#Chris Wood Smut
Text
Bad Guy
Summary -> despite Kai settling down in a quiet life with you, your friends still don’t trust him, and whilst he acts as though it doesn’t affect him, his behaviour towards it behind closed doors is a different matter (2.6k)
Warnings -> 18+ minors dni pleeaasseee, smut, oral (male & female receiving), face fucking, unprotected sex, aftercare, frustrated!Kai, unsupportive friends, slight angst, fluff, mentions of blood sharing, swearing
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Kai was becoming antsy, he knew better than to start an argument with the people that you called your friends. But they wouldn’t let up on their disregard for your and Kai’s relationship, their opinion always seemed to be right in their eyes. And it irritated him, more so that they thought that he could ever hurt you, even during his time for being hungry for power and revenge, he had never laid a bad finger on you.
As you came back from the lavatory, you squeezed in the booth next to Kai, and he instinctively laid his arm around your shoulders. He was always protective, but he didn’t want them to spew their nonsense in front of you, but clearly, they didn’t care what you wanted. And he had to grit his teeth to silence himself from lashing out at them - nobody spoke to his girl like that.
You were a grown ass woman, you were allowed to be with who the heck you wanted, and if it were him, it was their place to accept that they could do nothing about that. “There’s this guy who works at the little cafe on the corner Y/N, he’s been asking about you a lot. He even wanted your number, but I wouldn’t give it to him without your permission of course.”
“Permission not granted.” You said to Elena, picking up your drink and bluntly taking a sip. “I’m with Kai, you know that. And I’m stuck with him, for better or for worse.” Her intentions for you were only for the best in her eyes, she wanted you to be happy, and most importantly safe. But being bound in a relationship with the sociopathic heretic was not good for you, or so she thought. She, and the others, wouldn’t even give him a chance, and it had Kai wondering if he even deserved one.
“Oh it’s definitely for worse.” Damon chipped in, and you could only shoot him a glare. Kai’s knee was bouncing beneath the table, he wanted to say something, or snap one of their necks, but he had to be on his best behaviour to prove each of them wrong. He’d broken their necks and worse in the past, but he was a better man now, and he had to keep trying to convince them of that for your sake.
The digs at him finally settled down as everybody got lost in conversation but they were adamant about leaving him out at every chance they got. It was as though they were pretending he wasn’t there, and he knew that he had definitely not done an invisibility spell. The heretic’s mind was spiralling with private thoughts of what he was going to do to you when you finally got home, and that seemed to pass the time.
Before he knew it the two of you were in your car, and he found himself looking out the window rather than at you. He was trying not to brew in his frustrations, he had been working on it, but he wanted to get home first, that way nobody could see him treat you in the way he knew you liked best. You were oblivious to the emotions that were weighing on his chest, tapping your fingers as you steered the wheel, almost at the last partition of your route home.
It wasn’t much, just a small apartment big enough for the both of you, but it was the one place that he had not been shunned for being in. You’d never even allowed your friends to enter once the both of you had moved in, which only made them more suspicious, but only those that respected your and Kai’s relationship had permission to enter. And until then, they would have to deal with being cast away in the unknown of your living habits.
“Kai, are you okay?” You asked once the two of you had finished on your journey to your home and were safely inside the front door. He quirked his head at you, his stoney orbs mocking you with his widening pupils. He shook his head, taking off his long coat and draping it over the rack. “Kai.” You hurried after him as he headed towards the bedroom, growing worried for the way in which he was acting.
At first he hadn’t been the best with communication, but it was an unspoken rule between the two of you that if there was a problem you would voice it to each other. And he rarely had trouble to voice his concerns, but anxiety bubbled in your throat when you received nothing more than the silent treatment. He decided to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers stroking his bottom lip in thought. “Kai, have I done something wrong?” You enquired worriedly, standing before him and pressing your hands upon the hill of his knees.
He released a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “The only thing you’ve done is kept your tongue tied when your friends spoke about us. I can’t put up with it anymore Y/N/N, it’s driving me insane that whilst they have no idea about our relationship, they see themselves important enough to have an input on it.” He stroked his hands through his hair, staring up at you before cupping your waist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that baby. I love you and I love us, it just doesn’t make me feel the best when I’m forced to hear their opinions.” His eyes begged for your forgiveness, but there was none to be given, considering he hadn’t done a single thing wrong.
In fact he had been on his best behaviour, just for you. If Kai resented something so much he was always one to either speak up or more commonly lash out, but he was aware of what your friends meant to you, and he wasn’t prepared to ruin his redemption. “It’s okay, keep going. There’s nothing wrong with having a little destress Mal, you can use me for that y’know.” Your hands released their hold on his knees and played with the strap of your little black dress, tugging it down in a teasing way. “Do you want to use me Kai? Make yourself feel better with my mouth?”
You bit your lip to emphasise your point, and you were about to lower yourself onto your knees but Kai was already one step ahead of you. He’d used his vampiric speed to shove you to the ground, and he was once again on his feet, shadowing above you like the villain that people thought he was. “That’s a good idea from you baby, I shoulda thought of that sooner. It’s always hot to see you at my mercy, but begging to be, that’s something that I’m not going to shy away from.” You grew excited as Kai began to unravel his belt that secured his jeans around his waist, undoing the buckle only then to switch to the fly.
“Then don’t Parker.” He had no hesitation when it came to revealing himself from his charcoal coloured jeans, pulling his cock out and gripping your hair as he slapped the side of your face with his length. You stuck your tongue out, hungry to taste him on your buds and so he waited no longer to enter his cock in your mouth. His length disappeared down your throat as you gagged, but he held your head still. Kai used you in a means to release his frustration; your friends could never accept him, not even now that he was a good guy, or as close to that as he could get. He couldn’t kill anyone to destress, that would only be proving their point. And so he took it out on you and you most certainly had no complaints to the solution to his enraging problem.
"Take my cock so well, anyone would think it was down your throat when you stayed silent instead of defending me." He was spiteful, what he didn't know however was that you had stood ground for him countless times before when Bonnie or Damon or Elena had the need to express their distaste for your boyfriend. It had always been the way, you were the only one that saw him for more than the monstrous things that he had done.
A whine haplessly strangled out of your mouth when Kai removed his cock, a darkness looming in his grey irises. He knew that he was being cruel, but not in the manner that your friends suspected; he was taking away everything that you craved. It was his sweet revenge that was only bitter towards you. Outside of the bedroom he treated you like a delicate princess, and whilst he had taken a lot of persuading to be rough with you, he had finally gotten there.
He wore a cold smirk, one that only turned you on even more, and to appease your appetite he gave you his cock again, his ring clad hands grasping either side of your face as he rocked his hips, forcing you to breath out of your nose heavily. His neck sloped backwards as he raised his sight to the dull ceiling, as he sloppily fucked your mouth. The sounds from your lack of breath and choking echoed within the room, he was rough with his actions but he had no concerns as he knew that you would be alright, especially considering that you’d be in this position plenty of times before.
“Oh fuck.” He sighed, removing himself from your mouth, despite entirely not wanting to, but his brain was screaming at him to throw you on the bed. He licked his lips, grasping you by the roots of hair on your head, as he ironically laid you on the bed gently, raising you so that your head was against the pillows, and he was between your thighs, bunching your dress up and around your waist, ripping your panties off. He didn’t want a single thing to conceal you from his hunger, you were getting used to the feeling of nothing, however Kai stopped that as he leant forwards, lapping ferociously at your pussy.
It was impossible for him not to moan at the taste of your juices, they only encouraged him to devour you. He ran his tongue down your slit to your entrance, dipping it into your entrance, and his hand came to rest on your abdomen so that he could rub your clit with his thumb, his actions causing you to squeal and wrap your legs around his neck. Your eyes rolled back into your head; Kai never failed to make you feel amazing. Even when he was experiencing a dominant rush, he never failed to prioritise your orgasm, which was close approaching. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging mindlessly at it, as you rotated your hips up to meet his mouth. “Kai, I’m going to cum.”
Your words only encouraged him to continue, he needed to taste your cum on his tongue. Fireworks deliriously exploded within your body as Kai grasped your hip with his free hand, rubbing your clit faster, causing you to reach the high that had been near. You raggedly breathed, your form going slack on the bed, Kai rode you out through your orgasm, before climbing atop of you, pushing his lips onto yours and forcing you to taste yourself. “Need to be inside of you.” He muttered, pupils blown wide, as he strived for his greatest comfort. He ran the tip of his cock against you before slipping in with no resistance, and he moaned from your warmth that hugged his cock.
He planted his hands on either side of your head, using it as leverage to pound in and out of your count. Your moans entangled within the safety of your room, and whilst your eyes shut Kai took in every detail of your beauty. He was infatuated with you, it frustrated him to hear that your friends didn’t trust him with you when you meant everything to him. You were the reason why his world spun on its axis, you were the reason why he had finally found peace. As much as your beloved friends thought your relationship to be toxic, it was quite the opposite.
He loved every inch of your being, worshipped it in fact. Your love was healthy despite what they thought, and having your bodies conjoined together in the act of making love, well that was truly his escape from it all. Kai was an easy man when it came to you, all he needed was your presence and he was okay. His lips ran down your throat, sucking on your skin, never daring to feed from you, you were far too precious for that. He felt home from just being inside of you, and he breathed in the scent of your worn and distantly fading perfume, as he kept his head in the crook of your neck for a moment, until he reconnected your lips, eating your moans. “You feel fucking amazing baby.” He huffed, sweat lining his forehead as he rocked lovingly into you.
Your hands swept up, grasping onto his clothed forearms, eyes struggling to remain open as you stared, blinded by pleasure up at him. You could feel another orgasm approaching and Kai could sense it, and so he forced his own to wait as he reached down with one of his hands and played with your bud again, causing you to squeal out his name. That alone was enough to trigger his own end, and he emptied inside of you, filling you with his cum, and he forced his cock deep inside of you in hopes of none of it slipping out. “I love you Malachai.” It had become a habit for him to flinch at that name, but it sounded right coming from you - only you.
“I love you too angel.” He shut his eyes for a moment to cherish the moment, before kissing your forehead and pulling out from you, causing you to lightly moan from suddenly feeling empty. “I’ll be right back.” He lovingly stroked your hair, disappearing from your vision until he returned with a damp washcloth, cleaning away the liquids that had escaped around your most private area. You could only send him a dopey smile when he undressed himself entirely, down to his boxers which he pulled up. He walked around your room, shuffling through drawers until he returned to you with one of his big shirts and a pair of your most comfortable panties.
It was a quiet interaction, yet one of intimacy. He removed your dress and bra, and replaced the clothes you were wearing with the ones that he had scoured for. Afterwards he returned beside you in the bed, tucking you both beneath the duvet as he held you to his chest. “I’m never going to stop trying to make up for the things that I did to your friends you know, I want them to like me, for you. They may get on my nerves, but I need to prove to them that I’m a different man when I’m with you, I’m the real me rather than the monster that my family made me into.” He spoke tiredly, resting his lips against your hair, stroking down your back with a harmless hand.
“They’ll stop eventually, we’ve all made mistakes. Damon especially, and if they can’t accept that I love you Kai, then that’s their problem, not ours. They’re never going to change my opinion of you, because what I think matters more.” Your words were sluggish, and it was understandable that you were tired, he’d just fucked your brains out. Thoughts invaded Kai’s mind, but this time they were happy thoughts. He was thinking about what he would make you for breakfast in the morning, taking a warm shower together since he loved washing your hair, and most importantly, spending the rest of your lives together.
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Dad’s best friend
Chris wood x male reader smut
Warnings: gay sex, top Chris, bottom reader, oral, ass play, cowboy position, sir kink slightly used
Summary: your dad’s old best friend is back in town to visit and one thing leads to an other.
“M/n” your dad whispered into your room as you where awake “what what’s up” you responded half asleep. “Um on of my friends is over I would like you to meet so when your up and get ready please come down okay” “yeah I’ll go down in a bit” you growled back with your face buried in your pillows.
As you got up from your bed you decided to take a shower and get dressed. “Yeah shit yeah I remember” you heard your dad say as you got down stairs to see they where having a couple of beers.
Um Chris Id like you to meet my son M/n” your dad introduced you “ nice to meet you M/n I’m Chris” “Nice to meet you to Chris and I’m how do you know my dad” “Oh we go way back I went to college with him and I was here in town so I thought might as well go say hey” Chris responded.
“Well your always welcome here man” your dad said “Thanks man” Chris said patting your dads shoulder.
* Timeskip
It was now getting late and your dad had been outside in the back yard with Chris since they made food outside and they had continued to drink since you went back up to your room.
“Hey um where’s the bathroom” Chris had poked his head into the room looking at you. “What um yeah end of hallway to the left” you said “okay thanks” “ mm hum” you hummed in response.
“Hey um thank you again for the directions” Chris said walking into your room with his hands in his pockets. “No need to thank me but why wouldn’t you ask my dad” “Well um hey is a bit of a lightweight when it comes to his drinking I bought him inside and laid him on the sofa” “Oh my god thank you so much and yeah I understand he sometimes can’t control his liquor” you said sighing.
No it’s fine plus I should of known I went to college with him after all but thank him for me please I’m gonna head out before it gets more late” “no please stay the night my dad would kill me if I let you go and plus you did drink a bit and it’s not a good idea to be on the road” you told to Chris.
“Um really thank you but it’s not really necessary” “oh please quit it and please I need to k ow more about my dad in college he hardly speaks of it” you said patting a spot on your bed for Chris to take a seat.
After awhile of discussing of your father and Chris friendship in college you also happened to tell Chris himself was a little tipsy. “So what about you M/n the son of Alexander College royalty” Chris joked around after telling you about how your bad had been so popular back in the day.
“Well not much going on in my life I’m single and I’m 19 I have a 8 to 5 job I have weekends off and I don’t really do much so there isn’t really much to talk about” “ What, what do you mean your single you look hot and no girlfriend” “Um yeah no girlfriend and plus I don’t go towards girls mostly guys” you responded to Chris.
“Oh I’m sorry I shouldn’t have jumped to thinking” “ it’s fine your good” you said reassuring Chris to not feel bad. “So you um like guys then” “ yeah I’m gay” “yeah I mean I would see why I remember back from the college days.”
“Wait your gay to or” “No I’m just me plus it was in college where everyone normally experiments with guys and girls but it’s been along time since I tapped a nice tight ass” “give me a minute “ you said getting up from your bed and going down stairs to find your dad on the living room sofa snoring and asleep “dad dad hellooo” you whispered loudly as for your dad gave you no response.
“What happened” Chris said fro your bed “my dads past out on the sofa there’s no way his gonna get up tonight not until tomorrow evening” you said taking off your shoes and belt buckle and shirt.
“Um what are you doing Chris said with a confused look on his face. “Well you miss the tight asses right” you told Chris “yeah but what dos—wait nooo no no no noo” he said with the realization finally hitting him.
“I can’t sleep with my best friends son that’s like a big no no” “well I say it’s a big yes yes plus I have a tight ass I’m gay your you and your hard I can see your bulge” you said staring in between his legs as he looked to being caught.
“Well yes your hot and I’d like to fuck your ass but your dads down stairs” he said as you walked up to him unbuckling his belt and pushing him on to the bed. “Well then do it Chris” you said as you went on top of him.
“Fuck it” he said smirking with joy as he took off his shirt and sat up on your bed as he pulled you onto his lap “Exactly what I want you to do” you said smiling. As he pulled you to him locking your lips together in a heated kiss.
As you gave him entrance into your mouth as he explored your mouth with his tongue as you felt his arms move from your waist to your ass as he started to feel your clothed ass as he reached into your pants as you felt his fingertips tough your hole as he pulled off your pants and underwear all at once.
“Oh fuck baby you gotta hot ass he said as you began to fully take off your pants and his as well now in front of each other as you saw his clothed bulge now only being covers by his underwear as you started to kiss down his chest and leaving marks as he moaned happily cause of your touch.
As you got closer now to his erection you now removing his underwear and beginning to kiss down his waist and next to his cock teasing him as you began by first kissing his red fiery tip.
“Mm you do now how to tease someone don’t you” Chris said to you as he closed his eyes awaiting for your mouth as he could feel your lips and breath sending chills down his spine. As you began to put in the tip into your mouth as you swallowed him whole taking all of his 11 inches all the way down to his base where you could feel his pubs rubbing against your nose as you could smelling his mustiness.
“Uhh-Oh you are definitely a natural to suck cock nobody normal can deep throat me” he said breathlessly as he belt you hum in acknowledgment on his cock sending more vibrations to him making him more desperate as he got a ahold of your face as he started to plunge you on to his throbbing cock.
“Oh fuck yeah take this cock M/n” he moaned out as he continued to fuck your throat. “Oh fuck yeah ima cum oh fuuuuck yeah come on swallow it” he said as he pushed you down completely onto his cock as he painted your throat white .
As you got up from his cock covered with your saliva leaving a string of saliva from his cock to your mouth as he pulled you top of him. “Come on baby where gonna stretch out that little hole of yours” he said as you laid on his chest as he pulled your legs up and started to push your ass cheeks apart to reveal your throbbing hole.
“Suck” he said to you as he put his fingers up to your mouth as you obeyed. “That’s good enough baby” he said as he took his fingers and began to circle your entrance as you moaned melting from feeling his touch.
“Oh fuuuckkk” you moaned out of breath “Ah you feel so good baby, coming undone with just my fingers all tight and hot around me” he said as he begun to push his fingers into you as you begun to push yourself on to his fingers more to try to make him get to your good spot.
Oh no baby your not getting off that easy when the fun has truly only begun I’m purposely not hitting that little bundle of nerves you so desperately crave for me to reach. He said to you as he continued to fuck you with his fingers ever so slowly teasing you.
“Okay your open enough” he said as he removed his fingers causing you to whine but know whine “Don’t be like that plus your gonna get in upgrade” he said as he started to push his tip into your hole as you could feel your hole being ripped apart by him not only was he long in his length but he was thick in his width as well.
Oh-ah mm-mhum” “shhh it’s fine I’m almost in completely” he said as he begin to kiss you to muffle your moans as he pushed past your entrance as he was now completely in giving you time to adjust.
“Oh fuck I missed this so much” Chris said breathless as he felt your warm hole around him. “See I told you Chris” you said to him as you got up from his chest “Call me sir I don’t like being called Chris well I have my dick up your ass” he said smiling happily.
