#but otherwise i'm going to be here all night & pumping these out !!

[azziesbattybaddie]

Hellooooo! I've never really sent a request before so I hope I'm doing this right. I saw that you write for adult Nyx and NO ONE ever really writes for him so I was wondering if you could write Nyx x reader based off of the song "not like I'm in love with you" by LEW. Basically just them being like older teenagers maybe and just acting like pining idiots. Maybe if you could do some smut too🥺🙏 I just I love your stuff and I've had this idea in my head and I can't write it myself so... Also I love shadows and snow angels!!!! So cute!!!

Oh my gosh Lovely, your brain! I love it! This was so fun to work on and I hope you enjoy!

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We're just friends, right?

Nyx Archeron x Fem Reader

Here's the Spotify code if anyone wanted to listen while reading, just screenshot or download it and scan it in the app.

Ever since Nyx turned 18 he was always flirting a new female. He hardly ever spent time with you anymore and you were upset! I mean you had every write to be, you were his best friend, Which meant you automatically deserved his undivided attention constantly. Rhys thinks otherwise, maybe he can try to knock some sense into you both.

Word count: 10.1k oh my God!!!!

Requested: yes!

Warnings: smut, so much plot, jealousy, p-in-v, oral F receiving, unprotected sex, fairly vanilla surprisingly, Nyx being oblivious for a bit, Nyx also being a skirt chaser, Rhys being the dad we all deserve, we die like men

💔🔥💘

Author's note: this took sooooooooo looooooong! First the app glitched and I lost an hour worth of editing. Then it did it again and I gave up for about 20 minutes and then I came back to try again to find that the app did save the changes and just decided not to tell me! In any case, this fic has taken over 7 hours of editing so far not including the writing so I REALLY HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!

You sat on Nyx's bed and listened to him as he told you about the fling he had the night before. He was in the bathroom, a towel hanging loosely around his waist as he shaved. You rolled your eyes for the millionth time knowing he couldn't see you at the moment. You were Nyx's best friend had been since you were kids, Unfortunately that meant that you were basically volunteering to listen to him after he has a fling with a new female. Oh well you choose this...

"Ok so after Rita's you took her back to her place and...."

Nyx poked his head out of the bathroom, a lather of shaving cream on his jaw as his eyes met yours. He flashed you a cheeky grin, clearly amused by your eye-rolling antics.

"Well, as you can imagine, things got a bit... heated," he said, drawling the last word. "I mean, have you seen Mia's s place? The view alone was enough to get my blood pumping." He chuckled and disappeared back into the bathroom, the sound of the faucet turning back on. You could hear him continue, his voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls,

"So there we were, on her balcony, the city lights twinkling below us... and one thing led to another. You know how it goes, Anyway, let's just say she was quite... enthusiastic, and the things that girl can do with her hands... Also she moaned like a bitch.. in a good way of course you know Very vocal, if you catch my drift." Another pause, followed by a low, appreciative whistle.

Nyx emerged a moment later, now shaving cream-free and rubbing a towel over his freshly shaven jaw. He flopped down on the bed next to you, still bare- chested and barefoot, the towel just barely covering his modesty.

"Honestly, Y/n, the things that girl could do with her tongue... I'm not sure I'll ever be the same." He shuddered dramatically, a dazed grin spreading across his face at the memory. You knew he was just try to pester you but said nothing. Rolling over to face you, he propped himself up on one elbow, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief and self- satisfaction.

"So, what do you think? Should I go see her again like tomorrow, Or do you think I should let her miss me.... just a little bit?" His grin turned sly, a eyebrow arching wickedly as he waited for your reaction. He knew you'd give him hell, but he also knew you'd never stop him from having his fun... even if a small part of you wished it could be you he was eager to see again.

You gave him a kinda grossed out face at hearing the details but thought for a second. You were just being a good friend, at least that's what you told yourself. It's not like you wanted him like that.... It was just... Whatever...

"You should go for it, I mean if you enjoyed yourself that much... Why wait right?"

Nyx's grin widened, his eyes glinting with triumph as he saw the slightly green tinge to your face.

"Why so squeamish, Y/n?" he teased, reaching out to playfully boop your nose. "It's not like I'm telling you anything you haven't heard before Besides, you're the one who always says I should be more adventurous. He smirked, the word dripping with innuendo. Rolling onto his back, Nyx folded his hands behind his head, stretching out languidly like a satisfied cat.

"I think... I think I will take your advice. Meet up with mia again tomorrow night, see where things go. Unless... you have other plans for me?" His tone was playful, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes as he looked at you, a hint of a different kind of hunger,

"Gross!"

You shoved his shoulder as he sat up, grabbing the towel before it could fall. You smirked and watched as he entered his closet to find an outfit. It always stung to hear about Nyx's escapades for some reason but he was the high lord and lady's son. He was as witty as his mother and as handsome as his father, no wonder females basically threw themselves at his feet. You'd be lying if you hand thought about doing the same but really you and Nyx had been friends since you were kids, you were just being ridiculous.

"How about this time you wear a shirt that has buttons past your bellybutton" You tease him as you stay on the bed and let him change in peace. Nyx stuck his head out of the closet, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and the way you'd shoved his shoulder.

"Oh, so now you're modesty police?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock outrage. "I thought you liked the view, Y/n." His eyes twinkled with playful accusation, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He disappeared back into the closet, the rustle of fabric and the clunk of hangers on the rack filling the air. A moment later, he emerged wearing a crisp black shirt, the buttons indeed done up all the way to the top. The shirt accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders and the lean lines of his chest. He did a little twirl, his grin widening as he caught you staring.

"There, is this better?" he asked, a smug note in his voice. "Or do you have other... sartorial advice you'd like to share?" There was a playful lilt to his tone, but also a hint of something softer, gentler. A warmth that made your heart skip a beat, even as your mind told you you were being ridiculous. You stood with an annoyed smile and walked over to him before making him lightly on the chest and walking past him into the closet.

"Well now you just look like nerd. At least unto the top two, seriously how you ever get laid is beyond me..." You say sarcastically as you grab a jacket that would match his look and the weather both.

Nyx's eyes widened in mock offense at your teasing jab, a hand flying to his chest as if wounded.

"A nerd? Me? Why, because I actually bother to cover up in polite company?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'll have you know, the ladies find my intellect... captivating... Among other things..." He said with a smirk as he flecks his arms making the fabric go taut. there was a playful gleam in his eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As you rummaged through his closet, pulling out a sleek leather jacket that would complement his outfit perfectly. Nyx leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an amused expression.

"But I suppose I can take your fashion advice, just this once," he said, plucking the jacket from your hands and slipping it on. The leather hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his lean, athletic build. He struck a pose, cocking an eyebrow at you with a grin. "There. I'm practically a fashion icon now, Happy now?" There was a playful note in his voice, a teasing lilt that made your heart flutter in your chest. But there was something more too, a warmth and affection that made you feel cherished, valued...

"your a dork you know that." You say chuckling as you pass him again to go get your shoes and purse. It was Friday which mean you, Nyx, Rhys, Feyre, Azriel and Morr would go to Rita's, to have a night out. Nyx's grin only widened at your teasing jab, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Guilty as charged," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "But you love me anyway, you big softy." He winked at you, a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you gather your things. As you both made your way downstairs, Nyx slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close.

"You ready for a night out?" he asked, a note of excitement in his voice. "I hear Rita's has a few new drinks on the menu . Might be a good chance to cut loose, dance a bit, maybe with someone else for a change..." His eyebrows danced suggestively above his smirk, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

Nyx's parents and aunt and uncle were already waiting by the door, looking stunning as always. Feyre's gown was a shimmering work of art, while Rhys and Morr were equally impeccable in their formal attire. Azriel even wearing his normal black leathers seemed to look just as put together as always. They turned to greet you both, warm smiles on their faces. "Bekah, you look lovely," Feyre said, pulling you in for an air kiss on each cheek. "And you, my love look like your father, as always." she teased, a playful note in her voice.

"thanks mama." Nyx's eyes crinkled with affection as he came and kissed his mother on the cheek.

Already you could feel the anticipation building, the promise of a night filled with laughter, dancing, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to let go and be a little reckless. You could only hope that nyx would actually spend the night with you guys instead of running off for the night with the first female he smiles at. It had been so long since he had actually spent time with any of you when you weren't at the house.

once you got to Rita's, the six of your found a table and ordered dinner and drinks. This was probably the third or fourth time you'd been allowed to drink alcohol here. You didn't handle it particularly well and You didn't love it by any means but you tolerated it enough to indulge when your overly nervous.

You glanced over at Nyx, noticing he was quieter than usual. You followed his gaze to a pretty blond female all the way at the bar across the dance floor. Of course..... You'd been here 10 minutes and he already got his eyes set on someone, at least he wasn't up and leaving the table yet but you knew that could change at any second so you focused your attention on having a conversation with Rhys. Nyx wasn't a womanizer, he was kind and did think of other people's feelings. Granted if a female showed interest in him he usually wouldn't turn her down but he was never against a relationsh- why the hell are you even thinking about this! It has nothing to do with you! Gods what is wrong with you as of late, it was exhausting....

Nyx felt your gaze on him and glanced over, catching your eye. He offered you a small, distracted smile, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. The blonde at the bar had caught his attention, her laughter ringing out over the pulsing beat of the music as she joked with her friends. He downed the rest of his drink, the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, before standing abruptly.

"Be right back," he murmured, not quite meeting your eyes as he made his way towards the bar. You watched him go, a mix of exasperation and... something else, something you didn't want to acknowledge, churning in your gut. This was just like Nyx, spotting a pretty face and being drawn in like a moth to a flame. But then again, when had he ever been able to resist a challenge, a chance to charm and captivate? It was in his nature, a part of his very being, Feyre said he got that from his father. And yet, a small, traitorous part of you wished, just for once, that he might look at you the same way, with that same heated intensity... But no, you pushed that thought away, disgusted with yourself for even entertaining such a notion.

you mentally try to shake the feeling of and turn your attention back to Rhys seeing as your friend as yet again left family time to go get laid. Shit this was becoming a habit... And it was really starting to bothering you.

Rhys noticed your distraction and followed your gaze to where Nyx was now engaged in animated conversation with the blonde, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, studying you with a thoughtful expression. "He's a grown male, sweetling," Rhys said, his voice a low rumble. "He knows what he's doing." There was a note of mild reproach in his tone, a subtle reminder that you were being a bit... overprotective. Possessive, even. But then again, Rhys had always seen the depth of your bond with his son, the unbreakable connection forged in childhood that had only grown stronger with time.

you made a face and shook your head dismissively.

"I know that. It's just... Annoying," Sure let's go with that. You thanked the Cauldron when your drinks arrived. You took a large sip of your drink in hopes of clearing your head of what ever this possessive, Jealous feeling... No, not not jealous, that would be ridiculous...

"This used to be when we all would spend time together and ever since be turned 18 he never... Nevermind, doesn't matter."

You took another sip and made absolutely sure to keep your eyes away from the bar. Rhys's eyes softened as he studied your face, a flicker of understanding in their depths. He reached out, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a comforting, fatherly gesture. "Ah, y/n," he said, a note of gentle reproach in his voice. "Is that what's bothering you? That things have changed now that your both getting older?" His gaze drifted to where his son stood still engrossed in conversation with the blonde. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he turned back to you.

"He's not a child anymore, sweetling. He has... needs and desires that he's just beginning to explore. It's natural, at his age. Lets not forget, he's a freshly adult Illyrian male, I'm not going to sit her and pretend that we aren't known for getting around. Rhys's thumb absently rubbed your shoulder, a soothing motion. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't want to spend time with you anymore. You're still his bestfriend, That will never change-"

You cut him off and shrug him his hand off of your shoulder. Rhys had always been like a second dad to you and you were always very welcome to any advice he had for you but for once you didn't want to fucking hear it. You made sure to slam your mental shields up and close the cracks snugly before your responded.

"I don't need the sex talk Rhys. I'm not a kid either ok, I just meant that it just... Aggravating that he'd rather spend his time chasing females that do actually give a fuck about him over spending time with his family. It fine he's his own person, it's just annoying...."

You you didn't try to cover the disgruntled look on your face as you down the last of your drink as signal the bartender to send you another. Rhys watched as you downed your drink and signaled for another, a hint of concern flickering across his face. He knew this was a sensitive subject for you, a raw nerve that you didn't want him to touch. But he also knew that sometimes, the things we didn't want to hear were the things we needed to hear most.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice low and gentle. "I understand your frustration. I do. But you need to accept that people change as they grow older, and so do their priorities. Nyx will always make time for you, no matter what. But he's also entitled to his own life, his own experiences."

Rhys paused, letting his words sink in. "Spending time with a pretty female isn't a betrayal of his friendship with you. It's a part of him growing up, and I know you used to be extremely close but-"

you just stood and grabbed your bag before turning to Rhys a badly disguised pissed off expression etched into your face.

"Actually I'll see you all at home. l forgot I have to be up early tomorrow, I'm gonna head home early."

You said with a dry tone before turning and striding to the exit and leaving. It was clear that Rhys, in trying to meditate, had only pissed you off more. What he didn't see was the hurt that made you feel like screaming when you realized Nyx hadn't even noticed you'd left. You only felt the burning of Rhys and Feyre's gaze burning into your back.

Nyx was still engrossed in conversation with the blonde, oblivious to your abrupt departure. He was laughing at something she said, a hand resting casually on her hip as he leaned in close to hear her over the pulsing music. The blonde was eating it up, hanging onto his every word, her eyes shining with admiration and a hint of something more. Nyx was in his element, charming and captivating, but he was also utterly focused on his new companion, not sparing a thought for the empty chair across the room where you had been sitting. The sight made you sick, your stomach twisting painfully.

You didn't stop storming out of the building even when you hard footsteps coming after you. You finally decided to turn and for a half second your heart jumped to see a dark figure emerge from the the doors. Only to have that flutter be smashed again to see Rhys exit and not his son. Nyx really didn't even notice you left... Why the fuck did you even care anyway, the answer was getting harder and harder to deny with every passing day.

"Y/n, wait," he said, his voice low and urgent. Rhys caught up to you quickly, his longstrides eating up the distance between you. He reached out, his hand closing around your elbow, halting your furious retreat.

"I know you're upset, but please, talk to me, you know I'm always here." There was a note of concern in his tone, a hint of something else, something that made your heart skip a beat despite your anger.

Rhys guided you to a quiet spot nearby, away from the thrumming music and chatter of the bar. He studied your face, his brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and worry. "Talk to me," he coaxed softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on your elbow. "Tell me what's really bothering you. Is it... is it just about Nyx? Or is something else? Whatever it it, bottling it up isn't going to help you sweetling." His gaze was intense, searching, as if he could see right through to the tangled mess of your emotions. As if he knew that the anger masking your face was only a flimsy veil for something much deeper, much harder to name.

You close your eyes and force yourself to keep your mental shielding up as you thought of a way to respond without sounding absolutely pathetic.

"I just... I have, other things going on and I'm just... Like I said I have to be up early tomorrow, I'd just be better if I went home now..."

You avoided the question with as many lies you could muster. You HATED lying to Rhys but you felt like your heart and mind was rebelling against each other and you couldn't tell him why you were upset if you couldn't even admit it to yourself

Rhys's eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism crossing his handsome features. He wasn't convinced by your flimsy excuse, and he knew you well enough to see through any pretense. Leaning in closer, his voice dropped to a low, intimate murmur,

"Y/n darling, look at me." His fingers tightened gently on your elbow, a silent command. "I've known you since you were a little girl. Your the closet to a daughter I have and I can tell when something is your not telling me something, and why won't you just tell me what's wrong?" His gaze softened, a glimmer of compassion and understanding in their depths. "Please, talk to me. Let me help you, you know the last thing I'll ever do is judge you for hurting... whatever it may be. You don't have to do it alone." There was a tender note in his voice, a gentle encouragement, as if he were coaxing a skittish horse to trust him. His thumb continued its slow, soothing circles on your elbow, a silent promise of comfort and support.

Your eyes were locked on the concrete as they welled slightly and you just let yourself lean forward to hug him.

"I'm just... I don't have a right or a... A reason to be mad but I am... And I'm so fucking angry that I don't know why..."

Another lie... You knew deep down exactly why you were angry and it wasn't even with Nyx. You were mad at yourself for being a fucking coward.

Rhys wrapped his strong arms around you as you leaned into his embrace, holding you close. He made no move to pull away, allowing you the comfort of his warm, solid presence. "Shh, it's alright," he murmured, one hand coming up to stroke your hair in a soothing gesture. He he rested his cheek on top of your head gently as rocked you from side to side, the same why he would when you were a kid and scraped your knee. "Everyone has a right to their feelings, Bekah. You don't need a reason to be upset." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Sometimes, the most difficult feelings to understand are the ones that come from within ourselves. They can be the hardest to acknowledge, to accept." His voice was low and gentle, a tender rumble in your ear. His hand continued its gentle caress, a silent reminder of his unwavering support and love.

"it's like I don't exist to him anymore..."

You whispered into his chest and just slumped to lean into him more. You had never even wanted 'that type of attention from Nyx but at the same time, for some reason, you didn't think you'd ever have to ask for it either....

Rhys's arms tightened around you as he heard the quiet admission, a flicker of realization crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Darling," he said softly, his eyes searching yours with a newfound understanding. "You could never be ignored, not by anyone, and certainly not by my son." His thumb brushed gently over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "I love you, sweetling. We all do." His voice dropped to a low, fervent whisper.

His gaze held yours, intense and sincere, a silent promise. "And I know Nyx loves you too, even if he's not always the most... perceptive about showing it." A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he pulled you back into his embrace, cradling you close. "Give him a chance, sweetling. Give yourself a chance to see what's right in front of both of you." His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as he held you, a silent comfort and reassurance.

"He's always perceptive... That's the problem..."

Rhys stilled, a flicker of surprise and a hint of something else, something softer, crossing his features. He searched your face, a new understanding dawning in his eyes.

"You're upset because you feel invisible to him. Because you think he doesn't see you the way you've always seen him." His voice was low and gentle, a tender murmur. "But darling... that couldn't be further from the truth."

"Nyx sees you, Y/n. He's always seen you. He's just... not always the best about showing how he feels." A wry smile tugged at his lips before he brushed a tender kiss to your forehead, a silent comfort. "Be patient with him, you know he can be a bit slow sometimes." He said giving you tight squeeze if only to make you laugh.

"Right, he sees me and because he can't talk to me about it, he goes fucks anything with a pair of tits cuz that makes perfect fucking sense!"

Your anger flared faster that the heaviness that settled onto your chest once again. You pushed out of Rhys's hold before covering your face with your hands and giving Rhys a quiet apology before just turning on your heel and winnowing back to the river house.

Rhys watched you go, a mix of concern and newfound understanding etched into his handsome features. He stood there for a long moment, his brows furrowed as he processed the revelation, the pieces falling into place like a puzzle. Then, with a determined set to his jaw, he strode purposefully back into the bar, his mind made up.

Nyx was still engrossed in conversation with the blonde when Rhys approached, a look of grim determination on his face. He tapped Nyx on the shoulder, a gesture that was almost a bit too rough to be polite. Nyx turned, a look of embarrassment and mild annoyance flashing across his face before he saw who had interrupted him. Rhys leaned in close, his voice a low growl in Nyx's ear.

"A word, son?" he said, a note of command in his tone. He didn't wait for a response before turning and heading towards the entrance once again, expecting Nyx to follow. Nyx hesitated for a moment, a flicker of confusion and irritation in his eyes, before he muttered a quick apology to the blonde and followed in his father's wake.

Rhys led them to a quiet corner, away from prying ears and eyes. He turned to face Nyx, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stern.

"Y/n left" he said without preamble, a note of accusation in his voice. "She was upset, and I think I know why." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Son, have you ever stopped to think about what that girl means to you? Really think about it?" His gaze bored into Nyx's, a silent challenge. Nyx opened his mouth to respond

"She's my bestfr-" a look of bewilderment crossed his face, as Rhys cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"No, listen to me," he said, his voice low and intense. "She is more than just your friend, she's your bestfriend and if you were using your brain she might actually be more. She's been by your side since you were a kid, a constant in your life. And you need to seriously think about how your actions might be affecting her" He paused, letting the revelation hang in the air between them.

"So why do you think she's hurting, Nyx? Why do you think she's been so agitated recently?" His gaze searched his son's face, a silent demand for honesty. Nyx stared at his father, a look of confusion and dawning realization slowly spreading across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, as if struggling to find the right words.

"I... I don't know," he said finally, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "I never really thought about it." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of frustration and bewilderment. "I mean, Bekah is my best friend. She always has been. It's not like she really cares, she's the once egging me on most of the time, But..." He trailed off, a flicker of emotion crossing his features as the implications of Rhys's words sank in, Rhys watched his son closely, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"But what, Nyx?" he prompted softly, a gentle encouragement. "I know damn well your smarter than this boy."

His gaze searched Nyx's face, a silent demand for honesty and introspection. He didn't get it but he was satisfied when Nyx cursed under his breath and practically sprinted out to the street before winnowing away too.

You were in your comfort pajamas with a half eaten tub of ice cream and a sappy romance book in your lap by the time Nyx opened the front door and flew up the stairs. You had stopped crying by now and had just decided to stay in one of the guest rooms for the night to just wallow in your self pity and get lost on one of the love stories Nesta had lent you... It was easier that thinking about your actual predicament... When Nyx had bust through your door. You screamed and jumped from the bed as you started at him for a minute.

"What the actual Fuck Nyx! you scared me to death! What are you even doing back her, I thought you would have found somewhere else to be tonight?"

Thank the Gods the words didn't sound as bitter as they felt as you picked up your ice cream and book from where they had fell before standing and pulling on your robe gently trying not to act as if he hadn't been the one to practically rip your heart out of your ass and feed it too you in pieces.

