#❱❱❱ t: all roads lead to home

[eddapoetic]

.//. beep beep havar gets some new aesthetic tags as well

❱❱❱ t: circus aevitas – main verse tag ❱❱❱ t: oh this old thing – faceclaim / depictions /  musings / hc’s   ❱❱❱ t: all roads lead to home – greek / roman imagery ❱❱❱ t: norseing around – norse imagery ❱❱❱ t: birds of a feather – bird imagery ❱❱❱ t: its all fun and games – dash games / quizzes ❱❱❱ t: strum the lyre – music / audio ❱❱❱ t: idle -- ooc

[dabisbratz]

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

[roanniom]

I always like to hope your little drabbles might be inspired by your sweetie podcast guy 👀

Oh they kinda are inspired by him these days 👀

One for the Road

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, a whole lot of oral (f receiving)

“I like this shirt,” Eddie mumbles against your jaw, his fingers playing at the hem of your massive thrifted t shirt. You’re standing in the dappled morning sunlight warming his shitty little apartment kitchen. His hands roam your body with an urgency that belies the way he’d fucked you onto his messy sheets just thirty minutes prior.

“The day I got it I also got a Hellraiser t shirt. Huge. With a big picture of Pinhead on the chest,” you say proudly, smoothing a hand over said chest to indicate where the horror icon’s face would be. Eddie hones in on that one detail, of course, and cups your breasts through your shirt with a groan.

“Oh yeah? If it was that big did you cut the shirt up?”

You shake your head.

“No. I left it big and oversized. You know. Sexy,” you joke. Eddie nods slowly, still focusing all his attention on your tits through this particular shirt.

“Sexy. Oh yeah,” he mutters, completely distracted. He lifts the shirt slightly to reveal the feminine pair of boxers you’ve put on for your drive home. “These are fucking cute.”

“You think?” you ask, wiggling your hips cheekily.

“Yeah, I think,” mumbles against your neck before sucking on your earlobe. You go to say something else but his hand is now sliding under the waistband of your boxers. Within seconds he’s inside your panties and playing with the slick that’s gathered there.

“Eddieeee, I have to go,” you try to argue, but it turns into a gasping whine. Eddie ignores you. Or at least, he ignores your argument. He latches onto one of your nipples through your shirt and looks up at you pointedly to watch your face while he slides two fingers deep inside you. “Oh fuck…”

You don’t know how it happens. You really don’t. One minute you’d had your bag on your shoulder and you were half out the door, and in the next minute Eddie was sliding down to his knees, pushing you up against the wall at the entrance to his apartment. He pulls down your boxers and underwear before you can protest about your lateness any further, and he hooks your leg up over his shoulder before you can do more than grasp at his hair.

“Are you serious? I - oh god.”

Eddie’s mouth is on you and you should be aware of the fact that you’re moaning wantonly right by the door that leads to an inner hallway where all of his neighbors can probably hear you as they set out on their day.

Your bag starts slipping off your shoulder and the lights start flickering - he’d pushed you against the wall where the light switch is, so each time you move you find yourself clicking it on and off with your back.

“Eddie - oh. Eddie!” you try to call his attention to the awkward placement through your laughs and gasps, but he only seems vaguely annoyed by the distraction. He manhandles you over the the kitchen island and you grip at the counter, unsure what he has planned until he gets on his knees from behind you, gripping your hips and pulling your legs back apart so he can get to you with his mouth again.

“Holy fuck…” you yelp, completely overwhelmed by the stimulation. Eddie shoves two fingers deep inside of you again, thrusting and building up momentum until you find yourself forced up onto tiptoes.

You clutch at the counter and do your best to take the force of his thrusting - it feels so fucking good when he curves his fingers just like that - but you’re so overwhelmed you finally have to say something.

“Eddie. You’re making my legs shake! I can’t…” you pant.

You’re not sure what you expected him to do, but either way you’re surprised when he clambers to his feet and grabs you into his arms. Insecure and completely unused to being lifted, you let out a scream, but you’re only in the air long enough for him to deposit you onto one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

“This better for your legs?” Eddie asks, kissing your thighs while he spreads them and settles back on his knees between them.

“Yeah, I guess - Eddie!” you cry out at the feeling of his mouth on you yet again. His lips suction around your clit and he sucks. Hard. Your leg hooks over his shoulder again and your fingers thread through his hair pulling tightly as you hold on for dear life.

You don’t even have time to warn him. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You spasm around the fingers he’d some how managed to get back deep inside you at one point, and he laps you up as you rock your hips into his face. Thighs press into his ears while you ride out the feeling.

By the time your breathing has finally returned to normal, Eddie has already gotten up from the floor and started assembling your clothes and bag from where they’d been strewn about.

“You’re gonna be late for work, huh baby?” he asks, with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. A massive erection stands proud in his boxers and you laugh in spite of yourself, fully breathless.

“What the fuck was that, Munson?”

He leans forward to give you a kiss

“That was one for the road.”

~*~

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Thanks for reading, please comment and reblog to let me know what you think!

[qlossytbh]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you were in an accident and both you and spencer are figuring out how to deal with it.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 angst, typical criminal minds content, reader gets beat up, physical violence, descriptions of physical injury’s, lots of freaking out, mild panic attack, angst + comfort, established relationship

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 this fic is inspired entirely on billie’s eilish’s the 30th. haven’t been posting but i’ve got a lot of almost finished drafts and requests im getting through atm

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Sometimes, Spencer hated his limitless memory.

Because of course, it worked wonders when he had to remember important dates, or endless facts that came remarkably handy in cases. Things no one else even considers remembering. Amazing for remembering favorite things of his favorite people, or remembering things they’d previously mentioned liking.

It was amazing until it found ways to haunt him.

He remembered when Morgan pulled to a stop, glancing up at the red light in front of him. He remembered when Penelope typed away aimlessly in the back of the car, reading out a few connections she found between this particular Unsub and the third and hopefully last victim. Everything was fine.

They almost had the case figured out. Hotch had called in, (exactly twenty-three minutes ago) informing them that that you and Emily had a lead on the whereabouts of the Unsub.

He remembered the tone in Morgan’s voice when he picked up the phone. “What?”

Both him and Penelope had glanced his way absentmindedly, not really thinking much of it.

“Do they know who yet?” He had asked, taking a sudden sharp turn towards the left. The pair watched as Morgan’s face fell, and his grip on the steering wheel had tightened. He remembered the look on Penelope’s face as she quickly glanced over at him, who probably looked equally as worried, if not more. Something hadn’t been sitting right, at all— he remembered from the second the day had started something inside him was telling him that.

“What’s going on?” Penelope's voice was shaky when she set her computer down to the side. Spencer just kept his eyes on Derek, narrowing them slightly at the subtle gulp in his throat and the way he nervously looked over at him. Not Penelope, him.

“Derek—“

He remembered when he told him that you had been hurt and how he was unable to think of anything else.

He looked forward towards the road, avoiding the way his co-worker and friend sat up in his seat, straining against his seatbelt as his chest turned to face him. “I don’t know exactly what happened, Hotch just told me she was ambushed and they’re now waiting on the ambulance.”

“Ambulance?�� He could’ve sworn his heart dropped into the very pits of his stomach.

Penelope covered her mouth, tears already boring into them with a soft gasp that came from her mouth. “Is she okay?”

Derek’s mouth twisted into a straight line as he opened his mouth to speak and Spencer swore he had never felt as much panic course through him.

He didn’t usually freak out, but he swore his head just stopped working right there and then. All he was able to think about was getting to you. “They don’t know—“

“Drive.” Spencer told Derek. With a firm nod and no room for complaint, he stepped on the gas pedal, signaling on the sirens as he swerved through the streets.

Six minutes and thirty five point two seconds.

That's how long it took for them to get to the scene, where two ambulances and cop cars seemed displayed around the small suburban home. He felt time move as if it were in slow motion.

The car hadn’t even come to a stop and Spencer was already stumbling throughout the door, pushing his shaky legs towards the already chaotic scene.

Unbearable noises surrounded him— people clattering and shouting about, orders being thrown around aimlessly, sirens and bypassers stopping to gasp and gaunt at the scene.

Two officers were down on the floor, covered by a simple thin white cloth and he felt the nausea settle in. Just the thought of one of them being you made his knees grow weak and the bile quickly hike its way up his throat.

Before he could rush around in attempts to find you, his eyes landed on Hotch, hunched over a moving stretcher surrounded by about three, maybe even more, medics.

It all seemed visceral. An automatic response. Soon enough his legs were pushing him towards the stretcher that made its way towards the ambulance. “Hotch—“

He turned around, and allowed just enough space to reveal your absolutely destroyed form. Your eyes kept fluttering open and close, seemingly bothered by all the noise and light. Your breathing sounded strangled, covered by the oxygen mask you had on but the sound alone was something Spencer was sure would haunt him until the day he died.

He still remembered.

Spencer felt like he had been punched in the stomach. All he could do was push one of the medics aside and hunch over you as you fought against the universe itself to regain consciousness.

“Hey,” He cooed, voice tightening and nearly breaking in a cry. He cleared his throat and blinked through his tears, smiling down at you.

You couldn’t say a single word, but you mustered enough strength to lift your pinky, grazing it against his knuckles. Your face showed a much different reaction though, furrowing your brows in what seemed to be excruciating pain.

“She’s mostly unresponsive,” The medics informed. Spencer followed them alongside Hotch, until they got to the ambulance, clicking the stretcher upwards.

“Hey, listen to me,” He whispered, ducking down so he was closer to you. “I love you, okay?”

Your small fist grabbed the fabric of his shirt, not wanting him to leave your side, but it was hurting you too much to hold on. Your fist feebly fell and the medics somehow pushed him off and you were taken into the ambulance and he really didn’t know if that was the last time he’d see you.

He watched the doors slam shut, frozen completely in his place. He remembered watching the ambulance drive away and having to stop his legs from running after it. He remembered Hotch trying to grab his attention from the disappearing ambulance.

He remembered thinking non-stop but for the first time ever, wanting to stop it and not being able to.

Something so alarming started to awaken within him and he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself.

He spent thirteen hours and sixteen minutes in the hospital that night and next morning. Hotch and the others came by in turns to keep him company in the cold empty waiting room, but he didn’t budge.

The second to stay the most was Emily, given how she was also attacked at the scene but much less severely. She ended up with a few bruises and scratches— she silently wished it had been more.

Maybe then the damage on you would’ve been less.

He remembered sitting with Morgan and the others when the doctors came in, informing him that you had gone into hypovolemic shock and they needed to perform an emergency surgery to stop the internal bleeding that was causing your vitals to plummet.

Spencer even remembered, word by word and syllable by syllable that there was a high chance that you may not even wake up from the surgery due to how much trauma your body had received.

Three broken ribs, dozens, maybe hundreds, lacerations scattered across your arms and stomach, a ruptured spleen and a concussion. That wasn’t even including all the bits of physiological trauma you now had to attack once— and if— you woke up.

Spencer seriously felt his resolve to remain calm crumple the second the medics mentioned that the Unsub used a metal pole to beat you nearly to death.

He had asked for every detail and he remembered each one and how utterly hopeless they all made him feel. He cried, because he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how to fix it, or how to help— he wasn’t even sure he could.

Because what if he had been there instead of Emily? What if he was able to stop it? What if more backup was sent in, what if when you had told him you felt off this morning when going into work he’d tell you to stay put and rest it off? What would’ve happened then?

What if he would’ve gone with Emily instead of you, what if you were actually lifeless when they had found you? What if you didn’t wake up? What if this meant he’d never get to hold you for a last time, and had to stick with the memory of seeing you bloody and bruised. What if you never actually—

“Reid,” Spencer looked up from his palms, which holstered themselves on his knees by his elbows. Emily smiled at him meekly. “She’s awake,”

Spencer looked around, blinking heavily and realizing he was in the same cold hospital waiting room he’s been in for the past day and a half.

He opened his mouth to speak, but realized it was incredibly dry. Too dry. He cleared out his throat with a firm cough and nodded, standing up feebly.

They walked down the quiet hallway, something so heavy hanging in the air. Just the patterning of his shoes and Emily’s heels bouncing off the walls along with the shuffling of their clothes. Spencer swore he wouldn’t be okay until he saw you but even then he didn’t think he’d be okay. How was any of this going to be okay?

Emily led him to a door and when they pushed it open, you were staring at the wall, seemingly in some kind of deep whirlwind of thoughts. A small knock offered by Emily caught your attention. You turned your head to the side, probably expecting another endless round of nurses. But to your surprise, there stood the one person you’d been wanting to see after this whole ordeal.

A broad yet tired smile made its way onto your face while laying back into the pillows. Spencer took you in, letting out a shaky breath. Your hair was disheveled, and your eyes looked tired. Soft and welcoming but hiding something so much deeper underneath that he’d have to be an idiot to not notice it.

There was a stitch on your forehead and the lash line of one of your eyes protruded a growing dark purple bruise. There were machines and cables and needles stuck beside and into you. And the more Spencer noticed, the more he wished he hadn’t.

“Hey,” Your voice was raspier than usual, small and steady, Spencer noticed this.

But then you smiled just like you used to before the accident and he couldn’t have found you any more beautiful.

“Hey,” He finally answered, walking up to the side of your bed. “How— How are you feeling?”

“I’ll give you guys some privacy.” Emily said, slipping past the door and leaving the two of you to your own accord.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, sounding so small and frail it nearly broke any ounce of self control he was mustering to avoid breaking into tears. “The pain meds are helping a bit,”

He gave you a silent understanding nod. His hand held onto the railing of your bed, not entirely knowing what to say or how to act. You watched him intently, noticing how he couldn’t really bring himself to look at you.

“Do you remember anything?” You turned to stare at the wall, trying to recall anything about the attack, but you unfortunately— some would argue fortunately— didn’t.

You shifted in your bed, scrunching your face in pain in the process, which Spencer noticed. Again. Of course he did.

Spencer looked down at you, dangerously entering territory where the back of his eyes burned, and his own mind bit at him, and he just didn’t know what to do with all the huge feelings that swarmed around inside him.

“Not really,” You muttered, scrunching your nose with a small huff. Spencer reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and letting his hand cup the side of your cheek.

“You really scared me,” You leaned into the touch of his palm.

“I’m sorry,” He shook his head before he even spoke, blinking rapidly to prevent any tears from falling.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I almost died,”

Okay, they were starting there. Great.

You had said it in barely above a whisper, staring at your lap and preventing Spencer from getting a look in your eyes. Your lips tugged into a frown. And Spencer said your name, trying to catch your attention.

Suddenly it all hit you. The gravity of it all. It came in stronger than a tidal wave, than a slap you didn’t even see coming. You felt the burning in your ribs, the rips and tears in your skin, the slight swell of your eye, the rattling of your own skull.

Spencer pulled out a chair and sat on it to level himself to your height. He reached out a hand and laced his fingers with yours.

It felt hard to breathe.

More silence.

“You okay?” You sucked in a sharp breath that came out as a little squeak, and suddenly you wanted to cry. Because you were tired of feeling so broken and feeling how every inch of your body hurt.

You shook your head and as soon as you did, a broken sob left your mouth. Your hands flew up quickly, attempting to hide the broken fragments of your gaze. Spencer heard every shard of the glass his heart had been made of around you shatter. He sat up, attempting to hold you from the side in any way he could, letting you cry out all the trauma you received in the past two days.

And you did cry it out, and your ribs burned, your head was pounding and you felt every ache and bruise in your body worsen. Seeing you like this hurt him more than any pain that had ever been inflicted on him.

Spencer pulled away from you once you had calmed down enough and brought one hand to the side of your face, leisurely dragging his thumb against your cheek bone and anywhere any stray tears fell.

“Dang it,” You sniffled, bringing the back of your palm up and rubbing your nose. “This is not how I wanted you to see me after my mini coma,”

Spencer knew you couldn’t keep serious for more than fifteen minutes at a time even if your life depended on it. He’d let you stall the situation this time however. He knows the two of you needed it.

“You look so pretty,” You smiled at his words, looking at him with so much gratitude and leaning into his palm, trying to find refuge in it.

“I bet I do,” You narrowed your eyes at him and he leaned forward pressing a kiss to your lips. You grabbed the wrist of the hand that held your face while he kissed you and gave it a small squeeze, hopefully letting him know how much you cared and appreciated him.

He pulled away, sitting back into the chair but intertwining his fingers with yours, reminding himself to always drag his fingers comfortingly across your knuckles and allow you to know he wasn’t ever leaving your side again.

“They had to change my IV needle,” You decided to stall for a bit. “The vein on my right arm wasn’t doing the job.”

“Really?” He knew that wasn’t entirely possible and that the doctors probably did an ass job at inserting it there in the first place, but he let you wonder on. “How’d that feel?”

“Im afraid of needles, but!-“ You shuffled a little bit around on your pillow for more comfort, huffing proudly. “I squeezed my eyes and tried thinking back on that book that talks about marxist criticism you read to me last week,”

He smiled warmly, bringing your hand over to him and kissing your wrist. “My brave girl,”

You let out a laugh, and he knew then he’d sleep a little better that night. He always did when you were by him.

“Hey Spence,”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stay?” You asked earnestly.

Spencer squeezed your hand. “Your pain meds are hitting you stronger than you thought if you think for a second that i’m leaving your side,”

You smiled. “I’m not going anywhere angel, I promise.”

The two of you basked in each other's silence. You closed your eyes and tried to alleviate the burning in your lungs as your breath shaked from the crying. Spencer just watched you, appreciating a while longer the small freckles and marks across your face.

“Spence,” He hummed, “I’m scared.”

He sighed heavily. Suddenly realizing that this wasn’t something easy to come. And he was too, because he almost lost the love of his life and he didn’t know what that information would do to him, much less to you.

For the first time, Spencer was out of smart answers and reasons why this would all be okay. It was hard for him to think he’d never feel this scared of loosing you again, and that idea haunted him.

“So am I,”

[probably-writing-x]

Fault.

Summary: you’re an incredible writer!!! could you write conrad x reader where she is belly’s best friend and goes with them to cousins for the summers, and she tries really hard to not like conrad because belly does but he likes her back and they start secretly hooking up/dating? hell maybe even throw in that jeremiah likes her too 😂 and everyone finds out somehow, i live for the messy drama 😝

Warnings: Sexual references and innuendos, 18+ DNI

Cousins had been a part of your childhood like it had been for Belly. You’d met her in kindergarten and been inseparable ever since, so you were practically the third sibling to her and Steven. You spent countless summer days with them, then came home with Belly and spent the rest of the year counting down until next summer would come around.

When you were young, it was just fun and sun and summer and Belly’s undying crush on the older brother. Not too much of that had changed as you’d grown up now - but perhaps you’d changed.

You weren’t sure when it had changed. But, one summer, it was like you looked at that older brother and saw what Belly was on about this whole time. You didn’t see him in the same infatuating way that she did, but you couldn’t deny any longer that he was attractive. There was just something in those eyes, the sort of half smile he gave you, the way his words just rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You couldn’t help it.

Once you’d came to that realisation, perhaps two summers ago, you’d done your best to completely suppress it. You ignored it. You ignored him. You avoided being alone with him, brought up Belly whenever you felt like the conversation might be shifting. You did everything in your power to stop yourself from ever feeling that way about Conrad. It wasn’t that you didn’t want something to happen - but breaking your own heart would be better than breaking your best friend’s.

But those damn eyes…

———

“It feels weird doing this drive myself,” You point out, indicating into the last street that would lead you into Cousins, “I’m used to your Mom complaining that we’re too loud.”

Belly laughs in the passenger seat, “Now you’ve just got Steven complaining.”

You glance in your rear view mirror to where Steven was resting against the window with his eyes closed, “Shut up.”

“Come on Stevie, we’re almost there,” You taunt, turning once again into the final road to the Fisher-Beck household.

Laurel hadn’t driven you this year, she had some fancy author thing to attend so she’d be meeting you next week. Belly couldn’t wait to come to Cousins, however, so you’d offered to drive the three of you.

When you pull up into the driveway, it’s like every bit of summer ignites - the start of a million memories.

Almost instantly, the door opens and Jeremiah comes hurrying out.

“Thank god you’re here!”

He opens the driver’s side door of your car and sticks his head in, grinning widely at the three of you.

“Good to see you too, Jere,” You laugh, stepping out of your seat to hug him.

He smells like mint and limes.

“We’ve got so much to catch up on,” Jeremiah comments, hurrying around to hug Belly too as Steven drags himself out of the car.

You laugh and ruffle his hair, much to his disgust, at the same moment that the front door swings open again and the other brother steps out, squinting a little at the sun. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt and grey shorts, dragging a hand through his messy hair. He jogs down the few steps from the front door and makes his way over.

“Hey!” You clear your throat, swinging your keys in your hand.

Conrad looks at you and smiles lightly, the sort that meets his eyes in a brief moment, “How was the drive?”

You shrug, “Mostly okay, I still hate all these country roads though.”

He laughs, looking down at his feet, “Yeah, I know you do. You’ll get used to it.”

You nod and both of you fall silent for a moment.

“So do you-“

“Did you-“

You both look at each other and laugh.

“You first,” He gestures towards you, stuffing his hands into his pockets soon after.

“No, um,” You shake your head, “I was just going to ask if you have plans tonight. Someone at the gas station told us there’s a drive in movie. We were thinking we could all go.”

Conrad nods, “If it’s a musical I’m not going.”

“Deal.”

You turn back to the rest of the group as Steven and Belly are grabbing bags from the trunk.

“Oh it’s so good to see you all!” Beams Susannah as you all trail inside.

She wraps Steven in a hug, does the same to Belly and then comes over to you, squeezing you tightly.

The house is no different but it always feels brighter at the start of summer, like it’s welcoming you back. You breathe it in for a second, a sigh of relief at your return.

“Alright, get settled into your rooms and everything and I’ll make us up some lunch,” Susannah encourages.

You follow behind Belly towards the room that the two of you shared, walking past the ajar door to Conrad’s room. You ignore the fluttering in your chest.

“God it’s good to be back,” Belly grins, dropping down onto the mattress and spreading out her arms.

“Yeah, it feels like forever since we’ve been here,” You nod, setting your suitcase down onto the floor and sitting yourself on the edge of the bed beside her.

She reaches over and grabs Junior Mint, setting him down on the mattress.

“I still remember when Conrad got me this,” She mumbles, brushing her thumb over the white fur.

“At the boardwalk right?” You comment, “It was that day I was sick.”

She hums in response.

You remembered that day too. Conrad had come home with a toy giraffe stuffed in his bag and told you it was meant to make you feel better. He hadn’t won it, but he paid someone else for it. You’d kept it in your suitcase until you got home - knowing it wasn’t worth upsetting Belly over. And, to this day, on the same mattress sat the same toy you’d had for all those years.

“I don’t get him these days,” Belly shakes her head, “Sometimes I’m so sure he feels the same way about me and then other times… it’s like his heart is somewhere else.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, “That’s all guys for you.”

“Not Jeremiah,” Belly laughs, “He’s been in love with you since I first brought you here.”

You laugh too, “I don’t know where you get that impression from.”

She scoffs, “You’re just blind, (Y/n).”

Belly looks up at you from where she lay and smiles, hugging the polar bear close to her chest. You smile back and ignore the slight tightness in your chest at being back here this summer - being back with the boy that your heart just seemed to pull to.

———

That night, you all start heading out to the drive in.

“Okay I’m just saying we’re not all sitting in one car to watch this movie,” Steven points out, “We won’t be able to see anything in the back.”

“You’re so dramatic, you’ll fall asleep halfway through anyway,” You roll your eyes, tugging your shoes on at the door, “I can just take my car too if it’s that big of a deal.”

Jeremiah, Belly and Steven all make their way outside, fighting over who will get shotgun in Jere’s car.

You glance back and see Conrad eventually coming down the stairs.

“Where are the others?” He frowns, grabbing his shoes and pulling them on.

“Um,” You clear your throat, “They’ve gone already, they’re going in Jere’s car, we’re taking mine.”

He nods, “I’ll drive.”

With that, he stretches out a hand to take your keys and you oblige, following behind him to where your car sat in the driveway.

Every so often, you could convince yourself that Conrad might ever feel the same way about you. It was in the little things. The glances, the comments, the smile. You could convince that small part of yourself that he was waiting for you as much as you were waiting for him. But it disappeared quickly.

But, now, seeing him behind the wheel of your car, humming along to the song playing through the radio, it felt like this could be something. You weren’t sure why. It was just a feeling.

———

By the time you get to the drive-in, it’s packed out. Conrad drives around the back and pulls into a space, nowhere near to Jere and the others.

“We can go and find them if you want,” You offer, glancing out of the window.

Conrad shrugs, “I like the peace and quiet without them.”

You laugh, “Just us then.”

The film starts and both of you sit in relative silence. You shift in your seat and cross your legs beneath you, leaning back against the chair. There’s a couple in the car beside you and your eyes drift over to them - how he sits with her head against his shoulder, his arm around her, looking down like she’s the only person in the world. You’d never had that with someone. Not that you hadn’t wanted to, or options hadn’t been there, but it just was never right for you.

And then your eyes turn back to Conrad. The light of the film catches against his skin, glowing his eyes just a little. It shadows down his jaw, darkening his jawline and brushing over the muscles. You take a deep breath. Ignore it. It wasn’t worth it.

He turns his head to look at you and you quickly look away.

“(Y/n)…”

“I’m going to grab a drink,” You say quickly, rushing to open the passenger door and scrambling out.

As soon as you’re outside, you gasp at the air like you hadn’t taken a single breath beside him. Like he’d taken them all away.

Ignore it. It wasn’t worth it.

———

“Oh my god this storm is awful,” You hiss into the air between you and Belly, snuggling under the covers of the double bed that you shared.

It was the following day and a storm had started to sweep over Cousins. There was a chill in the air all day and it had now turned into a full blown storm in the middle of the night. The rain was hammering down, wind sweeping over the houses, and thunder claps every few minutes.

“Belly,” You hiss again, “You awake?”

You’re met with the balanced, shallow breaths beside you that tell you she’s not hearing you. You sigh and shift in the bed until you’re sat on the mattress, debating your options. Sleep wouldn’t welcome you when the weather was like this. It wasn’t that you were scared of storms, they just unnerved you. Okay, you hated them.

With another clap of thunder, you step out of the bed and pull a hoodie over the crop top and shorts you’d been wearing, padding through the silent house and down the creaking steps. You wince with the creak on each one until you’re finally downstairs, stepping through into the kitchen.

“(Y/n)?” A voice speaks softly into the dark voice and you flinch instantly, spinning on your heel.

It’s Conrad.

“Con?” You frown, “Why are you awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” He returns.

He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a forest green t-shirt. He looks cosy and innocent.

“Yeah, I just… uh-“

“You hate storms.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, looking down at your feet as if he’s just embarrassed you in front of no company at all.

“Come on,” He gestures with his head, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “I’m going to start the fire.”

You follow him through into the lounge and sit down on the floor beside him as he starts fixing up the fire. You hand over logs and he sets them in place, you hand over the matches and he scratches them against the box to set it alight, holding it against the paper until it ignites. The heat hits you almost instantly in the too-cold house, wrapping you in an embrace of crackling warmth.

At the same moment, another rumble of thunder sounds from outside and you visibly flinch, glancing quickly out of the window at the hammering rain. Conrad chuckles from beside you, only quietly.

“Don’t worry, we’ve had worse storms here,” He assures you.

“That doesn’t help,” You roll your eyes, drawing your knees up to your chest.

“Oh, come on, I promise it’s okay,” He nudges your shoulder, “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Conrad Fisher are you going soft on me?” You narrow your eyes at him, “You’re normally so blunt.”

He looks away with a smile on his lips, “For everyone else, maybe.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat, the words escaping you. There was just something about the way he looked at you, the way his eyes just melt into you.

“You know I-“ He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I kind of felt like things were different with us this summer.”

“D- different?”

“Don’t you?” He says, “I just feel like you’ve been… distant?”

You stop yourself from speaking again.

“And, tell me to stop, but I’m-“ He half-laughs as if it’s a way of escaping the nerves, “I’m… I just thought I was so sure that there was something between us.”

“Con-“

“And you can tell me that I’m wrong but I don’t think I am.”

“Conrad I-“ You pause, biting your lip, “I can’t.”

“Just…” He shuffles in closer to you, his hand slowly rising to your cheek, thumb brushing the skin, “Tell me to stop.”

With that, he leans in and you find yourself pulled to him too, every bone in your body finally giving in to what you wanted. Your hands move to grip his shoulder, his breath fanning over your lips as he presses his against yours, slow at first and cautious.

You practically gasp at the contact, pulling him into you as if you don’t want him to slip away. His hand moves lower from your jaw and down to your neck, fingers wrapping around the back to keep you drawn to him, his other hand moving down to your waist. His fingers slip further back to the base of your spine, guiding you back against the floor as his other hand lowers your head down softly. You pull him back to your lips, fingers tangling into his hair. Both of you tangled between each other as his legs settle next to and between yours.

Once both of you are breathless, he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” He mumbles, laughing gently against you.

“I think I have some idea,” You respond, gripping his shoulders once again to pull him back into you.

———

It’s much later than normal the next morning when you eventually wake up. You and Conrad had split off into your separate rooms just as the fire was dying out and, with the sun blaring through the windows now, it just felt like it hadn’t happened. Like last night was a dream.

“Hey! You’re finally awake!” Belly announces as she walks back into the bedroom, “What happened to you last night?”

“Oh, um,” You lean up onto your elbows, “You know what I’m like, I hate storms.”

She nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, “We were thinking of what to do today.”

“Yeah? What’s the plan?” You drag a hand through your hair, feeling the flashbacks of Conrad’s fingers tangled amongst the strands.

“I don’t know yet, maybe we could go out tonight? There’s a party I think, one of Jere’s friends,” Belly suggests, picking Junior Mint up from the floor and setting him back onto the bed.

You feel your heart drop. The realisation seemingly hitting you like a ton of bricks. This was awful. What had you done?

It would break her heart if she knew what had happened last night.

But, god, you wanted to see Conrad again.

She disappears again to let you somewhat wake up fully and you push yourself enough out of the bed that your legs dangle over the side, dragging your hair away from your face and rubbing your hands over your eyes.

