#the pink haired is the older and the blue haired is the younger but you probably wouldn’t be able to tell I think

[otaku553]

Oc 2 electric boogaloo

Moved to procreate so I wouldn’t break goodnotes but I tried my best to recreate the brushes and am not using color picker :p surprised to say I kind of enjoy goodnotes more now that I’m used to the constraints of the program- the per-stroke selection and erasing is kind of really nice for color correction

[roturo]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ SHE'S BACK! PT2

GUESS HE COULDN'T KEEP IT IN, SO HE HAD TO KEEP IT INSIDE! (again)₊˚⊹♡ dilf!gojo satoru x teacher!reader

tags: smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, size kink, jealous!reader, jealous!gojo, fluff, creampie, squirting, matingpress, age-gap, reader is described as way smaller than gojo, tummy buldge, teasing, use of nickanmes, overstimulation, dumbfication, fluff, gojo has an ex-wife, yuuji is gojo's son...

PART 1

Life is fun.

To say you’ve been having the best months of your life would be an understatement. Starting to know Go- Satoru Gojo has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Mostly the age difference. It wasn’t that big, but 7 years was enough for people to talk. And now that he’s turning 32 people have been checking on him for no stop. You guess he was pretty famous when he was younger, at least more than now. 

Even though he is older than you, he’s a ray of sunshine full of brightness for this sad gray world. He finds fun in the sadness, and that’s why every time you see him, not only his eyes shine because of his beautiful blue orbs, but he makes your life shine with how good he makes you feel.

Another day being a teacher wasn’t like any other- But now you have this pink haired kid running across the classroom, and even though you don’t let your personal ‘persona’ interrupt in your job life, you couldn’t stop from falling into your lover son’s cuteness. But you don’t have favorites! At least you don’t say it out loud…

Satoru always trusted you to keep Yuji Itadori with you whenever he had some extra work to do– and he would spend time with you, sometimes at the classroom while you finish some work, or on special days both of you go out for some ice-cream.

But now Satoru hasn’t called or sent a message. 

You were kinda nervous- Your turn was over and you were waiting for everyone to go home, but you were still wondering what was going on with Yuji.

“Hey cotton-candy, is your daddy coming for you?” You asked the little boy, leaning down to have his attention. Not that you needed it much, you know this kid was about to be as tall as his dad.

“Uh, well…” the kid looked up, shifting your gaze too, looking towards a beautiful woman with pink-ish hair and hazel eyes. holy shit- she really looked like Yuji- maybe she was his-

Mom. Standing next to fucking Yuji’s daddy.

Gojo Satoru.

“Yeah?” He called out your name, you were too lost staring at the couple that you never realized you said his name out loud. Shit. Giving the fakest smile to ever exist in this universe you bowed to both of them, while saying your greetings towards Yuji’s mom.

The little kid called your name, losing the soft grip from your hand and while he ran towards his parents. Real. Real parents.

“Look! Mom and daddy are together! They’re taking me to an amusement park because of my birth-day!” His birthday is next week. You know- you have it in your calendar. But you suppose he wanted to spend a day with both of his parents at the same time.

Does she know you’ve been fucking her hus- ex-husband? And you guess she knows about you by the way she looks at you with a sour face, masked with the hypocrisy of a ‘capitalism smile’

“Oh! You must be Yuji’s favorite teacher- Him and Gojo love talking about you.” The sound of her voice almost made you puke, but the moment she places her hands on Gojo, you swear something inside you exploded. You couldn’t tell how he was feeling- your mind full of how you’re getting yourself out of this situation, and maybe out of the city too.

Are they getting back together? Does he still love her? Is he playing with you?

Does he also have that ‘capitalism smile’? Do you have to be at their economic level? The fuck.. why you’re feeling like this! You and Gojo haven’t even officialized any titles for your…. relationship?

Gojo sensed the change of atmosphere once he saw you staring at them with a lost face. He didn’t intend to come here with her. But he didn’t trust her with you. Your shoulders were tense, that fake broken smile you give to people that have hurt you but way too afraid to speak up towards his way. That kinda broke his heart. 

And what angered him the most, was when the witch laid hands on him. He also felt like he was about to puke, way too disgusted with this encounter that it was almost an instinct when he rapidly moved his body- But at the time he did that, a voice called out your name, making you shift your gaze to the sudden voice.

A tall blonde (not as tall as him), buff, (not as buff as him), with formal clothes he could easily identify that were old but classic- nothing like his style. He was not boring. Came walking towards you, waving at you and later placing his hand in your fucking lower back before both of you paid attention to the family infront of you again.

“Oh- I’m sorry. This is the school principal, Mr. Kento.” He might be overreacting, because a principal shouldn’t be this close towards a teacher, his blue eyed-gaze piercing holes into his face, clearly criticizing any aspect that came from him and fit his mind.

Everything after that was like a bullet piercing his head. Getting in automatic mode to survive this awkward encounter and finish the day as soon as possible. Obviously missing the fact Mr. Kento was married and you were his bridesmaid. 

Gratefully the next was saturday- not losing the chance to get drunk and convince yourself that yesterday didn’t happen. You kinda have problems.

Gojo was worried you didn’t answer any of his calls in the morning. Instead, he went looking for you at your house- using the extra pair of keys you gave him. He was practically married to you. At least what he thinks. 

But he couldn’t understand you. Not once he entered the room and found you staring at the TV, your phone long forgotten somewhere. He called out your name, obviously worried about you. Thank god you showered and cleaned yesterday’s mess. “Baby- Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Are you getting back together?” 

“With who? What are you talk-”

“With her.”

Gojo gave you a breathless laugh after the last words came out of you before embracing you with his arms. Feeling the heat radiating from his body, the sun to your moon. “With that witch?-- Ppft”  His chest pressed against yours while he chuckled at your assumption. “Why would I ever go back to her, or even meet other women when I have you?”

He felt the tears coming out of your pure eyes wetting his shirt, before his hand traveled and caressed your cheek– kissing away those awful tears that he hated. If he ever has to see you cry it should be– one, because he fucked you so good, or two because he gave you a ring to be by his side for eternity.

“Are you with him?” It’s now his time to ask questions.

“With who?”

“Blonde old guy from yesterday…”

“Oh, Mr. Kento? He’s my best-friend's husband and he's younger than you Satoru” You said while a giggle came out of your mouth and hit his chest with your hand in a light way. 

“Ouh- You tiny thing- How can you hit so hard?” His movements were fast, caging you as fast as possible in his body while he laid you again on your back into your mattress, filling your face with kisses. Seeing you like this was something different to Gojo, it was… more intimate. Your beautiful smile is all for him to adore. Seeing your small body compared to his affected his brain chemistry, leading his blood all down into his cock. 

“I can’t stop wanting to kiss you when you smile, because I want to steal it from you.” His words went straight to your heart, making you blush and avert his gaze from you. “Don’t hide my love, please- let me show you how much I need you.”

His kisses were tender, starting as pure pecks until those pecks turned into trying to claim you as him all over your neck– making you whimper only by his touch. “Maybe we should fullfish Yuji’s wish of giving him a small sister- what do you think?”

“Satoru…”

“What? He keeps rambling about you even when his biological mother is around. Kids his age don’t know how babies are made- but I would gladly show you how and keep you full of my cum everyday just to make sure, y’know?... fucking you here, at mis house… ffuck- at your desk… whenever I have the chance baby.”

Whimpers became moans once his hand reached your trembling core searching for release. Moving your panties to the side– “Sshit baby- You’re so.. wet.” A moan came out of you when his fingers went back to his mouth and he thrusted his covered hips into yours– also searching for friction.While he undressed you and himself too. “Wanna keep you full and nice f’me. So everytime you sit down you think of me. I would love to see your body once I get you pregnant– Ffuck- Scratch that. I would love to wake up every morning by your side. Wake up because of the cries or sounds of our kids. So be a good girl f’me and get pregnant and wifey just f’me, yeah?... fucking yyeah…”

His voice echoes inside your brain, being a trembling mess once he ponders inside of you. Keeping it there just for a moment and feeling him twitch because of how good you make him feel. His thrusts went feral once he truly realized the size difference and the bump forming in your tummy every time he thrusted inside you. Leading one of your hands to rest on your tummy. “Ya feel that? Yeah baby honey… I’m gonna fill this up with my cum- and you’re just gonna take it.” You were a rambling mess once he pressed hard in that spot- Trying to move his hand away from there because the abuse your g-spot was receiving.

The only coherent thing coming out of you,’ah, ah~, ah’ while he dumped his cum inside of you. Still rock hard and full to do it again. His arms engaged with your legs to have better accesses to your pussy, feeling his cock way goo deeper than the first time– taking you in a masting press.

“Fill me up again ´toru…” And oh shit. That made him go feral. His thrusts were erratic and unsynchronized, but each time you swear you could feel him inside your throat. He knew how to use his thing. Your orgasms were not like the other ones you had before. Coating your sheets and Gojo’s pelvis with your liquids– heavy breathes trying to accompany you while Gojo reached his high while you received him like a good girl even when he could barely fit it in again because of your intense orgasm. 

He would always whisper cute things in your ears after sex. Making the both of you laugh with adventure you were slowly creating with him. The family you were creating. And now? His talk while cleaning you up was about baby names 

A/N: this was an experience... the sex was A LOT for me, i never want to hear the word cock again.

taglist: @sirachano0dles @4imhry @chimmysoftpaws @philiatothephobia @xthatpottahfanx @chaotic-tnt

[izvmimi]

cw: reader and tanjiro are engaged. tanjiro gets roped into an unfamiliar marriage custom. fluff. fem!reader.

When Tanjiro said he was willing to do anything for you, this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. 

The cloth Genya decided to tie around his nose is a little too tight for his liking, and it doesn’t help that in addition to that, his nostrils are stopped up with more additional scraps of cotton than he’d like. The intention is to block his sense of smell which he understands is practically cheating, but it's disorienting feeling like he can’t breathe through anything but his mouth, and the tissue is shoved up so far he can practically feel it tickling his brain.

But he can endure it. For you. 

Tanjiro sucks in lungfuls of air through his mouth, then slowly breathes out before deciding to reset his thoughts with a smile. Genya looks directly in his face, then smirks, while Zenitsu, despite his blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion, takes the time to adjust Tanjiro’s hair tousled slightly out of place by Genya’s ‘aggressive’ helping, then shakes his head.

“This is a weird ritual,” he finally admits.

Inosuke, who’s found a place on to lay comfortably and lazily on the tatami despite all the other young men in some sort of reasonable sitting position, laughs loudly. 

“That’s what I said!” he yells, forgetting all about an indoor voice. He shoots up like a board, then points directly at Tanjiro, who has risen by now, trying to shake off his sudden nerves. “She already agreed to marry you, so what’s the point of all this, Gonpachiro!!!! Just take her and run before she changes her mind!”

Tanjiro takes another breath, forgetting his voice is nasal now, then huffs.

“She said it’d make her feel more at home, so I might as well.”

Genya rolls his eyes, but knows he’d do the same. Giyuu and Sanemi, older than the rest of the men in the room and as such, less naturally rowdy, exchange a look. 

“So what’s the punishment if you can’t pick her out in a line-up?” Giyuu asks. “The engagement is over?”

Tanjiro pales quickly at the thought, then shakes his head.

“According to the custom, I just have to pay a fine to her parents.”

Zenitsu shakes his head while Inosuke bursts out laughing. “Like hell I would-” Inosuke starts, but Zenitsu slaps his hand over his mouth. 

“She doesn’t have parents here,” Giyuu reminds him, the look in his cool blue eyes less inquisitive than it is expositional. Tanjiro nods.

“Lame if there aren’t any stakes,” Genya points out, picking lint off of his jacket. “Other than looking like a dumbass, I guess.”

Sanemi gives him a glance, then grins before looking back at Tanjiro.

“How about I beat you to death if you mess up?”

His eyes gleam wildly at the opportunity while Tanjiro purses his lips to the side, ignoring Genya who at the same time offer to help his older brother.

“Are you going to let go of any opportunity to injure me?”

Sanemi runs his hands through his white hair, still smirking to himself as he immediately replies, “absolutely not.”

Tanjiro sighs, but his attention is turned when his younger sister finds her way to the entrance where the young men sit and wait prior to the ceremony. Nezuko is radiant as usual, her raven hair pulled back into a neat bun and her dark pink eyes practically luminescent. Tanjiro can already feel Zenitsu’s awed stare at her, but these days he’s quieter about how much he desires her out of a mature fondness now that he too is marriageable age. Nezuko smiles as she looks upon the men in the room, and more so as she appraises how nice her brother looks. 

The haori he wears today is nothing like his simple checkered one, dark green and laced with swirls of gold, complimentary to the burgundy tones of his hair, and despite his face being wrapped up in a makeshift mask to prevent him from sniffing out his bride, he remains handsome as usual. She adjusts the haori himo, slipping a couple of wisteria flowers within the string to accent the knot.

It’s not his wedding day yet, but he will still look wonderful. 

“Are you all ready?” Nezuko asks. She smiles to herself as Tanjiro nods quickly and is the first to follow her out in the courtyard, the rest of the young men filing out behind her. Nezuko stands in pace with her brother, and squeezes his hand gently as they make their way to the decorated clearing where the ceremony will take place.

“You won’t mess up. You’ll know Neechan immediately,” she reassures him. 

He’d tell Nezuko that it’s too early for her to call you that, but in some ways, she probably knew that you and her would become family even before he did. 

Instead, Tanjiro smiles warmly at her, letting his fingers and hers exchange places to squeeze hers instead. You and Nezuko’s hands are different, naturally, but the warmth is similar because your hearts are similarly kind by nature. It’s comforting; despite from being thousands of miles away, separated for greater than a century, you remind him of home. 

—

Your heart races, shrouded in the light weight of a woven silk sheet. 

You’re not the only woman in this kneeling position; in fact, you are just one of six women arranged in a six-point star-shape in a small clearing beneath the bloom of plum blossom petals. Mitsuri, Kanao, your two best friends, and even Shinobu were willing to play along with you, dressed up in the same kimono, their heads and shoulders covered, and hands obscured in long sleeves set before themselves as they wait for the men to arrive. Everyone is quiet and perfectly still, although you know Mitsuri is trying her hardest to hold in her giggles, and Shinobu might get up and leave to go do something much more useful with her time any minute, and you wonder what the outcome will be of all this. 

You’re not exactly sure why you roped him into this or why Tanjiro even agreed to your nonsense, but there’s something you need to prove. Something about fate, something about an attraction that transcends an enamored gaze or a heightened sense of smell or touch. Something that proves to you that the draw between you, the metaphorical thread that has linked you across time and space is not something you’ve imagined.

Or perhaps you just find it romantic that he’d know you anywhere. 

But what if he doesn’t?

Hinatsuru did your makeup differently from the rest - an extra layer of gold dusted on your eyes, a deeper red on your lips. Wisteria is woven into your hair unlike the rest, and on your hands a red string is woven between your two pinky fingers. If he chooses you, you’ll untie one end and link it to his. An additional promise to love him forever. 

You’ve already said yes, you’ve already said yes.

Makio continues to play the koto as you take deep breaths and you can hear Tengen and Rengoku laughing loudly with the rest of the growing crowd, Suma telling her giggling toddler to stay still, soft, awkward footsteps following giggles. Gyomei is probably praying and if Obanai could figure out which one of the shrouded women is you, he’d probably have you strung up on the highest mountain peak for dragging his wife into this.

Now you can hear the men approaching, Inosuke and Zenitsu’s bickering the loudest, but you can sense that Tanjiro is near even if he’s quiet and moves stealthily. Perhaps it’s your love for him, perhaps it’s his presence that you can’t ignore, or perhaps it’s the fact that he shines so bright you can feel the warmth of his soul any time he’s near.

You remain perfectly still as Makio’s koto playing comes to a halt. Nezuko sings and passes between the six of you, a chill running through your spine as she taps each of your shoulders. You remain silent.

You can’t see Tanjiro set his eyes immediately on you, because if you did, your heart would be tranquil. Instead you keep yourself from shaking, the blood pumping through your veins quickly, your ears warming.

Even if he can’t pick you out in disguise, he still chose you. He wants you. You will spend the rest of your lives together, no matter what. 

“Thank you for sharing your custom, ___.”

Gyomei offers a short speech to explain what will be happening in the gathering, although the guests do know, enough so that even Urokodaki, who acts as a surrogate parent to the surviving Kamados is invited, and will be watching Tanjiro make his decision.

You think of the embarrassment if he ended up picking Kanao, despite the fact that it means nothing in the grand scheme of things, then think of the sheer pandemonium if Tanjiro were to unveil Mitsuri and almost break your cover.

Focus. 

“Don’t embarrass yourself, Tanjiro. Sniff her out! Oh right,  you can’t!”

Inosuke’s heckles get a laugh from the crowd for once.

“Choose fucking wisely,” you hear Sanemi say, followed by the crack of his knuckles. The menacing tone to his voice also threatens to floor you in laughter, and you wonder if your friend will hold back her demand for him to be nice or blow her own cover.

“Enough harrassment,” Tanjiro finally defends himself. You can’t hear him move, but you somehow, can see someone, probably him moving in the faint shadows of your shroud.