Nyx stood in your doorway, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. He looked.... disheveled, in a way you'd never seen him before. His hair was mussed, his shirt slightly askew, a look of barely contained turmoil etched into every line of his body. He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze roving over your pajama-clad form, taking in the ice cream, the book, the robe. Something flickered in his eyes, a heat that had nothing to do with the physical, and everything to do with the emotional turmoil that was clearly consuming him.

He took a step into the room, then another, until he was standing right in front of you. He reached out, his hands coming up to grip your shoulders, a gesture that was almost too tight to be gentle. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough and ragged. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I needed to talk to you." His thumbs rubbed small circles on your shoulder blades, a gesture that was almost unconscious, as if he couldn't help himself. He studied your face, a look of confusion and a hint of something else, something softer, in his dark eyes.

"Y/n," he said slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Why did you leave? Why did you run off like that?" There was a note of accusation in his voice, a hint of frustration, but beneath it all, a current of something else. Something that made your heart skip a beat despite yourself. Like he was trying to get a specific answer from you. He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"And don't tell me it's because you had to be up early, cuz we both know that you never get up early after you drink..." he murmured, a wry note in his voice. know there's more to it than that. His gaze searched yours, a silent demand for the truth, a silent plea for understanding.

You scoffed slightly and pulled away before turning around and started to absentmindedly tidy your nightstand. Anything to avoid this conversion...

"Rhys needs to learn to keep his big mouth shut..." You mumbled bitterly. Nyx's reached to wrap a hand around your marn trying to turn you back to him, a hint of frustration flashing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice low and intense.

"No, Y/n don't make this about dad, This is about you, and me, and the fact that... I think I've been a blind idiot... for a really fuckin long time..." His gaze searched your face, a look of dawning realization and a hint of something else, something softer, in their depths. "Tell me, Tell me what's been bothering you, what's had you so upset lately." His thumb continued it's small, unconscious circles on your arm, a gesture that was almost soothing despite the tension that crackled between you.

"And don't lie to me. Not now, not about this." There was a note of command in his voice, a silent demand for honesty, but beneath it all, a current of something else. Something that made your heart race despite your best efforts to ignore it.

You let him angle your face to look back at him and swallowed hard as you looked for words. Your not used to seeing that look directed towards you and it was throwing you off. He was fishing for answers, he did this all the time. He had a hunch and he wanted you to confirm it.

"I don't know why I'm upset, probably just hormones or something..." You tried to make an offer handed joke in a last ditch effort avoid the question. "Your allowed to do what ever you want, none of my business...'

Nyx's eyes flashed with a sudden intensity, a glimmer of frustration and something else, something deeper, in their dark depths. He stepped closer, crowding into your personal space, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Stop it," he said, his voice low and rough, a hint of a growl underlying his words. "Stop trying to dodge the question, stop trying to brush this off like it's nothing." He reached up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a gesture that was almost... intimate.

"This isn't about your damn hormones, Y/n! This is about the fact that you've been hurting, and I want you to tell me why!"

"you know why! I just... I never thought I'd have to, fight for your attention. I thought I had it... And then you turned 18 and you proved to me how wrong i was."

Nyx's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of realization and a hint of something else, something softer, in their dark depths. He stared at you for a long moment, as if seeing you for the first time, as if truly taking in the weight of your words. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, a gesture that was almost unconscious, as if he couldn't help himself. "Y/n," he said slowly, his voice rough and low. "I... I never mea-"

"just drop it Nyx! forget it, it doesn't... Just forget it."

You huffed, cutting him off and pulling away from him again. You had to get outside, to get some fresh air. You pushed past him and ran down the stairs feeling like the walls were closing in on you. Nyx be damned, your heart be damned. he didn't get it. Of course he never meant to hurt you, how could you have ever thought he did. No.. NO you were angry because you were in lov-... shit you were in love with him. The acceptance hid you harder that the cold night air as you finally made to to the backyard.

Nyx stood rooted to the spot for a moment, a look of stunned disbelief on his face as you pushed past him and raced down the stairs. Then, as if shaking off a trance, he sprinted after you, taking the steps two at a time. He burst out into the backyard just as you were wrapping your arms around yourself, your breath misting in the chilly night air.

He approached you slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that could bite at any second, his hands held out in a gesture of supplication. "Y/n," he said softly, his voice low and gentle. "Please, don't run from me." He paused, a look of newfound understanding in his eyes. "You're in love with me, that's why you've been angry." It wasn't a question, but a statement. He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours, a hint of something else, something softer, in their depths.

"yes asshole, fuck of course I..."

You kept your wrapped tightly wrapped around yourself as you tried to keep the panic from seeping into your voice. This was it, you fucked up but it wasn't fair. It was selfish and ridiculous but you wanted his attention, all of it, always! You wanted all of him to yourself! And you had no right to be angry from not getting what you wanted so much when you hadn't even tried to hint that you might have wanted him. You looked back at finally the devastation and the utter longing showing in your eyes. You wanted him, his mind his body, you wanted him so badly it hurt. You had pushed your emotions aside for so long that finally accepting them nearly sent you to the ground.

Nyx stood still, his eyes widening slightly as the realization of your confession sunk in, he hadn't honestly expected you to say it out loud. He stared at you, taking in the devastation and longing etched into every line of your face, the way your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face - surprise, confusion, a hint of fear, and then.... a softening, a warmth that began to glow in his dark eyes.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out, his hands coming to rest on your your waist gently. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held you too tightly. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own. You waited for the word to come, the anger, the frustration, but none did. One second he was cupping your face in his hand and the next he was hugging you so tightly you thought your lungs would burst. And the amount of whip lash you got from him pulling back and kissing you like you were life itself.

Your eyes fell closed before your body caught up to your mind and you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. You fingers tangled into his onyx hair as you felt him nip at your lower lip. To think half an hour ago you were cursing his existence and now, if you had your way, you be cursing his name for so many other reasons...

"Nyx..."

Nyx groaned softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your fingers tangle in his hair. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to tangle with yours, a silent declaration of desire and want. He pulled you flush against him, eliminating any space between your bodies, as if he wanted to consume you, to make you a part of him

He broke the kiss, only to trail his lips down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, a hint of pain mingling with pleasure, a silent promise of passion and possession. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, a plea, a silent beg for more. And more is exactly what he gave you, his hands roaming over your curves, mapping out the contours of your body as if committing them to memory.

"Nyx, I..." He paused, his breath hot against your skin, a look of fierce intensity in his eyes as he met your gaze. "I love you, baby, I love you and I need you so fucking much right now." He sealed his confession with another kiss, a fierce, passionate claiming of your mouth, a silent vow of love and devotion.

If you hand been so lost in him you might have realized how strange it was for Nyx, the boy who had a new girl every few days seemed to confess to love so quickly. You also might have noticed the burning snap inside your chest as he lifts you into his arms and walked you slowly to press you against the side of the back deck, not seeming to care that you were still outside, completely exposed to anyone that might come home early.

Nyx didn't seem to care about anything but you in that moment, his eyes blazing with a newfound intensity as he held you close. Railing of the deck, the cool wood a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. He leaned into you, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hip bones through the thin fabric of your pajamas.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmured. He nipped at your earlobe, a gesture that sent shivers down your spine. "I want everyone to know that you're mine, that you've always been mine." His voice was low and rough, a hint of a growl underlying his words.

His words set the fire in your heart spreading to every inch of you he touched. You moaned as you felt his hand come to rest under your ass kneading the plump flesh as he pinned you between himself and the deck. The smell hit you soon enough, Nyx smelled like vanilla and cologne, and books and... Home, he smelled like home. If you hadn't already giving into him completely, that, would have been the final push. Your hands quickly raced over the front of his shirt trying to undo the buttons without pulling his mouth from your neck.

Nyx groaned softly as your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, his own hands tightening on your hips. He helped you, his deft fingers making quick work of the buttons until the shirt fell open, revealing the expanse of his chest. You ran your hands over the hard planes and ridges, marveling at the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

He leaned back, giving you a moment to explore, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Like what you feel, baby?" he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "You can touch me all you want, baby. I'm all yours." He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips, pressing his growing arousal against your core, a silent promise of what was to come.

Nyx's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you, a look of pure, unadulterated hunger etched into every line of his face. "Fuck, baby," he groaned, his hands sliding up your sides to cup the soft swells of your breasts after curly shoving your shirt up.

"I want to touch every inch of you, to taste every part of you, I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby." His thumbs brushed over your nipples the pads of his fingers digging in a bit. A gesture that made you arch into his touch, a silent plea for more.

Nyx looked up at you as he knelt before you, his dark eyes blazing with a feral intensity that made your heart race and your skin prickle with anticipation. He slowly peeled your shorts down your legs, his fingers trailing over your skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. As he tugged your shorts off, he leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, the shortest bit of scruff scraping lightly against your sensitive skin. He paused, looking up at you with a wicked grin, his hands gripping your thighs.

You pulled him back into a firm kiss and he set you down only to kneel in front of you and pull your shorts from your legs. The look in his eyes almost looked as feral as you felt. You didn't know if it was nerves or something more as you felt what felt like a second heartbeat, thudding in your chest, like a phantom it made your breath race faster.

"I want to taste you, babygirl. Fuck you smell so damn good..." His voice was a low, rough growl, a hint of a promise in his words as he leaned his forehead against your abdomen, his eyes locked on your slit and he breathes in deep, taking your scent again.

"Can I, baby? Can I taste you? Please?" His gaze held yours, a silent demand for permission, a silent plea for you to give yourself over to him completely

Your head fell back at his words as you lost your words again, You reached down to run your fingers through his now unruly hair, it was the only confirmation you could muster in this state of euphoria you were stuck in before he even touched you.

Nyx took the action as a yes, a low, approving growl rumbling in his chest. his breath hot against your pussy. He looked up at you one last time, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Then, slowly, torturously, he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue delving between your folds to taste your essence.

He groaned loudly at the first taste of you, the sound vibrating through you, making your hips jerk forward involuntarily. He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he began to feast on you, his mouth and tongue working in tandem to bring you pleasure. He quickly picked your up and threw your thighs over his shoulders so you were resting on his face completely.

He focused on your clit, sucking and flicking the sensitive nub with a skill that left you seeing stars. Two fingers slid inside your dripping core, curling and pumping in a rhythm that had you climbing closer and closer to the edge. You let out a long throaty moan and bucked your hips a bit. Fuck he was good at that, he should be considered how many... No don't think about that right now it'll just piss you off again.

"Fuck Nyx, uuugh!"

Nyx looked up at you, a wicked grin on his face as he continued his ministrations. He could feel you starting to throb, your moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing second. He knew you were close, could feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He pulled back slightly, his fingers still pumping slowly, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening pressure.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. "Let go, babygirl. Come for me, baby, I want you to come in my mouth." His eyes held yours, a silent demand, a silent plea for you to give yourself over to the sensation, to let go and surrender to the ecstasy that awaited you.

You sink both hands into his hair and brace your shoulders back against the deck before bucking against his face again and again, chasing your orgasm so hard you wanted to cry before you felt that coll in your stomach snap, your movements jerking to a halt with a scream. Nyx groaned as he felt your walls clench and spasm around his fingers, your scream of ecstasy ringing in his ears.

"Oh good fucking girl!" He continued to lap at your dripping core, his tongue delving deep to catch every last drop of your release as you rode out the waves of your intense orgasm.

As your movements slowed and your breathing began to even out, Nyx slowly pulled back. He looked up at you, his face glistening with your essence, a look of pure male satisfaction etched into every line of his handsome face. He leaned down capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips and tongue. He swallowed your soft moans, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts, kneading the soft flesh in his large hands.

Nyou could barely stand and was beyond grateful when he picked you up again before climbing the few steps and laying you flat on the deck below him, bed he started pulling at the laces of his pants urgently. Nyx gazed down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he quickly worked at the laces of his pants. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for your touch, for your heat. He needed to be inside you, needed to feel your walls wrapped around him like a velvet glove. He kicked his pants off along with his boxers, freeing his thick, hard length. It bobbed against his stomach, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He crawled up your body, settling himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your still sensitive entrance. Nyx leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Ahh NYX Fuck!"

"I need you, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, urgent growl. "Fuck i need to be inside you, I'm gonna fuck you so good babygirl... Fuck look at me Fucking look at me..." He grabbed your chin and stared into your eyes as He rolled his hips, the head of his cock slipping inside your wet heat. He groaned as his head fell and his eyes rolled, letting out a silent plea for you to give him the words he so desperately needed to hear.

You lifted your shaky legs to wrap around his waist as your reached to cling to his shoulders. You hand landed firm on his chest as you tried to breath That damn second heart beat felt stronger now, and you felt like you were so warm you were gonna explode! Then you felt it, right before lined himself up with your entrance, his pulse, it matched... The burning in your chest, the need, the emotions, the pulse, you knew those signs. You didn't get a chance to think on it to hard before he thrust himself forward, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head at the delicious burn that came with the stretch.

"Nyx your- AHh! Fuck Nyx! Please your my- AHH FUUUUUCK!"

Nyx groaned loudly as he felt your tight, wet heat envelop him, your walls gripping his throbbing cock like a vice. He paused for a moment, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he fought the urge to come right then and there. "Fuck, Y/n," he panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect around my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against you, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured,

"I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much. Mm gonna to fuck you until you can't walk, your gonna be limping for days when I'm done with you." He pulled back slightly, his gaze holding yours, a look of pure, unadulterated love and desire.. and utter hunger etched into every line of his handsome face.

Nyx could feel your walls starting to flutter around his pistoning cock, could feel your body tensing as another orgasm built inside you. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you with a ferocity that bordered on animalistic.

You could get the words out as he started thrusting into you hard and fast and fuck if it didn't make you want to let him take you whenever or wherever if it felt this good. Your mind was still screaming though the pleasure though, MATE, HE'S YOUR MATE' but you were too engulfed in him to scream anything other than his name as you felt yet another orgasm approaching quickly, fuck, the male was going to be the literal death of you!

"That's it, baby," he growled against your lips, his voice a low, urgent rumble. "Come for me, Y/n. Come all over my cock. Your doing so good babygirl, common! Please I'm so fucking close!" He angled his hips, hitting that special spot inside you with every deep, powerful thrust, determined to push you over the edge and into oblivion.

Nyx could feel his own release approaching rapidly, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your clutching heat. He was close, so close to filling you with his seed, to marking you as his mate in the most primal way possible. With a final, hard thrust and a hoarse shout of your name, he came, his hot, thick essence flooding your insides, painting your walls with his love and desire. As your high washed over you you felt it, a smaller distant snap, before you felt Nyx tense above you like a statue.

"You feel it... The bond..." You whispered in disbelief as you stared up at him, the world around you finally coming back into focus.

Nyx's eyes widened in shock as he felt the snap of the mate bond, a jolt of pure, primal energy coursing through his veins. He stared down at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief, a look of pure wonder etched into every line of his handsome face. He nodded slowly, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I feel it," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. "Fuck I feel it baby." He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own as he struggled to process the magnitude of what had just happened. He lifted a shaking hand, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache, and brushed a stray tear from your skin.

"I love you, Y/n," he whispered, his voice a low, fervent murmur. "More than anything. And now... Cauldron, your mine." He sealed his vow with a soft, sweet kiss, a silent promise of a love that would last a lifetime.

"I'm so sorry baby, I didn't know. Can you forgive me?" He say looking at you through half lidded eyes, his gaze hopeful as he hovered above you still. You chuckled at him before pulling him into another kiss and gently flipping his so you were straddling his hips instead.

"I can think of a few ways for you to make it up to me..."

You both had stayed out there for at least another hour, you hadn't even accepted the bond but you felt like you were in the frenzy already. You must have passed out from utter exhaustion at some point because you woke up the next morning in Nyx's room snugged into his side as the morning light shifted through the blinds. You turned your gaze to look at Nyx, he looked so peaceful it made you so much more inclined to stay in bed forever.

"But you look so pretty when your sleeping."

"You know it's rude to stare..." Nyx mumbled without opening his eyes and you giggled slightly and leaned up to kiss his nose lovingly.

Nyx's eyes fluttered open at the feeling of your lips on his nose, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he blinked up at you. He reached up, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tender, loving caress. He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through his chest.

"Pretty? I think that's supposed to be my line," he murmured, his voice still rough and gravelly with sleep. He tugged you down, capturing your mouth in a slow, deep kiss, a silent good morning greeting that made your toes curl.

As he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a look of pure, unadulterated contentment in his dark eyes. "Good morning, baby," he whispered, a hint of a growl underlying the words. "I hope you're ready for a long morning cuz I'm not nearly done with you yet." He pulled you at straddle him and rolled his hips, a clear indication of his growing arousal, a silent promise of the pleasure that awaited you both. You moaned but quickly scooted off of him before wrapping one the sheets around you and heading for his closet.

He pulled you flush against him, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip, holding you tight against the hard, muscular length of his body. "Come on baby, you can't just leave me like this..." He nipped at your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point, a silent, primal promise of the pleasure. His hand grasping your and grinding his naked cock into your palm, a small growl escaping his as he did.

"As much as I would enjoy that I think i need to go make you some breakfast. Unless you don't want me to..." You say teasingly know damn well he'd want to cement the mating bond as soon as possible. Nyx watched as you scooted away from him, a look of mild disappointment flashing across his face before being replaced by a wicked, mischievous grin. He lounged back against the pillows, his hands tucked behind his head, a look of pure, satisfaction etched into every line of his smile as he watched you wrap the sheet around your luscious curves. He cocked an eyebrow at your teasing words, a low, warning growl rumbling in his chest.

"Oh, I want you to make me breakfast, Y/n," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "But can't you just stay here for a few more minutes..." He levered himself up, stalking towards you with a predatory grace, a look of pure, animalistic hunger in his dark eyes.

"you act like we will be able to keep are ands off of each other during the frenzy I think you can wait 20 minutes."

"Morning Rhys, morning Feyre."

You say chuckling as you lean up and kiss his cheek before pulling on a pair of his bants and a T-shirt and practically skipped downstairs, or as well as you could considering your legs still felt a bit numb.

"Come on, let's feed you before you eat me instead."

"you act like that would be a bad thing..." Nyx says and slaps your ass playfully and lets you leave so he can calm himself and get some pants on at least.

Once you got downstairs you saw that the coffee post was on already so you head out to the back yard deck, Nyx hot on your trail not dressed to be outside but at least he wasn't naked anymore. You stepped out to greet his parents who had breakfast out there every morning. You actively tried not to stare at the spot 5 feet away where their son had rearranged your intestines a few hours ago as you came and said hello as usual.

Nyx's parents looked up as you and Nyx stepped out onto the deck, offering you both warm smiles. Rhys, rolled his eyes as he took in Nyx's state of undress, while Feyre, his mother, simply smiled indulgently, as if this was a common occurrence. Maybe if you played it cool, they wouldn't find out that you both defiled their breakfast spot the night before.

"Good morning, Y/n," Feyre greeted, her voice warm and welcoming. "It's good to see your feeling better." She glanced at Nyx, a small dismissive smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And good morning to you too." She said to Nyx as he came over as kissed her forehead lovingly.

"morning Mama."

"Thank you sweetling but we've eaten, we were going to let you know that we are going to have to go take a trip to wind haven, Devlon is starting to act out of line so we should be back in a couple weeks."

"I'm gonna make breakfast if you want some, I can make extra." You offered, as you usually did, trying to seem like you weren't impatient for them to leave for the day. Rhys closed his paper and set it down before standing and stretching for a minute.

Rhys said calmly after offering his hand to his wife to help her stand. You were grateful that they were going to be gone considering you were planing on consummating the bond today, it doesn't tend to stay very quiet. You gave Nyx a look turning away from Rhys and Feyre as they entered the house again before you heard Rhys call over his shoulder.

"And the house better not look anything the the way we found the deck this morning by the time we get back!"

You and Nyx stared at eachother, your faces turning red and you both groaned. Well so much for them not finding out...

~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading Lovelies, if you want to be added to the tag list just comment or dm me. Again comments are always welcome, I hope you enjoyed the story!

@romantasyreader28 @tele86 @mich0731 @6v6babycheese @jennnsthings @mulansaucey @starlightandsouls @jir67 @paleidiot @icey--stars @ohemgeewhat @littlelunatica @celestialamore @rcarbo1 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @queenoffeysand @suppppp97

[mammonscheeks]

om! older brothers reacting to mc playing mystic messenger

✎ includes: lucifer, mammon, leviathan

✎ warnings: none

"I've missed my bed..." you mumble, flopping onto your mattress in the HoL. You pull out your phone, opening your favorite otome game: Mystic Messenger.

You had endured a long day at RAD, full of making excuses for slipping out of your classes. You couldn't help it: to get a good ending in Mystic Messenger, you had to complete a certain percentage of the daily chatrooms. So, whenever you heard that familiar 'ping' notification, you would excuse yourself and stalk off to the nearest bathroom, closet, or any place where you could be alone.

With all of your classes and chores done, you could finally laze around in bed, playing at your own leisure without the threat of a professor or classmate looming over your shoulder. That was, until a knock rang at your door, prompting the entrance of a certain demon.

LUCIFER stood in the doorway cautiously, entering your room just as you clicked on a chat room with 707.

"MC, I'm here to get that classical vinyl I left here last night- oh... am I interrupting something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the amount of text messages appearing on your phone screen.

"Oh, no! Come in," you wave the demon over. Despite Lucifer's otherwise sophisticated nature, he couldn't help but sneak a peek at your phone, which was conveniently held in his field of vision.... Only to see 707 taking up the whole chat room, spamming text messages and emoticons at lightning speed.

