#chewing on your tablecloth

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

All this hate for show Annabeth is getting really fucking annoying

[mellowwillowy]

"Stop the wedding!!"

So you get to see NRC food fighting RSA in the end lol Yan! NRC vs Yan! RSA x GN Isekai'd Player (Self-aware)

All the people inside the cafeteria turned their attention to you, an isekai'd player.

"(Name)!!" Idia beamed in tears, finally someone saving him! ... wait, someone? Oh no no no no! You are not just 'someone'!! Why did he even bother troubling you to this extent? He should have just kissed the bride!!!

"Make it right in time, you got me, Ace?" "Thank you for kicking me like a barrel toward the ghosts, pal," Ace replied dejectedly but posed no annoyance at all.

"Potato, since when do you have the funds to get yourself such a nice suit?" Vil questioned as he inspected your overall. The makeup and hairdo were not done to the utmost perfection but he can let it slide because anything on you equals absolute beauty.

"Oh, this? So you are smart enough to realize Crowley won't cover MY suit! I mean, he was trying teeth and nails to not let me join Ace and Co!"

"At least he does something right for the first time," Leona added. "White suits you though I thought you'd surely go with Black as usual?" Trey cocked his head to the side questioningly.

"Look, this is what Neige lent me. And all his attires are almost pristine white! I'm telling ya'!" At that statement, you saw Vil twitch despite not being able to move, he must have been very pissed at the mention of Neige's name alone.

"Originally I planned on taking Cheny'a's but I realized how eccentric his taste is so I decided to go with Neige. The RSA students are kind enough to assist Neige in tailoring it to my size too! Got them right in time before Crowley could shoo me!"

"Dude, even the RSA knows how to respect them, I don't know if I should be angry or nah but it certainly leaves a bad aftertaste seeing them wearing what RSA makes for them." Cater whispers something to the person next to him, inaudible to your ears.

"What do you say if we steal the suit and then burn it down in front of them after we are done here? I'd like to give them a nice thank you hug too while we are at it." "And we should leave them some of my... flowers collection too. This alone should be enough to show our gratitude right?"

"I'd say we should try giving them a proper form of token of gratitude too, how about Master Lilia's cooking?" Sebek added with a grin, he had his fair share of Lilia's cooking to the point he'd like to share it with the others.

"Oh? Then I'd have to make sure to add extra 'love' into it." He replied, this time intending to poison people so its horrifying taste was multiplied at natural without him realizing it.

"Wait, why would we even bother giving them a handmade cooki-" Jack was immediately silenced by Cater's eerie smile. He had his fair share and he knew they meant nothing well from it at all.

"Hey Ace, do something! Stop throwing all your work on prefect!" Deuce yelled by the sideline, ready to chew his ears off.

"I agree, you shouldn't let someone magic-less handle this handful situation alone, get a hold of yourself right now will you, Ace?" Azul scowled and started to usher Ace into work.

"Dude! Now all of you are cornering me?" "You haven't finished, Ace?!"

And Riddle's voice was all it took to make Ace cowered like a puppy. Rook shook his head in disappointment, this had taken way longer than the original gameplay.

"Hurry! We should wrap things up as though we are changing a dirty tablecloth into a new one!" Epel yelled out rather... unique lines. Was he trying to be as poetic as Rook? If anything, both Rook and Vil said nothing regarding this.

"Riiiiighhhhtttt, I'm kinda checked out now, to be honest." Idia's eyes immediately widened, not you too?!

Just before the other could chant another "Smooch the bride", you immediately lunged toward the bride. All those gym class training paid off! Basically, this and that until the ghost inflated.

And instead of Rook ordering you and Epel around, you took the steering wheel before anyone could. "Move yer' ass you glorified wood logs! Move move move!"

The lucky person is the person who gets to feel you dragging them. Absolute win!

--

"Urgh, I'm so gonna have phasmophobia now." Idia rolled his eyes as the ghosts departed but to be honest? He was happy to see you barging into the cafeteria like a knight in shining armor for him! (It was mostly the others fighting lol)

Idia was taken by surprise the moment your hand smacked his back. "Would you look at it, the star of the show, a handsome groom adorned in black! You look positively breathtaking, senior Idia."

"Eep-! Oh no, they have graced me with their words that are enough to deafen me! What should I do? How should I show them just how grateful I am to be even considered by them???"

"What did you say? I couldn't hear you really well." "Well, brother said that-" "N-n-no! Nothing! I uh... am thankful... for your assistance." He answered bashfully, his hair tip turned into a shade of pink.

"Now now potato, it's time to change, wearing that must have been uncomfortable right?" Vil immediately pulled you away from the pink introvert. "No...? Neige said that it's meant to be comfortable and it's true!" "Well, we have something even wayyyy more comfortable for you, shrimpy! Come on now, let's take it off and dress you up in something else!"

--

Lilia was leading everyone with a basket of something, a speaker in one hand and Neige's suit in the other hand, "Hey you RSA whippersnappers! Get down!"

The head mage was coincidentally away that day and it allowed the NRC students to lead a protest in front of the academy's gate.

Lilia threw the white suit onto the ground while Leona whistled, signaling Rook to shoot an arrow of fire toward it like an Olympic grand opening. (What a duo.)

"Yeah! Eat this you good for nothing!" Cater and Ruggie immediately took out the pie from Lilia's basket and threw it right onto the students' face. Kalim was generous enough to sponsor lots of baking materials for Lilia with Jamil assisting with the baking. It was badly burnt but still hard as a rock.

Cheny'a was careful enough to avoid Trey and Riddle while Vil was feeling rather generous in feeding Neige~ Oh, and Malleus is always bullseye in his shots, hitting everyone down in no time. He was pretty pissed (sulking) that he was not invited to join your fun. Silver was not being merciful too, he didn't fall asleep at all during this whole thing!.

Rollo was feeling rather grateful but also sad that you did not come to him to ask for his help :( And Crowley just watched everything from the sidelines while praying that nothing bad will be sent to him after this. Well, he's happy with how bright his students are.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Old Friend.

Yan Kenjaku x F Reader x Yan Geto.

Synopsis: The stranger looks all too familiar, aside from three peculiar mannerisms. How his fingers creep along the table’s edge. How his voice is too soft, too kind, and not at all cruel. How there are black stitches on his forehead.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, misogyny, use of the word monkey, and descriptions of past physical/mental abuse.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Flattery comes out from Suguru’s mouth one sentence at a time, the words themselves soothing but the tone not so. After being dressed in clothes you picked out, after being presented with food you loved before captivity, you feel as though you were just revived… reborn. This feeling is foreign and isn’t let into your heart all at once, but little bit by little bit, because you know that Suguru’s gifts are often never superficial, but you also know how fast Suguru’s temper can spew once he has had enough of your antics.

On your knees, that demand is always accompanied by Suguru’s pointer finger facing down to the floor, monkey.

Somehow that collar consistently finds its way into Suguru’s right hand, even without one of his servants giving it to him.

But yet, here and now, you don’t feel the same ominous aura. It’s something darker. Something that for once isn’t directed at you, but the servants Suguru always treated well. So, would that make his aura lighter? You’re not sure. Similar to when it comes to Suguru’s moods and false smiles and truthful lies, you don’t know what to think.

“Master Geto?” You ask, looking past him to the balcony exit behind him. With all the candles put on the table, his face looks nearly fully illuminated, but the shadow covering his eyes is still there regardless. 

“Yes, pet?” Suguru responds, his hands cupping his face as he looks at you. 

“I…” You start, your thumbs caressing one another underneath the long white tablecloth. “Just wanted to thank you… that’s all.”

Suguru chuckles at that. No. Not a chuckle per se. Some sound unknown to you, or perhaps the identity of such was forgotten by you after so many years of being here kneeling at his feet on the floor like a trained mutt. 

Speak.

I’m sorry, Master Geto.

Make it more desperate so I know you won’t make false vows unbefitting of my precious varmint. I’ll even help you. What happens when a dog attempts to hurt its owner?

“Don’t worry about it, [First] dear. You deserve a dinner such as this, for you deserve to celebrate too.” He has never said your name other than when he is displeased with you, so him doing such makes you wince. Suguru takes another sip of his sake, not paying much mind to your innate actions.

They get hit back, Master Geto.

Then what will happen to them next time, if they do it again?

Something will break.

“You look quite divine tonight,” He says, using his knife to split his remaining steak into quarters. He stabs one of the pieces with his fork and chews on it without making much noise.

“Uh…”

“Everything about you is quite beautiful… I can see you becoming my wife one day after all of this is over. That is, if you continue to be so cute and defenseless, it’s your place after all.”

What kind of thing? Speak up.

Anything. A bone… Something they like… Their spirit…

Correct… and what is that thing covering your hand?

“You’re not really eating, dearest… Is something the matter?” He asks. You find yourself questioning if Suguru's concern is genuine. After all, he has faked empathy towards you before, so this wouldn't be the first time.

“No, no… It’s good.” In order to avoid his anger, you proceed to fill your mouth with sake and sesame rice. This amuses him. Does he find your desperation endearing? That would be in character for him, now that you think about it.

A cast, Master Geto.

And what did you do to earn such a thing?

You… broke my hand, after I tried to use the pieces of that broken bedroom window to stab you.

“I’m happy you’re enjoying it.” He grins, leaning in closer. “I have an offer for you. How about we go outside for a walk after this? It has been quite some time since you have seen the full moon, hasn’t it?”

Finally, you can envision a vast expanse of twinkling stars right before your eyes. In the realm of dreams, they reside so near, immune to fading or descending. But you ponder if reality holds the same allure. It has been an eternity since you were last allowed to venture outdoors. Oh, how you yearn for a glimpse of the sky once more.

Tell me, do you think you earned such a thing?

…Yes.

Good. It seems you’re learning.

But the temptation stopped as fast as it came. Dread replaces it in an instant. 

This man isn’t Suguru. You know that much for certain. With every hell he has put you through, you have come to know him and his mannerisms. Those mannerisms are nothing like this man. The thought scares you. Is this man a curse, the same kind Suguru uses against you after every escape attempt? Or is he just a normal man who is acting like him as a placeholder of some sort?

Where… is Suguru?

“...Why are there stitches on your forehead?”

[celestialwhoree]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

I'm so so sorry this took so long to get out! It's here now!

as usual, slight nsfw 💕 mdni please

Your dinner date comes in the form of a candlelit booth in the darkest corner of one of the nicest restaurants in town. Even in all your giddy, feet swinging, cheek hurting beaming, you can't miss the way Nikto's hands shake as he withdraws a pair of thick framed glasses from the inner pocket of his jacket before turning away from you to remove the black material of his mask.

"I'm not going to judge you." The sound of your soft admission has his shoulders bunching with a deep breath to slow the thundering of his heart. "I do not wish to frighten you." He murmurs lowly, sliding his glasses over his nose before turning back in his seat to face you.

There's a split second where you just stare, clenching your teeth until they creak in protest as you attempt not to gape over at him. You want to reach out and touch him - to run your fingers over the dipping craters and lines of raised, pale skin, to trace over the constellations of suffering etched into the face of the man sitting so self consciously before you. You don't, but god you want to. Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. You've never felt so safe.

Instead of saying anything, you simply reach for his hand across the clean white tablecloth, an encouraging squeeze given before you return to peering at the menu you've set out before you. "I've never had lobster bisque before." You hum, absently chewing at the pink paint of your nails, realising how very out of your depths you are when most of the items on the menu don't spark any sort of recognition in the depths of your mind. What the fuck is a fregotto?

"Do you like shellfish?" Nikto clearly sees your suffering, your wide eyed gaze as you stare down at the menu, and manages to pull himself from his thoughts in order to rescue you from your own. "I guess." You shrug, chewing on your glossy bottom lip nervously.

You've always subconsciously known that the man next door has money - not that he's the ostentatious type - but the neighbourhood is expensive, and the car in his garage, from what you can tell at least, is new and shiny. The watch around his wrist, though functional at first glance, is clearly expensive too. The only reason you live next door is because you'd inherited your little house from some aunt you'd barely remembered. You're not exactly struggling, but you don't fit in all too well either.

"The wagyu here is excellent." He continues, noticing the way you bounce your leg and fiddle with your pretty little hoop earrings, eyes darting across the off-white card of the menu pages. Your attempt at nonchalance is obvious as you rest your cheek in the crook of your palm, looking over at your date. "I can order for you, if you would like." Nikto shoots you a look he hopes comes off as considerate, practically praying that his actions are helpful, as opposed to controlling. He's never been too god with women. "Yes. Please." You sigh, the weight on your shoulders suddenly disappearing as your eyes flit to the drinks menu, relief evident when you gaze down to the 'house' cocktail menu, immediately settling on the fruitiest thing there.

After the waitress has come and taken the order of the odd pair in the corner, you and Nikto sit in a strangely comforting - albeit awkward - silence. "You look beautiful tonight." His voice is the first to carry through the quiet, drawing you back to him as your eyes glaze over, coming out in a way he's seen you do countless times before. "Thank you." The candlelight does little to hide the way you blush under his obvious, piercing admiration of you.

In your panicked browsing of the menu, you'd not even noticed the lack of pricing. The last time you'd been somewhere as fancy as this had been to celebrate your graduation, where you and your family had shared appetisers and some artistically crafted dessert, before promptly heading to the nearest gas station to stock up on chips and sodas which you'd sat eating in front of the TV. What Nikto knows, and you don't, is that places like this tend to provide the priced menus to the men, and he'd ordered you just about the most expensive thing on there. To him, you're nothing short of a princess, and it's only right that he should treat you as such.

He knows he's made the right decision when you take the first bite of your meal, which leaves your lashes fluttering and your eyes rolling back with a hum of appreciation. He hopes that one day maybe he'll see the same sight under him as he fucks you. "You like it?" He inquires, not even bothering to hide his obvious admiration for you and your animated reactions. "I don't even know what it is. But it's delicious." You breathe, taking another bite, savouring the way every flavour melts on your palate.

Dessert comes and goes, and you feel so blissfully full and happy by the time the waitress comes with a small leather folio, containing the bill. "Oh!" You chirp, rooting around in your inconveniently tiny purse to try and find your card. "Sorry, two seconds." Again, you're blushing with obvious embarrassment as you empty tubes of lipgloss and bubble gum packets out onto the table, your card nowhere to be found. "We are not splitting the bill." Nikto states firmly, removing a card from his wallet, before handing the folio back to the waitress, who promptly disappears to scan his card. "But-" "No. I invited you for dinner. I do not expect you to pay."

Nikto even walks you home, stands there on your porch as you fumble with your purse again, trying to find your keys. "Would you - uh - would you like to come in?" The hope in your eyes makes his gut wrench, but he holds firm. "Maybe another time."

You feel like a fool, some kind of a slut inviting him upstairs after the first date. He probably thinks you're some overzealous little girl as you stand there gawking. The kiss he gives you, tilting your chin up to capture your lips with his, soon fixes this perception. You melt into him just as he pulls away, using his thumb to wipe away some errant gloss on your chin. "When I fuck you, princess, I will do it properly. Yes?" You nod, utterly gormless at his words, at his reciprocation of your feelings made clear. "Goodnight, princess. Sleep well."

You don't sleep well that night. Not in the slightest. You toss and turn under the white silk of your sheets, pyjamas tossed to the floor as you desperately fuck your fingers to the thought of him. He does the same.

Finally here !!! I'm sorry for the wait!!!! I hope you enjoyed !!! Mwah!!!!!!!! Also, tell me you like my new badge🤭

[ceilidho]

prompt: possessive best friend soap (part 1)

-

You’ve known Johnny for roughly—

“Whassit been—like twenty plus years, hen? I ken our mams have been close since we were in nappies, so we sort of grew up together, wouldn’t ya say?”

