#her thing is that her limbs detach

[cy-cyborg]

How The Owl House did amputee representation right before Eda ever lost her arm - Disability in Media

[ID: A screenshot of Eda from The Owl House, an old woman with pale skin, very large, grey hair and pointed ears in a red dress. Beside the screenshot on a dark pink background is text that reads "Disability in media, How the Owl House got amputee representation right before eda ever lost her arm." /End ID]

Dana Terrace's The Owl House has some of the best disability rep I’ve seen on a Disney channel show in a long time, with Eda, the main character’s mentor, being one of many stand-out examples.

Plenty of people have discussed how Eda’s curse and the loss of her magic can work as an allegory for disability and how refreshing it is to see a story (especially one aimed at a younger audience) who’s focus is not on her “overcoming” it, but learning to accept it as a part of her and go from there. Eda’s story tackles a lot of subjects that are often mishandled in other examples of disability representation, from the subject of parents who refuse to accept, to glass siblings and much, much more, The Owl House handles all these topics beautifully.

But one thing that dawned on me during my most recent re-watch of The Owl House is how well Eda (and later Lilith) worked as amputee representation, long before Eda actually lost her arm.

One of the side effects of Eda and Lilith’s curse is that sometimes their body parts, mainly their limbs, can fall off. It doesn’t hurt them, and Eda is seen removing them intentionally at multiple times in the series, but they can always be reattached.

[ID: an image of Eda holding her sister Lilith's hand. Lilith is a pale woman with long, black hair, wearing grey clothes. She is looking at her other arm suprised, as her hand is missing. Luz, a Latina girl with short brown hair and a purple hoodie is looking on, smiling. /End ID]

While most likely unintentional, the way the show depicts this with Eda in particular is exactly what I wish more people would do with their prosthetic-using amputee characters.

Eda detaches her limbs, especially her legs, when they’re inconvenient or when she’s relaxing.

[ID: an image of Eda laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]

The fact that this is mostly played for laughs is actually a good thing in my opinion (though obviously, the show’s overall tone is part of that), as it shows the audience who are mostly children and teens, that in a world of weird and downright scary (from the perspective of the characters) things, this isn't one of them. It’s just a thing she and Lilith can do, and it can even be funny.

[ID: An image of Luz and Eda dressed as pirates. Eda is sitting on the ground, her legs detached and off screen somewhere. /End ID]

It does startle Luz and Lilith on a few occasions, but that’s more because they didn’t know the curse could do that, but once they’re introduced to it, it’s never really brought up as a big deal again.

I’d love to see more amputee characters who do this with their prosthetics. So often media is almost afraid to have amputees take their prosthetics off on camera or on the page. For some folks, our prosthetics are like a part of our bodies, but that doesn’t mean we never take them off. Show your leg amputee flop on the couch and throw their legs across the room. Have them go without on occasion, not because they have to, but because they just don’t feel like putting them on.

Likewise, the owl house creators never shy away from showing Eda when her limbs aren’t all attached. A lot of media, and kid’s shows in particular, will avoid having an amputee character’s stump visible if they ever do take their prosthetics off - treating that part of the character’s body the same way they treat gore or nudity. I’ve talked before how this actually does have a real impact on how kids in particular react to amputees - I’ve legitimately had kids I worked with cry when I took my prosthetics off, then immediately calm down when they see there’s nothing "scary" under my socks. As much as I love How To Train Your Dragon, it’s very guilty of this. Hiccup looses his leg at the end of the first movie, and wakes up with his prosthetic already attached. The Netflix series has a few instances where he has his prosthetic off, but the camera almost always avoids showing it until he can cover it up again, or is super zoomed-out so you wouldn’t be able to “see anything”. To their credit, they do get better with this in the last movie (though it's still always covered), but for the majority of the series, they are very reluctant to have any shots where hiccup’s leg is in view without the prosthetic (unless they’re very far away).

[ID: a screenshot of Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon 3, a white man with short brown hair, and one leg missing, wearing armour made of black dragon scales and no prosthetic. He is holding onto toothless's head, a black dragon. /End ID]

Ironically, Eda does (permanently) loose an arm at the end of season 2, but I don’t really have much to say about her as amputee representation on that front, since she’s absent for a lot of Season 3, and when we do see her again, everything is so hectic, the story doesn’t really have any time to focus on her missing limb (which is reasonable). I will say, I do appreciate that they kept the amputation when she's in her owl-beast form in the finale, but there's honestly not much more to say about it. We do see her again in the epilogue after she’s had some time to settle into the amputation, wearing a hook prosthetic, but it’s, once again, too quick to really say anything from a representation standpoint. There's a few little nit-picky things I could bring up, like the fact they seemed to change the type on amputation she had (when she looses it, we see the split was very close to the elbow, but in the epilogue she has most of her forearm again) but those read to me more like animation mistakes or an odd prosthetic/clothing designs rather than a representation issue - and as someone who's worked in animation, given the stress the team was under for the finale, I'm not really worried about it. Like I said, it's more nit-picky than anything.

[ID: A screenshot of Eda, her hair tied back and wearing a red robe and a hook for her right hand. /End ID]

Despite all that though, I still think Eda is still good amputee representation, but mostly because of how they depict her curse’s side effects rather than her actual amputation. She’s honestly one of the only characters that I think you could refer to as “amputee coded” (outside of maybe Teen Titan’s Cyborg), and I genuinely wish more creators would treat their actual amputee characters the same way the Owl House treats Eda in that regard.

#Writing disability with Cy Cyborg #Writing Disability #Disability #Disabled #Disability Representation #Writing #Writeblr #Authors #Creators #Writing Advice #Disabled Characters #On Writing #Disability in Media #The Owl House #TOH #Eda #Owl House #Eda The Owl House #eda clawthorne #eda the owl lady

[reminiscingtonight]

bracelet+hoodie+braid - aitana bonmati

All Locked Up (Aitana Bonmatí x Reader)

[WOSO Masterlist]

The first thing that registers is the pounding of your head.

Groaning, you lift a hand to rub at your face.

Only for the second thing to register when a sharp pain flares up at your wrist and your hand hits resistance before it can reach its destination.

“What the--” you mutter, staring at your hand with wonder. You give your limb another tug but still it goes nowhere.

Following the silver bracelet on your wrist, you trace it to a sleeping form next to you.

Peacefully closed eyes, button nose, hair done up in neat braids, yeah, you’d know that face anywhere.

“Aita.”

Your best friend murmurs incomprehensibly but doesn’t stir.

You sigh, nudging her again. “Aita!”

This time you get a tiny mumble, the other girl’s eyebrows furrowing as she fights to stay asleep.

“Aitana wake up!” This time your words are paired with a harsh yank of the bracelet on your wrist, Aitana’s hand consequently raising up as a result.

With a sputter the brunette wakes, lurching up so suddenly you almost clash heads.

“Ugh,” she groans, clearly feeling the effects of partying last night as much as you. “Why are you yelling so early in the morning?”

“It’s nearly noon,” you point out.

Aitana rolls her eyes at your correction. ��Whatever. My question still stands. Why the yelling?”

“I don’t know, Aita, you tell me. Why are we handcuffed together?”

The footballer’s eyes stay narrowed for a second.

It’s clear when your words finally hit.

“Why are we what?!”

She seems frantic when she notices the predicament you’re in, ignoring your hisses of pain when she starts yanking her arm back with vigor.

“Stop it!” you yelp, free hand clamping down on Aitana’s wrist to stop her from detaching your hand from your body.

“Give me the key!” she all but shouts.

You give her a look. “You think I’d wake you up if I had the key? Honestly-- Wait why do you think the handcuff’s mine? For all I know it could be yours!”

Aitana tries to shove you in retaliation but all it does is yank her on top of you when you fall over.

“Why hello there,” she chuckles, wiggling her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Do not even think about it. You’re not getting anywhere near my pants until we get out of these cuffs.”

Aitana lets out a groan when you shuffle your way out from under her.

While you reach for your phone in hopes of piecing together your night, Aitana snags a discarded hoodie from the foot of the bed.

You give her a look. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“I’m cold,” she points out like it’s obvious.

You roll your eyes at her. “And how do you think you’re going to get it on?”

Aitana opens her mouth, retort ready to fire before she realizes you’re right. Her mouth snaps shut with a click.

Sighing, you scoop up a blanket and drape it over her shoulders.

You pretend not to feel something when her free hand grazes yours and she murmurs a soft ‘thank you.’

Some day the two of you will have to sit down and actually define what you are.

Some day.

But not today.

You have more pressing things to do.

Like kill Patri and Claudia.

When Aitana frowns at your declaration you shove your phone into her hand.

“I swear to god, when I find them--” you huff.

Aitana’s silent as she reads through your text chain with the older of the two. Clearly sent sometime after the two of you got home and passed out, the texts read as follows:

[when you and aitana gonna get together]

[?]

[are you ignoring me :(]

[haha blame claudia]

[dunno where she got the cuffs didn’t ask but it was a great plan]

[have funnnnnnn]

[no freedom until you figure things out]

Clearly you’re going to need to re-educate Patri on what an “emergency key” means. Because sneaking into people’s houses in the middle of the night to handcuff them is definitely not in the handbook of uses.

Aitana seems to agree as she all but shoves your car keys into your hands.

“You hit high, I’ll hit low. If we double team one of them, the other will definitely break too.”

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes #3wp

[pangur-and-grim]

hi genuine question what is the deal with upstairs george??? what's his(?) origin story??? where did she(?) come from????? why is their taste in fashion on par with the met gala attendees????? i need to know everything

my housemate used to work at an animation studio downtown, and every day on her commute she'd pass a store with a "going out of business" sale.

one of the items for sale was a headless mannequin.

she instructed me to purchase it for the house, and so I went out, paid for it, and tried to carry it home. and the thing about mannequins is that the limbs are detachable, so all the jiggling of me walking caused the right leg to fall off, then the left, then the arms, so that I ended up dragging a butchered torso while juggling limbs. and it was HEAVY.

I wanted to take the subway home, so I dragged this all down a flight of stairs onto a subway platform, but then (as the train arrived) realized this was a bad idea, dragged everything back up, and called an Uber.

and that's how we got Upstairs George!

at the time there was a British guy living in the basement named George, who was thereafter referred to (by me) as Downstairs George. I don't think he liked that very much.

#upstairs george

[tacticaldiary]

Recovery In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault, Simon and the reader get their revenge.

"Good. You're doing good." Simon soothes, running a hand up and down her back. "That's it, love. Keep breathing, yeah?"

"I can't do it." She sobs a sound that makes Simon's chest tighten, clutching onto his like he's the only thing keeping her afloat. "I can't...it's-I'm always back there-"

A/N: Sequel to 'Captured In Tandem'. Read Part 1 Here to get the full context

Masterlist

It's odd, coming back to what used to be so normal.

Days in a dingy basement with only a lover as broken as she was or company. She had to be strong for him back then, just as Simon had been determined to be for her, but now...

Now there was nothing to be strong for.

No ropes digging into her ankles and wrists, nobody forcing hurt on her for answers she couldn't give. No reason to keep her chin up to chase away the angry, anguished looks in Ghost's eyes as she was beaten and shot and put through the worst humanity has to offer.

Watching back the recordings the sick bastards had made was easy. She'd done it with a numb sort of dissociative manner. Watched herself be touched and shot while Ghost spat out threats that would make a normal man turn pale. They'd assured her she didn't have to sit through it, that she could deliver her statement and reports through memory alone but something in her itched to see living, visible proof that it was all real.

Sometimes she feels insane, stuck in her own head.

Ghost had to leave the room when they hit play.

He never said anything, just got up, pushed his chair in and left. It was funny, a detached part of her had thought when he'd walked out. She'd seen him do the most squeamish things, known he'd gone through much worse, but seeing her be tortured, ripped into half the shreds he was, was somewhat too much to bear for him.

That had been 12 days ago.

Price has taken her access to the video away after the ninth time she'd watched it.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" The man croons at Ghost. His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body-

And she...she can't move?

Her head is a leaden weight, fixed firmly to the grimy ground under her, her limbs frozen as she watches it happen in terror. She has to do something, to push him away, bash in his nose with her skull, but she can't move, Ghost is yelling and shouting and threatening, and she can't do anything but sit there helplessly as she squeezes her eyes shut, breath ragged-

His hands stop on her shoulders, clutching them tight enough to aggravate the old wounds, she's being shaken, a voice in her ear, low and-...and soothing? A rumble she knows so well, mumbling something that doesn't match up with what should be happening-

She wakes up with a start, a choked gasp tearing its way from her throat. There are hands on her, holding her shoulders and she clumsily tries to scratch them away, to push, mind still scrambled and half awake.

"-alright, I've got you." The ringing in her ears subsides and words make themselves known to her right by her ear. A hand grabs hers, presses it against something warm and scarred and beating, the scent of gun smoke and oak invading her senses as she snaps back to the present.

It's not a chair or a hard floor under her, it's soft sheets that rustle as she trembles, pressed close to someone so familiar and warm

Warm. She was never warm back there.

A shuddering breath loosens out of her chest, mixed with a sob as the fight drains out of her

"Good. You're doing good." Simon soothes, running a hand up and down her back. "That's it, love. Keep breathing, yeah?"

"I can't do it." She sobs a sound that makes Simon's chest tighten, clutching onto his like he's the only thing keeping her afloat. "I can't...it's-I'm always back there-"

"You're not." He slides her hand out from under his shirt where he'd pressed it over his heart, pulls her in closer to him. "We got out. You got us out."

Nightmares. Night terrors, more specifically.

She dreamt about dying.

He dreamt about watching her die.

Simon was more subtle about it. He hadn't told her at first, keeping his troubles guarded lest he give her more to worry about during her recovery. She'd found out when something jostled her in the middle of the night, had switched on the lamp to see him tense, with a gritted jaw.

He'd told her he'd been having them all his life, that he was used to them, but that didn't make her feel any better, didn't help her deal with her own.

The same scene, over and over again, but this time she's unable to escape, unable to move. She has to let it happen and watch the both of them die.

Every. Fucking. Night.

"Listen to me." He says firmly, and when she doesn't respond, he pulls her away from where she's buried her face into the crook of his neck. "Eyes on me. Right here." He urges in that same commanding voice he'd told her to grab the knife with all that time ago.

She obliges and something so distressed in her eyes makes a pang of anger and upset hit his heart. Not at her. Never at her.

Simon's just upset that he didn't get to rip those motherfuckers into shreds with his own two hands.

"We're not there." He curls a hand around the back of her neck. "You killed him, we're safe." His mouth ticks down. "Don't leave pieces of yourself behind, yeah? They don't deserve an inch more of you than they've already taken."

"We're safe." She breathes out, repeating him and relaxing when he gives her a nod of approval.

"That's right." His thumb circles her nape softly, a reassuring pressure that keeps her grounded. "Wouldn't have fucking lived with myself if I let a bastard like that be the end of you."

He considers the small quirk of her lips as a victory.

"No?" She questions, leaning into him, exhaustion tugging at her bones.

"Negative." He confirms.

"I think of it a lot." She admits after a moment. "I go there every night. Watched the tape to figure out if there was anything...sooner I could have done."

Lips press against her temple, hot and firm as she lets her eyes slip shut.

"If there was, I would've done it." There's a deep-seated regret in his voice, the gravel of guilt weaving its way through the sediments of his thoughts. There are a few moments of silence, and she thinks that might be all he has to say but Simon surprises her by going on:

"It was hell." He says in a low voice, almost hesitant to verbalise it to her. "Never been so off-kilter, seeing you all banged up and mangled." He puffs a quick exhale against her skin. "Would've skinned those fuckers alive if I could."

And she believes him.

The threat of such violence may be a deterrent to others, but it warms her inside out to know that she's barrelled past all his walls and settled into his heart as someone he'd go to those lengths to protect.

"I know." She whispers. Simple. Knowing. Mutual.

They stay like that until she drifts back off to sleep. It's not hard, given the little hours she's only been able to get before being woken up by her own mind. It's a solace, knowing he'd be there to coach her through it every time, to reassure and ground and hold her until the worst of it passes.

Simon watches her drift off.

He couldn't leave her side after Gaz had found them. Fought and glared at anybody who dared to tell him to step away from her. Even when being given medical attention of his own, his gaze was always fixed on her.

The strongest fucking person he knows.

Ghost prides himself on being someone efficient, someone who goes in and out and gets the job done with terrifying purpose.

It had all flown out the window the moment he registered that she was with him in that room, bound in front of him. When they'd caught on that she was the one person he'd burn the fucking world down for, he hated himself for letting it show.

His arms tighten around her, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his own, reminding himself that she was still here. Alive. With him.

His. Always his.

He couldn't do much to change the past...

But he could do a hell of a lot to make them feel better about the future.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

"You certain about this?" Price raises an eyebrow, watching the rigid set of Ghost's shoulders. He stares at the glass looking into the observation room.

"Positive." Voice clipped, eyes cold.

There is no Simon here, just the harsh chill of Ghost.

Price doesn't say anything more, simply takes a drag of his cigar, letting the smoke out into the air in a slow exhale. "This is off the books." The implications of the words make something cruel and satisfied curl in his chest. "Intel is your priority. Their lives are not."

There's brewing anger underneath his Captain's words. Anger at the outcome, at receiving two of the best soldiers of his prized task force back injured, one of them in tatters. He'd sat outside the operating room the entire time she'd been in surgery.

If he didn't think Ghost deserved to more, he'd go in there himself.

"Copy." Ghost clips out, and then pushes the door open.

He recognises about 5 of the 8 men bound in front of him, slumped against the wall. He doesn't care about the unfamiliar 3, they were here and therefore associated.

That was enough of a crime for him to feel no remorse.

They straighten up as he enters and Ghost can't help the rush of grim satisfaction at the way they shuffle and bristle when they realise who it is.

Ghost stares them down for a moment, before dragging a cart from the shadows of a corner into the light.

Knives, a bat, a pistol, and other knick-knacks that he intended to test out. Laid out neatly for him to rifle through and choose.

He picks the pistol, loading the chamber full.

It dawns on them pretty quickly, and some of them start stuttering and talking at him, words that buzz around his head. Others hold their chins high and Ghost cannot wait to make them break.

He drags the one nearest to him closer, kicks the man's knee out sending him kneeling to the floor. Before the man can start to talk, Ghost levels the gun to his head and fires a shot clean through his skull.

Blood splatters near the feet of the 7 others.

"That's the most merciful I'll be getting." He says, voice ringing through the room. He surveys the room briefly. "I doubt any of you'll be giving me half the fight the woman you beat did."

"They were our orders!" One of them yells, tugging at his bindings. "We did what we were told."

"Your mistake." Ghost says unfeelingly, clicking the chamber of his gun shut again. "Touching her was a death sentence."

He doesn't give them a single word more.

One by one, he makes them all crack, makes the others watch just as he was forced to. Screwdrivers, knives, and his own two hands ripped through flesh and cracked bones, stoking and soothing the fire running under his veins. Each scream and cry reminds him of the ones she'd let out, the ones he had to endure and listen to because of these bastards, eggs him on to be more brutal and ruthless.

Unforgiving.

He doesn't need to ask a single question.

They cry out their answers in desperate pleas of mercy, anything and everything that they think Ghost would possibly want to know.

Personnel, safehouses, weapons, and coordinates. They all come pouring out between the cracks of their bones, the ringing of bullets, and the quiet slashes of his knife.

Ghost doesn't hear a single word. It would all be recorded for whoever the hell to go through later on, but Ghost doesn't care about any of it. The only thing he's focused on is paying back what's due in dividends.

By the time he's done, there's more blood on the floor than the drain could keep up with, and the cold rage had receded back enough for him to be satisfied.

Price doesn't comment when he emerges, silently nodding before walking off to find the only person who matters. There were no pieces of him left in that room. He'd reserved each one of them for her.

He'll be damned if he ever lets anybody break her down again.

Not on his watch.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(25/09/2023)

#ghost cod #cod mw ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost modern warfare #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #cod ghost #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #angst #x reader #x y/n #fluff #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warfare #cod modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii

[teatreeoilll]

Give it Back - Gojo Satoru X Reader

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w/c - 0.6k content - fem!reader, mentions of drinking, kissing, hidden inventory trio being a lil drunk and silly at a party outside of Jujutsu High, first kiss, drabble

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . °

2006

As Geto playfully twisted the empty beer bottle between his fingers, you briefly recall how, no less than half an hour ago, he scoffed at the thing when someone held it to his face - proposing a game of truth or dare.

"Spin the bottle? What are we, twelve?"

As the game started, the cozy circle you were sitting in expanded quickly, taking up most of the space of the living room. You groaned at the sight of another couple of students pressing their lips together, sloppily intertwining their drunken tongues to the sound of lewd cheers and woos.

While you weren't eager to join the game, only looking for a place to sit and let your drunkness subside, you found yourself squashed between a stranger and Gojo's lanky limbs. "Move a little, won't you?" You slur, trying to ward off the nausea while watching a dot of light flicker on the spinning bottle's surface. The bottle halts, its now aggressive-looking bottleneck pointing straight at you, with Geto's intoxicated smirk on the opposite end. "Truth or dare?" Geto beams in your direction, his mind already preoccupied with all the devious things he could ask you to do in front of the group. "Truth," you sigh, eliciting the group's displeasure over the music. "Pick dare, coward," someone mocks, triggering your drunken pride.

"Alright then, dare." "Kiss the person on your left." Geto muses. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. It's not that you've deliberately dodged from having your first kiss until now. But still, after surviving so long without one, shouldn't this moment be a touch more significant? "Can't you just dare me to eat something gross, Suguru?" you chastise, utterly unaware that on the left, an angry pink blush flushes Gojo's face. "It isn't such a bad dare," Gojo whispers, leaning in as soon as you turn to him in confusion. Without missing a beat, he softly pressed his lips against yours, leaving the crowd in stunned silence. You detach yourself from him with a soft grunt, using a shaking hand to push him away. The silence in the room persists as you step out to find solace on the porch, fixating on the raindrops cascading onto the driveway. "Satoru, you idiot." Shoko scolded sharply, her voice cutting the air from her spot near Geto, "That was her first kiss." His eyes widened in response, his hand instinctively shooting out to shove himself away from his spot on the floor.

- "I'm sorry." Gojo leans on the porch rail beside you, "I thought you were being shy." He lied, too proud to admit that the possibility of you not wanting to kiss him troubled his drunken mind. "You can't both apologize and imply you did nothing wrong, Satoru." "Come on, if that were true we wouldn't have politics." His attempt to lighten the mood was met with your displeased scoff. "I'm sorry," He utters again, a hint of sincerity seeping through, "How can I make it better?" You steady your gaze back to the rain-soaked driveway, taking a moment to contemplate before delivering the verdict, "You can give it back." "Huh?" He blurts as you grab the collar of his white shirt, yanking him closer to crash your lips onto his. Still recovering from the surprise, he cups your face with his hands, catching a quick breath before parting your lips with his tongue. "It's mine now," you say triumphantly, a mischievous smile grazing your lips as you watch Gojo fix his now-ruffled hair, "I'm freezing; I'm going in." He lets out a small chuckle as you approach the entrance, only to grab your face with long, skilled fingers, planting a chaste peck on your lips. "'S mine again," He declares, rushing to the door before you, "Come and get it."

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen X reader #jjk x you #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru

[sumaneun-stars]

'Usual White Sheets'

Pairing. Bf!Jay x fem!reader

Genre. Established relationship, fluff 

Warnings. Mentions of blood, reader is on her periods

Even with your eyes closed, half dead, your body searched for Jay's. When your arms reached out to every corner of the bed and found nothing, no one, you opened your eyes.

“What the…'' you mumbled, looking at a probably new bed sheet, by the looks of it. Not the usual white sheets of his bed.

Adjusting to the morning light that shone through your window, you slowly sat up.

New pajama shorts.