"MC, who is that? he texts like Mammon," Lucifer scoffed with disgust. "are you... dating someone?"

"It's a character in a game, Lucifer!" you smiled, staring at your phone screen. "don't worry about it."

"Oh." Lucifer stated curtly. his hand subconsciously slid over his chest, as he felt a surge of blood pumping through his veins.

A game? I feel relieved that another demon, angel, or even that human solomon hasn't beaten me to MC's affection... but still...!

You felt a soft hand on your cheek. Tearing your eyes away from the screen, you found your face inches away from Lucifer's blood-red eyes, which were staring deep into your soul.

"Remember, MC... You belong to me. No one else... Game or otherwise." His sweet voice dripped onto your tongue like honey.

MAMMON bounded into your room for no reason, as per usual. It had become customary at this point for him to come over, sit on your bed, and simply chill with you almost every day.

"MC, you've been on your phone all day, who are you talking to that's not me?" Mammon pouted, laying on the bed next to you, dramatically splaying his arms out for your attention.

"Mammon, don't be an attention whore," You joked. "There's no need to be jealous."

"Hey, don't go around calling me jealous! I don't get jealous!" Mammon protested.

He suddenly froze when he saw what looked like an incoming call on your phone screen... From somebody named 'Jumin Han.' You accepted the call before Mammon unexpectedly threw himself across your lap.

"WHO'S JUMIN HAN?" He yelled, basically tackling you.

"HeYY! Get off me!" You shoved the demon, but to no avail. After a short power struggle for your phone, he finally grabbed it and yelled into the receiver.

"WHO ARE YOU? STOP CALLING MY HUMAN!"

"I just closed a deal with an oil company in the middle east... the life of a future CEO is always busy," the game character, Jumin stated in his cold tone.

"Ugh, even his cold way of speaking reminds me of Lucifer!" Mammon groaned. "Wait... A future CEO? So... What I'm hearing is that he's rich?"

"Get off me, Mammon!" You groaned. "It's just a game!"

"Hey, Jumin Han! I don't care who you are, or how powerful your credit card is. MC is MY HUMAN, ya hear?!"

LEVIATHAN knocks on your door before entering, his Nintendo Switch console in hand.

"MC, don't tell me you forgot about our MarioKart tournament today! Levi sighed.

"Nope, I haven't-- I just have to finish this chat really quick," you said, waving Leviathan over to your bed.

The purple-haired boy blushed, but complied with your request. As he sat next to you, the bed dipped slightly from his weight, and you smiled at your phone screen, scooting close to Leviathan to fill in the awkward space and get more cozy. However, Levi's embarrassed attitude vanished entirely as he glanced at your phone.

"Ooh, is that Mystic Messenger? I love that game!" Leviathan gushed.

"You... You've played it?" You asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Of course! I've played every single route and unlocked most of the DLC!" He grinned proudly. "But, MC... Don't get too attached to that app, alright?"

You looked at Levi, whose face was red as he refused to make eye contact with you.

"Don't be jealous, Leviathan. You know that I love talking to you all day, every day."

"H-Hey, that's not what I meant! But you're right! I'll always be here for you, unlike them!"

The two of you spend the rest of the night talking about your experiences with the game, its backstory, and other fandoms that the both of you are in together.

[hellsenthero]

Kinktober Day 8: Chasing

Azriel X Fem!Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

---

Night had come, and the moon cast a silver glow over the otherwise dark forest. Your breathing came fast and heavy as you ran. You were nearly crashing through the forest, causing such a ruckus that you knew the creatures in the forest could hear you. You knew he could hear you. But you couldn't stop, couldn't slow down. You knew you wouldn't get out of here by stealth. Speed was your only option.

Run, run, run, run. Your mind chanted over and over again.

Run. He'd said.

So you did.

You ran for what felt like eternity. Your lungs burned, your legs sore, but you didn't stop.

Not until your foot caught on a twisted tree root, and you went flying into the ground with a cry. Your fingers scraped at the dirt and leaves as you moved to stand and keep going, but a voice behind you had you pausing.

"How pathetic." You spun in the dirt to face the male behind you. His frame towered over you, his leathery wings blocking out the moons light, further casting you in darkness. "I thought I told you to run?" He said with a quirk of his head.

"I-" you began before you lapsed into a coughing fit.

"You?" The male said with a predatory smile. "I'll finish that thought for you, darling." He said once you stopped coughing. "You're mine now."

You gasped in shock as the male reached out and grabbed you. "I think your legs must be tired from all that running." He said as he picked you up. He walked forward until your back met a tree. "Let me help you with that." He said as he lifted your legs up and around his waist. His croch lined up with yours, and you could feel his hard length. He ground his hips into you, making sure you could feel every inch of his cock through his pants.

"Please-" you gasped as he shoved your dress further up your thighs. With a harsh tug he pulled your underwear to the side, leaving your cunt bare and open to him.

"Please what?" He asked as his right hand got to work undoing his pants. "Please... stop? Please... fuck you?" He chuckled as he finally got his cock free. "Don't worry darling, I got you." You said before he pushed his cock into you.

You both groaned at the feeling of him filling you. "Az-"

"I know," he said. He gave you a moment to adjust to his length before he really started to fuck you.

"Oh fuck!" You cried as he found a rhythm.

"There you go." Azriel gasped. "Taking me so well. You're fucking made for my cock."

"Harder!" You ordered.

Azriel fucked you hard enough that you knew you'd have cuts on your back from the tree bark, but you didn't care. Not when his cock felt so good inside of you, filling you up, hitting that special spot inside of you.

"Fucking tight." Azriel growled before shoving his face into the crook of your neck. He nipped and kissed and sucked all over. You knew he was leaving marks, claiming you.

"I'm close!" You warned as you felt that teather inside of you pull impossibility tighter.

"Come. Come on my cock." Azriel ordered.

You obeyed instantly. With shaking legs, your orgasm rushed through you. You threw your head back with a silent moan, your eyes closed in pleasure.

"Fuck!" Azriel shouted as his own climax hit him. He pushed his cock as far as he could inside of you as he came, filling you up with each and every pump of his come he let out.

The forest was silent, save for your heavy breathing as you each came down from your climax. Azriel was slow to pull out and even slower to lower your legs back down to the ground. "You okay?" He asked tenderly. The sneaky, threatening male from before replaced with a tender, soft lover. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, Az. I'm okay." You told him with a smile.

"You back-"

"My back is okay, not too sore." Azriel leaned forward with a smile and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth before he pulled away.

"I'll run you a warm bath at the house, make sure you're not too scrapped up."

"Okay," you answered with a giggle.

Azriel wrapped his arms around you, preparing to winnow you home. "I'm glad you let slip this little fantasy of yours. It was fun." Your giggle turned into an outright laugh.

"You're just happy so long as we fuck."

Azriel nodded. "So long as you're. comfortable, yeah."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: Alone Together

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: Bucky takes you away.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You fold into yourself as the motion of the car rocks you. You're trapped in the dark. Literally. You have no idea where you are where you're going. Where Bucky is taking you. 

You're paralysed but for the shiver that comes from the chill creeping in through the trunk. Otherwise you're numb with shock. You can't believe this happening. How could Bucky do this? Why? 

You would cry if you could sort out the muddled thoughts in your head. You just lay their, helpless and exhausted. Your body is tense but tired and your eyes droop on their own. Adrenaline thrums all while draining you of your strength. 

You're drowsy as the car finally rolls to a stop. You can hear the night. The stillness. It's too cold for the insects to hum. There's no traffic, no pedestrians, nothing but hollow air. 

The car idles before the engine turns over. You rouse, rubbing your eyes as you brace yourself. Footsteps crunch through the gravel, you can hear the temperature. It's as if you can see through the layers of metal and upholstery as he approaches the trunk. 

Slowly, it clicks and the lid flips up. You don't think. You leap out only to tumble over the edge as your foot catches in the lip. You prepare to hit the ground but you're kept aloft as Bucky's arm stretches across your shoulders and chest. 

He pushes you up until you kneel in the trunk. His shadow is limned in moonlight as he brings his hands to grip your shoulders. You can't see his face even as he stares at you. 

"Bucky," you breathe. 

"Dreamy, I didn’t want it to be like this," he grits. 

"It doesn't have to. Please. You can take me home. It'll all be okay." Even you can hear the lie as it escapes your lips. You cringe as his grip on you tightens. 

He says nothing. He only pulls on you until you climb down to the ground. His vibranium hand slips down your arm as the other falls away altogether.  He holds above your elbow and shuts the trunk with a snap. You wince and stumble next to him as he marches you alongside the car. 

You can't see much. The lack of lights suggest you're far away from the city. You can hear little more than the creak of branches. 

There's only a lumpy flat ahead of you, pitted and pooled with shadows. You squint as you try to make out anything by frozen grass and dirt. Your heart pumps quicker with a terrible thought.  

"You know I would never mean to hurt you, Dreamy," Bucky rasps, a tint of hurt in his tone. 

"I know," you whisper as he stops you in place. 

He lets you go. You don't move. He stares at you, you feel it. Slowly he turns and squats down, feeling the earth around his boots. You lean back on your heel. 

Panic swells over sense and you spin on your sole and sprint as fast as you can in the other direction. Bucky groans and huffs, his footsteps quickly trailing yours. He's quick, his steps steady and sure, and he stops your own frantic scuffs without much effort. He wraps his arms around your middle and takes you off your feet.  

"Dreamy, are you insane? You could get lost out here," he grunts as you thrash in his grasp. 

"Bucky, please," you beg, "you're my friend. I'm your friend. Please, please, take me home." 

He says nothing. Another stifling silence that deepens the black night. He carries you back towards the flat. There's something there that wasn't before. 

A block of darkness. An opening. The metal hatch lights up as you approach. He doesn't stop. He puts you on your feet and once more grips your shoulders. He walks you forward and you waver on the top step. 

You descend at his nudge. He holds onto you as you put your foot down the first stair, the metal reverberating under you. Then you take the next and the next and the next. 

You get to the bottom and look around. There’s a door at the bottom. What is this place? 

"Safe house," he answers and you wonder if his enhanced hearing can pick up even your thoughts. 

He reaches around you to press his thumb to a censor. The door unlocks audibly. He pushes the handle down and urges you through. Another light flicks on ahead of you. Within, are living quarters, sterile and inhospitable.  

There’s everything you might need. A sofa, an armchair, table with matching chairs, a mostly empty bookshelf... it’s like the place is incomplete. It’s not meant to stay, it’s just for passing through. 

He nudges you as he drags his hand away. The door shuts heavily at his back. You whimper and shuffle away from him. You look around, still frigid. 

He crosses the room. He slides open a hidden compartment, a screen beneath the thin cover. He taps it. What appears to be a glass box imposed in the white brick wall sparks with flames within. The simulated fire puts out heat. 

“Warm up,” he commands curtly. 

You do as he bids and near the fireplace. You’re too cold to refuse. And scared. He’s never spoken to you like he is now. Almost militaristic in his words and his movements. 

“I meant it. This isn’t what I wanted.” He disappears around a wall. You lean over and see the doorway. You hear the suck of a fridge door. You turn back to the fire and listen to his unseen activity. 

There’s a jarring noise, the close of a microwave, and beeping. You flinch as you glimpse his shadow over your shoulder, standing in the geometric archway. You hold out your hands, pretending to be enraptured. Fighting to be calm. 

“Dreamy, I only want you.” His voice is low and fragile. 

You shudder at the thought of the trunk, the claustrophobia, the way you were jostled so easily in that tiny space. Then the dark night and the land woven into a void. You’re pathetic attempt at escape. 

Then you think of Bucky. Of the Winter Soldier. That’s what he was. What he is. He is not like you. He’s stronger, he’s faster, he’s dangerous. And he’s your friend. Or you thought he was. 

He exhales into your silence, “well, you need to eat.” The microwave beeps. “Sit.” 

You wait until you hear him retreat. You go to the white table and sit in a matching white chair. Everything here is so blank. You rest your hands in your lap and twine your fingers together as you wait. How long you’ll do that, you think, forever. 

[edgeray]

Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.

So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)

How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.

And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)

Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)

...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).

I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)

As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!

Lost Warmth

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N -  Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔  Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3). Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good. Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words

Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.

When was the last time you had felt warmth? 

You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.

How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content. 

Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling. 

You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time. 

You should have known better.

You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched. 

You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino. 

You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.  

Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. 

This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.

Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm? 

It's warm. 

Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.

It feels just like Peruere's arms. 

— 

Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House. 

The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty. 

The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone? 

The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet. 

Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud. 

How could you fail Mother?

The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.

Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial. 

“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so. 

Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”

There is no reply. 

Arlecchino feels cold. 

[russellsppttemplates]

Dad Lance 🥺🥺 please please please

Cw: reader's postpartum

"Oh, there we go, Margot", Lance said as he lifted his youngest daughter from her spot on the bassinet next to your bed, putting her on the changing table and changing her nappy, "all good now, hm? Nice and clean", he said, throwing the dirty things in the bin and wiping his own hands, "let's get you in this thing, shall we?", he motioned to the sling. Adjusting the side of the waist band since you had been the one to wear it the last time, he fastened it and gently tucked his babygirl into his chest, putting on the straps and clasping them together so she would be safe.

Walking downstairs to the kitchen, Lance tidied the room, putting the washing machine on while he waited for the milk to heat up, "you gave me and mummy an eventful night, baby girl", he cooed as she looked up at him briefly, "you're lucky Addalynn didn't wake up, otherwise me and mummy might have just given up and started the day then", he chuckled, kissing her head and taking a wiff of the newborn smell, "mummy's been through a lot so you could be here, little love, and we need to let her rest", he spoke, checking the temperature of the milk on his wrist before pulling the sling out, holding your daughter on his arms and against his naked chest, her lips immediately meeting the bottle to drink.

You woke up to your oldest daughter on your bed, latched to your side as you rolled over to face her, "hey, mummy", she smiled, "I've been waiting for you to be awake", she smiled, "Good morning, Addy", you smiled back, "did daddy sneak you up here or did you do it on your own?", you nudged.

"Daddy said I could come up here if I didn't disturb you. He said you needed to sleep", she admitted, "I didn't wake you up, did I? I promised daddy and Margot I wouldn't!", she worried.

"No, love, you didn't. Mummy needs to pump milk out and to use the bathroom", you told her, getting up after kissing her forehead and using the ensuite before you both headed downstairs.

The sight was one to see. Margot was fast asleep on Lance's chest, also sleeping, and a lavender blanket on top of the baby, the very similar pouting lips making you coo, "I'm going to join them gently", Addalynn said as she sat on the sofa, cuddling up to her father's side as Lance, out of instinct, pit his arm around her to pull her closer. Snapping a quick picture of the moment, you went to the kitchen to start your milk pump, grabbing a snack while you finished up breakfast, noticing a few ingredients on the counter already and taking it from there.

"I was going to do that", Lance said once you placed the tray on the coffee table, Addalynn digging into her porridge straight away, "you let me sleep, and then I let you sleep", you smiled, "team work makes the dream work", you concluded as you sat down next to them, Addalynn's hand mindlessly finding the leg of your pyjama pants and holding onto it, wanting to keep you close while she watched Bluey on the TV.

"This isn't a dream I want to wake up from, I'm very content right here", your husband whispered, kissing your lips as Margot stirred in her sleep.

(Thank you for submitting an ask ✨️)

[just-here-for-the-moment]

She Comes First (Part I)

This was started as part of @wannab-urs DMAMC fic challenge, but I just did not finish the fic on time (sad trombone)... so here's Part I (the buildup) and I'll post Part II (the payoff) as soon as it's finished.

Please go check out the rest of the DMAMC tags for more delicious fics!! This has been a really fun fic challenge, and I'm still happy with everything I've written so far.

Word count: 10,299 (nobody look at me!) Rating: Explicit, for 18+ only legally (but really ages 35+ only for the vibes, this is adult shit) Outline: alternating dual POV; Frankie “Catfish” Morales x domme!fem!Reader insert (Reader insert is 40+, able-bodied, has boobs and a pussy, wears corporate/business clothes to work, and wears pumps/heels) but otherwise is a total blank slate (no physical description, not white-coded, no blushing, no descriptions of hair or skin) Warnings: Femdom; Frankie is brand new to SSC (safe/sane/consensual) BDSM; characters drink alcohol; curse words and vulgar language (all the good stuff you expect from one of my smutfics); eventual smut; lots and lots and lots of talking about BDSM limits (but I tried to make it hot). 

You settle yourself at the bar, resting your feet on the brass crossbar of the leatherette stool, sinking against the low backrest with a sigh as you wave down the bartender. 

What a week… Fuck the clients and their demands, and your boss’s caving every time they snap their fingers. A drink to start, and then some well-deserved Friday night play. 

Hopefully there will be at least one interesting man tonight, someone you can invite to a hotel room and use as the finest form of stress release. Someone who can be a good boy, who can obey your orders and give you pleasure that you’ll return tenfold when he earns it. 

You look up, using the large mirror above the bar to scan the room behind you, taking advantage of the fact that it’s tilted at an angle, giving you a view not only of people walking behind you, but also the booths and their occupants. You can stare for as long as you like—no one really ever notices anyway, engrossed in their own good time. 

Of course, there’s always one guy who wants to catch your eye, come over and sit next to you and seduce you (ick) but you can see that type coming from a mile away, and they’re not who you’re interested in. Finance or tech bros, ties loose and eyes too shiny with whatever top-shelf shit they’ve imbibed too much of before you even walked in. 

As the bartender places your drink in front of you, you catch the reflection of a booth full of men behind you and a few feet to your left. A young one, very blond and muscled and wearing a white sleeveless T-shirt seated next to another, darker blond man in a sedate navy blue polo, a short, trimmed beard giving him a corporate look. The two seats opposite them are occupied by a shorter man in a black shirt, his dark curls shot through with gray, and the fourth man is different, a little taller and a lot broader than the others, wearing a mesh baseball cap.

He’s wide through the shoulders, arms straining beneath a soft chambray denim shirt, even softer-looking curls escaping from beneath the brim of his hat. He’s smiling and even laughing at moments, but he’s much quieter than the other three, especially the rowdy one you’ve nicknamed Muscles and the smirking dark-haired man seated next to the wall. You see all four of them raise their beer glasses to toast to something, but their laughter is gone, replaced by somber expressions. The shortest one, the smirky one, mouths an “Amen” but you can’t hear it over the din of the bar. 

You consider the group, carefully scanning each of them for tells, little hints that any of them might be of interest, might be a good time for the evening. 

The youngest one—he’s too ebullient, too boisterous for what you want to give. He wouldn’t pay attention, wouldn’t follow instructions and be a good boy. And definitely not the smirker in the black shirt; he’s handsome and he knows it. He’d be a brat, try to wrest control from you, make it a challenge that he’s leading. The other blond, the quieter one; he’s handsome enough, but something about the set of his jaw and the way he carries himself when he strides up to the bar to order another round—that power, that inner peace—this is not his thing, you can tell. And that leaves…

Baseball cap. Soft, kind eyes and a strong nose, plush lips just beneath a patchy little mustache. A little sad, much quieter than the others and much larger. He’s a big boy, all broad shoulders and work-strong arms under that soft blue shirt, his sleeves rolled up his forearms for comfort, but giving a show of how strong he must be. A physique crafted by hard work and daily routines, entirely different from the sweat-slick muscles of the younger blond. That one must be a gym rat or a boxer or something, self-focused when he flexes his bicep at the short, dark one in the black shirt and gets a smirk and a “Fuck you” in return, a playful slap that glances off his elbow as he cackles and lowers his arm.

Baseball cap laughs and shakes his head, eyes flicking to his heavy glass stein, two-thirds full of golden, bubbling liquid, still working on his first drink when Polo Shirt returns with a tray of three beers for himself and the others. He’s savoring, sipping where the others quaff, holding a palm out and shaking his head with an emphatic “No,” that you can read on his lips in the mirror after the younger blonde raises his arms and shouts, “Shots!” loud enough for you to hear it over the crowd. 

Baseball cap is enjoying himself, taking it slow, licking his lips after each sip of beer. It must be his reward for a Friday night, a work week well-done, a rare treat on a night out with the guys. You can tell he’s comfortable with them. It’s not the quiet nervousness of someone awkward, someone new who’s trying to fit in with a louder crowd. These are his friends, and they take him as he is, even when he’s got his eyes down, trailing a blunt fingernail over the graffiti marks on the solid wood table instead of joining in the jovial conversation. 

He lifts his eyes and suddenly they’re locked on yours in the mirror, dark and rich, eyes you could drown in if that was your thing. He flicks his gaze away for a moment and you blink—and there he is again, a little shy after another nanosecond of eye contact, flicking his eyes away and then looking down, taking a sip of his beer with the same focus he probably used for final exams in school. His eyes find yours in the mirror once more and this time you smile, gentle and soft, just a curve up at the corners of your mouth. Baseball cap’s dark eyes go wide for a moment before he swallows hard and looks back down at his beer.

Bingo. 

He’s the one. The shy ones, the gentle giants, the big guys with kind eyes—they’re your favorite. Much more relaxed in middle age than the college boys you sometimes play with, the eager ones who are so distracted by their nerves that they can hardly follow direction. You know that you fulfill some kind of mommy kink or older woman fantasy for them—and you don’t mind, because you know the rules on both sides of the game. But the eager young things get tiresome after a while, and it starts to feel like you’ve signed up to teach, rather than to enjoy yourself. 

You let them down gently but firmly, with a kiss and a reassuring pat—letting them know that they did good, but it’s just not going to turn into a long-term relationship, and maybe they should share those fantasies with a woman their own age. You tell them to look for someone serious, a girl who scares them a little, who they would never normally approach for a date. You know that there are plenty of young women at their university who would jump at the chance to boss them around in bed, and that there’s a girl for each one of those young, eager boys—a stressed-out hard sciences major who just wants to exercise a little control in her own life, and she’ll eagerly wield all manner of paddles and punishments if they ask her sweetly to dominate them. 

