered for Rena as she was slipping a swab of the blood from one corner of the box into a collection bag that he was holding.  The syringe that had been lying on the desk since she withdrew the vitreous fluid was next into a bag.  Two more pieces of evidence and they’d be done.  He could not wait to be out of the fucking office.  It was like standing in the middle of a pressure cooker.  He’d rather be dissecting a corpse found after a week than this shit. “Kase, why don’t you go with Rena back to the crime lab?  That way we have the chain of evidence well documented by the ME and the Lead Detective on the case.  Should help us avoid any further challenges to the case.”  Spencer suggested.  “I’ll finish up with Dec while you do.”  He needed to get his boss the fuck out of there before Colin lost his shit, but there were a few details that actually did need to be wrapped up.  

He could have been the one to take it back with Declan, but he had a couple reasons for suggesting Kase and Rena.  1.  Rena was the ME.  While rarely had anyone questioned his credibility, he’d prefer not to have it done now.  Rena was above reproach.  Those who had tried to question her ethics had been verbally bitch slapped into the stone age by not only the doctor herself, but a couple of judges to boot.   2.  He didn’t like the thought of Rena going back alone.  While it shouldn’t have, the eye unnerved him more than the two previous deliveries.  He wanted her protected, and to a lesser extent, it.  Kase would do that in spades.  3.  Kase was his friend; and his friend was eyeing his boss.  Might as well throw the man a solid if he could.  There was one other who had his eye on the boss, and that man needed no encouragement or opening to make himself known.  Spencer was just helping even the playing field out, as it were. 4. Transporting bodies in body bags didn’t bother him, but there was something about that eye that was getting to him.  Maybe it was that he knew that if it was taken while she was alive that it would be horrifically painful and Colin’s intern had been sweet.  Knowing the person always made the job harder.

Serena wrapped up getting all of the evidence bagged and tagged, then into the cooler specially marked for evidence transportation.  Once it was all where it should be, there was a specific order to getting off all their gear.  Each person’s things went in a separate evidence bag with their name on it.  Most likely it would never be needed, but better safe than sorry.  This case was not a headache, it was a migraine on steroids and a jackhammer.  Once all of her things were cleaned up, she took the evidence bags and gave the equipment bag to Spencer. “Okay, Karsten.  You ready?”  A weak smile was thrown the Detective’s way.  At his nod and sweeping gesture to the door, Rena once again lead the way.  Colin had drawn back from the door as they approached.  She was thankful for that.  The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with her friend due to the emotionally charged situation that they were presently in.  Death was rarely easy for those who knew the victim.  She could not imagine what torture must be like.

[peanutbutter-doodles]

Doesn’t This Remind You Of Anything?

AETHER!

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!?!

Dewdrop Yelled, Going Everywhere Trying To Find Aether And Possibly Vent To Him About His Worries Or The Stuff He Had Planned. Aether Was Always The Person He’ll Go To When he’s Upset or Frustrated About Somethin Either Small or Big He’ll Go To Aether. 

But Things Around The Ministry Been Off Lately, Copia Been a lot more paranoid than usual, Been Raining A lot More Than Usual Flooding In Some parts of the rooms, The Weird Looks the Higher Ups Been Giving the Ghouls like Looks Could Kill and Swiss....

Swiss Was Not His Usual Charming And Funny Self As Of Late, Was Not Spending time with the pack, Not Cheering Up Papa Or Anyone With His Jokes, Been Giving off a Threatening Vibe Instead Of the Vibe He Usually Has. Swiss Just Been Silent, Almost Like He’s Plotting Something But No One knows For Sure if he is honestly.

No One Has Seen Him This Morning Along With Aether As The Two Were Tasked With Cleaning out and Organizing The Ancient Archives That No One’s Allowed To Enter Even The Higher Ups So It Just Would’ve Been the two Of Them Alone Where No One Can Hear Anything Or Look.

Swiss Was Back To His Normal Self This Morning As If There’s Nothing Wrong, Just Cracking Jokes and Being His Usual Self. But Dewdrop Felt Somethin Was Off and Vented His Worries to Aether As Aether and Swiss Were About to go Leave to See What Sister Imperator Wanted.

He Vented To Aether About How Everything Feels Off Lately and How Swiss Was Acting Like a Couple Of Days Ago Letting Aether How Worry and Scared He is. But Like Always, Aether Comforts and Put Dew’s Worries To Rest Letting The Ghoul Know If Something Ever Happens Him And Copia Would Be Everything Back Right In Order Together Like They Always Do.

When Feelin More Composed With Himself After He Vented To Aether, They Both Had A Mini Conversation Before the Other Left Go Off In the Morning.

‘‘So Ur Sure, Coming Back Before 7 Right?’‘

‘‘Yes, Dew I’m Sure. Earlier Even If Me and Swiss Leave Now.’‘

‘‘When Your Both Back, Could We Have a Little Night Together.’‘

Aether Widely Smiles.

‘‘Sure, What Did You Have In Mind?’‘

Dew Grins.

‘‘I was Thinking We Could Have Dinner, A Movie And Some Cuddlin~’‘ He Laughs’‘

‘‘Oh!’‘

‘‘What Would Be For Dinner, if i May Ask?’‘

‘‘it’ll Be Surprise~’‘

‘‘Alright, What About The Movie?’‘

‘‘It’s Not Exactly A Movie But a Play ca-’‘

‘‘You Like Plays? Since When?’‘

‘‘Since Rain Dragged Me To One Called Romeo And Juliet, Was a Interesting Watch I Guess. But The Play I Want you To Watch With Me Is Called...