Don’t be wrong, you tell yourself, then you quickly remind yourself, he wouldn’t be.

You’re meant to be. 

“Hey.”

You hold your breath as Tanjiro settles on his knees before you, his hands closing around the edges of your shroud, and flipping the cloth up - quickly, confidently, almost defiantly. 

Eye to eye, you watch him smile as he cups your face, rough hands so gentle, so loving on your warming cheeks. The koto slows to a stop again.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers, love practically dripping off his lips.

“You found me so quickly,” you whisper back, as your eyes mist. The onlookers watch as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Of course I did, I’d never lose sight of you even for a moment.”

And just like that, Hinatsuru’s hard work on your face is laid to waste; the koto plays again, heartily, your makeshift clones toss their veils and the crowd erupts in happy cheers.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Prince x Witch! Reader

TW: Drugging (Love Potion), dubcon

Wanna buy me a coffee?: ☕

Once upon a time, in a land full of magic, a witch is in her tower stirring liquid in her cauldron.

"Ok, my seafood boil should be ready," You say, wiping the sweat off your head.

Your phone rings from the counter, and zap it so it answers the call.

"Y/N, we've gotta go to this ball!" Your friend, Ella, full name Eleanor Charming, exclaims, making you roll your eyes.

"Ella, just because your family has extreme luck finding love at balls, doesn't mean I will. Besides, I like living in the woods. The princess with powers and Eduardo are good friends. I babysit their kids sometimes, real firecrackers," You respond, tying your hair up. "Now, if you excuse me, I have crab legs to eat."

"Too late, I already magiced up a dress for you!" Ella exclaims, appearing behind you. "Boom!" 

White light hits you, and suddenly, your comfy purple pajamas are replaced with a long, purple ball gown with black lace covering the front. You have long, black latex gloves and thigh-high high-heel shoes swirling around your legs made from crystal. Your hair is in a bun and is held by an ornament resembling thorns. 

"You really chose a look that says I'm from the Woods, huh?" You question, walking to Ella. 

"Yes, I did. Now, come on, we're about to be late!" Ella giggles, grabbing your hand and running to the black Mercedes outside your castle. "I modified the animal into carriage spell into something more modern."

You buckle your seatbelt, and Ella speeds off to the prince's castle. As you wait in the line of limos, you redo your lipgloss and spritz a bit of perfume to get the crab smell of your skin. 

"It's our turn, get ready!" Ella squeals, giving the car to the valet.

"Princess Ella Charming and her friend, Lady Y/N L/N!" The announcer yells as the two of you walk into the ball.

"Wow, this place is bright," You comment, looking at all the jewels, lights, and glamor.

"I know, right? It's so we can glimmer as we dance," Ella exclaims, dancing away with a man.

"Well, I've been left alone," You grumble, grabbing a glass of wine and walking to the hallway.

While exploring the castle, you find a path leading to the royal garden. You see a handsome man with blonde hair, tan skin, and greenish-blue eyes crying near a large fountain with a mermaid spitting water. You realize it's Prince Henry's younger brother, Prince Helio.

"Henry...why did you have to go?" He cries, making you feel sorry for him.

"Uh, hi! Sorry to interrupt your crying session, but would you mind me asking what's wrong?" You ask, revealing yourself. 

"Oh, sorry. I'm supposed to be out there finding a queen to rule with, but I'm out here crying over my brother. Henry was such a good older brother to me. He helped me with studies and sword training, but then he went into those woods and never came back. Now, here I am about to be king alone with only my mom and dad as family," The young man weeps, wiping tears from his face.

You knew what happened to the former Prince Henry. Everyone in the Woods did. But, it's things like this that are the reason people like you live in the Woods.

"I'm sure your brother misses you dearly. Even if he can't come back, I'm sure he'd want you to be a good king to your people," You comfort him, handing him your glass of wine. "Besides, it's your party. Wouldn't exactly want to let everyone down, would you?" 

"You're right. I, Prince Helia, shall make this the best pre-engagement party in this kingdom. Now, do you desire another drink, love?" 

"Yes, and just so you don't have to keep calling me love, my name is Y/N L/N."

Prince Helia leaves to get a cup of wine for you, and he pulls out a pink vial from his cape and pours it into your wine. He shakes the cup a little and lets the potion settle into the wine. He smiles lustfully, knowing he'll have the eternal love, the fairy tale ending he always wished for.

"Here's your class of wine, princess," Helia says, passing you the drink while he secretly pours the rest of the vial into his wine. "To happy endings!"

"To the Woods!" You proclaim, wrapping your arm around his to do your toast.

"To love!" You and Heli exclaim, drinking the wine.

When the wine travels down your throat, the potion takes effect immediately. You feel dizzy, and your wine falls to the ground. You fall, and Helia catches you.  

"My love, are you ok?" Prince Helia asks, holding you in his arms as he feels his heart beating. 

"Helia~" You moan, sitting up and leaning in to kiss him.

You kiss Helia, and it's like you both have lost control of your body and emotions. The kiss feels so good, you could've sworn you are in heaven. His hands roam your body as your tongues intertwine. Spit comes out of both of yours and Helia's mouths, and his short blonde hair ruffled as your hands run through it.

"I love you. I love you. I love you!" Helia chants, his kisses trailing down your neck. 

"Ah-ah~" You moan, sticking your neck out as leaves his mark.

Helia undoes your corset, and he throws it to the side. Your dress falls to your waist, leaving your breasts bare for him to see. You quickly shimmy off the rest of the dress and kiss Helia again.

"You look absolutely gorgeous, darling," Helia compliments, his eyes full of lust and love. "I need to worship your body. Come here and let your prince worship every inch and imperfection of your body and soul."

"Yes, my love," You reply, straddling Helia.

Your beloved prince traces every part of your body with his hand and circles the beauty, birth, and stretch marks. He kisses your clavicle, breasts, armpits, every body part on the way down to your pussy. When he finally reaches your clothed sex, Helia kisses it. 

"Helia, I'm-"

"A virgin? I know. But that doesn't matter because I would've loved you even if you weren't. I love everything about you. Your stretch marks, your body hair, even your scars."

Helia gently takes off your underwear and spreads your legs. He deeply kisses the entrance of your pussy, and he inhales the scent of it. His tongue enters your vagina, and your body can't help but react. Your back arches and your hands grip the stone steps. As Helia eats you out, your hips buck into his face. Helia speeds up his licking, and you suddenly start to feel weird.

"Helia, I feel strange!" You moan, sitting up.

"It's ok, my love, embrace that feeling," Helia replies, giving one last kiss to your pussy and kissing your inner thighs as you cum.

Helia begins to strip, and his clothes go flying off. His six-inch cock drips with precum, and you instantly want it in you.

"I'll be gentle. I know it's your first time. God, I can't wait to make love to you and give our kingdom an heir," Helia says, crawling towards you and lining up with your entrance.

You lift your legs to give him room, and he holds your hands. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he kisses you deeply. 

"I'm going to enter you. Tell me if there's any pain," Helia states, slowly inserting his dick in you.

You twitch in pain, and Helia's hands are on your face. He kisses you again, and you kiss him in return.

"I'm ready, Helia," You say, looking at his beautiful green eyes. "I'm ready for you."

Helia thrusts slowly, panting and moaning as if your body is sweet nectar. His steady rhythm of thrusting sends your body into ecstasy.

"Mm~ Helia," You moan, feeling Helia's cock move in your pussy and kisses on your neck.

"Are you enjoying me, my love?" Helia questions, speeding up the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Yes! Yes!" You exclaim, loving your high.

Your toes begin to twitch, and hearts appear in your and Helia's eyes. Helia's thrusts speed up, as do his kisses. Love bites cover your neck as Helia reaches his orgasm.

"I-I love you, my-my princess! I love you!" Helia stammers, climaxing and cumming into your pussy. His legs twitch as he orgasms.

"Oh-oo-ah-Helia!" You scream, your toes curling from the release and your pussy tightening around Helia's dick.

Helia kisses you, tears flowing from his eyes as he rides out his climax. When he's done, his sweaty body rests on yours.

"I love you. I-I love you so much, Y/N. I want to be with you forever. I need you," Helia rambles, resting his head on your chest.

