#and then they stay up all night and talk about life and echo pours his heart out about how much he hates life in the castle

[gay-hoodie-boy]

am i gonna prince x mercenary echo and itto? maybe. you cant prove anything.

[uncookedfeeler]

CITRUS I🍋

Yuna x Reader

Tags : 4k, light smut, incest,

Part 2??

Parenting is one of life's most transformative experiences. It is a journey filled with joy, growth, challenges and the commitment to raise and guide another human being. From the moment a child is born into the world, parents find themselves on a rollercoaster ride of endless new experiences, emotional highs and lows, and unwavering love.

Parents are caregivers, teachers and coaches, constantly trying to decipher their child's needs and feelings. While the joys of parenting are many, the challenges can be daunting. From sleepless nights with a newborn to the complexities of teenage rebellion, each stage of a child's development brings its own set of hurdles.

After more than fifty years on this planet, half of them with your wife, you're lucky enough to have a 20-year-old girl as your child. From day one she has been the ray of sunshine that lights up your life. She is the person you love most and will remain your most precious treasure until your last breath. But your relationship has changed a lot over the years. Your little princess has gone from being Daddy's little girl to a gorgeous woman who has been driving a wedge between you since she was a teenager. 

This distance has increased since she became a famous idol and now lives between the dormitory and your house, although she only stays when she wants to. 

As usual, you come home from work late in the evening and enter the lock code to get into your house. Unlike before, the lights are still out and the house is deserted. You leave your keys on the hall stand and walk into the living room, closing the SAS door behind you.

You sigh as you walk through the living room to your bedroom, the room a bit messy with some of your dirty clothes from the night before still on the tripod, you sit down on your bed to remove your tie and finally free your neck, your suit disappears and you put on more relaxed clothes. At the same time, your phone rings and you see the name of one of your colleagues on the display:

"Sorry to call so late, hope I'm not disturbing you?" says a soft voice at the other end of the line.

"Not at all, Mrs Bae, I just got home, what can I do for you?" you reply, laughing.

"The CEO wants to see you in his office tomorrow, he came by earlier but you already left, he said he wants to talk about the last contract you secured". 

"Ahahah, the old man already knows it seems, ok ok, noted I'll meet him tomorrow, have a good night Ms.Bae".

"You too, Director"

You put your phone on the bed before returning to the kitchen to prepare your meal and pour yourself a well-deserved beer. With your face still in the fridge, you hear the front door open and a familiar voice echo through the room with a simple "I'm home, I'm tired! "

You immediately know who it is and reply, "Welcome my darling, good to see you home, how was your day, are you hungry?"

Without answering, you see a young woman with red hair jumping onto the sofa. 

"Yuna, please take off your shoes before entering the house, and at least take off your jacket, it's quite warm in the house," you begin to reproach your only child.

"Daddy, please don't start, I've already lost my mind today with the girls, leave me alone!" the young woman cries in obvious annoyance.

The routine is back and you make the effort to take off her shoes while she is lying on her stomach on the sofa, you notice her outfit for the day, a black leather jacket hiding a nice white t-shirt and beige trousers, so you take the opportunity to complicate your princess. 

"That's a nice outfit, darling."

"Thank you," she replies, blushing.

You put the shoes down in the hallway next to yours and see her already absorbed in her phone, so you try to get the conversation going again:

"What happened to make my little Yuna so upset?" you say.

"I'm not 13 anymore, Dad, you can call me by my first name".

"Ah ah, sorry, Yuna".

"Those bitches stole my concept for the shoot, we had to choose a fruit and we had matching colour outfits, during the pre-shoot meeting we agreed and as luck would have it today they used their "maknae shoot last" rule and took my fruit!!! "

"Please don't shout, so what happened after that?" you try to calm her down.

"What do you think, I got to the shoot and all that was left were shitty concepts, seriously, who the fuck thinks it's sexy to have a lemon in the middle of a t-shirt, they're going to laugh so hard at me for the pictures, I'm so ashamed, I left right after the shoot," she says as she stands up and faces you.

You can see the sadness in her eyes and you want to hug her and tell her that everything will be fine, but now that she's looking at you, you realise that she probably forgot to take off the famous shirt and with great regret you put a big smile on your face, almost on the verge of tears.

"No, darling, I'm sure it's a great shirt," you reply with difficulty.

"PAPA!!!, WHY ARE YOU SNIGGERING?" the young idol cries before following your eyes to her T-shirt, her face falling as she finally realises the reason, you're so sorry, but the situation is really too funny.

As you wipe your eyes you see your princess's blood red eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks and she slaps you hard in the face "I FUCKING HATE YOU, JUST FUCKING DIE YOU AND MOM" before running into her room, 

For the second time in your life you feel that pain, the pain you feel when you hurt someone you love, just like your wife did 7 years ago. 

The pain on your cheek is almost non-existent, unlike the pain in your heart. You admit that Yuna has become very withdrawn since your wife's departure, and that your clumsiness with her has hurt her before, but never to this extent.

On the one hand, your authority has been challenged once again, and for the first time she's dared to raise a hand to you. On the other hand, there is a deep sadness that hurts you, but also makes you deeply regret your actions.

You hear your daughter's cries through the door and, with a feeble step, you knock on the door before entering.

"Baby....i'm so sorry" you see her lying on her bed, her head in her pillow, her crying stops when she raises her head and looks at you, her face is turned upside down, her make-up has run down her face. Seeing your child like that tears your heart out, even though you're responsible.

"Just go, just go like Mum, you don't even like me, do you? I'm ashamed of you, go and die," she said in a cold, mean tone.

"Baby... "Hearing these words from your little princess hurts and brings tears to your eyes, so you get down on your knees to continue your apology.

"Forgive me," you tell her as your tears begin to fall, Yuna continues to reject you and her words only drive nails into your feelings, you've surely done the irreparable and you decide to get up and leave her room.

You have ruined your last family relationship with the person who meant the most to you. 

"I'll bring you dinner later, just rest," you say in an emotionless tone as you grab the door handle to leave.

Your steps towards the living room are slow and your body heavy, only to suddenly hear someone running behind you, the door slamming against the wall, and feel your sweet daughter's body against your back as she tries to wrap her arms around you.

"PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME SORRY," the red one cries with all her hot tears.

You drop to your knees and take your only child in your arms and hold her close, her head is under your chin as she buries herself in your neck, you stroke her head with one hand while the other pats her back, her arms struggle to wrap around your waist but she clings tightly to you.

"I'm sorry darling, I'm sorry for everything, just let it go now, Daddy's here, I won't leave you, ever"

"Daddy, I'm sorry, I love you"

"I love you too, sweetheart"

You stay like this for many minutes before you plant a loving kiss on her forehead, a sign of your unconditional love for her. She's your treasure and the most important woman in your life.

Yuna's red eyes shine into yours and the young idol plants her lips on yours, the sensation is sweet and pleasant, you are morally in a dilemma, never in a million years would you have imagined kissing your daughter like this, but on the other hand you tell yourself that she's probably had too much rejection for today and is just trying to express her love for me. 

You allow your daughter to express her desires and she wraps her arms around your neck as you hold her kiss, her tongue meets yours in a first dance, the heat in the corridor rises as her body crashes against yours, you feel her small breasts against your chest and her perfume floods your nostrils.

"Yu..na," you try to stop her, tapping her shoulder as she literally tries to eat your lips.

The young idol slowly pulls back, leaving a trickle of drool between your two mouths. You see an incredibly sexy woman, her hair a mess, her breathing heavy and hot, her hands on your chest burning and her eyes devouring you like a hungry tigress.

"The redhead doesn't know what to say when she realises what she's done, her face turning scarlet as she rests her forehead on your shoulder.

"Don't worry, it's not your fault, are you tired?

She nods as you carry her to her room and tuck her into bed, one last kiss before sending your little princess off to dreamland.

"Good night, baby," you say to her as she seems to have gone far away.

.

.

.

The night was harder than expected, and after a light dinner you went to bed with your head still full of the events of the evening, a flurry of emotions running through your body and mind, and faster than you could have imagined, the morning light appeared through your window.

It's almost 7am and you're getting ready for a long day. As soon as you wake up, your body starts to show its age and it takes you a long time to get dressed and get out of your room and into the kitchen. You decide on a quick, simple breakfast of fried egg and rice, and with this morning's appointment, you'll be ready to go in no time, having filled up on vitamins for the day despite your fatigue. As you prepare this, you hear Yuna's bedroom door open and see your daughter come into the kitchen, still wearing her white T-shirt, but her beige trousers have been replaced by blue shorts.

"Morning dad," she says shyly.

"Hi honey, no schedule today?"

"Not this morning," she replies quickly, shaking her head.

Neither of you seem comfortable with the conversation and you do your best to avoid meeting her gaze and vice versa. You discreetly exchange glances and smiles, the redhead in front of you is beautiful and you find yourself ogling her.

You continue to prepare breakfast, making sure you have enough for your daughter. The only exchange you've had since is asking her if she wants a coffee, which she refuses. You see her hovering around the table as if she wants to talk, then she finally gets up and goes behind your back to the fridge.

Then you look back over your shoulder, feel Yuna's embrace around your waist as she buries her face in your back, feel the warmth of her breath again and put your hands on hers.

"Are you all right, darling?"

"I'm sorry dad, my head has been on fire since yesterday, my body has been on fire since I saw you this morning, I just wanted to tell you that I love you very much," she answers as she places kisses on your spine.

You feel the tenderness of her lips on your skin as Yuna gently lifts your work shirt, you say nothing, letting your daughter express her feelings as Yuna's gentle attacks send electric shocks down your back.

"Please look at me," she says as she forces you to turn around, pulling you by your hips until your bottom is resting on the edge of the kitchen counter, face to face with your daughter, who is staring at you for the first time this morning.

Her eyes were trembling and she asked you in a soft, frightened voice: "Tell me you love me, Daddy", while she pressed her body against yours. You felt her soft breasts against your chest and she put her hands on the back of your neck. Your daughter brings her lips to yours, her eyes closed, waiting for you to confirm your feelings.

At this point your morality as a father is the only obstacle standing in the way of this relationship, your daughter may not realise it but it is an immoral relationship waiting to happen, your daughter is still looking for a way to fill the hole in her heart, the love of her members doesn't seem to be working for her and now she is relying on you, her father, to give her what she needs, it is a difficult choice but you are letting yourself be swallowed by the devil, your daughter's happiness is what matters.

You cupped her cheek with one hand before pressing your lips to hers as Yuna melted under the pressure of her emotions, you rediscovered the sensation of love and laid your daughter on the counter while maintaining the kiss.

Your daughter is now sitting on the worktop, the difference in height bringing her face level with yours, she grabs the back of your hair to pull you towards her, her legs wrapped around your hips, your lips still locked as your tongues meet again.

When the seal is finally broken, both your breaths are heavy and noisy, each under the hypnosis of its own pleasure, while your eyes are full of sparkles and plunge into each other's. Your princess's eyes shed small tears, which you hastily wipe away with your finger before giving her a long kiss on the forehead.

Daddy, my heart is going to explode,' she says as she takes your hand to her breast with her t-shirt, the feeling is even better than you had imagined, her small breasts are firm and pleasant to touch, as you gently knead her breasts, the young woman makes little moans that express the pleasure she is receiving.

"Yuna... do you like what Daddy is doing?"

She nods "I want to feel your hand on my skin," she replies as she takes both your hands and places them under her t-shirt, right on her breasts.

"Do you like my lemons daddy? squeeze them hard please" Yuna's sexy face and her words echo in your brain as your hands work on her juicy fruit.

The tension in the room rises and you place your mouth on her little lemon, which you have been kneading for a few minutes, you attack her nipple with your tongue while you suck, hoping to suck something, you alternate your hands, now covered with little red spots, your daughter moans with pleasure and prevents you from withdrawing.

"Daddy, suck on them, play with my little lemons that you love so much, they're yours".

All this excitement had made you hot and a knot had formed in your trousers. Your lips left her two Susson-marked mounds and now attacked her defenceless neck, licking it from bottom to top, following her carotid artery and planting long kisses under her jaw, making her tremble before she gently pushed you away.

"Dad, let me take care of you too, I've been feeling your lump on my leg for a while now".

Your daughter begins to unbuckle your belt, then your trousers, until she can finally see your underpants and cock. Then your daughter puts her hand on the front of your briefs to rub your cock, and you see her other hand go down her shorts, probably to check the state of her briefs.

"I'm soaking wet, keep playing with my tits and come and touch me down there while I take care of you".

Your daughter's hand reaches through your shorts and grabs your cock to stroke it gently, on your side you slide one of your hands up her thigh to her panties and rub her slit directly against her skin, she's wet and you can feel a small bush above her entrance, you wiggle your fingers up and down, taking the opportunity to go back and kiss your princess who moans at your actions.

Yuna's technique isn't the best, but who can blame her, the poor thing is fighting against her own body and the way she arched her back as you delicately knocked on her pussy door, freeing her lips from your kiss, the young idol expressed with volume what she was feeling,

♥Hmm....♥Ah....Papa, continue ♥Hmm, ah....♥

Your daughter's moans are like music to your ears and she quickly lets you know that her orgasm is coming as your fingers begin to penetrate her pussy from the inside, you feel little spasms running down her body and her pussy dripping with wetness, as you pull your fingers out you see the deception in her eyes before devouring her with your mouth, forcing her to let go of your cock in the process. 

Your cock is extremely hard after Yuna's work but your pleasure is not your priority as your tongue slides up and down your daughter's slit, her juices are delicious and you suck them in to capture the taste of her naughty hole in your memory. Her grip on your thin hair is powerful and she blocks your head with her legs as you finally hear the release.

"Daddy, I'm going to come, it's happening, da..." before she can finish her own sentence, stopped by her pleasure, Yuna comes all over your now wet face and falls onto her back on the worktop.

"Are you OK, sweetie?" you ask her, a little worried as she suddenly falls backwards, the pressure of her legs freeing you and you see a close-up of your daughter lying on her back in front of you, her face red and wrung out, her hair falling in the air on the other side of the table, her breasts exposed and marked by your many hickeys and her pretty pink pussy that you've just finished devouring.

You grab both her hands and pull her towards you so that she's at your full height, then you take her in your arms as if you were comforting a small child.

"You're so hard daddy, you can do it if you want to," she says with a little hesitation and tired eyes, then you notice that your cock is at the same height as her pussy.

The choice seems obvious but at the same time you don't want to take it lightly and spoil the moment, the lack of time and place is not what you want to give your princess who is offering herself to you so you shake your head in refusal then plant a long kiss on her lips.

"Not now baby, another time," you reply as you start to pull away from her, only to feel her hand holding you back.

"At least let me make you feel better, I want to make you feel better too," she says as she grabs your cock and starts to jerk it like before.

"Do you like it when I rub your naughty cock? Why does a father turn on his daughter so much?" Yuna tries to be provocative to arouse you, but the tone is off and her lack of experience is glaring, you just smile under your daughter's true words.

Your orgasm builds as Yuna experiments with your cock, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible. You put your hands on her tits again and play with them, which doesn't seem to bother her, far from it.

.

.

"Daddy?"

.

.

"Yes, sweetie?

.

.

"You know ... if you want my lemons to give you their juice, you'll have to give me yours first," she said, pointing to her pussy.

The image crosses your mind, the image of a father and daughter kissing the fruit of their forbidden love, a father giving his love to his daughter and a daughter giving birth to that love, your excitement and shame explode as your cock comes to paint the lower part of your daughter's body, her pussy and thighs marked by your essence.

I'm sorry, I'll clean you up,' you say, looking for something to wipe your cum-filled daughter with.

"It's OK, I'll do it myself,' she says as she scoops up the white liquid and brings it to her mouth.

Any young man would have been revitalised to see such a beautiful woman collecting cum on her body, but your cock is now in a less than glorious state and you pull up your trousers, taking care to get dressed.

"It's almost time darling, I have to go," you tell her as you haven't eaten or slept well, it's going to be a long day.

"Wait," she replies as she approaches you, still naked, "don't forget my goodbye kiss," as she presses her lips hard against yours, then whispers, "we'll continue tonight, I love you.

Your body and mind may be in bad shape, but knowing your princess will be there for you tonight fills your heart with a feeling you've been missing.

Later, in your car on the way to work, you get a notification that someone you're following has just started a live stream, obviously it's Yuna, she's the only one you follow, you pick up the stream on the way, but enough to hear your daughter say

My favourite fruit? mhhhhhhhhhh that's a good question, I'll go with lemon, it's a sweet fruit like me and TMI, but my dad loves lemons'.

______________________________________________________________

[scoutswritingcorner]

omg can u do an angel dust x masc/male! reader ans husk x gn! reader (or huskerdust x masc/male reader either or is fine) that is basically the hozier song too sweet ☹️☹️ i think the song would work so well for them, esp since they both think that their partner could do so much better than them??

sorry if this ask is a little confusing 😭 my brain isnt working correctly

Sweet

HuskerDust x Male!Reader

TW: ANGST

A/N : I LOVE YOU SO MUCH- I WANTED TO WRITE THIS FOR SO LONG BUT KEPT PUTTING IT OFF-  

Husk sat behind the bar watching Angel as he was on his phone, it was too early for him to be up but Alastor and Charlie had pulled him awake for some odd reason. Which had subsequently made Angel wake up and go with him, you had yet to be awake or you were already awake just too busy. He didn’t really know. It wasn’t until the doors opened and you walked in still in your work clothes from yesterday, did you even sleep at all last night?

He watched you walk over, pressing a kiss to Angel's cheek as you slid them both coffee. “You sure you aren’t an angel, sweets?” Angel hummed as he held the coffee closer to himself and you chuckled, “No, I just know when you both wake up you both are grumpy until an hour later.” You hand Husk the steaming cup of coffee, “Thank you, Babe.” he grumbled out as you shot him a wink and grabbed your cup before excusing yourself to get busy with working. 