‘’Macbeth!’’

‘‘Macbeth?’‘

‘‘Yeah, It’s A Play About Betrayal And Mur-’’

‘‘AETHER COME ON LET’S GO! I WANT TO GO NOW BEFORE IMPERATOR LASHES OUT ON US FOR NOT AND POSSIBLY TAKES AWAY OUR ID’S AGAIN! Swiss Blurt Out, From Outside Already Ready To Leave and Get Ready For What Task Imperator Would Give Em To Do So They Can Get It Done Swiftly.

DewDrop Scowled, Hated To Be Interrupted Especially When Talking To Aether About Tonight. Aether Notices Placing A Gentle Touch On Dew’s Shoulder To Calm Him A bit. ‘’Relax, My Dear. Think About What Were Going to Be Doing Tonight. What Your Planning And How You’ll Make Me Feel Special Like You Always Do.’’ Aether Proudly Says, Beaming With Life And Love for The Fire Ghoul.

Dew Eyes Twinkle With Adoration, Heart Fluttering,  Smile Widely Very Happy That Aether Is Excited For Spending The Night With Him, Perfectly Content With The Stuff He had Planned All By Himself With No Help At All. 

‘‘I’ll See You, Later Then?’‘

‘‘You’ll See Me Later, Dear Spitfire?’‘ Aether Assures Dew Before Giving Him A Kiss On The Forehead Thus Heading out With Swiss Leaving Dewdrop Alone in The Room Excited and Beloved For Tonight.

And Now Its

7 Pm

Past 7 Actually Leaving The Fire Ghoul Very Frustrated and Upset That Aether Hasn’t Come Back Yet From This Morning, Haven’t Heard a Word Got Texted Back By the Amount of Messages He’s Been Sending Him. Not A word Filling  Him Up With A Sense Of Agonizing Worry, Feeling That Something May Have Happen But Pushed That Quickly Down Not Wanting to Be Overdramatic Over Something That Shouldv’e Been Done Soon Even Hours Ago When the Sun Started To Set.

Marching Thru the Halls, Room To Room, Snarling and Shouting Loudly For Aether To Hear. Anyone Could’ve Hear Him But No One Could Because He’s Deep In The Halls Where The Ancient Archives Are Where They are. Exhausted As Ever, Dew Was About to Stop and Go Back To The Den To Await For Aether to Eventually Come Back And Possibly Punish Him For Taking so Long. 

But Alas, As Stubborn As He Is. He Doesn’t And Instead Walks Down Directly Towards the Door at the end of the hallway Where Aether and Swiss Supposed To Be Working. He Sure fucking Hopes They Are Working Instead Of Fooling Around and Fucking each other Silly Cause if they Cause oooh He’s Going to be thinking all the Ways to Punish Em Both For the Whole Week! Making Aether Come Undone Probably Make Him Not cum For a Week, Or Hiding His Glasses when he Needs Em Or Making Swiss His Pet Or Making them Both Wear Maid Outfits Embarrassing Them.

Dewdrop Feeling Enthusiastic at the Thought Fees a lil Better, Will Figure Out What The Punishment Would Be Once He See’s Them Both. Eventually, He’s Front Of The Door. Feeling a Bag Of Mix Emotions. Irritation, Discountenance,  Little Bit of Elation But With A Deep Sense of Dread on the Side But that Pushes it down not Wanting to Think of the negatives.

He Reaches for The Door Knob, Grips it Tightly, A Flash Of Panic Crosses Him But He’s Able To Calm Himself Before it Rises.

‘‘Breath in, Breath Out’‘

Lighting Strikes and Cackles Against The Windows, Pouring Rain Falls More from the Cloud, It Feels Like A Movie But In Reality It’s Not Making the Whole Thing Feel Very Sour Leaving a Weird But Metallic Taste in His mouth.

‘‘Inhale, Exhale’‘

Lightning Strikes Again.

The Little Ball Of Panic Is Whisked Away Just As Dewdrop Manages To Calm Before the Storm. He Grips The Knob Tightly More Making Him Strain His Hand a Little. Closing His Eyes Praying Silently That Whatever Is On the other Side of The Door is a Good Thing and Not Something Else He Should See. Clutching The Very Necklace That Aether has Given Him as A gift.

Dewdrop Opens The Door.

‘’AETHER WHAT THE IN THE LIVING HELL IS TAKING YOU SO LONG! YOU AND SWISS WERE JUST SU-.’’

He Opened His Eyes

Time Stopped For Dewdrop

Supposed to....

A-Aether?

Eyes Widening, Heart Stopped Beating For Second, Can’t Move. All the Things Dewdrop Wish For Not to Happen, But Not Like This...Not Like This At all. All His Worries and Fears is Outside of Him is Now Out In Front of Him. He didn’t Expected to See Anything Like This, Seeing The One He Called His Partner, His Best Friend, Buddy....Aether.

Laid Dead In The Center Of the Floor, Being Overlooked By Statues Of  Weeping Angels. On His Back, Hazy Purple Eyes Open as day, hand Clutching His Chest, Mouth Half Open. Not Moving At all.

Dewdrop Stood There, Not Doing Anything. Ears Hearing Static, Too Stunned to Move, Scared to Say Anything, Worry That If He Might Move He Might Collapse From the Grisly Sight In Front Of Him. The Sight of Once Alive Aether Now Just A Body Laying Motionless on The Floor. 

‘‘Ae-Aether?’’

No Replied.

‘‘This Has T-to Be A Jo-ke?

