#and I just picked up a blank sheet of paper and did it

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

I ran this morning AND wrote some AND made art and I’m so proud of me

[highdefhoetry]

in his hands.

cw: nsfw!! female reader, hand kink, cnc-ish, fingering, G-spot stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, verbal teasing, praise, use of term "babygirl", aftercare, some mild possessiveness, caleb is a meaniehead

word count: 1760

Caleb sits across the table from you, completely oblivious to your stolen glances as he twirls the pen between his fingers. He follows a strange pattern where he spins it once, twice, then lays the tip back onto the blank sheet of paper in front of him. His fingers tap, tap, tap on the edge, clicking the pen open and closed. The black beads on his bracelet clink against each other with every movement, the perfect accessory to the thick ring on his index finger. You find yourself unable to look away, despite knowing what would happen if you were noticed.

You’ve always liked his hands. To you they were perfect, lovely to look at and even better to hold. The length of his fingers. The large size of his palm. The chapped skin on his knuckles. The warmth you felt whenever thw two of you held hands. They were a comforting familiarity, one part of him that remained unchanged yet had grown with him as he matured.

You understood why he still called you pipsqueak. With palms pressed against one another, yours still looked tiny compared to his.

While you're busy daydreaming, he plays with his pen a few more times, seemingly lost in thought, before he suddenly looks up and meets your eyes. When he notices you staring back, a little smirk creeps up his face, one you know will be followed by playful teasing. You quickly turn your head away.

You’ve been caught. And when you glance back at him and see the cocky look in his eye, you know that he’s not going to let it go until he’s teased you to hell and back.

“What’s up, pipsqueak?” he teases. “See somethin’ you like?”

You shake your head and bury your face back into your work, trying to ignore his quiet chuckles. 

“Don’t get all shy now,” he cocks his head to one side to better see your face, seeking out the flustered expression you’re trying so desperately to hide. “Fess up. Why were you starin’ at me?”

You stay silent, mumbling some half-assed excuse about not being able to focus. He laughs at your poor attempt to change the subject. A sudden warmth covers your hand, followed by soft strokes from calloused fingertips. When you turn your face away to hide the heat rising in your cheeks, he takes your hand and holds it gently.

“Come on, now. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

He rubs his thumb across your knuckles, slipping it in the spaces between each finger. You eventually succumb to his gentle touch, intertwining your fingers in his. You toy with the ring on his index finger, poke at the black beads on his bracelet, trace the patches of flushed red on his knuckles that contrasts the paleness of his skin. You stroke each one with your thumb and index finger, feeling the dry, cracked skin beneath your hands.

A good deal of time passes before you finally snap out of it. When you meet Caleb’s gaze once again, you find him grinning victoriously, as if he’s just won some unspoken contest you never agreed to enter.

“You…!” is all you manage to stutter out.

“Me?” he smiles innocently. “What did I do?”

“...”

He lifts your hand to his lips and gives it a small peck in an attempt to softly coax you out of your shell. It makes you melt from the inside out, but still, you refuse to admit defeat. He watches you carefully for a few more seconds, giving you one last chance to come clean. When you don’t, he gets up from his seat across the table and circles around to your side. Before you can get a word of protest out, he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder, carrying you straight to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the soft comforter, trapping you in place with both hands at either side of your body. You try struggling, but he simply pins you down by straddling your waist, making it so that all you can do is wriggle slightly beneath him. He leers down at you with a wild, uncouth grin, like a wild beast about to consume its prey. 

The sweet, honey-eyed Caleb is gone. You realize a little too late that you are totally, completely, undeniably fucked.

���I won’t let you run away, from this” he growls, with one hand on your thigh and the other gripping your arm, holding you firmly in place.

“Caleb…!”

“I saw you staring at my hands,” he gives your thigh a squeeze, smirking when he hears your muted squeal. “What do you want me to do with them? Hmm?”

You put up a half-assed fight, pretending to hate how he’s cornered you despite your growing wetness. He quickly picks up on this after slipping his hand under your panties. His fingertips brush against the entrance of your hole, circling it for a moment before sliding towards your swollen bud. He smiles when you let out a small moan.

“Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

His voice is gentle and low, but his touch is firm. He rubs your clit in a slow, deliberate motion, with just enough pressure to build you up but not enough to push you over. You arch your back and press your mound further into his palm, begging him without words. 

“Say it,” he leans forward, mumbling in your ear. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

You start to whine, unable to handle the way he’s teasing you. He’s being extra mean tonight, barely flicking your throbbing bud and ignoring the attempts you’re making to guide his fingers into your hole. You know he won’t comply until you give him what he wants. Which is the last thing you want to do.

“Mmm… Caleb…” you whimper cutely, hoping to appeal to his sense of mercy. He chuckles darkly, his once friendly eyes filled with sadistic glee.

“What are the magic words?”

“Nghhh… Caleb, please!”

“Please, what? I’m pleasing you right now, aren’t I?” 

He sticks one finger into your pussy, just for a moment. When he pulls it out, he slaps your mound hard just to throw you off. The tiny, surprised shriek you let out is met with a mean-spirited laugh. 

“Okay!!” You cry out, unable to hold back any longer. “Finger me, please!”

“Yeah? You want my hands inside you?”

“Yes! I want them inside me, please…”

A wicked grin stretches across his face as he savors his victory. Satisfied with your pathetic pleas, he finally yanks down your panties and gives you what you want.

First one finger pushes itself into your hole. He pumps it in and out, making sure to caress that sweet, sweet spot inside of your walls. You’re singing like a bird within seconds. Another finger is added, easing in gently so as not to hurt you. He finds his rhythm and uses your moans as his guide, focusing on your G-spot to build you up to the biggest orgasm possible. He presses his thumb against your clit, massaging it in tandem with his rapid fingering, and soon you’re squirting all over his hand. He pulls out momentarily to lick his fingers, savoring the taste of you on his skin. His amethyst eyes lock onto yours, feasting on the desperation permeating your gaze. Distracted, you cry out when he shoves his fingers back inside.

This time, he’s a bit more forceful. That first little orgasm was just a warm up. When he gets like this, one is never enough, and he won’t stop until he’s brought you to tears. With his swift fingers curled inside you, he pumps in and out at such a fast pace that you begin to see stars. That one little spot inside of you becomes his target, a button he presses over and over again until you reach climax once again. The second time is much more intense than the first; you can feel the soaking wet bed sheets underneath you, along with the slick fluid covering his fingers. 

Still not enough. He wants more.

He fingerfucks you again and again, forcing out countless orgasms that shoot through your body like hot lightning bolts. Your voice starts to feel hoarse from the screaming and shrieking, sounds that only seem to spur him on. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum, having given up on keeping track long after the third or fourth. And Caleb shows no signs of stopping. 

He whispers his affection into your ear while he plays with your pussy, telling you how beautiful you look as he makes a mess of you and how lovely your voice sounds when you make those cute noises for him. He fills your head with sweet praise, his words worshipping your form and beauty, weakening you with every syllable.

“That’s it,” he coos while coaxing the last orgasm from you. “That look on your face… that’s mine. Only make that face for me.”

You mumble something in agreement, barely able to form coherent words as you cum one more time. Inexplicable pleasure ripples through your body, setting ablaze every last nerve ending from head to toe. You go limp, covered in sweat and completely worn out from his torment. Caleb pulls out his fingers, licks your fluids off his skin one last time before he switches gears. He grabs a towel from the dresser and gently pats your face dry, pushing some of your tangled hair away from your face. That crazed look in his eyes is now gone, and once again he admires you with utmost affection. He asks if you need water, if you want a warm blanket, if you wanted to be held or left alone. You say yes to the first two, and cling to him when he asks the third. 

After you finish drinking a full glass of water, he wraps you up in the warmest blanket on the bed and cuddles up next to you, playing with your hair in a soothing, gentle manner.

“Soooo,” the teasing tone returns to his voice. “When were you gonna tell me you had a thing for my hands?"

You pout at him, feigning annoyance, but he just laughs and hugs you tighter. 

“I’m definitely going to use this against you, by the way.”

You don’t have the energy to argue back. Exhausted, your heavy eyelids shutter closed, and soon you drift into a peaceful slumber, which Caleb’s arms still wrapped snugly around you.

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[tadpolesonalgae]

Bloodlust.[*]

Azriel x reader

a/n: thank you, anon <3, I had a lot of fun writing this 😌

warnings: smut, spitting, hate-sex, slight power imbalance?

word count: 4,170

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Where’s your report?”

“I thought you were doing it.”

The look Azriel gives you is filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twist into an expression of silent hatred.

“You have thirty minutes to get it written up and on my desk,” he says shortly, words icy and clipped in the exact way that has irritation scratching at the back of your mind. “That’s completely unreasonable,” you reply bluntly. “Besides,” you say, holding his dark gaze, “I thought you were my superior. I was just there to offer assistance, so there’s no need for me to submit a formal report.”

“My desk. Half an hour,” he repeats coldly, his tone blunt and unforgiving. “Not a minute later.”

Then he turns, closing the door with enough force it creates a distinct hissing noise on the way shut, leaving you to struggle with the deadline.

————

Twenty-nine minutes later you deliver three forceful knocks to his door, blood hot as it boils in your veins, report still stuck to your clipboard which is in turn tucked beneath your arm.

“Enter,” he calls, and a muscle in your jaw ticks at the tone. Curt and demanding. Still, you step inside, allowing the door to click shut, dropping the clipboard on his desk on top of a file he was writing in, hopefully smudging the ink as the board clatters upon the surface. “Good enough?” You nearly spit, but manage to tone down the venom just enough.

Thunder claps from outside as your eyes meet, and he picks the report up, leaning back in his chair as he begins to read through the hurried scrawl. You bite down a snappy remark, hands clasped behind your back in proper fashion as you’re forced to wait for him to complete his review. You get the distinct impression he’s taking his time.

His dark eyes pause a third of the way down the page, brows narrowing before dragging his gaze to yours. “The disposal was rushed and excessively violent. Diplomacy would have been preferable, and much more suitable?” He reads aloud, voice rough and gravelly with barely restrained ire.

“You asked for my report,” you counter lowly, unable to help the disagreeable twist of your features as you glare at him. “Diplomacy did not guarantee the mission’s success. It would have been a waste of time,” he replies.

“That’s just like you to rush into violence,” you hiss, nails digging into the skin of your wrist with the amount of restraint you’re using to keep from doing something you’ll regret. “You resort to slaughter at the slightest inconvenience,” you seethe, nails piercing the skin. “Fucking Illyrian,” you spit.

Ire blazes behind his eyes, reflecting the hatred burning in your own gaze.

Not breaking eye-contact, he reaches for a blank sheet of paper and places it before him on the desk, jabbing his finger once down atop the page. “Rewrite it. Now.”

A startled laugh barks from your throat as you stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

You stare at him longer, furious indignation boiling your blood, able to feel as your temper begins to bubble over with blatant provocation. “You’re a spiteful piece of shit,” you seethe lowly but he doesn’t buckle beneath your rage. You wouldn’t hate him as much as you do if you could so easily get the better of him. “You just want me to write a report in your favour. You can’t stand that you might have made the wrong call.”

“It was the right call,” he replies harshly, a hiss in his voice, “your lack of experience is limiting your understanding. I knew you weren’t fit for this mission—I’ll have you moved to a more suitable position.”

“You’re the one in the wrong position,” you spit, stalking forward so you’re right before his desk. “You’re too prone to excessive violence. You needlessly took a life that could have been saved. It would have been of no consequence to us if he lived.”

“His existence would have only perpetuated the problem,” Azriel repeats lowly, his own temper beginning to show as he stands from his desk, palms flattening across its surface as he leans forward. “Purge from the roots, or it will only return. Now write the report.”

Gritting your teeth any tighter would have surely caused one to crack beneath the pressure, and you can perfectly imagine how it would feel to launch yourself across the desk and wrap your hands around his throat. To squeeze until he’s thrashing beneath you, that indomitable figure writhing beneath you as you begin to pry the life from his body…to set him alight and watch him scream.

You ease out a breath, soothed by the surprisingly violent imagery. You aren’t one to generally resort to that kind of solution, but with him it seems almost irresistible…the call of violence, how good it would feel to watch blood bead on his skin.

Frustration slightly abated, you drag the paper from beneath his hold. “Give me the clipboard.”

“You’ll complete it here, where I can see you,” he replies icily.

“Fine. Give me the clipboard,” you bite out, rage already rising again.

“You don’t need it. You’ll write it here,” he says, gesturing to the desk.

A tinge of red creeps into your vision, and it takes all your discipline not to reach for the blades tucked beneath your clothes. Stiff with rage, you drag the paper to the side of his desk, walking around to his side as you take a pen from the pot, making a point of reaching through his personal space. Then, as you’re retracting, you decide you’ve had enough of restraining yourself. “Illyrian scum,” you hiss out, gaze piercing into him as your hand tightens around the pen, clutching it as though it were a blade.

His pupils narrow into slits and his fingers crush at the soft skin of your throat. Your entire body contracts beneath the brutal touch, the tip of steel already poised to slice into leather and cut through his blackened heart. Stalemate.

“You’re a fucking piece of work,” he snarls out gutturally, expression twisted into picturesque wrath, ignoring the stinging pain as you slide the blade deeper, sharp enough to pierce the leather with ease, poised to cut into flesh. He seems to remember himself, hold lightening only marginally…enough you have to pull back on the blade or else he’ll be justified in his hostility.

“Infighting is forbidden,” you manage to get out, making sure to keep the steel close enough to his flesh he knows you won’t hesitate anymore. “You broke a rule, Spymaster.”

“And what will you do?” He asks, cruel mirth glittering in his dark hazel eyes. “Will you try for diplomacy now?” He hisses, squeezing the sides of your throat painfully.

“Why would I bother with a brute?” You rasp back, neither of you bothering to conceal the venom in your voices. “Clear aggression is the only language you’ll understand, so I’ll just have to act in a way that’ll get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Brandishing a weapon against me is enough to have you permanently removed from your position,” he hisses down at you.

“Fine,” you breathe, coming to the same conclusion as he has for the expulsion of rage that’s been building up inside of you. “Hand-to-hand combat it is.”

His hand releases your throat at the same time the blade falls from your fingertips, his grip sliding to the nape of your neck as your arms snake over his shoulders, nails raking through his hair as you’re magnetically snatched against one another, hardly a breath of air to be found between your bodies as you’re crushed against one another. Teeth flash as canines scrape, but his fingers dig into the tendon at your neck, forcing you to seize as he pries you apart with his tongue and mouth. Your lip curls in a snarl as he pushes into you, able to see how his wings have instinctively flared at his back, shadows writhing and deepening with unsuppressed fury.

Without giving him a chance to defend your arms surge further down his back, nails brandished as they scratch across the intimate skin of his wings, slicing the leathery surface jaggedly. He recoils, a vicious snarl cutting through the room that has satisfaction blazing across your chest. Rage bleeds across his features and his hand returns to your throat, shoving you down onto his desk, papers flying as ink spills across the surface, pens clattering as they drop to the floor. Your hands fly to his wrist, scratching at his scarred knuckles but his mouth has already descended over yours again and you move to grip at his hair, silky and soft beneath your violent touch. Heat swarms your skin as his shadows pin you down, writhing pleasantly across your body in a way that has your insides fluttering.

Azriel again pries your lips apart, tongue sweeping in as his mouth slants invasively over your own, flicking and stroking while his fingers hold your jaw in a vice-like grip. A strange feeling skitters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, minimising the space between your bodies as he presses flush against your centre.

You can feel him.

Oh Gods, you can feel him completely.

Your mouth parts as you push against him, tongue sweeping across his own, the kisses hot and wet as each of you refuse to lighten your grip on the other and your thighs squeeze him closer, determined you won’t be losing this battle.

Azriel pulls away abruptly, and you look up at him, watching keenly for any move he’ll make, aware what kind of beast you’re taunting. “Keep still,” he commands roughly, voice like gravel as his shadows swarm your body, and you snarl as the hand that was pinning your throat to the desk drops to the hem of your shirt. Before you have a chance to counter he’s lowered to your neck, hair having fallen back onto the surface so he has plenty of room as his shadows shove your face to the side.

You inhale sharply as his teeth graze the sensitive expanse, grip tugging on his hair to get him closer, eager to have him working his mouth over the intimate area. “Hurry up,” you hiss, eager to be rid of the burning heat as soon as possible.

“I’ll go at whatever pace I like,” he replies darkly before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave more than just a mark in his wake. A noise of pleasure seeks to slip from your mouth as he palms at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as he targets a spot just beneath your ear, kissing down your neck as he makes his way to your collar bones, littering your skin with deep bite marks that will surely remain for days, even with accelerated healing.

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that,” you pant, putting as much venom into your voice as you can manage, thighs tightening around his hips so you can feel him more acutely, the thick length of him rubbing over your centre. “And you’re turned on by that?” He counters sharply with a hungry glint in his eyes.

Heat flushes your skin as you make to deny his claim, but his shadows have been untying the laces of your trousers making it easy for him to roughly grip the waistband and shove the material away, dragging it over your thighs and off past your ankles, leaving you with only your underwear to conceal your lower half. “Slow down,” you snarl, searching for a way to regain control of the situation. You hate that he’s the one in charge.

Azriel grips the underside of your thighs, guiding them to wrap snugly around his hips again as his hand slips beneath your shirt again, settling over your breast, fingers skimming your nipple tauntingly. “Hurry up. Slow down. Which one is it?” He goads, something that looks too close to male satisfaction passing through his expression for you to stand. Your lip curls and before you can second-guess yourself you’ve spat at him.

He freezes for a moment, motion halting and you find yourself holding your breath, keeping entirely still beneath him. Waiting for the storm to break.

Fury engulfs his eyes, features twisting in a snarl as he grips your jaw, fingers squeezing at the muscle as he forces your mouth open, spitting down between your lips. Your eyes widen as arousal flutters violently in your lower abdomen, unable to help the way your hips buck as you swallow. Sadism glints in his hazel eyes, his own arousal beginning to filter through into your lungs but to your surprise you don’t hate it.

“Like that?” He croons lowly, leaning over you while still gripping your jaw, eyes dark and dangerous yet there’s an unmistakable heat that he’s not quite able to entirely suppress. Rage pierces through your mind and your palm smacks across his cheek, nails catching on his brow and temple as you snarl lowly. “Try that again,” you hiss in warning, “I’m not against walking out right now if you pull something like that again.”

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” he replies icily, syllables dragging from his throat.

“Prick,” you snarl.

“Brat,” he bites back.

You make to smack him again but his shadows snare your wrists faster than you can blink, slamming them painfully back onto the table, the impact ringing through your bones but you refuse to show your wince. You open your mouth to hiss something at him—what, you haven’t yet decided—but the intention dissolves on your tongue as you feel him cup you through your underwear. Heat unravels in your lower stomach, liquefying into a torrent as arousal breaks all at once across your skin and you find yourself breathless. Cruel, dark hazel eyes pierce into yours, watching intently as he rests the heal of him palm over the apex of your thighs, his middle finger running tauntingly over your entrance, applying a light pressure to the dip between your legs.

Male satisfaction is written across his features but you find you can’t think of anything to knock it away: your hands are pinned, your legs slung over his hips, and you’re in no state to control the small amount of magic you possess. Azriel’s mouth remains in a loathsome cut, but you can still make out that heat in his gaze, the slight ember that’s the cause of this whole mess—you wonder how clearly it’s showing in your own eyes.

“Nothing to say?” He asks lowly over your mouth, silky hair brushing against your brow like a tender caress—the gentlest touch either of your will ever share between one another, and entirely unintended. “Don’t worry,” he rasps coldly, thumbing your underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel his cock slide through the wetness that’s coalesced between your thighs. “I’ll make sure to fuck the brat out of you.”

“At least my negative traits can be removed,” you manage to hiss out ruefully, wishing to be able to rake your nails across his skin somehow. “There’s no changing what you are.”

You don’t need to remind him of your earlier comment. He’s been hearing the words repeat through his mind since you spat them out: Illyrian scum.

Icy fury glitters in his gaze, fingertips biting bruises into your hips as he lines himself up and swiftly pushes in, the entrance made almost effortless by how wet you are; you’re somewhat relieved when he makes no comment about it.

Your spine arches helplessly, lips parting as he pushes in, filling you up in a way you hadn’t anticipated or even considered. Satisfying the ache that had been thrumming between your legs, giving you something long and thick to squeeze. Your only saving grace is that he seems to be as breathless as you are, brow lowered to the top of your sternum, lips grazing between your breasts as his hands remain firmly on your hips. From another angle you’d think it looked reverent, but then you’d also look in the heights of pleasure, and no matter how Azriel might be able to make you feel physically, there’s no removing the guttural hatred that burns between you.

“Move,” you whisper, panting softly. “Move.”