—too many years. You’ve been putting up with him for too many years now. Not more than you can count, but more than you can be bothered to relay to your bewildered-looking date sitting across the table from you. Besides, Johnny hardly needs you to fill in the blanks; since pulling up a chair beside the two of you, he’s been quite happy to share the intimate details of your friendship.

“‘Fact, almost moved in together a coupla years ago. ‘Am no’ sure why we didn’t. Might still, at some point. But I bet you knew that, huh—what was it, Rodney? Yeah, Rodney. Kinda a strange name, isn’t that? We had a dog named Rodney growing up, do’ya remember, kitty cat?”

“Yes, John. I remember.” Your head is fully in your hands now, elbows leaning against the table because there’s no reason for table manners anymore. Not with the way Johnny’s shovelling your food into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten all day. It’s annoying that it’s still rather endearing; you push the plate closer to him so he doesn’t have to reach as far across the table and risk spilling your pasta all over the white tablecloth. 

You’ve been trying to catch the waiter’s eye for the past five minutes, but it’s like the guy’s been paid off or blind or something because he does everything but look over at your table. What a waste of a night. 

In fairness, the date hadn’t been going exceedingly well; Rodney had already made a couple of rather passive aggressive comments about your field of study and furrowed his brows a bit too tight when you mentioned wanting to order dessert. 

“Sorry, I just need to—I’ll be right back,” you mutter, scooching away from the table and wincing when your chair scrapes across the floor. You scurry off to the bathroom while Johnny keeps prattling on about whatever inane topic he’s chosen this time to your date, who is looking increasingly agitated. His expression is pinched like he has a stomachache.

In the bathroom, you wet a paper towel and press it lightly to your cheeks so your makeup doesn’t smudge. They’ve been hot since Johnny sauntered into the restaurant and made a bee-line for your table, ignoring your repeated kicks under the table and you mouthing at him to leave. It’s not fair. You go out once a month if you’re lucky because work usually takes priority in your life and now Johnny’s on leave for the next month. You’ve made peace with the fact that you’re going to have to delete all dating apps off your phone for at least the next foreseeable month. 

When you come back, you’re not altogether shocked to find only Johnny still at the table, your date long gone. He scoops up the leftover red sauce with the table bread, looking like he’s having the time of his life even on his own.

“Made a break for it, did he?” you ask, sighing when you collapse despondently into your chair.

“Sorry, kitty cat,” Johnny apologies with big, beseeching eyes. “Tried to tell ‘im he didn’t hav’ta leave, but he wouldn’t have it. Paid his bill at least, good lad. The guy's a pure fandan, wasn’t he?”

You don’t necessarily want to encourage his behaviour by agreeing with him, but you can’t help the soft sound that escapes you. 

Only on the drive home—you’d walked to the restaurant, but Johnny drives the two of you back to his place because he insists on making it up to you with ice cream and a movie—do you begrudgingly admit to yourself that you’re glad Johnny interrupted your date. If he was going to intrude on any date, at least it was that one. An otherwise lousy date might still have a good ending.

“Yer too good for him anyway, kitty cat,” Johnny sniffs on the drive home. You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, scrunching up your nose. You hadn’t even brought it up. “Did’ya see the way he chewed with his gob wide open? Pure repulsive behaviour. Who does that in front of a lady?”

“I don’t remember asking you about my choice of dates, Johnny.”

He laughs, reaching across to give your thigh a little squeeze. You ignore the way it makes your stomach jump. “‘Said my peace. Just don’t wanna see you settling for some numpty who hasn’t got any common decency.”

You grunt because the alternative is opening your mouth and screeching at the top of your lungs. You know this. It’s not your fault that the dating pool in your town is small to begin with and you’re picky on top of that. There’s some criteria for Man etched into your frontal lobe that you can’t read but you know is there, and it rejects every single guy you’ve ever dated. 

At his place, he gets you comfortable on the couch before going to the kitchen and coming back with a bowl of ice cream filled to the brim and a single spoon. You snap at him when Johnny sits way too close to you—so close in fact that you’re pressed up against the side of the two while there are two full cushions on the opposite side of him—but he just coos and feeds you anyway, making train noises when he brings the spoon to your mouth. 

He’s a rapscallion. He’s incorrigible and a devil and you miss him so much sometimes when he’s away doing whatever it is he does in the military that it hurts your heart. It literally hurts when he’s away. So you let him spoil you when he’s back in town on his annual leave or when he’s granted an exemption for a wedding or a funeral. You soak up every minute with your blue-eyed puppy dog of a best friend, content to leave the dates and your other friends for when he’s gone. 

That’s been the pattern now for going on several years. 

Winter is the ascetic’s season anyway. You have no reason to keep trying once the weather gets colder. So instead, you go to work during the day and then hunker down at night, only seldomly going out for drinks with friends or visiting your family for weekend brunch. 

Johnny must miss you too while he’s away because the man borders on feral when he comes back. Tactile as all hell. Nary a moment goes by when he doesn’t have his hands on you somehow—big hands smoothing over your shoulders when you complain about your back aching, a hand squeezing your thigh teasingly in the car, callused fingers pinching your cheeks and squishing them together like a fish.

“Okay, now say, ‘Johnny, thank you for chasing off my bawbag of a date and buying the choco-mint,’” he coos, squishing your cheeks with one hand, the other draped along the back of the couch behind you. He’s so close that you can smell the sweat on his skin, his scent a heady musk. 

You glare up at him, mollified by the ice cream but annoyed that he won’t stop rubbing it in. “Jawny, yew are an idjiot.”

He shakes his head, eyes sparkling. “No, that's no’ right. You got wax in your ears, kitty cat? Do I need ta’ check?”

You screech when he turns your head to the side and bites your ear, trying to crawl off the side of the couch, but he pulls you back down. Nearly pulls you on top of him, blowing raspberries into your temple and laughing. It’s almost impossible to escape from his arms, beefy since he enlisted years ago. They tighten around you, holding you in place while he nips at your earlobe and nuzzles into the side of your head. 

He’s near doubled in size since back then. Sometimes even the sight of him makes your head spin. He towers over you, not always the tallest in the room, but always standing the straightest, the proudest. Aware of the breadth of his shoulders and his physicality, loose and limber for the most part until someone gets on his bad side and you see the change wash over him. Cocky grin turned down and hard. Arms stiff by his sides. 

Not now though. Not in the little warm bubble of his living room, breath punched out of you with shrieking laughter. It’s hard to remember why you were upset with him in the first place.

“Gonna need you to give me a break, kitty,” Johnny breathes into your neck when he finally turns the movie on, pulling your legs until they’re draped across his lap. “How’m I supposed to keep an eye on you from across the world?”

“You don’t have to interrogate all my dates,” you mutter, eyes sliding shut. It’s warm in your bubble and the warmth makes you sleepy. Too bad Johnny doesn’t have a guest room at his place. You’ll probably end up drooling on his bicep when he carries you to bed. 

“Yeah, I do.” His voice is low, muffled against the top of your head. “No one’s good enough for my girl. Gotta make sure they know that.”

[partycatty]

kenshi > read my mind

sitting across the table from your boyfriend at sun do's royal dinner, filling his mind with terrible images...

warnings: ur a horndog, exhibitionism ig, SWITCH KENSHI NATION RISE UP!

notes: this was inspired by @crimsonbubble 's post about kenshi's telepathy... absolute genius... also please pretend he's got sento here or something idfk just bear with me please i'm in heat LMAO. funny side note i had to rewrite this after finishing it to tweak some details, namely that i forgot kenshi CANNOT FUCKING SEE.

[ masterlist ]

• there was a mutual agreement between you and kenshi, no funny business in outworld lest the entirety of earthrealm be damned to your reputation. this was a doable task, you and kenshi were disciplined and well-mannered, like two cute little peas in a very stoic pod.

• however, when you're sat at the long table, syzoth on your left and johnny on your right as you tear apart a roasted bird, you find yourself salivating at the sight of kenshi swirl a glass of red wine with interest. how is it that everything he does is so effortlessly sexy? your chewing slows and you swallow thickly.

• kenshi must have felt your burning gaze, considering his familiarity with it, and his head flicks up to meet yours.

• you look really hot tonight, you try to think as coherently as you can but your mind wanders faster than you can control, and you're envisioning kenshi throwing that roasted bird and glassware to the floor as he fucks you stupid there and then, using your hole as his personal stress relief as he pins you hard to the table. kenshi chokes on his wine, fists clenching as his head tilts downward to avoid staring at you and spiraling his own mind any further.

• the illuminated figures of his friends surrounding kenshi don't seem to pick up on his flushed state, too entranced in their meals to properly notice anything off.

• what's the matter? you toy with him innocently, leaning over the table to tear the leg from the bird and let your breasts spill out and settle atop the table. how he wishes he could see the flush of your skin, the way your outfit compliments your figure so well. don't get too heated, someone will notice.

• you stick your finger in your mouth, sucking away the flavor of the food as you look directly at him with low lids. you had to commit to this, whatever your goal was it surely couldn't have ended well for you.

• there was so much room under the table, a dark part of you snickers as you envision crawling under the table and freeing his surely solid cock, swirling your tongue around his tip and digging your nails into his thigh, reminding him to keep quiet.

• "stop," kenshi mouths at you, shoulders tense as the spirits probe your mind and fill him with evil thoughts. you reach your foot underneath the tablecloth and confirm what you suspected when your sole pressed into his bulge, making him gasp before covering his mouth.

• seems like you don't want me to, you coo into his mind, applying just enough pressure to make him jump. you're all hard and needy for me, aren't you? wish you could just fuck my pretty pussy until i'm nothing more than a drooling mess?

• syzoth is startled by kenshi's thighs bumping the table, brows knitting as he eyes down kenshi's shivery state. "are you alright?" he inquires, tilting his head.

• "no need to worry, syzoth," you insist, while simultaneously conjuring up images of kenshi stuffing his inked fingers so deep in your cunt you cream over them. "kenshi is just a little under the weather as of late."

• your strained grin seems to convince him well enough to drop the subject, turning back to his plate of bugs. your head turns, now grinning at your extremely flustered boyfriend.

• "stop it," he mouths again, squeezing your foot between his thighs. that does nothing, of course, as he immediately is flooded once again with your thoughts of settling between his thighs, squishing your cheek on one while pumping his length with a hand. his throat clears, maybe a bit louder than intended.

• i want you so bad, your lashes flutter, your food a forgotten part of the process. you make me so wet, kenshi, it's so hard to focus when i just want you to use me.

• you giggle to yourself. kenshi's cock is so strained against his dress pants he wondered if he might just pass out or break his zipper. the thoughts of him splitting you open make your own thighs clench, rubbing together to release any tension you'd built. your panties undoubtedly damp, clit throbbing and needy, all of which you project into his head with a sly grin.

• fuck me open on this table, you halfheartedly propose. split me and make everyone know what a whore i am for that dick, pretty boy. i'll ride you so fucking good you won't even remember your own name, is that what you want? you want my thighs around your head when you eat me out? you make me cum so hard, kenshi, you and only you gets me so horny like this, i can barely contain it.

• simultaneously dirty talking through your minds and creating images and scenes that no doubt will send you to hell was far too much for kenshi, especially in public. he stands harshly, his chair screeching against the floor which thankfully draws enough attention away from him to allow him to adjust himself quickly in his pants, tugging his top down further in hopes that somehow, someway his massive cock could be hidden enough.

• "please excuse me," kenshi mutters, bowing deeply. "i believe i am unwell."

• "could we offer you anything?" kitana stands with him, eyes wide with concern. "tea, perhaps—?"

• kenshi bows his head, shaking it slightly. "that won't be necessary princess, though i appreciate it."

• after everyone finishes exchanging funny looks, nobody seems to really notice the sly glint in your eye as your head follows his movements. he walks around the table, having to pass you in the process. his hands sweep behind your hair and cup the back of your neck gently as he leans down to mumble something in your ear. nobody thinks to question the gesture, as it is common knowledge you two were together. what he says though, is so heinous you hope outworld abilities don't include superhearing.

• "you're fucking done for," he mutters, nails digging into the sides of your neck ever so slightly. "you're paying for making me this hard later."

• he pulls away before you could even consider replying, walking off as the click of his dress shoes lessen in volume. the dinner resumes, though johnny leans into your other ear.

• "what's his problem?" johnny asks obliviously, watching kenshi exit. "he's always got a stick up his ass... no offense."

• "none taken," you reply sweetly, turning to face him. "i believe he's just feeling a little sickly."

• "outworld germs?" johnny chuckles, leaning back in his chair. you shrug, looking at the bird again.

• "maybe it was the food."

[gothfeedergf]

Public feeding pt 2

disclaimer: nsfw

As he took a bite from my plate, I felt a sudden urge to feed him, to watch him eat until he was completely stuffed. 

Without thinking, I picked up my fork and started feeding him, bite after bite. He ate eagerly, his eyes locked onto mine, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of arousal wash over me. 

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, his voice low. "Feeding me, watching me eat like a pig." 

I nodded as I continued to feed him. He groaned as he took another bite, his hand moving to rest on my thigh. 

"You know what happens when you fatten me up like this," he said. "I get so fucking horny, and I need to fuck you senseless."

I grinned at his words, feeling a familiar heat start to pool between my legs. "Is that so?" I teased, feeding him another bite. He nodded with his mouth full.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You know what I want to do to you?" he whispered. "I want to bend you over this table and fuck you hard while everyone watches. I want them to see how much of a filthy little slut you are, getting wet just from seeing me eat"

I squirmed in my seat, feeling exposed and aroused. "Shut up" I muttered, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

He chewed and swallowed the food, but he wasn't done yet. He trailed his fingers along the inside of my thigh, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through my body. "Oh, come on," he breathed "don't pretend like you're not enjoying this. I can tell how turned on you are right now.”

“You won't mind putting on a little show for me right here in this restaurant, will you?" Before I could even register what he meant, his fingers were already inside of me, stroking and teasing. I gasped and dropped the fork I was holding, the clattering sound of metal against porcelain drawing the attention of a nearby table.

He placed the fork back in my hand and I knew exactly what he wanted. I started feeding him, bite after bite, while he continued to pleasure me with his other hand. 

I moaned softly as his fingers slipped in and out of me easily, and he chuckled. "You're so responsive," he murmured. "I barely even have to touch you to get you wet."

"You know what I love about you?" he continued, his voice dripping with seduction. "You're such a dirty little feeder, feeding me like a pig and getting off on it. It's like you want me to get so big and fat that I can't even move, just so you can have your way with me." 

I couldn't deny the truth of his words as I squirmed in my seat, and despite my efforts to maintain composure, he made it impossible as he continued to play with me. With each stroke, his fingers curled and twisted, hitting all the right spots, while his thumb rubbed my clit, causing me to gasp and grip onto the tablecloth.

"I bet you like that idea, don't you?" he said, his voice low and seductive. "Fattening me up, just so it feels better for you when we fuck." 

I tried to keep calm and continue feeding him, but he was making it nearly impossible. He squeezed my thigh under the table, a clear demand for more food.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked when he noticed I stopped feeding him, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "Or do you want me to keep going until you come all over my fingers?"

I nodded before picking up another forkful of food and feeding him, my body trembling with pleasure. He ate it eagerly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Fuck, that's good," he groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction as I watched him enjoy the food I had fed him.

"You've made me so fat and greedy, you know? It’s because you’re always feeding me like this," he continued, slipping another finger inside me. "And you've made me so damn horny in public, teasing me like a little slut."