“Okay sir” you said as you started to rock your hips and ride his cock as you placed your hand on his chest and he placed his around your waist as he watched your hips mesmerized as you rode him. “Oh fuck yeah baby you like my cock” “ oh fuc-k ye-s-s sir” you moaned as you rode him after now holding onto his shoulders.
“Yeah fuck your self on my cock baby fuck your self so hard so your dad wakes up and sees me with my cock up your ass baby” he said as he gripped you’re waist and began to fuck you hard and all that could be heard was skin clapping on skin and moans.
“Ah shit fuck sir yeah fuck my ass with your big cock” you moaned loudly as you could feel him tearing your ass up even more. “Mm-ahhh fuuuuuckk ima cum” “ Yeah cum for me baby cum for my big cock” Chris yelled as you cummed all over the bed and on him as he continued to fuck you through your high.
“Oh-Ah fuck yeah I’ma fucking cum” he yelled as you begun to feel his warm milk leaking out of your ass as you now rode him through his high.
“Oh fuck that was amazing” he said breathless as you stayed on top of him as you felt him go soft inside you “Why don’t you stay here” you asked him “um yeah okay I’ll stay tonight on your bed” he said in response.
“No I mean yes but we have a extra room stay a couple of days and I’ll convince my dad to make you move in so we could fuck anytime and anywhere when my dad works unless you don’t want to” “please and go away missing his tight ass no way” he said slapping your ass. “But right now I’m tired and I want to sleep is that okay” he said looking up at you “ yeah I’m tired to” you said as you where about to get off him” no stay I like being in you” he said as you then just laid on top of his chest soon falling asleep on top of him while he was still in you as though the night you could feel his cock pulse.
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੭ु⁾ ⚜ dating kai parker
❥ A/N : this is my new side blog, requests are opened so if u have some, ask away :) please reblog and comment if u enjoyed my content I need to see that the tvdu fandom is still there ! 👼🏻
⚜. kai is a clingy ass mf. he spent 22 years deprived of any physical contact and he just has to be touching you in some way, whether it's wrapping an arm around your waist in public or watching TV with you on his lap.
⚜. he's very insecure because of his childhood, he feels like a failure and a burden so he requires lots of patience and reassurance. also he can act childish if he is asked not to be so clingy, he might get pouty, but after he calms down, he will apologise for overwhelming you.
⚜. he's giving his all to you, he never felt so in love with someone before and he would do everything it takes to keep you with him. he tries to show love as best as he can but he was never truly loved by his family himself. he takes inspiration from the romance books he read while he was bored in the prison world, which never fails to make you feel like a princess.
⚜. acts of service is his main love language, he cooks for you any chance he gets and he smiles to himself while doing so, thinking of your bright smile seeing he surprised you with dinner
⚜. he really is one to pay attention to the little details and bring them up. he didn't talk to anyone for 22 years, he's very chatty that's for sure but he is a great listener too and is fascinated by every details of your life. he wants to make you feel important, loved and respected.
⚜. he loves to embarrass you in front of your friends and especially Damon. he has no filter and spills details about you two to whoever is in the room. "Y/N won't move from their bed today, have you taken them drinking?" Damon asks Caroline and Elena. "No they weren't with us, I think she was with- " Caroline starts but gets interrupted by Kai : "They were with me. And as a matter of fact, they can't move for obvious reasons" he says, smirking. The absence of reaction from your friends caused him to keep going. " I railed them, obviously, " he adds, chuckling. "Oh come on don't look so shocked it's not like you never fucked anyone before, no one here is a virgin as far as i know, especially not Damon, this little whore".
⚜. his nicknames for you are soooo random because he flirts with you any given moment, there is "sweetheart, princess, pretty girl, gorgeous, my love, babe and little devil", ironically he loves calling you the latter whereas you are the angel of the two of you, his angel. that's his name for you in his phone by the way, because he really sees you as a guardian angel.
⚜. he is super expressive and his reactions are the sweetest. The moment he saw you dressed up or trying a new make-up look, his jaw would literally drop and turn into a chuckle. He would put his hands on his mouth, and his eyes would widen. "you are fucking gorgeous y/n. how did I get so lucky." he says and embraces you into a hug.
⚜. his favourite thing is when you teach him about the new things he never got ahold of. Like when you show him the latest horror movies, he gets fascinated by the special effects and smiles like a little kid, or when you download instagram for him. speaking of, he is not a big fan of social media, he thinks it’s supid and useless and it cuts you off from reality.
⚜. he is canonically very childish and gets excited over small things. like if you surprise him with a burger from the mystic grill, he’ll get all giddy and of course, eat it like a pig. you bought a small crumbs vacuum and forced him to use it so that the couch would not be constantly dirty with his pork rinds leftovers.
© kolsangel. do not copy, modify, translate, repost or take my ideas/concept without giving credits but comments, feedback, reblogs and asks are very much welcome ! ⚜🩸
#tvd universe#tvd smut#tvd imagines#tvd x reader#kai parker x reader#kai parker x reader fluff#kai parker#malachai parker#bonnie bennett#elena gilbert#stefan salvatore#damon salvatore#chris wood#brandon north#kai parker icons#elijah mikaelson#klaus mikaelson#klaus smut#delena#stelena#klaroline#haylijah#hope mikaelson#legacies#gemini#gemini coven#liv parker#the vampire diaries#the vampire diaries imagines#flora simps ღ
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Happy birthday Chris 🥳. This man is 35 years old!!! 35 FUCKING YEARS OLD!!!! I'm about to cry man 😭. Been obsessed with this man since 2020, and I'm still not over him. All the roles that he played are amazing!. He is one of gods greatest creations. Even though I don't know this man, I believe that from my eyes he deserves the world and many more.
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Kai Parker x Fem! Reader. Smut.
Wc:3185
Hope you enjoy!! :)
DO NOT copy my work please!
My friends would never approve. And neither did I anymore. One time. That had been it. Enough of him I'd had.. That was a big lie. But I kept telling myself it, cause maybe if I said it often enough it'd turn out to be true.
I hadn't seen him the last two weeks. Good. Because I can't face him right now.. Hell I can't face him ever again.
Caroline chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "Have you seen Stefan yet? I invited him over today. Though I'm afraid... He may not take me up on my offer."
"Relax. He'll be here soon." I sent my friend a reasurring smile as she let out a breath. Slowly I looked around. So many people. I should've never agreed to come to a party like this one. He was bound to walk in at any second. I knew him a bit. Party crasher. Sex on legs.
No one knew. I kept it that way. He had luckily for me- Agreed to keep it quiet too. Despite him not wanting to... I wasn't one to randomly hook-up. Not my cup of tea. But I couldn't resist him...
I just could not. His adorable smile. Those white teeth. Blue eyes. His hair- Rings! Damnit. I need to get over it..
Another drink. And another. I wouldn't allow myself to get drunk. Absolutely not.
Taking a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth and... Repeat.
See I'm fine! Totally fi-.
"Mr. Sociopath at ten o'clock." Care whispered to me as I gave a curd nod, my head slowly turning, I took my time, pretending to scan the crowd first before I'd look at who had come inside..
My jaw clenched, whole body tensing.
Shit. Keep it cool.
Holy shit, he had about a three day stubble. Black boots, dark blue jeans, cuffed.. Jeans... A belt, rings, two bracelets. Both black. One looked like a string. The other like black beads. He wore a simple grey t-shirt. Simple but effective none the less. Then.. A leather fucking jacket- Where had he gotten that from-.
"Bastard." I mutter through clenched teeth. His eyes search the crowd too. Until finding mine where they stay and a shit eating grin lights up his face. In no time he's taking big strides over to where Caroline and I are and-.
"Hi." God this guy is quick. I look up at him. "What do you wa-."
He puts on this adorable smile. "You're ignoring my texts. Calls. I showed up at your house... About eight- if not more- Times. Why did you leave?"
Caroline her lips part in a knowing way. I shake my head. No. No. I can't have anyone know of this. Not even her.
"Malachai-." I grit out. He gives a nod. "Hm?" His eyes not once leaving mine.
"Answer me darlin'. Why did you leave my place?" He asked. "I made-." He looks down with a frown. First time I've ever seen him look... Uncertain?
I sigh. Take his hand and pull him away into an empty storage room, Liv is my friend.... She's the owner of this place she lets me..
"Oh~ Freaky.."
Pinch.
"Ow! What was that for-."
"I only have a few minutes before Care will suspect something..." I turn on the lights.
He stares at me with this.. This look I can't quite put my finger on.
"Why did you leave.. My place.. Y/n?" He asks me calmly to which I start to chew on my lower lip.
A few seconds of silence pass.
"Want me to do all the talking? Fine. I will." He nods.
"I woke up.. Right- Wait.. picture this.. I.. Woke up.. No.. Picture this. I'm naked and-."
I groan. "Kai.." His lips press together for a second.
"Sorry. I woke up-," He continues. "feeling.. Happy, very happy, giddy, I guess, so I take a look around. You've gone.. I don't hear the shower running. I listen, nothing. So... I frown to myself. Did I do something?"
He runs a hand down the back of his neck. "Then. I find your note. And I get the biggest stupidest smile back on my face-.."
Hey, so.. I'll be back in a bit..
I promise!! Uhm. So I am kinda
running some errands.. You know.
I will be back, haven't even had breakfast yet! ~Y/n <3.
"I go downstairs after my shower. And after I changed my sheets. And make you pancakes. With little smiley faces in syrup. I prayed you'd be back soon so the faces don't get ruined. And I sat on my couch. Waiting. An hour passes. Okay.. Maybe you just left.. Right?"
The tip of his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.
"Two, three, four, five... Hours-."
'Hey. You done yet?'
'Y/n.. It's been two hours.'
'Why aren't you answering my texts?'
'What's wrong?'
'Did I.. Do something?'
'Y/n.'
'Y/n I'm sorry.'
"You ignored me. All I want to know is why? I even put a blueberry or two.. Or three or four or ten on your pancakes. What did I do? You promised me you'd come back."
My throat closes up further. I feel like I can't breathe. "I haven't even fucking changed my pillow cover! Every night I lay awake and when I'm lucky I pick up on the scent of you. Still left on my pillow case. It's almost faded completely. But I refuse to change it."
My mind flashes back to that night.. His subble against the inside of my thighs while he worked his tongue on me. The faces he made. The lewd and fucking hot faces he made. The way his mouth fit perfectly on mine, on my pussy, around my nipples. On my whole body... The dirty things he whispered. The way he gazed his sharp fangs across the vein in my neck but didn't feed on me.
How his hands felt. Grasping me everywhere. How he sounded. How he looked above me. How he looked under me. How his huge cock felt in my mouth. How it felt inside me. How he had been the best sex of my entire life. How deeply in love I am with hi-.
I had been too lost in my mind.. To realize he.. The door closed. He left. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. How I must've looked like a fool not saying anything and how fucking embarrassed he must be for admitting all this. Without getting an answer.
I rush out the storage room. "Kai!" I call out. "Kai!!" As my eyes hurriedly try to look for him. Nowhere.. He-. I lost him. I fucking lost him... I didn't even explain myself.. Goddamnit...
For the first time in two whole weeks I text him. Call him. 'Please Kai let me explain.' 'I didn't mean to.' I wince.
I'm such a bitch.
● ● ● ● ●
The next few days are spent sulking by me. I text and call. But he ignores me. I even go by his home. But he ignores me.. So this is how he felt these last few weeks?
I take in a breath of fresh air when something dawns on me. I need to go there.. Now.. He can't hide from me forever.
I'm such an idiot. I should've gone back here the first day after he left.
I open the door and walk inside the Mystic Grill. There he is, drinking his feelings away, if only I had thought of this immediately. Of course he'd go back here.
He looks at me, he looks sad, so fucking sad..
I walk over to him and slip into the bar stool located closest next to his. I watch as Kai downs a shot.
"Kai please.. I am so sorry please let me explain-."
"This one is on the house." The bartender winks at him. "Just like the rest."
He smiles. "Thanks." Before getting up to his feet and walking off, I don't hesitate and immediately follow after him.
"Frankly- I am not in the mood to talk or see you right now." Kai sticks his hands into his pockets and quickens the pace of his steps.
"I know, like you did last time I will now speak. You don't have to. I just want you to listen to me." He doesn't reply.
"I woke up.. Looking around. My body felt these weird tingles. I was so sore, but in the best way possible. Then I saw you, you were still sleeping with your head in the crook of my neck. I ran my fingers through your hair and you let out a sigh against my neck, I could feel your lips curling up into a smile. Even if you were sleeping.."
I ran my hand down my jacket. Smoothing out whatever I can.
"And what I felt in that moment scared the living shit out of me. My stomach did weird flips. I got hot all.. Over. However I took a deep breath and managed to move out from under you, even from off the bed without waking you up."
I bite my lower lip nervously.
"You turned to lay on your back. The sheets all messed up. You had kicked them off your torso, I watched for a fee seconds.. Probably even minutes as your chest rose and fell with the way you were breathing. You looked so at ease. So peaceful, so gorgeous.. I wished I could join you again.. Cause waking up in your arms was the best thing ever."
He didn't show any emotion besides the way his jaw ticked slightly there was nothing unusual about him.
"I got dressed. My panties were ripped so I sneakily stole your boxers." I smile vaguely At the memory. "What I felt.. Feel for you scared me. I wrote the note. Pressed a kiss to your lips. Ran my hands through your hair just one more time and then fleed. Was I planning on coming back after writing the note? Part of me wanted to.. But I didn't. I didn't because I knew. That if I did. I would never want to leave. I would want to spend the rest of my life with you. And that's not something you would have wanted. At least that's what I told myself. So I tried to let you go.. Ever since."
I didnt realize we stopped walking and his hands were cupping my cheeks. "Y/n. Listen to me. I may.. Look it-." He smirked. "But. I am not one to just sleep with anyone I meet. I am not one to jump into bed with the first girl that offers. I hadn't slept with anyone since I'd gotten out of the prison world besides you."
"Because I was secretly waiting on you. I wouldn't have cared if we ended up not having sex that night. I would've been over the moon with just the talking and out dancing together."
"It's not about the sex for me it's about you. Why can't you see that. Why did you run away from me.. I know you felt it too. Our connection that night-.. Went beyond anything.." He tries to search my eyes, desperately.
"I'm so sorry. I got so scared. It came to me so quickly... And I felt so much, so fast. That it scared me away. I am so in love with you it scares me shitless.''
Kai's lips part slightly as he sucks in a breath. I just realize what I confessed on accident.
"Fuck." He breathes out shaking his head as he wraps his arms around me. A gesture that comes as totally unexpected. But I happily accept it. Hugging him back.
"I'm not good with feelings at all. But what I do know is that I feel.. A lot.. For you and that scares me too. But it doesn't make me want to run.. I.. I don't want to run away from you. All I know is I wanna be as close to you as possible."
I can't help the smile forming on my lips as we both slowly let go of our embrace.
"Come back home with me.. I really want you to taste my pancakes... We can pretend these past few weeks didn't happen? You just came back... From your errands.." He gives me a hopeful look and I nod.
"Let's go big boy."
● ● ● ● ●
His pancakes are the best I've ever had.... His movie choices are amazing... His cuddles are the best. He's so... Warm.. And hard.. Soft too. All in the right places.
After the movies.. He decides to take a shower while I wait for him on his bed. We planned on falling asleep together too. Taking things slow.. Wanting to discover what our feelings really mean.
"Y/n! I'm done! You can come in immediately after me so I can leave the shower running!" He calls out to me as I obey and walk into the bathroom. His mirror is all fogged up so I draw a smiley face on it and a heart.
I hear the rain of water get louder. Meaning it's all hitting the floor. Meaning he just got out of the shower. "Awh.. A heart." I hear from behind me as I take a shaky breath when he moves closer to me.
Wiping away most the condence on the mirror. I dare to look up. He's looking right at me from the mirror. "Undress then darlin'." He smirks.
Smooth fucker-.
I give a nod and take a deep breath before I undress with his eyes on me. However Kai is getting dry himself too.
The sound of the water hitting the shower floor gets fainter and fainter. My heartbeat gets louder and louder and faster.. And faster, I can hear it loud and clear. Drumming in my ears.
Once I'm fully undressed I turn around. Facing him, he's blinking quickly a few times. My eyes go up and down again and again.
He's completely naked. His towel hung up on a small rack.
I watch him standing there. Damp messed up hair, beautiful face.. His adam's apple and collarbone visible. His pecs sculpted, nipples seem slightly hard. His chest heaving with the way he's breathing. Seems to be quite quick.
Like my own.
He has abs. Slight abs. Not too much. Just perfect. His waist is slightly curvy, curved inwards towards his hips, in the most masculine way possible. His v-line. Happy trail leads down to an area with dark curls.. Not too much hair overall though- Which leads to-.
That.
His cock is perfect. Long, thick and so hard. He's.. Hard. My mouth nearly waters at the sight.
His thighs are thick and strong. Just like his calves and even his feet are perfect. Don't get me started on his big arms- And those big, skilled hands with long fingers-.
"Kai." I mumble to which he shakes his head. "Slow." He just says. I nod in agreement even though I don't agree. The dampness between my legs says enough. Just like the way my legs wobble as I make my way over and into his shower.
I don't even think I'm in complete control of myself when the shower turns off and I walk back out without getting myself too wet.
I step back on the towel he has on his bathroom floor. I'm met with a Kai who looks at me confused. He opens his mouth to speak but before he gets the chance to. I push him back against the counter, lean up to him and kiss him.
Passion, lust, desperate, wanting.. Love.
Are the words I'd use to describe this kiss. My hands are placed on his chest. His hands are.. Everywhere. From the crook of my neck to my ass. Squeezing.
Kai pulls back panting. "You.. Said.. Take it.. Slow." He manages, to which I shrug. "Changed my mind." I smirk and grab his hair pulling it back slightly to which he moans in response.
God how much I missed that sound.
I kiss his neck. Sucking on a few spots I know he enjoys...
He then suddenly puts me down on the counter and stands in between my spread open legs.
In no time he has two of those deliciously long fingers pumping in and out of me. "Holy fuck you're so wet." He groans out and moves them even faster. His other hand toys with my breasts.. Twisting my nipples, squeezing my boobs.
My hand is around his throbbing cock in no time. I stoke him teasingly slow. Taking my time.. Until..
A low growl comes from his throat as he pulls me back up to my feet. Turns me around so that I'm facing the mirror, spreads my legs apart and.. He's inside of me.