He Walks Slowly To The Body Rambling To Keep Himself From Believin That The Sight of Aether Is Dead.

‘‘Aether Come On, You Know I don’t Like Pranks Like This.’’

No Replied.

Dewdrop Pushes the Tears And Dread Down.

‘‘Did Swiss Put You Up This. I-i’ll Kick His Ass.’‘

No Response.

‘‘Aether Don’t Tell Me You Fell Asleep. Did You Really Forget About the Pla-..’’

Standing Above Aether, He See’s Blood, Staining the Clothing, Some On The Floor, Some From Aether’s Mouth.

Everything Came Crashing Down as Soon As He Collapse Near Aether. Looking Over Everything, Looking Over to see He’s Still Not Wanting to Believe it. Not Wanting to Believe That Aether’s Gone.

He’s Places His Trembling Hands On Aether’s Blood Stained Chest Feeling the Fabric and Not His Heartbeat. Heart Silent as the Night, Blood Glowing Bright as Day. 

‘‘Aether?’‘

No Response.

‘‘Get Up.’‘

No Reply.

‘’Baby, Please.’’

No Answer.

‘‘Aeth. Get Up Please..’‘

No Word.

‘‘Aether...Please Get Up...I Need You.’‘

Not A Sound.

The Bough Breaks, Tears Streaming down Dewdrop Cheeks, He Shakes Aether’s Body Not Caring In the World if Blood Gets On Him. Seeing if This is all A Act. A Funny Act, A act That Shouldn’t be Devastating or Traumatizing. A act That Should Be all Fun and Games And Not This...

Dewdrop Shakes Him More and More Until He’s Unable to as He Starts Howling With Sorrow. Crying, Screaming With Pain, Planting His Face In Aether Chest Wailing Louder Than ever. Angels Overlooking Him As The Rain Falls Harder and Lightning Strikes Happen More.

This Can’t Be Happening, Let this Be Just a Dream, For The Love of Lucifer, Sathanas! Let This Be A horrible Nightmare where He can Wake Up. Wake Up Seeing Aether Beside Him alive and Well. Waking Up to Start the day with Him. Waking Up to the Sound of Music or Smell Food Being Made. Please Let Him Wake from this Horrible Tragedy.

Dewdrop Continues To Weep, Continue to Howl, To Scream In Despair. No One Can Hear Him Except For Himself As He Cries More and More For the Well Beloved  Ghoul. No Tears Left to Cry, Throat Hoarse From All The Screaming, Heaving and Crying, He Still Continues to Cry Even there’s No Tears Left.

For the Last Minutes, Dewdrop Hasn’t Stopped Crying. How was He Supposed to Tell His Pack That There Aether is Gone. How is Supposed to tell em Without Crying Like He is Now. How? How He Is Supposed To Play In a Band Where There No Ghoul To Bully and Have Fun During Concert. How? How Is he Supposed To Go On With A Pack Where’s there One Missing Plus dead?

How...

Is He Supposed To Move On in Life From A Sight Like This?

Even After All That, Dewdrop Manages To Pull Himself together to at least Close Aether Eyes and Mouth to give Him Peace. Caressing Aether’s Chin to At least Feel His Skin One Last Time, Kissing His Forehead Just Like Aether Did this Morning. He Pulls Away To Stop Himself Before He Cries Again Or Latches Onto Aether Cold Dead Body.

‘‘Aether, I Know You Can’t Hear or Seem Anymore..’‘

‘‘But Just So You Know...’’

‘‘I’ll Find the Cowardly Bastard Who’ve Done This To You and Gut Him Myself!’‘

Vowing To Himself, Sitting Straight To Gain Some Posture and Do Some Thinking Of Who Would’ve Done this Vile Act. Who Would Murdered Another Of There Kind? Who Would Kill Such A Sweet and Innocent Ghoul. Who Would Go Aether? Why Aether Even? What Did He Do to even Deserve Su-

‘’Thump’‘

Knocked Out His Thoughts, He Hears a Footstep. The Killer Is Still Here, Still In This Room, Still Probably Even Lusting to Kill Another. He Doesn’t Move, Oh Lucifer He Doesn’t Want to Move. He Doesn’t to Turn around, Doesn’t Want to see the Looming Figure Behind Him, Not Wanting to End Up Like Aether.

A Moment of Silence Passes, Dewdrop Gulps, Scared Out of His Mind. One Move, He Either Fights The Attacker Or Leaves Like A Bat out of Hell. Don’t Do Anything Stupid, Don’t Anything hasty, Don’t Do It, Don’t do it, Don’t Do it.

Just Don’t.

Don’t.

Dewdrop Looks Down At Aether. Dew’s Breathing Slow Not Wanting to Make A Wrong Decision Like He Does Sometimes. A Few Minutes Past and He Makes The Decision.

A Awful Decision.

A Mistake.

A Grave One.

Dewdrop Rises Quickly As He Can to Get To the Door, To Escape the Attacker In This Very Room. He Almost Makes it to the door But Is Soon Tripped By A Invisible Force Falling Directly On His Face Breaking His Nose. ‘’Fuck’’ He Mutters. Feeling the Blood Leaked From His Nose. 

He Tries to get Up As Fast as he Could But his Foot is Broken But He Doesn’t Care and Tries Again anyway In Spite Of That He Feel Something Grabbed His Hair and...

A Dagger Against His Throat.

Lighting Strikes Again.

Eye Widened As He’s Feels the Very Dagger Slashed His Throat, Gurgling, Causing All The Blood to Spurt out all Over the Place getting it More On The Floor and The Angels. 