His wings twitch almost imperceptibly at his back, then he’s dragging himself upright, pulling away from you to stand to his full height as he looms above. You swallow thickly, having enough sense to squeeze your thighs around his hips, legs locking as you urge him to move; to give more. “Hold still,” he breathes, and your muscles instinctively relax, giving him room to shift.

“So you can follow orders,” he muses lowly, holding you tight as he draws back.

“Fuck o—” you begin to say, but he rolls his hips firmly to yours and your head tips back onto his desk, falling to the side as his cock rubs so delightfully against you, pleasure brimming at your edges from being so full, so spread out. He doesn’t give you time to recover. After another firm roll of his hips, as if testing you out, he finds his rhythm instinctively. Hard, punishing movements that allow him to pound into you, shoving the breath from your lungs as he repeatedly slams into you.

Your spine arches, writhing on his desk as you tug at the shadowy constraints, desperate noises being forced from your chest as his cock drives into you over and over again, thoughts practically falling out of your mind as it turns to mush beneath the utterly overwhelming onslaught of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can concentrate only on the purest part of the sensations, zero in on the flutter of arousal between your legs, the rightness of being so full up, of having him pressed so tight between your thighs.

You allow yourself to fall deeply into the pleasure, allow yourself to be washed away entirely, submerged in the heated waters as you keep just enough of a hold on him to prevent your legs from falling off the desk. A moan slips from between your lips as your control begins to disintegrate, content to bask in the pleasure and forget who’s providing it. Azriel doesn’t make it that easy, though.

“Things would be so much better if you just learned to shut up and take it sooner,” he mutters down at you, shadows crawling leisurely over your body, pushing the fabric of your top up over your chest so their master can watch as your figure moves with each of his thrusts. Pleasure blossoms as his darkness teases the sensitive peaks of your breasts, pinching and playing with your nipples, and you try to dig your nails into your palm, teeth pushing into your lower lip to keep the noises from becoming louder.

“You’re so well-behaved now,” he muses lowly, and even if his expression wouldn’t show his pleasure, you can hear it the rich timbre of his voice, the satisfaction he’s feeling at getting you to shut up. “So docile,” he taunts, and your eyes snap open to shoot him a furious glare for trying to disrupt your pleasure. For succeeding. But no sooner than you open your eyes, his thumb presses over your clit and any resistance is utterly obliterated.

Azriel hadn’t anticipated how it would feel however, how your body would respond to the intimate kind of stimulation he was subjecting you to, and is unable to bite down on the rough groan that drags viscerally from his chest as you tighten around him, as if trying to pull him deeper so he’ll never leave.

The both of you are near your breaking point though neither wants to admit it. But the signs are there. Your panting breaths, the gleam on his skin, the heat to your cheeks, the tension in his body—it’s all there for the other to read. He rubs against a spot and despite subduing your reaction he somehow knows where to aim, targeting it repeatedly as his thumb soothes over your clit, the pad sliding effortlessly over top from the slick that’s coating the both of you. It’s so much that your discipline slips for a moment. “Azriel…”

It’s softer than a breath, quieter than a whisper, but he hears it. Of course he hears it. And he finds that he likes the way you moan his name. Especially while getting to take his tension out on you so roughly. It’s probably more satisfying than any method he could have thought up on his own.

His grip tightens on your hips, angling them slightly upright as he leans over you. “Say that again,” he commands quietly, but firmly. An intensity in his demand that has your throat rolling. You don’t want to, but you can feel his concentration piercing down on you, the intensity of his focus weighing so heavily that you feel like your skin is prickling.

“Piss off,” you manage to get out, but you can feel how swiftly release is gathering, how close you are to that wonderful high that will knock you clean from your feet.

For a moment he continues with his punishing movements, but it seems like he’s committed now. You hadn’t fully understood what it would mean to have his entire attention upon you, but when he roughly rips you from his desk, jerking you up against his chest as he turns the two of you around so your back is shoved up against his wall, you feel the consequences dawn on you.

From this position you’re forced so much closer, the physical intimacy catching you off guard as your breasts press flush to his chest, staring into cold hazel eyes that can be no more than a few inches from your own, able to feel each puff of breath that’s expelled from his body as it brushes over your lips. He takes up all of your vision, wings flared slightly at his back as shadows crawl up your body, pinching at your nipples, pressing against your clit as his hips buck roughly to your own and you feel yourself unravel.

The orgasm pulses through your body once, before crashing down on you in its entirety, and your mouth parts in silent ecstasy.

His hand slides through your hair, your own having found their place on his shoulders, and he angles your head so you’re forced to look at him. “Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours, and your world is thawed enough that you yield.

“Az…riel…”

A heavy sigh warms your mouth, then his teeth grit, head dropping to your shoulder as you feel him find his release. Your hips buck, hands grappling to reach over his shoulders, pulling him into you as the waves of pleasure continue to pulse through your body, muscles turning custard-like beneath the overpowering sensations. Reaching weakly over his back, you have enough energy to lightly skim the pads of your fingers over the ridges of his wings, and if it wasn’t for his proximity to you, you’re almost certain you would have missed the soft moan that involuntary parts from his lips. He tenses briefly, the only sign that he was caught off guard before his teeth settle over your shoulder, biting lightly at the side of your throat.

Breaths pant between you as you ride out the aftershocks, basking in the waning pleasure for a few moments longer before your hold relaxes on him, and he steps back, hands still keeping your hips pinned to the wall despite your feet now being on the ground.

You bite back a hiss as his cock leaves you feeling slightly cold and empty, but you’d rather take a near-lethal dose of faebane than tell him that. His gaze meets yours and for a second you’re unsure what you could possibly say to one another. But his expression remains cold, your own features shifting habitually towards neutrality.

“You have until tomorrow morning to redo the report,” he mutters, already having his clothes back in place as his shadows push your trousers to your stomach, and your hands wrap around the bundle of fabric.

“Want me to write a report on this, too?” You reply, relieved that the heat is beginning to cool, sensing you’re back in control of yourself.

His brow narrows, the hollow beneath darkening with loathing. “You’re more trouble that you’re worth,” he mutters, stepping back to give you space.

You meet his icy gaze, a sharp glint in your own as victory sparks darkly across your chest.

“Liar.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

[madebycloud]

pt 5 | Not Even at All

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi is off limits until her sister gets a date that doesn't end within the first ten minutes. eager to date vi, a certain girl approaches you with a proposal. date jinx. win her over. and for your efforts, she's willing to be generous. (10 Things I Hate About You AU) warnings/themes: fluff and slight angst, enemies to finally lovers yey, highschool, modern au, kat!jinx, patrick!reader words: 5.5k notes: i burn, i pine, i perish! it's finally the last part hehe — ✩ part one, part two, part three, part four, part five

Jinx glares at the blank sheet of notebook paper in front of her. Sitting at her desk in her room, she grips her pen tighter and tighter. It's a miracle it doesn't snap.

Just write it. Just get the assignment over with. Do the damn assignment, she mentally tells herself, but her mind won't let her focus.

She's thinking about you.

And nothing else.

You.

How long has she been sitting here? An hour? Two hours?

She glances at her phone. And then the paper again. Back and forth. Groaning, she slumps back in her chair, dropping the pen onto the desk.

The stupid assignment can wait. All the noise in her mind can't be quieted.

She grabs her phone off her desk, checking the notifications. Nothing.

You haven't called her today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Nothing for days.

But why?

She doesn't care.

She doesn't. Why should she? You did what you did, and that was that.

Jinx's head is spinning with thoughts. Anger, confusion, hurt, frustration. She's angry.

She's angry at herself for falling for your stupid words.

She's angry at herself for believing the stupid lies you told her.

She's angry at you for everything. For making a fool out of her, for lying to her face.

What an idiot.

She is such an idiot. Trusting you, caring for you, even liking you. You of all people.

You were just like all the others, but this time it hurts more.

It hurts a lot more.

Maybe if she never trusted you. Maybe if she'd just been more careful, listened to her gut more, then she wouldn't be in this whole mess.

She wouldn't be so mad.

And frustrated.

And angry.

Maybe she wouldn't be sitting in her room staring at her phone hoping to see one notification from you. Maybe she wouldn't feel like her heart was stabbed.

Jinx's fingers itch.

She wants to call you. To tell you off, to scream at you, to curse at you.

But what good will that do?

None, of course.

She's just wasting her time.

A knock at her door interrupts Jinx's thoughts. “Jinx?” she hears, recognizing her sister's voice. “Can I come in?”

Jinx huffs, spinning to look at the door. “Yeah, come in,” she mutters, turning back to her paper. She feels the door open, the floor creaking with each of Vi's footsteps.

Vi has a warm smile on her face and a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. “Want one?” she asks, holding out the mug.

Despite everything that's happened lately, Jinx manages a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she says, taking the mug in her hands.

“No problem.” Vi takes a seat on Jinx's bed. “How's prom?”

Jinx grimaces, taking a sip of the coffee. It's still hot, but at least it's good. “It's fine.”

“Just fine?”

”Yeah.” Jinx shrugs, setting the mug down on her desk. “Fine.”

Vi furrows her brow at Jinx's response.

Jinx gets up from her desk and plops onto the bed beside her sister.

“I know what happened.” 

Jinx stiffens at her words. She doesn't look at her sister, refusing to meet her eyes as she picks at a loose thread on her bedsheet.

“I know something upset you,” Vi continues. “You think I don't know you? you're my little sister. I can tell when something's up.”

This isn't what Jinx wants to talk about right now. Everything is still too fresh. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Vi places a hand on her back, rubbing small circles. Not saying anything, Vi waits patiently.

“You're annoyingly good at getting me to talk,” Jinx mutters.

“It's my sisterly intuition.”

Jinx rolls her eyes, then looks up at the ceiling. This is Vi. Her sister. Jinx feels comfortable with Vi. Her sister's done so much for her.

She knows she should tell her what happened eventually. Sooner rather than later, but she just can't deal with it right now. Not yet.

“Is it about that girl?” Vi asks.

…

The silence in the room is answer enough.

“Ah, I see.”

Jinx sighs. “It's…” There are a million words that flash through her brain. Stupid. Idiotic. Infuriating. “Complicated.” 

“I thought you two were doing good. What happened?”

Jinx hesitates. How can she explain what just happened? How can she put into words the hurt, the anger, the betrayal she's feeling?

She looks down at her hands, toying with her fingers. “I thought we were too. Things were going well. I really thought, sis. I really thought-” Her voice cracks, and she immediately stops. “...it hurts, Vi.”

Vi's eyes soften. “Oh, Pow.” She wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Hey, hey, it's okay. It's alright.”

It's not alright. It's not alright at all.

She wants to cry. Scream. Hit something. Anything to make this feeling go away.

But all she can do is lean into her sister's embrace, feeling her sister's hand rubbing her arm. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Well, it's because you really cared about this girl.”

Maybe she did. Maybe she cared too much.

Everything was going well. She felt happy.

But it was all fake.

“She was... she made me feel good,” Jinx says. “I—I thought she liked me, y'know? like, really.”

She really thought that. Despite everything in her mind telling her things couldn't possibly be true, that it was all a lie, a fantasy, she let her guard down, letting herself feel things she thought she'd never get to feel.

And it felt good. It felt great, actually.

Vi sighs. “Maybe. But I saw the way she looked at you. And that... wasn't fake.”

It was hard to miss the way you looked at Jinx. How you looked at Jinx during the drive when you couldn't keep your eyes off her in the rearview mirror. She's seen the way you look at her, how your eyes linger too long on Jinx's every move. And she's not dumb. She was also there during the party, and she saw how you looked after Jinx, how you cared for her.

Vi knows.

“Can I give some sisterly advice?”

And there it was. The advice. The sisterly wisdom. The “words of the wise” moment.

Normally, she'd roll her eyes. Normally, she'd make comments, tease her sister.

Instead, Jinx nods.

Vi continues. “You know I worry about you. You know I just want you to be happy, yeah?”

Jinx nods again. Vi has been there for her since they were kids. After everything Jinx has gone through, Vi's been her rock and her source of comfort.

“I know you really like this girl,” Vi says. “So I'm not going to tell you that everything happens for a reason and all that mumbo jumbo bullshit people say to make themselves feel good.”

Good. She doesn't want any of the positive bs. She hates those phrases people use to try to comfort someone.

“Instead, I'm going to tell you the truth. You're hurting over this. It's going to hurt for a while. Maybe a long while. You feel betrayed, angry, sad, and hopeless, and feeling those things is okay. You shouldn't feel guilty for having emotions. Let yourself feel every feeling. You're not just angry. You're not just sad. You're angry and sad and helpless, and-”

“And stupid,” Jinx interrupts.

“And stupid,” Vi adds. “But don't bottle it up. Talk about it. Vent. Scream. Cry. Scream at a pillow. Cry into that pillow. Let it all out.”

Jinx is quiet. She lets her sister's words sink into her head.

“It's not going to feel good. And at first, you're going to wonder why you're hurting so much, and how you could have been so stupid. But one day, you're going to wake up, and instead of hurting, you're just going to be angry and sad.” Vi gives her a squeeze on the shoulder, and she speaks slowly. “Over time, the anger and sadness will start to fade, and then, only when you least expect it, you're not going to feel any of it anymore. And you'll wonder when you stopped feeling it. It just happens one day… it just happens.”

Her sister's words only serve to further confirm what she already knows—she's going to hurt, she's going to feel like crap. But someday it won't matter anymore. Someday it'll just fade away. It would just happen.

But she refused to hope.

Not this time.

You fooled her. You tricked her good enough.

And yet, the words her sister said made her feel lighter, like a little of the pain had lifted away.

—

Caitlyn looks around, looking for a specific bright blue-haired and then-

“Jinx.”

Jinx pauses in the courtyard, slowly turning around to look at Caitlyn. She glances at her before looking away and adjusting her backpack.

“Can we talk?”

Jinx says nothing, instead keeping her gaze on the side.

Caitlyn continues anyway. “I know it looks bad-”

“You think?” Jinx snaps. “You think it looks bad?”

“I didn't mean for you to get hurt.”

“Oh, you didn't mean to, did you?” Jinx steps forward. “You just thought you could throw money at someone and have your way like you always do. You thought nobody would get hurt.”

“I know… I messed up, and I'm sorry,” Caitlyn replies. “But I only did what I did because I care about Vi, and I wanted to-”

Jinx scoffs, dropping her backpack. “You wanted what?” she sneers. “Was it your plan to send me straight to the damn therapist?”

“Wh-No!” she stammers. “No! Nothing like that. I-” Caitlyn stops. The courtyard is eerily silent. She looks around, noticing how many people are watching.

Jinx could hear them whispering. Whispers of “oh my god” and “what's happening?” and “is that really Caitlyn?” and more.

“Caitlyn, what are you doing here? …and Jinx?”

They pause at the familiar voice. Caitlyn and Jinx turn their heads to the voice that interrupted them... Cassandra Kiramman.

Mrs. Kiramman makes her way over to the girls, looking at the crowd of eyes around them before ushering them inside.

“Office. Now.”

The two girls have no choice but to oblige.

—

Mrs. Kiramman folds her hands on her desk and looks at the two girls in front of her. “I never thought you would do something like this, Caitlyn.” 

“Yes, I did it! Okay?!” Caitlyn exclaims. “I'm the shitty person here. I just… wanted to date Vi, and I paid someone to take her on a date so I could get closer to Vi. And yes, that makes me the most horrible, evil person on the planet.” She turns to Jinx. “I really, really messed up. I shouldn't have done what I did to you. I'm sorry.”

“This is not a conversation I expected to have with you, Caitlyn.” Mrs. Kiramman shakes her head. “This is a serious case of... emotional manipulation, I would almost say. You should be old enough to know better.” Mrs. Kiramman's eyes turn from Caitlyn to Jinx. “Do you have a response to all of this?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I guess, like...” Jinx's hand twitches. “Am I supposed to feel better now? or do I have time to, like, think about it?”

Mrs. Kiramman purses her lips together. “You should feel offended. And you should be upset.” She looks at Caitlyn. “And you should feel upset, too.”

Caitlyn nods. “I do feel upset,” she says. “I feel really awful. Incredibly, awfully awful.”

“You should,” Mrs. Kiramman replies. “Hopefully that means something to Jinx. But I want Jinx to say something.”

Jinx's looks at Mrs. Kiramman to Caitlyn, then to the floor. She scowls at the ground. “I am… upset,” she mutters. “I guess. I mean... yeah, I'm pissed.” She looks at Caitlyn. “I'm pissed.”

“Jinx-”

“NO! Don't try and talk me out of being mad or upset about being used. Because I am mad. I'm extremely pissed, actually.”

Mrs. Kiramman holds up a hand. “That's good,” she replies, stopping the two girls from snapping at each other. “It's good that you're mad. And you have every right to be, Jinx. Caitlyn has been... extremely selfish.”

“Mom…”

“Don't mom me,” Mrs. Kiramman replies sternly. “You know I'm right, and I'm not going to be soft on you. You were incredibly selfish, and you should never do this again to anyone else. Ever.”

Caitlyn winces but nods. “I... I won't.” 

Mrs. Kiramman leans in on her desk. “Jinx?” She waits for Jinx to look at her before continuing her question. “Is there anything you'd like to say to Caitlyn?”

Jinx looks at Caitlyn. The other girl looks like a kicked puppy. Caitlyn at least looks guilty, though she feels like her guilty look only proves her manipulation.

She wants about a thousand things to say to Caitlyn. She wants to rip her head off and shove it up her ass. She wants to scream, to punch, and to kick until she's in tears. But for now, one sentence will do.

“Stay away from my sister.”

“What? No, I-”

“Stay. Away. From. My. Sister.” 

Caitlyn sputters. “Jinx, listen-”

“You listen! You were willing to pull this bullshit on me. So if you seriously think I'm going to stand by and let you anywhere near Vi after this, you're out of your goddamn mind.”

“Jinx, please-”

“I'm going to tell you once and only once: Stay the hell away from my sister and stay the hell away from me.” Jinx stands up. “I don't know what sort of twisted fantasy you've cooked up in your head, but I'm sure as hell not going to be a part of it.”

Caitlyn looks stricken. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I'm serious!” Jinx snaps. “I'm not a piece in your stupid game of chess, and I'm damn sure not going to be something you play with just to get close to my sister. I don't know if you know this, but my sister means a lot to me. So if your goal was to get in my bad graces, congratulations. You've succeeded with flying colors.”

Caitlyn flinches and looks more stricken than before. But Jinx doesn't care about how bad she feels right now. This is Caitlyn's own damn fault. Caitlyn didn't think that there'd be any negative consequences from her actions. Jinx isn't going to make this easy on her.

—

You walk through the hallway, past students laughing and chatting with each other. Some talk amongst themselves, and you overhear snippets of conversation. But it's all just noise to you.

Nothing matters.

Without her, nothing matters.

You stop in front of your locker, but your eyes linger a few steps away.

Just down the hall is her locker.

It's the same as every other locker, painted white. The only things different are the crude doodles and the pink and blue stickers scattered across the metal door.

It's been a few days since the incident, a few days since she ran away, a few days since it all went wrong.

You haven't seen her since.

After what happened, after screwing things up so badly, you can't even bring yourself to say anything to her. You didn't call. You didn't send texts. You avoided places in the school you know she hangs out in. You didn't do anything.

You can't face her.

You can’t even think about facing her.

Because how could you?

How could you after what you did?

But that doesn't mean you don't think about her. You can't think about anything else.

You are not who I thought you were.

Those words.

They echo in your head.

Those words, over and over, and over.

You keep seeing her in your head. The look on her face, betrayed, heartbroken. You hear her voice, the way it cracked as she spoke. You remember the sting in her eyes that wasn't quite tears, but close enough.

You caused that.

You did that.

So many things replay in your head, and all end with the same conclusion. What you did sucks. It sucked, and it hurt Jinx. It hurt her, and it's not fair. Not one bit.

You open your locker, staring unseeing at the mess of books and notes inside.

But… you're just staring. You were supposed to take out a book for your first class, but you forgot which one you're supposed to grab. You forgot.

Or maybe your mind just can't think of anything that isn't her.

You can picture the way she looks when she laughs. You can hear her voice in your head, talking to you, asking or saying something, but not loud enough for you to make out what the exact words are.

You can just picture it, her smiling wide, showing teeth. A laugh breaking out on her face, and she laughs because of you. You were the one to make her laugh that way. Not because of a prank or some stupid joke. No, you actually made her laugh.

Sometimes you think you spot her in the distance, but it turns out to be someone else. Then something else reminds you of her. A song that plays from a speaker, some colorful drawings on the wall, blue hair amongst a sea of people.

But you're not ready to face her.

You don't know when you will be.

The bell suddenly rings, and you jump slightly.

Right.

Class. You have a class.