"Fuck," he muttered suddenly, breaking the rhythm of his fingers inside me. "My clothes are getting a bit too tight." he complained, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

I couldn't help but smirk at his complaint, knowing that I had caused him to eat beyond his limits. But he wasn't amused. 

"You think it's funny, huh?" he growled, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me close. "Wait until we get home”

[mmorw]

saw that omega post about chae yul and i would like to hear more🙏🙏

ofc ofc ✍️✍️

cw: fluff. smut. stalking. harassment. sensitive topics. fingering. toxic behavior. toxic relationship. etc more tags but i'm lazy. short thirst.

!! English is not my first language 🤘 any spelling or grammatical errors, notify by dm.

Chae Yul can be a cute little chew that you can change with your own hands, no matter what shape or appearance you give him; he will be more than happy to satisfy you.

you were always so sweet and kind to him, from high school until you graduated, his heart had been shattered when one day you just left and you couldn't bring yourself to tell him about it, even though you had been courting each other for years.

years later, after so many searches, sick stalking and visits to different universities all over Korea, he finally managed to find you and promised never to let you go again.

Is this something similar to what had happened with Eun Sian? maybe, only you didn't have a mother who tried to kill him in progress.

He didn't have to pretend to be his sister, did he? he would have to get close to you and just be able to finally snuggle into your arms and kiss you, smell your satisfying scent and melt into you.

he did a lot of things for you, maybe some more sickening than others; he didn't want to finish college, he didn't want to find a job, he definitely didn't want anything more than you.

He was looking at the pictures on his cell phone as he masturbated, your kind face and smile from a gorgeous angle were enough to make him squirt and whimper, his dry throat almost screaming for you and your name as his fingers wouldn't stop going deeper inside him.

his legs trembled and his nipples were hard, his hands groping himself and forcing him to believe it was you, deepening your love for him, having a beautiful family together—

Chae Yul could be a good mom ! he swore it ! no matter how many kids you wanted to have, he would more than agree !

he would be there in the kitchen peeling potatoes, a nice tablecloth adorning his body while the puppies were sitting and frolicking at the table, helping their omma with lunch for appa.

imagine you coming through the door, setting your coat and briefcase aside to go and sweetly kiss him as you held his waist, listening to his soft purrs as the puppies joined you and asked to be lifted into your arms.

you two would watch the puppies grow up, see them go to school all the way through college, then it would be just the two of you with a bunch of grandchildren to care for and spoil, surrounded by a great family lineage!

would be a nice family, such a cute one! ♡

[bvbygrl-writes]

Under The Table

Pairing: Alice Kingsleigh x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: A trip under the table leads to a night of wonder.

A/N: No one asked for this but I don't care. There's not enough love for Alice out there when she's my dream girl fr

Warnings: A brief drinking scene but other than that none!

Alice was never a fan of this lifestyle her mother kept trying to get her to live. The clothes, the silly little rules that needed to be followed, the boys. It wasn’t as though Alice wasn’t attracted to men, she was sure she was sometimes. But every man she had met in her life (even tonight) just was dreadfully boring. The only things they seemed to know how to talk about were marriage and children and that was just something she was not interested in at the current moment. 

She sighed, shuffling as she tried to get comfortable in her dress which had proven to be impossible, the tight corset squeezing her organs. Tilting her head back, she stared at the haughty chandelier before her eyes drifted to the paintings on the ceiling, wondering what it’d be like to jump inside of one, flying amongst the clouds with the sweet cherubs within. The blonde girl was quickly brought from those thoughts as her mother nudged her side with her elbow, clearing her throat.

“Men don’t like an absent minded girl, Alice. A young lady should be dignified and graceful. Stand up straight. After you ruined things with Hamish, this may very well be your last chance to get married.” She chastised, a stern look in her sharp eyes. Alice humored her, standing up straighter as she focused her gaze ahead right onto the dance floor. She watched boredly as the different pairings danced, some with happy expressions and with others not so much.

“It’s entirely unfair. Why should a woman have to marry a man in order to survive in this society? Haven’t you ever wanted to explore, mother?” She asked, shifting her brown eyes to her mother.

“No.”

—------------------------------

It seemed like eternity that they had been at this gala, trying her best to put on a pleasant act for the few suitors who did come up and show interest. She had danced with a few men. One was quite old and radiated a funny smell that she could not put her finger on. The other crushed her toes with every step, making her glad that she had worn her boots under her dress instead of the heels her mother had tried forcing her into. The last one however was a relatively normal man. He was respectful, charming, and quite handsome. She was sure he’d make someone happy, but for her she felt no connection much to her mother’s dismay.

“I’m quite parched so if you’ll excuse me…” Alice trailed, curtseying before walking away in a hurry. She ignored her mother’s disappointed expression as she wandered through the large double doors to the outside refreshments table. Her body relaxed as the gentle breeze made contact with her body causing her to let out a relieved sigh. 

For the first time in the night, she was allowed peace and freedom to herself. A few gathered around outside, speaking in small groups but she paid no mind to them. Looking down at the table, she saw all sorts of cakes, sandwiches and punches. Knowing her mother was probably watching from a distance, she opted to just grab something to drink to avoid the lecture. However, as her hand reached forward for one of the glass tea cups, she heard a thud from under the table. ‘Have I gone mad?’ she thought, brows furrowing. Her thought was quickly dismissed as this time a hand reached from under the white tablecloth, grabbing one of the small tea cakes. 

Alice looked both ways, making sure no one was looking before she bent down and lifted the cloth up. Under the table sat a girl who looked her own age. Her legs were to the side, back hunched over as she sipped on a bit of punch, putting cake into her mouth at the same time. She repeated these actions a bit more, mouth rapidly chewing before she looked up at Alice. Her (e/c) eyes grew wide as she jumped a bit, her head hitting the table making the same thud that Alice had heard minutes before.

“Oh, Dickens!” she whisper-shouted, rubbing the back of her head. Alice found herself quite intrigued by her. She had (h/c) hair pulled back into an intricate style, pearls placed sporadically around her head. Her silk white gloves looked like they were spun from silk, the lace detailing on the cuffs coordinating with the ones on her dress. But her face is what really caught Alice’s attention. She had to be the most wonderful woman Alice had ever seen. Long lashes reminiscent of a babydoll with a pair of pretty (e/c) eyes to match, a light dusting of blush on her cheeks along with beautiful, soft lips to complete the look. “How do you do?” she asked.

“Well. I’m sorry about your head. Mind if I join you?” Alice asked. The girl shook her head, yanking the blonde under the table with her. She let out a small noise, rubbing at the bottom of her back from the force of the motion, but didn’t comment on it otherwise. The two sat quite close together despite the table stretching out a few feet longer but neither girl seemed to mind it. “I’m Alice.”

The girl offered her a smile. “(Y/n). Lovely to meet you, Alice.” she responded. Alice watched as (Y/n) lifted her dress to her knee, opening a small pouch that was fastened around her calf. She pulled out a tiny flask, taking a swig before holding it out to Alice. “Would you like some?”

“Please. I think I may need this in order to get through the rest of this event.” she said, twisting open the bottle before taking a sip. Her face winced at the burn in her throat, but she did not cough. The last thing she wanted to do was look stupid in front of the first interesting person she had spoken to during the night. The (h/c) haired girl hummed at her words, sticking the flask back into the pocket before looking up at Alice once more.

“That may very well be true if we stay here.” she said, putting quite the emphasis on the word ‘stay’. Alice tilted her head curiously at her words.

“Well, what other option is there? My mother is on me like a hound, I’m surprised she hasn’t sent someone after me already.” the girl groaned, nodding as she scooted a bit closer to Alice.

“Here, here. My mother will not let me breathe. It seems that just about everyday she’s trying to put me with a new dimwitted man.” she sighed out in an exasperated tone. The blonde studied the girl's tired expression, the same one she had worn out in the ballroom the entire night. She knew that look all too well. She felt her heart race as (Y/n) put her face closer to hers, her hand resting on top of her own. 

“I think we should be allowed to love freely and make our own choices.” she whispered,  Alice nodded along dreamily, her own head beginning to lean in. Their faces were extremely close, the breath of each other’s lips could be felt on one another’s. “Do you trust me, Alice?” (Y/n) purred out, her eyes half lidded. The blonde nodded in a daze, hypnotized by her. The girl smiled, pulling away as she lifted the other side of the table cloth. She stuck her head out, looking both ways before pulling her head back in. “When I crawl out, count to ten. Once I do, crawl all the way to the hedge before making a break for it and stopping at the first tree, okay?”

“Alright.” Alice could feel herself buzzing with excitement. (Y/n) was clearly one for a good bit of fun and an adventure. She watched as the girl crawled out slowly, starting to count down as the cloth went completely down. Once she got to zero, she did as she was told crawling out from the table. Her heart raced wildly as she crawled down the steps, laying on her stomach when she reached the grass. She shimmied across the damp grass, staining her dress and stockings. Her eyes squinted in the darkness of the night before they focused in on the large hedge, speeding up as she grew closer to it. As soon as she was next to it, she stood up and began to take off. The first tree to the forest entrance was not too far, making it an easy marker. (Y/n) smiled as she got there, reaching for the taller girl’s hand.

“Nicely done. Follow me.”

—------------------------------------------------------

(Y/n) had revealed on their walk through the forest that she was so familiar with escape routes because this was her home. That fact did shock Alice due to the sheer size of the house and property. Most people, men and women alike, of wealth she had met were completely full of themselves. Always bragging about their fortune and materialistic objects. Even when it came to telling Alice this was her family’s home she had done so in such a casual way that she thought she misheard her the first time around.

The two of them sat on a large swing in front of a small lake in the center of the forest. It was a lovely change from where they were before. The crickets chirped happily in the grass, owls calling back and forth to one another. (Y/n) sighed causing Alice to look up at her. Her gaze was still ahead of them on the lake, watching a family of deer across the way. 

“Do you ever wish you had a choice in the kind of man you were set to marry?” she asked, the side of her gloved hand pressed against Alice’s ungloved one.

“All the time. I’d love to end up with someone who’s thoughtful, witty, adventurous.Someone I could travel the world and make many pleasant memories with. I-if I’m honest with you, most of the time I am not even sure if I’d pick a man.” she admitted. (Y/n) whipped her head, looking at her with an unreadable expression. She inched closer to her, before wrapping her arm around Alice’s, resting the side of her head against her shoulder. The blonde rested her head on the top of hers. It felt so natural to be so close and affectionate with her, as if their bodies were made to touch.

“I am more than sure I would not. Before tonight, I’ve never had this much fun with any of the men my mother has tried to put me with. At the risk of sounding mad-”

“Don’t worry, I quite fancy a bit of madness.” Alice interrupted, placing a sideways kiss to the top of her head.

“What if we were to just…marry each other? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I feel as though we’ve taken quite a liking to each other. And as I sit here in your arms, I know that this feeling will grow more each day. I am also of much higher status than that dastardly Hamish man you told me about.” Alice chuckled at that. She could imagine how nice it’d be to get married to (Y/n). waking up each day and seeing that angelic face. Packing up and heading overseas to China, discovering new lands along the borders of India, eating pastries in France. A smile overtook her face as she thought of herself with a suit on and (Y/n) walking down the aisle in a beautiful gown.

“That sounds like a dream come true. Our mothers would never agree to it but I don’t care. I’d run away with you if I had to.”  (Y/n) lifted her head up, a smile on her face in the sincerity of Alice’s words. Tears began to form in the corner of her eyes which Alice was quick to brush away. “I’d become a beggar on the street with you if it meant this night would never end. (Y/n), I…” without another word, Alice leaned down, kissing the girl deeply which she gladly returned. Alice took charge, her tongue exploring the smaller girl’s mouth before she could get too carried away, their foreheads against each other as they panted breathlessly.

“I’ll pack my bags tonight, we can leave in the morning.”

“I believe that will not be necessary.” Alice felt the blood drain from her face at the sound of her mother’s voice. The two girls slowly turned around, jumping from their spot as they stood side by side. They both tried talking at once to which Mrs.Kingsleigh just held a hand up for them to stop, causing them to hush. “Alice, I’ve known there was something different about you. I’ve tried for years to get you to do as I want you to do, be the woman I want you to be, but I see now that was a mistake. You will always be your father’s daughter and I regret thinking otherwise.” Alice let her head drop, shoulder’s deflating with defeat. She had heard several stories about mothers shipping their daughter’s off to mental institutions for stepping out of line. And with all other things Alice had put her mother through, she was sure this was the final straw. But as (Y/n) slipped a shaky hand into her own, she knew she had the courage to stand up to her mother. 

Taking a step forward she went to speak but her mother continued on. “But what I’d regret more is standing in the way of your happiness. I’ll talk to Lady (Y/n)’s mother about this. Come along, the temperature is dropping and we do not need either of you to fall ill.” The girls looked at each other with bright smiles, swinging their hands back and forth as they followed Mrs.Kingsleigh back to the manor.

Perhaps these social gatherings did have a purpose.

[johnny-coxville]

I was thinking maybe for a really smutty Johnny fic. The reader asks Johnny if he wants to try something new, she’s wants to see if he’ll cum inside her as they’ve never done that, Johnny gets super excited and super into it. With some dirty praise along the way and goofy excitement from knox ?

I'm sorry it's a bit short and not exactly on promt, but I'll gladly remaster it as soon as I'm free! Hope you enjoy it. :)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

At Last.

Johnny Knoxville x fem!reader nsfw

Time in bed with Johnny was never a bore. He always found something new to task you with. Position, praise, you name it. He made you feel good in everything he did. This time was entirely different.

You sat across from him at the wooden dinner table. A cute tablecloth laid across the table complimenting the decorations of your apartment. Johnny fiddled with the bottom of the cloth as he ate. Looking up at you every now and then to smile.

Once you were nearly finished with your plate, you paused. Taking a long gaze at him. He paused as well, his chewing put on hold. “What’s the matter?” He questioned with a mouthful of food. You grinned. “Nothing. I was just thinking about something.” You said twirling your fork around the plate.

He swallowed his food and cocked an eyebrow. “Anddd that iss?” He said with a side smile. You blushed with a small giggle. “Nothing!” You said teasing. Standing up from the table, emptying the rest of your leftover pasta into a pot. Heading to the sink to wash your dish. Johnny scooted out of his chair and followed.

He dropped his food into the pot and sat his plate on the counter. You ran the water for a moment, squirting the soap onto the sponge. Behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist. Kissing your neck and exposed shoulders.

You leaned into his touch, scrubbing the plate in front of you. You pressed your ass out, pushing it against his crotch. “Is this what you wanted to tell me?” He said pressing himself closer. You shook your head. “Johnny.” You said softly. You purposely drew out the situation just for the thrill. “I want you to cum in me.” You said nearly silent.

His movements were still a second. “Wait… Really? He said with almost a giggle. Like a child being told they were allowed to have a puppy. “Yes, Johnny.” You said setting the cleaned plates on the drying rack and twisting the sink off.

Mere seconds passing, he spun you around. Shoving your back against the ledge of the sink. Dipping down to your face to kiss you. His hands gripping onto your waist. You kissed him back, bringing your hands up to caress your face.

You pulled back with a small. “Calm down killer. You’re hurting my back on the sink.” You said giggling. He chuckled and stepped back. Letting you adjust your back. “If I had known I would’ve worn my cute g-string!” Johnny joked.

You sneered. “I’ll pass on that one.” You said walking towards the bedroom. You could feel the excitement radiating off of him. He had been waiting for this moment for months. Johnny entered the room behind you, shutting the door. You turned towards him and backed away slowly.

Your legs hit the front of the bed. He approached, pulling the shirt off of your body. He smiled wide. A smile that was almost always plastered across his face. You reached out and pulled off his own. Revealing his toned chest. He backed away a couple feet.

