#but we're really fucking exhausted so we have to go somewhere

[foxstens]

should go on holiday soon. but Where

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 10 - charming

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was a long, exhausting night after lucas left. you felt numb, empty, lost. but a part of you felt relief. and you felt so guilty for feeling that.

you didn't let the girls come over straight away, you wanted to deal with it yourself and process it, but you knew you needed to go out tonight to stop yourself from moping.

by the time the evening had had arrived, your chest still felt heavy, but the grief had dulled into something quieter. something you felt able to carry.

you allowed yourself to get dressed up, promising the girls you would meet them there as you just needed to take your time.

you stared at the dress hanging on the back of your chair that sarah had given to you back when you first became roommates. "wear this when you want to feel hot. trust me." she had said to you that night.

this was one of those nights.

you put it on, did a quick once over and decided it was good enough for right now.

the kappa tau house was, as always, buzzing and full of energy by the time you got there.

you found kie and cleo, who both did a quick double-take when they saw you, expressions flashing from surprise to concern to that unspoken thank god you’re here kind of relief.

"you made it,” kie said, immediately pulling you into a hug. "how are you?" she asked with sincerity.

you gave a weak smile. "ask me after drink number three."

cleo handed you a red solo cup like she’d already prepared for that answer. "you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to."

"i know," you said, taking a sip. "i just want to be with my girls tonight."

"speaking of..." cleo nodded towards the corner where john b and sarah were making out. "she's been a little preoccupied."

you laughed, "so they're official huh?"

"apparently so. they're fucking whipped." kie sighed.

"she's never in our dorm anymore. always at his." you smiled softly, glad she had someone like him. "i'm happy for her." they nodded in agreement.

for a little while, it was easy. you laughed, danced, and let the negative thoughts stay hidden. but as the night went on, you felt yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break.

"i'm just gonna go get some fresh air for a bit. you guys carry on." you said to the girls.

"are you okay? do you want us to come with you?" kie rushed, always the first one to worry.

"i'm fine! i promise. just getting a bit sweaty."

"ok, but we're here for you, yeah?" cleo spoke with concern.

"i know i know. i'll be back shortly." you stepped away, slipping through the crowd in the living room and making it out to the garden. it was quieter, darker, with the slight flicker of cigarettes being lit and phone screens.

you exhaled deeply, the cool air hitting your skin like a reset button. you leaned against the wall, letting your head fall back, eyes closed, just trying to feel something besides the dull ache in your chest that comes back as soon as you're alone.

"you always sneak off during our parties?"

the voice startled you, pulling you out your trance.

"i didn’t know you were out here," you said quietly.

"didn’t know you were either. guess we both needed a break."

you glanced at rafe for a moment before returning your gaze to the backyard. "you always this good at finding people when they want to be alone?"

"not really. just tends to always be you." he shrugged, "why do you want to be alone?"

"just not really in a people mood right now."

he tilted his head slightly, watching you. "rough night?"

"lucas and i broke up." you responded bluntly.

rafe didn’t say anything at first, just nodded slowly. no told you so. no smug comment. just a shift in his expression. shock and a hint of sympathy.

"you okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

"yeah," you said finally. "i think it wasn't good for a while. he wasn't like, bad or anything. we just grew apart. it felt pretend. and that's exhausting in itself."

he didn’t push you for more. "i get that," voice softer now. "sometimes it’s easier to fake it than admit it's kinda falling apart.”

you looked over at him then, his face barely lit by the glow of the inside, his eyes steady on yours. there was no judgment there. just a weird kind of understanding.

"you always this philosophical at parties?" you let out a small laugh.

he cracked a smile. "only when i run into pretty girls in gardens."

you rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged into the faintest smile, "charming"

"you smiled," he said, "that’s gotta count for something."

"we seem to end up together at parties away from everyone else quite a lot." you said, sitting down against the wall.

"is that a problem?" he sat beside you, close but not too close.

"not really," you said after a beat, voice quieter now. "just… interesting."

he hummed in response, resting his arms on his knees, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read between the lines of your words. "maybe it’s a sign."

you looked over at him, brows raised. "a sign? for what?"

"that you secretly like my company," he said, glancing at you with the smallest smirk, but it didn’t come off cocky. "or maybe you just keep ending up in the same places i go when i’m trying to get away."

"away from what?"

"the pressure of being a frat guy."

you both burst into laughter, you swatted his shoulder, but rafe caught your hand before it could hit him. and he didn't let go. holding it before slowly brushing his hand against yours, just gently. just enough for you to decide.

you hesitated, then turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl lightly into his. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t even flirtatious. it was steady. grounding. quiet.

his thumb grazed your knuckles, barely there. "you’re allowed to feel relief," he said softly, his voice low and warm. "even if it hurts. even if it’s messy."

"you always like this when you’re not pretending to be an asshole?"

he let out a small laugh. "don’t tell anyone. ruins the brand."

you smiled again, this time more real.

"i'm glad i keep bumping into you." you whispered after a while.

"yeah." he replied, just as quietly. "me too."

a/n: i hate this chapter wahhhhhhh anyway how much of this is bet rafe and how much is real rafe mwahahha

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[yandereunsolved]

✗ ❛ Yandere Five Hargreeves (S1) ❜ ✗

Clicking off the last light, you wish the department store a peaceful night. It was your best friend during the weekdays. The boisterous speech of irritated moms and angsty teenagers was replaced with pure silence. No exhausted cashiers or store emergencies due to shoplifters or disgruntled higher-ups.

It was almost daunting. Taking the last shift and closing as the manager made it seem like the world had ended. It was like you got a picture-perfect frame for the all-consuming feeling of being alone. You almost enjoyed it, if it weren't for the reminder that this was real life and tomorrow would be just as noisy as the last.

You take out your extra pair of keys and secure the right one as you walk towards the exit doors.

"Question?" A slightly high-pitched, younger male voice inquires.

You whip your head around to see the outline of a pubescent boy standing near some mannequins.

"Hey, kid. You can't be in here. It's past closing time. Take yourself and whatever other sneaky friends you have and go home." You state dismissively. You really don't want to have to call the cops again because of some moronic teens.

You are frozen for a moment as the kid appears right in front of you. It was like some weird magic trick.

"Damn it. You don't remember me. You haven't met me yet." The kid mutters to himself as he paces around you. "It's me, Five." He urges. "Question, remember. You have to remember me. You have to remember us."

"Hey, we need to get you—"

An unexplainable force pushes you onto the tiled floor. Before you are able to groan, the kid, Five, wraps his arms around you, and suddenly you are halfway across the department store. Not even given a second to process the commotion, you are tugged along by Five. Shots ring out, and you try to pull yourself out of his grasp.

"Wait!" You hiss. "What the hell is happening!?" You snap while crouching beneath the rack.

Five stares back at you incredulously. His expression spells out 'excuse me, dumbass?'

"Shit. We don't have time for this. We're partners, like in the future. Some bad shit happened, and we ended up together. Got that? All caught up? We have to go now."

He yanks you up and tries to do his weird teleporting thing again, but gets hit with some weird bullet. It causes him to seize and fall to his knees. You risk a glance up to see two armed people in masks heading straight towards the both of you. You can't breathe.

"W-What?" You squeak out in panic.

You drop to the ground near him as your breath quickens. The air around you smells so stale, like it's depriving you of oxygen instead of giving it to you. You clutch your chest in a futile attempt to calm yourself. One moment turns into two, and you hear nothing going on around you.

A sneak peek, and the intruders are frozen. You turn your gaze toward the floor and see that Five isn't moving an inch. There are no smells—putrid or refreshing. There seems to be no air, but your chest is still moving. There is nothing but this moment. 

"Completely alone. Frozen in time. I can freeze time!? What the fuck? This is like... I can do this?" You whisper-shout to yourself. Why are you whispering? You can shout as loud as you'd like. "Fuck yeah!"

Another bullet rings out.

Okay, perhaps yelling isn't okay in accordance with freezing time.

The same pair of arms drags you under the check-out counter. You take a moment to catch your breath and smile. Police sirens blare from somewhere outside. You hear the intruders scramble to retreat and escape.

"You haven't gotten any smarter." Five mumbles wistfully as he leans against your shoulder. "I've found you again. Question, my baby. Stay with me a while. Stay."