Shaking off the thoughts, you pull out the books you need from your locker and throw them in your bag. Slamming your locker door shut, you head down the hall.

You shove past other students in the hallway, not caring about how rough you are. People give you weird looks, maybe even whisper behind your back. But why should you care?

The only person that you should have cared about… hates you.

Hates you. That's the harsh truth of this, isn't it?

You reach your first class, sitting in your usual seat. You toss your bag onto the ground and lean your head on your hands.

Jinx is already here, but she doesn't look up.

You watch her out of the corner of your eye. She's leaning her head on one hand, the other one propping open a notebook. Her eyes and fingers are reading the page, but you doubt her mind is actually focused on the text. You doubt she's even reading it.

Mr. Salo enters, and he does a double take. He looks stunned to see you in class on time. “I assume everyone's had some time to finish up their poems.” He clears his throat. “Would anyone volunteer to read their poem aloud?”

No one responds.

Then-

A voice speaks up suddenly. “Um. I will.”

Your head snaps upwards. Jinx has her hand raised.

Mr. Salo looks surprised, but he recovers quickly. “That's… quite unexpected. I was sure I'd have to force someone to volunteer, but-” he gives Jinx a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Jinx.” He gestures to the front of the class, motioning for her to come up. “Please proceed.”

Jinx stands up, pushing her chair back. Then she makes her way to the front of the room. She looks around, looking at everyone before her eyes drift towards you. She quickly looks away, down at her notebook, and begins to read.

I hate the way you talk to me

And the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car.

I hate it when you stare.

She pauses for a moment, swallowing down something before continuing. You can see she's gripping the paper on her notebook rather tightly.

I hate your stupid, dumb Madonna CD

And the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick.

It even makes me rhyme.

Her eyes flick to you again, and then she looks away.

I hate it...

I hate the way you're always right.

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh,

Even worse when you make me cry.

Her voice cracks, and a tear starts to stream down her face.

I hate it when you're not around

And the fact that you didn't call,

She pauses, taking deep breaths to keep herself from crying.

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you,

She finally looks up, looking straight at you.

Not even close

Not even a little bit

Not even at all.

Her poem ends there, and her voice quiets. For the first time since she began, there's silence in the room. Everyone else seems to notice, glancing at the other.

But you're stuck staring at Jinx. Your eyes meet hers. Nothing is said, but the moment is enough.

She closes her notebook, turns around, and walks out the door. The rest of the class is dead silent.

You remain seated, your eyes glued on the door where Jinx had left. Seeing her cry like that... 

You couldn't turn back time, no matter how much you wanted to. But you made your bed, and now you need to lie in it.

You have to do something to try and make it right.

—

After the last bell rings, students hurry out of the school carrying backpacks and sports equipment. Classes were over for the day, and thankfully, so was her stupid english class. 

Reading that damn poem in front of the entire class was a relief. She got it all out without having to talk to anyone else. It was so embarrassing having everyone know about her stupid thoughts and feelings, but if they made fun of her for it, they would get a punch to the face. At least this school year will end soon. 

Jinx walks to her car, parked in a corner of the parking lot. She opens her backpack and digs through it, her fingers searching through papers and pencils and other stuff until her hand closes around her car keys. She lifts it up, the keyring rattling.

When she's about to stick the key in the door, she notices something is off.

The driver's side window is down.

Confused, she leans down to look inside the car. She saw something.

Warlock guitar. Sitting in her seat. It was the same one she had been dreaming about. The same one she had been eyeing in the store. The one she could never justify the price or reason to buy. And now, it's right in front of her. 

—

You watch as Jinx picks up the guitar carefully, studying every inch of it.

“Pretty nice, right?”

Jinx gasps. She spins around to see you standing behind her, grinning widely.

Her eyes flit between the guitar and you. “Is it for me?” She sets the guitar back in the passenger seat before closing the door.

You nod your head. “For you, and only you.”

“...why?”

“Uh, well, I thought you could use it. You know, when you start your band,” you reply. “Besides, I had some extra cash.”

She narrows her eyes at you. “Why'd you do it? Why the guitar?”

“I… I want to apologize and please—please listen to me just this time.”

She raises an eyebrow at your words but says nothing yet.

You hold up your hands as she glares at you. “Okay, okay,” you start. “You're right to be angry with me. I did something really, really shitty and stupid. And I'm sorry for it.” You look down, avoiding her gaze in shame. “I shouldn't have taken Caitlyn's money. I shouldn't have done it, just for a stupid cash for a stupid deal. I was being selfish and not thinking about how you'd feel.”

You glance up, expecting her to be scowling and yelling at you.

But she isn't. She's just listening.

It gives you the courage to continue. “I—I should have just been honest with you about everything. I knew it was wrong, and yet I still... and I didn't stop myself. No matter how many times I tried to, I just…” You pause, struggling to say how you feel. “I couldn't stop myself from falling in love with you.”

You look at her again, and the corners of her lips twitch as she tries to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “Really?”

You weren't one to stay serious for too long, were you? you step closer to her, your eyebrows shot up, a smirk on your lips. “It's not every day you find a girl who blows up a classroom with fireworks just to get you out of detention.”

She covers her face with her hands and groans as she tries to hide the growing smile on her face. “Oh, God.”

You tried to soak in every inch of her face. If someone had taken a picture of her then, you could easily have stared at it for hours. She's beautiful—truly beautiful when she smiles.

You reach out and place your hand over hers, pulling it away from her face. Her smile fades, but she doesn't struggle with your touch as she looks at you.

“But it was pretty damn awesome, wasn't it?” you add.

You lift your hand and push a strand of her hair behind her ear before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips.

She lets you kiss her, closing her eyes and pulling you close. But it doesn't last long as she pulls away suddenly, her brows furrowing. “You can't just buy me a guitar every time you screw up.”

You grimace. “Yeah... I know. But then we can go to a drum set. Or a bass. And, eventually, a tambourine.”

You lean in for another kiss, but she breaks away, continuing to talk. “And don't just think you can-”

You don't allow her to finish. You shut her up with a kiss, your lips muffling her complaint.

Jinx's eyes widen for a second before she closes them. Her hands grip your shoulders. She's not pushing you away—she's pulling you closer. She melts into the kiss, letting her tongue slip out as her hand threads through your hair. 

You move your hands down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, holding her.

Her other hand cups your face, fingers stroking your cheek.

You back her up against the driver's side door of her car, pinning her between the car and your body. You pull away to let her breathe, a thin string of saliva connecting your bottom lips with hers.

Jinx's face is flushed and her lips are swollen. She's panting, her hands tangled up and gripping your shoulder. “I'm still…” she says breathlessly. “I'm still mad at you.”

You chuckle and kiss the tip of her nose. “I know.” You take her hands in yours, fingers tracing over her knuckles. You bring her hand up, kissing the back of her hand. “I'll make it up to you.”

Jinx looks down at your entwined fingers, then back up at you. “As you should.”

—

“1, 2, 3, CHEESE!”

Click.

The camera flash goes off, and you press a kiss on her cheek. Your arm rests across her shoulders, and she's clinging onto your hand, grinning at the camera. She giggles, and you feel her nuzzle herself into your side.

Vi smiles behind the phone. “You two are nauseatingly cute,” she says as she puts her phone down.

You glance over at Jinx. The years have passed, and she's graduated. Now she's wearing an academic cap and a black gown, with her diploma in her hand.

Your heart swells with pride. Seeing her achieve her dream made you happy.

Jinx looks just as happy as you are. She held the diploma tightly, her fingers delicately holding the edge of the paper. “Can't believe I did it,” she whispers to herself. 

You give her hand a squeeze, offering silent reassurance.

You remember how hard she worked to get to this point. Late nights spent studying, long hours spent in the library, the stress and anxieties she dealt with.

But she did it.

She did it because she worked her ass off, and she earned it.

You're so proud of her.

You give Jinx a kiss at the temple. Then, you take your arm off her shoulders while you pull something out of your pocket. “I have something for you.”

“Mhm?” She tucks the tassel back under her cap and turns to face you. “What is it?”

You grin as you hold up a...

“A ticket?” she asks, confused.

You hand the ticket over to her. She furrows her eyebrows, then opens her mouth to ask, but then notices something. She looks back at you, then down to the ticket in her hands. She scans over the details, her eyes widening.

“Sweden?”

“Sweden,” you confirm. “And.” You pull out a second ticket from your pocket. “All expenses are paid for. Including the flight, the food, and the hotel room we're staying in.”

Jinx can't form any words, stunned into silence. She just stares at the ticket, flicking the corner of the ticket with her finger.

“I remembered that you said you wanted to see the northern lights. So I thought this…" You motion at the two tickets, “would be the perfect graduation gift.”

“You… you're serious?”

You nod and take her hands in yours. “I wanted to give you the world,” you say, running your thumb across her knuckles. “But seeing as I can't, I settled for the next best thing.”

Jinx says nothing. She's still staring at the tickets. You expect her to have a big, happy smile on her face, but instead, you're surprised to see her eyes beginning to fill up.

You're starting to worry she doesn't like the gift. Did you mess up? “I can get you a different gift if you don't like it,” you say hastily. “If you-”

You're cut off by Jinx throwing her arms around your shoulders, nearly tackling you in a hug. She buries her head in your neck, her arms wrapped around your torso. Her fingers grasp the back of your shirt, holding on tight. Her body trembles, and you feel tears wetting through your shirt.

“Oh.” You're taken aback, but you relax and return the hug. One hand comes down to rest on her back, holding her close to you, and your free hand finds its way to her head. You thread your fingers through her hair while you rub soothing circles across her back. “What's wrong? Did I-”

Jinx shakes her head, her sobs slowly subsiding into quiet sniffles. “N-no, no, it's n-not that...”

“Then… what-”

She raises her head, and when you look at her, you see she's now a mess of runny makeup. “It's the best present I've ever got.” She takes a breath, and you wipe some of the tears from her face. “It just… it means so much to me that… you remembered what I said that day.”

“Of course I remember everything you say.” 

Jinx closes her eyes as you use your thumb to wipe the smeared mascara under her eyes. “I love you so much,” she chokes out.

“I love you too.” Your other hand comes to her face, where you wipe the rest of the lingering teardrops and rub your thumb underneath her eye.

Vi lets out a cough, drawing both of your attention to her. You had been so caught up in the moment, you entirely forgot she was there. “Well,” Vi says with a smile. “...that was cute.”

Jinx looks like she's ready to cry for a whole new reason. She gives you a final squeeze before releasing her arms from around your shoulders and stepping away. She straightens her cap.

“Don't.” You reach out and fix her cap, adjusting it on her head.

Jinx lets out a watery chuckle and smacks your hand away. “Quit babying me.”

“Never,” you reply, and you steal a quick kiss.

Then, Jinx turns her head to her sister. “Vi, we're going to see the northern lights,” she tells her.

“Yes, I heard,” Vi says.

“Look!” Jinx shoves the ticket into her face. “We're going to Sweden. We're going to see the northern lights.”

“I know,” Vi replies, taking the ticket and looking down at it. She grins. “Congratulations, Pow. You deserve this.” She puts the ticket back into Jinx's hand. “You better appreciate that gift,” she teases. “Not a lot of people get such an awesome gift.”

“I do,” Jinx says. “I appreciate it a lot.”

“Good.” Vi looks between the two of you, then gives you a stern look. “Keep spoiling her. And I won't punch you.”

“Got it,” you say with a nod.

Jinx hugs the tickets to her chest, already imagining the sights. The northern lights, the snow, the cold temperatures, Sweden.

It's going to be amazing.

“This is going to be the best trip of my life.”

You smile at how excited Jinx is. You look at Vi, who's watching the two of you. Vi's expression softens. She smiles and nods approvingly, and you can see how much she loves her sister, how much she loves seeing Jinx happy.

“Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations,” you tell Jinx, wrapping an arm around her.

“No matter what, I'm spending it with you, so it already will be.”

End.

notes: OH HOLY GAH DAMN WE'VE FINALLY REACHED THE END!! I want to give an enormous, heartfelt thanks to each and every single one of the wonderful people who were supporting me, leaving likes, and most importantly, taking the time to comment! Your feedback honestly fueled my caffeine-driven writing sessions. Now, I love these two ladies way too much to say goodbye to them that easily, so i'll be writing some side stories to keep my stupid brain happy.

taglist: @axolotl-arsonist, @crvcified-kinx, @axoluxy, @dyslexic-dreamer, @urdeadpoet, @iluvshifting, @shootingc, @freementallyillkid, @tr3nzit444s, @powderbomb-jinxed, @chickennuggetsaresootasty, @multiliker, @rick-grimes-girl, @angelsglitch, @blobfishyy @writtenbyhollywood

[ikeuki]

four-letter word / 니키

( pairing ) nishimura riki x fem!reader ✶ highschool au, one-sided enemies to ??? ; fluff/crack, cursing — ( wordcount ) ?

ᯓ★ ikueki’s note. based off of tom’s monologue in ‘500 days of summer’ when talking about “hating” summer! this fic is from my old stranger things acc: @scwheeler (IT IS MY OLD ACC / MY WRITING) it was for mike wheeler originally…!

synopsis. riki can’t figure out his feelings towards you; he thinks he hates you but is it really hatred if he can’t get you out of his mind?

nishimura riki hates you.

he stared from across the classroom, watching you with crossed legs and back straight. you tapped your number two pencil on the wooden desk repeatedly, making a quiet yet annoying sound. it bothered him so much, only adding to the mental list of things he hated about you.

rather than staring now he was glaring. but he sat behind you and a couple rows over which meant you didn’t even notice. continuing to annoy him without a single thought.

he pressed down his pencil into his notebook until the lead snapped, making him also snap out of this trance. he looked down at his empty paper with a dark lead circle in the middle. he ripped out the sheet and crumpled it up, debating whether to throw it at your head or into the trash can.

he probably had a better chance shooting it at your head than landing it in the trash can according to his sports record but he refrained because your hair looked nice neat.

riki wasn’t suddenly choosing to be sympathetic or anything but he wasn’t a complete asshole.

or he thought of himself not to be. it must’ve taken you all morning for those bouncy curls and he knows how mad his sisters get when riki occupies the bathroom for more than thirty minutes before school. so he kept the crumpled paper and shoved it in his backpack, agreeing he’d either throw it to your head another day or throwing it away at the end of class.

“mr. nishimura—! i asked you a question, what is the answer to the question on the board?” the teacher asked in a stern tone, hands on his hips and trying to get riki’s unbothered attention.

riki quickly looked away from you, hoping you didn’t see him staring straight at the back of your head. you turned around from your seat to look at him as did the rest of the class.

he was out of it—a little preoccupied with thinking about something else, more of someone else.

his paper was blank. other than the crumpled up one he just shoved in his backpack. did he have notes on that page?before he could mutter an excuse or guess and pray to the gods he was right, a hand rose up in front of him.

it was yours…?

your arm popped up and attracted the teachers attention. “yes, ms. y/l/n?” he asked, now trailing his burning eyes away from riki and softening them towards you. unbelievable.

“if riki can’t answer it, i’d gladly do it myself,” you replied softly.

you didn’t speak in a sarcastic or rude manner. riki almost wished you did so then he would have a reason to hate you. but your tone was sincere like you wanted to help him.

“sure that would be great, go ahead,” the teacher proceeded and let you come up to the board. you took your notebook with you, it was covered in bright stickers and shiny gems matching your appearance.

riki watched as you sat up from your desk, the school uniform clinging to your body to fit your slight curves. he could’ve sworn the uniform’s skirt was shorter than you had on.

wait what—! why was he looking at your body or your uniform, nevertheless your existence…!

you picked up the small white chalk and wrote down your answer, copying your equation from your notebook. the class watched but riki observed. he thought about how you saved his ass from getting yelled at the teacher. why? after finishing the equation, you went to return to your seat. but before sitting down, your eyes met riki’s, flashing a quick smile.

in the brief moment, riki looked at you stunned. you didn’t wait for his reaction though and turned back to the teacher’s lecture. he shook his head, whatever. he hated you.

——

i hate her crooked teeth.

——

if he hates you so much, why was he up at three in the morning still thinking about your stupid smile. your pearly white teeth almost blinding him in the middle of math class.

his eyebrows knitted together and his eyes pierced through the ceiling of his bedroom. what was your problem? you didn’t do this to any other person in the school? you left everyone else alone—his classmates, his friends, his enemies—so why did you chose him? was this a punishment?

riki groaned and flipped to his side to face his bedside table, looking at the alarm clock reading 4:27 now. he spent almost four hours just thinking about you and it infuriated him. he liked girls before, girls in his class, girls on the tv, girls in his favorite movies. but he never stayed up thinking about him until this late hour.

also, he liked those girls! they were pretty and hot! he didn’t find you attractive or anything, so what made you so different?

was it your smile? it wasn’t even that nice! he’s seen better smiles in the newspaper and he could say his mom has a better one. yet you were the only thing on his mind and riki couldn’t stand the feeling.

he turned left and right, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep but it was no help. by the time, his eyelids were finally about to shut, they were disturbed by the bright light of the sun coming up. he hated you so much.

——

i hate her 1960’s haircut.

——

the next day at school, riki slung his backpack over his shoulder and waited at his friend’s locker. he agreed to meet heeseung before soccer practice afterschool and it wasn’t the first time the older boy was running late. riki didn’t mind all that much. if anything it meant an excuse to be late for practice, especially since heeseung was the coach’s nephew.

the only unfortunate thing about going to his locker was that yours was right next to it.

he managed to avoid bumping into you almost everyday. weirdly enough he tracked down your exact schedule with classes, meet up with friends, and when you needed your mid day snacks to get through the day.

heeseung commented on it one time, saying his uncalled “hatred” for you seemed more and more like a crush instead. riki almost blow a fuse right then and there in the middle of the soccer field. heeseung hasn’t mentioned it ever since.

unlucky for riki, you were quite an unpredictable person. most of the time you were walking with your usual friends, stopping by your locker to get your bio and calc textbooks. but on the rare occasions you were alone, you spent the entire passing period leaning against the metal wall texting away on your little phone.

this forced riki to hide behind the corner, peering over from time to time like a creep to wait for you to leave. he was even late once or twice just going to his locker at you finally left when the bell rang.

when his teacher asked why his eyes slowly trailed to you, who stared back at him innocently. unknown that you were the reason why he was late and got detention, for the fourth time now.

he could only shut up and take the yellow slip from his teacher. sliding into his desk in the back and staring out into the window in annoyance. why did he need to avoid you?

today was worse. worse than riki could ever imagine. he headed for his locker after fifth period and watched as you walked down the hall to your cheer practice as you always did afterschool. again, a little weird how much riki knew about you. anyways. he hurried to his locker and put in the code, opening it quickly. he grabbed a couple of his textbooks needed for homework and his soccer bag.

as soon as he closed the locker door, he almost had a heart attack. you were standing right there with you back facing him looking into a small magnetic mirror attached to the door of your locker.

you were applying another layer of strawberry chapstick, the one you carried everywhere and put on during first period, third period, and right after lunch by your locker.

so he was definitely surprised to see you standing right in front of him, puckering your lips and looking into the mirror. completely oblivious of riki standing behind you with a shocked expression saying ‘what the fuck!’ you didn’t even notice him staring at you for a full on five minutes.

riki would never admit it but you weren’t such an eye sore as he tried to convince himself all last night.

you were actually nice to look at. well-rounded and cute features that complimented your face. your hair was right in front of his face, the fruity fresh scents of strawberry and peach shampoo filling up his senses. without him even knowing, riki’s frown turned into a small smile.

your perfectly formed curls with a white headband, all sitting nicely on your shoulders made you look like a character from a 60’s cartoon. they moved side to side as you checked yourself out in the mirror, putting riki into a trance. but he snapped out of it as you put the cap back on of your chapstick, signaling him to return to his main goal: get to practice on-time.

he kept his eyes forward and tried to play it cool. walking down the hall, he just prayed you didn’t catch him ogling you for the past ten minutes.

unfortunately, by the time he got to the field, the coach had already started warm-ups and without the excuse of heeseung’s presence, riki only earned the team four extra laps to run. which no one was happy to do. god—how much he hated you right now.

——

i hate her knobby knees.

——

heeseung informed riki that the whole soccer team was required to attend the school’s pep rally as a part of the athletics committee. wanting to spend his friday night off doing better things (aka playing video games in heeseung’s basement until four a.m.), he continuously urged his friend to sneak out.

“what if we just slip out during the principal’s speech?” riki suggested to an unamused heeseung who already accepted his fate.