A cloth under your lower half

No- It can't be.

Your hand searched under your pillow to grab your phone. Hurriedly opening your calendar, you groaned in frustration.

You were early this month.

You buried your face in your hands. Jay had probably woken up to a messy stain you caused, and he had changed your shorts too. You're such a wreck, y/n. 

Ignoring the pain in your lower stomach, you slowly got out of bed. While brushing your teeth, you wondered how you could ever show your face to Jay again. This wasn't the first time your boyfriend took care of you on your period, but it was never this bad. Never a stain.

You didn't know if it was your stupid hormones acting up, but you had the urge to punch something.

Careful not to fall, you made your way downstairs, whatever urge you had before vanished when you saw your beloved boyfriend making breakfast. He had his airpods on so he didn't notice when you stood behind him. He flinched a little when you wrapped your arms around his waist, but relaxed almost immediately. 

“Baby, how are you feeling? Do you need any painkillers? Hm?” Jay spoke, removing his airpods.

When he felt you shaking your head from side to side, he realized you were embarrassed,cute. Jay would be lying if he said he wasn't shocked to see blood first thing in the morning, he was mad at his phone for not notifying him about your week. He always took pride in knowing when your period came, he knew how to care for you in those terrible days. 

“Angel, there's nothing wrong in a little accident” he caressed your hand on his waist. He knew you were too embarrassed to face him. And he found that adorable.

“Little? How was that little, Jay? I literally let my disgusting blood soak your bed” you mumbled into his back.

Jay chuckled at your embarrassed state, there were times in his life where he just wanted to wrap you in his arms, squeeze your cheeks, cuddle you and never let go of you, like right now.

“Hmm you're right, so when are you gonna buy me a new bed, love?” he smiled when you laughed at his teasing. He knew how painful these days were going to be for you. He made up his mind to make you smile more. Laughter is the best medicine 

Jay took that opportunity and turned around, engulfing you in a warm hug. Sometimes Jay's warmth and scent was the only meditation you needed. 

“How is it early this time, baby?” Jay spoke while he combed your hair with his fingers. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his cold fingers run through your scalp.

“I have no idea” you cuddled into his chest. He smiled to himself looking down at you when you nuzzled your nose into his chest. Jay loved how clingy you got during your period,one of the many things he loved about you.

“Should we go see a doctor?” He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there nuzzling into your hair. Your limbs almost melted at the feeling.

“I used to get irregular periods when I was in high school baby, it's nothing serious” you looked up at him, kissing his chin you gave him a reassuring smile.

You both swayed slowly from side to side, enjoying nothing but each other's presence. Occasionally you felt Jay plant butterfly kisses on your head, shoulder and neck. It amazed you how he knew how to ease your internal pain. No scented candle could beat Jay's natural scent. 

“Honey, I think my curry is burning” he spoke into your hair. Chuckling, you detach yourself from Jay- but he thought otherwise.

You felt his hands under your thighs. He lifted you up and gently placed you on the island of the kitchen. He looked at you with the most ‘husband-material’ eyes, your arms still wrapped around his neck. Jay leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips trailing down your nose and pecking the tip. You felt a million butterflies awaken in your body to his actions.

He moved back and placed his palm to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“I think your curry needs saving, Jay” you raised a playful brow at him.

“Oh my god-” he hurriedly switched the stove off. “No!” he whined when he looked at his now black curry. 

“I made this for you especially” he pouted when you stood beside him examining the ruined matter. Your heart sank when you noticed his disappointed look, his hand still scraping the burnt parts of the food with a spoon.

“Looks like I have to buy new groceries too” you moved closer to him and pecked his pouty lips.

“And a new pan,” 

End.

#enhypen #enha scenarios #enha x reader #enha #enhypen drabbles #enha fluff #enhypen jay #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #jay fluff #jay imagines #jay x reader #jay #jay enhypen #park jongseong #enha imagines #enha jay

[double--blind]

(SPOILERS) Andrew and plausible deniability, OR: mfer doesn't wanna be held accountable for his actions

This has been churning in my head for a while (I am mentally ill 🥴), but a large part of the driving force behind Andy and his actions is his aversion to blame. He sorta shares this w/Ashley (she's got quite a few rants abt how things aren't her fault), but I believe Andrew takes it just a step further.

I've seen many say this before, but from the start of the game, you'll notice that even beyond normal moral quandaries, Andrew's first objection to any horrific action Ashley proposes is usually a variance of "what if we get caught?". He objects not bc her ideas are ethically repugnant, but bc they could be found out as having done them, and he knows rationally that others know they're bad. This goes as far back as childhood with the Nina incident. He fears punishment and the threat of prison more than he apparently worries about what his crimes might mean for him as a person or what they might mean for the people that might be affected by them (save him and Ashley). This doesn't mean he doesn't feel guilt or have nightmares abt them, but they're not his first priority. Trouble's a pain to deal with, and the dude's low-energy.

In fact, most of his guilt seems largely self-centered. Like, no exaggeration: if it isn't about either him or Ashley (which is, in a way, lowkey also about him), then he couldn't really care less. Do you recall him ever expressing worry or remorse on Nina's behalf? Mourning her? We think Ashley's the one w/empathy issues, but Andrew's in the same boat imo. Self-preservation and self-interest is all that's keeping him seemingly amiable enough for polite society, bc for the most part, he really couldn't be bothered.

In his dreams, the victims of their murders are just bodies: interchangeable, holding no more meaning beyond the fact that they're dead. Any corpse's limb will do to replace the one Ashley cooked—never mind that they may be from different people—bc they're all the same to him. Even Julia, sitting in her dorm room surrounded by evidence of Ashley's harassment, gets no sympathy from Andrew. For the most part, he elects to ignore it all, and regards Julia herself with a detached sorta nostalgia tinged in no small part with apathy.

img txt: You'll never see her again. And the fact that it doesn't really bother you, bothers you.

(The only things of notable worth from her were the colored pencils on her desk, which he promptly takes from her to give to Leyley instead, and isn't that just some crazy symbolism right there?)

His fear of punishment goes hand-in-hand with his desperate pursuit of plausible deniability. Everything he does, he does under certain self-imposed conditions. If it's Ashley's idea and he argues back, it doesn't matter in the end if he goes along with it, bc it was Ashley's idea in the first place. He's just there to make sure she doesn't get them in trouble, bc she needs him, bc he's gotta take care of her. Even if it's not her idea at all (e.g., killing the closet warden, killing the lady in room 302), it's still her fault, bc he did it for her, bc everything he does, he does for her.

Ashley's a manipulative, evil lil possessive gremlin w/a soul as black as tar, and Andy's a doormat, but don't think for a second that part of him doesn't use that dynamic a little to keep from reflecting on what he is. He suffocates under it, but he also relies on it. If there's any sort of plausible deniability available, he'll take it and run with it.

The truth of the matter is that they're both deeply toxic, warped individuals. The difference is that Ashley's owned up to it and quite frankly doesn't care. Andrew hasn't. He's the "normal" one.

Now, for the funky incest part (what we're all here for babyyyyy)—

We've all seen the flavor text abt the bed-sharing by now, right?

img txt: Oh yeah, you tooootally have nightmares as often as you claim.

We know for a fact that aside from some light teasing, maybe, Ashley would have no problem whatsoever with sharing a bed w/Andrew. Heck, she'll coax him into bed (demo) or climb onto the couch with him (ep 2) w/o any prompting from him whatsoever, just bc she feels like it. Andrew, apparently, can't do the same. He doesn't allow himself this intimacy of his own choosing, so he has to lie and pretend to get it if he wants it. He's greedy for her, too, but he can't let himself show it.

If something is sufficiently too intimate in his eyes, beyond anything he can excuse away for some reason or another, then he'll stop himself from doing it. Just like how he wouldn't let himself succumb to the urge of pulling Ashley into his arms to make her smile, but is willing to give her a hug when she asks for it in front of their parents.

He insists on the extra expense of two beds, and then cites his nightmares and panic attacks as the driving force behind crawling into bed w/her, bc then it isn't really his fault now, is it? He tried to stay away, after all. He did! He just didn't have a choice!

Lol

Andrew can't admit to wanting this—buries those feelings and thoughts as deep as he can so they fester and bleed, the repressed idiot—so he gives Ashley all the power to decide how close they get. It's in Ashley's hands. He's free of that hassle.

Which is why the post-sex vision, and Ashley's reaction to it, is so dangerous. @csg-iii made a good point about it in my last post:

img txt: I think the biggest point about "11" is that Andrew asks/begs Ashley for reassurance that it will never happen ("never say never"). It's a subtle admission that if she really wants it to happen, he knows he won't be able to resist his own urges. His only ""hope"" of avoiding going there is if Ashley doesn't want it.

Andrew, in absolving himself of this choice and putting it in Ashley's hands, shoots himself in the foot, bc what if Ashley goes the whole mile? Then the only real thing keeping his desires unrealized was the fact that they had never been voiced as an option before.

He doesn't want to think of himself as someone who'd bone his own sister. Forget being a cannibal, demon summoner, or a murderer; those titles were foisted upon him. This is too close to something real that he carries inside him; this isn't anything Ashley's buried in him, but rather something of his own invention. Something he'll definitely have to take responsibility for.

#the coffin of andy and leyley #tcoaal #coffincest #andrew graves #txt post #yeah......... I'm rambling again sorry guys #character analysis

[lottiecrabie]

don’t fuck the line cooks. part two – matty healy

ever since that night in the walk-in, you can only think about the next time. hopefully if you push and prod him enough, you’ll get your way…

warnings: 18+, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, masturbation, public sex, drug use, sex under the influence, degradation, choking, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, authority kink, problematic age gap problematic age gaping, sleazy man is even sleazier in this somehow

part two of two

18,294 words

You lick the salt off the back of your hand, shooting the cheap tequila, immediately wincing from the taste and worsening it with a bite of tart lime. You shake your head, hoping to flick acid off your tongue. 

“God,” you say for good measure. “I can’t seem to get used to this.”

Beside you, Veronica laughs, eating the lime off the rind. She gives you a green smile, features uncrinkled. She is used to this. “It’ll come with age.” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re only four years older than me.”

“Yeah, but you were severely stunted for the twenty-one first years of your life, so the difference is staggering.” 

“Ar-ar. You’re hilarious.” 

“I know.” She flicks the lime rind on the counter, a disheveled green skin rid of meat. She licks the leftover salt off her lips— with some of her bright red lipstick, too. She grabs your wrist next, shimmying her shoulders as she reels you from the bar. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” 

“My feet hurt,” you pout in mock-protest, but your limbs are loose from the booze and you’re easily whisked away to the dancefloor. 

The Darling is the nearest bar from the restaurant with the cheapest alcohol. It’s a dirty thing, drenched in obscurity and the occasional neon sign, smelling like sweat and cigarettes, and sticky to walk on. It plays the same songs over and over again— every night for the past decade, the same playlist booms from the speakers. You know the tunes by heart now, screaming the lyrics without a single title coming to mind. 

The Darling is where everyone crashes after shift drinks, itching for a bigger buzz and a dance. Your coworkers crowd the place, talking to the bartenders like old friends, familiarly finding the labyrinthine way to the toilets. (Find the bar, take a turn to your right, follow a dark corridor, beside the kitchen to the left.)

You’re sore and tired from a double, a neck vein nearly popped when a customer dared ask for—no, insist on a steak half rare-half medium on each side uncut. Dread filled you when you approached the kitchen, putting on a dazzling smile to transmit the ridiculous request. Sighs, and swears, and that shake of head that makes his curls bounce filled the room as he got to work, frustrated and pissed, but obedient still. 

Him. You spin on your feet, finding Matty still at the bar, sipping on a dark drink with George. You smile, eyes twinkling, detaching yourself from your friend as you sway towards him. You practically fall on his side— his hand catches you at your waist, near your hip, decidedly inappropriate, but instinctive. 

“Hullo,” you say in a poor imitation of their accents. George snorts. “Watcha drinking?” You ask Matty, scrunching your nose. 

He arches an eyebrow, sliding the glass towards you. “Have a taste.” You grab it without hesitating, knocking a mouthful and immediately regretting it. You cough, shaking your head. That’s straight liquor. Matty laughs, soothingly rubbing a hand on your back. “You okay?” 

“What is wrong with you?”

“Aw, princess,” he coos, taking a sip of his whiskey and not even twitching as the bitter taste washes his mouth. “You’ll like it when you’re older.” 

Again, you roll your eyes. Taking an easy dig at your age when he’s been between your thighs some nothing-days ago is hypocritical. The retort burns your tongue, but you bite it back for present company. Matty looks at you a little gleefully, like he knows, like it amuses him. 

You turn to George with a smile. “What about you? Are you drinking something sane?” 

He snorts. “Just a rum and coke, sweets. I’m afraid it’s not very special.” 

You reach for his drink anyway and he offers it gladly, metal rings around the cool glass. You tip it, smiling at the sweetness, licking it off your lips. “George, you have much better taste.” 

“Hey!”

“I know.”

“Order me a drink, will you?” You say, fluttering your eyelashes at him. As though you would even need the extra persuasion; he’s already shouting a drink at a bartender, putting it on Matty’s tab with a point of a thumb. 

Matty rolls his eyes beside you, his fingers digging into your waist in warning. Something low simmers between your legs. You smirk to yourself. You like the feel of that. 

“There you go,” George says, passing you the orange drink that’s been slapped on the counter. “A sweet drink for a sweet girl.” 

You smile gratefully at him, tasting it. It’s fruity and light; your lips stretch up. “Thanks, George.” 

“‘Course.” 

Ross crashes in your group, swinging an arm over George’s shoulder, clearly smashed. “Mate, they fixed the PacMan machine.” 

“No way. Is my score still on it?”

“DICKH3AD bright and red!” With a laugh, the two of them whisk away to the arcade game, off somewhere to the left, tucked between two tables. 

You’re alone with Matty now. A thrill resonates within you— it’s silly. It’s not like he’s gonna bend you over this bar and take you right this moment, in front of anyone. It’s not like he’s done anything of the sort since the walk-in fridge. Still, you spin to face him, arching an eyebrow, practically inviting him to. 

He sees the meaning tacked onto your eyelashes, clear as day, yet he does nothing but grin to himself, taking a sip of his awful whiskey on rocks. 

You huff, opting for another strategy. “Are you upset I asked George to order me a drink?” You try instead, hoping to prod and poke until he snaps again— finally. 

Matty smirks. “I’d have picked something lighter. Little girl like you can’t handle her liquor yet.” He pouts, “She’s just started drinking.” Your fingers grip around the glass, something hot and shameful dripping inside of you. 

“Why? Have plans for me I can’t be drunk for?” 

Matty leans back on his stool, properly looking at you. His gaze licks up your naked legs, your short skirt, your white top. Your heart beats twice as fast. Subconsciously, you straighten, needing to be taller, older, more mature. To satisfy, to excel. 

“If I said yes, would you not drink it?” His eyes flick to the orange glass between your clenched hands. It’s barely sipped, condensation running on your fingers. He meets your gaze next. There’s a game of chess, and you can’t seem to figure out what he wants. How to win. 

You want to win. You need to win. You feel it throbbing between your legs, that desperate urge. 

You drop the glass on the counter. It clinks on the wood, then settles, pretty and discarded. His turn. 

Matty smiles, satisfied. He stands from his stool, and a surge of excitement shoots up your spine. You don’t need the alcohol when you have him anyway.

Matty leans in, then pats your shoulder. “The boys are waiting for me.” He sidesteps you, then gets lost into the crowd. You watch him go, mouth parted in offense and disbelief. 

What a fucking dickhead. You make a low noise of annoyance, taking your glass and slurping half of it down in rebellion. You march to one of the empty booths, rage twisting your guts. 

You just want him to fuck you. It’s been five days. What is he waiting for? 

You slide into the sticky bench, ruminating in your anger as you chew on the plastic blue straw of your cocktail. 

“Hey,” Landon, a server, nods at you as he pulls into the opposite side of the booth. You nod back. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m growing tired of The Darling’s playlist.” 

“Take two shots. It’ll be back.” 

“Sage advice.” He tips his chin towards your drink. “Are you taking revenge for turtles or has this straw personally wronged you?”

You sigh, letting go of the plastic, pushing the glass away from you. “It’s killed my family. Arson, you see? It was brutal.” 

“I would offer my condolences, but that would mean my boss is dead, and I’m not the biggest fan of his. Would a muted hooray be acceptable?” 

You huff, smirking at him. “Bold of you to tell the boss’ daughter.” 

“Well, I’m quite drunk.” 

You smile. “I’ll cheer to that.” You knock your empty glass to his beer mug. 

Landon gasps. “In the eyes,” he chastises. “Or it’s seven years of bad sex.” You laugh, opening your eyes comically wide to cheer him next. You’ve just broken the curse. You’re not about to be pulled back into mediocre hookups now. “Better,” he nods, finally taking a sip of his beer.

You haven’t talked to Landon much before, nothing other than pleasantries and the quick quips exchanged between two tables. You quickly find that he’s funny, pulling snorting laughs out of your tipsy mouth as he recounts some of his worst customer stories like grand, epic tales. He offers sips of his beer graciously, then buys you your own when the supply is diminishing. You don’t even like beer, but you accept the gift nonetheless, letting the awful taste fizz in your mouth and slacken your head. 

A hand over your mouth, you half-hide your laugh as it bursts out of you. “I can’t believe you would say that!” 

“And I got fired for it,” Landon argues, screaming a defense. 

“Well, obviously—”

“What’s the funny story?” Both of you jump in surprise at the intruder. Turning towards the voice, you find Matty sliding in the booth next to you. 

Already, he takes his place like he owns it, spreading through the leather seats. His legs part comfortably, his thigh sticks to yours, his arm hangs over the back of the booth, tickling your nape. He wraps a hand around your beer, pulling it towards him, taking a sip shamelessly. He sits like he owns you. 

You roll your eyes, taking back your mug, though you hold it between your hands and don’t drink it. Silence reigns around the table. Neither you or Landon feel particularly inclined to talk. 

“C’mon,” Matty pokes, looking back and forth between the two of you. “I want to know the funny story.” 

“It’s just about this customer at my old job who was an asshole,” Landon laughs easily to his credit. “Bet you heard a thousand like it before.” 

“Yeah,” Matty nods, “I bet I did.” There’s something dark in his eyes, in the intensity of his gaze on Landon, like there is some hidden insult he’s supposed to catch. 

Matty’s eyes fall on you next, flicking to the beer and then back to your daggering glare, cocking his head condescendingly. “I didn’t know you liked beer.” He says it like some genuine question, but you know he knows the answer. 

“It’s okay,” you say tightly. 

“Mmh, yeah,” Matty smirks. “I’m sure Landon could give you a lot of okay things.” Your smile crisps on your face. The fucking asshole. 

“Landon,” you practically shout, turning towards him in a desperate attempt to ignore Matty. “I heard you were applying for the position of lead server?” 

Matty snorts. “Did your daddy tell you that?” 

You grit your teeth, “As a matter of fact, yes.” You smile at Landon. “He wanted my opinion. I’ll tell him I think you’d be great.” 

“Thanks,” he smiles at you genuinely. “I promise I won’t call anyone a raging hormonal grade A wanker.” 

You laugh. “Oh, please do if I ever need it.” You shake your head, twisting the beer in your hands, but still avoiding the aftertaste that would linger in your mouth. “Yesterday, I had a woman who—”

Matty’s hand rests on your naked thigh, cold from the glass and a smoke outside, rough in sinfully familiar ways, spreading over your leg like this, too, he owns. You stifle a gasp. The words die in your mouth. 

“Who what?” Matty encourages you, frowning at you like he’s not perfectly aware of what he’s doing under the table. 

As though he’s trying to entirely rob the words out of your mouth, he trails his fingertips up and down your thigh, raising goosebumps on the skin. You throw him a glance with some furious demand to quit it, but there’s a deeper need for him to do just the opposite. 

You rake your throat, flipping back to Landon. “She came in already pissed and prissy, telling me she’s never gotten a good experience here. Why she bothers to come back is completely beyond me. I mean, you would think she would give up then, because—”

Matty’s hand dips to your inner thighs and your lips hang open, mind shortcircuiting. Without even thinking, you spread them for him, giving him further space. He smirks at that, at the resounding blush on your cheeks as you realize what you’ve done. 

He presses into the meat of your leg, one finger at a time, so you’re so aware of him you might get dizzy. His pinky slips under the hem of your skirt, inching close to inappropriate. 

“Um, anyway,” you laugh awkwardly, desperate to get through this story. Your face heats up, the knowledge of Matty’s teasing under the table — in front of Landon — burning at your mind. Matty chuckles beside you. You rake your throat. “I try to do my best, you know— smile so fucking wide I could rip my cheeks— but she’s just asking me stupid question after stupid question like this is an interrogatory or something.”

Your eyes flicker between Landon and Matty, moving from amused eyes to a condescending nod, urging you on as a warm hand slips further and further up your thigh. Pleasure wakes up in your belly— just a little, just the idea of what it could be. God, you need him, and the worst is that he knows, staring at you so fucking cocky and proud. 

You stutter, “And— And she speaks to me like I’m the dumb one in this interaction! I mean, she’s asking me the size of our salad leaves because if they’re too big then I’ll have to cut them and yet—”

Matty’s finger meets the apex of your thighs. You jump, hips rolling into his hand, hand flying to your mouth to cover a moan you just barely avoid letting out. You need this story over. 

Matty seems to predict your plan to wrap it up, wasting no time to linger and tease and brush, instead rubbing his fingers up and down, pressing into your soaked underwear. You clamp around his hand, biting your lip. 

“So she pulled me every which way during my whole shift and—” He finds your clit easily, pressing on it through the cloth, making lazy circles that have your legs shaking under the table nonetheless. Pleasure rushes up them, burning with memory and apprehension. 

Your voice trembles as you continue, “—and I had to scream in the fridge so I wouldn’t lunge at her from the table—” You make the mistake of looking Matty’s way and he grins at you knowingly, the crow’s feet by his eyes denting as he licks mischief off his lips. His fingers push your underwear aside. 

You grip his wrist under the table, but he gathers a pool of your arousal still, as though to point out how much this little game is actually affecting you, no matter your useless protests. Your breath hitches. He pinches your bud meanly. Your head spins and spins deliriously. 

You focus on Landon, rushing out. “And then she tipped me 2%.” You grin at him cartoonishly big and fake, practically screaming, “Your turn!” 

“I think I remember that,” Matty cuts in before Landon can say anything. He teases your entrance and a jolt of ecstasy zaps through you. He smirks, “You screaming in the walk-in.” You glare at him, remembering being so wet and tired in the fridge you thought you might liquify and melt on the floor, holding onto his back for dear life as he thrusted inside of you, over and over, finding that perfect spot that had you screaming. 

You’re red and hot and fuck it. You stand up, his hand falling out of your skirt. “Actually, I need a smoke.”

Matty stands up beside you. “I have a pack.” You’re off before Landon can add anything, lost to the swallowing crowd of drunk service workers. 

You make a beeline for the bar. Matty catches up to you easily, knocking against your side, clearly so fucking pleased with himself. If you weren’t so turned on you think you could actually catch fire, you might tell him to fuck off. 

You turn to the right into a dark corridor. “He wasn’t flirting with me,” you say through gritted teeth because you would like to at least establish that. 

Matty snorts. “Don’t be naive. He fucking wanted you.” 

“It’s not because I have a conversation with a guy that we’re automatically about to get it on.” 

He scoffs. “I know guys, and I know that guy would have gotten it on with you right there on the fucking table if you had asked.” You roll your eyes, which only seems to piss him off. “And what were you doing giggling at him?” 

“Am I not allowed to laugh?” 

“Landon isn’t that fucking funny. The guy barely has enough wit to sustain a conversation.” 

“You don’t even know him,” you protest with a disbelieved laugh. Kitchen. To the left. 