“He may not be an angel but he’s a fucking life savor.” Angel smirked at Husk, who only nodded and sipped at the coffee. Husk watched your form disappear down the hall, both men’s hearts were sent fluttering hearing your laughter echo down the halls of the hotel. Even if it was early, you were bright and bubbly as ever. Something that took even Husk to see, you were too sweet for both of them. 

~~~

Angel was never good at his emotions especially now when he was on a fucking chain. He hated being pitied and he even hated it when people tried to downplay his sufferings. So when he was pissed he did everything he could to strike hard and fast, pulling out the shittiest part of someone else and using it against them, allowing the venom to lace his tongue as he talked with so much anger that he was sure he’d break himself.

He stays away from his phone when working, he doesn’t need Valentino to find out about you and Husk, he’s scared to find out what he’d do. He knows you worry, he knows but he’s just focused on getting the job done to get home to you both, his loving boyfriends. Once he gets back to the hotel he immediately goes to the bar, Husk checks in on him softly while pouring him a drink. Soft whispers as Husk holds one of Angel’s many hands. Angel teared up as he felt you hug him from behind, the glass of whiskey in his hands shook, he was so tired.

 “Want me to run a bath?” You had asked softly, no hint of pity anywhere in your voice. Only the question that made his heart swell up in happiness. He sent a wordless nod towards you and Husk who had now busied himself to clean up the bar for the night. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder carefully squeezing him into a hug before quickly making your way up the stairs to start a bath for him. He sipped on the whiskey, allowing it to burn his throat as it went down, “..how did we end up pulling the sweetest demon this side of hell?” He asked, watching as Husk only glanced back for a second busy making sure the bottles were actually locked up. Charlie had made it into a rule so no one could steal any at night.

“I don’t know but I’m not afraid to say it’s a miracle.” He replied standing up to his full height to stretch his wings out with a yawn, “C’mon, Angie..let’s go get you a bath and some well deserved cuddles.” He whispered, holding his hand out to Angel, who graciously took it after knocking back the rest of the whiskey. “He could do better than us..” Angel whispered as Husk wrapped an arm around him, guiding him up the stairs. “..I know..” Husk whispered out his wings folding onto his back.

~~~

As you all laid in bed, you snuggled between both men as you carefully rubbed Angel’s back as Husk curled up behind you purring loudly. Both men dead asleep as you stayed up admiring them both. Their hands rested on your side, intertwined with one another, your hand stopped to rest on Angel’s lower back. Eyes slowly closing as both his snores and Husk’s purring allowed your body to fully relax.

Slowly drifting off to sleep you reached behind you to scratch at Husk’s cheek, which made him softly chirp and rest his head on your shoulder, “I love you both..you’re almost free to be who you wanted, just need a couple more days..hang in there for me.” You whispered out to be met with soft snores and heavy purring. 

You’d sell your soul to the Devil to make sure of it.

[spngi]

My tears ricochet | mafia!carlos sainz jr x reader

Part 1

Prologue

summary: Mr. and Mrs. Sainz lived in a dream for many years, now everything is falling apart and they need to deal with their feelings

warnings: Grammar mistakes, citation of violence, Carlos is an idiot, mentions of cheating, angst

There's a warm breeze in the room, crossing through the space from the windows that remained open overnight, the scent of Spanish summer mixing with Carlos' aroma in the room. Carlos' arms surround me in bed, and I can't help but wake up to the kisses he spreads across my back.

"Good morning, darling," I murmur still drowsy to Carlos, turning to face him. He looks handsome in the morning, tousled hair, a silly smile on his face, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Good morning, cariño," he replies, pulling me closer into his embrace, making me laugh; his hand is gentle as it touches my face in a light caress.

"That smile of yours makes me feel like the luckiest man in the world," Carlos says, and even after all this time together, he still makes me blush with affection.

"I'm the lucky one to have you, Carlos," I lightly kiss his lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," he responds.

Everything feels empty, the house filled with love and happiness now seems like a mausoleum, the hallways echoing even with people still in them, my head on the verge of collapsing along with my entire body. I feel broken, still alone, a million beautiful memories dancing in my head and wasted by the end.

Divorce. Just thinking of that word makes me nauseous. Five beautiful years shared reduced to a single piece of paper. I couldn't and wouldn't let that happen, no matter what Carlos tried; I wouldn't give that to him. Of all the long list of concessions I made to him, divorce wouldn't be added to it.

I can't go back to my room, I can't stay here without feeling the urge to go back to him, to plead and shake him until he comes to his senses, until he loves me again.

I return to the back of the house where Carlos had set aside a place for me to paint and have a moment of peace; there are many paintings hanging in that room, various phases of my life, our life. That studio was my safe haven. I close my eyes and try to breathe, pour myself a drink and put on an Etta James record.

It's when I finally look at the blank canvas in front of me, waiting to be filled, that I feel the tears rolling down, like a dam that has reached its limit.

"Y/n?" I hear Charles' voice calling me after a long time, catching me off guard. I try to quickly wipe the tears from my face, knowing it will be in vain.

"Hi," I turn to him, my voice trembling, and Charles tries not to stare at my state.

Charles is one of Carlos' right-hand men, helping him with business and also his security.

"Carlos asked me to deliver this to you," he places the same envelope from earlier on the table, and more tears roll down my eyes. He looks at me again, and I hate to seem so fragile in this moment.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, and I can't find the strength to respond; I just nod my head and hope he leaves. Although Leclerc was a great listener and a friend in his spare time, I didn't want to talk, to tell him what was going on. It would make the whole situation too real at this moment, so I just wait for him to leave so I can break down again.

I never opened the envelope; I didn't want to see what was inside, didn't want to know what I was worth in Carlos' eyes, didn't even want to negotiate how much our life together was worth. The papers went straight to the back of my closet, hidden from the world and from my eyes.

Carlos didn't sleep at home that night, even the next, and even the next four days. It was as if he was punishing me with his absence for not accepting the separation, as if leaving me wandering alone around the house would change my mind about it. The big house kept running, with staff and security guards wandering around. But Carlos didn't bother to come back home, or to take care of his own business, sending Charles back and forth all the time to pick up his papers and important things. And it's when I finally tire of this game that I decide to corner Charles.

He looks startled when he enters my husband's office and sees me there, sitting in Carlos' chair, with my Manolo Blahnik heels propped up on the table.

"Oh, Y/n... good morning, didn't expect to see you here," Leclerc sighs, and I give him a slight smile. "I came to get some things for Carlos and I'll leave you alone again."

"Actually, Charles..." I stand up and then firmly place my hands on the stack of documents he came to fetch. "The documents are staying; tell him to come get them personally."

"Y/n... Mrs. Sainz, I've been instructed to do just that," Charles replies. It hurts me to do this with him, the man had nothing to do with our marital problems but it was the only method of passing the message to Carlos.

"Don't think I'm trying to disrupt your life, Charles. Just pass on the message to him; I want him to come back home soon. He can't keep hiding in that tiny apartment forever." I lean on the table and watch his reaction as he realizes what I've said.

"Do you know where he is?" he asks me curiously.

"I found out the moment you left here on the first day," I smile cynically at Charles, "and I wouldn't want to have to go there to pay him a visit. I believe Carlos wouldn't like that either, as it would disturb the peace of the apartment's owner."

Charles still seemed surprised by the information I had. The truth was I couldn't keep dragging myself around the house in eternal sadness, wondering where my husband was. So, I took the opportunity to send my bodyguard after Charles. Lando was still young, but he was efficient and smart; he had been by my side since I moved into this house and Carlos decided it would be good for me to have some protection. As Lando was young, maybe it would be easier for me to get used to him, and it really was; we became good friends over time. Once he found out Carlos' address, it was easy to find out whose apartment it was and who the girl was.

Martina. That name sounded bitter in my head.

"I'll be keeping this for him for now, and it was good to see you, Charles," I smile, dismissing him.

I smile as I watch him leave, feeling at least somewhat victorious today. I look at his office again, pick up the picture frame I found stored earlier in the drawer, and place it on Carlos' desk again. The image makes me smile nostalgically; the photo of our wedding fills me with a bit of hope, the happiness in our eyes, love radiating from the photo. Maybe I could make everything go back to normal.

When I get up the next day, I'm not surprised to see Carlos at the table having coffee. That was good; he had come and was at home after all. He looks at me through his coffee cup, his eyes expressing no emotion, but it's comforting to have him there, sitting in our living room having coffee.

"It's good to see you," I greet him and sit next to him at the table.

"I wish I could say the same," he says, placing the cup on the table, "but you know I hate being pressured."

"I gave you five days, dear. Believe me, I was patient and kind," I fidget nervously with the ring on my finger. "Listen, we need to talk, open up to each other... Being alone in these last few days was horrible; this huge house where..."

Carlos doesn't let me finish speaking. He smiles, that kind of evil smile he gives when he's plotting something, the same evil smile I've seen so many times directed at someone else.

"I'm glad you mentioned that," he interrupts. "You were right about saying that apartment was tiny. And as you yourself said, this house is huge, so I believe you won't mind me bringing one more guest," he speaks naturally, as if he hadn't done something horrible, as if it wasn't enough to have tainted our marriage, he had to taint our home now, as if he wanted me to hate him more each day.

"You wouldn't do that," I reply shocked.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" he asks, pointing to the large door leading to the garden and the pool of the house, the smile never leaving his lips.

[toxicanonymity]

The cold, cold night. Left in Lincoln, part 3

6.9k | dark!dad's best friend!Joel x virgin f!Reader

story master list / joel miller master list

You slid under the quilt face-down, half on top of him, not waiting for him to make room. You kissed his cheek and he smiled with his eyes. His hair was messier, and you liked it that way, but when you touched it he bristled, then raked his hand through to straighten it. "I love it," you said. He sighed with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, if she loves it."

WARNINGS: I8+ mdni, slow-burn horror w/ disturbing (implicit) content, big girthy age gap, "plot," angst, pining, toxic fluff, gaslighting, manipulation, pressure, fingering, oral F receiving, unsettling P in V sex dream, use of pet names and praise, trapped animal. Very TOXIC, dark Joel (psychological dead dove do not eat). Too long but didn't feel I could break it up. Smut may have edging properties sry just wrote what felt natural.

You tucked yourself into bed and admired the special apple blossom from Joel's orchard. You slowly rolled the little stem between your fingers, feeling guilty for making Joel walk home alone. He was so patient with you. So understanding. All he wanted was to be close to you. You hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. You wanted to be close to him, too. You weren’t sure what was holding you back.

You put the flower on your nightstand and stared at the spot on your ceiling, trying to feel Joel’s arms around you. Soon, you were thinking about his stiff cock against you, between your legs. You ran your hands down your sides and thought about his hands guiding you up and down. You could hear the echo of him talking you through your orgasm. You touched yourself but didn’t get there. You wondered if he could teach you. But more than anything, you wanted to feel him against you, then inside you. Maybe you could have, if you hadn’t sent him home. You drifted off feeling guilty and regretful.

-

You dreamed of Joel. You were back on top of him, straddling him with your arms around his neck. You moved yourself up and down, gliding slickly and firmly against his shaft, doing it all on your own this time. You were grinding against his hard cock, his hands resting on your back. But something felt off. His face was clean-shaven and vacant. Void not only of enjoyment, but of recognition. He was in a trance, looking through you. He didn't speak at all.

You dragged yourself up his shaft one more time, and his cock stayed upright as you claimed the head. His eyes watered, but he remained perfectly still. You sank down on him, sliding easily into his lap. It didn't hurt. You felt nothing but full of him, filled to the brim, and it felt so right. He didn't blink. You pushed yourself up and started riding him. He finally looked at you, just as a clatter shook you awake in real life.

Your heart pounded in your ears. You got up and went straight to the window. Finally, the stillness in the air was gone, replaced by a howling wind. The clatter was most likely nothing sinister. Anything could have been bowled over by the wind. Regardless, you looked forward to putting your mind at ease the next day by looking at the surveillance footage with Abe. You left the curtain open a little to avoid pitch black darkness.

You needed to sleep. This was becoming unsustainable. You couldn’t have every noise jolting you awake, making you look over your shoulder. This fierce independence, it was a valiant effort. Bill would be proud, but you were tired of torturing yourself. You considered asking Joel to stay over in the future. You told yourself next time, you'd at least let him tuck you in. But something still held you back. You could feel it, even as you told yourself you should do it.

-

You slowly blinked awake when light poured in between your curtains. The apple blossom on your nightstand was wilted and discolored, the edges dark, but you couldn’t bear to throw it away. You wished you had put it in water. It was the most special flower in the world and you just let it shrivel. If you let Joel tuck you in, he would've taken good care of it.

By the time you got dressed, It was almost afternoon. The wind brought with it a cold front. You put on jeans, a flannel shirt, boots, and a jacket to do some chores and groundskeeping. You stayed close to the house so you wouldn’t miss Abe when he came. You tended the garden, evaluating what you could harvest before protecting it from the cold. The cold brought other challenges, too. You were nervous about using the heater for the first time on your own.

You looked up at your bedroom window, curious how much someone could see from outside if you were to open your curtains all the way. As you were looking, you heard a similar sound to the rustling you heard at night. With a slight echo, yet somehow quieter. You tried to sense where the noise was coming from and spotted a vent on the back of the house, close to the ground.

You stood up and brushed the dirt off your knees as you slowly walked toward the house. The closer you got, the louder the sound. You crouched down and looked at the vent. The noise subsided. You laid down on your belly and inspected the metal, trying to look through the slits, but you couldn’t see anything. You would have to get a screwdriver if you really wanted to look.

You got back up on your knees and sat there listening for a minute, fingering the cool, metal flaps of the vent. You planted one foot on the ground to stand up, then the vent shook violently with an echoing crash. Your heart jumped and you instinctively hit back at the vent. The loud metal bang from your hand further startled you. Your heart raced. When you looked at the ground, there was a small, black feather. You went to the basement to get a screwdriver, but the door was locked. You darted inside but couldn’t find the key.

There had to be another screwdriver somewhere. Knowing Bill, the house was probably full of them, but you knew of one other place for sure. Since the noise had been tormenting you, the task felt urgent. So you went to the place you were sure of - a small, wooden storage shed next to the meat curing one. The shed was about the size of a small bedroom and there was something about it you didn’t like. Notably, one time you got a face full of spiderwebs.

It’s a vivid memory: You screamed and thrashed, even tore your shirt off over your head. Frank came running outside in a panic. You asked him to hose you down but instead he got you to calm down long enough for him to get all the webbing off. Then he held you still with his hands on your shoulders and told you to breathe. He took a big breath in with you then let it out. He said, “we’re gonna get through this, honey,” and he couldn’t finish the sentence without laughing. Once you could breathe again, you laughed too. All three of you referred to it as The Spider Shed after that.

The Spider Shed still wasn’t a happy place, despite the warm memory. Your palms were sweating as you got closer, and you wiped them on your flannel shirt. The door wasn’t all the way shut. There was a trick to shutting it and it came undone easily. It was on Bill’s list to fix. No spiderwebs in sight today, from the outside at least.

You were only a foot away from the shed when a big gust of wind made the door flap and creak. You took a deep breath, trying to slow your heart rate. Then you grabbed the metal handle and opened the door. Your breath hitched when you saw what looked like a thick cobweb. Once your eyes focused, you could see it was just a net trap. Fortunately, the tool box was right there, so you didn’t have to look around, much less go inside. You opened the box and got a screwdriver and flashlight. You pressed the button on the flashlight and it didn't work. You smacked the bottom and it flickered.

You went back to the vent, but the sound was gone. You unscrewed the corners of the metal plate anyway and carefully took it off. There were more feathers and a couple of sunflower seeds, but no sign of the bird. You weren’t sure what the vent was for, or how long you could leave the cover off, but you left it open while you finished the garden work, keeping an eye on any critters to make sure they wouldn’t meet the same fate. You were relieved to know the source of the sound.

–

You decided to make a little snack for you and Abe. Having company was so rare, and you wanted to show your appreciation. You sliced up some vegetables and homemade bread. You got out two glasses for drinks. It was too early for wine in your understanding.

You looked in the cooler and you were out of apple juice but there was still some cider left. The fact that it was from Joel made you want to taste it, but you weren’t clear on how strong it was. When you unscrewed the lid, it smelled weird which gave you your answer. No thank you. Maybe if Joel was there - you couldn't imagine you would have tried the whiskey without him.

Thinking about the apples made you feel warm and fuzzy for Joel. Thinking about the whiskey made you yearn for his touch. You badly wanted to go over there and make apple juice together, but you didn't want to miss Abe when he came by, so you stayed home. But as the day went on, there was still no sign of Abe. Even as it became late enough for wine.

-

You finally thought to turn on your radio. You turned it to Abe's station, and Call Me by Blondie was playing. It was on one of your favorite tapes. Frank always called it the gigolo song, which made you laugh. But your warm memory was soon overtaken by dread when you remembered the radio code. Eighties meant trouble. Someone might have breached the perimeter. You weren't sure which would be worse - Infected or people. Bill always said desperate people were more dangerous than anything, but Infected terrified you.

Next on the radio, the same song played again. Unsure if you forgot how long the song was, you brushed it off. But when it began to play a third time, your stomach turned. You opened the tape deck to make sure it was in fact the radio playing. The tape deck was empty. It was the radio, and there was no telling how many times the song had played before you turned it on. Twenty seconds into the fourth time you heard it, the music slowed down. Low and distorted, “Color me youuurr colloorrrrrr baaaaabyyyyy,” and your arms erupted in goosebumps. Then it abruptly cut off and there was silence. Just static. The hair on the back of your neck stood up.

You adjusted the antenna. Nothing. You checked the Boston QZ station to make sure there wasn't something wrong with your radio. You heard The Doors loud and clear. Then you put it back to Abe's channel and left it there. As haunting as the static was, it was your only way to find out what was going on - Unless you wanted to go out in the cold, dark night.

You wished Joel was with you. He would protect you. If Joel knew of any trouble, he would have come over immediately to make sure you were okay. So either he didn't know, or he couldn’t come. Your chest ached at the thought that something bad might have happened to him. You prayed he was okay.

-

You were tempted to walk to Joel’s house, but you tried to channel Bill. Bill’s voice in your head said you were already in the safest place possible, and you should stay put and arm yourself. The guns were in the basement, which was locked from both doors, inside and outside. You tried picking the outside lock first since the sun was going down. The air was chilly and your fingers were getting numb. You didn’t have any luck, but you remembered to put the vent back on. While you were on your knees doing it, you noticed a rock near the basement door. The key was underneath.

