𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭, 𝓖𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓶

🅂🄴🄽🅂🄸🅃🄸🅅🄴 🄲🄾🄽🅃🄴🄽🅃 🌹 🄽🄾🅃 🄵🄾🅁 🅄🄽🄳🄴🅁 18 🌹 🄾🄱🅂🄲🄴🄽🄸🅃🅈 🅆🅁🄸🅃🄴🅁

[grimm909]

🌹Introduction🌹

Hi! Thank you so much for visiting my blog and I welcome you to this circus of horrors. That said, beware! None of what is here should be ingested by anyone under 18, due to its high toxicity and NSFW content. If you are a minor and parachuted here, I humbly ask you to leave so that there is no problem with your sanity. And if you're a good conservationist or someone whose sensitivity is too high, I also urge you not to go forward. It's a matter of common sense and well being with yourself. 

🌹Rules🌹

❤️ - Only Headcanons and one-shots are written by me. Some of them will be ideas of my own head, while others will be requested by Your Excellency. 

❤️ - Depending on how I can write, I'll be accepting only one character for one-short and four or more for headcanons.

❤️ - If you prefer a male, female or gender-neutral reader, say so in your order. If not specified, the reader will be mostly female or neutral. 

❤️ - All characters are described as being over eighteen years of age.

❤️ - If you wish, alternate universes can be entered. 

❤️ - If you want, call me Sao

Requests I accept:

🌹Yandere

🌹NSFW

🌹Fluffy

🌹Comedy

Requests I don't accept:

💢Pedophilia (all are written as adults)

💢Oc's

💢Gore

💢Vore

💢Vomit and anything that has disgusting content

🌹Masterlist - Requests open🌹

In development…

[cloudytonic10]

Echos in the Alps

Pairing: Jade Leech x F!Reader Genre: Mystery, Slow Burn, Fake Marriage, Thriller Warnings: murder, blood, suspense, manipulation, implied violence, & a bunch of kinky stuff💋ྀིྀི Word Count: ~1.2K Part: I

“To the rest of the world, Jade Leech was your husband. Only the two of you knew the ring on your finger was part of the lie.”

──────────────๑♡⁠๑───────────────

Snow fell in thick, endless curtains beyond the train windows, blurring the world into shades of silver and white. The Alps stretched across the horizon like sleeping giants beneath the winter sky, their peaks hidden behind clouds heavy with another incoming storm. Every few minutes, the locomotive groaned against the frozen rails, coughing smoke into the evening air as though the mountain itself disapproved of modern travel. Which, honestly, it probably did.

Inside the first-class carriage, warmth clung faintly to polished mahogany walls and brass fixtures dulled by years of use. Passengers murmured quietly among themselves beneath the dim amber glow of hanging lamps. Ladies in wool coats and fitted skirts sat with gloved hands folded neatly in their laps, pearls resting delicately against their throats. Gentlemen wore pressed trousers, long overcoats, and brimmed hats tilted low against tired eyes. Newspapers rustled softly alongside the occasional clink of porcelain teacups. Cigarette smoke drifted lazily through the air despite several signs politely requesting otherwise, because people in the early twentieth century treated lung damage like a personality trait.

Seated near the frost-covered window was you.

The train gave another shudder as it pushed deeper into the Alps, metal wheels screaming softly against ice-bitten tracks. Outside, the world had fully surrendered to white now—no horizon, no distinction between sky and ground, just endless snowfall swallowing everything that tried to exist too clearly.

Inside the carriage, life continued pretending it wasn’t currently being transported into a very obvious setup for disaster.

You adjusted your notebook again, mostly out of habit, and mostly because it gave you something to do with your hands besides acknowledge the fact that you were, once again, on assignment that could very easily turn into a headline ending in tragedy. “Journalist,” your editor had called you. “Troublemagnet,” your coworkers had corrected. Both were technically accurate.

And of course, seated across from you, was your… situation.

Your beloved husband.

Jade Leech.

The words sat in your mind with the same enthusiasm as a tax form. To everyone else on this train, he was exactly that—your spouse. A respectable, quietly attentive man accompanying you on what was politely assumed to be a romantic winter journey through the mountains. Nobody questioned it. Nobody needed to. Society preferred simple answers over correct ones. The truth was always more complicated.

He sat across from you with effortless composure, one leg crossed neatly over the other as he turned another page in his book. Dark gloves covered his hands despite the warmth inside the carriage. His attire was immaculate; a charcoal-colored suit tailored perfectly beneath a long black coat lined with velvet trim. A silver watch chain caught faint light whenever the carriage lamps shifted. Even seated, he carried himself with the kind of poised elegance that suggested expensive rooms, quiet conversations, and problems that resolved themselves before they became visible. Or crime scenes. Unfortunately for your peace of mind, he excelled at both.

Jade Leech was not here because of romance, legality, or anything particularly human.

He was here because of you. More specifically, because of your job.

A journalist traveling alone into isolated Alpine regions was, apparently, an excellent way to end up missing, silenced, or reduced to a past-tense article someone else would file. Your editor had made that very clear while sliding a file across the desk, concern disguised as professionalism.

Then Jade had appeared. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… there.

A “consultant,” he’d called himself. Someone with connections, information access, and the kind of timing that made coincidence feel deliberate. He never explained much unless it benefited him to do so. What he did explain—after watching you refuse three separate protection details with the confidence of someone who treated personal safety as optional—was that you were predictable. Not in a rude way. In a “you will absolutely walk into danger if left alone” way.

Charming.

The fake marriage had been his idea. Delivered with the same calm tone he used for everything, like he was suggesting you carry an umbrella. “Social structures are useful,” he’d said. “People stop asking questions when they believe they already understand the answer.” And apparently, nothing stopped questions faster than a husband who stood too close, spoke too little, and looked like he had memorized your existence for sport.

So here you were. A journalist with a camera, a notebook, and a fabricated marital status carefully stitched together for survival.

Which brought you back to the present.

You exhaled slowly and glanced up at him. “Right,” you said flatly. “And of course, my beloved husband Jade.”

There it was.

Instantly, the tone shifted.

Because until now, he had simply been across from you—a quiet presence, reading as if the world outside the train didn’t exist. But the moment the title left your mouth, something subtle changed in the air. Not affection. Not embarrassment. Something closer to attention being acknowledged.

Jade lowered his book slightly, pale eyes lifting to meet yours with polite curiosity. “Yes?” he replied, as though the word had always belonged to him and you were simply late in using it correctly.

You gestured vaguely at him. “You’re really committed to this whole ‘married man’ act.”

“I find consistency reassuring,” he said.

“That’s one word for it.”

His gaze lingered on you a moment too long—measured, observant, like he was reading a paragraph you hadn’t written yet. Then, lightly: “You’re doing well with it as well. Most people hesitate before introducing me that way.”

“I’m not most people.”

“I’m aware.”

That should have been unsettling.

It was.

The train rattled again, and somewhere outside, the first outline of distant mountainside architecture began to appear through the snowfall—stone, timber, and warm light bleeding into the storm like something trying not to be seen.

Jade followed your gaze. “The hotel,” he said quietly.

Not a question. A conclusion.

You nodded once. “Ashenridge.” A place old enough to feel like it remembered things it shouldn’t. A place your article was supposed to turn into something publishable instead of a warning sign.

Jade closed his book fully, resting it against his knee. “Then our role becomes clearer,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Our role?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Husband and wife arriving together. Observing quietly. Asking the right questions in the right order, while avoiding unnecessary attention.”

“That last part feels directed at me.”

“It often is.”

A faint curve touched his mouth—too restrained to be called a smile, too precise to be accidental.

The train slowed, wheels groaning as the station platform emerged through the storm—dim lanterns, bundled figures, luggage carts moving like shadows in the snow.

Somewhere beyond that, the hotel waited.

And somewhere beside you, pretending to be your spouse for reasons that were entirely logical and still somehow questionable, Jade Leech adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. Like this was routine. Like it would remain simple. Like nothing about this arrangement could possibly shift.

The doors hissed open. Cold air rushed in.

And Jade, ever polite, stepped slightly closer to your side—just enough for anyone watching to assume he was exactly what the world had already decided he was.

Your husband.

Whether you liked it or not.

═════════════════════════════════════════════

[grimm909]

A new Octavinelle writer, everyone.🥳

[mostro-after-hours]

The Point of no return—The Feeding Grounds (Part 1.)

​What choice does a magicless nobody have when cornered by the deep-sea mafia? Signing up with Octavinelle was just basic survival... Besides, these three gentlemen are far too "charitable" to leave a poor, unfortunate soul stranded with nothing. They promised you shelter and protection out of the goodness of their hearts, totally not because they saw a vulnerable little thing just "begging" to be used.

Warnings: (AU! 18+ All characters //TW: R*pe/Non-Con, Extreme Dub-Con, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Breathplay/Choking, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Public/Semi-public Sex, Degradation, Predator/Prey Dynamics, Monster Characteristics, Body/Mind Alteration, Manipulation/Gaslight, Rough Sex, Fear Play, Marking, Dark Obsession, The Dove Is Dead: Do Not Eat.)

To you, Mostro Lounge always felt suffocating. And it wasn't just the enchanted underwater atmosphere or the endless clinking of expensive glassware; it was the way the air always felt so… charged, like the static before a storm.

​You had been working the late shift, weaving through the tables of wealthy students, but you could always feel a pair of eyes tracking your every movement. It wasn't a secret who they belonged to. FLOYD LEECH was slumped in a booth in the far corner, his long legs stretched out into the walkway, tripping up anyone he deemed "boring."

​He hadn't said a word to you all night. He didn't have to. Every time you passed him, he’d let out a low, humming sound—a vibration you felt in your bones more than you heard with your ears. It was his way of tagging you—or rather; his prey.

​​"Koebi-chan is working so hard today," he finally drawled as you tried to squeeze past him with a tray of empty glasses. He didn't move his legs. Instead, he reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you closer until you stumbled. His skin was unnervingly cool. "But ya look all worn out. Is Azul overworking you again~? Your little heart’s goin’ so fast… thump, thump-thump…” He feigned concern that you didn't buy.

​"I have orders to finish, Floyd," you asserted, with a quiet but stern voice, looking away, desperate to avoid those mismatched eyes that saw way too much.

​"Orders~?” His brows arched, “C'mon, Azul doesn't care. He's got his nose in a ledger. Aha~” he laughed, a jagged, unpredictable sound. "And I’m bored, Shrimpy. And when I’m bored, I start gettin’ all... itchy."

​He squeezed your wrist—just a fraction too hard. It wasn't a bruise yet, but a promise of one. You winced, the tray of glasses rattling slightly in your other hand, but his grip was like an iron shackle. He leaned in closer, his two-toned eyes blown wide as he watched the way your breath hitched in your throat.

“I start wonderin' just how much a little thing like you can take… before ya truly break apart,” he purred, his thumb tracing the racing pulse at your wrist.

He seemed to savor the way you trembled under his touch and the way your eyes darted around in fear. A dark, satisfied grin spread across his face. “Heh, don't look so scared... I’m just lookin' out for ya. Ain't I a nice guy?” His voice was teasing, devoid of any sincerity. “I think you should take your break earlier.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling in a way that might have deceived you, if not for the obvious pair of teeth that could easily tear you to pieces.

Unable to take your eyes from the glint of that deceitful smile you swallowed hard, afraid to say the wrong thing—but then again, was there ever a right thing with this madman?

The silence that followed was heavy, pressurized by the intensity of Floyd's leering gaze. When you failed to reply, his voice dropped an octave, any playfulness vanishing from his demeanor into something intimidating and downright threatening. “Out the back door. I'll give ya five minutes. If ya make me wait, I might get real cranky. And you don't like it when I'm cranky, do ya?”​ He let go, almost shoved your hand away. The ghost of his grip remained on you like a mark.

You knew you couldn't go to Azul; the Housewarden would just give you that cold, logical smile and remind you of the "services" required to keep your roof over your head. You couldn't go to Jade; he’d only "help" by escorting you directly to his brother.

​You made your way to the kitchen, your heart hammering against your ribs. ​It wasn't a choice; it was an inevitability. The pressure wasn't just coming from the millions of gallons of seawater held back by the dorm’s magical glass—it was radiating from the booth in the corner. You felt the weight of Floyd’s gaze like a physical force on your body, pushing you toward a conclusion you weren’t allowed to decline.

Involuntarily, you set the tray down on the stainless steel prep table, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the knot of your apron. Removing it felt less like a relief of ending a shift and more like a forfeit. You hung it on its hook—a thin, white flag of surrender.

​You pushed open the heavy service backdoor, stepping out of the bustling, jazz-filled lounge, and into the maintenance corridor. It was a long, “dead-end” alley of sorts, tucked away between the kitchen’s outer hull and the massive stone foundation of the dorm.

Beneath the muffled, rhythmic hum of the dorm's life-support, the thudding of your own heart felt overwhelming, echoing in your ears with a frantic, uneven beat. Only a sliver of light caught the stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse to the now distant, distorted beat of the music inside.

The air felt stagnant as you dragged your tired body deeper into the corridor. The thick scent of wet stone, brine, and the metallic tang of machinery filled your senses. As you braced yourself against the masonry wall, a violent shiver raced down your spine. The biting chill of the trenches sinking into your skin.

​But you knew that wasn't really the case; the trembling wasn't because of the cold. It was something else coiling in your throat—a feeling you tried your best to ignore as you slowly sank to the floor.

You didn't try to run anymore—you knew better—but you couldn't help the way you stiffened, once the door opened again like a gunshot, making you bolt right back up.

​The heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps began like a countdown—leisurely, confident, and soon, entirely too close. As if surveying his territory, a pair of heavy-lidded eyes caught the light, glowing with a dull, predatory gleam that made your blood run cold every time you made the mistake of looking into them.

​"Ahh~... there ya are.” ​He came to a halt just inches from you, hanging his head down above you like a beast cornering his kill. “Good little shrimp. I knew you wouldn't make me come lookin' for ya.”

The door clicked shut, the sound final as a coffin lid. Floyd loomed over you. He didn't need many words for himself; it was his physicality—his towering, deceptively relaxed frame and hands tucked away in his pockets—that was enough to broadcast his absolute dominance of any space.

Without taking his eyes off you, he began to methodically roll up the sleeves of his lilac dress shirt, exposing the powerful, pale lengths of his forearms. You felt like some type of dish on a display as that unblinking leer was assessing your 'worth,' weighing exactly what kind of ‘game’ he wanted to play with you this time.

​You timidly tracked the outline of his sharp, polished dress shoes with your eyes before craning your neck up to meet his gaze—unsure what to expect of the sinister man in front of you, and even more certain that he might not be a man at all.

​"N’aww, Koebi-chan~..." His voice was a low, melodic crawl that made the hair on your arms stand up. He was already in your space, his heat radiating through your thin uniform. "Look at ya, shakin’ like a little bait-fish on a hook. I haven't even touched ya yet, and you’re already fallin’ apart."

He didn't wait for you to answer. His hand shot out, his long, powerful fingers clamping around your throat with a bruising strength that forced your feeble hands to clutch at his in desperation. He shoved you back against the stone, the impact knocking the very air from your lungs.

​"Such a fragile and squishy little thing, aren't ya~? But if a little squeeze like this already has ya gaspin’ for air, how are ya gonna handle it when I really get hungry, hm? Better start getting used to it fast, ehe~”

​As his hand hooked into the damp lace beneath your skirt, he stood tall and overpowering, looking down at you with those uneven, heterochromatic eyes—one wide and manic, the other half-lidded and dangerous. ​He was a hulking, unpredictable force, with movements devoid of any hesitation.

​"Go ahead... scream if ya dare, Shrimpy," he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste the terror on your skin. "I love it when ya make noise. Makes me wanna see how much louder I can get ya to go~. But you're bein' such a good, quiet girl today... you remember what happens when you’re not, don't ya?”

​One hand stayed locked on your jaw, his thumb forcing your mouth open while his fingers dug into your skin. The other ruthlessly probed your sensitive folds, forcing a rhythm that ignored your gasps. You had learned that moderation didn't exist in Floyd's vocabulary; he was a monster of excess who demanded total surrender. He wanted the air from your lungs, the ground beneath your feet, and the frantic rhythm of your fear.

​"Now answer me, shrimpy," he hissed into your ear, his voice a hoarse, ragged rasp. "You actually like it when I’m like this, don't ya? I can smell it, ya know… how your body’s lookin' for mine. You’re just like me, a little monster that craves a bigger one to fill ya up to the brim. Don't lie to me. Tell me how much ya love it…"

A wave of nausea surged through your chest. You tried to shake your head, to choke out a denial, but with his hand still vice-gripped around your jaw, all that emerged was a pathetic, broken whimper.

​When you didn't—couldn't—answer, he spun you around with a brutal, effortless strength and slammed you face-down onto a heavy, bolted-down industrial storage unit. The edge of the cold metal bit cruelly into your hips, and the impact forced a sharp, pained gasp from your lungs as your chest was pinned flat against the hard surface. He loomed over your back, a hulking shadow that blotted out the dim light of the corridor.

​"If you're so desperate to be used up, you can't even find the words to thank me… It's okay, Shrimpy~ I can do the talkin' for the both of us.”

​His movements were violent and jagged. He didn't ask; he took. You felt his heavy weight crushing you into the surface as he hiked your skirt up, the fabric bunching crudely around your waist. He used his thigh to wedge your legs wide, the sheer pressure of his body leaving you breathless. You tried to claw at the smooth metal frantically. You tried to plead, but your attempt died in your throat—a panicked, broken sound that only seemed to fuel his dark amusement.

He leaned down, face inches from yours, breath hot against your skin. “Aww, where are ya tryna go?” He mocked in a chuckle as he felt you try to pull away from him. “Seriously, where did ya learn to be such a nasty little liar from, eh shrimpy?”

​He withdrew his hand from beneath your skirt, his bony fingers glistening in the dim light, as he held them up to your face. “See that? You're so soaked I could swim in ya… you're practically drippin' for me. You were squeezin' my fingers so tight back there, too~...”

He roughly dug his fingers back inside you, digging into your sore walls with a possessive rhythm that ignored your whimpers and the way you tried to squirm away from him.

​​"Aha~... see? Your voice is shakin' just like your little legs. You just stay nice and quiet and squeeze for me, okay~?" His smirk widened into pure sadistic glee. You heard the harsh metallic snick of his belt being unbuckled—a sound that felt like a death knell in the muffled silence of the corridor.

​You should scream. You should thrash around until your nails tore against the metal and your heels kicked uselessly at his shins. But the memory of the last time you tried to fight back kept you pinned in place.

​There was no "no" with Floyd—it was a mere invitation to be even more ‘creative’ with your pain. He gave you the illusion of space, the phantom hope of a gap to slip through, but it was just a shark letting his tiny fish dive a few inches deeper before swallowing it whole.

It was easier, safer, to be his "good little shrimpy." Because when you were good, he might eventually let you breathe. When you were bad... he’d make sure you forgot how to.