The stretch is as painfully beautiful as I remember. It makes me let out a silent scream against my hand.
My hair is fisted in his hand. With each hard thrust it's yanked back. Though his other hand grasps at my chin and makes me look at myself in the mirror. The combination of both these things.. Feels amazing.. Like my hair is getting ripped out my scalp. Yet it isn't.
"Look at you. Getting fucked. Aren't you pretty Princess?" He asks me. I try to answer. But I can't hypnotized by the way he looks and sounds.
Groans, grunts, growls, moans and evem the tiniest of whimpers leave his lips when he pounds into me from behind. His eyes hooded. Though keeping eyecontact with me. His lips beautifuly parted. His sex face is something else.
It makes my pussy clench.. Literally. I clench hard around his dick to which he whines. "Shit. You're gonna make me come." He warns.
I nod. My hands behind my back and on his thighs. Nails digging into them when feeling his cock twitch in release. My walls are coated with his hot cum as he squeezes my throat and gives a few hard and very controlled thrusts. Shooting me over the edge. My insides pulsate and spasm as I have one of the best orgasms of my entire life.
In Kai's arms. Cause he's calmed down and has his arms wrapped around me gently now, I shake and slowly land back on planet earth.
Not even knowing what planet I was on a few seconds ago when having my mind shattering orgasm.
Before I can get comfortable cockwarming him he's pulled out of me and I grip the edge of the counter, afraid I may fall. "Shh baby, I'm right here." I smile lazily and nod. Two strong arms pick me up and put me down somewhere nice and warm. Somewhere I wanna be for the rest of my life.
Kai keeps holding me. I realize I'm laying on top of him and under the warm sheets.
I listen to the calm rhythm of his heart.. And fall asleep to it. Not before whispering an 'I love you.' To him and Kai being Kai.. Whispers an 'I love you... Even more." Right back...
#kai parker#chris wood#smut#kai parker x reader#kai parker x y/n#kai parker fanfiction#fanfiction#writing#fluff
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Sand & Seashells
Warnings: cursing, smut, public sex, unprotected sex
Pairings: Kai Parker x Female Vampire Reader
Summary: In which Y/N and Kai go to the beach together but, a simple trip to the beach turns naughty.
Prompts: "I could just pull your bikini bottom to the side, no one will notice." and "I'd hold onto something if I were you."
Requested: yes
© Honeybear-Yammy, please do not steal, translate, copy, or transfer my work.
You and Kai pulled into the parking lot. There was a lot of people at the beach today since it was a super hot day today. Today was the hottest day in the summer yet this year. You and Kai both got out of the car and got your stuff out of the back seat and trunk.
Kai had came up with the idea of coming to the beach and you had just bought a new bikini so you loved to have a chance to show it off. You helped Kai carry the stuff down to the beach and the two of you found a nice area further away from the crowd.
You were basically out of view of the crowd but in a way you were also kind of close to them still. You both laid your towels out and got everything set up. You sat down on your towel and then got your sunscreen out and started putting it on.
You put the sunscreen on your arms, legs, chest, neck, shoulder, face, basically everywhere you could reach you put the sunscreen on. You then looked to Kai and handed him the sunscreen.
"Could you put some sunscreen on my back please?" You asked.
"Sure." He said with a smile and put some sunscreen on his hands. You turned around and moved your hair off of your back. He began to put the sunscreen on your back, massaging it in. Once he finished he put the sunscreen down by your towels.
You checked your phone quickly and as you did, Kai smirked getting a naughty idea. As you were checking your phone, he got an idea since you were distracted and pulled the strings of you bikini top.
You gasped and quickly grabbed your bikini top and held it to your chest and looked back at Kai. He sat there with a devilish smirk on his face.
"Kai! What the hell!" You said, your cheeks beginning to heat up.
"Is there an issue baby?" He asked still smirking.
"Yeah, you almost exposed my tits to everyone on this beach!" You said as you fixed your top and tied the string back up again. You then turned and sat to face him.
"We are far away from everyone baby. Why not go crazy?" He asked.
"I- what are you talking about?" You asked.
"Why not just fuck right here right now?" Kai asked.
"I- baby! What if someone sees us?!" You asked nervously.
"I could just pull your bikini bottom to the side, no one will notice." He said. You sat there and thought about it for a moment. You had to admit though, the thought of getting caught was a major turn on.
"Alright... I mean fucking on the shore would be sexy." You said.
"Right? So you want to do it?" He asked.
"Yeah, I want to do it." You said with a giggle. He smirked and then he leaned in and kissed you passionately. He gently pushed you down onto your towel, making you lay down. He spread your legs and pulled your bikini bottom to the side.
He then tugged his swim trunks down enough that he could take his cock out of them. He positioned himself between your legs and before he pushed in he looked back to you.
"I'd hold onto something if I were you." He said with a devilish smirk. You blinked a little surprised but then smirked a little and wrapped your arms around his neck, deciding to hold onto him.
He then thrusted into you wet pussy. You gasped and bit your lip. He thrusted into you, slowly going faster and faster. You let out quiet, soft moans since if you moaned too louder, people would be able to hear both of you.
You arched your back as he thrusted into you harder and faster. You bit your lip so your moans were muffled. He was so fucking good as making you feel amazing. He always hit all the right spots.
He then began to hit your g-spot over and over again, now fucking you at an ungodly pace. You threw your head back and bit your lip more. He leaned down and began to kiss your neck until he found your sweet spot.
Once he found your sweet spot he began to suck on it. You gasped and moaned out as he sucked on your sweet spot and kept hitting your g-spot over and over again. You felt a familiar knot growing in your stomach.
"Fuck! I'm gonna cum!" You said as you moaned out, trying not to be too loud.
"Come on, cum for me pretty girl." He said. With that your eyes rolled back and your legs began to tremble as you came hard on his cock. He thrusted into you a few more times before coming himself, shooting his load deep inside of you, painting your walls white.
Kai then pulled out and fixed your bikini bottom so it was covering your pussy. He then fixed his swim trunks, putting his cock back in his shorts as he pulled them up. He then laid back down on his towel with a smirk.
You giggled as you were catching your breath. You could not believe that you just let Kai fuck your brains out right here on the beach. Then the two of you went back to what you were doing before and pretend like that never happened.
Author's Note: tysm for reading!
#tvd#tvdu#kai parker#k. parker#malachai parker#m. parker#kai parker smut#kai parker x reader#malachai parker smut#malachai parker x reader#smut#tvd smut#tvdu smut#smut warning#tw smut#tw#chris wood#c. wood#yammy's fics
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Jake Riley Masterlist
Smut/Nsfw will be marked with a ~ and under the cut. Minors Do Not Engage.
Jake Riley
Dating Jake Riley Would Include
#containment#containment imagine#jake riley#jake riley imagine#jake riley x reader#jake riley smut#dating jake riley would include#Chris Wood#chris wood imagine
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wrong room - Matt Sturniolo
summary: you recently met nick through social media, he invites you over to his house for the night. while walking to the bathroom you accidentally enter the wrong room, walking in on matt masturbating.
contains: smut, caught masturbating, soft!dom matt, swearing, light choking.
a/n: this fic will contain different pov's between yours and matts, but it will have a little text so you will known when.
—----------------┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐----------———
i met nick just the other month at taras party, we instantly clicked resulting in him inviting me round today. i've been hanging out with him around his house his whole day with one of his triplet brothers, chris, i think.
(y/n's pov)
i lean against nicks countertop as he has a poor attempt to cook, "nick- nick no!" i laugh, grabbing the bag of flour as he repeatedly hits it with his elbow while mixing the dough.
"oh god, my fault" he says with a a grin as chris walks over, he spanks the cookie dough which is inside the mixing bowl, earning a slap from nick.
"okay- i'll give it a go." i decide to finally step up, nick steps out of the way as i look into the bowl, its somehow completely unmixed even after hes mixed for a solid 5 minutes.
i look over my shoulder, my eyebrows knit in confusion as i lock eyes with nick, "i'm actually not sure how i managed that."
"its okay baking isn't for everyone." i tease, he scoffs as chris laughs, "how do you mix for 20 minutes and all the ingredients look the exact same as when we put them in the bowl." chris says,
nick mocks him with a finger in the air and a nerdy tone, chris punches his shoulder.
i step away, "do you guys have a bathroom?" i ask, "nah we shit in the woods." chris says.
"yeah, we use the bark off the trees to wipe then bury it with our hands." nick adds on, unlocking the backdoor and opening it for me.
i go to walk out slowly, chris grabs my shoulder and spins me around, "down the hallway, and the last door on the left."
"oh-" i say with a loud laugh as i walk down the hall, i hear the metal of the bowl collide with the wooden floor from behind me "shit!" nick says.
i get to the end of the corridor and look to my right, the door is shut. i grip the handle and open it,
my eyes widen as i instantly grow hot, the third triplet, matt, is laying across the bed. hes wearing a green shirt and a necklace hangs loosely around his neck. his sweatpants are tugged down to his mid thighs as he's repeatedly running his hand up and down his length with his head thrown back.
(matts pov)
"fuck- fuck fuck-" strings of whimpers exit my mouth as slick noises fill the room, i brush my fingers over my sensitive tip before continuing to run my hand up and down my cock, the cold metal of my rings dragging against the veins.
"oh my god 'm- please please-" i whine, squeezing my eyes shut as i throw my head back against my headboard. my ears ring,
i dont even register the click of the door opening until i hear a feminine gasp "shit-" i hear.
my eyes spring open as i abruptly stop all hand movements, she stares at me in shock. her face is white and her mouth is open, after a few seconds she scrambles out of the room with several 'sorry's'
i sigh as my cheeks grow red, i didn't even cover myself. my hand is still wrapped around my length.
i stand up out of bed, my legs weak. i'm still hard but i've completely lost my train of thought, too embarrassed to think about finishing now. i hear the bathroom door slam shut, meaning that this girl has now found the bathroom.
i pull up my sweatpants, grabbing hand sanitiser off my bedside table and clean up my hands before pulling up my sweatpants.
"matt!!" i hear nick call from the kitchen. i open the door of my bedroom before making my way up the corridor.
(y/n's pov)
i unlock the door to the bathroom before walking back up towards the kitchen, the 3 triplets are there.
"we got the cookies in the oven but it turned to fucking liquid as soon as we put 'em in." chris says, pulling out the chair to the dining table and flopping down on it,
"this is matt, i don't think you've met him yet." nick says, matt and i lock eyes and he sticks his hand out for a hand shake.
i hesitate before shaking his hand, "formal ass greeting" nick says, elbowing matt and sitting down at the table, "sorry- 'm matt" matt says, running a hand through his hair "no worries, im y/n!" i say chirpily
all four of us gather at the table, matt is directly opposite me and i can feel his eyes lying on me, we keep making eye contact as chris and nick speak with each other about god knows, hes painfully attractive i have to admit, his tatoos, rings, awkward persona.
"its almost midnight, do you wanna start headed to bed?" nick asks me, i nod before walking off with nick towards his room.
"are you okay?" nick asks me as soon as the door shuts, "no- no i'm fine."
"is it matt?" nick laughs slightly as he pulls on a crewneck sweater and leaps into his bed. "yeah- no- i mean it's just i've met him before..?" i lie through my teeth, nick nods suspicously.
"well i'm tired as shit so i'm gonna cut it" nick says, "cut it?" i laugh, laying down beside nick.
"go to sleep? cut it....?" he smiles with a shrug.
-
nicks fast asleep, i just now remember the fact the cookies have been in the oven for over 35 minutes. i jump up, speed-walking out of the room and into the kitchen. i take out the metal tray, the 'cookies' are just lumps of charcoal now.
with a groan i exit the kitchen, i can see through the crack in his bedroom door that matt's still awake.
i don't know what posseses me but i knock softly on the door, "come in." i hear.
i open the door, matts shirtless in bed, still wearing those sweatpants from earlier.
(matt's pov)
my eyes widen as i see her walk into the room, "hi, uh- i just wanted to apologise for earlier." she says, i stand up out of bed to get closer to her, she shuts the door behind her. she’s only wearing a loose and long shirt which looks like a dress on her, with panties, which show every time she lifts up her arms.
"i should've knocked." she continues, i smile and shake my head.
"no i totally get it, honest mistake" i reply, "wasn't the best way to meet you so i'm sorry about that." she laughs slightly.
"its all okay," i say, "so you're not mad at me?" she asks shyly. "i would never be mad about that?" i sigh, pulling her into a hug.
theres a thick tension in the air, i don't know where it's come from but i know we are both feeling it.
she looks up at me, my arms are still loosely wrapped around her back.
she grabs my jaw before colliding our lips together, her lips are soft, i hesitate before kissing her back, my hand lacing into her hair.
i guide her back, she falls backwards onto my matress as our lips stay joined, our tongues now fighting for dominance.
her hands reach down and start tugging down my waistband. i pull away for a second, “are you sure?” i ask her, she nods frantically “please- yes.”
“arms up.” i say, she puts her arms above her head as i reach down, pulling off her loose tshirt. my eyes fall to her tits as my cheeks flush, she squirms on the matress impatiently.
i tug off her panties, discarding them somewhere across my room. she’s fully bare infront of me, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
i lean over her to reach my bedside table, fiddling around in the drawer for a condom, “i’m on the pill,” she says grabbing my wrist and pulling me away
“oh shit okay!” i say, sounding a little too excited. she laughs slightly.
“you gotta be really, fucking, quiet.” i stare into her eyes, “nick is through that fucking wall and chris is the other side, if you get too loud i’ll stop mhm?”
she nods frantically “yes- yeah okay”
i line myself up with her, my hand travels down to grip her waist and i hold her hand with my free hand.
i push inside of her, instantly feeling her grip around me. i immediately worry, there’s not a single chance i’m lasting past a minute with her being this tight.
she lets out a delicate moan, holding herself back as she presses her lips together. i give her a minute to adjust before thrusting out to my tip, then pressing deeper inside of her.
with each thrust i pick up my pace as i stay concentrated on the wall, trying not to instantly cum.
she throws her head back, arching her back off my bed as every so often she lets out a shaky deep breath. i take the hand that’s on her waist and press down on her lower abdomen, seeing how far i can push her before she makes a noise.
i stop holding her hand with my other hand, and start tracing figure 8’s on her clit.
she finally breaks, letting on a desperate moan which seemed to come out louder than expected. i quicken my movements before slamming a hand over her pretty mouth. i hear a muffled ‘close’ and i continue to toy with her clit, keeping a hand plastered on her mouth.
she clenches around me, a whimper falls from my mouth as i feel her release, screaming my name.
i take my hand off her clit and place a hand on her throat, pressing lightly as she comes down from her high.
i pull out of her, finishing in my hand.
i flip down next to her, pulling her ontop of me and rubbing her back soothingly as i attempt to catch my breath. “matt..” i hear her say quietly,
“mhmm?” i reply, “can you walk me back to nicks room.” she says, sitting up on my thighs and reaching for her shirt.
“yeah, of course.” i say with a smile.
she crawls off of me to retrieve her underwear, which landed on my computer keyboard.
i sit up, pulling on my sweatpants and a soft shirt before grabbing her hand.
i creak open my bedroom door, she follows close behind me. i open the door to nicks room where he’s spread out on his bed, fast asleep. i pull down the covers and sweep her off her feet.
i lay her down on the bed, adjusting her head on the pillow before pulling up the duvet, i press my lips to her forehead before leaving the room.
————————-
(y/n’s pov)
9:38am
i wake up to the sun blaring on my face, i roll over, my legs still hurting from last night. i sit up, “nick” i tap him, he shoots up in bed.
“jesus!” i laugh, “how the fuck did you get up that fast- were you awake??”
nick erupts into laughter, “you scared me that’s all!” he says, i scoff before standing up out of bed, nick follows behind me as i open the door to his room.
i walk into the kitchen where chris and matt already are, leaning on the kitchen counter.
“good morning!” i say, matt shoots me a stupid smile “guess what.” chris says blankly, my heart drops, did he hear matt and i last night?
“what.” i instantly reply, looking over at matt who looks equally as nervous as me.
he walks over to the stovetop where the tray of ‘cookies were’ he picks them up and walks over to nick, matt and i.
“oh yeah- you dumbfucks left ‘em in the oven so i took them out.”
“what. the. FUCK is that” nick laughs, backing away from the burnt excuses of cookies.
“are they edible still?” chris genuinely asks, looking over at me for an awnser.
“chris what do you think.”
——————-
#sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut
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Stereotypical Sociopath
kai parker works other tvd works main masterlist
Summary-> in attempts to avoid Kai, you go to the one place where he is least welcome, the Salvatore Boarding House. But nothing, even your own stubbornness is ever enough to keep him away from you. He always gets what he wants… (1.7k)
Warnings-> 18+ minors dni, smut, fwb, dirty talk, daddy kink, blowjob, degradation, fingering, unprotected sex
There were a lot of things that you could say about Kai Parker, he was selfish and homicidal and down right annoying. You couldn’t remember how Kai had first gotten you into his bed, it had all been a blur of haste insults that you had fired at the witch, you had pounded your fists against his chest until they were removing his shirt from his body. It was never meant to happen again after the first collision of your bodies, it was a one time thing you had told yourself.
But the sex continued to happen, time and time again, from the bathroom of the grill to against a tree in the woods, and many more places that you were too embarrassed to admit. Every time that you saw him there was a lustful shadow overbearing his eyes, you tried to avoid him in any social setting, and so instead of venturing somewhere public, you decided for somewhere that you visioned as a safe place. The Salvatore Boarding House. It was quiet by the entryway, or as far as you could hear, which surprised you. Often times than not, since Jeremy and Elena had moved into the residency, there was more life that had been brought into it. Having your childhood friends now live within the brothers’ domain inclined you to visit more regularly, even when there wasn’t a supernatural crisis.
Despite the lack of people in your peripheral, you continued to walk the hallway that was no doubt older than you were. It was eerie and suspiciously quiet, there was usually at least one person home. You treated lightly, holding in your breath, almost afraid of what could lie ahead. “Elena? Damon?” Just as you had expected, there was no response to your calling, you could only sigh and plop down on the couch, grabbing yourself a crystallised glass of Damon’s precious bourbon, swirling the contents around until you burned your throat with the distilled substance.