“I’ve worked with the bloke for three years. If he’s told a joke in that time, I’ve yet to be around to hear it.” 

You push the bathroom door, giving him a prissy look behind your shoulder. “Well, you’re missing out. Maybe you should talk to people other than waitresses half your age—” The bathroom door slams behind the both of you. Matty grabs both your cheeks and crashes his mouth against your lips. He shuts you up with a heated tongue and sure, callused fingers on your skin, and it works. 

You part your mouth instinctively, kissing him back with fervor and unbridled need. Adrenaline shoots up your spine, alongside childish glee, the thrilled knowledge that this is finally happening. The argument is a faraway concept you don’t care about. 

Your hands dig into his back, clutching on the flimsy material of his washed-out white shirt, wishing to rip it off of him. He groans into your mouth, tilting his head and kissing you harder. 

Matty pushes you against the door, fixing you in place with a hand on your hip and another palming roughly at your breast. You moan in his mouth, lick into his with devotion. Your fingers hide in the mess of his curls, tugging. Hoping it makes him a little crazy— the instinct to poke and prod and tug for something still boiling inside of you. 

And it works. His fingertips dig into your hip, pressing meanly into the bone, and he shivers. He kisses you with abandon, stealing each breath from your mouth until you’re drunk on the lack of oxygen and him. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, and you kiss and kiss and kiss until your mind swirls lazily in your skull. 

He bites your lip, tugging it and releasing it with a smirk. You whine, so fucking wet it drips down your thighs, titling your hips in hope of finding some friction. You tremble between his arms and you know, desperately, deliciously, annoyingly, that he has you right where he wants. 

“Please,” you whisper in the dark of the bathroom, already pleading your case like you know you’ll have to. Matty licks his lips, digging under the risen hem of your skirt. “Please, please, please, Matty,” you rush immediately again, rolling your hips against nothing. 

“What do you want?” 

“You.” You take his wrist, puppeteering his hand up and up until it finds the wet patch of your underwear. You bite your lip, a gasp seconds away from spilling. “Your fingers.”

“Mine, huh?” He says, and indulgently slips your underwear aside. This time, nothing stops the resulting breathy moan. “Those fingers?” He brushes up your entrance, finding your clit and rubbing gently at it. 

You roll your eyes, letting your last hand fall to his shoulder and clutching it for support. “Yes.” As though satisfied with your answer, he rewards you with speed, circling and swiping at you until your face breaks open with a silent moan. Pleasure blooms in your belly. Finally. Every aching muscle in you sings in unabashed thrill. “Fuck, Matty.” 

He dips into your neck, kissing and licking at the delicate curve, climbing up your jaw. He’s unrelenting between your thighs and you simply grip his wrist, letting yourself be washed with euphoria. Those calluses might kill you one day.

“You’re so fucking desperate for me,” he says, and though the words are harsh, the tone is reverent. He looks down at you, at your body bending and parting just for him, at your pleading stare, at your red, panting mouth. Devours the sight. “Got you so fucking ready just from touching you under the table. Did you like it, princess? Liked being bad? Liked getting fingered in front of your little buddy?” 

You nod furiously. Pleasure loosens your head enough to lose the inherent need to be a rule-abiding, prim, moral girl. Yes to taboo, yes to indency, yes to anything if it’s him. 

“Bet he’d be so upset if he saw you now. Should we go get him? Give him a show?” Faintly, you shake your head, embarrassment and ecstasy spinning your mind. You moan into his neck, desperate. Your hips grind against his hand for more. 

He presses into your clit, making your eyes roll with a gasp. “He’d love to see you like this. Fucked out when I’ve barely even touched you. Making the prettiest sounds ever. God, I could fucking hear them all day. All desperate and whiney, like you can’t get enough of me.” He rubs at you twice as fast just to hear you whimper, muffled by a bite of his shoulder. His name drowns in the fibers, shirt wet by a slack mouth. 

“I can’t,” you admit, shaking in his arms.  

“Fucked the old, dirty man at work and now you can’t fucking live without his cock, right? What would they all think if they saw you, cockdrunk and fucking begging for it?” 

“Yes! Just— Fuck, just do something, sir.” 

“So fucking wet for me,” he coos, all proud and pleased. You grin, letting go of his shoulder to press kisses up his neck. He shudders. “We should show them, right? At least let them hear it.” Two of his fingers dip to your entrance and enter, slowly, letting the pornographic, squelching sound resonate through the quiet room. “There you go.”  

You’re too blissed out to care how it sounds, too busy getting used to the delicious stretch of his digits to fully notice how each thrust makes sopping, wet noises. You shiver, gripping his shoulder, biting wherever you can get your teeth into. Matty groans in your ear and you grin, happy. 

“No one can fuck you like this,” Matty whispers, and indulgently speeds up his movement, curling into you as a reminder. 

Euphoria coils in your belly, familiarly burning and tightening the strings of your body. You shake your head. “No one,” you agree, religious. 

“No one can get you off.”

Again, you grip his shoulders, promising, “No one.” And it’s true. Even your own hand has been a poor replacement to the art he can draw on your skin, making your body sing like his favorite instrument. His thumb rolls at you in tandem, a fast, harsh tempo. “Fucking hell,” you cry and scrunch your face. 

He smirks, whispering, “No one can see you like this.”

“No one, Matty. Only you.”

Matty kisses your cheek, a serpent smile on his lips. He coos in the shell of your ear, “Then why were you flirting with him?” He doesn’t want you to mistake his sweet tone: he pulls out of you. 

Your eyes flash open, fear gripping your guts. Your cunt already misses him, throbbing around nothing. The taste of pleasure lingers on your teeth, just out of reach. 

“I wasn’t,” you try to plead, but Matty’s already stepping away from you. Your arms fall to your side. Matty nods, but it doesn’t reassure anything in you, now hyperaware of the dangerous gleam in his eyes. “I swear, Matty. I didn’t— He just made me laugh.” You shake your head, chuckling, “Who fucking cares about Landon Williams?” 

Your hand reaches out, grabbing his and drawing it back under your raised skirt. You brush it against your soaked underwear, biting your lip as it makes contact. You whisper, “He doesn’t do this to me.”

Matty is unimpressed. “Of fucking course not.” He bites, pulling away. You pout, displeased, too empty to think. He crosses his arms before you get any other ideas. “Did you finish that drink, princess?” Your cheeks heat up and you look down, caught. He snorts meanly. “Say it.” 

“Yes, but—” 

He cuts you off, furrowing his eyebrows in a comical pout, as though speaking to a little child. “Where did my good little girl go? So fucking eager to please. Brought up with manners and all, right?” 

He takes a step, tilting your chin up with a strong thumb. You part your lips, readied and offered, pleading. “You taste like beer,” he whispers, and then offers a solution: two wet fingers, just out of reach. The message clicks. You don’t hesitate.

You get on your tiptoes, sticking your neck out to catch the digits and suck them between your lips. You roll your tongue around them, moaning with a full mouth, letting the tangy taste of you linger. You release him with a pop, grinning up at him proudly.

You keep it wide open, waiting, and he smirks at you. Knowing exactly what you’re asking for, he bends and spits in your mouth. Sick pleasure fills your mind and you moan, swallowing it, barely catching your breath that he’s muttering, “You’re so fucking dirty,” and falling on your lips. 

You kiss him back eagerly, trying to keep up with his angry, furious pace. You’re wound up so tight you might burst from any touch: just a brush, just a flick, just a thrust and you’d be screaming his name, falling apart on his callused hand. 

“Matty,” you beg between two kisses. You throb around nothing. 

“Taste much better, sweetheart,” he breathes.

He presses a kiss on your lips, then pulls away from you again. You’re whining before he’s even had time to unwrap you from his arms, release your tits from his palms. You frown at him. You’ve done everything he asked. 

“Let this be a lesson, princess.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You cross your arms, fuming. He’s really gonna leave now? Matty seems a bit too happy at your reaction, watching you like his favorite entertainment. 

He smiles, stroking your hair. “How else are you supposed to learn?” He pouts. “If I can’t have my good girl, I’ll make her.” He brushes the saliva and gloss off your lower lip, then opens the bathroom door. 

It falls close with a slam. You stare at the graffitied, dirty mirror and think you might murder someone.

—

Matty is sizzling some meat, twisting salt and pepper above it. The kitchen staff runs around him— they’re late, falling behind because of a missing aioli sauce. 

You wait for your plate and dagger him with a glare. You’re still sticky and unsatisfied from yesterday; you spent until the early hours of the day rubbing between your thighs, desperately trying to satisfy some itch. 

Matty’s eyes rise up as though feeling the handmark of your stare on him. They lock with yours, take in your displeased, furious look, and he smirks. Winks at you. You grab the hot plate sliding across from you with a huff. 

Walking away with a balancing tray, you secretly wish for him to tug you into the nearest bathroom until the whole restaurant knows his name. He doesn’t, of course, and you find your hungry guests with the fakest, biggest smile of all. 

—

The restaurant is eerily calm before the dinner rush, a few seated tables scattered across sections: rushed parents and elderly folks slurping soup. You have just enough of a break to chug the bottle of water you keep at the host stand, pestering Adam as you finally have a minute to quench your thirst. 

Veronica finds you at the stand, leaning both elbows on the wood as she smiles sickly sweet at you. Your eyes narrow in apprehension. “I just got asked something interesting.” You arch an eyebrow. “Landon wants to know if you and Matty are a thing. Said Matty practically pissed all over you two days ago.” 

Your lips don’t even twitch. “Okay.” 

Veronica gives you an expectant look. “Well?” 

Beside you, Adam turns to his computer and decidedly chooses to ignore this. “I am not part of this conversation,” he declares. 

You roll your eyes. “We’re not a thing.”

Veronica laughs. “Oh, come on. No one here is blind. You guys eyefuck so much sometimes we feel like we’re intruding just by picking up a plate.” Admittedly, your cheeks heat up slightly at that. You didn’t think you were that obvious.

She sighs, giving you a serious look. “Just be careful. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. He’s not like the little goody-goody boyfriends you’ve had. He’ll eat you alive.”

You flutter your eyelashes, faux doe-eyed. “Promise?”

“Reservations, tables, tables. Mmh, chairs.”

You give her a look, entirely ignoring Adam’s interjection. “I’m young, Vee, but I’m not stupid. I’m telling you there’s nothing going on. We’re just having sex.” You click your tongue. “And even then, we’ve only done it, like, once. Once and a half at most.” 

“And a half?” Adam pipes up, then seems to remember who you’re talking about. He raises one hand, shaking his head, defeated. “I don’t even want to know.” He practically bends over the stand to see the computer, as though if he just got close enough to the screen, he could be sucked into its world. 

“I’m leaving for college in less than two months,” you continue. “I’m not trying to date him, or whatever other tragic ways you think he’s gonna break my heart.” You smirk, shrugging, “I just find the gray hair hot.” Veronica snorts at that. 

Still, there’s something relieved in her eyes. Maybe even proud. She smiles at you, then turns to Adam. “And what does Matty have to say about it?”

“No comments.” 

She gasps, facing you with an excited grin. “That means he’s talked about you!” You bite your lip. Could he have? What did he say? 

Veronica is already on it. She pokes Adam’s arm, forcing him to look up at her. “What has he said? C’mon.” She gives him a solemn look, holding her heart. “This is a safe space.”

“That it’s none of my business,” Adam deadpans. “And neither is it yours, brat.”

Before Veronica can add anything, a family of four enter the door, wiping off their sweaty, red foreheads. They laugh as they approach the stand, mentioning the weather. Adam practically jumps to greet them, begging them to follow him. 

“I’m sitting them in your section. That’ll give you something useful to do,” Adam hisses at Veronica, and she pokes her tongue out at him. 

She waits until he’s just out of earshot to trail, “Now that he’s gone…” She faces you with a smirk, rounding the stand and joining you. She gives you a teasing look, biting back a grin. “How was the sex?” You can’t stop the smile shining on your face. It breaks your cheeks. She gasps. “Oh, I knew it. Julia said he was the best sex of her life, too.” 

“She didn’t lie,” you admit, flushed. You cock your head. “You haven’t slept with him?” You’re almost surprised. For all her don’t fuck the line cooks warnings, you had assumed she must have been burned before. 

“Nah,” she shakes her head. She trails, teasing, “I was too busy with Ross.” 

“Hypocrite!”

“I never said anything about bartenders!” But before you can tease her more, Adam calls her name and Veronica’s off with a spin and four menus, blowing you a kiss.

—

It’s dark outside. The street lamps slope over cars, bathing the street in semi-obscurity. You cross your arms, some pretend at a shield. The crew has long left for The Darling while you finished up your closing duties. You wiped your forehead and found yourself too tired to handle another boozy, dancy night, to wake up the next day still a little drunk and off-kilter for a grueling Saturday shift. 

Something catches the corner of your eye. Your head turns, squinting to be sure you’re not mistaken. No, it really is Matty’s car parked in the alleyway. You’d recognize the dirty, beat-up thing anywhere for all the rides it has given you—not in the sense you would like. At least you can ask for one now, avoid the stressful walk home, clenched and quick, holding keys between your fingers. 

You dip into the dark alleyway, walking the cigarette butts-lined path. The car is smoky, a gray curtain to the outside world. You frown, knocking on the window of his backseat. Matty opens the door, bloodshot eyes staring at you, eyebrow arching. He holds a joint in one hand and the door’s handle in the other. The earthy smell attacks your nostrils; you scrunch your nose. 

“Don’t let the smoke out,” Matty chastises, sliding away to leave a spot beside him. 

Your brain throbs in your head. Flashes of grand preachy speeches given to friends as they passed bongs at parties come back to you. Embarrassingly, you flush and step into the car, closing the door behind you. 

Matty grins at you, pleased, taking a hit of his joint and blowing the smoke into the car. The air is heavy and thick, pressing against your skin. This is such a bad idea. 

“What are you still doing here?” You ask. He pointedly looks at the joint as though obvious. You roll your eyes. “You could do that at home.”

He shrugs, “Didn’t want to.”

“Are you gonna drive?” 

“Was planning to, yeah.” Your lips part for a scathing, moralizing reply, but he cuts you off, repeating in that same tone of yours, “Are you gonna give me a sermon?” 

You scowl. “Was planning to, yeah.” Matty chuckles. He knows you far too well already. 

“I’d leave if I were you, princess. This car’s becoming a hotbox.” 

You should, of course. Weed has carcinogens, and causes lung damages, and slows development, and wrecks the body’s natural nutrient reserve, and all the other priggish arguments you’ve known and repeated by heart. 

But Matty has a loose grin you find a little adorable. Gray-streaked hair flops as he leans his head on the backseat, lips drooping with the weight of the joint. The shape of them is addictive, a perfect O as he blows smoke out, just like he would on the inside of your thighs to get you to jump and squirm for him. 

Your breath is heavy. You feel stuck to the leather seats, skin gluing you in place to watch and rewatch the show he gives you. 

And, really, you’re a little curious about what weed is. Your friends have all indulged at some time or the other; your dormmate used to crack a window, light a candle, and infest the room with the earthy smell as if it would cover any of it up; even your mom would laugh and wave smoke away when you caught her off the clock with her coworkers back in LA. 

Matty laughs, languid and slack and, fuck, it’s such a pretty sound. “You don’t want to, do you?” He teases. Your cheeks heat up. “It’s okay, princess. Don’t even need to smoke it. Just breathe the air and save your pretty pink lungs. You can even do your little speech to me if it’ll make you feel better.” 

“Don’t condescend me,” you say, as though there’s not something sick in you that enjoys when he does it. Matty raises two arms in a show of innocence, cheeky as they fall down. He knows you like it, too. 

“My apologies, darling.” In complete contradiction, he spreads his knees and looks down at his lap, telling you, “Come sit on my knee.” And in complete contradiction to your warning, you do just what he asks. 

You don’t even think about it; you’re scooping yourself up and dropping on his knee, biting your lip as you settle over his tough jeans. His hand loosely holds your hip, looking at you pleased. 

Now that you’re on his lap, close enough to count his eyelashes, to lick the smoke off his lips, you feel yourself growing needy. The memory of a stolen orgasm in a dark bathroom comes back to you in hot flashes. You have to think about stilling your hips to stop you from grinding on his knee. 

“Are you serious about this?” He asks, arching an eyebrow. You’re not sure what he’s referring to, but the answer’s the same anyway;

“Yes.” 

He taps your hip. “Open your mouth, princess.” You’re flushing as you do so, imagining him spitting in it, slipping two fingers and making you slobber your sermon around them. Instead, he takes a hit of his joint and blows it into your mouth. You inhale as he’s taught you. “Good,” he grins. “You remember how.” 

“It’s not rocket science,” you bite, deadpan. 

“You’re right. Smart girl like you. This is nothing at all.” It hits true, strumming the right chords inside of you. You shift on his knee, holding back the shameful groan that threatens to spill out at the friction. It’s really not fair that he makes you sit here, close enough to kiss and rub and grind until you’re dripping on his lap, and not do it. 

Maybe you’re starting to feel something. Your body is light and slack, a pleasant buzz resonating through you. You feel relaxed, more than you have in years, always strung high, clenched and straight-backed. A giggle threatens out of you. 

Maybe it’s why you say, “I think you should fuck me.” Though, really, it’s all just an excuse for the fact that it’s all you’ve thought about for the past week, ever since that night in the walk-in fridge. You should do it again. Right now. Please. Over and over, like the beating drums of an earworm song. 

Matty smiles, indulgent. “Is that so?” You nod frantically. His fingers dig into your hip. He takes another hit, ever casual. “D’you think you deserve to?” 

“Yes.” 

“How so?”

“I—” You huff. Well, yes, maybe you haven’t really been anything but a brat recently, wearing low-cut tops and winking at other line cooks in hopes of riling him up. But it’s really his fault for getting you so fucking ready you’re begging for him, then walking off. You pout at him. “Please.”

“Ah-ah,” he says, tugging on your lip with his thumb, smearing your lipgloss. “None of that.” Being cute won’t seem to work this time. 

“I’ll earn it,” you say desperately. 

“How?”

Your mind scrambles. An idea sparks in your mind. You rise from his knee, then you get on yours in the cramped spot of the backseat. 

You look up at him, blinking innocently, hand traveling up his thigh. Matty takes the joint to his lips, but you can see from the way his chest rises and falls in quick succession that he’s worked up. Good. You fucking have him. 

You might be inexperienced, an unknower of pleasure, but if there’s one thing you can do, it’s a fucking blowjob. 

“Go on, then,” Matty says, choked. “Earn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your greedy hands finally find his waistband. You undo the button, fingers frantic as they work his jeans down enough to reveal his half-hard cock. You lick your lips, staring up at him while you wrap around his length. 

He hisses, bucking into your fist. His dark eyes are locked in yours, barely willing to move away from your face to take a good look at the little show your hand is giving him. It’s like he wants to see you, pupils wide and lips swollen, so fucking turned on and ready just to suck his cock. 

You slide up, swiping your hand up to his tip, collecting the precum and spreading it down. It’s a slow pace, meant to tease, to beguile him. Get him so ready for you he’s begging for once. 

You repeat the motion over and over, never in any kind of repeated rhythm for him to really get used to anything. His cock hardens in your hand until it’s standing proud and ready. Matty breathes heavily, letting a low sound out every time you brush his tip. You smirk every time, teasing your nails on his sensitive skin. 

“Stop teasing,” Matty warns. His hips fuck into your fist every time you slide down, silently begging for more. 

You cock your head, blinking up at him innocently. “Where are your manners?” 

“Careful,” he says with a dangerous tone. His eyes gleam. “You don’t want me to teach you another lesson.” 

You giggle. You dip your head down, kissing his tip. A moan spills out of him and you flash your teeth at him. You lower a little, pressing another kiss, then again, and again, until his whole cock is covered in tacky lipgloss. 

Your tongue sticks out to lick a stripe up his length, rounding his tip. Just when he’s ready to feel your warm mouth embrace him, you give him another sweet kiss. He curses under his breath. “You think you’re funny.” 

You lick mischief off your lips, staring up at him with a cheeky grin. “Say please.” 

His hand free of the joint rakes through your hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging until you look up at him. Pleasure sparks from your head to your toes, reveling in the sensation. He sees right through you. 

He lets go of your hair, soothing the sting as he travels down your temple, your cheek, your chin, pushing a thumb between your lips and parting them. Thrill gathers in your belly. Your mouth hangs wide open, breathing harshly. “Do it or I will.” 

It’s his turn to be cocky, spotting how you shift on your knees at the graphic images he puts in your head. His hands in your hair, sure and strong as he fucks up into your— No. You want to show him what you can do, prove you’re not just some lost little girl. 

You laugh, sucking around his thumb then releasing it. Saliva coats it, and it dries on your cheek as he caresses it. “You’re no fun,” you tease, pouting. 

“Shouldn’t fuck a crass man if you wanted pleases and thank yous,” he retorts. “But then, you wouldn’t enjoy it, would you? Need to be railed dirty to get off, right?” 

Instead of answering— too proud to give him the yes he’s right to expect, you suck his tip into your mouth. He makes a low whine, patting your hair, swearing under his breath as you roll your tongue around him. “That’s a good girl,” he coos. “Take me in now.” 

There’s the instinct in you to do just the opposite, the born and bred need to be difficult, but you give in anyway, a bigger want to be extra good for him. You push him past your lips, lowering until he hits your throat. “Fuck,” he chokes. You smile around him, then bob your head. 

You set a steady pace, stroking what you can’t fit with your fist. The car fills with wet, gagging noise and those puffy breaths he takes. Your tongue sticks out, licking his length as it passes him, making him shiver under you. 

“Give me your hand,” he demands. You offer it without thinking, reaching up towards him palm-out. 

He takes your wrist and spits on your hand. Saliva drips on your palm as he lowers it back to his cock. He wraps your fingers around him, pumping himself once, then twice, then releasing you. You keep going to the same pace he set, cursing around his length, somehow more turned on now. 

Your hand works in tandem with your mouth. You leave his cock just long enough to spit on it yourself, spreading the saliva until he’s wet and messy, then bringing him back between your swollen lips. Precum and drool sticks to your chin, but you bob with a mission, uncaring of the sopping sounds that come out of your mouth. 

“Ah,” he groans. His head falls back on the seat, spreading his thighs as if to give you more space. You quicken your moves in response, trying to coax more pretty sounds of him. “Shit. Fucking hell,” he laughs. 

His eyes roll back, and he takes a hit of his dwindling joint. You stare at his lips as he does so, still as sickly fascinated by him smoking as you’ve always been. The car drenches in smoke, an added mix to the condensation dripping on the windows. 

Matty’s face pulls down to look at you, right as you swallow him up with an especially deep trust. He makes a whine, caresses your hair. Sees the way your eyes are dark and aroused for him, obsessed. “D’you want another hit?” He asks, cheeky. 

You release his cock, out of breath. “Yes.” Your hand continues to jerk him as you smile at him. 

“Magic word?”

You scoff. “Coming from you?” 

He laughs. “C’mon. How many tutors taught you all those good girl manners? Can’t destroy all that hard work. I don’t want to corrupt you too much.” Your eyes narrow at him. Your thumb swipes on his tip, stroking him quickly. He jumps at that, moaning. Matty shakes his head, hair flopping with it. “Minx.”

“Please,” you say, because you know it’s a lost battle to do anything but. You brush his tip on your lips, kitten-licking him, like some added argument. He smiles proudly. 

“Of course, princess.” The joint comes to you, end faced towards you, just enough out of reach that you have to kneel up to wrap your lips around it. You take a drag, tipping your head back as you blow it out. 

Your body feels hazy, tingling pleasantly throughout. There’s a loose smile on your lips as you bend down to swallow him back in your mouth. Euphoria twists in your mind, pulling at the strings of you, and you double in efforts eagerly, happily. 