“if we get caught—our asses are DONE FOR. my uncle’s gonna kill us and definitely tell my mom.” heeseung seemed dead serious about refusing riki’s request, leaving the younger boy to only sit on the bleachers and wait for the soccer team to be announced.

after what felt like hours of speeches and addresses by the principal, teachers, and staff, a bunch of school-color, short uniforms filled the gym. it was the school’s cheerleaders, girls and boys all wearing color coordinated uniforms with scarily happy smiles plastered on their faces.

a single face stood out to riki. one that’s been distracting him in class, keeping him up at night, and keeping him in the hallways. his eyes immediately fell upon you, disregarding the other twenty girls and guys wearing the same outfit. you were the only one that caught his eye and he couldn’t tell why. was it cause of the locker interaction earlier today?

you were skipping in with a cute grin on your face, those stupid pearly whites blinding riki once again. you had pom pom in your hands, waving your arms in the air and saying hi to the crowd.

you didn’t spare riki a glance even once, unintentionally of course—how could you see him in a sea of hundreds of students! but he didn’t mind. at least it meant he could stare at you the entire time the cheerleaders introduction was happening.

what surprised riki was that you walked to the center as everyone got into formation. you were center stage. your smile was warm and lit up an entire room, the entire crowd beginning to feed into every word you said. when you said “go—!” they said “—team!”

then music suddenly started to play and the cheerleaders started a routine. one that you guys probably practiced a million times before. riki could see the nervousness in your face, hiding behind that smile you held so proudly.

he noticed your knees, you had skin tone band-aids all over them. underneath were obviously bruises, cuts, maybe even scars. people might’ve thought they were ugly but riki couldn’t help looking at them.

not like he was a sadist or anything but the bruises made you look more real. like you weren’t just another carbon copy of these cheerleaders who had perfect lives and appearances like the girls surrounding you.

you were different. something about you gave riki a hint that there was more to you than being a shallow popular girl.

you wouldn’t make fun of the so-called losers with the jocks behind the science building during lunch, their cheerleadering girlfriends joining in just because they can. or disregard the entire meaning of attending school to just dance in a tight outfit and fluffy pom poms in front of the entire school.

no, you were nowhere near those areas during lunch, riki saw you spending the time in the classroom, taking a nap to catch some extra z’s before the last two classes of the day or listening to music and researching choreography for the cheerleaders. in class, you always participated. you paid attention and studied, even helping the other struggling students in your free time.

maybe it was the way you helped him yesterday morning, answering his question and cutting off the teacher’s potential wrath. or you simply smiling at him the moment after.

either way, he found himself clapping for you after you finished your dance, enjoying your performance and rather disappointed to find it so short. heeseung was confused, wasn’t riki just giving suggestions on how to sneak out of here five minutes ago? now he was smiling and clapping like his own girlfriend was out there dancing in front of the crowd?

why did you make riki feel this weird? this good feeling he had whenever he saw you? he had to force himself to hate you to avoid his true feelings from spilling out.

and then, riki realized what the indescribable feeling—that takes over him as a whole every moment he lays his eyes on you—really was. he didn’t hate you.

he hated how you made him feel.

[toxicanonymity]

Let me stay awake.

7.2k, vampy!Joel x f!reader | vampire masterlist | playlist SUMMARY: Joel tries to take better care of you and plans a date night in. Next time he takes your blood, it feels amazing. WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (440s to 20s-50s), reader is in captivity, angst, hurt/comfort, dark fluff, POV alternates (twice?), a lot of character dev in the first half, a former blood donor joins the cast, chains, shackles, ankle collar, dry humping, groping, perfectly timed ejaculation. Captivity dubcon. SERIES IMMERSABILITY: Reader can menstruate, be lifted by vampire Joel, and has no allergies.

After Joel took your period, you told him he was doing a bad job taking care of you, which was true. But he did a good job at something. You slept like a baby. He was back with when you woke up. Now he’s sitting next to you on the mattress, back against the wall. Against his thighs, he’s holding a pen on top of a book that looks ancient.  He adjusts his glasses and opens the book. The pages are blank, discolored, and thick. Some have been ripped out. He takes the cap off his pen and asks, “What’d ya have at your old house that we don't have here?” then rests his hand on the page to write. His hand dwarfs the page, and you feel a surge of desire recalling his sounds of pleasure. No, you don’t want him, you tell yourself, as if you didn’t fantasize about him on your way to sleep.

“Freedom,” you answer, and he winces. 

He closes the journal with the pen keeping it partly open, then he turns toward you. “If ya just gimme a chance, sweetheart. . . I'm really gonna do my best. . .” 

When you stay quiet, he says, “Ya know. I think one day, we’ll get there.” 

“Get where?” 

“Outside, out in the world together.”

“Really?” 

He nods. “That walk we took was nice, right?”

“What walk?”

“Through the alley, that first night, when I walked ya to your car?” Right. . .what a gentleman. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Now your mind is drifting back to the way he gently pushed you against the brick wall to kiss you on that walk. Did he already know what he was going to do to you when he first pressed himself against you? 

His eyes are earnest.  “It can be like that again,” he nods.  “Just need a little time.”

You nod. 

He clears his throat, opens the journal, and picks up his pen. “So what do you need?” 

Your stomach twists. Answering would feel like resigning yourself to some dark fate. “I'm not gonna help you keep me prisoner,” you mumble. 

“Prisoner?” He dips his head and his brow furrows. “God, no,” he softly reassures you. He reads your face, then stares into the mattress and swallows.

You rephrase, “Well I’m not gonna help you keep me.” 

He looks you over with pleading eyes.  “I'm gonna go out for a while, okay? Can I get ya anything?”

There are things you need, but you still can’t bring yourself to acknowledge you’re there for the long haul. So you shake your head no. He goes to get the chain from the floor.

“Hate doin’ this,” he mumbles. “‘s’just for now.” He drags the chain over and lifts the sheet to expose your feet. He sees the scrapes and irritation on your ankle. “Shit,” he shakes his head at himself. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he mutters. “Stupid,” he mumbles at himself as he gets up.  He goes upstairs and takes the tray from breakfast with him.  He returns with the same tray. It’s holding a pair of his own wool socks in a fair isle pattern, a paper bag, and a translucent teal bottle full of water. “Lunch,” he says as he sets the tray down next to you. He puts the socks on you, and they're toasty. Then, he puts the cuff on over the sock. “Little better?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Good,” he whispers. 

— JOEL —

He’s gotta do something about that chain. He’s about to lay down on the sofa to think, but when he moves a decorative pillow out of the way, he feels a rush of shame. “Oh my god,” he whispers. He’s so stupid. How did he not think to give you a pillow? He goes straight to a guest bedroom. The tall, oak door creaks as he opens it. The light from the window nearly blinds him. He blocks it with his forearm as he hurries over to close the heavy curtains.  He sneezes. He picks up an old pillow off the bed and fluffs it. Dust swarms around. There's no way he's giving you that. This whole room has a sad vibe. But he could make you a different room, maybe. His wheels start turning as he goes back downstairs - he has ideas for what room he could use, and what he could do with it. 

He says your name as he descends the final steps. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking,” he apologizes as he crosses the room.  He hands you the pillow and assures you he'll get a better one. Then he goes back upstairs.

After a little research, he packs a leather, cross-body bag and checks the weather. “Damnit,” he grumbles to himself.  Cool but no cloud cover. If it were another sunny day, he’d stay home, but this is too important. He puts on a scarf and grabs his parasol from the coat closet and tucks it under his arm as he pulls on his gloves. He’d rather endure the strange looks than come home without the energy to take care of you. 

-

-

Joel’s first stop is an erotic boutique. It's been a long time since he was anywhere like this. The mannequins in mesh bodysuits and strappy leather catch his eye on the way in, and he almost forgets what he came for. He can't help but imagine you wearing some of these things, but he'd rather just see you naked. 

He slowly makes his way through the store. Should he get you a toy? It seems like sexual health would be a basic need. No, he decides. It might make you uncomfortable. He doesn't want to assume, and doesn't want to invade your privacy. Plus, he has to be careful. He doesn’t want you to think this is all just to get him off. He knows how it feels to be fetishized.

“Can I help you?” Someone asks. Joel turns around and squints through his transition lenses at the worker’s face, then their name tag. Craig.  Where does Joel know him from?  Joel stays home a lot, but not as much as one might think. He needs some kind of social contact. 

Craig interrupts Joel’s thoughts, “You’re the one with the mansion, right?”

Joel chuckles. “Uhh, I dunno if–”

“Oh, sorry,” Craig  holds his hand up. “Ya know what? I must be thinking of someone else.” His lie is an unconvincing attempt to allow Joel his anonymity after the slip-up. He probably thinks Joel is in disguise. 

“No, no, it’s okay, man. I was just gonna say. I wouldn’t call it a. . . mansion,” Joel feels stupid as he finishes the sentence. 

“Okay,” Craig concedes with a playful eye roll.  “The house with the Christmas party” 

Oh, God. Joel hadn't even thought about his party. It's gotta be small this year, if it happens. Maybe it would be nice. Joel pictures you in a fancy dress sitting next to him at the table. He imagines having someone to kiss at midnight. 

“New year’s, “ Joel corrects him and sticks out his hand. “Joel.” 

“Right, right.” Craig shakes Joel’s hand and asks, “Friend of the Fishers, right?” 

Joel snaps his finger, “Yes! Right. You're in David's choir.” Another thing Joel forgot. His life has revolved around you ever since you stepped into it.  You're all he thinks about.  Joel starts to apologize, “Look, I dunno if I'm gonna make the Christmas concert this year, it snuck up on me.”

“It's okay, it's okay,” Craig reassures him with a wave of his hand. “Can I help ya find anything?” 

“Yeah, uh, it said online y’all have some cuffs and chains and stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” Craig nods. “Come with me.” He guides Joel to a back wall covered in all sorts of contraptions. “Looking for anything in particular?” 

“Yeah, something really comfortable and secure.”

–

As Craig rings up Joel’s purchase, Joel silently worries if this is going to work. 

“Want me to show ya how the lock works?” Craig asks. 

 “Uhh, sure,” Joel says. 

Craig takes the leather cuff out of the package and demonstrates the metal lock. He dangles the two keys. “One for you, and one for them,” he smiles. 

“And both cuffs have the same key?”

“Yep,” Craig nods. 

The cuff seems comfortable–the inside is suede and there's metal over the leather-–but Joel wonders if it's secure enough. What if you get away and he never sees you again? He looks at the metal loop on the cuff.

“Hey,” Joel asks and scratches his neck. “Y’all don't have any, uh, ID tags or anything do ya?”

“ID tags?” 

“Like the little metal ones that hang on a loop.”

“Ohhh, like for a collar.” Craig raises his eyebrows. 

“Or for this?” Joel asks, holding up a cuff. 

“Cool,” Craig nods as if Joel is an innovator.  “Gimme one sec.” 

Craig goes out to a nearby shelf and comes back with a few collars that have their own tag – mostly hearts, either blank or with something generic like princess. “This is all we got.”

“Y’all do engraving here?” Joel asks. 

“No. . .But if ya only need the tag, and it's gotta be engraved, I can tell ya where to go.”

–

When Joel is done with his next stop, he opens his leather bag and slips the metal tag into a zippered pocket. Damn, he thinks.  He doesn't even know your favorite color. He hopes you’re okay with a black heart. Certainly better than a bone shape. He starts his car and heads toward the library. 

-

When Joel walks into the library, he politely nods at the information desk, then heads to the computers. He sits down at one in the back row. He takes his gloves off, pulls his journal and a pen out of his bag, then logs onto the computer. He searches the catalog and the internet. What do you need? Food, water, shelter, this all seems obvious. What do you want? Freedom, he can hear you saying it. How much can he give you? How can he make you stay? How can he make you understand how much he cares? He retrieves a book and opens his journal to make some notes.

-

Joel puts down his pen, looks over his notes, then takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. He wishes you’d talk to him. What do you really want? 

He whispers your name out loud. “God I wanna make you happy.” He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. He has a headache. The sun is catching up with him. He shouldn’t have gone out today. He should go home. When he opens his eyes, he puts his glasses back on. Someone is approaching. He swiftly locks the computer screen and closes his notebook. 

“Joel.” It’s a kind, grandmotherly voice.

“Carol,” Joel smiles, and leans back as casually as he can. 

“You alright there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Joel nods, trying not to wince. She looks at the empty computer screen and closed notebook. 

“Okay, well, you know where to find me, dear.” 

“Great sweater, by the way,” Joel tells her. “Perfect color. Really makes your eyes pop.”  

“Oh, Joel,” she coyly pats down her white curls. “Thank you, dear--OH, Christy asked if you came in. Do you want me to get her?” 

Joel didn’t even think about her on his way in. He feels a twinge of guilt for silencing her call, ignoring her text. 

“Joel?” Carol asks, looking concerned. 

He snaps out of it and feigns a little smile. “Uh, no. No, thank you. Don't bother her.”

“Okay,” Carol says in a sing-song voice. “I'll leave you to it then.” She smiles and walks away. 

–

So she was expecting him. Oh, shit - he thinks through his mental calendar - Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. Warmth rises to his cheeks. It’s been so long since he’s felt his cheeks get warm. It must be something in your blood.  Not only has Joel taken blood from Christy, but she’s been his wingman before. They'd go out somewhere, and he'd listen to her drone on and on–she never took a breath–about  her armchair detective community. 

She’s always been a little too into the whole situation. If Joel thanked her for her help, she’d beam, “Any time.” She wasn't with him the night he met you. He wasn't on the hunt. But you smelled special, and he couldn't physically resist. 

Joel hears Christy greet someone. He can't dodge her, he just has to hope she walks on by.  He picks up his leather bag and puts it in his lap. He rifles through it until he finds a stick of menthol balm. 

“There he is,” Christy calls. 

Too late. He stuffs the menthol back in his bag without using it. He looks up, and she’s paused in the middle of the library with one hand on her hip and her eyes wide, even wider than usual.  

“Hey, Chris.” 

She hurries over. “So you are alive,” she teases with her arms crossed, then tilts her head, widens her eyes, and whispers, “figuratively speaking.” She laughs at her own joke. 

She knows as much about him as anyone alive. It's made a big difference having a friend who knows. This has been one of Joel’s better eras, but the era he’s moving into with you will be lightyears better. And it’ll be more than an era. 

“Kinda late,” she cringes lightheartedly. 

“Oh, no, no, none for me. I’m good, thanks. Sorry, I’ve uh – I’ve gotta go.” 

He stands up and puts his bag on.  She’s gonna know something’s up. He scratches the back of his neck, weighing whether to break down and tell her everything so she can help him know how to make you comfortable and happy. Plus, he just wants to talk about you. He wants to tell the world. But today he has one priority: taking care of you. 

“Waait a second,” Christy says knowingly, studying his face. “You’re glowing. You just got some good stuff, didn't ya?” She playfully punches Joel’s arm.  “Good for you,” she beams, then raises her eyebrows and lowers her voice. “Bet it was menstrual, O positive.”

“The blood type doesn't–”

“--You say that, but if you’d let me do my experiment. . .Oh! We’ve got some new microfilm downstairs. 1880s, if you can believe it.” 

“Not today,” Joel replies a little too quickly if he doesn’t want her prying.  

Her lips form a line and her eyebrows go up, then she shrugs it off. “Okay, mister. Hey, can you still take care of Cal next weekend? Nat and I are–”

“--Uh, yeah,” Joel starts to walk off. “If you can drop her off.” You might enjoy the cat’s company.

“Joel!” Christy calls after him. “Don’t forget this!” She’s holding his parasol. 

–

Next, Joel stops by the hardware store to get some supplies to secure you more comfortably. He’s sure he’s forgetting something, but this is a good start, and there’s always delivery. He doesn’t want to leave the house again this week. Thankfully, the hardware store is next to a Walmart, which has groceries, clothes, and pillows. He gets you some loungewear, socks, and new bedding. It’s the least he can do.

—--

When Joel gets home, he brings you four different pillows and some bedding. 

“Wasn’t sure what firmness.” 

He unlocks you and shows you the socks and lounge clothes. “These looked comfortable. Here, I can help. . .”

“I can do it,” you tell him. 

“Right.”  He turns around. While you’re changing, he says, “Let's order in tonight. Too tired to get anything started.”  

“I’m not hungry yet,” you tell him.

Then he shows you the new cuffs and chain. He rings the heart shaped tag onto one cuff, then puts it around your ankle. “Better?”

The chain is much lighter.  “Yeah, I guess,” you admit. “What’s this?” You look at the tag. 

“Oh I dunno, I just–I started worryin’.” 

You stare at him blankly. 

“I dunno, just in case.” 

“In case what?”

He swallows. “If ya. .” He looks around. He doesn't wanna say it out loud.  “If ya left. . . so ya could . . . I dunno, get back.”

Now there’s a hint of pity and bewilderment in your eyes. 

“It was stupid, sorry.” He takes a deep breath and manages a small smile. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll be right upstairs.” 

-

When he gets upstairs, he looks at his phone and has a message from Christy. His stomach drops when the picture loads. It’s his search history about taking care of adult human women and what makes them stay.

“God damnit,” he curses himself. Of course he didn’t clear his search history. He didn’t even log off. She's typing. She stops, then starts again, and he presses the heels of his palms into his temples. What now? Should he call her? She wouldn't tell anyone, but – Her message comes through with a woosh: “this is what librarians are for.”

“Ha," he scoffs with the slightest smile. He shakes his head and turns the screen off without answering.  He should be relieved, but can’t help but worry. He's seen her at her worst. God, he hopes that was her worst.  What does she want?

Another message comes in: “let me help you."

Of course that’s what she wants. Funny enough, he’s seen her at her worst specifically when she was trying to help. But it’s still tempting, because she’s smart and resourceful. She could tell him everything there is to know about you within an hour. He’d love to know what kind of clothes you’d like, your favorite foods, how to make you happy. But for now, he’s doing alright on his own. He doesn’t text back. 

-—You—

A while after Joel goes upstairs, you hear drilling, then clanking, metal jingling, things being dropped. 

Later, he brings you dinner. He doesn’t eat, but he sits with you.  Then, after you’re done, he faces you, cross-legged on the mattress.  He’s wearing his glasses and has his journal again. There are handwritten notes in it. From upside down, you can see the words “buy” and “do.” Some items are crossed through.

“I was thinkin’,” he studies the page, then looks up at you. “Ya might need a bed.” He looks at your face for confirmation.   “Right?” he asks. Wow, he really wants an answer. 

“I mean. . . yeah, I sleep in a bed, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Okay, I’m workin’ on a room for ya.”

For the next few days, he’s hard at work. 

—----

He comes downstairs one evening around dinner time and says,  “I was thinkin’, maybe we could watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Here?”

“Uh, no sweetheart. I was thinkin’, if ya wanna come upstairs for dinner, then maybe, after that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiles.

“Okay.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. Great.” He goes to the other end of the chain and takes a key out of his pocket to unlock the cuff from the floor.  As he's doing it, he mumbles, “You can, uh, pick the movie. If ya want.” The chain is sliding around on the mattress as he fiddles with the cuff. When the cuff is free from the hook, he puts it around his wrist, then locks it. Your breath hitches. He sees you looking at his wrist. 

“Don't wanna get separated,” he chuckles sheepishly, then puts a hand on your wrist. “Want yours here?” 

“Yeah.” 

He moves the leather cuff from your ankle to your wrist, and it's nice to feel his hands on yours as he fastens it. He smells good. Fresh, woodsy. He opens his palm and takes your hand to help you up. He holds the slack of the chain as the two of you walk upstairs. 

—

It's a large room with high ceilings. It's dark, but cozy. A fire is lit. There are plants, lots of plants. And bookshelves in the walls. He takes you through the main room, to a dining room with a huge table already set for two.  He offers you the head of the table and pulls out the chair for you. He lets the slack of the chain pool between your chairs, and you're both still wearing a cuff on your wrist. 

 You eat mostly in silence, which makes the jingling of the dog tag deafening when you move that hand. He asks where you’d like to travel. You’d love to just travel outside, down the driveway, but you humor him with more ambitious places.

The space is lit with gas candelabras, and it’s hard not to admire his handsome face and the way his eyes sparkle in the candlelight. Sometimes a flicker catches the silver in his beard just right.

After dinner, he takes you back to the main room. There's an oversized sofa with a large, soft blanket draped over it and pillows like the one Joel brought downstairs. There's a big, square ottoman. There's also a side table with two clean, empty wine glasses. The sofa faces the fireplace, which is quite wide, and there’s a screen mounted above it. Joel offers you a glass of wine, and you accept but won’t drink much of it. He starts the movie.

-

Joel puts his arm around you while you watch the film. The chain lightly clinks against itself as he strokes your shoulder, then your arm, and you feel yourself melting. He arranges the pillows and asks if you want to lie down. You do. He spoons you, with his free hand resting over your body. His chained hand is under the pillow, and it finds yours as the movie goes on. Your fingertips brush, and you don’t pull away. Then he fully rests his hand on yours. 