“Drinking alone I see…” the intruder’s voice made you jump as an electric swarm rose up your spine, the expensive glass slipping from your disturbed grasp and shattering into dozens of shards upon the wooden flooring. As your head snapped up to meet his cold eyes, you were figuratively compelled to flood with overbearing desire. Malachai goddamn Parker, it was impossible for him to leave you alone! It was infuriating, you were angry and horny at the same time, and it was all his fault. You groaned, none of your efforts to escape the curse that kept gravitating the two of you towards one another appeared to be working. “I didn’t mean to make you jump pretty girl, unless it was on top of me.” The bastard had the nerve to smirk, and upon reaction you flew to stand on your feet, standing before his smug self, his pleasure only radiating irritancy out of yourself. “Or you could be beneath me, I’m happy either way Y/N.”
“Will you please shut up for once in your life Kai?” He was really annoying you now, more so when he raised his brows, no doubt taking your words as an explicit suggestion. And so you raised your hand, swiftly bringing it towards his face to brandish him with a smack, however the witch caught your wrist, tutting disappointedly at your attempt of retaliation. “Naughty girl.” It was impossible to not melt from his degradation, feeling small as he dragged you closer towards him. “What would your little friends think if they knew that you were running around with the devil behind their backs? They would be so ashamed with all the things we have done, especially when they discover how much you crave the thrill. But is it really thrill that you can’t get enough of, or is it just my cock?” Kai was crude as he filled your head with these scenarios, you’d never admit it to him or anyone else, but you had a hunger for more. Perhaps if he wasn’t the sociopath that he had been forged into by his traditional coven, then things could have possibly turned out differently.
“Kai…” he faked a condescending pout as you spoke his name, his lips lingering just over yours, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his grey blue eyes sending a variation of emotions into your mortal soul. “That’s not my name sweet cheeks. Now why don’t you get down on your knees like a good little girl for daddy, and apologise to him in the way you do best?” He helped you sink down to be sat on your knees, submitted to him to appease his own pleasures. This was the confines of your friends’ home, it was more than wrong to be doing this here, but you were helplessly seduced as Kai released his belt from the grip around his waist, and undid his jeans, pulling them down so that his boxer covered hard on was mere inches from your awaiting lips. You hated yourself as you remembered that you had gone out of your way to keep your distance from the siphon, and you were stupid for doing so. This was exactly what you wanted, for the big of you to be entangled in a passionate mess, despite the terrible logic that scolded your brain for going on a forbidden adventure with your heart.
“Yes daddy,” It was too late for you, once again you were cradled by Kai’s trap, and you were willing to comply with everything that he said. He smiled at your obedience, finally giving into your needy expression and undressing his length, making you drool as you grew threateningly hungry for it. There was already precum oozed at his tip, he pushed it towards your mouth and you opened up wide for him, engulfing his cock past your lips, tearing a heavenly moan from the man who strewed his hands through the lengths of your hair, guiding your movements to pleasure himself.”i could spend all day with you like this.” He praised you, curing your locks around his knuckles so that he could force you to take him deeper. His tip abuse the back of your throat, gagging sounds emitting from you as tears dwelled in your eyes, planning to jump and run down your face.
Nevertheless it would be the worst thing imaginable if the whole charade the two of you were playing was to stop. The sex was mind blowing, but other than that you enjoyed being close to him, despite all the things he had done and proceeded to do. Without the bedding relations that you shared with Kai, he would be nothing more than your enemy. You felt as though he was just that as he pulled your head away from his lubricated cock, frowning menacingly up at him, though he silenced the argument that dared to spill with his lips, encompassing you in the moment as he smoothly laid you upon the ancient sofa, clambering atop of you as his fingers snuck under the shadow of your skirt, teasing you before plunging his digits into your cunt, breathing in your moans as he refused to disassociate his lips from your own. “Kai… fuck. I love you and your fingers.” Your eyes blew open widely as you realised that you had spoken your admission, and Kai paused, making you worry with every nerve in your body.
“Took your time to say it gorgeous.” He smiled, a genuine, toothy smile, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders; he hadn’t even punished you for referring to him by his name, which was significantly unusual. Kai bowed down so that he could press a feather light kiss onto your forehead, a warmth of safety and acceptance washing over your body. “I love this pretty pussy of yours, but not as much as I think I love you.” He, after his long pause, continued to hammer his fingers into you, as though he hadn’t just made a large step into his progress of being a better man and feeling something that made him visibly human. He was experiencing a little thing called growth, and it made your heart swell from realising it. Though that clearly wasn’t on his mind once he removed his fingers from within your walls, sucking tour juices from around them as he situated himself, rubbing the head of his cock along your slit, plunging it in, causing you to euphorically cry out, having to bite his shoulder to muffle the pattern of noises that your brain arranged for you to release. “Oh my god.”
“Oh my god indeed. Seriously, what is wrong with you Y/N?” A new voice spoke, directed in the opposing direction as they had turned themself away to save their eyes from the sight. You were screwed, figuratively and physically as you ushered Kai off of you, knowing damn well that Damon, and who you could see from the back as Elena were repulsed by the choices that you had made. It was going to be a long explanation that would be worthy of some defence, but no matter what, you couldn’t disregard the love that you and Kai had uncovered. The witch sighed as he stood, having tucked himself away as Damon finally saw it for to turn around. “Come on Damon, our good little Y/N has to explore her deepest, darkest parts somehow. And on my part it’s from the inside out.” And that was no doubt through him, however the vampire shook his midnight locked head.
“I’m not on about you two screwing, we all realised that the two of you were fucking behind the scenes quite early on. But you broke my glass! How many am I expected to replace because of your slippery fingers? Don’t even get me started on when Lockwood was wolfing out on you and you smashed one in his face. Or…” he continued with his infinite examples, and you were aware whilst his present concern were his bourbon glasses, that he wasn’t pleased with the idea of you and Kai, it wasn’t his choice, and nothing he said could change the way you felt. And after all, you could always break another glass.
#kai parker smut#kai parker x reader#kai parker imagine#kai parker fluff#kai parker x you#kai parker x y/n#kai parker fanfiction#kai parker fic#vampire diaries smut#chris wood smut#chris wood x reader#vampire diaries fanfiction#vampire diaries imagine#the vampire diaries x reader
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FOOLISH LOVERS. luke castellan
description. luke castellan has betrayed camp half blood. luke castellan has made an enemy out of those around you. and unfortunately, luke castellan has always held a place in your heart that you can't close off. at least, not until you meet with him one final time.
includes. SMUT 18+, fem!reader, daughter of hypnos reader, oral (f and m receiving), brief anal rimming (f receiving), implied p n v, dreamscape sex again, angst galore, some arguing, references to pjo ep 8. inspo from wicked game by chris isaak
wc: 5.8k+
a/n: a dreamcatcher: daughter of the god of dreams installment.
Before you can realize the change, you’re standing on a hill.
It takes you a second to notice, but the area is much like your dreamscape. Low, waving blades of grass that travel through the air with the wind brushing against your bare ankles. The ocean is loud and to your right, down beneath a steep cliff. From just a quick glance, you see a storm brewing off into the distance. The water swirls angrily as if it’s ready to disrupt anything that dares to come into its path.
You can’t help but think about the betrayed son of the sea god back in reality who surely feels the same.
When you take your eyes away from the entrancing scenery of the ocean, you notice a cabin directly in front of you. It’s small, and made from long wooden logs, although there isn’t a forest nearby to identify the source of the frame. The exterior is slightly shabby, appearing manmade with a few imperfections.
It’s not on a comparable scale to the cabins back at Camp Half-Blood, but something about it feels cozy. It gives implications of a simpler life. Maybe what summer camp could have been if you weren’t the offspring of a god.
That and the clouds rumbling with warnings of an approaching storm is what encourages you to seek refuge in the four walls.
Step by step, you don’t fail to notice how a focus subject has yet to appear.
Your hand wraps around the doorknob and you push the slab of wood open as you wonder who’s dream you could have been pulled into tonight.
You haven’t even stepped foot over the threshold, you have started to convince yourself that this is the dream of the son of the sea god, and then someone speaks.
“Hey.”
You stop.
Your foot hovers for a second before you place it back beside the other.
That voice. You hadn’t heard it for months now, but you know it. Day after day, you lay at night with your eyes closed, cementing the memory of the way he spoke and how he sounded as he laughed at your jokes into your mind. Forcing yourself to recall the inflections in his tone as he teased you, and how his words flattened out and got hard when he gave orders to yourself and others. And then, completely involuntarily, you would force yourself to pick through every single intonation and word that you could remember, attempting to find signs. Any hints or clues that Luke Castellan wasn’t the person he made himself out to be.
Each night, you grapple with the fact that you couldn’t find any clues. You tried to reconcile with your blindness, all while telling yourself that you could have attempted to prevent it all.
But hearing his voice now, none of that returns. Unexpectedly, your body floods with warmth.
Luke sits on a small loveseat. The shape of it is a bit of a blur at first, but you blink and it cleans up to present a busy patterned textile couch. It’s well loved, there are a few tears in the bottom of the fabric at the back, and if you’re smelling it correctly, there’s a slight waft of cigarette smoke.
Strangely enough, it’s inviting.
You hate to admit it to yourself, but the boy sitting at one end of it makes it even more inviting.
You step into the cabin and close the door behind you.
“Hey, Luke.”
He turns around to face you at the sound of your voice. You sound stronger than you expected. More casual, too.
You realize that he’d been looking out a large set of windows before facing you. There’s only two but they take up most of the small wall. Outside is a perfect view of the land you’d just come from; bright green grass in the foreground and deep blue salt water off into the distance.
Luke stares at you.
The cabin is a little dark—there’s a lamp in the far corner that illuminates the room, washing out the otherwise blue light from outside—but you think his eyes are shining. As if there’s unshed tears barely held within them.
He smiles at you. It’s soft and almost mournful.
You should leave.
You shouldn’t be fraternizing with Luke at all, even if it is within a dreamscape. You couldn’t trust yourself in a room with him, especially with the things the two of you used to do when you were in dreamscapes alone.
Just looking at him reminds you of all of those times. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. The feeling of his muscles beneath your inquisitive hands. The deep and smooth sound of his voice. The way everything felt so real and so tangible as he rocked into you, and then as euphoria swept over your bodies you felt so infinite and surreal.
Your teeth find your lower lip. Your body urges you to get closer to Luke. Stubbornly, you stay in your spot.
“What d’you think?” He lifts a finger and circles it around in the air. Your eyes lift and you finally take in the rest of the cabin.
The main room is spacious, but comfortable. Lightly furnished with hardwood floors. Though almost every surface is covered in some sort of rug, most of them persian. There’s a small kitchen to your left, and then the living area that Luke sits in on the right. There’s a few bookshelves but there aren’t many books on them, and there’s a fireplace that looks to have never been used before. A few picture frames sit on the mantle of the fireplace, but from afar they just appear to be showcasing blobs of people without any distinctive features to identify an identity.
Admittedly, for this to be the created dreamscape of the son of a messenger, it’s impressive.
You tell him as such.
This time, Luke’s smile is appreciative.
“Means a lot coming from you. Especially with the things you can create.”
Your skin heats up and you block the memories out of your head before they can firmly cement themselves once more.
“You might have me beat, Castellan. Giving me a run for my money.”
You don’t know why you decide to fall into the old routine with him. Maybe it’s because you can’t push Luke away for the life of you. He was once your friend and so much more at the same time. It’s impossible for you to completely forget the times you shared together.
Maybe it’s the home making you feel this way.
How comfortable it feels. How protective it is.
You’ve spent weeks pulled into unfortunate dreams. Nightmares have plagued even the toughest minds of Camp Half Blood as of late, and you’ve been unable to fortify your own mind enough to prevent slipping into the mind of others. Which has left you to fight against unbeatable monsters, fortify the barriers of Camp only to have them knocked down by Zeus over and over again, watch those you love die in horrible battles, and much much more.
In comparison, there is the possibility of a simple conversation with Luke Castellan giving you what you’d been desperately missing even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself: Luke’s company.
It’s how you reason with yourself whenever you take a seat atop the cushion of the couch. Instantly, it feels as if you’ve never truly known comfort before. This couch conforms to the curves of your body. You lean back against it, pull your feet up with you, and you quickly decide to stay a little while longer.
Up close, Luke looks even prettier than you remember. Dark curly hair a little more grown out, unruly and hanging over his forehead like low hanging fruit, begging for you to latch onto it. His face looks a little slimmer as if he’s lost weight, and the angular planes of his cheekbones and jawline accentuates the dark shadow he has along his chin. The mark of facial hair that was previously present. Beneath his clothes—a faded black, almost gray hoodie, and black sweatpants—he appears larger. His shoulders wider, his neck thicker, his wrist and hands veiner.
(Compared to his covered body, you feel bare in nothing but long socks, and a matching shorts and tank top set.)
He looks virtually the same, but his aura is different. There’s more confidence in him, a larger ego, glory even, that wasn’t there the last time you’d seen him. You know what has caused the change, and it should be something you despise. But his new glory makes him more attractive. It dries out your tongue and lodges something in your throat, pushing it further down until it sits heavy in your stomach.
“Thought this could be our new spot.” Luke speaks softly, almost in a scared whisper, as if he fears that you’ll reject him.
(You don’t know if you could ever reject Luke)
Your eyebrows furrow. “Our spot?” Confusion drips off of your words.
Luke nods once. He licks over his lips and you’re quick to peel your eyes away from the sight and back to his eyes. That’s not helping you much either so you instead try to figure out what books are on the shelves afar.
Since the little amount of time that has passed, there have been a few more added. From the ones that have already been there, the titles are too far away, too dream disoriented, and your dyslexia hasn’t escaped this dream, but you think you find novels on Seeing. Guides on how to decipher the visions that come to humans, or how to channel them.
You focus back on Luke.
“Yeah. Like the old bedroom. But a little more …” he hesitates to find the word then lands on, “Casual.”
The bedroom.
Your lower stomach stirs at the mention of it. The large bed, how warm it always was in there, the cold leather of the couch, the things the two of you did to each other on all surfaces.
This spot is definitely a lot more casual. You’re not instantly compelled to straddle Luke here, although you do have a few thoughts about throwing your legs over his right now and reconnecting in ways you’ve missed since he left.
So badly do you want to agree. This could be the one place where you get to experience what you’ve been missing without anyone else knowing. This is the only place where you can see Luke without anyone else knowing.
But it’s wrong.
He’s the cause of all of this. He’s caused the nightmares you’ve been pulled into. He has betrayed everyone on levels you could have never imagined. And who’s to say that he won’t betray you again.
“We won’t need a ‘spot’, Luke.” Briefly, his eyes flash as if he’s hurt but in your eyes, Luke has proven himself to be a formidable actor as of late so you ignore it. “This is a one time thing.”
A moment passes. And then another.
You turn to watch the sea out in the distance. It appears as if the ocean has lulled for the time being. The sky is still dark, but it has yet to deepen in color.
Luke takes a breath and you give him your attention again.
“Why won’t you join me?”
His eyes flash betrayal, his lips twist into something sorrowful.
Your answer comes easy. The same one you’ve told yourself over and over again, night by night when you considered reaching out to him.
“Because it’s not right, Luke.”
When he stands, his newfound power becomes even more clear. It leaks from his pores, spews from his mouth with his words.
“How could it be ‘wrong’ when you feel the same. All that time you spent telling me about your father. How neglected you felt. What happened to that?”
Your head shakes. You stand, too, evening out the field for both of you.
“This is not what I meant. I–” The words don’t find you. Luke takes notice.
“You what? Love your father? Love the gods? After how they treat you. How they treat us.”
“Don’t say ‘us’. We aren’t together, Luke.”
That same look flashes in his eyes once more. He takes a step forward, you take one back.
He doesn’t say anything. You watch his hand reach behind his back.
“What, are you gonna fight me like you did with Percy?”
His head shakes. His eyes harden. He pulls his hand back and it comes up empty.
“He attacked first.”
Your voice starts to rise. “And you tried to kill him, Luke. He’s twelve. What don’t you understand about that? ”
“Twelve and a forbidden child. In the grand scheme of things, his age doesn’t matter. He’s powerful. More powerful than both of us combined.”
“So is that why you tried to kill him? Because he’s a threat?”
“I don’t want to have this conversation with you. Not here. Not now.”
“Yeah? Well then when? And where? Because this is the last time you’ll be seeing me, Luke.”
“Okay.”
Your eyebrows raise. Disbelief paints over your features. You’d expected more of a fight. For Luke to disagree or attempt to convince you to return to him a few more times after this. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe you wanted him to convince you that you needed him. Maybe you wanted to hear him tell you that he needed you.
Either way, your reply is the same as his.
“Okay.” You turn and take the few steps it takes to get to the door.
Your chest heaves with large gulps of air in and small breaths of letting them out. Your body is buzzing, the same feeling you would get before sparring with Luke. The same feeling you would get before your bodies joined together.
You tell yourself to reach out for the door handle. You tell yourself to lift your arm, connect your hand with the metal, and pull it open. You tell yourself to return to your own dreamscape, maybe even reality, and forget any of this ever happened.
Maybe you would’ve done it if Luke hadn’t spoken.
“You can walk out that door but that won’t change how you truly feel.”
He doesn’t add on. You don’t move.
“And how do I feel?”
The adrenaline is overwhelming you. You need to expel it out of your body somehow.
As Luke is speaking, you’re already approaching him.
“I’m sure I don’t need to answer that for you.”
When he speaks, it’s with arrogance. His confidence is heavily laced in his words, overflowing until it drips out into the air and lodges in your chest. Running through your body and down to your fingertips. It annoys you, makes you want to battle it out with him in a fight you’re sure to lose.
Your feet thud against the floor with each step until you’re close enough to cup his cheeks in both of your hands and pull his face down to yours.
There’s no hesitation in the kiss from either side. As if both of you were expecting it to happen eventually.
Luke kisses you back vehemently, his lips messily sliding against yours as he presses into the center of your back, accentuating the curve and drawing your chest into his. His free hand glides down your side to your hips. He circles to your back, dragging his palm down to rest over the curve of your ass. He grips the flesh through the soft fabric of your shorts, digging his blunt nails in before continuing his hand—open palmed—down to grip the back of your thigh.
His other hand mirrors his previous actions until he has a hand on either thigh. He tugs once, and you collaborate to wrap your legs around his waist and hook your ankles behind his back. Your hands dig into his hair, and your core tightens as you prepare to continue holding yourself up. But Luke takes most of the load.