“Let’s not waste time honey. I know exactly what I want, and went I want it. I want you. Now. Get those clothes off.” He said beginning to unbutton his pants. He sent shivers down your body. You did what he said, and wasted no time. Sliding down your jeans, and slipping down your underwear. Looking up, all that he was left in was his boxers.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you close to his warm body. Resting his forehead against your own. He was significantly taller than you, his head tilting down to you. He shifted his face and began to kiss you. Immediately entering your mouth with his tongue. You explored each other’s body’s like you always did.

Though the interactions were more aggressive- more- yearning. You couldn’t wait any longer. You tugged his boxers down, and he took this as an invitation to remove your shirt and bra. Both of you struggled to shimmy off your articles of clothing but now left skin to skin. The warmth of your body’s burning each other.

You two backed against the bed, hitting the edge. He smiled and gently laid you against the made sheets. Soft against your bare back. The smiles shared between you two were genuine, and full of anticipation. He inched his way on top of you finding a comfortable position.

You knew he would start out gentle, inevitably leaving you a sore mess. He clicked his tongue and grabbed a pillow from behind you. Making sure both your head and lower back was supported.

Kneeling down into you he traced his fingers around your curves. He slowly pushed himself inside. A brand new sensation you had never experienced before. Thankfully with the grown anticipation, you were unbelievably soaked. Making his entry smooth.

His mouth just barely agape as he fully entered. “Wow.” was all he could mutter. You snickered at the dorky look on his face. Though admittedly just feeling him inside of you, entirely bare, was enough to make you howl.

His arms caged around your sides as he was inches away from your face. His warm breath tickling your nose. He began to pump. A slow pace for a start, but he was never patient.

As he picked up on his pace, your eyes were locked with his. Trying your best not to change expression. Johnny pushed himself deep and hard. Grunting every now and then when he changed pace. “Does it feel good sweetie?’ He whispered, a smile still wide across his face.

You nodded your head in response, hoping for something more. Noticing your lack of expression, he pulled out of you. He took your left breast into his mouth, and your right was graced with his twiddling fingers. Switching breasts he sucked and licked you in contentment.

He pulled away from you, standing up. He grabbed at his aching cock, and gave it a pump. Biting down on his lip as he admired your body.

He reached a hand out for you to grab, not saying anything. Giving a confused look you took his help and stood off the bed. He let go of your hand and stepped away from the foot of the bed. “You’re really going to feel it now. Get on that bed and arch for Johnny.” He said stepping over to you, giving you a firm smack.

You couldn’t help but giggle, and by that point, Johnny completely lost his composure. Letting out a hardy laugh. “I can’t take this so seriously! But god you’re fucking sexy.” He said rubbing his hands together in a silly manner.

You rolled your eyes and made your way back onto the bed. You got down on your hands and knees and arched your back as far as it would give. Pressing your face into the pillow. “Thatt’s it.” He said pressing his knee’s into the bed.

As you felt the weight shift, the anticipation that was long growing in you was ready to burst. He grabbed at your waist and shifted you until you were lined up with him. He was a lot larger than you, making for easy access to his favorite parts of you. He pressed inside of you rubbing your sides.

Though this time he wasn’t going to be gentle, nor slow. He slammed in and out. Scraping his nails along your figure. Pressing his head against your side. He rocked your body into him as he kept his pace. You screamed in pleasure, soaking the pillow you rested your face on.

For the first time you had heard Johnny moaning and howling almost as loud as you. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so fucking long.” He said grasping for your hanging breasts. Squeezing one with one hand, using the other to press bruises into your side.

"I've never felt you so soaked. You really wanted this huh? I bet you've wanted to feel my bare dick sooo fucking bad." He said with a strained laugh.

You grunted in response. Finding it hard to hang onto your breath. "I'm going to make sure you're fucking dripping with my cum baby." He said squeezing you harder.

Neither of you lasted very long. Screaming each other's names, almost drowning out the wet sounds of you both. As he nearly came to his edge, he bit into your shoulder. Making you cry out in painful pleasure.

“I’m going to fucking cum..” He grunted, pressing himself as deep as he could. As he hit your sweet spot, you thrashed in pleasure. Needing to be held still as you screamed. You could feel his hot cum filling you, a strong pressure making you feel even more full.

He didn’t stop until you were overfull. Pulling out you leaked cum. Your ass was covered in handprints, and your pussy was swollen. Though it was the most satisfaction you had ever felt. “I’m so glad I had been saving that. If I had any idea you were planning this I would’ve made it much more special.” Johnny said heading into the closet for a towel. “Rammed you harder than any bull that’s ever rammed me.” Johnny giggled. You sighed with a laugh. Relaxing your back, and laying on your stomach. Your body throbbed, but god. It was so worth it.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

[romeulusroy]

Fucking Married (Lukas Matsson x Roy!Sibling )

Character/s: Lukas, Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Roy, Logan

Word Count: 1,908

Inspired By: Fucking Married by Harriette

A/N: I love writing for Baby Roy so much omg. This song is the main inspiration, it's so good!!! I hope you guys like this as much as I do because I'm screaming!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Something bight and peachy hit your bloodline, warming you from the inside out. You could feel your cheeks heat up against his chest, swaying side to side. You pulled yourself closer, feeling unsteady on your feet. He laughs a little, kissing the top of your head, squeezing you harder. There isn’t a second of his life that goes by where he isn’t grateful for you. All of you. Music plays from the speaker of his phone in his pocket, an old one you’d heard thousands of times. About love and life and loss. One of his favorites. Of course he would pick this, you smiled. His hand on your back, the other in your hand, swaying softly. He even hums along to the chorus, not saying anything. Not patronizing you, or lecturing you, or reminding you how expensive this whole day was. He’s just grateful to have you to himself for a few moments, getting the dance you promised him regardless of the circumstances. Behind you, they gather by the bar, ordering for themselves. No one had told the staff it was all over. It wasn’t going to happen. The worked quickly, quietly, eagerly. The rest walked gingerly, serving appetizers on silver platters. It made their eyes light up, each grabbing greedily, knowing they hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. He spins you sweetly, making you laugh, feeling childish. At the sound of this, they perked up, their faces breaking out in grins. He always known how to get you to smile, even when you weren’t really feeling it. Even when you’d been crying minutes ago. 

Everyone else has gone, even the groom. Especially the groom. None thought to look here the way they had. Surrounded by colorful, oddly shaped glasses with toothpicks of fruit stabbed down the middle. Peach, mango, pineapple, apple, grapefruit. Mixed drinks of little rainbows, one spilled down the front of your white corset. No amount of rubbing will get that out. You shrug, grabbing for another. Thats how they found you. Drinking yourself drunk, chewing up the bits of fruit, hiding from everyone like you’d been doing since you were little. You were sure you stunk of some sixteen year olds favorite mixer, the sweetness of all this leaving you feeling bitter. Wronged. You were under the tables at the reception, crying softly, feeling yourself ease up a little. The whole morning had been nerve wracking. So much so you forgot how to breathe. Greeting everyone, thanking everyone, your own mother late, your father not showing up at all. You played the part, good enough to convince everyone else but yourself, and a few watchful eyes. Those that knew you, who saw you through it all, could see these pre-wedding jitters were more than that. You were petrified. Are you mad at me? You asked so much like a child, tucking your knees to your chest, trying to hide the skirt of your dress from their view. It was too big to hide under the tablecloth. Mad at you? Are you kidding? Come on kid, come and talk to us. You sniffled, chewing a cherry. When you didn’t even consider moving, you heard the groan of a man more than twice your age, watching him get to his knees. The rest protest, but he doesn’t listen. You wipe your cheeks, knowing you must look mad, your makeup ruined. He pokes his head through, wearing that familiar smile. The kind that promises everything will be okay, that you did the right thing, that he could never, ever be angry with you. It only makes you cry harder. I made a mistake. You repeat this over and over again, unable to catch your breath. He urges you out, unable to crawl under with you. Come on kiddo, it’s okay. It’ll be okay. No one’s mad at you. Eventually, you follow him out. 

Kendall taps Connors shoulder, wanting to cut in. His eyes meet yours, asking if this is okay. You nod, taking Kens hand. You rest your chin on his shoulder. He’s changed the song to something more his speed, not the kind of song to slow dance to of course. It looks and sounds ridiculous and yet, you can’t help but grin. It’s so him. You did the right thing. It comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t stop moving, though you hesitate for a second. You hadn’t thought about right and wrong, only that you were overcome with an overwhelming sense of dread. Not just today, though it was definitely amplified. Ever since he popped the question, ever since you were expected to say yes. What other choice did you have? Did I? The question comes out before you can stop it, your voice a lot shakier than you expected. Do you feel better? There’s not a second of hesitation. Of course you do. That sinking feeling was totally eradicated. You nod. Then you did the right thing. He made it sound so simple. It couldn’t be, could it? His hands on your waist, in your hand, always wrapped around you, like he was afraid you’d run. Maybe he knew all along. The look on his face said another story. Those knowing, self-assured eyes were wide pools of blue, calling after you, but you were too far to understand what exactly he was saying. He was hurt and angry. You hurt him. But you knew, if you went through with it, you’d hurt for the rest of your life. You were young, too young. You had so much more time, so many more mistakes to make. Not the kind like this. You’d only looked back once, to see his face. Kendall immediately stood up, holding him off from running after you. Were they speaking? You couldn’t see, only that your brother stopped him in his tracks. Connor stood in the middle of the aisle like a deer in the headlights. He was walking you down, not Logan. He hadn’t thought his appearance was necessary. How angry he’d be, you could picture it now, calling after you. He would have killed you. 

She turns off Kendalls awful music, putting on something that’s more your taste. Shiv holds her arms around your neck, and yours around hers. She looks beautiful, as always. What do you think Dad’s gonna say? Like a child, you fear the man in charge. If not him, then it would have been your husband. There is always an angry man in every scenario. She shrugs, searching your face, searching for the right words. He won’t be happy, she starts slowly, but it’s not like he can drag you down the aisle, right? She tilts her head to the side, a trait she’s carried with her all her life. I guess you’re right. Though it isn’t anymore comforting. She sees this, senses it, and tries to reassure you. Hey, hey he’ll understand. Maybe not now, but he will. You’ll always be his baby, no matter what. You think we haven’t colossally fucked up before? You try to hide your smile. Your smart sister, taking care of everyone. Where would you be without her? When you’d asked her to be your maid of honor, she was wary. You didn’t sound so sure. Not that you doubted her role for a second, rather that she’d take the brunt of the blame if you decided to take off, as if it were some great master plan between you and her. She would have taken that fall, though. She would have found a way to spin the narrative. Save both of you. She was always doing that: saving sinking ships. Is that what your marriage was, could have been? Probably. You weren’t a good match, you and him. You didn’t want your world to be business dinners and investors. You wanted to explore, see the world, make a name for yourself outside of the Roy/Matsson conglomerate. He was perfectly happy rotting away in meetings. You didn’t have the same interests, the same hobbies, nothing. He spoke Swedish in front of you, probably about you, constantly leaving you out of the conversation. What kind of life would you have lead? A bad one. A miserable one, no doubt. 

You know you can never come back to Sweden after this. You’re like banned, permanently, for life. You slap Roman on the chest, trying not to laugh. I’m serious! He will get every Swede on his side and they’ll all gang up on you. They’ll never forget the day you left him at the altar. That strikes something in you, a deep fear. Did you make a mistake? Was this the best you’d ever do and you ruined your chances? Quickly, Roman tries to undo what he’s done, of course with a joke. Kid, come on. Matsson as my brother? Barf. This is a good thing. You did a good thing, for everyone involved. Besides, you didn’t want to have sleep with that guy every day for the rest of your life, right? He’d get tired of looking at himself in the mirror every night. Roman pretended to snore, “dozing off” as you swayed, until your smile came back. You hadn’t even been involved in planning the wedding. His assistants took care of most of it. Not even the date or the place had been cleared by you. You were just expected to show up, get married, call it a day. Everything you’d heard about weddings were magical, the kind of thing that brought couples closer. He was in Sweden not long after you said yes, you in New York. you maybe talked twice a week, if you were lucky. It was almost laughable how silly it all was. Of course you ran. Of course you bailed. He was, essentially, a stranger. A handsome one maybe, if you were in the right mood, the right lighting, but still. Had your mother really bought this? Had everyone? Were they fucking stupid? Do you think he’s upset? Who, Matsson? Fuck no, he probably forgot all about it. He’s got, what, a thirty second memory? He always knew the best thing to say. They all did. Where’s the ring? Hm? The ring, what did you do with it? Oh. You’d thrown it over the deck of the reception dance floor, feeling too claustrophobic to leave it on. It fell down somewhere in the foggy wilderness. After that, you grabbed your tray of drinks and climbed under the table. Are you kidding? That’s hilarious. Roman laughed a hearty laugh, peering over the glass bannister. That things fuckin’ gone. Forever!  Lukas could spend the rest of his life, or his assistants life, searching. There was no way you’d go back to him, take back what you did. You could be wrong, but your whole family? It wasn’t often you and your siblings came to the same conclusion. When it came to this, though, you were all in agreement: he could go fuck himself. Everyone at the wedding could for not seeing this sooner. Let him cry like a little baby. Let him keep his money, his houses, his everything. All of sweden, too. You had your brothers and sister. They’d have your back no matter what, regardless of the situation. They’d look after you, look after your best interest at heart. Look on the brightside, Roman said, you’re saving a hell of a lot on the divorce. I gave it five years, tops.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟔

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Jake have an honest conversation about your pasts. Your love can be shared. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

You’ve been at the restaurant for hours now. It’s a newer one, one that is draped in red velvet and low, pink lights. There are fresh flowers on all the mahogany tables and the tablecloths are all sewn from fine French linen, their color a seafoam green. 

All around you, everyone else is chatting away and ordering another drink or poking around their salads. The restaurant is alive with clattering silverware and popping corks and the live orchestra set up in the corner. 

The food has been incredible: artichoke hearts breaded in sourdough and and crumbled with feta, gruyere fondue with broccoli sauteed in garlic and and butter, cobb salad with prosciutto and soft boiled eggs, decadent filet mignon with a mushroom creme. 

Rooster watches you take the first bite of your filet, your jaw flexing as you chew. Everyone else--Coyote, Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback--is so used to this kind of luxury. This nice cut of steak, this expensive wine, this rich cheese. But you aren’t. This is all new to you still. And the way your eyes are alight with unadulterated joy, the way your lips quiver with every moment the steak is between your molars--Rooster can see it. He can see how unfamiliar this all is. 

“Whatcha think, baby?” Rooster asks. 

You didn’t realize that he was watching you, but when you look up and across the table, when you see his whiskey-colored eyes crinkled with joy as he watches you chew--you sigh. The world doesn’t push down on you so heavily when he’s looking at you. 

Carefully, you pat your mouth with an expensive napkin and reach across the table, taking Rooster’s hand. He strokes your skin, still grinning at you, and wishes that you were perched right on his lap instead of across from him. 

“That’s the second-best steak I’ve ever had,” you tell him. 

He scoffs. 

“Second-best? Don’t break my heart and tell me the best steak you’ve ever had was in Nebraska, kid. Not a chance.” 

You shake your head, laughing. Your hair tickles your naked shoulders when you move, a delicate and soft feeling that makes your chest warm. 

Rooster lets his eyes fall to the soft slope of your shoulders, the elegant point where your throat gives into anatomy and becomes your collarbones. Your skin practically glows in the light of the restaurant, effervescent. You have your hair pulled up and it’s been falling all night--but it’s fallen so perfectly that it looks purposeful. Tendrils of your soft hair decorate your cheeks and forehead, giving you a very soft and sweet look even with the dark eyeshadow on your lids and the gloss on your lips. 