You bob quicker, deeper, moaning around his length. You breathe through your nose, trying not to gag every time he hits the back of your throat. It’s all worth it for the swears he mutters under his breath, low groans filling the car. Every fucked-out praise shoots you straight to the core. You’re dripping on the floor, wet and empty and begging for him. 

“My perfect girl,” he praises, a whiny, worshiping sound. “So pretty on her knees for me. Fucking drooling everywhere.” You laugh at that, feeling saliva drip down your cheeks. “You were made for my cock, weren’t you? Made for me.” 

You try to agree, but it’s a slobbering mess around his dick. The vibrations are enough; his eyes roll back into his skull, his hips jump. You choke on his length, releasing him with a cough, then diving back to work. 

“Can’t fucking get enough of me,” he says. His hand caresses your hair, a soothing motion. “D’you want more?” 

You nod around him. He smiles, gripping a hand in your hair. The sting gives you the same reaction as before; you moan around him, toes tingling. He pushes your mouth deeper around him. This time, you expect it; breathing through your nose, you welcome him in your throat. 

“There you go,” he whines. He can’t stop looking at you, at the mess of your mouth. “So fucking filthy.” Again, he presses you down. A moan spills out of him. You grip his knee with your free hand. 

Matty controls your head, pushing it deeper and deeper around his cock, making the most fucked-out noises from the feel of it. You pump him with your hand every time he pulls you up to his tip, stroking back to the base as he lowers you down. He does it quicker and quicker, setting a fast pace. Again, you shift on your knees, trying to soothe away that burning need between your thighs. 

Matty spots it immediately. “Are you wet?” He taunts, though it’s a little ridiculous when he’s out of breath and on the edge of a moan. You nod around him, a little whine coming out, and he smirks. “Soaked ‘cause you’re sucking my dick, huh? If I knew it got you going like this, I would have had your mouth around me every single fucking day, darling.” And it’s not like you would have objected, considering you’re the one who’s been practically chasing him for the past week. 

“Dirty girl. They all think you’re so innocent, but I know.” He smirks. “Bet your father would love to know what I’m doing to his precious girl.” Need and shame burn inside of you, and you can’t figure out which one makes you flush and your mind spin. Cockiness drips from his tongue as he trails, “‘S not my fault his daughter loves my cock, right?” You don’t know whether to nod or shake your head, instead moaning around him. 

Matty reaches the joint out, telling you, “Hold that.” You frown. It’s unlit by now, useless, and he could certainly throw it anywhere in the backseat to fish it out later. It’s not like his car is clean; trash litters it, cigarette burns scar the leather, and the smell of weed is permanent. Still, you don’t question it, unwrapping your hand from his cock to take the joint. 

It becomes apparent, then, why he asked you. Raking two hands through your hair, he keeps your head in place as his hips fuck up into you. With your hand gone and occupied, he thrusts deeper into your mouth. You gag around him, and he releases you just enough to catch your breath, before pumping past your lips again. 

He groans at every stroke, burying your nose in the faint hair scattering up his belly. Pleasure blooms on his face. He’s so pretty, so vulnerable and fucked out, face wrinkling and lips panting. 

His head falls down to look at you again. He makes a whine from the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’ve got spit everywhere.” It’s true, chin wet as slurping sounds resonate on the steamy windows. 

If your ex-boyfriend had even tried to lose a hand in your hair and push your head down, you’d have bit him with a vengeance. But kneeling like this with Matty using you only brings a sick pleasure out of you. You feel your core throb, thighs sticky with need. You don’t know what he’s doing to you, don’t understand how he manages to ruin you so thoroughly. 

Your nails dig into his knee, the other hand pinching the joint. Your eyes water at every thrust until tears roll down your eyes, mixing with the wet of your cheeks and chin. 

Matty awes, sickly amused as he sings, “Are you crying?” You feel suddenly embarrassed, attempting to shake your head, deny the proofs streaming down your cheeks. “Is Daddy’s dick too big for you?” The nickname strikes through the daze, shock and arousal coursing through your veins. 

Matty doesn’t even realize what he’s said, too gone to mind any words. A string of curses  comes next as he bobs your head. Still, it’s all you can think about, playing back the word in that filthy head of yours. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he promises. “Just a little bit more.” His hand strokes your cheek, wiping at the runaway tears. “Gonna make me come so hard. D’you want my cum?” You nod vaguely. He grins at that. “Yeah? Wanna fucking swallow it?” You hum around him, excited. He moans, “Fuck. You’re such a slut.” 

Again, there should be outrage, should be a dramatic tear off his dick as you tell him off, but he says it in such a reverent way, like a compliment, a praise, and you find yourself whining around him instead. Your cunt throbs, empty and lonely, and maybe you are a slut after all. You’ve been nothing but a needy, begging mess for him anyway. If it gives you this much pleasure in exchange, is there really something wrong with it? 

Matty senses the way you preen under the name. He smirks, fucking up faster, chasing an end. “My little slut. So perfect, made for me. Would spend her days on her knees, wouldn’t she? Till she’s all bruised and fucked out.” His thrusts grow erratic. “I’d take care of you, princess. I’d put you in the best bed and I’d pump you full of my cum until you’re dripping with it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like being my little fucktoy?” A yes comes out garbled out of your mouth. “All those smarts, gone for a dirty man like me. Fucking ironic, isn’t it?” 

You hollow your cheeks, run your tongue, hope to finish him. Hear his pretty cries, see his scrunched, coming face, taste his cum. Let it be your turn. 

You take back charge as Matty gets too hazy to make sense of anything, much less the furious tempo he’s set. You bob up and down with abandon, slobbering everywhere. His hips stutter, meeting you halfway. His cock twitches in your mouth. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Matty cries. His fingers dig into your hair, pulling vengefully. “Shit, princess, I’m—” With a scream, he comes on your tongue. 

His body shivers as the tangy taste of white ropes spill down your throat. You swallow everything, watching his face as it grows peaceful. A slack, happy smile shines on his lips. He strokes your hair, as if an apology. 

Only when he softens do you pull out of him, saliva stringing from his tip to your lip. You lick it off, chuckling. Show off your empty mouth. His cum is all gone. 

“Good girl,” Matty praises, out of breath. He tucks his cock back in his jeans. “What do we say now?” 

“Thank you.” 

He hums. “I think you deserve a reward for doing so well for me.” You grin at him, childishly excited. He laughs, taking both your hands and raising you off your knees. “You want that, don’t you?” You bite your lip.

As soon as you’re up, he digs under your skirt, pulling off your underwear. You gasp as the air hits your bare skin. He rubs a thumb on the wet patch of the pink fabric, arching an eyebrow for you. “So fucking ready for me just from sucking my cock.” 

“Not just from sucking your cock,” you say. “I’ve been ready for you all week.”

“Is that so?” Matty flips you around, sitting you square on his lap, your back against his chest. This close, you can smell the sweat and weed on him. Each leg hangs from the sides of his knees. He parts them, spreading you wide, putting you on display. 

There’s the knowledge that anyone could see you tugging at the back of your mind. No matter the smoke, and the fogged up windows, and the dark of the night, it’s still a public alleyway. They could walk in on you, cunt out, wet and throbbing. It’s nasty, and it’s hot, and now you’re grinding against nothing, hoping for friction. 

Thankfully, Matty indulges you, wrapping his arm around your waist and teasing two fingers over your swollen clit. You jump, already oversensitive, moaning at the little contact. He rubs in slow circles. 

“I could have had you any time, then?” He whispers in your ear. “Could have pulled you in the dry storage and had my dirty way with you?” 

“Yes.” 

His touch becomes faster, pressing harder, zeroing in on your bud with a middle finger. You scrunch your face, already so close. A little pout comes on your face. You don’t want to finish without his fingers inside of you, not when you’ve been this eager for them. Your pussy clenches around nothing, unsatisfied. 

“Any day, any time, anywhere?” His hand ghosts at your entrance, gathering a pool of your dripping juices. 

“Yes,” you repeat, almost frustrated he doesn’t get it. You need him all the time. He seems satisfied by your answer, dipping two fingers inside your cunt. 

You gasp, wrinkling your face with the overwhelming euphoria that spreads through you. The stretch is delicious. You’re already rolling your hips into his fingers, begging for more. 

He bites at your earlobe, licking down your neck. Husky and gravely, he teases, “You would scream my name so the whole restaurant knows whose cock is fucking you this good? So they know that little princess likes to get railed filthy by an old, sleazy man?” As though to demonstrate, he pumps his fingers quicker into you. Sopping sounds resonate with your answering whines. 

It’s a silly question. As if you haven’t had that exact fantasy before, playing over and over as guests criticize your every move. You insist, “Yes, Daddy.”

Matty’s fingers freeze inside of you. His heart races, the rhythm drumming on your back. Your eyes snap open, scared you’ve done something wrong. He’s the one who— A flush spreads up your cheeks. You’re so disgusting, using that nickname while he— 

“Say it again.” He’s choked and out of breath. Turned on. You smirk, victorious. 

You grip his wrist and make him pump inside of you again. You let your head fall on his shoulder, moaning, “Daddy, please, make me come.” 

“Fuck.” It’s all the incentive he needs, apparently, because now he’s thrusting and curling inside of you, finding that magical spot each time. The heel of his hand rubs at your clit, making jolts of pleasure spark through you. His other hand snakes around your chest and paws at your breast, digging under your shirt to rub the nipple. 

Every sensation works perfectly together to get you buzzing with ecstasy. You feel drunk— or high— mind swirling inside your head until all you know is his name. Your core tightens, toes curling and uncurling. 

“Come on my fingers,” he demands, voice low and hoarse. “Fucking drench Daddy’s hand. I wanna taste you.”

There’s something so desperate in his voice that makes you even needier. You throb around his digits, eyebrows furrowing, strings thinning. He pinches your nipple. You open your mouth with a silent cry, shaking all over. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “I got you, baby. You’re right there.” You nod frantically. “Just come for me. Come. Come—” Just like he demands, your body breaks and you shatter on his fingers. 

Euphoria spreads through you, that overwhelming sense of relief. His name burns your tongue, over and over, a plea and a reverence and a worship. He continues to slide in and out of you, slowly, tenderly, until you’re done shaking and throbbing. 

Your body hums pleasantly, bone-deep happy. You practically melt on his body, each limb letting go and settling into him. You sigh, satisfied. Finally haunts your head. Yet, you’re already looking out for next time. 

Matty pulls out of you. He brings his wet fingers to his mouth; you hear the pornographic moan he makes as he cleans them. You flush, too tired to make a chastising comment. 

“Best meal in town,” he says, cheeky. You half-slap him, half-giggle. 

His hand falls from your breasts, but wraps around your waist instead, pulling you even closer, trapping you in the heat of his arms. He kisses your cheek. “We can stay like this for a little while. I’ll drive you home after.” 

You crack an eye open. “Are you high?”

He scoffs. “No.” He grins against your cheek, teasing, “You’ve sobered me up.”

Being cute does not distract you. You hum, unconvinced. “What’s the alphabet backwards?”

“Are you fucking kidding—” He blows air from his nose. Resigned, he recites, “Z, Y, X—”

—

It’s fifteen past ten and the house is empty. Groceries linger on the kitchen island and you could, theoretically, put them all together yourself. Though it’s just not quite the same when you have to do the work under the orange light of the kitchen hood, alone except for some sad blues and a bottle of white and the sizzling sound of the pan. 

In your hand, an apologetic text flashes at you. You bite on a humus dipped carrot, bitter. You understand, you say, and pretend you believe him when he swears he’ll make it up to you. You take a long sip of your wine glass. 

You stare at the lonely apartment. An idea tickles the back of your mind. It would be a waste of wine, and space, and freedom if you dutifully went to bed now. Your hand lingers on his contact, then press on the picture of Matty’s frown, cigarette hanging between his lips. 

I have my place all to myself. Do you wanna come? You hit send before you overthink it. A rush of anxiety swipes through you. 

He’s quick to answer. depends. do i get to cum anywhere? You roll your eyes. He’s truly insufferable sometimes. 

Invitation retracted. 

i’m on my way

You can’t control the pleased grin on your face, but there’s no one to see it anyway. You can indulge a little in the childish thrill that blooms inside your stomach. You feel sunshine from the inside-out. 

He’s ringing your doorbell the next time you hear of him. By then you’re already a little flushed with wine, practically running to the door to buzz him in. 

A knock resonates just a few minutes later. You swing the door wide open. “Hi.” Again, you can’t seem to control your giddy smile. 

“You shouldn’t open the door just like that. I could’ve been a bad man.” 

“You are.” Matty snorts. You move out of the doorframe, gesturing for him to step inside. 

He walks your flat with confidence, though he hasn't been here since that fatal night and, even then, it had been a quick in and out thing. He lingers a little to take in the set-up. The open floor plan, the L leather couch, the massive dining table and the kitchen island that hasn’t seen any action in months. It’s a shame for a family of chefs how little you use it. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him outside of a work setting, either a grueling shift or the drunk aftermath. He’s cleaner; white shirt rid of stains, jeans unburdened by an apron. He still sports a stumble, ever lazy to shave it off, but his hair sprouts in soft curls from his head. There’s a lack of gloomy energy, like what you thought was a permanent tired look was, in fact, reserved for the restaurant. He looks good is what you mean.

Matty stares you up and down shamelessly, taking in your off-duty outfit as well. A collared shirt buttoned conservatively, tucked into a black skirt, leather heeled loafers and white socks at your feet. Your hands shine with silver rings. You are, admittedly, much cleaner than him. Matty seems to dig your preppy look anyway, licking a gaze up and down your legs, rubbing his smirk away with two of his fingers. 

You side-step him, making your way to the kitchen. Matty follows behind you, taking the time to gaze at the paintings dotting your walls. Pretentious things your father bought because he was told by other people they were masterpieces, they were technical, they were touching. You get to the cabinets, searching for a matching wine glass.  

“Why’d you invite me?” Matty asks, seemingly an afterthought. He peers at your half-empty glass, raising it to examine the wine. 

“I was supposed to have dinner with my dad, but he’s too busy today after all.” You turn to Matty with a glass in hand. “There’s some sort of important event with investors that just came up. He couldn’t untangle himself,” you press. You don’t know why you feel the need to rehash your father’s excuses, as though you had to defend him to Matty. It’s silly; he doesn’t even care, instead bringing your wine glass to his nose and giving it a swirl.

“It’s a Chenin Blanc.” You say as you uncork the bottle, pouring him his own glass. You slide it his way, tsking regretfully, “It was gonna pair beautifully with the seared scallops.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in your voice, and you try your best to smooth it. You can’t sound annoyed. 

“Served with what?” 

“Baby spinach and spiced pomegranate glaze.” 

“Damn,” Matty shakes his head. “That does sound good.” He takes a seat at the dining table, shamelessly making himself at home. He cocks his head, bringing the glass to his lips. “So, what? You invited me to cook it for you instead?”

Your lips twitch. “I’ve already eaten actually.” A mismatch of carrots, humus, swiss cheese and chocolate-covered blueberries eaten standing up at the kitchen island, but a meal nonetheless. 

Matty hums. He leans back on his chair, smirking to himself. “You know, I feel a bit peckish myself.” 

Your arch an eyebrow, playful as you drawl, “Is that so?” The cheeky, knowing look on his face wakes the heat in your belly. You clench your thigh; he spots it, amused. “There’s food in the fridge.” 

“A miracle! She has more than kraft dinner.”

“I didn’t specify which food. Maybe mac’n’cheese is all that’s waiting for you.”

Matty smiles. “I think I’m craving something else.” His hand reaches out, grabbing yours until you stumble into him. 

You grip his shoulders to balance yourself, both legs siding one of his knees. He looks at you with those dark, dangerous eyes that announce nothing but trouble. You tower over him, see him blinking his spiderleg eyelashes up at you. His lips part, pretty and red. A rush of excitement shoots through you. Your breath hitches. 

“Wow,” you say, mocking. “You just got here and you’re already trying to bend me over the table. Didn’t even ask me about my day.” 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, faux-apologetic. His hands dig into your thighs, picking you up and hoisting you on the table. You sit before him, blush as he spreads your legs out for him. With a cheeky, shit-eating grin, he looks up at you and says, “How was your day, princess?”

You up your nose, ignoring his bait. “It was good. I—” His hands rise up your thighs, brushing against your silky smooth skin. You can’t stop the shivers. “Fuck, I went to the library and—” 

He bends down, peppering sweet kisses where his fingertips had been. Your breath hitches at the ghosting touch, teasing and tickling and lighting you up. He looks up at you, face nearing where you need him most. “Mmh, and what?” 

“Just— shit.” He spreads your legs further apart, giving him ample access to bite and suck at your thigh, which he does with worshiping abandon. He soothes away the hurt with a tongue. You pant, moaning lowly, “I started early on my first week readings for—”

Matty snorts. “Nerd.”

“It’s actually really essential to—” He slips your underwear aside, finding your clit and thumbing a lazy circle on it. “Ah, fucking hell, Matty!” 

He smiles, so fucking proud. His finger speeds up. “What book did you read?” 

“Well, the textbook. It was— It’s about—” Words escape your mouth when his tongue is burning your skin, getting closer and closer to where his thumb is hard at work. Euphoria shakes in your stomach. You bite your lip, gripping the edge of the table. 

“Yes?” He blinks up at you, condescendingly begging, “Please, educate a poor, simple plebeian.”

You bite your cheek, teasing, “I don’t know if I can. He’s really only good at fucking.”

Matty rolls his eyes. “You’re missing the other reason I’m good with my hands.”

And he makes it easy to forget all about his cooking skills when he dips two fingers inside your wet entrance, pumping you slowly on the dinner table. God-given hands, made to bring you to the very edge and back. You curse, gripping the wood under your palms even harder. 

“I’m waiting.”

You huff. “It’s microeconomics. It’s comparing comparative averages and absolute advantages of high.” 

He grins. “Well, which one wins?”

“Comparative. It’s always better as you lose because the opportunity cost is smaller and— Oh, fuck—” Your legs tremble, your face scrunching as he hits the sinful spot inside of you that has you singing. You pant to catch your breath, groaning, “It’s better when you— Matty—”

“My smart girl,” Matty praises, curling his fingers inside of you just so. “You learned all of this already. Don’t even need to study that you’re fucking moaning it for me.” He plants a kiss on the top of your thigh. “It’s better when…”

Your mind is languid, euphoria pumping inside of you with the rhythm of his hand. You try to blink to conscience, peering down at him. “It’s better when the opportunity cost—” He makes rapid swipes at your clit and pleasure jolts through you. You shake your head. “You know what? You don’t need to know all this. You can just be dumb and pretty and warm my bed all day. Be my trophy husband.”

He snickers. “Yeah? Gonna make me your little housewife?” 

You grin, volleying back, “Keep you cooking and fucking all day while I earn the big bucks, babe.” One hand rises up to his hair, digging into the mess of it. You smirk. “But you’d have to be very good for me. Keep me satisfied at all times.” 

“Oh, don’t worry.” His fingers quicken, thrusting in and out of you until you’re whining for him. “I’d fill you up every night and leave you sticky and happy.” The wet sounds of your cunt fill the kitchen. You don’t doubt him for one second. 

Your breath leaves in puffs out of your mouth. You tilt your head back, moaning for the ceiling, eyes wrinkled shut. Your hand tugs at his hair, rejoicing in his pathetic little groans. You fall back, smiling mischievously at him. “I thought you were hungry.”

His eyes flash. “Fucking famished.” He bends down and licks your cunt. 

You jump, rolling your hips into his face, chasing those delicious reverbs. He licks at your clit with a pointed tongue, pressing into the sensitive bundle of nerves until honey ecstasy is spreading through your veins. 

One hand fucks into you with calculated efficiency; hard and fast, just like you like it. The other holds your red underwear aside, fingers pressing into the meat of your thigh, leaving fingertip prints to remember him by. 

“Matty!” Pleasure boils inside of you. You’ve missed his tongue, missed the way he tastes at you: starved, diligent, fucking slurping the last drop. You cry his name over and over, a sweet chant that encourages him on. 

Thank fuck for his hands. They slide wetly inside of you, searching for hot ecstasy and pulling it out of you in drowning moans. You tug at his hair, grip the table, try to attach yourself to something as you;

“Matty, I’m—” He knows, of course, because you’re throbbing around his fingers. He circles your clit with his tongue, swiping at it, adding enough sinful pleasure that you feel your orgasm grow and grow. It expands in your belly, threatens your limbs; “I’m gonna—”

You come with a scream, falling apart on his tongue. He doesn’t slow yet. His mouth is hard at work, his fingers pumping into you still. He chases your orgasm until the end, until you’re shaking and whimpering from the intensity. You push his head, and only then does he release you, smiling up at you with sticky cheeks. 

“Good?”

You brush his curls back, smiling happily. “You might earn yourself a weekly allocation if you keep it up, babe.” 

“I’m the luckiest trophy husband in the world.” 

You twist one of his curls around his finger, so light and elated that you feel no shyness or shame to say, “D’you want to see my room?” 

He half-grins. “Yeah.” 

You jump from the table, grabbing his hand. He lingers by the table just long enough to shoot back half of his wine glass in one gulp, slamming it down on the table with a satisfied sigh. It stands there with a stain of your slick in the shape of his lips. 

You deadpan him. “Good wine shouldn’t be wasted,” he defends. 

“I don’t even think you let it stay on your tongue long enough to taste it.” 

You regret your choice of words as soon as you say them. Cursing, you already expect the joke when he quips, “Didn’t want to disrupt the other taste that’s in my mouth right now, you see?” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s down the hallway,” you say, and tug at his hand until he follows. 

You push the door into your childhood bedroom. It’s a clean, organized place, but it maintains its youthful element, like a time capsule. Matty steps in, intrigued. It’s the first time he’s ever been and he paces it with curiosity. 

The shelves are decorated with childhood trophies; debate, math, punctuality. Even a participation medal from fifth grade soccer hangs on the corner. Thick, leather books mix with colorful cracked spines of YA literature on the bookshelf, along with fake plants and gaudy trinkets. The walls host picture frames of dental braced friends smiling wide. You have awful bangs in some of them and you stick your tongue out at the flash. On the bed, Mr Snuffles — a leopard plushie — lays like a king. 

You flush. You hadn’t realized how childish your bedroom at home still was. You’ve got an uncomfortable need to tear it all down and build it back as a refined, clean look..

“Cute,” he says, and you want to bury straight into the ground. He taps a picture of prom where you hold the arm of a visibly nervous teenage boy. “Was that your little boyfriend who couldn’t make you come?”

“No, that was my friend. I wasn’t interested in dating back then. I was a very serious girl.” 

He chuckles, turning back to you. He jokes, “Hard to believe now.” You shake your head, pretending to be bothered. He eyes the photograph once more. “You look pretty.” 

“Thanks.” It comes squeaked out of your lips. You really didn’t expect the compliment. 

He continues to inspect until you grow tired of it. You huff, deciding to go on the offensive until he takes a hint. “You know, I’ve actually never had any guy here before.” 

Matty flips to you, grinning. “No?” 

“No.” Your fingers fly to your collar and slowly start unbuttoning the top one, a silent invitation. 

“Very, very serious girl.” Matty watches your fingers, devouring the skin you unveil for him. The cups of your red bra peek in view. His eyes grow dark, though he still doesn’t move to do it himself. 

“I was very studious.” 

You get to your very last button. The shirt parts, a cracked door vision into your needy body. Matty drawls, slow and nonchalant, unrushed, “Must’ve spent a lot of time with your hand between your legs, then, if no one’s been here before.”

You try not to grow embarrassed. You have spent a lot of time doing so, mostly in recent weeks. You push the shirt past your shoulders and it drops at your feet. Matty’s eyes immediately fall to your breasts, rising with panting breaths for him. 

“Maybe,” you whisper shyly. You bend down to slip off your shoes, sliding your socks off your feet. 