He finally has you again. Clever darling, thinking you can use your past to hide from him. He'll just have to start all over again. He can do that, and not even time can keep him away from you now.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part V

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You weren’t just taken out—you were put on display. Ben let them look, let them want, but he never let them touch. He made sure you felt it. The weight of their stares, the slow burn of humiliation mixing with something darker, deeper. You are starting to realise how much that drink really cost.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con, orgasm control/denial), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,239

A/N: AHHHH!! I'm not sure I've proofread this properly because my brain feels like it's full of bees. I've had too much caffeine today and after doing so many tattoos at work, I genuinely think the vibration of my machine has done something to my body. Lmao. More of The Boys characters making an appearance, lmk what you thought of that, please. I lowkey (highkey, always highkey) loves writing John. The smarmy piece of shit. We are starting to see what really gets Ben going... and it's a lil bit dangerous, besties. <3 As always, please let me know what ya'll thought, I loved the desperation in this one. I felt it so bad while I was writing it so I hope that's translated across to y'all. You know what's up: if the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Until the next one, bbys. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Butcher barely threw the car into park before he jerked his chin toward the door.

"Go on, then. He said to send you straight up." He waved a hand, settling into his seat like he had no intention of moving. "Keepin' the car warm 'til you're ready."

You blinked. "We're leaving as soon as I'm ready?"

"That’s what I just said, innit?"

Your stomach flipped. Of course, Ben had a plan. Of course, he hadn’t told you what it was.

"Thanks again," you murmured before stepping out. Butcher just let out a gruff exhale, shaking his head like you were something both amusing and mildly exhausting.

The building loomed above you, sleek and modern, towering over the street like it owned the entire city. You swallowed, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before stepping inside, the quiet hum of wealth pressing down on you the second you crossed the threshold. The elevator ride was smooth, too smooth, and before you knew it, you were knocking on his penthouse door.

It swung open a second later, and there he was.

Ben.

Looking like every single one of your worst fucking weaknesses wrapped up in dark dress pants and an off-white button-down.

He was mid-motion, rolling his shoulders, adjusting the cuffs, thick forearms flexing as he straightened the fabric over his arms. The way he stood, the way he filled the doorway, exuding heat and control, had your stomach plummeting and your brain short-circuiting all at once.

You didn’t even try to hide the way you gawped. Couldn’t.

His smirk stretched slow, knowing. "Gonna stand there makin’ heart-eyes all night, or are you comin’ in?"

Heat flooded up your neck. You scowled, stepping inside, and Ben huffed a low, indulgent laugh.

"Got your dress ready," he added, shutting the door behind you, towering close as he reached past you to lock it.

You glanced up. "Oh? We’re going out-out?"

His response was a hand on your throat, fingers curling firm against your pulse as he yanked you in, crashing his mouth over yours.

It was messy, all heat and possession, your back hitting the door as he crowded into you, swallowing the tiny noise you made. He kissed you like he was making a fucking point, like he wanted to leave his taste in your mouth, his fingerprints against your skin. By the time he pulled back, his breath was ragged against your lips, and yours was completely fucking wrecked.

Then he grinned. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

You scowled, breathless, and he laughed, mocking. "Fuckin’ look at you," he murmured, thumb dragging over your jaw. "Gettin’ all shy again. Jesus."

You glared, shoving weakly at his chest, but he only caught your wrist, pressing it flat against the solid heat of him before finally letting go.

"Go shower," he said, still smirking. "Get cleaned up."

You didn’t argue. Just turned on your heel and disappeared into the bathroom, heart still slamming against your ribs.

By the time you emerged, showered, dried, and painted into the deep green dress he’d picked for you, you barely recognised yourself.

The satin draped smooth over your curves, the cowl neckline dipping just enough to tease, the slinky hem skimming high over your thighs. Strappy black heels clicked softly against the floor as you turned in front of the mirror, taking yourself in.

You looked—

Like a fucking fraud. Like someone playing dress-up in a world they didn’t belong to, wrapped in luxury that wasn’t meant for them.

A thick swallow worked down your throat. You curled your hands into fists at your sides, blinking at your own reflection like you could force yourself to believe it.

And then he stepped into the room. You felt it before you saw it—the shift in the air, the weight of his presence sinking deep into your spine. When you turned, he was in the doorway, leaning, watching.

His lips parted slightly, his head tilting, slow and predatory as his gaze dragged over every inch of you.

The heat in his eyes, the slow curl of his lip, the sharp clench of his jaw—

Fuck.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, almost to himself, teeth sinking into his bottom lip like he was already picturing the ways he was gonna ruin you later.

Your breath caught. His stare was unapologetic. Unfiltered. Fucking lethal. Then he pushed off the doorframe, stepping toward you, big hands curling around your waist as he came to stand behind you in the mirror.

"You look good," he murmured, voice low against your ear, grip tightening. "Really fuckin’ good."

A shiver rolled through you. You met his eyes in the reflection, stomach flipping violently. "You think so?"

"Mhm." He hummed, dragging his thumbs over your hipbones before pressing something into your palm.

You blinked. Looked down.

A tiny, ridiculously expensive gift bag.

Your brows furrowed as you peered up at him. "What’s this?"

Ben smirked, reaching into the bag to pull out a velvet case, flipping it open with a casual flick of his wrist. A diamond necklace glittered inside.

Small, delicate, but obviously stupidly fucking expensive.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening as you stared.

"Ben, I—"

"Uh-uh," he cut in, already reaching to take it from the case. "I don’t wanna hear it."

You blinked up at him, lips parting, head shaking slightly. "I can’t—"

He laughed. Actually laughed. Then reached down, gripped your chin, and forced you to look him in the eye.

"You can," he murmured, tone all slow, deep amusement, "and you will."

Your stomach flipped violently. Your pulse slammed.

He stepped behind you again, dragging the delicate chain around your throat, fingers brushing the sides of your neck as he clasped it shut.

When he was done, he met your gaze in the mirror again.

"There," he murmured, hands settling firm on your waist, lips ghosting over your ear. "Now you look like you belong to me."

You couldn't stop staring.

The two of you in the mirror—towering and tiny, dark and delicate, predator and prize.

Ben stood behind you, impossibly broad, impeccably dressed, the stark stretch of white against dark, muscles taut beneath expensive fabric. He filled the frame, wrapped around you, making you look even smaller in comparison. His hands on your waist, large and heavy, branding through the satin of your dress.

You were perfectly put together. Painted, dressed, adorned—

His pretty little doll.

And as if he could hear the exact thought crawling through your head, he hummed, low and knowing, dipping his lips to your ear.

"Look at you." His voice was deep, indulgent, fingers flexing against your ribs. "Look at how well you fit right here."

A shiver rolled through you, sharp and unavoidable, your breathing uneven as he brushed his lips down the side of your throat, slow, teasing. The mirror trapped you in the image, forced you to watch—the way his mouth brushed your skin, the way his teeth grazed, nipped, soothed with heat.

Your pulse stuttered, but you couldn’t look away.

Ben smirked against your jaw. "You like that, huh?" His lips ghosted over your throat, warm, deliberate, possessive. "Like seein' what’s yours?"

Yours. The word shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did.

You swallowed, nails curling into your palms, struggling to catch your breath. Ben didn’t let up. He pressed closer, a slow, consuming thing, his hand splaying flat over your stomach as he let his teeth sink into the side of your neck.

A quiet gasp escaped you. He dragged his tongue over the mark, holding your gaze through the mirror, daring you to break it.

"If we don’t leave now," he murmured, low and dangerous, "we never will." His fingers curled against your hip, slow and threatening. "’Cause I’m gonna rip this pretty fuckin' dress off you."

Your pulse hammered. You nodded. Just once.

His smirk stretched. "Smart girl."

The elevator ride was silent, save for the heavy press of his hand against your back, the occasional flex of his fingers against your waist like he was reminding himself to behave.

By the time you stepped outside, the car was still idling at the curb. Butcher barely looked up as you climbed in, but Ben pulled you in tight the second you hit the seat. One arm curled around your waist, yanking you flush against him, his grip unshakable.

You barely had time to process it before the city started moving past you in a blur of neon and darkness.

Ben was calm, comfortable. One hand on your thigh, the other resting on the door, completely at ease like he was taking you out for a casual drink. Like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes devouring your throat in the mirror.

Your breathing was still uneven, your body too hot, skin too aware of him. He knew it, too. You could feel the way his thumb stroked over your bare thigh, lazy, amused.

You turned your head to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. "Where are we going?"

Ben’s lips quirked. "You’ll see."

You swallowed. Something about the way he said it—something about the anticipation dripping from his voice—made your stomach twist.

You knew the place was exclusive before the car even rolled to a stop.

It loomed ahead of you—dark, sleek, pulsing with bass even from the outside. The kind of place that didn’t have a name on the front, didn’t need one. People at the entrance weren’t waiting. They were being let in, personally.

And as Butcher pulled up, the staff was already waiting.

Ben let out a quiet hum, lips twitching as he nodded toward the door. "Showtime."