You don’t hear anyone coming into the room until he’s already dropping down onto the mattress behind you. The weight shifts and an all too familiar figure sits behind you, leaning forward to press a kiss to the exposed slither of skin on your shoulders.

“Good morning,” Conrad mumbles softly, his voice thick with sleep like your own.

You let yourself lean into his touch for a moment, every sensation from the night before seemingly reignited. It was real. He leans forward and perches his chin on your shoulder, tilting his head to look at you from the awkward angle.

“You know when we said last night that we’d be careful this isn’t what I meant,” You point out as he turns to kiss your neck, “This definitely isn’t careful.”

Conrad pulls back and you turn around on the bed so that you’re facing him, he reaches up a hand to brush the hair away from your face, “We’ll be careful. If that’s what it takes, we’ll do it.”

“I just…” You shake your head, “I can’t hurt Belly like that, not like this.”

Conrad nods and reaches a hand down to squeeze yours, “You won’t, I promise.”

You smile, taking a deep breath.

“But,” Conrad stands up, still holding your hand like he can’t bring himself to lose contact yet, “I would like to at least see you today. So if you could figure out a way for me to get you alone, that would be great.”

“God, you’re so needy Fisher.”

He rolls his eyes at you and disappears back out of the room, leaving you with a smile on your lips that it was impossible to get rid of.

———

Later that day, you’re outside with Belly, Jere and Steven by the pool, deciding on your plans for the evening.

“I’m just saying we should go, if it’s shit we can leave,” Jeremiah shrugs, “But like everyone’s going to be there.”

“Looking for someone to hook up with Jere?” Steven raises his eyebrows, splashing him with water from the pool.

Jeremiah scoffs, “Obviously not,” His eyes glance over to you, a small smile on his lips, “I just think it could be fun.”

“Alright but if we’re going we need drinks,” You point out, the idea crossing your mind as soon as you say the words, “I can go to the store.”

“There’s no way you’re getting anything,” Belly laughs, “You don’t have a fake.”

“No, but they know me less than they know you guys - so I’ll be more likely to get away with it, no?” You mention, pushing yourself up to stand, “Need anything else if I’m going?”

They all look at you slightly suspiciously but you ignore it, hurrying inside.

“Hey! I was just looking for yo-“ Conrad starts, just stepping down from the stairs as you rush through the house.

“Come on Fisher!” You grin, grabbing his hand on your way past, “We’re going out.”

He laughs breathlessly to catch up with you, following close behind as you grab your keys and run with him to your car.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” He raises his brows, pausing at the passenger side of the car.

You smile, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see me today?”

Conrad grins, “I won’t ask any more questions.”

Both of you pile into the car and you drive off, feeling like a new level of weightlessness when it was just the two of you together. You feel his eyes on you as you drive, like he’s infatuated by every part of you, and when you look back to him he doesn’t look away - the smile on his face only brightening at the connection. Part of you still couldn’t believe it.

You drive the two of you through the country lanes, through the rolling hills until you reach any level of seclusion, pulling up on a bank just over by the beach, overlooking an area that seemed completely untouched.

“Have you brought me here to kill me?” He looks at you slightly dumbfounded, “Should I be worried?”

“Well, there’s nobody here, I figured it was perfect,” You shrug, reaching into the back of your car to grab a couple of blankets.

“It is,” Conrad says, following your moves as you both get out of the car and walk down the short bank towards the sand.

The clearing of the beach is completely empty, and you stretch one of the blankets down onto the white sand, dropping down onto the soft surface and tossing the other blanket to your side. Conrad stands above you, his head blocking the sun as he grins down at you, his hair falling around his forehead.

“Hi,” You squint up at him, reaching out your arms until you can pull him into you.

He falls down beside you, leaning up onto his elbow.

“I still can’t believe this,” You comment, reaching up a hand to brush through the locks of hair around his eyes.

“Can’t believe what?”

“This. Us.” You say, feeling your stomach flip at the words, “I never thought it would happen.”

He frowns a little when you speak, “Why did you think that?”

You take a deep breath, “I’ve always been Bells’ friend, I thought that’s all you saw me as. God, they’re probably wondering where we are an-“

He leans down and silences your worries with a soft kiss, his lips lingering over yours without any pressure.

“They’re not thinking about us,” He assures you, “I’m thinking about us.”

You feel the smile tugging at your lips and he captures it into another kiss, as if sealing it between you.

You grip at his t-shirt and the back of his neck, pulling him into you as he shifts so that he’s over the top of your frame, deepening his connection against you. You’re breathless against his lips, desperate for more of him. His hand moves down to your waist, slipping below the hem of your top to hold your skin. You hiss at the contact, the cold touch of his fingertips.

He pulls back and smiles at you, glancing back around at the empty scene around you, “You know, there’s nobody around.”

You grin, looking to the side and pulling over the other blanket, shaking it out. He grabs it from you and stretches it over his back, burying both of you under your own seclusion.

His hands and lips find you again, his hips increasing their friction against you. And, in those moments, you’re sure that you two are the only two people in the world. Nobody else.

———

You get back a couple of hours later, carrying in a brown paper bag of liquor as Conrad walks behind you with two crates of beer.

“Listen I’m just saying that-“

You stop in your tracks as the door closes behind you and Jeremiah is stood in the hallway by the front door, at the base of the stairs.

“Where did you guys go?” He asks, glancing between the two of you.

“To the store,” Conrad says, nodding down to the items in your arms, “Getting the goods for you kids tonight.”

Jeremiah nods, “I could’ve gone with you (Y/n), if you needed help.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Con was just in the house when I came through so I asked if he wanted to come.”

Conrad smiles down at his feet and you fight the urge to nudge him in his side.

“Here, let me take that,” Jeremiah offers, taking the bag from your arms.

You thank him and he walks into the kitchen, Conrad following behind him, wiggling his brows at you before he disappears. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile he always seemed to evoke.

“Hey!” Belly comes jogging down the stairs, “I thought I heard you, did you get everything at the store?”

“Yeah, yeah, got everything,” You nod, “Conrad got beer, and we got a bottle of tequila and vodka.”

“That’s where he was,” Belly returns, “I wasn’t sure where he’d disappeared to.”

You drag a hand through your hair, “Yeah sorry it was just a last minute thing, I figured I could do with the extra hands.”

She agrees, “I don’t think he’ll come tonight, he’s been distant recently.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure we can convince him,” You glance over to where him and Jere are stood in the kitchen and he laughs at something his brother has said, his eyes creasing as he does so.

You’re sure this is the brightest he’s seemed in a long time and you feel your heart swell a little at the sight.

And then Belly moves beside you and you’re flicked back to reality momentarily, a reality where your stomach sank at the thought of lying to your best friend.

———

All of you arrive at the party an hour after it had started, having made your way through at least half of the drinks you’d brought with you. You were wearing a pink floral fitted mini skirt and a white corset top that hugged your figure. You’d felt Conrad’s eyes on you almost as soon as you’d come downstairs.

The boys follow behind you as you all disperse amongst the party, you holding onto Belly’s hand as the two of you make your way to the kitchen.

“I’m already a bit buzzed,” Belly says into your ear, wearing a romper that she’d stolen from you, “I don’t think I should drink any more.”

You smile at her, “Here,” You pour lemonade into a red solo cup and push it into her hand, “They don’t need to know.”

You take your own bottle of beer and crack it open, holding your thumb over the top as you move back through the mass of bodies in search for the three boys’ heads that would pop up over the crowd.

“Wait,” Belly stops you, grabbing your arm, “I need to ask you something.”

You frown at her, shifting to face her against the moving bodies around you, “What is it?”

She leans in closer to you as she speaks, “I think I’m going to tell Conrad how I feel.”

You feel your heart drop, a lump forming in your throat.

“I just… I’ve been waiting for too long. And if I don’t say it now I never will,” She explains, “I can’t do that any more.”

You still can’t find the words, certain that you’ll stop breathing if the lump in your throat gets any larger. Your hands start to feel a little numb and you grip tighter onto the neck of the beer bottle to feel like you could be grounded at least a little.

“I have to say something,” She persists, “And hopefully he’ll tell me he feels the same way.”

Without realising, you stumble a little in the crowd and she reaches out to catch you.

“Are you okay?” Your best friend frowns at you.

“I just- I need some air,” You return, trying to force your words to be loud enough over the pounding music.

You push your way through the remaining people until you get to enough of a clearing, where you can get outside into the garden. Instantly, it’s like you’re gasping for a breath it was impossible to find.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Belly asks you, holding your arm as if holding you up.

“Um,” You drag a hand through your curled hair and look back at her, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just felt a bit dizzy in there.”

“God you terrified me,” She half-laughs, “Come on, the boys are over there.”

Belly guides you over to the beer pong table set up at one side of the terrace in the garden, Steven and Jeremiah are stood on one side and Conrad on the other.

“Hey! Bells, (Y/n)!” Jeremiah waves, “Come join us, we’re just starting.”

“Okay but I’m not drinking,” Belly grimaces at the sight of the half-filled cups.

“You can join our team then, (Y/n) can go with Conrad,” Steven shrugs, “Let’s go rookies.”

You walk over to Conrad’s side of the table and watch his eyes drag up and down the sight of your body, cocking your brow at him when his eyes finally meet yours. He blushes, fighting back a smile.

Jeremiah throws the first ball and it bounces from one of your cups, Conrad catching it as he throws it back, sinking it into one of the cups at the edge of their triangle.

“Nice shot,” You comment quietly, sipping from the beer in your hand.

He reaches an arm around your shoulders and takes the bottle from your hand, bringing it to his own lips to take a sip.

“Come on, drink up,” Steven breaks the moment, gesturing towards the ball now landed in one of the cups on your side.

You roll your eyes and pick up the cup, tipping back the drink and grimacing at the overwhelming taste.

“Alright, my turn,” You say, picking up the ball and lining up to throw it towards them.

Conrad’s hand falls to the small of your back, the bare skin between your top and skirt. You glance back with slightly widened eyes but quickly try to ignore it. He was buzzed, that’s what it was. All of his inhibitions were lowered, and his widened pupils couldn’t help but focus on you. You throw the ball from your hand and it bounces to land in their front cup. In one movement, you shift to stand directly in front of Conrad, trying your best to shield his desperation for you. The other three seem too distracted anyway, bickering over which one of them has to drink as Conrad holds your waist, pulling you back against him.

“Con,” You say under your breath, tightening your grip on the edge of the table, “Not here.”

He listens almost instantly, his hands loosening on you as he steps to the side, eyes not leaving you.

“We’ll leave early,” You mention quietly and he smirks, pursing his lips together.

“Come on losers, one of you has got to drink,” Conrad encourages, clasping his hands together, a new lease of life seemingly coursing through him.

You go about the rest of the game and you and Conrad both grimace through another two cups each before you eventually win the game, pushing your remaining cups to the other side for the rest to drink.

“Alright, I need to find the bathroom,” You mention, checking your reflection in the black mirror of your phone screen, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You squeeze Conrad’s forearm before stepping past him to walk towards the house, trailing through the bodies and eventually making your way upstairs to the nearest available bathroom, shooting him a text of ���second door on the left’.

You sit yourself on the closed lid of the toilet until, only a minute later, there’s a tap at the door. Without so much as a second thought, you stand up and unlock the door quickly, grinning at the sight of Conrad on the other side. He glances once over his shoulder to check for any prying eyes in the empty corridor before stepping in, hands gripping your waist instantly and turning you around, pressing you against the door as it closes behind you. You gasp at the contact and your mouth falls open, Conrad dipping his head to kiss at your neck.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you in this,” He grumbles, pressing against you, “You’re killing me (Y/l/n).”

“Yeah? I couldn’t tell,” You smirk, your hands moving down to unbutton his trousers, pushing him back until his back hits the opposite wall.

———

You adjust your skirt once, twice more, before stepping outside, running a hand through your hair once again, dragging a finger under either of your eyes. Conrad had left a couple of minutes ago so it was likely safe for you to do so too.

“There you are!” Belly exclaims, hurrying over to you as soon as you step onto the staircase, “Conrad said you were being sick.”

“Um,” You swallow to compose yourself, “Yeah, yeah, just too much beer I think.”

“Okay, yeah, Steven’s been sick in the garden too, I think we’re going to head home,” She nods, “Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?”

There’s that feeling again, the sinking in your chest. The sick in your stomach, not the kind of sick from Conrad’s lie. This was real. It was real because your best friend was stood in front of you and she cared about you, so openly and blatantly she cared about you, and you were lying to her. Over something that would break her heart. You were lying to her.

“Come on, let’s go,” She puts an arm out for you to take her hand and leads you down the staircase to where the three boys are waiting at the bottom.

Conrad looks up at you as you come down, a smile on his lips before he looks back down at his feet. His hair was messier than normal and you wondered whether anyone had questioned it.

“You feeling okay (Y/n)?” Jeremiah frowns, “Here, take this.”

He tugs the flannel from around his shoulders and hands it to you, waiting for your arms to slip into the sleeves.

“Oh, yeah, thanks Jere,” You nod, adjusting the material around you.

Conrad clenches his jaw, opening the door and stepping out without another word. You all follow behind, taking the shortcut that lead you back towards Susannah’s house, eventually reaching the familiar setting. Steven stumbles and clings onto Jeremiah, telling him that they should carry on drinking, and Belly looks at you every two seconds as if you’re about to break beside her, Conrad doesn’t look back at you.

Everything just feels… off. Jeremiah’s shirt seemed to itch around your arms and it didn’t sit right around your shoulders, and Belly’s arm was linked in yours but it just didn’t seem to rest there properly and it made your arm ache when you focused on it for too long, and why wouldn’t Conrad look at you?!

You eventually get back into the house and Jeremiah carries Steven’s weight through the corridor as quietly as he can, making sure he takes one stumbling step at a time. Belly tells you she’s going to get in the bathroom before anyone else does and you and Conrad are left stood in the doorway.

He glances back at you.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” You offer, pulling Jeremiah’s shirt from around you.

“You could’ve used mine,” He mumbles softly.

“Your what?” You frown, blinking at him in the low light.

“My jacket, you could’ve borrowed it,” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Conrad Fisher are you jealous?” You scoff, and for a moment in your laughter you forget about everything that had been worrying you on the way home. It’s just you and him again.

He rolls his eyes, “No, I just mean-“

You step forward until you’re directly below him, waiting until his eyes will meet yours.

“Admit it,” You state simply, “Admit you were jealous.”

“Im not jealous it’s just-“ He stops, “I don’t- I didn’t-“

You raise your brows, fighting to stop yourself from laughing at him.

“Good night,” He grumbles turning away from you.

You grab his hand and stop him, turning him around so that you can press the quickest peck to his lips. Conrad looks at you with a smile on his lips, drawing you back in to kiss him again, a second longer.

It’s only when you pull away that you both think to glance to the top of the stairs - to the figure stood at the top of them.

“What the fuck?” Steven mumbles, stumbling a little and catching himself on the wall.

Conrad looks at you almost instantly and you watch the worry cast over his face, him watching the exact same expression pass over yours.

“Come on, man, let’s get you to bed,” Jeremiah encourages, hurrying back over to Steven and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

He pauses when he sees the two of you at the bottom of the stairs, both looking up like you’ve seen a ghost.

“Good night guys,” He frowns, hooking his arm below Steven’s armpits and dragging him towards his bedroom.

Conrad looks at you again and his mouth opens as if to say something, stopping before he speaks, closing his mouth again, waiting, and then saying, “I’m so sorry (Y/n).”

You look at him and frown, hearing the way the words catch in his throat as if assuring you they’re honest. You can practically feel the way his chest would have been tightening against the words, the way he’d struggle against them.

“Hey,” You reach out a hand and take his, squeezing it, “Not your fault.”

He looks down at you and swallows the lump in his throat.

“Come on, not here,” You encourage, pulling his hand with you as the two of you walk through the empty bottom floor.

You lead him into the lounge where the two of you sit down in front of the fireplace. You cross your legs and face him and he stretches his out towards the fireplace, leaning back against the couch behind you.

“Okay, chances are Steven’s not going to keep his mouth shut,” You begin, “Even drunk, he’ll probably remember what he saw.”

Conrad just nods.

“Look, I get it. It’s only been a couple of days, and this ruins things and I totally understand if you don’t want this to carry-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” Conrad bolts upright, “What gave you that impression?”

“Well,” You look down at your hands in your lap, “I know we’ve been hooking up but everyone knowing is going to make this into something and I don’t know if you’re ready for that or if you want that or… I don’t know.”

“(Y/n),” He takes one of your hands and interlocks his fingers with yours, his large grip folding over your knuckles, “I want this. Not just sneaking off and hooking up, I want this. I want you.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, your whole body feeling like it could ignite under his touch.

“If they find out now, then we deal with it, okay?” He waits until your eyes find his, “We’re in this for the long haul, right?”

You nod and watch the corners of his lips curl up into a smile. You turn so that your back is against the couch beside him and he wraps an arm around your back, your head resting on his shoulder and his resting atop yours. You’re sure you could stay like that forever. And, somewhere along the line, both of you drift off to sleep.

———

When you blink your eyes open, for a second you hope you’re dreaming… or perhaps this is more like being in a nightmare. Stood directly in front of the pair of you, are the looming figures of Jeremiah, Steven and… Belly. You nudge Conrad and he blinks awake too, groaning at the stiff pain in his neck.

“God I thought I was dreaming last night but I wasn’t, was I?” Steven gestures between the two of you, “I mean, you guys are…”

You glance at Conrad and back to the others, scrambling to your feet, “I can explain-“

You reach out for Belly but she pulls away, storming out of the room as quickly as she can. You feel the tears bubble in your eyes, the lump in your throat.

“I mean, seriously (Y/n)?” Steven scoffs, “You knew how she felt about him. She’s meant to be your best friend.”

“I didn’t mean for-“

“Conrad?!” Jeremiah exclaims, “Seriously, of all the people you could’ve been with you went for Conrad? The one person you knew would break Belly’s heart.”

“It wasn’t like that,” You shake your head quickly, “It just happened and-“

“Well maybe if you weren’t so busy thinking about fucking-“

“Hey!” Conrad stands up beside you, stepping ahead so that he shields you from them, directing his anger onto his brother, “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable, do you know that?” Jeremiah laughs, “I tell you I like a girl and you take that as a sign to get her for yourself?”

“Jere, stop,” Conrad warns, “You’re going to say something you regret.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Jeremiah raises his voice, “You knew that I liked her, you knew I fucking liked her and you just cared about yourself.”

“It wasn’t like that, (Y/n) decided who she wanted to be with, I did too. It’s not always about you Jere,” Conrad shakes his head, “When are you going to grow up and realise that?”

“When am I going to grow up? How about you growing up and realising you’re going to break her fucking heart?” Jere shrugs, “I mean, seriously, emotionally unavailable Conrad? In a relationship that’ll last? You’ll break her heart and she’ll come crying to-“

“Stop!” You raise your voice, pushing to step aside from behind Conrad, “Both of you stop fucking talking about me like I’m not even here. I can’t deal with this right now, I need to find Belly.”

“(Y/n)…”

You hear the faint tone of Conrad’s voice behind you but it’s overshadowed by the blood pounding in your ears as you hurry through the house to find her, catching sight of her just by the pool.

“Belly!” You call, pushing open the door, “Belly please just talk to me!”

“You knew, (Y/n),” She spins on her heel to face you, her eyes puffy with tears, “You knew I liked him. From the minute we were in middle school I told you I liked him. I told you every summer since, and you listened to me every single fucking time. And then, what? You just wanted him for yourself this whole time.”

“It wasn’t like that…” You shake your head, “I never meant for it to happen, especially not like this.”

“Then what was it like, (Y/n)?”

You pause, seemingly incapable of finding any words in the moment, “I- I just…”

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at you as if you’re a person she doesn’t recognise.

“It was a couple of summers ago, I don’t know what changed. He just seemed… different. And then I noticed it more last summer, just the little things in how he was acting with me, I couldn’t explain it. I never told you because I knew how much it would hurt you to think that I liked him too. But the other night things just happened and he told me how he felt about me and… I never meant for you to find out like this, and I never meant to lie to you.”

“Well, which one is it? Did you not want me to find out or did you not want to lie to me? You can’t have both.”

“I-“ You fight back the tears stinging at your eyes, “I didn’t want to break your heart, Bells. But I could feel myself falling in love with him and him falling in love wi-“

“In love?” She steps forward, eyebrows raised against the redness of her cheeks, “It’s not love, (Y/n). Conrad doesn’t love you. You’re just there and he knows he can have you. You’ll realise that eventually.”

Her words are void of any emotion other than hatred, spitting from her mouth like she’s desperate for them to escape her. She storms past you and down the side of the house, each one of her steps carrying more anger than the last.

You feel your chest tighten, the way it seems to contort and twist when you’re on the verge of tears.

The garden door opens again and it’s Conrad this time. At the second your eyes meet his, you release every emotion in side of you, letting out a sob. He reacts almost instantly, hurrying down to scoop you into his arms, letting you bury your head on his chest, soaking through his t-shirt. One of his hands grips around your back and the other holds your head against him, running through your hair.

“It’s okay, (Y/n),” His voice is soft, like he is terrified of breaking you further.

You pull away from him and look up to his face, shaking your head through the tears still spilling from your eyes, “How is it going to be okay, Con? They hate us. All of them hate us.”

“Hey,” His hands move up to either of your cheeks, thumbs brushing under your eyes to swipe away the tears before they can even fall, “It’s you and me, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

You let yourself sink into the feeling of his arms around you, his heartbeat sounding less certain than his words did.

“You’ve got me.”

And in that moment, you know it’s true.

[uncookedfeeler]

Cok's adventure II 🐙

Giselle x You

Tags : 7k5, Idol Giselle, story, smut, creature kink, anal, creampie, oral, breed, domination, ...

Part 1 Part 3

As the night goes on, the sirens of police and emergency services are still ringing in the city, where journalists are now swarming around the building, trying to get as much information as possible. Giselle is waiting for her manager to arrive in a café a couple of blocks away. She's put her bags and package at her feet and is enjoying a vanilla cappuccino. She can hear the TV not far away, with a live report from a journalist covering the accident:

"This is Jin, a reporter for K-News." The mall just had its last customers leave. There was a loud noise nearby, and a huge cloud of smoke was still coming from the building. We don't have all the details yet, but we'll do our best to get them to you as soon as we can. We've been told that the emergency services are still refusing our interviews. Are they trying to cover something up? The journalist kept going with his report, even though she was there at the scene, the situation had happened so fast, and she didn't know any more than he did.

Giselle notices her phone is vibrating in her pocket. She checks her screen and sees several missed calls from Karina, plus a notification in their chat.

She knew she could count on her members when she got home, and they'd reached out with some comforting messages. However, her tough-girl image was starting to show some cracks. The day had been long and stressful, and she was feeling the effects. Giselle's mood has taken a bit of a turn for the worse. She used to enjoy her freedom and her little adventures on her own, but now she wishes she hadn't gone out today.

She looks relieved when she sees her manager come into the café. He comes over to get her bags, and Giselle, feeling a bit embarrassed, heads for the exit. She feels her manager's hand rubbing her back as a gesture of kindness.

The night is now more aggressive, sending waves of cold wind across the city and blowing Giselle's hair around. The cold air hits her face, still covered in makeup. She picked up the pace, eager to get to the car and find some shelter. She notices the lights on her manager's car are blinking, indicating it's unlocked. She puts her hand on the back door handle, tosses her purse into the middle seat, and gets in, fastening her seatbelt as she goes. She's eager to get home.

She hears the trunk open and her manager say, "Let me drop off your stuff, and we'll get going." "I'll be as quick as I can." The man's voice is reassuring. He puts the bags and package one behind the other, then runs over to the driver's seat.

You've been stuck in this black box for a while now, even though you can't see anything and your tentacles are all tangled up. You're calm and thinking about the best way to get out. You feel the vibrations of the ride and wait helplessly for what's to come.

The ride home is as quiet as a church. Giselle looks out the window and enjoys the light show. The manager, despite his best efforts, would rather focus on the road. He knows the member will find the right words. 

Once parked in the underground lot, the way to the dormitory is the same. Giselle leads the way, and her manager is busy with shopping. They get to a big white door. She opens the black box on the side, enters the 4-digit code, then closes it. You hear a small validation sound, and the lock releases. Giselle goes in first. She takes off her shoes, and her manager leaves her stuff at the entrance before heading back to the elevator. "Good night, Giselle. See you tomorrow. You've got the day off, so make the most of it!" he says after completing his mission. She quickly turns to thank him, a big smile on her face.

Now that she was barefoot, she put her shoes back where they belonged and opened the door to the main room. There she finds Karina sitting on the sofa and Ninging's body, clearly unconscious from exhaustion. The leader takes the initiative and comes to hug her, like a mother would comfort her child after a difficult event.

There's no need to say anything. Both women enjoy the moment of silence. Karina is relieved to see that her colleague is unharmed. Giselle is happy to be home. They spent a good two minutes rubbing each other's backs before they heard Winter come back from the doorway.

"The food is here!" the young girl announces, her hands full of plastic bags. She'd gone downstairs a while before Giselle got there to start cooking dinner. Karina and Winter get the food ready while Giselle takes her things back to her room. She quickly put her stuff away and went back to the living room. Ningning was brought back to life successfully when the young woman caught a smell of food filling her nostrils.

After dinner, the girls enjoyed the food and Giselle's spirits lifted for a moment. She was able to forget what had happened that day. It was well past midnight, and the girls were heading to their rooms to get some rest.

Speaking of privacy, when Giselle returns to her room, she decides to change into her pajamas. She removes her clothes, including her underwear, and puts on a long white t-shirt that reaches to her knees. Her two large mounds hug the shape of the clothing, and her anal plug is still firmly lodged in her small asshole. 

Now she turns her attention to the package that caused her so much trouble. She grabs the scissors on her desk and begins to open it with a vertical motion. As the employee said, the package has already been opened, so there are only a few pieces of tape holding it in place.

You've finally had a chance to see the light. The room is warm and bright, and the light hits your eyes. You catch a hint of a sweet smell as it wafts in towards your nostrils. You come face to face with a human with black hair, big brown eyes, and perfect skin. Her lips are painted a pretty pink, and her skin is white like the flash of a light. As soon as you lock eyes, you freeze, suddenly aware of where you are. It's likely that the Humans have already killed one of your own, and there's no reason to believe they won't do the same to you.

"Wow, so cute" Giselle says as she looks at you and quickly picks you up to put you on the ground keeping her eyes on you the whole time. She had a pretty good idea of what to expect from an octopus and never thought she'd get such a pretty toy. Octopuses aren't the most attractive creatures, but when she sees your little round head, black eyes, and mouth, she can't help but think of you as a little puppy.

She opens it by touching your tentacles. Much to her surprise, she feels your warmth in her hands. The gelatinous yet firm feeling is pretty addictive. She places her fingers on your suction cups and feels how strong they are. The pleasure of touching you now makes her feel good, so she puts her lips on your head, and you don't seem to mind. Instead, she follows up with a quick flick of her tongue, releasing a sweet but not unpleasant taste into her mouth. 

She starts by putting two of your tentacles in her mouth. The contact of her lips and tongue makes you quiver inside. The sensation of moisture at your tips is a pleasure you've never experienced before. Then you feel more tentacles on her warm body. Soon you're completely used by the human.

You're still immobile, and you're starting to worry about the attacks on your body. The fact that she's started putting her lips on you and even biting your head makes you think she's going to eat you. Then you feel your body being lifted and you land in a soft, comfortable place.

Giselle has taken the liberty of placing you on her bed. "I think it must be hidden over there," she says, peering between your tentacles. She notices a crack and gets really concerned. "What?" "I can't believe they sent me the female model!" She starts to touch your "bottom." 

"What on earth is this person doing? Why is she putting her hands so close to...?" 

Your excitement causes your penis to jerk out from between your tentacles. You feel vibrations running from the middle to the tip of your tentacles.

"Oh my, that looks so much like the real thing!" Giselle's eyes widen and she blushes. She's got the penis of a space creature in front of her, and she has no idea. She uses her hand as a measuring tool and assesses it with interest. "Oh my goodness!" "It's probably going to reach my uterus with ease."

Things have escalated quickly. Just a few moments ago, you thought you were in serious danger. Now, a human has just pulled your dick. You feel her breath on the tip. You're frozen in place, realizing what's going on. You don't see the human, but you get a few jolts and a sensation of moisture around your cock. It touches something that looks like a tentacle. It's itchy, and the heat and moisture of your cock make you feel warm and relaxed.

Giselle had taken your cock in her mouth without you noticing. She started with gentle kisses on the tip and then took the length into her mouth. Her tongue traced the length of your shaft, tasting the natural flavor of your arousal. Giselle gave it her all, already reaching for her pussy, naked as could be.

Giselle inserts a finger into her wet little hole and forces her ass to move her butt plug, determined to get her satisfaction. It's a great feeling to have both holes taken care of. She keeps going with your cock, and thick drops of saliva stick to it.

On the other hand, you found the pleasure increasingly difficult to bear. You never thought something like this could happen in your life. You felt the human's hands take your tentacles and wrap them in two spheres of flesh. She squeezes your tentacles with her hands, and you hear her moan. One of your tentacles is pulled to the ground before you feel a sticky warmth at the tip.

Giselle was letting off some steam after a long day. She'd wrapped her toy cock around both of her breasts. Her previous sucking had made the shaft quite slimy, which helped as she massaged the cock while licking the tip hungrily. One of the tentacles kept going into her pussy. She could feel the suction of the cups peeling her walls back, and a nasty stain had appeared on the floor. The room was getting warmer as Giselle pressed her breasts against your cock, making sure to put more saliva on your length. She dropped to her knees and jumped up a few times, feeling the tentacles breaking into her hungry little pink pussy.

The pleasure was overwhelming. You felt like you were floating on a cloud, and you released your cum without knowing where it would land. You automatically grabbed Giselle's head, pulling her closer. Your penis hit a wall that you couldn't identify. Giselle is taken aback when she suddenly sees the cock piercing her throat, her breasts squeezed between her and her toy, her pussy sweating warmly, leaving an incessant liquid on the floor. The pleasure is too sudden, and her body tenses before she drowns in her orgasm. She feels the spasms of her body travel as long as she is held by the creature.

You know you messed up. You've kept a poker face the whole time, but you can't help but feel pleasure. Once you've let go of the human's head, though your cock is still hard, you straighten up to face her.