You’re tired, too, of the single men who have been in the scene long enough to know what they want—and what they want always seems to be a collar, a lifelong promise of devotion on both sides, and you just aren’t in the market for that. The usual circles of people in this town who are looking for some casual weekend play have gotten stale. They’re mostly couples in long-term relationships—and god, you know it’s selfish, but you don’t want to share. You want someone entirely focused on you, who won’t be thinking about what their own domme might do to them later, who will eagerly come when you call instead of having to ask permission from someone else to go on a playdate. 

And that leaves… fresh meat, new men. Men who you screen very carefully before you start a casual hookup. Men who look like they’ll be a good little pet in bed, if they can follow instructions, if they can shed any of the hang ups they have and go all-in with you for a night or a weekend. Men who have a deeply-buried desire to cede control, who have maybe never voiced it to a woman in their entire life, but who need it just as desperately as they need air. 

They’re just looking for someone to call it out of them, to give them the words they don’t have yet to describe what they’re longing for, what they ache for deep down when they’re fisting their cocks in the shower and replaying scenes from their favorite porn videos in their head. The whips, the restraints, the high heels and the stern voice of their favorite porn star dominatrix. The way she pulls the male actor’s hair when she tilts his head back and spits in his mouth, towering over him as he kneels before her, his hands behind his back and his cock as hard as iron and she hasn’t even looked at it yet, let alone touched it. Those are the men you need, the ones who have desired this for years, but have always been too shy or embarrassed or scared to ask for it. 

And if Baseball Cap fits that mold, you’ll gladly take him home for the night. You could do so much for him, let those desires out of the little box that he’s buried them in, tell him it’s okay to ask for what he wants, put his desires first for once, instead of always trailing behind his more extroverted friends. And, hey, if you shoot your shot and he’s not into that, there are plenty of other subby little fish in the sea. But he looks delicious, and you want to hook him with a lure he doesn’t even know exists right now. 

You decide to play a game, to see if you can get his attention and keep it. 

He’s so sweet, glancing up at you in the mirror when he thinks you’ve turned your gaze away, only to find that your eyes are still scanning him, gently assessing him, an appreciative little smile on your lips. Then he ducks his head and goes back to his beer.

His cheeks go pink after the second round of this game, his ears after the fourth or fifth, starting flushed and then blazing red. He’s a cutie, shy and growing more bashful by the second as his friends catch wind of what he’s looking at and start to rib him for it. 

Muscles cranes his neck over to look, his playful eyes wide as he sees you in the mirror. He turns back to Baseball Cap with a shit-eating grin and says something that makes Baseball Cap hide his face behind his hand. Polo shirt goes for casual, turning his gaze to the bartender as if he’s gauging how busy the line for drinks might be before he slides his eyes over you without a change in expression. 

Smirky gives you a big grin and a very flirty wink in the mirror and you drop your smile, raising one eyebrow with a shake of your head. Not you, Smirky.

You shift your gaze to look at the reflection of his friend, making sure that Smirky can see your eyes trailing from his work-worn boots to his hips, all the way up his arms to the top of his well-loved baseball cap. Smirky gets the message and elbows Baseball Cap, leaning down to murmur something in his ear that makes Baseball Cap sit up with a start, shaking his head and pulling on his earlobe in nervousness. 

Smirky elbows him again, hard, and you’re delighted when Baseball Cap turns back to look at you and catches your eyes in the mirror, bashful hope written all over his face, the shyness dropping away bit by bit as his interest grows. You smile again, tilting your head at the empty stool next to you at the bar and he turns back to his friends, eyebrows raised for help, seeking guidance. 

Good boy, you think… What a good boy, asking for help when you need it, opening up to the idea of coming over here, seeing what the pretty lady wants with you. 

He looks back at the mirror, sees you still looking, then takes a larger gulp of beer before rubbing his hands nervously on his denim-clad thighs. He braces his legs and then slides out of the booth, turning his back to you for a moment to look at his friends for a final bit of guidance. 

All three shout, “Go!” to him in unison, you can hear it over the din, and just as he turns to approach you… a slimeball slides into the seat next to you, wrapping one arm over the back of your barstool as if he has any right to your personal space or attention. 

Your heart falls when Baseball Cap takes in the scene, his hope fading to disappointment as he looks away and then strides off to the restroom, as if that was his plan all along. 

“Wha’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone, sweetheart?”

You take a sip of your drink and swivel toward him, knocking his arm off the back of your chair with a scowl. 

“Not interested. Please leave.”

Slimeball’s confused expression slides over his face slower than it should, a clue to how inebriated he already is. This was going to be irritating, the drunk ones always making more trouble than you want. Not that any man took rejection well… you could count on one hand the number of men who had taken your “No, thank you,” gracefully and apologized for bothering you before disappearing back to mind their own beeswax. 

“What d’ya mean? I’m just trying to make a little conversation, s’all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Baseball Cap’s three friends start to slide out of the booth. Trouble-stoppers, good guys, you can tell. You’re grateful for their presence, even if you can handle this sort of thing entirely yourself… just in case it gets ugly. They stay standing near their table, watching carefully and taking their cues from you instead of rushing in to white knight the situation—and that’s even better than just being willing to step in. They seem like men who care about and respect women, green flags all around. 

“But you shouldn’t have to drink alone, pretty girl. M’just tryna save you from a boring night.”

You narrow your eyes at Slimeball and lower your chin, scowling at him like you’re an angry bull facing off a threat, and then… oh no, here comes Baseball Cap back from the restroom, stopping abruptly when he sees his friends focused on you, watching intently as Slimeball tries to put his hand on your thigh. If looks could kill, Slimeball would have a hole in the back of his head right now. 

In the corner of your vision Baseball Cap looks pissed off, but you sense it’s not uncontrolled anger. He’s quiet in the way he settles his body, one hand waving his friends back into their seats while the other hangs at his side, making a loose fist and releasing it, over and over. Not immediately springing into action, not itching to start something ugly in the crowded bar, but prepared just in case—the rest of his body still, taut, alert… ready. 

You slap Slimeball’s hand off your knee, then you raise your volume and lower your pitch, making your voice deep and loud, hoping the sound will carry to Baseball Cap and his friends, letting them know you’re okay and can handle it. 

“I said ‘no’ and I meant it. Leave. Now.” 

Fortunately Slimeball takes the hint, his face dropping into a disgruntled pout: he’s just a little boy who thinks the world owes him something, that women are vending machines that he can put kindness or attention or flirting tokens into and get guaranteed sex in return. A little boy whose Mommy didn’t say “no” enough, a boy who never learned that women are human beings, and that every man who is lucky enough to walk the Earth was born of a woman and he better damn well respect his origins.

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.” The waft of his pathetic liquor breath hits you and you turn back to your own drink, making a show of being entirely unbothered. 

“Slut,” spits Slimeball as he moves to dismount the stool and almost slides to the floor. 

Ah, a classic, the final paradoxical rebuke from many a damaged man—you won’t put out for him, so you must be a slut, secretly fucking every other man in the bar and withholding your public favors only from him.

Slimeball turns and lurches toward the back hall, heading for the men’s room, or maybe the exit to the alley where he can vomit and regret his life choices—you don’t care which. You shake your head to yourself and look up in the mirror. 

Baseball Cap is sliding back into the booth, and when he looks at you again, there’s a small smile and a nod, acknowledgement that you’re capable of handling jerks and idiots by yourself. He tunes into the conversation his friends are having, and he looks like he’s lost interest in answering your call from before, no longer riding the wave of brimming courage he had built up just a few minutes ago. 

You sip the last of your drink and ponder your next move. Maybe it was time to be more bold, more direct, except… now Smirky is needling his friend, talking intently to Baseball Cap, but only succeeding in making him more and more defiant, his head shaking so hard it seems like his hat might come right off. Muscles joins the pile-on, while Polo Shirt puts one hand out across the table, entreating Baseball Cap in a gentler way. 

He shakes his head again, and Smirky shoves him, launching Baseball Cap halfway out of the booth, making him stumble a bit until he rights himself and stands up. He moves to sit down again, but Smirky slides across the seat and blocks him, staring up at him stubbornly with a stern, “Go,” that you can lip read in the mirror. 

Baseball Cap sighs and wipes his broad hand down his face, then reaches up and lifts the cap a few inches to sweep his hair back before he squares it on his head and takes a first, hesitant, step toward you. 

You watch in the mirror as he approaches, long legs clad in faded denim, moving slowly but smoothly toward you. Good boy.

Baseball Cap sidles up to you at the bar and you turn to him, smiling so that it reaches your eyes, so that he knows that he’s welcome to approach you, that you’re eager to talk with him. He’s much broader up close, and his eyes are so soft. A sudden image pops into your mind: your legs thrown over those shoulders, his face buried between your legs while you grip his hair, and you feel electricity begin to tingle in your core. 

He clears his throat and swallows, eyebrows knitted slightly, his plush lips parting with a quick flick of his tongue as he takes a deep breath.

Oh, he’s precious, so nervous and hopeful. Eager boy. This is going to be so much fun. 

“Hi, I’m—” his voice goes scratchy and he clears his throat to try again. “I’m Frankie.”

He puts his hand out and you grip it firmly. 

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. I was hoping you would come over and talk to me.”

He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders, but not much. Still unsure of himself, uncertain of what this might be after getting a front-row seat to your swift handling of the other man’s unwelcome advances. His brown eyes go crinkly at the corners when he smiles, and you guess he’s probably forty, give or take a few years. 

Excellent. A man who has some years under his belt, who won’t be afraid to have an adult conversation with you, someone on your level for once. Fully grown, experienced, handsome. A man. 

“So, do you live around here, or-”

You put a hand up and cut him off. You don’t want Frankie to try to charm you, to make small talk because he thinks he has to. You smile as warmly as you can so that he doesn’t think you’re upset.

“Actually, Frankie, I’d like to skip the small talk and tell you that I want to have sex with you. Is it alright with you if we just talk about what I’m interested in doing? See if you’re open to it?”

Frankie’s jaw drops, his beautiful mouth opening an inch or so, and it makes you want to bite his dimpled lower lip, make him speechless again and again, reduce him to a quivering, happy puddle.

You hold his eyes, watching the gears turn quickly as he snaps his mouth shut and blushes furiously, trying to recover from the shock.

“I—um, yeah… I mean yes. Yes, please.” He smiles and ducks his head, then meets your eyes again as he relaxes totally, all nerves gone now. “I’d like that. Thank you for being so direct.”

Your heart sings. What a polite guy, respectful and eager and appreciative.

“You’re welcome. So you’re up for talking a little more?”

He nods, perfect white teeth showing in his soft smile. 

You hope he’ll be receptive to your next command, another little screening tool of yours. Small commands, reasonable things, before you pull the curtain back all the way and tell Frankie exactly what he can expect if he decides he wants to go further.

“In that case, go tell your friends they can take off without you.” 

You tilt your head in their direction, and Frankie grins, all happiness and dimples, now that he knows he doesn’t have to wade through the usual chit-chat and awkward “getting to know you” questions. He doesn’t have to try, he doesn’t have to calculate the odds of striking out, or figure out a way to rebuild his confidence if this falls apart.

You know that simple, direct commands can bring relief, remove the stress of having to make decisions and weigh consequences. It’s a gift to the right man when you flip the gender-norm tables and show your strength and your assertiveness, let him know that happiness and gratification are just on the other side of following directions.

And Frankie seems to be receptive to it.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile, watching in the mirror as Frankie lopes back to the booth, stands with his back to the bar and hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate to his friends that he’s ditching them. The butterflies between your legs flutter harder.

Muscles exclaims “Whoo!” like his favorite team just scored a touchdown, and you chuckle to yourself as you see Smirky pass a folded twenty-dollar bill across the table to Polo Shirt.

Frankie returns to sit in the empty stool next to you. You raise your hand, signaling to the bartender for a refill while Frankie peruses the menu to see what else they have on tap. Within thirty seconds his friends are standing up to leave, and since Frankie has his back to them he can’t see Smirky approaching with a mischievous look on his face. 

You look over Frankie’s shoulder at Smirky and shake your head once, firm, mouthing a stern, “No” at him. And thank god he’s not stupid, he just makes a little moue, a pout of disapointment but pairs it with a nod, understanding that his intrusion would not be welcome.

Smirky follows Muscles and Polo Shirt to the front door, and then they’re gone and you’re finally, blessedly alone with Frankie.

And now the real fun can begin.

Frankie can’t believe his good luck. His head is still spinning from your bold and direct manner, not to mention your sparkling eyes and winning smile. He can’t remember the last time a woman knocked him off-center this fast, and he welcomes it. 

Frankie trails his eyes over the bar menu, wondering why more women don’t just… say what they want. He could have saved so much time, skipped so many bad dates and hookups if he’d met a woman like you decades ago. He settles on a lager, and after he places his order with the bartender, you touch the back of his hand softly, just a graze, and he turns his eyes back to you.

You’re so… intense is what Frankie wants to think, but that word has negative connotations. And you’re definitely not a negative experience, you’re just so specific and present in the moment—direct—and the more Frankie thinks about it, the more he likes it.

“There’s a booth that just opened up in the corner,” you nod your head toward it. “I’m going to go sit down. Please bring the drinks over when they’re ready?”

Frankie nods, eager to please. “You got it.”

You smile, and Frankie feels like he’s just done something good, something that makes you happy. He’s surprised to find that he wants to do it again and again, and as you slide off the bar stool, he reaches his hand out to help you down, get you steady on your feet so that you don’t wobble in your office heels.

“What a gentleman,” you say. You shoot him another warm, soft smile, and Frankie swears his heart is going to explode with pride.

Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Frankie is so fucking thankful that he came over to talk to you. (He’ll never tell Santi it was his shove that finally did it—his ego is already big enough, the asshole.) But Frankie is already counting his lucky stars as he watches you walk away, hips swaying gently, mesmerizing him until he’s startled by the bartender plunking two glasses down in front of him.

Frankie opens a tab (hoping he’ll have much more time with you this evening), and carries the drinks over to you as carefully as he can. He sets them on the table and then pauses, a thought occurring to him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Frankie tries to keep his voice even, steady, but it seems to want to crack and go higher, his heart fluttering in his chest with the hope that he can do more for you.

He doesn’t know why. You’ve already told him what you want—to talk more about having sex with him—so it’s not like he needs to court you or gain favor. But something about you, about your assertiveness, makes Frankie want to please you. You’re clearly a very strong woman, you know what you want (and heaven knows Frankie is still wondering why you want him), and that strong personality of yours is calling to him like a siren song.

You shake your head. “No, but thank you. Sit down.”

That smile again, your sparkling and curious eyes… you’re intoxicating. Frankie tries to hide his disappointment, but he’s hoping that later there will be something else he can do for you, get for you, hell—make for you that will please you again.

“So…” you take a sip of your drink and meet Frankie’s gaze as your eyes sharpen. Not mean, just intelligent and direct. No bullshit.

It’s a breath of fresh fucking air as far as Frankie is concerned, and he feels just as floaty as he did back on that frozen mountain in Colombia, where the air was thin and ice cold. He smiles and waits, his instincts telling him that you’re about to blow his mind, and he won’t interrupt you while you’re in the middle of it.

“I wanted to talk with you more, Frankie, because what I’m looking for is very specific.”

Frankie swallows a sudden lump, worrying that he’s not what you’re looking for. It’s the result of damaged confidence born of too many conversations with girls whose wide eyes suddenly turn to Benny when he walks by. And far too many bored and disinterested women who get Frankie as their consolation prize when Santi hooks up with their best friend, and the happy couple (for the night) shoves their two wingmen together out of pity. Are you about to dismiss him?

But no, that couldn’t be right, because you had asked him to stay, invited him specifically to talk about sex. You’d already chosen him. And that thought cheers Frankie immensely. He thought he had read your signals correctly, he just wasn’t absolutely sure, so he talked himself out of coming over to you about nine different times. But now… now there is nothing to misread. You chose him, invited him, selected him. He’s wanted.

Frankie takes a deep breath, raising his eyebrows and nodding to you, holding your eyes with his own even though yours are almost too pretty to look directly into. But he wants you to know that he’s listening, taking you seriously.

You smile again, mysterious and secretive, and Frankie’s gaze flicks to your mouth as you open it to speak again. Whatever it is that you’re looking for, whatever specific thing you need, he’s determined to give it to you.

He wonders for a moment whether that’s crazy, whether he’s too far gone already for you when you’re still basically a stranger. And then he suddenly realizes he doesn’t even know your name! But Frankie knows, feels it with a conviction that he hasn’t felt in many years that he’ll be what you want, do what you need, twist himself into any shape that you’re seeking.

As long as you keep looking at him with those sharp eyes, that discerning smile. As long as you let Frankie stay in your orbit, he’ll be whatever kind of “specific” you demand.

You cock an eyebrow, “What do you know about dominant and submissive relationships?”

Frankie blushes, ducks his head and takes a sip of his beer, collecting himself. Your direct and plain language is doing things to him, and he wants to answer you just as frankly and matter-of-fact as you deserve.

“Ah, um… I know about them, a little bit about them, but I’ve never been in one. Does that answer your question?” Frankie hopes it does, and he feels a sweep of relief when you nod.

“It does.”

You smile again and Frankie can’t tear himself away from your eyes. He wants to make them sparkle like that every day. He smiles back at you and feels… happy, proud. He did it right, answered you correctly, and he wants to do it again.

You sip your drink, and Frankie watches you flick your tongue across your lower lip to catch an errant drop. He’s mesmerized, could watch you do that over and over again. 

You continue, “And from what you know, would you be interested in that dynamic? In taking part in a sexual relationship with one partner being dominant and the other partner taking a submissive role?”

Frankie feels his ears turn red. He’s never been one to be “mean” in bed, to do anything that might hurt his partner, and now he’s not sure if this is the right answer or not, but what the hell—

“I’ve never really thought about it. Everyone kinda knows about it from that book that came out, but I just— I honestly don’t think it would turn me on to tie a woman up…” Frankie trails off. Was that the right answer? Are you going to be upset?

He’s reassured by your chuckle and the way that you lean closer, grasping the back of his hand with your soft one, giving him a quick squeeze and a pat before you let go to take another sip of your drink.

“Good. Okay, that’s good for me to know.”

Frankie wonders where this is going, because if it turns out that he’s not what you’re looking for… he might just swear off dating altogether, become a monk and go live out the rest of his life somewhere remote, somewhere that would wipe the stain of utter disappointment from his psyche.

“I’m actually not looking for someone to tie me up,” you smile.

And Frankie is relieved again, happy to continue the conversation as long as you’ll keep smiling at him like that. He relaxes his shoulders, trying to drain the tension built up from the rollercoaster of unease and happiness that he’s been riding for the past thirty minutes. He wishes he was cooler, more like Pope, more outgoing like Benny, as self-assured as Will—then maybe he would stop psyching himself out and just be able to go with the flow.

“And I’m not necessarily looking for someone that I can tie up, but I do like being in charge.” You wink at him, and Frankie feels something warm behind his sternum. Interesting.

“Would you be open to that, Frankie? Would you like me to be in charge of you?”

His cock immediately stirs at that, and Frankie swallows hard. Images of you standing over him in a vinyl bustier and stiletto-heeled boots suddenly flash through his brain.

A blindfold. Handcuffs. Spankings.

Frankie feels lightheaded, all of his blood rushing south as he opens his suddenly-dry mouth and closes it again, blinking rapidly to try to come up with something that isn’t just heavy breathing and awkward noises.

He nods, having no clue about where this idea has been all his life. Of course you would be in charge, you’re so perfect for it.

A parade of ex-girlfriends marches through his mind, and now it’s like a spotlight is shining on his memories, showing everything in crystal clear detail. Frankie recognizes that his favorite women, the ones he had fallen madly in love with throughout his life—they were the strong ones, the bossy ones—all the way back to his first crush in elementary school.

A girl named Maria with long, straight black hair in a ponytail had chased him around the playground, taunting him with threats of a kiss. Frankie had been embarrassed when he tripped and fell, the other kids laughing at him, one boy shouting that he had brought the dreaded curse of ‘girl cooties’ upon himself. But when the girl kneeled over him, blocking out the sun, she was backlit perfectly and looked just like Frankie had imagined an angel would. She kissed his cheek with a loud smack, Frankie’s heart did a flip, and he wondered why her strawberry lip gloss suddenly smelled so good.

When she ran off to find another victim, disappointment flooded his chest. Frankie had felt the phantom kiss lingering on his skin for days, wondering if and when he could get her to chase him again. Whether he could earn another kiss, another brush with sweetness.

“Yeah—” Frankie’s voice cracks again, and he swallows hard.  “I—fuck, yes. Sorry for my language, I just… how did you know?”

Your mouth turns up and your eyes flash amusement, but he can tell you’re not laughing at him, you’re just pleased with his answer. And there goes that warm sensation flooding his guts again, his heart beating just a tad more rapidly at the images that are now somersaulting through his brain.

You, fully in charge, dressed for a day at the office. Frankie on his knees in front of you, naked and vulnerable. Your soft hand cradling his jaw. Your firm voice calling him a ‘good boy,’ telling him he’s done well, telling him you’re proud of him.

Frankie bites his lip, huffing out a breath to calm his racing thoughts.

“Well, I’ve been doing this for a while, and I’m not shy about asking for what I want,” you smile.

You shrug. “It’s not like I’m psychic. If you’d said ‘no’ there would be no hard feelings on my part. I’d simply pay for your beer and send you on your way.”