The hand draped over your side gradually begins to wander. He slowly, lightly strokes your side. . .then your hip. . . then your stomach, over your clothes. His breath deepens. His light, meandering touch makes you weak with desire and lulls you half asleep. 

“Thanks for being here,” he whispers. He kisses the nape of your neck. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” He kisses your hair. “But it'll be worth it.” His light touch continues, and you begin to tingle. “Won’t be stuck here forever. . .we’ll travel the world one day.”

His hand travels higher on your body as he moves it in loose circles, until he’s skimming the bottoms of your breasts. His palm grazes the outline of your hard nipple, and a hard shape twitches against your ass. You don’t flinch, but you inhale sharply through your nose, trying to suppress a wave of desire. 

Joel pulls his hips back and tucks the blanket between you, to your secret disappointment. Then he props his head up to admire you. “So many things I wanna do with you,” he murmurs, running his massive hand down your side again where he started. “And for you,” he whispers, draping his hand over your lower belly. Then, barely audible, so quiet you might be imagining it, “and to you.” He puts his head back down on the pillow and inhales your hair, skimming your top with his fingers.

His hand nudges under your lounge top, then his fingertips slip into your waistband ever so slightly, and you’re throbbing.  His fingertips skim your bare belly, dipping a little further into your pants. 

He asks, “You okay from. . .”

Your heart rate quickens. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“I can check,” he quietly offers. “Make sure I got it all.”

“Ok,” you whisper. 

“Good,” he slides his hand down your lounge pants. You’re not wearing underwear. You gasp softly as his fingers reach your clit. He pauses there, and an involuntary push of his hips lets you feel him through the blanket before he pulls back again. His fingertips get lower, then hook between your legs, and he softly gasps when he reaches your wetness. He runs his fingers through your folds, then uses his massive hand to hold the waistband open while he peeks at his fingers. 

“You did,” you whisper. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shoulda waited, though. I wasn too rough. Shoulda let it happen.” He lets the waistband close over his wrist and cups your  mound.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, closing your eyes, embarrassed at the whole situation. Now he knows how wet you are. 

His middle finger twitches and nudges your clit, then begins nudging it rhythmically. Soon, it evolves toward a more deliberate, pleasure-focused rub, and he inhales deeply, chest expanding against your back. 

“I think I should go to sleep,” you whisper, overwhelmed. His finger stops moving, but his hand stays in your pants.  

Joel offers, “Might sleep better if–” 

“Not tonight.”  You twist your hips away from his, already hating yourself for cutting this off, but knowing you’d judge yourself for continuing. 

He slowly withdraws his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Somethin’ came over me.” 

On the way downstairs, he tells you again, “I’m workin’ on a room for ya. Just gimme a couple days.” 

He chains you back to the floor, then makes up the mattress with a new set of bedding and a comforter. He tucks you in, and leans over you. He wets his lips, looking at yours. You look away. He kisses you on the cheek, soft and slow. Somehow, it feels just as sensual as if it were your mouth.

“Night, sweetheart.” 

—-

The next evening, your room is finished.  He brings you upstairs and shows you what he’s done. It’s an actual bedroom, with a nice, roomy bed. There’s a reading nook with a big, comfy chair and a wall of books.  It’s dim, of course, but he shows you how to use the dials to remotely adjust the flames of the candelabras and chandelier. There’s a window with a curtain. It has steel bars, but at least it’s there. There’s a closet with clothes and some packages not yet opened.  There’s even a fireplace. 

“And here’s the best part,” he says excitedly, gesticulating in a way that makes the chain between you jingle. He brings you outside the bedroom and closes the double doors. There are two dark panels that create a heart where the doors meet.  “Check it out.” He retrieves a key from his pocket, and locks the door from the outside. It’s a heavy, satisfying click. He looks at you like you’re going to be excited. “So you can take this off,” he explains, holding up the chain. 

-----

You see Joel more often once you’re out of the basement. He’s happy to have you close, and you’re glad to have the accommodations. But you’re also confused, and a little depressed. You crave his presence and his touch in a way you know is unhealthy. You know it must be because he’s all you have right now, but your heart tells you there’s more to it. The whole situation has felt like a dream, and maybe that’s how you’ve coped. But the longer it lasts, the more real it feels.

One night, it catches up with you and you have a good cry. You try to be quiet. You try to stop, but you can’t. So you let it go, you just sob. 

After a while, you hear the heavy lock, and the massive door opens just enough for Joel to come in. He closes it behind him, then stands there rubbing his beard.  He looks at you like he’s lost, then cautiously approaches. 

“Hey,” he whispers. He sits down on the bed. You’re curled up, facing him. You don’t turn away. He strokes your arm, and you cry harder. “Oh, sweetheart.” His eyes are sad. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He knows. He lies down, facing you. He hugs you into him and you cry into his soft t-shirt, inhaling his scent with every gasp for air.  “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

You close your eyes, wanting him to kiss you, and you’re disturbed by your own desire.  You pinch your lashes shut harder, and your whole face tenses. It hurts.

“This isn’t okay,” you sob. “It’s not gonna be.” You try to push him away, but he holds you still. After all the times he’s folded, apologized, and backed off, that’s not what he does. He holds you in his arms, making you stay there. “What are you doing,” you whine, and you push at his chest. He doesn’t budge. You half-heartedly hit and kick at him, and he cages you with his leg, too. It soothes you, like a weighted blanket, but you fight it. 

“Shhhh,” he holds you tight. His voice is deep and quiet against the top of your ear. “We’re gonna be happy one day,” he insists. “Promise, sweetheart.” You exhaust yourself crying, and he holds you. “I love you.” You try to ignore it, but that doesn’t stop your heart from fluttering. Soon you’re nuzzling your head into his neck, gripping his shirt in a fist like you don’t want him to go. He drapes a heavy blanket over both of you. He holds you like that until you fall asleep and your fist releases his shirt. He stays a little longer, then kisses you on the forehead and leaves. 

—--

The next afternoon, Joel approaches you and sits down on the edge of the bed. “How ya feel? Ya look good,” he whispers, and cups your cheek. You don’t shrug him off. 

“I’m fine,” you reply, wishing he would lie down with you again, but not wanting to invite him. 

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks. 

“I don't care,” you answer.  

He sits there in silence and places a hand on your knee. 

“Got ya somethin’,” he murmurs, and stands up for a moment. He appears to get nervous as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a shallow, velvet jewelry box. He sits down again and holds the box out for you to take, but you don’t. He opens it for you. It’s a necklace. He tells you what the stone is. It’s your birthstone. It’s thoughtful, but he only knows your birthday because he has your wallet. He faces you and puts his hands around your neck as he puts the necklace on, getting his face close to yours so he can see the clasp. With his temple nearly brushing yours, you feel a surge of want. There’s no denying it. The scruff of his cheek scratches you lightly as he finishes fastening the necklace. “There,” he says, and looks at you adoringly.

“Thanks.” 

“You’re one of a kind, ya know.” 

He wets his lips and you notice they’re chapped, dehydrated. He’s pale. You find yourself wanting to hug him, kiss him, but you don’t. He kisses you on the cheek. 

��

One night, Joel makes you a special dinner. He cuffs the two of you together, and you eat in the dining room at the big table with him again. He tells you he needs your blood again. “I don’t have to take much,” he says. “It can be tomorrow,” he offers. “Don’t wanna spring it on ya.” 

“It’s alright,” you tell him. “You need it.” And the truth is, you want it. You want him to take it. You want to be taken back to that moment against your car. You want something that overwhelms your senses and puts you on another plane. You need something to remind you that you aren’t just a girl in a room, and he’s not just some guy keeping you there. If you can physically feel all of that, maybe you can let yourself relax. 

After dinner, he brings you back to your room and unchains you. You sit on the bed. He turns on the fireplace and tells you he’lll be right back. When he returns, he has an old medicine bottle with a cloth. He wets the cloth and says, “I’ll lay with ya, til ya wake up, okay?”

You look at the cloth in his hand and say,  “You don’t have to put me to sleep.” He adjusts the cloth in his hand. “Don’t,” you shake your head. 

His brows knit, and he reads your eyes for a few seconds. 

“Let me stay awake,” you plead. 

“You sure?”

You nod. He closes the bottle again and puts it on your nightstand. 

“Thought it scared ya,” he mumbles. 

“Well it did, when it was a surprise.” 

He nods solemnly. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. I really shoulda. . . I don’t even know.”  If he had asked, you wonder if you would have let him. Surely not, so you can’t exactly blame him. 

-

“Okay,” he looks you over and gets on the bed with you. “You warm enough?” He nudges the cardigan you’re wearing. 

“Yeah,” you nod, and shrug it off. You’re cozy enough from the fire.

“C’mon, let’s get up here.” He guides you up the bed and gets you to lay down with your head on a pillow as if you’re going to sleep. 

He gets close to you, and starts lightly stroking your shoulder as he looks you over. His eyes glue to your neck, and he wets his lips, then he pulls his eyes back to yours. 

“You can choose,” he offers. “Where I take it.” 

You bite your lip as you watch his face and inhale his scent. 

“I can take it here again,” he caresses your neck. Then he holds your arm and lightly brushes his thumb across where you’d normally get an IV, giving you an unexpected surge in arousal.  “Or here.” 

He checks your face, then lays his hand on your waist. His palm skims your side, down your hip. “Or,” he runs his hand up your thigh under your dress. His thumb caresses your thigh, right near your pelvis, and he whispers, “I can take it here.” You’re nearly overwhelmed with desire already. 

“I dunno,” you whisper. 

He gently rolls you onto your back. He takes a deep breath, scoots down the bed, and gets between your thighs. He nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose, then whispers, "up to you, sweetheart."  You're throbbing.

“Tell me what feels right,” he murmurs and nuzzles your inner thigh with his nose.  His hair is fluffy and his eyes are dark and sparkly as he looks up at you. “God, you’re . . .” He reaches up and wraps a hand around your arm. “You’re perfect.” 

“Where do you want?” you ask. 

“Everywhere, anywhere. I want every inch of you.” 

You allow yourself a little smile and hold his eyes for a few seconds. 

He sits up again and offers, “I can make ya feel good.”

“I know,” you nod with a laugh.

“I mean, it’ll feel best, if you’re already feelin’ good.” 

You nod with butterflies in your tummy, telling yourself it’s for a practical purpose, and you might as well enjoy it. 

He nods and whispers, “Okay. . .good.” His eyes rove your body hungrily. He asks, “Anywhere ya don’t want me to touch ya?”

You say "no" so fast your cheeks heat in shame.

His eyes darken and he growls, “good,” as he prowls back up your body.  His triceps swell out from under his shirt.

He kisses you tenderly below your jaw and brings a hand to your breast.  You lift your chin with a sigh. He drags his lips and nose down your throat to your chest, pausing at your neckline. He looks up and you nod. He nudges the fabric aside with his nose, then plants a wet kiss on the swell of your breast, and his eyes close. He moans into your skin. Your gaze fixates on his softwash khakis, and he briefly removes his hand from your chest to adjust himself. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“s’okay,” you whisper.

“‘Sposed to be about you right now,” he murmurs, looking up at you. You tilt your head, trying to look at his pants, but the room is too dim. Truth is, you’re finding it hard to think about anything but his cock at the moment. You only felt the briefest hint of it the other night. You want to feel it all.

He slides his hand up your thigh again, and his thumb nudges just slightly under the crotch of your panties, making you twitch. He takes a deep breath through his nose, then withdraws his thumb and lets down the edge of your panties. He scoots up to lie to your side again, leaving his knee between your legs. He rests his hand on your mound, and slowly ghosts your clit, closing his eyes.  When he opens his eyes again, they sparkle, and his face drifts toward yours.  You don’t flinch, you don’t pull away. You let him kiss you.

With one hand still between your legs, he slides the other one under your head. He kisses you slow and deep, stroking your most sensitive spot through your panties.  Your mouths remain connected as his massive hand slides up to your bare abdomen. He gives your side a little squeeze before sliding back down and nudging his fingers under the hem of your underwear. He pulls his lips from yours and looks at you darkly. It’s not a question, but you nod as his hand slides down.  You gasp and his knuckles strain the fabric as he cups your naked heat.  “Good,” he whispers when he feels how wet you are.  “What if ya just. . .” he kisses you again, then murmurs,  “let your body decide." He plants a soft, open mouth kiss on your cheek, then whispers in your ear, "I'll go everywhere. You tell me when.”

You wrap your wrists around his neck and he catches your inner arm with his mouth. He wetly kisses the inner crook of your elbow, looking up at you. Then he drags his lips down toward your chest, where he pulls your dress down. Your skin hardens with goosebumps as your nipples sharpen, and he groans softly. He kisses your bare breast, then fixes your dress, and kisses your hard nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back and sigh. He gets between your legs and backs up as he kisses his way down your torso. He lifts your dress and thumbs your panties, sighing “oh, God.” 

He lifts one of your knees over his shoulder and kisses at your cunt through the damp fabric.  Your hips lift into his mouth. He licks along the edge of the crotch, then your inner thigh. He leaves a meandering trail of kisses around your inner thigh, then plants his lips and leaves a hickey. He glances up at you and adjusts himself again, and you let out a little moan.  “C’mere,” You nudge him, pulling at his arms, wanting nothing more than him on top of you. 

He prowls up your body and plants his hands on either side of your chest.  Lays his hips into yours, and when the shape of his warm, hard package presses into your most sensitive place, you gasp and he lets out a low moan. “Should I take-” he asks, reaching for his belt.  You’re nodding before he finishes the question. He uses his left hand to unbuckle his belt. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he pulls away from you enough to take his pants off. Now he’s in long johns, and it’s quite a bulge you’re looking at. Your face and chest burn. You pull him toward you with your feet. He presses his throbbing arousal against your aching heat, and you moan. You card your fingers through his hair. “Feel so good,” you whisper. 

“Good,�� he whispers, then kisses your neck again.  

He puts his hand on your thigh and you wrap your leg around him. He lightly grinds into you as he kisses your neck, then your cheek, then your lips again. Your mouths open and draw each other in. You breathe each other’s air and drink each other’s spit. Your lips tingle. Your chest tingles. As you kiss harder, he grinds harder against you. You badly want him inside you, but  you won’t, you can’t, you shouldn’t, you tell yourself. 

The next time his mouth comes to your neck, he teases you with his tongue and a bolt of pleasure shoots down  your spine. Your nipples harden.  He opens his mouth wider against your skin. “Do it,” you whisper, then feel the prick of his fangs against your flesh. “Do it,” you repeat, and his arousal swells against you as he sinks his teeth into your skin. Your hips lift against his. He moans into your neck, and as your blood flows into him, he gets harder. You shudder in pleasure as he takes what he needs. You move his hand from your thigh to your breast, and you lift your pelvis into his, whispering, “yeah.” You’re not lightheaded, not yet. He’s doing this slowly, pacing himself. 

His warmer, harder cock twitches against you, and you reach down to grope it desperately. He groans. You grind up against him and moan, “Joel,” with a surge of need overtaking you. He ruts against you slow and hard, warm and stiff, then his cock pulses right against your clit. He groans into your neck, and you grind back against him, and the whole front of you begins to pulse with him. “Oh God,” you gasp and grab his ass, pulling him against you harder as the warmth of his cum seeps through the thermal fabric, “oh fuck,” you sigh as you cum with him. 

As you finish convulsing, his fangs release you. His breath is humid against your neck. “Fuck, i’m sorry,” he mutters. He leans his cheek against your shoulder, and you can feel how warm his face is. 

“Don’t be,” you whisper. “That felt really good.” He pulls back and looks at you, cheeks blotchy. 

“Really?” he asks. He cups and adjusts his manhood through his damp bottoms. “I never. . .”

“I know,” you reassure him. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”

He nods with his eyes half closed. “It’s incredible.” 

You nod. “It was good for me too,” you admit. 

“I could feel it,” he puts a hand on your panties.  He sighs and lays half on top of you. He strokes your face. “Can I do somethin’ for ya?”

You shake your head no. “I’m good.” 

He caresses your neck. “I’ll get ya some ice.”

“No,” your hand comes to his back, and you don’t let him leave. “Just stay right here.” 

You lay in silence with him half on top of you. Then he props himself up to look at you. 

“We're made for each other,” he whispers, looking at your mouth. He kisses you softly, then meets your eyes. “You don’t believe it yet.  It’s okay.” 

“It’s not that I don’t-”

“It’s okay. Don’t have to,” he reassures you. He rests his head close to yours on the same pillow, and nuzzles his nose against yours. “Just hope ya feel it one day,” he murmurs into your cheek. “I know ya will.” 

You feel it. You disagree, you think, but you feel the truth in it. 

He puts his arm all the way over you. His arm is solid, and you imagine very heavy, but it's not dead weight. It's tense, like he's actively holding you there, just in case. 

—----

---------

--------

His parasol was inspired by @gasolinerainbowpuddles mood board. 

Thank you so much for love for vampire!Joel and your patience for his story to continue.

I hear you about notifs not working, and tags too (i'm not receiving a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" link on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

[whisper-in-the-night]

Undesirable

Plot: Thomas is omega who will never find his true mate. Or no?

Warnings: omegavers; slight mention of bullying; deviation from the canon; omega!Thomas Hewitt, alpha!male!reader / Y/N

Note: it's my first work in this fandom and even first work in Omegaverse, so I hope it'll be fine. Thanks for reading. About 3-4 chapters planned here.

Part 1 | Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

•••

It's hard to be an omega. And it's even harder to be an omega when you don't fit the description of an 'ordinary, attractive' omega.

Thomas understood the essence of this system from his childhood, as soon as he went to school. And although, because of his strength and size, Hewitt thought he was at least a beta as a child, fate seemed to mock him. During one of the tests to determine the second gender, his results finally turned out to be positive. The young man nervously looked at the neatly folded piece of paper in the envelope. He carefully pulled it out and unwrapped it. Many of his health data were written on white blank paper, but what caught his attention was the green inscription in the middle of the sheet "Omega".

At first, the boy did not attach importance to this word, his childish curiosity and some naivety accepted it simply as a fact. Other children in the class were violently discussing their secondary genders, sharing their impressions and all that. A couple of minutes after the results were given, Thomas was approached by a group of children who had previously often mocked him because of his external features. As soon as they surreptitiously noticed the inscription in Thomas's results, mocking laughter broke out in the crowd. "Look at him! He's a freak! So also omega! No alpha in your life will look at you, monster," one of the boys said enthusiastically, grinning nastily.

That evening, Thomas locked himself in his room. After several unsuccessful attempts to invite her son to dinner, Luda went up to the second floor and gently knocked on the child's door. There was no response. Then she cautiously opened the door. The lights in the room were turned off and the windows were curtained. The woman cautiously went inside, when suddenly she heard a slight crunch under her feet. Picking up a crumpled piece of paper from the floor, Luda read the unfortunate word. She carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the child into her arms. The boy allowed himself to cry out loud, burying his face in his mother's chest, clutching the fabric of her dress in his fists.

As the years passed, the Hewitt family was left alone in this ill-fated town on the outskirts of Texas. They had to come to the current of life that we all know about. This family consisted mostly of betas, with the exception of the youngest, Thomas. And yet now, life seemed much easier for him. Since he left school, just for many years, his abusers have grown up and left, and Thomas has become a little easier. Although self-doubt and pain remained deep in his big warm heart. He really believed in their words. Thomas was too big and strong man to be a desirable omega. Too strong, too big, too wayward, too rude. The man has long accepted his place in society. Although sometimes he still sat in his room at night with a heavy heart. Sometimes he wished he had a mate he could rely on, a mate who could protect him and calm his heat, maybe even give him pups. But Thomas knew he didn't have time for that, he had to protect the family.

***

The sun seemed to come out of hell in Texas this year. The heat was incredible, there was a drought all around. The small grass turned yellow, and those rare trees turned into a kind of deadwood. There's not a cloud in the sky.

Thomas was helping his mother in the store, it was damn stuffy in the room. Recently, due to the intense heat, there were no visitors from the word at all, so he did not care about his appearance at all. The sleeves of a light-colored shirt were rolled up to the elbows, dark tangled hair was pulled into a low ponytail, only a few strands fell over a face in a leather mask. The man's brown trousers were slightly damp from how often he wiped his sweaty palms on the fabric.

Suddenly, a light ringing of the door bell was heard, followed by Luda's tired but pleasant voice.

"Hello, how can I help you?" the woman asked the man who entered.

"Oh yeah, hey. I'd like to refuel my car," you replied smiling, scratching the back of your head, "Do you have some gasoline?"