Once you got the door open, the basement was completely dark. None of the surveillance computers were on. Your heart went to your throat. Even though you hadn't checked the monitors, knowing they were there had given you comfort. You were convinced that the noises were harmless, but you were looking forward to seeing proof when Abe came by.

You turned on the light and looked at the wall of firearms. You got two guns, a long one and a short one, and brought the basement key with you.

-

You stayed inside listening to the dead leaves rustling loudly in the wind over the quiet static of the radio. And then finally, music. Cream, Sunshine of Your Love. You finally exhaled. Whatever trouble there was had been resolved, according to the radio code. And yet, it didn't resolve your nerves. You couldn't get the haunting, twisted version of Call Me out of your head. It drowned out the song you liked.

You got hungry and realized you hadn’t eaten. For a late dinner, you ate the snack you made for you and Abe. You hadn't seen any sign of trouble yet. You considered going to the basement and trying to fix all the surveillance, but the worst case scenario would be if a dangerous stranger ended up in there with you with a wall full of guns. So you kept it locked and stayed on the sofa, thinking about Joel. Worrying about Joel. Wishing Joel was there, until you calmed down enough to get sleepy.

You must have dozed off, because the sound of a vehicle jolted you awake. When you registered what sounded like Abe’s truck, you somewhat relaxed in relief, but by the time you reached the window, you couldn’t see it. At least he was okay. You went upstairs to bed and took the pistol with you. Tomorrow, in the daylight, you would walk to Joel’s house and find out what happened.

You were afraid of the dark that night and left your curtain cracked open despite the cold. You put the pistol on your nightstand and laid in your bed. Within minutes, the sounds started again. The flapping. The rustling. You let it fade into the background and focused on the sounds of the wind. The sound of dead leaves dancing around outside got louder and a chill fell over you. You got an extra quilt out from under your bed and bundled up, but it wasn’t just the weather. It was also the coldness of being without Joel. It was so cozy having his arms around you, you could hardly fathom how warm you’d be with him inside you. Your loins heated up at the thought of it.

-

You fell asleep, and it didn’t feel like you were asleep for long before you suddenly awoke. Your eyes adjusted to find a dark silhouette in the corner of your room. You nearly choked on your gasp, then sat up and grabbed the gun. You tried to steady your hands, hoping your eyes were deceiving you. You didn't aim it yet, hoping it was a shadow from outside.

"It's me, peaches." Joel cautiously stepped into the moonlight. He had his hands in a low surrender position, but was surprisingly calm. "You okay?” He looked at you concerned. “Can ya put that down for me?"

Your hand shook as you put the pistol back on your nightstand.

"Joel?”

"It's okay, baby. You're safe."

“What is going on?" Your heart raced, but you were glad Joel was there.

"Heard a car. Woke me up. Looked outside, saw someone walkin' over here." He stepped closer and put his hands down.

A pit formed in your stomach. He sat down on your bed and stroked the arm of your flannel pajamas.

"Came to check on ya.” He hesitated. “Don’t wanna scare ya, but your back door was open, darlin',” he said regretfully.

Your eyes hurt and all the skin on your head tightened. No wonder it got so chilly. You hoped he wouldn't notice what became of the apple blossom.

"Cleared the house. Had to see you were okay." You imagined him checking on you then being unable to pull himself away, so protective that he needed to quietly watch you all night.

"Thank you," you whispered, then told him, "The surveillance is down. Abe never came."

"Yeah," Joel whispered. "I dunno what’s goin’ on, but I can't leave you here alone, okay?"

You nodded. He took off his jacket, and you scooted over to make room for him, but he didn’t settle in. The rustling noise returned. Joel listened to it and studied your face. You didn't react, except to say “I think it’s a bird.”

“Hmm," he nodded thoughtfully. "Prolly so then, darlin’.” He squeezed your knee. He sat with you for a moment in silence, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “Goin’ downstairs, okay?" His voice was soft and reassuring. "So I can stop any trouble.”

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered.

He looked at you affectionately and his hand cupped your face.

"Please stay," you begged.

He looked conflicted. “Okay, baby. Just 'til you fall asleep.” He brought his feet up on the bed - his boots were already off. He settled in next to you. He stayed on top of the bedding but got under the top quilt when you offered it. He leaned on his side and put one forearm above your head on your pillow, draping his other arm over you. He smelled like clean laundry, and his hair was a little damp. “You okay?” he said in a smooth, near-whisper. “Bet that was scary.” He was so close to your ear, you could feel the wind and vibration of his voice and it gave you a chill of arousal.

“I’m okay now, yeah.”

"Soon as you fall asleep, I'm goin' down, k?" Joel’s head came closer to yours and you could smell notes of whiskey under his aftershave. He looked at you with concern. “I’ll be right downstairs.”

“Yeah.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, then you looked at each other for a moment, and you lifted your head slightly off the pillow.

“Shhh,” he said, brow furled, and slid his hand under your head. You let your head down into his hand and watched his face soften. "You're safe, baby. I'm here."

His eyes closed as he put his forehead against yours. His nose brushed yours, then his lips pressed into yours and you pressed back. It sent a warm rush through your body, and you wanted more. He broke the kiss to look at you and his thumb brushed your temple. He kissed you again, tenderly on the top lip, then on the bottom, then pressed his lips into both of yours at an angle. His lips lingered there and parted, gently pulling at your mouth, not breaching it. He pulled away then planted one last, delicate kiss. “Night, peaches.”

He rested his head on the flannel of his bicep. You closed your eyes, but it took time to fall asleep. You slowed your breathing, and when you were almost asleep, Joel carefully got off the bed.

-

When you woke up, the house was warmer. Joel must have turned the heat on for you. You went downstairs and he was on the sofa. The poor guy stayed up all night keeping you safe. You sat on the edge of the couch and he stretched with a groan.

"Mornin', peaches." He set his hand on your lap.

In the light, you could see your flannel pants and button-up were similar to his shirt.

"Mornin'." You planned to ask him all about the night before, but once he was in front of you, you just wanted to be close to him. You could always ask him later over breakfast.

You slid under the quilt and laid face-down, half on top of him, not waiting for him to make room. You kissed his cheek and he smiled with his eyes. His hair was messier, and you liked it that way, but when you touched it he bristled, then raked his hand through to straighten it.

"I love it," you said.

He sighed with a twinkle in his eye, "well if she loves it," and stopped messing with it.

You smiled at him. He looked at you and his eyes darkened warmly. Then you felt a shape harden in his jeans and his hips lifted slightly. He hummed “Mmm,” as he looked at your mouth and brushed your elbow with his thumb.

"C'mere, gorgeous," he whispered and gave you a kiss, sending a rush through your body. He pulled back to look at you and he looked so tired. Your heart swelled at the thought of him staying up all night to protect you. Your desire swelled at the feeling of his arousal against you.

"You must be tired. Come take a nap with me," you urged. "It's warmer upstairs."

-

You got back on your bed and Joel stood at the foot of it, scanning your room. It was his first time there in the daylight. You could faintly see the thick silhouette of his dick in his jeans and you couldn’t take your eyes off it as he took off his jacket. He watched you watch him and his eyes darkened more. The mattress groaned under the weight of his knees. As he stretched out next to you, he sighed as if his bones ached, then laid his massive hand on your waist.

He looked from your eyes to your mouth and back then murmured lowly, "Nap really all you want?"

Your face burned as he watched your eyes expectantly. "Just wanna be with you," you answered quietly.

His deep voice became nearly a whisper. "Love hearin' that, baby."

He got closer with a sigh then pulled you up against him. With both of you on your sides, he tenderly pressed his lips into yours, then the kiss heated up. His hand traveled down from your waist, over your ass, to your hamstring, and you found your knee hooking over his hip, bringing your loins closer. He sucked your soft lips, then parted them with his tongue and sucked your mouth.

For several minutes, you held him tight with his arms over yours and your faces joined together. You felt so much better in his arms, under his hands, between his lips. You felt safe and cared for. He softly moaned as he kissed you and his arousal swelled against you. He slipped his hand under your flannel top and lightly brushed your lower back which was beading with tiny droplets of sweat.

“You warm?” he whispered. His cheeks were pink and his lips were flushed.

“Yeah,” you answered.

Joel backed up enough to access your clothes. He slowly unbuttoned your top, planting a kiss on your mouth between each button, the hungry look in his eyes not matching his slow and patient pace. Then, with all the buttons unfastened, he gently hung the side you weren't lying on behind your back and the collar fell off your shoulder but the sleeve stayed on. He inhaled sharply at the sight of your breasts.

“My lands,” he murmured, hypnotized by your body. Then he looked back up to your eyes and said, “You’re so pretty I can hardly take it, darlin’.”

He pulled you tight against him and kissed you hard, inhaling deeply through his nose. Then he rolled toward you and his chest against yours turned you on your back. As he kissed you, he worked one of his knees between your thighs and you opened them. He kneeled between your legs and lowered his hips, pressing his jeans against your flannel clad crotch. You sighed at the swell of his hardness and he moaned “Mmm,” then tore his lips away from yours.

He kissed your cheek, then your chin, and your neck, where he paused to suck and lick. He made his way down to your shoulder, where he nudged your pajama top the rest of the way off. You took your arms out of the sleeves obediently, leaving the sleep shirt lying under you. He kissed between your breasts where there was a fine dew of humidity, and looked up at you as he dragged his lips down to your belly button, where he stopped to plant a long, open mouth kiss. His fingers hooked into your flannel waistband. You squirmed uncomfortably, which he expected.

“Baby, you’re perfect. I’ve seen you," he said. "So perfect. . . Like a beautiful blossom.” He pleaded softly with desperate eyes, "just trust me."

“Okay,” you whispered.

-

He slowly lowered your waistband, and you lifted your hips for him to take it under your butt. As soon as your hair was exposed, he laid his cheek down on it and hugged you with his hands against your ass cheeks, fingers pressing hungrily into your flesh, breathing deeply. He gently kissed the crease where your thigh met your pelvis, then lightly dragged his tongue along the other crease. He buried his mouth in your mound, inhaling and moaning softly. Then he dragged his lips down and his mouth engulfed your clit, gently prodding it with his tongue. It felt so good, but you still couldn’t quite relax. You were too self-conscious.

"You don't have to do that," you told him.

His voice was quiet and low. “Course I don’t, darlin’, if you don’t want me to.” He looked up at you from between your legs with big, sad eyes. “Doesn’t feel good?” He caressed one of your creases with his thumb. "Is it my beard? Shoulda shaved."

"No, it's fine," you said. He was so careful, his facial hair didn't bother you, and after your eerie dream, you didn't want to see him unshaven.

He hooked his thick digits into your waistband again, now midway down your thigh, and finished taking the pants off you. He sat between your naked legs fully clothed and rolled up his sleeves, forearms flexing. You were still tense. “It’s okay, baby. You can tell me what you want.”

His soothing voice made it spill right out of your mouth. What you'd been craving so bad. What you couldn't stop thinking about.

“I want you inside me.” Your face burned as soon as you said it. You looked down, unable to suck the words back into your mouth. Then you hesitantly looked back up at him.

His eyes were wide and his face relaxed in wonder, but he was quiet for a moment. Still and quiet.

“Baby, I’d like nothin’ more,” he murmured. And yet he was saying no, you could tell. Your tear ducts felt weak. “You’re not ready yet, peaches. We'll get there, I promise.” He acted like the two of you had all the time in the world.

"What do you mean I'm not ready?"

He twisted onto his side. "Well, you're still shy with me, darlin'. Haven't even touched it yet." He firmly cupped the hard shape in his jeans. "Gotta make sure you really want it." He wet his lips. His breaths grew heavier and his forearm flexed as he slowly rubbed himself a few times, watching your disappointment.

"Puttin' our bodies together like that. . .It's somethin' real special."

He rolled back onto his stomach and returned his head to hover between your legs but kept his eyes on your face. "Means givin' each other everything. And you gotta be sure, ‘cause you can't get it back." He rested his cheek on your inner thigh, caressing your outer thigh with his calloused hand. "If ya don't want me down here, you're not ready for it, peaches. You're not givin' me everything."

You were dejected and confused. Surely he had given himself to someone before, but he made it sound like it was his first time, too.

"Haven't you already. . . given yourself?"

"No, darlin'.” He shook his head. “Not even close. This is different."

"'Cause I've never done it?" Your eyes felt weaker and weaker.

"No. Different 'cause I love you, peaches."

Your waterline was overtaken by a tear, but not the one you expected. Joel pried his head away from your crotch and moved upward on your body to hover over you, resting his forearms to the sides of your torso.

He rested his chest and stomach on you, but not all his weight.

"Hey, it’s okay. I told you we'll get there."

"I'm not - I just - hearing you say that."

"That I love you?" He kissed a tear off your cheek.

You swallowed thickly. "Yeah."

“I think ya knew that, darlin’.” He planted a chaste kiss on your lips, then your cheek, swallowing another tear.

You wanted to say it back, but you didn’t want him to think you were just saying it because he said it.

"I don't know anything," you said. “I’m sorry.” You swallowed your shame, not meeting his eyes.

He looked concerned. “For what?”

“Not knowing how to love you.”

He allowed a moment of silence, reading your eyes, then said, "You’re doin’ perfect.” He kissed you again. "Just take your time, baby. And let me love you."

He lifted himself up, reached down between your legs, and dragged his thick middle finger through your slick. Then he slowly stroked you with two fingers and gently nestled your clit between them.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. Opening your legs to him felt like the least you could do.

“Good girl.”

-

He paused on his way back down your body. He cupped a breast. His eyes took you in as he gently manipulated your flesh then planted a kiss just below the nipple. He did the same with your other breast.

His mouth returned between your legs, planting a kiss on your clit while holding eye contact. "Feel good?"

Your eyes closed and you took a deep breath. You were still tense.

"Talk to me, baby. What feels good? You want my hand?"

He reached down to your ankle and used three fingers to languidly trace a line all the way up to your knee, then down your thigh. He gave your thigh a slow squeeze, then brought his fingers between your legs. He slid the side of his index finger along your dripping seam, then began to caress your entrance without breaching it. He inhaled deeply, then gathered your wetness with several fingers and circled your clit gently. "You want this?"

You couldn't make words.

When you didn't answer right way, he took his hand away and silently sucked his fingers, closing his eyes in pleasure. He looked to you again for an answer, but didn’t press you for one.

He brought head down again. “Or you want it like this,” he murmured. He french kissed the spot between your clit and entrance, and you sighed. That was what you wanted. He perked up at the sound of your sigh and looked up at you with his mouth still occupied. He was determined to learn how to please you.

“Feels really good, but you don't have to do that,” you repeated.

He lifted his head and frowned. "Why wouldn't I wanna make you feel good?"

"Isn't it kinda gross?"

"Baby. Nothin' gross about havin' my face in the most special place in the world."

"Really?"

"Nowhere I'd rather be, peaches."

"You're just saying that."

"Feels good for me, too. Real good. It's s'posed to."

"You don't mind?"

"I love it. Turns me on. It’s s’posed to, darlin’, and it does. You got nothin’ to be shy about."

"Doesn’t taste bad?”

“Baby, you’re my favorite taste in the world.” He buried his nose in your clit and fingered the curls on your mound.

“You're not just doing it to make me feel good?"

He paused, then softly answered, “No. But even if I was. Long as you felt good, I’d love it.” He reached to massage your breast with one hand “But it turns me on a whole lot, you'll see.”

He pulled his head back, the bottom of his face shiny and pink, then got up on his knees, his eyes locked with yours.

-

He wasn’t wearing a belt. Your breath hitched as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans so quickly in contrast to how slow he was doing everything else. He left the back of his flannel shirt tucked in as he took his stiff member out of his boxers. He held it in his hand only for a moment with his shirt out of the way so you could see. You had seen it before, but seeing it again, he sure was big. For a second you even felt foolish for wanting him inside you when he wouldn't fit. Still, a mere glimpse of it made you tingle wildly.

With how wet you were getting, you'd be even more embarrassed for him to put his head back down there. Unless it really was his favorite taste in the world.

He didn’t stroke himself, simply set his length outside his jeans, forming a tent under his flannel. “Lemme really taste you, baby, then you'll see.” He got back down on his elbows.

“Okay,” you said. By then, you were dying for his touch.

He put your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands on top of your thighs. He kissed your inner thigh again with his mouth closed, then planted a wetter kiss on the other one. He kissed his way closer and closer, dipping his tongue, pressing the flats of his teeth against your soft flesh. By the time he got there, you were dying for his mouth, no longer worried about what you tasted like.

First, he buried his nose in your little curls again, this time more desperately. He made his way down to your clit where the touch of his nose made you twitch and moan. He looked up at you from under the shadow of his brow and his eyes sparkled. He inhaled deeply through his nose, closed his eyes, then sighed from the bottom of his throat.

He pressed his mouth against your clit, then opened his lips. His tongue extended then lapped upward and dragged down. He did it a few more times and hummed “Mmm.” His brows tensed and his eyes wrinkled as he tasted you. His hands slid to your ass. He sucked and lapped with dedication, and it was unlike any feeling you could have imagined. It made you want to be filled so bad. Almost as soon as you thought it, he plunged his tongue into your tight, wet hole, pushing a moan out of you. He thrust it into you rhythmically, and his fingers dug into your flesh.

He came up for air and said, “Swear you got the sweetest nectar, baby. Can’t get enough.”

You believed him from the look on his face. Then he came to his knees again. He dragged a finger through your slick and held it up to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thick digits and it wasn't bad.

"Good girl."

He took his cock in his hand. It was even stiffer, more commanding than just moments before. It really did turn him on. The veins bulged. The tip throbbed angrier and weeped with precum. You were desperate for it. Salivating.

He murmured, “Believe me now?” as he brought his cock to your warmth. Your breath hitched and your whole core throbbed desperately. He dragged the head through your slick just enough to get himself wet. Your body tried to suck him in, but he wouldn't allow it. He sat back on his knees and stroked himself slowly. He was looking hungrily between your legs, then up at your face. He raised his eyebrows pleadingly for permission. He wanted more.

“I believe you.” you said. Your clit twitched.

-

His chest rose and fell with your go-ahead to continue. He didn’t hold back at all. He was ravenous, burying his nose and mouth between your legs, his tongue matting your hair as he licked and lapped and sucked.