Frankie chuckles and shakes his head, full of wonderment at how perfect you are. How you seemed to read him so well and pull him in, make him want to do things for you, serve you, be whatever you need him to be. It doesn’t feel manipulative—it feels like it’s meant to be. Fated. Predestined. And Frankie wants to follow you wherever you’re about to lead him.

“So,” Frankie grins. “Where do we start?”

You chuckle at Frankie’s eagerness and squeeze his hand before walking him through the basics. Testing. Contraception. The ins and outs of the arrangement you’re looking for. You introduce him to a confidential online sexual preferences quiz, guiding him through how the website will take his answers, compare them to yours, and the list of results will only show things that you both agree on. You’ll build out your domme/sub agreement from that list, and you also make it very clear to Frankie that he’s in charge.

He quirks an eyebrow at that. “Me? I thought… I guess I don’t understand. Can you explain that?”

You smile at him, so proud of this man for speaking up already and telling you what he needs. He’s so good already, and while you came here tonight with the intention of picking up a casual fuck who might be interested in a scolding and a spanking, you’ve pivoted to introducing Frankie to the bigger picture, walking him deeper into the forest, showing him the possibilities of long-term involvement. 

You don’t want to move to the bedroom too quickly, Frankie’s going to need a deeper understanding before you start linking his sexual desire to the dynamics of this kind of relationship. Ground rules first, build that anticipation, then you can start connecting wires in his brain and making sparks.

“I get it, it can be confusing if you’re just learning.” You take a sip of your drink, catching how Frankie’s eyes drop to your mouth, and the throbbing between your legs gets a little louder. “But I’m proud of you for asking. It’s a good sign that you want to learn more before jumping in with both feet.” You wink at him, and his reaction is note-perfect. 

He sits up straighter in the booth, smiling like he just won a prize. You couldn’t have planned this better, and you thank your lucky stars that the Universe saw fit to send this man into your life tonight. 

You lean forward and rest both elbows on the table, crossing your forearms in front of you. “While the dominant partner is ‘in charge’ during a scene, the sub actually holds all of the power in the relationship. You decide when you’re ready, you decide when you’re done, and you ask for what you want. I get your consent for every single thing that we do, and you get to turn your brain off and enjoy it.”

Frankie flushes pink again, and you reach out and take both of his big, work-worn hands in yours. “You’re doing so well for me already, Frankie. I like how you ask for what you need, and that’s a really good quality in a submissive. It’s not just about taking orders; you have to speak up for what you want at every turn.”

He gulps hard, his eyes brightening as he opens his plush mouth. “I don’t—I don’t mean to sound rude, but what do you get out of it?”

“Me? I like taking care of my subs. I like making sure that you feel good, that you get exactly what you need, and I like seeing the effects that a good domme/sub relationship has on the rest of your life.”

“What do you mean?” Frankie knits his brows and tilts his head a fraction, and his great big brown eyes put you in mind of an eager little puppy. The electricity buzzing through your core increases, and you have to stuff it down before you break all your rules and drag him to the nearest hotel. 

Control, you remind yourself. Dommes like you stay in control, both of the scene and of themselves. Breaking rules only confuses a sub, and more than anything, submissives need consistency. You’ll (hopefully) get a chance to make him make those big puppy eyes again soon, as long as you stay in control.

“Well, a good, healthy dynamic between a dominant and their sub builds trust, and when you have trust—something you can rely on—it carries over into the rest of your life. For me, it provides a sense of control that I may not have in other areas of my life, and it makes me feel good to make you feel good. Those good feelings lift me up for days afterwards. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods, encouraging you to go on.

“And for a sub, a rock-solid relationship with a dom can increase your confidence, build good discipline, and give you an outlet for all the other stress in your life. And I think you would agree that self-esteem, good habits and routines, and stress relief are all really important in life. Subs just get theirs from a different place than most people.”

Frankie nods thoughtfully, then licks his lips and ventures a question, his eyes flicking down to the table, nervous. “And what—what if I, um… how do I know if I’m any good at it? What if I do it wrong?”

You squeeze his hands, make sure he’s looking at you while you smile reassuringly. “You can’t screw it up, Frankie. You’re in charge, remember? There’s no secret test, there’s no hidden ‘gotcha’ moment. It’s all about what you want and how much you want to try. There won’t be a pop quiz or a grade on this, trust me.”

Frankie swallows hard and looks skeptical for a moment, then nods again. “I trust you.” 

He smiles and squeezes your hand before leaning back.

After making sure that Frankie has digested all of the important information and that you’ve gotten his number, you tell him firmly to go home, sleep on it, and only fill out the online quiz tomorrow, if and when he’s ready. You shoot him a text so he has your number, and as he’s opening it, his mouth twitches and his eyes dance with amusement. A dimple appears in Frankie’s cheek, and you chuckle. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?” 

Frankie flicks his gaze to yours and you nearly crumple at the sight of his crow’s feet, the adorable crinkles highlighting just how much his smile reaches his eyes. “Just—I mean, I realized I said yes to all of this without even knowing your name. So what do I call you? What name should I put in my contacts?”

“Missy.”

Frankie nods. “I like that. Is that short for anything?”

You grin, “It’s short for ‘Mistress’.”

Frankie blushes, hot and fast, and you see the shiver that runs through him, his broad shoulders quivering as he sits up a little straighter. He smiles softly and types rapidly, then slips his phone into his pocket. 

“And Frankie?” you add. “If you change your mind that’s entirely okay. You haven’t committed to anything tonight, and I really won’t have any hard feelings if you decide that this isn’t for you after all.”

“I’ll text you either way,” he says with a serious nod, and you know he means it. Then he stands up out of the booth, gives you a quick handshake, and heads for the door. You clock the new spring in his step, the way his shoulders are squared and steady, no more nerves or self-doubt weighing him down. 

He’s gorgeous, and you know that even if he does decline, that you’ve at least infused Frankie with some confidence that he can take with him the next time he goes out to a bar. 

But, god, you hope he says yes.

Frankie gulps, then looks around behind him as if he isn’t alone, as if there were anyone standing behind him who could see and judge what he’s doing. 

He shakes his head and huffs a laugh at himself. He’s a grown man on the far side of forty, and he’s hunched over his laptop in his own home trying to hide the half-chub he’s got going in his boxers like a teenager. He presses the flat of his palm down against his cotton-clad arousal, trying to stave off the throbbing long enough to finish this damn quiz. 

But it’s not his fault, everything he reads sends images of you pinballing around in his brain. Every. Single. Question makes him want to stop and rub one out, just to have the mental clarity to continue. But you had said ‘no touching,’ and damn if Frankie was going to fuck up and disobey the very first order that you gave him.

“Okay,” Frankie murmurs, “Question five: Give partner an erotic massage? Yes, fuck yes…” The mere thought of getting his slick, oily hands on you, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palms, being asked—no, being allowed to touch you and bring you pleasure makes him weak. Shit…

He takes a deep breath and swears he can still smell your perfume from the bar invading his senses. The urge to reach his hand down into his boxers and give himself a firm grip is overwhelming now, and he’s still got dozens of questions to go. His lower belly churns with desire, and he’s so horny it almost hurts.

He loves this. Then he hates how much he loves it. It’s sweet, exquisite torture, and Frankie is giddy, nearly nauseated at how excited it makes him.

His eyes had popped open at 5:30 in the morning, the way they always did after so many years of active duty. No alarm except the morning wood that was raging in his underwear, barely able to get it to go down enough to pee. He had woken to thoughts of you, memories of the bar last night, of the way you had taken control of the conversation and opened his eyes to something that he hadn’t even known was possible.

Frankie had done his best to distract himself, doing laundry and dishes, taking a quick jog and doing 200 push-ups and then showering, filling the hours until closer to 8:00, a decent time when he could text you. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ arrow, still unsure of the text he was about to blast into the ether, two words he’d finally crafted after a dozen drafts, each sounding more pathetic than the last.

His heart palpitated as the words flew to your phone, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief when his sparse, direct, “I’m in,” was met with a simple, “Good boy,” and a few short instructions. 

Take the quiz. Answer honestly. Don’t touch yourself.

Frankie’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head at the last one, and he briefly thought about pushing back, but he realized this was his first real opportunity to show you how good he could be, how well he could listen. There was no way he was going to disappoint you if he could help it.

He shot off his reply breathlessly, “Yes ma’am,” and bit his lip as he waited for a response. All he got was a “thumbs up” appended to his text, but he reasoned that any response was good, although he did feel a little foolish. What had he expected? A novel? Gushing praise?

Frankie shook his head, reminding himself to temper his expectations. 

He races through questions eight, nine… twelve… fifteen. All “no.” No, he does not want to tie you up, spank you, or use degrading language with you. He doesn’t want to do any of the dominant actions himself, he knows this. 

But question sixteen arrests him in place, and suddenly he can barely breathe. Have partner use restraints on you? makes his tongue swell in his mouth, and his cock twitches violently as it steals more blood from his brain. He can’t click the “yes” button fast enough. Questions seventeen through twenty-four are all “yes,” because they are the opposite of the previous questions. 

Yes, he wants you to spank him with your hand, yes he wants you to tell him what to do in the bedroom, and YES, he wants you to call him pet names. 

Have partner use a belt/flogger/paddle on you? and, Have partner call you degrading names? both get a “maybe” but they make him salivate all the same.

Frankie grips himself through the black cotton of his boxer-briefs, and he wonders if this is going against the “no touching yourself” rule… but he also can’t proceed with the rest of this questionnaire without doing something to try to tamp down his raging erection. Just a quick squeeze, strangle the fuck out of his goddamn traitorous cock for a few seconds, and maybe he won’t pass out.

Frankie tries to remember the last time he was this turned on, but nothing since puberty has even come close to this. The anticipation, the mental imagery, the sheer desire that you’ve ignited in him is practically cruel, and he thinks about asking if he can see you tonight. And if that’s pathetic… well, then he’ll embrace being pathetic, because he needs to see you again more than he needs his pride.

He steels himself against the throbbing in his groin and finishes the questions.

Your phone chimes with an incoming text, and you nearly throw your knife down on the cutting board in your haste to grab your phone from the dining room table. You expel a few curse words at your foolishness. No need to cause a kitchen accident just because you’re eager to see if it’s Frankie. 

“Down, girl,” you scold yourself, and you grimace at how unlike you this is. 

What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the domme, you’re in control of yourself, and you’re not ever this wound-up over a guy. Frankie is a very handsome, very broad guy, but a guy nonetheless. Guys are playthings, scene partners, subs. Guys are people, too, but at most you get sexual satisfaction from them and give them some, along with spectacular aftercare. There’s no feelings involved. Not since… not since you realized that you prefer being the dominant one, not since Nick—

You refuse to go there. Ancient history, old enough to buy itself a drink at a bar by now. Feelings aren’t part of the deal, not since forever ago, and you refuse to examine why there’s a little flutter in your tummy when you pick up your phone to see that Frankie has checked in, a quick, “Done!” accompanied by his unique code for the online sexual compatibility quiz.

You bite your lip and wonder if you should text back… but you wouldn’t even know what to say, so you give his text a thumbs-up, then watch as three little bubbles appear, then disappear, then appear again. What’s Frankie up to? Is he changing his mind? Your stomach sours at the mere thought of it.

The bubbles disappear again and don’t re-appear, so you sigh and force yourself to finish chopping the vegetables you were working on and shove them in the fridge to cook for dinner later. During cleanup, you realize you’ve had one ear out for the phone this whole time, and you shake your head at yourself. 

This isn’t a high school crush. He texted what he needed to and that’s it. Stop being silly.

You dry your hands on a kitchen towel and grab your phone, settling into the couch with your back against the arm rest and your feet propped up on a pillow. You catch an anticipatory grin spreading across your face at the thought that you’re about to see inside of Frankie’s head. 

You enter his unique user code, and you know that you’ve used this online quiz enough times that you’ll fly through the questions. At the end of your answers, the app will generate a list consisting of everything that you and Frankie matched on and email you both. A single “no” is a veto, and that item won’t appear, but everything that’s a “yes” for both of you, or a “yes” for one and a “maybe” for the other will land in your email inbox in just a few moments.

Your heart thuds as you refresh your email for the third time. Is the website taking longer, or does it just feel like it because you’re giddy with anticipation? Where is that stupid email? 

Just as you clench your teeth and growl, the email appears, and your heart suddenly clogs your throat. You wriggle to sit up straighter on the couch, and you’re almost afraid to open the message. Will he be into what you’re into? Will you only match on three things? What if this is a mistake, and Frankie’s just not ready for this kind of arrangement? 

You breathe, sucking in air as slowly as you can, and then out twice as slow. Your eyes water as you stare at the subject line, and you tap your phone screen before you can talk yourself out of it. 

And there it is… 

He’s perfect. You knew it, had felt it in your bones last night at the bar. You didn’t want to believe it, to place so much trust in something that might fall through, but here it is in front of you. Frankie is your perfect match. You couldn’t have designed a better sub if you tried. He’s into everything that you could want, and now you’re drooling at the possibilities.

You arch an eyebrow at a few of his answers. Frankie’s apparently an adventurous boy, and he’s checked off a few questions that surprise you, things that you wouldn’t have thought he’d be ready to try. But those can come later. 

Right now, you’ve got an aching throb building in your core, and you sigh and plop your phone down on your stomach, wondering if it’s too soon to text Frankie and ask him to meet you somewhere. And just as you’re trying to figure out how to phrase it without sounding too desperate, your phone pings.

You pick it up to see the notification, and a wide grin spreads across your face. It’s from Frankie, and you swipe hurriedly to open the text, your heart fluttering as you read it once, then again, and again. 

I don’t want to sound too eager, trying to stay cool here. But I would really love to see you again. Soon.

You sigh, bite your lip, and try to stop the butterflies that are exploding in your gut. You know this isn’t normal, and you can already tell that these feelings—this crush you have on the tall, broad, eager man—are nothing but a recipe for disaster. But you can’t bring yourself to deny it… 

You’ve got it bad for Frankie, and you’re typing out an equally eager response before you can stop yourself.

Frankie paces, trying to ignore both his erection and the nerves that are shredding his stomach. He refuses to stare at his phone and wait to see if you’ll respond to his desperate, pathetic message… so he just treads a path from the kitchen, to the living room, to his bedroom, and back. Frankie keeps his eyes pinned to the ceiling or the walls. Anywhere but down, to avoid the sight of his fucking ridiculous hard-on.

Don’t be a dumbass, Morales. She’ll text you when she texts you. You just gotta—

His head buzzes when he suddenly remembers the second half of the quiz process—the email showing what you matched him on—and he practically runs back to his laptop, stubbing his toe on the coffee table, landing awkwardly in his rolling chair and nearly tumbling out of it. His fingers shake, fumbling to open his email program, looking to see if the results are there, and oh, shit… there it is, top of the inbox. A detonator that could blow his whole world wide open.

Frankie’s heart races in his throat, and he’s suddenly scared of what he’ll see if he clicks to open the email. 

Does she…? Will she want…? What if…?

He gulps, and his pupils blow wide when he sees that you’ve matched him on nearly everything that he’s been fantasizing about for the past twelve hours since he left you at the bar. Fuck.

He leans back in his computer chair to give his cock some breathing room, and his eyes scan the list as his hand drifts across his stomach to his—no!

“Fuuuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Off-limits, Morales. Don’t fuck this up.”

Frankie shakes his head as if that will clear the tumbling swoops of desire that are still torturing him. He breathes deeply, counting to four on each inhale and exhale, until he feels clear enough to proceed with reading the list. But he knows it’s futile, knows he won’t feel anything close to calm until he sees you again, and he hopes against hope that you’ll agree to meet up with him soon. 

And, shit, was that message too much? What if that turns you off? But what if you say yes?

And just as he’s trying to talk himself out of his worries, Frankie’s phone pings in the other room. *** The hotel bar is dark, buzzing with chatter as Frankie navigates his way between tables and guests. He dodges a few servers and busboys who are tidying up after a jubilant group of what he assumes are work conference attendees, based on their lanyards with plastic badges dangling from the ends.

It’s a few minutes before 5:00, and Frankie is still nervous, but at least his hard-on has gone away. He’d spent the entire day distracting himself with the tiniest of errands, the flimsiest excuses to get out of the house, whatever it took so that he wouldn’t spend his afternoon drooling at the list of quiz results or grinning like an idiot at your response to his pathetic, overeager text. 

How about tonight? 5:00? And a map to the hotel bar linked just below it. 

He’d responded with a cool, collected, “See you then” and then ran to his room to fret over what to wear. Frankie’s wardrobe wasn’t extensive, so at least the torture had been brief, and he’d settled on a new-ish pair of black jeans and the tropical-print shirt that Santi had ragged him about for years. 

“You look like you’re modeling for a men’s cologne sold at a gas station, pendejo.” 

Frankie rolled his eyes at the memories of Pope’s playful insults, then spent the intervening hours cleaning his Jeep inside and out, returning library books, and shopping for groceries before heading home to start getting ready. 

But the nerves had stuck around, and somehow Frankie’s hand slipped while attempting to trim his scruff, resulting in a patch so uneven that he’d had to shave the whole thing off. He’d cursed at himself, but then reasoned that if a clean-shaven face and a too-wild shirt were enough to turn you off after everything so far, maybe he wasn’t the guy for you after all. He’d polished his least beat-up pair of work boots and then hit the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel the whole way, his stomach half eager butterflies and half churning knots. 

But when he catches your eye across the room, everything settles. You wave at Frankie from your perch on a high stool, tucked into a table in the corner, and when you smile his whole world stills. There’s nothing else in Frankie’s mind but you. No more clattering of glassware, no more tipsy strangers talking too loudly, no more bodies blocking his path to you. Frankie feels like he’s floating as he crosses the last few steps to your table, and his heart leaps as you slide off your chair to greet him with a hug.

He folds you into his embrace, and when he catches a whiff of your perfume, something in Frankie melts. He wants to propose marriage right then and there… or at least pledge himself to you like some kind of knight in a fairy tale. You’ve been the focus of nearly all his waking thoughts for almost 24 hours, and even a few of his sleeping ones. 

He’s not sure what’s coming next, but he’s all in, and he can’t even find it in himself to care if this goes bad or he ends up brokenhearted. Whatever you want to give him, Frankie will take with open arms, and he only hopes that he can give you back everything that you deserve.

[wolfish-trickster]

Choso Kamo NSFW alphabet

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

After the very first time he would have no idea what an aftercare even is tbh XD. He would even be surprised how messy and full of fluids a good fucking can be. After several rounds he would get pretty exhausted so all he would want to do is fall asleep with yoj not caring how sticky either of you are (and honestly after what he did to you i feel like you wouldn't care either). But after few nights he realized that cuddling nice and clean after the act is way better. It took him some time but eventually he got there.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

His favourite body part on you would be your neck and chest area. Nice to look at, nice to touch, to kiss, to feel the blood pumping under your skin, to paint bruises on etc.

As for himself he likes his physique a lot. Especially his thighs. And how much you like sitting on them.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

(idek what to write here so here goes) his cum is milky white, thick, and the first time he came (like first time in his entire life) he played with it as if it was a slime. Out of pure curiosity he tried lickjng it to see how it tastes but he quickly spat it out and rinsed his mouth. He much prefers the way you taste, and how your juices look compared to his.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

Before you guys started going out and after he made his research (more on that in the E part) he used to imagine what it would feel like to have you all to himself. It would happen only when he was bored tho. His mind would wander to you, how cute you looked that day, what it would feel like to hold your hand, to hug you, wondering if it's okay to hug you when he sees you next time and he doesn't even know how but all of these cute innocent thoughts always turned into him imagining you and him doing stuff he saw people do in porn. And he's imagining all that with a completely straight poker face.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Exploring the human side of his for the very first time in his life meant he was a virgin when he met you. Once he started having feelings for you he asked around a bit to understand what's going on with him. Yuji had to explain the whole dating thing to him and recomended him some movies. In one of them there was a dirty scene. Again, he understood nothing so he had to go and do a small research (he watched porn XD). After the two of you started going out and after you brought up sleeping together for the first time he had to go back to do his reseach a little more thoroughly, to know what to do to make yoh and him feel great.

F= Favorite position

No matter where it happens it must happen while facing eachother. After trying several positions in the past Choso has always tried to flip you so you could face him before you or him came. He also likes it when he can feel your bare breasts touching his chest while you hug him.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Not very goofy I'm affraid. Sex is deeply intimate for him and he just doesn't feel like cracking jokes during it. It's a moment when he becomes one with you. Granted if something funny happens like for example him going so hard you guys crack bed he will chuckle but otherwise not much of a joker between the sheets.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He trims at most. After watching porn during his research and seeing how bald the actors are down there he bought a razor to try it out on himself, ended up bleedjng on several different places. And even after doing it properly there was just something off about that feeling. So in the end he just decided to trim twice a month or so.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Hands down the biggest romantic in the world. Praises you, caresses you, kisses every damn inch of your skin he can reach. If he feels like it's too much for you or if he sees you making a weird expression he stops and asks you if you're okay and if you want to continue. The most romantic thing he does though is the way he asks to have sex with you: he just takes your hand, kisses the back of it, leans his forhead against your and asks "may i?" (homeboy copied it from one of the movies Yuji gave him but still, heart eyes mutherfucker)

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Not too often. Only when you're not in the mood or if you're far away. Or when he has a dirty dream and wakes up in the middle of the night with a boner in his pants and you blissfully unaware in your dreamland. As much as you told him it's okay to wake you up whenever it happens he just doesn't have the heart and uses his hand instead.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

As funny as it sounds he has made a list (again it was part of his research) for you guys to try and see what each of you likes. So far he really enjoys it when you praise him. He doesn't want to admit it to you yet but he's really into you being covered in liquids. It can be anything: his cum, your cum, chocolate, spit, whipped cream, blood (only counts for period blood, he blames his cursed technique for that one), etc.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Anywhere as long as it's in your house. He's an introvert. Enough said.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

You tracing his veins could be a turn on for him. Just imagine sitting on a couch, watching a movie, holding his hand and mindlessly dragging a finger over his veins up and down. Then you would look down on his croch and see a tent...