Just As the Blade Glides thru His Throat, He Manages to Get A Quick Look at His Attacker. A Gloved Hand, Eyes Glowing Red, A Emotionless Face, A Ghoul....

Swiss...

The Attacker Was His Own Kind, His Band Member, His...

Friend.

Now Enemy As He Lays Dying, Swiss Looming Over with the Blade Laced With Blood as it drips On the Floor. Swiss Is Not saying Anything, Watching As Dewdrop Drags Him Bleeding to Death to Aether, to Be With Him.

One last time.

Swiss Motionless As Ever Leaves The Room, Content With the Horrifying Act He Had Committed, For Papa. No Sound Nothing, Like He Was Never There. Just Poof, All Gone.

Dewdrop Crawls to Aether Desperately Coughing Up Blood, Choking On It, Throat Bleeding More and More Leaving Trail Of Blood Behind Him Crawling Faster to Aether.

Memories of Aether flashes Before Him, Remembering All the Good And Bad times Just To Keep Him Feeling Happy instead Of Scared One Last as He Is Dying Not Wanting the Last thing he’s saw Was Swiss’s Face.

Dewdrop Makes it To Aether, Falling A bit As Everything Shuts Down, Starting to see Black spots in his Vision. Dewdrop Decides To Use His Last Full Energy to Put His Arm Around Aether, Legs Around Him, Tail Laying Against the other as...

He Lays His Head Near Aether’s Neck As He Takes His Final Breath, Heart Beating Slowly As He’s Leaving this World Behind. Seeing the One Place He Call Home Disappear, Brain Shutting Down, Movement Stopping, Everything Stopping As He Closes His Eyes Letting His Fall Into Aether’s Neck Once More.

Laying Together With Him, As He too Leaves This Place

‘’A-’’coughs’’ Aeth...’’Coughs’’ I...’’Coughs More’’ Love...

‘’You....’’

 Dewdrop Soul Leaves This Place As He Dies With Aether’s Body By His Side.

Two Ghouls, Two Old Friends, Two Old Lovers Together Being Over Looked By Weeping Angels Splattered With Blood, As It Rains, The Night Goes On.

Just Like A Play.

Doesn’t It Seem Familiar? 

Doesn’t This Remind You of Anything?

Does This Feel Like Anything You Experienced?

A Tale Of Two Lovers Ending Up Dead.

A Tale Of Betrayal And Murder.

A Tale Told By Many Across Centuries By Storytellers Alike.

A Tale Known By All...

You Know The Tale Right?

We All Know.

It Just Depends On Who Tells it Right.

Who’ll They’ll Believe When That Time Has Come.

That Is The Question.

A Question That’ll Never Be Answered

Ever.

As No One Would Know What Happened...

This Night.

Leaving the Very Fate Of the Two Ghouls A Mystery.

A Mystery That Will Disappear Once....

No One Will...

Remember Them.

 ---------------------

Note: This Was Inspired By Drawings by @lise-a-lot Recently did of the Ghouls Experiencing Death and Sadness. So I hope You Guys Enjoy And Not Cry that much, I’m sorry ;W;!

Go Follow @lise-a-lot they’re A Wonderful Artist and I Hope There Having A Fantastic day.

Luv YA’ll~

‘‘Slides Over Tissues’‘

[xhxnne]

"You're not meant to look like that." [ Seohyun -> Jinseok ]

Blood blood blood blood For the bloodied

Jinseok drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His gaze lowered to the floor, and for a moment, he stood in silence with his head hung forward. She was right, the sight wasn't what he intended to present—beyond the blood and torn clothes, he hadn't aimed to appear defeated. Unfortunately, circumstances left him with little choice. He recognized the instigator of the fight, and self-defense became his only recourse to avoid potential legal repercussions.

Dealing with problematic, intoxicated customers wasn't part of his usual routine, but the situation had spiraled out of control, forcing him to step in. His club wasn't typically a boxing ring, but the occasional uncontrollable customer could turn it into one. Unfortunately, Seohyun had to witness this chaotic episode.

"Yeah," he confirmed with a slight nod. "I never looked good in deep crimson," he added, attempting to stand with the assistance of the staff. "It's not my color," Jinseok remarked with a fleeting smile that quickly faded due to the pain. The intoxicated man had wielded sharp glass as a weapon, resulting in several attacks on his right side. Both hands were now stained with blood from the cuts, and his white shirt absorbed the crimson hue, making it difficult for him to pinpoint the location of the wound. Lightheadedness crept in. "I think I should cancel our meeting today, Seohyun… Go home," he uttered. The urgent calls for medical assistance resonated in the background.

@dencesin

[elpida]

' keep your fucking eyes open. ' (from Cristov for Eris)

The attack was unfair, nobody would've seen it coming. She was moving some things from what'd been their little hideout, a box in her hand and that same postal worker had been in an out of this building hundreds of times during their stay.. she'd walked by Eris a hundred times.. so why now? Why did it have to turn out this way now?

People always say it happens fast. That wasn't usually a problem, they knew how to handle fast.. but what Eris couldn't do was predict everything. She held open the door for the postal worker and gestured with the nod of her head that they could pass her and as they passed and Eris was to leave they said something. A brief "Shame to see you're leaving." They hadn't told anyone. Nobody knew why or when they'd come, or when they'd leave.. they didn't make friends here, they knew each other for the job and that was it nobody more than just a passing acquaintance. That is when it clearly dawned on her, but smart as she was... it came to light too late. When she turned that worker lunged at her, knocking the box from her arms and forcing her with cracking thud into the door.