Without a shred of warning, he replaced the invasive prodding of his fingers with the full, punishing weight of himself. He drove into you with a brutal force, slamming his hips against yours—uninvited and utterly dominant.

You let out a choked cry, but his hand was already there, clamping over your mouth to silence the sound. His other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck arched painfully. He wanted to watch the way your makeup smeared under the heat of your tears—collecting your misery like a trophy.

​"Ah, look at that face... So cute~. Don't you dare look away from me" His voice swayed, slowly losing all its playful lilt as something disturbing began to set in. His face inches from yours, eyes now dancing with utter animalistic mischief.

Abrasive, ​rhythmic pain replaced your senses as your caged body was rocked back-and-forth against the unyielding metal. A now devastatingly familiar, sandpapery sensation stinging deep in your core.

Through your teary eyes, you could barely make it out, but it wasn't your imagination: Floyd's jaw began to distend, unhinging slightly, a little more than a human’s ever should, as his impossibly long tongue slithered out his razor-sharp maw.

​"F-Floyd... please... stop… please…" you cried out through the agonising rawness. But the plea was just a broken thread, a pathetic attempt to claw back any shred of agency.

​The wet, slimy muscle swiped upward from your chin, dragging over your lips and across your cheeks, leaving a trail of thick saliva. It wasn't a “kiss”; it was a claim. Cold against your feverish skin, a visceral mark of his total obsession. An invasion that had your breath hitching in a way that felt dangerously like another sob.

​He always took a sadistic kind of pride in the way your face was smudged by tears, convinced that your distress was just another form of gratitude. After all, you were his favorite plaything, and his undivided attention was a gift you were obligated to accept.

The tip of his tongue flicked against the corner of your eye, savoring the salt of your tears with a slow, deliberate lap. A low, primal growl rumbled deep in his chest—a vibration you felt more than you heard.

​"Come to think of it, you cried like this last time too," he would say, his voice a haunting echo in your mind. “Tears of happiness, yeah? Ahaha~”

​In the distance a faint groan of a door opening, followed by footsteps, echoed from the far end of the maintenance corridor—a reminder of the "normal" world that you no longer felt part of. You braced yourself, trapped between the shame of being seen like this and the exhausted hope that someone would come to your rescue.

​As the seemingly hesitant, unsuspecting clacks slowly approached from around the corner, Floyd’s eyes widened with a manic flash. He didn't pull away. Instead, his grasp on your jaw and hair intensified as he forced his tongue deep through your forcefully opened mouth, invading your oral cavity and throat so completely it choked back any possible screams.

​His movements became faster and more erratic—a frantic, starving scramble for his own release. You wanted to snap your teeth shut, to bite through the intrusive muscle and taste his blood in a sick, twisted way, but it was useless.

​In a final, desperate act of defiance, you clawed at his arms—digging your nails into his pale flesh until you drew streams of blood—but his grip remained overpowering, tightening even harder around you.

​A strange, heavy haze began to cloud your mind—a creeping numbness spreading from your throat making your limbs slowly turn to lead as you struggled to find air through your stuffed breathing canals. Dark spots overblotting your vision—your strength fading out with each ruthless thrust. You weren't just losing the fight; you were drowning away entirely. And ironically, Floyd was the only thing keeping you afloat in his arms while you sank.

​"U-um, Floyd-senpai? Azul-sama was asking for the inventory—"

​The Octavinelle first-year stopped dead. In the dim, flickering light, the scene was a nightmare: the school’s most volatile predator hunched over a limp, half-dressed girl, his tongue still deep in her throat.

​Floyd turned his head slowly towards the stunned ‘intruder’ before he reeled his tongue back with a wet, deliberate slowness, leaving behind a thick string of saliva. Bridging the gap between you like a spider's silk before it finally snapped.

His face contorted into an expression of pure, murderous rage, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—smearing the blood from his arms across his jaw—red evidence of your struggle. He didn't care about being caught; he cared about being interrupted.

​“You..." Floyd’s voice didn't just drop; it was a guttural growl. "I was havin' a real good time, and ya have the audacity to come in here makin' all that fucking noise? What, ya wanna be part of the fun too, little guppy? Huh?!”

To your immense relief, his focus snapped towards the petrified student as he finally retracted from you, the sudden absence of his intrusive presence leaving you feeling like a hollow husk.

You slumped against the metal container struggling to draw air into your lungs as thick silver strings oozed uncontrollably from your mouth and nose, trailing down your chin to drip onto the cold surface. Floyd's hand shoved against your back with a careless, bruising force as if you were now a mere obstacle in his way, tossed aside like a damp toy that he was done playing with.

Your weak body tumbled like a ragdoll from the metal surface down onto the harsh floor with a dull thump, as he began to straighten his rumpled clothes and pluck his belt back into place with dismissive bone-chilling casualness.

He looked down at the smear of moisture on his knuckles—a cocktail of your combined sweat, spit and blood. Like a predator after a successful hunt he licked it off in a single, slow swipe before stepping over your legs. Frenzied and bloodthirsty, he didn't even glance back at you; he just spat on the floor near you—a final nail to the coffin—before lunging towards the paralysed witness.

​The sound of Floyd slamming him into the opposite wall—the sickening thud of bone against stone and the student's dreadful, truncated cry—gave you the split-second window you needed. Disoriented, chest heaving, you forced your weight on one elbow to set off for your escape. Dragging your body on the unforgiving, cold floor felt like a second violation against you.

You with your uniform were a ruined mess, and on your tongue lingered the heavy, mixed taste of salt, metal, and Floyd's poisonous venom. It was intoxicatingly sweet. You couldn't ignore the disturbing craving; the urge to swallow it all. Your stomach churned from disgust. You needed to get out. The primal urge to survive took over every fiber of your being.

​The excruciating pain of the hard stone scraping your bare knees signaled that the paralyzing effect was finally wearing off, replaced by a stinging clarity—as the adrenaline peaked you scrambled to your trembling feet. Clutching your skirt, you hurried past Floyd and his new victim of his violent whims.

Through the deafening pounding in your own ears you could hear the wet, heavy thumps of Floyd "teaching a lesson"—the sound of someone being bludgeoned until their ribs broke—and the terrified, wet gurgles of a beholder begging for mercy.

​"Hurry, hurry, my little shrimpy! Run along! I’ll come find ya once I’m done here… ! Aha haha~!"

As Floyd's maniacal laughter echoed through the halls, you picked up your pace. You didn't dare to look back as you burst through the back doors and into the Hall of Mirrors. Ignoring the burning in your lungs with the pressurized air and the remnants of the damned, cloying venom you didn't stop running. With vision of a fractured blur and head that felt like it was submerged in an ocean of cotton, you made your way through the chilly night until you reached the sterile, quiet sanctuary of the school nurse's office, praying to the Sevens that you wouldn't bump into anyone—lest they see the ruin he left behind.

​A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who took the plunge into Part 1. Seeing this finally leave my drafts is long overdue. A very special thank you to a certain someone who helped unleash the monster and gave me the push to just go for it—you know exactly who you are, love. 🌹🦈

​As a new author, I’m always looking for constructive criticism and it is highly encouraged! Let me know your thoughts or if you have any feedback in the comments or my ask box.

​See you in the next chapter. 👁️‍🗨️✨

​(Divider credit: @cafekitsune).

[grimm909]

Just read this.

[grimm909]

Are you dead 😭?

I’m not! I’m really sorry for not being a writer who posts regularly. I had actually started writing the continuation of Red Telephone, but then I stopped to go on a trip. After that, there was a tragedy in my family, and now I’ve been mostly absent from social media.

However, a big part of my absence is also due to the fact that I don’t receive questions or requests very often, so my inbox ends up collecting dust from time to time. I have received requests before, but I didn’t feel capable of writing them since I have very little familiarity with the topics that were asked for.

So please, don’t be shy and send in questions about whatever you’d like—I’ll do my best to answer them. I love talking about different topics and theories related to the Twisted Wonderland universe.

[grimm909]

Commissions?

I would like to let you know that you can send in requests! Although it may take me some time to deliver them.

I’ve also been thinking about opening commissions, since I’ve seen many authors doing that lately. I didn’t even know it was possible before! But for now it’s only an idea that hasn’t been fully put into practice, because since I’m a rather ghostly writer, I probably wouldn’t have a very wide reach.

I’m thinking of opening commissions at very low prices, just to get started. For example: one thousand words for five dollars, two thousand words for ten. Increasing the price by five dollars for every additional thousand words written.

In commissions, you can add an original character of your choice to be paired with whoever you want. I will also make a more detailed post if this idea moves forward.

I’ll leave a poll here to see if there are people interested or not!

Are you interested in commissions?

Yes!

No!

Voting ended onMar 23

[grimm909]

Hello dearest internet aquatence/author friend I've never met : 3

Just wanted to say I loved the Red Phone andi sI'm o excited for the next chapter and owI e you my life for saving me with your writing ily ❤️❤️✨✨

Oh my God, what a beautiful comment! I get so emotional every time people send me such kind messages that I never know how to properly give something back for it. Words will never be enough to express the gratitude I feel for everyone who reads and comments on my work 🤧 Thank you so much to you, dear anonymous, and to all of you readers 💖

[grimm909]

FINALLY WE GOT PART 3!!!!

Can't wait for Floyd to meet phone lady

YAYYY🎉

I can hardly wait to write it! I can already give a little spoiler: it’s going to be very emotional, in many different ways…

[grimm909]

hey you and your beautiful beautiful brain! i hope everything's well with you. ❣️

i just wanted to tell u that I literally live for your writing. it's so good, delish and scrumptious, one of the best out there. it also gives me inspiration for my own writings, so thanks for that 🌹

the dial for blackmail is my absolute fav 💋 idk how many times i've read it already lol, speaking of which, idk if u saw my comment but i wish to be included in the tag list for part 2 if that's okay, please and thank u ❣️

(ur blog aesthetic is such a vibe too, love it!)

Hello, my dear! I’m doing very well, especially in light of your kind words 💖

I’m always deeply moved by the messages my readers leave in my inbox. They motivate me to keep writing, even when I’m feeling discouraged. And you have no idea how happy I am to know that I’m someone’s inspiration 🥹 It’s the ultimate achievement for me, as a writer, to know that I can move and influence people who are kilometers away! Moreover, you truly fluster me by saying that my writing is one of the best you’ve ever read 🤧

I confess that I wrote TDFB in a sudden burst of inspiration, without knowing whether there would actually be a continuation. But I find myself tempted to continue it, given how much people enjoyed it.

And yes, I did see your comment. I could have sworn I replied to it! My sincerest apologies for that! Sometimes I may forget to thank someone, but I swear it’s never on purpose >.<

Lastly, thank you for the compliment about my blog! I absolutely adore red! ❤️

[grimm909]

Red Phone - Part 3

Hello everyone!

I don’t have much to say this time, so I just want to apologize once again for the long delay in releasing this chapter. That said, I put a bit more effort into it to make sure it’s grammatically correct. However, if there are still any mistakes, please forgive me — English isn’t my first language.

In addition, this is not the final chapter. The story will continue for two more chapters before I finally conclude it.

All characters are 18 or older. Please do not proceed if you are under 18.

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

You wait, and wait, until the red phone finally rings — exactly at four o’clock.

“Floyd!?”

“You guessed it~” His voice is unmistakable.

“Why didn’t you call me the day before yesterday? That was the plan.” You sound genuinely worried, imagining something bad might have happened.

“Hmm?” He seems not to understand what you mean — or he’s pretending not to. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me after you hung up on me in our last conversation.” Although his tone remains languid, there’s a subtle edge of disdain in his words.

You freeze as it hits you — he did it on purpose. All your worry, deliberately caused in a petty, childish attempt to punish you for something that wasn’t even intentional. But he made it personal.

It’s childish. Mean. Cruel.

It isn’t fair. Indignation rises so fast it pushes out any trace of surprise.

“I can’t believe you left me worried out of spite!” you burst out, furious enough to want to strangle him through the phone. “I nearly dehydrated from crying so much!”

“Eehh, you cried for me? How cute,” he says cheerfully, as if it were a compliment. “That even makes me feel a little bad now~” From his tone, he doesn’t.

“Never do that again, understood!?” you keep shouting, unloading all the frustration accumulated over the past days into his ears.

By now your voice could probably be heard from the other side of the door, but it doesn’t matter.

“Hey, no need to shout,” Floyd retorts, as if your outburst is merely an annoyance.

“For a moment I thought… I thought…” Your voice breaks before you can finish. Tears spring into your eyes unwantedly, and it takes all your effort not to start sobbing. “I thought I hadn’t done enough to help you…”

Silence. Brief, but dense.

“Don’t cry again,” Floyd says quietly, the edge in his voice softening as he realizes how defeated you sound. “Sorry, I promise I won’t do that kind of thing anymore.” Now he sounds genuinely remorseful.

Floyd didn’t think his life mattered so much to you.

“Good. A promise is a debt,” you snort, doing your best to make your tone sound more authoritative and less tearful.

“But I’m surprised.” Floyd suddenly changes the subject. “Didn’t you tell me a bunch of things about the future changing? How exactly are you still talking to me?”

“Now comes the complicated part.” You wipe the remainder of the tears from your eyes with the palm of your hand. “I found out something terrible yesterday…”

You pull the chair back and sit at the desk, as if you need support for the next words.

“You’re going to die, again.”

Another silence.

“How?” Floyd asks seriously, but not surprised.

“A gas leak that leads to an explosion.” Your thumb instinctively goes to your mouth, biting the tip in nervousness. “You die burned, Floyd.”

“No way.” He sounds unconvinced, like something like that just couldn’t happen. “My parents have always been meticulous about the house’s safety.”

“Maybe, but… somehow something goes wrong. I researched as much as I could and found the day of the accident, but not the hour.” You swallow hard. “It’s in five weeks, on Friday.”

“Hey, hey. You think this is some kind of divine conspiracy?”

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to get a little scared.”

You bite your lower lip, insecure and afraid.

“It’s as if something wants you dead.”

[...]

You knew you could get more information from a certain person.

After ending the call, you send a message to Ace asking him to meet you at the café within an hour.

He arrives on time. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoes when he sits down in front of you. Your eyes barely meet before you start firing questions about Floyd’s death.

"Playing Criminal Case now?" Ace teases, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

"Just curious… I want to know how the incident happened," you reply, shrugging and trying to sound indifferent.

"Well… all I can say is that I almost turned into barbecue too." He laughs through his nose, the joke laced with bitterness.

"You too?" Your eyes widen.

"I was there, just minutes before the explosion." He waves his hand dismissively.

"We were playing video games, completely oblivious to anything."

"God, Ace…" you murmur, imagining how traumatic that must have been.

"It’s in the past." The smile returns, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

"But why was he the only one at home?"

"If I remember correctly, his parents were taking care of some business, and his brother… I think he went to the botanical garden." Ace grows thoughtful, until something seems to cross his mind.

"Oh, right. He used to go out every Friday and stay away for hours."

"Every Friday…" you repeat, an absurd theory starting to form in your mind, though you decide to keep it to yourself for now.

"And do you know what time it happened?"

"Hard to forget… it was around two in the afternoon."

"All right, you’ve helped me enough already," you thank him with a smile.

"So, is the investigation over?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, curious. "Why did you want to know so much about his death?"

"Mom and Dad never told me anything important about the house… I just wanted to understand the story better."

"Yeah, but how did you know his name?"

"Because I found a photo in the attic," you answer with a raised brow, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. After all, Ace saw the photo.

"A photo in the attic?" Ace frowns, disbelief evident on his face. "I thought the fire destroyed almost everything."

"Don’t you remember?" You try to keep your voice neutral, less anxious.

"Remember what?"

"Nothing…" you cut him off before he can press further. You force a smile and change the subject.

"Let’s drop it. How about we watch a movie?"

Ace studies you for a moment longer, as if trying to read what you’re hiding, then gives a half-smile.

"Sure. Our time together is always so short, I wish I could stay with you all the time."

"Me too," you say, intertwining your fingers with his and looking at him with the purest, most innocent affection.

The silence that follows is sweet only on the surface. Inside, your heart beats with a weight you can’t ignore. You take a deep breath, as if preparing to dive into deep waters, and the words slip out before you can hold them back:

"Ace, when are you going to divorce Elisa?"

His smile freezes for a moment — almost imperceptibly — but you notice. His gaze drifts away from your hand clasped in his, and the playful expression vanishes completely.

"Divorce?" he repeats, as if the word itself were too strange to exist in that moment. "Didn’t I already tell you these things take time?"

"Yes, you said the papers would be ready within a month, I remember that." You swallow hard.

"But did you at least tell her about us?" Your voice cracks, and you regret the question the instant it leaves your lips.

The prolonged silence makes your stomach twist. Finally, Ace lets out a humorless laugh.

"Funny how you think like that. What, are we supposed to announce our relationship to the world as if it’s nothing? You’re twenty, I’m thirty-five. I’m almost old enough to be your father. What do you think he would say? Do you really think your family would approve of this relationship?"

Your heart tightens. You admit you hadn’t really thought about how your family would react. Still, that’s not enough of an excuse to chase away the doubt that’s begun to eat at you.

"I just want to be sure I’m not temporary."

"Temporary?" Ace seems surprised by the word, almost offended. "If that were the case, do you think I’d be here, answering all your strange questions and risking my image and stability?"

He lifts his eyes to you, his gaze sharp. "If it were just for fun, it would’ve ended long ago."

You feel your face grow hot, a mix of shame and anger.

"Then why does it feel like you’re avoiding my question?" You clench your fists.

"I’m not avoiding anything! You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing."

"But you—!" It takes every ounce of restraint not to lose your patience and shout inside the café, drawing unwanted attention.

Maybe it would be wiser to leave this kind of discussion for another time.

"I’m sorry. I just felt insecure for a moment."

"Seriously, what’s with you?" Ace sighs in exasperation. "You’re overthinking again."

He leans in to seal your lips with a quick kiss, putting an end to the argument.

Still, it’s not enough to silence the question that keeps echoing in your mind:

What if he’s lying?

[...]

After getting home from watching the movie with Ace, you head straight to your room and lock the door.

Your hands, quick and anxious, open the first drawer of the desk. There it is — the Leech family photo, the one you found in the attic days ago. Your fingers touch the slightly rigid surface of the photographic paper, and it feels strangely warm — which shouldn’t be normal. You hold it by the corners and turn it over.

There’s a small smudge of soot on the lower edge of the image. Strange. It had never been there before. You scrape your nail over it, trying to remove it, but the gesture proves useless when you realize the stain is spreading, expanding until it covers the whole photo — where the image of a happy family should be.

“Ouch!”

You exclaim, feeling a sharp sting of pain as the paper’s temperature becomes too hot to hold — as if you had touched a real flame. Instinctively, you let it go.

The photo falls to the floor and, before your frightened eyes, it begins to burn on its own. The edges curl, the paper twists, and a reddish flame consumes it entirely.

In less than five seconds, the photo turns into a small pile of ashes.

You swallow hard, still a little surprised by what just happened, but not exactly scared. A photo catching fire on its own wasn’t that strange compared to all the other bizarre things that had happened to you in the past few weeks.