He places his hands on your bottom to keep you lifted. You expect him to walk you back to the couch, or maybe pin you to a wall. But he doesn’t.
He holds you against him in the center of the living room, kissing you like he’ll never get to kiss you again. You don’t fail to realize how he likely won’t.
His tongue slides against yours, your teeth knock together at least twice, both of you refuse to pull away to breathe which results in heavy exhales through your noses against the skin of the other cheek.
While it may be uncoordinated, it’s not primal.
There’s copious amounts of longing beneath each pass of your tongues against each other. There’s human emotion behind the way you tug on his hair and how he uses one hand to pull your hips closer to him. There’s raw longing in the soft sighs and gasps you both let out into the other’s mouth, taking it in and replicating the noises over and over again.
When you finally do part, it’s with a wet, pronounced smack.
“Luke,” you gasp his name before you can realize it’s happening. One of your hands moves from his hair to hold his cheek. Your fingers spread around his ear and your thumb probes into his jaw.
He hums, his eyes still shut.
“I want you,” you admit.
You watch the smile spread across his lips, his eyes flickering open to look into your soul.
“Took you long enough to admit it.”
You suck your teeth and roll your eyes. Your other hand, previously resting on his shoulder, slaps his bicep.
“Don’t be an asshole about it.”
He laughs as he apologizes, knocking his forehead against yours. “Sorry, pretty girl.”
He takes a moment.
When he speaks, his eyes are nothing but earnest. His words are slow and careful, despite how simple they are. They fill your chest with warmth. They comfort you, possibly in slight delusion as you instantly believe him without caring about what repercussions his promise could come with.
“You have me. Always have. Always will.”
You’re quick to surge forward.
Luke is quick to reciprocate.
This time, he walks you back to the couch. He settles you on it carefully, not lifting his hands from your bottom until you’re seated securely along the loveseat and pulled to the edge by his hands hooked under your knees.
His own knees dig into the rug beneath the furniture. His head is tipped up to continue kissing you, this one lacking the over enthusiasm from before. Now, he takes his time, having confessed his desire to be with you as long as you’ll let him.
It’s not long until he pulls away and trails his lips down, kissing along your decollete, not stopping when he comes in contact with the fabric of your small shirt. He presses his lips into the fabric firmly, as if he’s trying to reach your skin beneath the layer.
You feel the pressure he has beneath each kiss as he trails down, and you arch into his touch, excitement spreading through your lower half whenever Luke digs his fingers into the elastic of your shorts and pulls them off of your legs before he even reaches there.
You’re quick to leave your legs open, even going as far as to spread them a little more to give Luke more room.
His wide shoulders fill the space. They nudge against your knees and instead of letting you spread your legs even more, he throws them over his shoulders, effectively caging himself in with your limbs.
If the small smile on his face is anything to go by, he’s happy about his position.
You’re still wearing your panties. Your hands trail down to get rid of them, but Luke stops you with a hand on your lower abdomen.
“Let me,” he tells you, voice soft and light.
You remove your hands and do as told. It’s a simple system you have worked out, Luke slowly but surely working his way down to where you want him. He's eager, and you know he wants himself there as much as you do.
It’s strange what desire could make you do.
You’ve never been anything but loyal to Camp Half-Blood. To both of your parents. And in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t allow yourself to do this.
But you’ll simply have a final time with Luke. That’s it. Sharing your body with him, and having his body shared with you, won’t make you forget his transgressions.
As your panties are pulled off of your legs, and your skin is once again placed above the thick fabric on the shoulders of his sweatshirt, you tell yourself that this won’t change anything.
You’ll never be able to forget what he has done. What he’s planning to do.
Except, perhaps, you can push it aside for as long as you’ll have to while you let yourself get lost in his touch.
The first pass of his tongue is a long stripe between your folds. He spreads you open with his thumbs, pulling at the skin on either side to expose your center. Then he flattens his tongue and licks up from your entrance to your clit.
He puckers his lips, sucking twice before flicking his tongue against the bud.
Your hands card through his hair, ignoring the way your fingers get stuck on a few stubborn curls that refuse to separate in favor of grounding yourself. It feels too good, and you haven’t been in this position for too long. There’s nothing you fear more right now than getting too lost and waking up in the real world before you’re even satisfied.
Luke brings his attention back down to your entrance where he laps up what you’ve been leaking. He groans, peeling his mouth away and you stare down at him, entranced by how grateful he looks.
Eyes closed, face completely relaxed, his scar laid flat against his cheek, his pink lips parted and glistening.
He looks ethereal. The sight is addicting.
“Missed this so much,” he admits, tongue flickering out to lick the remnants of your arousal off of his lips.
You feel the same, but you refuse to tell him that. Instead, you scrape your nails at his scalp lightly and shuffle your hips, hoping that alone is enough to capture Luke’s attention again.
Either he catches the memo or he had the same idea as you because his lips are right back between your legs.
You’d expected him to behave like a man starved, licking and sucking your cunt like you would disappear any moment. Instead, he takes his time with you. He utilizes the best part about being in a dreamscape: the lack of concrete time.
He savors the taste of your cunt, and the little sounds you make. His fingers press into the tops of your thighs as he holds them down against his shoulders to prevent you from squirming. His nose nudges against your clit and digs into the short hair you have on your mound.
He presses his tongue everywhere that he can, sometimes even sliding further down to rim areas still unexplored. Each time, you would tense up just a little less, until eventually you were trying to subtly urge his head further down for him to do it just one more time.
And when he does, that’s when the coil in your lower belly gets as tight as it could get, just before snapping from the tension. You would have warned him. Or, maybe you did. You were so focused on getting there that any words that came out of your mouth weren’t even considered. You weren’t aware of anything other than your mouth moving at the same speed as your hips as you dragged your cunt against Luke’s face, using him to guide your orgasm to full completion.
As soon as your hips stop twitching you swing your legs off of his shoulders and slide to the floor beside him. You pull your shirt off, then do the same for Luke, throwing both of your tops off to the side.
Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing another layer beneath the sweatshirt, allowing you to run your palms down his chest, feeling the familiar definition along his abdomen.
You sit in front of him with your legs folded underneath you, and since he’s on his haunches, he towers over you just a bit. You have to tilt your head up to kiss at his jaw and neck, your hands busying themselves with urging his sweatpants off of his hips.
Luke does the rest of the job for you, hesitantly pulling away from your touch to stand and slide his sweatpants off of his legs himself. You’re left on the ground, hands politely resting in your lap while you stare up at Luke with wide eyes.
He slowly reveals more and more of his legs until he’s wearing nothing but his briefs. They hug him well, like they always have. A prominent outline of the muscle definition in his thighs, elastic waistband hanging low enough on his hips for you to see the ‘V’ that connects his hips and abdomen. And of course, the tight material reveals the prominent boner confined within the crotch of his briefs.
You want to reach up and palm him. You want to pull the final layer off of him. You want to take his cock into your mouth and relax with the heavy and warm feeling of him against your tongue.
But you decide to be patient. And it’s worth it.
Luke slides his briefs off himself, never breaking eye contact with you as he throws them to join the rest of your clothing. His stare is strong and heavy as he spits into his hand and puts his dick into the same place, wrapping his palm around the center of it and stroking a few times.
There’s the prettiest, most picturesque bead of precum at the tip and you’re practically salivating just looking at it, praying deep down that Luke doesn’t run his hand over it so you can have it for yourself.
As if sensing your inner turmoil, Luke takes a step closer, holding the base of his cock right in front of your face, allowing you to get the perfect view of how his tip is a light pink around the almost clear drop of precum.
“You want?” he asks you simply, smiling a bit when you nod eagerly. “Then open.”
You’re quick to do as told, lacking any shame whenever you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. As soon as Luke presses his tip to your muscle, you wrap your lips around him and eagerly suck him clean.
Another good thing about the dreamscape is that everything either tastes like absolutely nothing, or like pure honey. And when you’re with Luke, things are usually the latter.
You start to get lost in it, enthusiastically beginning to suck Luke off even though you were only meant to be getting a taste.
You can see that Luke is close to commenting on it. His eyes shine like they do before he has something to say, but just when his lips part and he takes a breath to speak, you hollow your cheeks and sink as far down him as you can and any words he could have conjured up are suddenly gone.
He lets you do what you want, eyes fluttering shut and one large hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to suck him off. He lets out the smallest noises, pretty grunts and groans and sighs.
Luke was clearly just as wound up as you were. Within a couple of minutes he’s already starting to spew out praises like he does when he’s close. Some of them are fragments, broken words strung together in incomplete sentences.
“So … doing so .. you’re–” when you swirl your tongue at the tip and tease his balls just a bit.
“Gods, you’re so good at this,” when you jerk the majority of his dick with one hand and focus your mouth on his tip with the other.
“Close. So close. Almost there, dove” when you take all of him into your mouth once more, throat molding around the definite shape of him.
And when he cums down your throat, you’re so satisfied that you can’t help but moan unabashedly along with him.
You’ve only just swallowed his cum before his cock is pulled out of your mouth and he’s back on his knees in front of you.
His arms wrap around your waist, he pulls you into his lap, laying his head on your chest and just letting himself be.
Just existing.
After a couple of minutes, you stop expecting him to speak and decide to just exist too. Your breathing eventually matches up, in and out, in and out, over and over again in tandem. Outside, rain starts to thud against the roof of the small home. Distantly, there’s the faint sound of thunder, and you’re sure the ocean is swirling angrily.
None of that matters, though. You’ll be left to decipher the metaphorical meanings of it all later, when you aren’t coexisting in the shared warmth from you and Luke.
When he isn’t kissing the tops of your breasts and holding you securely in his arms.
Eventually, Luke does break the silence. His voice is low when he does, both in volume and tone.
“Can I have you? Just one final time?”
He talks into your skin without looking directly at you. But as you start to respond, you cup his cheeks and force him to look at you.
The entire time, you’ve been fighting this battle. Knowing you wanted Luke, knowing you wanted to be with Luke, but also knowing it was wrong. All of it was wrong.
But right here, right now, you let go. You nod unashamedly. You kiss his forehead then the tip of his nose then his lips, before landing on the bottom end of his scar.
You tell him, “Yes. Of course, Luke”, as if he didn’t even have to ask in the first place.
And truthfully, you don’t think he did.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Luke is in the middle of pulling his sweatshirt back over his head when you speak. There’s a second where the fabric is hiding his face, slowly revealing the curls at the top of his head, then his dark eyebrows, and finally his eyes. They look as they have the entire time: despondent.
“I know you didn’t. Neither did I.” You have a feeling that neither of you are speaking about the same specific thing, but the overlap in your conditions is so wide that you don’t bother correcting him.
He reaches behind his back once more and when he pulls his hand back around, he has his camp necklace dangling from his fingers. He undoes the knot, and holds it open, waiting, until finally you turn around and let him delicately tie it around your neck.
Your hand touches the beads. You want to thank him, but it doesn’t feel right.
Instead, your lips twist into what you hope comes off as a thankful smile when you turn around. When Luke replicates it, you feel a little better.
There’s a moment, just a brief moment there where you’re both staring at each other and the memory of Luke’s hands and lips and tongue and his everything engrossing you, taking your everything and combining them together, is still fresh on your mind. The warmth of his eyes and the warmth of his camp necklace around your throat heals you. And you consider that your feelings for Luke were stronger than you ever forced yourself to acknowledge.
He was more than a close friend to you. More than someone you looked up to. More than someone you shared your body with in the dreamscape.
He was more.
It feels unfair for you to have these emotions. The wrongness of it all—your feelings for Luke Castellan, how he’d turned out—has rage fueling deep in your gut. With no one else to blame it on, you can’t help but briefly curse the gods.
For they were the ones to cause this. To instill deep hatred into Luke’s chest. To prevent either of you from ever having a normal life where you could live and breathe and love without the burdens placed upon you both.
A life where you wouldn’t have to love and lose someone like Luke.
But there’s nothing for you to do about it now.
You don’t want to leave. But your time together is up. You should’ve left a long time ago, and your choice to stay before resulted in something you could never take back.
You turn and walk to the door. And once more, Luke speaking causes you to stop.
“You are the only one who could make me change my mind.” He says it in a small whisper, as if he doesn’t want to admit it even to himself. As if he shouldn’t be admitting it at all.
‘Are’. His feelings for you still haven’t changed. You don’t know if they ever will.
Either way, you’re forced to change yours.
You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything. Your hand reaches for the doorknob. You take it in your palm, gripping and turning at the same time until the latch is undone.
The door opens and fills the room with the sound of rain falling. It’s loud and fills the empty space. Up until Luke speaks and the baritone of his voice joins it.
“This is it?”
You nod once. Luke’s scoff sounds painful. It’s bitter with an edge of hatred. Maybe disbelief.
It makes tears brim at your eyes. Your nose stings. Your throat feels as if it’s constricting with the effort to hold your tears back.
Luke takes a breath. You step one foot out of the door.
“Dreamcatcher,” he calls to get your attention, the nickname giving you that fuzzy feeling you used to get from just seeing him around camp. “We’ll be seeing each other again.”
And then your foot lands on the dry green grass of your own dreamscape.
Just a few hours later, you rise with the morning sun, sneaking off to the showers before everyone else to get rid of the stickiness between your thighs.
The dream might not have been real, but the evidence between your legs certainly was. Strangely enough, that and the additional chord of beads around your neck. You only notice it when you’ve undressed and stepped beneath the shower head, scrubbing at your skin and running into additional jewelry you hadn’t expected to have been there.
You take it off and slip it with the rest of your clothes as a keepsake, carrying it around in your pocket for only you to know about.
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SQUEEZE
pairing: rough!dom matt x latina!reader
summary: not only had you been teasing him all day while he was trying to work, when he finally did give you attention all you gave him back was attitude and sass and matt was having none of it.
warnings: SMUT, shits fucking ROUGH, making out, degradation, orgasm denial, slight bondage, dumbification, overstimulation, pet names, fingering, oral (male receiving), light smacking, p in v, choking, spanking
word count: 2162
author's note: this is based off of squeeze by ghostmane because the songs just so 🥰.
matt had been working all day, leaving you bored and alone. you'd tried your best to keep your mind occupied, but your favorite tv shows didn't entertain you for as long as they normally did and nothing seemed to be interesting enough for you to do for the rest of the day.
with a sigh you looked next to you, staring at the mirror on the bathroom door on the side of matt's bed. an idea popped into your head, your lips turning into a mischeveous grin.
you planted your feet on the hard wood ground, making your way to the drawer you had that occupied the boys dresser. you grabbed the blue set out of it, going into his bathroom to change into it.
you put the bra on, looking at yourself in the mirror. the laced cups fit you well, pushing your breast up nicely and showing them off perfectly.
the bottoms were a little different. the front had lace flowers sewn onto the fabric, the upper part having a little bow. while the back was a simple blue string. you looked at your figure, your hips and ass looking good in the set.
you left the bathroom, positioning yourself on matt's bed before aiming your phone at the mirror. you snapped a picture, your eyes running over it as you analyzed every detail of it. with a satisfied hum, you sent it to the boy.
to flipped the view on the camera to selfie mode, raising your phone up to angle it down at your breast. the lace on the top made them look so much better, the bra holding them nicely. you took a picture, sending it to him.
you let out a small giggle when you see him open the first picture, a smile planted on your lips as the three dots appear. 'not funny my love, i'm with nick and chris,' you gave a small pout, even though he couldn't see.
'i'm bored' you replied, putting your phone down on his bedside table. you let out a huff, getting off the bed to go back into the bathroom.
"this is boring." you mumbled, stripping out of the lingerie and throwing it on the counter. you pulled the previous sweater you were wearing back on. the green fabric hanging off your body loosely, looking more like a dress then a sweater.
the black dinosars stood out nicely, and you smiled at the item on your body. it wasn't yours, well not technically. but as matt said, what is his is yours.
a few hours had passed and you were laying under the brown silk covers of matt's bed. your eyes were closed as the sounds of the tv filled the room. the door clicked, creaking open as matt peaked his head in.
"miss me?" he asks, shutting the door behind him. you don't respond, upset about the fact that you had been at his house, alone, all day. matt rolled his eyes, "i asked you a question love," he said, kneeling on the bed beside you.
"nope," you say, popping the 'p'. you sit up, turning your body to plant your feet against the ground. you stand up to begin walking out when your shoved against the wall with a soft hand around your neck.
the cold metal of his rings making you gasp, "you done?" a small whine threatens to leave your mouth, but you hold it back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. "being a brat earlier and then giving me attitude just now calls for punishment," matt says, his voice low and deep.
his hands make quick work of tying your wrist together, one of your nearby black scarfs being wrapped around them. "on the bed," he commands, and you follow.
the sheets were warm from you being on them, the soft fabric rubbing against the bare skin on your legs. you were pulled closer to the edge of the bed, matt's fingers slipping in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down.
without warning he landed a smack to your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth as your body jolted forward. he brought his hand back up to land another blow to your other cheek. he didn't give you a break, his hands continuously smacking the plump flesh.
tears threatened to fall as your mouth fell agape, the pain and pleasure mixing together. his hand left the sore skin, the red marks visible even on your tan complexion.
his hand landed a few more rough smacks before roughly kneading he flesh in his hand, making you wince from the skin being pinched by his rings.
you heard him let out a low growl before his fingers trailed between your folds, your wetness evident. "you like that baby?" he asks, his voice mocking. "you like me hurting you? you're so fucking pathetic," he spat, his words only making you soak his fingers more.
you whimper, nodding your head the best you could. his other hand reached up to grab your hair, tugging your head back, making your back go against his chest, as he shoved two of his fingers inside you.
your mouth fell agape, the stretch stinging, yet the pleasure overtaking it. his fingers fucked you, curling and hitting the right spot each time. the coil in your stomach was about to burst, and you knew if you were to cum without his permission, you'd be in deep shit.
"fuck, matt," you breathe, earning a low chuckle, "already?" he mocks, scissoring his fingers inside you, "you're so easy for me, aren't you baby? just my little plaything," he growls into your ear, his lips trailing down your shoulder, sucking the skin between his teeth.