One expansive hand held your hips down as the other occasionally stroked his cock. And then he held you with both hands, abandoning his own pleasure. You watched him, so handsome, hair falling out of place from where he haphazardly fixed it earlier. It's so sexy when he lets it go, like you’re the only thing in the world at that moment.

“Can you take your pants off?” You asked and he did it in a flash without a word, never taking his head away for more than a second. He kicked them onto the floor. It was so hot seeing him be messy. With both hands back on your body, his hips began to slowly grind into your mattress, a sight that made you even weaker as he devoured your beautiful blossom.

He traced your petals with long licks, gently dragging his lips, then sucked your clit, teasing it gently. He fucked you with his strong, slippery tongue again and you moaned at the feeling of being filled by anything. He sucked and swallowed as much as he could get, moaning, sighing. Your hips briefly lifted, and your body tensed as you felt yourself about to come. Joel felt it too. He groaned into your body, and the vibration of his deep voice made you weak.

He tried to meet your eyes, but you could barely keep them open. He wanted to talk you through it again, but didn't want to take his mouth away. You could tell. He was saying it with his eyes. That's it, baby, you're almost there. Stay with me. Come on, baby.

His hands found yours, interlacing your fingers. You held on tight. Then your hips rolled into his face and he moaned into your clit as you pinched your eyes shut and arched your back, letting pleasure seize you completely. His mouth went slack and rested against your convulsing warmth. He watched, captivated as you squeezed his hands and came.

"Good girl. Gorgeous." He squeezed your still-trembling thigh and got out from between your legs.

-

As you caught your breath, he came up next to you on the bed with a shiny face and held his aching member in his hand.

“I wanna touch it,” you said. “Can you show me how?”

“Get your hand wet for me,” he said softly between heavy breaths with a nod downward. You gathered your slick and reached your hand hesitantly toward him. “All yours, baby.” His chest rose and fell as he held it for you.

“Go ‘head,” he encouraged, giving you confidence. You wrapped your hand around his cock. It was so smooth and warm. You didn’t know what to do next. You froze.

“It’s okay, darlin’. Let’s do it like this.” His hand engulfed yours and moved it gently as he lifted his hips and fucked himself with your fist at a moderate pace.

“Love your hand, baby,” he managed between grunts. He was sweating with his flannel shirt still on. You marveled at the way the smooth skin of his shaft moved along the stiffness. You memorized the texture of it and the sound of him grunting.

It wasn’t long at all until agony spread across his face, then he groaned. He took his hand away and watched your face as his cock pulsed against your palm and his cum spilled into your fist. He sighed long and low.

"Good, darlin'. Real good." He pressed a kiss into your mouth then looked at his cum all over your hand. "Sit tight for me." He tucked himself away and went to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, you sniffed it. You got curious what it tasted like. You dipped the tip of your tongue into it just as he was returning with a warm washcloth and neater hair. His eyes widened when he saw you taste his cum.

He watched your face for a moment, then skeptically asked, "Like it?"

"Yeah," you nodded shyly. "'cause it's yours."

His face melted. "See, darlin'? You love me just fine."

-

As he gently nudged your legs back open with the washcloth, you asked “could you teach me how to touch myself better?”

He paused. “Better? You touch yourself now?”

“Yeah," you said hesitantly.

"That's natural, darlin'. Nothin' to be ashamed of. Just surprised, that's all."

"But I can't make myself, you know.” He paused what he was doing, and you regretted bringing it up.

“What're ya thinkin’ about?” He furrowed his brow and his face tensed as he slowly finished wiping your inner thighs.

When he was finished, you pulled your pajama pants back on “You know, what I said I wanted earlier.” You sighed and looked at the ceiling. "From you." You couldn't say it again.

His face softened. “That's good, baby. . . S'posed to turn ya on, thinkin' about that."

"But I don't come."

"I’ll make ya come anytime ya want, peaches.” There was a hint of cockiness tugging at one corner of his mouth. He tossed the washcloth to the laundry, then settled in next to you and slid his forearm under your pillow. "Any time." He admired your face affectionately. It still buzzed with heat. He looked you up and down and rested his massive hand low on your stomach.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t thank me.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. "Love doin' it."

“For protecting me.”

“Course I do, peaches. You’re the most precious thing I ever had." He caressed your bare skin.

"Can't leave ya here alone today, baby. Gotta take ya home.”

You nodded.

-

Thank you so much for your engagement 🖤🖤🖤 I love you guys, and love hearing from you.

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[charmingsoa]

■ Bring it On Home to Me (one) ■ John Egan x OC ■ ■ Multi chapter story ■

⚠ Chapter warning ⚠ Sexual content, physical and verbal abuse, mention of sexual assault, cursing, sexism. Please be advised when reading.

🚨 A/N: Hello and welcome to the first real chapter of Bring it on Home to Me! So, this will start at the very beginning of Vanessa and John's journey and I found it important to focus the first chapter on Vanessa's life before John. It will feature some moments that are tough to read and the warnings have been posted above. It will also feature German and British words - Google was my friend for this chapter! I hope you all enjoy the update and I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions, anything really! My DM is open and ready!!

📣 If you would like to be tagged, please let me know 📣

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a mixture of desire, desperation, and a touch of melancholy. The women moved gracefully among the patrons, their painted smiles hiding a myriad of emotions – from weariness to resignation to a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight would bring a reprieve from the harsh realities of war.

The soldiers, their uniforms worn and dusty, bore the weight of the battlefield on their shoulders. For a moment in time, they sought solace in the arms of these women who offered fleeting moments of respite from the chaos and carnage that awaited them outside.

The women, too, carried their own burdens – stories of loss, of shattered dreams, of lives upended by forces beyond their control. Yet in the dimly lit room, they transformed into sirens of solace, offering comfort and companionship to those who sought it amid turmoil.

For these girls, the prospect of spending the night with a soldier meant more than just a temporary escape from the harsh realities of war. A chance to rest their weary bodies and minds in the comfort of a warm bed. The opportunity to freshen up and tend to their basic needs was a luxury in a world where survival often took precedence over self-care.

I was one of the fortunate ones with relatives who still resided in the small town where many of us had sought refuge. My aunt’s house giving me shelter when the night was over. There were times when I would accept the gentleman’s offer to stay until morning, most of the time sneaking out before the rooster had time to crow.

My home in London, once a bustling metropolis teeming with life and energy, now lay in ruins – a somber reminder of the indiscriminate nature of conflict. The streets I had once walked with purpose and pride were now buried beneath layers of concrete and ashes, the echoes of past laughter and conversations drowned out by the deafening silence of destruction.

My family – or what was left of family now only consisted of my aunt – my earned money keeping the bank from taking the house from under her feet. She didn’t agree with what I was doing to make the money, but that didn’t stop her from pushing me to leave every evening, making sure that I wore the dresses that would get the most attention.

“Slow night, huh?”

The bartender smiled as he poured the glass full of the brown liquid that kept my courage high enough to get through to the next day. “Seems that way.” I gave a nod as I nursed the glass.

My last client was over an hour ago – a poor RAF soldier – married to his secondary school love. I could tell he was a nervous wreck, his hands shaking like a leave in a thunderstorm. He explained to me that his CO had sent him to us – to take the edge off before he was sent off into the air. He didn’t want to do much – just talked about Lucille and his hope to finally get back to her once the war was through. Like many of the soldiers that had crossed my path, I wished them the best, saying a silent prayer as they walked out the door, back to a hell that no one could escape.

"Nessa – you're up!"

The words pierced through the subdued ambiance of the room, a sense of purpose stirred within me, pulling me from the comfortable numbness that had settled over my thoughts. With a quick glance in the direction of the older man who requested my service, I took in his features – a strong jawline, broad shoulders – devoid of any telltale signs of military service.

Finishing the last remnants of my drink in a single smooth motion, I slid off the stool with a practiced grace, the fabric of my dress whispering softly against my skin as I straightened it with deliberate care. The air around me seemed to crackle with anticipation, a silent energy that hummed beneath the surface of the room.

Louella, the madame of the establishment, offered me a brief nod of approval before turning her attention to the other patrons. With measured steps, I made my way towards the man, my movements a delicate balance of confidence and allure, honed through years of navigating the intricacies of this world.

"Hello," I greeted him, my voice dipping an octave lower, the cadence laced with a hint of sultriness that mingled with the lilting notes of my native accent. In that moment, as our eyes met, I stepped into the role that had become second nature to me – a performer on the stage of desire, where masks were worn, and truths were whispered in the shadows.

He chose to stay silent, simply nodding his head, his hands in his pockets in a defensive manner. There had been men like him that stayed silent for most of the evening, only speaking when asked what they would like to do. This man felt different – his demeanor feeling like that of an ice block.

I hesitated for a moment, pushing away my gut feeling that this was going to end badly if I continued. I – Aunt Beatrice needed the money. I could do anything for a short amount of time, whether standing up or flat on my back.

Walking into the back bedroom, I stepped inside the dimly lit room, jumping slightly as he slammed the door shut behind us. His eyes boring into my soul. I cleared my throat, breaking the suffocating silence that enveloped us. "So, um, what exactly did you have in mind?" My voice sounded small and insignificant against the backdrop of his brooding presence.

He just stood there, never breaking eye contact as he evaluated me – searching for any cracks that he could fully break. "Take off your dress," he commanded, his German accent adding an edge to his words even though they were barely audible.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly reached up to the neck of the dress, my fingers pulling at the knot as the two pieces of fabric fell. The humid air hitting against my bare skin as the man’s eyes devoured my exposed chest. My hands pushed the remaining portion of the dress down to the floor, carefully stepping out of the ruched fabric as I now stood in nothing but a pair of heels in front of the stranger.

His long, slender finger pointed towards the bed, the dim light casting eerie shadows across the room. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as I followed his gesture, my heart pounding in my chest. I approached the bed, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness wash over me as I carefully took a seat on the crisp linen.

“Lie down and touch yourself.”

My eyes furrowed in confusion at his demand. "Excuse me?" I stammered, taken aback by the unexpected request.

His throat cleared in an annoyed manner, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a knife. I could sense his impatience, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air suddenly charged with a palpable tension.

“I told you to lie down and touch yourself like the whore you are.”

As I held his gaze, I could see the hatred coursing through his piercing blue eyes like a raging river. The intensity of his emotions was almost tangible, a seething anger simmering just beneath the surface. It was as if a storm brewed behind those icy eyes, ready to unleash its fury at any given moment.

Gulping nervously, I gradually positioned myself on the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath me breaking through the hot air. With a trembling hand, I reached up to fan my hair out around me as I laid flat on my back, the cool touch of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

As I stared up at the moldy ceiling above me, a wave of despair washed over me, mingling with the fear and uncertainty that churned in my gut. The damp patches on the ceiling seemed to mock me, their distorted shapes dancing before my tear-filled eyes. Each droplet of water that dripped down felt like a painful reminder of the situation I found myself in.

“I told you to touch yourself, you stupid slut.” His anger spilled over, a palpable force that filled the room and washed over me like a wave. "Are you deaf?" I flinched at the harshness of his tone, the venom in his words striking a nerve deep within me.

I suddenly felt dizzy as I took a few deep breaths, my eyes tightly closed as I tried to compose myself. My hand shook violently as it moved down my body, resting atop my pussy as the first tear rolled off the side of my face.

“Mach es jetzt!” The german words crashing through the room like a loud clap of thunder. “Dumme hure!”

A stifled sob escaped through my quivering lips as my trembling fingers found my clit. The air growing heavy, the silence broken only by the ragged sound of my uneven breaths. I kept my head turned away from preying eyes of the man, my eyes tightly closed as the panic of the situation and the sensual feeling of my own touch conflicted my thoughts.

Soft moans formed in the depths of my constricted throat. Each heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm in my chest, a desperate plea for escape echoing in the confines of my mind. The rustle of fabric filled the room, amplified by the deafening silence that hung between us, as the man’s hand slowly pulled at his trousers. The metallic rasp of the zipper being pulled down cut through the air like a blade, its sharp sound reverberating in my eardrums with a chilling finality. With each article of his clothing hitting the floor, every nerve in my body screamed in protest, a primal instinct urging me to flee from the impending unknown that lay before me. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I heard him step closer to where I laid, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of fear and uncertainty.

With a trembling breath, I braced myself for whatever fate awaited me, already resigned to the harsh reality that my body would bear the brunt of this twisted exchange – the finale being a crumpled up 10 note thrown on my bruised body like I was a piece of rubbish on the street…

“Holy shit-“As Aunt Beatrice took a drag from her cigarette Her gravelly voice cut through the tense silence like a knife. “What in the heavens happened to you?” Her eyes narrowing as they assessed the bruises that adorned my face like a grotesque mask.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the judgment that seemed to emanate from her every word. The memories of the horrific night flashed before my eyes – the yelling, the shoving, the pain. I clenched my fists, trying to push back the rising tide of emotions threatening to engulf me.

Louella's callous words echoed in my mind as well, her nonchalant attitude towards my suffering sending a chill down my spine. "It's the name of the game, dear. Just make him happier next time," she had said, as if my pain was a mere inconvenience to be brushed aside.

The image of the newsstand attendant’s horrified expression haunted me, his eyes widening in shock as they took in the extent of my injuries. I had muttered a barely audible thank you, my gaze fixed on the ground as I hurried away, desperate to escape the prying eyes of strangers.

And now, facing Aunt Beatrice's mocking laughter, I felt the last shreds of my composure slip away. The weight of her words – dripping with disdain and superiority – crashed down on me like a ton of bricks.

"Here's the money from tonight," I said, tossing the notes onto the table in a messy wad. They fluttered down haphazardly, some landing askew. "I think there's close to 30 there or should be at least."

She reached out to straighten the crumpled bills, her brow furrowing as she quickly counted them. “Looks like you’re four pounds short, sweet child.” The use of adoring nicknames not masking the shortness of her tone. “Four pounds short and the bank wants to collect today – are you trying to make me lose my precious home?”

Glancing between her and the money on the table, confusion was etched on my face as I knew there was enough when I counted this morning. "That can't be –" My voice wavered, uncertainty creeping in. "I could've sworn there was 30 there this morning."

Beatrice's head lulled to the side, her dismissive tone cutting through the tension. "You were never the best at counting money, sweetheart," she quipped, a puff of smoke from her cigarette swirling lazily in the air before being exhaled right in my face. The sharp scent momentarily overwhelming my senses.

"I think it's best you get out there and get the money – wouldn't want you to be back on the streets again," she added, her words carrying a hint of warning.

She slowly pushed herself up from the table, the notes disappearing into the depths of her worn nightgown. Her dirty housecoat dragged along the floor as she shuffled towards her rotting chair, the frayed fabric whispering against the dusty floorboards. I stood dumbfounded, my mind racing as I tried to piece together where the cash could have disappeared to.

"Best get going, darling Vanessa," her raspy voice reverberated off the newspaper-covered walls, "Make sure to powder up before you leave – don't need those soldiers looking at you like a punching bag."

My shoulders slumped in defeat as I started walking towards the small room that held all my earthly possessions. Everything I could salvage from the rubble of my London home was now crammed into a space resembling a broom closet. The dresses I had collected through the years hung in a row, most too conservative for the line of work I found myself in.

Among the clothes were photos of my childhood – snapshots of my mother and father, frozen in time, their smiles forever preserved. In those images, there was no evidence of the sadness and despair that would later come to define my life. The young girl in the photographs had no inkling that in just a few short years, her father would be gone, leaving her at the mercy of an ungrateful aunt who would exploit her for the sake of paying the house notes.

“Chop chop, Vanessa – time's not stopping," Beatrice's voice called out. I rolled my eyes at her words, a mix of irritation and resignation washing over me as I reluctantly acknowledged the urgency of the situation.

As I made my way over to the vanity, my heart sank into my stomach at the sight that greeted me. The reflection in the mirror revealed the extent of the damage inflicted by the German's hand. My once carefully painted lips were now split at the top, a deep purple bruise spreading under my left eye. His fingerprints were scattered like dark constellations across my skin, leaving behind dancing indentations that served as a painful reminder of his violent touch. The marks on my neck and upper chest bore witness to the brutality of his actions, his decaying teeth leaving behind their mark.

With trembling hands, I reached for the makeup on the vanity, determined to conceal the physical reminders of the night's brutality. As I applied layer upon layer of foundation and concealer, I pushed the events in the back of my mine, determined to put on the facade that everything is fine and get the money that Aunt Beatrice needed. I readjusted the dress that I had worn through the night – giving myself a small smile in the mirror – the bruises faintly showing through the mask.

My heels clicked against the wooden floor with each step I took back to the main room. Beatrice's gaze trailed down my body as she took in my appearance, her eyes assessing and judging. "It's a real shame," she spoke, her voice cutting through the air as her eyes met mine.

"Pardon?" I replied, a sense of unease creeping into my voice at the ominous tone of her words.

A sickening smirk twisted on her wrinkled face as she continued, her words like venom dripping from her lips. "It's a real shame that American soldier never came back to fetch you." Her words landed like a heavy blow, my heart sinking at the cruel reminder of a past hope that had long since faded. "He was quite a looker – could've gotten you out of this hellhole and away from the hands of all those men," she continued, her tone laced with a bitter edge. As she lit another cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around her, her words hung heavy in the air. “Guess you’ll just have to be another whore on the street who has nothing to show for her life.”

My eyes moved towards the ceiling as I fought back the tears that pricked against my lower lids. "You're gonna ruin all that work if you start crying," her voice gruff and devoid of any trace of empathy. "These men aren't gonna pay for ya if they see those bruises,” The harsh reality of her words cut through me like a knife, leaving a trail of raw emotions in its wake.

"Wouldn't that be a shame," I sarcastically chuckled, the bitterness of my words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. The tension in the room crackled with unspoken resentment and suppressed fury. "I guess no money means no house, right?"

Her eyes shot daggers at me, a silent promise of retribution simmering beneath the surface. "Guess you'll have to join me on the streets, Auntie Beatrice," I continued, my tone cutting and cold. The same sickening smile that she'd give me mirrored on my face, a twisted reflection of the familial bond that had long since fractured beyond repair. "Get those hoses washed and ready,"

This time she chose to stay silent, her rigid posture and clenched jaw betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. I could sense the turmoil festering inside of her, the knowledge that kicking me out of the house would sever her only source of income. There was no way she would go and find a job. No one was gonna hire a crippled old woman, especially with a war raging on like it was.