That’s why Ace didn’t know about the photo.

The thought comes almost like a whisper. The house had caught fire, and as a result, the photograph was burned and never existed — which would explain why it burned up on its own. Therefore, you never showed the photo to him, even though you remembered it.

“But why do I still remember it?”

You murmur to yourself, pacing back and forth, lost in thoughts about how the present seems to have changed after the explosion — affecting everyone else’s memories, but not yours.

“Could it be that the red phone somehow keeps my memories?”

You keep rambling to yourself as your hurried footsteps echo across the wooden floor.

“What’s that smell of smoke!?”

Like a snap, your mother’s voice interrupts your thoughts as she shouts from downstairs. You flinch and immediately unlock the door, opening it just enough to stick your head out and shout back:

“Nothing, Mom! Just burning some old papers!”

You close the door again and lock it, leaning your back against it. Your eyes return to the small pile of ashes still lying in the middle of the room, and you sigh, annoyed that you’ll now have to clean up the mess.

[...]

The next day, you wait for Floyd to call you at the usual time and tell him the information you managed to get from Ace.

“On the day of the explosion, he was at your house, but he got lucky and left just a few minutes before it happened. Your parents weren’t there, and your brother had gone to the botanical garden,” you explain cautiously. “The main sign of a gas leak is always the smell, so it’d be good for you to stay alert for that.”

“So that’s it? I just have to check if there’s a leak around the house?”

“Sorry I couldn’t help more. I couldn’t find anything beyond that,” you answer, a little downcast for not being more useful.

“No, you’re giving me all the information I need. The date and the place are what matter most in the end.”

“Yes, please take care of yourself,” you say sincerely, your hand clenched over the fabric of your sweater right where your heart is. “So... do you want to talk about something else? You know, just to take your mind off all this.”

“I want to talk about you.”

He’s direct — no hesitation — and you feel warmth rising to your cheeks.

“Why don’t you tell me what you look like?”

“I don’t know how to do that.” You laugh shyly, biting your lower lip. “I don’t want you to get a distorted image of me.”

“But that’s not fair!” He whines like a spoiled child, and you swear Floyd must be pouting on the other end of the line. “How am I supposed to give you a nickname if I don’t know what you look like? Besides, it’s boring to keep calling you ‘you’ all the time.”

“Hmm, a nickname? Is that why you call Ace a crab?”

“Hehehe, exactly. He looks just like one with that hair.”

You laugh. “Well, that’s one more reason not to describe myself. I don’t even want to know what kind of nickname you’d give me.”

“That hurts, you know? I wouldn’t be that mean.” Even though he says it in a whining tone, you doubt he’s truly offended.

“Maybe not. But, in the end…” You let out a deep sigh. “Even if I told you what I look like, when all this is over, I don’t know if you’d still remember me.”

“Hey, that’s impossible. You’re way too fun to forget.”

You laugh, genuinely touched by Floyd’s sincerity.

“Would you come looking for me? I’d like to see you one day, when all this is over.”

“Would you like that?” His tone sounds bright, genuinely intrigued by the idea.

“Yes, absolutely!” You feel a slight tingling of excitement.

“Then it’s a promise. When all this is over, I’ll look for you — a few years from now.”

“Of course.” You smile, your heart swelling with joy at the possibility of meeting him in person one day. “I can’t wait.”

An awkward silence follows for a few seconds.

“So, hmm…” You try to think of something to break the ice. “Anything else you want to ask?”

“Hmmm.” He sounds thoughtful on the other end before asking bluntly, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend!?” You exclaim, a bit startled by the question. Your thoughts instantly drift to Ace and all those secret meetings you had with him. It wasn’t exactly a relationship, but… something like it. “Not exactly. I’m kind of involved with someone, but sometimes I think it won’t go anywhere.”

“Who is it?” Floyd’s voice turns serious — darker for a moment — and you almost feel his breath on your neck.

You tell yourself it’s just interference on the line.

“Even if I told you, you wouldn’t know who it is.” You laugh awkwardly. Revealing your involvement with Ace would sound strange — maybe even inappropriate — given the age difference. It could even ruin their friendship, and you didn’t want that guilt. “He’s just someone from my university, that’s all.”

You hope Floyd buys the lie.

“You’re in university?” He changes the subject, and you feel a wave of relief hearing his tone return to normal. “So diligent — but that’s not surprising.”

“Why not?”

“You sound like someone responsible and careful. Those are rare qualities nowadays, you know? Even if I’ve never seen you in person, it’s not hard to tell.”

“Wow, you’re going to make me blush.” You feel your cheeks warm as a small laugh escapes you. “Speaking of which, I think it’s my turn to ask if you have a girlfriend.”

“Eeeehh, why? Interested?”

“Idiot! Of course not.” You stick your tongue out — even though he can’t see you. “I’m just throwing your question back at you. It’s only fair.”

“Ah, I dated once just to see what it was like, you know? But it was kind of boring. So I’m available — in case you’re interested.”

“Too bad I can’t flick your forehead right now.” You can’t help but smile.

“Aaww, don’t be mean. I’m just kidding, just kidding.”

“Alright, alright.” You sigh, letting it out heavier than you expected.

Floyd notices.

“Tired of me?” he asks, sounding theatrically offended.

“No, of course not.” You laugh. “Just tired from the day. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Insomnia?” he asks curiously. “Or nightmares?”

“A bit of both,” you admit. “Ever since I started looking into all this, it’s been hard to relax. Feels like something’s always wrong, you know?”

“Hmmm…” He hums, thoughtful. “You think too much. I bet you’re the type who rolls in bed replaying every conversation, every detail, until your brain fries.”

You laugh, surprised by how accurate that is. “How do you know that?”

“Intuition,” he answers casually. “Besides, you sound like someone who weighs every word before saying it.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Maybe.” You can almost picture him smiling on the other side of the line.

“I don’t do that when it comes to you,” you say softly, sincerely. “I don’t have to think or pretend. It’s nice to just relax a bit, even with everything going on.”

“Eeeh, I feel the same. Talking to you has become my favorite part of the day~”

Your heart skips with joy, and a warm, genuine smile spreads across your face. “Then we’re even.”

Silence. Just the sound of both your breaths, mixed with the faint static on the line. It’s a comfortable silence — the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

But, as Floyd said, you think too much. And your mind feels like a pressure cooker, whistling with thoughts, theories, and questions that won’t stop until you find at least a few answers.

You shift a little, hesitant. “Floyd?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been thinking about this phone we’re talking through. The other day, I took the battery out, and it still worked just fine — like it was possessed.”

“Eeeeh, that’s scary!”

His mock horror is obvious, and all you can do is laugh at his terrible impression of a horror movie damsel.

Floyd, without a doubt, wasn’t the type to get scared easily — something you found both admirable and a little dangerous. Fear kept people cautious, and caution didn’t seem to be one of his strong points, at least from what you’d gathered, even from the other end of the line.

“Anyway, I just wanted to ask where you got it — or if someone gave it to you.”

“No, I found it.”

“Wait, found it?” You ask, surprised. “Where?”

“In the same place you did — in the attic, wrapped in a piece of cloth.”

“That’s so creepy!” you comment, though by now almost nothing could truly surprise you anymore. “And here I was, thinking I could still find some clues...” You sigh, frustrated.

“See? That’s what I mean — you think too much.”

“I know, but I just wish I could help more.” You press your lips together, frustrated at never reaching a real solution. “You’ve become someone important to me, Floyd.”

“How sweet~” he sings. “That almost sounds like a confession.”

“Idiot,” you curse softly, but a smile still tugs at your lips.

“Hey, don’t push your luck,” his playful tone fades completely as he warns — though you’re not bothered, already knowing that’s just his way. “You’re the only one who can insult me and still keep your tongue.”

“Oooh, scary.” You tease, then quickly change the subject to avoid more flirting. “Do you mind if I ask one more question? I don’t want to annoy you with too many.”

“It’s fine.” He goes back to his lazy tone. “I already told you — if it’s you, I’ll give in.”

You chuckle, embarrassed.

“It’s about your brother. Do you two get along?” You bite your lip, anticipating his answer. “I mean, I found this phrase carved on the wood in the attic — ‘Jade is a stupid bitch’. It freaked me out so much, I saw it forming right in front of me.”

“Aahhh, that.” Floyd sounds like he’s remembering something from years ago instead of just a few days. “He’s a pain sometimes. But most of the time, we get along. No matter how much we fight, he’s still my brother, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

“Oh, I see. That actually sounds sweet, coming from you.” You admit, a little surprised and a little charmed by their relationship.

“Sweet?” He repeats, pretending to be offended. “Hey, I’m not sweet. I’m dangerous.”

You laugh, not believing him for a second.

“Must be nice having a twin brother.” You muse aloud, wondering for a moment what it’d be like to have another version of yourself in the world.

“You don’t have siblings?”

“Well, I—”

“What are you doing!?”

Your mother’s voice comes from downstairs, loud enough for even Floyd to hear. “Come here and help me!”

“Sorry, Floyd, that’s my mom.” You rub your forehead, exasperated. “I have to help out with some chores.”

“Aww, so you’re learning to be a homemaker now?” He teases. “How cute.”

“I hate that kind of label!” you retort, mock-offended, before a soft laugh escapes your lips. “But seriously, I’ve gotta go. Call me tomorrow at the same time, okay?”

“You don’t even have to ask~”

[...]

That night, you fall asleep with the sound of his laughter echoing in your head — sweet, a song that refuses to end.

Even in the silence of your room, it feels as if that laughter seeps through the cracks of your mind, chiming somewhere between dream and memory.

When the red phone rings at midnight, the sharp sound jolts you awake, your heart pounding in sync with the insistent metallic chime.

It’s not new to you anymore. Honestly, you’ve gotten used to this kind of thing — though you shouldn’t have.

You consider not answering that damn thing, maybe just letting it scream itself silent, but you know it won’t stop. You’ve learned that over the past few nights, when the stranger on the other end didn’t rest until you picked up.

Without leaving the bed, you stretch your arm toward the desk, your fingers fumbling in the dark until they find the vibrant object that turned your last few weeks into a living hell — or almost. Floyd had been the only good thing to come out of it.

You sigh and answer the phone, pressing it to your ear.

“Damn it, I want to sleep.” Your voice comes out hoarse, irritated, but still drowsy. “What do you want?”

“Koebi-chan, don’t forget what you promised.”

You frown, still caught somewhere between sleepiness and annoyance.

“Didn’t you call me that the first time?” The memory is vague, but you’re sure you’ve heard that nickname before. “Sounds Japanese. What does it mean?”

“Hehehe, it means you’re small like a shrimp.” The reply comes with a drawn-out, syrupy laugh.

Strangely familiar.

“But you’ve never seen me…”

The stranger hangs up — surprisingly quicker tonight than on other nights.

You sit there, frozen, the phone still pressed against your ear. Then, slowly, you lower it. Your eyes drift to the window, half afraid of what you might find there.

Closed.

Relief comes as a short, almost trembling sigh.

You set the phone back in its place and curl up under the sheets again, trying to convince your body it can go back to sleep.

But outside, something moves.

Through the slats of the half-open blinds, a single golden eye watches you.

[...]

The days leading up to the week of the accident pass in a flash, while your relationship with Floyd slowly warms up — you start seeing him as a reliable and fun person. You feel more and more drawn to that playful voice on the other end of the line, even though you’ve only ever seen him through an old photograph. With every call, it’s as if the world becomes a little less gray. You feel lighter, even if only for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, your relationship with Ace has become almost the complete opposite. Sometimes he’s cold, distant; other times, he’s so warm that you feel like you’re burning alive when you share intimate moments. There never seems to be any middle ground when it comes to the redhead, who always seems to balance on a thin line between you and the life he leads.

Sometimes, you catch yourself staring at your phone, waiting for a message from him, even though you know he’ll only call when he feels like it — and almost always at the worst possible time. Still, there are moments when the sound of his voice alone is enough to make everything seem bearable again.

You believe in him — or want to. Honestly, it’s hard to tell how far this relationship will go, or if there will ever be a destination for you two beyond this limbo.

In these last few days, you’ve admitted to yourself that you love him, but love and uncertainty coexist painfully. One day, he might say those same words of affection, but when that moment comes — will it be real?

You don’t feel capable of trusting him, and that’s worse than any wound you’ve ever had in your life, because this one hurts in your heart.

Corroded by doubt, five days before Floyd is freed from that curse of perpetual death, you decide to confront Ace once again about the divorce. You want a concrete answer — not the half-truths he usually offers between laughter and teasing. You’re determined to put an end to it before it somehow becomes a point of no return.

You grab your phone and type the message.

14:27 PM

I miss you. Can we meet later?

It’s still a bit early, but you know that Ace has the day off today and won’t refuse to meet you at some cheap hotel for a quick hookup.

“How did I lower myself this much?”

You mutter, frustrated with yourself.

14:45 PM

Ace: Sure. Same place as always?

14:46 PM

Yes. In an hour, is that okay?

14:46 PM

Ace: Ok.

Deep down, part of you still wants to believe he’ll say what you’ve always wanted to hear. But another part — the more lucid one — already senses the end.

You get ready with a care that borders on cruelty. You choose the best outfit, the best makeup, the perfume he’s always complimented. Maybe because you want to impress him one last time. Or maybe because, deep down, you still hope he’ll fall for you again. That is, if he ever truly did.

You look at the sky through your bedroom window before leaving, noticing dark clouds forming in the distance. It would be awful to get drenched by carelessness, so you take a small portable umbrella from one of your desk drawers and slip it into your bag.

You leave the house and walk to meet him, and minutes later, it’s exactly as you predicted — the sky, once merely overcast, begins to close in as you move down the street. The first raindrops hit the asphalt with a soft sound before turning into a dense, cold curtain.

You stop for a moment under a store awning to take the umbrella from your bag and open it. People run for shelter, umbrellas bloom open, traffic slows, and the sound of rain dominates everything.

You keep walking, now protected from the rain, and each step echoes in the puddles. The city looks different under the storm. The lights reflect on the wet pavement — distorted, blurred — exactly like everything inside you.

You arrive before him at the hotel, and every minute of waiting feels like slow torture. The room lights are warm and yellowish, casting soft shadows over the neatly made sheets, while the ticking of the wall clock grows loud enough for you to start hating it.

The door opens.

Ace walks in without hurry, with that carefree air that always disarms you — his coat hanging off one shoulder, that mischievous smile so much like a boy’s.

“Wow,” he comments, stunned as soon as he sees you standing in the center of the room, his eyes sweeping over your body from head to toe.

You let out an embarrassed little laugh, though a flash of happiness cuts through you for getting his attention — even if that had been your intention from the start.

He approaches and presses a kiss to your lips. It disarms you completely for a few seconds, but then you regain your senses and step back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing your hesitation.

You falter. For an instant, you think about backing down — pretending that the message you sent earlier was true, that it was just longing and that you needed to see him. But the words have been trapped in your throat for too long, burning to get out.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” your voice cracks for a second. “About Elisa…”

Ace exhales heavily, as if he senses a storm even greater than the one outside. His gaze drifts to the window, where the streetlights blur through the rain.

“Oh… this again.” He lets out a short, almost tired laugh. “We’ve already talked about this.”

“No, you always run away from the subject,” you interrupt, your voice rising. “You always change the topic, make jokes, kiss me, and think that fixes everything.”

“I can’t tell Elisa about us,” he shoots back, clearly irritated by the conversation.

“I’m not asking you to shout our relationship to the world!” you yell, your anger finally breaking loose. “I’m talking about you not leaving her!”

“The divorce papers are being processed — how many times do you want me to say that?” he gestures, annoyed.

“I’m not talking about that stupid piece of paper!” you stomp your foot hard. “That first night together, you told me you didn’t love her anymore. If that’s true, then why do you still live with her? You share the same bed, and she kisses you every morning!”

You remember every time you saw Ace and Elisa together through your bedroom window. She would always walk him to the door affectionately, giving him a goodbye kiss before he left for work. Her gestures didn’t seem like those of someone who’d stopped loving — or someone about to divorce.

Ashamed by your own naivety, you shrink like a wounded animal, lowering your head and hiding your teary eyes.

“You lied about everything, didn’t you?” The words come out choked by the sob rising in your throat.

“I didn’t lie about everything.” Ace raises his hands and takes a step forward, and you retreat again. “I mean it about the divorce, I just…” He searches for the right words and looks down. “I haven’t had the chance to mention it to her yet.”

Those words hit you like a blade. For a moment, everything around you seems to dissolve — the sound of the rain, the clock, the air. There’s only the two of you, and the abyss that just opened beneath your feet.

It takes a few seconds to compose yourself from the blow, as if you’d just taken a bullet to the chest.

But as you absorb every little word and grasp what it truly means, rage and anguish spread through your body like a parasite — devouring what’s left of your trust, poisoning your veins with shame, and staining your heart with the most corrupt of feelings: the kind that grows from hatred born of love.

And that hatred comes from something that was once pure — a feeling you nurtured with such care, now rotting before your eyes, turning into something repulsive. The memory of every time you believed his words stings like thorns under your skin. You feel dirty — as if you’d been an accomplice to a crime you didn’t even understand until this moment.

“How could you, Ace!” you scream, forcing your vocal cords to their limit. “Betrayal is one of the worst things you can do to a person!”

There’s something cruel in realizing that the pain doesn’t come only from the betrayal, but from what it takes with it — your innocence. And then you understand that his true poison wasn’t in the lies, but in how he made you doubt your own perception — making you believe that the problem was always you, that you were too impatient, too jealous.

You feel like laughing — laughing at yourself for being so easily fooled.

“You think it’s that simple?” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly distressed. “That I can just go home, look at her, and say ‘it’s over’ — and that’s it?”

“Yes!” you answer without hesitation. “It would be better than stabbing her in the back the way we’re doing!”

And you feel horrible for saying that — guilt crawling up your body like invisible ants.

“You don’t understand what it’s like to have a daughter involved in this. I can’t just end it all and leave them helpless.”

“I would never want you to do something that awful!” you retort, incredulous that he’d even suggest such a thing.

Ace laughs — but it’s a bitter, exhausted laugh.

“You don’t understand. Elisa… she’s fragile. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Hearing those words, you didn’t think it was possible to feel even more desolate — but you do.

And it hurts — burns in a way no visible wound ever could. It’s as if something inside you breaks again, quietly.

And it destroys you in a cowardly way, because even knowing it’s wrong, even knowing you’re not blameless either, part of you still begs to be chosen.

“And what am I?” you ask, a sob rising in your throat. Your eyes blur with tears, but you refuse to let a single one fall in front of that miserable man. “A toy?”

“Don’t say that.” He looks at you, his gaze heavy with something between melancholy and regret. “I just… can’t see a way out that doesn’t hurt someone.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

Unintentionally, he makes it clear that he’d rather use you than tell his wife the truth. You feel hurt that his preference is so obviously for Elisa — and even more hurt by realizing that, deep down, he never truly considered choosing you.