“Thought about me a lot during it?” He asks, cocky. 

You straighten up again. You dig in your cheek, feeling both of them heat. “Maybe.” You find the zipper at your side and draw it down slowly, teasingly. Your skirt falls limply around your hips and you shimmy it down your legs. 

It seems you’ve found yourself half-naked to a very much dressed Matty again. His gaze devours every inch of your skin, licking up your legs, biting your hips, teasing your navel. You grow wet between your thighs just from the promise in his eyes. 

Your hand reaches behind yourself to your bra, but Matty tuts. “That’s mine,” he says, and there’s an air of danger in his voice. Your arms fall back to your sides, burned. You stand a bit straighter for him, aching deep inside yourself. 

Matty takes long, slow steps towards you, letting the need boil and bubble inside of you. He stands before you, looking down into your eyes. Your lips part, your heart screams his name. He grazes two fingers along your waist, snaking to your back, and kisses you. 

You respond with an eager tongue, opening your lips up to him and kissing him back. He still tastes like you, like your slick that dried on his cheeks. You shiver at the thought. 

His hands find the small of your back, heavy and pressing into you, so fucking present you feel your mind twists on itself. You travel yours up his arms, finding his shoulders and sneaking into the hair at his nape. 

He tilts his head to change the angle and your legs clench. He draws out all your wanton needs with his skilled tongue, makes you putty and malleable. You’re ready for him, for anything. 

His fingers dance on your spine, climbing up each vertebrae until they catch on your bra band. Your breath hitches. He unhooks it. Matty stops kissing you to pull the bra off your arms. 

Your breasts lay in view, pebbled and peaked. He takes a good look at them, then bends down to catch a nipple into his mouth. “Fuck, Matty!” Your hands twist at his curls, tugging and patting as he sucks and nips your tits. 

He leaves bites on the underside, your sternum, kissing and licking down your stomach until he knees before you. You moan, still unused to the sight of him. Each hand hooks to a side of your underwear and he pulls it down and off your legs. You keep a stabilizing grip on his hair as you step out of it. 

Matty comes back up to you, breathing harshly. He kisses your lips one last time, then draws you on the bed. You’re laying on the purple sheets for him, naked and wet and flushed. Every body part is aware of him and looks it. 

Still, Matty takes a step back. “Show me what you do when you think of me.” You stare at him in shock. You’re naked for him, laying on your bed in godly offerance like a fucking daydream, and he wants you to finger yourself? 

Matty laughs. “Come on, princess,” he teases. “Show Daddy.” The nickname jolts you. Tiny, electrical shivers run down your spine and you bite your lip, brushing a hand down your stomach. 

You waste no time, too drunk on pleasure and want to bother teasing yourself. You part your legs and rub two fingers on your swollen clit, jumping at the sudden feeling. You bite your lip, cracking your eyes open to find Matty’s

His eyes watch you with obsession. You make a low whimper for him, circling your bundle of nerves, arching your back. A tantalizing show, hopefully enough to get him to touch you. You want him so deeply you’re shivering for him, hot and dripping all over. 

You’re efficient and quick; you know all the spots of yourself and press them just so. Pleasure is not something you draw out, pumping and rubbing until you develop carpal tunnel. You’re in and out, wiping your fingers clean on your thigh. 

It’s why you’re already dipping your digits inside yourself. You cry at the stretch, though never as delicious and fulfilling as his. Still, ecstasy runs through your body. 

“Matty,” you moan, and once again hope the breathy, needy shape of his name in your mouth is enough to get him to replace your hardworking fingers. 

“I’m right here, baby,” he says, transfixed by your hands, your mouth, your panting tits. You see his gaze and smirk, grabbing your breast and twisting the nipple. A low whine leaves you. “Fuck. Does that feel good?” 

You nod furiously. Your fingers slide quickly in and out of you. “Not as good as you, though,” you pout. 

Matty grins, cocky and a dick about it. “‘Course not.” 

Your eyes flutter shut. You let yourself be taken over by the euphoria swimming through you. Your mouth calls his name like it was him making you feel this way and not the three fingers fucking into you. In a way, it’s the fact that he’s here that draws this overwhelming pleasure out of you. It’s never been this intense with yourself. 

“What do you think of when you’re in your head?” He whispers, sounding affected by the spectacle you give him. 

You bite your lip, trembling. “You. You on your knees for me behind the bar. You bending me over the sink of the bathroom in the middle of two guests. You letting me suck your dick on the staircase of the alleyway. You fingering me at The Darling in front of Landon until I fucking come all over the booth.”

“All these nasty thoughts while you’re tucked tight in your little bed?” 

You nod. “I replay that night in the kitchen over, and over, and over. I know every little detail, everything you've done to me—” Behind your eyelids, graphic images of you pressed into the ground, giggling and coming, flash to you. It’s too much; you snap. Your eyes flash open. “Fuck me, Daddy. Please.”

“You need it?”

“I need it so, so bad.” Your wrist is tired between your legs. Still, you work, feeling the intensity build to an impossible degree. “Need you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Shit,” he groans. You see the tent in his jeans and know he’s just as ready as you. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll give it to you.” A grin shines on your face. You clench around your fingers in excitement. “Just as soon as you come for me.”

You pout. A whiny cry comes out of you. “It’s not the same without you.” 

“I know, baby,” he pouts, faux-broken over it as if he wasn’t the one putting you through this torture. “You’re doing so well for me. I wanna see you come now, though. Can you do that for me?”

Your stomach tightens and you know that you can, that you will. You’re still a little bitter, holding back as though in just a few seconds Matty was gonna get to his knees and finish you off yourself. 

“Your clit’s feeling a little neglected, isn’t it?” You moan, pressing into your bud like he silently demanded. Your legs kick at the sensation. You arch your back, crying to the ceiling. “That’s it. You’re so close.” You rub and fuck until you can taste the ecstasy. Goddammit. 

“You’re right there,” he says, and makes it true. You feel your orgasm threaten the edges of you. “Just a bit more. Come on, fuck yourself. Think of me, of my cock. That’s right, princess.” You scream, staring into his eyes. He devours each inch of you, so fucking eager. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Right now. Come for Daddy.” With a mewl, your climax crashes through you. 

Your body slackens, pleasure swooping through you in one grandiose wave. Relief washes you, and then the slight bitterness that it was all your own doing. Barely reeling from the orgasm and you’re already needing more. 

You don’t ride out the climax; Matty rips your fingers out of you and sucks them into his mouth. You sigh at the sight as he rolls his tongue around your digits. It’s sinful the way he moans, like the best fucking meal of his life. 

He releases them with a pop, then kisses your palm. “So good, babe. You did amazing.” He kisses your wrist. “You’re my little princess, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you pout. His lips trail up your arm, tickling your sensitive skin. You shiver, moaning as he brushes your shoulder and licks up your collarbone. 

“How do you want me? Since you’ve been thinking about it all the fucking time.” He kisses your neck. You moan, fluttering your eyelashes. 

“I wanna ride you,” you breathe out. 

Matty smirks against your skin. “Yeah? Gonna get yourself off on Daddy’s dick?”

You grin, nodding eagerly. “Gonna make you feel so good, too.” 

He smiles. “Alright then, baby.” He rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You sit on his lap like a throne. “Make me feel good.”

You shake your head, pulling his shirt up his chest. “Get naked first. I wanna see you.” 

“She’s demanding.”

“It’s my fantasy.” Matty chuckles. Still, he tugs his shirt off his shoulders, throwing it beyond your bed. 

You had been so drunk on his cock the first time it happened, you hadn’t been able to really get a good look at him. This time, your eyes lap up every inch of his skin, especially the tattooed ones. You draw the outlines of them with the tip of your fingers. He shivers at the feeling as you dance on his hip, his happy trail, his chest. You press a hand there, holding yourself up. 

“Pants,” you order. You have a finely tuned demanding voice; you’ve led many school projects with an iron fist and an unarguable tone. Still, you know Matty only humors you when he obeys, kicking off his shoes, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them off. 

His cock slaps his stomach. It’s hard and leaking, and your mouth waters at the sight. You feel your sticky thighs beg for him. Cunt fluttering, you take him in your fist, jerking him slowly. Matty moans as his head falls back on the pillows. Oh, you will like that. Already, the power rushes to your head, loosening it drunkenly. 

You hoist yourself on your knees, then hesitate. Quickly, you grab your leopard plushie and turn him around until he faces the other way. 

Matty stares at you in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” 

“Mr. Snuffles doesn’t need to see that!” You cry out, defensive. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to shag in a bed with a stuffed toy right there.”

You raise your eyebrows, cocky. “Don’t get it wrong. I’m shagging you.”

Matty’s hands travel up to your hips, spreading over the bones possessively. He smiles up at you. “Do it, then. Fuck me.” You smile, taking his cock and leading it to your dripping cunt. 

You line it up, then slowly slide down on his length. Loud, relieved moans leave your and Matty’s mouth. A shared song drumming up both your spines in harmony. You bottom out and think fucking finally. 

“Oh, God,” you breathe, eyes rolling back. You take a second there, immobile, reveling in the heavenly moment. The way he fills you up so perfectly, stretches you in the most delicious ways. Your cunt throbs around him, eager. 

He makes a low curse, digging his nails into your hips. You sense his becoming restless, the insistent way he presses into your skin, as though physically stopping himself from holding you in place and fucking up into him. Indulgently, you begin moving. 

You haven’t been on top very often. You always used to find yourself sore and tired and bored after a few minutes, begging to either roll onto your back or end it right there. This time, however, there’s a practically all-consuming need to succeed. You want to fuck him, to permanently engrave his brain with the memory of you. 

You come at it like schoolwork; focused, diligent, persistent. You attempt experimental thrusts at first, getting yourself used to how deep he hits you. It’s slow, tentative things; you try different angles, sliding in and out, frowning as you analyze the different ways pleasure blooms under your skin. 

Under you, Matty groans, puffing out breaths. “I can hear you thinking. Stop it.”

You arch an eyebrow. “It was ‘what a smart girl’ thirty minutes ago, but now it’s ‘turn off your brain’?”

“Exactly. Want you to be fucked stupid now.” 

You snort. “That’s not gonna happen.” 

He hums, smirking. “Don’t give me a challenge.” You roll your eyes. 

You settled on a rocking rhythm, something that hits all the perfect places inside of you. Your hair sticks to your nape, effort trembling your thighs already. You moan, roll your head back. “Like that?” You breathe out. Euphoria begins to prickle at your skin and your smile slackens your mouth. 

“Yeah, baby,” Matty nods. “Just—” His hold on your hips is strangling. His hands clench, begging you to give something mindnumbing. “Go faster.” 

You ignore his request, continuing that slow, teasing pace. You love feeling every inch of his cock as you buck on it, love to hear him grow desperate for you for a change. Every pathetic, quiet groan he makes resonates straight to your core. Head still rolled back to the ceiling, you rock stubbornly, smiling to yourself. 

A particularly artful stroke has your nails digging into his chest. He shivers under you. “Fuck, faster,” Matty pants.  

You smirk down at him, cheeky. “What’s the magic word, princess?” 

Matty rolls his eyes. “Don’t get bratty,” he says, then gives your ass a warning spank. You jump at the sting, bucking on his cock. Low heat simmers through you. You bite your lip, quickening your thrusts dutifully. Matty smirks at you, all-knowing. 

You speed up, falling back on his length again and again until the slapping sounds of your skins fill the room. You sense the resonating ecstasy pull at your stomach. You’re aware, unfortunately, that he’s right. It’s better, stronger. 

“That’s right,” he says, and you want to slap that shit-eating grin off his lips. “Fucking faster.” You obey like some deep-seated instinct, bouncing above him. 

A part of you wants to slow to a snail pace and teach him a lesson — get him reciting all those patience proverbs he’s so keen on — but a bigger part of you melts and drips at the ecstasy pulsing through you. Speedy, deep rolls have you shaking, moaning his name like a worship. You’re irrationally convinced you might die if you even try to slow down, like losing the pleasure he’s coaxing out of you right now would be a fatal crash. 

Again, he gives you that teasing, devilish stares that tells you he’s well aware of the burning heat he causes you. His lips stretch up into a smirk, and he parts them to talk some more. You slap a hand over his mouth instead. “Shut it,” you warn. He laughs under your palm, too happy at your reaction. 

His tongue sticks out, licking your hand childishly, and you release him. “You only like my mouth for one thing,” he says, pouting at you. 

“Don’t give me ideas.” 

“Want to sit on it again, huh?” He teases, cocking his head. “Maybe when you’re done fucking me.” He licks his teeth. “Though I doubt you’ll have the energy to sit up then. I’ll have to lay you down and clean you all up. Would you like that, baby?” 

“Anything that doesn’t involve you talking.”

Matty hums, and you sense the danger in his tone. You’ve pushed him just a bit too far, and the low thrum of thrill resonates in your stomach. You hold your breath, sick apprehension bringing you sinful pleasure. 

“You’ve got a mouth on you today,” he says. “Should’ve filled it up before I gave you what you wanted. Wouldn’t have so much to say if you were drooling and crying for my cock.” You wonder if that’s exactly what he’ll do; pull you off by your hips and onto your knees for a lesson. 

Instead, his hand pinches your nipple, then snakes up your chest, your collarbone, spreading over your throat. You clench around him, lust flashing in your eyes, and he smiles at you. “My little slut,” he coos. “You’d let me do anything.” 

You rock on him furiously, humping his lap to get rid of that building pressure in your core. Your mouth hangs open, pathetic whimpers spilling out every time your clit rubs on his pelvis. “Yes, Daddy,” you say in that sweet tone he knows is nothing but trouble. 

“Touch your clit,” he orders, and you’ve got a hand flying between your thighs, swiping on the bundle of nerves with abandon. You mewl in his lap, fucking and rubbing until you’re dripping on him. When you’re halfway through a moan, pussy clenching around his cock, Matty presses into your neck. 

The moan dies in your throat, mouth hanging open as a rush of adrenaline spreads through you. Your head swarms with silence, a sort of calmness buzzing and tingling under your face, and you feel every thrust of his cock he pumps up into you like a true hit of ecstasy. You whine, suspended in the moment. 

“My pretty girl,” he whispers. You roll your eyes. “My girl.”

His fingers release your throat and the sudden breath of air buzzes through you. The world sharpens; you sense his cock, his skin under your palms, his hand still around your neck— like he owns you. Your cunt tightens at the idea, something pretty stringing up your spine. Pleasure intensifies, practically breathing with you, until your brain rushes with endorphins.

“There she is. So good for me now,” he says and your lips stretch up with a proud grin. You’re lazy on your bones, letting him rock you on his cock without a care. “You wouldn’t do this for anyone, would you?” 

You shake your head fervently. “Only you.” 

“That’s right,” he nods. “Only me.” He sneaks a thumb to your clit, pushing away your slack hand and working at it himself. “No fucking guy can make you feel like this.” 

“I know,” you whine, and there’s the faint heartbreak of it tugging at the back of your mind. Nothing tangible, just the knowledge of what you’ll spend the rest of your life mourning and missing once he’s gone. Once you’re gone.

He lets go of your neck, dropping it to your waist, and you whine at the loss. It quickly turns into a moan as he uses both hands to guide you on his length properly. A quick, hard tempo sets, shaking your legs with growing pleasure. You feel him in the deepest part of you, hitting again and again that sweet spot as he puppeteers your freely given hips. 

“God, Matty.”

He smirks. “That was redundant.” You roll your eyes, half from pleasure and half from annoyance. He chuckles at that, happily giving a deep stroke that has you purring for him, as though to prove his point. 

You hold your weight up with a hand beside his head, drooping into the mattress. You tilt your hips, angling yourself perfectly for his drilling cock. Your face breaks open with a moan, but you shake your head. You force your eyes open to take in his face; sweaty and flushed and overwhelmed with pleasure and work. You lick your lips. Pleasure swirls in your belly, tightening and tightening until you have to believe you’ve driven yourself mad. 

“Daddy,” you whine for him. Your free hand flies back to your thighs, rubbing at your clit until your lungs catch on fire. “Make me come,” you plea. “I need you. I need—” You press into your bud, groaning at the rush of ecstasy. 

Matty laughs and the mean sound only drives you further into lust. You grip the sheets, trying to catch on fire. “Thought you were gonna shag me,” he mocks. “Thought you were gonna get off all on your own.” He tsks, bucking into you wildly, sounding out of breath as he adds, “But you need Daddy to make you come, don’t you?” 

You shake your head, as if the evidence wasn’t dripping all over his cock, spilling from your lips in incoherent slurs. “No?” He says, again just as merciless in his taunting. He halts inside of you and you cry, shaking your head. “Do it, then,” he laughs. 

He raises his hands up your waist, dancing on the ribs. He gropes your tits, circling the nipples. It becomes apparent to you that he’s not joking. You pout, finding your balance again and rising to your knees, falling back with thunderous force. Your legs shake; you’re exhausted and sore, whiny as you obey him. 

“That’s it, princess,” he praises. It’s enough to spark some motivation. You furrow your eyebrows, bouncing on his cock, puffing breaths falling from your lips. Sweat pearls on your forehead, but you continue, undeterred. “God, you’re so fucking filthy.”

You mewl, redoubling efforts. You find something close to those quick, harsh thrusts Matty was giving, just slightly poorer. You fuck mindlessly, not bothering to rub your clit on his pelvis or find that delicious spot inside of you. Pleasure fills your mind anyway. 

“Doing so well,” he moans. His fingers play with your nipples; your head pulls back, crying out. “Use my cock. Ride it ‘till you come all over it.” You whine, nodding fervently. “Need to feel you again,” he pants. “Need to feel that cunt as it fucking squeezes me.” 

Ecstasy swarms through you. You moan, digging your claws into your sheets. You squeeze around him, over and over, a clear-tell warning. His name and a string of curses come out of your lips broken. He pinches your nipple. 

“I’m gonna—”

“Ask,” he groans, a choking sound that rips out of him. 

“Can I—” Your body trembles, the taste of climax spreading under your skin. You scrunch your face. “Daddy, please, can I—” You finish it with a moan, losing your train of thought.

“Use your big girl words,” he taunts, climbing one hand up. Your breath catches as he nears your neck; a swirling hit of excitement so true it makes you lightheaded. Still, he doesn’t linger, instead cupping your jaw and sticking his thumb in your mouth. 

Your hips are artless and loose, sliding and rolling and thrusting without any reason. It’s wild, brutal strokes that have you drooling around his finger. 

“C’mon, princess. I wanna hear you.”

He doesn’t slip his thumb out. You speak around his digit, drooling and slurring, incoherent. “Pleashe, pleashe, pleashe, Daddy, let me come. I want to come. I’ve been so good, I’ve— fuck, I’ve needed it for so long. Just—” You cry, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking deep in me.”

You take his hand away from your jaw, feeling spit drip down your chin as you spread it over your belly instead. “Fucking love you inside of me. Where you belong,” you moan. 

“Fuck, yeah.” He pushes on your stomach, making you feel his cock sliding into you. Your mind rolls inside your skull, drunk. “Made for this cunt.”

“Made to make me come.” He nods again eagerly. Your hips stutter, exhausted. “Please, then,” you say, hopeful. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplea—”

“Come for me, princess.”

“Ah—” You convulse, dropping on his chest, a scream drowning in his shoulder as your climax hits you in one drowning wave. Ecstasy sparks under your skill, overwhelming. 

Matty holds you in place with one soothing hand on your spine. Ruthlessly, he continues to fuck up into you, riding the end of your mindnumbing orgasm. “Fuck, I got you. Ride it out, princess. Ride it out on my cock. That’s it— Shit, I can fucking feel you.” 

Your fingertips buzz pleasantly, and there’s the distant shape of his words in your ear. You grin, loose and happy, heart filling up with his name. “D’you feel good?” He asks, kissing your cheek. You nod, humming. “Yeah? Came so hard for me?”

“Yeah.” You moan, his cock still thrusting inside of you slowly, waking you up again. Your legs shake. You tilt your hips slowly, ever so slightly rolling them. Matty grins against your cheek, kissing it again and again. 

He caresses your back, soothing away all those leftover shivers. “So fucking pretty when you come,” he promises. “The best girl. My best girl.” He grips your back, choking out, “Can you turn around for me?” 

You whine, tired, but still straighten up on his lap. You hoist up with great efforts, turning around with shaky knees. He coos some congratulations, hooking an arm around your belly and laying you back up on his chest. You practically melt on it, back against his stomach, head tucked in the crook of his neck. Each thigh hangs from his knees and he spreads you wide open for him again. 

“Don’t have to do anything, baby,” he breathes out, snaking a hand down your body to grab his still hard cock. “Let Daddy take care of you.” You groan, nodding in agreement. He likes himself up with your dripping entrance, then slides into you. 

He allows you a single slow thrust to get used to the stretch again, then wastes no time mercilessly ramming inside of you. You grip the arm around your waist, digging your nails into his tattoos, barely holding on from the brutal pace between your thighs. You mumble a strange mix of his name and the word Daddy, blurring out of you with all those pathetic sounds you shamelessly let out. 

You can tell he’s close too, chasing his pleasure with abandon, practically using you to get off. The knowledge makes burning heat spread through your lower belly. You throb around him, wanting him to come, to fill you up. Wanting him to feel as good as he makes you. 

Matty smirks against your cheek. “Oh, are you gonna come again?” His hips snap quickly, taunting. You stutter a response, biting down a scream. “What’s that? Can’t hear you when you mumble.”

“Shit,” is all you manage to say, already feeling pleasure grow inside of you again. He’s delighted to find this, grabbing a pebbled breast and playing with it. “I— Fucking, I’m—”

He hums, licking your neck. “Does Daddy’s cock make you forget how to speak?” You tremble in his arms, hot shame filling up your mind, a strange, sinful heat that has you yelling out absurdities. Matty’s relentless between your thighs, knowing exactly how to prove his point. 

His knees fall further on the bed, spreading your thighs wide open for him. He snakes a hand to your clit, rubbing at it with his palm. You jump in his arms, shaking your head. “Can’t—” It’s too much, too soon. You feel the edges of you unspool, unwind. 

“Can’t what?” He teases, merciless. “Can’t think? It’s okay, baby. Just lay there and take it. I’ll do the rest.” 

You practically buzz, incapable of taking in the pleasure that he’s already fucking and rubbing some more out of you. You choke, giving him some empty pleas, unsure of what exactly you’re even asking for.

“My dumb little slut,” he coos, kissing your cheek. “Fucked all stupid, as she should be.”

He dips his head in your neck, nipping and licking at the skin, peppering it with sweet love. It drowns your mind, makes it sticky and happy. You claw at his arm, desperate. 

Matty’s legs shake under you. You know he’s growing tired too, ready to burst anytime. The knowledge pokes at your mind, hot and eager. You grind on his palm. 

“Come in me,” you beg. You’ve completely relinquished the control of your tongue. “I’m on the pill now. Please.” Matty twitches inside of you. 

“Fuck,” he groans in your neck, choked. “That right? Got on the pill specifically for me?”

You did, searching up doctors and prescriptions, belly humming with the idea of him not pulling out this time. “Yes.”

His hand leaves your breast, climbing up to your neck. You throb around him, reveling in his presence around your throat, the silent mark that he owns you. “Needed me to fill you up that fucking bad? To have my cum dripping out of you.” 

“Yes,” you scream, wrinkling your face. 

“Gonna come for me first, though, right? Be my good little girl and come.” Though the words trigger something in you, you shake your head stubbornly. You’re almost afraid of letting go, as though the building euphoria inside of you could crush you to death, could blow your skin off your bones. It’s safer here, just on the edge of the fatal. 

His cock slams into you and his hand presses into your clit, driving you wilder and wilder. You choke a scream, feeling your limbs tighten in apprehension. You’re there, just there, and still you refuse. 