"I know, my prince. I know," You pant, rubbing Helia's head.

~~~~~~~~~

After your passionate session with Prince Helia, your prince covers both of you with his cape. He's been kissing your skin since fucking you, holding you in his arms as if you would go away.

"I'll announce our engagement tomorrow, and we'll be married next week," Helia says, kissing your hand, knuckles, and fingers.

You fall asleep in your prince's arms, and he kisses you goodnight. 

"Goodnight, my darling."

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[lovemaiyo]

lovesick . romance tropes with blue lock . (full length fics coming up soon!!) .

" hey nana, no matter how much or how often people hurt each other, loving someone is never a waste .

ISAGI childhood friends to lovers & in the rain you always admired isagi. every since the age of 7, he had been obsessed with football. it was really rare to find a passion and ambition like his. and he was so nice to you! and cute.. and hot.. and driven.. and- okay, you liked him. like, a lot. but he was in love with someone.. something else. football. it was what he lived for. but you were next, really. isagi would come to you with stories, ideas, and just about anything. and you would listen religiously, because that was the only thing you could do to keep your heart from bursting. these habits, and your 10 year crush, carried on until high school. you were neighbors, so you always walked with him to school and back. it looks like someone forgot to read the weather report today, because it's rainy with a chance of a confession. "you like me? i like you too. you're my best friend!" "yoichi. i like you. like, like like. like love." "i love you too!" ".. yoichi isagi. it's been 3652 days since i've liked you." "oh. that kind of like."

RIN enemies to lovers & academic rivals to lovers you hated itoshi rin. you HATED him. you hated how he always acted all high and mighty and thought everyone was below him and called everyone that didn't fit his high ass standards "lukewarm." you hated how your name was always second to "itoshi rin." in every exam, in every lesson. you hated him and he hated you right back (or you thought) though, that didn't really explain why he was standing in front of you with a heart shaped box, eyes wandering across the room, one hand scratching his neck bashfully, with a little bit of blush on his cheeks. your jaw almost dropped. yeah, you hated itoshi rin, but was he always this pretty? his eyes were spotify green cerulean, and his hair framed his face perfectly. now, up close, you noticed that his eyes weren't blue ー they were teal. his jawline was sharp. was it bad that you wanted to kiss it? was it bad that you wanted to kiss him? "HUH?????? I THOUGHT YOU HATED ME?" wow, excellent thing to say to your crush!!! woooo!!! you dumb bitch.. "hated you? uh.. i never really hated you.." "oh..." "yeah.." silence.

CHIGIRI stuck in a elevator & hot neighbor

wow, moving was the best decision you ever made. the rent was way lower, the community was friendly, and your neighbor was, well.. hot. hot as fuck. he was tall, with long and silky red hair, and the prettiest pink eyes. and he was really nice. cookies on the day you moved in, frequent hi's and hello's, and he even invited you for dinner some day! no doubt, you were head over heels. and how could you not be? he made one hell of a pasta. so, would it be considered good, or bad that you're currently stuck in an elevator with him? you were going out to meet some friends, you so did your makeup and everything. he just got back from the gym. god, he was really eye candy. "you look nice. who're you all dolled up for?" "just some friends. you?" "got back from the gym." "so.." "hm?" and then there was a crash. ".." ".." "holy shit. what was that."

KUNIGAMI best friend's older brother & protecting you

ever since you were eight, still watching icarly on the tv and dressing up dolls with your best friend, you had been MADLY smitten with her older brother. honestly, who wouldn't be? he was so nice, treated you with utmost care even when you were younger then him. he never lost his calm, he was always kind, and... he was extremely handsome. you always chased after him, but he always just thought you were his little sister's best friend. naturally, you enrolled in the same college as him. you were only a year younger, and with the mindset that kunigami only liked smart girls, you got into college with amazing grades. so why was it, that every time you tried to dress up all cute for him, he barely paid attention. it wasn't like you were in the same friend group, but really? just a occasional 'wow, those clothes suit you.' and a smile? how dense was this guy? and on top of that, you always attracted unwanted attention. "hey, girl, let's go out." ".. no." "why not? listen, i have a lot of girls chasing me, and i chose you. you must be honored." "i have a boyfriend.." "sure you do. listen, just give it up." he moved his arms towards you. "no means no." a familiar voice said, grabbing that creepy guy's hands. "and who're you?" ".. her boyfriend."

REO fake dating

the silence was deafening. "what. did you just say?" "i said, date me. for 2 weeks, fake date me. just to get my parents off my back." .. is he being for real? you knew mikage reo since you were 5. your parents and his parents were business partners, so you saw each other a lot. it was him, with his little purple bowlcut, at 5 years old, who excitedly took your hand and introduced himself. reo quickly became a close friend of yours - until he moved overseas for his little football trip or something. you hadn't seen him in years, yet he came back, knocked on your door, and made this crazy proposal. sure, he'd grown into a hot guy.. a little bit too hot. his fluffy purple hair framed his beautiful face perfectly, and his curious eyes looked at you, waiting for your answer. his lean and toned arms were visible from the black half sleeve he wore, and traces of a fully defined body were visible from under... maybe this wouldn't be such a bad idea? "so? yes or no?"

NAGI sharing a room

going on a trip with your crush was the BEST thing that had ever happened to you. well, it was until about 10 minutes ago. reo, your mutual friend, decided to sponsor a trip for every one of his friends for reasons only god knows. you all met at the lobby of the expensive hotel he booked, and drew straws to see who'd get which room. reo, being the sore loser he was, (no reo hate i love reo) switched up the straws as soon as he got the shorter one. so, just your luck, right? getting stuck with your crush, nagi seishirou, in one room. you're so gonna kill reo when you get out of this. "uhh, i can take the floor?" you offered. "okay. take it then." he said, plainly. your eye twitched at his pettiness. ".. nevermind!! i'm taking the bed." "hey." he frowned "we flip a coin.. i'm heads." actually, your luck was sort of good. it landed on tails! "this thing is rigged..." he grumbled while getting ready to sleep on the floor. which somehow included taking off his grey sweatshirt, to reveal abs and a body like a greek god.. wait, why were you even staring?? "soo... uh.. do you always take off your shirt before going to bed?"

lovemaiyo 2023. do not steal.

[angelplummie]

thinking about stepdad armin……

cw: stepcest, age gap, contemplating cheating, sexual imagery, horniness

masterlist part 2

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you think you’re home alone. or rather, you thought you were home alone. because now you’re completely naked in the hall of your childhood home, staring into baby blue eyes. they’re blown wide open as he looks down and then right back up. pink erupts under his skin and he opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t let him. wet hair leaving water stains on the carpet, you run back into the bathroom and slam the door closed.

great. you just got home from summer vacation at your uni yesterday, and now it’s going to be awkward for the rest of the two months. you really really thought you were home alone, you thought they were at work. but you’d done it now. blood burnt your cheeks and embarrassment broiled in your stomach.

you did have to admit, your mum’s boyfriend was handsome, you’d thought so ever since you met a year ago. he looked a lot younger than he was, but the maturity with which he carried himself gave him away. he was always put together, refined. he wore silver rings on his slender fingers that you could never keep your eyes away from. he wore timeless clothes that screamed a contemporary elegance. he was always warm and kind and seemed to really want to get to know you. even if it was nothing more than a gesture to your mother, you appreciated it. he would always remember things you had told him in your last visit, always knew the right thing to say. he was so much better than boys your age, so much more real, more developed and solidified. he made you feel safe, made you want to please him. maybe it was because he was just ten years older than you, as he was considerably younger than your mother, you had always felt a certain connection to him. their relationship seemed to have progressed so fast, and you tried to suppress your jealousy, tried to make yourself forget it was ever there. but it was. and now you were even more embarrassed.

but aside from embarrassment, you couldn’t help the throb of your clit, the heavy wet feeling between your pussy lips. he had seen you, all of you. what was he thinking right now? you’re a pretty girl with a pretty body, he can’t be neutral to you right? you had wondered if he thought you were pretty, if he was attracted to you. if really deep down he wanted you. sometimes hugs would be tight and you would hear him inhale in your hair, looks would linger. he touched you unnecessarily, on the knee, on the shoulder, kisses on cheeks. he would take you out to eat, just one on one. your mother loved it, thought it was so sweet of him to make the effort. it made you squirm inside. maybe he was just friendly, maybe you were a crazy little girl, impassioned by the slightest attention.

but maybe he wanted you as much as you wanted him. maybe he wanted you more.

you imagined him on the other side of the door still red faced and flustered, hard in his pants. you imagined it straining against his jeans, his boxers. you imagined him taking it out and you imagined the tip dribbling precum. you pussy spasmed at the thought, the very idea that he wants you.

but now you needed to think rationally, you need to be a big girl. what would someone that didn’t want to fuck their new stepdad do?

you grab a towel, rush back into your room. creaking from around the house told you he was still home, probably feeling too embarrassed to approach you about things. you quickly dry off and get dressed before shooting armin a text that reads:

hi i’m really really sorry about that!! i thought i was home alone but still i should’ve been more cautious. i hope i didn’t mentally scar you 😭

perfect, you thought. it was friendly and normal and completely denied the idea that you thought about him thinking about you in any other way than paternally. which you hoped he did, in a yucky wrong sort of way. you hoped he did view you as something to protect, something that was his in some way. you wish the guilt and repulsion of this realisation made it go away, but it didn’t.

luckily for you, armin was in shambles in the exact way you wanted him to be. after pacing his bedroom for five minutes and he waited for you to leave the bathroom, he had gone downstairs to busy himself with cooking something. as an apology maybe, but mainly to take his mind off what he was never supposed to think about. what he couldn’t get out of his head.

before, it was a benign attraction. a want, not a need. he saw you, watched you. you’re a beautiful girl, it doesn’t make him a pervert to see that. and you’re such a sweet girl, such a good daughter. you were always giggly with him, always receptive. you made him want to be sweet and kind and warm, made him want to take care of you, whether you need it or not. so what if when he got the chance he was a little affectionate? aren’t all good father figures? bear hugs and reassuring squeezes, kisses on cheeks, that’s nothing! he loves your mother, she has her charms in her own little way.

but he would be lying if he hadn’t thought about it, the big it he couldn’t get over. he thought about what you would feel like, what those ever-glossed lips would feel like pressing against his skin. wrapped around his cock. he imagined those big doe eyes watering for him, choking on his cock, or, an even more dangerous thought, whimpering at the stretch in your tight young pussy. the thought of you and your insides plagued him, but he had managed to convince himself it was nothing. that he loved your mother really, and maybe it more of a compliment to her, since you look so alike.

but now, that has all gone out of the window.

how couldn’t it? now that he knew, knew with 100% certainty that your body was just as he had imagined, what could he do? cock aching with want, he sighed for the tenth time in 20 minutes and distractedly chopped potatoes. now he knew your tits were just as jiggly as he imagined, knew how soft you really were, knew you didn’t shave. he knew how sweet your little bush looked, so natural and untouched. he wondered if you’d ever been touched by a man before, but he shook the idea from his head.

he was a bad, bad man. but that didn’t mean he could stop these thoughts.

armin hears his phone ping on the kitchen counter, and takes it in shaking hands. he reads your message, stepping away from the cutting board and rubbing his forehead. what a sweet girl, he thinks. before he can stop thinking, he thinks more. what it would be like to bend your soft body to his will, to feel the undoubtably tight grip of your wet hole. would you still be his sweet girl then? he replies:

no worries at all, i should have made my presence known xx

he sends it with an eleventh sigh, and distractedly returns to his cooking.

in your bedroom, your heart pounds as you see the notification of his text.

oh.

why are you disappointed?

no really, why?

he was sweet and generous and lovely as usual, what were you disappointed about?

a dark cloud forms in your belly, and you know why. it’s because he didn’t reply to the last part of your message. the part you wanted him to reply to the very most. you wanted him to, at the very least, reply to it, acknowledge the absurdity of him being scarred by a body like yours. it’s self deprecating, it demands a rebuttal.

you react with a heart to his message and turn off your phone with a sigh.

maybe he really doesn’t want you, maybe it has been all in your head. it’s a possibility, you suppose. how awful are you, thinking about your mothers boyfriend like this? you’re terrible, a horrible girl. she’s happy. shes happy with him, and after everything with your father, that’s what you want for her.

that was it then. you really would never have him. that was it. forget about it. now.

but he isn’t forgetting about, not at all. he’s still staring at where you liked the message, allowing the water he was boiling to spill over before he turns down the heat. he can’t forget now. how is he doing to cope? two months of you, how was he going to keep this under wraps? even now, he feels tense knowing you’re upstairs, in nothing more than a towel. he knows the smell of your body wash, your conditioner, he knows exactly what your skin would taste like. he knows what your nipples look like, can imagine how it would feel to squeeze your doughy breast.

he feels desperate, clawing out for something he doesn’t understand. he doesn’t want to stop talking to you. he knows he needs to. he has to leave you alone as much as he can, for the sake of these two months. but he doesn’t want to.

so, serval minutes after his first message, he messages you again.

your butterflies swarm your stomach and you suppress a squeal in case he might hear you as your phone lights up again.

you open it immediately, far past caring what it says that you were so quick to read it. the message reads:

and trust me, i’m far from scarred xx

｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+*ﾟ

a/n: i will make a part 2 asap but i need to get this out in the world or i’ll die. reblog if you enjoyed!!

[risathefairyofshampoo]

𝑊ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

(Pick a pile) <3

1st Pile 2nd Pile 3rd Pile

4th Pile 5th Pile 6th Pile

Disclaimer: This is just for fun and entertainment purposes. Take everything I say with a grain of salt. Everything I say is not fact, it's just a tarot reading! You may also not resonate with your chosen pile or all of them as these are done for the general! :)

1st 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒

Hello everyone, so it seems like someone older has a crush on you. A man. He might be older than you, but he might also be very mature. But I do think that they have a good understanding of life and that they know what they are doing.

He seems to be someone from your work/school. He is well off. He might not dress like someone rich but he definitely is. He isn't bragging about it. He has money and doesn't show it, but he enjoys it

Love, he isn't exactly your type. Seems like he isn't very beautiful. He is normal looking. Not that special, and many people wouldn't notice him. He is kinda like a nerd/weirdo but he does know how to respect people. He is really nice if you get to know him but he isn't very open or talkative at the start.

So, coming to his looks. He has a round face and brown to black hair. It's pretty short at the moment. He is kinda chubby, and I think he tries to cover his belly. He doesn't really have a specific style. He wears whatever is comfortable. Some might have glasses.

I hope you can resonate with the reading! Please give me a feedback. Hope you liked it <3

❝ ❞ ✧ ೃ༄

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2nd 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒

Hello people! Okay, your crush seems to be well off. I think they wear some expensive things here and there. They don't brag, but I think it helps with their image. It fits their looks a lot. I think they like to wear jewellery a lot. Rings and earrings, especially.

They have blond to dark blond hair. Very beautiful face. Many would think they are attractive. A model face. Blue or green eyes. Skinny, same hight/taller than you. Plump pink/red lips. Very beautiful. I think they like to wear baggy clothes. Pullovers that are too big but still fit, baggy jeans. Just something comfortable that covers their body. You don't know them well but you've seen them around .

I think currently they are very unhappy. I think some mental strength is missing, and they seem to be very unmotivated. They feel lost and done. Just very tired.

I hope you can resonate with the reading! Please give me a feedback. Hope you liked it <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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3rd 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒

Hello there! You seem to know this person. You are kinda close. I think you are currently working on something, and usually, you two work well together, but something has happened that ended in a conflict. I think you are still not very much at good terms.

They seem to be social. Maybe not that extroverted but enough to meet new people. Might be an ambivert.

I think they are really smart. Especially when it comes to math or just logical thinking.

But they aren't really trustworthy. Can get judgy and will talk behind your back.

I think they have brown/black hair, strong eyebrows, a soft face but yet very sharp features. They have a very comfortable style. It's not special but they still look nice. I think they try to keep their outfit simple and easy

They are tall and have a normal/fit body.

I hope you can resonate with the reading! Please give me a feedback. Hope you liked it <3

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

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4th 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒

Hi there! So this person who is interested in you is someone very young. Might be younger than you, but they might also be very unmature.

They seem to be very excited when it comes to life. They want to try everything and make their own experience. Just very curious in general. I have to think of a very new soul. A soul that hasn't reincarnated a lot of times.

I wouldn't say they are very mature. They seem to be very dependent. Might it be their parents or friends. They just seem like someone who can't hold responsibility.

They seem to be very hurt from the inside. I think they experienced some kind of trauma. They haven't really healed. And I think they won't for a long time.

I hope you can resonate with the reading! Please give me a feedback. Hope you liked it <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

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5th 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒

Hello you! Seems like they person who has currently a crush on you has already been with you. Maybe not a relationship but something in that direction. Maybe just a one night stand? You two were definitely a 'thing'.

They seem to be very unhappy at the moment. They seem to not be that stable. I'd say they are really selfish and ignorant.

However I do think that you two belong together. It's a really strong connection. Some people would say it's a soulmate connection.

I think they are your type, especially when it comes to the looks.

I hope you can resonate with the reading! Please give me a feedback. Hope you liked it <3

✧˖*°࿐

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6th 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒

Hello there! The person who has a crush on you is already talking with you. They are flirting with you and making moves. Your connection is something that will be led by the universe. Everything will fall into place.

I think you like them too but you are actually kind of unsure whether they like you or if you really want to be with them.

Seems like a conflict you have with your inner self. Chill! They do like you, and if you're not ready to make a move, then just wait. I think they are really interested and they will invest time if they would have to.

I hope you can resonate with the reading! Please give me a feedback. Hope you liked it <3

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

[sugawhaaa]

SEONGHWA X READER

{Chapter 4}

Breathless

Warnings:: sexually/mentally abusive fiance! Mentions of blood, knives and swords!

Genre:: Pirate Au!!

Pairing::pirate!Seonghwa x princess!reader

A/N:: I'm pumping out these chapters so fast bro 💪 I'm loving this series but we're nearing the end 🥺 I think there will be about 6 chapters in total at this rate 😭