Giselle was caught off guard by the taste and smell of the substance, and before she knew it, she'd swallowed some of it. She sensed that something was amiss. No toy is designed to trap its user in this way. She backed away from the bed, cum all over her face, and a feeling of dread hit her as she came into contact with her new "toy."

She was at a loss as to how to react. There was an octopus on her bed, standing upright with a terrified look on its face. The tentacles were almost touching her face, as if to protect themselves. She stood there for a few minutes, naked, her face covered in cum, her breasts reddened, and her pussy hot and lubricated. 

You're standing in front of the human, ready to defend yourself if you need to. You don't speak their language and you're not sure where you are. Your only option for survival is to escape, but you know you're trapped in this room without looking. Then, right in the middle of your confusion, the human reaches out to you. Her expression is firm but not threatening. If you were in her shoes, you'd probably use your advantage, but the human doesn't seem to be going down that route. You're not sure what her gesture means, but you extend one of your tentacles toward her and make contact, aware of the risks if she catches you.

(Yes this image exist for some reason)

Your eyes are still locked together. You can feel the softness of her hand on your tentacle, then she gently applies pressure to bind you, moving up and down. She smiles and lets go of your tentacle to come over to the bed. She's just a few inches away from you. Her body blocks the light from the ceiling. You slowly bring your tentacles towards you, being careful not to make any sudden movements.

She's trying to communicate. You hear her say "Gis-elle" while pointing at her face with her hand. This isn't the first time you've come across other species that can speak. You know that people have names, and through repeated movements and words, you've come to understand that her name is "Giselle." You also try to imitate Giselle's gestures: "Cok, cok, cok." You do this a few more times, pointing your tentacles at your face.

Giselle, on the other hand, quickly realized that your name was Cok. "What am I going to do with you now?" "You don't look like the octopus I see at the market sometimes, and the fact that you can talk doesn't make my job any easier." "You just played a dirty trick on me. My body is stained with your semen, so I guess a shower is necessary now. Don't worry, water shouldn't scare you." 

You don't understand what Giselle is saying, but she comes closer and picks you up before putting you back in her bag. Once again, you find yourself in a dark place, your erection notwithstanding. You always hope that nothing will happen to you.

Giselle, who has put her T-shirt back on, opens her bedroom door with her bag under her arm and heads to the bathroom. She makes sure the room is empty before opening her bag.

You feel Giselle's hands emerge from the darkness, and you discover a new environment that's even brighter than the last one. Even though you don't understand a word she's saying, she still gives you a quick overview of the place. "Welcome to our bathroom. Across from us is a shower and a jacuzzi. The sinks are to your left. "You'll find our toilets tucked away to the right." She goes over everything in the bathroom and points. You follow her with your eyes, even though you're still a bit confused.

She puts you down by the sink, and you watch as she tosses your semen-soaked t-shirt into a bucket. Then she heads over to the spot she calls the "Jacuzzi" and bends over to turn on the water, showing you her butt plug she left at "home" along the way. She gives you a signal to follow her by pointing at you as she steps into the jacuzzi. As you crawl towards her and finally plunge into the water, a haze of warmth fills the room.

"Ah, that feels good," she says with a smile. You have to agree; the sensation of swimming in this warm water is very pleasant. You see her look at you and smile, and you feel her hand on her head as she rubs it gently. 

You notice Giselle looking at you and feel her feet rubbing against your leg. Each time she makes contact, she immediately pulls her foot back, but she keeps coming back for more. She gives a little smile that you can't miss. "mhh-hhh" You hear her making little whimpering sounds, and it's your turn to gently caress her toes, making sure to get your tentacles between each one. Her toes are clinging to you, and you're not sure what her hands are doing. 

You then dip your head into the water and watch in surprise as two tiny fingers rub against her pretty pussy. You see them go into her body and then immediately come back out again. She speeds up the rhythm, and you realize you're no longer feeling pressure on your tentacles. This allows you to move up her legs as you bring your head closer to her perfectly smooth pussy, which is just a few inches away from your face.

"Not so sweet so fast my dear, let me savor you first" You see her suddenly stand up and lean towards you, her breasts right in front of you, her nipples still hard. Up close, you realize how beautiful they are. She spreads her legs while bending her knees and comes to lay her dirty pussy on your head. She rubs lightly against you and continues to pound her cunt with her fingers. "Oh, ah, I'm coming," Giselle says. A bit more pressure is applied to your skull, with her slit rubbing against you as her fingers play with her little clit above the entrance.

Her legs suddenly spasm, and you feel a rush of water hit your head and body. It's clear that the source is her red, quivering pussy. "Wow, that feels great," she says, her eyes full of desire. She's now sitting up, her legs feeling a bit wobbly. She's aware of what she's doing and the show she's putting on, and she sees your hard cock. She wants to use her toy right now, too. She's so caught up in her ecstasy that she doesn't care what you look like. She just wants a good fuck to bring her back to earth.

Giselle puts her hands behind her back and hears a "poc" as she removes her toy from her ass. You can see her face twitch with pleasure as she takes her partner out of her hole and places him in a small bowl next to the jacuzzi. She turns around to show you her backside, and you get a close-up of her freshly spread ass and her little pussy, still waiting to be loved. She uses her left hand to spread her hole, revealing all of her warm flesh as she points at the entrance repeatedly.

You can tell when a female is in heat, no matter what species. Giselle is releasing pheromones that indicate she's ready for male attention. That's all she needs, and without further ado, you make a swim towards her, climb up her legs and point your rod at her backside. Your tentacles squeeze her buttocks while you linger on both of her breasts. Not content with this lack of attention, the last one goes to her mouth, which you don't fail to penetrate. You're there, in possession of a human body, ready to fill her with your entire being.

"Cok cok cok cok cok" you hear your name as you tease her by rubbing your cock against her entrance, but this was a mistake. Giselle, who takes your cock in her hand and puts it in her ass herself, screams as you come hard against her ass. “Ohhh fuck, it’s big” Giselle's insides are warm and welcoming around your cock as you thrust into her ass. You start thrusting back and forth, harder and harder. “Mhhh-mhh more” she cries, your combined movements cause the water to shake as you satisfy your new mistress. You feel her tongue around your tentacle, trying to give you the best suck she can. You also pinch her breasts while playing with her nipples. You give her an ass-slapping rhythm to match her bouncing buttocks.

"More, more, more!" Giselle moans, lost in pleasure. She reverts to a simple primate, in need of pleasure. Her head is thrown back as you grab her hair and pull her towards you. The force of your bodies hitting each other leaves red marks on her buttocks. You move on to her stiff breasts and push into her still-wet pussy with a sharp thrust. Giselle ends up being double penetrated.

The noise in the room is getting louder by the second, and Giselle is losing all her self-control. She's on her hands and knees, her breasts pressed against the edge of the jacuzzi. She's being mistreated by her new toy; You don't let go, every time you pull her hair, she tightens around your cock: "Harder, hurt me, baby". She gives everything, the frenzy of your bodies increases, the heat in the room is at its peak. Her ass has become your sheath and your masculinity belongs to her.

While you ravage her ass, your tentacles take care of her dripping pussy, you come slamming against these walls while repeating circular movements, the tips are compressed to the extreme, this bitch has cum several times already, when you remove your tentacles, her fluid explodes from her slit before going back in again and again.

The thrusts are getting stronger and stronger as you feel the release coming. Her pussy fills the water again, and you feel Giselle's body go in one last thrust. Then you grab her hair in two spots and thrust as far as you can into her. You feel immense pleasure as you release all your cum into her conquered hole.

As you let go of her hair, you fall backwards, hitting the water with a small splash. When you return to the surface, Giselle is still in the same position, looking like she's waiting for anything to happen. You can see your cum coming out of her ass and sliding down her body, and her little pussy is lightly covered in your seed, which falls into the water. Your cock is now completely dry and fully retracted behind your slit.

The water is covered in semen and Giselle's wetness as they float on the surface of the jacuzzi. You hear her ass spew your cum in waves with obscene noises, then Giselle turns around, her arms slumped on the side of the jacuzzi. Her hair is a mess, and her body is covered with the marks left by your lovemaking.

You can't see Giselle's eyes, hidden by her hair, and you're waiting for her next reaction. You stand there staring at each other in an awkward silence. It's not forever, though, because you hear a knock on the door. "Giselle, I need to use the toilet," you hear her say. Of course, you can't understand, but you quickly grasp the situation when you see Giselle's panic-stricken face. 

"I'll be ready in two minutes. I'll just rinse off and get out," says Giselle, taken aback. As she presses the button to drain the water from the Jacuzzi, she grabs you by the tentacles and heads for the shower, bumping into you on the ledge as she goes. "Don't be a princess. I've already seen you naked. I'm going to pee myself," she says as the door opens. You find yourself behind the curtain, restrained by Giselle's arms around her stomach.

You feel the hot water fall on your bodies as you're held back by Giselle. Her breasts press against your head, and you feel her breathing quicken. "You were totally fine showing me your butt plug in the dressing room, and now you're afraid I'll see you naked?" a woman says now sitting on the toilet, the sound of the shower masking that of the toilet.

“Shut up and hurry away, I'd like to dry off and...” Giselle feels your semen leaking from her ass again, which startles her. She knows the water won't cover the leaking on her leg. She looks at you and, with her hands, mimes her anus and the other finger, asking to plug it up. You use your tentacles to come and penetrate your anus and her … pussy

She's always happy to have her holes well occupied, but Giselle trembles at the presence of your tentacles inside her. Your communication still isn't perfect, but you've done what she asked. You feel the liquid trying to get out at the tip of your tentacle. Now that she's in the shower, Giselle takes the opportunity to wash her body and hair. You now stand alone at her waist with your tentacles around her, keeping the two of them warm deep in those caves. She watched Karina finish her business and leave the room after washing her hands at the sink. "Good night, Giselle," she said as she closed the door. Giselle had noticed that Karina was wearing only her panties.

The danger is now gone, so you pull your tentacles back while still holding on to Giselle. You slide down until you touch the ground, "You bastard, you've filled me well. Even my pussy hurts." Of course, she knows you don't understand. She moves her legs closer to you again, and you feel a warm liquid fall on her head. "Here, this will teach you to take me for your bitch."

Giselle had just pissed in your face. You frown and whip her lower legs with a tentacle. All the while laughing. She approaches you and rubs you with a soft ball that quickly foams. The rubbing sensation is pleasant, and Giselle works hard to rub it all over your body. Although you still can't communicate verbally, you feel like you're doing pretty well with this woman. It's hard to picture her as a threat now that she's let you take a "dominant role". Once the shower's over and she shows you how to use a hairdryer, she doesn't even put you back in her bag. She holds you in her arms at stomach level.

The quiet click of her bedroom door means you're safe again. Giselle turns down the lights in the room, the temperature is just right, and there's a nice smell of freshness from the shower. She'd changed into her pajamas, which were a loose-fitting T-shirt and pink shorts that let her lower body breathe. You stand on her bed and watch her brush her hair in front of the mirror.

Like her, you're tired from your journey. Sleep is one of your needs, unlike oxygen or food. Your body feels heavy and you sense that you're about to fall asleep. You feel a sudden motion on the bed as Giselle opens the blanket to slip into it. You're afraid of being crushed, so you shake your head no when she asks you to come closer. 

You fall asleep on the pillow next to your mistress like a little puppy. Giselle grabs one of your tentacles and inserts it into her ass. After all, she wouldn't want you to run away now. You lose consciousness, feeling a warm sensation at the tip.

.

.

Giselle starts to wake up as the sun comes through the curtains, painting shapes on the wall. She feels her limbs are pleasantly heavy, with a soft ache from the restless night spent with her unlikely new friend. She turns to her side and laughs softly. There he is, her toy, an octopus, sprawled across her pillow, his tentacles lazily dropping over the edge.

The faint sounds of footsteps and lights under her door indicated that her bandmates were still getting ready for their day's work. She was the only one with a day off; her next schedule is the following night. As she discreetly slips out of her bed, she feels your tentacle gradually withdrawing from the depths of her ass as she moves towards the door, stopping for her own pleasure along the way and taking advantage of the last few inches still inside her, she disappears from her room.

You are awakened by the light coming from Giselle's bedroom door. Your body is still resting on one of her pillows. Your tentacles are scattered all over the bed and floor. Two shadows suddenly appear in your pupils, not fully dilated. You struggle to recognize the people in front of you :"Wow, what's this, Giselle-Unni really has poor taste," a quiet voice lets out. "It's probably her new doll. Hurry, grab the tablet from the bedside table. We're going to be late."The second grumbles as she grabs the tablet herself.

As they leave the room, you can see Giselle in the distance under the hallway lights, "Giselle, when you take the tablet, remember to put it back in the living room, we need it for our challenge!" she says nothing and walks towards you, closing the door behind her.

"Good morning, sir. It looks like you slept well here," she says with a smile as the two of you are alone again. In the distance, you hear the front door slamming, which means the other humans have left.

With a flick of her wrist, she opens the curtains to let in the light, then goes to the other corner of her room to find her clothes. Her "pajamas" twirl around the room, revealing, to your surprise, her butt plug. She grabs you and carries you out of her room. You're now in what looks like the main room of her dormitory. From the height of the table, you can see your surroundings and are now at Giselle's bust height.

The silence is broken by a sound coming from Giselle's buttocks. She removes a device from it and brings it to her ear while sitting across from you.

"Yes, manager-nim..." The rest is hard to understand, since she had taken the malicious pleasure of coming to crush her two mounds on your head and caress one of your tentacles as if it were one of her strands of hair. The weight of her breasts exerts a gentle pressure on you. Her softness is a small cloud over your misery. 

In revenge, you come and squeeze her breasts through her clothes and take the time to insert one between in imitation of your big cock. Her face turns red; "In about how long?" she sighs. She pulls her clothes down to reveal her tiny nipples, which you must immediately attack with your tongue. It was already sensitive and hard in your mouth. "Mmmh, I'll w....ait for you..... then," you alternate between her nipples, one being devoured by your mouth while the other receives love from a tentacle. Her breathing stops and becomes irregular. The pleasure is intense but brief.

"See you in a minute," she says, putting her device down on the table. You had startedto get really serious, but she suddenly gets up and goes to her room, coming out with a handbag. She stares at you and says, "It's too risky to leave you here alone, we will finish this later" before shoving you into the bag with a mischievous smile on her lips.

Unlike the others, she has taken the liberty of leaving her bag open. You see a variety of sights and sounds. A spectacle of sensations unfolds before you. From time to time she turns her gaze to you, a slight smile on her lips, and you watch it interact with her own. You begin to decipher a few words and facial expressions.

The liberation comes as she puts her bag on her lap, unable to tell where you are. The close-up of her beautiful face is comforting. She brings her mouth to her bag and mumbles, "Hey stupid, I'm still wet from earlier. She pulls back and starts massaging your between-tentacles so you understand what's going on when she decides to take your tentacle out of her bag and slide it under her skirt.

You don't need her help to know what comes next: the capricious one has made sure to tuck her bag under her skirt. Your work as a miner has begun. Make your way to her watery cave. On your way to the rare loot are her panties. You rub them lovingly, already smelling the foul stain on them. It doesn't take you long to hold them up and pull them apart, while your colleagues take care of the rest.

The attack begins when you slide three of them in and feel her body vibrate. The passage is narrow and she resists you. You begin to rub violently against her walls and tickle her insides. You continue inside her until you come up against a wall. From then on it's impossible to go any further and she crushes you with a pelvic thrust. You slowly pull out of her and give way to another group of three; it becomes a game and her pussy a real amusement park.

For her part, Giselle is subjected to your repeated attacks as someone approaches: "5 more minutes and the director will see you". She takes a firm stance in front of the secretary, closing her legs as tightly as possible.

You feel her pussy tremble more and more with each thrust; you know her orgasm will be big and that it's close. Since she's in public, you're the only one who can satisfy her immediately, so your decision to step back, this slut deserves a good punishment. Without seeing her face, you can tell she's frustrated with the way she's rubbing her legs; her panties are completely soaked, not to mention where she's sitting. No doubt she's stained him with her love juice.

At Cok's mercy at this moment, Giselle takes it upon herself and is soon approached by one of her managers, she was in her company's building to talk about yesterday's incident as she was seen leaving the building when it was evacuated.She picks up her bloody bag and follows her manager to the director's office making sure to turn off your light as she closes her bag, clearly offended by your actions.You lose track of time as you fall asleep next to her.

When you regain consciousness, you're back in Giselle's room. It's as quiet as a graveyard, with the sun's rays streaming down the slope and fresh air coming in through the window. You're definitely alone in the room. You've never had a moment to yourself. Always in the company of Giselle or at the bottom of a bag... You already know the bed. You slip off the foot of the bed and fall to the floor. You slide to the center of the room and scan your surroundings again. You notice writing on the ceiling that you recognize: "6:48... 6:49 PM...".

On your right, glued to her bed, is a desk, which you climb over and find yourself in front of a book with the name GISELLE inscribed on it, as well as the technological object the other humans took this morning, but in a different color. With a simple touch, you press the object, which lights up and symbols appear. In the same way, you open the book, which seems to provide knowledge of her language, and the technological object allows you to listen to it. This is your way to learn Giselle's language, but despite your abilities, it's going to take some time.

The clock is ticking and there's still no word from Giselle. You concentrate on your task and try to assimilate as much knowledge as possible. The words make sense and your first sentences are still close to a newborn's speech. The slamming of the front door wakes you up and your instincts tell you to return to your position on Giselle's bed, motionless as a statue. In your panic, you've left the tablet and book open.

You hear footsteps approaching Giselle's room and quickly relax as the door opens to reveal her in an all-black skintight outfit. "Are you awake, you bastard? I needed to spend my nerves at the gym," she says, even though you've seen her before. Her body is truly a work of art!

Her eyes devour you completely, her walk is full of confidence, she approaches the bed and stops in front of it, her scent catches your nostrils, but it's not the scent that disturbs you, it's the "aura" she's been radiating since she entered the room.

Giselle reeks of sex, her whole body oozes those pheromones, those of a woman in heat, ready to be filled, the fact that you left her hungry earlier must have awakened her appetite and when you look at her, you know she's very hungry. Without delay, she lifts her top with her left hand, exposing her breasts and you notice the teeth marks on her nipples. Her right hand pulls down her leggings to reveal her sweet, freshly shaved pussy; a trickle of wetness still binds her slit to her clothing and her lips are scarlet red.

As she removes her top, she jumps onto the bed to take you in her arms and place your crotch on her slit, licking your body as she moves her pelvis, causing both your sexes to rub against each other. You are devoured by this lioness. 

Her breasts are pressed against your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck on her nipples. Your tentacles try to get into her ass, but it's already busy: "No, no, tonight it's all in my pussy," she says, shaking her head.

The friction between your sexes is driving your arousal into overdrive, and your penis is more than ready to come out. Your tentacles had encircled Giselle's body, squeezing you together as each gave pleasure to the other. Giselle's nipples are now marked with your mouth. You feel the tip of your penis quivering at the entrance to her pussy. The rubbing of your sexes creates wet noises that echo around the room.

Giselle can't wait any longer, her pussy needs love and her sperm bakery is more than eager to have its first customers. She lies on her back and spreads her legs, leaving full view of her hungry hole. “Come, Cok, turn me into an octopus slut,” you line up and with a quick thrust, you penetrate her vagina, while you're immediately surrounded by her legs, who intends to feel you deep inside her. “Ohhhhh, say hello to my uterus!”

Frenzy overtakes them both as Giselle wiggles, hoping to reach a deeper place, your cock like a drill inside her. Her walls envelop you tenderly as you ram her with all your might: “More, Cok, fuck meeeeeee, kiss my womb”. You wrap your tentacles around her legs, spreading them wide to give you a full view of where you're lovingly fucking her

“Cumiiiinng, ahhh” cries Giselle as the pressure around your sex sends you skyward and allows you to shoot your first well-deserved load into her. Her juices try to expel themselves from her vagina, but your big cock acts as a seal and your juices mix while hitting her lust-filled walls. “Oh ohh, so hott, your cum is burning me from the inside!, i want more seed”

Far from satisfied, she lies on her stomach to show you both her plump buttocks and the glow of her butt plug as your cum drips from her pussy. She pushes it aside and lets you admire the havoc wreaked by your cock and then with all her carnal lust she says, "Honey, come and plug my wicked leak, we have all night so make sure to fill me again and again" as she wiggles her buttocks.

At a glance, you read “9:13 PM”. Then you move towards her open hole, taking your time to let her feel your thickness. As you push back into her vagina, making contact with her uterus, she cries out in pleasure: “Ohhh, it's finally here, hit me hard, my ovary want to meet lots of your baby seeds”. You feel the perspiration on her body as you strike her ass with your tentacles. Your thrusts go further and further and your “belly” comes to touch her buttplug. Grabbing her hair, you pull her towards you and increase the pace as you feel her repeated orgasms attack your cock. You watch the juices flow out of her as you pull back before returning with a hard thrust, ready for your second load of the evening. You make sure you come to plaster your tip on her womb and, in a final strike, you grab her by the throat and rip her womb open to spill your cum. “Oh oh oh, bredd me Cok!”, you feel your cum flood her insides as some of it comes out while the other remains more stuck deep inside her baby oven.

— 9:48PM 

Giselle straddles you as you pound her bouncing breasts, your clit attacked by your tentacles as you send another load her way. Semen drips onto the bed, mixed with her fluids.

— 10:32PM 

Her screams never stop, you can see her talent as a singer. She has orgasm after orgasm, her pussy still filled with hot cum that warms the inside of her belly. You don't stop when you reach your fourth orgasm.

— 11:17PM 

Both of your exhausted bodies are still at it as she lies on her back again, each of your limbs wrapped around the other; your cock hasn't left her pussy since the orgasm, her body covered in tentacle marks and kisses. Her hard breasts are now in Giselle's mouth as she tries to suck her own milk while her cunt is served by your monstrous rod. You know there won't be another tonight, so you come with your tentacle and remove her butt plug and thrust your tentacle deep into her: "oh. .. mhh... more. breed me." Giselle is unable to form a sentence, her whole body shaking as she surrenders to the pleasure.

— 11:27PM

The front door slams as the group returns to the dorm, but you're both too busy to notice. Giselle's screams echo through her room and it's clear that she's struggling, no doubt heard throughout the apartment. Entering Giselle's room, Karina sees her lying with the blanket over her. "ah ahh, so.rry-unn.ie," she says with considerable struggle. Karina sighs. "Hurry up and finish, you start in a few hours and keep the volume down, the others can hear you like theyre watching TV," Karina says with a sigh. She slams the door. 

Meanwhile, you continued to penetrate her, Giselle's legs trembled with pleasure, she had exceeded her limits. "Cok, cok, cok, one more, I want your baby so badly, I want you to conquer my womb, make me your wife," she said, tears in her eyes, far from sadness. Her body no longer knows how to respond to these emotions, but you intend to grant her wish: your sixth charge is your last. Her walls are smooth now, each orgasm comes to squeeze you, then her pussy opens again on your cock. Your cum still drips from her as you prepare to fill her again.

— 11:59PM

As the day draws to a close, you flood Giselle's octopus oven with your cum. Her pussy has become your baby factory. After several hours of effort, you finally pull out. Just then her last orgasm arrives and a stream of juice spills onto her bed. Her cunt is wide open and you see her walls covered with your seed and her well-fed womb.

Giselle lies inert on her bed, her belly full of semen and her head full of stars. It takes her a while to find the strength to get up and look at the damage to her body and bed. As she approaches you, she places a loving kiss on your cock, tasting her own pussy juices. She comes up to you to kiss you and says, "Thanks, Daddy," while touching her belly. You reply in near perfect Korean: "You're welcome, Ms. Cok".

______________________________________________________________

🐙

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary: you've just been dragged to the middle of nowhere, aka hawkins, indiana, with your pos father where the cicadas are loud and the neighbors are louder. after moving into your new trailer home that’s seen better days—probably in another lifetime, you somehow end up under chief hopper's care, hawkins' grumpiest cop. oh, and did i mention you found a creepy portal in the woods? how much weirder can this town get?

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: brief mention of an argument between pos father and daughter, brief mention of foster care, cursing, otherwise none

word count: 4k

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𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑

The dusty road stretched ahead, flanked by rows of weather-beaten trailers that seemed to sag under the weight of years gone by. The summer sun beat down mercilessly, casting harsh shadows across the barren landscape. There were clothing lines in front of trailers, with clothes flopping around in the breeze. A battered pickup truck rumbled to a stop among the trailers, kicking up dust clouds in its wake.

“Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

“Y/N–” 

A gruff muffled voice mumbled as music flowed from the headphones of a Walkman, and a girl moved her hair out of the way of her headphones. She took them off—flicking her eyes at her father who was trying to speak to her through the noise of her music. He looked at her with frustration filling his eyes, his hair complimenting his skin with its color. There was a sign of age and decay on his face, slightly reeking of cigarettes.

“You’ve got to stop with the damn music when I’m talking to you.” The girl’s father spat. She remained silent, looking at the details of her new home; Hawkins very own lovely trailer park. 

“Get out, let’s start unloading.” The man sighed and opened the truck door, hopped out, harshly shutting it behind him.

The girl sighed, unzipping her backpack in the foot space of the passenger seat and placing her Walkman inside of it. She stepped out of the truck, eyeing her new, run-down home. Y/N watched her father who carried boxes and house keys walk toward their home, a tan and brown trailer with a mini porch leading up to the entrance. The sound of cicadas filled the background in the forest behind them, with the not-so-friendly sight of neighbors arguing on their front porch in the distance.

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

But beneath the anger and resentment, there was also a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope, perhaps, buried deep beneath the layers of disappointment and disillusionment. Maybe Hawkins could be a fresh start after all?

As Y/N finished unloading the last of the boxes from the truck into her room, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping over her. The first day at Hawkins High in two weeks weighed heavily on her mind, how long would she be in Hawkins? Will she fit in enough? Will making new friends and meeting new people even be worth it?

The girl then glanced up at the trailer park's entrance sign through her room's window, the words "Forest Hills Trailer Park" taunting her with its irony. The park was far-fetched from the idyllic suburban neighborhoods she had grown accustomed to in her childhood, thanks to the money her mother had left behind that is now gone due to her father’s irresponsibility after his decline, a reminder of the stark contrast between her old life and the harsh reality of her new surroundings.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon of Hawkins casting long shadows across the trailer park, Y/N took cautious footsteps toward her kitchen from her bedroom, passing the empty halls into the living room filled with moving boxes. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the small white fridge the previous tenants left behind, seeing it empty.

“No dinner tonight, birdie.” Y/N’s father spoke with a trace of alcohol lingering from his breath, calling her a familiar nickname—recalling the better days she shared with both her father and mother. 

“I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning.” He declared, and Y/N turned around to see him walking toward his room with a pack of beers in hand, stumbling slightly.

The girl harshly shut the fridge door, a look of resentment growing on her face. “You thought to bring yourself a pack of beer but didn’t think to pack any food?” She snapped, watching her father stop in his tracks. 

“You’re a fucking adult, you should think to pack your own shit.” He turned around, eyeing the girl’s frustrated figure standing at the fridge.

“I’m sixteen years old. We both know you won’t be the one going to the store tomorrow,” She hissed, growing more irritated while eyeing the pack of beers in her father’s hands. 

“Then starve, ungrateful brat.” Her father spat back, retreating to his empty and undecorated room.

Y/N sighed, hungry and defeated—treading her way out of the kitchen and back into her room. She opened the door to the dim atmosphere and walked toward a pile of boxes, then sat on her knees to begin unpacking. 

The first thing she pulled out of her boxes was a sketchbook with a set of colored pencils. She carefully held the sketchbook in her hands, opening it and skimming through the pages of her drawings that hundreds of hours had been spent on.

There were drawings of wildlife, landscapes, and people she would observe. One of her drawings that always stood out to her was Watson Falls from Oregon in 1982 where she previously resided before her move to Indiana.

It was one of her favorite places that her father had relocated to in his search for work, just as he had moved to Hawkins and the dozens of places before. The girl was not one to belong to a big social crowd, not wanting to get attached—knowing she and her father would pick up and move time and time again.

With a sigh, she closed her sketchbook, setting it with her colored pencils on top of other unpacked boxes. She took a deep breath and moved her hair out of her face, crawling over to her mattress in the corner of the small room, arranging the sheets and pillows she had thrown onto it amidst the unpacking. She laid down on the mattress, staring at the bland ceiling, letting sleep consume her.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Y/N sat crisscrossed on the damp ground with her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she felt a sense of calm wash over her. There was a slight breeze that caressed her cheeks, with her hair flowing in the wind. 

The girl’s cheeks were tinted with a slight pink as sweat began to trickle down her forehead due to the summer heat. The dense woods behind her trailer stretched out before her with the sounds of cicadas and other wildlife filling the thick, hot air.

With each stroke of her pencil, the girl captured the beauty of the landscape—the gnarled branches and twisted roots weaving together in a mesmerizing dance with sunlight peeking through the trees. As she worked, a strange sensation crept over her—an odd prickling at the back of her neck that sent shivers down her spine.

Glancing up from her sketchpad with and odd feeling, the girl's heart skipped a beat as she saw something glowing an orange and red hue in the darkness of the woods as the sun began to set. Overcome with curiosity, the girl hesitated for a moment before standing to investigate. With her sketchbook tucked under her arm, she ventured deeper into the forest, the dense undergrowth rustling beneath her feet with each cautious step.

As she rounded a bend in the wood’s trail, the girl stumbled upon a clearing bathed in an ethereal glow. In the center of the clearing stood a gnarled oak tree, its branches reaching skyward like twisted fingers grasping at the heavens. She began to hesitantly reach towards the mysterious glow—almost like a portal or gate, her hand becoming damp as she made contact with it, the other side foggy.

With a gasp—she suddenly pulled her hand back, watching as a figure traveled toward her through the other side of the portal. The figure made its way even nearer to the entrance, and the girl watched with wide eyes as the shadow covered the hue of the portal with its big figure. 

It’s presence was overwhelming and filled the girl with dread, not quite knowing what she was looking at. Before she could even process what was happening, a gnarly hand with long claws suddenly burst through the portal, a thick slime covering the girl’s face from the impact.