All the sensations are too much. You call his name, the only word you seem to know. Pressure presses against your skin, threatening to burst. You feel yourself begin to cry. 

Matty shushes you soothingly. “Oh, princess,” he says, kissing away your tears. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m right there. I’ll catch you.” 

You pout, shaking your head, sobbing from pleasure. It’s a useless fight; Matty presses into the sides of your throat and suddenly the world catches on fire. You’re flying into orbit, imploding with ecstasy, screaming his name and all the curse words you know in worship. 

“Did so well,” Matty screams. “Fuck. Look at you coming all over my cock. What a good girl.” He releases your neck just when you come down from your high, shooting you up in another rush of pleasure. You moan, melting on him. “Gonna fill you up, now,” he warns. His words sound desperate, stretched thin. “Gonna come so deep inside of you, you’ll feel me for days. D’you want that?” 

“Yes!” 

His hips stutter. He twitches inside of you. “Say it— Shit.”

“Fill me up, Daddy!” 

“Ah, fucking hell—” He comes inside of you with a cry of your name, shaking under you. He groans, shaking, washed with pleasure. He continues fucking into you mindlessly, slower and slower, until he’s stopped, panting. His hold on you is murderous; it’s like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him in his most vulnerable state. 

You watch him, observe his solemn face as he lingers in ecstasy, eyes shut and smile wide. Your chest warms, a grin teasing your own lips. Sweat and tears and drool dries on your face.

Matty softens inside of you. His cock slips out, cum spilling out of you. You moan at the feeling, getting on your elbows to watch the spectacle. Still laying down and catching his breath, Matty plunges two fingers inside of you, pushing his cum back in your cunt just so you can watch it fall again. You shiver, falling back on him with a sigh. 

“God,” he says. “I’m too old to fuck in twin beds.” You laugh in surprise and he snickers with you, his chest drumming against you. “You’re rich. Why don’t you have a king sized bed and feather pillows or some shit?” 

“I’m sensible,” you say, sticking your tongue out. You roll to your belly beside him, finally letting him take a full breath. He stretches on your mattress, taking up almost all the space. It’s a little ridiculous, this man in your childhood bed. 

You smirk, traveling down his chest and stopping near his soft cock. You lick the length, sucking him into your mouth to clean the mix of your wetness and his cum. He jumps, sitting up to push you anyway. “Fucking— Do you want to kill me?”

You laugh, falling back on the pillows, cheeky. “See? Not so easy.” 

“Well, you’re young and healthy. I expect more of you.” Matty opens his arm, inviting you to tuck your head in his shoulder. Your arm drapes over his chest, halfway across his tattoo. “When’s your dad gonna be back?” He yawns.

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s always up in the air; often, you don’t know he even came back until you wake up to the strong smell of Ethiopian coffee and the ghost of him in the flat. You shrug, “You could always sneak out if he’s there in the morning.”

Matty rubs his face. “Ugh, I feel like a teenager.” 

You rest your chin on his shoulder, teasing, “Shouldn’t fuck such a young, innocent girl, then.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Innocent? You’ve seen the things you’ve done on my dick?”

“Shut up.” Quieter, you mumble, “I don’t think Mr. Snuffles’s ever gonna be able to unhear tonight.” His laughs rocks you, resonating against you. You grin on his skin. 

You nuzzle further into his warmth, exhaustion settling in your bones. His arm warms your waist, pulling you further into him. You know you need to clean yourself up soon, but you allow yourself a short moment to relish the shape of him. 

He tugs you out of sleep by piping up, voice sticky-tired, “If you want, I know the best fucking scallop place in town. We could go tomorrow.”

Halfway asleep, you say, “I’d like that.”

#this is. the Nastiest filthiest thing i’ve written #i may have gone overboard #but hey happy linecook resurrection! #linecook!au #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #smut #writing #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic

[prettyforwoso]

Lay Back Baby

Lucy Bonze x Ona Batlle smut

Summary: Ona is staying home from training with the cold, yearning for Lucy's touch, she pushes the the whole day without, the second Lucy gets home, she knows what she needs.

a/n: Based on the large amounts of requests for this one !! hope you enjoy :) requests open

Ona awoke with a heavy sense of lethargy, her body feeling like a battleground between fatigue and discomfort. The room around her was dimly lit, the soft glow of daylight filtering through the curtains casting a muted atmosphere. As she blinked away the remnants of sleep, the realization of her sickness settled in, a weight on her chest that matched the heaviness in her head.

The air in the room felt stale, and Ona's groggy mind struggled to focus. Her and Lucys room, once a haven of comfort, now seemed foreign, as if the familiar surroundings had transformed into an unfamiliar landscape in the course of her nap. She gingerly sat up, her limbs protesting with every movement, and the blankets clung to her like an extra layer of fatigue.

Ona's nose was stuffy, her throat scratchy, and a persistent ache echoed through her body. She reached for the tissue box on her bedside table, a comforting ally in the battle against her symptoms. Each tissue she pulled out seemed to absorb a small part of her misery as she blew her nose, the soft sound a pitiful reminder of her unwell state.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where the outside world continued its oblivious hustle. The play of sunlight on the curtains formed patterns that danced in a rhythm detached from her own discomfort. Ona sighed, the sound a mixture of resignation and frustration, as she contemplated the tasks and responsibilities that awaited her beyond the confines of the couch.

She remembered how Lucy always took care of her when she was unwell – making tea, giving forehead touches, and saying comforting things. Ona scrolled through pictures of them together, smiling and happy. She sent Lucy a text, telling her how much she needed her right now.

Ona: missing you baby…

sent

Wrapped up in her blankets, she waited for Lucy's reply, hoping for some comfort. When Lucy's message came, it was like a virtual hug. Lucy promised to be home soon, and Ona felt a bit better just thinking about it. With the idea of Lucy's return from training in mind, Ona relaxed, knowing that love had the power to make her feel better even when she was at her sickest.

She peeled her body off the couch and headed for their bedroom, hoping to find a change of clothing, clinging to the idea that it might make a feel better to freshen up. She pulled out some sweat shorts and one of Lucys jerseys, desperate for anything from her, even just her smell.

Her legs led her to the kitchen, where she found herself making some toast, too exhausted for any sort of creativity if it included any sort of hard work.

She’s been sitting around all day, occasionally moving location to follow the days sunlight, but no amount of light would satisfy her intense craving for the touch of Lucy. Her mind wandered, the idea of Lucy laying her down and having her cum over and over, all she needed was for Lucy to be inside of her, and any kind of way, Ona was not feeling picky.

Her sudden burst of energy came when she heard Lucys keys in the front door. Her body was lifted from the bed out of excitement, her feet skidding on the floor as she ran to the door, jumping into the arms of her girl.

Lucy didn’t even have time put her stuff down, having to drop it to support Onas tiny frame, wrapped around her waist.

“Hey baby” Lucy says, gently placing her down.

“Lucy, I have missed you so much today” Ona says looking up at her, with the strong grip on the centre of Lucys shirt, scared by the idea of letting go.

Lucy leans down and presses a kiss on Onas soft lips, not worrying about getting sick, if anything, it would give them time off together.

Ona raised herself onto the tips of her toes, desperate to get the most of out Lucys mouth. She wraps an arm around her neck, pulling her closer.

“Oh, you really have missed me haven’t you little thing” Lucy says, breaking the contention.

Ona simply bites her lip in response.

“No baby, you are sick and need rest” Lucy tells Ona with the stern tone. Ona is in her lap, getting more and more needy by the second.

The pair have been on the couch simply making out for a while now, Ona in Lucys lap, as per usual, desperately grinding small on the tiny seem of Lucys pants that are rubbing on her needy clit.

“Lucy please” Ona begins the whining. “You can’t leave me alone all day, them come home and refuse to fuck me” she finishes with a mumble.

“I can when you are sick darling girl” Lucy delicately fights back.

“agh Lucy please, I’m all wet, and you’re the person I want to share that with” Ona begging is something that could almost get Lucy on her knees for the small girl.

Lucys body has a physical reaction to Onas words. A long deep breathe escapes her mouth and her eyes soften. “Your all, wet baby?” she says, trying not to give in to her racing mind when she quotes Onas words. “I don’t want to hurt you sweet girl”

Ona is quick to reply “You’re not going to hurt me Lucy” she says franticly trying to get the words off her tongue. “Just please open my legs and fuck me” She shoots Lazers into Lucys eyes “Please Lucy”

“Stay here for a second” Lucy says, lifting Onas frame off her and on to the couch, leaving the room and leaving Ona alone. She isn’t sure is her begging had worked out in her favour or not, but alas, she did as she was told and stayed on the couch.

Lucy is soon to return to her good girl. A strap in one hand, and a small dildo in the other. Ona has never been the type to be able to take anything big, and Lucy has never wanted to push her too hard.

Ona makes space for her on the couch and Lucy lays her body down, motioning for Ona to straddle her waist once more. Ona places her body weight down and leans into the lips of Lucy. Lucys hand wraps around the back of her neck not allowing her to leave the kiss until she was finished.

Lucy pulls Ona by the back of the neck away from the kiss “Baby my face” she begins “Come onto it okay”.

Ona doesn’t have to answer, she quickly pulls herself Lucy and starts to undress. “keep the shirt on pretty girl” Lucy instructs, referring to the ‘Bronze’ jersey that Ona wore loose on her shoulders.

Ona doesn’t need to be asked twice. She knows the way Lucy just gets weak in the knees at the sight of Ona in her jerseys. Something the possession it holds. Her name, on Onas back

Lucy manhandles Onas body to the way she wants her, before pulling her onto her face. Ona breath hitches at the sudden friction of Lucys nose on her clit. Onas bare bottom half finds itself begining to grind back and forth on the face of her girlfriend. With Lucys slick tongue exploring its way around Onas’s hole, Lucy finds that its just not quite enough for her. Lucys arms wrap around Onas spread thighs, digging her nails into her ass and pulling her down, forcing her to put all her body weight onto her tongue.

It usually takes a lot of reassurance to get Ona to fully place herself onto Lucys mouth, always being hesitant that she will hurt her somehow, but Lucy is always quick to deny that idea. Sometimes even having to go as far as holding her down onto her face with all her strength. Lucy fucking loves it. Onas’s thighs around her head, her slick dripping down her chin.

Onas getting good use out of Lucys noes, feeling the texture of her skin on her most intimate parts. Lucys tongue is venturing in and out, occasional pressing flat on her hole, catching all her leaking goodness, swallowing it with pure bliss.

The mix of Lucys mouth and her strong eye contract from beneath her, has Ona beginning to spiral. She knows she doesn’t need to communicate this with Lucy. Having been clearly aware due to the speed in which her actions were getting too. Lucys grip on Ona was pulling her even further with each second that pasted. Lucy could barely breath underneath her, something that hardly worried her, knowing how fast she could get to Onas high.

“Agh, yes Lucy” Onas frantic pleading has Lucy smiling against her. “Yes Lucy” her pitch gets higher at the end of each statement. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, telling out a smooth hum of a moan as she lets herself go into Lucys mouth, shaking her legs and squeezing them around her head.

Ona steals a breath from the air, moving herself off Lucys face and sitting on her clothed stomach. Lucy being fully clothed with Ona bare wasn’t a completely uncommon practice in the household.

“Ona darling help me put this on”. Lucy breaks the silence, referring the strap in her hands, passing it to Ona. She moves down Lucys body and kneels between her legs. She picks it from Lucys hands, fiddling with the harness and getting it around Lucys hips, covered by her boxers.

“You think you can take this one baby girl?” Lucy double checks, the strap is small, but so is Ona, and the last thing Lucy wanted was to push her when she was sick.

“Yes, ill be good” Ona struggles to get full words out, due to the pure bliss she feels, just looking at the toy in front of her.

Lucy takes the answer, tightening the harness to her waist before pushing Ona further down. “I was you back to face me while you ride my cock” Lucy says, in a gently demanding tone.

Onas bottom lip is swollen from all the bitting, Lucys voice and demanding tone, not helping the situation. Ona grabs a hold of Lucys thighs for balance, turning herself around and putting her legs over Lucys waist. Onas’s ass sits on Lucys stomach, Lucys hands find it almost immediately. She lifts herself up with the help of Lucys grip and hovers over the strap, nervous about letting herself fall.

Ona suddenly feels tired, worried she might do this the wrong way. She stays hovering for more than usual and Lucy begins to wonder the expression on her girlfriend’s face.

“Can you take it sweat girl?” Lucy asks again, in an almost teasing tone this time.

Ona doesn’t reply, beginning to squirm in her position.

“Darling, do you need help?” Lucy asks, caressing the skin of Onas soft ass.

“yeah”

“Lay back for me” Lucy pulls her back. “Come on, nice and comfy”.

Ona relaxes into the precents of Lucy, legs spread wide and open. Lucys hand sneaks under her and onto the toy, lining it up with Onas’s cunt.

“Look at me” Lucy says, turning Onas’s face to look her in the eye as she thrusts herself in, so slowly, so soft.

Ona’s gentle moan has her snuggling into Lucys grip. Lucys hands now holding Ona’s legs open as she slowly thrusts in and out, causing Ona to whine in her hold.

“Shh baby girl. I know you can take it” Lucy places kisses all over Onas red face. Her pace starting to speed up, much to the overwhelming pleasure of Ona.

“yes, yes lucy” Onas words come out more breathy and pathetic than intended.

Lucy legs go of one thigh to hold Onas’s face, looking down into her eyes, Ona looks like she’s been to a whole new level of pleasure. Eyes watering and checks red.

“Are you going to cum for me like this?” Lucy asks, already knowing the answer.

Ona can’t get words out, simply humming in reply as she begins to shake in Lucys grip. Lucy responses by going deeper, getting a yelp from Ona, who now finds refuge in the neck of her girlfriend.

“Let go baby” It’s all Ona need to hear before she is riding an absolute high, legs shaking and hips rocking, she floats to the point of pure stimulation, no longer feeling anything around her but the warm embrace of Lucy, who, without Onas’s knowledge had completely pulled out of her.

“Good girl, shhh baby, you’re okay” Lucy says, helping Ona gain control of her breathing and come back to the room, her mind elsewhere.

“sh sh sh, deep breaths” Ona’s breathing returns and she is turned over, chest to chest with Lucy who takes her hair in her hand, stocking her scalp with nothing but pure love.

“My good baby”

#ona batlle #lucybronze #lucy x ona #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #woso community #woso #lionesses #woso fanfics #womens football #woso imagine #woso soccer #woso x reader #fcb femeni #lucy bronze #smut promts #fluff #sickness #fanfic

[sixteenth-days]

Eldritch Cleo?

Cleo reaches for a bit of not-quite timeline She wakes up at dawn and sits at the bowl-edge of Atlantis to take care of her post-games routine, gets everything set to rights before Joe drops by, is free to accompany him materials-gathering right away and pulls it away from where it shimmers into non-existence, snaps it off and threads it through the eye of her needle. Joe is sitting beside her, at the bowl-edge of Atlantis, eyes carefully shut and averted.

She always has to do a bit of maintenance, after the games. All those possibilities and snap decisions mess her higher dimensions right up, and it’s not like she’s any less piecemeal undead in the conceptual and metaphysical than in the flesh. She pulls a long thin string of sinew from the bowl beside her left thigh, threads it through the eye beside the bit of timeline, twists them together, ties a knot at the ends. That’ll do.

Joe fidgets impatiently, probably trying to decide whether it’s better for him to be right here to remind her to fold herself back together when she’s done, or literally anywhere else on the server, doing literally anything else. She ignores him, reaches up-around-past-through to grab at one of her leftmost limbs, half-detached and up beside her fifth spine. The thing always needs repairing, crumpled time straining under the wear of branching minutes against the stitches that bind it to bones of flesh.

Sewing it back up is habitual, at least, needle-holes already punched through by scores of other Cleos. Cleo takes care of it quickly, in and out, in and out, tie off, drop the leftover thread to disintegrate into the temporal wastebasket of the ocean below. Then she turns to Joe.

“Well, does it look right?”

“I’m not particularly keen on gibbering madness right now,” says Joe, a solid thing beside her, small, vast, himself, “so I couldn’t possibly say. I’m sure you’re radiant and terrible as always though.”

She snorts at him, swats at him with a limb that goes right through him and makes him shiver, and then, belatedly, with her actual solid right arm. “That’s offensive. If you gibber it’s your own fault,” she informs him. He rolls his eyes beneath his closed eyelids.

She grins at him with an entirely different Cleo’s broken mouth, and grabs for another bit of timeline.

#zeph wrote this one as well!!!! #inspired by cleos time witch stuff over in witchcraft smp #hermitcraft season 9 #zombiecleo #joe hills #fanon switcheroo prompts #asks #my writing

[lancermylove]

Owl Beast Curse (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland, the Owl House

Pairing: Leona, Malleus, Riddle, Vil, Kalim, Azul with gn!Reader

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Can you do twst dorm leaders(except Idia) with a gn s/o who has the owl beast curse? How they react the side effects(easily detachable limbs) and their sister is the one who cause it

A/N: Thank you for including the link to the wiki! Hope you like it.

———————————————

Ah, siblings. He hates them. Leona is not surprised that your sister cursed you, as he knows family does more harm than good. He is pissed off at your sister, to say the least, and doesn't care what excuse your sister has to curse you. Her actions are unforgivable.

Leona feels a twinge of sympathy for you, especially since you didn't deserve what your sibling did. But he doesn't show you pity, nor does he feel sorry for you because, in his eyes, you are strong. To be able to handle a curse, and that too, one inflicted by a family member, must be pain, both physically and mentally. Leona respects you more than he did before.

Leona is not a fan of you detaching your limbs to play pranks on him or who off, especially not your head. Whenever you do, he blankly stares at you.

Once he learns that the curse is triggered due to stress, he tries to help you maintain your stress, even if he doesn't show it outright.

Are you stressed because you have an overload of homework? Leona will sit next to you and practically tell you all the answers so you can finish the assignments before your stress levels get out of hand. Are your friends stressing you out? He will stand behind you and glare down at them until they shink and run away.

Once you tell Leona about the elixir, he will make sure you take it daily. The last thing he wants is for Crowley to learn about your curse. He doesn't trust the head mage, who is anything but benevolent.

Malleus never told you this, but he had detected the curse on you since he first met you. However, the prince figured he would learn about your curse eventually, so he didn't try to pry any information from you.

However, when he learns the details about your curse, Malleus feels a wide range of emotions, from concern to anger. How could your own blood curse you? He wonders if this kind of occurrence is common among humans.

When he sees your owl beast form, he remains unfazed and finds it fascinating. He is not afraid in the slightest, as Malleus knows if you try to attack him, he has the strength to hold you back.

The prince is very concerned about your ability to detach your limbs. Does it cause you pain physically? He is a bit relieved to know you are not in pain from it, but Malleus still doesn't want you to pull your limbs off, not even as a prank. The only exception is Halloween.

The prince wants to track down your sister to learn why she did this and hold her accountable for causing you pain, but first, he wants to focus on finding a way to help you. All the mages in Briar Valley are attempting to find a way to get rid of your curse and, if you sympathize with the owl beast, a way to save it as well.

Kalim will be taken aback if you tell him about your curse. However, if you don't tell him and accidentally transform into your beast form, Kalim will be shocked. Though, if anyone tries to attack you while you are in that form, he will protect you.

When he learns that your sister is responsible for cursing you, Kalim has difficulty wrapping his mind around it. Just the thought of your own family going against you is devastating to him. He has many siblings, and they all get along well, so he can't fathom there are families in which siblings can be enemies to this point.

Kalim is willing to do anything and everything to help you. You are his s/o, so he is responsible for helping and supporting you through thick and thin.

He also goes out of his way to ensure you are not stressed. If Kalim sees you stressing out, he immediately distracts you with his cuteness, hugs, kisses, or taking you on a magic carpet ride. He also enlists Jamil to help with your stress management.

When Kalim sees your limbs detach, he experiences a wave of emotions. First, shock. Second, discomfort for you, thinking you are in pain. Third, sadness. If you even remotely joke that the detachment causes you pain, it will draw tears to his eyes, as if he was filling the pain himself.

Family members can be...a pain. He understands this, but to think they would go as far as to curse you. Riddle is angered by the thought, but his concern for your well-being overshadows his anger.

He is startled and a bit fearful when he sees you in your owl beast form. Even then, he stands his ground, knowing that he has to help you through this. However, when he sees/learns about your easily detachable limbs, Riddle is creeped out. If you try to detach your limbs in front of him, he will get angry. In fact, he wants to add a rule to the book of rules saying you are not allowed to take detach your limbs.

Like Kalim, Riddle enlists the help of his dorm members when he learns stress is your main trigger. When he is not around, Cater, Ace, Trey, and Deuce are responsible for helping you calm down.

Riddle is relieved that Ace and Deuce are in the same class as you so that they can keep an eye on you to prevent any incidents from happening on campus. Riddle worries that someone on campus might try to use you as a test subject if they learn about your unique curse.

If possible, he even learns how to make the elixirs you drink so that you never run out of them.

On many occasions, Vil feels like you are hiding something from him. Then, he sees you drinking an elixir daily and knows for sure you have a secret. Part of him wants you to tell him when you are comfortable, but the other part knows he needs to know, especially if it could pose a danger to him and the other students.

When he sits down and talks with you, you detach your limb to show him the side effects. Vil immediately grosses you and gets upset with you. NEVER do that again in front of him. Even if it doesn't physically pain you, it hurts him to see your limbs not attached to your torso.

Vil asks another question: Why didn't you tell him about the curse earlier when the two of you started dating? Were you afraid that he would judge or leave you? He assures you he will not leave or judge you for being cursed; if anything, he wants to help you find a way to lift the curse.

The moment Vil learns your sister was the one who cursed you, he sympathizes with you but is angered beyond belief. His need to seek justice kicks in, and Vil's first instinct is to track down your sister and confront her. At some point in the future, with your permission or against your will, he will find your sister and confront her.

Azul already knows you are cursed even before he sees you transform into the owl beast. Once he saw you drinking the elixir, he took a few drops from one bottle to test it. Though he couldn't find what the elixir was for, he found similar ingredients to a recipe in their world that is used to keep curses at bay.

Though he doesn't show it outright, Azul is deeply concerned about you. He doesn't confront you about your curse and waits for you to tell him or for the curse to take effect.

He is not surprised when he learns your sister is responsible for your state. He has firsthand experience in seeing the dark side of people around him. Azul focuses more on finding a cure to your curse rather than the past - for the time being.

He won't admit it out loud, but Azul finds your curse fascinating and wants to learn more about it. Even when he finds a way to separate the owl beast from you, Azul plans to keep the beast alive. Something tells him that you don't want the beast to be harmed, but more than anything, he wants to learn about the creature as there are no creatures like the owl beast in their world.

At first, Azul HATES it when you detach your limbs in front of him. Eventually, he gets used to it, especially with you and Floyd pranking everything with your detached body parts. Even if he walks into his office and finds your head on his desk, Azul will sigh, shake his head, and focus on his work.