“I’m nothing to you but fresh meat. An escape from your mediocre life.” A sob finally escapes your lips when you can no longer keep the dam of tears intact — drop after drop, as if each carried a piece of what’s left of you. “I’ve been too blind with love to see that what you feel for me will never be what I feel for you.”

The redhead falls silent, his gaze faltering. It’s clear he wants to argue, but he has nothing to say. He doesn’t even try to convince you otherwise — to tell you you’re wrong. In the end, that’s what hurts the most: knowing you’re right.

The rain grows heavier outside, as if the whole world wants to hide the sound of what just broke between you.

“I’m trying,” he finally whispers. “Really. I just… don’t know where to start.”

A lump forms in your throat, and for the first time, you understand that love can also be a slow way to die.

“There’s no starting point for something that’s already over.”

Those are your last words — spoken slowly, heavy with resentment — before you grab the strap of your bag from the bed and rush out of the room. Ace tries to stop you, holding your arm, but you pull away forcefully and open the door. You run down the hallway, hearing his shouts behind you — asking you to stay, to talk calmly.

You don’t listen. Everything that ever came out of his mouth was always the cruelest of lies.

[...]

You arrive home completely soaked.

Although you had brought the compact umbrella, you forgot it at the motel entrance. At the moment you left, you were too shaken to even remember it — you just ran outside, as if escaping that place meant escaping what had happened inside. You didn’t even notice it was still raining.

As you step into the living room, the wet sound of your shoes against the floor echoes through the space. Within seconds, a small trail of water forms behind you. Your mother, sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hands, widens her eyes, startled to see you in that state.

“What happened to you?” she asks, standing up quickly.

Lucky for you, the tears on your face could easily be mistaken for raindrops.

You just shake your head, unable to answer. You’re too tired, too drained to pay attention to the tone of shock and irritation in her voice. When your mother starts complaining about the wet floor, you’re already hurrying up the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind.

The bedroom door slams shut behind you, muffling your mother’s voice from downstairs.

Without turning on the lights, you head to the bathroom. Every piece of clothing that falls to the floor seems to weigh a ton — the cold, soaked fabric clinging to your skin. You twist the shower handle to the limit and step under the scorching water, desperate to chase away the cold coming from both outside and within.

But the hot water doesn’t bring comfort.

The tears keep falling, mixing with the steam that fogs up the mirror and the mist filling the room.

You press your hands against the cold wall and struggle to breathe. Every memory of what was said comes back in painful waves. It feels as if something inside you was torn out, leaving behind only the echo that lives within an empty shell.

Time passes without you noticing. The steady sound of water serves as a soundtrack to your silent crying. When you finally decide to turn off the shower, your skin is flushed red and your fingers are wrinkled.

You wrap yourself in a towel, still trembling, and return to the bedroom. Even though the window is closed, the cool afternoon air greets you like a slap. You walk to the bed and collapse onto the sheets, your body still damp, your hair soaking the pillow.

For a moment, you try to convince yourself you can sleep. Maybe sleep will take away the heaviness in your chest. But you can’t.

The crying starts soft, restrained — then comes in sobs, completely disordered. It’s a cry that seems to have no end, no comfort.

And in that exact moment, when you believe there’s nothing left but the sound of your own breathing and the rain outside, it rings.

The red phone.

Exactly at four, as always.

The sound fills the dim room. Familiar, insistent, yet somehow comforting.

You slowly lift your face, eyes still teary. For the first time that night, something inside you doesn’t hurt. Because even without looking at the screen, you know who’s on the other end of the line.

Floyd.

The one who, without realizing it, has been the only person capable of making you smile when the rest of the world seems to crumble. A thread of warmth amid collapse — ironically coming through a cold object.

You sit up slowly and wipe your face with your hand, trying to dry the tears. Then, you reach out to grab the phone on the desk.

And when you finally answer, his voice is like a warm gust of air in the middle of a storm.

“So, are you ready to show me that song?”

“Y-Yeah. Tell me which singer first.” You cough, trying to hide the tremor in your voice, but it still sounds more nasal than you’d like.

“Are you crying?” He notices. Of course, he notices.

Sometimes you think Floyd would make a damn good detective.

“Shit, you noticed?”

“Not hard to tell,” he replies, calm and almost teasing. “Your voice sounds kinda shaky and hoarse.”

“Yeah, I am, but I don’t want you to worry about tha—”

“Hey, hey!” he exclaims, clearly displeased that you’re trying to dodge the topic. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just that I…” You try to think of something, but nothing that comes to mind feels like a good enough excuse. “Shit, I can’t even come up with a lie.” You laugh at your own misery — a trembling, bitter laugh. But the endless cycle of tears begins again as sadness overcomes your pathetic sense of humor. A sob escapes hard. “It’s just that I was stupid to think he’d love me… that he’d choose me.”

“He?” Floyd’s voice changes. There’s a dark, almost dangerous edge to the way he says the word.

“Yeah… I…” You hesitate, but it’s too late to take it back. “I had a bad fight with that guy I told you about a few days ago.” You wipe your nose on your sweater sleeve — to hell with manners. “I was too blinded by love to see that he was a fucking asshole.” You say it with such anger that it could set the room on fire.

But the anger fades as quickly as it came. And what’s left is only the purest, cruelest melancholy.

You cry again. As if all you can do is cry like a baby, unable to stop.

“I don’t like hearing you cry,” he murmurs, his tone discontent, almost hurt. 

“I know… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump my frustrations on you. Your problems are way worse than mine.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He cuts you off before you can start a self-sabotaging spiral. “The truth is, you’re way too good for that bastard, whoever he is. He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” You sniffle, your voice faltering. “Maybe I’m just as awful as he is.”

“Eeeh? Why would you say that?” Floyd sounds puzzled.

“He…” You hesitate, both out of shame and fear that it might be a bad idea. The fear of losing his trust weighs heavy on your chest. But what does it matter now? You’re already at rock bottom. “He’s married, damn it!” you finally confess, your voice breaking — but it doesn’t make you feel any better. “I was his fucking mistress.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that makes your heart stop. “You’re disappointed, right?” you whisper, your throat tightening.

Nothing. No sound.

Your heart breaks again when you realize he probably hung up. Of course he would. He’d told you himself how much he hated betrayal — it made sense that now he’d find you despicable, untrustworthy. A whore.

The tears come back hard, and guilt mixes with the despair of losing two important people on the same day.

But you deserve it, right? How stu—

“Not exactly.”

His voice resurfaces — calm, drawn out, but alive.

You feel sudden relief, exhaling in a trembling sigh. Quickly, you wipe your tears before they fall again, a small smile escaping without meaning to.

“I’m surprised, honestly. You seem so well-behaved.”

“I know it’s not an excuse, but… on our first night together, he told me he’d divorce her.” You lower your head, shame burning your face. “And I believed him.”

“He lied to you. Used you.” His tone is harsh, irritated — but clearly not at you. “I’d never do that.”

“Yeah, you’re honest.” You comment with a brief laugh. “Sometimes too much, but I like that.”

“Good.” His voice softens. “It’s way better hearing you laugh than hearing you cry.”

“Thank you. You’re a great friend.”

“Friend?” he repeats, and there’s something new in his tone — a mix of frustration and teasing. “Is that all I am to you?”

“It’s just…” You swallow hard, trying to choose your words carefully so you don’t put him in a bad mood. “It’s too soon to say anything. I don’t even know if we’ll remember each other when all this is over. And there’s still the chance that I won’t even be here and—”

“Hey. Stop.” He interrupts firmly. “You’re overthinking again. Things will fall into place, I know they will.”

“Floyd…” you murmur his name softly, touched by the unexpected gentleness in his voice.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now.” He sighs. “Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit, but… for you, I can wait.”

You smile. It’s impossible not to. Floyd sounds exactly like the kind of prince charming you’ve spent your whole life wishing for.

The tears had stopped long ago, and now all that remains is a warm feeling in your chest.

Thank you so much for reading up to this point! If you have anything you’d like to share about the fic, feel free to do so.

[grimm909]

I just came here to say that I’m not dead 🫠

I know it’s been months since I last posted anything, so I humbly ask for your forgiveness for being away for so long.

I’m aware that disappearing for such a long time without interacting isn’t great, but my grandmother’s health hasn’t been the best lately, so I had to focus on home and work. I won’t go into too many details, since the most important thing is that she’s recovering.

Aside from that, I’ll also leave you with this small excerpt from “Red Phone.” It’s still in development, but it’s so close to being finished 🥹

[grimm909]

hello! I know your working on the blackmail series and your very busy so please take your time!!!

That's so sweet of you! Thank you so much for your support🥹💖

[grimm909]

homegirl i LOOVE your writing its so yummy it smells like roses, mist and iron anyway dont mind me just checking if red phone has a part 3🥀💔 i dont wanna sound pushy but when are you publishing another chapterr🙏🏽 (dont take this in a wrong way, take ur time!!!)

Hello dear!

Reading your message made me very happy! I appreciate the compliments and don't bother asking me about the storyabout the story.

That said, I'm sorry to inform you that there is never a scheduled date for the next chapter, but I'll be taking a short vacation in a while, so I'll take this opportunity to write.

I love you, my readers💖

[grimm909]

PLEASE DO PART TWO FOR THE BLACKMAIL SERIES IM BEGGUNG ON MY HANDS AND KNEES

Thank you very much for your kindness! I will try to be as quick as possible to finish the red phone and blackmail. I am very busy these days because of work, so I apologize for the delay.

[grimm909]

Dial 17 for blackmail - Part 1

Hello, everyone. I don’t have much to say here, so I apologize for any English mistakes you might come across—english is not my first language.

WARNINGS: Blackmail, sexual abuse, emotional manipulation.

All characters are written as 18+. Please, do not proceed if you are under eighteen.

Enjoy your reading!

You stare at your haggard reflection in the mirror, the edges of which are marked by cracks — though not as broken as your spirit.

The body you examine from top to bottom is no longer yours, nor does it seem like a part of who you really are. You want to rip off that skin marked by love bites, as they call it, turn it inside out, peel it like a tangerine.

Disgusting.

Your soul screams, trapped inside that contaminated piece of flesh, disgusted by being there. You grit your teeth as your eyes, intensely red, meet your own reflection. They are like that not only because of the incessant tears that fall, but because of the pure and suffocating rage that pulses through every fiber of your being. A fury so overwhelming that you feel capable of reducing NRC to dust with the force of a single scream.

But the cruel reality is that you can’t.

At most, you would scare Grim and the ghosts of Ramshackle. And drawing attention to yourself is the last thing you want, or they might discover the situation you're trapped in. As entangled as a butterfly caught in a spider’s web, slowly being devoured alive. And your tormentors fit this dark metaphor perfectly.

You swallow the sob that rips down your throat like a thorn. It’s unbearable to stare at your own image for more than a minute without being dragged into the memories of the horrible things they’ve done to you. And it doesn’t matter how many baths you take; their smell seems embedded in your skin, like an invisible scar.

"Henchman, how long are you going to stay in there!?"

On the other side of the door, Grim’s dismayed voice echoes through the bathroom walls. It’s so unexpected that, for a moment, you’re startled, imagining that he might come in and discover the marks you’ve been trying to hide at all costs. However, the door remains locked; you make sure of that meticulously, checking the lock repeatedly before getting into the shower just so your nosy little friend won’t suddenly come in.

You clear your throat, doing your best to keep your voice from sounding choked with tears.

"I’m coming out now, oh great Grim-sama." 

You answer, a little more hoarsely than he would like, but with a clear hint of mockery.

However, considering your roommate’s modest intelligence, it’s quite likely that he takes your mockery seriously, believing your words are genuine.

"That’s right! The great Grim-sama should be in there and you out here."

A breath escapes your lips, in disbelief at his naivety. Sooner or later, you’ll have to teach him not to take everything others say so literally. At least, your furry little friend is a source of encouragement for you, even in the midst of misfortune.

You turn on the sink tap, letting the water run as you wash your face, marked by seemingly endless tears. When you finish, you look up at the mirror, staring at your reflection for the last time. The features once contorted by anger and bitterness slowly dissolve as your lips form a discreet smile, carrying an unexpected softness and a long-lost innocence.

You’re good at pretending. Good at lying. Too good at covering up. Maybe too good for your own good.

But your silence comes at a high cost: the weight of unexpressed emotions accumulated day after day, and you could drown in them at any moment. It’s a miserable existence of constant vigilance, of keeping yourself in check so the truth won’t come out — because deep down, you know no one can really help you.

Telling what’s bothering you, who is bothering you, would have dire consequences for your friends. The Leech brothers have always been too good at getting rid of anything — or anyone — that threatens them.

"You can come in." You announce to your feline friend after opening the bathroom door and giving him space to jump inside, then closing it again, since Grim can’t reach the handle on his own.

You grab your cellphone from the small dresser next to the bed, sitting on it and logging into Magicam to see what’s new — more specifically, to check if there’s anything compromising about you spreading through social networks.

Going through each profile, especially the ones belonging to the Leech brothers, you let out a sigh of relief when you realize everything is fine.

At least, for now.

The cell phone vibrates in your hands with a message notification. Just above the screen, before the preview disappears, you catch Jade’s name flashing across it.

Your lower lip is clenched hard between your teeth in nervous tension, already knowing that absolutely nothing good could come from this. With no choice, you open the message.

Jade: Meet me in the greenhouse, after class.

You: I can’t. I’ve made plans to study with my friends.

Jade: Oh, really? Interesting. But I doubt you’ll be able to focus on studying if that video ends up on all their phones.

You: Please, leave me alone.

Jade: You know I hate cheap blackmail, but sometimes you have to be persuasive, right? Go to the greenhouse, after class. Alone. Or maybe the rest of the school will get to see a much more… intimate side of you.

You: You don’t have to do this. I’m going.

Your fingers curl around the device with such force it looked like you were about to snap it in half. Rage boils inside you. That bastard! How could he be so deceitful?

Before you actually broke the only means of communication you had — since Crowley wouldn’t give you another one anytime soon, and buying a new one was out of the question — you made the sensible decision to throw the phone onto the bed.

Grabbing a nearby pillow, you buried your face in it to muffle the shrill scream that escaped your lips, dragging on for several seconds.

[...]

After classes, it was easy to lie and convince your friends that you were meeting with Jade just to discuss a few tasks that needed to be done at the Mostro Lounge — since you worked nights at the restaurant to have a little extra money at the end of the month, even if that meant constantly facing the two people you hated most in Twisted Wonderland.

And, as expected, none of them wanted to join you. Grim, in particular, scrunched up his nose at the mention of the name “Leech,” preferring to steer clear of the topic like it was a plague. In the end, they all agreed to wait for another opportunity to study together, confident in the belief that you could take care of yourself.

And how could you not?

You face four overblots, one after another in a short span of five months, without ever letting the situation shake you. You always maintain a cold and impassive attitude while assisting in the fights. Seriously, you even headbutt Riddle during his overblot. If that isn't excessive courage — especially for someone without magic — then what is?

In a way, you’re almost like a source of inspiration for these boys; kind, confident, clever, and funny. Yes, that’s everything you are… or everything you wish you were.

“Oh, look who decided to show up.”

Your eyes meet Jade’s heterochromatic gaze the moment you open the glass door of the greenhouse and step inside. The air inside is humid, heavy with the scent of damp soil and fungi in various stages of growth. Jade is alone, seated at the long wooden table, surrounded by pots holding an alarming variety of mushrooms.

“You came so quickly, pet.” The nickname slides off his tongue like a thin, sharp blade, slicing through your mood the instant it’s spoken. Jade always knows just what to say to make you shudder — in disgust, in frustration, or maybe both. “Sometimes I wonder just how far you’re willing to go over a single video.” He smiles, that same devilish, toothy grin you’ve come to despise over the past few weeks.

In your mind, you rewrite his words: Sometimes I wonder how close I can push you to the edge… just for my own pleasure.

“Maybe that’s why no one wants to join your stupid club,” you snap, provoking him even though you know it’s a terrible idea. You still do it.

“Feeling bold today, aren’t you?” Unfortunately for your ego, his smile doesn’t waver, but his two-toned eyes narrow in a veiled threat.

“What do you want?” you ask sharply, not wanting to drag this pointless conversation on.

“Fufu, in a hurry, are we?”

He mocks before standing, and your body reacts before your brain can even process it. Your muscles tense at the thought of him coming closer to do what that bastard does best: be a damn leech.

But instead of approaching you, Jade calmly turns and walks to a nearby table, where a small pot holds a peculiar mushroom. With the care of an expert, he plucks it from the soil.

Only then does he face you again. Looming in front of you, presence heavy and suffocating — like a predator eyeing his prey.

“I’m not going to be your damn guinea pig.” Your voice is tight, your words dripping with contempt. You want to lunge at his throat.

“No?” Jade raises a brow, feigning surprise.

Then, in a slow and deliberate motion, his free hand slides into the inner pocket of his white lab coat. His lips curl into a wicked little smile.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what he’s about to do.

The phone.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” The words escape before you can stop them. The bitter taste of surrender clings to your tongue — such a contrast to the defiance you had just moments ago.

It takes everything in you to swallow your pride and protect the little dignity you have left.

Jade looks more than pleased with your sudden and ‘voluntary’ change in behavior. His hand abandons the phone, but you know it isn’t a retreat — just a reminder that the threat still exists.

“Just give it to me,” you mutter, holding out your hand, annoyed.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” He smiles and tosses the tiny fungus into your hand. His next words are accompanied by his signature move: hand over heart in mock gratitude. “It’s so good to have you as an unofficial member of the Lovers Mountain Club.” A guinea pig — that’s what he means. You’ve learned to read the double meanings behind Jade’s flowery language.

“What does it do?” you ask, examining the pink mushroom with white spots, barely the size of your pinky finger.

“You’ll find out once it takes effect.”

“I hate surprises that come from you.” Your voice is sharp, full of resentment.

“From me? Oh, don’t be so cruel.” Jade frowns and feigns sadness, though the playful gleam in his eyes betrays the act. “Now… the mushroom you’re holding? Ah, that’s a different story. I’m sure it holds a rather peculiar surprise.”

You hate those last words — the clear disdain in them. It’s like he’s mocking your ignorance. Jade definitely knows what that damn mushroom is capable of. He just doesn’t want to tell you.

Your eyes fix on him, your fingers curling tightly around the fungus as if you could crush the answers out of it. But Jade just offers another wide smile, baring the sharp teeth that always make him look more predator than man — which, in truth, he is.

“You know exactly what this thing does, don’t you?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“Oh, how perceptive.” He chuckles, his voice smooth like a seaside tale. “But where’s the fun in just telling you?”

“You have a nasty habit of playing dumb,” you growl.

“I’d say it’s a personal charm,” he replies, unbothered. “But if it makes you feel better, I only withhold the details that would make everything… boring.”

The cunning glint in his eyes only fuels your irritation.

“Jade, if this thing is poisonous, I swear—”

“Poisonous?” He tilts his head, tone dripping with false innocence. “Now, now, do you really think I’d let you hold something like that without warning you?”