All she saw was the gun, that is all she saw and acted, like she knew to. She immediately forced their arm up to get the aim away from her and Cristov and it was fine, Eris broke their wrist in a second, disarmed them and then used the hilt of the gn to knock the worker out. A single fire would draw too much attention in the middle of the day but.. but it hadn't fired a single shot, and crimson was staining everything.

She was staining everything. It may as well ahve happened in slow motion, the way she opened her arms from her body and looked down at herself. Thick crimson was spreading into the knit of her jumper and wedged into the side of her torso was a blade. The gun hung limply in her fingers until she dropped the thing, she'd put the safety on so no danger there but she was just.. staring at herself.

"Hey, maybe you can take my cut from the-" she couldn't walk it off, act like it was nothing because she was getting pale, fast. She faltered when her knee's buckled and gravity demanded her to be pulled down. Her hands moved closer, cradling that wound but all it did was spread blood to her hands, her fingers that trembled and she had the most calm controlling hands normally. "-my cut from the job." she forced herself to finish. "They.. they got me good Crissy." she managed to breath out but she was in pain, she didn't want to admit it, stubborn as ever but she couldn't make herself get back up.

"They-.." the world was spinning and Eris was barely getting words out between her short, rushed breaths. That's when her eyelids started to flutter. She wanted to close them, no more pain, no more fighting. "Why.. Why not.." she mumbled, this was bad. "I'm so tired Cristov, I'm so tired.." the most genuine thing she'd ever admitted to him.

[she-had-many-names]

*stitch slowly gets up*

*he is checking himself for cuts that may have been caised by northa*

*he freezes in terror and disbelief as he feels his right eye*

*the seams on his eye are very loose, due to the magic spell*

*not enough for sand to pour out, but enough that the inside is visible*

. . .

*he is looking directly at northa, his left eye is pitch black*

(Mod note: oh nonononono-)

@stitch-taocc

Northa slowly steps back, looking like a hunted animal.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Fiddauthor divorce arc speedrun <3

After 30 years of searching for his lost brother through demonic rituals and summonings, Ford has become a bit of a notorious demon collector over the years. He's made a LOT of deals with MANY different demons over the years; from minor and harmless little entities to big and powerful overlords. Most of the time, these deals aren't really a one-way situation, so a lot of demons have a strong grip on him just as much as he does on them. It often ends up being a mutual sort of destruction, as in: "I know I'm but a mere mortal trifling with things I couldn't begin to fathom, and I know you will destroy me eventually; but I don't care as long as I get to destroy you too." He just needs to live long enough to find his brother.

The red hands are essentially pieces of himself (his soul, you could say??) that he wields as his method of restraint to the demons he has "tamed" so far. They act as a leash to contain each demons' powers, and he can loosen or tighten his hold on them as much as he wants. The number of hands required to contain a demon really depends on their individual strengths, but 3-4 hands are already very energy consuming.

YES, I gave all of his demons stupid names. SUE ME.

[ruporas]

need to exist in your warmth (id in alt)

[0fps]

JIYAN ❖ THROUGH THE DARKEST OF NIGHTS

Jiyan, leader of the Midnight Rangers, acts with swift and resolute righteousness. He possesses the formidable ability to conjure a powerful Qingloong from the winds, making him invincible on the battlefield.

[joelsdagger]

only then, i am good || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist || ao3 || follow @joelsdaggerupdates for fic updates!

pairing: daddy jackson!joel x f!reader summary: you have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. warnings: jackson era [well into the tlou2 timeline but nothing bad happens], implied age gap [i warn you, joel is old old], angst [in the form of internal turmoil], feelings of guilt/burdening, established relationship, dd/lg dynamics, soft daddy dom!joel, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, finger sucking, pet names galore [baby, sweetheart, little girl, angel] size kink, reader is hella needy, reader has pubic hair bc i said so, smidgen of cockwarming, just the tip mention, dubcon*, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, nipple play, belly bulge, creampie, joel is reader’s personal weighted blanket, fluff, aftercare. *reader is not in the right headspace to properly consent to piv but she’s a-okay with it! word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’ve been to emotional (and physical) hell and back (are we back? who knows) these last few weeks and it had me yearning for daddy jackson!joel. so this is what this is. it’s a tad different from my typical style of writing and it’s not betaed and very very loosely proofread (barely looked thru it while in the waiting room lol), so it’s probably shit but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless xx

You should’ve double-checked the lock. Triple-checked it. As always. Hand to God, it slipped your mind. You were tired. Achy and sleepy, and you just wanted to go home. Back to Joel. Curl your spent body into the thick, burly warmth of his and let him cradle you until the whole day wipes itself from memory. 

You’ve been asking them for more responsibilities — a more serious role within Jackson, for months. After today, you’re sure they’ll never take you seriously. Never see you as one of them. They’re so much older and wiser — experienced. And you…well, you are not.

They never fuck up. Never make mistakes that would risk losing an important asset to this safe haven. And today you have. You fucked up. You don’t know how you forgot. It’s been your only job here, the only thing they let you have, and still — you messed it up. 

You forgot to lock the stall door to the stable for one of the horses. And not only did the horse escape but now the town is technically down one patrolman. You have completely thrown off the patrolling schedule, one that was meticulously crafted and has been in place long before you arrived in Jackson. It very rarely changed. 