The second you stepped out, the world shifted.

The inside was low-lit, throbbing with music, heady with smoke and perfume and expensive liquor. Lush, velvet booths lined the perimeter, sleek gold-lined tables filled with whiskey and cigars, women draped across men like fucking ornaments.

Everything was rich. Everything was power. And the second Ben stepped inside, people noticed. Men, women, staff, patrons—eyes followed. Not just him. You.

Your skin prickled. The barely-there dress suddenly felt like nothing at all, every inch of your exposed skin hypersensitive, aware of the stares, the weight of being seen.

Ben’s grip on your waist tightened.

Your pulse slammed. You swallowed, gaze darting through the dim glow of chandeliers, the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating powerful men surrounded by pretty things.

Ben was one of them.

And you—

Were you one of them too?

Your breath stuttered.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your ribs, warm, grounding. When you looked up at him, he was already watching, already smirking.

Smug. So fucking smug.

His brow ticked up in something almost playful, like he was reading your exact fucking thoughts and confirming them without a word.

Yeah. They’re looking at us.

A slow curl of something hot and unfamiliar twisted deep in your stomach.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a trapped bird trying desperately to escape its confinement within your chest.

The booth Ben led you to was different. Bigger. Elevated. The kind of place that overlooked everything, but just as easily put everything on display.

And as he tugged you forward, your stomach twisted, because this wasn’t just a seat. It was a stage. The men already inside barely reacted to Ben’s arrival. They didn’t have to.

The first was blonde, striking, arrogant as fuck. He lounged back with two stunning girls draped over him, one curled against his side, the other on her knees beside him, stroking a hand over his thigh. He barely looked at them. The second was quieter, confident, composed. He sat with a woman across his lap, her body soft and relaxed against him, eyes half-lidded like she was lost somewhere far away.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them had to.

Ben wasted no time in pleasantries. Instead, he pulled you forward—hard, fast, claiming. Your breath hitched, a startled squeal slipping out as you landed in his lap, gripping the hem of your dress in some desperate attempt at modesty.

Your cheeks burned. The other men watched.

Ben didn’t care. His hand curled firm over your thigh, fingers pressing into the satin, securing you in place.

"John. Earving," Ben said smoothly, nodding once. "This is—"

"It's about time you showed up," the blonde—John—cut in. But his eyes weren’t really on Ben.

They were on you. Flicking, darting, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. Not subtle. Not polite.

Ben just smirked. Pulled you in closer, like he was reminding John exactly who you belonged to. The pressure of his grip made your pulse stutter, breath catching as he let his fingers flex against your skin. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Didn’t know where to put your hands, your legs, your fucking eyes.

John leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose, still watching. Still smirking.

Earving remained silent, only nodding once in your direction—not dismissive, not interested, just acknowledging.

Ben? Ben was comfortable. Completely fucking at ease. "Got caught up," he said casually, voice smug, heavy with knowing.

John’s lips twitched. "Yeah?" His gaze flicked to you, then back to Ben. "Looks like it."

Ben hummed, dragging his palm higher on your thigh, lazy, deliberate.

The conversation flowed from there—smooth, rich with arrogance, an unspoken pissing contest that Ben won without even trying. John had this restless energy, the kind that made him lean in when he spoke, like he was always in the middle of some game, some unspoken chess-match, some performance.

But Ben just fucking was. Effortless. Smirking. Sitting like a king with you draped over him, completely unmoved by John’s little one-upmanship.

Earving only spoke when necessary, his voice low, even, unbothered. He didn’t need to prove anything.

John, however, thrived on it. The back-and-forth between him and Ben was sharp, competitive, smug as hell.

You weren’t really listening. Not properly. Because even though Ben was talking, his hand hadn’t left your thigh. Even though his attention was elsewhere, he was still holding you down, still keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

And the worst part?

You were hyper-aware of it.

Of the way the fabric of your dress rode higher. Of the way his fingers curled, flexed, pressed deep into muscle.

It was too much. Too tight, too possessive, too on display.

John murmured something low, something you didn’t catch, but it made Ben chuckle. He smoothed his palm over your leg, let it linger.

"Not this one," Ben said.

John raised a brow, sending a quick glance toward the dance floor before looking back. "Shame."

You blinked, stomach flipping in something sharp, unfamiliar. John had sent his girls away. Earving had, too. But Ben hadn’t let you go.

John’s smirk deepened. He leaned back, exhaling slow. "You always were possessive, Benny."

Ben just laughed. Not a real one. Not a full one. Just a low, indulgent exhale as he squeezed your thigh, pulling you even closer.

And all you could do was sit there—stuck, displayed, knowing you were being fucking ogled and not sure if you hated it, liked it, or couldn’t even tell the difference anymore.

You barely heard the conversation.

Ben’s grip on your thigh hadn’t loosened, hadn’t eased—not even when the conversation between him and John turned easy, almost entertaining. It was a game between them, an unspoken back-and-forth, a competition Ben didn’t even have to try to win.

But he wasn’t just talking.

His free hand, the one that wasn’t still curled possessively around your thigh, drifted up, slow and absent, fingers ghosting over your shoulder. Tugging. Adjusting. Moving your hair aside until the side of your neck was bare, open, exposed.

And then—

His lips. They brushed, barely there, over the curve of your throat. A slow, deliberate pressure, not really a kiss, not really not.

You inhaled sharply.

Ben exhaled warm against your skin, humming low in acknowledgment to something John said, like this was nothing, like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

Like he wasn’t dragging you under, deeper, deeper.

His mouth brushed again, then pressed firmer, lingering. Then—teeth. A slow graze, a teasing nip, just enough to make your breath falter, to send a sharp twist of heat straight to your stomach.

Like you weren’t even there. Like this was just a habit, a mindless touch, something he didn’t even have to think about.

You swallowed hard, body tight, tense, curling in on itself even as your thighs pressed together.

He wasn’t listening to you. He wasn’t even acknowledging you. But at the same time, he was. A kiss, a nip, the briefest scrape of teeth before he soothed the mark with his tongue. Your fingers curled into your lap. You could barely sit still.

And then John spoke, and you realised he was actually talking to you.

"Lucky girl."

You blinked, awareness snapping back into sharp focus, stomach twisting when you found John watching you.

The way he was watching you.

Ben’s mouth didn’t stop. Another slow, open-mouthed drag against your neck, the faintest scrape of teeth before his tongue flicked soft against the spot he’d just nipped.

You cleared your throat, or tried to, heat pressing up, up, up.

"I—" You swallowed, steadied yourself. "I do consider myself lucky."

John hummed, slow and mocking. His gaze dragged over you in a way that made your skin prickle, crawl, burn.

Overt. Obvious.

Like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, undressing you right there.

Your stomach lurched.

"And what is it you do, sweetheart?" He asked, voice all faux charm.

You hesitated. Ben squeezed your thigh.

"College student," you murmured.

The second the words left your mouth, John’s entire expression shifted. His eyes flicked to Ben, grinning wide, mockingly delighted, as he clapped his hands together in faux celebration.

"Ohhh, Benjamin’s got himself a little college pet!" He cooed, voice dripping with amusement.

Your stomach dropped.

Ben’s mouth stilled against your neck. His fingers flexed tight into your thigh. Then he bit. Sharp, sudden, full teeth sinking in just enough to make you jolt, make you gasp.

John just laughed. "Ah, come on. Don’t give me that look! You’re the one parading her around like this."

Ben lifted his head just slightly, lazily, unbothered. He exhaled slow against your neck, then smirked as he turned to John. "She’s not my pet," he muttered against your skin, lips warm, hands tightening against your thigh.

John just laughed, leaning back into the booth, shaking his head. "Oh, you could’ve fooled me, Ben. You’re about ready to fuck into her right here in front of everyone, aren’t you?"

The breath in your lungs turned sharp.

Ben laughed. Loud. "Yeah," he admitted easily, almost shamelessly, before grinning against your throat.

Your breath caught. Heat roiled deep in your gut.

"But it’s her fault," Ben continued, voice low, indulgent. His fingers curled against your hip, gripping tight. "Such a perfect little doll."

Your pulse faltered.

John hummed, taking another slow sip of his drink, waiting, watching.

Ben pressed his mouth against your neck one last time, lips trailing up to your jaw, barely ghosting against your skin as he spoke.

"I mean, fuckin’ look at her," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he forgot anyone else was in the room.

His grip on you tightened. His voice turned ragged, something low and heated and uncontrollable slipping through the cracks.

"Goddamn it," he exhaled. "Of course I’m ready to fuck into her right now."