The woman smiled slightly, which caused fine wrinkles to run across her tired face, and turned towards the back room, shouting a short "Tommy!". A couple of minutes later, a dark-haired man came out from behind the shelves, holding a canister of gasoline. His gaze slid down on you, as if assessing you, and his eyes widened for a moment. You were a tall, muscular man, it seemed, even one and a half times bigger than Thomas himself. Your short sleeved high-collared shirt was unbuttoned at the top buttons, and because of the sweat, the outlines of your strong body showed through the damp fabric. You were also wearing beige breeches that hugged your toned ass beautifully. Thomas licked his lips almost instinctively and came out from behind the counter, handing you a can of gasoline. And indeed, you were almost a head taller than him, which made Thomas feel almost small, which had not happened to him for a long time. The man's nostrils were touched by your island fragrance. Something like an orange with black pepper and bergamot mixed with your body's natural scent. Your pheromones, even under a veil of suppressants, made Thomas feel heavy in his knees.

You smiled briefly and picked up the canister, lightly brushing the rough skin of Thomas's fingers. It almost made the man blush. You took your wallet out of your pocket and handed the woman some green bills, so she nodded curtly.

"Tommy, can you help the young man?"

He didn't need to be asked twice. Although Thomas hesitated a little at first.

Thomas followed you outside in case you needed help, which he clearly doubted. You looked like a confident, independent person who didn't need anyone's help. Besides, you were clearly an alpha, given the smell of your pheromones. It was an extra time for Thomas to be in your presence. He had met alphas before, at least because many of his victims were one, but he had never felt such a strange sense of comfort around an alpha before. Your presence calmed his inner omega.

"The summer is too hot this year," you muttered with a slight grin, sorting out the car and seemingly hoping to strike up some kind of small conversation with the big guy. There was no response. Thomas's head was too busy with your pleasant scent. "You're not the talkative type, are you?" There was playfulness in your tone, but you clearly weren't trying to humiliate another man. Thomas frowned a little at first, listening to your words, but eventually relaxed, nodding briefly. The scars on his face always made it difficult for him to speak clearly, but lately, due to the intense summer heat, every word he uttered seemed almost painful.

After ten long minutes of intense silence, you finally finished refueling the car and put the empty canister on the ground, brushing off your hands.

"Well, thank you. I think without you, I would already be stuck somewhere on the road in this wilderness..." You said, looking back at Thomas and smiling amiably. "Well, alright. I'm already a little late. I wouldn't like to be late for my sister's birthday. For missing her 'special day' one more time, she'll definitely stab me half to death," you said with a light laugh and patted Thomas on the shoulder, "Bye."

Finally, you went to the car door, got into the driver's seat and started the engine, driving away from the old shop.

Thomas watched your dirty beige car drive away for a long time. Your touch is still clearly felt on his hot skin, and his head is slightly dizzy from the citrus scent of your body.

[itsabouttimex2]

Deep Sea Sympathies

Yandere Sun Wukong

(Syntax alphabet is up next, then an LSO + Primal . Feeling super down, so I wrote something a little sadder. The villain tiers post I spent two days writing and rewriting again and again got anonymously sent to another user, who skimmed the majority of it, left out my opening and ending points, and called at least one of my criticisms “ridiculous” and even has a reblogger claiming that I “hate Macaque”, that I want “everyone to hate Macaque” and that I’m “salty”. Maybe it’s childish, but that kind of hurts when I’ve spent literal months making content for the show (often involving Macaque) that I genuinely love. I only wrote that list because I wanted to give my honest opinions as a break from my usual content as I prepared to watch and write for Season Five. Maybe I’m in the wrong and my rant was just stupid? Do you guys want me to delete the “Season Five Prep” posts?)

“I still can’t believe MK got me back into this,” the simian before you chuckles. “But I’m kinda glad he did. I really missed drawing. I forgot how good it felt.”

“…I see,” you “answer”, maintaining a stiff and poised position, staring down at the collection of utensils that the hero is using. “Are you… having fun, then?”

“Aww, bud. Come and take a seat, okay? Look, I’ll even put out a little mat for you. Come and take a seat,” he invites, plucking one of his transforming ginger hairs to make a proper cushion for you.

His tail winds lazily around your leg, tugging you closer and closer to the squishy orange padding.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, cutting through your hesitation. His voice has a powerful edge under all the sweetness- reminding you that the Monkey King is someone you can’t say no to. “I want you to draw with me, kiddo.”

Wukong is fond of this- pulling you into little “bonding sessions” that take up the whole day and leave you without time to spend with anyone else.

It’s funny, though, really- you are the last person that need be manipulated away from others.

“The Great Witch of Gloom,” was the title that you had been assigned. Before you had a name, before you had taken a step, before you had so much as uttered a cry… your fate had been decided.

You were to be a wicked soul with dark motives and a darker heart.

As old memories flood into your ever weary mind, Wukong arranges a few sheets of paper in front your mat. The grip of his tail slowly tightens, and you cease all stalling.

Lowering yourself to the ground, the mat provides a cozy cradle to shield against the cold wooden floor.

“…it’s almost Winter,” you mildly comment, tracing a finger against a smooth plank. “It’s getting colder.”

“Oh,” the simian casually asks, scooting his mat closer to yours, “you like the snow?” Here’s chance he always adores- any rare tidbit of info you offer is a chance for him to spoil you, stocking up on presents and snacks in an attempt to drown you in platonic love.

It didn’t help that you always felt so indebted after he was done stacking gifts into your arms and bag.

“So, bud- what’re you gonna draw?”

The curiosity in his voice is almost innocent, almost sweet. He pushes the multi-tiered box of crayons towards you, smiling.

“C’mon, pick a few out!”

Awkwardly; and with a shaking hand to boot, you reach for the box.

It’s… not a comfortable sensation. Waxy paper around thick wax sticks makes for an awkward feeling in your hand, and you slightly recoil from the hueless cylinder.

“Aww, kiddo. No one draws with white- heck, you’d be better off eating it! Not that I’ve, uh, ever done that.”

“…I don’t know what to do,” is your blank confession that leaves Wukong quirking an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t know how to draw? You’vd never had… oh. Oh, kiddo.”

Realization colors his golden eyes, leaving the simian king with a sympathetic frown. Your parents wouldn’t have ever let you have something as fun and bright as crayons, would they? How could he have forgotten that?

It had been a nightmare for the Monkie Kids to pry information out of you, and a further mess to try pushing you towards a healing state.

And, honestly- Wukong’s doting ministrations really didn’t help. All the love and gifts in the world could not undo your traumas- but certainly left you feeling as though you were mired in debt.

Not that you had the words to voice those feelings, leaving Wukong to continue piling on with his affections- all in the futile hope that he could love away the demons of your past.

“Okay, bud. Maybe we stepped out of your comfort zone, huh? Alright, my bad. Tell me what you wanna draw, and I’ll pick out the crayons for you, okay?”

“…I don’t know what to draw, though.”

His frown deepens. It’s hard to think that someone as young as you could be so… he wouldn’t say broken. That was far, far too cruel a word for someone he loved so dearly. You were… “cracked”, maybe. A little “tarnished”.

Like you had given up on seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and decided to instead drift slowly along in a dark ocean.

…actually…

“Bud, don’t you like the beach? C’mon, why don’t you draw something from there, yeah?”

“…could I?”

Your little words break his heart. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need permission for something as simple as drawing a damn picture. But you *do*, so he answers with false cheer-

“Of course, kiddo! Draw anything you want!”

“…how do… how would I draw… a jellyfish?”

Finally, a real smile graces his lips.

“I didn’t know you liked jellyfish,” he says, in a too familiar voice that lets you know you’ll be receiving a loaded armful of themed plushes and stress toys in the very near future.

Another load of guilt, another load of debt.

“I’ll take you to an aquarium one day,” he tacks on, unaware of your growing insecurities. “And we can look at them together.”

To him, this is healing. Love and affection and unending comfort.

And certainly, Wukong is far better a guardian than your parents were. Instead of blaming you for powers you couldn’t control, he was always ready with praise and applause. Instead of resigning yourself to rotted garments rummaged from the trash, you had brand-new clothes and warm shoes. You were never hungry. You were never bored. You were never alone.

And, above all else- you were loved.

But you were not happy.

And you doubted that would ever change.

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Eighteen: Nevermind, Curse the Gods for Eurylochus

Prev/Next

Warnings: Like maybe two suggestive lines? Overprotective Eurylochus, fist fight, swearing

Word Count: 1.2k

“What happened?” Eurylochus’s voice was demanding, yet soft at the same time. Polites crashed into you, wrapping his arms around your torso in a hug that nearly strangled you. You patted his back.

“Polites,” you said. “I have to breathe.” 

“Oh!” He stepped back, arms falling back down to his sides. He turned his head to the side sheepishly, revealing the side of his flushed face. “Sorry.”

You chuckled, feeling slightly better about your… discovery; you hadn’t realized how attached you had gotten to Eurylochus and Polites.

“We saw you fall,” the second in command explained, taking a step closer to peer at your face and neck. “How did you even survive?”

You looked to Odysseus who was standing beside you. 

He shrugged.

“Uh…” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but your two friends’ faces as you raked your brain for a lie. You straightened a bit, hand going to rest on the satchel tied around your waist. “That potion Circe gave me. It can mend broken bones and heal wounds beneath the surface.”

“Remarkable,” Polites breathed. 

“But,” you continued hastily. “Uh, I’m still not feeling well, so I’ll just… be below deck.”

Eurylochus opened his mouth, but Odysseus shot him a warning glare. 

“Alright, Y/N.” Your captain gave you a curt nod, gesturing to the stairs. “We’ll see you later.”

You raised your chin, trying to regain the air of confidence you’d once carried as you crossed the deck. It was eerily silent, and you felt many pairs of eyes on you. Your eyes flickered to a man who had just spilt a few boxes of rations all over the deck and weren’t even bending to pick them up- instead staring at you like a gaping fish. 

You sighed and knelt down, grabbing a crate and stacking a few pieces of fruit inside. After repeating the process for a few minutes, you glanced up, annoyance flashing in your eyes. “Stop gawking and help me,” you grumbled.

Instantly, your crewmate dropped to his knees and started helping you. You felt the lingering glances, though, and your frustration was evident in your every move. 

You finished quickly. You shoved the crate back into the man’s arms before storming off.

You weren’t sure why you were mad, but fury swelled inside of you anyway as you stomped down the stairs. 

You’d been given a private room, having insisted that a woman, warrior or not, still did not deserve to bunk with the rest of the crew. Yours was the second door to the left, right beside Eurylochus. Odysseus slept in the room across from you.

You marched in, slamming the door behind you with enough force, it rattled on its hinges. Your room was a comforting sight, something familiar when it seemed as though the rest of the world had been flipped upside down. On one side, there was a table which you used as a desk, but it was much larger than Odysseus’s. Books were piled on top of each other, others scattered across the room. Paper, some blank and some covered in your thoughts, spilled off of the table and onto the dark floorboards. 

Your bed had been shoved to the side for more space to work and pace, the thin sheets made perfectly despite the rest of the rooms’ disarray. 

You hurried to the other side of the room, grabbing a dagger and a hairbrush from the table on your way to your least favorite part of the room: the mirror. 

Stopping in front of the round, shiny piece of metal, you stared at yourself in disbelief. You were… beautiful. 

“No,” you murmured, eyes widening. Why did this goddess thing have to affect your appearance too? You liked yourself just how you were before!

But no, your hair was perfect, every detail of your face prominent and striking. Your eyes seemed to be more noticeable, perhaps bigger. You could see the flecks of other colors swirling around in your iris’s. 

Holding your breath, you stepped back. You were leaner, and- you sighed in relief- your arms were more muscular and toned. “Well, at least it’s not all bad,” you said to yourself.

You had a death grip on the hairbrush as you brought it up to your locks. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tugged the brush in a way that you knew would mess it up. Your old hair would’ve gotten staticy, or at least knotted, but not today. You opened your eyes, and your hair was the exact same, better, even.

You groaned, flopping down on your bed. 

You didn’t even bother changing; you couldn’t find the strength to get up. You didn’t even unbuckle the sword from your hip, nor the satchel that contained the golden liquid Circe gave you.

Above deck, everyone seemed to snap back to reality.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus heard one man murmur to the sailor beside him. “She- I- Did you see?”

“Did I see?” The man answered. “I will see more. Mark my words: I plan on getting into her room pretty soon.”

Eurylochus felt his gaze grow colder by the second. This man would never touch you the way he was suggesting. The second in command would make sure of that.

He started to march over, only to be stopped by a hand to his shoulder. Eurylochus whirled around, fist more than halfway to Odysseus’s stomach before the captain caught it.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows. “Who’s got you on edge this time?”

“All of them,” Eurylochus answered, gesturing to the whole crew. “Y/N shows up with some superhuman beauty, and now they all want her.”

The captain snorted, looking at his friend. “Don’t like the competition?” 

“I hate it,” Eurylochus grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness. 

And then the same crewmate's voice reached his ears, more suggestive comments getting shot around. Eurylochus’s mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Belerphius,” Odysseus said in disapproval, pointing to the man. He raised an eyebrow at Eurylochus. “If you want to go beat him up… I might turn a blind eye.” 

When the second in command opened his mouth to protest, Odysseus held a finger to his lips.

Another remark drifted into Eurylochus’s ears, this one dirtier. It set him off. 

The captain turned away, acting as if he was about to go below deck. 

Behind him, Eurylochus threw the first punch, fist landing square in the center of Belerphius’s chest. 

The man stumbled back, looking up at the second in command in rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, backing up slowly as Eurylochus took deliberate steps closer to his crewmate. 

Eurylochus grabbed the collar of Belerphius’s shirt, lifting the smaller man off of the ground. 

“Take it back,” Eurylochus said harshly. 

“Get your hand off of me!” Belerphius spat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Eurylochus threw him to the deck with enough force to shake the floorboards. He planted a foot on Belerphius’s stomach, leaning down with bared teeth. “Someone who knows her better than you do. And she’s not up for grabs.”

Belerphius opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by you.

“Stop! Both of you, just stop!”

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai @smartiepants217 @doodle-with-rhy @trashcannotbealive

[bloatedandalone04]

In The Way I Need You | Part 1

Series Masterlist

➪in which joey starts school and clay realizes he might have to listen to his mothers advice of hiring a sitter, but quickly warms up to that after idea meeting a seemingly sweet girl while on his way to work.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 3.6k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“Clayton Beresford, get up,” the sound of his mother’s voice made Clay cringe as he grabbed his pillow and placed it over his head. “Clay, get up. Joey has been asking for his dad for the last half hour, you need to get up.”

Clay groaned as she ripped the pillow away from him and threw it on the opposite side of the bed before walking over to the curtains and pulling them open. “Mother,”

“Don’t mother me, Clay,” Lilith scolds as she moves back around the bed and stands over him. “You need to get ready for work, and get Joey ready for school, it’s his first day.”

With a huff, Clay sits up and throws the sheets off him. “You couldn’t have gotten him dressed for me?”

Lilith scoffs, walking towards the door. “I made him breakfast, you can pick out his clothing,” and then she was gone and Clay was left alone in the bed that felt all too big for just one person. 

Looking around his room, he sighs at how messy it had gotten since his last attempt at cleaning it. He grew up damn near spoiled and never had to worry about cleaning his room or making his bed, so now at the age of twenty seven, he was terrible at both those tasks. 

He looks over at the right side of the bed, and more specifically at how empty it was. That spot should be filled. She should be here, with him and with their son, but life really enjoys playing with him sometimes. 

Sighing again, he gets up and throws on his work clothing, which really felt more like a formal event outfit than anything else. He finishes buttoning up his white shirt as he enters the kitchen, his eyes instantly landing on his son. “Hey, buddy,” he greets as he leans down and kisses the top of his head. “Did you have a good sleep?”

Joey nods and sets the crust of his toast down on the plate. “I’m still tired,” 

Clay laughs and picks up the half eaten toast. “You are?” He asks and finishes his kids breakfast, his mind going back to when he was Joey’s age and also didn’t like crust. “You went to bed pretty early last night. Unless you were just pretending to be asleep when I came and checked in on you.”

Joey shakes his head quickly as Lilith laughs from her place at the sink, her arms crossed as she blows on the coffee mug in her hand. “No, dad,” he answers as he stares up into Clay’s matching blue eyes. 

“No?” Clay hums, picking up the now empty plate and walking over to his mom. 

She stays still as he reaches around her to set the plate down in the sink, a teasing smile on her lips. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger,” she stated. “You’re aware of that, right?”

Clay laughs and nods, looking back at his son as he scribbled on a blank piece of paper with a yellow crayon. “I know,” he agrees, looking down at his mom’s attire. “Are you staying home today?”

Lilith glances down at her housecoat clad body with a shrug. “I’m wrapped around that kid’s finger, too,” she grinned, finishing off her coffee and putting the mug in the sink as well. “I’ll get my work done early so I can be here when he gets home, but I really think it’s time we start looking for a more stable sitter. I know you don’t like talking about it, but I think you should consider hiring a nanny.” 

Clay sighs and moves away, standing behind Joey and placing his hands on the back of his chair. “I said I’d think about it,” he muttered. “I haven’t come to a conclusion yet.”

“It’s not a bad idea to have someone here to look after him while we’re at work. Someone to get him to and from school, helps get him ready in the mornings,” she pointed out. “Like a nanny.”

“He doesn’t need a nanny,” Clay mumbled, reaching a hand up to flatten out Joey’s messy hair. “I don’t want my son growing up in that kind of environment.”

“You had a nanny when you were little, Clay,” she reminded as she moved away from the sink. “You turned out pretty well.”

“I’m a single dad at the age of twenty seven, mother,” he rasped. “And I still live with my mother.”

“I told you I never liked that girl, Clayton,” she scolded as she wrapped her robe tighter around her body. “And I also told you that this is your home for as long as you want it to be. You want to move out, fine, but then who will be there to help look after Joey? No one. Unless you listen to me and hire someone to do it.”

And then she was disappearing down the hall to get ready for the day. Grunting under his breath, Clay leaned down and pulled Joey’s chair out. “Come on, let’s get you dressed,” he held his hand out, grinning when the much smaller one grabbed it. 

-

The phone rang five times before Clay was sent to voicemail. 

He wasn’t surprised, but the silence still irked him. Glancing at his driver, Clay turned a bit and tried to make it a little more private, but he was literally in the backseat of a car on his way to work. How private could it really be? “Hey, it’s me again,” he started, not missing the way Rick, his driver, glanced back at him. “Joey started school today. Can you believe it? Our son started school.” 

Rick straightened up at the harsh tone of Clay’s voice and quickly put his attention back on the busy street of New York, surely sensing that this would not be a nice voicemail. 

Clay paid him no mind as he continued, “He’s four now. Did you know that? You should, he’s your kid, too. You should know how old he is and you should’ve been there for his first day of school,” 

He wasn’t entirely sure if his ex even still used this number, or if he was just making these calls for nothing. She must, seeing as her voicemail hasn’t gotten full yet, and he’s been giving her these updates for the past three years now as a way to cope with not having her in his life anymore. 

Clay knew she didn’t deserve to know about what’s been going on in Joey’s life, and he knew he shouldn’t be wasting time leaving her messages, but he couldn’t help it.

He didn’t know if he wanted to rub it in her face about how good of a parent he turned out to be, or how amazing their son is. He just wanted her to know that she royally fucked up when she decided to leave before Joey even turned one. 

“You should’ve been there, Sam,” he said again, his voice wavering as he let his anger that had been building up since she left get to his head. “How the fuck could you do that to him? To us?”

Clay looks out the window and sees that he’s almost to the building in which he would be spending the next eight hours in. 

Sighing, he wraps up the call. “Whatever, Sam. I hope you realize one day how much you’ve missed out on and how much our son has missed out on,” he muttered. “Not that you even care. Delete this, listen to it, do whatever you want. That’s what you’re best at.”

And then he hung up and was left feeling even worse. 

It always ended that way, with him heated up with anger and with Sam probably feeling great at the fact that she is still able to rile him up without even being there. 

Rick pulls off to the side of the street and looks back at Clay. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Beresford,” 

Clay scoffs quietly, shrugging off his jacket since his skin had begun to sport a thin layer of sweat from how annoyed he got during the one-sided call. “Mr. Beresford was my dad,” he says, leaning back against the seat. He wasn’t ready to go in there yet. He was so frustrated and didn’t want to accidentally go off on anyone in that building because he still isn’t over his ex. “It’s just Clay. You know that.”

“I do,” Rick nods, sending him an apologetic smile in the rearview mirror. “Everything alright, Clay?”

Nodding, Clay looks out the window. “Everything is fine,” he lies as he watches a girl pace back and forth on the sidewalk. New York was a massive place and not easy to navigate through, but it was clear that she was new here. She wore a pale pink skirt and a white top that ended just above the hem of the skirt, which is not something people here usually wear. 

Clay has lived here a long time and the people of New York were stereotypical in the way they wore their favorite sports teams logos on their clothes or baggy jeans and a t-shirt. 