"mhm, fuck," you whine, "just you," you breathe. a smile grows on his face as his hand pulls out of you, making your legs shake as he does. he grabs your hips, pulling you up. he turns your around, his hand going to your head as he pushes you back down, your knees hitting the floor.
your eyes widen, feeling the bulge in his pants against your cheek. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back, "you know what to do," he says, his free hand pushing the grey fabric of his sweats down his legs.
his hard cock springs up, the tip a deep red as a small drop of pre-cum drips down. your lips wrap around his head, taking the length down your throat. he lets out a low groan, his head falling back as you bob your head.
his hand on your head pushes you down further, "come on baby, know you can take more," he breathes, your throat constricting as you take more. a low groan leaves his lips, "just like that," he says, the sound of his praise sending waves to your core.
his hips thrust on their own accord, pushing in and out of your mouth as his hand continues its movements on your head. his cock hits the back of your throat, making your eyes tear up. you try to pull away, but his hand holds you down, making you take him all.
his breathing quickens, the grip on your hair tightening, "so good, so fucking good," he growls, you hum around him, making him let out a whimper. his eyes squeeze shut; his jaw clenched. his body tenses, a low moan leaving his mouth as his load spills down your throat.
he lets out a shaky breath, his hand untangling from your hair. "so good," he breathed, tugging you up. his hand comes across your cheek, unexpectedly, but softly. his hand grabs your jaw, squeezing it. "i'm gonna ruin you princess," he growled.
he tugged his shirt over his head, throwing it to the side. he swiftly untied the scarf around your wrist, pushing you back against the bed. your back hit the sheets, the air leaving your lungs. he hovered over you, his head dipping into the crook of your neck.
his teeth bit down on the skin harshly, piercing the flesh with his teeth. "you bored now? hmm?" he asked, his hot breath against your neck, his teeth never leaving the skin. he sucked the skin between his lips, biting down harder.
you whimper, a sharp sting traveling throughout your body, "no," you breathed, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "fuck," you whisper, a smile growing on matt's face as he pulled away.
he admired his work, the dark marks splayed out against your neck and collarbone area. his hand pushes his sweater up your torso, his lips connecting with the soft skin as he kissed his way up to one of his favorite spots of your body.
your boobs. his tongue parted his lips, trailing up the skin before capturing your right bud in between his teeth making you let out a squeal. your back arched, the pleasure of his warm mouth surrounding your nipple making you squirm.
your hands flew to his head, tangling themselves in his hair. he detatched his mouth, a tsking noise leaving his lips as he shoved your hands over your had. "no touching, brats don't get to touch," he spat, his mouth latching onto your left bud.
you whimper, "please," you beg, a low chuckle leaving his lips. "please what? you tryna apologize for being such a bitch earlier? you think a little 'please' is gonna get me to forgive you?" he spat, his teeth nipping at the sensitive bud.
he pulled away, sitting up and shoving your legs apart. his hands hooked themselves under your thighs, his nails digging into the skin. he pulled you closer to him, lining his cock with your entrance.
he pushed in, a loud gasp leaving your lips. "you're always so tight," he groaned, his hips rolling. his length pushed into you, filling you up and hitting the right spots. "fuck, matt," you whine, squeezing your fists shut, surely leaving crescent marks with your nails.
he lets out a low chuckle, a sadistic smile on his face, "what's wrong princess? you close already?" he cooed, his hips snapping into yours. your eyes roll back, your mouth hanging open as he moves his hips at an animalistic pace.
the squelching noise of your cunt and skin on skin could be heard through the room. "shit, baby," he growled, his nails digging into the flesh of your thighs, the stinging sensation making tears build up in your eyes.
his hips were relentless, pounding into you with a brutal force. one of his hands went to the headboard for stability, his other one going to the bend of your knee, pushing it forward.
his cock pushed in deeper, hitting all the right spots. "fuck, fuck," you moaned, the coil in your stomach about to burst, "matt please," you begged, his hand flying down to grip your throat, his rings pushing against the skin.
"no," he grunted, the tears falling down your cheeks, "please," you repeated, a small whine following after.
"you think you deserve to cum?" he asks, his voice low and deep, "this was what you wanted, no?" his hand tightens around your throat, "to have me fuck you stupid, ruin you.
"you don't deserve it, not after how you acted," his hand leaves your throat, smacking your cheek with enough force to turn your head.
"but i'll allow it," he said, his thumb moving down to rub your clit, "because you're mine," his lips came down to press a soft kiss to your lips, a loud moan escaping your mouth. the coil was about to burst, the knot in your stomach tightening.
"fuck, yes," you whimper, "please, please," you begged. "go on," he growled, his thumb never stopping its motions, "cum, cum all over my cock. show me who owns this pretty pussy, princess." he groans, his hips never slowing down.
"fuck, matt!" you scream, the knot finally breaking as the waves of pleasure course through your body. a high pitched whine leaves your lips, the sensitivity kicking in as he continues to push his hips against yours.
your hands move from the spot above your head to gripping the back of matt's shoulder, your nails leaving angry marks eliciting a whimper from the boy.
"that's my girl," he groans, the overstimulation beginning to kick in as he chases his high. "so pretty, all for me, right? just a fucking plaything," he grunts, the bed frame smacking against the wall as your legs bounce with each movement.
"all yours," you breathe, the tears rolling down your face, the stimulation becoming too much. his hips stutter, his breathing labored as his moans become higher pitched, his hand on the headboard gripping it until his knuckles turn white.
"fuck, princess," he whimpers, his hips pushing against yours before stopping completely. his forehead drops down against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly. he peppers kisses all on your face, "don't fucking tease when i'm working, ya?"
tag list:
@chrryclouds @sturniolossss @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @tillies33ssss @hysteria-things @etvar12 @lily-strnlo @freshsturns
#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo fanfic#nathan doe#chris sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo#matt sturniolo fanfic#nate doe#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo smut#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fluff#Spotify
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So quick update. I broke my glasses. And I am so.... Freakin'.....pissed.
But N.E WAYS here are some random pics/ wallpapers of Chris wood. Feel free to save.<333
Yes. I got these from Pinterest 😀
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"You Should Probably Leave" | Joel x Reader oneshot
Part 1 of Play it Again, a new series where each story is a oneshot, but all are shaped around country songs.
Song: You Should Probably Leave – Chris Stapleton
Summary: He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late. And then when he gets home you help him out, too, even though you both know you should probably leave.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, porn without plot, prose but kind of poetry/lyrical, sexual tension, PIV, oral (m! receiving), sub!Joel, you're Sarah's babysitter, AU! No outbreak, set in the 90s.
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: I've taken the lyrics and worked them into the story, so I'd really recommend listening as you read. I've been thinking about writing this series for sooo long because country songs + Joel is a match made in heaven. If you've got any song recommendations, let me know!
It’s like a dance, a well-worn routine that you both know, practised and perfected after months of repetitions. You both know where it leads but you’ll still follow all the steps. That’s how it is.
You put Sarah to bed ages ago, spent the last few hours of babysitting on the sofa finishing up some college work, waiting for Joel to get back. His key in the door is a familiar click, the latch sticking the way it always does, his shoulder forcing it open.
You stay where you are. When he comes into the lounge his toolbelt is still strapped around his waist, the remnants of a long day’s work painted across his handsome face and strewn in dust that’s collected on the knees of his well-worn jeans and callused hands.
He pauses in the entrance, arm stretched up above him to rest on the mantle of the door, t-shirt pulling up to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his belt. There’s a glass of wine half-drunk on the coffee table beside you and your feet are tucked up under you.
Neither of you speak for several long moments. You just watch each other, the tension too delicious to break.
“You should probably leave,” He says, but you make no effort to move and he stays where he is, too, dark eyes watching you.
His expression is open, taunting, and you already know what’s going to happen. You untuck your feet and shift them onto the worn carpet, standing to step towards him. His form takes up most of the doorway, his shoulders so broad that they almost touch both sides of the frame.
When you reach it he’s looming over you, blocking the exit off from you if you wanted to leave, but you don’t. You turn into him, press your nose to the slice of skin between his shoulder and neck and inhale deeply, smell the work of his day on him: the musk of sweat, the tang of iron and sharpness of wood shavings.
“I suppose it ain’t all that late,” he says, voice rumbling through his chest, “still time for you to finish your wine.”
You won’t finish the wine, but it’s all part of the well-worn routine the two of you have. He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late.
And then when he gets home you help him out, too. Let him relieve some of the tension that he carries in his shoulders, on his thick-set jaw. You press the first kiss here, letting the rough caress of his stubble eat into your own cheek. When you let your hands course through his hair, scratching your nails into his scalp, he leans into it, eyebrows pitching up, something like a whimper falling from his lips.
There’s a devil on your shoulders, and its urging you each towards the same predetermined end.
“We shouldn’t.” He says, but he doesn’t move away.
“Just one kiss?” You ask, feeling him relax into your touch, the bulk of him slipping down the doorframe, bringing his mouth within reach of yours.
“Alright,” He rasps back, his voice pitching with need, and you claim the last syllable with your mouth, press your lips against his, pull a moan from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Say you want me to stay,” You tell him, and he does, whispers it into your mouth, chases your tongue with his.
When he looks at you his gaze so intense it’s almost intimidating, and you recognise the look in his eyes, the need that’s behind the blown-out pupils and hazy expression.
The slow retreat to his bedroom is well-practised, the carpet belying a well-trodden route you both know. He lets you walk him backwards up the stairs, sighs when you push him against the closed door to fit your mouths together again.
Inside, his bed is unmade and you press him into it, pin his hands above his head and lick a thick strip up his neck, following the tendons to the underside of his jaw.
His moans are the chorus of this well-rehearsed dance. They spur you on as you undress him, revealing the strong lines of his chest, the thick trunks of his thighs, the impressive bulge of his cock in his briefs, already half-hard.
He twitches in your hand when you draw him out and you shift down the bed to take him into your mouth, the head of him heavy and salty on your tongue. His cock swells, the vein that spans the underside pulsing against your palm.
It’s intoxicating and dizzying and familiar, the recognisable ache in your jaw as you take him into the back of your throat, fist gripping the part of him that won’t fit.
“So good to me, darlin’” He groans, running shaking fingers through your hair, trying to sit up against the headboard.
“Relax,” you tell him, pushing him back down to lie against the rumpled duvet, “I know what you need.”
You know him and he knows you, and you both know how this goes. You pull back, work your dress up over your head and pull down your panties, which are ruined with your slick, so damp they catch on your thighs as you peel them off. Joel’s eyes widen as he watches; he can never believe you want this – want him – as much as you do.
When you sink down on his length – the fat head of his cock catching at your entrance, making the stretch delicious and white-hot – he squeezes his eyes shut tight.
You run a finger along his eyebrows, coax him to open them and he does, a muscle in his jaw fluttering as you rise up and drag your cunt back down onto him again.
“I wanna do the right thing, baby,” he tells you, as though this – the pinching heat of him between your thighs, the tremble of his hands as he clutches at the flesh of your ass – isn’t the greatest thing that’s ever happened to either of you.
But you know he hates himself for it, hates that he’s a good decade older than you, that you’re Sarah’s babysitter, that this – this twisted arrangement you have where you stay when he gets back and then end up in his bed – is the only thing that gets him through those long works days sometimes.
“I know,” you say, “but it’s getting kind of hard to resist, isn’t it?”
“You should leave,” he says, thrusting up into you, “we should – Jesus, baby, just like that – we should stop.”
You arch up off the bed, tilting your hips so that he can drive his cock deeper, bottoming out and groaning brokenly into your ear. It’s filthy. Depraved, probably: The slap of his hips as he cants them up into yours, the breathy moans that tumble from your mouth, Joel’s desperate, needy curses.
It’s easy to make him come like this: Three steady, deliberate rolls of your hips and he’s a quivering mess beneath you, his hands fisting in the sheets as he spurts hot and wet inside you.
After, you tell him you should probably leave. He makes you come with his fingers first, tells you to finish your wine, that it still ain’t that late.
And when the sun’s on your skin at 6am, he’s there watching you sleep, hoping you’ll say you’ll stay, even though you should probably leave.
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel x reader#joel x you#the last of us fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfic#joel miller au#au! no outbreak#SoundCloud
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In control | Chris Sturniolo
Chris Sturniolo x reader
Summary: Where Chris commands Y/N to stay still while he fucks her, but she can't seem to obey.
Warning: smut (mdni), dom!Chris, p in v without protection, slight dumbfication/degradation.
Requested?: Yes, by anon.
Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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Chris's large hands worked on gripping Y/N's hips, roughly turning the position of her body - which had previously been on her stomach - so that she was facing the ceiling.
Automatically, the girl planted the soles of her feet on the mattress, a surprised squeal escaping her lips when she felt Chris's rough gestures against her body.
The boy quickly pressed the inside of her knees, spreading her legs roughly so that her glistering cunt was exposed, his mouth watering at the sight.
"Y' gonna be good f' me and be still while I fuck you, babe?" Chris's voice was hoarse. He knelt on the mattress, placing himself between her thighs, his hands snaking from her knees to her calves, pushing her legs up.
"Yeah, so good." Y/N whined, clutching the crumpled sheet between her fingers tightly. Her teeth gripped her bottom lip in a death grip, trying to contain her moans in anticipation of something that hadn't even happened yet.
A dirty smirk spread across Chris's face, his right hand firmly gripping his cock and pumping it a few times, spreading the remains of Y/N's wetness that were still on it, a shiver spreading through his body with the feeling.
Chris leans his upper body over his girl's, supporting all his weight on his left arm. His blue deathly eyes looked deeply into Y/N's beneath him, keeping his pupils focused on her expressions as he aligned his dick in her pussy, slowly penetrating the hole that was already suitable for his size, eliciting a loud and surprised moan from Y/N, who let her bottom lip slip out of its prison, her jaw dropping and mouth forming a perfect O.
Chris's tongue escapes his own lips, wetting them. His right hand traveled upward, caging her head between his hands, holding himself up as his biceps flexed and extended, droplets of sweat beginning to appear on his skin.
The boy maintained a slow and rhythmic rhythm with his hips, it was slow, sensual and full of desire; the tip of his cock teasing Y/N's deepest, most sensitive spot, eliciting slurred moans from her lips, her body squirming as a result, practically begging itself for more, faster, and deeper.
"I told you to stay still. Can’t follow simple directions, babe? Too drunk with my cock to understand anything?"
"M' sorry." Y/N moaned, her eyes rolling back as her legs quiveved in the air when Chris' head pressed for long seconds on her G-spot.
Chris looks down between their bodies, his pupils dilating while watching his cock disappear into his girl's hungry pussy, her hips and waist moving against the mattress as little "pleases" escape her lips, not obeying his previous order.
"You..." The boy began, his teeth gritted as he lifted his head, returning his eyes to hers. "Have a little problem with control, huh?"
"Chris, p-please." Her voice sounded as desperate as ever before, eyes filling with tears as little whimpers escaped her lips.
"M' gonna have to teach y' a lesson. So pathetic f' my cock." Chris rasped, feeling her walls squeeze around him in an addictive way. "Gonna have to learn how to be a good girl, huh?"
And when Y/N least expected it, Chris released his whole weight onto her body.
He palms her thighs, hiking them around his waist, while his chest presses against hers firmly, preventing her from moving even an inch. Her boobs were practically being crushed by him as her nipples were stimulated against his skin with each thrust.
His hands flew to above her head, touching the wood of the headboard, and laying his own head on her right shoulder as he continued fucking her at a pace that made Y/N see stars.
The room around the two seemed to melt away, a large fog surrounding the bed as their gasps and moans echoed through the four walls.
The position made Chris go as deep as he had ever gone before; Y/N felt as if her walls could feel every vein of his cock scrape through them mercilessly, his swollen head expanding the way with each thrust, pressing against her magic spot again and again. His pelvis put almost imperceptible but extremely delicious pressure on her clit with each thrust, massaging it.
"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." Y/N rolled her eyes so hard that she swore they could pop out of their sockets, closing it tightly. Her nostrils were flared while her red, swollen lips were open, sinful sounds escaping through them.
"Keep your eyes open. Look at me, baby." Chris muttered against her slippery skin. She whimpered loudly, opening her eyes with difficulty, focusing them on Chris. "Want to see your pretty face, hm?"
The boy was as messy as she was, his tangled hair stuck to the sweaty skin of his forehead. His pupils were so dilated that it was almost impossible to see the blue ocean behind them. His lips were a beautiful shade of pink, so kissable.
"Such a good girl f’ me." He kisses her cheeks messily, their faces moving against each other with his movements. "All still beneath me, 'had to put all my weight on you, huh? To make your pretty little body stop squirming s' much, all because of your obsession with m' dick."
"Oh God- Fuck, Chris, p-ple- Oh." Y/N moaned incoherently, her eyes only half-opened due to the force she was using not to close them, still fixed on his face.
She felt all the dirtiest sensations coming from her pussy, internal shivers rising from her G-spot to her stomach, ripping goosebumps from her body.
"What, babe? Y' gonna cum, is that it?" Chris scoffed, his own eyes rolling back momentarily as Y/N's walls squeezed him for seconds longer than before, a gasp escaping his lips. "Oh- Can feel you squeezing around me. S' tight, babe." His warm tongue escaped his lips, licking the corner of Y/N's mouth, tasting her saliva mixed with her sweat.
"P-please Chris, I n-need it s' bad."
Chris ran his left hand down between their bodies, pressing the tip of his middle and ring fingers over her clit just the right amount.
"Make a pretty mess on m' cock, angel." The brunette commanded, trapping Y/N's lower lip between his teeth, sucking on the swollen flesh as his ears were filled with the dirtiest sounds that escaped her throat as she came.
Y/N's walls held his dick in place for long seconds, her body spasming hard beneath his own, only her legs shaking visibly as her upper body was still pressed between the mattress and his chest.
"Feel s' good, sweetheart." Chris groaned, letting go of her bottom lip but keeping his lips against hers, his mouth falling open as his eyes rolled back.
His hand that was still above her head gripped the edge of the mattress in a death grip, his knuckles turning white almost instantly as they banged against the wood of the headboard from his fast movements. His arm shook slightly as his legs spasmed over hers.
Hot, milky jets escaped from his pink head, hitting the bottom of her pussy, making a delicious mess with her own cum.
"Fuck, I'm obsessed with this feeling." The boy gasped as he finally felt the sensations of his orgasm start to subside.
His blue eyes met Y/N's face, taking note of her own closed eyes as her teeth held her bottom lip weakly - the thin skin of it almost bruised from Chris' previous grip.
He knew she was still savoring the sensations of her own orgasm. The boy used his hands to lift his upper body off hers, relieving the pressure of his weight and receiving a small sigh in response.