“Yes.” The reply is instant, dry.

Jade laughs, a low, rippling sound, like an echo from the ocean depths. He steps closer — just enough for you to smell that ever-present marine scent clinging to him — subtle but deceiving, like the merman before you.

“How cruel.” He sighs, placing a hand to his chin as if deep in thought. “But I understand. Trust is such a fragile thing, isn’t it? Like glass… or a tiny mistake when ingesting a mysterious mushroom.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Jade.”

“Yes, yes, I know. No jokes.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, but the smile stays — mocking. “Let’s just say this mushroom has… interesting properties. You might find the effect a bit inconvenient, but I personally find it fascinating.”

The way he emphasizes “inconvenient” makes your skin crawl.

“What effect?”

Jade doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he observes you for a long moment, like a predator studying its prey. Then, with the ease of someone who has all the time in the world, he leans in slightly, voice nearly a whisper.

“Why spoil the surprise? You know I’m being honest when I say this will be… interesting.”

Your stomach twists. Something tells you that, with Jade Leech involved, “interesting” is just a euphemism for “trouble.”

Either way, you have no choice.

Anger bubbles beneath your skin, but there’s nothing you can do except follow his orders like an obedient little pet, lowering your head and offering your paw as instructed. The bitter taste of submission is worse than any poison that mushroom could carry.

A sigh slips from your lips, heavy with frustration, before you finally bring that damn mushroom to your mouth. No chewing, no hesitation — you swallow it whole, as if you could erase the disgust along with it.

For a moment, nothing happens.

“That’s it?” you ask, brow furrowed.

“Oya, were you expecting more?” His voice drips like poisoned honey, full of amusement. Jade’s eyes gleam with something strange — laced with danger.

He takes a step forward, collapsing the space between you. His presence has always been too overwhelming, suffocating like the deep sea where no light reaches. But this time, something is different — something predatory in the way his gloved hands rise, about to reach for your skin.

“If that’s all, then maybe we can—”

“No, no.” You react before his touch lands, instinct screaming at you to back away.

With a quick leap, you dodge, feeling the heat of your skin narrowly escape Jade’s sticky hands — even if they’re covered by the pristine gloves he always wears.

The merman’s grin stretches, sharp teeth bared as if he just had fun toying with easy prey.

“I’m leaving!” you shout, louder than intended.

And then, without waiting for a response, you turn on your heels and run, refusing to look back.

Because deep down, you know if you do, you’ll find Jade still there, smiling. Watching.

And, worst of all, waiting.

[...]

Hours later, while still working at the Mostro Lounge, you can no longer hide from yourself what you feel. The heat beneath your skin is scorching, pulsing, almost unbearable. The knot in your abdomen tightens, radiating a warmth that runs down your legs, and your head spins in a slow spiral, as if trapped in a lukewarm, thick dream.

You can barely register the customers' faces, and the simple task of writing down an order feels like it demands absurd concentration. Each step feels as if gravity has lost part of its weight over you.

A fleeting train of thought is enough for you to understand: all of this strange, unfamiliar sensation is the fault of the mushroom you were coerced into eating earlier.

So that’s what Jade means with that nonsense about “interesting effects.” Well, interesting it is — especially the throbbing sensation between your legs — although none of it is welcome. And even with your mind foggy, it’s easy to connect the dots: all of this is nothing but a crude trap, made to leave you... vulnerable.

You hate realizing that. You hate that disgusting conclusion and everything it implies. Suddenly, the urgency to leave becomes stronger than any effect that damn fungus causes. You need to get away from the crowd, away from prying eyes — and, most of all, away from the Leech brothers.

Your gaze sweeps the room, searching for them. You find only one — which isn’t exactly a relief. The other could be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And there is he. Floyd Leech. The lazy smile, the sharp eyes, the unpredictable gestures — as dangerous as they are hypnotizing. You don’t dare look directly into his eyes, but you feel it. You feel when he turns toward you. When Floyd’s gaze burns into the back of your neck like direct sunlight.

In a moment when he seems distracted — maybe arguing with some unfortunate customer — you take the chance. You slip quickly through the door that leads to the kitchen, praying to go unnoticed.

There, among the boiling pots and the scent of spices, no one questions your presence. You walk straight to the side door of the pantry and push it, relieved to find it, as always, unlocked.

You enter, closing it behind you. There’s no lock — Azul is the only one with the key — but simply keeping the outside light out already creates the illusion of safety.

You’d never choose this place, its interior lined with shelves of ingredients and stacked boxes. You know very well that if the Leech brothers enter, there’s nowhere to run. It’s the worst place to be alone. But right now, anything is better than staying under Floyd’s gaze or anyone else’s.

You close your eyes and press your trembling arms against the wall, determined to wait until the effects of the fungus wear off — even if that takes hours. Going back to Ramshackle alone isn’t an option; your body feels ready to collapse at any moment.

In here, wrapped in silence, your heart hammers so loudly it seems to vibrate inside your skull. Everything is muffled, as if the world outside is underwater.

You hear a click — the distinct sound of a door being opened. Your eyes snap open, but your dazed mind and even more sluggish body aren’t fast enough to react.

That’s when you feel it: sudden heat pressing against your back. Before you can move, a dull thud echoes through the tight space.

Someone… or rather, Floyd, slams both hands against the wall beside you, trapping you between him and the concrete. His hips press against yours in a slow, playful motion, and you sense the wide grin spreading across his face, even without seeing it. A shiver runs up your spine as Floyd’s drawn-out voice cuts through the pantry’s muffled silence.

"Heeeh~ Koebi-chan is trembling..." he hums, leaning in to sniff your neck with a satisfied sigh. “You also smell sweeter than usual…” His tone wavers between playful and something dangerously hungry, like a predator savoring its prey before the bite. He seems to feel just how much your body is already reacting to him… how soaked your panties must be by now.

The heat rolls over your skin in waves, blending with the peculiar dizziness that’s been dancing in your mind since you ate that damned mushroom. The effect is intoxicating, clouding your thoughts and making everything around you blur — except for Floyd’s overwhelming presence.

"Now’s not a good time for this..." you manage to murmur, afraid that any louder sound might draw unwanted attention. But every word seems to melt in your mouth, soft and weak.

Floyd doesn’t seem interested in your excuse. On the contrary, the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way his fingers drum against the wall suggest he’s enjoying your unease. He tilts his head, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. He moves his hips against yours again, forcing your body even harder against the cold wall — your breasts now fully pressed against the freezing concrete, contrasting with the almost suffocating heat he pours over you.

"Hmmm~... but Koebi-chan is being so sweet today." The laugh that slips from Floyd’s lips sends a shiver down your spine. "If I squeeze a little more, do you think you’ll break?"

Your fingers curl against the wall as you struggle to stay clear-headed, but the effect of the mushroom makes every touch, every whisper, every closeness unbearably intense. The rising heat inside you mixes with the nervousness of being cornered by a Floyd especially intent on teasing.

"Neh, neh, Koebi-chan..." He chuckles softly, his teeth grazing your skin. "Should I take this chance? Or are you going to try to run?"

The way he whispers those words sounds more like a challenge than a real question. You’re not even sure you can take a single step away from him.

You try to move away, but your knees falter, and a wave of dizziness washes over your body. A shaky breath escapes your lips as your legs give out completely. Before you can collapse, Floyd catches your waist with ease, lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing. He laughs, spinning you slightly before casting an amused glance toward the pantry door.

“I think we should take her somewhere more comfortable, right, Jade~?"

"Indeed." Jade’s voice fills the space, smooth as silk. He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching everything with the same smile someone would have while observing an exotic dish. How long has he been there, silent?

“Ahhh~ Jade! Look, Koebi-chan’s all limp like seaweed." Floyd laughs, keeping one arm around your waist as your feet finally touch the floor. But it’s him who’s holding up your entire weight.

Jade raises an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from you to his brother. "Hmmm... I suppose it’s because of that peculiar mushroom she ate earlier. The symptoms include dizziness, heightened sensitivity, and... well, a certain degree of vulnerability."

The way he smiles as he says that makes your stomach turn. You try to pull away, but Floyd only presses you harder against him, his grin wide, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Heehee~ that means I get extra fun taking care of her!"

Jade lets out a dramatic sigh before walking to your other side, also wrapping an arm around your waist to help support you.

"Very well, I think I should come along. After all, we wouldn’t want you getting too carried away, Floyd."

The teasing in Jade’s voice is unmistakable, and you wish you could respond, but your mind is a whirlwind of uncontrollable sensations. Floyd, on the other hand, just grins wider, clearly pleased with the situation.

"Neh, Koebi-chan~ Looks like you’ll have some extra company.” Floyd whispers close to your ear, his voice dragging like a wave ready to swallow you. “Get ready, ‘cause it’s gonna be a veeeery fun night~"

[grimm909]

Where's ur masterlist?

Hello, my dear!

I haven't done that yet, to be honest. After all, there are only two stories posted so far: Deep in the sea and Red Phone (which is still ongoing). However, I will make one in the future and also change the rules theme.

That being said, requests are open!

Bye~😘

[grimm909]

Red Phone - Part 2

I ended up forgetting to include a very important fact here the first time I posted RP! It turns out that the story, in part, is inspired by a South Korean film called "The Call." I highly recommend watching it if you like horror and drama. It's even in the Netflix catalogue! I will also include this information in the first part and then in the third part.

I don't want to take too long here, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the comments you made! This always encourages me and makes me happy ☺️💖

Also thank you generously for your support @ryebread0605 😘

As always, english is not my native language. So I apologize if there are any errors.

Happy reading!

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

The red phone rings at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sitting at your desk doing your college homework, you put your notebook aside and answer the phone that was on the table.

“Hello, Floyd!” You greet him happily after answering the call.

“Hey, you seem excited.” He notes your good cheer, while he himself continues to use a more relaxed and meek tone. “Did anything good happen?”

“Almost that, yes.” You momentarily remember the night you spent with Ace, but as quickly as that thought came, you immediately pushed it aside. “But also because I’m glad you called me.”

“Hey, I told you, didn't I? Would call to find out more about the future.”

“Of course, I remember.” You respond complacently and with your other free hand pull the notebook back in front of your face. “What do you want to know?”

“Hmmm…” The boy seems thoughtful on the other end of the line, faced with the infinite possibilities. “Who is the most famous player in the NBA today?”

“Do you like basketball?” You ask, pressing the keys.

“Yeep~” Floyd states in a more humorous tone, indicating that you had hit the right spot. “I also play. It’s one of my favorite hobbies.”

“Do you think about playing professionally?”

“I've already thought about that, as I've thought about many other things. But I know it’s a matter of time before it gets boring.”

“Ah, I understand what this is. I consider myself someone who is adept at several things, but can easily get bored of them and move on to something else.” You say, remembering the various things you liked to watch or play, before simply putting them aside after they became repetitive, boring or after finding something much more interesting.

“Eehh~ you read my mind.” He agrees excitedly.

“Another coincidence, then.” You play around and then go on to read information about some of today's most famous players, listening to Floyd humming happily on the other end of the line. “What else do you want to know?”

“About Jade.” He responds immediately. “What else did you find out about him?”

“In addition to what I said about him being a partner in that restaurant, there were many photos of natural landscapes. However, more specifically…”

“Mushrooms.” Floyd finishes his reasoning before you can finish it yourself. His annoyance on the other end of the line was noticeable in the tone of his voice full of disgust, as if each syllable of the word 'mushrooms' was already cursed in itself. “I thought this was just temporary"

“Let’s change the subject then.” You quickly think of an alternative, not wanting to ruin his good mood. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I like different styles, but lately I've been listening to some rock bands.”

“Cool, I like it too.” You say, and then a brilliant idea springs from your mind. “Tell me a band you like and I’ll show you a new song from them!”

"Serious? Hehehe!” Floyd seems ecstatic at the idea, laughing happily on the other end of the line. “It looks like we’re going to get along really well~”

[…]

You stayed talking to Floyd for over two hours, only hanging up when you told him you needed to study. He didn't seem happy about it, insisting that you continue talking about future events. However, you were firm in your decision and reassured him by saying that he could always call you the next day. Despite himself, the boy agreed because he couldn't force you to do anything. Floyd was just a voice from the past, after all.

The study, however, was a blatant lie. You had received a message from Ace on your digital cell phone, in which he asked you to go to a specific address to be together again. And now, with your mind a little more balanced without your hormones getting in the way of your reasoning, you weren't sure if you should do this.

A part of you felt quite dirty and a little guilty about having sex with a married man. To make matters worse, in the bed he shared with his wife for years. However, another part of you, that selfish and perverse part that existed in the darkest corner of your mind, felt terribly excited at the idea of ​​meeting Ace in secret and spending quality time with him again.

It was so wrong and exactly for this why it was so good.

Ace had given you his word of a future divorce and you clung to that as a safe haven, to try and convince yourself that this wasn't as bad as it seemed.

You still pondered for a few minutes, before responding to him with an “ok” and stating that you would meet him in an hour.

Without wasting any more time, you took a shower, put on one of your best clothes and put on makeup in a simple way with just a reddish lipstick on your lips and dark shading. Not wanting to pamper yourself too much, you knew that later your makeup would be completely smudged for not very holy reasons.

When you went downstairs, your parents obviously asked where you were going all dressed up and your answer was to say that you would meet some friends, without an exact time to arrive. Your father was even kind enough to offer you a ride, but you immediately declined the offer, saying the meeting place was nearby.

It was a lie.

After walking a few meters to trick your parents, you had to call an Uber to take you to the address. It wasn't a surprise when you realized the meeting place was at a motel.

You got out of the car and immediately saw Ace in front of the establishment, waving at him.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” He is surprised to see you, taking a long and blatant look from top to bottom, for a moment focusing on the neckline that left part of your breasts exposed, before looking back at your face.

"Thanks." You respond shyly and feel your cheeks heat up, clearly having a weakness for sincere compliments. “Can we go in soon? I don’t want someone I know to see me.” You look around worriedly, immediately wrapping your hands around Ace's arm to pull him towards the motel's glass door.

“Wow, someone is really in a hurry.” Ace mocks with a mischievous smile, still standing in the same place like a statue. He just moves to wrap arms around your body and pull her against his chest. You shiver when you feel the redhead warm breath against the sensitive skin of your ear. “Was our fuck the other day that good?” Ace whispers mischievously, his husky voice giving you awkward sensations.

However, the trigger for your face to explode red is when you feel a suggestive pinch on your ass. “Stop playing with me!” You scream, even though you weren't really angry, but rather embarrassed.

You move away from him and stamp your foot on the ground, upset by Ace's cluelessness. He was the one who should be most worried about being discovered or recognized by someone. Instead, here was Trappola, mocking your caution and messing with you to boot.

“Hahaha. Okay, okay.” He raises his hands up in surrender, but still laughing at your energetic reaction. “I promise I’ll behave.”

It was an obvious lie, but you still believe him.

Without further ado from Ace, he affectionately wraps a hand around your waist and walks with you into the establishment. The receptionist who was inside, behind a marble counter, takes a long and not at all discreet look at the two of you, visibly judging the obvious age difference. It didn't help that you looked more like a sixteen-year-old teenager than a twenty-year-old adult.

“Did you see the way that woman looked at us?” Ace asks in the middle of the room corridors after making payment and receiving the key.

“She was probably thinking about whether or not she should call the police.” You joked, giving a lighthearted laugh.

Ace snorted in annoyance at the joke, but he soon followed up his morally dubious humor with a chuckle as he looked at you.

“It’s here.” He says as he observes that the label glued to the key had the same number as the door, unlocking it and gesturing for you to do the honors of entering. “Ladies first.” Ace winks in amusement and you innocently fall for his joke, before walking through the door and feeling a second pinch on your ass.

“Ahh!” You let out a scream of surprise, but quickly composed yourself as you made an annoyed expression and turned to face Ace, who was laughing behind you like a stupid teenager. “You said you would behave.”

“Of course, but that’s outside.” He enters the room and locks the door behind him. “There’s no one else here for you to be scared of, right?” He asks in a whisper full of cynicism, as he slowly approaches you.

“Don't make fun of my face!" You scream, pretending to be angry to try and hide the embarrassment that spread across your face.

Ace was a damn smartass who wouldn't keep quiet until someone shut him up. And, apparently, you had no choice but to be that “someone.”

Going on the attack, you grab his shirt and pull him towards you, silencing him with a sudden kiss before another provocation leaves your lips. Ace seems surprised at first, but kisses back by opening his mouth and allowing both tongues to meet.

The warm kiss only lasts a few seconds before you pull away from Trappola and ask him to sit on the bed, who promptly does so with a palpable expectation of what you would do next.

Although you were shy at first, you need to swallow this feeling reluctantly to get closer to him and bend your body until you were close to the redhead's ear: “Take off your belt."

As expected, Ace did so quickly and let him fall to the ground, opening his legs in anticipation of what would happen in a few seconds. He stares at you with obvious longing, biting his lower lip as he waits patiently for you to make your next move.

Without wasting time, you kneel in front of Trappola and take your inexperienced hands to the fly of his pants. When you open it, Ace slightly lifts his hips so you can pull down his pants along with his white underwear with a heart print.

A giggle escapes your lips and you decide that you couldn't let this opportunity pass you by. “Little hearts? How cute." You scoff, feeling refreshed when you notice the blush that immediately appears on Ace's cheeks.

Revenge has never been so sweet.

You bring your mouth closer to his already half-hard cock and give Ace's glans a short lick. This one, who couldn't help but notice her pink lips as they approached the tip of his cock, the small and simple touch was able to make him let out a small sigh. He imagines beforehand, how your little mouth wrapped around his dick, would be so perfect to relieve him.

You slowly start to shelter Trappola's penis and taste it more intensely, realizing that the taste wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. A little more relaxed in light of this fact, you close your eyes and begin to make initially slow movements back and forth, only sucking half of his length. Of course you had never done that in your entire life, but at least you were aware that you shouldn't use your teeth under any circumstances. That had to be worth something.

Ace closes his eyes and subtly throws his head up when he feels that half of his member has been sheltered. And it got even better with those back and forth movements you started to make. Although slow, they were like a massage on his penis.

You looked up and enjoyed seeing him being so resigned, completely at the mercy of your whims. You also loved hearing him moan, and as much as Ace's beautiful sighs were similar to a beautiful symphony to your ears, you longed to hear more.

With that thought in mind, you used your tongue to focus on the most sensitive point, licking the glans greedily and from this action feeling a salty liquid in your mouth, which you identified as pre-cum. Your back and forth movements also became a little faster than normal, which made you get what you wanted as soon as the redhead's moans intensified.

You were doing your best not to interrupt the blowjob, but you weren't yet experienced enough to be able to breathe through your nose and suck Ace so eagerly. Inevitably, after a few seconds, you had to separate your lips from the redhead's cock to take a few sips of air.

“Don’t stop.” Ace dictates with the heavy breathing.

You quickly understand that it wasn't a request, but rather an order when he abruptly grabs your hair to bring you back towards his cock, forcing the entire length down your throat in a single thrust inside.