“Well, don’t bogart this best steak,” Rooster says, leaning forward. “What’s the skinny?”

You lean forward, too, setting your cutlery on your plate politely. 

“It was at this little place in L.A.. God, it’s really the shit, you know? View of the Hollywood sign, a pool, a tiki bar,” you list, squeezing his hand. “The chef’s, like, super hands-on, too. He was a good lay. Well, anyway, he made the best steak I’ve ever had. Cooked it up real nice, medium, wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt and no shoes.” 

Rooster chews a smirk. 

“No apron and no shoes?” He asks. “That’s two health code violations, kid.” 

You grin back, your lashes fluttering against your rosy cheeks. 

“Cry about it,” you tease. 

“What’re we crying about?” Hangman asks, throwing his arm over your shoulders. 

You lean into him, grinning, resting your head against his. He fingers the silk dress you’re wearing, pressing a lewd kiss to your forehead. Rooster wishes you were perched on his lap fervently.

“I’ve got nothing to cry about,” you tell Jake, smoothing your gown and winking at Rooster. “How about you, Cowboy?” 

Hangman likes that you call him Cowboy. He’s been called Hangman for so long--which is still a nickname he loves, one that tells everyone who utters it just how well-endowed he is--that he sometimes forgets that he can be something else. 

“How could I cry when I’ve got you on my arm, honey?” Jake lips, kissing your cheek again. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna cry about,” Fanboy pipes up, lips pursed. He’s nursing a martini, his silk shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and exposing the manicured curls across his chest. “Dennis only giving me six fucking films for the entire year. The entire year!”

“What?” Rooster asks, brows furrowed. He takes another sip of his Tom Collins then sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “That’s bogue.” 

“Totally bogue,” Bob agrees. “What, like, boy on boy isn’t popular anymore?” 

Fanboy rolls his eyes. 

“Exactly,” Fanboy agrees. He finishes his marini and flags down one of the waiters. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m a pioneer in my genre.” 

“Well, that isn’t an opinion,” Phoenix says with a sigh, touching her lipstick up in her pocket mirror. “It’s a fact, honey.” She snaps the compact shut and puckers her lips. 

“I mean, shit, I’ve got some jobs you can take,” Coyote laughs. He is ferociously cutting into his steak, shaking his head with his eyes wide. “I’m gonna be dehydrated by February at the rate I’m going. You dig?” 

“Everyone digs,” Phoenix says, rolling her eyes. “Can’t have more shoots than Rooster, though. Right?”

Rooster is absently stroking his mustache, humming.

“Not necessarily,” he says softly, shrugging.

“Well, how many films you got this year, man?” Payback asks. “Dennis stiff you?”

“No,” Rooster answers. Dennis is a lot of things--but he isn’t stupid. And it would be stupid if Dennis were to stiff Rooster. “He knows better than that.” 

“How many, then?” Fanboy asks. He’s smoking a cigarette now, his leg bouncing.

“Ten,” Rooster answers.

You’re tickled. You have more than ten. You have more than Rooster Bradshaw--who’s the biggest and the best in the business. It makes your stomach turn with a precarious sort of excitement. 

“Christ,” Coyote says, sighing. “I haven’t had ten since I was a rookie.”

Everyone echoes some sort of murmured agreement, the air thick with cigarette smoke. Your spine prickles. Shit. You have more films than everyone here--Rooster and Hangman already know that. 

You’re afraid, suddenly, that these people will not like you if they know this about you. You don’t want anyone to think that you’re taking their jobs, fast tracking the demise of their careers. Jesus--fear slinks up your legs and presses down into your thighs. You like these people, you’re friends with these people, you’re breaking bread with these people. You don’t want to be in this industry without them. 

Jake can feel it when your thighs clench, can feel it when your spine stiffens.  

“Wanna step outside for a second, honey?” Jake says quietly in your ear. He needs another bump anyway. 

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Say, got a mint?” 

Jake grins at you. 

“Always.” 

Rooster watches the two of you walk out together, your dress clinging to your body. Jake’s hand is resting on your ass, just high up enough for it to not be considered rude in this nice of a restaurant. He knows what you two are going to do outside, which is what you two slink off together and do in bathrooms and bedrooms. It makes his palms sweat, but he doesn’t move to stop it. How could he? 

It’s not hot in the restaurant, but it’s stuffy--and your face is flushed at the thought of everyone inside asking how many movies you have been signed on for. The cool evening air is a welcome escape, one that makes your lips part in ecstasy as it prickles your bare arms. 

Cars are zooming past, their engines purring and their horns wailing. There are people laughing on the sidewalk and holding hands and singing songs. Heels clack against the pavement as people swiftly pass you, not batting an eye in your direction. 

You don’t know this yet, but soon you won’t be able to stand on the sidewalk without people looking at you. Men, especially ones walking with their wives or girlfriends, will stare but will not be brave enough to approach you. They’ll pretend they know you from work or school if their wives catch their gazes lingering on you. They will think about the color of your nipples and the way your back arches and the noises you make when you suck cock, but they won’t say anything to you. You almost prefer it when people say something, when they’re brave enough. Because in a few months time, you will live in a fishbowl. You will be lonely even when everyone in the room is looking at you.  

Jake is still holding onto you, humming softly as he tugs you over to the brick siding of the restaurant. He tugs the mints container out of his pocket and smiles at you. He thinks you look beautiful tonight, all done up with that eyeshadow and that dress. 

“Have you graduated to sniffer?” He asks, eyebrow perched. 

You hum, shaking your head. You will rarely pass up an opportunity to have Jake’s fingers in your mouth. 

“Nope,” you say, hooking your fingers in the belt loops of his corduroys. “Gonna need your help.” 

This pleases Jake. He doesn’t even check behind him anymore before he takes a bump--everyone does cocaine. Everyone and their mama does cocaine in Los Angeles. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it anymore. 

Once he’s snorted it off his thumb, he dips his finger against his tongue and then presses it into the powder before bringing it up to your lips. 

“Careful,” you say quietly, tucking his hair behind his ears. Your eyes are glowing in the low light of the evening. “Don’t smudge my gloss.”

“I’d rather die,” Jake says simply. 

Then he slides his fingers against your gums, makes sure to spread it around. 

Your heart is racing already, just in anticipation of the high. It’ll be a few minutes, you know. But you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. Just sitting here with Jake, outside against the cool brick--that’s enough for you. 

Jake snaps the container shut and stuffs it back in his pocket, giving you a quick kiss before settling in beside you against the brick. The two of you quietly watch the cars go by for a few minutes, holding hands, waiting to feel it. 

But there’s something choking Jake now. You’re stroking his hand, humming to yourself, letting the butter melt on your tongue. And he thinks--maybe because he’s high or maybe because you seem to have a peculiar way of subduing him--that you are a good person. He hasn’t known you for very long, but he knows that the heart that sits in your chest is a good one. You’re kind and you’re bright, bubbly. But it took time for him to understand about you, hours. With Gentry, it took weeks. You’re like Gentry, though. Gentry was just someone that Jake knew was a good person--not right away, the very first time he saw him at the canteen. 

“What’s up, Cowboy?” You ask. 

You’re looking at him now, your cheek pressed against your shoulder. 

He shakes his head, biting his lip. 

“You remind me of someone,” he says softly. 

You swallow, your lips tingling. 

“Who?” You ask. 

But you already know. You’ve thought about it a lot, that first night you met Jake when he told you about the only man he ever loved. When you anchored yourself on his body and let him sleep. 

“Gentry,” he answers. He sniffles, wipes his nose. He’s tapping his fingers against yours rhythmically. “Not that you’re, like, manly or anything. Ain’t like that. I just like you is all.” 

“Everyone likes me,” you tease. But it is true--everyone does like you. 

He laughs shortly. 

“Yeah, but I don’t like everyone,” he sighs. “You dig?” 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. 

“Yeah, I can dig it,” you say quietly. “So, what did you like about him?” 

Jake laughs again, grinning. His face feels good--cold and soft. 

“He was stand-offish,” he answers. “Always had something to say, you know? Didn’t seem scared. Like, we were all fucking scared. Middle of the fucking jungle, barely old enough to drink. Half of us wanted to book it. The other half were just bugged out. And Gentry was just, like, chilled. He didn’t seem scared. Not ever. Not really.” 

Blood is rushing through your ears now, but you hear every word Jake says. 

“And you think I’m chill and stand off-ish, huh?” You ask.

You squeeze his hand.  

“No,” Jake says, sighing. “No, I don’t think you’re stand-offish. I think you’re just--I guess I think you’re just, like, fearless. Like, when I met you and you were just taking a skinny dip in Rooster’s pool--you didn’t give a fuck that I was there. Jesus, you didn’t shy away from anything. You keep it real, Cherry. So did Gentry.” 

With pink tickling your cheeks, you move closer to Jake and let your head rest on his shoulder. He smells like patchouli, which is a scent you’ve grown to like. His shirt is soft against your cheek, his skin warm. 

“What was it like when you met him? Tell me about the first time.” 

He’s never told another soul this. It hasn’t even occurred to him before this precise moment that he hasn’t recounted the story out loud to anyone. But now you’re here and your cheek is warm against his arm and you smell like sugar and he feels like it’s okay to talk about it. 

“I cut my hand on a piece of metal. Gnarly cut, bleeding everywhere. We were in the fucking boonies and it was hot and muddy. Everyone was sweating, there were bugs everywhere, it smelled like piss. So, I walk up to the canteen to ask for a bandage,” Jake explains. When he talks about the cut, it starts to burn; that seam that he opened up all those years ago on that sheet of metal, the one that poured out enough blood to make the flies swarm in thick waves. It’s cold outside, but he feels the perspiration on the back of his neck like he’s back there again. “Hadn’t been there for more than a month. I looked new, you know? Like, not as dirty and tired. Got a lot of shit for it from the other dudes in my battalion. So, I ask the little guy with the dark hair working the canteen if I can be bandaged up.” 

Jake chuckles softly, remembering. God, what a pesky thing memory is. It makes him feel like Gentry is still alive somewhere, on some plane. How can he remember him so clearly if he isn’t living, breathing? 

“Well, what happened?” You press. You’re grinning, watching Jake’s glassy eyes. 

“The asshole grabbed my hand, looked at the wound, told me he wasn’t gonna give me a bandage for a pussy cut. Then he fucking licked it--just, like, licked the cut and the blood and dirt. Spit on it. Told me to get lost,” Jake muses, shaking his head. “I was grossed out. But it stopped the bleeding, which was why he did it.” 

“That’s trippy,” you laugh, wrinkling your nose. “And then, what? You fell in love just like that?” 

Jake shakes his head. He can see Gentry’s eyes if he thinks hard enough--the way they watched him, the way they were always narrowed. 

“I hated him before I loved him,” Jake answers. He tuts, pressing the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “He was gung ho. Knew what he was doing. Liked it. Not the ugly parts, you know, but like the rest of it. He was good at everything. Bastard. We were humping the boonies once and we came up on this hamlet--it was evacuated, deserted. So, we set up camp. Gentry and I ended up in the same hut. He found a bottle of snake wine hidden in one of the rooms, like it was waiting for us or something.” 

The glow of the lantern of the little kitchen table, the overturned chairs, the strewn linens. He can remember Gentry emerging from the bedroom, his rifle slung over his shoulder, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He remembers still feeling so guarded around Gentry, stuck on the pussy cut comment. And he remembers that Gentry didn’t care--didn’t even really remember. 

“We drank about half of it. Drank ourselves dumb,” Jake says quietly. He can still remember the taste of it on his tongue, how bitter it was. “He asked why I was giving him the hairy eyeball. I told him it was because of the cut. God, that fucking dick, he didn’t even remember doing that. Like, he was always just so brash with everyone that it didn’t even stick with him. So I showed him the cut on my hand again. You know, just to prove it. And--!”

Jake chokes for a moment, overwhelmed. You hold onto his hand tightly, nuzzling your face against his arm. 

He clears his throat. 

“He told me it was a pussy cut and I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me. Just held onto it too tight. And then he kissed it--you know, the way parents are supposed to when you fall off the fuckin’ monkey bars?” Jake can remember exactly how warm Gentry’s lips were against his hand, exactly how terrified and intoxicated he was. And how he did not want to move a muscle. “Scared me. Still scares me to think about. I was just some fucking kid from Texas and, you know, down there--folks aren’t friendly about that. Boys kissing boys. But I didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t.” 

They made love that night. Jake was scared, but only for a few minutes. It felt like an entirely different world he was in the next morning--one he had never even pondered, one he had never expected to stumble upon. 

“And then you fell in love?” Your voice sounds small. 

Jake nods. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, we did fall in love. Like a couple of fuckin’ idiots.” 

“What’s idiotic about falling in love?” 

“War is Hell,” Jake says quietly. He sniffles, wrinkles his nose. 

That’s all he says.

“Is love Hell?” You’re asking genuinely--you don’t know. 

Jake bites his lip hard. He thinks about Gentry’s laugh--that hard-to-earn, brash, unhurried thing. 

“No,” he answers. 

That’s all he says.   

You stand there for a long time, nuzzling your face against Jake’s arm. You just breathe together, watch the cars go by, watch the headlights flood the busy street. You’re not thinking about the food that’s waiting or the company that’s missing you. You’re just high and standing together, soaking in the present state of the world.

“Cherry?” 

You hum. 

“Why’d you get sent away?” 

You’ve been waiting for someone to ask. You know Rooster wants to. You know he’s too polite to ask for the entire story, that he would never want to overstep. But that’s the difference between Jake and Rooster--Rooster is afraid of the placement of his feet on the earth that he walks upon and Jake likes the way the ground shakes when he walks hard. 

“Got caught,” you start softly. You sigh, letting your lungs deflate, letting your shoulders slope. “My brother caught me, the jerk.” 

“Got caught doing what?” 

“Doing who,” you correct. “John Duke. We just saw a picture and he was dropping me back off on the farm. I don’t know why, but he put his hand under my skirt when we were in the driveway. Made me cum, which he hadn’t ever done before.” 

Jake is looking at you now, memorizing the slope of your lips when you frown. 

“And they kicked you off the farm for that?”

Laughter punctures the air softly. You lean into Jake further, shaking your head. 

“I’m probably the only broad in western Nebraska that’s ever cum,” you breathe, shaking your head. “But my brother, I don’t know if he was out doing barn chores or if he was waiting on me to come home, but he saw what we were doing in the truck. Ripped the door open, pulled me out.” 

The ground was frozen when you fell upon it, your skirt pooled by your hips and your eyes squeezed shut tight. Your orgasm was ruined, the frigid air pinching your calves and the tip of your nose. 

“Chased John off, not that it took much. Dragged me into the house. Woke my mama and daddy up, told them everything.” 

“Jesus,” Jake mutters, biting his lip. “What’d they do?”

“Mama cried. Daddy wouldn’t look at me. My brother, Carlton, was an animal. Screaming, hollering. Punched a hole into the wall by my head when I wouldn’t say sorry.”  

You wouldn’t say sorry--that’s what made your brother so angry. You were not sorry at all, not sorry about cumming, not sorry about fucking John Duke. You were thoroughly unapologetic. 

“He wanted you to say sorry? For what? Cumming?” Jake scoffs. 

 In an abstract way, you think that, yes, he did want you to say sorry for cumming. It’s not what respectable young girls do--not in cars, not in skirts, not in the driveway of your parents home. 

“Sure,” you answer. “And making my mama upset.” 

“What’d your mama do?” 