———————————————

➣ Twisted Wonderland [1][2] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

#leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona kingsholar x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst headcanons #twst hcs #the owl house #toh #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #kalim al asim #twst kalim #kalim x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #riddle x reader

[moniheartsluffy]

One Piece headcannons

warnings: nothing major. shit grammar but the content is funny…?, slight cursing (it’s a lot of it).

a/n: i was supeerrrr bored one night and had a lil field day💀 also the lowercase is intended.

buggy : when he disconnects his limbs he somehow loses them every once in a while.

shanks: although he drinks likes there’s no tomorrow i feel like he as a very refined taste when it comes to alcohol. like he could tell you the shit to stay away from bc it’s tastes horrible, he could tell you what to drink if you wanna get fuckedddd and he can tell you the best things to drink bc they taste delicious.

mihawk: like shanks, he has a refined taste but specifically for wine. he knows what’s good and what’s shit. him and shanks have even been wine tasting together…don’t tell him i told you tho…and yes it was shanks idea.

crocodile: his hook is detachable, like one of those kid hooks where you have to hold a little bar inside for it to stay in place. idk why i think this but i just feel like it’s fake😭

garp: proudly has pictures of his grandsons (ASL) around his office at HQ. he also purposely fucks with akainu (he did it before the war but her sure as hell does it now) but now he does it to make his life a living hell.

aokiji (kuzan): he slept through one of the admiral meetings and when they went to go check on him they couldn’t get him to wake up and took him to the infirmary. all i gotta say is he woke up confused bc he swore he fell asleep at his desk.

ace: when he first got his DF he would set his sheets on fire whenever he slept bc he couldn’t control it💀

zoro: he def has fallen from the crows nest while trying to climb down. ussop saw him fall but chose life and decided to ignore it. (robin peeped it too)

law: he cuddles bepo more than you think. don’t let that man fool you. (penguin & shachi told me)

daily reminder that akainu is a bitch and his mama should’ve aborted him🤭

#one piece marines #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece ace #one piece zoro #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #one piece #ronoroa zoro #portgas d ace #garp one piece #one piece buggy #op mihawk #shanks #one piece shanks #trafalgar d law #letmebeyourwoman😫💗 #one piece x black!reader #x black reader #black y/n #FUCKSAKAZUKIBITCHASSONBRO‼️ #AOKIJIBETTERRR‼️‼️ #aokiji #one piece aokiji #i swear i hate akainu wit a passion bitch call me sanji

[jokeringcutio]

Art the Clown x Reader Drabble "Giving Birth to Art's Baby" [ EXPLICIT, Gore]

AN: Nobody asked for this. Summary: If Reader had Art’s baby. (or: You realize you're fucked, birthing a demon's child, but get a bright idea while doing so)

Warnings: Explicit content (Blood/Murder/Birth), Demon!Art, Demon!kid, Cannibalism/Placenta eating. Mentioned Forced Impregnation. Reader gives birth. Reader tries to survive. Reader lives by the end of this chapter. You have Art’s look-a-like baby (not just his head. An actual kid).

The sterile whiteness of the hospital room blurred into a canvas of dread as they told you to push. "You can do this," the nurse said, her voice a harsh command against the silence of your unborn child's heart—a silence that had been haunting you since labor began. The monitors sang no lullaby of life; instead, they hummed a dirge for the creature stirring inside, the one you knew bore no resemblance to a human babe.

"Push!" she insisted, but something primal within you recoiled. Your mind reeled, images of the ultrasounds flickering like a horror show behind your eyes—those glimpses of something otherworldly, something that twisted the midwives' faces into masks of confusion and fear. You felt it squirming, an alien presence in the sanctuary of your womb. Its head, too large, its limbs, too sharp—you remembered the cold gel on your belly and the screen showing a chest empty of a beating heart and a skull with teeth that no other baby ever had.

The images had filled you with nightmares.

"Push, damn it!"

With each word from her lips, you were torn further between the instinct to expel the abomination and the unnatural maternal pull towards the thing you carried. It looked slightly human, yes, but there was no pulse, no thrumming of life—just the void where a heartbeat should echo.

"Push, or we'll lose you both!"

Your muscles clenched, a symphony of pain rippling through you as you fought to obey, to be rid of the living death inside. You tried to calm the tempest in your chest, telling yourself over and over, "I can do this."

Then he invaded your thoughts—Art, the demon, the clown in black and white, a mockery of joy and laughter. His teeth, those sharp instruments of terror, flashed in your memory, evoking the night of unspeakable horror when he had claimed you. Should you have fought him harder? Should you have shouted or cried? His touch was a brand, his seed the poison that grew into the monstrosity within.

You had recognized the shape of the baby’s skull the instant the ultrasound had shown it. His teeth. His head. His heartless frame.

Mass murderer and psycho on the run. A clown who never spoke and was never caught. A criminal the police claimed to have killed time after time again, yet he kept returning. You weren’t stupid. You knew he was no ordinary man, had seen and felt him up close, had lived through carrying his offspring and felt its tiny hands like claws inside your womb.

"Push! I see the head!"

Your scream tore through the air, a battle cry against the violation that had led to this moment. With a guttural cry, you bore down, every fiber of your being straining to bring forth the offspring of darkness. The nurses leaned in, their faces etched with morbid curiosity and professional detachment.

"More! Now!"

And you did. You pushed past the fear, the revulsion, and the anguish. You pushed because surrender was not an option. The child of Art, the silent clown with the soulless bright eyes surrounded by circles of dark, was coming, and you would face it, even as it threatened to tear you apart.

"Head's out!"

The words cut through the fog of your agony, and for a brief, impossible moment, hope flickered. But it was a fool's hope, born of pain and desperation. For what lay between your thighs was neither dead nor alive, neither human nor wholly other. It was the unholy union of your flesh and Art's demonic whimsy, born into a world that would never understand its existence.

"Keep going, you're almost there!"

That nurse's voice, so insistent, so devoid of the horrors that awaited, spurred you on. And you pushed again, into the unknown, into the nightmare made flesh.

The sterile chill of the delivery room clawed at your senses, but nothing could compare to the icy grip of fear that seized your heart. The nurse's declaration was a death knell, ringing hollow in your ears.

"Oh no, look at that color,” she breathed out, her words a ghost lingering in the air. The child’s head was as white as the sheets you were birthing on.

Your gaze fixed on the writhing mass that now slipped free from your body, its skin as white as untouched snow, not a shade of life to be found. Terror danced in the nurse's eyes as she caught the creature you had birthed, fully convinced to hold a stillborn child.

But then it turned its head towards her, lips pulled back in a macabre grin, black and white painted across its face like a twisted replica of Art's mime visage.

It was as you had feared it would be. Any hope you had held that your baby might come out all rosy and normal faded like ice under the sun.

"God!" The nurse recoiled, hurling your offspring onto the bed as if it were a viper.

"Easy! Easy!" You cried out. This was your child, your blood. And there was the little voice inside your head that whispered that Art wouldn’t die. No matter how many shots had been fired at him. No matter how many limbs had been cut off. The man still walked the earth, spreading death in silent joy wherever he went.

What if your child was the same? Already its heart wasn’t beating yet it seemed very much alive. Would throwing it away like its life meant nothing be the solution?

Adrenaline fueled your limbs, and with a grunt, you crawled toward the tiny form cast aside on the cold hospital linen. No. This was your baby too. No matter how evil, you would nurse it.

"Shh, shh," you soothed, half-mad with pain and wonder as your arms closed around the little body. Your hands trembled, cradling him close, the resemblance uncanny—Art's spawn, his legacy. Something soft dangled between the baby’s legs.

"Boy..." you whispered, the realization dawning upon you as you held him against your breast. The baby’s head instinctively sought for your nipple, his already long-grown teeth snapping as he sought.

The sight of his head filled you with terror, and you felt slightly sick to see the baby’s lack of lips and already blackened teeth. Bright eyes stared up at you, black circles around him. The first touch of his mouth to your skin was tentative, searching, before a sharp pain made you hiss. "No biting!"

He seemed to understand or perhaps heeded the command instilled in his dark lineage. You were grateful he started to suck next and didn’t bite your entire nipple off. You wouldn’t put it past him – not with what you had seen his father do and what you had read and heard in the news articles about him.

There amidst the blood and the shadows, you were bound to this child, this extension of a demon's desire, by cords thicker than fear, stronger than revulsion. In the silence that hung heavy, only your harsh breaths and the soft, wet suckling sounds filled the void.

Your arms ached, but you clung to him—the fruit of your womb and a monster's seed. The room spun slightly, the stark white tiles of the hospital room blurring as you focused on the tiny creature at your breast. His lips, so unlike a human’s and too far pulled back, painted in an unseen artist's black and white, suckled with an instinctual hunger.

"Sweetheart,” you tested the word, reassuring yourself that you could do this. That you had to use affectionate terms around him especially because he was the way he was.

A new plan formed in your mind.

If you could bring such true evil to the world, could you perhaps dampen it? You were pretty certain you could not undo it. You could not change a devil into an angel. But if you could not turn evil into good, could you perhaps guide it? Guide it away from harming innocents?

"You're mine," you murmured, studying the little baby in your arms. If not for the head, the child would have looked rather normal.

“My son,” you proudly said, testing the words whilst the nurses and doctors around you stood and watched. You heard their muttering and were vaguely aware of how one of the nurses had pushed an emergency button and alerted someone else in the building about what was going on.

Would they come and take your baby away from you? Would they want to try and murder him?

A fierce protectiveness was swelling within you. “I’ll protect you, sweetheart,” you reaffirmed, determination lacing the single word. “You are my son.”

Some of the nurses took a step back from the bloodied bed, their eyes still wide with disbelief. Behind them, the door burst open with a violence that made every eye swing toward it.

Art stood there, his silhouette like a twisted shadow from a child's nightmare. The nurse at the entrance reached for him. “Sir,” she said, eyes upon the garbage gab he carried over his shoulder. “These are sterile surroundings.” Her concern was cut short by the gleam of steel—a deft flick of Art's wrist—and she crumpled, a scream caught in her throat, blood blossoming on her uniform like a grotesque flower.

The doctor next to her cried out when a blade hit his legs, slashing through the clean white fabric until his shins bled. Another nurse to his side crumpled when Art passed her by, pushed over with blood on her pristine white clothes.

"Stop!" Your voice was a command, even as you recoiled. "Don't."

Art’s head cocked, you could tell he had heard your voice, but he didn’t listen. Whatever knife he had brought with him was launched to land in the middle of a nurse’s forehead, pinching her to the wall. He smiled broadly while he stepped up to the doctor’s tools to get a scalpel from them, obviously pleased with all the sharp things that were within his reach. He threatened to step forth to the Doctor who had already wounded legs and who had fallen to the floor. The man looked up at the demonic clown fearfully, tears in his eyes as Art raised the scalpel.

“Art, please,” you begged, “Don’t hurt them.”

It wasn’t your pleading that stopped him. But something else entirely. A low groan as finally, the afterbirth followed - a final, visceral release that marked the end of your gruesome trial.

His head cocked, the mime's unnerving silence punctuating the chaos he had wrought. He approached, eyes fixed on the bundle in your arms. Between your legs, the heap of blood and tissue drained the sheets. The baby’s umbilical cord was still attached to the placenta that had finally come out.

Art studied it. First, the writhing baby in your arms. He looked at it like he had never seen a newborn child before. He probably hadn’t, you thought. At least, not one of his own. The wonder was visible in those bright light eyes of his. The demonic toothy smile had turned into a black hole of wonder.

Then, the brightly shining eyes traced the umbilical cord and came to rest on the placenta. Something in his eyes changed, and he looked up at you, almost hungrily. His gaze softened then at the sight of his son again, and dirt-covered fingers reached out a few times, indicating he wanted to hold him but was too shy to grab the babe.

Your son’s eyes opened, recognizing his father. But he wouldn’t leave his meal. The teeth nibbled on your nipple while milk kept flowing richly, then bit down a little harder when you moved your arm – an indication that he did not want to be moved.

With a spidery grace, Art extended a hand, his fingers stretching toward his progeny. You tightened your grasp, feeling the peculiar warmth of your son against your flesh.

"Art," you began, voice quivering with a cocktail of fear and resolve. "He's feeding." You met those abyssal eyes, searching for understanding. "We need them alive—the nurses, the doctors. We might need their help..." Whatever could you say to keep him from killing these people? You raked your mind, thought desperately. And then it came out. Unbidden. "For next time."

A pause, and then a different kind of hunger flashed across his face. Another offspring? The idea hadn't crossed his twisted mind until you seeded it there. The possibility of creating more beings like this one, beings that belonged to both of you—it ignited something within him.

"Next time," you whispered, coaxing.

Art's attention shifted, drawn away by the glistening afterbirth on the bed. A grotesque curiosity morphed into action as he reached down, snatching it up with an eager hand. He snapped the umbilical cord with his teeth, igniting gasps throughout the room of the nurses and the doctor – all either petrified or too wounded to leave. You gave them all an empathic stare, a silent ‘I’m sorry’ while you watched as Art descended on his own meal.

The room filled with the sound of his silent feasting, a tableau of horror that paralyzed the surviving staff. They could only watch, too terrified to move, too horrified to look away.

"Good," you breathed, holding your son closer. "Focus on that. Let us be."

Surrounded by trembling bodies and the scent of iron and fear, you rocked gently, whispering promises into the velvet softness atop your son's head, promises of a world where he would never be alone—where he'd have a sibling to share the darkness with. And more importantly, a mother who would guide evil in ways that would save those she cared about. Herself included. ~ AN: This could be a full story, but I was lazy and only wrote the birthing scene. Might upload other parts that can go along with this as I have an outline. If you like my (gross) writing (style), consider following me or browse my masterlists (psst, there's more).

~~ Support me on Ko-Fi - Masterlist - Request Box ~~ The Full Tale: Art saw the pale girl, another of his kind, and realized that he wanted to be less lonely. Someone of his own kind, now that sounded nice. A kid of his own to play patty cake with? So he started looking for a potential carrier for his kid. You were cute, didn't run as hard, didn't make a sound when he tried to harm you. A quiet little human, about the size of the clown kid he had seen. You were perfect. Instead of killing you, he made sure you got pregnant. During the pregnancy, you kept seeing traces of him, found little gifts from the stranger who featured in your nightmares ever since.

You weren't stupid. You found out quite quickly that your clown is in fact the much sought-after murderer who comits the most horrible crimes under the name of Art. You have seen what he is capable of and dive into the archives researching him and his crimes. He seems to survive everything.

When the ultrasounds show you a distorted baby with no heartbeat, you know that you carry true evil inside of you. But getting rid of it is no option, as you can't kill what already seems to be dead. With no other fate, you have no option but to birth the monster's child. How you will handle things after, however, that is something you can influence. You will do anything in your power to survive. ~~

#art the clown x reader #art x reader #terrifier baby #terrifier fanfic #birthing horror fanfic

[peacephotography]

Four Lessons for the Long Haul - What Long Covid has taught me on resilience

When the paramedics came for me in the sweltering days of May 2020 it didn’t feel real. I had just passed out in the heat and collapsed headfirst into a radiator. I’d seen paramedics attend to friends and relatives, but in my feverish state, it didn’t sink in that they would come for me. My youthful sense of invincibility quickly faded. I found myself unable to lift my limbs or produce full sentences, and interminable headaches left me in despair. The after-effects are still with me today, in the form of Long Covid.

Now that I have regained some energy, I would like to share some of the lessons that illness has taught me about enduring difficulty in the climate and ecological crisis.

Lesson One: We need courage, not hope

Let the pain be your fuel. Let your total rejection of the status quo give you the courage to transform your life, to stand out from the crowd, and demand transformative action.

Margaret Klein Salamon, Facing the Climate Emergency

For the first few months of my illness, I woke up every morning hoping that I would suddenly recover and have “my life back”. Rather than letting go of what I could no longer do, I kept trying to live as before. But this detachment from the reality of my situation only brought me more pain.

Once I had the courage to face the uncertainty of illness, I let go of anxiously awaiting a miraculous recovery, and relaxed into my situation. In facing my pain and isolation I was able to accept them. They are a state of exile and vulnerability that can be a source of strength for navigating our bittersweet world.

The same is true for facing the climate emergency. If we hope that technology will save us or that criminally negligent governments will suddenly act responsibly, we are recklessly gambling our future on very poor odds. This can only bring pain.  Once we start to tell ourselves the truth about the situation, we can find pride in our honesty and compassion in our grief.  It’s from here that the resolve to take action will emerge.

Lesson Two: Follow your bliss

Joseph Campbell’s saying, “Follow your bliss,” is not an irresponsible phrase that ignores the pain of life but a reminder to receive pleasure and contentment, even in the depths of suffering.

Toko-pa Turner, Belonging

In illness, every day feels like a struggle. When it shows no sign of improving, or worsens, I lose my morale to keep going. It's an exhausting and depressing limbo. In the darkest and weakest hours, I saw my life flash before my eyes and began to dream of people and places I hadn’t seen for a decade. I saw the highs and lows that had shaped me into the man I am today. This gave me some space and perspective to see things from a different angle. From each challenge, there was a learning on how to face hardship. From each joy, an inspiration to live to the full.

Holding on to these feelings helps bring balance to life. In activism, we follow a true passion and through it find our fullest potential. But even this has its limits. Every step along the way we need to find that balance of difficulty and joy for our own wellbeing. Our struggle for climate and ecological action brings many challenges that can lead us to despairing inertia. In my sickness, a joy was as simple as the view from my bedroom window: a falling blossom, a scudding cloud, a wandering snail.

Such joys became my music, my dance, my poetry, my comedy and my sport: ways to relax into whatever challenge chronic pain brought.

Everyday joys can give us the resilience to keep facing what we must face. So as we rebel with all our might against the existential threat posed by the climate and ecological emergency, let’s also cherish what makes our existence so precious. From that reflective space we can find the courage to keep going.

Lesson Three: Words Matter

“The merest schoolgirl, when she falls in love, has Shakespeare or Keats to speak her mind for her; but let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry.”

Virginia Woolfe, On Being Ill

As I slowly regained my speech, I struggled to find the words to describe what I was going through. It struck me that there is a serious lack of language on both chronic illness and climate chaos.  If you are unable to express a feeling, you are unlikely to find any solace for it.

For our society to be able to come to terms with the emergency we need a language to relate to in films, literature and TV.  Some of the best I think we have so far are Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, a piercing portrayal of the rise of sexism and racism in an uninhabitable America; The Road by Cormac McCarthy, for its portrayal of the gritty end-point of mass extinction; and early Studio Ghibli films such as Princess Monoke/Nausicaa, whose heroines champion coexistence with the natural world.

However, the vast majority of current work focuses too much on apocalypse scenarios, produced to scare the shit out of us, instead of relatable everyday stories. How about a  climate drama set in water scarce Somalia? Or a northern woman’s heroic adventure to save her hometown from flooding? We need more romances that argue over whether having kids is responsible and comedies that mock the insanity of our toxic system like The Yes Men or Simon Amstell’s Carnage.

Stories are key for an emotional connection to the challenges humanity faces. Our stories of rebellion can be cathartic for climate anxiety and stir a generation of heroes ready to speak out for their futures. Let’s start writing them.

Lesson Four: Belonging

“By reviving a community, built around the places in which we live, and by anchoring ourselves, our politics and parts of our economy in the life of this community, we can recover the best aspects of humanity. We can mobilise our remarkable nature for our own good and the good of our neighbours.”

George Monbiot, Out of the Wreckage

Being housebound and unable to hold conversations without paralysing headaches is extremely isolating. Yet even in the depths of my pain I was able to appreciate the love of our community. Rebels gave me cards, voice-notes, medical advice, paintings and - best of all – cakes, cookies  and biscuits fresh from the oven. The feeling of belonging to and being supported by a community of kindhearted and extraordinary people gave me strength every step of the way.

Together we are building a community that can hold us through the dark days with pride, friendship and joy. We are showing not only the best aspects of humanity but also the solid foundations of a successful social movement. The climate and ecological emergency will shape the rest of our lives. So take every opportunity you can to nourish and prepare yourself for the long journey ahead. You’ll not only be more resilient, but you’ll find more joy.

-- Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this or can think of someone who could benefit from these words please do share it. If you'd like to read more, subscribe to my blog :) Peace, Robin

Photograph: Franck Fife

#spilled ink #writing #long covid #disability #covid #climate crisis #robin boardman

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hii! Idk if you've ever done something similar, but what do you think about TADC x Skater! Reader? Like, Reader always have their skates on, like it's a part of their digital costume or smth. And i really mean ALWAYS. Someone spilled water on the floor? Reader slips down. They go on an adventure and a part of the floor is inclined? (Like a hill for example) There goes reader down the hill. I think it would be pretty funny lol

Btw, i really love your page, keep it up and don't overwork yourself

TADC cast x rollerskater!reader

Anon I am so so so sorry !! I dont know if I personally got jumbled up or my inbox has been wonky silly goofy or I just got thrown off because of so many people sending stuff in, but I also missed this as well as some other requests 😭😭

This one may be a little short since I've never skated <\3

Written this as more platonic leaning !

CAINE:

Probably poofs himself his own rollerskates, literally the only time you see him on the ground and it's so weird to look at. You guys both slip and fall because bubble wiped themselves across the floor or something

Obviously leads to bubble getting popped

Honestly seeing caine struggle to keep steady while using the rollerskates is... very funny.. look at his lil legs wobble (tell anyone and he will tilt the ground of the next IHA)

POMNI:

Honestly she would probably slip on the floor too if its wet or has marbles. She looks like she would comically fall over, with her legs flinging straight up into the air before plopping down

Looks at you confused as you visibly try to calculate how fast this one little slope will make you go, she probably forgets you have skater feet in the beginning

Subconsciously tries to grab and stop you when you start rolling, but because shes so small you just drag her with you

Theres that squeaky noise as shes being dragged across the floor

Yk the sound

JAX:

Throws marbles on the floor as well as other things that can make you stumble or slip... probably soaps up the floor.. thank god hes just a circus rmemeber and not like, a ringmaster... this dude would tolt the floor in so many different angles just to fuck with you... thankfully, he cant do that!

Though in another timeline... perhaps you werent so lucky...

Not much to be said here, with the bit with zooble in the pilot (the arm thing), jax is more than ready to use peoples unique digital qualities to please him or mess with them, and you being his friend only makes you slightly less likely to be messed with

RAGATHA:

Keeps a hand on your shoulder when she notices the floor is tilted, tends to walk with you while holding your shoulder still. She can only imagine what it's like to be s victim of slopes.. it would drive her nuts.. as long as shes around shes going to do her damndest to make sure you dont roll away or slip... unless jax literally throws marbles in front of you two at the very last second because who can predict that..?

In any case where theres an IHA with a DEEP slope I think she just might resort to carrying you so you dont go FLYING down

ZOOBLE:

Okay you guys might not have the same issues but they can relate to you in the jax department, with him using your qualities to his advantage. Its absolute hell.. I think it would be this shared thing that leads to you guys building a relationship in the first place

That one meme where it's two people at the bar and they overhear each other saying "I hate (x)" then they start making out

Thats you guys ranting about the bunny/j

Offered you some parts before realizing that you cant swap out your limbs like they can

"Ah, bummer"

KINGER:

Has probably asked you why you dont just take them off when you vent to him about jax putting marbles on the floor. Kind of sounds like when people say shit such as "oh you're depressed? Just cheer up!" But like, kinger says it in a genuinely.. not malicious or tone deaf way.. like I dontt think he knows, or perhaps he thinks you're like zooble with detachable limbs and you have another pair of feet hanging around somewhere

Gives a soft "oh.. " when you demonstrate that they are attatched to you

Offers to let you strap pillows to yourself to soften any blows when you fall, let's you have his softest and thickest pillows... what do you mean it throws off your balance...?

GANGLE:

You have probably accidentally rammed into her after misjudging how steep a hill on the ground was

Good news! She stopped your momentum!

Bad news, shes all tangled up in your skates (owie!) And her comedy mask is broken (oh no!)

Please be careful getting her out. We don't want her ribbons to tear or get damaged, we cant have our girl start fraying!

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #Caine x reader #jax x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #zooble x reader #kinger x reader #gangle x reader

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • VII

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, violence, guns, car crash

Authors note: Chapter Seven - Redwine: eeeeeee, sorry this one isn't as long as most of them! It's very action packed and I felt like it was already a lot to digest tbh lol. I do hope you enjoy tho! Song is Redwine by unprocesses (10/10 recommend listening, especially at the end hehe) (I stayed up till 2am writing this which is very bad because I really should sleep but yolo!)