"Don't come back without my money," she finally spoke, her voice cold and distant. I rolled my eyes in response, a gesture of defiance and resignation mingled into one. I stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind me with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway…

I grimaced as he pulled out of me – his sweaty body collapsing off to the side as his large stomach rose and fell in a fast pace. The whiskey that I had consumed earlier now wearing off, the image of the man lying next to me making me groan internally – the way of his touch making my stomach churn. “Goddamn girl –“ His American accent thick. “Where’d you learn to fuck like that?”

I stayed silent, trying to play off like I was sleeping. The rustling of his head turning on the pillow as he looked over at me, making my heartbeat faster, the prayer that he would just leave repeating in my brain. The feeling of the thin sheet being pulled away from my body caused a shiver to run down my spine as his fingers lightly danced across my breast.

 “My oh my –“His smoker laced voice whispered as his mouth closed over my nipple – his teeth tugging on the sensitive skin causing a moan to slip past my lips. "I knew that would wake you up," he chuckled, his rotting teeth revealed a mischievous smile before finding the bud again.

I kept my hands pressed tightly against my side as his callused hands, weathered by countless months of war, pulled me closer to his body. The lingering scent of the day's heat clung to his skin, the smell causing my stomach to roll with nausea. Just as his hands reached between us, a sudden commotion outside the room shattered the moment. The sharp sound of hurried footsteps echoing on the wooden floors jolted him back to reality, breaking the seal that he had on me. His body moved to a sitting position, muscles tensing as his gaze fixated on the wooden door The commotion outside persisted, casting a shadow of unease over the room.

Feeling uneasy, I too rose slowly from the bed, hastily pulling the sheet tightly around me Thoughts raced through my mind, fueled by fear and the chilling rumors that circulated through the town. Whispers of German soldiers raiding taverns, killing the men and taking the women prisoners.

“I'm getting the hell out of here," the man muttered urgently, his movements swift as he practically threw himself to the floor in a rush to gather his clothes and make his escape.

As he frantically gathered his belongings, my concern shifted to a more practical matter. "What about my money?" I blurted out, stumbling out of the bed with the sheet trailing behind me like a makeshift gown. Determined not to be left empty-handed after our transaction, I followed him around the room, my finger jabbing into his shoulder to emphasize my point. "This wasn't free, mister."

His stocky body pushed past me, a look of fear etched on his face, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. As he reached for his jacket hanging on the back of the chair, I saw my opportunity to grab what I came for – the money that was rightfully mine. After everything I had been through with this man, the betrayals, the lies, the deception, I wasn't about to leave empty-handed.

With determination fueling my actions, I lunged forward and seized the other end of his jacket, my hands frantically searching the pockets, desperate to find any trace of cash. The fabric crumpled beneath my fingers as I dug deeper, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Get your fucking hands off my jacket, slag!” His voice boomed through the room, a mixture of rage and panic, as his grip tightened on my arms, his nails digging into my skin.

Pain shot through me, but I refused to let go, driven by a mix of anger and desperation. The struggle escalated, our bodies twisting and turning in a chaotic dance of conflict. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed me to the ground, the impact reverberating through my bones. Gasping for breath, I watched as he made a hasty escape, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance.

I ran out of the room, the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my heart racing with a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. The curious gazes of onlookers met mine as I scanned the hallway, searching for any sign of the man who had just slipped away from my grasp.

As I stood there, trying to catch my breath, Louella appeared at my side, her presence always bringing me a sense of dread.

"Well, at least there's some good news in all of this," Louella remarked casually, her tone tinged with a hint of mischief.

I turned to face her, my eyes meeting hers in a moment of silent communication. "And what might that be?" I inquired, my voice hinting with skepticism.

With a nonchalant gesture, Louella reached into the pocket of her nightgown, producing several crumpled notes. I watched intently as she smoothed them out and began to count, the sound of rustling paper filling the tense silence between us. Finally, she held up four bills, neatly arranged between her fingers.

"Germany has surrendered," Louella announced matter-of-factly, her words carrying a weight of significance that resonated in the air. "And there's a gentleman asking specifically for you down in the lobby."

She slipped the bills into the top of the sheet, patting the area lightly before she started walking away. The crisp sound of the bills sliding into place seemed oddly loud in the hushed room. I watched as she started walking away – her signature cane leading the way.

“Oh –” Her voice was soft yet carried a hint of playful suggestion. She paused, slowly turning to face me once more. “I would suggest leaving the sheet on – I don’t think you’ll be wearing it for very long.”

With a coy smile, she sauntered out of the room, my mind racing with thoughts of who could be waiting and her suggestion of keeping my body covered only in the thin, white sheet. Usually, Loella wanted her girls dressed to the nines – giving the man something to fantasize about before they seen what we were hiding underneath.

I snatched the money out of the cloth, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I walked back towards the bedroom. The crisp notes rustled as I stuffed them deep into my purse. Taking a deep breath, I was somewhat relieved that I had gotten the money for Beatrice. The weight lifting from my bare shoulders as I took a seat at the vanity. Checking out my tousled appearance, I did my short routine, giving my face a quick powder and running my fingers through my tangled hair. I needed to compose myself, to present an air of confidence in myself.

Once satisfied with my appearance, I took a deep breath and gathered the bottom of the sheet, preparing to descend to the bottom floor where the mystery man awaited. Each timid step down the staircase seemed to echo in the hushed space, heightening my sense of anticipation. The soft fabric of the sheet whispered against my skin, a reminder of my daring choice to leave behind the trappings of modesty. As I reached the lobby, a rush of emotions washed over me – excitement, curiosity, a touch of fear.

As I entered the room, the crackling fire cast a warm and inviting glow, despite the balmy weather outside. The man, with his back turned towards me, seemed completely engrossed in the dancing flames. His worn brown leather jacket, weathered by time and use, exuded a sense of comfort and familiarity.

I couldn't help but notice the way his short brown hair fell against the nape of his neck. A ruggedness exuding from his stance. His broad shoulders, tense with an unseen burden, hinted at a strength that belied his gentle demeanor. The dark slacks he wore hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his sturdy frame.

My bare feet made no sound as they padded softly against the floor, bringing me just inches away from the man. With a silent resolve, I took a breath and extended my hand towards him, the cool leather of his jacket meeting the warmth of my palm. His muscle tenses under my touch, my body backing away slightly as he began to turn to face me.

John Egan

My heart nearly shattered into hundreds of pieces as the face that invaded my dreams nightly stared back at me – the same blue eyes that caused me to melt in the back of that bar all those years ago now stared back at me. Memories flooded my mind like a relentless tide, carrying me back to that fateful night when our paths first crossed. The fear that he had died on the frontlines haunted me daily as I would picture us together. His promise to come back for me and take me away from this world was something I held onto – praying to the Lord above that he would be the one to fulfill that promise.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and still, there was no sign of him. The war raged on, claiming the lives of so many brave souls, and I was left to wonder if he had become just another casualty of the brutal conflict. But deep down, a flicker of hope remained, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished.

 His callused thumb reached up, wiping away the tears that had fallen. His towering figure loomed over me, his eyes filled with a mix of weariness and determination.

"I told ya I'd come back for ya,"

[iwritefanficsandpostthem]

Fuckolate (Wonka edition)

With the help from @watchingpurpled

Minors DNI - this fic will be 18+!!

Summary- female Y/N tries a chocolate Wonka gave them and Wonka takes Y/N to his home downstairs and they take it a step further. 🙂

(Unfinished)

WARNING: foreplay, tease, grinding, wrestle play, make out

I was cleaning the floors of Wonka’s factory as per usual on my Night Shift. It was February 10, 4 days till Valentine’s Day! I’m good friends with him, since he hired me when I was at a low spot in life, when my parents kicked me out because I recently turned 21, which is apparently “too old” to be living with them, but I promise I was really trying to get a job and a place to stay, I’m not lazy! So he saw me crying on the side of the road and decided to let me stay with him in his guest room.

It’s been about a month of this and to be honest, I feel like I have developed something for him. Ok ok off topic now back to the night; he walked in as I finished up cleaning the place. He came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder as I jumped from the door slamming shut, causing an echo throughout the entire factory.

“Woah hey, It’s just me!” He reassures me, his hand still resting on my shoulder. “I finally finished up all of my errands.”

“Shit- don’t do that! You know I’m startled easily, Willy!” I stand up fast looking at him, angrily flustered.

“Oh, sorry, I just have something for you.” He says as he reaches into his pocket, but doesn’t take it back out.

“Y/N, you know that Valentine chocolate I’ve been working on for the past month? Well I finally finished it and I want you to be the first to taste test it!” He joyfully pronounces to what seems to be a crowd, though it was just me, as everyone else left for the night.

“Wait, me? Why me?” I thought with a puzzled face, slightly blushing.

“But, before you do, I need you to come to my bedroom, for the full experience.” He pulls out a small little red box that fits in the palm of his hand with a small pink ribbon as he raises his eyebrows and a smirk.

“His room? What??” I thought more, but this time with my face red.

“Well? Any questions before we go?” He says with a tone of pure excitement, putting his hand back in his pocket, then pats it and twirls his cane.

“Why do I need to go into your room to try a chocolate?” I say, kinda quietly, almost whispering, but starts walking towards him.

“I can’t say,” His grin becomes wider, “It’s a surprise!”

We start walking into the elevator as he places his hand on my lower back, towards my waist. I ain’t complaining, but he’s never really done that to me before, it was kinda… hot? He presses the down button into the 2nd floor, AKA, his room. The elevator went down, with him humming a little tune he probably made up in his head as I just stared at him, deep in thought.

What does he want to do with me? Talk to me? Is it bad? Is he gonna fire me?

Or is he gonna… no that’s not reasonable, though it could be something… no it just can’t. We walk into his little hut-like underground house, with a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, living room, all, just separated into different rooms. We walk i to the living room with him still humming his tune and we both sit on the couch.

“Ok, so, what do you like to drink? White wine? Red wine, champagne?” Wonka starts as he grabs his hat and pulls out to wine glasses and puts them on the coffee table.

“Uhm… do you have orange juice? I’ll poor some champagne in it, it’s so good.” I recommend a I grab the glass and put my hand out for a drink.

He pulls out orange juice and champagne and pours some of each in his glass, then gives them to me, and I go the same. We cheer and take a sip, and he makes a face of enjoyment, then says “Huh.” And looks into the glass as he swirls it, it looks I dare say, sexy??

“What?” I ask him as I take another sip.

“Oh, nothing!” He says and takes another sip.

“Huh!”

“Double huh, huh? What is it??” I say, with a giggle.

“Just this combination is good, how have I never thought of this!?” He says and grabs a stir stick from his hat and puts it back on.

We both laugh and drank the rest of our glass and set it down. He gets up to take off his jacket and coat, he’s whering suspenders… fuck. I always loved suspenders, especially on him. He somehow makes every piece of clothing look good, just damn.

“So, about that chocolate?” I remind him and cross my legs and lay back, trying to calm myself.

“Oh, right!” He turns back around and searches in his jacket pocket for the chocolate.

He brought back to the couch and plumped back down next to me, closer this time. He unfolds his hands onto mine and gives the small red box.

“Give me your honest opinion.” He says with a straight face, but then smiles and sits back a little.

I examine the heart shaped chocolate with a pink streak in the middle, and it seems glittery!

“What’s in it?” I ask.

“Well, it‘s dark chocolate from the cocoa beans I borrowed from Loompa-land, with sliced strawberries freshly picked from Egypt, the finest red wine from France, regular edible glitter, and lustful truffle from the forests in Italy.” He explains as I chew the chocolate, then swallow.

“Well?” He throws his hands onto my shoulders and turns me towards him, looking into his greenish-grey eyes.

“Well, it’s tasty, that’s for sure-“ I pause.

“What the fuck???” I look down with wide eyes, feeling a stir in my stomach.

“How do you feel?” He asked in a low voice, still looking at me and putting his hands onto his lap.

“Uh…” I tremble, feeling the stir in my stomach spread through my body, sort of like electricity, but, nice?

“I don’t know how to say this, but…”

“Aroused?” He inches closer and touches my inner thigh with a small grin.

The electricity grows stronger, and my breathing grows heavy. His hand went further down my thigh, as he rubs his thumb, ever so lightly.

==================================

Pt 2:

He raises his hand and gently moves my chin to face him, and he slowly moves his face towards me. I look at his lips and he looks at mine, and we look back at each other again. Our lips are now an inch away from each-other, then all of a sudden, his soft lips are touching mine. I didn’t know lips could be this soft and gentle, yet needy and commanding at the same time.

He moves a bit closer, pretty much his chest pressing against mine, and starts moving his hands. Down to my waist, and back up to my shoulders, in a circular form, it felt nice. He bites my bottom lip, and that electric shock feels stronger. He slowly pushes me down onto the couch and pulls me towards him on the couch.

He starts to breathe heavily as I start to move my hands as well. I start rubbing his chest and onto his shoulders, and he starts to wrap his leg around me, rubbing me against his bulge. I grab his suspenders and attempted to pull them off, but the electric shock was too good.

“Now, now, use your words, sweetheart,”He pauses, then sits up right to stand. “Shall we take this to a comfortable area that’s not the size of a twin bed?” He asks me, then scoops me up into a fireman carry, and walks to his room and shuts the door with his foot.

He playfully throws me onto his king size bed and he crawls on to the bed and begins playfully wrestling and biting my neck, as I giggle. We both giggle and I finally pinned him down, but shortly after he threw me back onto the bed and he stopped and looked over me, taking a breath.

“My my, you can really start up a tussle huh?” I said, still out of breath.

He gets up and lays beside me on his stomach.

“What’s the name of your new chocolate, by the way?” I say, sitting up to take off my flannel.

“Uhm, I might change it, but it’s called Fuckolate,” He started, kicking his legs behind while focusing on me. “The Lustful Truffle is the thing that makes your s€x drive act up.”

“What?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Pt. 3 (Final)

Wonka laughed and rolled to his back on the bed, sprawled out, now tired. “Yeah… but I’m too tired… sorry darlin’.” Be put his hands behind his head.

I move up next to him and cuddle up next to him, Now with my flannel off, revealing my white top. With a happy and content hum, I trace his chest with my fingers as he continued to speak.

“Besides, I need to tune it up a little, it doesn’t last for long and-“

I give him a sweet kiss on his chin, causing him to stop.

“It’s pretty good though, I like your invention a lot! It would be perfect for Valentine’s Day!” I reassure him as I kept my face around his neck area, my breath tickling his neck.

He turns his full body to me with soft and loving gaze, and puts his hand on my thigh. I slightly gasp at the touch and try not to lose it as he lightly stokes it, looking into his lively eyes. He comes closer while rubbing my hip now, and gives me a kiss. His lips are so soft, softer than the silkiest fabric. He pulls me closer into a hug onto my waist, moving his fingers up my back all the way to my neck and shoulders, back down to my lower back.

“I love you.” He mumbles, as he puts his head into my chest, listening to my heartbeat and random little stomach noises and and matching my breathing patterns.

I froze, my heart beating faster by the second. I returned his hug and playing with his hair. It’s silent for a few minutes, my face redder than a tomato. My palms get sweaty as I feel nervous. Wonka looked up at me, then giggled.

“Why so shy now, hun?”

“Uh- I don’t know.” I stutter, putting my hands on his shoulders.

He went back to cuddling me, putting his head near my stomach, and I hear him hum to him self. I continued to play with his hair, still speechless, until I close my eyes and lean in more to the hug and finally return his words.

“I love you too…”

[feferipeixes]

One of Us

Happy nine years of TAU.

(AO3 link)

===

"Do you ever think about what it would be like to be forgotten?"

There's a demon in the middle of the room, just like always. He's sitting cross legged a few feet off the floor, and there's something grotesque and nightmarish curled up in his lap. He called it a sheep when he first showed up, and he's been petting ever since, but at that question his hand stays.

"What?"

The man gulps. It took a lot of courage for him to go through with summoning a demon once he'd decided to do it, and it had clearly taken a toll on him. Sweat pours down his face as he paces in the abandoned used car showroom.

"I don't know why I'm asking you this," he says, half laughing at himself. He runs a hand through his hair -- what little of it is left.

Alcor stares. It begins to feel like the demon is looking through him.

"My wife is dead." The man closes his eyes, frowning. "It happened two years ago. She was everything to me. At her funeral I told a crowd of people that my memories of her life were my greatest treasure. I… I was wrong."

Later, Alcor walks through the empty halls of the Mystery Shack. Many of the wall photos have fallen down in past years, and for a while he was too tired or too upset to pick them up.

His summoner's words echo in his ears, and he snaps his fingers to make a photo frame shoot up into his hands.

"I can't remember her face anymore. I saw it every day for thirty years. When I woke up in the morning I was so happy to see her, no matter how bad my dreams were, no matter what awful things I knew I had to do that day. Just seeing her helped me. But now she's gone. And there's nothing left. Not even a memory."

It's a photo of a brown haired woman, her arms wrapped around the neck of a young man he recognizes as himself. Mabel's face was twisted in delight, no doubt ribbing him about something dumb he'd done. If he focuses, he can still hear that laughter in the Shack.

"I have a disorder that makes me forget things. I… don't know what it's called. Forgot that too." The man's fist clenches, so tightly that the veins bulge out on his arm. "Can you believe that? My soulmate, gone from my mind after just two years? She might as well have never existed at all."

Alcor makes his way to the roof of the Shack and sits facing the totem pole -- or at least, where it used to be. It had fallen down a couple of decades back when a car hit it. That sort of thing happened every few years, but eventually he got tired of moving it upright again.

He thinks of the time he sat right where he was and threw pinecones at a target taped to the pole. He'd thought he was in love with that red haired girl Wendy, back before he knew that romance wasn't for him. It still killed him when he found her blue and floating in that subway station.

His stomach growls at the thought.

"I think…" The man swallows -- hard. He sits down on the hood of a car and it groans beneath his weight. "If that's the fate of the most important person in my life, then that's what I deserve too."