With a sudden jolt of fear, she turned and fled, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the woods as she raced back toward the safety of her trailer. She used her sleeve from her flannel to wipe the disgusting slime off of her face with fear overcoming her body. 

Even as she put distance between herself and the mysterious portal, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air—something was not right. Whatever that thing was, it did not belong here. 

No one would believe what she saw.

The girl swiftly opened her trailer door, rushed inside, and slammed the door shut behind her, catching her breath from running, putting her hand on her heart. The familiar voice of her father sent a chill down her spine as she read the clock—9:04 PM.

“Where the hell have you been, Y/N? You were supposed to be back by eight, sharp.”

The air was suddenly thick with tension. The girl stood by the front door as her eyes met her father's unsober ones. The trailer reeked of alcohol as her father's face grew more and more red with anger by the second. 

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” Y/N softly spoke, beginning to trail her way back toward the safety of her room.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Her father stumbled his way over to her, beer in hand, grabbing the girl’s arm. “Away from you,” She coldly stated, harshly pulling her arm away from the man.

“Yeah, run away from your problems just like your mother did.” Her father spat, and the room was silent for a moment, with tension suffocating the air. Suddenly—the girl grabbed the beer bottle in her father’s hands and smashed it onto the floor with resentment growing in her expression.

“You little shit—you think you can do that? This is how you treat me? After everything I’ve done for you!” He slurred, his voice rising, looking at the glass shards from the beer bottle that covered the floor.

“Done for me? You’ve done nothing but ruin everything!” Y/N shouted back, her voice cracking as she felt tears forming, her next words hesitating for a moment. “Mom would be ashamed of what you’ve become.”

Her father staggered closer to her, the scent of alcohol thickening as it entered the girl's nose. “You think you can talk to me like that?” he asks, coldly. “I’ll teach you—you little brat, some fucking respect.” He turned around and stumbled toward the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab another beer. 

As the girl turned around to exit the situation and retreat to the safety of her room, she was suddenly met with a beer bottle struck at her from across the kitchen into the living room, barely missing the side of her face and smashing into the empty, undecorated wall in front of her next to the hall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She screamed, turning around, the feeling of betrayal flooding through her system.

“You like that, huh? You like to smash stuff? I’ll show you what it’s like!” Her father screamed back, grabbing the whole beer case from the fridge, smashing it onto the floor. The girl’s body filled up with fear, and she fought tears, helpless, watching as her father found more and more items from the kitchen to destroy.

Abruptly, he stopped everything he was doing and angrily staggered into the hallway toward the girl’s room, kicking the door open with his foot. “No, no, what are you doing?!” Y/N followed him into her room, tears now streaming down her face, watching as he searched erratically through her messy, unpacked room, throwing things out of his way—smashing her belongings in the process. 

He seemed to have found what he was looking for, reaching for her sketchbook that was under her pillow. “Don’t!” She screamed, throwing herself toward him to try and grab her hard work carefully drawn on all the pages.

“This is what happens when you disrespect me!” He shouted throughout the trailer, opening her sketchbook and tearing it in half. The desperate girl threw a weak fist at her father’s chest, watching as anger boiled in him. 

In a flash, her father struck her, sending her reeling into the wall. She began to sob, feeling the betrayal sting and bruise her face, watching as her father continued to tear up the pages she spent hundreds of hours of her time on.

Y/N and her father constantly fought, but never on this level—this was the first time he’d ever laid hands on her. Her father threw the shredded paper onto the floor and left her room. She looked around her room, seeing her belongings shattered from the fight. Her body trembled, and she crawled toward her destroyed hard work. 

The girl attempted to piece the pages back together, but hopelessness began to infiltrate her body. Through her tears, she noticed as the room flooded with bright flashes of blue and red lights coming from outside her window, and she squinted, looking out of the window to see police vehicles.

In the other room, the girl’s father silently cursed at himself and staggered his way to the living room. The flashing red and blue lights of police cars illuminated the front yard, lighting up the darkness from the night outside. 

Y/N’s father looked out the living room window next to the front door, seeing the chief of police step out of his vehicle. His expression was grim as he made his way up the trailer porch, firmly knocking on the front door.

“Chief of police, Jim Hopper, open the door!” He knocked loudly, his voice commanding as he announced his presence. The door swung open, revealing Y/N’s father—Thomas, who was visibly agitated. The sight of a policeman momentarily sobered him, but the anger in his eyes remained.

“What do you want?” Thomas snarled, alcohol reeking from him, attempting to block the chief's view of the chaotic scene inside.

“There was a noise complaint, step aside,” Hopper ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Pushing past Thomas, the six-foot man entered the living room and took in the scene—the broken lamp, the smashed objects and alcohol, and a girl with tear stains standing in the hall, holding the side of her cheek.

“It’s just a small mess, my daughter over here had a meltdown, she just got a bit clumsy, I—” Thomas started with an excuse, his voice full of hidden guilt as the chief examined the scene.

“You’ve done enough,” The chief stated coldly to Thomas. “Sit down and don’t move.”

The tall-figured man, Hopper, turned his attention to the girl with his demeanor softening slightly. He took light steps toward her, asking quietly, “Can you take your hand off your face?” 

The girl looked to her father for approval, but the chief intervened. “Don’t look at him, kid, look at me.”

She reluctantly moved her hand to her side, clenching her fist at her side, not making eye contact with the authority figure as he examined the bruise forming on her cheek with tear stains covering her face. “It’s going to be alright.” Hopper fondly stated as he put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, before turning around and putting his attention back on the drunk. 

He pulled out his handcuffs, looking at Thomas. “Put your hands up, you’re under arrest for domestic violence. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in court.”

“What?!” Thomas slurred defensively. “Tell him, Y/N! I didn’t do that to you!” He desperately pleaded as his daughter watched him get handcuffed by the chief with tears in her eyes. The police chief took the man outside, shoving him into his partner's vehicle. 

“You didn’t even have a warrant, you can’t arrest me!” Thomas argued inside of the vehicle. “I’m surprised you’re even sober enough to have that thought,” Hopper shook his head, slamming the door shut. “Well Chief, he technically is right, we should’ve had a warrant.” The other officer with brunette hair and glasses spoke, giving a slight shrug.

“I’ll meet you at the station,” he tells the other officer, brushing him off, beginning to make his way back to the trailer. “I’ll take care of the kid.”

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

“And then that’s when he struck you?” A police officer with dark skin questioned as the girl was in a rather fragile state, holding an ice pack to her cheek. Her eyes were on the clock—10:48 PM. 

“Y/N?” The same voice resurfaced, while another intervened.

“Give her a break.” The girl looked up, seeing it was Chief Hopper who spoke. “Go home, guys, it’s getting late. I can handle this.” The chief commanded his officers, and they agreed, packing their things to get a night's rest at home.

“Look, kid… you can’t stay at your house until you have an adult guardian staying with you,” he started, fondly. 

“Do you have anyone you can call? Any other family?” He gently questioned, watching as the girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She slowly shook her head with a carefully guarded expression. 

The officer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching this girl go through the foster care system—knowing all she needed was a stable environment, especially at the end of her teenage years.

“Alright,” he nodded to himself. “Your father will be going through court for custody over you for domestic violence charges. The system will place you in foster care for the time being. But I have an offer,” The chief rose his eyebrows and watched as the girl shifted her guarded expression to him, listening. 

“I can pull a few strings, and as long as you’re comfortable with it, you can stay with me kid.”

The girl was silent, observing the chief. He had a soft and unsure expression written on his face, and his mustache covered his lips, while his chief hat hid his brunette hair. The girl's eyes were guarded but vulnerable, the man can see it.

“Thank you,” She started speaking softly, pausing. “I don’t want to go into foster care... I love my dad, but he’s… this fight was different.” She paused again, changing the subject, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t mind staying with you while this is figured out.”

"Alright then, let’s get you settled in tonight.” The chief fondly smiled, reassuringly placing a hand on the girl’s tense shoulder.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The evening settled over Hawkins casting long shadows, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The girl found herself nestled comfortably in the chief of police’s trailer that was isolated in the middle of the woods.

The warmth of the crackling fireplace enveloped her as the fall season approached, offering solace and a sense of security that she hadn't felt in a long time. A new sketchbook Hopper had gifted Y/N upon hearing of her interest in art sat in her lap as she sketched the sight of the fireplace. With her pencil in hand, Y/N sat opposite Chief Hopper, the sound of the fireplace filling in the ambiance. 

“How are you feeling?” The man broke the awkward silence, glancing over at the girl. 

“Considering the circumstances, I’m alright.” She bluntly stated, observing the beer bottle in Hopper’s hands with pill bottles scattered across the coffee table in front of him before shifting her focus back on her sketchbook.

“Good. That’s good.” The chief nodded, listening to the fire crackle throughout the trailer until Y/N, sat across from him, broke the silence. 

“You know you should stop with that stuff, being Chief of Police and all,” She spoke, giving a small shrug as her pencil glided across the page she was working on.

“That might be a good idea, huh?” Hopper remarked, giving a soft chuckle as he slowly began to realize that the kid had a point, thinking about how it might even trigger her looking back at the conditions of her father’s home, with beer bottles smashed across the house and pills scattered in the kitchen. Thinking about her father, he remembered the status of Thomas's case. “Your father’s court date is in December… in the meantime, he legally can’t contact you.” Hopper started the difficult subject, watching as the girl continued sketching in her book. The date in the corner of the drawing read August 3rd, 1983.

“He’s been released from jail, and he has the option to fight for custody against the state in his court hearing.” The man added.

“And if he doesn’t?” The girl asked quietly, attention still on her sketchbook. 

“You’ll belong to the state.” Hopper reluctantly finished, silence filling the air once again.

“Anyway, the first day of school is tomorrow… have you met anyone you’re going to school with yet?” Hopper changed the subject, in hopes to lighten the grim mood.

“I haven’t had the chance to go out and meet anyone,” She stated, quickly ending the conversation, leaving Hopper to wonder what else to talk about with the girl before bed—until he decided to just leave it.

"Alright kiddo, I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll take you to school in the morning.” Hopper stood up, retreating to his bedroom. 

“Sounds good. Thank you,” Y/N softly replied, hearing a gruff “mhm” from the man as he departed to his room. As the night grew later and the fire dwindled to embers, the girl prepared for bed, her mind buzzing with anticipation for the day ahead—her very first day at Hawkins High.

────────────────────────────────────────────

worlds apart navigation next chapter

taglist: @anqelically @cupofjoekeery @steviespookie @hailqueenconquer @just-tiredman @x-theolivia @fuckshitslover

[adverbally]

Think of the Tender Things

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Keep breathing, please.’” | wc: 773 | rated: T | cw: hospital, premature baby | tags: adoption, new parent anxiety, hopeful ending | title from “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds

———

The NICU has its own window, far enough from the regular nursery to seem intentional. It makes sense to Eddie, theoretically speaking— keep the preemies and the sick babies away from the healthy ones so the comparison isn’t so startling. It just doesn’t work that well if they have to walk past the full-term nursery anyway.

They pause to observe the fat, happy newborns who will be going home in the next day or two. They’re all chubby cheeks and chunky limbs, round little tummies swaddled tightly with matching caps on their heads, just like the parenting books advertise.

Steve’s hand squeezes his, and Eddie knows he’s feeling the same thing: that’s how it should’ve been, and all of the guilt and fear and bitterness that goes along with that line of thinking.

They keep walking down the hall until they reach the door indicating the special care nursery. The glass there is smaller, since fewer babies fit in a room when they’re surrounded with incubators and ventilators and monitors galore.

The second bassinet from the right has a card with a stork that says “Baby Boy Munson” and wow, that’s going to take some time to get used to. Eddie gets closer, almost pressing his nose against the glass, to get a better look.

“He’s so small,” Steve says beside him. “I figured he would be, but…”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. It says right there on the little card: three pounds, thirteen ounces. Sixteen inches long. Not the smallest baby there but noticeably smaller than the ones they just walked past. “A lot of hair, too.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet after that. There’s not much they can comment on before they have to acknowledge the fact that they’ve just become adoptive parents a full two months ahead of schedule.

Their son (holy shit) seems even smaller with the tubes and wires obscuring him. Eddie identifies an oxygen cannula, a feeding tube, chest leads, an IV, and a blood pressure cuff, plus a few other lines he doesn’t know the purpose of. When you factor in a diaper that seems to dwarf half of his tiny body, there’s barely any skin visible. And from what Eddie understands, they’re lucky that more serious care isn’t necessary.

“Thirty-two weeks. That’s not… it could be worse,” Steve said after they got the call from the adoption agency that morning. The whole drive to the hospital, he rambled about lung maturity and the suck/swallow reflex and birth weight, going into one of Eddie’s ears and out the other as he tried to focus on the road.

Steve was the one who read all the books. Even the parts about premature births and what could go wrong throughout the pregnancy. “I’d just rather know and be prepared,” he explained. “Just to cover our bases.”

Eddie had skipped those chapters. It felt like bad luck, like tempting fate or something, as if avoiding it would prevent anything from happening. In retrospect, he wishes he had more of a clue about what’s going on, what their future will look like.

Any future seems far away when the present is so uncertain. Eddie watches his son squirm, with his too-long limbs and his too-big head, and he watches his chest rise and fall with each breath. His tiny lungs are working and he’s moving and none of his machines are beeping, and that has to be enough for now.

Just keep breathing, please, he thinks desperately. Keep growing and getting stronger and we’ll worry about the rest later.

When Steve breaks the silence, his voice is small. “Do you think we can hold him? Or, or touch him, at least?”

Eddie doesn’t want to. He knows it’s just his anxiety talking, but he’s terrified that he’ll pull some essential line or do something wrong. He was supposed to have another two months to prepare for this. How do people prepare for this?

“Ed, are you okay?” Steve’s voice startles him back into awareness.

“Yeah, just…” He pauses to think about how to say it without alarming Steve. He settles on, “I’m scared.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m scared, too,” he confesses in a whisper. “I think we’re gonna keep being scared for the next eighteen years, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Eddie tucks his nose just under Steve’s ear and breathes him in, sweet shampoo and hints of spicy cologne in the collar of his jacket. They stay like that for long moments before Eddie sighs and pulls away with a decisive nod. “Okay. Let’s go meet our son.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 30: Fame and Fortune

Words: 1000

Rating: T

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: language

Summary: When rockstar Eddie and his actress wife go to buy a sports car, their salesman has a familiar face

@corrodedcoffinfest

Eddie didn’t think his life could get much better. He’s a Grammy Award winning rockstar in a band with his best friends, he’s married to you, a smoking hot Oscar Award winning actress, and you two have your dream life all planned out. Where you want to live, how many kids you want to have, and even what cars you want to drive.

Which leads you to a Ferrari dealership in Chicago. It’s not where you live, but if you happen to find a car you fall in love with, you have more than enough money to have it delivered to your home.

The two of you step into the pristine white building, Eddie’s hand held snugly in yours. A dealer makes his way out of the offices in the back to greet you, and you hear Eddie let out a surprised scoff. You turn your head to look at him in question, but he’s looking straight ahead at the shorter man approaching you.

“Well, long time no see,” Eddie says once the man is close enough.

The salesman looks cowed. There’s a pained pinch to his face, like Eddie is the last person he wants to see and this is the last place he wants to be.

“Welcome in,” the man says. He looks from your husband to you. “My name is Jason. What can I help you with today?”

Eddie’s hand falls from your own and he stretches his arm out and over your shoulders. A glance in his direction shows a satisfied smirk on his pretty face.

“The wife and I would like to purchase a new car. Thought we’d test drive some Ferrari’s and see if anything catches our attention.”

“Uh, sure,” Jason says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I’ll meet you outside and we’ll take a look at some cars?”

“Sounds good,” Eddie says.

He steers you towards the side door while Jason heads toward the offices.

The shit-eating grin on your husband’s face confuses you and the moment you step outside, you question him.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“That shrimp is one Jason Carver,” he says as you wander between cars.

It takes a moment for the name to click. You skid to a stop, causing Eddie’s arm to slip from your shoulders.

“That’s the guy who was such an asshole to you in high school?”

The shock on your face only adds to Eddie’s giddiness.

“That’s him.”

“Ugh,” you groan as you start to walk through the sea of Ferrari’s again.

“Aw, baby!” It’s Eddie’s turn to come to a halt. He grabs your hands and excitedly bounces on the balls of his feet. “Can we please, please, please act like douchey rich snobs? You’re an actress, think of it as an exercise.”

You can’t help but laugh. He drops your hands and you reach up to cup his face.

“Let’s fuck with the asshole,” you agree.

By the time Jason comes out to meet you, you and Eddie have narrowed it down to two different cars you’d like to test drive: a red Ferrari and a yellow one.

Eddie slips into the driver’s seat for the test drive of the red one. As soon as he pulls out onto the main road and lets it get up to speed, he prompts you for the first bit of fake snobbery.

“What do you think, sweetheart?”

A long-suffering sigh escapes your lips as you lean back in your seat, wearing the most bored facial expression that you can manage.

“Ferraris have a reputation for speed,” you say, “but they don’t have the same level of meticulous craftsmanship found in an Aston Martin.”

Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from laughing. This act is so in contrast to your true personality last night when you found a fun sized KitKat in the bottom of your purse and were excited about it for the rest of the day.

“Ferrari’s have a more aerodynamic design than Aston Martins, which allows them to have a more aggressive and efficient performance,” Jason says from the back seat.

You don’t bother with a response, only humming a small, uninterested “mm” before turning your head to gaze out the window.

When you arrive back at the dealership, it’s your turn to get behind the wheel of the yellow sports car and Eddie’s turn to come up with obnoxious things to say.

“It’s really minimalist in here, isn’t it?” Eddie asks, inspecting the dials and buttons built into the dashboard. “You wouldn’t even know it’s a Ferrari if you didn’t look at the emblem on the steering wheel.”

“And it doesn’t ride as smoothly as the Porsche I drove in my last movie,” you add.

“Was it a prop car?” Jason asks.

You let out an offended snort.

“Absolutely not. You think I can’t tell the difference?”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant to imply,” Jason says apologetically.

It’s the closest you and Eddie come to bursting out laughing.

“Was that in the superhero movie, baby?” Eddie asks.

“Hmm? Oh no, I drove a Lamborghini in that one,” you brag. “Which also rode smoother than this.”

This time when you get back to the dealership, Jason can’t get out of the car fast enough. You and Eddie share an amused look as you trail behind him back towards the building. Something tells you that Jason is going to be getting a drink after work tonight.

“So, what did you really think, babe?” you ask Eddie quietly, slipping your arm around his waist.

“I actually really liked the red one,” he admits with a laugh. “I’d hate to give him commission on a sale, though.”

“Aww, Eds,” you coo. “But then you’ll be the bigger man.”

“True.” Eddie considers. “Eh, what the hell? Then I can also hold being the bigger person over himl.”

You can’t help but giggle. It’s not exactly what you meant, but you can hardly blame him.

[chocostrwberry]

If yall have noticed, I often mention “seasons” when describing the timeline of my AU.

“Choco?? What are these seasons you are talking about? Why are there only three when the show has five??”

Sit down, little one, and let me tell you a story…

AHDKWHSJ JK JK

But anyways-

I have split the events that happen in my AU into seasons because then it’s easier for me to keep my facts and timeline in order! All episodes are in exact order/sequence of events!

Season 1: Gabriel can create sentimonsters.

In this season, it’s establishing the world of Miraculous. Marinette and Adrien is learning how to be miraculous holders while navigating their own lives.

Origins: Marinette becomes Ladybug for the first time alongside Chat Noir to defeat Stormy Weather.

Ladybug and Chat Noir defeat an Akumatized Mylène, Animelle. Together, they visit Master Fu for more information on their new duties.

Marinette has a hard time balancing being Ladybug and her civilian self. Ladybug and Chat Noir have to team up to defeat a game-themed teenage akuma.

Sweetpea: Marinette enters a design challenge with Alix, and Adrien is her model! Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea after a health scare makes her unable to help her team with their design.

To Be or Not to Be: There is a school play, and Chloe will stop at nothing to get the main lead. Ladybug struggles to win over Chat Noir, who seems oblivious to her attempts at flirting.

Boy meets Girl: Marinette develops a crush on the class’s most popular boy after defending Juleka against Chloe. LB and CN battle Reflekta.

Princess Justice: Marinette is chosen to submit a dress design to high-fashion company represented by Chloe’s mother. Jealous of her success, Chloe destroys her project, causing Marinette to be Akumatized.

Fish Food: Ladybug and Chat Noir have to defeat an akuma who goes by the name of Captain Kraken. For the Winter Ball, Marinette makes plans to ask Luka to be her date.

Winter Formal: The winter formal is here, but Marinette is worried about an akuma attack that might ruin her chances with Luka.

Be My Lover: Now that Marinette is officially dating Luka, Adrien’s jealousy becomes more apparent. Chloe’s repetitive and harsh rejections of Kim turns him into Dark Cupid.

Road Rage: Adrien has a fight with Chloe about her behavior towards others, and she acts out once again and Nino is akumatized into a foul-mouthed biker with a vendetta against her.

New Girl: A transfer student is introduced to the class, but Marinette is suspicious of her two-faced behavior.

Prophetica: Marinette’s constant lying and lack of trust makes her and Alya have a fight after she fails to bring cupcakes to her sisters’ birthday party.

Primadonna: After Chloe’s mother decides to take her half-sister to her movie premiere debut instead of her last-minute, Chloe becomes Primadonna and turns Paris into her own personal black-and-white film.

Sabrina seeks Marinette’s help to expose Lila after she comes between Sabrina and Chloe’s friendship.

King of Music: Jagged Stone is akumatized and it is revealed that Luka and Juleka are his children. Marinette’s duties as Ladybug become more demanding and her relationship with Luka strains.

Winter Wonderland: After Chloe misses one of Sabrina’s recitals, she is Akumatized into Ice Queen and turns Paris into an eternal winter.

Marinette misses one of Luka’s concerts, where he was going to debut a song he wrote for her. They break up and he is Akumatized into Heartrocker.

Liar, Liar: Marinette finally tells the class who Lila really is, but they have a hard time believing her. Lila is Akumatized into Miss Miracle and offers her services to Hawkmoth in order to take down Ladybug.

Lila strikes a deal with Gabriel when Adrien invites her over to his home out of pity. Hawkmoth’s identity and motives are revealed. Chat Noir takes Ladybug to see Master Fu for help because of Plagg’s warning against Lila.

A New Guardian: Master Fu makes Ladybug the new Guardian before Lila can get to the Miracle Box.

Goldbug: The peacock miraculous is fixed. Hawkmoth unifies the miraculous to become Shadowmoth. He creates Miss Miracle’s first sentimonster: Goldbug. Marinette becomes Firefly to defeat them both.

The time span for this season is about 4 months, starting in the beginning of Junior year.

Season 2: Emelie wakes up.

This season focuses on the lore of the miraculous. Ladybug unifies miraculous every other episode to defeat both akumas and sentimonsters. Lots of kwami-swaps and unified ladybug happen in this season! (Scarabella, Queen Bee, Carapace, Ladybee, etc.) Marinette is also warming up to Adrien.

Chat Noir is skeptical she’s the right pick to be guardian, and she takes that personally. She decides to unify against Reflekta and her sentimonster, Reflekdoll.

Mr. Midas: After rejecting an expensive present, Chloe’s father is Akumatized into Mr. Midas and wants to turn everything into gold for his beloved daughter. Tigerbug and Chat Noir try and defeat him and his sentimonster.

Sweet Dreams: Ladybug becomes Hercula after a sleepy akuma discreetly puts Paris into an eternal slumber.

A Spider’s Web: Ladybug becomes Mantigirl to defeat Arachnia, a kindergarten teacher who is Akumatized at the Paris Zoo and trapped Adrien and others.

Marinette comes down with a mysterious illness, and so it’s up to Scarabella and Chat Noir to save Paris from an Akumatized grandmother and her gang of angry sentidogs!

The Wailing Lady: Firefly and CN battle against a grieving widow and her sentimonster, a giant willow tree in the middle of Paris who she believes is her deceased spouse.

Sugar and Spice: Marinette faints while working at the bakery. This makes Sabine anxious, and she is Akumatized into Mother Desserts. Marinette and Chat Noir work together to save her.

Tikki suggests giving others different miraculous to help her fight the akumas and sentimonsters. Adrien tells Chloe about his crush on Marinette thanks to Plagg. Chat Noir visits Marinette and takes her on a trip around Paris.

Operation Ladybug: Luka suspects Marinette is Ladybug, and he recruits Alya to help him figure out the truth. Chloe starts treating Marinette with less disdain, much to everyone’s surprise. Firefly and Chat Noir fight another akuma and sentimonster.

Bon Appétit!: Alya’s mother becomes akumatized while working at the hotel. Ladybug and Alya work together while Chat Noir tries to keep Chloe and Sabrina. Alya’s suspicions are confirmed, but she tells Luka to stop digging.

Kwami Captor: After some mischevious kwami escape the miracle box with their jewels, Marinette becomes Multimouse to hunt them all down.

Queen Bee: Chloe decides to use the Bee miraculous she found to try and help Mantigirl and Chat Noir. Her need for attention makes the mission not go according to plan. Chat Noir and Marinette have an argument about his secret identity.

Protector of All: Nino and Adrien are in charge of elitist children for a day while Marinette and the class set up a school sponsor event. When an akuma attacks, it’s up to Nino to protect the kids while Tigerbug and Chat Noir defends them. Luka finally gives up his suspicions.

Miracle Team: The Miracle Team meet up for the first time to take down an akuma. But they struggle to actually work together! Chat Noir breaks up with Marinette, leaving them both devastated.

Soulmates: Marinette and Adrien spend the day together to find a gift for Chloe’s birthday. Nathalie finds out about Gabriel and Lila’s dark deeds with Hawkmoth.

Happy Birthday Chloe!: Chloe’s birthday party goes awry, thanks to Lila’s sabotage, and Chloe is Akumatized.

Sick Day: Marinette is too sick to go to school most days and struggles with night terrors. She is worried about her health, and talks to Tikki about it. Alya, Nino, Luka, and Sabrina try to clear Marinette’s name. Adrien visits Marinette at the bakery.

Marinette vs The World: Marinette’s friends finally has what they need to prove Lila is terrible once and for all. But Adrien isn’t sure it’s the best idea.

Cheer up, Marinette: After unifying once again to defeat an akuma, Marinette’s condition is so bad she is bedridden and cannot celebrate Chinese New Year with her family. The kwamis try to cheer her up. Adrien is growing worried about his father’s health and seeks comfort in Nathalie.

Like Mother, Like Daughter: Chloe’s influencer half-sister, Zoe, comes to Paris. Chloe humiliates her out of hurt and anger, and Zoe is Akumatized into Delightfulee.

Reign of Bourgeois: Chloe’s mother arrives in Paris after hearing about her outburst against Zoe. She is then promptly akumatized into Stylix and takes over the city. What’s worse, she has put a bounty on Chloe’s head.

A Sunny Day: The Miracle Team accepts Vesperia as the new Bee miraculous holder. Her outgoing positivity is welcomed, but her hesitation puts them in danger.

Never Trust a Fox: Trixx abandons Alya and runs away with the fox miraculous, pledging his loyalty to Lila instead. Volpina tricks LB and Chat Noir into thinking she’s on their side. Ladybug has to unify once again in order to defeat her and the akuma once she betrays them.

The Wish, Pt. 1: Because Marinette is out of commission, Scarabella, Vesperia, Carapace, and Chat Noir have to fight against Volpina, The Wailing Lady, and her sentimonster.

The Wish, Pt 2: Gabriel now has the Ladybug and Cat miraculous. Marinette and Adrien follow Volpina to the Agreste mansion, and Adrien learns the hard truth about his father.

By the end of the season, Shadowmoth has completed his mission and trades his life for Emelie’s. A part of Lila’s backstory is revealed.

This season ends at the end of Junior year, breaching into summer.

Season 3: Marinette’s Sacrifice

This is the final season of my AU!

Summer Break: Adrien’s doppelgänger cousin Felix attends the school after visiting with his aunt and uncle over the summer to help Emelie readjust. Lila now has a new name, Cerise Blanc, a woman sent by The Order. Emelie decides to give Cerise the butterfly and peacock miraculous in exchange for her having The Order keep an eye on Adrien. Cerise unifies the Peacock and Butterfly miraculous to become The Empress.

Return of the Butterfly: Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea once again after receiving devastating news about her condition. The Miracle Team return to take it down.

The Emperor’s Daughter: Adrien’s mother surprises him with his fiancé, Kagami, who he hasn’t seen in years. Her social class proves difficult for her to make friends.

Paper Flowers: Because of his shy nature, Felix makes an origami flower with a romantic poem written inside of it for Kagami. However, Kagami believes it was Adrien and becomes determined to make their relationship work.

Felix becomes depressed over Adrien and Kagami’s relationship while going out with them for the upcoming winter formal. Emelie grows jealous of how close Nathalie is with Adrien and sends her on a business trip abroad.

Boys’ Night: Emelie’s hovering nature makes Nino worried for Adrien. He starts to encourage Adrien to rebel a bit, but Nino didn’t expect Adrien to become so out of control when he’s off a leash. Meanwhile, the girls on the Miracle Team are having a sleepover to buy exclusive Jagged Stone tickets.

The Star: Adrien is akumatized into The Star after Emelie tells him she will unenroll him from school and return to homeschooling because of his recent behavior. She also fires Nathalie.

Tales of Scarabella and Kitty Noire: Adrien is under house arrest and Marinette’s sickness is coming back, so Scarabella and Kitty Noire have to keep Paris safe!

Hanabira: Kagami witnesses Adrien and Marinette together while waiting for their date at the Louvre, and is Akumatized and takes over the museum.

The Masked Lady and Me: When Cerise catches Felix looking for the peacock miraculous, Cerise later introduces herself as Madame Morphosis and makes a deal with him to avoid unification sickness. Felix’s backstory is revealed.

Our Frozen Hearts: Felix and Marinette find an unexpected common ground when they are forced to watch Adrien and Kagami dance together as Winter King and Queen.

Sentimaggedon: Madame Morphosis tests Felix to see whether or not she should let him keep the peacock miraculous she gave to him. In a desperate attempt to prove himself, Felix as Argos creates multiple sentimonsters that accidentally bring about the apocalypse. It’s up to the Miracle Team, with Dragonbug, to save the city.