Reminder‼️this isn't 100% historically accurate and should be taken with a grain of salt. This story is also set in the late 1800s to early 1900s specifically in Europe but if you want you can imagine it wherever else you'd like, it is a fictional story after all 💗 this story also takes some inspiration from Pirates of the Caribbean, specifically the first movie.

Taglist:: @hi-kariii @deltamoon666 @hxpelessxcean @luvleejuyo

Chapter 3::

You little," you grit your teeth and his smile turns into a smirk again. His eyes avert to the entrance of the castle and he frowns.

"This won't be the last time," he kisses you on your lips quickly before jumping off the balcony. You stare off into the distance trying to process what just happened. You quickly look down at the ground but he's already gone.

"Sister?" You hear your older sister call out to you. You turn and look at her slightly surprised. "Are you alright, you're leaning over quite far," she says in a light tone.

"Oh yes, there was just a chipmunk," you smile with a nod and your sister chuckles.

"You're still so peculiar," your sister comes up beside you, leaning against the rail. "Your fiance is nice," she says as she looks at the horizon, the sun setting.

"Yes, he's…great," you sigh and look at the sunset as well.

"You don't like him do you?" She chuckles and looks back at you, her blonde hair swaying in the wind.

"I don't. But I need to marry him," you look determined at her before smiling. "It's for the better of both our countries," you look at the sunset again. Your sister stands up straight again. She places her hand on your shoulder.

"You are a good woman," she smiles before walking away, leaving you and the sunset alone.

[That night, Seonghwa POV]

Seonghwa came back to his ship, clenching his sword in his fist. Burnt red coloring on it. The crew greets him kindly and he greets them back. One of the younger members of the crew walks beside him.

"You've got lipstick on your lips," he chuckles and Seonghwa stops dead in his tracks. He brings his ungloved hand to his lips, running his middle finger along his lips. He looks down at his fingertip to see a soft pink tint on it. Seonghwa sighs and the crew mate smirks at him with a knowing look. "Looks like Captain Seonghwa got a little distracted on his mission," he laughs and Seonghwa throws his sword at the man, hitting the wooden wall just beside his head. The sword sticks out, gently swaying from the force of his throw.

Seonghwa scowls at the man. "Clean it," he orders before walking off, his cape blowing in the wind.

[Time skip, festival day. Your POV]

The day had finally arrived. The festival of glamorgan. The celebration of the day your kingdom was born. The streets were full of people and beautiful blue and yellow decorations. Today you were finally free from your guards because with so many people around your loyal citizens would help if there somehow was a dire situation. Not to mention herrington was with you a lot of the day but you didn't let his presence ruin your day.

In the afternoon after you finished your noon meal you went on a stroll around the outskirts of the kingdom, without telling anyone. You needed some time for yourself. The hot sun beamed down on you as you fanned yourself, walking down by the shore. You gazed off into the waters before noticing something strange. A certain patch of water wasn't moving. You stopped in your tracks and went to examine it. There was a large oval shape in the water that just didn't move. You looked closer at it when you heard someone walking up behind you. You turn to see none other than Seonghwa.

"I told you I'd see you again," he smiled and walked over to you. "I see you've found my ship," he says as he puts his hand on the hilt of his sword.

You look at him confused. "Your ship?" You look around. "I don't see one," you look at him with a frown, tilting your head.

"And here I thought you were smart," he sighs and shakes his head. He takes your hand in his and walks up to the edge of the grass. He then steps over the edge of the hill.

"Wait! What are you-!" You cling to his arm as he steps out into the air. There's a loud whoosh sound and you're standing on a ship. You fan yourself as you look around confused. You hold onto Seonghwa's arm as you look around the deck of the ship.

"This is my ship," he smiles. "We've been hanging out around here for a while. That's why I keep running into you," he explains as he leads you to the center of the deck. "A lot of my crew are not on the ship right now because of the festival but of course, a few are," he smiles and stops to introduce you to one of the young men. He's carrying a barrel on his shoulder with ease as he looks at the two of you. "This here is a good friend of mine, Mingi," he gestures to the man. Mingi takes off his hat and tips it towards you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you princess," he extends his hand out for you to shake and you hesitantly shake his hand.

"Mingi, this is princess Y/N," Seonghwa nods to Mingi.

"Yeah it's about time you bring her on," he laughs and Seonghwa frowns. You can't help but chuckle at their attitudes toward each other.

"Well, we'll let you carry on with…wait what are you doing I didn't tell you to move those?" Seonghwa cocks his head as he realizes where Mingi is moving the barrels.

"The captain did," Mingi shrugs and continues on. Seonghwa frowns and grits his teeth.

"I'm gonna kill him," he mumbles as he lets go of your arm. Storming off.

"Wait, I thought you were the captain?" You speed up to Seonghwa.

"I am, I'm the crew captain, Hoongjoong is the captain captain," Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

"That makes no sense," you sigh and shake your head.

"It would if you were smarter," Seonghwa replies instantly and you gasp.

"How dare you speak to the princess of glamorgan in such a tone!" You storm up to Seonghwa as he bursts into the captain's quarters.

"Hongjoong!" Seonghwa stomps up to a man sitting in the captain's chair, his feet on the desk in front of him.

"Captain," the man corrects Seonghwa.

"Stop commanding my crew to do things that I don't approve of!" Seonghwa puts his hands on his hips as you stand in the corner.

"Well they're bored of doing nothing when you're out frolicking in the fields with your little girlfriend," hoongJoong says as he spins a broken compass.

"We won't be waiting around for much longer okay? I've got almost everything," Seonghwa says as he leans in closer to Hongjoong. "And get your damn feet off my desk!" Seonghwa pushes his feet off the desk and HoongJoong loses his balance. His eyes finally fall upon you.

"Oh you finally brought your girlfriend on deck!" He stands up and walks over to you, looking you up and down. You chuckle awkwardly and Seonghwa sighs.

"Yes, I thought it was about time she met everyone," Seonghwa walks over to the two of you. Hoongjoong shakes your hand and you smile.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go introduce her to everyone!" Hoongjoong grabs your hand and pulls you out to the main deck. He drags you around the ship introducing you to everyone. "Mingi is a sailsman, San is the main combat man, junho and Yunho are good at stealing and mapping, Yeosang covers the lookout as well as cooking sometimes and Wooyoung cooks and helps with a lot of combat," Hoongjoong explains all the details of their ship. Under each of those men, there is a smaller crew that follows their commands.

"And Seonghwa looks after the crew?" You turn to Hoongjoong.

"Yep," he nods before pulling you closer. "But be careful, Seonghwa is obsessed with his treasure and will stop at nothing to obtain what he wants," he whispers before smiling again.

"Well, this was fun and all but I should really get back soon," you say as you fan yourself harder, the breeze from the ocean not enough to cool you off. Hoongjoong agrees and lets you go back with Seonghwa. Seonghwa holds your arm as he leads you back to the village, your fan never stops moving.

"Are you alright Y/N?" He turns to you with genuine concern. You frown and hold your chest.

"I'm alright," you sigh and smile up at him. He looks at you unsure. As you continue walking back things start to get hazy. You see stars and your eyes start falling closed. Every time you breathe out you feel like your lungs won't reopen. "Seonghwa," you wheezed out and hit his shoulder rapidly. He turns to look at you and sees you gasping for air. You suddenly collapse and he catches you in his arms.

Panic washes over him but he quickly steadies himself. He pulls out a pocket knife and starts cutting your dress. In the distance he sees a group of soldiers rushing over to the two of you but Seonghwa doesn't care currently. He cuts your dress down to your corset and quickly rips it off of your body. You gasp for air and grab his jacket, pulling your body up.

Your hands shake as you cling to him as you inhale and exhale quickly.

"It's okay, you're okay," he says as he pets your hair as he holds you. "You're okay," he repeats before the soldiers separate the two of you quickly. Herrington instantly came to your side, noticing your exposed body and the pirate he scowled at Seonghwa. Seonghwa sighed and scowled back

"Soldiers, take him," he nods his head to the soldiers and you jump in to interfere.

"He just saved my life!" You yell at your Fiancé. "You wanted me to wear this stupid dress and I almost died because of it!" You say as you push Herrington away. He frowns at you before looking over at Seonghwa, his hands up. "Let him go," you scowl at your Fiancé. Herrington sighs and nods to his soldiers. The soldiers escort you back to the castle where your Fiance locks you in your room.

You hear your parents and Herrington talk outside your room, discussing how they can't keep you safe anymore. Not with Seonghwa around, yet if it wasn't for Seonghwa you wouldn't be breathing right now. The maid comes into your room offering you dinner and you accept her offer. You sit at your desk and eat, your maid accompanying you.

"I heard about your encounter today," the woman says as she stands beside you.

"Yes, it was scary," you hummed before eating.

"I bet. I heard prince Herrington saved you," the maid said as she swayed on her feet.

"What?" You turn to look at her. "No, no, Seonghwa saved me," you explain with a frown.

"Oh, my apologies," the maid bows.

"Who told you Herrington saved me?" You asked before eating some more of your dinner.

"It's been going around the village, but Herrington told me personally," she informed you. You frown and turn back to your dinner. You continued to eat in silence, thinking about Seonghwa.

The rest of the evening went normally, aside from the fact that your fiance hadn't spoken to you. He was very mad that you were with Seonghwa and so exposed to him. You thought it was a little odd that he was so mad but you decided to pay no mind.

You slept peacefully in your bed before slowly waking up from a pestering sound. You rubbed your eyes and tried to locate the source of the noise. You realized that it was knocking on the door of your balcony. You slowly arose and opened the door, the midnight air flowing into your room. As your eyes adjusted you realized Seonghwa stood before you, a soft smile on his lips.

"You don't seem very awake," he chuckles as he allows himself into your room. You sigh and close the door before sitting back down on your bed.

"That would be because you just woke me up," you watch him walk around your room. He sits next to you on the bed with a smile.

"My apologies," Seonghwa patted your head and you looked at him confused.

"You're being oddly kind," you tilt your head. "You want something from me don't you?" You scoff and he laughs.

"I want to get to know you," he says as he relaxes his body on the bed. "You should trust me by now. I saved your life, showed you where I live and basically my family," he explains. "You know what I like and you know who I am," he looks over at you and you blush. "Yet I hardly know anything about you," he says with desperate eyes but behind them, something more is lingering. Sincerity, interest, trust, eagerness, love.

[fiapartridge]

🌊 Luke Hughes is a need. congrats on 600!!!

now that we don't talk | luke hughes

"you part the crowd like the red sea, don't even get me started" - taylor swift, now that we don't talk

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: growing up, luke was your best friend, but now all he felt like was a stranger.

warning(s): drinking, unrequited love

fia's notes 💌: aaa thank u! i closed my celly last week but i wanna finish all of the requests that i didn't get to before it ended! italics are the past, normal is the present !

You met Luke when you were ten. He had moved in next door and you were elated. You had never seen any kid your age on the street where you lived, so seeing the Hughes family unloading the white moving truck with big brown boxes, you quickly offered to help. 

You met Jack first. He said you were tinier than a peanut and proceeded to pat your head and tussle your hair when Quinn walked over, scolding the younger boy for bothering you in the first place. Quinn felt mature to you, already someone you felt like you could trust with anything. You never had an older brother, or siblings in general, so the two boys felt somewhat like a safe haven. 

But the moment you saw Luke, you swore the wind started blowing harder, his walk was in a time-bending slow-motion, and the blue birds started to sing in their place in the trees. He was perfect and you, as much as you believed that boys were icky and gross (and definitely containing cooties), you were in love. Earth-shattering, mind-numbing, heart-stopping love. 

“Lukey, get over here!” Jack yelled, waving the curly-headed boy over to the moving truck where the three of you stood.

Growing flushed, you watched as Luke ducked under Jack’s arm, avoiding his daily ‘noogie’--- especially now that there was a girl in the vicinity. Scratching the back of his neck, he let out an awkward laugh. “I’m Luke.”

You wanted to ask for his favorite color, music artist, movie, tv show—you wanted to learn everything about him. But for now, you smiled softly, allowing the pink bubbles in your stomach to float up and into your cheeks as you nodded, saying, “I’m Y/N.”

The inside of the house was loud, lights flashing across every wall and red Solo cups trashed the floor. You had hesitated saying yes to your friends’ invite to this party, wanting so badly to just put on a face mask and watch YouTube videos in the safety of your apartment, but after realizing you hadn’t spent a night out in weeks, you agreed. So now, here you were, holding hands with your best friend in a skirt so short you had to pull down the hem every couple of inches as you marched through the party, avoiding crashing into drunken bodies and touchy frat guys.

“Let’s get you drunk, okay?” your friend shouted as she guided you towards the kitchen of the house. 

“Y/N?” you heard your name shouted from across the kitchen island as you looked up, meeting Ethan Edwards brown and piercing eyes. He looked confused, rightfully so. You hadn’t seen him in months without a single reason as to why you vanished. You just…disappeared, like you were a figment of their imaginations. But there you were, alive in the flesh.

You tried to look away, act like you didn’t hear him, but when he called you again, more eyes settling on your small frame, you knew there was no other choice but to throw on a shy smile and say, “Hey, Eth.”

Rounding the island, he pulled you into a tight hug. The moment he touched you, it was like your knees wanted to buckle in and melt into his body. You missed him—especially his hugs. Pulling away, his hands stayed on your shoulders, scared that you would run away if he didn’t. “Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s been a couple months.”

“Still miss you. Luke does too, you know?”

“Eth,” you shook your head, clawing at his grip on your shoulders as his hands tightened. You didn’t want to talk about this. Not here and especially not now.

“He never told me what happened, but whatever he did, he was stupid, okay? And—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled weakly. “I’m over it. I’ve just been…busy,” you shrugged as if anything that came out of your mouth was remotely the truth.

He chose not to push you, knowing that if he did, you would probably be halfway across the house and towards the exit. As much as you were best friends with Luke, you were also best friends with Ethan, Mark, and Dylan. Losing Luke was losing everyone. And as much as it hurt seeing Ethan, it was nothing compared to seeing Luke.

“Luke!” someone shouted from the next room over. Ethan could feel you tense under his hands as you instinctively looked over your shoulder, immediately seeing him. It was like your eyes gravitated towards him no matter where he was. If Luke was in a Where’s Waldo book, you’d finish all the pages in less than 10 seconds. 

He parted the crowd easily as partygoers stepped back upon his large steps and tall stature. He was known at the University of Michigan along with the rest of his family. Girls wanted to be with him, guys wanted to be his friend, professors passed him in every class just so he could play hockey.  You could feel his presence in every room; it was loud and shook the walls like some sort of earthquake. You felt it in your heart and your stomach, in your legs and your chest. Luke just had that effect on people.

And when he entered the room, merely feet from you, it was like you were nothing, unrecognizable, because just as your eyes followed him everywhere, to him, you were nowhere to be found. Well, to be found, he would have to look first. But the thing was, Luke stopped looking. All you were to him was a stranger.

You were teenagers when your feelings for him began to grow more real than you had imagined them to be. You were sitting on a lounge chair in Luke’s backyard, swaddled in a blue beach towel as Luke’s curly wet hair dripped onto your exposed legs. You loved night swims and Luke loved seeing you happy. He didn’t love the cool night air and the frigid pool temperature against his pale skin, but any time spent with you was time well spent.

Your legs were in criss-cross-apple-sauce as Luke mirrored you on the other side of the chair. 

“You know Brad Richards is taking Trisha Thompson to prom?” you asked. You didn’t even know they knew each other. You swore she was still dating Noah Turner, her boyfriend, well, now ex boyfriend, of three years. It made you wonder how people were just okay with going with someone they barely even knew. You went with Luke every year for every dance: homecoming, the winter ball, the spring fling, prom—everything. 

And everytime he asked you, it felt like you two were real. Like he was your boyfriend and you were his girlfriend and everything was right in the world. And for a quick moment, you let yourself believe it. On nights like these, he was yours.

“Didn’t they start talking, like last week?” he responded, playing with the string of your bathing suit bottom.

“Yeah. Insane, right?”

“Super insane.”

You chewed your bottom lip, clawing at the fabric of the towel as you stared at your hands. “Are you going to prom?” He hadn’t asked yet and you were scared that he was going to take someone else; that your tradition of going together was over; that he grew up and got over you.

But he smiled, yelled for Jack and Quinn, and your face lit up. The two came outside with a big white cake with strawberries and blueberries and raspberries sprinkled over the top. There were light pink candles spread over the crown of the cake, and Ellen ran to Luke with a big white poster. Unrolling the paper, he held up a sign, saying, “They should call you sugar, you’re so sweet. But can I call you my date to prom?” 

He dropped the poster as you threw your arms around him, whispering an excited ‘yes’ into his ears. 

“You’ll go with me?” he asked, smiling. He knew you would say yes. You did every time, but he liked making you feel special. You deserved that and more.

“There’s no one else I’d rather go with.”

He walked past you and you swore you would have broken down right there. You felt suffocated, like the walls were closing in on you. You looked around, trying to find your friends but they were nowhere to be found. You were surrounded by Luke, Luke, Luke. Every turn you made, you swore you could see him ignoring you, acting like you were nothing.

But he saw you. You were the first person in that whole entire party that he saw. To be honest, he wasn’t going to even show up. He was ready to do a couple laps on the treadmill, take a shower, eat some dinner, and head to bed, but when he got a text from his teammates, telling him that you were there, he knew he had to go. He knew you weren’t going to talk to him after what he did to you, but you were still his person, and he still had to make sure you were safe.

You were at a New Years Eve party at UMich, one that Luke had invited you to. You were so excited, you thought tonight was the night. You were going to get that New Year's kiss, he was going to be your boyfriend, and you would be his girlfriend, and everything would be right in the world, something you had dreamed of since you were ten years old; since the moment you met him. You put on your best sparkly black dress, threw on some makeup, spritzed yourself with the perfume you knew he liked most, tossed on some very uncomfortable high heels, and found yourself at the party.

He was there the second you opened the door, handing you a beer upon arrival. Mark pulled you into a hug and Dylan begged you to play beer pong with him against Ethan and Luca. You agreed after sending a small smile to Luke, silently asking if it was okay. 

He nodded. “I’ll be right here, okay?” he whispered in your ear as Dylan held your wrist, dragging you to the table. 

You played until you sunk the ball in the last of Ethan’s and Luca’s cups, jumping into Dylan’s arms as you pranced around the table, rubbing it in the losers’ faces. You loved this feeling. With them, you felt loved, you felt excited, and electric. You never wanted that night to end.

And before you knew it, the countdown was beginning.

10…9…Dylan pushed you to the stairs, knowing you were on your way to Luke. Ethan and the rest of the boys sent each other knowing looks as you rolled your eyes, trying not to fall over as you made your way to the stairs of the house.

8…7…You knew the house like the back of your hand. You knew which bathroom to use when the rest were busy, which laundry room was strictly used for barf stains, and most importantly, which room was Luke’s.

6…5…You marched down the hall, seeing Luke’s room only a little ways away. Couples were already cuddled up against the walls, kissing before the countdown had even ended. For some reason, it made you even more excited. You were only 5 seconds away from kissing the love of your life.