Most of them didn’t care and didn’t put a lot of effort into their appearance, simply because no one would notice. It was why he got a lot of stares whenever he walked around in dress pants and a tie. 

The girl looked confused and lost and Clay felt a bit bad for her. Even he got a bit turned around at times, and he’s lived here his whole life. He owns half of it, too. 

He also couldn’t ignore how pretty this girl is. 

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen his ex in years and he hadn’t let himself look at any of the women in the city as a potential partner as he was overly protective of both his son and his heart. 

Or maybe it was because he simply felt bad for the girl and her clear lack of directions. 

Whatever it was, it had him opening the car door without much of a second thought. 

-

“Fuck,” you muttered as you looked up at the street sign then back at the paper in your hand. 

After living in New York for the last couple weeks, you were beginning to think you would never get to know your way around it. The place was massive and so confusing to navigate through if you didn’t know where you were going, and you clearly didn’t. 

You had been waiting to hear back from this job for days now and when you were finally given a chance for an interview, you couldn’t figure out how to get there. Your coffee did nothing to wake your brain up enough for you to be able to think clearly, and you debated on just throwing the rest of it away, but you were raised not to waste food or drinks when there are others who are less fortunate than you.

With an annoyed sigh, you stopped walking and stared down at the page again, not paying any attention to the car you were now standing beside as the door opened and someone stepped out. 

You don’t look up from the paper as you move forward and walk straight into another person, your coffee slipping from your hand and spilling onto the pristine white shirt of a man. “Oh, my God,” you gasp, not noticing that the page that held the address had also gotten soaked from the spill. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

It was the least of your worries as your eyes trailed up and met a pair of blue ones. Your breath hitched as the stranger smiled and shook his head as if he didn’t care at all that his white shirt was now stained with warm coffee. “It’s okay,” he said and his voice lived up to his appearance. Dreamy. Hot. Intimidating, even. 

“That looks expensive,” you think out loud when you look back down at his ruined button up, then quickly wipe the worry off your face and replace it with fake confidence. “Which is totally fine, I can pay to have it fixed or cleaned or…whatever.” Really, you most likely couldn’t afford to do that, but he didn’t need to know that.

The stranger laughed and it was probably the sexiest thing you had ever heard. “Don’t worry about it,” he waved you off and took the napkin from you when you held it out to him. 

You chew on your bottom lip as he begins to wipe up some of the coffee, though you both knew it wouldn’t do a thing to save the shirt. “Were you just going to work or something? I’d hate for you to have to wear that for the rest of the day,” you gestured to the mess on his shirt but he just shrugged and threw the napkin into the trash can that was nearby. 

“I was actually debating on whether or not I should go home and skip work, then I saw you and thought you looked a little lost,” he grinned at the way your face flushed and how your cheeks were tinted pink. “Thought I could help you out a bit but ended up wearing your drink, instead.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “I’m so sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” he brushed you off again then looked a bit hesitant as he added, “I’m Clay.” 

He holds his hand out to you, making you look down at it before back up at his eyes. “Y/n,” 

You shake hands and hate how you found yourself wanting to hold his for much longer than a few seconds. “So, in hopes I don’t sound like a total creep when I ask,” he begins, giving you a somewhat nervous smile. “Where were you trying to get to?”

Laughing, you shake your head and look down at the ruined paper. “No, not at all,” you say, throwing the paper into the trash as well. “It’s that obvious that I’m lost, huh?”

Clay shrugged again, stepping back towards the car and opening the backseat door. “Only a little,” he teased and pulled out his jacket, efficiently covering up most of his shirt. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Maybe I can point you in the right direction, if you want.”

You knew you were late for the interview, but you wanted to stay and talk with him for a bit longer. What was wrong with you? Why do you always do this around cute guys? Though, calling Clay cute felt a bit like an understatement. He was by far the hottest man you had ever seen in your life. “Please,” you say quietly, stepping towards him. “I was trying to get to this interview at the Milton Hotel, but the directions were hard to understand even before I got coffee all over them.”

Clay laughs and closes the door, turning around and nodding towards the intersection down the street. “You were pretty close, believe it or not,” of course, you wanted to say but held back. “You just take a left at the lights and go straight for about three blocks until you reach a bookstore that’s across from the old jail.”

He turned back to face you and you realized you were barely paying attention to his directions as you were far too focused on how good his backside looks. 

“The hotel is above the bookstore,” he finished and you gave him a grateful smile. “So, not too far now.”

“Thank you,” you say and look down the street, not quite ready to leave the presence of him. 

Maybe he didn’t want you to leave, either. “What’s the interview for? If you don’t mind me asking,”

You wave your hand. “Not at all,” you say again. “Just some babysitting gig. I finally got my CPR certificate and know how busy New York is. Thought it would be a good place to start.”

-

What are the odds..

Clay nods and tries to come off as casual as he leaned against the backdoor of the car. “Babysitting? Do you have much experience?”

“Yeah, about three years worth,” you answer, fidgeting with your fingers and Clay found himself hoping he wasn’t making you uncomfortable with all his questions. It had been too long since he actually let himself talk to a girl for more than a minute since Sam, so he was glad to see he was still able to decently hold a conversation. “I did it a lot through high school.”

“Yeah? When’d you graduate?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know so much about you, but it was clear the two of you got along pretty well for two strangers. He was sure he could hook you up with a job if you didn’t get this one, and now he was once again wondering why he cared so much. 

“Two years ago,” you replied and it didn’t seem like you were uncomfortable with him at all, so he decided to try his luck. 

“Well, I hope the interview goes well,” he says and thinks about how he wouldn’t mind having someone like you around his son for the hours he was at work. Though Clay has some massive trust issues, he knew he would need to find someone to look after Joey soon. “And if it doesn’t, there’s many other opportunities that are waiting for you in this city.”

“Yeah?” You gave him a teasing smile and Clay had to physically hold back a smirk in response. “Like what?”

Clay stiffened a bit as he chose his words carefully. “You said you’re a babysitter, right?” And when you nodded, he continued, “My son started school today, but he still needs someone to watch him until I get back from work. If that is something you’re interested in, there’s an opportunity for you right there. But I’m sure the interview will go great.”

You study his face for a bit, making Clay think he said something wrong, before you grin up at him. “Thanks for the boost of confidence,” you soften your smile. “I might take you up on that offer, if your kid is cool, that is.” 

Clay laughed as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. “He’s the coolest kid in New York, that’s for sure,” he says and hands his phone to you. “Let me know how it goes? And if you’re interested in looking after the coolest kid you’ll probably ever meet for a few hours of your day.”

Your laugh reaches his ears just as you take his phone and quickly type in a number, one he hoped was actually yours and not a fake one. He couldn’t lie, it wasn’t often he asked for girls’ numbers, but you seemed sweet and like you knew what you were doing. Except for when it came to reading directions, but even that was understandable. He was also doing this to give his poor mom a break, and to make sure his son was in good hands when he was gone. “I’ll text you,” you promised as you handed him back his phone. “Thanks for the help. I really appreciate it.”

He took his phone and pocketed it. “It was nice to meet you, Y/n,” 

You begin backing away as you smile at him. “You too,” you wave. “Sorry again about your shirt. You wear that coffee well, if it helps.”

Clay laughs again as you turn around and begin heading down the street in the direction of the lights. 

The window of the car rolls down and he briefly hears Rick clear his throat. “I’ll pick you up at four, Mr. Beresford?” 

And Clay was far too distracted to be able to correct him again, so he just nodded before tearing his eyes away from your retreating form and heading into the building. 

-

Clay had gotten held up today and he had to text his mom and ask if she could pick Joey up from school. He knew it would be so much easier if he had a stable sitter to ask, and he was quickly beginning to agree with his mothers requests of hiring one. 

While Clay wanted to be the one to pick Joey up from his first day, he was glad he would have his grandma there. He knew his mom was probably his son’s favorite person, and he couldn’t even get mad at that fact because Clay had to admit; Lilith Beresford was an amazing woman and an even better mom.

As he began packing up his things, his mind drifted back to you for what felt like the tenth time since meeting you all those hours ago. He didn’t know what it was, but Clay felt captivated by you. 

Maybe it was because he hadn’t let himself get close to another girl since Sam, let alone have a full on conversation with one. 

Maybe it was because he found you cute and sweet and a bit funny.

Either way, he was thinking about you as he shrugged his jacket back on and over his stained shirt at the same time his phone went off. 

He checked it as he turned off the lights to his office, a genuine smile finding its way onto his lips as he read the text, 

The interview was a fail. I think it was over before it even began. Any chance I could set up one with you? Very curious about this supposed coolest kid in New York. 

And when you added a,

This is Y/n, by the way. The one who ruined your shirt because I have no sense of direction.  

He knew he was probably screwed. 

[marksbear2]

David Mcall x Male Reader

So I’m going to post at least one or two more times and just to get myself warmed up and just to get more ideas. I recently watched Fear, so David really interested me.

⚠️Warnings— Clueless and slightly unbothered Y/n. Creepy and weird David , smut, and affectionate. Frotting, humping, skin to skin, grinding, nipple play, cumshot, cum on face and Manipulative werido David, porn with plot, stalking implied basically canon like David. ⚠️

David and your bestfriend Nicole has been dating— more specifically on and off. You thought David was a bit weird, but you just didn’t care much and just wanted to deal with your own life and love life.

You were unaware, you always thought that David and Nicole were a regular  couple, you was one of the only few male friends Nicole had since she started to date David. You never noticed how David’s eyes were never on Nicole…in fact his eyes were burned into you. To David you was perfect, he thought that you was the one for him not Nicole. In his sick and twisted heart he knew that you belonged to him.

So, he began to show up almost everywhere you went with or without Nicole by his side. He showed up at the parties you went to, waiting to pick up ‘Nicole’ after school but really he’s wanting to look and see you. It’s like you saw him at every corner. But you thought it was an strange coincidence and never over thought about it. You didn’t tell Nicole about the coincidences to avoid unnecessary drama or an argument  and just went with it.

So, he began to show up almost everywhere you went with or without Nicole by his side. He showed up at the parties you went to, waiting to pick up ‘Nicole’ after school but really he’s wanting to look and see you. It’s like you saw him at every corner. But you thought it was an strange coincidence and never over thought about it. You didn’t tell Nicole about the coincidences to avoid unnecessary drama or an argument  and just went with it.

You and Nicole and a few other friends had planned on having a last minute group study since the finals was next week and you all wanted to pass and don’t have to be stressed out about it.

You was getting the snacks out and blankets, books, blank sheets of paper and other things you and your friends need for the study. 

Music was playing in the background, to help staying focus while getting everything, before suddenly the door bell rings…weird. It was a hour and a couple minutes left before everyone should had came. So your mind wondered at who the hell came a hour earlier then what the group time planned on.

You got up and went to the door and looked through the peephole and saw…David? You was confused as to why the hell david was here. Who told him? Did Nicole tell him? Why was he— your thoughts was interrupted with another knock on the door with David looking directly into the peephole. You immediately flinch back with your heart racing from the shock and unexpected action.

You slowly unlocked the door and trying to gather yourself back together before giving David an awkward smile. “Y/n, hey what took you so long to open the door?” David asked as he had his signature charming smile as he tilted his head looking at you. “Sorry, the music is pretty loud and I was busy so I didn’t hear the doorbell ring the first time.” You said with a small apologetic awkward laugh before adding. “Why are you here did Nicole invite you?” 

“Yeah she did is that okay with you? I figured I should come by early and help you get everything ready.” David said before uninvitedly stepping inside your home.

That bothered you, but since you didn’t wanna make a huge deal you closed the door after him and quickly went back to the living room where you saw him holding a picture frame of you when you were little. “Wow, I never knew you always liked superhero’s as a kid. I know your room has superhero posters around it but I didn’t know you always liked it.” David said as the picture was you and your dog in superhero costumes for Halloween.

“…How do you know that I have Superhero posters around my room?” You ask you was confused and starting to feel uneasy. David quickly just laughed it off and looked over his shoulder. “Nicole told me about it, she told me a few things about you. I’m protective of her by nature and I wanna make sure it was nothing going on between the two of you but she made it clear.” David said as he put the frame down and walked back over to you smiling.

You hated his smile, it was charming, it suited his handsome features. You heard over a million times about Nicole gushing over his smile and you see why.

“I also heard that you like guys.”

“What.” You said as your thought process was broke. How did he know that, you was a bit irritated since it was the biggest secret you told Nicole and somehow her boyfriend knows!? Before you got respond he already began to speak again.

“Aren’t you? Nicole told me that I didn’t have to worry about you since you were gay. And I’m glad…so since your gay does that mean you think I’m attractive?” You rolled his eyes at his comment and crossed your arms.

“No I don’t find you attractive. Just because I like guys doesn’t mean I—“ David cuts you off. 

“So you like other guys? Who? What’s their name?” *David questions stepping closer and closer as his expression and body language began to change. Before you could speak he started again. “I thought me and you had something special? I mean you always look at me with those eyes, at the carnival you took my hand so I wouldn’t get lost. Even when we were at Nicole’s house getting ready for the body you didn’t leave or get change you stayed in the room and took your clothes off right in front of me. You want me and you know it.” 

You took a step back as you gotten more and more confused. Why was he being so delusional and weird. 

“Look David, it’s nothing going on between us. Just drop it and I won’t tell Nicole about this or whatever fucked up feelings you have for me.” You said before turning around and walking away back to the set up you was preparing before suddenly David grabbed your wrist and pushing you down on the couch.

“Cmon, Y/n…stop playing all hard to get. I know you want this…I know you want me.” David said taking a hold of both of his wrist.

You thought David was attractive, but you would never actually do anything with him right? Your mind was racing with millions of things as you felt David run his hand on your clothed chest and stomach poking and pinching your nipples through your shirt. You didn’t know want to do, this was your best friend’s boyfriend touching you right now now. You shivered with pleasure as he played with your nipples through your shirt.

“David…ngh.- stop!!~ please. This is wrong.” You said with a small bit of shame. You hated this feeling, the way he was making you feel good. Your nipples were never really sensitive and now with bud hands on them touching them through your shirt and the way he was breathing in the crook of your neck it excited you. 

David ignored your words as he slipped one of his hands inside of your shirt touching your nipple as he used his free hand to undo your belt. You gripped onto his shoulders, to ‘Stop him’ but you didn’t make a actual effort to push him away. 

Once he threw your belt to the side he zipped down the fly to your pants, and pushed his hand inside of your underwear touching your soft cock.

You let out a gasp as you felt his cold hand wrap around your cock.

“Your cock fits so good in my hand.” David moved his hand against and jerking the semi-soft cock in his hand. Your body tensed as you felt his hand wrap around your cock. You started to get aroused causing your dick to harden. Everything was catching up, the lust, the thrill of being jerked off to your bestfriend’s boyfriend. David kissed and peppered your neck with small kisses as he stroked your cock until you got fully hard.

David laughed softly as he felt your cock grow and grow in his hand until you were fully hard. He let go of your nipple and used the now free had to tug your boxers and pants down low enough for your cock and can spring free from the pants.

You shivered as the cold air in the air reached your cock. David stared at your shaft for a while slightly admiring the size and the color taking everything in. David reached his own hand to his own belt and threw it to the side as he pulled down his boxers and pants he was already hard.

David went back to stroking your cock as he used his free hand to jerk himself off as well. He leaned closer and closer as you tilt your head and squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t have to face him. 

You feel his eyes burning into your skull, studying you as if you were kind of animal. You can feel his breathe against your skin.

Soon David let’s go of your cock and his own, before grabbing your waist and pushing down more into the couch as he rubbed his own cock against yours.

Both of your cock’s rubbed against each other’s, both tips grazing one another’s. It made your face and body hot from arousal. David stood in between your legs on top of you humping his own cock with yours.

Your tip began to leak out precum it leaked, you began to groan as he thrusted his dick against yours. Sometimes he would pull away and rub his tip against your hole teasing you. David spit into his hand and took both of y’all’s memebers into his hand jerking the both of you off at the time.

Your head fell back as your toes curled as you moaned. David looked down at you admiring you. He smirked and leaned down pushing his own tongue forcefully in your mouth.

You moaned and kissed him back, moving your tongue back against his own. You two’s tongues swirled and moved around one another’s. You began to move your hips into his hand humping into his hand as both of your cocks got wetter and wetter from both precum. David squeezed his hand, it felt so good.

You were lost in pleasure with everything, lust consumed you as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. You let out heavy and erotic moans with small whimpering. Your body began to jolt and tense as your eyes roll back into your head, your legs shaking as the tip of your cock shot just cum. 

You gasped and held onto David’s shoulders to gather yourself. Your cum got onto your shirt and David’s own cock and hand. You were panting as your cock leaked out all the cum.

David watched as he pulled away and stood up tall watching you slump down the couch. David stood above you jerking his cock off. He was biting his lip with a smirk as he stroked his cock at a fast pace looking down at you while he did it. You looked up at him…oh how pathetic you looked in his eyes. David grabbed a fist full of your hair pulling your head up until you allied with his cock.

David jerked off to he let out a laugh with a grunt and groan. He began to get vocal with the noises of pleasure as he shot the white streaks of cum onto your face. He painted your face with his cum. He held your face in place as you tried to move away yanking your head back down on the couch as he rode off his orgasm. 

He rubbed the cum he had left on his tip onto your lips and shoving the tip into your mouth so you could taste him.

Once he was done he let go of your hair and stepped back to admire you.

He felt himself getting hard again and opened his mouth to speak but it was interrupted with a knock on the door. David looked up and picked up his belt from the ground and stuffed his now hard cock back into his boxers and fixed himself and pants before going to the door. You quickly sat up to fix yourself and fumbled around with your pants trying to gather yourself.

David opened door and smiled inviting his girlfriend and her friends to come inside.

You quickly got up and went to the bathroom and shut yourself inside.

“Where’s Y/n?” Nicole asks and David laughed and shrugged before answering.

“He’s in the bathroom, he’s been inside there since I got here. I should probably go check on him.” David said kissing Nicole’s neck before walking away into the hallway Y/n went into

The house was quiet until the door of the bathroom is opened and shut.

THE END

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Fox. Stockings. I won't ever be the same.

Out of curiosity, would he want his partner to put them on while he watches? Or would he want to be surprised?

I’m so glad you asked, Alli! I’ve never opened a blank doc as fast in my life as I did when I saw this.

In the Matter of Marshal Commander Fox vs. the Stocking Kink, the Court Finds the Defendant Filthy.

A/N: Great news! The insomnia thotting hours are back. Now if I can just harness them to finish my WIPs.

Pairing: Fox x Reader (Fem; has hair)

Rating: M (mature content intended for readers 18+; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings and tags: SMUT; blatant misuse of diplomatic privileges; workplace sex; stocking kink; allusions to bondage and knife play; slight exhibitionism/voyeurism/objectification; minor predator/prey dynamic; oral sex; masturbation; spanking; cum marking; quiet dom!Fox.

Summary: Marshal Commander Fox requires your assistance.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Jasmin et Cigarette by État Libre D’Orange (condoms and cigarette smoke)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

You’d been reviewing the finer details of a proposed Senate bill for more hours than you could remember. The words seemed to shift and pulse before your gritty eyes, but you were in too deep to notice that you’d reread the same paragraph three times and still didn’t grasp its underlying meaning. A brief knock startled you out of your hyperfocus, and you glanced up from your datapad just as your aide leaned into the room.

“Sorry to bother you, Senator, but a priority delivery just arrived from the Coruscant Guard headquarters. It has a diplomatic seal. I thought you'd want to know right away.”

The kriff?

“You are absolutely correct. Thank you.” 

The aide set the parcel on your desk and withdrew, discreetly closing the door on the way out of your office. You took a moment to stretch and yawn before you picked up the pouch and inspected it curiously. It wasn’t the seal that was unusual; the embassy received dozens of such secure deliveries every day. Nor was it unusual for you to receive missives from the Corries: security alerts; logistical updates; requests for information which you routinely ignored, to the chagrin of the Marshal Commander. But a diplomatically sealed delivery from the Coruscant Guard itself? That was unusual. 

You broke the seal and dumped out the contents: an official memorandum printed on actual paper, and a small, plain envelope. Damn. If it’s sensitive enough to need to be printed instead of sent as a holo, my day is about to get complicated. You picked up the memo, clenching your jaw as you read the heading.

TO: Senior Representative, Planet Haneli  FROM: Marshal Commander Fox, Coruscant Guard SUBJECT: Notice of Compulsory Testimony Under the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act #192358691 Senator, Due to the Haneli embassy’s persistent lack of cooperation in regards to my repeated official requests for information in the matter of CSF-32610/CG-854201, I have no recourse but to invoke ESEA. Please report to my office tonight at 2100 hours for debriefing. Failure to comply will result in your immediate arrest and detention, and an official investigation will be opened into the matter of your obstructive actions. I trust those steps will be unnecessary. Regards, Marshal Commander Fox

I’m going to murder him. I’m going to make him eat this goddamned sheet of flimsi. I’m going to—wait, what’s in the envelope?