Cat and Mouse: Marinette uses the Mouse miraculous once again to be undercover while dealing with akuma-related disappearances. But Chat Noir won’t take any chances and hunts her down to bring her miraculous to Ladybug.

The End of Us: Kagami breaks off the engagement with Adrien. Adrien then asks out Marinette, who delightfully says yes.

Motherbird: Emelie willingly becomes Akumatized by Madame Morphosis in order to keep her son Adrien under her watchful eye.

Sing a Little Song: Clara Nightingale, an American popstar and a close friend to Zoe, comes to Paris to shoot a music video. But her overbearing manager and strict schedule causes her to become akumatized into Frightingale.

Birds of Prey: While hanging out with Marinette, Kagami is kidnapped by Argos. The Miracle Team have to defeat Argos’s sentimonsters in order to rescue her.

Frenemies: Adrien is trying to get Chloe to warm up more to the idea of Marinette and him being together. Marinette helps Felix overcome his fears and talk to Kagami.

Bonded by Our Sins: After getting closer to Kagami, Felix tries to back away from Madame Morphosis’s control. However, she scares him into submission by threatening to hurt Kagami.

Who is Lila Rossi?: Argos is sent by Madame Morphosis to take Marinette’s miracle box after being informed by Trixx. But him and Marinette devise a plan to trick her.

True Love: Felix confesses his feelings to Kagami at the fashion show and shares his secret with her. Volpina hunts Marinette’s classmates one by one for the scattered miraculous, using extreme measures to get what she wants.

Let’s Do This, Together: The miracle team, along with Argos, has to defend Paris against Lila, who has unified most of the miraculous and become a magical hybrid monster.

Always and Forever: Ladybug and Chat Noir decide to take one last stand against Lila.

Happily Ever After: Marion, a 12 year old girl, discovers small magical creatures who live in her favorite music box!

Quick explanation for episodes 22-24:

Lila collects and unifies most of the miraculous, becoming a monster-animal hybrid and losing herself and all sense of rational. Marinette exposes her identity to all of Paris because of her, and Marinette is aware in a few hours everyone she’s ever known will forget her. Chat Noir reveals himself as Adrien to her before she takes his and the Ladybug miraculous, and unifies them to become Gimmi Marinette and destroy her for good!

Marinette feels Senti-Queen’s mixed emotions of betrayal and hate and loneliness, and her kindness shines through. She uses the Lucky Charm to rebirth Ah Lam as a child, giving her the opportunity to live a normal and love-filled life, the one she never had.

The time span is towards the end of Senior Year, when they were suppose to graduate.

AFTERMATH

So Marinette no longer exists, no one remembers her, and there’s a child version of Lila now.

Now what??

Child Lila is adopted by Marinette’s parents, who have always wanted to have a child. They rename her Marion. It means “wished for child” :,) But also “sea of sorrows”, symbolizing Lila’s life and the pain she caused!

After reading Marinette’s diary, the city knows she was Ladybug. They create a new park called “Ladybug Park” in memory of Marinette.

The Order of the Guardians come to reclaim the jewels unified by Lila, but the kwami refuse to be captured again and flee with their jewels. They all go back to the miracle box for safety. Marion finds the miracle box in Marinette’s old room, and unknowingly becomes the next Guardian.

Adrien only remembers Ladybug, and believes she was the one to unify the miraculous. He has no real recollection of Marinette, but subconsciously feels the loss.

Congrats for making it to the end heheh!

Have some cake! 🍰

Eat it under this rainbow for a break! You deserve it!

🌈

“BUT CHOCO!!”

“You still haven’t explained why there are only three seasons!”

Oh yeah! Sorry!

It’s because I feel like it took 5 seasons in canon to explain what happened in 3. I imagine my AU to be a Disney-owned show that was about to cancelled.

How can I sum up the plot of Miraculous Ladybug in 3 seasons, 12-15 episodes each?

LMAOSJW-

But yup! That’s it! Hope you had fun reading!!

[rainybubbles]

What are COD men and women missions as your guardian angel ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Farah, Valeria, Alejandro, König, Roach, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T :

-He was sent to prevent you from accepting a job opportunity that would lead to your death. 

-The prospective boss was destined to be tyrannical, pushing you to overwork, neglect your health, sever ties with loved ones, and gradually spiral into a state of despair. 

-Ultimately, exhaustion would compel you to cross a road, only to be struck by a truck. 

-Simon's purpose was to avert this tragic fate.

-Simon exerted considerable effort attempting to erase all traces of the job offers and announcements from your computer, eager to fulfill his mission swiftly. 

-However, you persisted in pursuing your dream job, repeatedly defying his interventions. 

-”Fucking hell” he whispered one night after passing hours on Indeed to delete everything.

-He realized he had to convince you. But it means getting to know you. 

-He sighed and moved in, thanks to his power, the flat next to yours was magically free.

-Despite his strategic move, Simon struggled with social interactions. 

- He tried the “have you any sugar ?” but it was 1AM, so it scared you.

-God, Simon and his social skills.

- One day, you, alarmed by a peculiar noise, knocked on his door, convinced that an intruder had breached your home. 

-Trusting Simon's intimidating presence to scare off anyone, you spent the night at his flat for reassurance. 

-This incident marked the beginning of a gradual acquaintance.

-As Simon got to know you, a mutual exchange of pastries became a regular occurrence. You started it to thank him for that night, and he offered you ones, and it has became a regular thing.

- Friday nights turned into joint activities like watching matches or cooking together. 

-During these moments, you opened up about your dream job, and Simon, in turn, disclosed the harsh realities about the company.

-The realization dawned upon him as he witnessed the trust you placed in him.

- When you decided not to pursue the ominous job, he felt a sense of joy until the weight of the truth settled in—his mission was complete. 

-Simon waited in anticipation for the next assignment.

-He waited.

-Days

-For another name, another mission.

-Nothing came.

-And he saw Laswell.

-He knew what it meant.

-“Simon, they decide you can either continue as an angel or stay with her and become human”Laswell says.

-Being with you.

-Waking up with you, living a life with you…

-It sounded perfect.

-He didn’t deserve that. Not after all what he had done, not…him with you, you deserved better.

-The following morning, you knocked on his door, only to find the flat deserted.

- Frantically searching for Simon Riley on social media, you discovered an unsettling absence—like a ghost, he had vanished, leaving you with a broken heart.

-“He fucking ghost me”, you cried on the floor of your flat, not knowing the truth.

P R I C E :

-He had not been sent for you, but for a boy named Clark. 

-Clark was on the verge of homelessness, and John's mission was to help him develop an idea to secure some much-needed money.

-As John succeeded in his task, he couldn't help but notice the negative transformation in Clark.

- The influx of money had turned Clark into a selfish person, threatening his friends if they considered leaving him. And that's how he encountered you—a kind soul who had been there for Clark since the beginning.

-You, always supportive, witnessed how toxic Clark had become towards you.

- Slowly, you began to believe you deserved such treatment, unable to find better friends. 

-John, disturbed by this realization, hoped for another mission to rescue Clark's friend from the clutches of his destructive behavior.

-But nothing changed.

-Frustrated, John couldn't stand idly by while people suffered for the sake of his mission. 

-His purpose was to rectify injustice, not allow someone to turn into a despicable person.

-During a party, he found you outside and couldn't help but express his thoughts

- "I'm glad you're in his life. He's so much better now. He was really broke, and I was scared he'd end up alone on the streets. He lived at my house for a long time." you said.

-"He should have end up in the streets," Price asserted without regret.

-Your eyes widened, but a chuckle escaped you. "You shouldn't say that."

-"But you agree.

-”Money got to his head, but he's a good guy."

-"He's not, and you know it, love."

-"I don't want to lose him. I love him." you admitted.

-And then it clicked. You loved Clark before he became the person he was now.

-"You loved him before all of this." he realized.

-"I know. And it hurts because I still hold onto the hope that he'll realize and suddenly become better."

-"I'm sorry." Price said.

-"It's not your fault."

-It was, but you couldn't know.

-"Maybe in another life, I'll be as happy as he seems to be?"

-Price could have read your life with his power and gotten to know your future. But he didn’t.

-"I hope you deserve it." he answered.

-"Hey John, if I'm not happy, could I count on you? You're always here for me."

-"I promise, love."

-You smiled.

-Later, when John received his new mission, he decided to peek into your future to protect you one last time—only to realize there was no future.

-He rushed to your flat.

-The police were there.

-Clark had been arrested.

-And a body was being taken to the morgue.

-Maybe he should have looked at your future earlier.

S O A P

-He had been dispatched to safeguard your moral values from crumbling into ruin. 

-The situation was straightforward; you were shattered, and a friend of yours suggested a lucrative opportunity to intimidate someone for a hefty sum. 

-In simpler terms, you were on the verge of joining a gang for the sake of money. 

-Broke, homeless, unwilling to burden your family, and unable to afford food, you were desperate enough to consider anything that paid, given the absence of job offers.

-Soap's mission was to avert this downward spiral, to prevent you from evolving into a heartless figure with bloodstained hands, a potential mafia leader. 

-Naturally, he couldn't just hand you money; you wouldn't accept it from a stranger. So, he devised a plan to hire you at his bakery.

-Initially taken aback, because hell you couldn’t even say or bake croissant. 

-Nevertheless, your role was strictly to sell, not to bake. 

-Moreover, your boss, Soap, emanated a comforting presence. 

-He treated you kindly, just as he did with everyone on his missions

-But to him, your smile was more than just a pleasant sight; it stirred something within him.

-Your laughter, dry and infrequent, motivated him to ensure you laughed more often, even if it meant he made a fool of himself with sugar or butter.

-When your friend said you couldn’t stay at their place, Soap went a step further and provided you with one.

- As you began accumulating enough funds to secure a flat, you encountered difficulties in finding one. 

-Leveraging his magical abilities, Soap helped locate a suitable residence for you. 

-Once settled, he taught you the art of baking, gradually helping you to take charge of the bakery.

-A year later, you had become a skilled baker, and Soap realized his mission was accomplished. 

-Independent and content, you were ready to take over the bakery. 

-Craftily, he fabricated a story about relocating to another country and passing the bakery on to you. 

-Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed after lengthy discussions.

-As Soap sensed the emergence of a new name and mission on the paper, he looked at you and sighed, "I'll miss you, love."

-"Me too, Johnny," you replied.

-Little did you know it was the final time you would see him, but Soap was acutely aware.

- So, for the first time, he allowed himself to act on impulse and kissed you. In that fleeting moment, he wished he could relinquish his wings and live with you indefinitely.

G A Z :

-TW : social anxiety :) !

-He was sent to help you with your health.

-You grappled with social anxiety, a condition so severe that the fact of being in a crowded bus could make you faint

- Asking for a bag at the cashier's counter filled you with fear, and even a simple "hello" caused three weeks of overthinking

- You existed in a state of solitude, ensnared within a relentless cycle of anxiety.

- Your mental health had plummeted, yet the luxury of a therapist was beyond your means.

-Social anxiety, insidiously, severs connections, making it difficult to seek help, leaving you trapped in an endless loop of overthinking. 

-The act of breathing itself became a struggle

-Walking in the streets became a nightmare, convinced that every passerby scrutinized your every move. Life, for you, felt burdensome, your very existence a weight upon others.

-Enter Gaz, sent to prevent you from venturing too close to the precipice. 

-He initiated contact through social media, engaging you in conversation within a fandom you both shared.

- He witnessed the genuine joy in your smiles as you responded to his messages, the relief emanating from having notifications from a real person rather than an automated system.

- Talking to him felt right, providing a respite from the isolation.

-Gradually, your interactions with Gaz progressed beyond the digital realm.

- Attempts to meet in person were met with reluctance or last-minute cancellations, fueled by fears of judgment, rejection, or even the possibility of an elaborate prank. 

-However, perseverance prevailed, and one day, he succeeded in meeting you face-to-face.

-The anxiety lingered, but Gaz's warmth created a sanctuary, a safe space for you.

- Together, you confronted the formidable adversary that was social anxiety.

-Gaz became your anchor during the lows, comforting you when crowds induced panic or tears flowed at the thought of being among people.

-Of course there were downs, where you couldn’t go out, where you would cry just by the idea of being in a crowd. But he was here for you.

-Every Monday, he accompanied you through bustling streets, holding your hand as you breathed through the anxiety. 

-Small victories were celebrated, such as summoning the courage to ask for water from a waiter. 

-To some, these achievements may seem ridiculous, but Gaz understood the immense courage they required.

-He cherished the moments you shared, the progress you made—ordering food by phone, making a call—each step a triumph on the arduous road of overcoming social anxiety.

- In these moments, Gaz recognized that this was more than a mere mission; it was a lifelong commitment. 

-Social anxiety was not a battle with a finite resolution; rather, it was a continuous struggle.

-A knowing chuckle escaped him. 

-Captain Price, knowingly, had bestowed upon Gaz a life mission. 

-In a quiet moment, Gaz whispered his gratitude, acknowledging that if his mission was to love and support you, there was no doubt he would embrace it for eternity.

V A L E R I A :

-She was sent to save your marriage.

- Angels, renowned for their influence on matters of the heart, and Valeria, in particular, was on a divine mission to salvage the threads that held your union together. 

-However, as of late, doubt began to creep into her convictions as a guardian angel.

-In numerous assignments, she found herself helping individuals of questionable character.

- Then, she met you—a person ensnared in a wretched marriage. 

- Your wife treated you poorly, arguing with you for trivial matters, asserting your worthlessness without her, forgetting your birthday and engaging in infidelity with others.

-Valeria questioned the purpose of preserving such a toxic bond.

- Was she supposed to save this tormented marriage?

- Was the sanctity of matrimony so sacred that it should endure despite the evident misery it caused?

-No, she had enough..

- She reached a breaking point, disenchanted with being the obedient savior in every situation. 

-She wasn't Rudy or Alejandro—she wouldn't blindly adhere to a mission that clashed with her newfound convictions. 

-Instead, she took a daring step and seduced you, believing you deserved better, deserving her.

-You, with your kindness and generosity, deserved someone who would treat you with the respect and love you lacked in your current relationship. 

-Valeria refused to surrender you to the shackles of your miserable marriage.

- She cared not for the rules of her celestial role; she wasn't a guardian angel any longer. 

-That night, driven by an irrepressible desire for change, she made a drastic choice—she cut off her wings. 

-The pain was excruciating, but amidst the agony, she found relief and liberation.

- She knew this act condemned her to damnation, but the prospect of being with you made it inconsequential.

- Morality blurred into shades of gray as she willingly became a fallen angel, abandoning her celestial duties for the ecstasy of earthly love.

- The sensation of your lips against hers eclipsed any impending punishment, and in that moment, she embraced the fall from grace for the happiness she found in your arms.

N I K O L A I :

-He was the one training guardian angels. 

-Nikolai wasn't a guardian angel, but a fallen one. 

-In the past, he had fallen in love with the one he was supposed to guard.

- As a consequence, they severed one of his wings and stripped him of his celestial status. 

-To prove his devotion, Nik decided to assist in the formation of guardian angels.

- Laswell and Price supported him, and they agreed.

-So, he began training new guardian angels, and you happened to be one of them.

- He admired how you struggled to fly, resembling a fawn. 

-"Солнце (=sun), use your back muscles, not your arms," he teased as you tumbled to the ground once again. 

-"How could you know?" you snapped back, frustrated.

-He stopped, his lone wing retracting. 

-You realized the impact of your words.

- "Shit, Nik, sorry, that's not what I meant."

-"It's okay, but I used to fly in the past, you know. Don't doubt my abilities again."

-"Of course, I... It's just frustrating to see everyone else succeeding."

"-It's okay. Ghost took six months to fly; Soap burned his wing three times," Nikolai said. "So, don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Really?" you laughed.

-"Yes, so don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Isn't it difficult to watch all those angels and not feel free like them?" you asked, a question no one had posed to him before.

-"It is, but I deserved it."

-"You just loved someone. I don't think it was worth the punishment," you whispered.

-"Maybe, but I betrayed my mission."

-"I still think you did it for good reasons. The world isn't black and white. Sometimes we have to be gray. Loving them, it's not a crime."

-He stayed silent. "Maybe."

-"Sorry, I overstepped, but I think it's unfair they treat you like this. Graves is keeping his wings when he had killed people to succeed in his missions, not very guardian angel of him."

-"You're right, but we can't do anything."

-"I will. I'll fight for you. Use my wings to give yours back," you said, determined.

-That day, Nik felt a spark—the same one that had cost him his wings. 

-The one who was back with you. 

-He ignored it. 

-"If you say so, I'll watch you doing it," he chuckled.

-Little did he know, you would succeed and restore his wings. 

-Perhaps, one day, Nikolai would fly again with his wings and not a helicopter.

A L E J A N D R O :

-He was sent to protect you, to help you to expose the truth.

-You, a journalist delving into a precarious story surrounding the cartel's sway

-. Alejandro understood the gravity of this mission; his entire previous life had been defined by this relentless fight against the cartel.

- With unwavering dedication, he vowed to shield you with all his heart.

-Thus, he concealed himself, surveilling your residence, neutralizing all dangers, confronting cartel members seeking to harm you under the cover of darkness.

- His magic thwarted explosive threats, and he meticulously tarnished the reputations of those aiming to intimidate you after your initial article.

- He stood watch, silently guarding you.

-His cover was blown one day. In your apartment, a cartel member lay unconscious at his feet.

-"So it was you?" you inquired.

-"I can explain," he stammered.

-"You were the one protecting me, weren't you? I've never felt threatened since my colleagues shared their ordeals. Only words, never physical harm or bombs. My family is unharmed. Someone protected me. It's you, isn't it?"

-Your perceptiveness impressed him.

-"Yes," he admitted.

-"You should have said something. I can pay you if needed. Being a bodyguard for someone who challenges cartels must be challenging."

-"Not as challenging as being a colonel fighting the cartel in my previous life," he thought but refrained from saying.

-"It's okay. I don't need a salary."

-"Then live with me. Let me repay you, in a way. This way, you can keep an eye on me 24/7 but still have a place to stay."

-It was tempting, avoiding the need to surveil you from across the street, being able to follow you closely to prevent traps.

-"Okay," he accepted.

-Gradually, he became a fixture in your life. You shared your findings, and he assisted during investigations, often necessitating clandestine break-ins to gather information. 

-He marveled at how you managed to stay alive with your audacious pursuits.

-But with each cartel member arrested due to your articles, he felt satisfaction and pride. You were making a difference.

-Until one day, the absence of the familiar sound of typing alarmed him. 

-Racing to your room, he found you lifeless, a bullet wound in your head. 

-How was this possible? He had used his magic for protective measures, installed cameras.

- Then he noticed it—a black wing on the floor, a fallen angel turned malevolent.

-He knew who was responsible—Valeria. Of course, she would be entangled in the sinister web of cartels. Mierda...

L A S S W E L L :

--She was sent to ensure peace.

-You, a fledgling diplomat, had just entered the scene.

-In a matter of months, a critical meeting loomed on the horizon. 

-Unfortunately, one of the other ambassadors harbored nefarious plans. 

-Their aim? To ensnare you, hold your country responsible for an attack, derail any alliance, shatter hopes of peace, and plunge nations into war.

-Laswell, tasked with preventing this diplomatic catastrophe, sought to guide you through the treacherous world of international relations.

-Gaining your trust, however, proved to be a formidable challenge.

-You toiled in isolation, reluctant to confide even in an assistant. 

-Acutely aware of the sordid nature of politics, you had no intention of succumbing to manipulation or falling prey to powerful lobby interests.

-To demonstrate her capabilities, Laswell embarked on a mission to help you confront a corrupt mayor. 

-When she successfully ousted him and exposed the truth, despite the mayor's pervasive connections, you were compelled to extend a job offer.

-"Thanks for this. I couldn't have done it without you. He had connections everywhere," you expressed your gratitude.

-"I have connections too, but I guess mine are just better than his," she replied with a hint of confidence.

-A chuckle escaped your lips.

-It was evident that Laswell, fueled by a genuine commitment to peace, would prevail. 

-Witnessing the purity of your heart, she found solace.

- She had observed how the hearts of political figures often tarnished when power came into play, but you remained an exception.

-"You're a remarkable diplomat, never doubt that," she reassured.

-"Maybe, but niceties don't seal alliances or foster peace," you sighed. "Money does, and we don't have it."

-Together, you delved into the intricacies of contracts and gathered information about other nations.

- Nights were spent in your office, surrounded by take-out containers, punctuated by jokes that lightened the mood while maintaining a serious focus on work.

-Gradually, Laswell began to open up to you. 

-Of course, she concealed her past as a CIA agent, weaving a narrative that shielded her secrets. Yet, you felt a sense of security in her presence.

-One evening during a break, you asked,

-"Do you have someone, Kate? You're always here with me, and I wouldn't want your significant other to worry."

-"I had someone," she admitted.

-"Sorry to hear that," you responded.

-"It's okay. It was a long time ago, like a previous life," she joked, though the truth lingered beneath the surface.

-"How were they?" you inquired.

-"She, and she was wonderful. My wife. I could have given everything to her, except I didn't. I didn't give her my time. I was working too hard."

-"Did you divorce?" you asked.

-"No, but I quitted my job for her."

-"Oh."

-"It was the right thing to do. She deserved it," she smiled.

-"And you never met anyone after?"

-"No.”

-Because after that, she died old and happy with her wife, before becoming a guardian angel.

-She never looked for love.

-"No, but maybe someday." Laswell said

-"I don't doubt it," you chuckled.

-"And you?"

-"I'm too busy with my work. They say I'm mostly married to it," you attempted to joke, but Kate sensed the underlying sadness.

-"You'll meet someone. You're a great person."

-"Thanks," you replied, returning to your work. 

-After weeks of collaboration, Kate unearthed a drug affair involving the other diplomat and dealt with it discreetly.

-On the day of the crucial meeting, the peace offer was accepted without hesitation, thanks to the covert threat.

- The treaties were signed, and a sigh of relief echoed through the diplomatic corridors.

-However, when Laswell awaited her next mission, she discovered a surprise.

-Your name resurfaced, but the mission had taken an unexpected turn.

-"Marry them."

-Confused, Laswell pondered the note. Guardian angels can't love humans. Then, she noticed a message on the back.

-"You deserve a retreat, Kate. And they're your type. Enjoy it. - John."

-She chuckled. John, always meddling where he wasn't needed.

- However, she didn’t know if she would marry you or not but this life as a diplomat, reshaping the world for the better, was the love she had found."

F A R A H :

-She had been sent to infuse you with the strength to confront adversity with courage and resilience.

- Once a firefighter, you had walked away from the profession after a tragic incident where a child lost his life in a fire. 

-Your attempts to alert your boss about the suspicious nature of the recent fires fell on deaf ears, and disillusioned, you resigned. 

-The question lingered: Why be a firefighter if you couldn't save lives?

-Farah had been dispatched to restore your inner fortitude because, deep down, you were right

-Those recent fires were no accidents. 

-Only you had the power to uncover the truth, having been the sole observer of the pattern.

- Fate placed her as your neighbor, but your demeanor was reticent, a mere husk of your former self.

-Observing your silent suffering, Farah chose a bold approach. 

-She ignited a fire in her own apartment using a toaster, triggering your instincts. 

-Without hesitation, you rushed to her aid with a fire extinguisher, quelling the flames.

-"Thanks, I don't know what happened," she lied, keenly observing the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the relief in your eyes.

-"It's okay; toasters can be tricky, many of them catch fire," you reassured her.

-"Do you often see that?" she inquired.

-"I'm a firefighter," you paused, correcting yourself, "was, sorry."

-She smiled, finding solace in your continued identification with the role.

-"You quit? Injuries?" she probed.

-"No, I... it just wasn't for me."

-"It doesn't seem that way," she said, nodding towards the fire extinguisher still in your grasp.

-"It was just a reflex."

-"Hmm, if you say so. You know, just because there are some bad firefighters doesn't mean you have to quit," she remarked.

-"True, but sometimes it's hard to... fight when you're alone."

-She understood. Without the support of people in her past as Karim, Farah would never have succeeded. 

-"But without brave people like you, the bad ones win," she emphasized.

-"Maybe," you conceded, "but... why am I discussing this with you? I don't even know you," you whispered.

-"It's easier to confess to a stranger, especially one with a burnt toaster," she joked.

-You chuckled, finding an unexpected comfort in her presence.

-"Maybe you're right. I just... I felt useless. I knew something was wrong with those fires, that we should have saved those kids, but... no one believed me. Maybe they're right."

-"Or maybe not. Now we'll never know since you quit," she countered.

"-Maybe..." you sighed.

-"I can help you," she offered.

-"How?" you inquired.

-"I'm a journalist," she lied, "if those fires are really peculiar, then I have a great article, and you could regain your job."

-"…But it means investigating my own brigade."

-"Betrayal often comes from those close to us," she said, recalling what did Hadir.

-"You're right, okay," you agreed.

-And so, the investigation began. Farah watched as the embers of your internal fire reignited. You didn't give up. 

-Gathering evidence, taking photographs, you uncovered a shocking revelation: a colleague was a pyromaniac, deliberately setting fires to play the role of a savior, to feel godlike.

-Presenting the proof to journalists, your chief could no longer cover for the rogue colleague. Farah felt a surge of pride for you.

-"You fought well," she commended.

-"I'll continue, thanks, Farah," you said, embracing her, the lingering scent of burnt still on your clothes after your mission.

-"Never give up, even when I'm gone," she whispered.

-"Never," you smiled.

-When her mission changed, she left you a collar. Months later, Farah noticed how you kept it as a talisman.

- She smiled, realizing that although she couldn't stay, your strength and hers would forever be intertwined.

K Ö N I G :

-He had been sent to rekindle your passion, to bring happiness back into your life. 

-Once a talented dancer, you had abandoned your love for dance in favor of a more practical career, burdened by financial responsibilities. 

-Your parents, disapproving of a dancing career, further added to the weight on your shoulders.

-König, however, was on a mission to reignite your love for your hobby and give your heart what it truly desired.

- So, in your building, he discreetly posted a classified ad seeking a dance teacher for the waltz.

-When you stumbled upon the ad, you thought, "Why not?"

-A little extra income wouldn't hurt, and you missed the joy of dancing. Intrigued, you decided to respond to his ad, accepting his offer.

-Little did König anticipate that it would work. 

-Now, with his towering 2-meter frame, he found himself awkwardly attempting to move like a swan without crushing your feet. The stress was palpable.

-“Breathe and focus on me, not on yourself,” you instructed, guiding his hands to rest on your waist. 

-Slowly, with the accompaniment of a piano, you led him through the graceful movements of the waltz.

-Suddenly, it felt like home. Memories flooded back – the aroma of onions and Zwiebelrostbraten cooking, the cramped kitchen adorned with peculiar pictures, his mother's gentle dance, and him on her feet as she attempted to teach him how to dance. 

-Dancing, he thought, could be so beautiful, and those who tried to prevent such feelings were truly awful.

-You noticed the sparkle in König's eyes, a reflection of the passion you had years ago.

- “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you remarked.

-“Yes, it’s like we’re floating,” he responded.

-“Waltz is beautiful. I…I wanted to compete when I was younger – waltz, salsa, and more.”

-“What stopped you?”

-“My parents. They said I would never be good enough to make a living from it. And they're right; only a few dancers can sustain themselves.”

-“But you could still live through it in a different way.”

-“How?”

-“Teaching it. Many dancers become teachers.”

-“I don’t have connections, König. Studios prefer people with a reputation.”

-“Then I’ll spread the word. You’re a great teacher. I mean, you made me dance the waltz, and I'm a giant,” he joked.

-You smiled. “Because you’re a great student.”

-“Nein, believe me, I can’t dance without you.”

-And so, König set his plans into motion, praising your classes to everyone. 

-Soon, a married couple sought your expertise, and as their marriage flourished, the word spread. 

-Requests poured in, and slowly you amassed a following.

-König, with his mysterious charm, helped you secure a studio.

- Although you maintained your part-time job, you now knew you could live from dance.

-“I’ll quit,” you whispered, nervous. “I need to quit to have more classes and finally be happy.”

-“Good, you deserve it,” he smiled.

-“Thanks. Without you, I probably would never have been brave enough to do it.”

-“I’m here to support you,” he assured, even though he missed holding you in his arms and waltzing with you.

-He asked for one last dance to celebrate. Unbeknownst to you, he would soon leave.

-As you danced, he felt your heart beating fast, resonating with happiness. 

-When a paper appeared in his pocket with another name and another mission, he looked back at you. 

-Perhaps now, when alone, König would practice the waltz for the day he would meet you again.

R O A C H :

 

TW : death (not of Roach or you though) + (i kinda create a past for him, I know it's not canon)

-He was sent to help you to protect Orion.

-The problem was, he had no clue who Orion was.

- Despite attempting to tap into his powers, all he could extract were names: Orion and yours. 

-Thus, he met you out and forged a close friendship, yet Orion remained elusive.

- Not in your familial ties, not as a romantic interest or enemies—nowhere. 

-Until one day, after returning from work, you shared an anecdote about Orion.

-Orion.

- A four-year-old boy. 

-Suddenly, it dawned on him; he comprehended his purpose

-. Roach, with his own history in foster care, knew he was selected because he understood the flaws in the system and how one could make a difference by adopting a child.

- However, Orion had loving parents, leaving Roach perplexed.

-"He's a sweet boy," you smiled.

-He reciprocated with a smile, albeit tinged with fear. 

-Did this mean Orion would lose his parents? 

-Or was he expected to kill them? 

-Roach was uncertain, prompting him to shadow Orion's residence, using his expertise in navigating air ducts, he was not called  Roach for nothing, air ducts were his things.

-As he observed, nothing seemed amiss until he spotted it: a crack in the wall. 

- Regrettably, before he could extricate himself from the air duct, the building collapsed. 

-The landlords had ignored warnings about the need for renovations, leading to the tragedy. 

-Roach barely escaped the ruins, coughing and trying to find his way out.

-Then, he heard Orion's voice. 

-Under a table, the little boy clutched his deceased mother's hand. 

-Roach froze; there was no doubt, Orion's parents were gone. 

-Why was he sent to manage this? 

- Why wasn't he tasked with preventing the tragedy or saving them?

- Why did Orion have to endure such a harrowing experience?