4…3…Reaching his door, your hand held the knob as you pushed it open. And you swore you felt your heart plummet to the floor. Luke was there, he was right there, kissing a girl that wasn’t you. And you knew you shouldn’t be mad. He wasn’t yours. But some part of you, some big part of you, really believed he was.

2…1… “Y/N?” Luke pulled away from the girl as you stood at the door, your hand still on the knob. You were frozen. You didn’t know whether to run or cry. Did you even deserve to cry? It’s not like you guys were dating or anything. But sometimes it felt like it. And maybe he was like how everyone said he was. Maybe Luke Hughes was a fuck boy; a player.

“Happy New Year’s!” you heard everyone in the house shout as Luke replaced those words with shouts of your name. You ran. You turned around and ran down the hall, down the stairs, and past the boys. You ran outside, calling an Uber to get you, and take you away from this hell hole. You were embarrassed. You were so embarrassed. Everyone could see that you were in love with him; that you wanted that kiss to be with you. Ethan had rooted for you, Dylan had rooted for you, everyone had. But it didn’t matter if you knew his favorite color, his biggest fears, what he stored on the topshelf of his dresser. It didn’t matter if there was a picture of you on his bedside table, or that you went to every high school dance together, or if you held a Luke Hughes hoodie stash back at your dorm. Because in the end, you still weren’t enough for him.

“Y/N!” you didn’t turn around. You knew who it was based on just the sound of his voice alone. You knew it was Luke, but you were tired of being delusional and embarrassing yourself time and time again. “I didn’t mean to kiss her.”

You watched the unmoving street in front of you as if something extraordinary was going to happen. You couldn’t look at him, because surely you would have broken down the moment you were met with those green eyes. 

“Y/N, please,” his hand landed on your shoulder as you blinked rapidly, trapping your tears within the walls of your eyes. You won’t let them slip. You won’t let him see you cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Luke. It was just a kiss.”

“It upset you—”

“I’m just tired,” you said harshly. “I just want to go home.”

“I’ll walk you, we can talk about this, and- and—”

You finally turned to him. He looked stressed, like he knew he was losing you, and he knew why but he was too afraid to admit it. Or maybe he was embarrassed. He knew you liked him, but the thing was, he didn’t feel that way for you. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much his friends pushed him to, his parents and siblings. You were his best friend and that’s all you ever were to him.

“I’m not mad. Whatever I felt for you, it’s okay, I think I’m done feeling that way.”

And just when he wanted to ask you what you meant by that, you hopped in the Uber that pulled up to the curb, closed the door, and drove away. You ignored his calls after that. You ignored his texts, his friends’ texts, his brothers’ texts. You were going to get over him, because just as much as it hurt to ice him out, it hurt even more to pretend to just be friends with him.

So he watched you at the party as you downed beers and danced with guys you’ve never spoken to before. He watched you play beer pong with your new friends and kiss people that he so badly wanted to keep you away from.

All he could do was watch, now that you don’t talk.

[jaybirddreads]

Trolls Band Together

I watched Trolls 3 and I loved it. It's not the perfect movie (there are so many plot holes and things that don't make sense), but it's still really good and entertaining. The story itself was very heartwarming and moving for a 90-something-minute kids' movie.

One thing that I noticed about specifically Branch and his brothers is that they are so much duller than all the other trolls. It's very obvious when you compare their Brozone-era selves to their adult selves. Compared to other pop trolls, the Brozone brothers dulled as they aged. I don't think that it's just because they got older, because we see Poppy and Cooper as babies and they didn't really change in color as adults (you can kind of argue that Poppy got brighter if you look closely at her as a baby and as an adult). Another troll character that we see two versions of is King Peppy. We see him as an old man and we see a flashback of him, 20 years younger, in the first movie. Even then, the only difference between current King Peppy and younger King Peppy is the gray streaks in his hair.

These three characters are all consistent in their colors. Poppy is pink. Cooper is pink and blue. King Peppy is pink and orange.

And then you have the Brozone brothers:

Now, not all of them had a drastic change like Branch did, but all of them are definitely duller than when they were young. I think that Branch dulled the most, followed by John Dory, Floyd, Clay, and Spruce. Since we know that Branch lost his color due to his clear decline in mental health (especially after his grandmother's death), I think that that's why Spruce was the one who lost the least amount of color. I think that out of all his brothers, he's the one who's done the best for himself after leaving.

Spruce is a business owner; his business partner is his wife (I loved Brandy so much) and he's a father. I think that of all his brothers, he and Clay were the ones that really 'grew up'. Spruce talks about how he changed his name to Bruce to leave behind his boyband days when he became a father. In the first flash back, Spruce is the one that butts heads with John Dory the most. During the scene where John Dory, Spruce, and Clay argue Spruce says "Why do you think I left? So that no one would treat me like you did." to John Dory. I think that even though Spruce was upset with his brothers and affected by the end of their band, he managed to get back some happiness with the family that he formed.

Clay is the second on my list because I think that he was able to find support in Viva and the other Putt-Putt trolls. Out of all the brothers (excluding Branch) we know the most about Spruce and Clay's lives after Brozone. And while Spruce found solace in his family, Clay had the Putt-Putt community. Clay, during the band days, was considered the 'fun one' and people (John Dory) did not take him seriously because of it. With the Putt-Putt trolls, Clay is well respected as the 'boring' half of the operation (in Viva's words). Clay has moments in the movie where he denies having any fun at all. We also see at the start of the movie that Clay can feel insecure when he looks out into the crowd and mutters how much pressure the performance is during the first flashback. Between him and Spruce, they are the only two brothers with cemented careers (Spruce as a business owner and Clay as a licensed CPA).

Floyd is third on my list because of one real reason and the rest is speculation. The reason why is because we know literally nothing about anything that he did after he went off soul searching. I assume he probably just wandered around by himself for a while or (my personal favorite headcanon) he lived with another type of troll, personally my mind goes to the rock trolls.

John Dory is after Branch because I don't think that twenty years of isolation is good for anyone (I mean, look at Branch). From what we know about John Dory he spent twenty years alone with only Rhonda (and we don't even know how long he has had Rhonda by his side). I think that she might be the reason he isn't gray-gray like Branch is, because we see how much he loves and cherishes her.

Branch is first, obviously because he's physically the dullest one and we know the most about him. He was abandoned by his brothers when he was a child, a few years later his grandmother was murdered right in front of him and he blamed himself. He isolated himself in a bunker that was meant to be a hideout for himself and his brothers (who abandoned him) for years-- let's say fifteen-ish years-- before Poppy wormed her way into his life. At the end of the first movie he regains his colors and in the first holiday special, we see that his colors have faded a bit. He's not as gray as he was at the start of the first movie, but he's also not the same vibrant blue that he was at the end of the movie. Throughout the movies and holiday specials his colors fluctuate, but he never really goes back to gray or blue.

[munv]

Hey!! I LOVE your "Immersing in Ecstasy" series! But sometimes I can't help but wonder what would be Shidou's reaction to Reader like,, lmaoo I just know it'll be funny😭😭

𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 𝗝𝗘𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚

This is so real caus I’ve been brain rotting about this for months ever since I started the series

I got carried away and died mid way bookie 😞

You were lost, to put it simply. The two brats you call your younger brothers had “supposedly” gave you directions in your little sibling group chat.

And to be honest with yourself.. it was really stupid thinking you could depend on their asses. Seriously, now looking back on the messages they sent who says:

“Go wherever your brain takes you. You’re the older sibling” along the lines of some other sassy remarks you didn’t want right now.

The little shits didn’t know what was coming for them when you got back home. Once rin was out of blue lock and sae finished his interviews, they didn’t know what type of beating they were in for. This time you’d make sure to beat them with the belt buckle. For sure. You scoffed under your breath.

Finally making it into the clearing of what looked like a big room, you spotted a familiar face. “Oliver!” You called out. The male in question turned around to face you with a familiar smile. “[name]-san, when did you get here?” His Heterochromia eyes lit up at the mere sight of you.

“Nice to see you too, but we can catch up later. Where the hell is the brat?” You cracked you knuckles with a dead tone. “I have a bone if not two to pick with him as of now.” You approached.

He let out a small chuckle at your response. “I saw him near the blue lock members if I last remember. Especially your other lil baby” he rubbed his chin after thinking a bit “what was his name? Rinrin or somethin?”

Deciding the ignore the way he addressed your brother you moved on

“Thanks! I’ll make sure to catch up with you later right?” You gave him a light yet playful smile before getting ready to find your brothers. “Anytime pretty!” He yelled out watching you run off into the crowd.

It took you 5 minutes, 5 worthy fucking minutes of your life. Just so you could have rin and sae within your grasp. Well, that was the initial plan before you came across a little problem.

“Woah!” he laughed “so there’s three of you eyelash minions?” Infront of you was what you learnt to be your first brothers’ “pet”.

Rin was beside you fuming like a angry guard dog on patrol. While sae was..Sae. But you knew better than that and learnt over the years to decipher his moods.

The collection went on:

Happy sae, nonchalant sae, upset sae, jealous sae, and these all were equivalent to his resting bitch face. Other could tell the difference between his moods, you could. There was clearly a difference, and if you didn’t know any better you wouldn’t have realized sae was on guard right now as well.

You realized Oliver failed to mention that Sae and Rin had become somewhat acquainted with this..guy??

“Shut the hell up you pink haired freak. And back up, my sister won’t breathe the same air as you.” Rin retorted. You were flabbergasted..did you ever hear rin talk so vulgar towards anyone else than sae? For all you could know he must be cursing elementary schoolers behind your back!

“Fuck off eyelash junior, I’m more interested in her” he pointed at you with interest circling his pink irises. The male leaned closer with a wide smirk, which soon turned into surprise when he found that your hand was pushing his face away from you.

“Sae, get your fucking leash. And- EWWHATHEFUCK?!”

The male pushed against your hand with his tongue with a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Hey, I like you!” He practically sang

Rin grabbed your shoulder trying to drag you away from him, but it was like a case of tug of war with a real beast. “GET OFF?? PLEASE??” You begged. Yet it was all for naught when he used the same hand in his grasp to pull you closer and grab your waist.

He laughed like a maniac, and that’s when he’ll broke loose.

“LET GO YOU ANTENNA FREAK” rin yelled for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Sae being the ever so helpful brother he is, stood in shock at what would be your first meeting with Shidou. Where did he go wrong?? And why was the bug so attached to his precious sister?

“OHMYGOD SAE GET HIM OFF PLEASE!! DO SOMETHI- QUIT PULLING AND LET GO” you cried.

Safe to say it was posted on all social platforms in the next few hours. The sudden reveal of the itoshi brothers elder sister had come to light once again.

[acey-wacey]

hiiiii i love the future children series so i request Riddle, Vil, Kalim, Jamil and Idia if that is okay ^^

This series is in quite high demand, I must say.

...

🌹 Riddle Rosehearts 🌹

Riddle was on his way to attend to the Heartslabyul croquet hedgehogs when he found that their cages had been opened.

You can imagine his panic when every single one of them was gone.

He huffed, trying his best not to hyperventilate at this grievous issue.

He heard a giggle from behind the garden shed and stormed over, ready to scream at some irresponsible first years.

When he caught sight of two little girls, he was so shocked he forgot to scream at them.

The two girls, one of them 6 years old, the other 5, were petting and playing with the little blue and pink hedgehogs.

Both of them had bright red hair and features that reminded him of someone Riddle couldn't quite put his finger on

He cleared his throat, startling the little girls.

"What are you children doing here?"

"We were just..." began the older girl before she was interrupted by the other.

"We were making sure the hedgehogs weren't lonely!"

Riddle sighed and crouched down to be at eye level with the girls.

"I appreciate your concern for the emotional well-being of my hedgehogs but it was very irresponsible to take them out for their cages, especially without permission."

"Sorry, papa," the girls said in unison.

"No need to call me papa. I'm not your father. Speaking of, I'll take you two to the main office. I'm sure Headmaster Crowley will spare no effort to reunite you with them," Riddle spoke, trying not to crack as the little girls stared up at him with their big ol' eyes. He then muttered under his breath in contempt of the headmaster. "Especially if it will give him and excuse to not work on sending Y/N home."

The oldest girl tugged on his sleeve and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Why are you gonna take us to Mr Crowley? Do you not want to play with us?"

"As much as I would love to entertain you, I'm sure your parents are very worried about you. You must be visitors from the Isle, correct?"

The girls exchanged a look and burst out in giggles.

"Silly papa! Did you forget? We're from the Kingdom of Roses, not the Isle!" the older girl laughed.

"I learned about it in school!" The younger girl said proudly with her hands on her hips. "We talked about the Queen of Hearts and she was from the Kingdom of Roses too!"

"You're from the Kingdom of Roses?"

"Yes, papa! Keep up!"

"May I ask what your parents names are? Perhaps I'm acquainted with them."

"Is this a test, papa?" the youngest squinted at Riddle.

"I know!" The older girl squealed. "Our parents are Riddle Rosehearts and Y/N Rosehearts. And just in case you need it for your test, my name is Reina Rosehearts and my little sister and best friend in the whole wide world is Rosaline!"

Riddle was stunned upon hearing your name and his own as the children's alleged parents.

He was far too flustered to deal on his own so he called you and told you to come to Heartslabyul right away.

You thought somebody had broken some bone so you rushed over immediately only to find Riddle cuddles on the common room couch, reading fairy tales to two little girls.

It's safe to say, he warmed up to them pretty quick.

"This is the emergency you were talking about?"

"Hush, Y/N, we're at the best part of the story."

...

🗡️ Silver 🗡️

It wasn't abnormal for Silver to fall asleep on one of the campus benches.

It was, however, unusual to spot a little boy cuddled up with him.

You were walking back to your dorm when you spotted Silver, who was curled up while hugging a little grey-haired boy.

The boy looked about 7, far too young to be on the campus without an adult, and he had Silver's jacket draped over him like a blanket.

You didn't want to wake Silver but you were so curious and you didn't have anywhere to be so you sat next to Silver on the bench, waiting for him to wake up.

About 30 later, Silver's eyes blinked open and he found you right next to him.

"Oh, Y/N. When did you get here?" he rubbed his eyes and tried to shift his posture without waking the boy in his arms.

"About a half hour ago. I wanted to ask, who is the boy with you?"

Silver looked down at the boy he still cradled and almost looked surprised.

"Oh, yes. This is Elliot. He's our son."

You couldn't help but laugh from the pure shock from Silver's response.

"Our son?"

"Yes. He's from the future and found his way here, one way or another."

Silver seemed so genuine that you stopped chuckling and furrowed your brows.

"Are you still half-asleep, Silver?"

"Probably, but I'm actually being serious about this. He's our little boy. He even says so himself. We could wake him to prove it."

You shook your head and looked at the little boy who peacefully snoozed on the bench.

"We shouldn't disturb him. How about we carry him back to the Diasomnia dorm where he can sleep peacefully and when he wakes up, we'll have this conversation?"

Silver nodded with a barely visible smile and gentle picked Elliot up.

The boy whined and shifted but stayed asleep.

The two of you took him to Diasomnia in comfortable silence and napped on Silver's bed with Elliot in between you two.

Of course later, Lilia would walk in and take a bunch of pictures before practicing you both about "intimacy before marriage".

He stops as soon as s he realized he had a grandson.

You have to pry Elliot away from Lilia because he so thrilled to have a baby again.

...

♣️ Trey Clover ♣️

"Who are my strawberry tart?" Riddle screeched, fuming mad at his authority behind undermined. "Ace, you knave!"

Ace rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at Riddle.

"For the last time, Mr Dorm leader, I'm not always to blame for everything that goes wrong."

"But you gotta admit, it is usually your fault," Cater chuckled from behind his phone screen.

"This one isn't my fault! I'm not gonna sit here and be yelled at for something I didn't even do!"

"Then who would eaten it?" Deuce sighed, his head starting to hurt from all the yelling.

Trey cleared his throat and all turned to look at him as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

He rubbed his neck sheepishly as he looked at Riddle.

"Sorry, Riddle. That would be my fault."

"Trey?"

"For real?"

"No, no, not me," Trey chuckled in embarrassment and beckoned for someone from behind the door.

Three children sheepishly stepped out with their hands behind their backs.

There was an older boy, a girl, and a very little boy, all three of them with strawberry red staining their cheeks.

"Trey, what is the meaning of this?" Riddle sternly inquired. "Are these your siblings? Did they eat my tart?"

"They did eat the tart but they aren't my sibligns. They're actually, uh," Trey sighed, unsure how to bring it up gracefully. "They're my children.

A gasp rippled through the room before all hell broke loose.

"You have kids?"

"When did this happen?"

"You're just 18!"

"Who's the mother?"

Trey held his hands up in surrender and ushered the kids back behind him as they seemed very overwhelmed by the influx of questions.

"They're from the future, so don't worry about me having children as a teenager."

"How'd they get here if they're from the future?" asked Deuce, though he wasn't sure if the answer was obvious to everyone else and he just wasn't getting it.

"I don't know, Deuce, but they're here until I can figure out how to get them back," Trey sighed. "Since they might be here a while, I'll introduce them."

Trey pointed to the older boy who had greenish hair and glasses just like his father.

"This is Julian,"

He pulled the girl, who had e/c eyes with a mischievous glint, into a little side hug and she giggled.

"This is Catherine,"

He ruffled the little boys h/c hair, making him laugh.

"And this little one is Lukas."

"Okay, but who's the mom? Is it someone we know?" Ace seemed very invested in the new tea.

"I'm not sure I really want to tell you anymore."

"Come on, who is it?"

"Mama is Y/N!" Lukas exclaimed, looking very proud of himself that he remembered his mother's name.

All the Heartslabyul students went quiet. This time nothing broke the uncomfortable silence as they all exchanged glances.

"I heard yelling. Are y'all alright?" you poked your head into the kitchen.

"We're fine!" Deuce practically screamed, making you even more concerned.

"It's absolutely nothing," Cater gave you a thumbs up and a saccharine smile as you raised your eyebrow suspiciously.

"You're all acting weird."

"Mama!"

Before you knew it, three tiny bodied were upon you.

"What's going on?" you asked, panicked. You looked to Trey for help since he usually knew what was going on.

Trey sighed and began prying the children off of you.

"Alright, kids. Let's not suffocate your mother."

You practically saw blue screens.

"Mother?"

"Maybe let's take this somewhere more private where I can explain."

You could hear a chorus of suggestive "oohs" from the kitchen as you walked to Trey's room.

[tw1l1te]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼- 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

Part 2!! This will include Hyrule, Four, and Legend ₍ᐢᐢ₎

Warnings: mention of scars and negative mental health

Please read with the warnings in mind, this one is heavier in terms of mental health topics.

⋆｡°✩

𝕳𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊

About 18/19, a couple years after his journey is done

Average height, his build is still toned but more on the leaner side because of height and anatomy

light freckles across his cheeks/nose and skin is tanner than the rest of the boys

Has 2 small cartilidge piercings, small silver hoops

Part fae, I know a few others headcanon him as fae too I just think it suits his character

Speaks and writes Hylian well, takes a bit longer to read though (he's trying his best)

Closer to Legend, they're the downfall duo :3, but also close to Sky