Chris brought his face closer to her right shoulder, sealing his lips in wet, open-mouthed kisses over her warm skin, traveling from one shoulder to the other and up her neck slowly, until he reached her mouth, where he loosened her grip on her lip with his own, bringing her into a slow, loving kiss full of tongue and saliva.
The boy pulled away a few seconds later, feeling the tightness of her walls lessen around his cock, which was slowly becoming flaccid. He lifted his upper body, pulling out of her slowly, his eyes fixed on where they were connected.
Y/N moaned in surprise as she felt Chris insert his thumb inside her sensitive hole, pushing his cum back inside and keeping it there, deep. A satisfied grin grew on his face as he saw her walls contract around nothing when he pulled his finger out, his cum remaining trapped inside her.
Chris caressed her ankle lightly, kissing the side of her knee slowly.
"We can't waste anything, petal."
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My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋
And remember to treat people with kindness always!
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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan
summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut
word count: 19.9K
chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came.
warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3
chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me)
( series masterlist | next → )
Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.
It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.
Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.
Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.
The apocalypse had come.
You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.
Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.
And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.
That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.
You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.
From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.
At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.
Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.
It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.
It.
Armageddon.
The Rapture.
The fucking apocalypse.
It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.
The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.
The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.
The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.
That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.
You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.
But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.
By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.
But by eighteen, you knew better.
It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .
You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.
That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)
You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.
Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.
This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.
As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.
He didn’t believe.
No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.
The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.
That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.
That was what was told, and that was what was believed.
You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.
Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.
— Revelation 6:1–2
That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.
While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.
As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.
Only by that time, it was too late.
Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.
And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.
The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.
Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.
By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.
Then . . . it all just stopped.
But your town continued to spread its lies.
The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.
They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.
Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.
But you knew better.
While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.
You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)
And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.
The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.
But you couldn't believe it.
Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.
Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.
Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.
He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.
Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.
War will come, she warned.
War will come.
But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.
And then . . . then he did.
The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.
The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.
War will come.
It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.
This was no man. This was War.
And it all became clear soon after.
While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.
The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.
The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.
That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.
Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.
(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)
Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.
War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.
From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.
But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.
There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.
Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.
The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.
And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.
(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)
While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.
The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.
That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.
It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.
The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.
It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.
It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.
— Revelation 6:7–8
Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.
Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.
She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.
You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.
Now there was no more living, just surviving.
Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.
Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.
How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?
You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.
But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.
Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.
Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.
You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.
Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.
You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.
And then you looked at him.
Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.
Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.
Your father was a good man.
Your father had killed someone.
This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.
(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.
(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))
That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.
The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.
And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.
(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)
But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.
You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.
And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.
It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.
And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).
Survival became all that you knew after that.
Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.
The burden became yours to bear.
This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.
Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.
And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.
Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.
If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.
So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.
Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.
Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.
Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.
The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.
Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.
When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.
You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.
In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.
But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.
You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.
So you let yourself turn into a machine.
And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.
That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.
You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.
Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.
That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.
Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.
When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.
No, killed was too vague.
Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.
The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.
You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.
But you had that night.
And now you paid the consequences.
It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.
She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.
So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.
Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?
How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?
You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.
Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.
Were you no better than the dead to her?
You swallowed hard.
Had you become a monster?
“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.
But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.
You did what you had to do.
You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.
You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.
Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.
Kind had been rare back then. It still was.
And Felix stayed kind.
When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.
You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.
But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.
That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.
He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.
But you?
Well . . .
“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”
”You’re not."
“Lix."
“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”
Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
”She’s just a kid."
“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”
A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”
Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .
”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “
”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”
You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.
His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."
His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.
But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.
However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.
You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”
”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.
”Sleep, little bird."
He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.
But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."
You swallowed hard but said nothing.
You're not too far gone.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.
A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?
But you already knew the answer.
Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .
And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.
His face was always there.
Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.
Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.
And you knew you had.
At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.
You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.
Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.
And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.
But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.
Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.
He would still be here if you hadn't—
"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.
You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.
It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.
She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.
But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.
You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.
Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .
. . . You’d still killed a man.
You’d actually taken a life.
(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.
It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
And maybe you had been.
That would’ve been easier to fathom.
But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.
"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.
Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.
And you couldn’t blame them.
The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.
The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.
Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.
That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.
With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.
You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.
But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.
Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.
Had he felt like this, too?
Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?
Did he ever wonder if—
“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.
You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”
She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”
“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.
But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.
Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.
Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”
But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.
“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”
“Your father filled your head with lies.”
You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”
Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."
There were the tears now.
But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.
Twist the knife, and she did.
"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”
Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.
This was what you deserved.
Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.
But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.
Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”
She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.
“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”
Your mother remained silent.
And you knew her answer.
Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”
“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”
But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”
Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”
“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”
Once again, she remained silent.
But you knew the truth.
“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”
Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .
And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.
Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.
It happened too quickly for you to think.
Beat. Beat.
You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.
Beat.
Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.
And you knew what to do.
For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.
The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.
One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.
Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.
You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.
. . . You were getting worse.
Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”
But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.
And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.
The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.
Would they make the decision to put you down then?
Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.
If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.
But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.
Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.
According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.
So, you listened, but you did not believe.
The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.
Whatever.
(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.
Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.
He’d made sure there was nothing left.
Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.
Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.
Survival was all that mattered.
Everything else was fucked.
And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.
Survive long enough for them.
For your father.
For your sister.
For your mother.
For Felix.
For them.
By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)
But, just your luck, sleep never found you.
Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.
Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?
You didn’t want to see that day come.
It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.
With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.
You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.
Nothing was left.
Truly.
Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.
But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.
Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.
You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.
The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.
Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.
You swallowed hard.
Death was near.
You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .
The man.
Your eyes widened.
The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.
And his screams . . .
You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.
And . . . it was all your fault.
You exhaled a shaky breath.
Death was coming.
Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.
Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.
The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?
You swallowed hard.
Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—
But then you saw it.
In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.
You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.
Death was here. So close. Too close.
They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.
There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.
Fuck.
You wanted to scream.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.
“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”
You could only shake your head.
Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."
You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.
There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.
Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.
There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.
You knew what that meant.
This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.
It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.
And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.
This was how you made things right.
You nodded at your thoughts.
Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.
Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.
This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.
So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.
Still: "Little bird," you whispered.
Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."
"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.
You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.
"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."
Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."
You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.
But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.
Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.
Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.
You knew this.
Felix did, too.
He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."
Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."
The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.
"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.
You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.
The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.
"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."
Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."
"You don't get to die."
"Neither do you."
"Then I guess we have a predicament."
Your eyes softened. "Lix."
His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."
And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.
He shook his head.
You swallowed hard.
The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.
You gripped his hand. "Protect them."
He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”
Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”
But it was. You both knew that.
Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”
“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.
But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.
You worked quickly. You had to. For them.
The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.
You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.
You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.
Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.
So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.
You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.
It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.
Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.
The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.
Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.
And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.
Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.
Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.
Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.
Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.
You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.
Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.
You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.
All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.
Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.
You're not too far gone.
Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.
There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.
You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.
Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.
This was the only way to save them. The only way.
Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.
The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.
The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.
You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.
Fuck.
Had that been too loud?
Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.
You swallowed hard.
Death itself had seen you.
Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.
And end it you would.
You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.
Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.
And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.
There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.
“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.
With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.
And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.
The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.
But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.
This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.
You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.
It hit you then.
Beat.
This really was the end.
You couldn’t run.
Beat.
The hoard was gaining on you.
This was the end.
Beat.
Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.
But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.
Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.
It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.
What was he doing?
But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.
“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”
You skipped a beat, not answering.
His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.
But you only blinked.
You didn’t want to be saved.
No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—
Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—
“Run,” he bit out, an order.
And it all happened so fast.
You stayed put.
He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.
Beat.
Beat.
Be—
A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—
Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.
And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.
Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.
And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.
As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.
And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.
What the fuck?
But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.
There it was, you realized.
Your punishment.
You were going to die.
And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.
The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.
There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.
In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—
And then . . . then the memories all faded in.
The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.
This was Death’s doing.
The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.
Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.
But . . . why were you still alive?
Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.
You were alive.
Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”
And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.
Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?
Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?
Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.
Him.
The man.
Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.
You clenched your jaw hard.
The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.
And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.
“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”
But you remained silent, watching.
"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”
You swallowed thickly.
There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.
"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”
And you hadn’t.
You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.
Had your mother been right about you?
Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?
The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.
"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”
You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?
Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?
Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.
And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.
Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.
(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)
And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.
Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.
Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?
Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.
Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)
And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.
You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?
Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.
Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"
Why aren’t you fighting?
The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.
Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.
It was surely daylight by now.
Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.
By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.
So . . . where was your fight?
You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.
Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.
Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"
For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.
The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.
And you almost laughed.
Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.
It all felt a little unreal.
Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.
You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.
But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.
There it was.
This was the end you were promised.
Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.
On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.
"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.
His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”
But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?
"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.
His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."
Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.
This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.
So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?
Why—
"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"
You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.
His stare only unnerved you more.
Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.
Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."
The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”
That only unnerved you further.
Was this truly Death?
Surely he had killed before.
Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.
As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”
But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.
There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.
You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.
“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.
Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”
His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.
“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.
His brows twitched, taken back.
“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”
But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?
A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.
Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.
Then . . . you felt it.
A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.
You nearly gasped.
Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.
But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.
The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”
Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.
“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”
And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.
I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.
But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?
You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.
And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?
It all hit you then.
These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .
I won’t kill you.
But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.
These were good people. And you were their bad omen.
It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.
You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.
It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.
taglist:
@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin
(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)
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Sour diesel // dealer Chris
Warnings: Chris smut / blowjob / male stimulation / throat fuck / usage of drugs / smoking / shotgun kiss / drug dealer!Chris x fem reader / hair pulling / switch Chris / exhibitionism / slapping / slight degradation + begging kink? / Chris + lip pierced
Summary: Chris is the reader’s drug dealer. And a very close drug dealer at that. Close enough for him to want to get high and horny with her when she unexpectedly shows up at his doorstep.
Author’s notes: don’t do drugs kids!! For some strange reason, Chris suspiciously fits this role perfectly irl. I don’t know what it is about him… Maybe it’s just the fact that he constantly looks high, or maybe it’s his hair and clothes… idk. Anyways, yes, proceed to enjoy some good ol’ weed smoking lovin’ ;)
“Legs in the air, all dirty again… smoking some more, I’m in her space… she touches me there, and then I do it again” - Sour diesel, Zayn
Police sirens wail from outside of the busy apartment complex. You knock on the brown door with a brass metal ‘4’ screwed onto the top of it before stepping back and cautiously peering your head down either side of the corridor to check if anyone else is around.
It’s a dreary but bright day, the sun pale with grey clouds flooding the sky. All throughout the city impatient cars honk their horns and the bustle of the crowds is never ending.
The twist of a lock on the other side of the door snaps your eyes back to the peeling front paint. The door creaks open a crack, and the familiar face of the man on the other side peeks out of it sneakily to examine who it is that is at his door, before realising that it’s you and gasping quietly.
He shuts the door quietly once again and you can hear the scratching of the metal chain being slid off of the door hook so that he can open it fully.
Once he does you see him with a white shirt resting on the hooks of his elbows, as if he was half way ready to put it on when you had knocked on the door. His messy dark brown tresses of curls are dishevelled and dust about his forehead in a fluffy nest, like he had just woken up. Equally, his naked, pale chest is on full display before he shoves his head through the t-shirt hole and uses his hands to pull it right down to his hips, where a pair of black sweatpants rest lowly below his hipbones. This only furthers your guess about him napping before seeing you.
‘Ayy! Doll face, come on in pretty!’ He quips in a friendly manner, a toothy grin lighting up his face whilst he steps aside to let you into his apartment. The labret lip ring nestled into the centre of his bottom lip glints with every move his mouth makes in the fluorescent hallway lighting.
You cheerily muse back a quick ‘long time no see Chris… started to miss you’ as you walk past the threshold, unconsciously looking up to one of his hands that grips the door right above his head whilst he leans on the wood.
Chris laughs fondly at your statement, slamming and locking the door shut behind you which encloses the both of you into his dingy apartment with dirty laundry scattered about the floor and the dishes still undone in his kitchen area.
‘Was it me you were missing? Or the drugs?’
Scanning around the apartment more thoroughly this time, you start to notice the little things… like a marijuana crusher, as well as messily stashed small plastic baggies with white powder or pills in them and joint rolling paper scattered across his already busy coffee table.
Chris is your drug dealer.
But… he is also somewhat of a friend as well. To be honest though, this is about as friendly as one can get with their supplier. Chris normally does his deals outside, in sketchy alleyways or at 3am with an all black attire and his hood up all the way.
You are the only customer who knows where he lives, because he’s fond of you, and you’re also a regular, so you often pop by if you’re feeling like it to have a nose into his endeavours and recent transactions.
‘Joint?’
You turn around at the sound of Chris’ question and watch the way he walks over to his old worn out green couch. ‘Yeah of course’ you respond whilst Chris groans as he bends his knees to sit down, quickly getting to work by bending his torso over the coffee table.
‘Got a weed preference? Gelato? Blue dream?’ He asks politely once again over his shoulder at you, because you’re still standing in his open apartment, breathing in the scent of strong narcotics and relaxant drugs. Taking that as a cue to sit down, you round the couch and plop down next to him whilst he slides out a little foot stool from underneath the couch.
You watch his hands flip up the top of the stool to reaveal a secret boxed compartment inside of it. Humming, you purse your lips in thought whilst he opens the compartment’s lid to reveal a bunch of different weed bags, looking at you with raised eyebrows as he waits for you to make a decision.
‘Umm… surprise me’ you land on finally, shrugging and grinning whilst Chris gives you a playful look and a cool nod. ‘Ooo dangerous girl today are we?’ he sniggers, before humming himself and biting his lip whilst his hand rummages around in between the different baggies to pick one out for you two himself.
‘Hmm, this one!’ He finally says, selecting out a small bag with a really dark green hybrid in it. ‘Yeah? How much do I owe you?’ You mention, before stuffing your hand down the front left pocket of your jeans to fish out a couple of bills.
Chris only smacks his lips and bats your hand that is extending money out to him away. ‘Yo- don’t be stupid, this is my treat’ he scolds as he fishes out the drug and weighs it, before putting it into the grinder and working against the plant root.
His arms flex as he twists the grinder to break up the drug into a fine consistency, all the while frowning at you to put your money away. ‘Ugh Chris, you can’t just keep giving me your supplies for free, that’s not how it works… drugs are fucking pricey bud’ you roll your eyes, before stuffing at least a couple of bills into his sweatpant pocket before he could stop you.
He sighs.
‘Ugh fine… but it’s not like you���re my only customer y’know… trust me I have plenty to pay the bills’ he finishes with a cocky tone, before opening up the grinder and swiftly pouring out the mixture into a line on some rolling paper. You silently watch him in awe as he expertly rolls the joint, before licking the side of it with his tongue and twisting it into place like a professional, all in under a minute. You can tell he’s rolled quite a decent bit judging by how easy it is for him.
‘Balcony?’ He questions, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the screen door that leads out onto his small balcony, two deck chairs sitting side by side. You nod happily, and then follow him outside onto the balcony.
*
‘So, how’s business?’ You ask whilst comfortably seated in one of the deck chairs, watching Chris tentatively as he perches the joint within his lips and wraps his hand around a lighter. Quickly he flicks it into a spark and lights up the joint before relaxing into his own chair and taking it from his mouth.
‘It’s actually been pretty good lately! Got a lot of new shit I can’t wait to try out…’
As he speaks, the smell of potent weed fills the air and a white plume of smoke trickles out from in between his lips. Holy shit this is strong stuff. But of course it is. This is Chris we’re talking about, and he always saves the best stuff for you.
‘Yeah?’
You respond whilst Chris leans over to pass you the sparked joint from in between his fingers, which you take and inhale yourself. He hums in agreement. The smoke coats your throat all the way down and instantly relaxes you whilst the drug stimulates your brain and melts your limbs further into the chair.
‘Oh… by the way- I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to smoke some sour diesel. This specific strain that I have is supposed to make you feel really horny… so just a little heads up in advance’.
Chris guiltily rambles on with a laughed smirk, his thighs manspread out widely and his fingers clasped together on his stomach whilst he waits to receive the joint back. You clench… did he pick that hybrid to smoke with you on purpose? Or were you just kidding yourself. Because the way he was gazing at you currently made you naturally assume that he had unholy intentions.
‘Oh um… yeah that’s fine. I suppose if we both end up high and horny then that’s just how it’s gotta be’.
You shrug and nod jokingly whilst passing back the joint. ‘Shit, awesome, thanks, I can always count on you’ Chris muses excitedly before slipping the joint back into his mouth. Depending on how he moves, the silver lip ring pierced into his lip glints in the dull sunlight as he opens his mouth yet again to do a French inhale with the smoke blowing up towards his nose. I watch as it then calmly dissipates into the air.
‘Wanna shotgun?’ Chris then pipes up, sweetly offering to second hand smoke with you so that you could use more of the joint and not waste any of the valuable drug. Okay this can’t have been a coincidence, first the sour diesel and now offering to shotgun kiss with you? There’s no fucking way.
Nodding nonchalantly, you try to hide your heart flipping dramatically as best as you can whilst both you and him lean forward. Chris passes you the joint so that you get more of the hit than him, and you feed it into your mouth slowly, concealing your jittering hands by harshly pinching the rolling paper.
Leaning forward more, it all happens so fast as you drop your mouth and start to expel the smoke. It’s not needed, but Chris’ hand sneakily snakes around the back of your neck to keep the both of you close and steady as he recieves the second hand smoke. Both of your lips almost brush one another as Chris holds the smoke in his mouth for a moment before giving a quiet moan mixed with a sigh as he blows it back out into your face.
He then giggles cutely after you scrunch up your nose since you’re not expecting the white cloud to make your eyes water. ‘This is good shit’ you sputter, to keep yourself as distracted as possible from your sweating palms and throbbing nerves. You hate to say it, but you have the biggest crush on your drug dealer.
You know, it’s fucking stupid, but he’s just so hot, who fucking wouldn’t have a crush on him? He’s around your age, is attractive, and has impeccable charisma. It’s harder to not have a crush on him. Sometimes you trick yourself into believing that he only lets you come to his apartment to chat and see all of his stash first because the feelings are mutual.
If only you knew how right you actually were.
‘I know right?’ Chris chuckles back, before his deck chair squeaks underneath his lean, muscular body after he puts the joint back into his mouth and this time knocks his head back. You can’t help but get distracted from your surroundings in favour of looking at his sharp jawline and hollowing cheekbones whilst his neck bends and he expertly blows out a set of three smoke rings into the air above him.