Your stomach twisted. Mortified. Objectified. Completely on display. And yet—the way Ben held you, the way he spoke about you like you were something he owned, something he could barely control himself around—

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling deep, unbearable. You hated it. You loved it.

And Ben? Ben knew.

John scoffed, shaking his head, his smirk curling sharp, cruel, his gaze sliding over you like something oily, invasive, lingering too long in places he had no business looking. "You’re really not gonna share?"

The words slithered between you like something sickly, decadent, wrong. A test. A provocation. A taunt that was only half a joke.

Ben’s body went rigid.

He growled.

Low, guttural, animalistic. It rumbled through his chest, vibrated beneath your spine where you sat curled against him, the sound dragging over your skin like a brand, like a warning. Primal. Possessive. Final.

Your breath caught.

John’s eyes lit up, going wide and gleeful, something almost manic in the way he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching Ben like he’d just discovered a new favourite toy. Delighted. Dangerous. Unhinged.

"Jesus, Benny," he laughed, his smirk stretching, voice laced with a sick sort of amusement. Hungry. "Did you just fucking growl at me?"

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip going tight, unyielding, and then his voice dropped, rough and rasped at the edges, a single word.

"Mine."

Your stomach flipped. A slow, dizzying spiral, plunging straight down.

John exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head, laughing, his tongue running along his teeth before he leaned back again, stretching lazily. "Christ, you’re no fun anymore," he tsked, waving a dismissive hand. "Didn’t think you got this territorial."

Your head spun. Your breath hitched.

Ben had always been possessive, yes, but this? This was different. This was dangerous. A claim being laid with teeth and hands and the weight of his body caging you in, forcing you to feel the gravity of it. Of him.

And before you could fully process it, before your lungs could catch up with your racing pulse, his fingers drifted higher.

Your entire body went stiff, your breath choking short in your throat, your hands flying to his wrist, weak and useless, a pitiful attempt to stop him.

Ben barely reacted. Just gripped you harder.

"Be a fuckin’ good girl," he murmured, voice silken, razor-edged, dragging the words through your skin, through your bones, making them settle low, thick, intoxicating.

Your pulse pounded. Your legs clenched. Your vision swam.

Ben hummed low in his throat, pleased, his thumb pressing, dragging, toying.

John watched. All amusement, all smirk, all entertained indulgence.

"That’s the Benjamin I remember," he muttered, shaking his head. "Fucking insatiable."

Heat crawled up your throat, something searing and unbearable pressing against your ribcage, tangling into something hot and needy at the pit of your stomach. Shame and want warring, devouring each other in real time.

"Not gettin’ her cunt out," Ben muttered, his thumb circling slow, lazy, menacing. "Just touchin’ what’s mine."

Your stomach plummeted.

John chuckled, his fingers tapping against his knee, entirely unbothered, entirely too fucking entertained.

Ben’s voice dipped even lower, his grip tightening, his lips ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"Don’t give a fuck who’s watchin’."

Your world tilted. Your body was hot and tight and drowning, sinking, suffocating under the weight of it all.

And Ben was dragging you under.

The pressure built too fast.

Ben’s fingers moved slow, measured, knowing exactly where to press, exactly how much pressure to give, exactly how to unravel you in the palm of his hand. Casual and cruel all at once.

Your breath stuttered, hips shifting involuntarily, the sensation too much, too tight, too overwhelming. It hit you like a storm breaking open over your skin, rolling over you in thick, suffocating waves.

And Ben knew. Of course he knew.

His smirk stretched against the shell of your ear, pleased, smug, like he could feel the way you were starting to tremble, like he could hear every sharp inhale, every hitched breath, every tiny, humiliating little sound your body made for him.

You felt the exact moment he figured it out—the second his thumb pressed just right, just deep enough, and your stomach clenched, your pulse hammering, your body tightening as you neared the edge too fast.

Then he stopped. Completely. Pulled his hand away like he was done, like he was fucking bored.

You nearly whined. Nearly.

A rush of relief and frustration collided in your chest, mortified at how close you’d been, how he’d wound you up and let you dangle, hanging in that unbearable space between ruin and relief.

Your thighs squeezed together instinctively, an attempt to hold onto something, to chase what he’d taken away.

Ben just chuckled under his breath. Like he knew exactly what you were doing. His hand stayed on you, just resting against your thigh now, possessive in a way that said you don’t get to move unless I tell you to.

Then, like nothing had happened, he raised a lazy hand to flag down a passing staff member.

"Whiskey," he muttered, a single flick of his fingers. "Two bottles."

The server nodded, quick and efficient, disappearing back into the dark.

Your chest heaved, the absence of his touch almost worse than its presence, your nerves still alight, still aching.

Ben said nothing at first, just let the silence stretch, let you sit in it, simmer in it.

Then the server was back, placing two deep amber bottles onto the low table beside you. Ben grabbed one, popped the top, and poured you a glass first, an ice cube clinking softly against the crystal.

He held it out, fingers wrapped around the rim, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you. Waiting.

"Drink up," he murmured.

You took it without thinking, lifting the glass to your lips, letting the burn hit your tongue, your throat, trailing heat all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

And fuck—

Your entire body sighed. The tension inside you loosened, just slightly, enough for you to exhale, to let your head drop back against his shoulder in something blissful, unguarded.

Ben let out a low groan. His hand slid up, fingers threading into your hair, his breath fanning hot over your temple as he inhaled, deep and slow.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his voice thick, gritted with something molten. "It’s so fuckin’ hot that you drink whiskey like that."

A slow ripple of something dangerous rolled down your spine.

He smirked, dragging his nose against your hair before reaching for his own glass, knocking back his whiskey in one smooth motion. No hesitation. No reaction. Just heat and control and power.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he poured another for himself, and another for you.

You took it without a word. Let the burn settle deep in your stomach. Let the moment wrap around you like a second skin, thick and golden and suffocating.

John exhaled a laugh, breaking the silence. "You are..." he started, smirking, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, head tilting slightly as he watched you. "Very interesting."

Your pulse skipped.

Ben’s fingers flexed against your hip. Hard.

John grinned, leaning forward slightly, tipping his glass in your direction before knocking it back. "Don’t see Benny like this with his girls."

Ben went still.

Then—

"Shut the fuck up, John."

The words were low, sharp, dangerous.

John just laughed, shaking his head, waving a dismissive hand, but his eyes were still locked on you, still watching. Still pushing.

"Oh, come on," he drawled, smirking. "What, am I not allowed to be a little curious?"

Ben’s fingers dug in harder.

John leaned in, his eyes flashing, something electric dancing beneath his smirk. "She’s different."

Your breath hitched. Ben’s hand tightened at your waist, keeping you anchored, grounded, owned.

John grinned. "You don’t like that I noticed, huh?"

Ben’s jaw flexed, something dark flickering through his expression.

John only laughed again, shaking his head. Still pushing.

"Didn’t peg you for the sentimental type, Benjamin. Thought you kept them at arm’s length. You know, fuck them, leave them, let them float away."

Ben smirked, slow and dangerous. Teeth bared, but not a hint of humour in his eyes.

"Not this one."

Your stomach flipped.

John hummed, tilting his head. "Oh? And what makes her so special?"

Ben didn’t answer right away. Just knocked back his whiskey. Then leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear.

"You feel it, don’t you?" He murmured, voice low, private, meant for you and you alone. "What we are."

Your pulse slammed.

John kept smirking. Waiting. Watching.

And you? You just sat there, head spinning, whiskey burning in your stomach, Ben’s hands branding you into his lap, knowing, without a doubt, that something had shifted.

Something irreversible. And there was no coming back from it now.

Time blurred.

John needled at Ben a little longer, smug and relentless, but eventually, the dynamic shifted. The girls came back, slipping into their places, curling against laps, draping over broad shoulders like living adornments. Earving’s remained quiet, content, while John’s giggled and whispered, feeding his ego as they sank back into his orbit.

Ben kept one bottle of whiskey for the two of you and lazily slid the other across the table to the other men. A wordless gesture. A statement.

He let you drink two more glasses—two more slow burns down your throat, spreading warmth in your stomach, making you soft, languid.

Then, just as you reached for a third, his hand caught yours, steady, firm.

"That’s enough," he muttered, voice low against your ear.

You blinked up at him, lips parting, a protest forming—but he was already shaking his head, smirking.

"I know you can handle your liquor, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist, deliberate, knowing. "But I got plans for you when we get home."

You shivered. Not just at his touch, not just at his voice, but at the way he said it.

Home.

Like his penthouse was yours, too. Your stomach dipped.

Ben felt it. Of course he did. His smirk stretched just slightly before he let your wrist go, returning to his drink like nothing had happened.