I wanna say he's like one of the last few boys to feel attraction towards Y/n. Fae bonding to humans is weird and Hyrule doesn't wanna freak you out and needs to really process it.

When he realizes he fell for you? Oh boy. Definitely more clingy and obsessive and frets over your safety, more than Sky even.

Major sweet tooth, favorite food has go to be spoonfuls of honey

Keeps a journal, lots of sketches and notes on herbs and flora and some thoughts on Y/n

Has a.... difficult relationship with Hylia/Zelda/the Goddess

Knows about some of Legend's past, not as much as Y/n though

Has a large scar on his lower stomach from Dark Link, and faded white scratches on his back from a past incident that I may or may not bring up later down the line

Do not let him near a cooking pot. Don't do it.

𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗

Our favorite smithy is about 18-19

He may be short, but don't let his height fool you. Mr. swordmaker here is built. You think all the hours hammering away at metal don't build muscle? You'd be wrong

Anywayss, I headcanon Four as having heterochromia, one eye green and the other a dark blue.

Has the lightest stubble, hardly noticeable because he shaves it everyday

Recently has also started tying up his hair in a pony tail, so he honestly looks like a younger Time from far away

Has lots of ear piercings and stacks rings on his fingers, most of which he made himself from spare parts. He made a few rings for Legend and Y/n

Develops feelings for Y/n slowly, though it hits him like a brick after the Yiga clan incident after realizing how close he was to losing you

Has a few scars on his hands and arms, a few burn marks from reckless accdients both in and out of the blacksmith shop

Has a tattoo of the Four Sword on his forearm

Ironically enough, close to Wild and Wind. He's keeping a tally of how many swords Wild has broken So far it's 46

Similar to Wild, he kinda has shaggier hair, though its only really visible when his hair is fully down without the headband

REALLY GOOD AT SHIELD SURFING FOR SOME REASON-

𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉

19, slightly older than Four and Hyrule

Average height, leaner build, and I wanna say he's on the paler side. He gets sunburned crazy fast like no amount of suscreen can save him

Pink hair, duh, but its more faded than it was when he first shifted into his rabbit form. It's more like leftover on his bangs and on part of his head.

Pinky is decked out in rings, every single finger is stacked with rings for functionality, protection, etc., but some he just thinks are neat.

Double pierced lobes, a few cartilidge piercings, maybe even a Hylian-equivalent of an industrial and has a dick piercing shh

Does not like wearing pants. no sir. Only if absolutely necessary.

Can speak/write Hylian and Lorulean pretty well, though pretty rusty on the latter because he hasn't used or read it much since his adventures

Like the 4th person to develop feelings for our protagonist, he's a little lost to be completely honest. Part of him wants to succumb to his feelings, the other is terrified of losing someone again

Close to Hyrule, Wild, and Wars ironically enough (mostly because of the bickering :D)

Keeps a scrap of Ravio's scarf in his bag, holds it sometimes.

Has a deep long scar along his forearm from a fight, some burn marks from the fire rod. He also has other scars that he doesn't show or discuss, those are difficult to talk about. He wasn't in a good place after.... everything.

Snarky and grumpy, but he softens up around people he trusts. He just needs time and love ₍ᐢᐢ₎

[shotgunbunny]

Like real people do

Dark!Lumberjack! Ari x Airhead! Reader

WC:3k+. GIF by lilacevans

Warnings: [smut! Breeding kink! olderman and younger woman! dubcon! noncon! manipulation! toxic! this is a dark oneshot!]

You were always labelled as naive and very trusting ever since you were young. But now you were older that tag never left in fact it was now accompanied with the word dumb. So to the entire town you were the pretty young thing who never held a thought in her head but always had a smile on her glossed lips.

Some of those beliefs that you were an airhead evolved from the numerous times you defended the mysterious man that lives in the forest. Everyone claimed he was evil and rude, truly someone who would never find love unless he had to force it. Yet throughout all that talk all you could think about is a lonely lumberjack, patiently waiting for the love of his life to step foot in the forest for him to sweep her away and cherish her. Just like Hades and Persephone.

So because you believed so heavily that the people misjudged this man, you defended him. You made sure that any slander that was spoken about Ari was silenced. You admired him despite never meeting him. He was so strong to deal with all the rumours and still stay in this town.

You never understood where the mean ideas stemmed from. After all how could a man be so cruel?

It was a fresh new morning and it was your job to open the bakery. You took a lot of pride in your baking. For everything you baked was utter perfection, at least that's what the customers told you.

Today you were adorned in you uniform with a long fluffy cardigan keeping your bare arms and legs warm. Your uniform consisted of a cute white top that had a pink collar and a small pink skirt. You adored it purely because of how cute it was.

As you were about to unlock the bakery you heard a grunt to your side and turned to observe, you wish you'd have taken a breath as the gasp you let out was audible to both you and the gentleman that you were facing.

You don't know if you could even call him a gentleman he looked more like a mountain man. He towered over you at 6'7 and his large frame drowned you. He truly was a giant and you were left in shock that men could truly be built like Greek gods and not remain as fairytales.

You looked at him more closely and saw how pretty his blue eyes were, they showed amusement in them. His hair brown was long and his beard was so full. You wondered if he was covered in hair, maybe he was more bear than he was man. It would explain his height and stature. As intimidating as his build was you were utterly enchanted by his gorgeous face. The way his face was made so beautiful and how his muscles were crafted to bulge against his flannel shirt as he held logs of wood.

At the realisation he was holding logs you snapped out of your stupor and offered a small apologetic smile for observing the beautiful man.

"You done ogling me, little one?"

His voice was deep and it caused your thighs to push together and your folds to wetten. Your cheeks flushed at being caught.

"I'm sorry sir! It's just you seem to be out of one those fantasy books!"

"Well angel I can ensure 'm not. Though it's cute you think so. But if I'm from a fantasy book you must be from a fairytale book. Look at ya'. All pink n shit, look like a go'damn little princess."

You giggled making the large man smile down at you.

"Well if I'm a princess you can be my knight! You can protect me from mean people!"

"Is that right little one? How are you sure I'm not a mean man?"

You smiled up at him, completely oblivious to the fact that he could be. You trusted this man for simply calling you a princess.

"You wouldn't hurt me sir! You're my knight after all, you'd save me whenever I'm in trouble."

To which he let out a hearty chuckle and your smile turned into a grin, Happy to have coaxed musical happiness from the mountain of a man.

"You're right princess. I am here to save you from trouble. That's why I brought some wood."

Then it dawned on you. There was only one lumberjack in town and he delivered all his wood himself. This was the one and only Ari Levinson. The man the town hated on. Yet here he was laughing with you. He was no villain he was a simple man, and it warmed your heart knowing you were right about him the entire time.

"You're here to help with the oven! I forgot all about it! It's such an honour to meet you Mr. Levinson. Everyone around here says mean stuff but I didn't believe them and I was right! Take that Billy!"

Ari looked down at you and smiled softly, having heard murmurs about a gullible girl holding your name and how she defended the cruel man in the forest despite never meeting him. He felt a tinge of anger though the second you mentioned another's name. How dare you bring another person's name in the presence of the man you've been defending. Every time you preserved his name, the more he saw you as a potential for carrying his name. He assumed that you were trying to court him and now he was here, he was going to claim you.

"So you're my little champion, protecting me from the mean folk. It's an honour to meet you angel. Truly ,"

You couldn't help but blush about how he'd heard you guarding who he was and defending his honour. You smiled and opened the bakery door fully and you both stepped in. You then checked the sign was still flipped so that it said closed to ensure that then you can start everything and open in an hour.

"Umm Ari, can you put the wood in the oven for me, I don't know how and Margaret said she didn't want me hurting myself."

Ari looked at you and smiled, he didn't want you hurting yourself either. You were far too perfect to get any injury and if you ever did have a scratch on your smooth skin, he'd ensure that anyone who caused it would end up being cut up just like he does with his wood. No one would harm you, not his little angel. But he knew he could squeeze something out of you due to how much you trusted him. It was almost comedic how gullible you were for him. But he knew you were just an airhead, but he was gonna change that so your head was filled with him.

"I'll do it angel, for a kiss. How does that sound?"

You pondered for a moment, and then agreed. It was only gonna be a mere pec on the cheek and it was an absolute win to kiss your handsome knights cheek. Though he was going to have to bend a little for you to meet his cheek.

After the deal had been made you both got on with your tasks. You put your cute pink frilly apron on and began making dough for the pies you were going to make today. As you began mixing and beating you drowned the noise out of Ari throwing the wood into the oven where the fire hissed and ate it up grateful for the fuel.

As you were about to start kneeding the dough you felt two strong hands take place on your waist and pull towards a hard front. Your pert ass was against a bulge yet you blissfully ignored it and carried on kneeding. Ari let out a delightful hum imagining you in his cabin where you would make him dinner after his hard day at work and he would hold just as he is now.

The feeling of domestic bliss washed over him and he began picturing you as his perfect wife, making him his pies and seeing you baking cookies for your children in the future. God he was rock hard over you being his. And he made it known by grinding against you letting out a breath groan. Yet you were still humming so caught up in your baking until his large hand grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him.

"I think it's time for my kiss angel."

You smiled bashfully and stood on your tippy toes, your ass brushing against his huge bulge before you pressed your glossy full lips to his bearded cheek and smiled. Yet that smile was quickly wiped from your face when he let out a tutting noise.

"No angel, I didn't mean that kinda kiss, I meant this kinda kiss."

Before you could even ask what he meant, he lips were on yours, his broad frame was draped over you. He kept your lips together before his hunger became more. He poked his tongue out and stroked your bottom lip to which you opened your mouth for Ari's tongue to explore. You were almost out of breath so you pulled away, a strong of salvia connected you both and you couldn't help the pathetic whimper that left you mouth.

And that was all it took for Ari to snap. He wasn't just hungry anymore no, he was a man starved for you. And he was tired of waiting in his lonely cabin for you to join him. So he quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled his fly down and pulled his pants down so they hung at his knees and then he brought his boxers down.

The tip of his cock was leaking precum and you could feel it on your inner thigh making you wetter. He just couldn't wait any longer. He pulled your panties down and bent you over the counter. Destroying your hard work but before you could utter a single complaint, you felt the fat tip of his cock stroking your pussy. All before he pushed all the way in and wrapped his big hand around your mouth to silence your squeal of pain from how big he really was.

He let out a gutteral moan over how tight you were, you felt like heaven on his cock. You wrapped around him so perfectly, further solidifying the fact that you were gonna be his little wife. He pulled out a little before pushing back in, thrusting against your tight pussy and he couldn't help the filth spewing from his mouth at the feeling of your cunt on his cock.

"Fucking perfect baby. This little cunt is fucking perfect. You were saving it for me huh? Saving it for the big nasty man in the forest? Yeah? Well now he's fucking here and God I'm gonna fucking ruin your little baby pussy. Fuck what's left in your head out. Like a good fucking husband."

All the while his thrusts were speeding up and his hands had moved so that he could here you let out every gasp and whine over his cock pounding your pussy. His left hand was now under your shirt playing with your nipples all while he condemned you and called you a whore for not wearing a bra. And his other hand was down where the two of you were connected. He was playing with your little clit, pushing you further and further to cumming on his cock.

"You gonna be a good girl and coat daddy's cock? I know you will because you've been waiting for today. Fucking little slut knew I'd bury my cock in this tight little fuckin pussy till you could feel my balls against your needy cunt."

At his words your eyes rolled because you truly could feel his balls bouncing against you with every thrust he did, the sounds of his heavy balls hitting your wet little pussy was driving you further into sin and you arched your back begging him for more without even knowing.

"Fucking good little whore for daddy. Didn't even wear a bra, you knew I was coming for you didn't ya'. Gonna fucking cum for you baby, you're gonna be fucking filled."

With his promise of breeding you, your mind turned off and you let go. Pleasure wrapped around you and you felt it pulse all the way down to your cunt before you coated Ari's cock with your sweet cum. You tightened around him, making him let out a breath groan before his thrusts stuttered and he pushed himself deep inside you so that you could feel him against your cervix before he let his cum spill into you with his shallow thrusts.

You stayed bent over that counter with Ari covering you for a few minutes, catching your breath and trying to gather whatever thoughts you had left. You could hear Ari though it felt like he was far away. Words of you being his good little wife floated in the air and after a few minutes you realised not only had Ari pulled his cock from you, but he had also pulled your panties up and had gotten you a drink of water which you were gulping.

When you blinked you looked up at him, and he looked down at you before he let out a sigh and pulled you against his huge body into a hug.

"I'm sorry baby but it's time. You're gonna be my little wife and I know you're confused but trust me you'll love the life I can gift you. You just need to be mine and love me. Have our children and love the life I give you. I know it's a lot angel but think of us like Hades and Persephone. It's so romantic right angel? I knew I loved you the second I saw you."

All those words floated around your head but Hades and Persephone stuck. You adored that story, merely for the very fact that he fell in love with her at first sight yet you never got further than that as someone would always interrupt your reading, so you were clueless to the fact he kidnapped her and made her his wife. You're eyes gleamed over the romantic aspect, of how he would charm you. You let out a small smile at the fantasy and Ari took it hastily as a good sign.

"Yeah baby I thought you'd love that. I'm gonna pick you up after work okay baby, I'll take you home."

After that was said he leaned down and gave you a soft long kiss, to which you put your small hands on his hairy cheeks and stroked. So happy to have love that truly was from fairytales and myth. When he pulled away he leaned his forehead against yours and softly whispered your name along with a gentle

"I'll be waiting for you angel. I love you my beautiful little wife."

You smiled and he smiled back before he kissed your forehead and slowly began to leave the bakery never once taking his eyes off you until you were out of his line of sight. You were absolutely starstruck over the man. So starstruck that you forgot about his cum buried deep inside you and the fact he fucked you so hard on the counter minutes ago.

Your shift had finished and the thought of Ari picking you up had dissipated quickly as you were going to go berry picking for the pies you were to bake later that week. As you began down the path to the forest where you hand picked the berries you forgot about everything that had happened and hummed sweetly.

All the while Ari pulled up in his Chevy and was expecting you to run out to him and hug him. Yet there was nothing. Ari held back his feeling of doubt and decided that maybe you were still inside baking and forgot time. Yet there was only the old woman there Margaret and she was about to close the bakery. Ari bit his tongue and swallowed his pride before approaching the old woman.

"Where's my angel? I thought she was closing"

To which the old woman replied with a look of confusion and Ari sighed and said your name. The woman told Ari that you had gone berry picking, far too scared to disobey him as he was practically the ruler of this town. Ari turned and slapped the roof of his car in anger. Ofcourse you'd forget, he'd make sure you didn't ever again. He grabbed his rag and began driving down the forest lanes to where he could easily retrieve you.

You were so caught up in your humming and picking of the berries that you didn't hear any twigs snap behind you, and you didn't notice the large shadow that was casted behind you. All you knew is that one moment you found the perfect cluster of berries and the next a rag was placed over your mouth making the world go black.

When you awoke, you were in a large bed. It was warm and cozy and white sheets protected you, as well as a big beefy arm. You turned and saw Ari. Yet he looked a lot softer than ever. His hair was messy and his eyes was half open and a sleepy smile was painted on his face.

His arm pulled you against him, dragging you across the bed so that he could hold you against his chest. You smiled at him and brushed hair out of his face before panic seized you and he held you tighter.

"What's wrong little wife talk to me."

"I was- there was a rag on my mouth and the world went black and-"

Ari had prepared for this, he knew you were dumb but you weren't dumb enough to forget getting kidnapped which is why he had his story ready to protect you from the truth that he stole you from you world.

"Oh my pretty baby I know, I was in the forest doing my work and I heard you squeak and there was a man trying to take you, but you know I'd never let him. I scared him off baby, I saved you."

You stared at him and slowly smiled, you leaned up to softly kiss his lips to which he eagerly returned. You pulled back and caressed his cheek staring into his beautiful blue eyes which shined with love. You giggled quietly to which he raised a brow and you responded;

"You really did become my knight! You saved me."

"Ofcourse princess, I'd never let anyone take you."

You smiled and snuggled into him slowly drifting off to your fantasy land while Ari spoke softly to you,

"My good little wife. Gonna take such good care of you baby. And you're gonna take care of our babies. My little Persephone hmm? Don't worry I won't let you go wander around every 8 months. No, you'll be mine, forever."

[netherfeildren]

With Mercy for the Disturbed

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: He's a father and then he isn't, and then he's in the perfect place with the perfect girl, and he's done so many bad things that terrify the both of them. And then, finally, he's saved and there are dancing bears and doors newly opened, and everyone's a little mad at the end of it all.

-OR-

the Hannibal/Alice in Wonderland AU wherein Joel loses his mind

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: AU; Extremely Dubious Consent; Or Non Con; You decide but vibes are definitely off; Dark Fic; Rough Sex; Face fucking; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Bondage; Unreliable Narrator; Memory loss; Blasphemy; Discussions of religious disdain; Discussions of morality; References to suicide; Beware of the old man who’s crazy and lets all his intrusive thoughts win; Older man/Younger woman; Creampie; Light breeding kink; Like very light for the likes of me promise; Possessive Behavior; Kidnapping; Joel POV

A/N: Hello and hallelujah, I’m so happy to be posting this!! For a minute after I finished Pink I felt like it would be impossible for me to write anything else ever again, and felt so weird and without anything left to say.  I struggled so much just getting these words down, and it was supposed to be something very different initially compared to what it turned out to be, but I think I quite like the final product. I hope you do too. 

And one million kisses and thank yous and all the praise in the world to @frannyzooey for giving this a little looksy over before posting. You’re the greatest and the bestest, Kelli, thank you so so much :)

Please heed the tags carefully and err on the side of caution!!! The goings on in this are very strange and this is probably the darkest thing I’ve written to date. 

Word Count: 8.8K

Read on AO3

He can’t remember her name anymore, but he remembers the number. It’s been seven hundred and thirty eight days since his daughter died. 

Sometimes, he’s not sure if he even remembers his own name. He thinks it’s Joel, and the sound of it brings him comfort in a way, when it’s especially dark and confusing in his mind, and so he tells himself over and over again that that’s what it is. Joel. Joel. Joel. I am Joel. That that’s what it’s always been. That that’s the name she knew him as. 

Sometimes you call him that too.

He used to be a father, and then one day, so suddenly he can’t recall how it even happened, he lost everything. Like dominos falling over in his mind – the girl, and then his memories and then the man with the face like his. He plays dominos all the time now. 