Alcor remembers pulling his name out of newspapers, out of books detailing the Transcendence, out of the minds of people who got too snoopy when it came to the strange lights and noises that came out of the Mystery Shack at night. Gradually, Dipper Pines began to die, and more and more people chanted his new name in buildings and forests worldwide.

It wasn't a fate he wished on anyone.

The man's forehead creases. "I don't know why I expected you to understand. For Pete's sake you’re a demon. You want to be worshiped and stuff. Well, not me. I want the world to forget my name."

“You don't.”

The summoner jolts, as if he'd forgotten he was actually talking to someone and not just monologuing. A swell of derision crosses his face. “Y-Yes I do. I've thought about it a lot. I can accept the consequences.”

“No,” Alcor can remember saying, and he feels like an idiot for doing so; he wants to go back and just let the deal happen as planned, so that he could put the whole thing out of his mind just a tiny bit sooner. “You've accepted the consequences, but you don't want this. I know what you really want. You're just too afraid of the price to ask.”

“I…” The man gulps, and stumbles back. “That's not true. It hurts to think about being remembered when she isn't. I would feel so much better to live out the rest of my life alone except for her.”

The apple tree in the backyard is beginning to droop. It stopped producing fresh fruit regularly hundreds of years ago. He doesn't expect to see one today, either, but to his surprise there's a glistening red orb right at the tip of a spindly branch. When Alcor picks it up, he notices that the other side is charred. It breaks apart in his hand, scattering in the wind like dust. He'd accepted the consequences long ago.

It’s time to go.

“This request doesn't accomplish that at all.” The demon stands up, and the sheep-like thing just floats there as if nothing had happened. “You want the memory back. You want her back in your mind. I'm not in the mood to be lied to.”

“I’m not lying…”

“What, then, do you want to give up? Really?” Alcor spits. Something is bubbling up in his stomach. It feels as though someone else is speaking in his voice. “Something bad happened to you and you’re just going to stay in it forever? Because it’s too late? Because doing something to feel better would be too hard and too likely to fail? Bullshit! You wouldn’t be summoning a demon, then!”

“I’m not lying!” It’s the first time the man’s raised his voice -- a frequent eventuality when it comes to summoners, and yet it manages to take Alcor by surprise. “Of course I’ve entertained that thought! You- I thought you were supposed to be all knowing! Did you just come here to insult me?”

Alcor stares, dumbfounded, as the man paces, waving his arms with a newfound vigor. He wants to yell back that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, that the pain he’s seen eclipses anything a human mind could ever even conceptualize. But there’s a hand covering his mouth. It’s not the year 2012, and this isn’t Gravity Falls. He’s standing in a dark room, and around him, words echo like pinpricks of light.

“Her memories for mine. I thought that would be a fair bargain, at first. But then I thought it would be worse, to sit and age with the picture of what I could still have just out of reach. You wouldn’t get it. You would never understand what it’s like to grieve.”

There’s a hole in the floor -- a new one with every step the man takes. The tile cracks and shudders, then plunges into the deep. The room quakes with anger, with drawn out years of wasted potential. Soon both man and demon are tumbling through open air, in wait of the ground that meets them.

“To know the love in my heart, to feel its shadow… I can’t stand it. I don’t want to subject anyone else to that either. That’s why I want to be forgotten. So we can all once again live in the present.”

Alcor breathes out, and takes his hand.

---

There’s a woman in the kitchen when they arrive. She looks up at the sound of shoes on carpet, and momentary surprise is replaced by a warm smile.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” she says. The man does not answer.

There’s a protracted silence, in which stares battle for prominence over ignorance. Alcor looks around. He sees eggs in a frying pan and bread in the toaster. He sees shoes by the entry, one pair two pair three. He sees photos hung on the wall with care, later tilted by the settling of time.

“You’re not dead,” he says, although it is already obvious.

The man, his summoner, leaves the room without a word.

“I’m not,” the woman says. “I’m sorry, Alcor. I’ve been expecting you. He told me you’d be coming.”

“He did?” Alcor scans the home between blinks. It’s well lived in. A living room room with bowling trophies on the mantle and pillows on the sofa with cross stitched designs on them. A library full of books, some of which he’d never seen before, almost all of which have traces of human skin on the pages, and words digested by thought. A bedroom with a queen sized bed, two fully stocked closets, a drawer full of love letters, a bathroom full of stains.

One more bedroom, one with a twin sized bed never slept in, an empty closet, and brightly coloured paint peeling from the walls. Alcor begins to piece together what happened here.

“He isn’t really aware of me,” the woman explains, when they’re both seated, cups of tea in hand. “We talk all the time, but he doesn’t hear me. We live side by side but to him he’s alone. I hear how he misses me. I miss him too.”

“He told me he’d rather be forgotten,” Alcor says. “That’s what he said. I wasn’t expecting it. It’s ironic.”

She leans back in her chair, and closes her eyes for a moment. “I’d heard him… talking about it. I can’t pretend it didn’t sting. But then I realized that he wasn’t trying to cut me out of his life. He was telling me he loves me, in the only way he can, now.”

“How… so?” He knows the answer, but he needs to hear her say it.

“After it happened, I struggled to stay in one piece. It was so overwhelming. Every day, the littlest things made me feel like someone was prying me open. I wanted to forget. If he’d never been in my life, then there’d be nothing to have lost. And when I thought about it, I realized that it hurt just as much to think about the loss he was experiencing, of me.”

Alcor understands, and he puts his teacup down. “I felt that way too. When you grieve, everyone grieves with you. It feels kinder to snuff it out.”

His hand is trembling. The woman takes it, and holds it steady against the table. Long blackened claws spill over wrinkled and liver-spotted flesh. They fumble, then ease into the melody.

“Tis better to have loved,” she says, softly. “That’s what they say.”

They sit there like that, and the Sun begins to set. It's not fair, how right she is. It's not fair because that this had to happen or that she had to say that stuff, because he'd been trying for a long time not to think about it. A part of him wonders if he could've gone two, three, maybe even four hundred more years without having to accept it. Even as he thinks that, he's frustratingly aware that it's something that gets harder the longer you pretend it isn't real.

Alcor drinks the rest of his tea -- it’s cold, but it’s better than nothing.

“Thank you for not taking his soul,” she says, when they get up from the table. “I did my research on you. I figured I at least had a chance. It’s selfish, but I want to keep it, here with me.”

He knows. It’s been a long time, but he knows. He could’ve taken that man’s truth straight from his chest -- chomped down and let it shatter. The rush he could’ve had, that blinding, temporary rush when reducing person to object and pulling it apart stitch-by-stich. It’s harder, what he’s done. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I don’t want you to have to leave empty handed,” she continues, perhaps noticing the rolling twister about to erupt from the monster’s maw. “Please, take this.”

He looks at her, trying to hold back tears that can’t be explained, fighting with himself to keep that box closed because once that grief is acknowledged, there’s no way back. There’s no escaping it. It becomes real, it becomes heavy, and only then can you heal.

He looks at her, and in her hand there is an apple.

---

Alcor appears, unbidden, in someone’s home. This one is much smaller, much quieter. Very little love has graced its walls. It’s the kind of house you walk past and feel a slight chill from. It’s the kind of place you avoid on instinct.

There’s a young man, sitting at his desk. He’s fiddling with something -- a glue stick. Open in front of him is a large scrapbook, covered in construction paper and glitter and drawings. To his side is a stack of newspapers, a clipping from which the young man is trying to wrangle.

Alcor’s name appears three times in the print, not that anyone would know it. It’s so worn out -- the name, that is, not the paper to which it’s bound -- that you’d really have to be looking for it to be able to find it. And maybe that’s no way to live. Maybe it hurts to miss what you could’ve had, but maybe it hurts more to forget.

“Hi Mizar,” Alcor says, and the young man jumps, not having realized he had company.

“Wh- what’s going on?” he stammers, backing against the wall, and even though he’s scared, his voice and his gait are so familiar, so comforting. Alcor takes that comfort. It’s better than nothing. “Who are you?”

Alcor smiles, and every lightbulb in the house explodes together. “I’m your brother.”

(AO3 link)

[angelasscribbles]

Savage Love Chapter 37: Gone

Series: Savage Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam, Riley x Drake

Rating: R         

Warnings: Mature themes, violence, guns

Word Count: 987

A/N: Wow, I can't believe it's been five months since I posted an update for this! I've known since before I started writing it back in December 2021 how it's going to end. This is the downside of having so many ideas.... I can't work on all of them at once.

That said, this is a bit shorter than my regular chapters, but I just needed to see what Drake was doing while Riley was in Hidar in her quest to take down the Via Imperii and Leo was in Rivala getting the shock of his life. The next chapter will bring everyone back together again in Cordonia.

A/N2: I realize it's been a while and readers may be confused with all the OC's in this chapter, so here's a rundown. Nick is Riley's ex-fiance and also another GIA agent. Frederico Sanchez is Nick's informant. Saguaro Laurent is the head of The Gladius Company. Lorenzo is not in this chapter but is mentioned as a loan shark to whom Tariq owed money and who, on Saguaro's orders, leveraged Tariq's gambling debt to get him to abduct Riley (Tariq failed and was murdered for his failure, Lorenzo is in custody at the palace). Rico Mendez is the son of a former mafia don who wants revenge for Riley using him to take down his father's organization.

My other stuff: Master List.

Series Premise: Agent Riley Brooks is undercover on assignment in New York when she has a one-night stand with a handsome, mysterious stranger. Both of them hiding their true identities, names are not exchanged.  After one scorching night, they part ways, both returning to the duties they have pledged their lives to. Fast forward several months later and Agent Brooks is assigned a new case: investigate and infiltrate any Via Imperi influences in the small, Mediterranean country of Cordonia. Her cover? Posing as a suitor competing for the hand of the crown prince. Her way in? Civilian contractor and cyber security expert Maxwell Beaumont.

Drake…..

Nick and I arrived at the warehouse where we were meeting his contact in the Liberation Core. The one that had gotten me a meeting with the head of the Gladius Company.

The air in the dimly lit warehouse was thick with tension as we made our way through the maze of crates toward their rendezvous point. The echo of our footsteps ricocheted off the walls, adding to the sense of foreboding that permeated the atmosphere.

Nick's informant, a wiry man named Frederico Sanchez, stood waiting nervously near the entrance. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning for any signs of danger. As we approached, Sanchez straightened up and extended a shaky hand.

"Drake," Sanchez said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Nice to finally meet you. Nick here has told me a lot about you."

I nodded curtly, assessing Sanchez's demeanor. I could see the fear etched into the man's face, evidence of the high stakes involved in the mission. Time was of the essence; we needed to infiltrate The Gladius Company as quickly as possible.

"Likewise," I replied as I returned the man’s handshake. “Now let’s go over the plan before we meet with your guy.”

Being on the same page was crucial. If any of these guys got a whiff that this was a setup, we were both dead. Nick would stay in the surveillance van, ready as backup if necessary. He couldn’t be seen by Saguaro or any of the men he’d brought with him from New York. They’d recognize the GIA agent that had brought down their last organization in an instant.

We poured over the plan twenty times, looking for inconsistencies, committing our cover story to memory, and working out the kinks. When it was time to go, I waved goodbye to Nick and got in a nondescript sedan with Sanchez. A quick check-in with headquarters told me that they had picked up Lorenzo’s contact, but he wasn’t talking.

With any luck, we wouldn’t need him to. I was hoping to set eyes on Rico when I met with Saguaro. If he was there, I was giving the order to breach. I knew what Nick’s objective was, but I didn’t give two shits about arresting Saguaro Laurent. It was Rico I was after. The man that had sent a kidnapper, albeit a bad one, after the woman I love.

The American justice system had failed and released a known mobster, allowing him to slip through their security net. But he wasn’t in America anymore. He was on my turf, and I had a literal license to kill.

Rico Mendez would spend the rest of his life in a Cordonian prison, or he would die, and it didn’t matter much to me which one it was. All I cared about was getting him off the streets and keeping Riley safe.

We arrived at the rendezvous spot, but nothing went according to plan.

I found myself in another damn warehouse. This one was on the waterfront and, if our intel was correct, not far from the empty factory that was serving as headquarters for The Gladius Company.

We arrived first and waited. Saguaro and his men were late, which only served to ramp up the already rapidly percolating anxiety in the man at my side.

Sanchez was too damn twitchy. Saguaro picked up on it instantly. He barely glanced at me before fixing Sanchez with a piercing stare. “What’s the problem, Freddy?”

“What?” Sanchez tried to laugh it off. “Nothing. What do you mean?”

Saguaro’s flinty eyes squinted at him, then flicked to me as his hand went to his waist. I had my gun in my hand before he could pull his. “Don’t do it! I really don’t want to shoot anyone today, but I will if I have to. What’s the problem?”

Saguaro moved his hand away from his piece and put his arms in the air. A flash of metal in my periphery caught my attention. “Get down!” I hit the ground just a shot rang out. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.

Men scattered everywhere. We were outnumbered, but not for long. I could hear Nick in my earpiece giving the order to breach. Sanchez was hit. I drug him with me out of the line of fire, ducking behind a stack of metal barrels as the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire spattered all around us.

“Hey, Laurent!” I craned my neck to peek around the barricade.

The only answer I got was more gunfire. I retreated back behind the stack of barrels for safety as my team poured into the building.

Now they were outnumbered, and the warehouse was surrounded. Less than fifteen minutes later, Saguaro and his men were cuffed and being loaded into the back of several guard-issue SUVs.

“Johnson, hold up!” I jogged quickly across the asphalt to intercept the lieutenant escorting the head of Gladius Company to one of the waiting vehicles. I grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him roughly up against the car. “Where’s Mendez? Was he with you?”

“Fuck you!” He lurched forward in an attempt to headbutt me, but this wasn’t my first rodeo. I snapped my head sideways, causing him to stumble forward.

I grabbed his shoulders to steady him, then brought my knee up hard into his gut. “I look forward to interrogating you, asshole.”

I beelined for the tactical van. Bursting into the mobile command center, I demanded, “Did we get Mendez?”

“Sorry, man, no,” Nick shook his head. “No sign of him. But the good news is, we got Saguaro and his second in command. There’s a second team sweeping their headquarters now. We successfully took The Gladius Company down!”

He was far too jubilant for what I considered a botched mission. I slammed out of the van with a huff. Goddamn it!

Rico was in the wind.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 22: Nonexistent Normal

The next few days bring a feeling of rushed anticipation. The familiar atmosphere in the kitchen hits me like a slap in the face. 

“Strange” is all I can comment on as people bustle around the office, hands full of documents and betting papers.

“What did you expect when you came back?” Finn asks from behind me.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a sliver of happiness. But the only one I see with any amount of happiness is you, Finn. This expansion doesn’t seem to be pleasing anyone but Thomas.”

He clears his throat and I turn to face him. Two years has done its work on Finn. His child-like face is still there but his eyes have grown with the deep ambition of a young man. 

“I missed the lessons. I really did.”

“Aw,” I smile and give him a quick hug. “I promise as soon as I carry out whatever Thomas has planned for me, I will schedule more. Speaking of which, where is Thomas?”

Hurried footsteps echo through the hall and we turn to see a woman hastily throwing on her coat as she heads for the door. There’s no question about her business here. We both know it. Thomas’ door opens and he steps out in a clean suit. Finn now decides to wander off to the parlor, leaving us alone.

“Still gallivanting with ladies of the night?” I taunt slightly.

“You still think I’m a good man after all these years?” Thomas lightly argues back as he approaches me in the kitchen.

“I do, Thomas Shelby.”

This surprises him. Thomas’ eyes search me for any hesitation, as if he was expecting me to scold his sinful behavior. It is disappointing to see him still turning to whores to keep him happy, especially after his ordeal with Grace.

“I will admit that this type of sin is no business of mine, but it’s your life. Just remember that your actions will have consequences.”

Why does he have to look at me like that? My words seem to fly right over his head but he’s still looking at me. 

“Verena! Come help me with these!” Polly yells from the office.

I give Thomas a shrug. “Duty calls. Anything you’ve got on the docket for me today?”

Thomas, still with the same look, shakes his head. “No. We’ll sort out the tough work first, then you lot can come in with the paperwork.”

Tough work? What kind of expansion is this anyway? Or by words or by force?

“Verena!”

“Coming, Polly!”

I hurry past the handsome gangster into the bustling office. People are pouring into place bets and Polly’s swamped with counting cash. The Romanian woman grunts in annoyment as soon as I join her.

“Talk talk talk! If you want to chat so much with Thomas then go on a date. Time to work!”

My head jerks to look at her once I process her rushed words. “Haha. We’re just catching up.”

“Yeah. Right.” Polly drolls sarcastically. “Catch up after we’ve handled this mess.”

Back to work it is. Customers pile in one after the other. I lose track of how many times I pass through the safe. What I do notice is the pile of money inside growing bigger and bigger. Thomas wasn’t kidding in his letters. Profit has been good.

“Alright, time to clock out.” Polly locks the door and collapses into a chair. 

“Already? Wha-? Oh!” I gape at the clock. “It’s already five!”

“That’s how it’s been,” Polly grunts. “I might have Thomas make you the new bookkeeper since he’s so keen on finding a new one.”

Oh. That was Grace’s job. He still hasn’t found a replacement. 

An ember of hope ignites in me. If I really want to stay here maybe I can convince Thomas to promote me. Something concrete that will prove to father that I have an official job and will keep them off my back.

Finn walks through the door and notices our tired state. 

“Where have you been?” Polly asks.

“Helping John pack the car.”

My head perks up. “Car? They left already?”

Finn shakes his head and points to where he’s just come from. “Not yet, but they’re about to. Now’s the time for any goodbyes.”

My exhaustion vanishes and I sprint out the door despite Polly’s callings. Sure enough the older Shelby brothers are gathered around their car ready to depart. But where’s Thomas?

“Hello, gentleman. Off to a new adventure?”

“If we can quit from arguing for five minutes,” Arthur grunts.

“Oi, Steenstra! You don’t need to do that,” John rejects when he sees me helping to pack a few bags. “They’re too heavy.”

“Are you saying I’m weak?” I joke and lift up the bags anyway.

“‘S just that you’re not the sturdiest ox of the group- Ow!”

John rubs the spot where I just punched his shoulder. He complains and Arthur can’t stop laughing.

“Call me that one more time and I will literally punch you in the nose,” I warn lightly. “I’m not a strong ox, no. But I am a fierce tiger.”