You look down at your heels--these shiny and expensive things that hold you up higher in the world and sculpt your calves. 

“Spit on my shoes,” you answer. She had never looked uglier to you than when she did that, her face twisted and her cheeks red and her hair frizzy. “They were ugly things, anyway. Left them at my aunt’s house.”

Jake can’t imagine it, really. He can’t imagine someone looking at you in the throes of an orgasm and being filled with venom. He can’t imagine gazing upon your beauty, the kind of beauty that is just there and keeps growing the longer someone looks at you, and hating you. 

“Well,” Jake starts. He crouches down suddenly, presses against your belly until you’re flat against the brick wall. You grin down at him as he pulls your leg and lets your heel rest against his shoulder. He strokes your calf, biting his lip. “Now you’re here and your mama’s shoveling chicken shit.” 

Your lips tingle. 

“Karma, right?” You breathe.

Your mama’s gonna shovel chicken shit until she dies. 

Jake kisses your ankle. 

“Right.”

You pull him up and wrap your arms around him. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, just embracing. You’re so glad that you know him, so glad that you’re high and standing outside this restaurant with him. You really do love him--you love everyone. 

But then Jake kisses the top of your head a few times, grinning, sighing. He squeezes you, letting the weight of the conversation roll off his back. 

“Wanna know what they call a new soldier? The one that ain’t seen nothing yet?”

You two start for the door, your cheek still pressed against his body. 

“What?” You ask, smiling. 

“Cherry,” he answers. 

He holds your hand. And when you begin to feel around for the scar, that seam, he feels it. But he doesn’t say anything. He lets you find it. It feels good to be stroked by gentle fingers. 

When you come back into the restaurant, you come up behind Bob and pepper a few exuberant kisses across his pale pink cheeks and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Bob is surprised, but he’s grinning as he holds onto your forearms. He’s overwhelmed by your sweet scent, overwhelmed with your kisses and your touch. 

“Baby, let’s order another round,” you sigh into Bob’s skin. He smells very clean--like he’s only just stepped out of a shower and into your arms. “As your resolution officer and confidant, I must insist. You jive with that?”

Bob nods, grinning. 

Rooster watches from his spot, smoking a cigar now. It’s peculiar, really. He likes watching you love up on other people, especially friends. He feels like you were the world’s best kept secret, holed up in some landlocked state. You’re where you belong, spreading all that love. But still, even if he feels like you should be doing this, he wishes it were him you were wrapped around. He wants to be the one you’re kissing and hugging, the one you’re breathing into. 

Jake settles in across from Rooster, his pupils blown. 

When they catch each other’s gazes, Jake’s brows knit slightly. 

“What?” He asks, 

Rooster shrugs, taking a long drag. 

“Nothing,” Rooster says. 

Jake settled into his seat, tearing a piece of bread and throwing it in his mouth. 

“You look like you wanna say something,” Jake insists. 

Rooster shakes his head. 

Jake glances at you; you’re still wrapped around Bob, smothering him with love as a waiter writes down your drink orders. Bob looks delighted and terrified. 

“We’ve gotta take care of her, man,” Jake says. He isn’t sure that Rooster has heard him at first--he isn’t really sure if he wants Rooster to hear him. “She’s our people now.”

But he does. And he knows. He knows that they have to take care of you. 

“I know,” Rooster says. 

It’s late whenever you get home, Rooster and Jake following behind you as you walk into the house. You’re all a bit drunk now, giggly and handsy. Everything feels soft and bleary, very good and very exciting. 

“Cocktails?” Bradley asks, watching you kick off your heels and float to the turntable.

“Heavy on the cock,” you tease. 

“Heavy on the tail,” Jake follows, smacking your rear as he passes you on his way to flop down on the couch. 

The night passes on seamlessly. Records spin and cocktails flow. You play card games and take a few puffs of Rooster’s cigar, let Jake rub some more coke on your gums. Rooster feels good, loose--but he won’t take a bump, even when you stick your bottom lip out and beg. He won’t slip back into that, won’t put himself back in that place. And he wants to stay an inkling more sober than you, wants to have only a bit of a clearer mind, in case you need something. In case you need anything--even if it’s just to lay your head on his lap and have him stroke your hair. 

It’s nearly two in the morning now. 

The house is lit a warm orange, casting a grainy glow over everything that is precious: the tufted sofa, the expensive coffee table, the empty cocktail glasses, the playing cards strewn about, the woven rug. 

Last Dance by Donna Summer is spinning on the record table now and you’re dancing with Jake, after he sprang to his feet and tugged you to your feet. Rooster is sunken into the sofa, still nursing a beer, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you grind against Jake.

You’re in a state of ecstasy, really--every nerve in your body is glowing with excitement, your belly sloshing with alcohol and coke coursing through your veins. Your hair is wild and your eyes are wide and your lips are parted. Every breath that you breathe is sitting between a moan and laughter, the good kind that makes your ribs ache. 

“I think we’re the best boogiers in Los Angeles,” you breathe out, grinning. Your back is pressed against Jake’s front and your arms are above you as Jake firmly holds onto your hips and guides your rear against his crotch. “Rooster, aren’t we the greatest dancers in California?”

Rooster’s chest is tight watching your breasts bounce in your slinky dress. 

He swallows hard. 

“Sure are, kid,” he answers. 

“Tell me you love me,” you whimper to Jake, eyes screwed shut. 

“I love you, Cherry-berry,” Jake says breathlessly. He’s hard--he knows you can feel it. He moves to spread his hand across your lower belly, letting the flat of his palm grip you there. He tugs you against him and the two of you are impossibly closer now. “Fuck, you’re so foxy.” 

You’re grinning, still moving, letting the music sink into your eardrums and vibrate the soft, pink parts of your brain. You swear that even the music is tickling a part of you that you once thought only men could. 

“Rooster,” you moan, letting your head lull until your heavy eyes are gazing upon Rooster on the sofa. He’s sitting there, all broad and bleary-eyed, his legs spread and his palm over his hardening cock. “Tell me you love me.” 

Jake hastily pushes the wispy hair from your throat and starts pressing fiery kisses along all that sensitive, delicate skin. When a broken moan tumbles from your lips, the sound vibrates Rooster’s cock. Fuck, he’s fully hard now. 

“Tell her you love her, man,” Jake insists, nibbling your throat. “She deserves it, huh? Sweet thing like her.” 

You bury your fingers in Jake’s shaggy locks, tugging softly. As quickly as he can, being as drunk as he is, he grabs all the fabric of your dress and hikes it up until it’s pinned at your hips. Then he dips his fingers between your legs and lets his two middle fingers press against your mound through the red lace panties you have on. 

“Fuck,” Rooster grunts, mouth watering at the very sight of your thighs. He knows what that precious flesh feels like beneath his mouth, his hands, his tongue. He wants it now, but he can’t move from his spot. He’s stuck still, watching Jake touch you. “I love you, kid.”

You’re moaning now, mewling. And it isn’t just because Jake is rubbing you just right through your panties, but because Rooster loves you. Yes, he loves you and you love him. You feel perfect and the music is just right and everyone loves you and you love everyone. 

Jake, who’s panting against your throat, suddenly bends down and steadies you with his hands on your hips when you stumble. He rips your panties off your legs, helps you step out of them, then throws them behind him without a second thought. They land unceremoniously on some of the playing cards strewn about the table.

Rooster’s throat is dry, his cock straining against his trousers. Fuck. It’s torturous watching this--but it feels so good, too. He knows, somehow, that he’ll have a turn with you. You never forget about him.

But since you’re occupied right now, Rooster fists the panties in his hands, holds them close. He can feel how wet you are, how much you dripped in your underwear.  

Jake unzips your dress and you shimmy out of it, leaving the orange paisley thing in a heap before you. You’re totally naked now, still moving your body along to the music, grinning, moaning when Jake starts to feverishly press kisses along the supple kiss of your ass. 

Rooster’s heart is racing. You look like an angel--naked, basked in an orange glow. 

“Turn around,” Jake commands. 

You do as you’re told, still grinning.

And without further ado, Jake hikes your leg over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt. He devours you truly--lapping at your folds and sucking and nipping the sensitive bud nestled at the top of your cunt like he didn’t just have a four course meal. It’s almost forceful, the pleasure that washes over your body. It immediately reddens the skin of your chest and throat. 

“How wet are you, baby?” Rooster asks. 

He unbuttons his pants, breath quivering as he lets his hand slip into his pants. He’s throbbing--for you. Fuck, he feels like he’s back in high school, like you’re some girl he has a little crush on. 

With your hands buried in Jake’s hair and your head tipped all the way back, you moan your response to Rooster and let it echo through the cavernous house. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Roo.” 

Just your name falling from your bitten lips sends his hands straight into his briefs. God, he hasn’t touched himself like this in a long time. He doesn’t need to masturbate, not when his job is literally fucking. He usually doesn’t even allow himself this, wants to save it all for the camera, but fuck. He feels like he can’t even control himself right now. He palms himself, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, his chest growing warm. 

Jake is moaning against you, wrapping his arms around you, cupping your cheeks, and pulling you flush against his flat tongue. He feels like he could do this forever--lap your nectar, touch your skin, bury his fingers in your ass. 

“Fuck,” you whine, grinding yourself against Jake’s lips. “Feels so good, cowboy. Fuck, keep going.” 

Rooster quickly brings his hand to his mouth, spits, then lets it slide back into his pants. His cock is painfully hard--hot to the touch. And as he watches your face flush with pleasure, as you cry out and press your hips against Jake’s mouth. You want to be as close as close can be and he wants you as close as you can get. 

But you hear a noise--a small strangled one. And you turn and there is Rooster, that big and beautiful man, touching himself at the very sight of another man getting you off. His lips are parted and his eyes are hooded and he’s slowly pumping himself, his pants still on. 

“C’mere, baby,” you insist, nodding towards him. “I’ll take care of you.” 

And dammit if Rooster doesn’t feel like he’s floating as he stands up from the sofa and comes behind you. You’re kissing him immediately, moaning into his mouth as his cock presses against your rear. His tongue is in your mouth and he tastes like beer and you taste like orange juice. 

You let your hand fall to his cock, languidly palming him through his pants, still gasping and moaning as Jake sucks your clit. And before you even really know what’s happening, Rooster is snaking his hand between your thighs and pressing two fingers inside you. You’re wet, maybe wetter than you’ve ever been, and he slides into you with ease. Jake doesn’t mind--just holds you tighter and focuses on your clit and his own throbbing cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse against Rooster’s mouth. “Mmm, Roo. Oh.” 

He feels like this is what his fingers were made for--dipping into your cunt, being coated in your click, forcing those little mewls from your pretty mouth. And you feel like your hand was made for his cock, made for wrapping around it and pumping, made for inspiring sweat on Rooster’s hairline. 

“We gonna make you cum, baby?” Rooster asks breathlessly. 

He cups your chin, holds your throat in place so he can kiss it. He’s still pumping his fingers inside you, curling them, letting his bicep rest against your back. 

“Please,” you babble, swallowing dryly. “Fucking make me cum.”

Hangman pulls away for just a second, just long enough to nibble your thighs and dig his fingers into your flesh. 

“Manners,” he pants. 

“Please,” you squeak. “Please, please, please.”  

They both know you mean it, too. You’re desperate. 

That only inspires them to move quicker, with more haste. 

And a few moments later, with Rooster holding your throat and fucking you with his thick fingers and Jake gripping your hips and mercilessly sucking your clit, you’re thrown into the throes of an overpowering orgasm. It’s the kind that makes your entire body convulse and shiver, the kind that renders you helpless against the intense beams of pleasure that puncture your skin. 

Once they see that you’ve had enough, that you’re dangerously close to being overstimulated, they stop. Jake kisses your thighs roughly, making quick work of unbuttoning his pants and ripping off his shirt. 

But Rooster is still kissing your mouth, stroking your throat lightly as he anchors himself against your hip. He can’t get enough of you--sweet, sweet Cherry. He loves the way your tongue moves against his, the way you’re letting your weight rest against him. He’s holding you up--your legs are quivering. He’s got you. You know it and so does he. 

“Y’alright, kid?” He asks, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

Your hand, still wrapped around his cock, hasn’t ceased in its gentle pumps. You nod, swallowing hard. The very lining of your belly is quivering, quaking. 

“She’s perfect,” Jake says, naked now. He kisses each of your knees and then buries his face in your belly. “Right, honey?” 

You hum, nodding again. 

There’s no conversation about how it’s going to happen: it just does.

Jake lays flat on his back on the woven rug, his mind spinning and his jaw aching. You hover him, kissing his thighs feverishly and digging your manicured nails into the meat of his legs. He’s already gasping, his chest heaving. Beautiful, shiny beads of precum dribble from the swollen head of his cock as you tease him and puff warm breaths onto him. 

You like seeing him like this--all worked up, his mustache mussed by your wetness. He’s grabbing fistfuls of the carpet and peering down at you, pupils blown, waiting for your mouth to meet his cock.

“Fuck, don’t be a tease,” Jake hisses. “Please, baby, I’m hurtin’ over here.”  

And Rooster is behind you, letting his palm follow the curve of your spine as he pumps himself a few times. You’re fucking beautiful--so beautiful that he almost came through his pants just listening to you cum. But he’s lucky--he is the one that gets to bury himself in you, the one that gets to spill himself deep inside of you.

You lower your mouth onto Jake’s cock and finally--finally--he has a bit of relief. He’s so worked up that he thinks he might shoot his load right away, directly down your throat. But he holds off, groaning, screwing his eyes shut. Your tongue is warm and flat, flicking against the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock, as you coat him in saliva. 

“Oh, Cherry,” Jake mutters, bucking his hips up and into your mouth. 

That’s the precise moment that Rooster presses into you. It’s slow, grueling--he takes his time, makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock as he glides into your body. And just like always, he feels like you’re made for him. You take him so easily, welcome him into your body, let his cock bury itself deep inside of you.

“Taking me so well, baby,” Rooster mutters, holding the bend of your hips as he bottoms out. You moan, your throat constricting around Jake’s cock. Jake curses, bites down hard on his knuckle. “That’s it.” 

Rooster stays still, just letting you squeeze him, letting you get used to his size. You’re so wet that you feel like you’re going to start dripping onto the carpet, so wet that you feel like you might just turn inside out. 

If your mouth wasn’t full of cock, you would beg Rooster to move. The way he’s filling you up, the way his thumbs are rubbing precious little circles on the surface of your skin, you feel like you aren’t gonna last. 

But you keep bobbing your head, keep sucking Jake’s cock as he moans and sighs above you. Pink has spread across his chest and he’s puffing out his breaths in short, labored tufts. 

“Feel so good, baby,” Rooster croons softly. 

He leans down, lets his chest rest on your back. He’s warm, his chest expansive, and the heaviness of his body is a welcome one. He’s lulled to a steady peace by your movements, letting his lips come down on your shoulders again and again in tender kisses. 

Then he moves. Just soft, slow movements. He barely pulls out, keeping his arms wrapped around your middle, as he rocks himself into you. He stays close, keeps his lips against you. And when you tense around him, when you moan around Jake’s cock, all three of you hiss with pleasure. 

“Shit,” Jake groans. “Oh, fuck, keep doing whatever you’re doing, man. Feels fucking great when she moans.”

You moan again and Jake throws his head back, tangling his hands in your hair. 

Rooster is still fucking you slowly, his chest hollowed out with pure pleasure. Jesus, he feels like he’s on another planet right now. 

You’re moaning, crying out, still sucking Jake off. 

Jake is close to the edge already, gasps dying in his throat as he steadily begins to thrust himself further into your mouth. Drool is pouring out of your mouth and tears are pouring down your face. 