In his spot in the sun in the big blue room, wearing his whites and his soft socks and taking the pills they force down his throat. He plays dominos, and he does his exercises, and he thinks of that daughter whose name he can’t remember. He says his own name over and over and over again so many times until it’s not even a sound anymore, only a buzz or a hum or a scream. 

His beard is thick and his hair is long, and he does not recognize his own face in the mirror. All he sees are ghost green eyes and dark hair and a fathomless sort of failure. A father, no longer a father. He goes for walks in the garden, he eats the food they give him even when he doesn’t really want to, even when it tastes like ash or greater madness than the one he’s already swallowed. And he waits for you. All the time he waits for you to come to him, he watches the big doors that go out into the world he’s too frightened and broken to step foot in now, draws his fingertip over the gristle of scar tissue at his temple mended over invisible fracture, and he waits and waits, and he says his name and he thinks of that nameless daughter and he waits and he thinks: the morning after I killed myself, I woke up in the perfect place with the perfect white walls and now all I do is wait. 

He sits in his chair in the corner now and counts the seconds for you to come for him. Always at this time, always when the sun is at that spot in the sky. When it rains, and he can't tell where he is in the world, and the clouds are swollen purple gray verging on melancholy and anger, he feels something like despairing. Something like the sort of insane they whisper he is behind his back now.

He watches the puddles filled with dark mercury grow and grow like the ocean rising out of concrete, and the orange tree that drips and weeps and sags and he thinks he feels very much that way inside too. Sometimes, when the sun shines and there are no clouds and he doesn’t feel so terribly downtrodden, or maybe worse than usual, each orange blossom opens like a hand reaching out for him. Begging him not to do it, not to think of it, not to go back to that bad place. Focus only on me, she says. Focus only on the blue walls and the perfect room and the place where the sun sits in the sky, she’s on her way, she’s almost here. 

The first time they’d told him he was ill – or dead – the first morning in the perfect room, he’d been angry, affronted or offended, and he’d howled and fought and said I’m not fucking crazy, it’s only that my daughter is dead. But as much as he’d fought or kicked or screamed, wept until he was brittle and dry as a whale bone, they’d not believed him. And so, he’d come to appreciate the peace of the perfection surrounding him, the perfection of a lie, or the perfection that comes to visit him in the shape of a woman, soft and round in all the right places and pretty. Fuckable. He tries not to think of it. He swears he does. But there’s little else to consider in the perfect place. So really, he thinks of little else. 

You’re almost here, he knows it’s almost time.

A few more moments of the sun in the place where it is until it’s in the place where it should be, and then you’ll be here, and he looks down at the stone in his palm, held for so long it’s turned dark with his sweat now. I shouldn’t have, but I brought you something, placed it in his hand, done that thing with your eyes and your mouth that told him secrets he wasn’t sure you were even aware you were telling him. 

He knows that it’s November now because you’d said it was, and he doesn’t know why, but when you’d told him, he’d wept and wept and wept. Become inconsolable which had sent you to worrying, put the different sort of look on your face, in your eyes, the one that vibrates, that screams instead of whispers. And he’s positive you don’t know you show him that one, but he sees it anyways, you’ve got a shit poker face. And he’d told you between sobs and chokes, it’s November and it’s terrible and I can’t explain why except to say that it’s as though the earth has suddenly realized that she’s grown old and cold and there’s nothin’ she can do to prevent it except weep, and I feel very much like this in my own heart too. And when he looks back up at the sun, it’s finally where it’s supposed to be, and when he looks back at the double doors that lead away to all his fears and all the bad, there you are. You walk towards him slow and measured, and you’re perfect, perfect, perfect. Precious, impeccable, absolutely exceptional in every way. He wants very much to ruin all that pure magnificence. 

He knows that he did something very bad after his daughter, after they took her, lots of very bad things to lots of very bad people. He knows this, he remembers this vividly, enjoys the memory of it, savors it like something sitting sweet and light on his tongue. 

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love with the idea of a girl who was gone who’d come from me who is never going to be again. Who I never made enough time for when there was still time to be made.

You always wear beautiful clothes, and it makes him appreciate the blandness of his own. That you stand out, that he’s merely a blank canvas for you to inflict yourself on. Wool skirts and silk blouses and sheer pantyhose he wants to rip to ribbons with his fingers. Makes him appreciate the beauty of you, faultless, guileless. Sweet in a way he’d never witnessed before like a kitten that’s so adorable you want to squeeze and squeeze and smother until it bursts. Big eyes and a full, soft mouth and breathy voice, and then you’re right there.“Hi, Joel,” and yeah, that’s right, he does know his name, you remind him of it all the time.  

“Mornin’.”

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

The room you usually sit in to talk has a big painting of a field in it, a bear in the far off center up on its hind legs, somehow, appearing as if it’s dancing away. Even the paintings are mad here, but he likes it, wants to dance away into the far off unknown like that too. 

“The middle of the day’s not the best time for fishin’ usually.” Sometimes, you let him start where he wants. Silent until he chooses to break. He pulls the thought out of nowhere. “Bein’ out there’s just the excuse, I suspect, in the sun and the water.” 

He listens to the scratch, scratch of your pen. You write with one of those fountain types with the sharp point, and he wonders if you’ve ever considered how easily he could turn it into a weapon. How smoothly it’d pierce the soft, satin skin of your throat he likes to fantasize about. He would never. But he does like to think about it, pretends it’s a show of your trust, wonders if the guards and higher ups know you bring something like that in here with him. Scratch, scratch, scratch, and it makes his brain itch. 

“You used to fish?”

“Think so.”

“Are you remembering?”

“Nah.” The morning after I killed myself, I lost my memories – it’s only that they’d hurt everywhere I’d touched them, and so I’d had to let them go.

“No?” 

You’ve got the loveliest voice, and sometimes he wishes he could tell you to stop asking so many stupid questions about him and talk about yourself. Endlessly. He chooses a new route. “What is it about empathy that people find so difficult to be generous with?”

That soft hum in your throat he loves, the one he feels soothe that itchy brain of his. “Humans can be inherently selfish. We’re born with only ourselves, we die with only ourselves, sometimes that gets in our way.”

“No… Don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” He knows you like to lead him sometimes, like a game he doesn’t want to enjoy. “You’re the one saying we’re greedy with our empathy.”

“Forgiveness too,” he adds.

The click of your tongue, “Do you think you’re forgiving?”

“Not at all.”

Scratch, scratch. Once he’d asked what it is you write about him during these talks of yours, and all you’d said was notes. It’s the only time he’s ever been angry with you, refused to talk to you for three days after that. Only because if you wouldn’t tell him things, then he wasn’t going to tell you anything either. “Then what’s the point you’re trying to make? What’s your question?” But then he’d missed the sound of your voice too much, had felt the burn of your gaze on his skin too intensely, had masturbated too many times without satisfaction to the memory of your eyes on him that he’d been forced to relent. He needed the sound of your voice in his head also to be able to come. 

“Why is it so difficult?” He asks again because he has to understand. Because he needs an answer desperately. 

“It’s hard to see someone as simply themselves, simply human – a sentient flaw, so to speak – when they make a mistake. And yet, as grievous or offensive as something can be, we all do it eventually. Some people have no patience for that.”

“Even though they themselves will eventually, inevitably, do it too?” He can feel himself getting upset, his heart beating too fast, a cold sweat sprouting at the back of his neck while his face flushes hot and red. 

“Yes.”

“That’s bad.”

You shrug, “Perhaps.”

“Selfish.”

Again, “Perhaps.”

And then the true source of his anger, “I think I’m like that.”

You nod like you understand, and he wants to shake you and make you see that there’s no way you actually could. “Would you like not to be?” It pisses him off when your voice goes all even and patient like that. 

“Yes. I hate people like that. I hate people that can’t find it in themselves to forgive – to give someone a second chance.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He can’t help himself when he vomits the words, not fully expecting them to come out so slicked in truth as they do. “Because I wish someone would give me one, even if I don’t deserve it. F– forgive me– But even then… what does it matter? What does it matter if I’m forgiven, given a second chance, absolved of all my sins? Look at where I am. Look at what I've become. I’m entirely lost to myself. You know, sometimes I can’t remember my own name if you don’t remind me of it.”

“You’re Joel. You had a daughter. Her name was Sarah.” He flinches at the sound of it, wants to bare his teeth at you like a rabid animal. “Your brother is Tommy. He calls every Friday at three o’clock to ask how you are. You’re Joel Miller.” That’s right. The morning after I killed myself, I met my brother for the first time. The real him. The him who’s afraid of me. The real Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Sometimes the name rings familiar in his mind, again, when you remind him of it.

He shakes his head, swallows a gruff sound, tries to shutter the manic look he knows floods his eyes, reverts back to his initial thought, “False senses of moral superiority disgust me.” The sun’s shining in at an angle so that there’s a single tendril of sunlight wrapped around the slim of your crossed ankle, gripping the nylon covered limb in its light. Joel’s eyes shift jealously from that held piece of you to the shadow of far off rain he can see in the distance through the window, trying to find some measure of peace in the sight. It’ll reach here eventually, and he tries to ground himself in the inevitability. “Yes, there’s right and wrong. There’s also humanity. There’s also the right to grow and learn, and to make mistakes that, in the end, make you better. Who are you to condemn me? Is your glass house so pristine not a stain mars it? Grace, forgiveness, empathy… I find those infinitely more valuable than whatever false sense of good and bad you’ve decided makes me worthy or not,” he says, eyes cast towards the coming rain. He can feel your gaze on his face, and he does not want to acknowledge it. 

“But the things you did were bad, Joel. You hurt people. You killed people.” 

That makes his eyes snap back to yours for the way you say it. As if you’re sharing a bit of inconsequential news with him. The weather is about to hit, the rain is almost here. Can’t you see it, just there, in the distance? Voice so even and soft. Sometimes he calls you angel, when he knows he’s charmed you enough just to get away with it, when he’s said all the things he knows you want to hear from him and smiled all the right smiles that cost him so much. Voice like a goddamn angel, face like a goddamn angel. Everything else… like something come straight from Hell to drag him down to where he really belongs and never let him go. 

He eyes you suspiciously. “The Bible says an eye for an eye. They killed my daughter so I took their eyes.” And then other parts.

“And then their lives…” And then their lives. He nods once, succinct. “You ascribe to the scripture?” You snap that little leather bound book open again, red, scratch in it once again, all your secrets about him. That itch returns, stronger than before. He bites down on it, chews it away within himself. 

“What? Like I believe in it? Fuck no. Fuck religion. It isn’t real. A weak construct made for weak men in need of comfort. And– and… like what – it’s going to save my soul? I ate that a long time ago, angel. Look at where I am…” He shrugs, letting his head fall back in a circular motion, coming to rest on his shoulder. He can’t help but smile at you, he knows you hate it when he gets like this, all ornery and heretical. 

You purse your lips, shake your head at him gently, and he wants to eat the lipstick from your soft mouth. “You believe in angels though… you call me–”

His smile cranks up another notch for a single beat. “Gotta believe in somethin’ that’s right in front of my eyes, don’t I? What d’ya think, that’m crazy?” And his eyes slide to the window again, smile melting off his face. “‘Sides they told me so–” 

“Who told you what?” Voice slow, measured, all serious-like. He rolls his eyes, feels the stone of anger in his belly heat, spin, jump to his throat. 

“They killed my daughter,” he spits like a whispered scream instead. The shadow of rain is closer. If the dancing bear were out there, it’d be lost to the deluge by now. “I should’ve done worse. I would have, had I not been thrown away in here.” He remembers that a man with a face like his left him here, but he doesn’t know who. He shakes his head, jostles the non-memory out of his ears, searches harder for the dancing bear, killed a bunch’a people, he murmurs to himself, once more again, because he likes the sound of it.

“So you’re talking about yourself. You want to be forgiven.” He doesn’t like when you tell him, when you don’t ask. It makes him feel like you know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know everything you know. 

“No. I don’t know.”

“Do you feel thrown away, Joel?”

“I feel forgotten – impossible to remember,” his voice cracks at the end, eyes suddenly wet and hot.

“By who?”

“The world.” He can’t remember his childhood. He can’t remember what he was like as a child, and it makes him sad. 

You’re quiet for a long time, no more scratch, scratch, scratch, no more itch. No more angel voice, and then, very soft, like you know you shouldn’t. “I remember you. I haven’t forgotten you.” 

Once, a time ago because he can’t discern lengths of it anymore, it doesn't exist here in the perfect place, amidst what, he thinks, is a lot that you know you shouldn’t have allowed, you’d changed the routine up on him. Had sent for him, instead of coming for him yourself. When he’d stepped into the room where you have your talks, you’d been facing the big window, looking out at the green, the line of your shoulders and the dip of your waist and the swell of your ass in your skirt that shifts like water around your knees and the saliva pooling heavy in his mouth, it’d been too much, too much for a broken thing, and you hadn’t turned. Like the pen, like more trust, you hadn’t turned to face him even though he knew you’d heard the door snick shut behind him. He’d stepped as quiet as he could up behind you, quiet like when he was sneaking to kill, and he’d brushed a single tip of his finger up the length of one of your skinny, little ones, so much smaller and finer than his thick, brutish ones, stroked the palm of your hand. You’d made the tiniest sound, interrupted by a swallow, but he’d heard it. He’d heard the want in it. He’d not forgotten either, and he sees that sound in your eyes now, again, as you stare at him with an intention he’s not so fucking crazy that he doesn’t know you shouldn’t possess. 

He smiles a little again, and you don’t return it, but it’s okay, he sees the sound of your want in your eyes anyways, and that’s infinitely more satisfying to him. “It would serve us all well to remember to try to be a little more empathetic, a little more forgiving.”

You swallow, shaken, he can tell. Shaken by that thing inside you for him he knows shouldn’t be there. You scratch a little in the book, say slowly, “It starts with you, I think, you have to forgive yourself first.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that. There are things you talk about you clearly have no understanding of. You’re young. You don’t know better. He understands. “I think… I think, I haven’t been myself lately.”

“Who have you been?”

And again, he doesn’t mean to say it, but you tell him so much you don’t mean to say either that he feels he might as well also. “Someone–” That anger again, he can’t help himself even though he desperately wants to. “Someone my daughter would be afraid of.” Full blown rage now. At you. Yes, at you. You force things from him he doesn’t want to give you, and there’s a thing within him that wants to punish you for it, take a pound of flesh in repayment. “I want someone to forgive me. I want to be forgiven. I want to experience it.” Truth is like fire, hypnotizing, seductive, once it catches, inextinguishable. He wants to hate you sometimes for forcing these things from him, for not giving him a choice, and worst of all, done so unintentionally, unknowingly. He wants to not give you a choice either. 

“From who?” You ask. Silly little girl. You need to learn the art of restraint, of temperance. He should teach you. 

“Our hour’s up.” He looks away, dismissing you. As if he’s the one in charge here, and not the one caged. Divested. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s–”

“Our hour’s up,” head snapping back towards you, barking–  “It’s time for you to go.” And something in his gaze must tell how far he’s been pushed, by you, for you jerk up and out of your chair suddenly, turning to scurry towards the door, not bothering to say goodbye, not bothering to turn back, not bothering to notice the clatter of your pen on the linoleum. 

He watches you go, a single black seam runs up the back of your hose, and the sight makes him feel violent, eager for darkness and the solitude of his white box room. 

-

He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the rain beats against the singular tiny window in his room, maybe the way it whispers at him like all the other things that whisper at him now, but he knows you’ll come before he hears the stunted jangle of keys, the sigh and click of his door, the bare pad of shoeless feet on the hard floor, you’d thought this through, your too fast, too shallow breathing. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head, cock hard, a little chafed. He wasn’t able to make himself come tonight, sometimes it doesn’t work, sometimes he needs the imagination of your wet cunt more than just the mere memory of your voice in his mind and the remembered feel of your gaze on him, but he’s never let himself picture the full act of fucking you. Thinks it would send him to a level of unhingedness he’d find unable to restrain in your presence. He only thinks of bits and pieces of you, like a dissected doll pulled apart for his half pleasure. Never the full thing, ever. 

You try and say whatever it is you want to say several times before it finally comes out, all choked and feigned regret, but you do try and put on a good show, swallowed up by nerves as you are. “I– I just– I just came to make sure you’re okay,” you whisper. You’ve never been in his room before. He’s never had you in his space like this, and it makes him leak. 

“You didn’t come for that.” Voice slow, still wide eyed, looking up at the white domed ceiling, something like victory in the shape of a hymn pounding through his veins. He won’t look at you until he’s ready. 

“I… I felt badly about how we left things this afternoon. I shouldn't have– I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t end our talk the way– the way… Joel?” You stutter,  trail off, voice small and unsure. 

He sees you move out of the corner of his eye. One step forward, two back, pressing up against the door again. Little bunny full of regret for coming into the wolf's bed, and he moves suddenly, swift despite his age still. He has little to do here besides move his body, make sure it doesn’t grow rust. He sits up quick as a whip, swinging his legs over the edge of his too small bed, planting his feet wide and sturdy on the cold floor. He can see the tremble of your throat even from here, the pristine lines of you. Your hair and your face and your tits and the tiny little pearl buttons of your blouse like soldiers waiting to be felled on the battlefield. He’s going to rip them from you, pluck the garments keeping you hidden away from your skin, spread you out, filleted. 

“That’s not what you came here for, angel.” He shakes his head slowly, and your panic ricochets higher, makes his cock harder. Your arm reaches back for the latch slowly, fumbling behind you, and he braces his legs. Your other palm outstretched, fingers trembling. He gives you another slow shake, as if that small gesture could keep him at bay. “I hear all the things you tell me. Don’t worry. I always hear.”

“Wh– what do you mean?”

“I always see the things you want me to know. I know… I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t– I’m not sure… I shouldn’t have come.” Your hand finds the latch, angling your body to slip through as swiftly as possible, and his muscles coil tight and ready. “I just wanted– to– to make sure…” You pull the door open, move to slip away, and he lunges for you, catches the edge of the swinging door, lets you float in the lie that you’ve gotten away for a few seconds, scurrying a few paces down the dark corridor of his perfect place where he’s found his perfect girl. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found an angel. 

You make it as far as the bend in the hall before he’s trapping you in his grip, swinging you around so fast you bounce against the white tiled walls, cages you there, open mouth immediately at your jugular, biting down hard while his big palm completely smothers your face, forces your choked cry back down. His other arm wraps around your waist, lifting and dragging you back down the hall towards his white box and his little bed and all his fantasies, artery caught between his teeth, no more choices to be had, exactly like you leave him all the time. He whispers at you to be quiet, quiet, quiet, angels are always good, and then he’s shutting the door behind him, trapping you inside and plucking the keys from your skirt pocket, locking the two of you away together as you should’ve been from that first day. 