You offered to lend a hand, practically begged them to send you out with the rest of the search party. But Maria, Tommy, and Joel all told you to go home while they sent a group (of which included Joel and Tommy themselves) outside the gates, well past dusk, to go looking for him. You felt entirely useless.

Begrudgingly, you scurried home, a beaten puppy in need of licking one’s wounds. Feeling the weight of the day and the frustration that has accumulated over months suddenly seeping into your bones, and you just…broke. You crawled into bed, alone in the dark, and you cried for hours, your mind spiraled, turning over the mistake you made, again and again and again. 

When it stops and the wracking sobs slow into shuddery hiccups, it’s only because you hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Tired. But steady — sure. And that nauseating sensation in the pit of your stomach returns as the footsteps grow closer and closer. 

The door creaks open slowly, pale yellow light from the hallway spills through the crack, your puffy eyes squint and flutter against the sudden light, shape of him vague in your blurry vision, but you know it’s him: tall frame, broad shoulders, pale skin, and dark features.  

Joel. 

You curl your body tighter, making yourself as small as possible. Close your eyes, and bury your tear-stained face back into the damp royal blue of his linens, the piney scent of him everywhere: his pillows, his sheets, his mattress, clouding your mind. You hear his footsteps as he rounds the bed, feel him reach over and switch on the lamp beside you. He grunts, his joints creak as you feel his weight sinking the edge of the bed, settling himself down in the ‘c’ shape your body had formed.

“We found him. Fella was out by Hidden Pines,” voice soft, almost cautious. 

You nod silently, but you don’t look at him, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more, not wanting him to see how pathetic you look after spending hours upon hours sobbing into the pillows over a mistake you made.  

A heavy hand cups your knee over the sheets, thumb stroking bone through the fabric there. 

“It wasn’t your fault, baby.” He says, surely.

But you don’t really believe him. 

You sniffle and tilt your face away from the tear-soaked pillows just enough so he can hear you. “Yes, it was. I was the last one in there. It’s my job to take the horses back and settle them in for the night. My job to make sure they stay in the stables. It’s been my job, my only job all this time, and I can’t even do that right,” you ramble, voice breaking, bottom lip wobbling, fat tears pricking your red eyes once again. 

“No. You listen here,” he says sternly, feeling his body turn beside you, bed covers bunching up around your knees. “You did lock it, but the latch was loose, honey. Tommy and I tried ‘em. They’re due for a fixin’ n’ we should’ve been checkin’ ‘em, but that’s my job, not yours. This wasn’t on you, darlin’. You hear me?”

You avoid his eye and stay furled on the bed. Silence swells between you, and you fiddle with a stray thread in his sheets.

“He wasn’t supposed to take off like that, but he’s a younger horse,” he shrugs, and a sigh falls from his lips. “It happens. Whoever was mannin’ the wall tonight should’ve seen him. Many things were at play, baby. It wasn’t your fault.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Your head snaps over your shoulder in a fury. “I could’ve helped fix it. I could’ve made it right,” you bite, shaky voice laced with venom. You don’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it manages to stifle the sob that threatens to claw up your throat. And for a second, the irritation in your voice doesn’t rattle you until you notice Joel’s shoulders tense, and you regret it immediately. 

A whirlpool of emotions swirls in your belly. A weird noise squeaks out from your lips as you try to fruitlessly blink away the sleep and salt in your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You bury your face into the pillow again, trying to muffle the sob-like groan as you cringe away from Joel, ashamed. 

His hand drifts up your thigh, broad palm splayed across your flesh, his touch unwavering. “Sweetheart, the only reason I told you to stay here s’because it ain’t safe out there. The amount of infected may be less this time o’year but the cold…” He trails off, his grip tightening around the meat of your thigh unconsciously, “makes people meaner,” his voice grows unsteady at the thought. 

You shiver, and you suspect he feels it. He clears his throat, and tender fingers brush the strands of hair out of your face, then they trail down, and you feel the cold roughness of his skin against the warm softness of yours as his calloused hand cups your jaw, tilting it to face him, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

Your eyes pinch shut, and the dam breaks. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart sits heavy in your chest, feeling the guilt creeping back in at his touch. His hands, usually warm, are now icy cold, and all you can think about is how you are the cause of it. He had been out in the cold longer than he needed to be because of you. You and he both know his worn bones can’t handle it, and yet, he went out there in the dead of winter as nightfall cloaked over Jackson to right your wrong, and it makes you feel terrible. 

“Baby. Look at me,” he whispers softly.

You do, and through bleary eyes you meet his weary gaze. His lips are downturned into a frown, and with a twist in his brows, that worry line in the middle of his forehead materializes. You hate being the cause of it. Your heart plops to your stomach, your throat goes thick, something rising at the base of it. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me,” he implores, his voice stern but soft, eyes shifting back and forth between yours — dark amber irises so warm, pleading.  

Teach me to be good. “Just you, daddy – just need you,” you blubber, your voice innocent and small. Weak. 

He knows exactly what you mean. You have been together long enough that he reads you like an open book. You watch as he wordlessly toes off his boots with a thud. Watch as he moves to stand to unbuckle his belt, dropping it to the floor with a soft clink, his jeans, jacket, and flannel following shortly after. Watch as he shifts onto the bed, bones crackling as he lowers himself and presses his broad form into you, his knees popping as they coax yours open. Watch as one of his hands drifts south between your bodies to grip the thick root of his cock while the other bunches up your nightgown to your navel, revealing your unobstructed cunt to him.  