But what sends him over the edge is when you choke, when your mouth is tight around him and you cough as he hits the soft flesh of your throat. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jake mutters, voice thin. “I’m gonna cum, baby.” 

He does cum, crying out, eyes squeezed shut. He spurts down your throat, bitter and hot, and you swallow every single drop of it. And when he’s coming down, when you’re taking your mouth away from his cock, he holds your cheeks. 

“Good job, baby,” he tells you. He strokes your hair as you cry out, Rooster still steadily pounding into you with precise flicks of his hips. “Oh, you’re doing her just right, Rooster. Can’t hardly speak.” 

Your eyes are shut tight, your toes curling. You’re overwhelmed with pleasure, like it’s raining down on you from all directions. You can hardly breathe as Rooster suckles on your skin. 

“Doing so good, baby,” Rooster encourages, voice quivering. He’s approaching his high, too, trying to keep his pace from faltering. “Think you can cum again, Cherry. Think I can get you there.” 

Wordlessly, Jake slinks down until his mouth is on yours. You’re open-mouthed kissing now, tasting yourself on his tongue, whimpering. He’s holding onto your hair still, pulling very softly, keeping you close to him. 

As Rooster lets one of his hands snake between your legs again, his fingers swirling on your swollen bud, your entire body tenses. Jake keeps kissing you, keeps pulling your hair. And then he starts tweaking your nipple, cupping your breast in his palms. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you say, legs quaking. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You’re gasping, sobbing out.

“Give it to me, baby,” Rooster whispers, voice gruff. He kisses the back of your neck, jaw tense as his own orgasm creeps up his spine. “C’mon, Cherry. Cum on my cock, baby. GIve it to me.” 

You do--you can’t take it anymore. With a sheen of sweat covering your naked body, you cum for the second time with both Bradley and Jake stimulating you. It’s more overpowering than your last orgasm--the kind that makes your legs clamp shut, the kind that sends your body into a rigid sort of shock. You go blind and deaf for a few moments, honing back in on the present as Rooster’s thrusts become sloppy before he finishes inside you, buried deep. 

As you pant, Rooster collapses on your back and Jake combs his fingers through your hair softly, you swear that you hear angels singing.

But, really, it’s just Donna Summer.

Rooster can hardly breathe as he lays on your back, his mind reeling. That’s the best sex he’s ever had in his life--and the first threesome he’s ever had off-camera. 

Jake is laughing softly, watching you recover. There are tears pouring down your face, all born from white-hot pleasure. Little flakes of mascara are running down your flushed cheeks. Tenderly, he thumbs them away. 

You nuzzle yourself against Jake’s palm, trying to slow your breathing. 

“You okay, kid?” Rooster asks, squeezing your hips. 

You swallow hard, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“More than,” you answer. “I’m perfect.”

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: okay sorry for going so fucking ham on the Gentry/Jake thing but I just saw it so clearly in my brain and had to write it out and break my own heart!!???!? sorry love you guys so much!! your comments/reblogs literally make me so happy!!!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

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[foxilayde]

Half Of You (Part 1) [Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader]

PART 2 HERE

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Talk of fertility, pregnancy. Reader's name is "Vin".

Summary: You're ready to be a mother, you enlist the help of your best friend.

A/N: Something that wouldn't leave my head, more parts to come.

Santi’s fork hangs in the air, where once his mouth was jovial and smiling, it is now….  Not that. He’s gaping at you and his wrist bends limply, letting the fingerling potato fall to his plate. 

A tense silence falls between you.

“Well…?” You encourage, smiling and trying to maintain the lightheartedness of the previous ramblings.

“This—you— want me to—?” Santi chokes and drops his fork completely, choosing instead to gulp from his full glass of wine.

Well, his reaction isn’t unexpected. 

You bend your head down and stare up at him through your lashes when he wipes his mouth and attempts to blink himself back into reality. God, maybe this was a bad idea, maybe this is asking way too much of him.

“You… want me to… be the father of your baby? Is that… is that right?’ 

You bite your bottom lip and nod effusively. “Yes.” You reiterate. “Well kinda. I don't want to get hung up on semantics here, but yeah, I want my kid to be…well, half you.” 

Santiago shifts back in his seat and nods, now staring at you dubiously from the corner of one eye. You catch the server’s eye, headed towards your table and you give a vicious shake of the head, causing Maurice to turn heel back to his other tables. At least you won’t be bothered. 

“Like I was saying earlier… I want a baby.”

“O—okay.”

“And I tried going to the fertility clinic…”

“Uh huh?”

“And—were you not listening AT ALL before?”

“No! I was!” Santiago’s defensiveness squeaks out like the halt of rubber on linoleum. 

You blink at him repeatedly across the crisp white linen clothed table. “Because this is all seeming like brand new information to you when I say this.”

“I’m sorry okay, it’s just a lot to take in… go on. I’m re-absorbing.”

“Re-absorbing?”

“Yes. I’m allowed to re-absorb.”

You take a deep breath. “Alright, well, Mr. Brawny, I have come to the decision at this point in my life that I’d like a baby.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I didn’t like the idea of getting the… you know, DNA ‘donation' from a stranger.”

“Sure.” Santiago chugs his chalice of ice water and begins to chew on the dregs of cubes.

“And I want you to be the… DNA donor, so to speak.”

“DNA donor.”

“Well the term ‘father’ holds a ton of implications.”

“Doesn’t it.”

You fix him with a cocked stare.

“Sorry, Vin.”

“Like I said earlier, there’d be all kinds of forms and documents and such to keep this… copacetic.”

“Like you mumbled earlier, more like.” Santi murmers behind his wine glass. 

You sit back in your chair and cross your arms. 

“If you don’t want to do it, I’m not going to make you do it, Santi. We can forget this exchange ever happened as far as I’m concerned and I can just choose someone from the binder at the fertil—“

“No, no, I didn’t say that.” He holds both palms out wide in supplication before lowering them uneasily to the tablecloth.

“Everything alright over here?” Maurice pops in at the wrong fucking moment causing you to shut your eyes completely. What part of the head shake did he not understand?

“Yes, it’s going very well, can you please just give us a few minutes?”

“Certainly. I just wanted to remind you both that the kitchen has a time limit one when we can start your dessert, so if you were thinking about anything on the menu, just give me a wave, alright?”

“That’s fine, Maurice, thank you.” You smile warmly at him. Maurice bows out and you pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“So… you don’t wan’t me involved at all? You just want, what? My DNA?”

You toss the accusation around in your head for a minute before admitting, “Yes.”

Santiago nods and braces his feet against the carpeted floor once again, regaining strength and alertness. He starts and then stops again many times before settling on the classic question of, “why me?”

Its a fair question, a good question. Why? Why out of all the potential candidates, the binders full of Ivy Leage Doctors, professional athletes, men over 6 feet tall without commitment issues, why it is… Santi… Santi that you want to be the father of your child? It is crazy on paper. Something that doesn’t add up in any column, in any statistic. You don’t know why yourself, let alone how you can answer his inquiry… but you try.

“It just felt so… impersonal, you know? You sit down in this doctor’s office and you’re expected to pick out the father of your child from this, this, this… magazine? Without any photos. Like, yes, contestant 565B was captain of the debate team at Yale—“

“Yale?”

“Yeah.”

“Well you should definitely go for that guy.”

You bite the insides of your cheeks and look down.

“But I don’t want that guy.”

Santi grits his teeth and swallows. 

“I just… I don’t know that guy, and he sounds like a real dick on paper, you know… he sounds…. depthless, shallow. Like he’s got nothing underneath or behind him. Does that make sense to you at all? That’s not how I want the father of my child to be… I want him to be real… and the more I flipped through that binder and the further I got through those pages, I realized that I needed someone real. Someone I know, someone I trust…”

“And you thought of me?”

“Who else?”

“Why not Fish?” 

“Fish? Are you serious? Seriously serious? Or are you just fucking with me?” 

“I’m mostly serious.”

You stare at Santi for a long incredulous moment waiting for him to crack that tell-tale smile of his in jest. But he doesn’t. His eyes are wide and bright and his mouth is forced into something placating and neutral. 

“Pope!”

“What?!” He cries out defensively. You only ever call him Pope when you’re angry.

“Decided on dessert, have we?” Maurice pops in, scaring you have to death.

“No!” Both you and Santiago nearly shout at Maurice.

“No, thank you, just… just the bill.” You smooth your blouse down and wipe your eyes with your palms. Fuck, this maybe wasn’t the best place to carry out this conversation. You thought it would be a nice gesture, to take Santi out… for some deluded reason, you had imagined it going much smoother than this. 

Maurice scurries off and you and Santiago are left staring at each other over half-finished meals. 

You take a deep breath. “If I wanted Fish or the Millers or fucking Redfly, I would have asked them out to dinner. Not you.”

“Why me and not them?”

“Are you kidding me? Your’e my best friend. You… you do know that, don’t you?”

Santiago nods softly. 

“Fuck, Santi, I don’t want that to, you know, sway your decision or anything. Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you should be, I don’t know, indebted to me. You don’t owe me this. This is big.”

“Redfly went to Princeton, you know?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true.”

“He never went to Princeton!”

“That what he says.”

“On a walking tour, maybe!” 

Santi’s eyes crinkle with laughter. 

“You trying to get me to have Redfly’s kid or something? Would that be… would you rather I ask him?”

Santi inhales deeply and drags a palm down his rough stubble and shakes his head silently at you. “You’re right.”

“Pardon?”

Santi’s eyes scan the room, the way he does when he’s nervous. “If you’re determined to have a…”

“A? Baby, say it with me. Bay-bee”

“Shut up. A baby, a little person.”

“Uh huh…?”

“And if it needs to be from someone you know?”

“Yeah, it does, I know, it’s weird that its so important to me, but—“

“It should be me, then. You’re right.” Santi leans forward in his chair, retrieving his fork and takes a bite of his potatoes. 

“Yeah? Are you saying yes?”

Santi nods at you with a full mouth and without thinking you wipe a bit of orange sauce from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. 

“Don’t do that!” He admonishes with a mouth full of potato. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” You quip back with a laugh. 

He swallows, “Yes, mom.”

For some reason, it makes your face hot when he says it and luckily Maurice comes at that moment, placing the leather bound check between you and Santi. 

Santiago reaches for the little folder and you swat his hand away. 

“No way! I invited you out, my treat.”

He lifts his hands away in apology, “Just being a gentleman.”

You grab your card from your purse, fitting it into the folder using the item to gesture towards Santi’s lap. “Well, I’m asking for your… DNA, the least I could do was buy you a steak first, huh.”

Santi glides his tongue slowly over his bottom lip. “So, how are we going to do this, exactly… are we starting? tonight?”

“Tonight? It’s almost 9 o’clock. What kind of vampire hours do you think the fertility clinic keeps, Garcia?” You laugh and take a sip of wine. Santi scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, Santiago. You thought—!”

“Stop.”

“You really thought—“ You cover your eyes in embarrassment, “I was asking you to, what? Knock me up? Like this whole time you thought I was asking you to fuck me!?” And thats when Maurice comes by to take the folder (“I’ll be right back with this”)

“Jesus, that guy has the worst timing, right?”

“Santi!”

“Well, kinda?” 

You scream softly into your palm and kick his shoe under the table. God this is humiliating. The poor guy, no wonder he had been looking at you like that. Jesus. 

“No, Santi, no.”

He shrugs wildly, “I’m sorry? I just assumed. Sorry.”

“No, you’re fine.” You laugh. “The process is a little more… effective than… that.”

“I dunno, Vin, I think I could knock it out in one try.” Santi leans back in his chair, propping up a hand on his hip. The gesture subtly confident and thoroughly suggestive, causing your face to burn once again.

“Shut up!”

“Oh I’m going to get in all the jokes I can out of this.”

“Do you want to know where the babies come from or not?”

Once agin Maurice swoops in to deposit your check on the table. Christ only knows what he’s made out of the pieces of your conversation he’s overheard throughout the evening, “Here’s your receipt and I hope you two have a lovely evening.”  

“Thank you.” You mutter, opening up the receipt to sign. 

“Thank you, Maurice. Everything was great. I think I’ve seen something like it in movies? I go to the clinic, jerk off in a cup?”

“You couldn’t have waited to say that till he was out of earshot?”

“Oh please, give the poor guy something to talk with the back of house about.”

You laugh wholeheartedly. “Yeah, you jerk off in a cup. And then you sign away the parental rights to the cup.”

Santi scratches his chin and nods. “And they just… “

“Just? What?”

“Turkey baster it into you or—?” 

“Turkey baster it into me?? Huh, you know, I wonder if that Yale guy’s sperm is still available…” 

“Okay so what do they do? Tell me.”

For all his teasing, his moments of sincerity bowl you like a strike down a lane, and in this moment where his eyes are so earnest on yours, you’re reminded of why you chose this person to be the father of your future child. 

“There are a couple of ways to do it. The first attempt would be something called IUI where I take a medication that makes me ovulate and then they’d take your sperm and sort of inject it into my uterus.”

“How is that different than a turkey baster?”

“I guess you’re kind of right?” You laugh, “It’s pretty similar.”

“So they do that once and boom you’re pregnant?”

“Uh, no, they do that for 3-5 sessions and if that doesn’t work then I’d do IVF.”

“That one sounds familiar… what is it?”

“They take your sperm and my eggs and make viable embryos and implant them into my uterus.”

“Multiple?” 

“Well some don’t take, most don’t take, so they do a few at a time.”

“Okay.”

“And it might not work on the first few tries on that one either, so there is the possibility you’d need to do more than one self-love session at the clinic before all is said and done.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yep.”

“Or…” Santi lilts off suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows with exaggerated seduction.

“Don’t even—”

“I’ve got a more cost effective option for you to consider.”

You cross your arms and shake your head, but you can’t help your goofy grin.

“A bottle of wine and some Barry White.”

“Pope!” You laugh and toss your napkin at his chest. It’s exactly his sense of humor and you’re so relieved that he’s taken this well, that he’s agreed to do this and most importantly, that you’re friendship has emerged from this request of yours intact. 

Santi wipes his mouth and stands, offering you an arm. “You ready?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ice cream?”

“Absolutely.”

“Handels?”

“Duh.”

You make your way out of the restaurant, arm in arm with Santiago.

“Goodnight, Maurice!” Santi calls over his shoulder. You punch him softly on the chest.

“You loved torturing him!”

“I wouldn’t say that… but the opportunity to say the phrase ‘jerk off in a cup’ rarely presents itself in a fine dining setting and I enjoyed the experience.”

“You watch your mouth or you won’t be getting any ice cream.”

“You’re scary good at that already.”

“Gotta practice the mom voice, it’s one of the most important parts of the job.”

“You’re going to be great at it, you know.”

You let the compliment hang there, still arm in arm, stepping in unison to Handel’s Creamery.

“Yeah. I know… And thank you.”

Santi squeezes your arm tighter in his, warmly, reassuringly. He’d make a good dad too, you think. But you don’t tell him that, instead you debate over ice cream flavors all the way down 3rd street. 

[junkissed]

toasted pumpkin seeds

member — bf!jun x gn reader genre — fluff, established relationship, halloween/autumn (is that a genre ..?) word count — 1k warnings — mentions of knife (for carving pumpkins), food mention (kinda-ish), fluff so sweet it'll rot your teeth faster than a whole bucket of halloween candy, jun being a cutie pie (when is he not tho) notes — lowercase intended, edited a ton bc i’m shy and could never post anything unedited, uhh idk what else to put here hope you all like this ! this is my first time ever letting others read my writing so,, i do hope you enjoy :) please reblog if you liked it so i know there’s interest in stuff like this and people want to continue seeing my writing!

one reblog = one pumpkin seed jun hand feeds you

"i don't think it's supposed to look like that."

you lift your eyes from the carving knife in your hand to see jun sitting across from you at the kitchen table, frowning at his pumpkin. the plastic tablecloth he convinced (begged) you to buy patterned with black cats in pointy witch hats covers the table, protecting it from the stringy orange insides of the jack-o-lanterns you’re currently decorating in preparation for the trick or treating children that’ll be coming to your door this weekend.