-He crawled to Orion, embracing him as the boy cried and screamed. 

-He waited with him at ER, refusing to leave despite your attempts to reach him. He only sent you a text “at ER”

-You joined him and he…he could only express his pain through a silent hug.

-You and Roach became determined to ensure Orion wouldn't be left in the system after such trauma.

- Despite the challenges, you visited every day, dealing with bureaucracy and, with Roach's magical assistance, eventually adopting Orion

-. Roach didn't leave; he remained a steadfast companion in your collective journey.

-It wasn't easy—Orion was confused, lost, and traumatized. 

-Yet, through your unwavering support, he slowly began to open up to both you and Roach.

- A family emerged, something Roach had only discovered in his twenties during his time in the military.

- He was grateful that Orion could experience it now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

-Each day brought the fear of a new mission, a new departure. Until one day, Ghost appeared in your flat.

-"What are you doing here?" Roach questioned.

-"Cutting your wings," Ghost responded.

-Roach recoiled. "I never kissed them." he said, yes he loved you, but he never tried…

-"Roach…"

-"You can't take them away from me, please L.T. I don't want to lose everyone like I lost you and the unit."

-"I’ll cut your wings so you can become human, Roach, not to punish you."

-Roach halted. "You—"

-"You deserve it."

-"Thanks, L.T."

-"You're welcome," Ghost whispered, cutting his wings.

-Roach felt pain but also a strange sense of freedom. He smiled at Ghost and let him leave. Finally, he had found a family.

_____

_If you want more : my COD masterlist

_My masterlist

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 10 Home

Summary: How bittersweet it is to come home. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 8.6k Warnings: NONE!!!! Find out for yourselves xoxo A/N: If you made it this far, thank you. This obviously isn't the absolute END, there will be an epilogue to come... but I still want to thank each and every one of you. This series has such a special place inside my heart, and I will be forever grateful for the love and support you all have given. All the kisses and hugs and love to you all. (I also realize there are going to be a few questions left unanswered, but I promise it'll be resolved in the epilogue) * And once again, I'm the most thankful to @loonmartell for helping me create the most beautiful story. Sending you all my love, sweet pea <3 *

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You most definitely had a concussion—which was not ideal when you were behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Not only were you trying to subdue the memories still filtering through your mind, but you were also trying to navigate the roads with blurred vision. Streetlights that had once been unfamiliar slowly morphed into a memorized path, leading you right back to the place you once called home. Sarah had guided you home just months ago after a soccer game, but this was different. This was a reawakening, a thousand tiny moments rising from their endless slumber. Each turn of the wheel and stopsign guided you back to the one person your heart cried out for… Joel. 

If only your brain and heart could get on the same page. While your heart ached for Joel in ways you hadn’t felt in months, your mind still clung to the anger you associated with him over the last several months. You couldn’t just stop loving him, but you didn’t know how to stop hating him at the same time. 

The final turn into his neighborhood was coming up fast, yet your speed came to a crawl. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he could have moved on. Half a year was enough time for Joel to move on, to find another woman, to be happy without you. You experienced the exact opposite: you couldn’t move on, didn’t find another man, and were far from happy. Seeing him again was probably a mistake, but how would you move on now that you knew everything?

The nausea was back in full force as you pulled up to Joel’s home, his truck parked crooked in the driveway. This was your home once upon a time. Yeah, you were going to be sick again. Wrenching the door open, you leaned out of your car and dry-heaved. Nothing came up, which you were thankful for. You needed a strong stomach and a clear mind for whatever would come. The ground beneath your feet became distorted as you walked the path up his front yard. You took a moment to shake away the double-vision, your mind clouding around the edges. It was not the time to lose your grip on reality. 

The worn wood of Joel’s front door taunted you, your hand hovering over the center as you debated knocking. All it would take is a quick rap of your knuckles, and you’d see him again. Before you could sabotage yourself, your knuckles tapped against the door. 

“Comin’!” 

The sound of Joel’s voice in the distance electrified your nerves. He was right there. Any moment, he’d open the door and—.

The door cracked open, and you stared up into the familiar brown eyes that plagued every memory overlapping inside your mind. Joel stood motionless, his eyebrows slightly raised and lips parted. He looked at you as if you were a ghost. You gave him the most pathetic smile, unsure of what to do with your hands or body. 

“Can I come in?” You blurted out. 

“Of course,” he said softly, opening the door wider. 

A simple step over the threshold, and you were home. 

You took a moment to let it all settle in: nothing had changed. The varnish was worn in certain places on the floor, the same as it had been when you lived here. Joel walked the same path daily: through the front door and to the right, directly into the kitchen. Sarah’s soccer bag hung on the staircase railing, a pair of her shoes strewn across the second step. 

“Is Sarah home?” You asked, your eyes still wandering around the downstairs of the house.

“No, she’s stayin’ with a friend this weekend,” he replied.

Joel shifted his weight, tearing your focus away from the house and back onto him. There was a look of confusion furrowing his brows together, and you realized you hadn’t entirely explained yourself to him yet.

“Listen, I know I’m here unannounced,” you started. “I, uh, I haven’t touched the book since you gave it back. Well, I didn’t until today. I found it again, and this slipped out.”

Digging through your purse, you pinched the Polaroid between your fingers and pulled it free. Joel hesitantly reached for it, his fingers avoiding touching yours as he held it between his hands. A small smile formed on his lips as he ran his thumb over the photo's edges. 

“This was from a campin’ trip we went on with Sarah,” he sighed. “Sarah had just taken a tumble in some mud, and I remember I couldn’t stop laughin’, and you were quick with a camera and snapped this photo.”

“I know.”

“I got a photo of you, too. I still got it hangin’ up somewhere—.”

Joel’s voice trailed off, his eyes drifting up to yours. He had been so wrapped up in reminiscing that he didn’t listen to what you said. 

“Do you still have the one of Sarah, too?” 

Joel’s eyes grew wide, swaying in place. 

“You remember?” He faltered.

“I remember everything, Joel.”

Not Mr. Miller. Joel. 

Joel opened and closed his mouth at least three times before finally just shaking his head. He took a step back, letting the picture fall to the ground. You glanced down at the Polaroid lying between your feet, the photo of Joel doubling in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, your balance teetering as you stumbled a bit to the side. Joel quickly caught your weight, his hands firm around your arm. 

“Woah,” he exhaled. “Y’okay?”

“I might have a concussion,” you laughed absently. “Took a bit of a fall earlier and hit my head.”

Joel cursed under his breath and slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you toward the dining room. Sunlight bled through the window shades on the wall, and you squinted your eyes to avoid intensifying your headache. The kitchen was just as you had remembered: cluttered and homey. Piles of dishes were laid in a drying rack by the sink, the dark countertops void of dirt aside from a few crumbs from toast or a residual ring of condensation from a beer bottle.

Joel helped you into one of the dining room chairs, moving swiftly to get you a glass of water. You weren’t sure if he meant to do it, but he had sat you in your chair at the table, the one you had always chosen during any family meal with him and Sarah. You smoothed your hands over the table, digging your nails into the groves of the woodwork.

“Here,” Joel said, extending a glass to you. 

You muttered a soft thank you, taking a drink as he took a seat beside you—his seat. The silence between you both was louder than the ringing in your ears, and you couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“Say something,” you pleaded.

Joel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he peered up at you through glassy eyes. You knew that look: the exhaustion, the sadness. You had worn it well the last several months, and clearly, so did Joel. The person you were six months ago would have loved seeing Joel look so disheveled, but not now. Not when the past was hanging in the balance, finally uncovered and real. 

“Does Bennett know you’re here?” Joel asked, his eyes rising to yours. 

“What?” You gaped. Out of all the things Joel could have said, he chose that?

“Tommy saw y’all together,” he huffed. 

You wracked your brain, remembering when Tommy could have seen you and Bennett together. The only time you had seen Bennett was after the…. Oh. 

“He asked to meet me after everything happened,” you explained. “He wanted to share his side of things. You left out a lot, Joel. There was so much you didn’t tell me, and I had to rely on Bennett to piece the rest back together.”

“Are you datin’ him again? ‘Cause if you are, just tell me, and I’ll—I’ll find a way to move on and let you be happy. I ain’t gonna get in the way of your happiness, even if that means it’s with him.”

There was no way to ignore the bitterness in his words, yet you stifled a laugh. 

“After everything that’s happened, you actually think I'd go back to him?” You questioned. 

“Christ, I don’t know,” Joel sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Bennett’s married,” you stated. “You must not have seen his wedding band when you were beating the shit out of him.”

Joel was harrowingly silent, his eyes trained on the work boots covering his feet. All you ached for was some sort of reaction—some kind of response—and he gave nothing. Your expectations had been set so high for this moment, yet nothing was going as you hoped. 

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest,” you said.

“Of course.” 

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” You whispered. “When everyone was making decisions for me, why didn’t you step in and fight back?”

“I tried,” he lamented. “Your family decided on everythin’, and I couldn’t step in.”

“Yes, you could have,” you pressed. 

You brushed your hand over the stumble on his jaw, lifting his face to meet yours. You saw it deep within the dark brown of his eyes: regret. 

“That’s not a good enough answer, Joel. No one fought for me,” you pressed. “I was alone in everything, and you should have been the one person standing up to them against everything they were choosing to do. You let Bennett come back into my life when you knew he had been horrible to me in the past. Why were you so willing to just let me go?”

Joel grabbed your free hand and brought it to his lips, pressing soft kisses into the center of your palm. It wasn’t till the first tear hit your fingers that you realized he was crying. Joel looked defeated, his face framed between one hand and your other pressed against his lips. Truly and utterly defeated. 

“I never wanted to let you go. Sayin’ that last goodbye to you while you were in the hospital was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever had to do, and I ain’t got no excuses for the choices I made. If I could go back and change everythin’, I would. I swear I would in a heartbeat. Losin’ you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know I coulda done more. You deserved more. You deserved better, and I shoulda been the one there for you. Not Bennett. I know I ruined everything. Fuck, I—I really fucked it all up.”

“I hate you for what you did,” you said, lifting your hand to brush away his tears. “I hate you so much for hurting me.”

Joel only nodded, more tears streaming down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, tracing the line of his beard as it dipped down to his jaw. Joel released a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. 

“There ain’t enough words to describe how sorry I am,” he mumbled into your hand. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for hurtin’you, and I’ve been livin’ with that guilt for years. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

“I was happy, Joel. With you. I loved you so much. So many memories are still unraveling in my head, but in each of them, I know I loved you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he cried softly. 

“I hate you, Joel. I hate you, but I can’t ignore the fact that I still love you. I love the life we built together and the memories we made with Sarah. I miss this house, and I miss this kitchen where we’d make breakfast together. I miss waking up beside you every day. I miss staying up late with you and annoying you about the books I was reading.” You took a deep breath, trying to slow yourself down. “I miss you, Joel. I don’t know how long it will take me to forgive you, but I—I really miss you.”

A choked sob escaped from Joel’s mouth, and he leaned his head back, your hands falling into your lap. You didn’t know what to do with yourself other than try not to throw up—because your body was still trying to desperately fight off the nausea rolling inside your stomach. Confessing feelings while also battling a minor concussion had not been your brightest idea, but you had braved through worse before. 

So many moments of silence passed before Joel finally glanced back at you, his lips twitching as he held back another round of tears. 

“Y’have no fuckin’ idea how much I miss you,” he confessed. “I’ve waited so long for the moment you’d remember everythin’. I tried to imagine what I’d do when y’got those memories back, and… fuck. I’m so sorry for everythin’ I did.”

You took his hands in yours, interlocking your fingers around his. It was your turn to start crying, and you felt the tears fall against your fingers.

“What did you do?” You asked. “When you imagined me getting my memories back, what did you do?”

“I imagined kissin’ you and tellin’ you how much I loved you,” he said.

“What’s taking you so long?”

In one fluid motion, Joel sent his chair flying backward as he dropped to his knees before you. Reaching up, he cupped your face between his large hands, his mouth hovering over yours. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for, but you gave him a simple nod, and that was enough. 

The first kiss was delicate— cautionary. He wavered between losing control and reluctance, the path of his lips moving fluidly like they had always known their place against yours. It was so much different than the first kiss months ago, where then it had been about discovery and excitement, each draw of your bodies together new and profound. But now, it was a kiss to rekindle a flame that had dwindled out, a resurgence of emotions neither of you had experienced in years. Yes, those few months together had been exhilarating, but you had barely scratched the surface of where the bounds of your love lay.

You were the first to cave into the chaos, deepening the kiss until Joel’s movements determined your breathing. When his head moved, so did yours. When his tongue overlapped yours, you repeated the motion. Over and over until you lost the ability to identify where you started and he ended. 

“Joel,” you panted, his lips still crushed against yours.

“Hmm?”

He was too enamored with you to respond coherently. You raked your nails over his scalp, refamiliarizing yourself with the softness of his curls. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his tongue dancing with yours once more.

“Joel,” you muttered again. 

“Yeah, baby?” He exhaled, finally breaking away from your swollen lips. 

You pressed your forehead against his, your eyelashes fluttering up at him. Joel looked down at you with blown pupils, the brown color in his eyes nearly black as he waited for your response.

“I think you forgot to say something,” you whispered, laughing softly. 

“Don’t think I forgot at all, baby. Just wanted to savor you a minute,” Joel grinned. “I love you. God, I love you so fuckin’ much. Ain’t ever gonna stop tellin’ you how much I love you.”

“I still don’t forgive you for everything,” you reminded him. “It’ll take me some time to heal from all of this fully.”

Joel brushed his nose against yours, his lips tugging upward.

“I got all the time in the world, baby. Gonna spend every damn day provin’ myself to you. I’m already on my knees for you. Anythin’ you ask of me, I’ll give it to you.”

Breathless. You were breathless. This was the man you should have spent your life with, the man you should have married. Joel saw his faults, admitted them, and submitted himself to you out of love and dedication. Anger was still to be had, but it could wait. 

“Anything?” You echoed.

He trailed his fingers up your bare legs, his hands teasing their way higher. You mindlessly decided on a dress earlier and thanked yourself for it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pushed the hem of the dress further up, his head bending down to kiss a path over your knee and up your thigh. 

“God, I missed you so damn much, baby,” Joel groaned, his tongue gliding over your pebbled skin.

“Show me how much you missed me.”

Joel lay his head in your lap, his puppy dog eyes staring up at you with a glimmer of desire. You knew that look; you had seen it so many times before in his eyes. Too many memories had taken their place in your mind to ever let you forget the way Joel looked at you when he wanted you. 

“Can I?” He asked, brushing his hand between your thighs.

Your body responded easily to his touch, a familiarity you once knew. The friction of your underwear against your clit was growing uncomfortable as it throbbed at the vibration of his voice. Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to Joel in more ways than one. You craved to be touched, to be pulled apart and put back together in the ways only he knew. 

Joel tugged your ass down to the edge of the chair, flicking the hem of your dress into your lap. You tried working your fingers over the band of your underwear, but Joel beat you to it with a swiftness that left you dizzy. Well, dizzier than you already were. 

Joel hoisted your calves over his shoulders, settling himself between your thighs. Flashes of memories in this exact position came flooding in; this was familiar. Familiarity beyond compare and something you desperately yearned for. 

“Please,” you whined.

He wasted no time giving in to your plea. Joel licked a thick stripe up your slick entrance, rewarding himself with a soft moan leaving your lips. You unknowingly lied months ago when you said no one had tasted you like this… Joel had. He thrived on giving you pleasure like this, doing this countless times before. He knew your body better than anyone else, and your body cried out for him in ways you could not control. 

He devoured you like he sought to destroy the years of distance that had passed between you. Every flick of his tongue against the apex of your sex, every gravelly moan from his throat—it all revolved around that undeniable truth that you both were meant to be together. That’s how it should have always been. 

“More,” you begged.

Words failed you, yet Joel knew what you needed. His tongue plunged inside of you, curling ever so slightly. The pleasure inside you burned slowly, igniting a warmth through your veins. You throbbed against his mouth, his breath hot on your skin as he latched onto your clit. You arched against him, your hand snaking down to latch onto the hair on his scalp. Joel let out a prideful moan, working his tongue faster against your aching bud. 

“There… right there…” You whimpered.

Joel gave the softest nod as if to say I know, driving you closer to the edge. A hitch of your breath, another flick of his tongue, repeated motions back and forth until your orgasm was crashing against the surface. You cried out, tears springing from your eyes as you succumbed to the climax wracking through your limbs. Joel pulled away, his mouth and mustache glistening from your release. 

Lowering your legs off his shoulders, Joel wordlessly hooked an arm around your waist and hauled you onto the dining table, the wood creaking under the weight. You pawed at his shirt, and Joel obliged your silent request as he yanked it over his head. You lifted yourself on your forearms, drinking in the sight of his bare chest. You glanced up at Joel to catch him smirking, amused by your silence.

“Y’can’t be lookin’ at me like that, baby,” Joel groaned, stepping between your open legs. “Not when I got you spread out and ready for me.”

“I can look at you however I want,” you smiled. 

Joel leaned down to meet your lips, dragging you in for a long kiss. 

“I missed you so fuckin’ much,” he chuckled.

His lips worked their way down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, while his hands worked quickly at the belt around his waist. Hooking one leg around his waist, you drew him closer, your breath hitching as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

Joel drove himself deep inside you in one thrust, the tip of his cock spearing into you. You gasped as his cock filled you with its entirety, your body stretched passed comfortability. You forgot how much you loved feeling him everywhere. With his cock fully seated inside you, Joel leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I need to hear y’say it, baby,” he begged. “Please tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you exhaled. “I love you.”

That’s all he needed to hear—a simple admission, a coupling of words that rewrote the story lost between the both of you. You spent months trying to deny your love for him, but there was no way to deny this connection. There was always an invisible string connecting you both, and though the string had frayed and unraveled, this moment snapped it back into place. 

“I love you,” Joel said. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

He pulled out slowly, only to snap his hips forward and render you speechless. You reached up to hold him against you, your nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his shoulder blades. Thrust after thrust, Joel drilled into you forcefully—brutally. You cried out every time his body slapped against yours, and your vision started to blur around the edges. Your core clenched around him, your thighs slick from your arousal that dripped between your bodies. 

“Takin’ my cock so well, baby,” Joel praised. “Doin’ so good for me.”

“Yes… yes…” You chanted the word between every thrust that he assaulted you with, every caress of his fingers around your waist, another revelation of how perfect you were together. 

“My perfect—fuck—perfect girl,” he gritted out.

Joel locked an arm around your back and lifted you from the table, spinning you both until your back hit the wall across from the table. The impact was enough to knock the air from your lungs and dizzy your mind, but he gave you no opportunity to recover before he was driving upwards into you, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through your muscles. With one arm braced around your body and a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, Joel ground into you deeper…slower… your body begging for release. He could sense it, too, the way your thighs tightened around his waist and your cheeks dampened with tears.

“Yeah, I can feel it, baby,” Joel crooned. “I know you’re close. Gonna cum for me? Gonna give me what I want?”

“Please,” you cried, nodding vigorously.

Joel crushed his lips against yours, and you sobbed into his open mouth. Your body sized around him as your orgasm tore through you, stronger than the first. His thrusts stalled as your core pulsed through the aftershocks, the room spinning quicker every time another wave of release rocked through your stomach.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my good girl. Give me everythin’. I got you. Keep goin’.”

It was disastrous how obedient your body was to his commands. You entangled yourself in him, your tongue rolling over his tongue to silence his muffled words. Joel wasn’t far behind you, and soon enough, he punched out your name through clenched teeth, spilling himself into you. 

You rested your head back against the wall, his body sagging into yours as you both fought for air. The slow drip of his cum down your inner thigh and the sweat clinging to your brow was the only sensation you could feel as time passed in comfortable silence. 

“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned, his head falling onto your shoulder.

You carded a hand through his hair, leaning your cheek against his sweat-dampened curls. Right there, in Joel’s arms, everything made sense. The anger inside you could dissolve away—at least for a little while—and you could remind yourself that this was what love felt like. To be held. To be seen. To be cherished. 

Faint sounds of sniffling traveled past the rush of blood pumping in your ears, and you tugged at his curls to pull his head off your shoulder. Joel looked up at you through blurry eyes, his thick lashes coated in fresh tears. 

“It’s okay,” you hushed. 

“It’s not, though,” he argued. “I shoulda came back sooner. I shouldn’t have waited. There’s so much time we can’t get back, baby. S’all my fault.”

“We’ve got time,” you said softly. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you, Joel.”

“Promise?” He asked. 

“I promise.”

The evening grew late, and both you and Joel had settled into bed. It surprised you when you cried at seeing his room again, realizing nothing about it had changed. The fan was still humming softly in the corner as it always had, the soft breeze floating over the bedsheets as you climbed under the covers. Miscellaneous items were scattered on his dresser, and worn clothes littered the floor beside his hamper. Joel mumbled a slew of apologies at the sight of the mess, but it only made you cry harder. You didn’t care if it was messy. You only cared that you were finally home. Even without the memories resurfacing, your house never felt this way. It had never been a home because Joel wasn’t there to make it a home.

“How’re y’feelin’, baby?” Joel asked, his hand drawing circles into your back as you leaned against his naked body. 

“Like I could spend the rest of the night throwing up,” you said, half-jokingly. 

Your headache was splintering into a full-blown migraine, and your body had yet to recover from the fall earlier in the day. You had no regrets about being fucked against the wall, but it definitely proved to have done some damage to your fragile state.

“If I had known y’needed a good hit to the head to get all these memories back, I woulda tripped you myself,” Joel teased.

You attempted to laugh, only to have the nausea rising in your throat silence your efforts. 

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” you groaned, curling yourself tighter around his body.

“S’only kiddin’, baby. I’m just way too damn happy to have you in my arms again. I spent the last few months tryna figure out how I’d go on livin’ without you.”

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” you sighed. “I hardly recognize myself most days.”

“I won’t lie, seein’ you at parent-teacher conferences nearly broke me,” Joel admitted. 

“It broke me, too.”

Silence slipped over you, and the fan turned into the only noise inside the bedroom. Joel’s chest rose and fell softly under your head, his heart pounding echoing through your ear as you pressed yourself further into his embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. “I wish I had a better word to describe how sorry I am. It wasn’t right of me to lie to you, and I shouldn’t have ever let your family make that decision.”

“I haven’t talked to them in months,” you muttered. “I don’t know how to forgive them for what they did.”

“Y’don’t need to forgive them until you’re ready. I just hope y’know they love you, baby.”

“I do know they love me, and that’s why it’s so hard. How can they love me yet still hurt me so much?”

Joel pressed a soft kiss against the crown of your head, his fingers squeezing around your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I don’t know how to feel anything but anger towards them. Especially toward Beth. The things she’s said to me in the past…How do I forgive her?”

“I ain’t gonna take sides,” he cautioned. “But I think the accident affected her the hardest. She was so angry at your family's plan, and I think she took out a lot of that anger on you when y’didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “It’s not fair that she gets to be angry when she wasn’t the one that lost everything.”

“You were her everythin’, baby,” Joel whispered. “She lost you.”

“You’re taking her side,” you grumbled.

“I’m just tryna show you the other side of things,” Joel offered. 

“I know you are.”

Joel sunk further into the pillows, dragging you down beside him. You nestled into his arms, your limbs twisting around him like they had a hundred times before. It’s odd what your body remembers, but your brain forgets; it is a simple gesture of an embrace that can never be entirely forgotten. You understood why things always felt so right when you met him again last year; your soul knew he was the missing piece that had been lost. 

Joel spoke your name softly, the syllables more beautiful than ever when they rolled through his accent. You hummed in response, gazing up at him through tired eyes.

“I woulda waited an eternity for you, baby,” he confessed. “I woulda gone to my grave waitin’ to have you back in my arms like this again.”

You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes, failing miserably to hide the quiver of your lips. Joel didn’t wait for your response, nor could you verbalize anything to match the poetry of his words. You only nodded and said, " I love you, " before your eyes drifted shut. Home. You were home.

Joel was softly snoring when you woke up. In the quiet light of the morning, you took the time to admire every softened feature of his face. The worried creases between his brows had smoothed overnight, yet you still found yourself brushing a finger over the spot they usually were. Brushing your hand down his face, you traced the outline of his lips, slightly parted and pouty, the soft kiss more kissable now than ever. Kissing him could wait; you wanted to savor this moment. 

You drew a path down his neck and chest, the spattering of hair across his torso tickling your fingertips. Joel stirred above you, his head rolling to the other side of the pillow. His eyes never opened, though, and you took the opportunity to crawl under the sheets. 

Joel’s cock lay heavy against his lower abdomen, precum leaking onto the soft skin of his stomach. You ran your hands over his hips, settling yourself lower until you were comfortable between his legs. His cock twitched as you wrapped a hand around his length, stroking him slowly and deliberately. Leaning your head down, you kissed up the shaft of his cock, dragging your tongue up the length and around the head. Joel’s body tensed up, yet he still didn’t wake. You took him into your mouth, the salty taste and musky scent overwhelming your senses. You hadn’t pleasured him like this in so long, and you had forgotten how much you loved it. 

Taking him deeper, you flattened your tongue, teasing the base of his cock with the tip of your tongue. You faintly heard a moan slip from Joel’s mouth, his cock twitching against your tongue. 

“Baby?” He groaned.

You hummed softly, pulling him from your mouth. With your saliva coating the entirety of his cock, you pumped him quicker, feeling his body seize up under your touch. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, bucking his hips upward. 

You rewarded him with another swirl of your tongue over the head of his cock, your mouth and hand working in tandem. He was close; you could feel it. 

“Just like that, baby. Forgot—fuck—forgot how good your mouth feels.”

You took him deeper, the tip of his cock tapping against the back of your throat. You sputtered around him, drool rolling down the corners of your mouth, yet you didn’t stop. Hollowing your cheeks, you heard Joel choke out a gasp. The warmth of his release flooded your mouth, coating the back of your throat and tongue. You drank down every drop, pulling off of him with a soft pop.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, slumping into the pillows. “Get your ass up here, baby.”

You crawled over his body, your legs straddling his waist. Joel grinned up at you, his tired eyes still barely open as he drank in your naked body. 

“C’mere,” he yawned, reaching up to grab the back of your neck.

His soft lips met yours, and you molded your body to him, letting him guide your mouth however he pleased. There was still a pang of anger tucked into the darkest corner of your heart, but you knew with time, it might fade away, and all you wanted was to bask in Joel’s love as long as possible. Things would take time, but you were willing to work on it. 

“I missed wakin’ up to you,” Joel muttered, his lips working down your jaw.

You could feel him growing hard against your core as you ground your hips down on him. It was impossible to hide the fact you were slick with arousal between your thighs, your body terribly responsive to every touch he placed on your body.

“You’re drenchin’ me, baby,” he groaned. “Need to feel your pussy now.”

“I’m all yours.”

“Damn fuckin’ right you are.”

You lifted your hips, notching his cock at your entrance. Inch by inch, you sunk onto him, both of you exhaling a shaky moan as he stretched you open. Leaning forward, you laced your fingers through Joel’s, holding him firm in your grasp. All you ached for was the tenderness he could provide, the slow synchronicity that flowed through his body and into yours. 

A gentle rub of his thumb over the back of your hand, the slow rise and fall of your hips against his cock… it was the lazy movements that spoke louder than words. It was the recognition that you were his just as he was yours. Soft moans fell off your lips as Joel guided you against his cock, little reassuring grunts leaving his mouth with each roll of your body.

“S’fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” Joel exhaled.

The sun seeping through the blinds lit the amber flecks around his pupils, the morning light painting his naked body golden. The veins beneath his thick neck strained as he lifted his head to watch you, his lips parted in awe as you sucked him further inside your slicken sex. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he demanded. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

Your fingers slipped away from his hand, brushing down his flexed stomach as you made a path to your throbbing clit. The feather-like touch immediately sparked pleasure through your core. You clenched around his cock, whimpering with each circle of your fingertips. 

“I feel it, baby. I know you’re close.”

“Mhmm,” you whined.

Joel raised his body to press into your chest, one hand cradling your heavy breast, the other kneading the flesh of your ass. With his weight against your body, your hand pressed harder against your clit, the arousal pooling between where your bodies connect. 

Your head fell onto his shoulder, teeth sinking into his sweat-covered skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, only grounding you down harder onto his cock. You needed every atom of your being injected with Joel; every one of your senses evaded with his taste, touch, and scent. 

“Joel,” you mumbled, nestling your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m so close… so close.”

“I got you, baby. Gonna fall apart right here with you.”

He barely finished speaking by the time your orgasm ignited in your stomach, your body shuddering within his embrace. Joel spoke your name in broken syllables, his release pouring into you only moments later. 

Neither of you broke apart once your spasms subsided. Joel tangled a hand into the hair resting at the nape of your neck, urging your lips to his. Slotting your mouth over his, you slipped your tongue over his bottom lip, a starved search for a deeper connection. Joel fulfilled your need, devouring the soft sounds you exhaled.

Slowly—reluctantly—you tore from his lips, gasping for air to fill your lungs. Joel’s swollen lips formed into a crooked smile, his brown eyes softening the longer he gazed at you. Somewhere inside your chest, you felt that pain reawaken, a haunting reminder that you could have had this all along. Had the lies never been told… Joel would have always been yours. 

How did he survive the years of pain? How did he allow himself to let you go, knowing you’d never be satisfied with another?

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you turned your head to hide the emotions cresting over your face. Nothing went unnoticed with Joel, and he gently pinched your chin to bring your eyes back to his. With furrowed brows, Joel studied your features, the realization striking home for him, too.

“I know you’re scared, baby,” he whispered. “And I know there’s a lot I gotta fix between us, but I swear to you that I ain’t ever gonna leave again. I made that mistake once, and I’ll never do it again.”

“I want to trust you, Joel. I’m trying. But I don’t know how to forget what you’ve done… what everyone has done. There’s so much pain inside me. It’s unbearable.” 

Joel cradled your face in his hands, leveling you with a gaze you couldn’t discern. So many emotions swirled within his eyes, an endless expanse of grief that weighed him down. 

“Give me your pain. Give me all your anger and everything inside you, and I swear I’ll keep you safe. Y’ain’t ever gonna be alone again. Not while I’m still breathin’, baby. It’s you and me. Forever.”