You whimper when the leaky head of his cock notches at the already slippery entrance of your cunt. He glides the wide cockhead between your folds, up and down, up and down, while the warmth of his breath fans across your face when his lips part to murmur, just the tip tonight, baby, s’not a good idea for you to take all o’me right now, alright? 

You nod numbly. You don’t care how much he gives you — you just need to feel him. Need him to fix you. Need him to make the hurt you feel inside go away. Need him to search for the good. Maybe it’s there, buried deep in a place only he can find. 

His hands find yours, pins them firmly above your head, and with his dark gaze holding yours, he very gently pushes his tip inside your tight, wet hole. His mouth pops open in a deep groan, and you catch it with a soft gasp of your own. 

“There you go. S’that feel better, pretty baby?” He murmurs, his jaw ticks, brows twitch.  

You nod desperately, your wide, glassy eyes going hooded. Your thighs tense around him, causing a little more of his cock to push inside, making you whimper and squirm beneath him.  

“Good. Now just listen to my voice. Just focus on me, right here,” he grunts haggardly, voice so low and commanding. And that alone makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You try to focus all your energy on his voice and the heavy weight of him on top of you and the fat tip of his cock stretching your too little hole open, but suddenly, he pulls out, and you almost whine at his absence.

But Joel doesn’t give you enough time. 

Your body moves up the bed with a jolt, gasping when his hips push forward with more force, filling your cunt with the head of his cock, and then some more, only to slip out of you again immediately after. He’s toying with you, and he’s doing so because he knows you really need this. 

He slips his cockhead gently back inside you, and you whine at the soft squelch your slicken pussy makes. The two of you revel in the lewd, wet sounds that ricochet through the room, all while never breaking eye contact. 

“My little girl just needed me to fuck all the bad thoughts away, hm?” he breathes, his nose brushes against yours.

“Mmhm,” you sigh, cunt flittering around him. 

“Needed me to stretch out her sweet little hole and make everything better, s’that it?” 

You nod frantically, moaning breathlessly. 

Joel growls. “Say yes, daddy,” he commands you softly, his fingers squeezing yours.

“Y—ye—yes, d–daddy.” Your words come out broken in between the slow rolls of his hips, but by the smirk that tugs on his lips, you know he’s proud of you anyway. 

“Good girl,” he praises, his touch featherlight as his fingers push the stray strands of hair away from your forehead, and the scruff of his chin tickles your nose as he lays an open-mouthed kiss between your furrowed brows.  

“But daddy—” you start to protest, scrunching your nose. 

Joel harrumphs as he pulls back. All of his features pull into a stern look, and to stop you, the pad of his roughened thumb sweeps across your cheek and sinks between your parted lips. 

“Na-uh. No fightin’ with daddy,” he presses gently. 

By instinct, your lips close around his digit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the thick of it, tasting the salty, woodsy flavor of him, and it only feeds the foggy haze in your mind more. 

Spit pools at the corner of your lips. His thumb moves in and out of your mouth, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as he fucks his cockhead in and out of your hole. Your mind begins to blur, but there’s still a storm stirring in your swollen eyes, and Joel, as always, can see it. 

“Alright, this ain’t workin��,” he sighs exasperatedly. 

And you think he’s utterly fed up with you not obeying him. He unsticks his body from yours, and your eyes search his face — the lines beside his eyes, the hairs in his brows, the muscles around his lips — trying to decode the emotion that flits across his features. Though, as expected, it’s near impossible to read him. Joel may have been able to crack you open, and although the years he has spent in Jackson have managed to soften him up — tiny cracks in his stony exterior over time — he remains inscrutable. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to scold you. Tell you you’re no good for him anymore. You wouldn’t blame him. You can’t seem to do anything right. Maybe he thought he wanted to take you apart, bit by careful bit. But what if he peered through the gap and saw something he didn’t like? What if he had a change of heart — now that he stepped back and assessed the damage? What if the severity of it was too much to mend? Burden too heavy to carry. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone good. Someone not in need of fixing. Someone unbroken. 

But Joel surprises you. His hand retracts from your face, and instead wraps his arm around your middle, maneuvering you onto his thighs so you're straddling him. His free hand fists the hem of your nightgown, and in one swift motion, tugs the fabric over your head and tosses it aside to join his pile of clothes on the floor. His heavy hands find your waist once again, and with the head of his cock still buried deep in between your legs, he sits up and back against the headboard, grunting a low, alright, c'mere, as he takes you with him with ease.

You cling to him like a koala, body putty and pliant as he brings your weak arms to wrap around his neck. And then, a firm hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, lets you nuzzle your wet face into the dip in his shoulder, and breathe in the comfort of his scent while his other traverses the line of your spine.

Slow but steady, Joel bucks his hips up, up, up, until the entirety of his thick length works its way into the slick slide of your cunt. Your soft thatch of curls meets his, softly grazes your clit, and you writhe in his arms, sniffle, and whimper brokenly against his shoulder, but sure, gentle hands pull you into his chest tighter. You feel the strong drum of his heart against yours, thrumming against each other: ga-gung, ga-gung, ga-gung, pace quickening, like they're trying to catch up, trying to sync. Your body melts into his. Skin to skin, heart to heart, heat of your cunt to the heat of his cock; and then suddenly, two become one.

“Shh, shhh, I know, baby, I know. You got it,” he whispers, as he begins to rock you back and forth, back and forth, lulling you gently back into the haze, and everything finally fades away. 

He presses a kiss right behind your ear. “Therrrre we go, just take it, good girl,” he murmurs as a heavy hand pets your hair. And whether he’s talking about his cock or his praise, you obey regardless. Your cunt sucks the heat of his cock in deep. Let him fuck himself into you; let his warmth smolder you until your cunt ignites. Let it roar and burn and spread through your system like wildfire. Let him make you good.