“let me see.”

he lifts it up and turns it towards you. it's a cat; or at least, it was meant to be. you can still make out the sharpie outline along the edges of jagged cuts, but the carving in front of you doesn’t even vaguely resemble the intended design. you do your best to stifle your laugh when you see his masterpiece, but unfortunately jun catches it.

“hey!” he pouts.

you giggle and reach out across the table, your hand finding his. his fingers automatically lace with yours, playing with your hand, rocking them back and forth. his fingers are sticky and faintly stained orange from scooping out the pumpkins earlier, but you don't even notice. all you're focused on is him.

"i think it's cute," you say, gazing into his eyes. "it's very... you."

his face lights up, mouth open wide and cheeks scrunching up the way he does when he's happy. you grin, watching with a fond smile, completely enamored by him.

"i think you're cute," he says, then erupts into a fit of giggles.

you give his hand a quick final squeeze before finally letting go, and pick up your knife again.

he gets up and comes around the table, pulling out the chair next to you to sit down.

you look over at him as he scoots closer. "are you done?" you ask, nodding at his adorable, perfect mess of a jack-o-lantern.

"yeah." he laughs. "i want to watch you finish yours."

"you could always, y'know, start cleaning up," you joke, motioning to the scraps littering the table.

"i guess," he shrugs. "but i like waiting for you."

and, really, how can you say no to that? 

"at least go wash your hands first," you laugh.

he stands. "fine," he sighs dramatically, feigning despair as he pushes in his chair. "i'll be back,” he says, then leans down to press a kiss to the top of your hair.

you roll your eyes, but smile at his affection. "you're only going across the kitchen, you know i can still see you, right?"

he laughs and skips over to the sink to wash up. a few seconds later the oven timer dings, calling both of your attention. 

"oh, they're done!" jun says, grabbing a mitt and yanking open the oven door and sliding out the metal tray.

"bring them over here," you call out to him.

"already on it," he chuckles, dumping the pan of toasted pumpkin seeds into a small glass bowl, carrying it back over and setting it on the table in front of you.

he stops behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and reaching across you to grab a pumpkin seed before popping it into his mouth. "this batch is definitely better than last year’s," he says, crunching by your ear.

you wrinkle your nose at his chewing noises and elbow him playfully, making him yelp. "that's because someone didn't forget to add the salt this time!"

he giggles and reaches for another seed, holding it up to your lips in response. with your hands still occupied with the tools, you open your mouth for him to feed it to you. as he begins to pull his hand away, you give his finger a little kiss. instantly his hand freezes for a second, then moves to caress your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb along your jaw. 

you can’t see him, but you feel his smile against the back of your head. having witnessed and, to your amusement, been the cause of this smile many times, you can clearly picture his face: his smile so wide you can see it in the corners of his eyes, a hint of a dimple showing in his cheeks and his eyes sparkling as he watches you with a tender fondness. you quickly focus your attention back on carving your pumpkin, his smile becoming infectious as you feel your own cheeks start to heat up.

hours (and many little kisses) later, you’re finally satisfied with the way your design turned out, and you begin clearing up the table. 

you hold the door open for jun, his arms loaded with pumpkins, and he carries them outside, positioning them at the entryway of the porch steps. the outdoor light flickers on at the motion, illuminating your tiny space from the darkness of the evening. the cool night air sends a chill down your spine, and you shiver, your short pajamas not meant to protect you from the cold. jun notices and wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to his chest and enveloping you in his warmth. gently he pulls you towards the door and back into the warmth of the house, closing the door behind him.

“i think they turned out cute,” you say finally, still wrapped up in his arms, standing together in the doorway.

he giggles. “i still think mine didn’t look right,” he says, rocking you back and forth on your feet.

“trust me, it looks perfect.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it lets me know this is something people want to see more of and it helps a ton with being motivated to write. thanks for reading!!

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[spicyclover]

All the things you said | part four

Summary: A big dinner is organized by Charles to bring together some pilots and their wives, girlfriends, sister and friends. Everyone enjoys the evening until a topic of conversation leads to dark revelations. What secrets will be revealed?

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!

I'm open to requests.

Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Thank you, and Enjoy! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

WARNING: mention of SU*C*DE WARNING !R@PE! TOUGH CONTENT, BE AWARE!

If you need help. Please get help. You are loved, and your life is valued. Even if you don’t see it, you are loved.

DISCLAIMER:  This story is fiction and has no correlation with reality. All site names making acts, violence or any other type of aggression are used for artistic purposes, and they did not commit those acts.

It’s only when Charles' phone starts ringing that he looks away. He calmly enters the room and answers.

“Hello?”

You always liked the fields. You always loved hiding in the big wheat fields surrounding your grandparents' house when you were little. This stretch of yellow was as far as the eye could see. You liked feeling the stems between your fingers, the seeds melting to your touch, and the particular smell of wheat.

You remember a hot summer day. Lying on a tablecloth after a picnic, nature calms by this overwhelming heat, especially the calm of this yellow and green nature. You remember the farmer who held the farm. You spent days watching him working. Helping him through the mould. Watching him turn wheat powder into cereal. You remember this great man, always with a grain of wheat in his mouth that was constantly chewing.

You remember the hum that bees made at work. From wheat to wheat, pollen is harvested. You remember the nests in the hives that you created one summer. Your grandfather, with his jumpsuit, would go every morning and inspect the nests, and you loved watching him do it. You also loved to taste honey with each harvest. Honey is good. It’s sweet. It’s sweet. It’s wild.

You remember Sebastian. His blond hair, his smile, the sound of his kart engine. Many hours passed in his company at the track with his dad. You remember your big brother, following him and Sebastian all day long, like the annoying little sister you were. You remember falling from a tree after the boys thought it was a great idea to climb it. You see your brother jumping down the tree to get to you and hear Sebastian running back to the house to get help. You spent the night at the hospital. You broke your arms that summer, and you had a commotion. Your parents were furious and punished your brother for the rest of the vacation. 

You remember your first winter in the mountains. Mornings skiing, and afternoons making snowmen, eating maple syrup, drinking hot chocolate, just playing in the snow. See your happy brother’s face after he managed to get the last pancake.

You remember Sebastian’s victories. To see him move up from category to category. You remember his encounter with Hanna. You love Hanna. She is so sweet and kind. You remember your great jealousy towards her from the height of your twelve years. She who steals your Sebastian. She who steals your second brother. Oh yes, you were jealous, but she knew how to win your heart, and after all, she stayed.

You remember the Ferrari years. Everyone was in red. You saw the world with red glasses. Red like love. Red like anger. Red as the colour. Red as blood. It’s kind of at this time, when adolescence really starts that you start to change. Physically, mentally, and spiritually, you were no longer the wise little girl your parents admired and your brother despised. No, you grew up making mistakes, a lot of mistakes, until you met him.

Him. The golden boy. The one destined to be great.

You remember his perfume, his smell, his laughter, his mimics, his way of speaking, his way of being and his way of simply being. He intimidated you so much; this guy was destined for something big. Whereas you, we never expected much from you besides being pretty, lovely, not disturbing, quiet, and reserved.

Quiet. 

Reserved. 

Pretty. 

In those words, your brain falls into the dark side of your life. The darkened side of time. Painful and unhappy memories. The memories of him, the one who once was your best friend. He who once was your confidant. He who once saw fit to r*pe you.

To find you after the Grand Prix, in your apartment, in your house, in your home. To be a little too drunk, surely. To hold you firmly. To put his lips on yours. To hold your wrists. To put all his weight on your body. To force you into bed. To beg him to stop. To cry in silence. To feel it in you. To feel dirty. To feel unloved.

To feel alone, so lonely, too lonely. 

To find yourself curled up in a ball in a corner. To wait until morning for him to leave. To want to end your life. To end your nights. To seek help. To be abandoned. To be alone. To be dirty. To be silent. To be reserved. To be pretty.

To be pretty. 

To be pretty. 

To be. 

Silent is all you ask for. 

It’s been a long night. The hours have been staggering. The noises of monitors, nurses, doctors, and ambulances invade their ears. No one speaks, and no one dares speak. It is as if a white veil covers the weighing atmosphere and borrows all those present.

The wait is long, too long. They wait patiently for the outcome of this atrocious night, something that does not happen. Sebastian holds his head in his hands, tears have finished flowing, but his eyes are still red. He feels bad. He feels immense guilt. This mixture of shame, sadness, contempt and anger is eating him increasingly as the hours pass and pass before his eyes. He blames himself for not coming sooner. He blames himself for not holding you back. He blames himself for not seeing. He blames himself.

Full of life and ardour, this little girl was smothered under this icy water. Frozen in time. Only the repetitive sound of drops escaping from the pipe disrupted this freezing scene. She hides all her problems behind her smile. Never in his life has he thought of having this vision of you. This pure horror vision of an act yet so courageous. Because it takes courage to think about yourself before thinking about others. It takes courage to put yourself forward and not others. It takes courage to achieve what others have likely failed to achieve.

The roar of the machines stifled Charles. He closed his ears in the hope of silencing them. To see you with your tubes hanging around you, in you. On this hospital bed, this white bed, this room that feels the end. Eyes wet, Charles looks at your pale, serene face. The doctor’s words are dry and not encouraging. Your parents arrive a few hours later, a flight later. They cry. Your brother has tears in his eyes. Sebastian collapses in a corner. Hanna is there; a veil of sadness covers his eyes. Heidi cries in the arms of Daniel, who looks again in the eyes of Charles. Charles holds your hand, your hand. Your hands are icy by the water, frozen by the consequences, icy afterwards. Lando doesn’t dare come back. He feels guilty because he refused to believe you, to reach out to you, see you, and see your distress. He preferred to become blind rather than awake.

Charles, sitting next to you, is watching people walk by. To say goodbye to you, goodbye, forever. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. You’re still breathing. Your heart is still beating. So why do you have to leave? Why did you choose to go?

“Why?” He mumbles one more time, his head against your ear. “Why are you not fighting?” 

“Cha... we have to go.”

“No... I-I-I can’t. I can’t leave her.” His voice breaks in a sob.

“Charles,” Pierre says, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder. “Let her go.”

“No...” Charles pushes him away, gripping your hand tighter. “She’s going to survive. She’s going to live. She has to live. You have to live.” He prays, kissing your cold skin.

Pierre sight and get out of the room. His family, her family, his friends, and her friends are here waiting for him. The visiting hours are almost over. Everyone wants to go back to their house and sleep a bit. They haven’t slept all night. Charles hasn’t slept all night. Pascale enters the room quietly. Staring at his son. 

“Charles. We need to let her rest. Will come back in the morning, d’accord mon bébé?” She says, taking him in her arm. 

He acquires at her request despite himself. Unable to fight anymore, fatigue slowly eats him away, and he knows that he is of no help if he is exhausted. He leaves the room not without a last kiss, a last look, a last goodbye.

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[64yrsold]

she’s american

“Almost done,” I grumbled to myself, stirring the pasta on the stove furiously.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, checking to see if he had answered any of my messages.

“Fuck!” I cursed, reading his sweet reply telling me he’d be home in five minutes. I scrambled to set the table, lighting candles and smoothing the tablecloth. I gulped down a stinging sip of my mostly-booze test cocktail, dusting off my apron and straightening the skirt of my dress. I poured him my modified cocktail recipe, and admired the romantic scene I had created.

“He’d better like this,” I muttered, slipping on a pair of heels while preparing him a serving of pasta. He had been working non-stop this week, returning home after dark, exhausted.

“I’m just going to sit for five minutes, then you can tell me about your day,” He had said yesterday, and promptly fell asleep on the couch.

So, in an attempt to cheer him up, I had gotten ridiculously gorgeous, and spent the evening in front of a hot stove, trying my hand at penne in vodka sauce.

The doorknob jiggled as he unlocked it, and I put on my most welcoming smile. He swung the door open, mouth parted as he took in the sight of me.

“Is it my birthday?” He smirked, kicking the door closed with his eyes locked on mine.

“If you’d like,” I said, drawing out the sultry undertones of my voice.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, grasping for my wrists and pulling me against his chest. He kissed me softly, and I sunk into the familiar feeling. “Hi, darling.” He murmured against my mouth, heart thrumming against me.

“Miss me today?” I teased, pulling away from his lips reluctantly. His forehead creased, and he planted three quick kisses on my cheek.

“You consumed me today,” He professed, watching me with darkened eyes. “You look absolutely, insanely gorgeous.”

I grinned, biting my lip at his compliment. “You should look behind me.”

“All of this for me!” He gasped, “Are you trying to get me naked, or something?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, and handed him his drink.

“Ooh, thank you, darling,” he said, taking a sip. “Mm, very nice. Have you been drinking these all night?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, alright,” he said, pleased, and tilted his head back, finishing the glass. He glanced behind me, spotting the half-empty bottle of vodka. “Shit, I have a ways to go.”

“No, no, I didn’t drink all of it,” I giggled, pointing at the pasta. “It’s a vodka sauce.”

“You put-“ He cleared his throat, “Sorry, just wondering, did you put half a bottle of vodka in the sauce?”

“It’s a vodka sauce,” I repeated monotonously, and he nodded slowly.

“Alright. Let’s give it a shot.” He pulled out a chair for me, “For my lady,” He bowed gracefully. I hit his shoulder with the back of my hand gently, and sat down. He pushed me in, and then sat across from me.

“Okay, you try it first,” I rubbed my hands together, anxiously awaiting his review.

“You haven’t tried it?” He asked slowly, pausing.

“No, of course not!” I shook my head, fork in hand.

“Right, of course not.” He held a hand out, “Best to save the first bite for the guest.” He stabbed at the pasta, preparing for a large first taste. He made a show of opening his mouth wide, one eyebrow pricking up as the food hit his tongue. He chewed quickly, and I saw him shudder as he swallowed. “So good,” He said, taking a swig of water.

My mouth hung open. “You liar.”

“No! No, darling, I love it!” He persisted, loading up another bite onto his fork. “It’s so… Wow,” He waved a hand. He moaned into his second bite, wincing slightly.

I buried my face in my hands, then quickly shovelled a forkful of the pasta into my mouth. I slapped my hands over my mouth, forcing myself to swallow.

“What the fuck,” I coughed, “That was like a shot!”

Both his hands covered his face as he tried to hold in his laughter, shoulders shaking and face turning red.

“You’ve been plotting to get me drunk all day, haven’t you?” He accused, reaching for my glass and downing it. “You could just ask, sweetheart. I’d never decline a night in bed with you.”

“Fuck, I really tried,” I sighed, laughing softly from exhaustion and embarrassment, “God, I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” He said, picking up his plate. “I told you, this is really, really quite nice.” He brought the edge of the plate to his lips, and began scraping the pasta into his mouth.

“Wait! No, no, don’t do that!” I shrieked, reaching across the table to grab at the plate.

“Mmm,” was all he could say, mouth full of pasta as he stood up and out of my reach. He nodded enthusiastically, a few noodles dropping onto his white shirt and plopping onto the floor.

I clutched at my chest, gasping between laughs.

“Stop, stop,” I squeaked, and his orange mouth grinned, showing off his empty plate.

“Loved it,” he said, voice muffled as he chewed, “Love you.”