Your hands shook with rage as you tore it open. Inside, you found a brief handwritten note and—you froze, mouth dropping open with shock as you stared wide-eyed at the item inside. Holy Force. You glanced at the clock. Kark, kark, kark. Eight o’clock already. I need to leave now.

You sent a terse comm to your aide to notify your driver that you would require transport immediately, then grabbed the memo and the rest of the delivery, made a quick stop at the refresher, and hurried out of your office. Traffic was kriffed, and you barely made it to the Corrie Guard HQ in time. Luckily, the Commander appeared to have notified his men that you were expected, because nobody stopped you as you strode through the corridors to his office, propelled by adrenaline.

You smacked the control panel to open his door, marched to his desk, and slapped the memo down in front of him.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“Senator, he replied mildly. “So good of you to join me.” 

“You didn’t give me much choice,” you snapped. “Threatening to arrest me? Really, Commander?”

He tapped a button on his vambrace, and the door slid shut behind you, beeping softly as it locked. “That was only half of my message. Did you read the rest?”

“Oh, I read it,” you replied in a dangerous tone. “Every single word.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to repeat myself.”

He stood and moved out from behind his desk. He walked deliberately, purposely invading your space, but you refused to back down. Once he was close enough that his chestplate nearly brushed against you, he stopped and removed his helmet and gloves, meeting your eyes with a hint of a smile.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” he murmured, stroking his knuckles lightly across your cheek.

“Thanks, it’s the looming incarceration. Really brings out my eyes.”

He laughed quietly and threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of your skull. He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a moment before his lips met yours softly. “You didn’t really think I’d arrest you, did you?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had me in binders.”

“Nor the last. But I have something else in mind tonight.”

“So I gathered,” you murmured, kissing him again and again as you began to unbuckle his armor. “Any particular reason we had to do this in your office instead of at the embassy in my lovely and very clean bed?”

“My office is clean.”

Your gaze dropped pointedly to a suspicious stain on the carpet.

“Mostly,” he added.

“If it’s an office hookup you’re after, we could have used mine. It has a sofa, you know. Very roomy. Very soft.”

“No good,” he replied as his lips traveled down your throat. “Has to be here. That way every time I look at my desk, I can remember what you look like spread out on it.”

“Fair enough.” You eased open the seal of his undersuit and pushed it off his shoulders, pausing for a moment to admire the view. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. I’ll never get over you.”

He rumbled in approval as you trailed your hands over his exposed skin, tracing the scars—both familiar and new—and lines of ink.

“What happened here?” you asked, flicking your tongue over a recently healed scar on his shoulder.

“Trando bounty hunter. It’s a boring story.”

“I doubt that,” you replied dryly.

“It was only a scratch, my love,” he murmured. “A bit of plastcrete shrapnel. No need to give me that look.”

“No doubt they gave you another medal for your display case.”

“Not this time,” he chuckled. “But it’s a good story to tell the shinies.”

“You take too many risks.”

“And you’re stalling,” he said in a low voice. “Take it off.”

“Take what off?” you asked, the very picture of innocence.

“Take it off,” he repeated, trailing his fingertips along your neckline. “I want to see you.”

“Say please.”

His fingertips reached the bottom of your neckline and slid beneath the fabric to caress between your breasts. He lowered his face to your shoulder, then grazed his nose along your neck, breathing in your scent before he whispered, “Take off the goddamned dress before I cut it off you.”

You inhaled sharply as your heart began to pound. That was tempting. Very tempting. But the thought of leaving Corrie HQ in nothing but the tattered remains of your senatorial robe was enough to persuade you to choose the wiser option. You began to unbutton the garment slowly. 

Fox drew back to lean against his desk, intently watching the progress of your hands as they descended, revealing a hint more skin with each button that opened. At last, you reached the final button and allowed the gown to fall to the floor, fully exposed to his gaze and wearing nothing but the shimmersilk stockings he’d sent in the diplomatic pouch.

His eyes traveled lazily down your body, taking in the sight of you. All the oxygen seemed to disappear from the room. Your skin prickled with awareness, and for an instant, you felt like a prey animal caught in the grip of a dangerous predator. You swallowed as your pulse began to race, but you forced yourself not to cover your vulnerability in the face of his intense scrutiny. 

“Turn around,” he ordered quietly.

You complied, resisting the temptation to look back over your shoulder at his reaction. He moved without a sound, and you nearly flinched when his hand slid around your hip and down your thigh, feeling the sheer, satiny fabric that stretched over your flesh. His breath ghosted over your shoulder, soft and warm, triggering a shudder of desire that raced down your spine.

“You did just as I asked,” he murmured, gliding his other hand up your abdomen to cup your breast, squeezing your nipple softly between two fingers. 

“Your note was extremely clear,” you replied. 

I don’t want to see anything but these when I get you out of that dress tonight. —F.

“And for once, you followed my orders,” he said. His lips grazed along your jaw. “I think that deserves a reward.”

He pulled you back against his body so you could feel his erection grinding against your ass through the stockings. He stroked back up your thigh and between your legs, and when he reached your pussy, he let out a low groan. “Fuck, love, you’ve soaked through them.”

“In my defense,” you said breathlessly, “I had plenty of time to speculate about what you were planning on my drive over.”

The soft puff of his laugh was warm against your skin, and he began to kiss a slow trail down your spine as he knelt behind you. When he reached your ass, he nuzzled against it, rubbing his face over the shimmersilk, kissing and nibbling, taking the fabric between his teeth and letting it snap back against your skin.

“So good for me,” he whispered. “Such a sweet little thing.”

He turned you around, guiding you with his hands on your hips until you stood facing him. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him on his knees for you, gazing up at you with naked desire in his eyes.

“Spread your legs for me, darling. I want to taste you.”

“Who am I to disobey the Marshal Commander?” you asked, your cheeky tone slightly less than convincing thanks to the noticeable rasp in your voice.

He shot you a lopsided grin, and then his hands slid up the backs of your thighs to grip your ass and pull you against his face.

“Fuck!” you gasped as his tongue slid over the gossamer fabric that covered your pussy.

He let out a soft, choked moan as he finally tasted you. The sensation was strange. It felt almost like a tease: you could feel every movement of his lips and tongue over your skin, but it was muted, subdued by the delicate layer between the two of you. His hands roamed greedily over your legs, massaging your flesh, tugging at the stockings, feeling the smooth, satiny fabric.

Abruptly, he pulled away and stood, gripping you by the waist and spinning you around to sit on his desk. He kissed you hard and deeply, then pressed your shoulders back until you were lying down with your legs dangling over the edge. He knelt once again and kissed a path up the inside of your leg until he reached the top of your thigh, then his hands slid up and tugged down the waistband just far enough for his tongue to plunge into you.

Tightening your legs around his head, you let out a hoarse whimper. A deep, satisfied rumble vibrated from his mouth into you as you writhed beneath him. Your fingers found their way into his hair, twining and tugging. All the while, his hands never ceased to explore and tease and play with you, gliding over your thighs as he reveled in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

He sucked and kissed and licked and teased, working you inexorably toward your orgasm, until at last your thighs locked and you clamped your hand over your mouth to muffle your scream of pleasure. With a grunt of displeasure, he reached up and tugged your hand away so he could hear you. He worked you through your climax as your body thrashed, and when you finally collapsed against the desk in exhaustion, he stood to lean over you, kissing you deeply, the taste of you still on his tongue.

“Let me come on your ass,” he whispered.

You nodded shakily, too spent to speak. He helped you to stand, then bent you forward over the desk and pulled the waistband of your stockings back up. His cock prodded against your thigh, and he took a moment to press and rub it against your ass through the shimmersilk before he began to stroke himself in a firm, steady rhythm. His cock and hand nudged against you with every movement, and his other hand squeezed and slapped your ass roughly. A deep groan tore from him, and his breath grew loud and ragged as his speed increased.

You heard a sharp gasp, and then the hot spurt of his cum splattered across your ass and back. A shudder wracked your body, and you desperately wished you could see his face as he pumped his cock until he had nothing left to give. With a soft grunt, he fell forward, catching himself on the desk with one hand just before he would have landed on you.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he panted. “So fuckin’ gorgeous, covered in my cum.” 

He trailed his fingertips through the mess on your back, and then flattened his palm and smeared it across your skin, drawing an appreciative hum from you. Rolling over onto your side, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. He melted against you, tucking his face into your shoulder.

“This desk is hard as kriff,” he mumbled. “I’m beginning to see a flaw in my plan.”

You laughed quietly. “Sofa is sounding pretty appealing right now, is it?”

“Mm. Next time.”

“I can’t wait to see what excuse you fabricate to throw my staff off the scent when that happens.”

“If your staff are anything like mine, they’ve already figured it out.” He kissed your shoulder and moved down your chest to suck gently at your nipple. 

You brushed your hand up his back and neck to cradle his head against you. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you were abusing the diplomatic seal to send me lingerie and overbearing demands for a hookup.”

“They’d either applaud my ingenuity or have me stripped of rank,” he chuckled. “I should get you cleaned up. As soon as my legs start working again.”

Later, after he helped you back into your gown, he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. You leaned into his embrace, relaxing against his body with a tired yawn.

“That was a thorough debriefing, Commander,” you murmured. “I hope I was able to satisfy your curiosity.”

“For the moment,” he replied. “But the case is still open. I might need you again soon. Very soon.”

“Mm,” you smiled. “I’m sure the Haneli embassy will be happy to cooperate in any way you deem necessary.”

“Trying to avoid arrest, my love?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential diplomatic information.”

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[cupidbedsy]

୨୧ the letters ; cc13

➪ summary: with cole being gone, sometimes it gets a little hard to keep up with the mess of the holidays. but he always makes sure that they'll continue the tradition that has happened since they were kids.

➪ warnings: none... i don't think

➪ word count: 1.1k

➪ cupid's notes: part of ho ho hockey! i changed the summary of this fic so many times. i originally had it as a dash and lily hockey spin off but then it made my head hurt so i changed it, and then i changed it five time after that. and also lowkey this isn't the best thing i've written so let's ignore that, please.

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

It was a tradition that had been in her and Cole’s family since they were born. Every year, even when they were just babies, their parents would write them a letter to open up and read. It usually consisted of funny memories that had happened throughout the year, achievements that they’ve had (their first word, they walked, graduated preschool, etc.), and always at the end there would be words of encouragement and telling them how much they loved them. It was her favorite part about Christmas.

They didn’t stop it even as they went off to college and Cole moved to Montreal. It didn’t stop when she graduated college and she moved in with Cole. It didn’t stop when they started dating, it didn’t stop when they didn’t see them for Christmas, and it wouldn’t stop now. Even when Cole and y/n were just starting the tradition as parents.

It would be their first Christmas since their son was born, and the pressure of continuing the tradition weighed on their shoulders. Y/n sat at their kitchen counter, head in her hands as she soaked up the quietness that surrounded her. She had just woken up to Oliver crying, getting up to go calm him down and get him back to bed. 

She made her way out to the kitchen, quickly realizing that there was no way she was getting herself back to sleep, especially after seeing what time it was and knowing that Cole would be home soon. She made herself a cup of coffee, sipping it slowly as she stared at the door, almost like she was willing him to walk through it. 

It had been a long few days for her and her son, Cole was gone on the start of the Canadiens road trip that would pick up after the holiday break, and she had to finish up some last-minute Christmas shopping and baking. She was utterly exhausted, but she had to wait until Cole got home so they could write the letter together, something the two of them had been looking forward to since they found out she was pregnant. 

It was late into the night when she heard the door unlocking, looking up from her almost empty cup of coffee and the blank sheet of paper that sat next to it, seeing Cole step through the door with messy hair and his bag slung over his coat-clad shoulder. 

She watched as he slipped his shoes off, placing his bag down next to them. When he finally looked up from the ground, his eyes landed on her tired form. Immediately his eyes softened and his lips turned down slightly, moving over to her, “Hey sweetheart.”

“Hi,” her voice was soft, laced with sleep as she leaned into his side, head resting on his chest.

“You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. Missed you.”

“Missed you too, baby.” He pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, “I’m gonna go change and then we can do that if you want,” He gestured to the paper and the pen. 

She only nodded in response, resting her head on her arms as she watched him walk towards their bedroom. 

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Before she knew it, Cole was coming back out of their bedroom, now dressed in a random pair of old shorts and one of her favorite Canadiens sweatshirts of his. She smiled at the sight of him, opening her arms and bringing him into a hug once he got close enough to her.

“Did you watch the game?” He let his hands slip under the shirt she was wearing, 

“Yeah, Ollie slept through most of it.”

“How long has he been asleep now?”

She glanced over at the clock before looking up at him, “15 minutes.”

“M’sorry baby, wish I could be here more to help.”

Y/n just shook her head, “Don’t. It’s okay, you’re a good dad, Cole. You’re going to have so many moments with him, and trust me, you’re not missing anything.”

His grip on her tightened, burying his head into her hair as he stood there. The two just hugged each other in silence for the next few moments before he pulled away, reaching for the pen and sitting down next to her. 

They stared at the paper for a while, both unsure of what to actually write. After ten minutes, the two shared a glance and immediately busted out laughing, unable to catch their breaths.

When they finally calmed themselves down, y/n sighed, reaching over to take the pen from her boyfriend’s hand, “I don’t know how our parents managed to do this every year, it feels so awkward.”

More minutes passed by, the two only exchanging soft words of ideas that were swirling in their minds. Yet as soon as she pressed the pen to the paper and started writing, all thoughts evaporated into thin air as she wrote. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, exactly how she felt, even if he wouldn’t be able to read it Christmas morning, he could look back on it.

She was done with the page before she handed it to Cole, an embarrassed grin as she did so. He raised an eyebrow, turning the paper over slowly, “Get a little carried away there?”

“Shut up and write. Though there’s no telling how well he’s going to be able to read it.” She teased, pushing him slightly.

“Hey! My handwriting is not that bad!”

“Really? Because I think I still have the card from our anniversary last year that definitely does not say my name on it.”

“It does too! I wrote it letter for letter. I think I write and say your name enough for me to know what it is.”

“Tell that to my card then.”

He rolled his eyes, a grin still plastered on his face as he reached over and tickled her sides. She squealed, jumping up and trying to get away from him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down into his lap.

She leaned into him, kissing his cheek as she settled in her new ‘seat’. It was only a few minutes after when she heard the soft cries coming from Oliver’s bedroom, groaning in response.

“You go get some more sleep, baby.” He slid her off his lap, patting her butt once her feet hit the ground, “I’ll get him to bed and I’ll finish writing this letter, then I’ll come find you.”

She nodded, kissing him before walking into their bedroom, curling up in the messy sheets.Maybe Cole’s schedule wasn’t the most convenient, but that didn’t mean they would have to stop doing traditions or the letters, or any of it. They’d make it work, they always did.

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[midnightnautilus]

Spoilers for Part 3.

A blink, and the rushing noise of the engine vanished.

It was quiet.

Kal had been banished.

The crew was safe.

His family was safe.

He smiled.

Then he stopped.

But…wait.

What happened?

He thought his eyes were open, but he could see nothing. Not blackness, just…emptiness.

Like a blank sheet of paper.

Slowly, slowly, there became a blurry visage of…something. He squinted with the numb place where he supposed that his eyes were, and soon this something came into view.

He was in a small room.

It was a pleasant departure from the last few days. The blue carpet and the dandelion-colored wallpaper reminded him of their apartment back in New York. Strewn about were books and trinkets, a lamp with an orange glow, and…

A copy of *The Sun*.

He picked it up. It was weathered, loved, and he remembered the calluses he no longer had from handling the stock. It filled him with something he couldn’t quantify at the moment.

*Bzzz*

Samuel looked up and gasped. How could he have not seen it before? In the center of the room was a strange, intricately carved box. It reminded him of Dakkar’s scanner, 10 times larger. It shone its own light the color of the Radiance.

There was something comfortable about it.

He ran a hand over its knobs and buttons. (He thought, at least. He still couldn’t feel his hands.)

He slowly turned one.

He jumped back in shock as it crackled with a noise like thunder.

Then, a voice rang out, as if it was in his head. No, not really a VOICE… more of a feeling. Yet he could understand every word.

Hello, Samuel.

“H-hello…? Who are you? Are you with the Travelers?”

Yes. And no. I am MAIA. I’ve been telling the story of you and your friends. Welcome to the end of infinity.

“Infinity?”

A version of it, yes.

“So that means…” His shoulders rose as he fidgeted with his glasses. “I won’t see them again, huh?”

There was a silence.

No. But you did save them.

He nodded, and even though everything felt cold, a sense of warmth filled his soul.

He sat down on the plush chair and put a hand to his chin. “But… why am I here?”

MAIA hummed. You are a storyteller, Samuel. I need your help.

Besides…

I think you of all people deserve to see how it ends.

Samuel peered out of the windows. The vastness of the cosmos greeted him.

“Well…

Are there journals in the end of infinity?”

[flowercrowngods]

Who even writes letters anymore?

It feels a little ridiculous, interrupting the process of baring his heart and soul to the paper, the pen, and the walls of his room, to ponder the frequency of the hand-written word. It makes him falter, though, the sentence half finished on the paper before him, his desk lit only with candles because it’s two on the morning and long past the time for any kind of lamps, desk and ceiling alike.

Who even writes letters anymore? Letters like this, somewhere between a confession of love and an apology. Emotions that don’t do well, being said out loud, and that do even worse in a text message.

The written word, ink on blank sheets of paper, weeks and months old and nowhere near finished yet, was invented for situations like this. For feelings like this.

For Steve. For Eddie. For Steve and Eddie.

The eternal What If. The little lump in his heart that feels so real even though it can’t be. The thought in the back of his mind, a calling presence that is imaginary at best. The vision of a future that is no more than wishful thinking.

And thinking, he does. Oh, does he think. And always, always about Eddie.

Eddie, who wasn’t brave enough to love him, and whom Steve never gave the space to be. Eddie, who did love him, but showed it in different ways than Steve was used to. And when he realised, when he recognised, it was all in hindsight.

They were both too scared. Twice. Scared and stupid and—

But Steve’s not scared now. It’s late, he knows, and it might be too late.

It’s fine if it’s too late, he writes, and he means it. But I want you to know. I need you to know. I want to be brave, and I‘d rather be brave too late than not at all.

There is no filter, he finds. The ink unforgiving and unjudgmental alike, guiding his hand across the page from one word to the next, until suddenly there are six of them, and Steve could keep going forever.

I want to love you. I think I want to love you, not just the idea of you. I want to give you the space you need and learn to love and be loved. I want to do it right. I want to take your hand and hold it. I spend days just thinking about holding your hand. Holding you.

It’s not a love letter. He doesn’t even mean to send it, just wants to get it all out and not have his friends tell him it’s a bad idea, tell him Eddie doesn’t deserve him, Eddie’s not right for him.

Steve doesn’t believe that.

He just wants a chance. A conversation. They never really talked — not the first time, and not four years later. He wants a real chance this time, wants to be brave and talk and see.

And he wants to give Eddie a chance, too. A chance to mess up, a chance to speak, a chance to be brave and talk and see for himself, and a chance, maybe, to try again.

For real this time.

So he writes the letter; doesn’t care if people even do this anymore. He does. For Eddie. That feels like it’s all that matters.

He ends the letter at the bottom of page six.

I’m not writing you because I want to get back with you. I’m writing because I need you to know that I can’t stop thinking about you. And because I want to talk. A lot. And because I think they’re all wrong.

And I’m writing because I spent the party last weekend looking for you, hoping to see you. My friend told me to finish this letter and send it if you mean so much. And you do. Endlessly.

But it’s okay if all this is one-sided. It’s okay if you don’t even read until this point. It’s okay if it’s too late.

Steve

He takes it with him the next day, just on a whim, not entirely sure if he’s gonna send it or throw it in the trash, the coil in his stomach lightened since the last word’s been written.

In the end, he misses his train back home and has to take the long way with the bus that’ll only take him halfway there. He decides to walk the rest, taking a detour and passing Eddie’s apartment building.

He finds the name Munson on the doorbell nameplate outside. He stares at the door, the drizzle picking up until it’s pouring, and still Steve is staring.

He tries the front door. Another whim. It’s not supposed to open. Someone unhooked the latch. It gives in to Steve’s gentle push, and warmth envelops him as he suddenly finds himself face to face with Eddie’s mailbox.

The letter is in his bag. Secure. Heavy.

His heart, however, is light as he fishes it out and slips it past the lid, the thump as it gently hits the bottom the only sound in the universe.

Outside, the rain is pouring.

Inside, Steve’s heart lies in Eddie’s mailbox.