And then he started on his earlier torture again. His hand drifted under the table, casual, absent, curling around your thigh, stroking smooth against the satin. A tease. A promise.

And then he pushed higher. Pressed. Moved.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat as he touched you exactly where you needed him, exactly how you needed him. Heat bloomed, sharp and unbearable, and your hips shifted, desperate for more.

Ben felt it. And then, just when you were about to shatter—he stopped. Again.

Your breath stuttered, frustration burning hot in your chest, a humiliating twist of need curling low in your stomach.

Ben just smirked. He kept you like that. On edge, wanting, hovering at the precipice but never letting you fall. Again and again, he built you up—featherlight strokes, pressure in all the right places, letting you drown in the sensation until you were trembling.

And then? Gone. Every time, just before the crest, just before relief, he ripped it away, left you raw, left you aching.

Your head was spinning. Your breath came uneven, your hands gripping his thigh, your entire body coiled so tight you thought you might snap.

Then, finally—finally—he leaned in, lips ghosting against your ear, his voice low, guttural, wicked.

"Gotta get you home," he muttered, gravel and heat, dragging slow against your skin. "Need you fuckin' stuffed. Startin' to hurt over here."

Your stomach plummeted.

You barely registered the moment he called it a night, barely lifted your head to nod your farewell to John, Earving, and their companions before Ben was pulling you up, dragging you out of the booth, guiding you through the club with a hand firm on your waist.

The second the door shut behind you, the second you were outside, his grip tightened.

You barely had time to breathe before he hauled you straight into the backseat of his car, hands groping, gripping, pulling you into his lap like he didn’t give a single fuck about anything else.

"Ben—" you started, shifting, squirming, embarrassed.

"Stop bein' a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered, low and sharp, before shoving his tongue into your mouth.

You gasped, but the sound was swallowed immediately, overtaken by the press of his lips, the dominance of his grip, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your ass, fisting your dress, dragging you forward until there was nothing between you, just friction and heat and the thick, hard line of his cock against your thigh.

Your body reacted before your brain could keep up. A slow, shattering surrender. Butcher cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. Ben barely acknowledged him.

Butcher exhaled a gruff, amused huff. "Get a room, would ya?"

Ben broke the kiss only long enough to glare over your shoulder. "Shut the fuck up and do your job."

Butcher chuckled. "Real fuckin’ romantic, mate."

Ben growled, his grip tightening at your waist. "Keep talkin’, see what fuckin' happens."

Butcher just laughed again, shaking his head as he pulled into the city, weaving through traffic like this was the most normal night in the world.

Your mind was a blur. Ben didn’t stop touching you. Didn’t stop gripping, squeezing, dragging his hands over you like he was barely holding himself back.

And then the car slowed. The building loomed. Before you could register it, Ben had the door open, lifting you with ease, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Ben—!" You gasped, squirming as he clamped a hand on the back of your thigh, keeping you still.

"Shut up," he muttered, completely unbothered, completely in control.

Butcher rolled his eyes, shouting out the window, as he threw the car into park. "I ain’t comin' up there to help if you fuck her unconscious, mate. Just so we’re clear."

Ben smirked, stepping inside the building, heading straight for the elevator. "Don’t worry, pal. I fuckin' got her."

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling thick and unbearable, nerves coiling tight.

Because you knew. You knew. You weren’t walking out of that penthouse in the same condition you came in.

The elevator doors had barely started to slide open before Ben was moving. A force of nature, a storm breaking open, hands and heat and unrelenting hunger. He stumbled out backwards, dragging you with him, his grip unyielding, his mouth already back on your throat, biting, licking, sucking, marking.

And then—

He shoved you into the wall. Hard. The impact sent a shockwave through your bones, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as your spine hit the cold surface, your head tilting back—

And something crashed to the floor beside you.

Art. Priceless. Elegant.

Shattered.

Ben didn’t even fucking notice. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, throat, collarbone, sinking in, taking, devouring. His teeth broke skin, sharp and unrelenting, and you whimpered, body arching into him, head spinning, your nails digging into the fabric at his shoulders, the scent of whiskey, musk, sweat, desire thick between you.

You barely had time to process the pain before he was gripping your hair, yanking your head to the side, tugging at your dress, your panties, his fingers tearing, dragging, ruining everything in his path.

Another impact. Another thud. Another piece of art sent crashing to the ground.

The hallway was just that—a hallway, leading only to his penthouse suite. No neighbours. No audience. Just you and him and the destruction in his wake.

And then the door. Ben barely got it open before he was stumbling inside, dragging you with him, the door slamming shut so hard it rattled in its frame.

You barely caught a glimpse of the dim lighting, the scattered remnants of whatever chaos he’d left behind earlier before he tripped. An empty bottle. A careless misstep. His body tilted, his grip tightened, and suddenly the world flipped.

You landed on top of him, his back hitting the ground with a solid, air-knocking thud, his hands still gripping your waist, his chest rising hard and fast beneath you.

"Ben—" you gasped, immediately bracing your hands on his chest. Worried. "Are you—"

He cut you off with a sharp tug to your hair, yanking you down until your lips crashed over his, swallowing whatever concern you might have had.

"Not a fuckin’ pussy," he muttered against your mouth, before sucking your tongue into his own, biting it, tasting it, claiming it.

You whimpered, hips shifting over him, needing, desperate, gone.

His hands were already moving. A rough yank—seam tearing, fabric giving, your panties ruined in his grip. Another shift—his belt unbuckling, his pants shoved down just enough, all harsh movement, all impatience, all fucking need.

And then—

He rutted up against you, hard, frantic, desperate, panting.

Not inside. Not yet. Just dragging against you, pressing against where you were already soaked, already aching.

You moaned. Loud. Unfiltered. Gone.

He growled, gripping your hips, dragging you against him, fucking up into you with no rhythm, no thought, no control.

Just desperation.

Ben didn’t waste a single second. Didn’t pause, didn’t give you time to adjust—just grabbed your hips, slammed you down onto him, and fucked up into you so hard it made your vision white out.

You were already too far gone, too strung out, too desperate. Hours—hours—of build-up, denial, his hands on you, keeping you teetering on the edge just to shove you back down.

Now? He wasn’t stopping.

His pace was blistering, brutal, relentless. Each thrust punching sharp little noises from your throat, your hands splaying against his chest, your nails digging deep, useless at slowing him down.

"Fuckin’ liked showin' you off," he growled, voice raw, shredded at the edges. Possessive. Mean.

Your breath caught.

Ben’s grip tightened, his fingers branding, his rhythm punishing.

"Made those cocksuckers jealous. Lookin’ at you. Wantin' you."

Your head spun, your stomach twisting at his words, at the way he said them—gritted, wrecked, adoring. You gasped, clenching around him, and Ben felt it.

His teeth flashed, baring, snarling. "Yeah. You like that, huh? Like knowin' they fuckin' wanted you?"

His thumb dragged down, pressed against your clit, started circling, teasing.

You screamed.

Ben groaned, wrecked and hungry and full of need. "Fuckin’ perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, his eyes glued to your face, watching you, devouring you.

Then, his lips curled—sharp, filthy, taunting.

"So fuckin’ good for me. Lettin' me show you off. Lettin' me own you in front of them." His thumb pressed harder, his pace somehow rougher, deeper, faster. "Good fuckin’ girl."

Your nails scraped, raked, dug in. Your body trembled, locking up, curling in on itself.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice thick, sinful, reverent. "That’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at you. Fuck. So good. So wet. So fuckin’ perfect."

It was too much.

The tension snapped. Your orgasm hit fast, overwhelming, shattering, tearing a raw sob from your throat as you came apart around him.

Ben groaned, deep and guttural, his hands dragging you down, holding you there, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured through gritted teeth, his jaw tight, his pupils blown wide, ravenous.

And then—

"Shit—fuck—can’t hold out, sorry, baby—"

A rough yank. A sharp thrust. Ben dragged you down, buried himself deep, and spilled inside you with a growl that rattled the fucking floor.

His body shook, his hands gripping you so tight you knew you’d have bruises. He was panting, wrecked, shaking, staring up at you like you were the only fucking thing that existed. And then his lips curled into a sneer, his voice dropping, wrecked and ruined and filthy.

"Fuck. Made for me. So fuckin’ tight." He exhaled sharp through his nose, eyes still locked onto yours. "Jesus Christ, baby, I think I just saw God."