Another thing that could turn him on is you sitting on his lap and feeling your body on his dick. Even if you're not moving or doing anything to make it hard, it will still go hard.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Mommy or daddy kink. Something he didn't even include in the kink list. He is a family man alright but with boundaries. Even after explaining it to him he would still say it's basically incest even if it's just pretending. Also age play could be a big no no but you guys haven't gotten to that one yet. Even though i feel like he wouldn't be into that one either. He wants to be with a responsible adult just like he is. Plain and simple.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He doesn't care that much. Some days he likes to give more than receive and would flat out refuse if you offer giving him head and some other days he won't even let you breathe with how fast he slides his cock in and out of your mouth.

As for his head giving style: baking with you gave him enough training. You know these hand machines mixing the ingredients. The ones with detachable thingies. Fuck it, these one:

Yup, licking those clean everytime you guys baked together gave his tongue enough training to drive you mad. So much so that everytime you see him lick one of those clean again makes you wet. He completely Pavloved you XD (science joke sorry)

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

That little tease. He likes to switch between agonizingly slow, savouring the moment, making sure to feel every spongy part inside you, slowly exploring new and new spots to hit to make you see stars. And a moment later he is slaming inside you so hard you won't be able to sit properly the next day. He tends to speed up when he feels like either you or him are about to come. He does it subconsciously though. Once he tried to go slow the entire round and it took so much of his willpower he couldn't go any longer after both of you came.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

When he is extremely, and i repeat, EXTREMELY horny and both of you are very busy or just in a hurry he will pull down your pants/lift up your skirt and quickly do the deed, usually standing up.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He wants to try everything at least once. Of course, there are some things he would never even think of trying (aforementioned mommy and daddy kink or age play) and there are other things he would want to try but is too affraid to hurt you (exploring his blood kink beyond you being on your period with knifeplay or something like that but ultimately decides against it in fear of seriously injuring you)

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

Not being entirely human has its benefits. If he takes 10 minute breaks after each round he can go an entire night, which is rare but it still happens. Otherwise your usually love making session lasts around 1-2 hours. 3 if you beg hard enough ;)

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Doesn't see the point in toys tbh. Didlo? Why using something plastic when he has the organic? Handcuffs? His hands are big enough to hold your wrists in place. Blindfold? Can't see your face. Nipple clasps? He's scared it might be hurting you. Whips? Hell no. Flesh light for him? Why bother, he has you. Vibrator? Eeeh he might agree to that one if you bring it up.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Doesn't tease much. Whenever he tries to tease you it won't last for long because he himself will give in XD.

Like he has been fingering you for quite some time now and really wants to tease you more but his own hard on is achjng too much for him to bare so he throws out his plan out the window and finally sinks deep inside you (to both of yours delight).

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Low grunts or growls is what he usually does. Again, he's an introvert, he doesn't like bringing too much attention. He much more prefers pulling noises out of you.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

Let me tell you a story of Choso's first jack off. When he first met you you were training with other sorcerers and long story short he got a glimpse under your skirt. His dick got hard for the very first time and had no idea what it meant or how to get rid of it. He tried poking it and found out it feels good when you touch the head. Even better when you touch the entire thing. But his palm wasn't big enought to cover it all so he tried going up and down. He kept doing it for a while but didn't feel as good as before. Then he thought back to you when you and all of a sudden it felt amazing again. In fear of that feeling disappearing again he sped up his stroking and came all over his hand plus the place he was hiding at to deal with it.

So tldr you were the reason behind his first cumming.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Big enough to bring you pleasure but not too big to cause you pain. I would say good 20 cm when erect with a slight curve upwards and a pretty visible vain on one side.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Before you his sexdrive was low to nonexistent. After he felt pleasure for the very first time he was all in. Well, to a level. After your first night together he wanted to do it every night, but soon found out that on some nights the events of the day simply exhausted him too much for anything. I would say that after he "got used to" sex and it was no longer a new thing for him his sex drive turned from horny rabbit to a moderate healthy one. Doesn't mean he won't fuck the life out of you on some nights tho...

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Very fast. After he drains his balls he is so exhausted that sometimes he doesn't even want to pull out and wants to stay connected with you while sleeping. But, as i already mentioned, he found out it feels good when both of you are clean afterwards so he will force himself to not fall asleep long enough to clean both you and him and then once his head hits his pillow and pulls you into his arms he's gone.

[sissylittlefeather]

Role Play: Epilogue

A/N: I ended this series before I could write my favorite role play idea. Solution? EPILOGUE. Y'all know I love a good epilogue. Anyway, enjoy this fluffy, smutty, pure-fun romp!

(@ccab this one is for you 😉)

Need to catch up? Here's the Masterlist.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, cussing, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~1.5k

In the spring of 1972, a year after Elvis declared his love for you in the rain, he asks you to move into Graceland. Priscilla moved out earlier that year after she realized you weren't a fling that was going away any time soon. He hated that she took Lisa Marie, but otherwise he didn't mind her moving out. He was ready to take your relationship to the next level anyway. You'd been spending as much time together as possible, so him moving you into his house just made sense.

On your first night there together, he puts you to work in his kitchen again. You're happy to roll your sleeves up and give him directions. This time you make a lasagna and manage to keep your hands off each other long enough to get it into the oven. But when he puts you on the counter, rips your panties off, and drops his face between your thighs, you decide that moving in is the best decision you've ever made.

He pushes his tongue into your slit and you throw your head back and run your fingers in his hair. He licks up either side of your clit and then drags his tongue across it hard.

"Mmm fuck yes, Elvis." You hiss as he continues working his mouth on you. He slides two fingers into you and pumps them in and out as moves his tongue on your clit. He can feel your walls flutter as your orgasm approaches and he pulls back and whispers.

"Let go, baby. Cum for me like you always do." You whimper and he goes back to licking you as your orgasm rushes through your veins like starlight. You tighten your grip on his hair and he moans into you. Finally, you come down from your high and he pulls back, wiping his mouth with his hand. He stands up, shaking his hair from where you had your hands in it. You go for his belt just as the timer for the lasagna goes off.

"Mmmm noooo..." He whines, pulling you in close to him and kissing you deeply.

"Babe, I have to get the lasagna out." You moan as he kisses down your neck, nipping at you gently. He squeezes your hips and then backs up. You hop off the counter and run your hand up his hard dick, tucking it under his belt for him. He groans and kisses the top of your head.

"I'll get mine after dinner. I have a role play idea for us anyway."

"Ooh, I'm intrigued."

"You should be." You grab some oven mitts and pull the lasagna out as he grabs a couple of plates for you.

******

After dinner, you make your way to the TV room, and he runs upstairs for a bit. When he comes back down, he plops onto the couch and pulls your feet into his lap. He rubs them casually as something plays on all three screens.

"That feels good." You lean your head back and he smiles.

"Would you like me to keep going?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here. Come with me." He stands you up and guides you up the stairs to the bedroom that you now share. He takes you in the bathroom where he has set up the bathtub with candles and rose petals.

"Is this what you were doing?"

"It is. Do you like it?"

"I love it!" He undresses you and helps you into the tub. Once you're settled, he disappears and comes back with a glass of champagne.

"Now, you just relax here, honey, and I'll get everything else ready."

"There's more?"

"I told you it's a role play." He winks and walks out of the bathroom.

You lay in the tub with your glass of champagne for about twenty minutes before he comes back wearing a robe. His excitement is palpable and you can tell he's been planning this for a while.

"Ma'am, your massage is ready whenever you are."

"My massage?"

"Yes ma'am. I'll be your masseur this evening." You smile and stand up out of the tub. He turns around nervously, like he's never seen you naked before. "Oh! The towels are over to your left. I'll just... I'll go back in there and wait for you to get ready."

"Elvis!" You laugh and he clears his throat.

"Ma'am, I'm just a humble massage boy. I-I-I'll be in there." Then, he walks out of the room. He's committed, you have to give him that.

When you get into the room, he's got the bed turned down for you to lay on and soft music playing in the background. You notice a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand.

"Just lay down on the bed and I'll get started, ma'am." You unwrap the towel you had around you and lay face down on the bed.

"Okay, I'm ready." He walks up behind you. "But I have a request."

"Yes ma'am?"

"I need you to take that robe off."

"That seems a little unprofessional..." You look at him slyly.

"I promise I'll give you a good tip. Now, robe off." He tries to suppress a smile as he takes the robe off, leaving him as naked as you are. He looks down at you on the bed, your body beautiful in front of him. For a second, he considers abandoning the role play and jumping on top of you, but he doesn't. Instead, he gathers some massage oil and begins to run his hands along your back. You groan at the sensation of his strong hands on you, wondering how long you'll both be able to stand being naked and so close together.

His touch is firm but gentle as he massages your back, moving his hands a little lower with each pass. Eventually, he's just rubbing his hands on your ass sensually and you feel his erection where it rests on your thigh. Your center is absolutely dripping with his proximity and the feeling of his hands on you. You long to feel some part of him inside you. Seemingly reading your mind, he moves his hands lower and begins to massage your thighs, running his hands up the inside of them, teasing your clit with his fingertips as he goes. You whimper a little and spread your legs open. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating amount of time, he runs one hand up your thigh and slides a finger into you. Between the massage oil and your wetness, his finger glides easily in and out. He adds a second finger and you notice he only has one hand on you. You look back over your shoulder and realize he's stroking himself as he fingers you, the massage oil making it easy for him to move his hand back and forth.

"And you said I was asking you to be unprofessional."

"Mmm, sorry, ma'am, you're just such a beautiful woman." He whispers as he continues to pump his cock and finger fuck you.

"You don't need to apologize. Just come over and finish what you've started. And I don't mean the massage." You smirk at him over your shoulder and he pulls his fingers out of you. He climbs onto you and lines the tip of his dick up with your entrance. As he pushes into you, you both groan. He kisses your shoulder and leans his forehead against your back.

"Fuck, honey, that's so good."

He begins to pump in and out of you, fucking you deeply with long strokes. He grabs the back of your hair and pulls so that he can kiss your cheek over your shoulder. Then, he pushes up and grabs the headboard with one hand and your hip with the other, driving into you passionately from behind. You whimper with each thrust, the pleasure almost overwhelming you.

After another few minutes of pounding you in this position, he pulls out and rolls over on his back. You climb on top of him, a knee on either side of his hips, and sink down onto his dick.

"God, I love your pussy." He moans as you begin to roll your hips into him, pushing him deeper and deeper.

"Mmm I love your cock." You moan in reply. Then, he grabs the side of your face and pulls you down to him, kissing you emphatically.

"I love you." He whispers when he pulls back from the kiss.

"I love you, too." He kisses you again and then wraps his other arm around you, slamming into from underneath. His hips meet yours over and over as he thrusts until you both tumble headfirst into waves of pleasure while you pulse and flutter around him and he shudders and pumps a few more times weakly.

When your combined orgasm fades, you roll off of him and lay next to him, sweating and panting. He grabs your fingers and brings them to his lips.

"I'm so glad you're here." He turns his head to look at you. You meet his eyes and smile.

"Me too."

"Welcome home, baby." He turns and wraps himself around you, kissing your cheek. "I'm so glad I met you."

You sniff a little and hold back the tears. How did you get here? You don't know, and frankly you don't care. You belong in his arms and you intend to stay here as long as he'll let you.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @deltafalax

[ooffmlsorry]

Law comforting you when you're teary from PMS

A/N: another self-indulgent one, folks...and not one of the ones I'm supposed to be writing. You could read this as pretty early on in knowing Law, hence why he's referred to as "Captain Law" several times.

T/w: period talk and mention of cramps/blood, reader has a vagina

During your last bloody run-in with the Marines, you handled things perfectly fine. Actually, and you wouldn't say this to anyone but your reflection, you did stellar. Covering the Heart Pirates' backs with your sniper rifle, ordering your flying fire cat Moremi to evacuate as many of the injured as possible, and calling out threats as you saw them. You kept a cool head despite your and Moremi's injuries, the danger, and the constant pumping of adrenaline in your veins. The crew was impressed, as a new addition you had a lot to prove...especially to Captain Law.

And then there was the drop off. After things settled a little, after you were cocooned within the metal safety of the Polar Tang, your body betrayed you.

Waking up in the middle of the night to a familiar ache in your abdomen, you shoved Morimi's warm, purring mass off of you to shuffle to the bathroom, and sure enough, even in the dim light the bathroom could see the dark stain of blood on your underwear.

Of course.

Horrible timing as usual.

You thought you had another week, which would've been enough time catch up on organizing your reports, cataloging your discoveries properly, and helping Captain Law care for the injured, but you didn't...clearly.

You took care of it and stumbled back to bed, so exhausted you could barely keep your eyes open.

You woke up to your energy completely sapped; your brain and body blanketed with an inescapable shroud of fog. Despite your crewmates waking up around you and getting their day started, your body wasn't moving. Or rather, the part of your brain that could list everything you wanted to do today, everything you expected yourself to do today, was a tiny whisper compared to the heaviness of your eyelids and limbs.

"I'm just so tired," you said into Miremo's fur, curling into her further. She was like your own personal heating pad.

It was infuriating. Just days ago you were bandaging wounds cheerfully, despite your grim situation and collecting stories from the islanders. And now...it felt like there was nothing in the world that could make you move.

Much later than everyone else you eventually made your way to kitchen to eat something before your cramps got worse again. Your breakfast, which forced a pitiful laugh out of you, were the quickest snacks you could grab and a glass of milk. The thought of eating in the kitchen crossed your mind and was quickly swallowed by the haze floating around your skull. You didn't realize the thought had occurred until you were already in bed with Moremi again. Was your brain really that far gone?

Now couldn't be a worse time, except maybe during the battle, but still! There was still so much left to do and you were in bed! Doing nothing except eating breakfast! Even your own slow, lazy chewing was getting on your nerves. The sounds of the crew going on with their duties outside the door only made everything worse.

Weak. You're so weak.

Tears started to sting your nose and eyes.

"Great," you sniffles. "So I'm just going to sit here and cry."

Not that you had much against crying, but there was still so much more to do. So much you could be helping your new crew with. So much you could be doing to safeguard all the new tales and knowledge you had gathered.

Moremi twitched as tears sizzled and steamed on her fur. She shifted on top of you to nuzzle your arm with her nose but otherwise didn't move much.

Just then, the door opened, and none other than your captain Trafalgar Law entered. His eyes found you immediately, a scowl formed on his lips.

"Y/N-ya, you're still in bed. Your injuries weren't that severe. Did something happen?"

Exactly. He's right. Get up.

"No," you wipe your tears away. "Just being lazy, I'll get up, captain." Moremi growls a little at being shoved off. You know she's more upset that you're getting up when you shouldn't than at being moved.

Law stops you. "If you're ill please stay in bed. I'll tell the others to keep away from you."

You almost wish that was the case. Your cramps weren't even that bad, you were just exhausted....exhausted like everyone else probably was.

"No, I'm not. I'm just exhausted."

The last thing you expected was for Law to sit down on your bed next to Moremi and grab your face. His hand was gentle but cold and smelled like some kind of medical cleanser. He lifted your chin to observe you, looking for something.

"Open your mouth."

You do so almost without thought.

He continued to examine you. "I don't have lazy crewmembers," he said.

Even with your captain's words, you didn't feel the urge to get up, which only made you despair further.

Tears started to sting your eyes again. With Law squeezing your face a little, they rolled down your cheeks immediately. "I know...I'm sorry, captain."

Law's eyes widened in shock and he let go as if burned. "Y/N-ya." Law sits awkwardly, clearly at a lost for words. "I...I didn't mean to scare you, if that's what it is."

The tears take you over completely. "No, I'm just so tired." You sobbed. "And there's so much to do, but I can't. I can't even think straight. I stand up and my body hurts and I can't fight it anymore. I don't have it in me. I'm just so, so tired. I'm sorry I can't do anything." You sobbed into your hands, covering your face and cried.

A long silence followed, so long you thought Law had left, and then, the weight of his hand on your shoulder pulled your face from your hands.

"You did well in our fight, you need to rest." He spoke matter-of-factly but tenderly. You had never heard him speak so carefully to anyone.

"But you're--"

"We're different people," he said. "If you tried to help now, you'd accomplish nothing. I think we both know that."

Your eyes already felt heavy. At some point you had started to lean as if falling over. You began to doze in front of Law but you saw no judgment in his eyes, just a softness that released the knot of restless guilt in your stomach.

"I told you, I don't have lazy crewmembers. That includes you." Law slowly guided you into laying down and pulled the covers around you with surprising kindness.

"I'll have Ikkaku bring you something real to eat when you wake up. Just rest until you feel better. We can handle ourselves."

You didn't realize Law lingered watching you sleep soundly for a moment before turning the lights off in the cabin with a small smile.

[krispycreamcake]

Interview with a vampire:

A Sakamaki exposé, episode 2

We're going on air in.....3.....2......1!

Gooood morning everyone! And welcome back to Interview With a Vampire, with our host Claudia Bogdan!

So Claudia, our last episode was quite a spectacle- at least according to our viewers. Since then, apparently public outrage has increased by at least 10%. Ranging from social media posts to downright strikes. What do you have to say about that?

Honestly, I wish I knew more vocabulary so I could express what I want to say. I think that it's a good thing that people are finally waking up, and last night actually- I know it's a bit silly, but last night I teared up at the thought of how we're actually doing some good in this world.

That's nothing to be ashamed of! And a little bird told me actually that we're having another guest star on today's episode.

Ha! Well you heard right, today we have someone else that we will be interviewing. Hopefully this time a little more responsive than the last guy.

Well don't keep us shrouded in mystery, who is this ominous stranger?

Why don't we all find out together hm? Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our very own renowned videographer and journalist, Decima Amadeus!

Welcome Decima, it's so nice to see your face again!

Ahaha- please no flattery until I'm sure you can cover the expenses of both our dinners tonight.

So Decima, are you ready for another groundbreaking interview?

I myself wouldn't call it groundbreaking- ahem. But yes, let's get on with it then. Today we have Ayato Sakamaki, the one and only, Prince of the Underworld, here with us today!

Yours truly is sure you must be eternally grateful to have me here on your show at such an early hour, so let's cut the small talk and get straight into it!

Right.... Well then. Let's start off easy. I'm presuming you've watched our most recent episode with your older brother, Reiji Sakamaki?

Huh? Oh that- Yes I've seen it. If you ask me, Reiji's too uptight to be doing interviews. You'll never get anything outta that guy, unlike Ore-sama, I'll actually provide for your viewers.

Ah, I'm sure you will. Now, the reason I brought that up is, would you like to refute any statements he's made? Add on to anything in particular before moving on with things?

Like I said already, there's nothing you'll get from focusing on him. Let's just continue with today's interview, kay?

Right, my apologies. So now that you confirmed for us that you're all receiving a healthy, if not gluttonous, blood supply throughout the years while the rest of us are here fighting a pandemic-

W-Wha!? I never said that! What're ya putting words in my mouth for, huh?

I'm not. Earlier I asked if you'd like to refute any claims made by Mr. Sakamaki from our previous episode, and you said you'd pass on it and instead would prefer to, and I quote, "continue with today's interview."

And the last time I spoke to him, a very interesting topic of classism was brought up and I highlighted the fact that you Sakamakis have a personal blood blank as to which you can access at any time. That to which, your brother did not deny.

First of all, it's not a blood bank! Get your facts straight woman. Secondly, I believe my brother stated that our family matters are none of your concern.

Oh? Well according to my sources, they state otherwise. You have a blood reservoir and refuse to share with the rest of the Bat clan, barely contributing anything to our society, yet we are meant to call you "Princes of the demon realm."

Ha! Talk truly is cheap! What? Do you think we just go out of our way to build a secret blood facility in the human realm and just pump out the blood whenever we feel like it?

Is that not the case?

You and your fans wish! I've dealt with enough women throughout the years to know how you all think. You're trying to get me to slip up and say whether or not we have some fancy stash of blood and where it comes from right?

I never-

Well let me tell you somethin lady, you may have duped my pain in the ass brother, but I'm Ayato Sakamaki, the one, the only, the great, Ore-sama and I refuse to sit here and be manipulated by some three star journalist.

Hm, is it fine with you if I circle back for a moment?

Ah? Sure, do whatever.

You said you're accustomed to dealing with women from your past experiences throughout the years, correct?

Yeah so?

Can you just give us a time span to be exact? I just need to make sure I have the timeline correct.

Haah? Time span? I dunno, I guess maybe from the past couple hundred years or so? I haven't been seeing anyone for a while so it's hard to recall. Why? What's it to you?

Ah- well you see Mr. Sakamaki, from what I've gathered from today is that, not only are you hording some form of a blood supply in the human realm, via containment unit or not, you've also spent the last hundred years leisurely lazing around with women-

Oi! Now wait a-

Please Mr. Sakamaki, I'm far from done. While our society is on the brink of collapse, you're drinking a free, and presumably, infinite amount of blood whilst simultaneously having sex with all these women you claim to have been with.

And on our last episode, when I called out the Sakamakis for sitting on their pampered asses, I was criticized and ridiculed by those of the higher ups.

Well you have it here everyone, the world as we know it is ending and our lovely princes have been engaging in adultery and gluttony.

NO! That's not!-

Til next time dear viewers!

From author: The next one's gonna be so juicy god I love doing these. Anyways, TYSM for all your support! I love you all, byebye!!