‘How do you do that? It’s so cool!’ You laugh shyly, snuggling down into your sweater because of the chilly breeze that blows by suddenly whilst you cover your mouth with one of your sweater pawed sleeves. Chris gazes over at you with his already sunken eyes, a little half smile curling up one side of his face in proud achievement.
He loves trying to impress you then succeeding.
‘Lots and lots of practice baby cakes, I’ll teach you next time you come around…’
He replies back with one of his plethora of nicknames for you. You could tell straight off of the bat from when you had first met each other that giving people nicknames was sort of his thing, and you thought it was really very sweet.
‘But today…’ he starts, before groaning quietly as he leans back over to you to pass you the joint from his slouched sitting position.
‘We have some good weed to finish off…’
*
‘I am so fucking high right now’ Chris giggles before snorting, trying to hush his own laughter by slapping his hand against his mouth as his shoulders shake in place.
From the opposite side of his ratty green couch, you lie there simply looking up at the ceiling whilst opening and closing your mouth in stupefied awe.
In the background, the gentle scratch of SZA’s ctrl album hums quietly through the vinyl that he had put on his record player earlier after coming in from smoking on his balcony.
‘How much of that weed did we smoke?’ You slur back to him, tilting your head upwards so that you can look over at his tipped up chin and spread thighs. His back lies cosily tucked up on his side of the pillows as he screws up his eyes and sleepily blinks a couple of times.
‘Is it even fuh-fuckin’ working?’ He mumbles to me whilst shifting his heavy feeling arms to rub his hands all the way down his black sweats tantalisingly. ‘Cause all I feel is slightly sweaty… and a little tingly’.
All of a sudden you’re sweating yourself. But it’s not because his apartment is hot, it’s because you’re looking at him and the way he toys with the drawstrings of his sweats absentmindedly. ‘Which isss, which is pretty fuhckin’ normal conssssidering we’ve just smoked-’ Chris hiccups ‘-a fuck bunch of diesel’. Then he giggles again to himself, as if finding it absolutely hilarious that both of you are probably high out of your minds.
‘Uh- umm… dunno if it’s working for me…’ you lie, before desperately trying to retract your eyes from the way he gently tugs on the drawstrings and rolls them in between his fingers and thumbs.
You just hope that Chris can’t hear the way you shuffle your legs closer so that you can squeeze your thighs together secretly. The last thing you want to attract is attention, clearly in denial of the fact that you certainly feel the drug seeping through your nervous system now.
It’s bad enough that you have a crush on him already, now you think some higher being just wants to punish you for it. Something within you is definitely working, because you feel extra horny…
Chris shifts a little, bucking his lower body up with a meek groan coming from his mouth before you hear his hip bone crack. Then he goes still with a content sigh, clearly enjoying the certain blissfulness the drug provides him with.
He seems a lot less bothered than you about this. But you suppose taking drugs is practically what he does for a living, so he’s used to it.
You continue to stare at the roof, lazily trailing your eyes all the way up the various cracks in the ceiling plaster that have resulted because of damp infrastructure, just trying to keep yourself calm for the moment.
But then he starts up his squirming again a little later, and it’s as if he just can’t get comfortable this time because occasionally his socked feet will subtly nudge your’s or you’ll hear him moaning in relaxation every time he moves.
The drug seems to have this god awful effect on your body that simply makes you ache all over. It feels like your inner thighs have a million pins and needles in them.
You know he’s just trying to get comfortable… but within your lack of vision and your current state of heated wetness you can’t help but transform those softly uttered sounds into something a lot dirtier. How unfair of him to sound so much like a porn star.
Meanwhile, Chris is currently going through every stage of horniness that he thinks he could possibly imagine one would experience.
First the small tingling within his gut starts that signals to his brain that his body wants sex. Next comes the unbearably uncomfortable and itchy state his burning skin goes through, whilst disastrously filthy images travel through his mind and hang there like suspended thoughts.
Thoughts like what you, one of his clients… would look like naked. What your tits would look like, whether or not they are a nice shape or not. If you have smaller and sweeter nipples or if you have ones that he can really wrap his tongue around. Whether you prefer to sit commandingly on top and listen to the guy underneath you or flip it and have it the other way around. Are you into threesomes? Because Chris sure is, and he has a friend he can call on speed dial if you ever were to wish it.
Any thought currently floating within his mind always redirects itself back to you lying opposite him with your closed thighs that he so badly wants to pry open himself. He feels as though he has to check himself now. It’s not much of a surprise when he registers the heavy feeling in his lower gut because he knows it all too well. He’s already sensitive and aching.
He’s hard.
But who wouldn’t be if they were thinking about having sex with one of the prettiest girls Chris had ever known, that also just so happens to be someone he dealt drugs to on the side…
*
The more you listen in to Chris’ annoyingly erotic sounds, the more the darkly temping thought of just saying fuck it and jumping on top of him edges your already infected mind.
Not looking over at him to check what he is actually doing kills you, and soon you just can’t help yourself but take a quick sneak peek at your drug dealer. You have to stifle a gasp though, because when you look you do not quite expect to see what you do.
Lying down right opposite you is Chris in his original position, with his black sweat-pant clad legs spread outwards and his feet planted to the couch cushions whilst his knees are bent upwards lazily. The grey zip up hoodie that he had slipped on earlier slouches open to put his white t-shirt on show whilst his rosy cheeks appear flushed and his face screws itself up in pleasure.
You practically gawk at the way he has his whole entire hand shoved down the expanse of his front waistband.
His pierced lip ring catches in between the bite of his teeth whilst his eyes lie squeezed shut and his legs spread unconsciously further the more his hips buck whilst he fucks his hand.
The hand tucked beneath his sweats, you notice, bulges slowly as he pants through his bitten lip and releases a gut-wrenchingly horny moan with his back arching and his chin tipping unbearably further up into the couch armrest.
The drug clearly seems to be in full swing now, because with every corner your mind turns, the dead end spells out ‘sex’. It seems to be all your body wants in this very moment. You don’t even think you can get up from the couch no matter how hard you try, because Chris is simply right here, wet and ready just for you.
There seems to be no sense of urgency around Chris to get rid of his seemingly prominent boner, in fact, you’ll bet he’s just leisurely strolling his way through the feelings of ecstasy.
‘Chris what are you doing?’ You decide to stupidly bumble in a small voice to catch his attention, but Chris doesn’t seem to care all that much that he’s openly thrusting up into his hand in front of you.
‘Sorry I- I couldn’t help how sensitive I was…’ he finally whines into the air apologetically before his breath hitches and he almost cries out a gulp of air after you see a finger - seemingly his thumb - move up from behind the fabric to rub his tip in slow, circular motions.
He almost begins to shiver whilst his head hopelessly twists from side to side, just to give him some form of distraction from the stimulation he feels.
Never before in your life have you seen a man so sensitive because of his cock before.
Curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to crunch up to a sitting position, your eyes trained on a babyish looking Chris that lies almost in a crumpled heap with his forehead sweating and his pupils blown drastically in size.
He pants and looks directly at you whilst jerking off, making your stomach flip again as he gazes at your body with hungry eyes.
Dripping. You’re actually dripping for him.
Never before in your life have you felt more like a piece of meat that a lion is simply salivating to get his teeth on.
His eyes keep a hold of you for the whole entire time it takes your body to crawl up to his. As you reach him, your own brain begins to fuzz, and you sort of forget where the fuck you are. You loose touch with reality.
Must have been the drug.
All you know is that Chris is here, clearly as horny as you, and in need of your help.
‘Shhhh… shhh… don’t cry baby’ you gently whisper yet another slur to him through your state of heavy intoxication coated with the rings of compulsory sexual desire. God, you had no idea that the diesel increased people’s libidos either, because regularly you’d never have the guts to utter something like that to someone you liked, especially Chris.
Chris slowly stops and he gulps after you drag one of your fingers down his lips, only to tug on his pierced one so that you can watch it recoil back up into its original resting place. Quickly he feeds about half of the lip back into the bite of his teeth whilst gazing up at you with glassy doe-eyed pupils.
‘What’s gotten you so worked up baby boy?’ You coo to him yet again, before smoothing your hands down his waist and his hipbones, which causes him to gently shiver and whine into the back of his throat. He swallows and tries to speak. But he can’t, because instead he has to squeeze his eyes shut and careen his body forward in pleasure after he tightens his hand just that little bit more around his hot, stiffened skin.
The feeling is unmatched and spit almost comes freely tumbling out from his open mouth due to gravity. His shoulders heave, and you pet his hair gently whilst sitting on your haunches and pressing one of your heels up into your heat to suppress your unbearable wetness. You pout before clearing the floppy hair from out of his eyes and asking him if you can get rid of his pants because ‘it must be awfully tough to move around in them hey?’.
So you gently slide them down his haired thighs after he struggles a ‘please… fucking please- I can barely take it anymore’, before also deciding to hook your fingers into his boxers to take them off too.
He is thicker than he is longer, but still has decent size. He’s also obviously damp and sticky from where his hand has been holding him because his pretty-looking cock glimmered slightly in the white light protruding from his ceiling fan. Pre-come readily drips out from the top of his aching prick, and leaks its way down the rest of his shaft.
Chris only looks up at you with a sloppy smirk, before reaching out one of his hands to squish them against your cheeks and guide your eyes to look up at his own.
‘Stop your drooling doll face and eyes up here… just you wait ma, as soon as you get your mouth on me I am going to be moaning your name for weeks after this one…’
You feel like almost fainting on the spot as your head aches and your core throbs with damp heat. You feel like you can’t even speak anymore, because all of your words have been sucked from your mouth. Sitting in between his spread thighs, his back props itself up against the arm of the couch whilst you can’t help but look down at his once again.
‘You wouldn’t believe how sensitive I get… and I fucking love it, I could be squealing the whole entire apartment block down and I still wouldn’t give a shit because of how fucking good it feels’. Chris rasps from his position below you, still hot and still sweaty from the affect of the drug but 100% ready to get his hands all over you.
Both of your hands are layered on each of his thighs and without warning, you squeeze them. This makes him hiss slightly in stimulated pain, but it also gives him pleasure because he smirks through it all. ‘Go on… put your tongue on me… I know you want to…’ he taunts in a low whisper, like Adam tempting Eve with an apple and playing with her biggest weaknesses.
Your heart beats down at your clit easily through the influence of the drug, and you don’t hesitate, not after Chris mumbles ‘I know you like it… and I know you wanna know what it feels like when I hit the back of your throat’.
Your mouth waters at the huskiness of his whisper and you swallow, looking up at Chris with devilishly hooded eyes that Aphrodite gifts you, especially for a task like this.
‘I dare you…’
You don’t give him much time to say anything else, because you’re eagerly spitting a thick string of saliva right onto his cock instead. You watch as it slips all the way down the base of his thickness slowly whilst you hear Chris pant deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyelashes feathering dreamily at the sensation of your spit mingling with his pre-come.
His large hands grab onto any part of the couch they can find and hold onto it for dear life after he stutters a whiny little ‘Oh- oh god…’ with his breath hitching and his stomach convulsing under the sensation of your tongue. You sit on your knees properly, your hands caressing his thighs as you drop your head right down so that you can nuzzle against his throbbing nerve.
As you get closer you spy a thick blue vein on the underside of his dick and try to remember where it is for later stimulation. But for now you simply look up at him with your own little smirk decorating your face whilst he gazes down at you, looking helpless and needy. Puckering your lips, you decide to tease him a little by placing pathetic, minuscule kisses up on his wet tip, before nudging it with your nose. Chris whines a little in annoyance at this with his back arching babyishly as though he’s about to throw a temper tantrum.
‘What a pretty little boy’ you muse generously, before whispering ‘you’d hit my g-spot easily baby…’ up to him, which has his hips bucking uncontrollably into the air. Although, one of your hands comes down to slap his thigh at this.
‘Hey! Don’t be naughty now… you’ll get my tongue in a minute… let me have a look at you first’ you scold him harshly, now holding down both of his hips before you peek out your tongue to give him a short kitten lick. You can tell he wants to thrust up into your mouth so badly based off of the resistance your hands face, however, you don’t let him just yet.
‘You let me have my fun, and then you can have your fun, Chris’ you bark at him which seems to put his filthy mouth in place.
Leaning back up again on your haunches, you now decide to spit into your hand and wrap it around his pulsating cock. You can tell Chris isn’t expecting this due to the way he cries out into the air slightly before you start to slowly stroke him. You feel some form of heart beat throbbing underneath his thickness whilst your hand works against him. You make your hand tight and slow to allow him enough sensual pleasure whilst not going too fast so that you can also savour the moment.
Whilst keeping your hand going, you manage to get onto your hands and knees so that you can lean up closer to his face and really look at how he squirms about helplessly below you.
‘Gotta get you ready for my mouth, don’t I?’ You innocently speak down to him, but Chris only tips his head back in return to hit it against the armrest and squeeze his eyes shut. His panting breaths are raggedy and laboured whilst he tries to focus on his breathing above all else, but he can’t help but feel slightly tortured under the influence of your palm.
‘Fuck- fucking lick me… please gorgeous… I- I need you so bad’ his voice reduces to pathetic begs as he finds the time to now viciously twist your shirt in between his knuckles and yank at it like a pouty child. You roll your eyes and tighten your hand, mumbling a quick ‘needy boy aren’t you?’ Before finally giving in to his agonising cries.
You lower yourself back down with Chris putting a somewhat happy smile onto his face through the pained pleasure after getting you to crack and give him what he wants.
This time, you don’t beat around the bush. If Chris wants it he can fucking have it for all you care. Letting go of his cock, you substitute your hand for your tongue and lick a bold stripe all the way from the base to the tip.
‘Jesus Christ…’ he whines in overstimulation, only the torture doesn’t stop there, because he has to repeat himself louder when you quickly slide his tip into you mouth, briefly lollipopping it and coating it with more of your saliva before you slide it back out with a wet ‘pop’.
‘Ugh… more… please- please give me more!’ Chris moans impatiently, whining like a fucking spoilt brat as he finally makes a decision to tangle his hands within your hair and keep them there so that he can pull on your strands whenever he feels like it. His cheeks are a furious red, and even his brow is sweating whilst he looks down towards your kneeling figure.
You roll your eyes with a glare, and he shies away at this, averting his eyes so that you won’t shout at him or slap his thigh again.
Going back to your work, your tongue playfully slips out once so that you can roll it over his tip. This seems to give Chris a wild rush of euphoria because of the way he’s cursing and groaning.
Jesus… he wasn’t kidding when he said he liked to squeal his whole apartment block down.
You smirk.
But your eyes also water because of how harshly Chris is clawing at your hair.
So you decide to give him a fright and deep throat him.
It works, because as soon as you slide him down your throat he moans into the air once again, his back arching and his hips instinctively bucking up, which makes saliva drip from out of your mouth and down the rest of his glistening cock after you gag slightly.
As Chris’ thickness stretches out your mouth you do indeed feel the tip of his cock rub against the back of your throat when you start to bob your head.
Chris - clearly - has no problem with helping at all and decides to use his grip on your hair to greedily push your head at his own pace, which - you’re not going to lie - is extremely hot, but also pisses you off.
‘Fuck you’re so good at this’ he mumbles within a daze of erotic edging, his orgasm easily bubbling along the lining of his gut from how well you’re sucking him, but you don’t quite let him cum just yet because you want to try something…
Slipping him back out of your mouth, you grab a hold of his utterly soaked cock before jerking him slowly once again, this time pressing your thumb right into the bulge of his vein, which makes his eyes flutter and roll into the back of his head.
‘I want you to fuck my mouth baby…’
You breathe lustfully, staring at him with sparkling eyes as your core squeezes in excitement.
‘I want you to absolutely choke me…’
You beg to him once again, which catches Chris’ attention.
He’s greedy for his orgasm, and so complies immediately with a panting smirk.
‘…Get back down there then’ he muses cheekily, his straightened teeth on show before he forces your head down there himself. Your nose nudges against his pulsing cock for one last time before you slide him back into your mouth and this time, let him do the work.
His chest and stomach rise and fall rapidly whilst he manoeuvres one of his hands to now grip the centre of your hair whilst his other one finds its way to the couch cushion so that he can prop himself up.
Slowly, he barely gives you any time to adjust before he is fucking his hips upwards, pushing himself further down your throat every time he pulls away and comes back again. You gag once more, but don’t put up much of a fight because you instead love to hear his groans of sheer effort that turn into something carnally primal the more he does it.
Suddenly he gets louder, and you actually feel him twitch within your mouth, hinting to you that his orgasm is coming thick and fast.
‘I’m- I’m gonna c-cum’ he incoherently whines with his neck thrown back once again as it struggles to bring his voice up into the air.
Tears roll down your cheeks, but you ignore them in favour of allowing Chris to finish into your mouth. Sliding his cock up towards the opening of your lips slightly, it gives you enough room to wrap your hand around the base of his prick so that you can help him cum. Whilst he does, you continuously stroke him as he cries and white knuckles the couch cushion seat. His cum spurts out in hot, thick ropes and drips all down your throat.
After you let Chris go, you make him watch you swallow all of what he gave you.
He slouches onto the sofa with exhaustion, breathing heavily with his shoulders rising and falling dramatically.
Both of you are silent for a second, panting and looking at one another as if your brains are deciding to voice aloud what they’re both thinking.
Chris makes the first move.
‘Umm… are you- are you still as horny as me? Even after… that?’. His voice is timid, as if testing the waters between a make or break point. However, you still feel an absolute wave of arousal batter against your clit, and so nod in confusion.
Chris only laughs in disbelief whilst rubbing his forehead.
‘Shit that is strong stuff…’
Author’s notes p.2: wow. Well umm… that was long. I always get WAY too carried away with my writing lmaoo. Can someone please tell me why I literally made a fucking Spotify playlist dedicated to exactly this piece of writing?? (Who wants on it? 😏). Also, I took the liberty of giving Chris a labret lip piercing in this one because HOT, and idk, I just think it suited his vibe- but yes, obvi he doesn’t have one irl so everyone can just pretend 🙄. This piece of writing is dedicated to @ellie-luvsfics bc she’s ‘a slut for drug dealer Chris’. And @strniohoeee bc she’s my bbg <3 hope people enjoyed, and as always send any requests and whatnot!!!
#matt sturniolo#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#nick sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#the sturniolos
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