The tips of his fingers move through your hair in small ministrations, gently scratching away at your skull. “Daddy—s–so big—” you whimper, your fingers pulling the hair at the nape of his neck, tears welling up in your eyes as something low in your belly begins to churn. 

“Shhh, angel, it’s okay. I know, s’a lot,” he soothes, feeling his deep voice reverberate against your chest. Your cunt contracts at his praise, and the steady pace of his hips falters briefly; he groans deeply when he feels his tip choked tight within your walls, “you’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart, so good.”  

He continues his shallow thrusts while he rocks you in his arms. There’s a low static buzz in your ears, but you can still hear the perverse chant that manages to fall from your lips — one that grows louder with every roll of his hips, daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy. And in turn, he murmurs incessant blabbers of, you’re okay, angel, daddy’s here, daddy’s gotcha, into your hair, punctuating every one of his words with a soft kiss to your temple and a slow buck of his hips.  

The tip of his cock nudges that soft ridge deep inside you, and he feels your cunt flutter around him. “You gonna come for me, angel, hm? You gonna be a real good girl for daddy and let me feel this drippy little pussy come all over me?” He coos.  

“Uh-huh,” you murmur. 

Deft fingers curl around the back of your neck, and with the slightest of pressure, he squeezes once, gently instructing you to use your words. A silent command. 

“Y-yes, daddy, I prom–I promise, I wanna be good. I wanna be good,” you mewl.

His nose drags along the side of your face, down, down, down, until his heated lips meet your pulse point. “Go on, baby, let go n’ get daddy all messy. Show daddy how good of a girl you are,” he rambles, his voice a low vibration, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

With your tight cunt full and impaled on his cock, your clit throbs, eager for more friction. You rut your hips against his, humping him like a dog in heat as you rub your puffy pearl against the graying curls there, smearing him in your slick just as he insisted.   

And within seconds, your body constricts, navel pulls taut, and then something fiery in your belly erupts. Your body begins to tremble as stars burst behind your eyelids, liquid heat turns your mind and body molten, melting away completely with the force of your release.

“Daaaddy,” you cry, lips quivering. Your muscles go lax, and your body slumps in his hold, feeling the last of your energy leaving you. Your head lulls back, and his hand slides up the base of your neck in time to catch it in his massive palm.

He clutches you tight, marveling at your fucked-out form in his arms while babbling praises of,  ohhh–that’s it, that’s it, good job, baby, such a good fuckin’ girl— daddy’s so proud of you, as warm tears roll down your face. And it only spurs him on. 

His languid strokes speed up, your body jolts above him violently, weeping cunt fluttering repeatedly around him. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans escape past your parted lips as he fucks you harder. “Christ, that’s it, that’s my girl. Look at you, perfect little thing,” he pants, coaxing you through your orgasm. 

His eyes drop quickly to watch the bounce of your tits, nipples peaked and gleaming with beads of sweat. He dips his head to one sticky breast, and with a flick of his hot tongue, he laps up the salt on your skin. 

It elicits a sharp gasp from you, your chewed fingernails desperately trying to claw at him, your body arching against his mouth, and you feel him grin against the curve of your breast. His mouth drifts, wraps his whiskered lips around your other swollen nipple, tongue swirls the pointed bud, teasing you with a graze of his teeth across the wet peak before nipping it, tugging the stiffened point ever so slightly between his teeth.  

“Daddy–oh!” You choke on a moan, and your spent pussy clenches around him so tight, your cunt is almost forcing him out. His hips buck into you harder in response, his thrusts growing more erratic as he seeks his own release. 

Joel hisses, mouth releasing your tit with a wet pop, “sweet Jesus, m’gonna give it to you real good, baby—like you deserve, fuck—”

He's cut off by the strangled groan that rips through his chest, his back arches off the headboard, and you feel him twitch. His grasp on your enervated form tightens, and then a blazing heat spreads inside you. His sweaty forehead falls to your dampened chest, the swell of your breasts cushioning the drop of his head, his body convulsing as he pumps upwards into your core. Cock pulsing and spasming within your walls as he continues to spill inside you, your belly swelling and set to burst full of his seed.  

Joel slumps back against the headboard, his arms loosen, but they don’t release you, just holds you there on top of him as he presses hasty kisses and whispers shaky sweet nothings into your hair while his hot seed dribbles out around his length, turning the hair at the root of his cock into a pool of sticky milky white.  

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass by as you stay limp in his lap, breathing in the sweat and sex on his skin as you snuggle back into his neck, the heat a low simmer. But when he runs a warm, wet rag between your legs and uses the same one to wipe your mixed wet off of his shaft before he tucks you in with a peck to your lips, the tip of your nose, a long kiss to your forehead, and lays himself on top of you with the full weight of him, pulling the comforter up to trap the heat of your bodies between you, sore cunt plugged with his softened cock once more, you know that he makes you feel whole. Not ruined or broken. Not stupid or useless or helpless. And in truth, it's all you’ve ever known with him.

As you slip gently into the waiting black, small fingers that draw circles into his silver curls come to a slow, you think you hear a quiet sigh — feel his lips lazily form around the words against your tacky skin — something of, you are good, angel tucked away into the valley between your naked breasts like a secret. And you think you believe him, and for now, that’s enough for you.

[thefrsers]

I love you. Tell me in person.

[dailyheavymedic]

day 14