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY IN REAL LIFE! IT IS FICTION! IT IS JUST FOR FUN! <3

Tags: @crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken @princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant @veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @thescarlettvvitch @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs @flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

Noah jumped on the floor as his hair whipped around, feeling the intro and the crowd cheered, before he gripped the mic stand, preparing to sing.

“Mine immaculate dream Made breath and skin, I've been waiting for you Signed, with a home tattoo Happy birthday to you was created for you.”

I bobbed my head, proud as guests began singing along. It wasn’t until Noah’s voice became deeper and raspier with the chorus that I smiled wider, heart hammering as he sang, watching me periodically from the stand.

“Who do you need? Who do you love When you come undone? Who do you need? Who do you love When you come undone?”

The evening went on as the boys covered various songs, before getting ready to perform their last song for the night.

“Thank you guys so much for jamming along!” Noah yelled before sipping his water bottle, “It’s about to get heavy, so I want to see you mother fuckers headbang!”

The crowd cheered as Noah introduced Glass Houses, and the song began.

I banged my head with the music as their hair flew in spirals, pulling out my phone to record them.

As I opened my phone I saw a text message from an unknown number. Clicking on it my stomach immediately dropped as my limbs warmed with complete terror.

Los Angeles, hey? It’s about time we booked a vacation anyway. See you soon, my volto x

+++++

U̧̢̼̹͓͇̮͈͕̰͑͗ͭ̂̐̓̾̇̑̀̑̌̅̈͟͢͞Ń̷̙͎͍̘͈̰̫̫̭̼͇̻̱͈̝̇͐̌ͧͥ̅͑̏̈̐̉ͫ͝͡͠K̷̴̷̸͇̤̝̥͓̤̖̣̇̏ͭ̇̇̍ͨ͞_̸̸̨̡͎̭̄NͨO̅͆WͨŅ̷̢̮̣̰͚̝̮ͫ̑̾ͤ͌̉̀ͧͪͅͅ

The square room was grim and damp, the cracked cement floor and torn wooden walls uninviting.

It was a place rarely used, but necessary in times such as these. It had been almost a year since it held a visitor, but the chair chained to the ground in the middle of the room remained untouched, ready for its guest.

I nodded at the men who trailed behind me, dropping the duffle bag of items to the ground.

Stale air hung heavily and I smiled, the waves from the water outside echoing along the corridor.

The perfect place to keep a body.

+̴̡̧̹̿̊̇̀̾̽̉̈́̾̓̚͘+̶̧̻̰̣̳͉̈́̐͛̏̐͆+̷̝̻̗͖̞̗̟̬̉͆́̓͒̀̐̽̐̚͘͝+̸̨̡̡͓͚̱̲̻͚̭̙̩̤̐ͅ+̷̨͈̗̾͒̑͝

NOAH

After our performance finished the five of us left, packing ourselves and the equipment into the van.

Jolly, Ruffilo and Folio were extremely giddy, excitement radiating off of them. At first, I felt this way too, the adrenaline rushing through me from how well it went, and how receptive our audience was. We even had a few people take photos with us, something that surprised me.

But these feelings were short-lived once I noticed Y/N’s behaviour: anxious and detached.

Y/N barely looked at any of us after the show, and she silently waited in the car, eyes glued to her phone.

I waited to ask until we were on the road towards home, her body placed between me and Ruffilo in the middle row of the van. Nicholas noticed her off demeanour as well, his eyes flicking between me and her, nodding his head towards her as he silently cued me to ask what was wrong.

My eyes furrowed at him as I shook my head back, nodding at him to ask her. They’ve gotten close, he might as well do it.

Nicholas rolled his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders, nodding at me once more.

“What are you two doing?” Y/N sighed quietly, looking up from her phone and turning her head between the two of us.

“Uh,” I laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of my head, “well we are both a little worried about you,” I admitted.

Y/N stared at me intensely, chewing on her lip in contemplation. Her face scrunched as conflict arose on her features before she handed me her phone. The screen was bright against the midnight darkness that cascaded around the vehicle. I looked down at the message displayed on the screen, my chest pounding as I read the words.

“Do you know who sent this?” I asked as my eyes widened in worry.

“Sent what?” Nicholas leaned over Y/N, attempting to read the screen. I don’t know if Y/N told the boys what she told me; so I closed the phone, handing it back to her.

She opened the phone again before passing it to Nicholas, and his own face contorted before staring at Y/N, “Volto?”

Y/N sighed again, knowing she would have to repeat everything she told me earlier, “I have a lot to explain to you guys… but for now, I’m not sure who sent the message.”

“Well it has to be someone who knows about the mask,” I suggested before turning my attention to Jolly who groaned in annoyance, staring out the rearview mirror while he clutched the steering wheel.

“God damn asshole, riding my ass.”

Folio looked out the side mirror, matching Jolly’s tone, “What a dick.”

I ignored them, eyeing Y/N, “Do you think it’s one of the Fidelio guys?”

“One of the twins, probably,” She watched back carefully, her eyes becoming distant as she became quiet, “And if it is, I’m fucked.”

I shook my head, my hand trailing down to hold onto her thigh gently, “I will let nothing happen to you.” I squeezed my fingers reassuringly, “I’ll keep you safe.”

She gave me a warm smile as her arm began to shake from the anxiety.

“Can this guy seriously fuck off?” Jolly now growled angrily through gritted teeth, tapping the brakes firmly as a warning which sent our bodies forward from the momentum.

“Dude don’t break-check them,” Nick warned from the passenger seat, holding onto the dashboard, “They’ll hit the gear in the trunk if they smash into us.”

Y/N and Nicholas turned to look out the back window, glaring at the car that rode almost against our bumper. I peeked from the side mirror, watching the headlight’s blind reflection shine against us.

Jolly revved the engine, accelerating against the gas pedal to speed up in an attempt to get away. The car behind followed suit, pulling up to us once again.

I scoffed, leaning forward to look at the speedometer, “Jesus Christ. You’re going the speed limit, right?”

“Of course I am Idiot. I don’t know what this fucker’s problem is,” Jolly’s grip tightened on the wheel as he kept looking back.

“Just make a right,” Nicholas stated as he continued watching behind, “let them pass us; I don’t want anyone getting hurt. We can turn back after.”

Jolly groaned in frustration as he signalled in agreeance, turning at the next light. As we did, the car behind followed suit and we watched in confusion.

“Uh hello?” Jolly yelled, shaking his head. He took another right, and the car followed us down the street once again.

“Are they…following us?” I squinted at the mirror again intensely, eying the lights.

“Jolly,” Y/N said, her breath hitching, “Take another right…”

He agreed, and the car still followed.

“One more,” Her voice was quiet now, her hand slipping into mine. Y/N entwined our fingers nervously, her palms clammy. My heart twitched in awe that she wanted to hold my hand.

“If the car turns with us,” she said restlessly, “They’re following us… because then we will be on the same road as before.”

My leg bounced as I watched this unfold, Nicholas and I peering at each other as we turned right. I sucked in an anticipated breath as there were no lights following for a moment; but then the same car turned the corner, speeding up to us.

“Shit,” Jolly pushed the gas pedal, sending the car forward. Y/N turned to look at me with worry, and I couldn’t help but match her expression. I held her hand firmly, my other gripping the handle that hung from the roof.

“Do you think-” Y/N’s voice wavered as she clung to me, “It’s them?”

Nicholas watched, confused, “Who? What is going on?”

“Jolly, step on it,” Nick yelled.

“Actually I was thinking of pulling over and chatting- Of course I’m fucking stepping on it!” Jolly mumbled in miffed anger, turning again.

The street light up ahead flashed yellow and the van rumbled beneath as Jolly floored it to make the light in time. The chase intensified as he navigated through the chaos of the city. Y/N squeezed my hand nervously and leaned into my side.

“We need to get out of town- who knows what’ll happen if we have to stop at a red light,” Nicholas huffed, turning back and forth between us and the car.

“Well, I ain’t stopping at a red light regardless,” Jolly turned the vehicle again, our bodies swaying with the velocity, “but hold on.”

It was a race down the vacant streets as we hastily sped past various buildings. They became a blur, before completely disappearing once we reached the outskirts of the city.

“Folio,” I grabbed the back of his seat, pulling my face next to his, “Are the extra masks and guns still in the glovebox?”

Nick opened the glovebox and Y/N’s pills spilled out, rolling onto the floor. I frowned for a brief moment before watching Nick reach for the fabric that lay inside. He passed each of us a mask, except Y/N, before handing me the gun.

I pulled out the clip, checking that I had enough rounds. Clicking it back in, I slipped the black mask over my face, Nicholas and Nick following.

I peered at Y/N through the holes of the mask, her eyes widening with fear.

“What’s the plan?” Nick asked from the front, rummaging underneath the seat for a moment before pulling out another gun. He passed it to Nicholas, who slid it into his waistband.

I watched the car’s erratic movements as it swayed with us, mimicking our every twist and turn.

“Pull off the road and confront them?” Nicholas suggested, and I snickered, rolling down the window.

“Time to play a game,” I muttered, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Noah-” Y/N gripped my wrist, holding me, “What are you doing?”

I pulled away from her grip, “Warning shots. Maybe get a tire or two.”

I turned my body so I was facing the back, before pulling my head out of the window. The wind whipped past the back of my body forcefully as the car drove hastily along the road, my arm wobbling through the instability of the speed. My other hand remained holding onto the handle inside, attempting to ground myself, to avoid falling out of the moving car.

I held up the gun, pointing it toward the car that trailed behind tauntingly. Without hesitating I pulled the trigger, my finger grazing the metal as it fired. My wrist moved subtly with the kickback and I watched the bullet bounce off the pavement before I shot another, now hitting the hood of the car. The metal twanged in response, small sparks flying.

The vehicle swerved, attempting to avoid my shots as I fired a few more. The drivers slowed down for a second before speeding up, ignoring my threat.

I snarled at their resilience, firing another shot that then flew into the left headlight, burning it out. The car sped up again, this time pulling up right into the bumper.

They were going to try and hit us off the road.

“Fuck,” I muttered angrily, slipping back inside the car. I clicked my seatbelt into place, checking Y/N’s and making sure it was secure.

“So clearly they’re not backing off!” Nick screamed through the sound of the engine, and Jolly yelled at him.

“No shit!”

With a surge of determination, Jolly gripped the steering wheel tightly and pushed down on the accelerator one last time, determined to escape the chaos unfolding behind us. My heart hammered as I watched Jolly push the van to its limits, and the race against time and fate left Y/N uneasy beside me.

“I can’t go fast enough in this piece of shit they’re gonna hit us,” Jolly blared, knuckles whitening, “Hold on!”

Jolly slowed in an attempt to brace for impact, and the car behind us rammed into our bumper, the screeching of tires filling the air as our vehicle swerved to the side. The world seemed to slow as our bodies swung, our van colliding with the car of the unknown. I reached for Y/N, our fingers barely able to entwine as my lungs collapsed, my breath escaping me in complete shock.

The air was thick with the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline, my mind in a haze. Our van spun into the cement barricade that bordered the highway and the impact sent debris flying in all directions, the shockwave of the collision reverberating within my body. Glass from the windows shattered around us, spraying like glitter in the moonlight as the impact jolted the five of us forward. Time was still as the turmoil unfolded in a split second, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

As my head throbbed and ears rang, the faint taste of blood lingered on my tongue. Dust and debris filled the air as whiplash consumed me, and I peered at Y/N whose body hung folded over the middle seat.

“Y/N-” I coughed, choking on the lack of oxygen that fought to fill my lungs. I reached for her, my knuckles torn from the glass. The world began to fade away as I pushed myself toward her, gripping her body.

“Y/N,” I yelled, and she groaned, her head flopping towards me. A trail of crimson trickled from her forehead, dirt coating her features. She coughed and sucked in a shaky breath, before her E/C eyes opened, landing on me.

“Noah,” She whispered, barely audible as she blinked slowly, coming to. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and the shock of the situation hit like a ton of bricks as I remembered the situation seconds prior. Whoever hit us was surely going to get to us any second.

I pulled away from Y/N’s grip slowly, leaning down as my head spun, searching for the gun.

“Ruffles-” Y/N turned to him with worry, moving slowly as she placed a hand on both sides of his face, checking the cuts that dug into his skin.

Nicholas moaned in pain as he responded, and my eyes followed his gaze towards Jolly and Folio. Both airbags had exploded, their heads lying against the white canvas that was gradually beginning to deflate. Were they alive?

My heart raced as I gripped the gun lying on the floor, before attempting to push myself between the seats, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, “Nick? Jolly?”

“What the fuck,” Nick murmured in pain and I sighed in relief once I heard his voice, before poking Jolly. He let out a loud grunt.

The van was in complete shambles, and I struggled to free myself from the twisted metal and broken glass that surrounded us. I kicked open the backseat door and crawled out of the car, my hands landing on the cool asphalt. The dimly lit surroundings cast eerie shadows, adding to the disorientation and vulnerability as I stood up, scoping out the scene.

The car that followed us was barely smashed on the other side of the road; both front doors opened once I was in view. A gunshot flew past my ear, ricocheting off the cement.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered under my breath, ducking behind the wreckage of the van. I peered into the vehicle as Y/N rubbed her eyes, “They’re firing at us!”

Nick pushed the door open, his body rolling onto the ground, groaning, “The gun,” He swayed, pulling himself up, searching the car with a hand, “Ruffilo! Give me the gun!”

More shots were fired from behind and I covered my head, looking back at Y/N who hid in Nicholas’ chest, completely afraid. He gripped her tightly, protecting her head as he threw the gun to Folio, who cocked it, placing his back against the torn metal.

Jolly yelled at Nick to move as he crawled from the driver’s seat to the passengers, sliding out, and hiding behind the debris, “We need to form a plan!”

“There’s no time,” I growled, closing my eyes as my breath heaved from my chest, anticipating the worst as the shots got closer and closer, bouncing between the road and the metal of the car.

I got down on the ground, my knees rubbing against the rock as I peeked around what was left of the bumper. Amongst the dust from the collision two figures appeared from the smoke, their black suits slick and barely untouched- comical.

My eyes squinted in recognition as I looked at their heads, the slick silver sheen glinting from the moonlight. The muzzle was long, and the ears appeared sharp and pointy, followed by a set of painted black features.

Fox masks covered their identity, the two walking in sync towards us.

The article. The Twins.

“Noah-” Jolly hunched over, his breathing erratic as his tattered long hair peeked from beneath the mask he now slid over his face, “Who is it?”

My mind skimmed to a conclusion as I scooted back, “They’re here for Y/N. We need to get her away from here, or at least distract them till she can run.”

“N0,” Y/N pulled herself from Nicholas, tears streaming down her face. She peered out the broken window, a hand climbing to her mouth as she held it there in fear once she saw them, “You guys need to run. They want me, I don’t need you getting hurt.”

I shook my head, cocking the gun, “I told you I would protect you. I will not go back on my word.”

“No, you don’t understand,” She almost screamed in dread, “That has to be Kiean and Kade. They used to tell me if shit hit the fan, they’d turn to the fox masks.”

“What does that mean?” I shook my head in confusion, looking at them once again before turning my attention to Y/N.

“They twisted an old Indigenous legend of the fox twins,” She said, watching them as she spoke, “instead of the twins growing as heroes from their demise, they strive for revenge.”

I pulled at the fabric that covered my face, readjusting it before standing up. I dropped the loaded gun next to my foot, before revealing myself from behind the car.

“Noah!” She yelled, but I continued walking out, holding my hands up.

The one on the right pointed the gun at me, my throat aching from the adrenaline as I heaved nervously.

“Where is she,” His voice was muffled from the mask, deep and antagonizing as he held the threat menacingly.

I shook my head, hands held up high in surrender, “Who the hell are you talking about?”

“You think I’m stupid?” The man scoffed, turning his head to look at his companion before back at me.

“You assholes were following us. I don’t know who you’re talking about and what you want.” my demeanour was cold, and overly calm considering the circumstances. I was a ticking time bomb, ready to lunge at any second.

A deep laugh erupted behind the same mask, “I will shoot you. Get her out here.”

I scoffed, lowering my hands, “Look, we don’t have anything you want. So, I think we’re done here.”

The gun pointed toward me clicked, and I swallowed harshly, staring at the barrel.

“Y/N,” The man said, her name foreign and vile as it trailed from his mouth. He knew she was there.

I dared not to look at the car behind me, but I noticed a figure move from my peripheral. No Y/N, don’t.

“Again,” I laughed, mocking them with stupidity, “There’s only four of us- and this Y/N person isn’t one-”

The man then took quick steps forward with the gun, and before I knew it Y/N shouted, exposing herself as she stood in front of me, guarding my chest.

“NO!”

Fuck.

The fox tilted his head as the gun was now placed in front of Y/N’s forehead, her shoulders heaving with her erratic breaths. Her arms were out protectively toward the men as she placed herself between death and remorse; the other gun from the car within her grasp. My stomach swirled with unease and liability.

Seconds felt like minutes as we stood there; but finally, his weapon lowered, arm slowly resting against his side. His free hand reached underneath the bottom of the plastic that covered his head, peeling off the layer of false anonymity.

Dull green eyes met mine, the repulsion behind them dissolving me from the inside out. His gaze was almost feral as his lip turned into a snarl at my presence; he didn’t dare look away as he spoke.

“This?” he scoffed, appalled, “You moved on to this piece of shit?”

The wavy head of dirty blonde hair that sat on his head was paired with a straight upturned nose, slight facial hair, and a nose ring. He was the definition of a pretty-white boy surfer, and my eyes narrowed.

“Fucking whore.” He spit as he then stared at Y/N, his jaw clenching. The muscles in his neck tightened as he watched her viciously.

“Kade,” The next voice warned, and I peered at the twin who stood behind him. As he took his mask off I swore I heard Y/N gasp ever so lightly, the gun in her grasp lowering slightly.

This man looked almost identical to the one looming over us; except his hair was to his shoulders, the top tied back into a small bun. His eyes seemed softer- gentler. The emerald gaze was more vibrant as he stared at her; until he met mine.

“Please,” Y/N’s voice wavered, “Let him go. Take me, but let him go.”

“Why?” Kade laughed, tapping the gun against his thigh, “you care about him?”

Kade stepped forward, and Y/N stepped back, pushing into my torso.

“Hmm?” He taunted.

“I- you don’t need to do anything irrational,” She held up her hands. She was afraid.

“This your new toy?” The blonde’s words began digging into her, but his eyes remained on me.

She hiccuped, holding her hands up in front of her face in defence as he got closer to us.

“You’re fucking him now?” He roared.

“K-Kiean,” She stuttered, almost in a plea toward the other twin.

Kiean.

As I went to move in front of her, the back of Kade’s hand swung into Y/N’s head, the handle of the gun cutting the skin above her lip. She clutched her face as she stumbled backward, falling onto the asphalt. The gun slid across the road.

Anger rose from my chest instantly, “Don’t you fucking touch her,” My voice dripped with venom, and without thinking I held my arm up, sending a forceful blow into the side of Kade’s neck.

As if a bomb went off, he lunged for me, my back sliding onto the cement as he fell on top of me, “I want to see your pathetic face,” He screamed, his anger ripping from his throat as he began punching my chest, clawing at the fabric that covered me.

The air I had left was dispersing from my lungs as I began rolling with him, punching him back.

“Noah!” Y/N screamed as she scrambled to her feet, running toward me; but the other twin grabbed her, caging her in his arms. She thrashed aggressively, attempting to free herself.

I heard the shuffling of footsteps from the side and Jolly appeared, throwing himself into Kade’s body. Nick was right behind, picking me up as Nicholas ran toward Y/N and Kiean.

A gunshot ripped through the air and everybody froze, my ears ringing with anticipation.

Time slowed once again as I looked up at Y/N.

Kiean held Y/N firmly, the gun pointed at her head. Tears of terror began brimming her eyes as she grabbed at the suit covering his arm.

I exhaled quickly as I watched Y/N; the fear in her eyes radiating back at me- hopeless. I shook my head, licking my lips in panic; I needed her. It took everything in me not to run toward her as the gun pressed vehemently into her skull.

“Don’t move,” Kiean said, slowly backing towards the car. Kade quickly got his feet, scurrying away from Jolly and following his copy. Kade grabbed the gun that Y/N had dropped, pointing it toward the four of us.

“Noah-” Y/N cried, her body convulsing in her captor’s arms as he dragged her closer to the car.

Her lips trembled as she screamed her last word before Kiean put her in the car, “Run.”

Kade began to fire at us and we ducked, running back to the smashed van for shelter as bullets flew past us. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as adrenaline washed through me once again. I wanted to yell, I wanted to cry. I wanted to run to Y/N, and I wanted to tell her it would all be okay.

But I couldn’t- she was gone.

And I was a coward.

A useless fucking coward.

The gunshots ceased as the engine revved, doors slamming as the sound of wheels spinning out filled the midnight scene. The car began racing down the road, taking Y/N with them.

My saving grace.

Our heavy breathing was all I could hear as I squeezed my eyes shut, an angry scream crawling from my lungs. I threw my mask to the grounds.

+++++

The leaves crunched beneath my feet as I waded, tears brimming my eyes. I placed the white flower on top of the stone, sighing as I sniffed and sat down. The dying grass was wet beneath my legs, but I didn’t care.

“It’s been a while,” I whispered, lowering my head towards my deaf listeners. The breeze swirled through my hair, my brunette locks swaying gently with each gust. I zipped up my black jacket, placing my hands into the pockets.

“I met a nice girl,” I laughed ever so softly, her image filling my mind. I closed them once the memory of two nights ago crashed through her smile, blurring the good and bad.

“And I already fucked up,” I wiped my nose as my throat tightened, “I tainted her.”

The wind whistled between the graves as if responding.

I picked at the grass for a moment, playing nervously with the strands I pulled from the dirt, “she’s gone. I don’t know how to find her.”

My vision blurred as silent tears fell, and my head bowed again.

“I miss you, mom.” I used my sleeve to dry my cheeks, “and you, dad.”

The three of us sat in silence, the trees above the cemetery singing with the autumn air. I spoke to them for a few more minutes. I tried to make it quick, knowing that if I stayed longer I wouldn't be able to leave.

“I hope you get to meet her someday,” I murmured as I stood, dusting off my pants.

“I’d like to hear about this girl.”

My stomach dropped as I whipped around in alarm, my heart thumping rapidly once I met his silver completion.

+++++

U̧̢̼̹͓͇̮͈͕̰͑͗ͭ̂̐̓̾̇̑̀̑̌̅̈͟͢͞Ń̷̙͎͍̘͈̰̫̫̭̼͇̻̱͈̝̇͐̌ͧͥ̅͑̏̈̐̉ͫ͝͡͠K̷̴̷̸͇̤̝̥͓̤̖̣̇̏ͭ̇̇̍ͨ͞_̸̸̨̡͎̭̄NͨO̅͆WͨŅ̷̢̮̣̰͚̝̮ͫ̑̾ͤ͌̉̀ͧͪͅͅ

Soon, I’ll kill my final piece of evidence… and soon, I’ll have control of Fidelio.

+̴̡̧̹̿̊̇̀̾̽̉̈́̾̓̚͘+̶̧̻̰̣̳͉̈́̐͛̏̐͆+̷̝̻̗͖̞̗̟̬̉͆́̓͒̀̐̽̐̚͘͝+̸̨̡̡͓͚̱̲̻͚̭̙̩̤̐ͅ+̷̨͈̗̾͒̑͝

We couldn’t save our lives but we’re here Drunk and fucked up so in love what we once had Now it’s over, one last time here On the streets but they lead nowhere Time and time again we were not thankful for our gifts Things we took for granted like a sweet kiss on your lips We could have been at the start of our days but it ends Stories have been told You’re so pretty when you’re drunk In a world like that

Chapter 8

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noah sebastian davis #burning out fanfic #nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #nick ruffilo #sorrows of silence #burning out #crime #crime fanfic