You barely had time to breathe before he grabbed your jaw, pulled you down, and crashed his lips over yours again.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads <3

[dsireland86]

Anonymous asked:

Can you do a little something about Bad omens, they are playing truth or dare and maybe Noah has to take a body shot off reader that leads to more? If you feel comfortable writing about it ofc! 🤍

So, stupid tumblr app decided to be dumb again and posted this story before it was finished, so I had to pull it and redo it. Also, it strayed from the original concept and plot, because this is what came to mind when I started writing. I'm sorry!!!!! Hope yall like the fixed version. It's a lot better and a little dirty. Sorry... my mind went too far with Noah body shots 🤯

Truth or Dare

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lacy1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @dizzylmwahh @kenjipepsi1 @blackveilomens @chey-h @disappearintothegrey @jilliemiw86 @pathion @fear-its-beauty @an0mallly @potterheadquinn @flowery-mess   @bloody-spades

The music was too loud for Noah. He had a pounding headache and was exhausted from the six week run in the U.K they’d just got back from. Day's after returning home, the band's management team insisted on throwing a welcome home party to celebrate the biggest headliner the band had done to date and a number one single. So, he was playing nice and pretending he was enjoying the party. Noah hated it and he was miserable.

"Can you at least look like you're having a good time," Matt complained walking over to meet him. "He can't help it that he has a resting bitch face, Matt. Go easy on him." Noah scowled at Jolly, who just simply smiled. "I want to go home," Noah whined, falling down onto a nearby couch. "I feel you," Folio agreed, sitting down next to him. "Why did you agree to this, shit, Matt?" Noah pouted. "Hey my hands were tied, dude. I wasn't really given an option here. Believe me, I'd rather be somewhere else," "Yeah, like held up in his house watching Grey's Anatomy," Jolly chuckled, pulling his long hair back into a bun. "Don't be hating on my show," Matt muttered, checking his phone. "Great. I've got to go meet upper management. Fuck this shit," turning around and walking away as the others just stayed back, laughing.

Folio sat his beer down on the table and removed his hat to scratch his head. "Poor Matt. He suffers so much for us." "Yeah! He'd better. We make him a lot of money," Noah stated, crossing his arms.

Nicholas came walking over the couches, munching on a banana. The other three just stared at him.

"What the hell, Ruffilo?"

Nick looked over at Jolly. "What?" he shrugged.

"Where at a high class party with caviar and shit and all you can find to put in your mouth is a banana?" Jolly criticized.

"Yeah.Caviar is gross and nothing else looks good," staring at a group of giggling girls that walked by him. Nick just shook his head.

Noah laid his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose, when another group of girls came over to them, dressed as if they were looking to get some. Jolly's eyes widened and Folio just pulled his hat down a little lower.

"Excuse me, we need some help," one of the girls asked, her words partially slurring.

Noah raised his head, slowly, instantly regretting he did.

"Sure. What do you need," he replied, reluctantly.

The girls looked at one another, whispering in the other's ear and giggling.

"It's our friend's birthday, and we're trying to get her to do body shots by playing Truth or Dare, but she's refusing. So, we thought that if we could find some really hot guys, she'd change her mind."

Noah looked over at Jolly, begging him with his eyes to come help. Jolly just hid his grin and shook his head, no.

"I, uh, I don't think I'm qualified," "Do you have chest hair or anything around your belly button area?" one of the girls asked. "What! That’s random." "Lift your shirt up. Let me see," one of the girls ordered.

"No!" "Noah, stop being a pansy and just show the girl your chest. It won't kill you," Jolly blurted out, earning him a heated scowl from Noah. "Will you leave me alone if I do?" Noah fumed at the girl who was about to cause him to snap. "I don't know yet. Show me and I'll tell you."

Noah sighed heavily, lifting his shirt.

"I can't see. You have to lift it higher."

Noah growled, glaring over at Jolly who was fighting his laughter. 

"You're dead, Karlsson," Noah threatened.

Noah lifted a little higher, hating that he was degrading himself this way.

"You're perfect! Come with me," she ordered, grabbing Noah's hand and yanking him off the couch. She and her friend drug Noah behind them as he tried to fight the grip they had on him.

"Hey you two have let me go, like right now!" Noah demanded.

They led him to another part of the venue and into a room filled with more people and louder music that was about half the size as the one they'd just come from

When his eyes landed on her, Noah almost couldn't breathe. She was so damn pretty and had a smile that could soften even the hardest heart. She was wearing a cowboy hat and a sash that read "Birthday Girl," and the moment she turned and looked at him was the moment his life changed forever.

"We found one," the two girls that drug him over told her.

The girl looked from her friends around the table to Noah, obviously very confused.

"What are you talking about? Found one what?"

She shyly looked over at Noah and smiled.

"A fucking hot guy with tattoos that you can take your first body shot off of the next time you spin a dare."

The girl groaned and threw her hands over her face.

"No! Oh god, please tell me you didn't just go out there and hunt down some random guy to bring over here to play a stupid high school game!"

The two girls were about to protest, but Noah beat them to it.

"No! Actually, I wanted to come. They said it was your birthday, so I thought I'd come over and hang for a little bit."

The girls grew quiet, laughing amongst themselves.

"I'm Noah," he introduced himself, leaning in a lot closer than he meant to. He could smell her skin, the scent of rainwater bamboo engulfing his senses.

"Y/N," she replied. Noah smiled, and all Y/N could think was, "Oh shit."

Noah was hot. His lean frame, covered by a white hoodie, towered over her. She would’ve given anything to touch his body, to dig her nails into his flesh and grip the arms that would hold her down, and run her fingers through his short, anime style haircut. Looking down at his hands, Y/N noticed how big they were and the tattoos that were drawn over his skin. Telling from the ones on his neck, she assumed he had them in many other places too.

"Are you okay?"

Noah's deep voice pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She smiled, nodding her head.

"I'm fine, sorry."

Noah gave a gentle laugh.

"So, Truth or Dare and body shots, huh?"

Y/N groaned. "Shit. Please ignore my stupid friends, okay. I don't know what possessed them,"

"I think your friends are just trying to help you have a good birthday," Noah interrupted, trying to sound positive in hopes of getting what he was secretly yearning for.

Y/N raised an eyebrow

"Someone's being optimistic." "You don't think so?" "No," Y/N shook her head, looking over at the girls who had just taken shots of something. "They always have hidden motives."

Noah reached over and brushed her fingers with the tips of his, hoping to pull that beautiful smile out of her again. This behavior was totally out of character for him. Noah never allowed his feelings for someone he'd just met to affect him the way he was allowing them to right now, and it was only a matter of time before the girl in front of him said or did the wrong or right thing that would make him snap.

Y/N shivered the moment she turned and faced Noah. The heat that spilled from his gaze was enough for her to feel internally, forcing her to clench the muscles of her sex as her arousal soaked her panties.

"Hidden motives are a dangerous game to play," Noah pointed out, unable to look away from the heated look in Y/N's eyes that was causing his dick to harden the longer he continued staring. "It's better to just be truthfully honest and up front, if you don’t, don't you think?"

Y/N swallowed hard, a small smile twitching her lips.

"I do."

The tension between them was thick and sweet, like honey. They way she peered up at Noah through her lashes shot through him like a bullet headed straight for his semi-hard length.

"Hey! Are you playing?"

Noah and Y/N looked over at the table where a group of her friends were crowded, the one yelling at them holding an empty beer bottle. Y/N hesitated before looking at Noah.

"You really don't have to do this. I know this isn't the ideal situation for you, and you have no idea who any of these people are."

"I'll do it." "Really?" Y/N asked, surprised.

"Yeah. It's your birthday, and anything here has to be better than what I was having to suffer through over there,” flicking his head in the direction where he came from. 

Y/N gave Noah a small smile. "Okay, well, if you're sure." "I'm sure," Noah replied, giving Y/N a tight-lipped smile.

This group of friends was nothing like Noah's group of friends. He gave up drinking and the party life years ago, trading it in for video games, movies and anime nights with his friends. This wasn't his scene, and he was starting to believe it wasn't hers either. They watched the bottle spin over and over, going through four people before it was finally Y/N's turn. Praying hard for a miracle that it wouldn't land on a dare, she was severely disappointed when it did. But with only one look at Noah, her perspective changed quickly. Noah wasn't surprised when her friends dared her to take body shots off of him. It was the reason for the grin on his face. The first one that happened was awkward for him to do with everyone watching, but he kept his eyes on Y/N, doing his best to block everyone else out. Standing in front of her, wondering if their night together was really over that quickly, Noah acted on impulse and closed the slight gap between the two of them. Lifting Y/N's chin, his eyes darted between hers and he saw the very thing he was looking for flash across them.

"I can't believe you're letting me do this again," Y/N grinned, watching Noah remove his hoodie this time. "It's your birthday, Pretty Girl. Birthday girls always get what they want,” Noah stated, lying back on the two tables that had been pulled together.