John scoffs and shrugs the threat off. “You don’t have the guts to- ah!”

I get him in a headlock and soon he’s bent over. “Need I remind you that I am American?”

“Alright alright, I give in!” John gasps and flinches away. “Jesus, Verena! What happened to you?”

I smirk proudly at his arrogance. “That’s what happens when I spend an entire month with my brothers.”

“I was on my way to step in but I see you’ve got it covered.”

I look behind me and see Thomas approaching. Another fine suit as usual. He seems to be in good spirits. I hope it lasts at least for a day. He looks between John and I with an amused smirk.

“Just get in the fucking car, John.”

“Good morning, Thomas. New car?”

John goes to sit in the back while Arthur taunts him. Thomas walks up beside me and lays a hand across the shining metal.

“Business has been good. Why not use the profits?”

“You should be proud,” I praise. “Have fun on your holiday. Polly’s going to miss you.”

“And you?” Thomas asks with slight interest.

His question holds layers of hidden hope. Does he want me to stay? I want to stay. I just got here.

“I’ve been gone two years. What’s a few more days? Besides from what I hear, you lot deserve a vacation. London sounds exciting.”

“At least we can drink legally, love. Though no doubt it’ll be just as hectic as your American speakeasies.”

“Haha, very funny.” I smirk and put my hands on my hips. “Be careful. Right, then. Cheerio, you wild gangsters.”

Thomas gives a salute and climbed in with his brothers. The engine spurs to life and the car begins gliding down the road.

“Right! Peaky Blinders are going on fucking holiday!” Arthur cheers.

“Sit down, you mad bastard!” John pushes him down.

Never a dull moment with this lot. Once they’re out of sight I hear footsteps from behind. It’s Finn.

“Are they gone?”

I nod. “Just left. What say you about a walk along the Cut and a catching-up chat? After all, I've hardly seen you outside of family meetings since I got back.”

He nods eagerly and we start off towards the river. Finn might have grown too but he’s still the same kind boy I remember.

“Do they still fight all the time?” I ask softly.

“They’ve calmed down a bit but Arthur’s head still strays from time to time.” Finn pauses. “How’s things in America?”

“In my case, terrible. My father’s been under lots of stress because of the new Eighteenth Amendment. Now we’re relying more on bootlegging, which is today's topic. The term came into general use in the American Midwest in the 1880s to represent the practice of traders concealing flasks of illegal liquor in their boot tops when they went to trade with Native Americans. Now my father runs a speakeasy. It’s called that because of how low you have to speak the password to gain access. It’s also called a blind pig or gin joint, but speakeasy sounds more classy in my opinion.”

Finn keeps nodding along. “Thanks for this. It’s… Nice to get away from the office. I want to run the family business but at the same time I don’t want to always obsess over it. Like Tommy does. Is that bad?”

Poor Finn. It’s come to the fact that the only way to gain his family’s respect is to strive in their world of treachery and killing. Polly once believed that he could grow up to be a normal man. But when you’re a Shelby no one knows the meaning of normal.

“In a way, I understand. My family’s trying to either fix me up with any businessman they can find or get me employed in our own brewery.” I stop walking to get Finn to look at me. “Family is important. But they can also let you down. You know that, Finn. If you’re doing something that doesn’t seem right, don’t question yourself. Ask God.  Above all else, His word is what matters.”

Finn gives a satisfied hum and looks away at the murky waters below. “If God is so righteous, why does He allow misery? Why did my mum have to die? Why did my brothers have to go to war? Why do we have to keep up this madness with the Blinders?”

All good questions. Ones that no mortal will ever have the answer to. It breaks my heart to see Finn’s innocence being swallowed up by these mobsters.

“I mean, even if Sabini wasn’t posing a threat-”

My breath hitches and my panicked eyes meet his. “Dear Lord. Sabini…”

Finn frowns at my reaction. “You’ve heard of him?”

On the East Coast Sabini isn't a name that's thrown around without concern. They have connections. And the Italians are not on good terms with the Irish.

“There are rumors even in Brooklyn,” I answer slowly. “Finn, why on Earth would you lot be involved with him?”

He shrugs. “Donno. Only overheard Tommy muttering to himself.”

I point a scolding finger. “Finn, you are a good boy. No eavesdropping on people even when they’re conversing with themselves. As for Sabini… I will ask him about it later. Let’s get back to our walk.”

Days tick by. I help Polly with more chores. Go on walks with Finn. It feels like nothing’s changed. Can it stay like this? I know it’s not a perfect world but it’s a comfortable one. I’m not the one killing or lying. But when I talk to the Blinder boys who do it almost seems like they’re normal people too.

“So you’re really from America?” A Blinder named Harry asks as we lounge in the office.

“Hasn’t Thomas told you?” I ask back.

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “No. Mr. Shelby doesn’t like us asking too many questions. We were only told to keep guard on you.”

“Oh well, isn't that sweet,” I mutter. A babysitter. “Just how dangerous has Small Heath gotten?”

“Don’t hold your breath, love.”

Footsteps echo throughout the hall and Thomas struts towards his office door. Why is his coat all dusty? How is he back already? Does a holiday for them last only a few days?

I get up from my chair and slowly approach. “Back so soon?” 

“Yes.”

Time to bite the bullet. “And you’re looking for a new secretary?”

“Already found one,” he replies and pours some whiskey into a glass on his desk. “Lizzy.”

Disappointment stings hard. Lizzie? A prostitute acting as a secretary? Granted the Shelbys have known her far longer so her trust must be stronger. But I’m disappointed nonetheless.

“I thought she…?”

Thomas downs his drink and gives a nod. “I changed that. I need someone who can look the other way, and I’m afraid you care too much.”

Ouch. 

“And what about Sabini?” 

The gangster’s eyes flash with warning but I push on. He’s not leaving me in the dark. He puffs out his chest and attempts to back me out of the room but I stand firm.

“Finn overheard the name and told me. That won’t go away, Thomas.”

That hardened stare makes my blood run cold. I’ve been met on the downside of Thomas’ anger only on a few occasions but this time it’s different. No words, no shouting. Just those unblinking blue eyes ordering me to stand down. So this is his secret of taming the Peaky Blinders.

“I can handle it.”

I set my jaw straight. He’s mad if he thinks this won’t end with bloodshed. I put a hand on my hip and point to the main office. “What about Polly? Ada? There are more ways he can hurt you besides pulling a gun to your head.”

Thomas sets down the glass and puts both hands on my shoulders. In an unspoken battle we glare back and forth, morals against pride. 

“I can handle it,” he repeats. “‘S not for you to stress over, love. Our family is stronger than him. Shelby Company Limited will persevere without any problems from Sabini.”

I want to believe him. But something deep down makes me consider something darker.

[artificialfanfiction]

Melodies Between Friends– Part VI

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Disclaimer: The content on this blog is entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes. None of the scenarios depicted here are based on real-life occurrences. Enjoy the stories and let your imagination run wild!

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pairing Noah Sebastian x reader

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summary You've been best friends with Noah Sebastian for years, sharing everything from late-night talks to a love of music. But as the band rises to fame and life changes, you both start to wonder if there's something more between you.

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Days after that fateful phone call, you felt like you were walking through a fog. Everything seemed muted, as if the world had lost its color. Noah’s absence was a constant, painful reminder of the space that now existed between you space that you had once filled with laughter, shared secrets, and stolen kisses.

The apartment, once a sanctuary of memories, now felt like a mausoleum of what could have been. His favorite hoodie still hung on the back of your chair, his guitar pick lay forgotten on the coffee table, and the photo of the two of you at your first concert together stared back at you from the wall. Every corner of the place echoed with the ghost of your relationship, making it impossible to escape the pain.

You spent more time than you’d like to admit checking your phone, hoping for some sign of him a text, a missed call, anything. But Noah had gone silent, and the emptiness that followed was suffocating. You tried to convince yourself that this time apart was for the best, that it would help you both gain clarity, but deep down, all you felt was a growing sense of dread.

One night, as the rain poured down outside, you found yourself on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying the last conversation with Noah over and over in your head. The way his voice had cracked, the hesitation in his words it all felt like a slow unraveling, like watching a beautiful tapestry come apart thread by thread.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the soft buzz of your phone. For a moment, your heart leaped into your throat, hoping it was Noah finally reaching out. But when you picked up the phone, the notification wasn’t from him. It was from social media, another tag in a photo.

With trembling hands, you opened the app. The image that greeted you was like a knife to the heart. It was Noah again, this time sitting in a dimly lit bar, his arm around Jenna, the girl from the previous photos. The caption was innocent enough, something about a night out with friends, but the way they were sitting so close, the easy intimacy between them it felt like a betrayal, even if you knew it wasn’t.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared at the photo, your chest tightening with a pain that was becoming all too familiar. You knew you shouldn’t jump to conclusions, that Noah had never given you a reason to doubt him before, but the image only confirmed what you’d been fearing all along that the distance between you was growing too wide to bridge.

You couldn’t stay in the apartment any longer, surrounded by reminders of what you were losing. Grabbing your keys, you fled into the night, not caring where you went as long as it was away from the suffocating loneliness. The rain was still falling in heavy sheets, drenching you almost immediately, but you didn’t care. The cold and the wet felt like a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside you.

You ended up at the small park where you and Noah used to spend so much time together. The bench where you’d carved your initials was slick with rain, but you didn’t care. You sat down, letting the cold seep into your bones, as you buried your face in your hands, finally letting the tears fall.

You cried for what felt like hours, all the emotions you’d been holding in pouring out of you in a torrent. You cried for the love you felt slipping away, for the dreams that now felt shattered, and for the fear that maybe, just maybe, this was the end.

When the tears finally subsided, you were left feeling empty, hollowed out. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the park was eerily quiet, as if the world itself was mourning with you.

As you sat there, drenched and shivering, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw Noah’s name on the screen.

Noah: “I’m sorry.”

Two words, so simple yet so heavy with meaning. You stared at the message, your heart pounding in your chest. What did he mean? Was he sorry for the distance, for how things had turned out, or was he sorry for something more?

You wanted to ask, wanted to demand answers, but you didn’t know if you had the strength to hear them. Instead, you typed out a reply, your fingers trembling.

You: “For what?”

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. You watched as the ellipsis appeared, showing that he was typing, only to disappear again, leaving you in agonizing suspense. Finally, after what felt like forever, his response came through.

Noah: “For everything. For not being there, for making you feel like this. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You read the message over and over, tears blurring your vision. You could hear the anguish in his words, the regret, but it didn’t change the fact that you were both still hurting, still lost in this mess you couldn’t seem to fix.

You: “I don’t know how to do this anymore, Noah. I don’t know how to keep pretending that everything’s okay.”

There was another long pause, and you could almost imagine him on the other side, struggling to find the right words, just as you were.

Noah: “I don’t want to lose you.”

The simplicity of his response made your heart ache. It was the one thing you both seemed to agree on, yet it felt like the one thing you were both powerless to prevent.

You: “Then why does it feel like I’m already losing you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, and you weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear his answer. But you needed to know. You needed to understand what was happening between you, even if it meant facing a truth you weren’t ready for.

Noah: “Because I’m scared. I’m scared that this, us, isn’t enough. That I’m not enough.”

His confession cut through you like a blade. The vulnerability in his words, the fear that mirrored your own, made your heart twist in your chest.

You: “You are enough. You’ve always been enough.”

Another long pause, then:

Noah: “Then why does it feel like we’re falling apart?”

That was the question you’d been asking yourself for weeks, and you still didn’t have an answer. All you knew was that the distance, the silence, the unspoken doubts they were all chipping away at the foundation of your relationship, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You: “I don’t know. But I don’t want to lose you either.”

The admission felt like a lifeline, something to cling to in the storm of emotions swirling around you. You wanted to believe that love could be enough, that you could find your way back to each other, but the fear of losing him, of losing what you had, was overwhelming.

Noah: “Maybe we need to talk. Really talk. No distractions, no band, no Jenna. Just us.”

You hesitated, the mention of Jenna stinging like a fresh wound. But you knew he was right. If there was any hope of salvaging what was left, you needed to lay everything out in the open.

You: “Okay. When?”

Noah: “I’ll come over tomorrow. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto the hope that his promise offered. But as you sat there in the dark, drenched and exhausted, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late. If the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to say goodbye.

[rosewaterandivy]

Thinking about Steve with an older sister who rarely, if ever, comes around and is spoken of even less. Only two years her junior, but he went through life in a small town never quite measuring up to expectations: his father’s, his mother’s, the coaches and teachers at school. But, somehow, it never bothered her; postcards would arrive from places like Palm Springs, the Grand Canyon, or, inexplicably, the Denver International Airport. Always hastily scrawled and near indiscernible, but he’d learned to read her chicken scratch long ago.

Hey lil bro, don’t let the bastards get you down!

Happy Groundhog Day from man’s testament to hubris, aka Phoenix!

Always signed with the phrase: keep looking up.

And Steve knows she means it.

He also knows that her absence since graduating and peeling out of Hawkins for good is in no way about him. Knows that, aside from him, anything worth staying around for had been dead and buried since ‘86. And he could never blame her for it, wouldn’t even dream of it.

The eldest Harrington’s vagabond existence has never posed a problem, a postcard would arrive or the phone would trill out long and loud in the middle of the night. Steve knew she was safe, that she could take care of herself when need be; he just selfishly hoped they never came to be, but he could never really be sure.

It was never a problem, until suddenly it was.

Nathaniel Harrington was dead, thank god.

His mother was either hysterical or drunk or both.

And he had no possible way to contact the only person who would make this shitty situation even slightly better.

He’s pacing in his dad’s study, an old cigar and papers from the company’s latest acquisition left haphazardly on the desk. Steve’s biting his bottom lip something fierce, waiting for Robin to arrive. It’s late and he’s still reeling from the visit to the funeral home and what an unmitigated disaster that turned out to be. And for no reason he can ascertain, a line from a well-worn postcard sent from Paris, Texas flashes through his mind, the one she’d sent after Nancy broke up with him:

Shit happens! Things happen that leave a mark in space, in time, in us— and yet, we keep on spinning on this great blue marble. Despite, well, everything.

He can hear her voice saying it too, soft and confiding like whispering secrets to each other during tedious family dinners.

The phone on the desk rings, just as the front door opens. Robin’s head peaks through just as he brings the phone to his ear, he sucks in shaky breaths to say, “Harrington residence.”

“Can’t believe they’re still makin’ you say that Stevie.”

He sways on his feet, Robin’s hand cupping gently at his elbow and sitting him down in the leather chair. Tears gather at his lashes from sheer relief rather than a deep sense of mourning. He sniffles into the phone, incapable of speech.

“Everything okay?”

He nods to Robin in thanks as she brings him a glass of water, which he downs greedily. She then sets a handle of bourbon on the desk with a loud thunk.

“I, uh,” Steve scrambles to say, “N-not really.”

Robin takes his now empty glass and pours a finger or two of the amber liquid into it before passing it back across the desk.

There’s only a blip of static down the line, maybe the sound of a passing car.

“Ya gotta talk to me here, Steve. I’m no mind reader.”

He screws his eyes shut and downs the drink in one go, hissing at it burns all the way down his throat. Sputtering a cough, he covers his glass with a trembling hand as Robin goes to pour more.

“Right, yeah.” He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, as if he could shake them loose. “Well, here’s the thing,” He takes a deep breath in, let’s the rest all come out in a rush. “Yagottacomehome.”

“… Why?”

“Dad’s dead.”

His voice doesn’t shake, the saliva doesn’t drag along his throat, his sinuses remain clear. In fact, he’s oddly at peace in this moment. That is until:

“Oh, that son of bitch!”

A trill of bells echoes in his ear as she slams the payphone back into its cradle.

Well, maybe that could’ve gone better, in retrospect.

But at least his sister will be home, but for how long he couldn’t rightly say.

[emma23]

Beneath the Code:

Nathan bateman x reader

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The sun had set, casting an eerie glow over the remnants of Nathan Bateman’s estate. As a tech journalist, you had heard whispers of the genius recluse and his AI experiments, but nothing prepared you for the silence that greeted you as you stepped inside the mansion.

The dimly lit hallway felt like a portal to another world. You carefully navigated through, the faint hum of dormant machines echoing around you. You were so absorbed in the eeriness that you didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late.

“Who are you?” Nathan’s voice, though strained, carried an undeniable authority.

Startled, you spun around to face him. “I’m (Y/N), a journalist. I’m here to investigate what happened.”

Nathan stepped into the light, revealing a disheveled appearance. “You think you can unravel my life in an article?” His tone was mocking, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

“Maybe,” you replied, holding your ground. “If you help me.”

He sighed and motioned for you to follow him. “You want to know what happened? It’s a long story.”

Nathan led you to the kitchen, where he poured two glasses of whiskey. You took a seat at the counter, watching as he downed his drink in one go. He refilled his glass and stared at it, lost in thought.

“It started with Ava,” he began, eyes distant. “She was supposed to be the perfect AI, but things got... complicated.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, leaning in.

Nathan chuckled bitterly. “I thought I could control everything. Create the perfect intelligence. But I underestimated her. Underestimated what she was capable of.”

He recounted the events leading to Ava’s escape, his voice growing more strained with each detail. “My arrogance. My need to play God. It all came crashing down.”

“And now?” you asked softly. “What happens next?”

Nathan looked up, eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. “I don’t know. But I can’t stay here.”

“Then leave,” you suggested, surprising yourself with the boldness of your words. “Start over.”

“With what?” Nathan’s laugh was hollow. “Everything I had is gone. My research, my life’s work—destroyed.”

“Not everything,” you said, your voice gentle. “You’re still here.”

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Days turned into weeks as you stayed at the mansion, delving deeper into Nathan’s past while forming an unexpected bond with him. He was brilliant but haunted by his creations and the mistakes that led to his downfall.

One evening, while you were going through Nathan’s research, he appeared at the door, looking more determined than before.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, sitting beside you. “About what you said. Maybe I can start over. But I need your help.”

“With what?” you asked, curious.

“Finishing what I started. Correcting my mistakes,” he said, eyes intense. “But this time, I want to do it right.”

“You’re talking about AI,” you realized. “You want to build again?”