“Forever,” you echoed. 

“Yes, forever. I don’t want another moment of my life without you in it. I can’t lose you again.”

“I can’t lose you, either,” you cried. “I never wanted to lose you in the first place, so please don’t leave.”

Joel’s eyes clouded with tears, and he shook his head. 

“I love you too much ever to leave you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m keepin’ you so long as y’let me.”

Eventually, you both made it out of the bed. Joel grumbled at your wishes to leave, keeping you in his arms and peppering your skin with kisses. It wasn’t long before your dizziness set back in, and you were demanding water and painkillers. 

As Joel poured you a glass of water, you found yourself swaying against the cold tile floors of the kitchen, the corners of your vision blurring. Your nails scratched at the kitchen countertop as you tried to suppress the lightheaded feeling creeping in. You just needed to sit…that’s all you needed. 

You called out Joel’s name the moment your knees buckled beneath you. His body moved in a foggy haze as you tried to keep consciousness, yet you were being pulled beneath the surface of your headache. Strong hands tucked themselves under your armpits, and Joel lowered you to the ground. 

“Baby?” His voice was frantic—strained. 

You mumbled a few incoherent words as your body sagged into his arms. Christ, your head ached. You hadn’t experienced a fainting spell since the accident, and you forgot how terrifying it was. 

Joel choked out your name, his hand snaking around your jaw to wag your head back and forth. You could see his silhouette over you, the shadow molding into the spots within your field of vision, but nothing else registered. Slipping. Drowning. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. Fear set your nerves alight; what if you lost it all again? What if everything melted away into the darkness consuming you? You clawed tooth and nail as your body plunged deeper into unconsciousness. 

It was no use. 

**

Joel paced the hallway outside your hospital room like a madman. The moment you went limp in his arms, he knew something was wrong. He should have taken your injury more seriously and urged you to the hospital yesterday. But he had you in his arms again, and the world would have had to fall apart before he even considered letting you go. Every admission from your lips weighed down on Joel’s shoulders, another swell of guilt growing inside him. He anticipated your anger, your grief, your heartbreak; he willingly listened without argument. His own struggles were nothing compared to what you endured, and he’d be damned if you ever felt those emotions again. Chewing at his nails, Joel glanced back at the open blinds of your hospital room. The doctors assured him you’d be okay; it was only a concussion, and there’d be no complications. That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to be absolutely sure you’d recover. 

The door cracked open, and Joel rushed toward the neurologist leaving your room. 

“How is she, doc?” Joel asked. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

The neurologist, Dr. Oliver, nodded with a soft smile. The smile alone settled the rapid heartbeat banging against Joel's ribcage. 

“Miss Smith is going to be just fine,” Dr. Oliver reassured. “There’s going to be a long road to recovery, but I don’t see any long-term effects. I suggest you bring her in for check-ins with me every few months just to monitor her progress.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Joel nodded. 

“What I need you to do, Mr. Miller, is to help her. She may be a bit forgetful occasionally, so leaving lists around the house or notes will help keep her on track. You do live together, I assume?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had yet to learn how to shake. 

“We don’t, but if y’recommend it…”

“I recommend it, but only because she’ll need someone looking over for her. At least, until she regains enough cognitive strength to keep her memory at full capacity,” Dr. Oliver explained. 

“I can do that, Doc. All I want is for her to be okay.”

Dr. Oliver clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder, his lips curving into a grin. Joel could finally breathe; you’d be okay. 

“You’re a good man, Mr. Miller. She’s lucky to have you here to care for her.”

“Thank you, Doc.”

“Give her some time to rest, and she’ll be clear to go home tomorrow.”

Dr. Oliver said his goodbyes to Joel and bounded down the hallway to other patients. Joel glanced at the open door, your sleeping frame tucked into the bed among the cords and beeping monitors. He entered quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor so he wouldn’t wake you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Joel took your hand in his, cautious to avoid the IV tube taped onto your skin. Smoothing lines over the inside of your wrist, Joel watched you with weary eyes. 

“I love you, baby. I’m gonna be right here when y’wake up,” he vowed. “Like it always shoulda been.”

Leaning over your body, Joel pressed his lips against your forehead, inhaling your sweet scent as he pulled away. 

You’d be okay, and you’d forever be his. 

**

The harsh light above you reflected behind your eyelids. You groaned as you stirred awake, your eyes squinting to adjust to the layers of white surrounding you. Curling your fingers into the scratchy blanket, you found a familiar body sagged into a chair beside the bed. Joel slept peacefully, yet the worry lines creased between his brows. Extending your hand over the edge of the bed, you brushed your palm over his knee. 

“Joel,” you whispered. 

His body jolted upright as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Big, brown puppy dog eyes met yours, the concern in his face dissolving away once his eyes settled on yours. He made no effort to contain the smile breaking across his face. 

“Hey, handsome,” you croaked. 

“Baby,” Joel sighed, crouching beside the bed. “How’re y’feelin’?”

“A little fatigued, but I think I’ll live.”

“You better,” he chuckled. 

With your arms outstretched, you ushered Joel into an embrace. Joel’s lips crashed against yours the second he wrapped his arms around you, his touch soft and cautious. Beautiful melancholy emotions wracked your body; this was the moment you ached for from the start. To be held in your vulnerability, to be cherished, to be loved. Joel didn’t leave. He’d always be here, now. 

“There’s someone here to see you, baby,” Joel muttered against your mouth. 

You pulled away, confusion scrunching your eyebrows together. God, don’t let it be your family. 

“I know that look. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be right back. I promise you’ll be happy,” Joel reassured. 

Joel disappeared from the room, and you sat up, settling back into the pillows. You glanced at the monitor beeping beside your bed, the steady line of your heart rate cruising along the screen. Footsteps sounded outside your room, and your eyes flicked back toward the door, a small silhouette hiding behind Joel’s large frame. 

Sarah. 

Her bright eyes looked between you and Joel, her stare quizzical–skeptic. You gave her a small wave, ushering her into the room. 

“Hi, Sarah,” you faltered. The tears were already forming on your waterline. 

“Hi, Miss Smith,” she said wearily. 

You patted the bed, scooting over to make room for her. Her steps were slow as she neared the bedside, her eyes glancing back at Joel. He gave her an encouraging nod, a knowing grin on his lips. 

“You don’t have to call me that,” you laughed softly. 

Sarah settled onto the bed, her tennis shoes swinging over the floor as she fidgeted with her curls. Joel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile glued to his face. 

“But you’re my teacher,” she muttered. 

You tucked a loose strand behind her ear, the same hair you had braided and brushed years ago. She wasn’t yours, not by birth. But she was yours just as much as Joel was; she was your home. They weren’t just photos captured in time; they were real. They were real, and they were yours. 

“Do you remember when I used to read you bedtime stories?” You wondered aloud. “You would always ask for the same one over and over.”

There it was. The light sparkled in the gold flecks of Sarah’s eyes, the same gold that sat deep within Joel’s. 

“You and Dad would read The Kissing Hand every night,” she nodded. 

“I know you’re a lot older now, but do you remember what we would do before you fell asleep?”

You reached for Sarah’s hand, lifting it to your lips. With a soft kiss on her palm, you guided her hand to her cheek. Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she leaned into your touch, the simple caress of your hand against her face enough to bring you both to the brink of crying. 

“I missed you, kiddo,” you cried softly. 

Sarah threw her arms around your neck, muffling her sobs into your hospital gown as you squeezed your arms tighter around her body. You missed so many milestones and moments of her life because of the accident, so many memories that were never made. Every family meal, every soccer game…you lost them all. 

You lifted your eyes, catching the moment Joel swiped away a tear from his cheek. Beckoning him over with a quick motion of your hand, he crossed the room in two quick strides and wrapped his large arms around you and Sarah. You rested your chin on Sarah’s shoulder, hugging her closer. Joel kissed the crown of Sarah’s head, then placed one on your forehead. 

“Wait,” Sarah blurted out, forcing you all to break apart. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Joel asked, craning his head to look at her. 

“Does that mean you’re coming back home?” She asked. 

You looked at Joel for guidance, trying to find the answers within his gentle gaze. He waited in silence, giving you room to decide. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt about your answer, not when you had everything you needed right here. 

“Only if you promise never to make pancakes again,” you smiled, pinching her cheek. 

She buried herself into your arms again, her head resting against your heart. You looked up at Joel, your mouth forming three little words. 

I love you. 

~ Two weeks later ~

Joel refused any help as he unloaded the last of your boxes from the back of his truck. When you got home from the hospital, you patched up the holes in the wall—with Joel’s help, of course—and got the house ready to sell. It barely lasted a week on the market before the offers came in, making it easy to start packing. That house was filled with memories you didn’t want to remember, memories that you no longer wanted to revisit. It wasn’t home to you anymore. 

You and Sarah sat on the front porch, popsicles in hand, watching as he huffed an exasperated breath once the box hit the steps. Joel straightened out, running sweaty hands down the sides of his jeans, glancing back at the empty truck bed. 

“Well, I think that’s the last of it,” Joel sighed. “Y’sure we ain’t miss anythin’?”

“I think I’ve got all I need right here,” you grinned, nudging Sarah with your shoulder. 

Joel plopped beside you on the porch, leaning over to lick up the sticky residue of the popsicle that had fallen down your arm. You gave him a warning look, shifting your eyes toward Sarah as if to say: Behave. He only shrugged, sticking out his tongue again to tickle your skin. 

“You hungry?” He asked, quirking a brow. 

“Starving!” Sarah declared, rising to her feet. 

You laughed, knowing Joel wasn’t asking her. Nonetheless, you and Joel followed her into the house hand in hand. Over the last couple of weeks, he had decorated the house in countless sticky notes: ones in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Each said something important. The one in the bathroom was stuck on the medicine cabinet, reminding you which toothbrush was yours—the purple one. Joel stuck one by the front door with Sarah’s soccer schedule—snack duty included. There were a few scattered around the kitchen: one telling you where to find the coffee mugs, another one with a list of groceries to buy over the weekend. Three photos hung beside the list, sitting in perfect harmony as they always should have been.  But your favorite was stuck to the cover of Romeo and Juliet, Joel’s messy handwriting scribbled across the yellow paper. It was only a few words but the only reminder you needed. 

Welcome home, baby. 

I love you.

[ripleylove]

Say something.

requested by @nekosounds saying: Hoi!!! Is it okay if I request some hurt comfort? Judgement Day forget about a date they were supposed to go on with Reader because they've been so caught up with work and accidentally been ignoring them lately. But then they make it up to them? Please and thank you friend!

pairing: poly!the judgment day x fem reader.

genre: hurt/comfort,angst,fluff.

summary: being ignored by your four partners for sure wasn't great,but the last thing that made your bottled emotions free was the fact that they decided to ditch the date you have been planning since many weeks,and this really made you feel furious.

A/N: twice just get it 🤷🏻‍♀️ also got a lil too personal with this one

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

With WrestleMania quickly approaching,your partners started to get really busy,but that didn't justify their awful actions.

Especially,that for sure didn't excuse the fact that your text were left on delivered and your calls often got sent in the voicemail for 2 weeks.

You didn't know if they were alive or dead,where they were and how they were,because they were "busy".

The only way you got to see them with was social networks, like Instagram or Twitter,where usually Rhea posted a story or two with your partners. All while still ignoring you,of course.

All of this started a week before the start of April,with them going on the road for the big event,WrestleMania,promising to always talk to you.

Yeah,they even promised.

And you believed it. Obviously.

But the last thing that made you lose it,was when you all had a post-WrestleMania dinner at an Italian restaurant that you had been excitedly planning since the beginning of March,and your partners knew how important it was to you.

Hell,you've been waiting for that moment for 1 month,it was obvious that you wanted to make it special. Especially after the tiring weeks of preparing for the big event,and you wanted them to feel more relaxed and serene.

Wearing a flowy and classy lilac dress,and pulling off a perfect nude lip shade,you headed to the famous italian restaurant named: "Luna Rossa".

The outside of the building was dominated by nature,tall and old trees emanating a paradise-like sensation,making the atmosphere really cozy,just how you liked it.

The sound of your high heels echoed through the corridor leading to the reception, your aura radiating confidence and goddess vibes.

"Hello,welcome to Luna Rossa. How can I help you?" The kind lady with brown eyes and red lipstick behind the reception asked.

"Hi,I have a reservation under the name Y/N Y/L/N for five people." You answered,and the last smiled widely.

"Oh,yes! Wait,let me accompany you to the table." She offered,and asked another employee to take care of the reception,leading the way to the crowded dining room,that was booming with chatter and laughs.

"Thank you so much!" You gratefully thanked her,and she brightly smiled at you,going away.

It was 8:30 p.m.,and your partners were supposed to come at 8:40 pm,so you didn't really mind the wait.

You didn't know if you wanted to address or not the problem of them ignoring you during the dinner,and you opted for opening up to them once you were home,in a more private space.

As the time of the arrival of Rhea, Dominik,Finn and Damian inched closer,you were really happy.

Not seeing them for 2 weeks,or even more,took a toll on you and your life.

The loneliness of the once ever so noisy and joyous home filled with Dominik's laugh,and the fact that all of them didn't bother to utter a word to you didn't make them being away any better.

Opening again your phone,you send a text on the groupchat you all had.

You:

Hey,guys! I'm at the restaurant waiting. Where are u all?

delivered at 8:45 p.m.

The fact that they didn't come home even before the dinner was making you feel kind of defeated,but you didn't want to push them,since you knew their job always kept them busy, but you were confident this time,you knew (and hoped) that they would show up.

As the clock strikes 9:00 pm,you were starting to lose hope.

"Please,tell me you're going to come here,say something."

And said hope (as well as your already fragile heart) was crushed when you saw Dominik's instagram story.

It was a picture of him and Rhea laying in bed,the one in your shared house,Dominik's head laying on her chest,both of them smiling happily.

Okay,damn.

So that means they came back home and didn't tell you anything?

And,more worse,they just stood up on you and your date?

Taking your purse with you,you stood up from the empty table with teary eyes.

Going back to the reception, you see the girl from before again,her warm smile welcoming (or,well,bidding farewell) to you; but that smile didn't last long.

In fact,it dropped almost comically.

"Oh my goodness! Are you okay? Wait let me just-" She stopped talking while calling another guy,asking him (again) to watch over while she left for a bit.

"No,no. No need to leave work,I'm okay. Don't worry." You told her, but she didn't really look convinced.

She reluctantly left you alone,her left eyebrow raised,but not without giving you her number.

She was definitely going to be a great company.

With one last wave to Trisha,how she wanted to be called,you left the restaurant with a heavy heart.

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

In the quiet of the night,the only sound you could hear is the jiggle of your keys,while opening the shared house door.

Expecting to see the usual darkness,you were surprised to see the lights on.

So they really came home. And knowing that,made you feel the rage rising in your heart.

Slamming the door shut,you walked with loud steps in the living room.

There you saw the four of them sprawled on the couch,cuddling each other.

On some other day you'd coo at the cuteness of this familiar and cozy scenario,but you couldn't bring yourself to feel these sensations in your heart.

Instead,you felt betrayed,hurt,and heartbroken but,at the same time,you felt angry,pathetic and fuming.

You stood there with tears in your eyes,and Damian was the first to turn around,facing you.

His face turned pale,and he stood up,alarming the others.

"So? Anything to say in your defense before I start talking?" You mockingly asked,watching each of them looking like thieves that got caught.

"Y/N,what did we do? Why are you so mad?" Dominik asked,and you were this close to just slap him right on his cheek.

"What did you do? What did you do? You have the courage to ask me this?" Your four partners were too stunned to speak,as you bursted out all your emotions that you bottled inside your heart.

"So,let me make a little list of what you did,my dear Dominik. First,you promised me that you wouldn't ignore me during the WrestleMania weeks, promise that obviously you didn't keep; Second,I've been left on delivered and had my calls go to voicemail for 2 and almost 3 whole weeks!" You counted on your fingers all the wrongdoings of your lovers,watching their faces lose color from the realization.

"And you wanna hear about the cherry on top?"

"My dear and lovely partners stood up on me on my most waited date,that I was cherishing and attending since a lot of time,since we rarely get to be together." You ironically talked,but you still weren't finished.

"And,last but not least,I discover that my partners came home after 3 weeks of no contact through a fucking instagram story!" You shouted,and Rhea's eyes widened.

"Is that enough for you,little Dominik? Or do you want to know more? 'Cause I've got a lot to say about this whole shit!" Dominik shook his head,while Finn decided to talk.

"Listen,Y/N-"

"Oh,you want me to listen? Listen to what? Your stupid excuses? Wait,let me guess. You wanted to say that you all have been busy,that you didn't have time and that you were thinking about too much things to fucking remember one date?" You interrupted him,and he was speechless,just like the others,and he stayed silent.

"That's what I thought." You rolled your eyes, "Tonight I'm taking the guest bedroom,I want to be alone. Got it?"

"We promise." Damian answered,and you snorted.

"This time make sure to actually keep it."

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

This is one of two endings: angst ending (this one) and the comfort ending (coming soon); read any ending you want! thanks to @nekosounds,this idea was developed, and I'd like to thank her a lot!!

taglist: @stellakiddsblog @bibibi-tchx @p-mp @teenagedramaqueenlisa @thegalacticnacho091 @judgementdaysunshine

[captain-hen]

What do you think are the fandom ~~classic buddie fics?

i think this is a very subjective opinion, but i can tell you which fics i really love and constantly re-read—and which, in my opinion, should be read by everyone in the fandom :)

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by @hmslusitania Rated M | 44k | Completed Summary: An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances—and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts—a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by rarakiplin Rated M | 130k | Completed Summary: One day, Buck will tell an interviewer that he would be happy to make movies with Eddie Diaz until the day he dies. But first, years before that, he sees Eddie for the first time on the set of Chimney’s fifth movie. (or, the actors au)

i want your midnights by @littlespoonevan Rated T | 36k | Completed Summary: In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

maybe we'll make something by @buckactuallys Rated E | 76k | Completed Summary: On a road trip with Christopher, Buck and Eddie finally work through their various traumas, and Eddie faces his parents again.

what a heart can do by @bvckandeddie Rated T | 86k | Completed Summary: In which Buck becomes the guardian of the daughter he never knew he had. Together, they discover what happiness truly means to them.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston Rated T | 40k | Completed Summary: Eddie is the newest firefighter at the 118. Buck is the ghost haunting the 118. Unfortunately for both of them, Eddie's also a witch and needs to put Buck's spirit to rest, because that's what witches do. Turns out, Buck's spirit? Super not interested in being put to rest. Very interested, however, in flirting with Firefighter Diaz, who is just trying to survive his candidate year. (Also turns out, Buck? Super not dead.)

Both Blade and Branch by @cal-daisies-and-briars Rated M | 62k | Completed Summary: The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

we're not in love (but the sex is good) by elless Rated E | 15k | Completed Summary: Eddie is new to LA. Feeling lonely, he goes to a bar for a drink and meets a beautiful stranger that kisses like a dream. What starts as a one night stand quickly moves to frequent no strings sex. When circumstances lead to them spending time together out of bed, Eddie realizes he’s attached to Buck in a way he never planned for.

for all the haunts and homes of men by euadnes Rated M | 113k | Work in Progress Summary: The year by the old calendar is 2025. Home is gone. Home is a failed rescue mission and an echo of a memory. Home is a lost boy living in a wooden house by the sea. But first, there was a promise. Christopher, when it's safe, I'll take you back to your father. Buck had all but given up on keeping it after the world had died and everyone in it. But just as some oaths refuse to be forgotten, so the same can be said about the endurance of love.

things we shouldn't do by Ingu Rated T | 21k | Completed Summary: The one where Buck and Eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there.

[crushmeeren]

Warnings; Female Reader, Female Anatomy Used, Kissing, Pussy Eating, Vaginal Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex (Double Penetration 😏), Dirty Talk, Praising, Cream Pies! Generally just fluffy and smutty, my personal favorite combo.

Note; Well here it is, my Crowley/Reader/Aziraphae one shot. It’s written with a female bodied reader because I’m female and that’s what I know best. I loved writing this. Once again it became very long and I could not stop the train. Hope everyone who wanted this enjoys it.

AO3 Link; The Devils Hour😈

Word Count; 7.5k

If anyone would like me to write Gender Neutral or Male Reader One Shots, let me know! I would love to do that!☺️

It’s 3 am. You notice after glancing at the red numbers on the digital clock currently sitting on your nightstand. It’s the devils hour. Which is kind of funny considering you’re missing the actual demon that usually occupies part of the bed. It’s completely dark in your shared room, the only other light is from the moon peaking through the curtains, letting you see occasional shapes as you look around the room. You hear the sounds of cars driving down your road once in awhile, and you just hope it’s Crowley, pulling up in his Bentley, Queen music blaring.

You’re halfway laying on your belly and your right side, left leg bent and tucked up beside your waist as you reach out a hand to run it over the soft blanket on the side of the bed that Crowley usually sleeps on. Except right now it’s empty. The blanket feels cool to the touch and it’s unsettling. You grip the blanket tightly, knuckles turning white, before releasing it. The bed’s just too big and it teeters on the line of feeling wrong without Crowley there with you and the Angel.

You start to feel a tug in your chest at the familiar ache of missing the demon. The uncomfortable emotion settles in your heart heavily, sinking into your chest, almost like a lead balloon. It weighs you down and presses you into the mattress a little bit more than before. As you lay there contemplating your misery you hear the blanket rustle behind you and you’re reminded you still have your sweet Angel in the bed with you. It makes you feel a tad lighter.

“Angel,” you breathe out, feeling a warm, steady arm wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you closer. Aziraphale curls up against your back, shifting a knee to get between the soft skin of your thighs. Pillowy lips press a kiss into the back of your neck, over a knob in your spine, which he has access to since your hair’s pulled up into a bun.

“Is everything alright my dear? Why are you awake?” Aziraphale questions, voice quiet and raspy with sleep. You scoot back as much as you can into his embrace and rest your hand on the forearm that holds you.

“I miss Crowley, I thought he would be home by now,” you respond, voice thick with emotion, eyes stinging, threatening to fill with tears. You feel as if you’re being a bit over dramatic but who cares, you miss him. You would miss the Angel just the same if he were gone. You pull the soft blanket up over your shoulder, covering you both.

He brings his hand to the bottom of your large T-shirt. It’s some older, worn one Aziraphale never wears anymore. He wants to get closer to you and he slips that hand underneath, fingers rubbing the skin of your belly soothingly this time as he wraps his arm around you even tighter in comfort.

“I know my love, I miss him too. The old boy is alright. He’ll be home soon. He can’t stay away from us for long, you know that,” Aziraphale says, tone reassuring, nuzzling the back of your head gently. You can feel his warm breath on your neck and it makes you shiver slightly, goosebumps erupting up your arms and legs. An involuntary pulse of arousal makes your pussy clench around nothing. You try to ignore it. Which of course doesn’t work.

“I know, I just, well it’s been awhile since we’ve all been in bed together. I miss being with both of you,” you say shyly, craving the intimacy and pleasure that comes with the three of you having sex together. Missing the way one of them stretches open your pussy as the other presses into your tight arse. The image flashes behind your eyelids and your cheeks burn as your entire body feels too hot. Your pussy clenches again and you squeeze your thighs around the Angels knee for some relief. Aziraphale feels the way you press your pretty little arse into his pelvis, feeling his dick twitch at the sensation.

“Darling,” Aziraphale starts to coo, “You’re missing our demon that badly huh?” he teases, fondly of course, raising up on one elbow to lean forward and press a sweet kiss to the side of your neck.

“Yes.” It comes out as a breathy moan. The Angel hums against your neck. He lets his soft lips trail over your earlobe and whispers in your ear.

“Maybe I can help you feel a little better, my pretty little doll.” You breathe in sharply. You can definitely feel your own heartbeat in your pussy. Warmth pools in your lower belly instantly. The Angel presses his knee a little bit further and puts pressure against your aching clit. Just that little bit of contact feels so good, making your limbs tingle warmly. It makes you crave the loving he’s so gifted at giving.

“Please Angel.” Voice on edge, as you squeeze your bare thighs around the knee he has pushed against your pussy. You rock your hips, grinding your clit onto his knee a couple times, groaning softly. Aziraphale watches your movements, feeling your warm pussy rubbing against his bare leg through your panties, a slightly wet sensation. Your sweet noises reach his ears and his entire body flushes hotly, his cock jumping against your arse, filling out steadily. He can’t help but slip his knee free and roll you onto your back, eager to keep going.

You let him manhandle your body and your head ends up resting on a pillow. You look up at his pretty blue eyes. He bites his bottom lip and helps you bend your legs at the knee, placing your feet on the mattress. You only make one short sound of protest at the loss of his touch and he laughs brightly.

“There, there my love, I’ll be touching your pretty body again shortly,” he says, playfully as he makes his way closer between your thighs, pushing them wide open with his hands on your knees. He decides to shove off the fuzzy blanket that was covering the two of you, it had start to just pool around his waist. It gathers at the end of your bed.

You lick your lips and reach out for Aziraphale with a soft pout on your mouth. You grab a fistful of his shirt and tug him to you. His lips pull into an amused smile and he lets himself be pulled. He rests his elbows on either side of your head, gently relaxing his weight down onto you, and you both groan at the feeling of your chests pressing together. His body crushes you slightly and for some reason it turns you on even more. You can feel his warmth through both your shirts and it makes your nipples harden.

You yearn to kiss him, so you grip his shoulders and pull him down to your mouth. Aziraphales sweet, plump lips slotting against yours perfectly. The Angel makes you feel safe, loved, happy and your kiss conveys all of that. He tilts his head as he moves your lips together slowly, intimately. The kiss starts to feel like heated honey, the sweetness of it soothing some of the bitter ache you both feel missing Crowley.

You moan into his mouth and poke your tongue out to run it against his bottom lip. You hear him whine as he opens his mouth instantly letting you in. You twist your tongue with his for a moment just tasting him before sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. You chomp down, biting it and releasing it with a wet sound. He moans low in his throat.

“Oh, you’re such a little tease aren’t you?” Aziraphale tickles your ribs softly as he leans down to kiss your neck. You let out a happy giggle, pushing at his hands without much force. You let yourself enjoy the feeling of his mouth, melting under his touch in a puddle of warm goo. His hands trail down your sides to the bottom of your shirt. He grips the edge of it and sits back on his calves so he can pull it up and off of you. You sit up a little and let him strip you, tossing it to the side. The cool air hits your chest giving you goosebumps again. As you lay back again, his fingers have already slipped into the waistband of your panties. You let out an accidental laugh.

“You’re so eager Angel,” you say, teasing him. He looks at you and grins, giving you a wink. You bite your lip and tilt your head down to watch him. You decide to be proactive and lift your hips for him. He makes an approving noise as he tugs them down your legs, again tossing them aside carelessly. Aziraphale runs his hands appreciatively over your soft thighs and up your belly. You whimper at the feeling of his warm hands. He smiles at you lovingly and leans forward to nuzzle at the space between your breasts. You feel a sharp pinch, like being stung by a bee and you know he’s sucking a love bite into the skin there. You let out a yelp at the sensation of teeth as your hands shoot up to tangle into his soft, white curls.

“Oh! Oh-hah that feels so good Angel.” Whining as he shifts his head to the left, sucking a nipple into his mouth. Aziraphale wraps his lips around your perky bud and sucks harshly, tongue flicking up and down. A low moan vibrates in your chest and your back arches up into his touch. You’re starting to sweat as your thighs clench around his hips and he presses his pelvis down into your groin. His covered cock spreading the slick folds of your pussy. He releases your nipple with a pop and gasps sharply at the feeling of your warm pussy rubbing against him. He pushes his hips up, grinding against your clit, sending tingles of pleasure and relief up your spine.

“Azi,” you say, whining. You let the last syllable drag out. He knows you’re starting to feel it as you only use that nickname when you’re in bed.He snickers a little bit, moving his hips slowly, letting his cock drag continuously through your folds and against your clit. It’s soaking his briefs.

“Hmm? Is your pretty pussy feeling good my sweet girl?” he whispers, in a way that sounds like he’s teasing but it’s wrapped in a loving tone. Aziraphale doesn’t usually speak so filthily, at least not outside of the bedroom. He pushes through the embarrassment each time because it turns him on so much seeing your sweet reactions to his words.

“Yes! Yes, S’good Azi, want you inside Angel.” Crying out to him, you dig your nails into his forearms. Heavens, that really sets him off. He knows his cock is flushed and hard as steel. He can feel the throb of heated arousal in his groin and how his briefs are sticking lewdly to his leaking tip. He groans your name and leans down to kiss at your collarbone. The feeling makes your eyes flutter closed, tilting your jaw up as you lose yourself in him.

“Well, for hells sake, don’t you two just make the loveliest picture. Couldn’t wait for me to get home huh?” A smooth voice purrs from the open doorway of their room. You and Aziraphale immediately freeze in place at the sound of his voice, breaking apart as you shoot up to sit straight up in the bed and the Angel turns on his knees to face the demon. Crowley flips on the switch to the low light of their room, bathing them all in soft, warm light.

Both of your faces light up like the sun as you recognize the voice belonging to the red head and you’re both scrambling off the bed and shooting towards Crowley. Your foot almost getting caught in the blanket as you tumble off the bed. The demon laughs happily as the two of you wrap your arms around his waist, sandwiching him in between you and the Angel. You not caring you’re completely naked and Aziraphale not caring he’s sporting a raging boner that’s poking Crowley straight in the thigh.

“Miss me did we?” Crowley teases in a smooth voice, as he lets himself be squished, absolutely loving it. Sounding like a cat who doesn’t want to admit he wants affection. The two of them release him as they all smile happily.

“We missed you so much love, I didn’t think you’d be home tonight,” you say, voice full of love, excited now that you are all three together. Crowley slips his glasses off and walks to place them on the side table, shrugging off his jacket and toeing off his shoes.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be home tonight either but I couldn’t stand being away for much longer,” he replies, with a smirk.

“Yeah, that’s what Azi said too,” you comment offhandedly, in a joyful tone of voice. You move to sit on the edge of the bed and Aziraphale walks closer to Crowley, getting in his space. Crowleys eyebrows raise up at the nickname as he looks at you briefly before making eye contact with the smug looking Angel.