Poor, foolish thing you were, who mistakenly thought were in control of the situation.

You patted Ace's knee to make him let go of his head, but he wasn't paying attention, or was simply categorically ignoring you. Definitely the latter, as he starts to force his dick down your throat several times.

As you choked on his penis, Ace let moans and sighs louder than the previous ones escape your mouth, revealing the pleasure he felt in an explicit and exclusive way for you. And realizing that there was no way to get his dick out of your mouth without making him cum first, you have no choice but to try to relax your own throat so you can take him in.

Lost amidst thoughts of lust, possession and desire, Ace had nothing to complain about. The speed was incredibly perfect, frantic, and his tongue made the right movements to make him intoxicated to the point of disconnecting from the world and just moaning more and more, muffled but still loud. The redhead could feel that he was getting closer and closer to the peak, all through that inexperienced and delicious little mouth of you.

Holding his bottom lip with his teeth, Ace allows himself to melt into the mouth that he has come to love even more. Such pleasure is felt by the redhead, that he feels his vision become slightly blurred and dark, letting those fantastic spasms grace every cell of his body.

You swallow every drop of his semen, completely unwillingly. It wasn't horrible, but it was far from good. And after using your throat as a cum dump, Ace lets go of your hair and you finally free yourself from his cock, moving away from it and breathing heavily, tired after all that exercise you had done with your mouth.

“Ace, you’re an asshole.” You cursed him after normalizing your breathing, visibly upset. “Did you want to choke me with your dick?”

“Hey, I will reward you.” Ace smiles suspiciously gently, before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into a kiss, not seeming to care about the taste of himself present in your mouth.

You feel like biting him as a form of revenge, but end up giving up because you do not want to break a contact as intimate and pleasant as that.

“Now it’s my turn.” Ace says seductively after breaking the kiss, licking his lower lip in clear provocation.

Oh, heavens, you were going to hell because of this man.

[...]

Floyd called you at two o'clock the next day, with just one more day to go until his probable death.

“Have you fixed the bike yet?” It was the first thing you said after answering the call.

“Yep~”

“You’re not going out with her tomorrow, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay at home all day.” He soothes. “The only way I could end up dying in my own house is if a meteor hit it.”

“Be careful, okay?” You ask, afraid that something else might happen. “I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re so cute, worrying about someone you barely know.”

"Really? I don’t think that, I consider you a friend.” You admit it honestly.

“Eeehh, so you called yourself my friend without my consent?” The boy lets out a chuckle on the other end of the line. “Bad girl.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You speak awkwardly, the regret of your own words knocking on the door. Maybe it was too early to put a title on the relationship you had with the voice on the other end.

“Hehe, you took my joke too seriously.” Floyd comments relaxedly after noticing how worried you seemed. “I’m just kidding, kidding.”

“Phew.” A sigh of relief leaves your lips.

“Nee, nee~ what do you think will happen when the future changes?” Floyd asks, excited about the possibilities. “Do you think you’ll still be living on here?”

“Hard to say. But if your parents only moved because of the tragedy, then they will probably still be here.” You comment, not thinking much about it at first. “And me, well, in my old house or somewhere else. That's what I think at the moment, changes in the past can cause infinite possibilities in the future or even a time lapse, who knows…

“Boring~” Floyd grumbles. “You’re a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.” You defend yourself, outraged by the boy's derogatory comment. “I just love time travel movies. You never watched-…”

Your words die in your throat, a sudden, silent astonishment that makes you pale from one second to the next.

You finally realize that realizing an alternate future would mean never meeting Ace. Even the memories of the two of you together could be erased from his mind, as if they had never occurred. And in fact, they wouldn't happen.

From the beginning you knew that things could change and you hadn't cared so much about it, but now it was different. Maybe you didn't love he yet, but you definitely felt something for him that went beyond physical attraction, even before you had sex with Ace.

“Hey, you okay? You were suddenly quiet.” Floyd asks, his tone showing genuine concern.

“I need to hang up, sorry.”

You don't give Floyd enough time to ask why, before quickly hanging up the phone on him. You would apologize later, especially now that the boy would have all the time in the world to live a happy and comfortable life, at the expense of his memories with Ace.

Wait, were you really starting to regret possibly saving a life, just because of a passion that would predictably, one time or another, go wrong?

When you realize this, you feel even worse. It wasn't right to choose between the two, but here you were, which in the most disgusting part of your core you were rooting for, practically praying, that the next day nothing would change, even if it meant never getting any calls from your friend Floyd again.

You shake your head in denial, hating your own thoughts. It was still better to let go of his unspecified relationship with the redhead than to let someone die out of pure selfishness.

You weren't like that, you didn't want to be like that.

You drop the red phone on your desk and decide to leave the house to get some fresh air, convinced that this could clear your mind.

[...]

You were sleeping when the red phone rang at midnight.

Groggy with sleep, you struggle to get up from your warm and cozy bed, walking towards the desk where your phone rested.

you catch him, but don't answer. Possessing the knowledge that it must be that strange voice, it is your preference to not want to talk to him anymore after the incident with the doll.

“If you keep going, he’ll come get you.”

You remember the warning she gave and an unpleasant sensation rises throughout your bone marrow. You immediately decline the call and place the phone on the table again, returning to bed.

The moment your head hits the pillow, that's when that damn device resonates again. Annoyed, but also afraid, you get up again and this time open the back of the phone to remove the battery from inside, aware that this way no one else could disturb your rest or test your sanity.

You rest both objects on the surface of the desk and turn your back to go back to sleep, thus having a wonderful night's sleep without any further interruptions.

Or…

That would be the case, if the ringing of that cursed telephone hadn't resounded through the room again.

Your breath comes out ragged in sudden astonishment and your eyes widen in clear terror, remaining stagnant in place with nothing but the most genuine feeling of fear, almost as if that old device would swallow you whole if you dared to face it again.

But you have no choice.

Fearfully, you turn around, finding nothing more than the red phone itself continually beeping. Next to it, the battery that was supposed to stop it working when removed, but apparently not serving its purpose.

There were no monsters on here, but your terror doesn't calm down when you notice your bedroom window is open. And you don't remember leaving her like that.

You swallow hard and approach the window, looking through it to see if someone was snooping around your house. Luckily, finding nothing more than just the emptiness of the night.

You quickly walk away and close the window. In addition to locking it, cover the windows with the blind.

Turning your attention to the phone that continues to ring incessantly, from inside your wardrobe you take out a sweatshirt and use it to wrap the object, then storing it inside one of the desk drawers.

You go back to bed and try to ignore the muffled ringing, which persists for the rest of the night.

[...]

Floyd would die today.

Although you searched the internet for more information about his death, the time of the accident had not been specified, only the date and how it occurred. You could just wait for the boy's phone call or simply for an alternative time, in which you would end up waking up in your old house and perhaps with no memories of any of it.

Honestly, a phone call was much more desirable, despite the scare you experienced the night before because of it.

However, it is better to forget about past events and start checking your window every night before going to sleep, or you would become paranoid. In the end, a phone working even without a battery wasn't even as bizarre as the idea of ​​talking to someone from the past.

Your digital cell phone rings with a message notification and you realize it's from Ace, who once again asked you to meet him, this time at his house. You are quick to respond.

2: 14 PM And your wife?

2:14 PM Ace: She's at her parents' house with Alice. We can spend some time alone, what do you think?

14h14 PM Shouldn't you be working?

2:15 PM Ace: Day off, baby

14h15 PM It's okay then. I'll be there in thirty minutes

2:16 PM But be quick to open the door when I ring the doorbell! My parents can't see me coming into your house >.<

14h16 PM Ace: Ok

A huge smile adorns your lips and you let out small laughs of happiness, ecstatic at the idea of ​​being able to see him one last time before the weather probably changes.

But maybe you would still receive some calls from Floyd, so it would be appropriate to take the red phone with you to Ace's house. So, you do it, placing it inside a small black bag next to your digital cell phone.

You dress up in an average way so as not to arouse suspicion and then go downstairs, telling your mother that you were going to the library to study a little. Believing your lie, she just tells you to take care of yourself and releases you without any questions.

You walk through the front door, before checking to make sure your mother isn't close behind and running to the other side of the street. You ring the bell at the redhead's house, and it doesn't take him more than five seconds to open the door for you.

“I feel like I’m committing a crime.” You say in an amused tone, quickly stepping inside his house and feeling less alert the moment you hear him close the door.

“I missed you.” Ace states as he places both hands on your waist, inducing you to turn around and face him.

“It hasn’t even been that long since we were last together.” You refer to the day at the motel, involving your arms circling around Ace's neck. He leans in to press his lips to yours and you close your eyes in anticipation, receiving a gentle, loving peck. It takes a lot of your self-control not to give in when the redhead brushes his tongue against your lower lip, because you knew that he clearly already had ulterior motives in wanting to spice up that kiss. You would end up in his bed again, if you weren't more cunning than that naught guy. And although it was a really tempting idea, you didn't want all your romantic moments with him to be summed up just in sex, especially this moment, which could be your last. Therefore, you push him away by, gently pushing his chest and taking distance from his lips, looking him directly in the eyes. “Can we just watch a movie or something?”

Ace looks surprised at first, almost disappointed. But he's quick to cover it up, by softening his expression and giving you a smile so you wouldn't notice, even though it was a little late.

“Okay, fine.” Ace removes his hands from your waist, but he doesn't move away. Quite the contrary, the older man wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding your to the sofa. “It’s not like I’m just with you for the sex.”

Although in a joking tone, the comment opens a hole in your head, making you wonder if that was precisely why he was with you.

A young, childless and disciplined girl.

In the middle of a scorching desert, you were like an oasis for Ace.

No, it wasn't the time to think that. You should enjoy the time you had left with him, poking this hornet's nest inside your mind was by far a stupid idea.

You sit on the couch, snuggled up against each other. Ace reaches for the controller on the coffee table and chooses a movie that he finds interesting enough that neither of you end up falling asleep.

Little by little, as the minutes of the film go on, you come to appreciate the moment of intimacy and your worries are quickly put aside. Every now and then Ace takes a strand of your hair to curl between his fingers, and if not that, he's stroking the top of your head in a gentle, affectionate stroke.

Although the content of the film is interesting, you can't fight the sleep that creeps into your mind. The previous night's poor sleep is one of the main reasons for this, but it doesn't help being so comfortably close to Ace, with your head resting on his shoulder.

In the end, both reasons are the right recipe for you to fall asleep.

[...]

You wake up by yourself after a few hours, for a moment disoriented about where you were and whether the time had already changed, until you realize that the ceiling you were looking at was Ace house and not your old house.

You notice that you are lying on the couch, without the redhead by your side.

“Ace?” You get up from the upholstery and raise your voice to call his name. Upon his call, it doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to appear at the kitchen door. "What time is it?" You ask worried, both because you know you can't get home too late, and because the redhead's wife could arrive at any moment.

“Five-fifteen.”

“Damn, I slept for almost three hours!?” You ask in a daze and quickly pull your digital cell phone out of your bag, seeing that there were some messages from your mother and three missed calls.

“You looked pretty tired.” The redhead says as he approaches you “Studying late?”

“More or less that.” You omit the truth. He would never believe that ridiculous story about talking to someone from the past. “I’m sorry, Ace.” You say, feeling guilty for not spending enough time with him. “I would like to stay with you, but now I need to go back or my mother will kill me.”

“Okay, we can be together next time.”

I don't know if we'll have one next time.

You think, still afraid of the possibility of forgetting him.

But Ace, oblivious to your problems, removes those thoughts from your mind — albeit temporarily — by getting close enough so he can press his lips to yours. Unlike the first time, you accept him willingly when he tries to intensify the kiss.

The contact of both tongues intertwining in an intimate union is quite fervent and passionate, but it also contains a small trace of desperation on your part, aware that perhaps this would be your last kiss with him.

You pull away after a while, both because you need to breathe and because you need to leave. Ace smiles at you and gently tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, before walking away to go towards the window, checking if there was anyone on the street who might catch you leaving his house.

“All clear.” Ace warns.

At the green light, you immediately go to the door and open it, saying goodbye to Ace with a sharp pain in your chest.

You wished this wasn’t the last time.

Crossing the street and opening the door of her house, her mother and father were already waiting for her on the sofa in the living room.

It went without saying how much your mother started arguing the moment she saw you stepping foot in the house, asking why you had a cell phone when you didn't even answer a damn message. Your father also sided with her, but in a milder way, just advising you to pay more attention and not spend so much time on the street.

After listening to all the complaints that your mother had to say to you, you went up to your room and took the red phone out of your bag after locking the door, checking if there was a missed call on it too. Nothing.

You placed it on the desk and sat in the chair, deciding to wait for a call from Floyd while killing time by scrolling through your laptop.

[...]

The red phone rings at midnight.

You don't answer, knowing it's that strange male voice, rather than your friend Floyd — who hadn't yet shown any sign of life.

Maybe it was already too late to wait for a call from him. Who knows, perhaps his death was accomplished, even after all the warnings and advice given.

This makes you feel really bad, feeling not only bitter and sad about the possibility that he really died, but also guilty for having for a moment wished for that to actually happen.

The feeling of remorse covers him like a heavy blanket. Sudden tears escape your eyes and you wonder how you could have done more to help him.

Even in mourning, the stranger on the other end of the line doesn't stop, much less respect your pain.

As the seconds pass, the tinkling becomes more and more unbearable, like a macabre orchestra playing the march of the gates of hell as they open.

You grab that cursed device and answer the call.

“What the fuck do you want?” There is no trace of fear in you, other than the purest and most genuine anger. When there is no response other than a panting breath on the other end of the line, you ask in a more shouty manner. “WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT!?”

When there is still no response, you lose patience and hang up the phone. To prevent the tinkling from bothering you, you do the same process as yesterday: wrapping it in a sweatshirt and throwing it in the desk drawer.

You lay down to sleep and the tears return.

[...]

The next day, you feel as exhausted as before, as if your body hadn't gotten enough rest. However, you were fully aware that all this fatigue was not from your body, but from your own mind, shaken by Floyd's death.

You had simply convinced yourself that he would never call again, especially after waking up and realizing that you were still in the house you bought a few months ago, without any sign of change in the present.

You try to let it go, try to convince yourself that you did what you could and that Floyd probably didn't listen to you enough, leaving on his motorcycle even after all the warnings.

Apparently, blaming the victim of the tragedy herself was the only way to feel better, to not feel as helpless and guilty as she was now.

You try your best to put on a neutral expression on your face, pretending everything was fine and heading downstairs to have breakfast, even though your stomach was upset and your throat was completely blocked. You needed to pretend or your family would ask what the problem was, not wanting to be pressured with questions.

Your eyes hover over your mother and father, who were sitting near the kitchen counter. You wish them good morning and sit next to your father, half filling the glass that rested on the table with orange juice, then taking a slice of toasted bread and bringing it to your mouth, biting a piece. It's the best you could eat, without probably ending up vomiting.

You can't taste anything after the stress of these last two days, which finally came to a head last night after all that shedding of tears. You try your best to focus on the taste, but you don't taste anything other than the sweetness of the bread and the sourness of the juice. Each swallow is forced, your throat vehemently refuses each bite and it hurts.

You look at every corner of the kitchen, trying to distract yourself — from the pain and the sudden urge to cry — with anything that is remotely interesting, so that your active brain can have some daydreaming.

Don't think about Floyd. Don't think about him.

You think about him, while you argue with your own mind not to do this, so that it gets distracted by something.

Get distracted by something. Something. Think of something. Start a conversation.

His eyes continue to move, like prey looking for a way to escape its hunter. However, you were not prey, as you were just trying to escape your own tears and bitter emotions.

The guilt continued to haunt you, already rooted in you like a dark stain embedded in soul, just like that strange stain above the ceiling.

Stain… dark?

“Mom, has the ceiling always been like this?” You ask, aware that you had never noticed that before.

“That question again?” You don't understand what she means by that, as far as you knew, you had never even noticed that stain. “Yes, it has always been like this. But I keep telling your father to fix this.” She expresses obvious annoyance, staring directly at her husband. This one, who just pretends not to hear it.

“And what happened to him?” You look more closely, the stain snaked its way across the ceiling to the kitchen door as if a very large and disgusting snake had passed through there and left a trail of soot.

“I already told you that too.” She looks at you like you're an idiot asking the same thing twice in a row. And, apparently that was it, although you weren't aware that you'd ever asked those questions. “Don’t you remember that the house was falling apart when we first came to visit?” No, the house wasn't falling apart as far as you remembered. It just looked abandoned, nothing more. “The purchase was cheap because of the state, but the renovation ended up costing a lot, anyway.”

As if your body is being controlled by invisible wires, you rise from your seat and are driven purely by morbid curiosity. Your feet walk on the ground while your eyes wander through the air, following that soot snake that goes far beyond the kitchen, realizing that it also spreads to the ceiling of the living room, climbing the walls of the stairs to the bedroom hallway. It's horrible.

Regardless of how inattentive you were sometimes, your house had never been like that.

It was as if it had simply changed overnight.

Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

I will only be back in January or February.

Bye~💖

[grimm909]

Red Phone - Part 1

Hello everybody! I'm back and for good! Thank you all so much for your support and comments.

This is a work done especially in celebration of Halloween. Unfortunately, it was supposed to be something small, but again I ended up getting carried away and had to separate it into two parts (maybe three, since the story is still developing). The story will also be posted on a03

Happy reading!

WARNINGS: age difference, non-con, kidnapping, horror, mental breakdown, murder, forced pregnancy

It had been a week since you and your family had moved into a new house. It was large, but had a somewhat morbid appearance, probably due to the time it had been abandoned. Although her parents had renovated it to make the house more presentable, it wasn't exactly an inviting place from the outside. Well, just on the outside, since you really had to give credit for how fascinating she was on the inside.

For example, the attic was an interesting location when you first saw it; full of old and dusty boxes, representing that the previous owner of that place had simply abandoned it there without bothering to come back one day to pick it up. When you went to open the boxes together with your parents to organize that place, there were some interesting things inside like comic books, board games, old clothes and even some somewhat useless objects. Much of it would simply be donated, since you didn't have much interest in most of those things, apart from comics and books.

However, something tucked into the bottom of one of the boxes and carefully wrapped in a piece of black fabric aroused his curiosity. A red phone cordless. Just an old-fashioned device, which was only used for calls and which would probably never pique anyone's interest due to how useless it was compared to a digital cell phone. However, it was curious to see that even though it had been abandoned for years, the device has a appearance new, the blood red color of the device still being quite shiny. It was quite pretty, you had to admit.

When you showed the device to your parents, they both didn't show much interest, although they were surprised to see that it still worked, even after years and years of abandoned it inside. They said you could stay if you wanted, even though it wasn't really useful to you due to the fact that already had a cell phone. You analyzed the device and said that it could be useful if at some point your cell phone stopped working and there was some precision. This would probably never actually happen.

What harm would it do to have it, right?

[…]

You wake up at midnight with your red phone ringing. It was the first time it had rung since you obted gotten it three days ago, since you were the one who normally made the calls.