You try and struggle in his arms, little feet kicking weakly at his shins, scratching at his sides where he has your arms trapped, but the sound of your fight is restrained, held low and gurgled in your throat, and he knows that you know that this is what you’d come for, that you’re getting exactly as you’d sought. 

“Fight harder if you’d like,” he says low in your ear, throwing the keys to the far corner and wrapping both arms tight around you, pressing all the air out. Finally, fucking finally. He’s touching you, the plush heat of your breasts against his chest, the soft swell of your belly against his stomach. He’s so fucking hard he wants to rut into you like a beast. “I want you to be scared,” and it’s the foremost truth he’s ever shared with you. The heart of all his depravity. “I want you to want it so bad you’re terrified. As bad as I want it. I want you to not want it also. Want you to fight and cry and scratch and bite, and then take it anyways ‘cause I’m gonna to give it to you anyways. You always take all of my choices from me,” he adds on, voice going barely there, mumbled, pressing a tiny kiss to the tiny hammering pulse in your throat, and you let out your first soft moan. An angel singing right into his ear. Your fighting tells all sorts of lies. He hoists you higher, presses you closer, and you wriggle and squirm, grinding his erection into the soft apex of your thighs. 

“Joel– stop, please– please. I– I didn’t think–” He bends his head to your breast, drags his nose over the hard peak he feels beneath the silk of your blouse, nuzzles there, enjoying the sound of your breathlessness, again that feigned shock. You’re right, you didn’t think, and it’s too late now. What did you expect would happen, coming here to his cage like this in the middle of the night? He catches the taut peak between the edge of his teeth, tugs gently, plucking your cords.

With a fist wrapped in the length of your hair he forces you to your knees at his feet, jerking your head back roughly so that your mouth falls open on a gasp giving him the opportunity to hook his fingers over the edge of your bottom teeth, stretching your jaw open wide. “Open– lemme see,” he orders. “I wanted you so bad,” dragging the pad of his thumb along the sharp edge of your jaw. “I want you so bad. All those days when you forced me to tell you things I didn’t want to tell you. I’m going to show you temperance now, angel,” he nods his head down at you condescendingly when you try and protest. I didn’t force you to do anything, “But you did. You did. You pulled things out of me I didn’t want to share. And now I have to have you. You always take all of my choices from me.” He clicks his tongue down at you, and there are tears in your eyes that go wide and something worse than frightened when he tugs the elastic waist of his soft white pants down, pulls out his angry erection and heavy balls. Your expression morphing from something worse than frightened, to something like desperate, like hungry, like his for the taking. And he’s big, he knows it. Much too big for the pretty little throat he’s about to force it down. But he’s going to be gentle, he’s going to help you, teach you. 

“Joel, please–” And look at you beg, so pretty with tears in your eyes, running down your cheeks. He brings the searing brand of his erection to your cheek, presses the burning hot skin all over your face, coating himself in the wet of your tears, marking you in the thick male scent of him. And the feel of you, just like this, just this little bit – with his fingers still hooked over the edge of your teeth he turns your face so that your open mouth brushes against his length. “Taste– I know you’re hungry for it. Give it a kiss hello, little angel.” 

Your eyes flash up to his face for a brief moment, almost too quick for him to catch, and then you’re pursing your mouth against him, swallowing the shudder that moves through his entire frame. A tiny kiss to the ridged underbelly of his cock, the drag of your lips against the length of him to the fat tip, and then another kiss with wet lips and enough tongue to undeniably lick up some of what’s slicking it. You want him, even if you won’t admit it, even if you cry or fight. It’s all he needs to know. 

Still caught by the teeth he jerks your head back forward, opens you wider and forces his cock down your throat. You gurgle around him, whining, shrieking, false, he knows what you really want. Can feel it in the slicking of your tongue around the proof of his desire for you, he’s giving you everything he has, and he spits your name, purges it from his belly like an infection over and over again while he starts to fuck your mouth. Feels you gulp hard just at the right moment to get his leaking tip caught tight at the choking opening of your throat. He could come just like this. He could, he could. You’re all his. Fill your belly with his semen until it bulges, feed you himself until you’d never be without him. He lets his head fall back, looks up at the white dome, at the false home of the false God, tells you again, voice all cracked and broken and gone away from him, “I don’t believe in God anymore, but that’s okay. I have you to believe in now,” fucks harder, listens to your cries climb up the walls, savors the scratch and shove at his thighs when he tightens his fist in your hair to a painful degree. You always take all my choices from me, always. But he knows that if he’s to show you temperance he must exercise his own, and after a few more slick thrusts, he pulls wetly from your mouth, enjoying your whistling groan as you sag face first against his thigh. He pets your hair now gently, fingers twisting through the softness. He’d always wanted to feel it, memorize its texture, its scent. There is nothing about you that isn’t worthy of veneration, of doing the worst thing in the world just to have you, taste you, keep you.

He lets you rest for a moment, wonders at the fact that you haven’t screamed yet. You easily could, call for help, salvation, an escape. You haven’t, and it soothes him. Makes him feel disgusting in a way that doesn’t match up with how disgusting it should feel to force himself on his pretty angel; a self satisfied type of disgust. Something he should be more ashamed of than he truly is. But when you have so little, when you barely have yourself, when theft is the only means of self satisfaction, little recourse remains for creatures caged in perfect places with only bad avenues left to them. 

He hauls you up by your underarms, lets his wet cock press trapped between the two of you, and he’s so close, so close, so close to what he’s needed for so long. He gathers you in his arms, cradles you gentle and with purpose. Tucks your hair behind your ears and wipes the tears and spit from your face, takes it the sparkle of your big wet eyes. So pretty. “Truly like an angel,” and chucks you beneath the chin when you shake your head at him. “You are. So pretty and so soft.” And then finally, like so many times he’d forced himself not to imagine it because he was terrified of what the fantasy would turn him into, no longer the dancing bear in the distance finding it’s escape, but a hungry one, a violent one, an animal so far beyond control all it could do was devour, he pulls you close by the tip of your chin and swallows your mouth whole. All tongue and teeth and the slick slide of your own fervor because yes, it’s there, tangling with his own mouth, pressing your own spit onto his tongue like an offering. You kiss him back.

You kiss him back.

 And, “I want to make you my little butterfly,” he says, “Spread you open, pinned just for me to look at. Only me.” He whispers it into your mouth, soft and secret and true. He’d string you up if he could, split you open and peer inside, rifle through the shafts of your ribs like a lexicon that spells out the truth of who you really are. And then that sudden anger again, that furious stone spinning in his throat. His touch becomes harder, punishing, “You’re going to tell me everything about you,” he says with all that rage in his voice, spits the stone out at you. “You shouldn’t have kept secrets from me.” Fuck the little red book and the scratch, scratch, scratch. He’s going to have all your truths. He’s going to be the one taking all of your choices away from you now. 

He hauls you towards his little bed, popping the pretty pearl buttons as he goes, knowing he’s going to go to his knees later to collect them like treasures for himself after this is done. He rips the blouse from your shoulders, shudders at your indignant little gasp with the sound of the tearing silk, and you’re all soft skin and fine lace and the prettiest thing he’s ever beheld with his own two eyes in this whole life. 

You bring one delicate hand up to his throat, try and grip him there, push him back, but he presses into the touch, sucks at your mouth again, harder, biting, and you say onto his tongue that you shouldn’t, and please, Joel, just wait, but he won’t and he can’t and he tells you it’s useless to fight because he’s having you regardless. 

“No, no– none of that. You’re going to take your fucking like a good little girl,” and something about his words or his tone or the look in his eyes must make the connection in your brian that this is happening click because you suddenly go boneless, head falling back to bear your throat for him, soft sound of concession slipping from your lips. 

He goes in for the kill, he’s always been exceptional at that, after all. Teeth latched at your jugular, tongue up and across the slope of soft sugared skin, and you taste like salvation. He’s saved now, he’s sure of it. Everything he’d lost, his daughter, his mind, himself, he’s going to find it buried in your cunt. Joel is absolutely certain of it. 

He divests you of your skirt, the pretty lace, leaves the nylons held up by tight elastic around your soft thighs, and then it’s all just bare skin and heat and your soft whimpers, the coolness of your hair between his fingers. He lays you out across the length of his bed, takes in the majesty of his winnings. An angel felled and caught. You lie there staring up at him, and there’s an innocence to your gaze that brings him to his knees, set down and at your mercy now. He parts your legs slowly, one small kneecap in the bowl of each palm, the softest skin he’s ever felt beneath these death roughened hands, and Joel could sob now, weep if he had the time for it. He spreads your thighs wide, palms dragging up the insides, calluses catching on the smooth nylon and watches the dip and hitch of your belly as you gasp and shiver. 

“Are you scared?” He whispers right as his palms reach the uppermost part of your thighs, and you’re all softness and warm, damp skin, plush in a way that makes his mouth water and his gums ache, and then he’s finally laying eyes at the center of you, and you’re slicked in the gloss of your desire for him. Playing pretend, feigned fight and reluctance, but he’s looking right at the heart of you, and all he sees now is your truth. You shake your head no, let out a soft breath. “Look at this drippy little cunt,” and he drags his thumb over the pearl of your clit just as whisper soft as his voice is. A half screeched hitch claws up your throat, your thighs jumping at that first touch. He needs to see more, hooks a thumb at each delicate lip and spreads wide, but gently, so as not to hurt you. That’s for later. He stretches your little hole, enjoys the shy wink it gives him. 

“My God… look at you,” he says with something like reverence in his voice. So slick and gorgeous. “I think this little cunt’s going to take me in very nicely.” He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit again, clicks his tongue when your knees try to struggle shut. “None’a that, angel. Be good for me now.” He presses harder at your clit, runs his thumb down to your twitching opening, passes there lightly, coating himself in your leaking slick. “I wanted you so bad,” he tells you, one more moment for confessions before he starts. “I want you so bad. And you’ve always taken all my choices from me. Forced me to stay myself when that’s not who I want to be anymore.”

“You’re Joel,” you whisper, and bring your hand to circle the wrist of the hand he’s petting you with. Not pushing him away or pulling him closer, only a gentle manacle around the thick of his bone. He looks up and into your eyes as he presses his thumb slowly inside of you, hooking it over the thin edge, twists you open slow and gentle and measured, gets you ready for the thickness he’s about to split you open with. 

“That isn’t who I wanted to be anymore. I wanted to forget all that, all the bad, her, I wanted to forget all of it. I tucked her name under my tongue for so long it became blood, and I wanted it like that. And you didn’t let me.” 

Your thighs shift restlessly around him, and you bring one foot up to the edge of the bed, anchoring yourself there so that you can begin a gentle rocking motion of your hips, fucking yourself slowly on his thumb. Your breasts heave and sway with the motion and his balls go so tight and so searingly hot, he could come just now like this from the sight of you, suddenly green and untried like he was in his youth. He didn’t think it was going to be like this, and it’s like he’s wasting your honor, stealing it from you, but something given can’t be stolen and his plans are foiled, he’s not in control but he doesn’t really care either. He finally has you. 

He bends his head, brings his mouth to your slick swollen cunt and takes the first sip. Groans so deep in his chest he’s more animal than man suddenly, sucking hard and sharp on your clit, he pulls his hand from you and laves his tongue over the entire slope of your sex, tongue dipping into the well of you. He spreads your lips again, wide, stretches your hole and fucks you with his tongue, big nose pressed to your clit, drowning in your sweet musk. Your fingers twine in the overly long curls of his hair, and he grips your thighs so hard he’s sure you’ll be left with the mark of him later which only makes him rougher, stronger in his hold. With your grip in his hair you sing for him in soft moans and whimpers and more feigned resistance with whispers of no, Joel, and please, stop while you ride his face, his entire mouth covering your cunt, eating it. More beast than man, not Joel, not a father, not a brother, not a killer, only yours. Carved in the image you’d wanted him to be. The one you’d made him with your words and your looks and your scratch, scratch, scratch. All those times you’d asked him what do you want, Joel? And he’d never had an answer for you because what was he supposed to say? You, this, freedom, your wet cunt, the far off field and the dancing bear and my daughter back, alive, my brother, face not unknown. My name, my name, I want my name back. I want myself back. To be alive. I want to be alive. You come on his tongue, first with a shudder and then with a groan, your entire body flushes hot, and it’s a concession of yourself and a door opening, the first vestiges of what the rest of his life will be. 

“You’ve got the sweetest little cunt, baby. Goes so tight and wet and fluttery,” he licks up the sticky sweet of your come, runs his tongue over the wet around his mouth, feels it trickle through his beard. “Think I’ll keep you.” 

Pulling his shirt up and over his head, he crawls up the length of you, slotting his hips between your damp thighs, pushing his soft pants down his legs as he goes, gathering the small of your wrists in a manacle of his fingers to pin them up above your head. He drapes himself over your body, covering you entirely with his weight and pauses for a moment, nuzzling through the curtain of your hair to get at your ear, your throat, your smell. “Are you going to fight back?” He says soft into the small shell of your ear. 

“No, I don’t want to.” You turn your head further to the side, bearing more of your throat to him. 

He follows your orders, runs a line of wet kisses up the delicate column, tastes the pulse of your heart and the slope of your shoulder. “Why not?”

“I don’t have it in me. I’m not a fighter, I came from a place where there was always fighting, where I always had to do battle constantly. I don’t have it in me now, anymore, ever.” You turn to face him again, lick at the line of his mouth, suck on his tongue, your hips rolling now against him, his erection slotted between the soaked lips of your cunt, swallowing him in warmth. “But also, because you were right. Because I want you. Because I did take all your choices from you.” 

Your words pull a groan, a whimper from him, and he pulls his hips back, presses forward, uncoordinated and slipping against all that slick, hot skin. He lets one of your wrists go, keeps the other trapped above your head. “Fuck– grab my cock,” and he feels the heat of your fragile formed hand wrap around the thick of his cock. An ugly, brutish thing held by perfection. You squeeze gently, twist just barely, and he feels his tip rim puckered skin, hot and round and persistent, probing against you as you try and find the right angle. “I’m gonna ride this cunt – hard. And you’re going to take it just how I give it. And you’re going to beg for more and harder and you’re going to thank me.”

Yes, yes, yes. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. 

You notch the tip of his cock at the wet mouth of your cunt, and then he’s pushing in, saving himself, finding salvation, returning or leaving himself, it doesn’t really matter anymore. He presses in, in, in all the way until he’s sitting hard and heavy and deep inside of you, and he’s sure he can almost feel your heartbeat when he bottoms out, balls pressed to the slick curve of your bottom. Your breaths scratch in whimpers against his ear, his hair fluttering in the wind of your gasps, and your free arm wraps tight around the back of his neck, your hips rolling to take more, impossible, for he’s already deep as he can be, tip to womb. But he shifts his weight, grinds against your cervix and enjoys the sound of your pained moan. 

“You feel right there? Where it hurts? That’s where I fuck you full’a my baby, little angel.” And his thoughts are unhinged, his desires full of madness and future and possibility. He pulls his hips back, drops them and shifts his weight forward inside of you. “And right there?” Grinds against your most sensitive spot, “That’s where I make you cream all over my cock.” He pulls his hips back again, focuses the tip of his cock at that desperate place inside of you and with his hand gripping your bottom to the point of pain he pounds into that place over and over again. The slick wet, obscene sound of his cock fucking in and out of your drippig cunt rings in his ears, and he grits thourgh clenched teeth, “Say thank you, say thank you. Beg me for it harder.”

And you’re so good, so good, and all please, Joel. Harder, harder, more. You’re so deep, it’s so good, please, more. 

He’s going to fill you up and mark you and keep you for himself, and he bends his head, wraps his mouth around the full and heavy weight of your bouncing tit as he fucks you into orgasm around his cock. Going tight, tight as a fist, so wet it drips down his balls and onto the already soaked sheet of his too small bed, and you come for him the way he’d never let himself fantasize about before. Your moans like a song in his ear, and it’s so fucking good, better than any dream, better than anything the voices in his head or the dancing bear could have ever conjured up. He shifts upwards, anchoring himself above you so that he can look down at you as he fucks down deep into your cunt, cock punching against your womb so that it hurts, so that the look on your face is folding in on itself, but good enough still so that your pussy convulses again in another forced orgasm. He wants to look at you as he fills you with his spend, turns you into something he owns after this. 

“Gonna fill you up now– gonna fill you until you’re leakin’ me.” Your hands slide up the soft slope of his stomach, his chest, fingers dragging through the hair there, twisting and pulling on it, up to his face where you cup his chin gently, eye to eye and all wrapped up in your cunt he starts to come, the thick heat of his semen coating your womb while you milk him deeper, every last drop of every last part of him he has to give. 

When he’s done he pulls heavy and wet from you, the sight of your swollen red cunt gaping from him, he finally pulls the slick ruined panty hose from your legs, the marks of the too tight elastic leaving brands in your soft skin, he fingers the grooves gently, clicks his tongue at the sight in reproach. The only thing leaving marks in your skin now should be him. He pulls your wrists back into his grip again, and the look on your face is almost melting in submission, soft and spent and sloppy, leaking cunt all covered in him. 

He ties each delicate wrist to the iron frame of his bed, tight, he can leave marks here now, you’re all his, and returns his attention to the source of his salvation, ignoring your protests as he eats his own come from your cunt until you’re crying a little too loud to remain undiscovered, coming twice more before he gives you reprieve, but he’s the one taking all your choices now, and you have no say in what happens after this. 

He eyes the forgotten keys he’d thrown to the dark corner of his white boxed room, “If you’re not good and quiet, I’ll leave you here for everyone to find, naked and fucked and leakin’ me. Pretty used cunt for the whole world to see, that what you want?”

“No, Joel,” you shake your head, all falsely innocent gaze sparkling up at him. 

And he tells you how good you are because the two of you are only going to share truths with each other now, only going to share everything. “I had nothing for so long. Nothing. Not even my own body, not even my own mind. Now I have you, and I won't give you up for anythin’. You’re mine now. They all told me so.” 

“Who told you?” You ask softly, but he ignores the question as he draws his clothes back upon himself. 

“I find myself so hard to remember and so easy to forget, but you remember me. You said so, and now I’m going to make sure you never forget.” Joel collects the keys and the pearls brought to him for his salvation, the dancing bear is so close now, and wraps your shredded clothes back around you, unties your wrists from the bed only to re-secure them, and hoists you folded over his shoulder for the taking. 

Joel lost his daughter, and then he lost his mind, but now he’s found you. And they said it would all be okay now that he’s found you. 

The morning after I killed myself, I found the end of my suffering, and at the end of that suffering there was a door – behind that door, I am alive again.

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