With a bottle of tequila in one hand and a dish of limes in the other, Y/N sat them down on the table next to the salt. Noah kept his eyes locked on her, watching every expression her face made. Taking a risk, he reached over, underneath her mini skirt, and slid his hand between her things hearing the small, slight gasp that quickly turned into a whimper. Noah raised an eyebrow, clenching his jaw as his huge hand grasped the inside of her thigh tighter before moving a little further up. Y/N didn't stop him, but instead, moved closer to keep their moment more discreet.

"Your thighs are so fucking soft and warm," Noah praised. His big soft hand with their long fingers slowly ran up and down her skin, making her shiver. “I wonder what would happen if I did this,” brushing fingertips over her throbbing hearted sex.

The slight buck of her hips gave Noah the response he wanted. His infectious smile returned to his lips, making Y/N hungry to taste them.

"You're playing dangerously, Noah," Y/N warned.

"I asked you if you wanted to," he replied, lifting his shirt high enough for her to take her first shot. “So, are you?”

Y/N opened the tequila and slowly poured it into Noah's belly button, being as careful as she could be. Noah's stomach muscles flinched causing his skin to prickle and she wondered if it would have the same response if she were to go down on him right then. She wanted to find out, especially when she noticed how hard he was. It took a lot of restraint to not touch him

"See something you like?"

"I see a lot that I like," she grinned, taking a lime slice from the bowl and bringing it to Noah's lips.

His hand remained between her thighs, as he continued caressing her skin, slowly, giving Y/N a pleasured feeling that set her nerves on fire. She parted her legs a little more, giving Noah more access to her sweet spot.

"Open," she ordered and Noah obeyed, biting down gently on the green rind. Pushing his head to the side, Y/N poured the salt onto his painted skin and ran her tongue over it, over the faded green leaves that rested just below his jaw. It pulled a deep throated growl from Noah and clenched the inside of her thigh. Y/N moaned from the feeling, knowing fully well there would be a bruise there by morning. Quickly, with the salt still on her tongue, she moved to Noah's lower half, sucking the liquor straight from his navel until every bit of it was gone before moving to his mouth and taking the lime. Noah watched with lust filled eyes as she sucked the juice from the rind, tossing the table when she was finished.

"What?" Y/N asked, noticing the look on his face as she returned to her normal height. "Shit," Noah breathed, half-smiling. "I think that had to be one of the hottest things I've ever seen."

Y/N giggled.

"Well, it sounds like you haven't seen a lot." "Oh, I've seen plenty."

Noah moved his hand higher up her thigh, waiting for her to stop him, and when she didn't, he ran his fingers over her pussy.

"Your panties are moist, pretty girl. Do I make you wet?"

Y/N whimpered, biting her lower lip.

"What if I did this?" swiping over her clit. "Noah," she gasped, gripping the table.

Noah laughed, soft and low.

He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the table, and pushed her panties to the side, pressing the pad of his finger lightly between her folds. He made a sound that was almost inhuman, swallowed up by the newfound warmth he'd discovered. His fingers rubbed gently at first, pulling tiny gasps from her lips as his tongue and teeth marked faint lines across her skin as he made his way towards the bottom of her throat.

"Damn, you're so fucking wet; so tight. God, baby. You're sweet little pussy feels so good," Noah muttered.

Y/N could hear the excitement and the tiny crack that followed in his voice. She sighed, closing her eyes and absorbing the feeling of Noah's sensual assaults inside her. She didn't care if this was wrong. She didn't care if people could see. All she cared about was if Noah was capable of making her cum.

Moaning the moment Noah slid two fingers up inside her, Y/N raised her head, looking up at him. Noah was gone, lost in the moment just as much as she was. He hummed, satisfied with the feeling of her tight pussy already clenching around his fingers that thrusted deeper and deeper each time feeding the array of quiet moans that escaped her lips the harder she worked herself against his hand.

"I want you to take another shot off me," Noah ordered.

"Mmm, I can't, not while your fucking me like this," Y/N protested, keeping her eyes locked on him.

"Yes you can. Just try it. You'll like it, I promise," Noah grinned.

Y/N's stomach fluttered as her heart beat faster. Doing what she was told, she salted his neck and instead of putting the tequila in his navel, she poured it into the small spot between the two bones at the bottom of his throat, right below his adam's apple. Noah slowed his movements as Y/N rose to the tips of her toes, licked the salt and lapped up the liquor, grabbing the lime from Noah's teeth.

"Fuck that's hot," he confessed, kissing her forehead. He could feel her legs trembling, her body starting to shake and even though she was making being a gentleman about the whole thing difficult, he refused to be apathetic.

"Come here," he whispered gently, returning to the soft thrusting of his fingers against her inner walls, taking his time to completely undo every tensed muscle in her body.

Y/N scooted closer, lifting on her toes to give more access and placing her hands on Noah's thighs for balance.He pulled her in and pushed her head down, allowing her to rest her forehead against his shoulder.

"Stay with me, baby. Keep your hands on me. I've got you," Noah encouraged her, wrapping his free arm around her and holding her as close as he could. Y/N gasped and moaned, clawing at the fabric beneath her hands as Noah took them to another dimension. They were no longer where they had been. They were somewhere else; just the two of them.

"Oh, god!" "God isn't here, pretty girl, I am. And it damn well better my name on those lips when you cum," Noah growled

He held Y/N to him with one arm while using his free hand to thrust up into her. Her back arched, and she allowed her head to fall back as Noah latched on to her throat. He bit down, sucking the saltiness of her skin off .

"Noah, this is dangerous. What if someone sees," Y/N panicked, making a poor attempt at getting out of Noah's grasps. "I don't fucking care if they do. I just want you, I need you to cum for me, baby. Give me the satisfaction of pushing you over the edge."

Y/N couldn't deny the hungry desire for her she saw in Noah's eyes. It was feral, and all she wanted to do was feed it. Pushing her hips forward, she gripped Noah's shoulders and worked her pussy against his hand, right before he slipped in a third finger. A low curse left her lips as she bit the lower one to cover a moan.

"You're going to cum for me, aren't you, pretty girl?"

Her pussy clenched around his fingers and soft whimpers replaced any words she wanted to say.

"God damn, yeah, that's, baby, ride my hand," Noah coaxed her, paying close attention to Y/N's body and the signs it was giving him. "You like that, don't you? You like me fucking your wet, needy cunt with my fingers like this, twisting them inside you. Tell me you do," he breathed, trying to ease the urgent need to cum himself "I do! Fuck, Noah, I shouldn't, but I do really like it."

Her abdomen was on fire, her head spinning from the overwhelming coiled tension building in her lower back. Her breathing was shallow as her quiet moans started to draw closer together, and her head fell back, closing her eyes. Noah wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, lifting her head.

"Eyes on my pretty girl. Watch me when you cum. I need to see the look in your eyes when you cum all over my hand," he ordered, breathing heavily.Y/N nodded "I can feel you squeezing my fingers," he whispered, ghosting his lips over hers. Y/N tilted her head in hopes of capturing them, but failed. "Noah, I'm about to cum!" she gasped once Noah found that spot."Right there?" "Mmm-hmm, don't stop, please don't stop!" "I won't as long as you keep your eyes on me," he promised. And she did.

Pressure built in Y/N's lower half, the ache strengthening with every thrust of Noah's fingers or the swipe of his thumb over her clit and in a matter of seconds her walls fluttered around his fingers, her climax reached its peak, and her orgasm crescendo throughout her entire body.

"Oh god, Noah," she cried into her hand before she collapsed onto his chest.

"There it is, that's a good girl. I can feel your cum dripping down my wrist, baby. Fuck!"

"What's wrong?"

Noah took a deep breath through his nose, trying to keep it together.

"I'm about to fucking cum!" he growled through gritted teeth.

Y/N wasted no time. Grabbing the front of Noah's pants and briefs, she pulled as Noah lifted his bottom and released enough of his thick, swollen cock right as the milky white liquid shot all down the front of her skirt. Noah groaned, resting his forehead against hers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! "I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N," he swore over and over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he covered himself up, but Y/N was only laughing quietly.

"Don't be,' she replied breathlessly, looking into Noah's eyes. She pulled back and brushed the hair out of his eyes before kissing his forehead."We both got what we wanted."

Noah grinned. Reaching over, he grabbed the tequila, salt, and limes.

"What are you doing?" "It's my turn. Lay your head back," he commanded, and Y/N obeyed, feeling as if her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

Noah repeated the same steps as she did when taking the shot off of his neck and swallowed quickly, trailing his lips with a little bit of tongue up her neck, kissing as he went over her jawline and took the lime from her mouth. Y/N could only give small exasperated moans as her eyes met Noah's. They were dark, full of an eagerness for more.