Trying as hard as possible to get out of bed, you walk over to the phone that was on your desk and answer it.

"Hello?" You ask hoarsely.

“Koebi-chan, I'm so close to you.” A male voice whispers on the other end of the line. It doesn't sound like the voice of anyone you know. “I’m finally going to see what you look like.”

You remain silent for a while, absorbing what that must mean, but quickly concluding that it must just be a wrong call.

“Sorry sir, I think you called…” You didn’t finish your sentence when the call simply fell

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, you don't care enough about the mystery man, placing your phone back in its place and returning to bed.

[…]

Two months have passed since you and your parents moved into the new house, so you already know a little about your neighbor across the street.

Ace was his name.

He was the only person closest to his house, with no one else around. A handsome man who appeared to be around thirty years old, married to a woman whose name was Elisa and having a ten year old daughter named Alice.

The two of you got along relatively well due to the older's playful personality, which reminded you more of a teenager than an adult.

You always greeted him every time you saw him across the street, also smiling and waving at him whenever you saw him through your bedroom window, since through it you had a complete view of Ace's house.

His wife and daughter were also sociable people and you wich especially became attached to the child, loving to take care of her when Ace and his wife left the house to have some alone time as a couple.

Alice also seemed to like you a lot, almost always knocking on your door so you could play together. Sometimes you accepted and other times you refused because you needed to study for college, in the latter case always earning a sad pout from the little girl.

The red phone rings at eight o'clock at night. The only difference from the first time is that you are not sleeping, but taking notes sitting at your desk.

"Hello?" You answer without blinking and lift the phone to your ear.

“Crab?” The male voice on the other line asks.

"Who?" You respond, confusion written all over your face.

“Isn’t that Ace Trappola’s number?”

"No. You called his neighbor.”

The voice is silent for a moment.

“There are no other neighbors besides Crab.”

“By Crab, you mean Ace?” Even though you think that's exactly what it is, it wouldn't hurt to ask.

”The same person~” He drawls.

“I've been Ace's neighbor for about three months. I moved recently.” You calmly explained, tapping your pen on your notebook. You were new to the neighborhood, so this stranger must have bee confused.

“There’s no one else but my family and Crab’s family here.” The voice says in a frustrated or perhaps nervous tone, you can't quite place it.

“I think there was some mistake. What’s your address?” You ask confused, starting to consider it was a prank.

The male voice gives you the location and you let out a tired sigh, realizing that it really was a stupid joke.

“You just described my address.”

The voice on the other end of the line becomes silent once again, until it breaks into laughter.

“Hehehehe, good Grab. I don’t know what you used to change your voice, but it almost got me.”

He says one last time, before hanging up on your face.

[…]

The stranger's call had piqued his curiosity. Were there really no neighbors around? The next day you explained the situation to your mother, who agreed that it could be a prank, since no one really lived close to there anymore. It was a considerably isolated place and far from everything.

“What about the previous owner of the house?” You asked the older woman who had her back turned, washing the lunch dishes.

“The previous owners sold it to a real estate agent.” His mother stated. “The agent who sold me the house just said that after that some other people came to live here, but that after a few years they usually sold it.”

"Just that?" You were displeased, expecting something more impactful.

“I was more interested in how many rooms the house had than who had lived here before.” She laughed nasally.

You would gain no more useful information from your mother and decided that the next place you would explore would be the attic, where there were five more boxes left that had not been opened.

Maybe it was a fruitless search, maybe you were just wasting time, but the man you had talked to didn't seem like a total liar, like he really had conviction in what he was saying. He even knew Ace's first and last name and you doubted your neighbor was playing a prank with you — it would be quite old-fashioned for a man of that age.

You turn on the attic light and open the first box, spilling all the things inside on the dusty floor, finding nothing that would help you learn more about the house. The second box was simply full of old clothes that were too big for you. The third is where you find a kind of notebook, but when reading its contents you don't find anything truly interesting or that indicates the owner of it.

Clank

Turning another page, a piece of paper falls out and you pick it up from the floor, realizing it is an old photograph faded at the edges. Analyzing the image, it seemed to be a family, consisting of the mother, the father and two completely identical children. On the back of the photo was the date it was taken, along with a small statement that probably referenced the two boys in that photo.

Clank

02/22/2009

My beautiful treasures, ♡Floyd♡ and ♡Jade♡

Even with the information obtained, that didn't seem like enough, especially when you didn't even have their last name. You decide to continue exploring the rest of the boxes, but you don't have the same success as before.

Clank

Putting everything back in its place, you decide to keep the photo for research purposes, keeping it in your pants pocket. Darkness encompasses the room when you turn off the light.

Clank

Going down the attic stairs, that's when you notice a strange sound coming from it, resembling two objects hitting each other. You decide to go back to check what it could be, turning on the light again and finding nothing that could hint at the reason for the noise.

Clank

You feel something fall on your head and run your hand over it to remove any insects that may have gotten into your hair. However, it is not exactly “something” that falls, but rather crumbs that appeared to be wood. Crumbs that continued to fall on the ground around him and on his head.

Clank

You go to the other side of the attic that was free of that dust and look up, expecting to find some termites eating away at the ceiling. However, it was something much worse than mere termites.

Something that could not be seen or touched.

Invisible hands carve the ceiling letter by letter, slowly forming an entire sentence.

JADE IS AN IDIOT BITCH

[…]

That number does not exist.

That's what appeared on the red phone screen when you tried to call the same number that called you last night. Even though he had the number saved on his phone, every time he pressed the button to call back, it was always the same message.

Honestly, at this point in the tournament, you didn't doubt that the house or the phone were haunted, not after what you had seen in the attic. Of course, upon witnessing such a scene, you just hurriedly fled, locking yourself in your room and determined to never set foot up there again.

You were scared of what this could be. However, his curiosity still continued to speak louder than any other feeling. Furthermore, you couldn't even run away from that house, since there was nowhere else to go and your parents would never believe that story about a strange message having suddenly appeared in the attic. His only option at the moment was to stay and find out what the hell was going on.

Therefore, all you could do was wait until the mysterious boy called again.

[…]

The red phone rings at midnight and you hurriedly put down your notebook and pen to put your hands on it, answering it without thinking twice.

"Hello!?" You say in a mix of fear and euphoria.

“So close…” The voice on the other end sounded breathless, almost as euphoric as you were.

“Close to what?” You ask, still unable to recognize who the man on the other end of the line was, even though you knew it was the same voice who had called you the first time.

“Close… pouʇ… of …ʇɹnsʇ… Let’s go …ɥᴉɯ… Together” You can’t hear it properly, the horrible sound of static playing in the background. “You just… ɯnɹ… pǝɹǝɹ… stay on the phone”

The call drops and you look at the small phone screen, noticing strange glitches. You hit his side with the palm of your hand, trying to get him back to normal.

After a few seconds, the static stops.

[…]

At six o'clock the next day, the red phone rings.

However, unlike last time, you seem a little afraid to answer. Maybe that device was the reason for the start of his problems, that was almost certain. You had even seriously thought about setting that thing on fire, maybe then the bizarre things would stop. Still, a part of you refused to do that, thinking it might end up making the situation worse instead of better.

You decide to follow the unknown man's instructions, even though you didn't trust him. Maybe he was a ghost who had possessed that cell phone and was now haunting you, you were starting to come up with some insane theories.

"Hello?"

“Ah, it’s the same voice as before.” The guy on the other line says uninterested.

"Yes. But don’t hang up, please.” You say as politely as possible. “It’s not a prank and I’m not Ace.”

“I know it’s not.” He responds back. “I spoke to Crab yesterday and he was quite confused, saying that this wasn’t even his number anymore.”

"Great." You sighed in relief. “Look, it might be hard to believe, but the address you gave me is actually the same as the one I live at.” You looked out your bedroom window and saw Ace playing with his daughter in the backyard. “My house is literally opposite his.”

“Eehh, mine too.” The boy spoke from the other side, not seeming to fully believe you. “Or would it be ours?” He laughed.

“Could you tell me your name?” You ask, taking the photo you had collected from the attic out of your desk drawer.

“Floyd Leech. And you?"

You turn the verse and see that the name was the same, but you don't know how to describe which of the twins he would be in the photo. The date on which it was taken also arouses your curiosity and you again begin to think that this whole situation was perhaps a bad joke. Could it be that the former resident of that house, Floyd, was just playing a welcome prank on you?

“Hey, don’t ignore me!” The voice on the other end gets louder when you take a long time rambling.

“Sorry, I just got distracted by something.” You prefer not to talk about the photo at hand. “My name is Y/n.”

“Never heard of it.” His disinterested tone returns to the surface.

“Yes, I had never heard of you either until today” That wasn’t entirely true, as you had discovered the photo a few hours ago. “I know it sounds strange, but could you tell me today’s date?”

“What, are you that lost in time?” He laughed. “Seriously, what did you smoke?”

“I swear I’m quite sane.” You respond sharply, but return to a calmer tone of voice, not wanting him to hang up the phone again. “Tell me today’s date, please.”

“Asking me so affectionately like that, I can’t refuse.” He jokes, using a more sly tone. “Today is 04/20/2009”

You cough, choking on your own saliva.

“Exactly at six-fifteen in the afternoon?” You look at the clock on the wall in your room.

“You got it~”

The phrase that appeared in the attic appears in his head like a puzzle piece to be fitted into that mystery. You had thought about the possibility that it was a vengeful ghost writing that, but upon reflection, it was more like an angry brother writing something stupid about his other brother.

“Something appeared in the attic yesterday.” You revealed. “A message that said: Jade is a stupid bitch. Did you do it?”

There is a short silence on the other side.

“How do you know that, huh!?” The previously sly voice suddenly turns into something threatening and you briefly withdraw the phone from your ear. “You’ve been spying on me, bitch!” He spits and you swear that if he were in front of you, that guy would definitely move towards you.

"No! I’m not spying on anyone.” You state with conviction, using your other hand to search your digital cell phone for any information that occurred on the same date that Floyd informed you. “I know it's hard to believe, but it's possible that we are in the same house, in different years.” It doesn't take long for you to find news that matches the date. “At nine o’clock, a plane will crash north of Chica-…”

“You and Jade are making fun of me, aren’t you!?” The boy on the other side looked like he was going to explode with rage. “Tell him to go fuck himself!”

You no longer have a chance to explain yourself, when he hangs up on you again.

[…]

The next day, you look for Ace to talk about the house's previous residents. You knock on his door, but are answered by Alice.

“Come to play with me?” The little girl asks happily, jumping up and down in anticipation.

“Sorry, I just came here to talk to Ace about something.” You break the illusion of the little girl, who makes a sulky expression and goes back into the house, screaming for her father.

It doesn't take long for him to appear in front of you, closing the door behind him and walking with you to the curb.

“Mom said you’ve lived here for several years. Does that mean you got to know the first residents?” You asked bluntly.

"Yes. They were a reserved family, a little strange and even scary, I would say.” He let out a nasal laugh, as if remembering something amusing.

“I found this photo.” You take the photograph from your pants pocket, handing it to Ace who promptly takes it. “It’s them, isn’t it?”

“Ah, man, I barely remembered the faces.” He spoke in surprise, a little nostalgic. “But it’s them, yes.”

“On the back it says Jade and Floyd, but I don’t know who is who. They are identical.”

“Hehe, if you look closely, you will notice subtle differences in each one.” He comes to stand next to you and holds out the photo for you to observe the details. “See, this is Jade who is smiling without showing her teeth, with her hands together in front of her body and correct posture. He was always the most reserved and eloquent, sometimes he even seemed like a butler.” He laughed and you followed him, infected by the energetic laugh that Ace had. “This is Floyd…” The redhead’s tone seemed less enthusiastic and more morbid for a moment, but you thought it was just a bad impression, as he soon returned to his usual playful normality as he talked about the other brother. “Relaxed expression and hand behind the head. Man, he was a whirlwind, the total opposite of his brother.”

"I imagine." You nodded, remembering how he snapped yesterday afternoon. “But why did they move?”

“Well…” Ace handed you the photo. “A tragedy occurred with the family” He sighed heavily, seeming to not like that story. “One of the sons ended up dying.”

His breath came ragged from the shock.

“But… how?” You asked, disbelieved.

“A motorcycle accident.” Ace shrugged. “The mourning was very much for the Leech family, mainly because they were all very united.”

“That’s why they moved?”

“I think they wanted to start again, somewhere else.” He theorized. “Honestly, I would have done the same.”

“But which of the brothers ended up dying in this accident?” You asked, apprehensive about the answer.

No, you already knew the answer.

“Floyd Leech.”

[…]

The accident had occurred on 04/30/2009

Since the days of the past and present were the same, this meant that Floyd would end up dying in seven days.

Shortly after talking to Ace, you returned home and did some research on your laptop to find out more about what had happened. In addition to finding out the date, you had discovered that Floyd died at the scene of the accident, before the ambulance could even provide assistance. Bones broken and fractured, his body had been completely torn apart.

If you still had doubts that this could be a joke, that possibility simply evaporated without a trace. You didn't just seem to be messing with the supernatural, but also with the timeline. That, or the house was haunted by the spirit of young Floyd who never passed on to the afterlife. Well, you hoped it was the first theory, since the latter was pretty scary and there weren't any ghostbusters you could call.

Your only option at that moment was to wait for Floyd to call you again before that date. You wanted to try to save him from that horrible fate, even though you were doubtful about the time lapse it could bring. If you saved him, would you still be living in the same house? Would you end up forgetting everything that happened, including Ace and Alice?

You had watched countless time travel movies and, honestly, the possibilities were endless.

[…]

The red phone rings at four o'clock.

You were in the shower, but you interrupt to hurriedly grab the towel and wrap it over your wet body, leaving a trail of water as you leave the suite and head to your room. You rub your wet hand under the towel before picking it up, worried that you might end up damaging the phone through sheer lack of attention.

"Hello?"

“How did you know?” It was Floyd. You were aware he was asking about the plane crash.

“I saw it on the internet.” You replied simply. “I’m in the same house as you, but fifteen years ahead.”

“What else do you know about me?”

“Honestly, nothing.” You shake your head in denial, even though you know he couldn't see you. “But I know what will happen to you.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, looking annoyed.

“On the twenty-eighth of this month, you will have a motorcycle accident.” You respond impassively. “A truck runs over you and you die before they can even help.” Although it would be a little cruel to say something so scary unceremoniously, you didn't want to beat around the bush. Everything now simply depended on whether Floyd believed you or not. “I would never joke about something so serious.” You finally say.

"I believe." You mentally thank him for the vote of confidence. “But why are you living in my house?”

“My mother recently bought this house from a real estate agent. The first family to live here sold it fifteen years ago, which coincides with the time you had the accident.”

“Do you know what happened to them?” From the tone of his voice, Floyd sounded worried.

“I found out about your brother through a photo I found in the attic” Which was still kept on his desk. “I did some quick research. Apparently he is a partner in a restaurant chain called Mostro Lounge. Quite impressive!”

“Aaah, so he did well.” Floyd didn't really seem surprised by his brother's success. “Cool~”

“I’m sure you too can have a cool future if you stay at home or take your motorcycle in for repairs.” You advise him gently. “Since the accident occurred due to a clutch failure.”

“Eehh, I just lent Crabby the bike until the weekend” Floyd looked annoyed. “I can’t believe that idiot is going to end up breaking her.”

“Haha…” You laughed awkwardly. “As soon as he returns it to you, just take it to be repaired.”

“Why are you helping me?” He questions, seeming really curious about that act of kindness coming from a stranger.

“I can stop someone from dying. I think anyone else would do the same in my place.” You shrugged. “And from what I saw in your family photo, you're still too young to go to the afterlife so soon” You laughed, trying to relax to make the situation less gloomy. “How old are you, Floyd?”

“Twenty years.”

"Coincidence. Me too."

“Do you think that’s one of the reasons we’re breaking the rules of spacetime?” He laughed nasally and you followed him with a brief giggle.

“To tell the truth, I think it’s because of the house or a red phone I found in the attic.” You theorized, choosing not to think about it anymore. “Maybe both.”

“A red cordless phone?”

“That one.” You confirmed, surprised.

“He is mine. The same one I’m using to talk to you.”

Okay, the weirdness hadn't stopped.

“Did you happen to throw some voodoo on him?” You joked and heard him laughing on the other end.

“If I was capable of something like that, I don’t think I would have died, right?” He replied back, dejectedly.

“Hehe, yeah…” The mood took a turn for the worse once again and you were forced to think of something to change the situation or simply hang up, since you were making the whole room wet. “Look, I’m not able to return your call, much less call you directly. So could you call me the day after tomorrow at the same time?”

"Of course~" His mood appears to have improved, to which Floyd responded excitedly. “I really want to know what the future looks like in fifteen years.”

[…]

The next day, you knocked on your neighbor's door again, this time being answered by Ace's wife.

Today you were committed to taking care of little Alice, since the older woman was going to visit her parents and only return the next day. And Trappola would not be able to take care of her daughter, as he would only arrive after six o'clock.

“You’re on time.” Elisa commented with a friendly smile.

“I like to be punctual!” You stated excitedly. “Are you leaving yet?”

"Yes. I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon.” She hands him the house key. “There is food in the fridge if you want to eat, just heat it in the microwave.”

You nod in agreement, waving goodbye to Elisa as she gets into the car and starts it.

You enter the house you were already familiar with and lock the door, finding Alice in the living room watching TV.

“Hi, aunt.” She greets without looking at you, too engrossed in what was playing on the screen.

“Do you prefer to play or watch?” Looking at the screen, you recognized it as the little mermaid movie.

“It starts now!” She turned her head towards him and made those irresistible pious eyes. “Make some popcorn and come watch with me.”

You are unable to deny her request, doing what the girl asks you and after a few minutes returning to the room with a bucket full of popcorn. Already knowing the things that would happen, you weren't very excited about watching the film again, but the songs were still good to listen to and you even found yourself singing one of them together with Alice.

When the film ends, she decides that now she wants to play with dolls, picking up a beautiful plastic baby that was sitting in a child's chair.

“Look, auntie, it’s my new doll!” Alice said happily, practically rubbing the new toy in you face. “She even talks!” The girl presses the doll's chest with both thumbs.

Mommy, I love you.

"Cool!" You feign excitement at the irritatingly childish voice coming out of the object. Dolls hadn't been her thing for years.

“I’ll get another doll upstairs for us to play.” Alice places the toy in you lap and runs upstairs.

Being left alone with that silly toy, you squeeze the doll's chest to hear what other phrases she had.

Let's play!

You squeeze again.

Mommy, I'm hungry.

Again.

Can we go to the park?

One more time.

If you keep going, he'll come get you.

You are startled and let the doll fall from your hands, hurriedly getting up from the floor and moving away. For a moment, you fear that thing will rise up and start attacking you, similar to the killer doll movie. However, seconds pass and the toy remains stagnant on the floor, as lifeless as it always was.

Something in the previously said phrase arouses your curiosity and you raise an eyebrow, wondering who would come to pick you up or if it was just some hideous factory defect, as even the toy's irritating voice had become less childish and more morbid.