“Azi huh? Just how good was the Angel making you feel, you pretty little demon,” he says, with a smirk, knowing you only call the Angel that when you’re in bed, when you’re getting all needy and whiny. When you start to feel so good your words slur and you beg the Angel to pound you. Your cheeks turn a bright pink at his words. Aziraphale speaks before you can.

“Oh dear, I was just getting a little bit of a taste of our girl before you came home. I thought you’d enjoy a bit of a feast when you got here. I had a feeling you’d be home late like this…wanting a late night snack my love,” the Angel says, in a teasing voice, sounding ridiculously seductive. Crowley grins wickedly in return and leans down in Aziraphales face.

“You’re such a good Angel,” Crowley coos, as he leans closer and presses his lips against the Angels. Aziraphale sighs happily and wraps his arms around Crowleys neck, melting into the kiss as their lips move together sensually.

You wiggle where you sit on the edge of the bed, belly heating dangerously as the atmosphere between the three of you charges significantly. Crowley fitting seamlessly into the situation, like he was never even gone. Watching the two of them together is bewitching. The way their lips meet and move together with a slick noise. Crowley tugging Aziraphale forward by his hips. Seeing flashes of their tongues disappear in each others mouths. Your pussy throbs repeatedly and you can’t help but let out a whine, wanting their attention. They break from the kiss but not their position, still glued together. Both of them turning their heads to look at you, faces looking way too smug.

“Feeling left out my love? You’re such a needy little demon.” Teasing you, Aziraphale breaks away from his embrace with Crowley. He walks towards you and stops a few inches away from your spread thighs. You nod and bite your bottom lip. You maintain eye contact with Aziraphale as he hooks his thumbs into his briefs and slowly pushes them down his hips. You then watch as his cock bobs free when the waistband of his briefs catches on it. He pushes the underwear the rest of the way off. You can’t keep your eyes away from his pretty pink cock. Thick, but not too long. You reach out a hand to wrap your fingers around his dick but he grabs your wrist. “Not yet my dear. Let’s wait for Crowley okay?” he says, softly, eyes sparkling with amusement at your eagerness. Your lips turn into a small pout and you nod reluctantly as your eyes glance over to see what the demon is doing.

Crowley took advantage of you being distracted and had busied himself with shedding his clothes, leaving him in his briefs and black tee currently. You bite the inside of your lip while you run your eyes over his lanky figure. You notice the Angel so the same. Crowleys lips tug into a one sided smirk.

“Love,” the Angel calls out, gently, to get your attention. You look up at him once again. “Why don’t we get a better view of our gorgeous boy huh?” he says.

“What do you have in mind?” you question, curiously, wondering what’s running through the Angels brain. He pointedly says nothing as he gets on the bed next to you and crawls to the headboard. He props up a couple pillows against the frame and he turns to lay his back against them, letting his legs fall open as he plants his feet.

“Come sit in my lap love, let’s enjoy a show and watch Crowley get undressed,” Aziraphale says, with a sly smile. Your belly flips eagerly as you nod excitedly and quickly move up the bed. You turn around as well and sit in between his legs. You rest your back against his chest as you recline, you can feel his heart beating steadily. Aziraphale maneuvers you until each of your thighs are resting on the outside of his, spreading your legs and pussy open. He wraps his arms around your waist as you watch Crowley move to the end of the bed, standing by the edge. His eyes roam your spread body. As his serpent eyes make their way to your cunt, he licks his bottom lip, forked tongue flicking out, and he palms his dick through his underwear.

“C’mon Crowley, we wanna see you get naked,” you say, feeling amused. You feel the Angels soft breath on your neck as he chuckles. Crowleys head tilts back as he laughs.

“Eager for me?” he jokes. You both nod and Aziraphale squeezes your waist again and rests the side of his face against yours.

“Yes dear, we’ve missed seeing your body,” Aziraphale says, eagerly. Crowley wiggles his eyebrows and he reaches for the bottom of his shirt and in one movement pulls it off, letting it drop on the ground. You both cheer softly. Crowley laughs and hooks his fingers into his waistband, lingering. “Doesn’t our dear boy look so..enticing?” The Angel whispers in your ear. You shiver and nod. The Angel trails one hand from your waist down your belly slowly. He brushes his fingers through the curly hair on your mound. Your heart rate picks up and you feel liquid heat in your belly as he softly places his pointer and middle finger on your clit. You inhale sharply, legs flexing around the outside of his thighs. Crowley watches the movements of his Angels hand and he bites his bottom lip. You see Crowleys cock fill out completely in his briefs as the Angel starts to rub slow, tiny circles into your clit. You feel Aziraphales cock start to harden again against your back. Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you moan loudly as pleasure smolders through you, straining to keep your eyes open and on Crowley. “Ah, that’s a good girl, keep those pretty eyes on Crowley love,” Aziraphale praises, moving his fingers a little faster. You began to breathe a little heavier, wiggling slightly and Crowley can’t wait anymore. He pushes his briefs off and steps out of them.

You’re letting out soft sounds of pleasure and you reach out a hand for Crowley, making a grabby motion at him. He smiles and makes his way up to you both before sitting on his haunches. He grabs your hand and squeezes your fingers before letting your hand rest against your belly. He makes eye contact with Aziraphale briefly as you watch them have some sort of mental conversation, before Crowley smirks. The Angel slows his fingers down and you make a protesting noise. He stops and slips a finger up and down through your folds, covering it in slick before pulling it away. You cry out, whimpering his nickname. He giggles and whispers in your ear.

“What do you want my pretty little doll?” Shifting in place, you flex your open legs briefly.

“I- I want his mouth,” you mumble softly, eyes glued to the demons lips. You’d been thinking about Crowley eating you out for a week now. It being the star of many of your recent dreams. The other two snicker.

“I can’t hear you dear, can’t you speak up,” Aziraphale says, in a bit of a condescending tone, teasing you and kissing the side of your neck. You burn with embarrassment, but it just turns you on even more.

“Such a whiny little demon, can’t even tell us what she wants. Angel, I think she wants me to eat her pussy.” Crowley grins, letting his tongue flick out again. You feel the Angels dick twitch against your lower back at the words. He loves watching Crowley eat you out.

“Oh yeah?” he giggles. “Do you want Crowley to eat your pretty little pussy love?” You groan loudly, feeling so unbelievably turned on by the filth that leaves their mouths. Aziraphale holds onto your hips and makes a tsk sound, like he’s disappointed before he speaks. “Now my dear, use your words. Tell Crowley you want him to use his wicked mouth to eat your pussy.” Crowley rubs a hand soothingly up and down your thigh.

“Yeah sweetheart, tell me you hearts desire,” Crowley teases, trailing a finger down the crease between your wet heat and your thigh.

“Fuckk, Crowley please, I want you to eat my pussy,” you say with a whine, feeling too hot in your skin, legs tingling from where they’re stretched open. You hear Aziraphale inhale sharply as the words leave your mouth. Crowleys smile can only be described as hungry. He moves onto his belly in between your thighs in a way that can only be described as a slither. Your breath catches as his face gets close to your pussy.

“Good job sweetheart,” he says, breath fanning over your clit. Your hips twitch upwards involuntarily in response. Aziraphale rests his chin on your shoulder and looks down to enjoy the view. Crowley keeps eye contact with you both as he closes the distance and his tongue pokes out to slide between your folds and up to your clit. He licks stripes into your clit, swirling his tongue in a circle.

“Fuck! Crowley, oh god!” you choke out, moaning lowly as swirls his tongue leisurely. Your hands shoot out to tangle in his red hair, tugging tightly. His eyes flutter for a second and he moans against your pussy. You and Aziraphale watch the demon with undivided attention.

“Heavens, this is beautiful. You’re such a good girl, letting Crowley eat your pussy.” Aziraphale says, voice breathless. His arms tighten around your waist and you feel his dick throb. Crowley wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, flicking his forked tongue at the same time. Your thighs tense against Aziraphales, wanting to close around the demons head. Your eyes squeeze shut as your head falls back onto the Angels shoulder. A wail tears from your chest.

Crowley digs his nails into your thighs and he starts to make out with your pussy. He rolls your swollen clit over and over between his lips, using his tongue to help push you closer to the edge. Your slick and his saliva coating his lips. You can feel it drip down to your arse and onto the bed. You feel Aziraphales fingers grip your jaw, squeezing and tugging your chin so your head tilts down to watch Crowley.

“Eyes open, my dear. Be good,” Aziraphale coos. You start to pant and force your eyes open to watch the demon devour you. Crowley takes one hand off your thigh and brings it close to your pussy, dragging it through your folds as he sucks on your clit again. He rubs the flat of his tongue up and down your clit in a steady rhythm.You jolt in slight surprise as you feel a miraculously lube covered finger rub circles over your arse hole for a moment, trying to loosen you up.

“S-shit Crowley!” you say, shakily as his finger just glides into your hole smoothly all the way to his last knuckle. The demon sucks gently on your clit to help ease the ache. The Angel brings his hands up to grip your breasts, after letting go of your jaw.

“You think you can take both of us tonight my love?” Aziraphale asks, gently and noses at your jaw. You nod quickly, arse tightening around Crowleys finger and he pops off your pussy for a moment, starting to pump his finger and kissing your clit once more shortly.

“Oh, she likes that Angel,” Crowley purrs, before quickly pulling his finger back and adding a second. He presses them in gently past your rim, then all the way in. You moan at the familiar uncomfortable sensation of you arse stretching to fit his fingers, insides throbbing dully.

“I know she does,” the Angel giggles. Aziraphale brings one hand off your breasts back down to rub circles into your clit again, using the saliva left from Crowleys tongue to make his fingers move smoother. You cry out his name and your hands grip his forearms harshly.

“Azi! Yeah-yes, want you both, need you both at the same time!” The other two moan in unison.

“Fuck, okay, yes, let me stretch you a little bit more okay doll?” Crowley rumbles, Aziraphale moves his fingers a bit quicker on your clit and your pussy clenches around nothing as your tight heat squeezes Crowleys fingers. Aziraphale takes his fingers off your clit and grips your breasts again, pinching your nipples between his fingers. He sucks bites into your shoulder, letting you enjoy the feeling of Crowleys fingers in your arse. You sigh in relief, clit getting sensitive and moan at the feeling of fullness. The burning ache, dulling to a pleasurable tingle. The demon focuses on stretching you open for a few more moments. You feel your back start to stick to Aziraphales chest, feeling him nuzzle into the back of your neck, holding your waist again. The demon adds a third finger, spreading them in the process.

“Crowley,” you moan, softly.

“What is it my sweet little demon?” he asks, looking up at you.

“I’m ready, please, no more,” you say, breathily.

“You ready Angel?” Crowley asks Aziraphale, knowing the Angel is brimming with anticipation.

“Yes my dear, I want to be inside of her so badly,” he responds eagerly, thrusting his hips slightly, rubbing his dick up against your back. You feel the discomfort of Crowley slipping his fingers free and you whimper. Crowley sits up on his knees and smiles widely. You reach your hands up to grip his cheeks, pulling him forward into a kiss, realizing you hadn’t had the chance yet. He hums softly against your lips and you kiss sweetly, his lips feeling like coming home. It only lasts a brief moment, all three of you too worked up to wait longer. Aziraphale unwinds his arms, releasing your legs and sneaks out from behind you. He sits at your side and Crowley in front of you.

“Doll, how do you want us this time?” Crowley asks, caressing your cheek with his hand. You look between the two of them and your cheeks heat up. Aziraphale is a little bit thicker then Crowley, meaning he’ll stretch your arse out more, which could be uncomfortable. On the other hand you haven’t seen Crowley in a week and want to be face to face with him, feeling his dick stretch your pussy. They wait patiently for your answer. Each of them with a hand around their cocks, aching for relief.

“I think, I think I want Crowley to be in my pussy this time,” you say, as your blush travels to your chest, feeling a little guilty. Aziraphale notices the guilty look on your face and he leans close to press a kiss to your cheek. He leans back and looks into your eyes.

“Love, don’t feel guilty, there’s nothing to feel bad about. You know I love being inside of your tight little arse.” Grinning, he backs off again. You giggle lightly. Crowley smiles at you both and moves to lay on his back on the bed. He bends his knees and plants his feet.

“Well then pretty girl, come sit on my dick,” Crowley remarks, looking all too happy with himself. You roll your eyes playfully and move to straddle his lap. You feel the heat of the Angels chest on your back as he settles between Crowleys legs.

“Azi, will you help me?” Without turning your head you speak to Aziraphale and you watch Crowleys cock jump as you speak. You wink at him. He sticks his tongue out at you with a little hiss. Aziraphale moans into the skin of your shoulder.

“Heavens love, you’re gonna make me cum before I even get inside of you,” he replies, he grips your hips guiding you to lift onto your knees. You obey and stay still as one of his hands snakes under you to grab onto Crowleys leaking, hard cock. You both hear the demon let out a hiss. Aziraphale lines up Crowleys cock with your soaking pussy. Aziraphale teases you both by rubbing Crowleys tip through your folds, spreading them gently and you both whine, you dig your nails into the demons chest. You hear the Angel laugh before he lets the demons cock catch on your pussy and he tugs your hip, pulling you down onto Crowleys cock. When you start to feel the delicious stretch of the demon, Aziraphale stills your descent.

“Wait love.” Scooting back the Angel gets a better view of you two.

“Angel, c’mon stop teasing us, let me inside her pussy,” Crowley all but growls, you make a sound of agreement. Aziraphale laughs brightly, loving to torture you both a bit.

“I just want to be able to see that’s all dearest. You wouldn’t deny me the gorgeous view of you filling her up would you?” he says, voice teasing. Crowley just groans in response. Aziraphale presses a hand to your lower back, tilting you forward a little bit, exposing you more. He grips both of your arse cheeks and spreads them open. “Perfect,” he breathes. “You can let him fill you up now darling,” he says, squeezing both cheeks.

“How lovely of you to let us start having sex Azi,” you say, sarcastically. He hums in response, eyes glued to where you and Crowley connect. You let yourself sink down onto Crowleys cock, letting him stretch your pussy open blissfully. You and the demon cry out simultaneously as you bottom out, sitting fully in his lap. “Crowley, you feel so good, oh god.” Choking on a moan you brace more of your weight on him.

“For fucks sake sweetheart, your pussy always feels so good. You take me so well, yes just like that pretty little thing,” Crowley cooes. You hear the Angel behind you whimper softly at the sight. You feel Aziraphales hands grip your waist as he encourages you to start riding the demon.

“Azi, shit, shit, yes that feels so good,” you cry out, using your thighs to ride Crowley. Every time you move up and down you feel his warm cock drag against the walls of your pussy, creating friction so good you feel heated sparks shoot up through your spine. Crowley talks a big game but now a he’s a moaning, needy mess beneath you, fingers gripping your thighs tight. Aziraphale looks over your shoulder at Crowley as you ride him.

“Oh Crowley, such a pretty mess you make. Her pussy making you feel good dear boy?” he says, voice soothing. Crowley nods and lets out a groan from deep in his chest. All of a sudden there’s hands on your hips, yanking you down onto Crowleys cock, making you sit still in his lap. Your pussy clenches tight around Crowleys cock, and you gasp sharply. The demon curses in return. “My loves, I can not wait any longer. I need to be inside your sweet arse my doll, need to feel my cock caressing Crowleys,” he says, voice trembling, hands smoothing up your back.

“Yes, yes okay Azi, fill me up please, want you both.” Wiggling your hips in the Angels grasp.

“Are you ready dear?” Addressing Crowley quickly, he already has a hand pressing into the middle of your back, forcing you to bend more and you place your hands on either side on Crowleys head, staring into his snake eyes.

“Yes my Angel, please I want to feel you both,” Crowley answers, voice breathy, making steady eye contact with you. “You can do it my sweet little demon, you can take him, we’ve got you,” Crowley coos, framing your face with his hands. You whine and your eyes widen as you feel the head of the Angels thick cock press against your arse. He must’ve miracled more lube onto his cock, because the tip of his dick pops in past your rim easily. You choke on an inhale feeling a flash of stinging pain as he lets you adjust and he rubs your lower back lovingly, while he tries to keep still. Your arse so tight and warm. So slick it’s almost already too overwhelming for him. You let out a strangled whimper, already feeling the burning ache turn up a notch. The two of them whisper sweet nothings to you and massage whatever skin their hands can reach as you take deep breaths.

“Azi, please, move, fuck me,” you almost sob. The sensation pushing the edge of too much.

“Yes dear, doing such a good job, look so pretty taking both of us.” Aziraphale babbles, whispering sweet praises as he slowly fills your arse all the way up, balls pressing against your skin. He waits only a few seconds before pulling his hips back and thrusting forward again smoothly. Aziraphale starts to find a steady rhythm and the pain starts to fade into immense pleasure, making you sigh with relief. Crowley lets out a sound that must’ve been punched out of him as he feels Aziraphales cock start to drag against his through your slick and warm walls.

“Fuck! Angel, your cock feels so good against mine, hah, she’s so damn tight.” Crowley feels white hot pleasure crash over him in waves and his toes curl as he tries to thrust upwards to match a somewhat steady pace with the Angel. Aziraphales head falls back as he lets out a throaty moan.

“Heavens Crowley, you do feel unbelievable.” As they both start to move your arms give out. The sensation of being filled in both holes overwhelming to say the very least. You have to rest your chest against Crowleys and bury your face in his neck. You cry out repeatedly into his skin, letting out little ah’s as they pleasure you. You hold onto the sheets by the demons head with a death grip. He murmurs your name lowly in your ear.

“You’re such a good girl, taking us like I knew could. Your pussy is unbelievable, you love this don’t you sweetheart,” he says, hushed and quiet in your ear. You’re so blissed out you can’t respond right now, just writhing in his hold, trying to gulp down air. Crowley grips your arse tightly while Aziraphale keeps his hands on your hips. Both of them pulling and pushing in and out of you, filling you over and over. They stretch you to your limits as they both move a bit faster, finding a faster rhythm now. Never leaving you without one of their cocks filling you up.

You all listen to the wet smacking sounds of wet skin meeting wet skin lewdly. Aziraphales hooded eyes meet Crowleys and they interlace their fingers together on the left side of your hip, fucking into you almost roughly now. Your belly tightens dangerously, heat warring in your stomach. Your pussy starts to flutter around Crowleys cock and you know Aziraphale can feel it in your arse too. You get the strange pressure in your pelvis that signals you might squirt and your heart races.

“Crowley,” you whine, words pressing against his neck.

“I know sweet girl, I know, you’re about to cum aren’t you?” The demon soothes you while pressing a kiss the the side of your head. He pants in your ear as he works to keep up the rhythm Aziraphale set. Aziraphale’s been listening to the demon whisper into your ear and he bites the inside of his cheek, his heart warming at the sight of the two of you. It makes his cock throb as he locks eyes with Crowley.

“She’s gonna cum Angel,” Crowley warns, Aziraphale taking the chance to brace one hand on your upper back, pushing you down into Crowleys chest. He’s still holding Crowleys hand. He breathes heavily as he moves his hips, fucking into your sweet spot through you arse in long, fast strokes.

“I know my love,” he breaks off, groaning. “I-I’m afraid I’m getting close as well. Her arse is just too tight and with the way you feel against me, I won’t last much longer,” he says, whiny edge to his voice. Crowley nods and wraps his free arm around your waist, hugging you tightly.

“I’ve been trying not to c-cum this whole time,” Crowley replies, breathless laughter ringing out as he fucks up into you harder. Just like that you wrap your arms around the demons neck, wanting to be even closer to him as the coil in your belly releases. The unbearably warm pleasure of your orgasm gushes through your limbs, feeling like warm caramel. Your body tenses as you sob into Crowleys neck. Your pussy and your arse clenching suffocatingly so around the cocks currently working you through your climax.

“Oh, oh, hah, so good, pretty girl, doing such a good job, making me cum with your sweet arse,” the Angel spews, words spilling out of him, unable to stop. His hips stutter before he’s pressed all the way in, balls tightening and he starts to cum, filling your arse with sticky, warm release.

Crowleys able to watch as the Angels face twists with pleasure, eyebrows scrunching and his mouth falling open into an o shape. Cheeks flushed pink as his eyes fall shut. He squeezes the demons fingers and your arse with the other hand.

“You’re both so pretty when you cum, fucks sake, it’s not fair,” Crowleys whines, moving his hips harder as Aziraphale holds you still. You’re only able to relax for a few seconds before they hear you suddenly gasp.

“Azi, Crowley! I’m gonna squirt!” You cry out, tone frantic, feeling panicked as you cum for a second time. You squeeze around them both. Aziraphale cries out at the overstimulation and Crowley throws his head back onto the pillow and moans through his teeth. Your body trembles and you hang onto Crowleys shoulders for dear life and pleasure sparks through you again, only this time the pressure in your pelvis releases and you feel yourself squirt all over the demons belly and pelvis, Aziraphale can feel it on his balls, making him shiver. You let out a muffled scream into Crowleys shoulder.

The feeling of you squirting and watching the Angels face as he cums, it shoves Crowley off the edge. Not push, it brutally shoves him. He lets go of Aziraphales hand and presses his palm to the back of your head, tucking your face into his neck as he starts to cum. His other arm squeezes your waist even tighter.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, oh shit.” Crowley cries out, cumming hard. Harder than he expected and he swears his vision whites out and his ears start ringing as he lazily thrusts his hips upwards. He feels like he’s been bathed in sunlight, blood buzzing. Aziraphale groans through his teeth as he feels Crowleys warm cum through the thin layer separating them, the demons dick throbbing in your pussy.

Your body shakes from the overstimulation where you lay on Crowleys chest. You all take deep breaths as you feel the Angels sweaty forehead on your back. After giving everyone a moment to return to their bodies, Aziraphale pulls out first. He does so slowly, knowing him being in your arse is a big cause of the overwhelming sensations you’re feeling. You whimper softly as his softening dick slips out of you and he flops down on one side of Crowley. You twist your head to look into his blue eyes as Crowley releases you from his iron grip.

“Are you alright my sweet doll?” Aziraphale prods gently, brushing hair off your forehead, as he noticed some of your hair falling out of the bun you put it in earlier. You nod your head.

“Yes, yeah I’m okay, I just feel exhausted.” You smile goofily. He presses a kiss to your forehead and your lips. You hum appreciatively and kiss him in return briefly. You two share a sweet, loving look. You lean back a little so you can look into Crowleys eyes, wanting to check on him.

His cheeks are flushed but his eyes are closed. You and Aziraphale glance at one another and you giggle. Aziraphale props himself up on one elbow to see the demons face. You lean down to kiss each one of Crowleys cheeks and he mumbles incoherently before opening his eyes. “Are you back in the land of living Crowley?” You ask teasingly as you brush your noses together in an intimate gesture, giving the demon butterflies.

“Barely,” he responds with one word, making you and the Angel laugh. Crowley grips the bottoms of your thighs and pulls you up his waist a little bit, letting his cock slip out of you. You wiggle uncomfortably as you feel their releases now start to drip out of both your holes. Not to mention the mess you made of Crowleys belly.

“Can one of you miracle away this mess please?” you request.

“I’ve got it my love,” Aziraphale responds, voice sweet and he waves his hand once, making the mess you all created disappear. You all but purr against Crowleys chest in return.

“Thanks Angel,” you say happily. “Should we make Crowley sleep in the middle tonight?” you ask Aziraphale, who hums thoughtfully in response. Crowley cuts in.

“No no, you two are like heaters, I’ll sweat to death if I sleep in the middle.” You slide off the demons chest and you lay on his other side, feeling sore all over.

“Nope too late, you’re sleeping in the middle, right Angel?” you ask, slipping an arm around his waist, resting your head on his chest. Aziraphale giggles. He sits up to grab the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulls it up covering all three of you. Laying down he wraps his own arm around the demons waist as well, rubbing your forearm softly.

“Crowley you can’t say no, you’ve been gone all week dear. Give us this one thing.” The Angel replies, cheekily. Crowley turns his head to glare at Aziraphale who takes the chance to kiss him, pressing their lips together sweetly. Truthfully, Crowley really can’t say no to either of you.

“Fine! Fine, but only tonight,” Crowley relents, pulling away from the kiss. You use a finger to turn his head by his chin. You kiss the demon as well. Crowley moans softly at the feeling. You pull back and lock eyes with your Angel, who smiles at you both with a look that says he’s in love.

“Come here, kiss me sweet girl,” he whispers. You can’t help but lean over Crowley to kiss Aziraphale just as eagerly.

“Oi, oi! No kissing over me, I don’t have the energy for another round right now.” Crowley says, pouting. You and Aziraphale part, nuzzling noses for a second before each laying back down on your respective sides of Crowley. You all snuggle up closely.

“Welcome home Crowley, I love you both,” you whisper, happily as someone snaps their fingers and the light shuts off, blanketing you all in darkness. You feel the demons arm snake under you and curl around your waist and the Angel tangles your fingers together, letting them rest on Crowleys belly. They both whisper I love you in return. Your heart feels full as you no longer lay in an incomplete bed.

[stargazedwinchester]

Casual | Dean

love a bit of chappell don’t we guys xox

i rlly enjoyed writing this so i hope you enjoy reading it!! this is very much inspired by the song, but not necessarily a songfic :)

CW: mentions of s*x, nothing too provocative

Summary: You and Dean are casual friends with benefits until you uncover the truth about how you actually feel toward him.

Word count: 1,133

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“I, uh, think I should get you home,” Dean says. The silence is palpable. You feel awkward and like you don’t belong, so you let out a defeated sigh. He’s shirtless, his slight 6-pack glistening with sweat as he attempts to dry himself off with a towel. You felt as if you couldn’t catch your breath, whether it was just from the insane sex you had just endeavoured or Dean’s pitiless words that filled your lungs with regret.

“Okay.” You give up. Each time you attempt to feel a connection with him — a real, deep connection, it’s like he wipes it from his memory as soon as you’re both finished and goes back to reality. Post-nut clarity, if you will.

It’s not like he doesn’t find you attractive. Hell no. It’s his intense lack of commitment issues and mommy/daddy issues that give him such a hard time completely dedicating himself to someone. The hundreds of arguments you had gotten into over the people he had slept with whilst also sleeping with you just gave you second-hand embarrassment. In fact, it was downright wrong it should’ve been illegal.

You manage to tumble out of bed butt-naked, slowly getting your clothes back on ready for the silent drive home. You almost gape in awe at Dean’s silhouette. Heavy feelings weigh down on your heart for someone who doesn’t even think of you in any other way other than for intimacy is so challenging, especially on your own self-worth.

Dean doesn’t say a word to you. He sits back down on the bed and starts typing on his phone. He’s wearing a light grey t-shirt and charcoal grey jeans. The small screen lights up his face and a slight grin slowly appears and your heart sinks. Without even looking, you already know he’s talking to some other bitch, in which he’s probably going to go pick her up after he’s dropped you off at home.

“You ready?” You ask him, breaking the one-way tension in the room. “Yeah,” He says, standing up and leading you out toward the car.

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On the drive home, it’s dark and rainy. The streetlights emit a dim, dusty champagne colour, yet the awkward tension isn’t anything worth celebrating.

“What’re you doing after this?” He asks, not breaking focus from the road. “Probably just go straight to bed,” you reply, shrugging lightly. “What about you?”

“I’m going to go visit a friend of mine,” He coughs, then purses his lips. “She lives about half an hour thataway.” He motions his pointer finger toward the left.

She.

The anger builds up inside of you. After all this time, you had thought that he wasn’t seeing anybody else, that you had only mindfully agreed that this thing stays between the pair of you, and this included sleeping around. What a fucking tool.

“Listen, it’s nice and all that you’re giving me a lift home, but you’re really taking the cake by pretending like you’re not seeing other people.” You lock eyes with him, and his expression changes.

“What, so you’re jealous now? Is that it?” He scoffs, and you freeze up. “So what if I am? We had an agreement that we weren’t gonna sleep with anyone else! We said that!” You start to raise your voice, frustration running right through your blood as it starts to boil.

“I’ve mentioned it to you multiple times before. I don’t understand why you can’t listen to me! It’s fucking gross, Dean! You need a huge reality check because this isn’t gonna last forever.” You wave your finger between yourself and Dean, indicating that whatever it is that you both have going on is at its final straw. He scoffs again, shaking his head. It’s almost like he wants to say something, but bites his tongue. He presses his foot on the pedal, coming to a stop. It’s that sudden you hit your head on the headrest.

“Y/N-“

“I don’t want to hear it. Take me home.”

“Lis-“

“Fucking take me home, Dean. I mean it.”

For the rest of the drive, you’re in silence. Nothing on the radio, no cassette tape playing, not even the windows open to hear the sound of the rain pattering on the windscreen.

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He parks the Impala outside of your house, and since the quietness has given you a second to rethink the whole situation.

“Dean,” you start, and his big, puppy-dog eyes glare at you with regret. “What’s up?” He asks and this time it sounds like it was with genuine concern.

“I have to tell you something before I go.” You state, and he nods, listening.

“The reason why I was jealous is that I’m in love with you, Dean. It’s hard seeing you go away and spend time with all these different people and I just get a fraction of you. It’s unfair that I’ve spent the last year or so falling in love with you and you see me as nothing more than someone to play with.” You pause, then take a deep breath.

“You don’t need to say anything else because I’m done. It’s friends or nothing. If I hear nothing from you within the next 3 days, then I’ll know where your priorities lie.”

You start to collect your bags together and open the passenger door. He’s left stunned, his eyebrows raised, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes showing enough sadness to make you want to apologise for going off at him and then travelling back to the motel for round 2.

You can tell that the cogs are turning in his head, thinking of what to say that would completely win you over. But there’s absolutely nothing that he could do or say that could make you turn back around. You shut the door, but the window is still open.

“Y/N, hold up a sec,” He yells through the window while you’re almost halfway up the path. You turn around and lock eyes with him.

“Please come back, let’s talk about this.” He leans over to the passenger seat, his gorgeous forest green eyes staring up at you.

“3 days, Dean. Prove that you’re not an asshole and I’ll think about it.” You say one last time before turning back around to the front of your house. The last thing you want is Dean never wanting to see you again.

You enter the entryway to your home and make your way up the stairs. Opening up your bedroom door, you take a moment to collect yourself, instead of thinking God, what have I done? You sit proud that you have stood up for yourself against someone who has clearly used you for nothing more than his own selfishness. And if that is the case, well... so be it.