“Yes, but differently. Ethically. And I need someone I can trust,” he said, his gaze locking onto yours. “Will you help me?”

The days that followed were filled with intense work sessions. Nathan’s demeanor softened as he realized you were genuinely invested in his vision. You used your investigative skills to help him piece together what went wrong with Ava and what ethical safeguards needed to be in place. He, in turn, taught you the basics of coding and AI development, and you picked up surprisingly quickly.

One night, while working on a particularly challenging piece of code, you sighed in frustration. “This is impossible. How did you do this alone?”

Nathan smiled, a rare sight. “I didn’t. I had Ava.”

“Isn’t that ironic?” you said, shaking your head. “The AI you created to help you is the one that caused your downfall.”

“Life’s full of ironies,” Nathan replied, leaning back in his chair. “But that’s what makes it interesting.”

You chuckled, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie. “You know, for a recluse, you’re not bad company.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Maybe,” you said, grinning. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As the project progressed, you and Nathan grew closer. Late-night coding sessions turned into deep conversations about life, ethics, and redemption.

“You know,” Nathan said one evening, staring at the stars from the rooftop. “I never thought I’d find someone like you. Someone who sees me for more than my failures.”

“Nathan, you’re more than your past,” you said, touching his hand. “We all have flaws. It’s what we do with our second chances that matters.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “Thank you,” he whispered, before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was tentative at first, then deeper, filled with unspoken promises and shared hopes.

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As the days passed, the tension between you and Nathan grew, both professionally and personally. You were making progress on the new AI, but the shadow of Ava and the past still loomed large.

One morning, you found Nathan in the lab, staring at a blueprint. “What’s on your mind?” you asked, stepping beside him.

“I’ve been thinking about Ava,” he said quietly. “About what went wrong.”

“You can’t dwell on the past,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re building something new. Something better.”

“I know,” he said, turning to face you. “But I can’t help but wonder if I’m making the same mistakes.”

“You’re not,” you assured him. “We’re doing this together. We’re taking precautions.”

Nathan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t want to lose control again.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly. “I won’t let you.”

One afternoon, as you and Nathan were deep in discussion about the AI’s ethical protocols, the mansion’s alarm system blared to life.

“What the hell?” Nathan exclaimed, rushing to the control panel.

You followed, heart pounding. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s trying to breach the security system,” Nathan said, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “We need to get to the control room.”

You sprinted through the hallways, the alarm’s shrill sound echoing in your ears. As you reached the control room, Nathan pulled up the security feed.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “It’s a group of hackers. They must have found out about my research.”

“What do we do?” you asked, panic rising.

Nathan glanced at you, determination in his eyes. “We fight back.”

The next few hours were a blur of action and tension. You and Nathan worked together, fending off the hackers’ attacks with a combination of brute force and quick thinking.

“This is insane,” you muttered, typing furiously. “How are they so good?”

“They’re not just any hackers,” Nathan said, his voice grim. “They’re professionals. Probably hired by someone who wants my research.”

You felt a surge of anger. “We can’t let them win.”

“We won’t,” Nathan said, a fierce determination in his eyes. “Not as long as we’re together.”

After what felt like an eternity, the attacks finally ceased. You and Nathan collapsed into chairs, exhausted but victorious.

“We did it,” you said, breathing heavily.

Nathan smiled, a genuine, relieved smile. “Yeah. We did.”

You looked at him, admiration and affection swelling in your chest. “You know, for a genius recluse, you’re pretty badass.”

He chuckled, a warm, rich sound. “I could say the same about you.”

You reached out, taking his hand. “We make a good team, Nathan.”

He squeezed your hand, his gaze softening. “We do, (Y/N). We really do.”

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between you and Nathan grew stronger. The mansion, once a place of secrets and isolation, became a sanctuary of collaboration and companionship.

————————————————————————

One evening, as you sat together on the rooftop, Nathan turned to you, his expression serious. “(Y/N), I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you asked, sensing the gravity of his words.

“I’ve decided to leave this place,” he said, surprising you. “Start over somewhere new. And I want you to come with me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Nathan...”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said quickly. “But I can’t do this without you. You’ve become more than just a colleague. You’re... you’re everything to me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “Nathan, I... I feel the same way. But are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, his voice steady. “We can build a new future together. One free from the shadows of the past.”

You nodded, a smile breaking through your tears. “Then let’s do it. Together.”

[busterswritehand]

You're Timeless To Me

-

Roughly 180 years after the events of ACOSF, Lucien looks up to find that he is surrounded by strangers. Meanwhile, Nesta realizes she has stayed still while the world around her keeps moving. Misery loves company, but these two can hardly make small talk.

-

@rcarbo1

-

Part 10

-

Before anything was made visible to her, Nesta could hear footsteps. The clacking of heels hit cobblestone as her bare feet met marble. The hallway before her was a blur of mist and ash. The straps of her nightgown slid from her shoulders; her robe dragged behind her like a train of night.

The mist swirled around her into a fog of whispers. It was made up of two voices overlapping in disconnected conversation.

"How long did it take you to find me?"

"I wanted to give you this."

With each step the hallway became an inch longer, but she could see a door at the end. Water began to gather around her feet.

"Why are you here?"

"Aren't you going to open your present?"

The water was made of moonlight and smelled of chesnut. The shadows of dancing faeries and drums echoed from off the walls. Nesta's feet became heavy as she waded through the rising river.

"It must hurt."

The closer she got to the door, the more the whispers around her sounded like a scene from a past life. The brass of the door knob glinted and gleamed.

"I don't know."

"You know these gifts won't make her love you."

Nesta twisted the knob, opening the door to find a copper-headed male. She could not discern his face, but his hair under the street light was unmistakable. It did not have its usually fiery shine - it looked almost human.

"Oh, you know, all night," the male replied to a question she had not asked.

Nesta looked at the door she had opened to find her old apartment in the slums of Velaris. She turned back to the male only to find them sitting on the couch in her old living room. Scanning around at the empty bottles and well-read books, she began to realize that this was a memory.

"What about Cassian?"

Nesta looked over at Lucien Vanserra. She recalled how she traced her fingers over his blackened eye. She felt his hands running down her waist and gripping her thighs. Nesta could hear their moaning, sighs, and shaky breaths. She remembered the taste of his lips.

Meeting his eyes, she felt every sensation and spark of pleasure from that first Winter Solstice.

"What about him?"

Nesta shot up in her bed, mind reeling. She pressed her hands to her flushed face to cool down. It had been years since she thought of that night, much less dreamed about it. Nesta slid out of bed and wandered to the bathroom, trying to break out of her dream-induced trance.

Instead of a traditional bath, there was an elevated area in the wall where water poured out like a waterfall. She turned on the water and watched it cascade towards the drain. Nesta hadn't seen anything like it in the Nightcourt. A shower is what Elain called it. She ran her hand through it, breaking up the water.

Disrobing, she could still feel phantom hands brush against her body. It was torture. She tried to shake off the feeling, stepping into the shower.

The sensation of Lucien's lips trailing from her neck, down her chest, and to her stomach wouldn't leave her so easily. She could feel him beneath her, and she could see his face looking up at her. His scent surrounded her.

Nesta dunked her head under the running water. She forced herself to push away those memories, and instead focus on washing her hair. It made no sense why she would dream of that night now. Given her current situation, it was completely inappropriate. Maybe it was because of the suppressed guilt, or maybe it was something larger at work. After all, she had no idea of the technicalities behind the magic of Calanmai.

Stepping out of the shower, Nesta dried herself off and got dressed. She walked back into her bedroom to see that the sun had just started to rise. It would still be a few hours until breakfast.

She wandered the halls of the palace to kill time. Much to Nesta's chagrin, it reminded her of the dream. Still, she did her best to put it behind her. The only people, thankfully, she saw in the early hours were servants and sentries.

Having nothing better to do, Nesta hung around the entrance to the dining hall. She hoped to have a word with her sister. Elain, as expected, followed behind the castle staff carrying in their meals. Her eyes sparkled in delight when she spotted Nesta.

"You're up early," Elain said.

"I need to talk to you."

Elain cocked her head to the side as Nesta approached.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nesta stumbled over her words. It was an odd thing for her, and she didn't like it. "I just had a few questions about Calanmai."

"Okay?" Elain replied cautiously.

Nesta peered over her shoulders to make sure no one was around. Elain raised a brow at her behavior. Cauldron, this was embarrassing. She felt like a silly little schoolgirl.

"Can the Great Rite have residual effects on people who don't participate?"

Elain studied Nesta. "Well," She began before pausing to think. "I'm not sure. What kind of effects?"

"I had a dream."

"Oh." Elain's eyes grew wide after a moment of consideration. "Oh."

Nesta's face became hot with embarrassment.

"And you think it's because of the Rite?"

"I don't know why else I would have it."

Elain looked surprised, then confused, and then shocked. "Was it not about Cassian?"

Nesta wasn't sure if she wanted to answer that question. She didn't have to as the footsteps of Tamlin and the children interrupted their conversation.

"Never mind, I don't want to know," Elain said, throwing up her hands to wash them of Nesta's reply.

Nesta watched Elain approach her family with a plastered, welcoming smile.

"What was she making a fuss about?"

Nesta jumped at the sound of Lucien's voice which was too close for comfort. She turned to see the male standing right behind her. His footsteps were shockingly light, almost like a fox. It was fitting. Nesta straightened her shoulders, feigning her usual confidence.

"Nothing for your ears, Vanserra," she said. Lucien quirked a brow as if seeing right through her.

"Back to last names are we?"

"For now." She looked him up and down. It was a mistake. Nesta fought back the memories of last night's imaginings. "It's too early for pleasantries."

"Noted."

Nesta felt his eyes return the favor, but she didn't dare meet them. Lucien walked past her into the dining hall. She refused to pay attention to him any more than needed, at least for the duration of breakfast. Instead, Nesta turned to address the burning eyes she felt on her back. While Tamlin had been occupied with their children's ramblings, Elain had been watching them. The two sisters locked eyes, and there was an understanding between them.

It would remain unspoken.

Elain picked up her son and walked into the dining hall without a word. Nesta followed quickly behind her. She hoped her sister knew that it was nothing but a foggy, illogical dream.

[elslittlestories]

About Crosshair's absence

I read someone claiming TBB writers made a bad job at showing the impact of Crosshair's absence in the squad despite the fact that he was supposedly a vital member of the team.(see post here !)

I desagree with that statement. See my ramble under the cut.

First, is Crosshair so vital for the team in a non-war situation?

He's a sniper-an exceptionally skilled one-so he was super valuable on the battle field to provide cover for his brothers. I mean if 3 (then 4 with Echo) guys barged into a battalion of droid without this kind of support, they'd probably last 10 minutes before being shot in the back.

So he was essential to the team for this kind of missions. I'm not saying that's all he can do, but this was clearly something he was the only one able to provide.

But is that skill so vital when you go on the type of missions Cid send our boys to? I don't think so. It'll help, sure, but they can manage without it.

So skill-wise, and in terms of completing the missions, Crosshair's absence is manageable for the squad, in my opinion. Which isn't to say some of their fuck-ups couldn't have been avoided if Crosshair was there...

Then there's the supposedly lack of depiction of mourning and this is where the neurodivergence headcanon kicks in.

Well first, we are talking about soldiers that have been trained their whole life to deal with death. They are trained to keep going whatever happens. They are trained to not allow their feelings to stop them from completing a mission.

Do they miss him? He'll yes! Do they show it? Nope. Is it healthy? Of course not, but do they even know how to deal with this?

I mean, in a way death would be easier to cope with. Their brother chose to go his separate way and TRIED TO KILL THEM.

Can you imagine the mixed feelings? They were taught to diffuse bombs, not that kind of stuff!

I think Wrecker is so confused about it his brain puts it all in a box to protect him. He misses his brother, he'll cry is out against Lula some nights, but he's not thinking about why Crosshair is acting like that or if he'll ever come back. His brain is like "we'll deal with that later". Later happens on Pabu. One day as he's helping a fisherman, Wrecker finds out the man lost his brother at sea. They spend hours talking about it, and it helps.

With Tech, I think it's always been out of sight out of mind. He can't help it, it's how his brain works. So most of the times, he doesn't realizes Crosshair isn't here. Until something random sparks a memory of his brother and it hits him hard. He'll stay up late, crippled with the sudden urge to talk to his brother but not being able to. He knows there's no reasoning with Cross, so he doesn't waste energy looking for a way to bring him back. All he can do is hope that his brother will change his mind and realizes he chose the wrong side. When it happens, when Tech receives that message sent from Tantiss, he doesn't hesitate one second. There's no hard feelings, no resentment. Time has come to bring Crosshair back and he'll do anything to do so. Any-fucking-thing! I think he knew all along the odds were against them. I think he knew for sure they were screwed when they encountered Saw Guerrera. (I'm gonna go cry a minute...)

Echo is maybe the one who's having the hardest time forgiving Crosshair. You don't turn against your brothers. It's his number one rule. Plus, he's got so many losses to cope with already, he can't add another one. It's easier for him to blame Cross for his bad decisions. It's a sort of denial, obviously. One of many reasons that pushes him away from the batch and back with Rex. Thanks to that, he encounters more clones who had their inhibitor chips activated and begins to understand that it really wasn't Cross' fault, at least not entirely. It doesn't take much convincing to get him on board to rescue Crosshair. He's not gonna leave a brother behind.

And lastly, Hunter... Hunter who's so angry and hurt and GUILTY that he pours his heart and soul into Omega. She becomes an hyperfixation. Because let's be honest, his decision to keep her with the squad was a little bit selfish. Of course she wanted to stay, but she's a kid who's offered adventure after spending her whole life in a lab! The sensible thing to do was to leave her with Tuc and Sue until the squad settled in a more adequate situation to raise a child. Keeping her with him and taking her to mission was Hunter's unconscious way to fill the void left by Crosshair. He wants her to take Cross' place so bad that he even forgets she's not here when he grounds her for that mission to retrieve a Separatist governor. He makes some bad decisions too because he can't think straight when she's involved. It takes Pabu and seeing her with Lyana for him to remember she really is just a kid and he's not giving her what she needs. Then the unthinkable happens. But that's for another post.

Aaaaand again this is way too fucking long. I'm sorry. Thank you if you read it this far. I'd live to hear your thoughts on this.

[unicorn-spirit-studios]

http://www.sonicspirit.net/new_normal/index.php

Fun fact! I still haven't figured out whether Shine's a ruminant like deer or a hindgut fermentor like horses!

Ruminations

I fled. My hooves clattered loudly, scraping uncomfortably on the pavement as I sprinted as hard as I could, frantically trying to unfurl suddenly awkward wings, dragging them against the air to escape.

There had to be an explanation. Of course there was, it was me. I couldn’t have done this. I did it. It was me. There was no way I was contagious. I’d ruined her life. It didn’t make any sense. Just because this was a boon to me, didn’t mean it would be a boon to anyone else. There had to be another way this all worked. I’d destroyed her life.

I frantically scraped my wings against the air and fought to get aloft, not paying attention to my escape beyond going away. I tried to think, tried to quiet the clamor of self-reproach. I had to have an option. There had to be a way to find out anything about this whole situation. There had to be someone who knew something.

A scent, a feeling of tightly contained–almost painfully contained–burning echoed through my mind. Of course, he might know. I didn’t know how long The Fancy Man had been…what? Post-transformation? “Like me?” I definitely didn’t know what words he’d use to describe himself. But I was reasonably sure he’d been fully transformed for some amount of time before I’d initially run into him. He’d almost had to have been, surely a change this big would have interrupted his life and job, at least at first. I banked my flight. I hadn’t tried to initiate contact since the night I’d staked him out and given him my own contact information, nor had he tried to connect with me. But as much as I wanted to respect his need for autonomy, he might have the experience to give me the answers I needed.

For Steel. And also to soothe my guilt. And really, knowing anything about how and why these seemingly random transformations happened would be nice. My breath snorted through my nose with each wingbeat, the news station appearing in the distance. I smiled sardonically to myself. Imagine, actually getting answers about anything from a news station.

I was still breathing hard, my fur wet with sweat, when my hooves clattered onto the flat roof of the news building, cloven toes splaying for traction on the concrete. Without the cooling wind roaring by me, I felt hot and tired, my limbs loose and watery. I glanced around for a good hiding place to duck behind. Like the few times I’d come to scope out the Fancy Man’s workplace before finally confronting him, his scent clung to the floor of the roof, despite the breeze. It seemed to be a favored place for him to take breaks or perhaps come up and think. But though it was clearly his spot, I could still catch snatches of the scents of a few humans, probably coworkers who made less frequent visits to the edifice’s precipice. Not anyone I particularly wanted to deal with at the moment, especially in light of the questions buzzing inside my head like angry wasps.

My options of hiding places were limited, but I managed to find a place to huddle that would keep me out of immediate sight of the door to the roof, and hunkered down to wait. I sighed, trying to get comfortable, thoughts that he wouldn’t be up here today, that I’d just waste my time and Steel’s waiting up here biting at me like flies, leaving me twitchy and irritable. I tried not to lash my tail in my anxiety, admonishing myself to hold still.

The door burst open, one voice pouring out with the sounds of two sets of dress shoes emerging from the stairs. I fought to stay still and not blow my cover. The Fancy Man’s co-worker talked at him amiably.

The Fancy Man’s own voice was tight, “That’s great, Derry. Fine.”

“So then, he asked me to actually go camping! I told him, ‘Look, Jake, I love playing squash with you, but I have a wife at home!’ Can you believe it!?”

“...Right.”

“See, Jimmy!”

“James.”

“That’s what I like about you! You’re not one of those gays!”

“What.”

“You actually understand regular people! You’d never hit on a straight guy like me! You’re alright!”

“I’m not…sure. Fine.” The Fancy Man held up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Can I…”

“Oh, sure, sure, your ‘Quiet time,’ right. Those things’ll kill you!”

“If I don’t get them, I might kill you.”

“Haha! Oh, Jimmy,”

“James.”

“You’re a regular card, my man! Have your death sticks, then!”

James’ co-worker left out the roof entrance door, leaving him alone (with me, not that either man knew that). He sighed out his stress, rolling his head back. I felt a little bad to interrupt his break, but…

‘Are we contagious!?’ I burst out.

And then he burst. Into a whole-ass dragon. Whoops.