Even though you were afraid, you approached and picked her up, squeezing the doll's chest again to see what else she could say.

Mommy, I love you.

You snort, annoyed.

[…]

Ace arrives at eight o'clock, a little later than usual.

“Alice is already in bed.” You tell him as you watch him take off his dress shoes and coat, placing the latter on the hanger.

“Sorry to make you stay late.” He laughs awkwardly and you can tell by the expression on his face that the redhead looks haggard.

“Oh, no. It’s ok.” You reassure him with a gentle smile. “You look tired, is everything okay?”

“It’s just the job.” Ace lets out a heavy sigh, walks over to the sofa you were sitting on and sprawls his body on it, arms completely open under the upholstery.

“What exactly do you do?” You ask curiously, as you never knew about your neighbor's job.

"Counter." Ace responds dejectedly.

You also don't help improve his mood when you burst into laughter, disbelieving that this was the cynical Ace's profession.

"Hey!" The redhead exclaims, annoyed that you're laughing in his face.

“I’m sorry, but this doesn’t suit you at all.” Wiping a tear from your eye, you continue laughing in a less outrageous way.

“Obviously not.” He snorts. “But it’s not like I had a lot of choices.”

"What do you mean?" Calmer after the explosion of laughter, you ask intrigued.

“I was twenty-three when Elisa became pregnant with Alice.” Ace looks towards the stairs where the rooms were, turns his attention to you and lowers his voice. “It was an accident.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, surprised.

“Because of that, I dropped out of college and got a job so I could take care of the baby-”

“College of what?” Although it would be appropriate to continue listening to your friend's story without interrupting, your curiosity gets the better of you and your mouth moves before you can even think.

“Nah, you’ll laugh.”

"No! I won’t, I promise.” You bring your index fingers together to form an “x”, bringing them to your mouth. “Tell me!”

"Teacher." He responds without much ceremony.

You actually keep your promise and don't laugh, but you are truly incredulous that this would be the profession chosen by the mischievous Ace.

“Professor Ace Trappola.” You say slowly, testing how the taste of those words sound to your ears. “Sounds good.”

“Do you think so?” He smiles, apparently more excited by those simple words.

Yes yes." You agree smiling. “But tell me more! What’s the rest of the story?” You question, curious to know more about the redhead's life.

“After two years, Elisa and I got married. We thought it would be good if we got our shit together.” He shrugs and becomes discouraged again. “We already had a baby, we just needed the rings.”

"I'm very sorry." You say painfully, although you didn't know exactly why you were sorry. Maybe because Ace's dreams never came true? For the years lost in a life he never wanted?

“It’s okay, I kind of like being a father.” He gave you a sincere smile and you knew Ace wasn't lying.

“What about Elisa?”

“I like her too.” He responds without the sincere smile from before, just a blank facet. There was no sparkle in his eyes when he mentioned his own wife, you noticed. “You know, I saw you yesterday.” Ace suddenly changes the subject, straightening his posture on the couch to face you.

"As? I didn’t even leave the house.” You raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

“In the window, answering an old phone.” A dirty little smile appears on Ace's lips and you feel like you were missing something.

It still takes a few seconds to understand exactly when that happened, until the penny falls heavily on your head.

“Oh, my God!” You cover your face with the palms of your hands, too embarrassed to look at the redhead. “I’m not a pervert, I swear it was accidental!”

“Hahaha.” It's his turn to laugh about your misfortune and it makes you feel even worse, groaning in annoyance between your fingers. Seeing that you really felt bad about that, Ace immediately stopped laughing. “Okay, okay.” He holds your wrists delicately, gradually lowering the hands that covered your face so that you can face him again. Seeing him now, he seemed to have gotten even closer to you face. “Honestly, I liked the view.” The redhead gives you that stupid smile again.

“Hmm.” You just moan in agreement, still embarrassed and not knowing exactly how to react to Ace's compliment.

“You’re kind of bad at reading the climate.” He laughs one last time, before closing his eyes and breaking the distance that separated your lips from his.

Ace is quick to wrap his tongue around yours when you opened your mouth a little in surprise from the sudden kiss, involuntarily allowing the redhead to explore the inside of your mouth.

Even though you're shocked, it doesn't take you more than three seconds to close your eyelids and let yourself be carried away by the moment. Their tongues come together in a delicate way, exactly like a calm sailing at sea.

His brain gradually fills with pleasure, which was provided by the kiss that became more steamy as time passed. His tongue moved with an impressive mastery that you never had with boys your age.

Inside you there was a damn explosion of happiness, which internally clashed with some bitter emotions present, but which were being furiously crushed as the kiss progressed from a peaceful way to a hotter and wetter one.

Ace didn't seem very distant, wanting you more and more to the point of wanting to become just one with you through your lips that he so wished to kiss. The redhead takes his hand to you head and sinks his fingers into you locks, giving more depth to the kiss, but also making the air in her lungs become increasingly scarce.

The fact that you both needed to breathe became an obstacle in the midst of the pleasure you felt, which forced Ace to stop the kiss and move away a little.

He carefully visualizes the delicate features of your face, as he had done so many times without you noticing, considering that your pink cheeks due to embarrassment or the possible ecstasy of the kiss left you very cute. However, the redhead's greatest attention ended up once again falling on his parted lips, which were now slightly swollen and red. Ace couldn't help but feel attracted and mesmerized by them again, as he had been for a long time.

After normalizing his breathing, he was going towards you for a second kiss, but you stopped him by putting your hand in front of his mouth, preventing Ace from kissing you again.

“Ace, you have a wife.” You do your best not to fall into temptation again.

Although you couldn't deny that you had some conflicted feelings regarding what you felt for Ace, it wasn't fair to stab Elisa in the back. You liked her and didn't want to be a home wrecker. Not only would it harm her, it would also harm little Alice.

"I understand." He says placidly, stepping back. “But Elisa and I are going to separate.”

"Huh!?" You face forms into a clearly confused expression.

“Before you even arrived, things were complicated.” He lets out a tired sigh. “She went to her parents’ house to stay away from me for a while.”

“Did something happen?” Maybe it was rude to ask, but you needed to know if that story was really true.

“We fought yesterday.” His shoulders slumped in dismay. “I wasn’t lying when I said I liked Elisa. I like, but I don't love her anymore.”

“Is it possible for someone to stop loving another person?” A line of disbelief forms on his forehead, doubtful that something like this would be possible between two people who have lived together for so many years.

“In my case, apparently yes.” He laughed half-heartedly. “Elisa and I stayed together for Alice and tried to stay together as a family for her.” The redhead looks away to look at his own bare feet. There was a light of regret and sadness in his crimson eyes. “But we hurt ourselves in the process.” You stay silent, feeling a little sorry for Ace and Elisa, but mostly for Alice. Trappola looks at you again and once again gets dangerously close to you, but he doesn't kiss you. Instead, he places one of his hands on the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb in a clear sign of affection and kindness. "I want you."

You don't know exactly how to feel about this statement. The doubts were still present in his head and apparently the only way to dismiss them was to confirm the words previously said by Ace.

“Are you really going to break up? I don’t want to be a home wrecker, much less be your lover.” You firmly admit.

“In a month. Only a month left until the divorce papers are ready.”

In a bold and unpredictable move that you never expected to come out of your own mouth, the next words would surprise you when you remembered them the next day.

“Let’s go to your room.”

Trappola's crimson eyes shine and a smile of genuine happiness emerges from the corners of his mouth. He jumps off the couch and grabs your hand, dragging you upstairs.

[…]

Before you knew it, Ace already had his face buried between your legs.

His mouth was firmly attached to your intimacy, teasing hickeys with wet and obscene sounds, tasting every bit of your pussy to engrave the taste in his memory.

“You’re so hot.” Ace praises, placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh and then returning to attack her sensitive parts.

Even with one hand over your mouth to stifle your moans, you still moan loudly, feeling him focus exclusively on your clit, licking and sucking with such devotion that you can't stop yourself from taking your other free hand to locks Ace, squeezing a bundle of unruly red strands. He was very good at making your pussy the most appetizing thing in the world.

It had only been a few minutes since Ace was fucking you so fervently, but even in that short time you already felt the heat in your belly building up more and more, ready to explode. He was amazing at oral sex, probably due to years of experience. Your hand would never satisfy you in the same way again after experiencing the wonder that Ace mouth was capable of provi.

Trappola's teeth graze over your sensitive spot and you let out a whiny moan, drops of tears splashing your eyes due to the ecstasy you've never felt. Your soaked little hole was begging for a piece of meat, to the point where your warm, velvety walls tightened around nothing as Ace fucked you with his tongue.

You involuntarily lift your hips several times, while sparks of pleasure cross your body in a clear sign that you were close to finally reaching the fullness of pleasure.

“Ace I… Ah!… I… Ngh… I’m going to…” You remove your hand from in front of your mouth to warn him, but your moans were making it difficult for you to form a coherent sentence.

He looks deeply at you with his scarlet orbs filled with lust and possession, before pulling away to give you that stupid little smile and order in a husky voice.

“Cum for me, dear.” It's the last thing Ace says before he goes back to attacking your sensitive pussy with more frenzy than before, without taking his eyes off you.

You don't know if it's because of the eroticism of those words, the way he looks at you or even the most obvious reason that his mouth was on your vulva, but you scream and finally reach your limit. The knot that had formed in your abdomen dissolves in a hot orgasm and your hips rise again, at the same time that your entire body spasms constantly with pleasure.

Even after he has successfully made you cum, Ace continues to lick you more gently, sucking the clear fluid that comes out of your tight hole. He only moves away when he feels sufficiently satisfied, a thick thread of drool connecting your wet pussy to his mouth, but which soon falls apart the further away these two are.

“Please tell me your room has thick walls.” You inquire heavily, recovering from the newly felt high.

“Don’t worry about making loud noises.” Ace laughs and crawls until he is at the height of your face, kissing you and making you feel your own taste still present in the older man's mouth. Your arms circle around his neck and you reciprocate without any reluctance in that act.

Ace's hand roams your already fully naked body, sliding from your soft abdomen to your newly stimulated crotch, touching your hole. Upon noticing what he was about to do, you quickly close your legs and stop Trappola from continuing with his actions. You break the kiss and moderately push him away with your elbow, sitting on the bed.

“What’s the matter?” Ace asks as he puts his weight under his knees, clearly confused by your quick change in attitude.

“That's kind of embarrassing to say.” An awkward laugh passes your lips and you look away. “I’m still a virgin.”

Ace remains silent for about three seconds, before exclaiming in perplexity:

“Whoa, really?” He quickly removes his hand from between your legs.

“Yes, but I hope that’s not a problem for you.” You bite your bottom lip nervously and look back at him.

“Haha, that’s no problem at all.” Ace laughed, that beautiful energetic smile you loved so much adorning the mature features of his face. “I’m just surprised by that. I mean, you’re so pretty.” You were taken aback by the compliment and your face heated up as you watched the way he looked at you affectionately.

“I don’t want you to take my virginity with your fingers.” You laughed at your own words, quickly changing the subject. Honestly, you didn't want to ruin the mood by commenting on your practically non-existent love life. “And honestly, I think I’m already wet enough to welcome you.” You direct your eyes to Ace's intimacy, noticing a voluminous bulge in his underwear, as well as a dark stain on the tip of his cock protruding forward. "Do you have a condom?"

“Look, married people don’t use condoms.” He mocked with a stupid little smile.

Shit.

“Seriously, I always told myself I would never do this without a condom.” You laughed, disbelieving that you would end up breaking the only rule you had made when you had your first time. However, even more disbelieved given how much you trusted Ace to give in so easily without even thinking twice.

“Does that mean?” Ace inquires expectantly.

You respond to him with actions, lying back on the bed and vulgarly opening your legs, exposing your intimate area with the clear intention of someone waiting to be fucked.

Trappola swallows hard, feeling his cock throb at how beautifully erotic you were as you so willingly gave yourself to him. Even kneeling on the bed, Ace is quick, practically euphoric in getting rid of the only piece of clothing that prevented him from fucking you. The redhead positions himself above you and places one hand on your hip, while the other is responsible for guiding his own cock towards your slippery hole.

“Can I?” Ace checks before taking any action, although his breathing was clearly heavy, yearning to fuck you.

"Yes." You say a little shyly, even though your actions so far have been quite naughty.

With the confirmation Ace needed, he slowly pushes his erect member inside you, sighing in delight at finally being able to feel your warm, velvety walls wrapped around his cock.

On the other hand, the sensation was a little strange at first, until it became painful as Trappola advanced further inside, breaking your hymen and then filling you with his cock. The length of Ace's member inside your vaginal canal was more than acceptable, but you squeeze the bed sheets between your fingers and let out a low moan of pain.

"You are incredible." Ace comments with restrained euphoria, marveling at having you all to himself. However, upon noticing his expression of pain, he asks worriedly. “Does it hurt?”

"A little." You shift uncomfortably in bed. “But you can continue.” You calm down with a sweet smile on your lips, not minding being a little hasty even after having graduated from your virginity literally seconds ago. You hands circle around the redhead's neck again and bring him for you lips touch his in a warm kiss.

He reciprocates immediately, but it doesn't take long for Ace to pull away from your mouth and decide it's time to move after feeling his cock throb in excitement, practically begging to be moved and finally fuck you rough.

The redhead moves his hips away a little, enough so that half of his rigid penis remains outside your gummy walls, then returns entirely inside you with a hard thrust all the way to the bottom. Ace lets out a heavy sigh as soon as he receives a delicious grip around his member, intensely loving that pleasurable sensation of a young pussy like yours.

However, this action was responsible for causing you to gasp in pain, but unlike the first time it was completely ignored by Ace, as he no longer cared about trying to be gentle after you yourself approved that he continued to fuck you.

Addicted to getting more of those delicious squeezes, Ace successively starts to do the same actions mentioned above, but in a slower back and forth so that he doesn't reach orgasm so soon. After all, he didn't imagine that you virgin pussy would be so hot.

You periodically continue to let out one or another moan of pain, without having yet been able to feel any trace of pleasure in it, although it is no longer as agonizing as it was at first. Trying to feel as good as Ace felt when he fucked you, you take one of your hands towards your clitoris, rubbing it with your index and middle fingers. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth as spikes of delight begin to circulate through your body even in the midst of the feeling of agony.

“Still bothered?” Ace laughs softly when he realizes what was happening and removes his hand so he can take care of the situation himself, too proud to let you pleasure yourself. “Let me do this for you.” He asks, at the same time that Ace's thumb touches your sensitive spot, making rotating movements with a fixation much greater than you could alone.

“Oh!” You exclaim not only in surprise, but also in jubilation. Touching herself felt good, but being touched by someone else felt even better, bringing her a never-before-felt feeling of ecstasy.

The older man bends down a little and dips his face into the side of your neck, licking and leaving marks of love on your previously immaculate skin. A heavy sigh escapes your lips and your previously rigid body begins to relax on the bed as Ace continues to stimulate you in different ways. His dick inside you wasn't so bad anymore, starting to become less strange and more dizzying.

“Ace, this feels so good.” You say with a ragged breath, enchanted by how sex could be something wonderful and addictive. You didn't regret giving your virginity to Trappola one bit.

“I feel good too.” Ace whispers close to your ear, before gently biting your earlobe in teasing. A pleasant shiver runs through your body through this action and you reciprocate by biting his neck gently, weak enough to not leave marks. You wouldn't be stupid enough to do that when Ace was still married. “Oh, how cute.” He comments with a wicked laugh and you are indignant, taking revenge on him by putting a little more pressure against the redhead's skin, consequently hearing him moan in pain. “I take back what I said.”

You both laugh through sex, captivated by each other. However, Ace breaks the romantic mood by pulling away and removing his still hard penis from inside you. A groan leaves your lips, dissatisfied by the sudden absence of your intimacy.

“It’s okay, I won’t stop.” Ace soothes by kissing the top of his head. “But wouldn’t you like to try other positions?” He suggests, but before you can say anything, Trappola easily handles your body that had been claimed by himself, placing you on your side and positioning himself behind you, resulting in the redhead's penis touching the soft and warm skin of your buttock. Ace appreciates the slightest touch, letting out a sigh and feeling terribly tempted to give you a bite in that area, but deciding to leave that for another time. “What do you think?” He asks, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck.

“As long as it’s good…” You mutter without having an opinion of your own due to a complete lack of experience.

Ace slowly passes his hand down the length of your incredibly hot body, starting at your shoulder, sliding down your waist, feeling your hip and hovering over your thigh, lifting the latter without the slightest difficulty so that he could have better access to your hole and thus calm down his greedy hormones.

You were so deliciously wet, that Ace's member practically slid inside, being immediately massaged by your pussy that already responded to his thrust. Feeling like that, stretching and welcoming him as if Ace's member was already a natural part of your body, was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

It was inevitable. He felt the need to move quickly inside. And with a powerful thrust of his hips, the redhead delighted in feeling the limits of his tight intimacy, at the same time as he was gifted with a heavy moan from you, which only served to elevate his ego even more.

Ace's other free hand reached under your body to return to the work from before, which involved stimulating your sensitive clit. He started to move his hips faster, making a complete mess of you and eliciting several moans. However, if you continued moaning so sweetly for him, the redhead wouldn't be able to last two minutes in the paradise he was in.

Even though he wanted to prolong the fuck he was having, Trappola's body no longer seemed to obey his wishes due to the pleasure that had accumulated in his cock. Fortunately, you don't seem too far from that.

“Y/n!” Ace pants your name and closes his eyes, letting his seed fill your previously virgin hole with hot steady streams.

You come soon after, letting out a sharp scream as your pussy milks him with constant squeezes until the last drop fills you.

When Ace's pleasure is finally released inside you, your body becomes completely limp and your breathing is labored.

The redhead rested your leg on the bed and with the hand that was previously holding it he began to caress and eventually squeeze your buttocks, admiring the sperm that dripped from your pussy and slid down your thighs. Ace had come in very large amounts, pleased that you took all of him

“You were amazing.” Ace praised sincerely, placing an affectionate kiss on her reddened cheek. It was actually funny of him to say that, after all, you did absolutely nothing during sex.

“I hope your wife has some birth control.” You murmured as you recovered from your orgasmic high.

“She can’t get pregnant anymore.” He lets out a muffled laugh against your neck.

“Urgh.” An annoyed grumble leaves his lips.

You would have to buy contraceptives the next day or Alice would end up getting a new baby brother.

[…]

You left minutes after sex.

Although Ace insisted that you spend the night with him, you couldn't because of your parents. They wouldn't be stupid enough to believe any excuse you came up with to stay at the redhead's house all night, especially when your house was literally opposite his. At least you already had an excuse ready for his delay, saying that Trappola had arrived late from work, which actually happened.

Oh, yes. You also stole that doll from hell.

Although he felt sorry for knowing that Alice would be sad to wake up and no longer find her new toy, it was still better than leaving a seemingly cursed doll in her arms.

You burned her the next day and the doll no longer made a sound.

Thank you for reading this far! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

See you soon.