[olivyh]

Hihi!! I absolutely love your writing :DD

Can I request an Azul x Gn!Reader in which the Reader asks Azul a bunch of ocean questions and Azul answers them in excruciating detail? Fluff please!! The questions are completely up to you :D

Please take as much time as you need on this!! Make sure to take breaks and drink water :))

Hi!! Thank you so so much <<333 sorry for the delayed response, but this was so much fun to write! I'm not the best at ocean facts, so I hope this will suffice!!! I also hoped going to more lore-based questions was alright with you!

"So... how exactly do you breathe underwater?" Azul paused and looked up from his paperwork, unable to stifle the smile that slowly crept onto his previously pursed lips. It was a quiet day in the Mostro Lounge- Floyd was actually working for once, and there weren't any rowdy customers. He'd only gotten two contract deals, much to his dismay, but he was glad that he had more free time to spend with his lover. The prefect sits in one of the wooden chairs pulled up to his desk, a plate of shrimp chips and seaweed wafers between them and munches happily, their crunching breaking the silence that was otherwise occupied by the scratching of his pen.

Lately, the two had not had much time to spend together- what with their constant running around (Azul swore that he was going to pluck all the feathers from that crow if he overwhelmed them one more time) and his busy schedule. He felt a stab of regret after watching them fall asleep in his office one night, waiting for him to finish his endless mountains of work simply so they could have dinner together. Azul had never felt his heart constrict so painfully that it brought tears to his eyes when he saw that they made him dinner in a small box, the food having gone cold hours prior. He'd sat beside them on the firm leather couch then, slowly tracing over their features with his ungloved hand and biting back the tears that broke free from his sky-blue eyes and fell freely onto the back of his other hand, clenched painfully in his lap.

"We have gills, naturally," He pauses and lifts a finger, dragging it along the large marks that lined the sides of his neck- now made visible from his unbuttoned collar. "They never fully went away in our human forms. As you know we have gills on our ribs as well. We actually have to breathe through our mouths, which then moves through our bodies and into the gill's capillaries-" He pauses, looking over to meet the prefect's eyes. He flushes a bit under their unwavering attention, but he clears his throat and continues despite the pounding in his chest. "From there, the water runs over the gills and the oxygen is picked up by these blood vessels before being expelled from the gills."

"So the water goes out and not in?"

"Correct," He smiles, raising his hand and wiping away some crumbs that made their way onto their cheek. Azul huffs playfully, chuckling under his breath. "Really, such a messy eater~". The prefect sticks out their tongue playfully before moving onto another chip, popping it into their mouth and chewing carefully while staring at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought.

"What if you accidentally breathe something in? Can you choke?"

Azul sighs and sits back in his chair, placing his pen down and crossing his arms. He doesn't miss how they seem to grin at him and his now relaxed posture- meaning that they would be talking like this uninterrupted for a good amount of time.

"We can't choke, my Dear," He takes a breath before pointing to the marks on his neck once more. "The oxygen goes in here and then is pumped into our lungs- unlike humans, our lungs aren't connected to any sort of windpipe and is instead filtered through our blood vessels-" He moves his hand down to his ribs, drawing invisible lines along the sides. "And food can't necessarily get stuck in here either. There are no direct passageways- they're simply slits in our skin to allow for breathing."

"So," They eat another chip, offering him another one. He gladly accepts it, leaning over and allowing them to feed it to him before leaning back in his chair. "Your lungs are free floating?"

"Not exactly. It's more like... there's nothing connecting them to our throats, if that makes sense." They hum in understanding, standing quickly. The mer jumps in his seat from the sudden action, feeling his face flush when they decide to abandon their seat and replace it with his lap.

Azul swears that he saw the heavens themselves beckoning for him when he feels their fingers lightly trace over the lines on the sides of his neck before trailing down to his ribs.

"So here... and here..."

Azul, struggling to catch his breath, nods. They had been dating for quite some time, and he should very well be used to their antics by now, but he could never get over the sudden spurts of physical affection they'd give him. The small and intimate gestures made his heart race and his head spin as he could swear that his legs were turning back into tentacles as the floor seemed to warp beneath his leather shoes. Their hand slowly traces back up to his neck, giving the marks one more affectionate rub before cupping his cheek. Their soft thumb rubs the skin just below his glasses, their nail clicking against the glass for a moment as he sighs happily and leans into their touch, allowing his own hand to run gently up their forearm. He relishes in the way their hand trembles for a moment and the goosebumps that begin to litter the exposed skin of their arm, glad to know that they weren't the only one to have this effect on him.

He cups their hand in his own, pressing his cheek deeper into their warm palm as he slips his eyes closed and sighs happily, turning his head ever so slightly to press a small kiss on the underside of their wrist, allowing his lips to linger there for a moment until he could hear the way their breath hitched and their thumb's movement on his cheek stuttered.

Azul opens his eyes in time to notice their face approaching his, and he beams at the giddiness and excitement that bubbles in his chest as they pepper his face in kisses playfully, spending more time to give extra love to the mole that sat below his lip. He chuckles and does the same to their face, using his free arm to hold them close to his chest as they squirm and giggle at his actions.

The mer parts for a moment, smiling softly as his eyes trace over their flushed face, still painted with a warm smile as their eyes crinkle from the effort, turning them into the most gorgeous half-crescent shapes he swore he'd ever seen. He looked over each and every one of their features, trying in vain to immortalize this moment and live in it forever; to take hold of this comfort and adoration that consumed his spacious office and put it in a bottle for his eyes alone.

"Any other questions for me, my Dear?" They shift in his lap, now fully facing him and resting their head against his shoulder, yawning. "I'm all yours."

"I know you are," He chuckles at their response and presses a kiss to their forehead, running his hand along their hairline until he notices that their shoulders begin to rise and fall evenly as their soft snores fill his ears. Slowly, he releases their waist and reaches behind him to pull his jacket off the back of his chair. With a little difficulty, he manages to wrap it around his still-sleeping lover as he relaxes beneath them. He sighs and takes his glasses off, tossing them haphazardly onto the hardwood of his desk, and rests his head against his lover's own, deciding that he was due for an afternoon nap as well.

[stellanslashgeode]

WiP Wednesday on a Friday

Here's a sneak peek at the start of the Vampire Hunter AU. I'm inspired by @charmwasjess and their own WiP to get this underway.

  Autumn leaves crunched under her feet as Ahsoka reentered the long-abandoned power plant. The sky was turning vivid orange and purple behind her; but the rising sun did little to subvert the gloom of the building interior. The leaves were the only sound, and the dawn’s light and whatever anemic light penetrating the dust and cobweb patina on windows to the exterior provided the only light. 

  Ahsoka sought to swallow the knot of nervous energy in her throat and reached for the glowrod attached to her belt. She shined a vivid bright white LED beam cutting a blade through the gloom, light bouncing off every dust mote.

  She could have called out to her partner, but the plaintive exclamation died in her windpipe, blocked by that knot of grief at her trachea. 

  “Go on in, Ahsoka. That fiend must be asleep by now.”

  She was retracing steps she had taken with Barriss a week previously. Ahsoka looked over her shoulder as if she could see her companion, her fellow Jedi vampire slayer at her side.

  She looked up from her trusty datapad and smiled brightly. Her adorable Cupid’s-bow lips gently curled into a sly smile just for her. Just for her. Like lucious ribbons securing a present for her to unwrap. The screen left dual rectangles of reflected blue light on her glasses. Her stupid sexy glasses. She had her hair tied back in a bun and covered with a kerchief. 

  Otherwise she was dressed like an office secretary. Ahsoka never could grasp how she refused to alter her costume for missions. Ahsoka had her combat gear on, her plate-reinforced vest with the stiff metal collar over her throat. A garlic garland strung across her shoulders like a feather boa. She was holding her stake already, even here at the door in morning sunlight.

  And Barriss in a blouse, pencil skirt, kitten heels, and hose like it was a Tuesday at the office.

  “You’re sure she’s in here.” Ahsoka sought to intone it as a statement rather than a question.

  “According to my data this is the central point where the attacks originate. We are doomed to chase down its victims in villages all over the province unless we slay the monster inhabiting this old plant. Exterminate the queen, and the nest withers and dies.” 

  She pushed up the tortoiseshell frame of her glasses casually with a pinkie finger. Ahsoka was suddenly struck by the urge to grab her wrist and take that delicate digit into her mouth and surround it with her warm wet tongue. But she banished that urge lest her fellow Jedi hunter read her thoughts or emotions.

  She nodded and gave her a half-smile. “Okay.”

  Ahsoka was scared, but having Barriss here both as support and as a loved one to protect bolstered her. This wasn’t their first rodeo. As Jedi Knights they had joined a holy army of the light in opposition to these Sith bloodsucking freaks. Their masters had paired the two together after they showed how effective they were as a team. Perhaps they had also noted the attraction that grew by the day when they were together? Perhaps. Perhaps they sought the knights to overcome the temptations of the emotions and the flesh by serving the light together as a dyad.

  But damn, she wanted to kiss her right now. In this lull before confronting a great evil. Just to reassure each other and to get Ahsoka’s blood pumping rearing for the fight.

  “Let’s go, then. For light and life.”

  She tilted her head and her smile grew. Ahsoka’s heart leapt into her throat.

  Ahsoka sighed. She was returning here a failure and alone now. Barriss was either dead or a creature subverted by evil. And the best option was death. It would be a blessing to find her corpse inside.

  She spent a few days and dreamless nights at the tavern, in the room they rented together, in the one bed they had vacant, drinking herself into a stupor each night and secretly wishing to be awakened by Barriss’s fingernails tapping on the exterior of the third-floor window. Asking to be invited in.

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

thinking about aeon public s*x🫨🫨 they're in a parking lot maybe like in leon's apartment or something his motorbike is parked at the the very deep and dark corner where the cctvs can't see and ada's infront just gripping the handles tightly and leon's at the back just🎺🎺🎺 on her 🫨🫨🫨

HELPSFDJBS FKS (not proof read, i was horny)

leon's consciously alert of cameras. he tries to be aware of them whenever he's staying in any place for an extended period of time.

he's staying in an apartment for a few months, figured it would be a better cover than going to the same hotel for weeks on end and he hates having to go to randomized ones every few nights

the mission is slow, boring, and worst of all - not going anywhere

he's just waiting for some clue to be unveiled, or for him to be pulled out of it already. it's been weeks and at this point he's been following his daily routine of pretending that he's new to the area and has a new job there as well. each day he slips out of his apartment and heads to the parking garage to see his beauty

his new bike that is one of the few things that makes it so the stay has been less shitty

instant noodles and tv dinners aren't bad but at least there's a diner nearby

at some point he noticed the cameras in the parking garage and saw how a fair few of them weren't attached to anything - he was concerned about his bike getting stolen

so he purposely parked his bike near the cameras. at least this way he could get it back or get insurance or something on it if it's stolen

but when he reaches the spot, his face falls at the empty space where his bike used to be.

"you got to be kidding me."

he rushes over and sees how clean the spot is, there's not even any tire marks or anything. not even debris like they smashed it! a high pitched whistle catches his attention and his head whirls towards the noise and begins stalking into the corner of the parkade. he's not happy, he knows that's the corner with no camera.

but he sees his bike, he sighs a bit but then he sees her. she's leaning against it, her arms crossed against her chest and is just otherwise hidden in the dark.

"Ada? What are you doing here?"

"I thought you were looking bored. You wanna get the hell out of here?"

His brows twist, his lips pursed a bit. he does have the time, and he is bored as hell sdjbfskjf. aeon on motorcycle ride! they go ripping around on the highway and then maybe leon suggests the diner for dinner but ada's a little hungry for something else >:)

he gets the hint quickly and takes them back to the apartment. he's about to park in his usual spot but she tells him to go back to the corner - she doesn't wanna wait and there's no cameras there

it's HELLA RISKY. sure.. they could probably stop in time but one kiss leads to another and when ada edges down her (i'm putting her in leather pants lol) and exposes the dark colour of her panties, she just slides it aside and perches herself against his bike.

his belt is loud but he takes his jeans off just enough to give his cock a few pumps before pressing the head against her. he groans loudly, feeling how wet and hot she is and all she does is continue to stare at him with her head resting against her shoulder.

her ass in the air, one of her hands pulls at the zipper of her leather jacket and soon he can see the plump flesh of her breast pressed in the leather

"come on leonn, one of your 'neighbours' might see us"

he only rubs against her a few times, his cock throbbing in his hand before he slams into her. her fingers grip along his bike tightly, gaining purchase there as he gives her a few tentative thrusts before starting a fast pace. they both love the feeling, the stretch, how wet and hot it is, how rushed it is, how they just need to do it before they get caught.

one of his hands leaves her hip and slithers into her jacket so he can fondle at her breasts. she loves how rough he's getting, it's so rare for him to be like this, but it's getting her off faster. it doesn't take long, he keeps hitting that sweet spot and he can barely take it when he feels her CHAHHHHWWWW mm ing

he loses his stamina quickly, feeling her soak him and squeeze him he fills her up fast. his CAUHHHHH flooding her and spilling onto the floor underneath them.

sorry i was horny

bye

[lonesome-witching]

Lonely

This might be my first time writing actual angst. I tried my best but I'm not sure if this is angsty enough. Feedback is welcome.

Do you have any prompts yourself? Or do you want to dive into what I wrote before? You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

“I gotta say I’m a little surprised you’re here,” Steve said as Robin fell down on the couch next to him.

“I’m surprised you’re here.” Robin took a sip of her drink. She hated the taste of beer.

“Driving the kids.”

“Nancy invited me,” Robin admitted.

Steve nodded, as if it made sense Robin did exactly what Nancy asked of her. Probably because Robin did exactly what Nancy asked of her. It was a flaw that had formed over spring break. Perhaps it hadn’t been a flaw back then. Maybe it had even saved her life. But now it was its own form of cruel torture.

Because all she had been forced to do all night was watch Nancy hang off of Jonathan’s arm. She barely looked like the authoritative badass Robin had grown to like and much more like the prissy perfect damsel she had imagined before getting roped up into this. It hurt her heart.

“It feels like Tammy Thompson all over again,” she whined.

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“Yeah, because Nancy isn’t a total dud.”

Robin laughed despite herself. “Tammy wasn’t that bad.”

“Muppet,” was all Steve responded.

Robin noticed Nancy watching her out of the corner of her eye before sliding closer to her boyfriend. Robin could feel something pulling at her heartstrings. It had never hurt this much before. Not with Tammy who couldn’t stop staring at Steve. Not with Vickie when she was making out with her boyfriend. But Nancy giggling because of something Jonathan said struck like a dagger in her soul. Crushing her.

“How about we put on a movie?” Jonathan asked the group.

“Sure, that’s a great idea,” Nancy agreed instantly.

“Star Wars?” Jonathan offered.

Robin couldn’t contain her groan. She didn’t have anything against the movie, but she had been forced to watch it one too many times at the recent movie nights Dustin had forced her to.

“What would you offer?” Nancy asked, looking straight at Robin.

“Nashville.”

“Nashville is a drag,” Steve replied. But Nancy looked at her with this intrigue in her eyes.

“You’re supposed to be on my side here,” Robin complained, pushing Steve further away from her.

Nancy cleared her throat. “Anyone else any offers because otherwise I’m afraid to say I’m inclined to pick Star Wars.”

Something about that hurt just too much. Her heart broke and she couldn’t help but stand up as Nancy pecked Jonathan’s lips and he did a fist pump. It was all a bit too John Hughes for her liking. She wasn’t a big fan of his movies. She hated them even more in real life.

“I need some fresh air. Feel free to start the movie without me.” She didn’t wait for a reply, barely noticed all eyes on her. She just walked away, out the front door and onto the front porch. The air felt nice. Not being near Nancy and Jonathan felt even nicer.

Somewhere deep down she knew it was useless. She’d end up alone for the rest of her life. No girlfriend, no fiancée, no wife. And Nancy would stay with Jonathan, and they’d get married, and Robin would be invited to the wedding, and she would go. And then Nancy and Jonathan would have two little babies and Nancy would try to combine it with her journalism, but she wouldn’t be able to. Maybe life was bleak for both of them.

“Are you alright?” Nancy asked from behind Robin.

“Peachy,” Robin said with a little more snark than she had intended.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nancy took a step back, as if the words were psychically pushing against her shoulders.

“You invited me here as your friend, Nancy. And then you spend the entire night hung up on your boyfriend.”

“What is wrong with that?”

“You are supposed to be my friend. I thought we were friends… as in officially.” Robin pitched up her voice at the end of her sentence trying to mimic Nancy’s voice and failing spectacularly.

“We are friends.”

“Really? Because it seems you only seem to care about your boyfriend.” Robin was spewing her anger at Nancy, and she knew it was completely unfair.

“I hadn’t seen him for months.”

“And of course now that he’s back you can go back to being perfect, prissy Nancy Wheeler. The image of the girl next door. God, I really thought you were full of surprises but the biggest surprise of all was the fact you are fucking fraud.”

“How the hell am I a fraud?” Nancy looked hurt. Robin wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

“You keep telling people that you don’t want to fall into the nuclear family ideal that was set out for you. But here you are, pretending to love a man that barely knows you. And what’s next? Marriage, the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, giving up your job for the babies he pushes on you. You say you don’t want to be like your mother, but you are just like her.”

Robin felt the hand before she realized what had happened. The slap was hard. Nancy’s hand hitting Robin’s cheek flat. It stung harder than she’d like to admit. When she looked back at Nancy, she had placed her hands over her mouth, staring at Robin with wide eyes.

“Shit, Robin. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted you to shut up. I don’t even know why I did that?” Nancy took a step closer, her hand reaching out to touch Robin’s cheek.

Robin stepped back. Tears falling down her face. She wasn’t sure if they were caused by the pain of the slap or the pain of seeing Nancy with a boy. She wasn’t sure it mattered.

“I think you know exactly why you did that, Nancy.” Robin walked off the porch, grabbing her bike and riding away.

A sob tore through her body as she heard Nancy shout after her.

[clowningaroundmars]

Happy bday Miles!!!

it was miles' bday yesterday! i was hard at work pumping this thing out but alas it was already past my bedtime when i finally finished it u_u

this is... very last minute and i'm p sure you can tell but i hope yall enjoy anyhow LOL

for my (belated) gift to the mileses i present: miles and miles g celebrating their birthday together! and g getting a gift better than anything anyone could wrap up for him :) <3

Miles G was nervous. Very nervous.

It was already August third, a date he never really ever paid much attention to before today, but here it was.

The day.

His birthday. His 16th birthday, to be exact. And not just his birthday, but the birthday that other dimensional variants of himself shared as well.

Namely, one Miles Morales from Earth-1610 came to mind, especially now as he held his wrapped package in one hand and shuffled nervously from one foot to another.

The suffocating darkness of Earth-42’s late evening was falling and falling quickly, which would otherwise ignite something in him on a normal day. But, as he fiddled with his dimensional watch strapped to his right wrist, he knew this wasn’t any normal evening out.

After the events of… the utter and total chaos of his inter-dimensional doppelganger crashing into their universe out of nowhere once many months ago, life was never the same for him or his family.

As a result of the inter-dimensional shenanigans that ensued, his mother Rio finally found out about his secret identity and his illicit vigilante dealings on the nights he usually got away with his uncle Aaron, and that was… well.

It was a Time, alright.

Eventually, after boxing both his and his uncle’s ears and giving them a stern lecture, Rio slowly warmed up to the idea of her son going out and doing what he needed to do in order to assist with NYC’s battle against the fascist oppression that the Sinister Six were insisting upon the city. With help, of course.

Rio’s one condition was that Miles G’s new spider-themed friends would come and help and make sure her son was still on the straight and narrow, that he wasn’t going to get too hurt.

She figured that if Miles G wasn’t going to back down from being a hero in his own right, then he might as well have someone by his side helping him achieve his goals… and helping out at the hospital and F.E.A.S.T. as well every now and then, of course!

Now, she was waiting right by the door to the rooftop, holding it open with a hip and looking on at her son approvingly. It was August of course, but that night on Earth-42 happened to be a bit chillier than normal. Her hair frizzed with the humidity that hung thick in the air and she wrapped her hands around her arms as she smiled.

Miles glances up and notices the rolling darkness overhead moving in a bit too quickly. Must be a storm brewing again, then. It sure smelled like it, anyways.

“Good luck, mijo! Tell them I said happy birthday to the other you!” Rio calls, just as something suspiciously thunder-like starts growling on the other end of the city. “Y no te preocupes tanto, Miles! Tu pareces tan nervioso! Relax a little, it’ll be a fun time, right?”

Miles G offers her a crooked smile. It didn’t really feel genuine at all, just a mask he plasters onto his face to hopefully placate his mother, which seems to work. Rio beams at him and then the winds start picking up.

“Okay, goodnight Miles! Te amo!” Her voice is almost drowned out by the sudden chilly gust that blows through and whips her hair in different directions. She gives her son one final wave before turning and letting the door shut behind her.

Miles breathes in the ozone that materializes in the air, trying to ground himself in the sudden temperature drop before a streak of lightning bursts through the clouds and flashes out of the corner of his eye. Feeling his anxiety bubbling through his nerves and into his chest, he hastily starts the search for his “twin’s” dimension.

The idea of going to a party and celebrating his birthday for the first time in years, alongside his doppelganger and his family in a dimension that isn’t his-- but probably should have been-- made his stomach roil a bit.

But thunderstorms? Those were a whole different level of hell no.

The quickly-developing storm gave Miles G just that last bit of courage he needed to take the leap, metaphorically speaking.

The portal he opens once he finds Earth-1610 almost instantaneously blinks into existence right before him. Well, also literally speaking, too, he muses sardonically as well, peering into the bright neon hues of his own custom-made portal.

He didn’t really know whether he liked Hobie Brown from Earth-138 yet, but he sure as hell was never going to get used to the fact that that kid straight up just reverse-engineered technology from the future, on his own. That alone put Hobie high up on the ranks of respect in Miles’ own mind.

Well. No more time to waste. Another burst of electricity streaked through the night sky, illuminating the angry dark rain clouds advancing on the city like jaguars ready to pounce. The anxiety threatened to burst forth from Miles’ chest just like the booming thunder that clapped in the air just then, and he took that as his cue to move.

He hated jumping through these portals, but hated storms even more. With one breath held tightly into his lungs, he stepped forward…

… And landed on some cardboard boxes.

Goddamnit.

Not a bad place to land, though, given his watch was still a prototype Hobie had cooked up last-minute to enable non-superpowered beings to travel through space and time without getting their nuclei scrambled like omelets.

All in all, not the worst position he’s found himself in, either. Not like that one time with those guard dogs… shudder. Anyways.

Miles G slowly stood up, head on a swivel as he immediately takes in his surroundings, hoping no one saw the giant burst of purple and blue lights that his portal emitted. Behind him, the aforementioned portal quickly fizzled out and blinked out of existence.

He seemed to land in an empty, but very smelly alleyway next to some restaurant on Earth-1610, if the wafting smell of greasy food hitting his nostrils was anything to go by. Dozens of styrofoam containers and wet-looking garbage bags sat piled up next to an overflowing dumpster, and a rat or two started to make their break for it once Miles lifted his legs out of the pile he landed in to connect sneaker soles to concrete.

He dusts himself off, groaning something about needing to find that twiggy punk and throttle him for not getting him his own stabilized watch sooner, when the back door of said restaurant suddenly swung open and a mean-looking, heavyset man with a hell of a beer gut started scowling at him.

“Aye! Whaddya doin’ back here, dumpster diving? Punk kid! Get outta here!”

Miles G’s own upper lip curled with full teenage disdain. “I’m not dumpster diving, genius. I’m takin’ a shortcut through here. That alright with you? It ain’t illegal,”

“Takin a shortcut?” The man’s eyes bulge out with rage. “Lyin’ punk! Get on outta here!” He hurls more curse words at Miles and shakes his fist like a cartoon character yelling at someone to get off their lawn.

Miles simply rolls his eyes, stoops over to fetch his gift from the giant pile of discarded cardboard boxes and brushes it off as well. He tosses a sarcastic salute at the man as he makes his way down the alleyway.

“Stay classy, my man,” he grumbles and steps out into the blinding rays of the late August evening on Earth-1610.

It was lucky he was found by this man on this dimension rather than back home, because otherwise his encounter would have been possibly twice as deadly than a grumpy old restaurant cook simply shaking a fist at him.

It was one of the many things about this mirror-dimension that he needed to get used to, at first. The adults back on 42 were twice as aggressive and authoritative as the ones from here, and it was something very relieving to find out once he first stepped into this world.

Here-- even though things didn’t quite sit right in his cells about being in a world so similar to his, but yet slightly skewed-- he could really relax. He could let his shoulders down a bit, loosen his muscles, not hold his head up so high. He could truly live.

So now, even though he was most definitely going to be late to this party at his twin’s house (if his directional instinct was anything close to accurate), he was relatively chill.

Miles G strolled through the city streets of what looked to be Queens, though whether he was in the east side or the northern side was really up in the air. He turned on his heels towards a subway station and made a beeline for the underground oasis in the desert only to find that the subway map on Earth-1610 was completely flipped from the ones in his dimension.

Damnit. Damn it all. Well, then. Looks like he was gonna be even more late to the party.

He sent his dimensional twin a quick update text and began the long and frustrating process of taking pictures of maps, attempting to turnstile-hop as often as he could, and asking New Yorkers for directions.

Asking for directions and train info from New Yorkers here seemed to have the exact same success rate as it did back home; that is to say, little to none. Great. Miles stopped asking New Yorkers for directions after a while.

It killed him that he couldn’t just go as the crow flies with his gear, on account of needing to keep a low profile in order to not land 1610’s Miles in any hot water.

He missed his bungee and parkour gear something fierce after getting turned around yet again, hands picking at the stupid present’s gift wrapping impatiently after hopping onto the correct train this time. You’d think that a kid living and getting by all on his own in the city would make him a better navigator of public transportation, but alas. Even a 16 year old kid living his entire life in the bowels of the concrete jungle gets inbound and outbound trains confused sometimes. Go figure.

It seemed like it took forever and a half to finally find himself setting foot on the familiar streets of the Williamsburg area in Brooklyn, but the brownstones and corner streets eventually started shaping themselves into something much more familiar to him, much to his relief.

Cool. So this was Miles G’s domain, finally.

Even if all of the details were slightly off, even if some stores weren’t quite named correctly enough not to tickle a weird part in his brain as he walked past them, this was home. He knew it, and he felt his own “spidey senses” go off once he made his way closer and closer to his-- and Miles’-- apartment block.

G did a double take as he walked past the usual stream of faceless pedestrians and spotted a familiar puff of dark hair in the crowd. It was Miles!

Miles G may not have had that strange precognitive superpower that all of the other spider-people seemed to have, but it looked as though his body's cells had minds of their own as they gravitated towards his dimensional doppelganger bounding up to him with a joyful gait.

Miles was clad in his usual bright sporty colors, grinning as brightly as the sunset that cast everything in a nice warm hue all around them.

They dapped each other up as a casual greeting, immediately starting up their banter.

“You’re finally here, man, goddamn! Gettin’ old now, getting turned around more nowadays?” Miles ribbed his twin playfully.

“Ha, ha,” Miles G replied sarcastically, “You and me are the same age, remember? Anything you say about me--”

“You say about yourself. I know that one, smartass. I was the one who came up with that first, you can’t quote me back at me!”

“Arrest me, then,” G stuck out his chin defiantly and laughed when he got a strong jab to the side.

They quibbled like this all the way down the streets, two teenage boys just basking in the last golden rays of the sunset before it finally darkened to a nice purple haze on their shared birthday. A beautiful cloudless evening, the complete and total opposite of the raging storms most likely tearing their way through Earth-42's Brooklyn night.

G was enjoying himself so much that he forgot how nervous he was before this moment.

Navigating the streets of New York City alone with not much help from his own cellphone or the people around him distracted him long enough to put his worries off to the side for a while, and now that he’s reaching the steps to his own apartment building, it seems like all those worries are bubbling back up again.

His purple sneakers freeze right on the bottom steps of the Brooklyn brownstone he always called home, watching as his doppelganger reaches for the door handle and only stopping once he notices G fall silent behind him.

They pause together, and Miles tosses an all-too-casual glance over his shoulder up towards the stairs before letting the door shut behind him again.

They sit together on the stairs, side-by-side.

Miles G is taking a couple of deep breaths, using the box breathing method Miles taught him a while ago.

Miles asks him, “you sure you wanna do this, bro?”

“Yes,” Miles G answers, a little too quickly.

Glances are exchanged, a million words shared with just one look. G sighs then.

“Okay… maybe… I mean, I do. I really do, wanna… uh,” Miles G takes another deep breath before sitting back and fiddling with the ribbon on the present once more. “… I wanna celebrate this, like not just for you. For me, because it’s… this is gonna be the first time I ever had a party since… well. Anyways, yeah, so I wanna do this. I do! This is important and I have to do this.”

“But?” Miles adds, a bit hesitant. He’d never want to make his dimensional variant feel like he’s being pushed or pressured, especially when he looks like he’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“But,” G emphasizes the T, “I… fuck, this is gonna sound kinda lame but, ugh. I hate sayin’ it out loud. But…!”

“Jeff, right?” Miles offers him his most comforting expression. G hates it anyhow.

G hangs his head, clasping his hands over the box. “Yeah,” he admits, full of shame. “It’s dumb and I should be over it by now--”

“Bro, stop. Look,” Miles sighs in a way that reminds G of Rio a little too much, making his heart clench. “Your dad passed away, man. That is tough. That's the literal definition of trauma, and there’s nothing anyone can say about that. But you shouldn’t beat yourself up over not having like a linear progression on healing or whatever. You’re never really gonna get over it, like ever. And that’s okay, man. Losing a family member like that’s hard. Real hard.”

Aaron, G thinks to himself then, nodding slowly. Miles is probably the only person who understood the visceral and soul-crushing feeling of watching a beloved family member die at such a young age; and a father figure as well, at that.

Sure, all the other spider-people lost their uncle Bens or Tonys or whatever they said their uncles’ names were. But Miles lost Aaron. Aaron Davis. A man that was held in such high regard by the both of them, a key player in the way they both grew up and formed their own personalities as kids. There was nobody like him, and that was a fact.

It felt simultaneously weird and also comforting to know exactly what Miles was thinking, feeling, because in a lot of small but significant ways, their pain mirrored each other’s. Miles knew. G knew.

There wasn’t anything else left to say.

Well…

“I gotta go up,” Miles G said quietly after a small bout of silence.

Miles shrugged non-committaly. “Only if you’re ready,” he replied.

“No,” G shook his head, his neatly-done braids wiggling alongside the movement. “I have got to man up and stop bein’ so pussy right now. He’s not my dad. He isn’t my dad and I can do this!”

Miles blew out a breath and leaned back on the stairs behind him, legs spread as he crosses his arms. “Dude, look at me. Dad’s not gonna be weird this time, okay? We talked to him and he’s cool about everything and he is not gonna be weird. Everyone understands if you need some time to yourself, like in my room or up on the roof, just in case. This isn’t mandatory, you know. You don't have to push yourself.”

“I know this isn’t mandatory but I don’t wanna ruin your special day, alright? I’ve gone years with no birthdays, I’ll be fine. I’ll live,” Miles G bit out. It was much harsher than he intended it to come out, so he tried to save the conversation. “I uhm… sorry. I mean… it’s no biggie to me if I have to skip out or whatever. If it’s too weird, y’know? If you guys don’t want me here... I just don’t wanna, like, step all over your guys’… lives. The way you all do things. I know it’s different.” G gives a half-hearted shrug, hoping his twin will catch on to what he’s trying to convey.

Miles leans forward then, clapping a hand on G’s shoulder and shaking him a bit. “Man, you worry too much. Just like me,” he laughs, “I can’t believe I’m like this! Goddamn,” he shakes his head.

G groans. “Am I, though? Am I worrying too much? Ain’t this whole situation just… weird?”

Miles waves his hands around as he speaks. “Yeah, but… teen heroes in spandex costumes shooting webs out of their wrists is weird, too. I promise you’re not ruining anyone’s day by existing. My parents love you, dude, you’re fine. Either way, no one’s gonna think bad of you if you wanna stay or go.”

G sighs deeply, steeling himself. “Then I’ll stay. We’ll do… the birthday things. It’ll be fine,”

“If you insist!” Miles shrugs again and moves to stand up.

G snorts derisively and puffs himself up to his twin’s height once they’re both on their feet. “I hate when you do that shit, man!”

“Do what?” Miles holds his palms aloft, grinning crookedly.

“Don’t play dumb, Morales. Just…” G wedges the box he was holding in between the ornate railings of the stairs and pops back up, annoyed. “Look at me. I look fine, right? I’m not dressed down too much?” He holds his arms akimbo.

Miles laughs again, giving his twin a well-meaning once-over.

“Hair good, kicks good?” Miles G presses, sending Miles a look all the while.

“Yes, yeah, dude. You look fine. Everything’s gonna be fine! Stop freakin’ out!”

“You’re pulling your stupid nonchalant cool guy shtick and I hate it. You know that makes me even more nervous, right? It does not help, not even a little,”

Miles cackles as he pulls the door open once more, motioning for G to hand him the wrapped present. “You are unbelievable, man. Completamente insoportable!”

They bicker once again all the way up three flights of stairs, as naturally as if they had done it for years until they reach Miles’ family apartment and push their way through the doorframe.

They don’t even get to set one Jordan into the living room before Earth-1610’s Rio is leaping out from right around the corner and shouting SURPRISE!!! right into their faces.

Behind her, Jeff wears a party hat and blows on a dinky little party horn.

Both Mileses stood frozen staring into the face of their excited mother before Miles opens his mouth to speak.

“Mamí, I already told you this wasn’t a surprise party!”

“No, pero yo quería, como… hacer un algito para el niño, sabes?" Rio answers innocently, cheesy grin plastered on her face as she reaches for a balloon floating nearby and hands it to G.

“Anyways,” Miles gives his twin a sidelong glance and holds his present aloft, picking his way past the balloons on the floor to deposit it next to a pile of boxes and bags. "Sorry about them, they're... y'know. They mean well, but--"

"Of course we do! What's with this attitude all of a sudden?" Jeff complains, taking off his comically small party hat and setting it aside.

“Last night, we had my party with the fam on the rooftop, and today it’s just us here. We’re gonna watch a movie and eat together if you don’t mind,” Miles begins again, by way of explaining the massive pile of gifts in the living room corner. “I figured your first party in a while should be more... lowkey. Just a totally casual and definitely not weird birthday celebration, right guys?” He shoots looks at both of his parents, who both nod.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Totally casual. We cool, we cool,” Jeff assures his son, punching at his shoulder playfully. “When have we ever not been cool? About, y’know… this whole inter-dimensional universe stuff?”

“Dad!” Miles groans.

G smiles a bit, shoving his hands in his pockets and hiking his shoulders up to his ears. “Yeah this sounds cool, actually. Real good, better than…”

“Than what you thought it’d be?” Miles grins, “you really think I’d just throw you into a massive block party with the whole family out of nowhere?”

“No, but,” G kicks off his sneakers as their parents go into the kitchen and start laying pots and bowls out onto the dining room table. “I dunno… I thought it’d be more than just us. But this is nice, yeah. I don’t mind this at all.”

“As I knew you wouldn’t!” Then, a little louder, “what’d I say, dad?”

“I still got some of the crew on speed dial with gifts if you want!” Jeff calls out from the kitchen.

G laughs aloud and shakes his head, finally relaxing for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Together, the four set up dinner on the table to laugh and eat, celebrating two birthdays with two versions of the same Miles. They toast to another happy birthday, tacking on a little “here’s hoping G survives until the next one” for good measure.

Miles elbowed his father for that, but G was more than grateful that he had some more people in his corner, even if they were from different dimensions. Knowing that he had another set of parents praying for his health and his safety in a world that seemed so far away and distant as to be from a completely different galaxy made his heart clench in a way he didn’t know how to articulate yet.

He raised his own glass and prayed for their health and safety as well.

Then they settled into the living room together to watch a goofy horror-comedy movie that Jeff insisted on picking out himself.

“So Miles let me know the other day that he doesn't really actually like horror movies much, which was-- y’know definitely not feeling betrayed or anything ‘cause of that, but.” He shot his son a look.

“Oh my god, this again,” Miles groans, rolling his eyes and smiling exasperatedly.

“Anyways, dunno what your horror tolerance is, is all. Don’t know if you love it or hate it, but my wife hates horror and I love it. I figure this one’s a good middle ground.”

G sat forward, clasping his hands together in front of him. “You hate horror movies?” He asks his twin.

Miles throws his hands up in the air. “Do not tell me you’re gonna say that you’re shocked ‘cause you love it,”

G bobs his head and laughs. “I’m gonna say that I’m shocked ‘cause I absolutely love horror. Huh! That’s… that’s kinda funny we’re different like that,” he hummed in thought.

Miles sighs. “Oh right, of course. My twin who is absolutely better than me at everything ever happens to love the same stuff my dad does. Man, y’know what, I’m wavin’ the white flag. You can have him if you want!”

“Huh?” Jeff looks back and forth between his two sons as they laugh.

"Pero así tampoco!" Rio laughs along with them. “No one is stealing anyone’s father tonight, boys. Come on now,”

“I’m saying!” Miles offers anyways.

“I’m good,” G replies good-naturedly.

“Hold on, you two are not saying what I think you’re saying,” Jeff finally catches up to speed.

The whole room laughs at that, joy and comfort palpable in the air as the family settles down after bantering some more. They pass the bowls of popcorn and watch their movie, commenting on terrible acting and cackling at bad jokes.

G settles down, really relaxing this time, as he sinks deeper into the comfortable couch cushions and basks in the normalcy of this life. He was grateful the family didn’t make him feel like he was a guest, or an intruder into their seemingly perfect lives of familial affection. This was a million times better than awkward happy birthday songs and loud music,. It was much more… intimate. Intimate in ways that G himself hadn’t been allowed to feel since his own father’s passing.

He was grateful that his own dimensional variant understood what it was that he could handle, and what he couldn’t, completely judgement-free. It left a warm feeling deep in his chest he hadn’t ever known he was even capable of feeling. Maybe that was Miles’ real gift to G, the perfect environment for anyone to be able to let their walls down, even just a little.

It made the homemade sketchbook as his gift to his twin seem so silly in comparison, in the end. Oh well.

The night ended wonderfully, with each parent getting G his own gifts on top of the one Miles dumped unceremoniously in his lap towards the end of his visit.

But it was getting late, and the night was getting progressively darker.

The nighttime wasn’t nearly as suffocating and all-encompassing as Earth-42’s nights, especially considering it was a clear and crisp night on 1610, the total opposite of the angry weather back home… but the hour was getting longer nonetheless and G’s tranquil visit to this dimension was drawing to a close.

“I wish you could sleep over this time, y’know. Kind of a bummer that you can’t”, Miles bumped shoulders with G as they sat side-by-side on the couch.

“Mmmn, yeah” G sighed.

“Hold on, what am I missing here? I thought he was going to stay tonight!” Rio pipes up from her end of the couch, brow raised.

G looks up at her. “Uhh, no. I have, uh, I have a thing… in the morning, with uncle Aaron. So,”

Jeff grunts disapprovingly, earning him a glare from Miles.

Miles then turns back to his twin. “It’s fine, we get it. Let’s try to make some more time in the future to hang soon, though, right? This was fun!”

They both smile at each other and then start to get up, gathering discarded wrapping paper from Miles opening his gift from G.

G himself tries tucking his unopened presents into his light sweater, zipping it up and holding the boxes against him with crossed arms.

“If I don’t hold ‘em like this, they’ll go flying everywhere in the portal back home,” he explains to Miles’ parents.

Miles shoves his hands in his pockets and agrees that that's a great idea before suggesting they not open a portal in the middle of the living room where all of his birthday balloons and gifts were still in neat piles.

G finally bids everyone a good night before climbing up the final set of stairs up to the rooftop, with Miles right on his heels.

They dap each other up again and Miles eventually pulls G into a hug.

“Man, what you doin’ that soft shit for?” G ribs Miles playfully, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

“I dunno, you look like you could use some soft shit after tonight. You looked like you didn’t even wanna leave my apartment,”

G rolls his eyes but concedes anyways. “Uh huh, yeah… shit was nice there, for a second… things were real nice.” He trails off, then gathers himself back up again. “Your dad was great back there, by the way. So… looks like your talk with him was good, it was effective.” He sniffed.

Miles purses his lips. “Hmmm, was he, though? He coulda been a little better, honestly.”

G shakes his head, laughing. “You need to stop being so hard on your parents, kid. They’re great. They are.”

“Yeah, I know. Your fam’s great, too, by the way. Let Aaron know that I really love his gift he left me the other day, when you get back,”

G does a double take. “That he-- that he left you? How? He’s got a watch now?”

“I think…? I think he stole yours, honestly, bro. Or… I dunno, knowing him, he might’ve already reverse engineered his own by now,” Miles offers a wincing shrug, chuckling a bit at the shocked expression on his own face standing a little ways away from him.

“Wh--! Goddamn. Well.” G sniffed again and fixed the hoodie of his sweater casually, adjusting the gifts inside. “Well, damn. Thanks for letting me know about that, I guess.”

Miles throws G a salute and steps back, right by the rooftop door and then G's suddenly reminded of his own mother most likely already asleep back home.

He loves 1610, sure, but in that very moment, his heart ached for his own-- definitely not perfect but-- comforting home.

He opens his portal behind him, purple neon rings and hazy blue light emitting from it, an occasional green static flickering in and out, and the smell of wet pavement and rain hits them both almost instantaneously. Potted plants, chairs and crates sat nearby start floating in the air.

Miles whistles low. “It’s raining back where you’re at, man. I’m jealous. You get to fall asleep to rain!”

G only shrugs, not wanting to let his twin know anything about his fear of storms. That was a topic that would have to brought up later. “You have a good night, too, man. You can look up rain sounds on Youtube if you need to,”

Miles huffs out a laugh. “You got jokes! Nice!”

“Always, genius. I always do. Take it easy, man.”

G steps backwards, his last sight of 1610 being his twin standing by the half-open door to the roof, warm hallway light illuminating him from behind, small pinpricks of little sparkles in the deep blue night sky high above them…

And lands right onto his own bed.

G gasps, not possibly believing his own luck this time!

He scrambles around in the dark as quietly as he can, reaching for his lamp by his drafting table and flicking it on. His eyes bounce around the room, taking in every single little familiar detail of his posters, hats lined above the window frame, record player on top of stacked crates in the corner…

It’s home. Thank goodness. No need to traverse the dangerous roads at night past the state-mandated curfew.

Tonight was really shaping up to be an amazing night. What a relief…

Miles G laid back after eventually finishing his night routine and making sure his mother was asleep in her room, hopefully breathing. He had his arms behind his head and a big smile on his face as he thought back to the presents he received from the 1610 Morales family, now stacked neatly on his drafting table to be opened in the morning.

He thought back to the fond gazes he received at the dinner table as they had all chatted over pastelitos and refried beans. He thought back to the warm glow that the city took on during the sunset, how his train rides over to Brooklyn were always much less stress-inducing than the rides on Earth-42 were, no matter how late G was getting to be. He was unbelievably grateful that he got to experience it at all, and that it wasn’t all a fever dream his half-baked brain cooked up on little to no sleep.

No matter what his presents from the Morales family turned out to be, he was already grateful for the best gift that Earth-1610 could ever give him: peace.