"Yum," he smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Happy Birthday, pretty girl." Y/N just shook her head, smiling.

They found a bathroom where Noah was able to clean his happy accident off the front of Y/N's mini skirt. Neither one spoke, both of them either too embarrassed, ashamed, or sad from everything that had happened or was about to. Maybe it was all three. Walking around the corner of the bathrooms, Noah's phone vibrated. It was a text in the band's group chat asking where he was. He texted back that he was coming, then pocketed his phone.

"So, uh, thanks for the really awesome birthday gifts," Y/N teased.

Noah felt his ears and cheeks instantly heat up, forcing him to rub the back of his neck like he normally did when he got embarrassed.

"Yeah," he laughed, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Seriously," reaching out and touching Noah’s arm, assuring him she was.

Noah locked eyes with Y/N, desperately aching to kiss her. She was so pretty, with a sweet smile and the kind of laugh he could get used to hearing a lot of. But deep down, he knew that wasn't going to happen

"I gotta go. Gotta get back to my friends..."

"Yeah," Y/N laughed nervously, "of course."

"Do, uh, is there any chance I could have your number?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Um, Noah, I,”

"Oh god, I'm sorry, you're don't, er, you're not, shit, never mind," Noah stuttered, apologizing quickly.

"No, no, it's not like that, it's not that I don't want to, it's just that, well, I just shouldn't," Y/N stated, peering up at him.

That's Noah realized, that was Y/N's way of letting him down gently. His pocket vibrated, saving his heart from realizing what his head had just figured out. Matt was freaking out. He really had to go, now.

"Right," he slowly nodded, suddenly feeling like the biggest fool around. "I'm gonna go. My band's about to receive some kind of an award, so I've got to hurry."

"Your band? Wait… what?"

"Yeah, anyway, it was really nice to meet you and I hope the rest of your birthday is great," he yelled, turning around and running in the opposite direction as Y/N called his name from behind him.

"Dude, where the fuck have you been?" Matt scolded.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later."

"Hey," Jolly called, tapping Noah on the shoulder. "How did it go? Was the friend nice?"

Noah remained silent for a moment, wondering how to put into words all that had happened. There weren't enough and there never would be.

"Yeah," was all he could say with a smile. "She was pretty nice. It was fun, for the moment," shrugging his shoulders.

Jolly chuckled, patting his friend on the back as they followed Nick and Folio out to where their managers were standing. The guests cheered and whistled, cameras flashed, and hands were shaken as the guys were awarded and congratulated with a number one single award from one of the biggest music companies in the country. Noah looked out into the faces of all those cheering for him and his best friends, eyes stopping when they came in contact with a pair he recognized instantly.

Y/N's mouth was wide open as she stood in the crowd looking at the man whom she had just shared a very intimate moment with and nobody but the two of them knew. She was with somebody, making Noah's heart instantly fall into the pit of his stomach. He'd just fingerfucked some other guy's girl, making him feel low and dirty. The guy turned around, and Noah recognized him instantly. He was a friend in the business who worked for the record label. The guy looked from him to Y/N, and Noah watched as he gently shook her to get her attention. Reluctantly, Y/N tore her eyes away from Noah and exchanged a few words with the guy glancing at him one more time, before walking off with her face in her hands. His friend shrugged, waving to Noah, before turning to follow after Y/N. Noah smiled softly to himself, knowing it wasn't going to be the last he’d ever see her again. 

[gladiatorcunt]

MARLBORO REDS - ANAKIN SKYWALKER

cause good men die too, so i’d rather be with you

summary: mechanic dilf!anakin x gender neutral kindergarten teacher!reader

wc: 8.4k

cw: “soft” dark content, made padme’s death vague on purpose, anakin has the vibes of a married father of 4 hitting on you while you’re waiting on their table at olive garden, daddy kink, anakin imagines killing someone, MALE MASTURBATION (the most graphic fantasies are skull fucking and anakin kinda hoping you’ll tear when he puts it in), bra mention (reader does have a fem style but i’m nb so that’s how i see it and men can also have a fem style), it’s not mentioned but anakin is going through cigarette withdrawals, anakin’s canon typical inability to be in a healthy relationship, possibly predictable plot twist (?), i wanted to be a lot grosser, anakin is 42 and he’s depicted as such, age gap (reader is in their early 20’s), this takes place in the U.S.

requests are open (read the rules first)

block & move on if uncomfortable

do not repost or translate!!

The exhaust fumes transported him for a moment, somewhere tropical with a cigar in one hand and a tit in the other as a wet body slid adjacent to his. His hard-earned vacation went up in flames as a shrill car horn hunted down his eardrums. Anakin snapped out of it and stared through his brittle bangs with dead eyes. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, how to act like a normal human being one of them. 

"Alright, that should be everything. Since we just needed to rotate your tires and do an oil change, we're looking at about 142 dollars."

"Thank you so much, I'll just go pay at the front desk. Have a good one!"

Anakin sighed and gave a half assed wave that she didn't even see. He has nowhere near as much spunk as he did back in the day, but his energy is always shot to hell long before he sees his last customer of the day. Luckily it was just a routine maintenance type of thing, he would've just bashed his head in with a wrench if it was anything more. 

Puddles of blood trot after said customer, he’s amazed that they can drive so well considering they have a bullet in their head. 

There’s no bullet or rivers of blood in actuality, but a man can dream. 

His knee joints creaked as he got out of his squatting position. He groaned from the effort while smearing his fingers in more grease trying to wipe them off on the pants of his overalls. The whole workshop smelled like garbage and he probably smelled even worse. His trusty grease rag was subsequently discarded on top of his portable tool tower. He noticed that a tub of lighter fluid was on its side so he prevented that big mess waiting to happen and screwed the cap shut, picked it up, and set it back on the shelves in the storage room. He had to remember to leave one of his employees a post-it notifying them that they were almost out. 

His sleeves were shucked up his soft muscular forearm to check his watch. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets like moles in a whack-a-mole machine when he saw the time. 

SHIT! 

It was 4:30, the time he's expected to be at Alderaan Apples Elementary to pick up his twins. He didn't have the time it would normally take him to drive 20 minutes back to his place for a 10 minute shower, and then drive 30 more minutes to be at his kids' school. He normally didn't work that late, since he owns the shop he can choose his own hours. But Anakin lost track of time obsessing over work and now he'd have to embarrass his kids by showing up covered in it. Their teacher would probably be there to chew him out, but in his defense this really didn't happen all that often. 

That teacher being arguably the biggest reason why he hated that they’d see him looking how he did right then. They're awfully pretty, with a chest that he's pictured slapping and sucking while their thick ass recoils from bouncing on his uncut cock. They had just moved to their average sized town at the start of the year, they told him at the parent teacher conferences at the beginning of the school year. Something about yearning to get away from their lackluster small town but also being too afraid to venture out into any kind of big city on their own. 

They were making the cutest little gestures when they were shyly talking his ear off too, shifting their thighs together as they swayed and never letting their eye contact stray too far away from their freshly polished mary janes. Anakin was very careful about remembering everything he could about Luke and Leia's first real school year. Hell, he was more scared than they were. But there was just something in the way this new teacher did their best to soothe any worries the kids might have. 

"It's okay, we'll be going on this new adventure together. And I'll do my very best to be there for you every step of the way. I hope you can be brave and look after me too!"

Luke nodded timidly but with a newfound sense of determination. Leia shouted an affirmative, being more extroverted in comparison to her brother. 

Their teacher was young, somewhere in their early 20's. Most likely having flown into town right after getting their degree. It made something in his gut swirl and simmer, imagining their delicate finger tracing his crow's feet and tugging on the gray in his hair. Their head nestled gently in between his squishy pecs, some of his muscle definition was lost with age but he had a feeling you'd like how much the slight softness of his belly highlighted the muscle underneath. 

The cliche apples in the blouse their teacher was wearing seemed to have Anakin in a trance as he zoned out. He grunted in acknowledgement when he needed to and slipped every form and newsletter he was given into his satchel. When it was time to head home, Luke and Leia clung to their teacher's legs. Anakin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and bent over to pry them off. He explained how sorry he was, being a single dad meant that whether or not he meant to, the kids still looked for a mother figure. 

He'll never forget the way your eyes widened by a fraction, flicking up to make eye contact with his feigned nonchalant stare. You seemed.... happy to hear that he was single. But that could've just been an old man getting wrapped up in the delusions that he still has it. 

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Mr. Skywalker. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how hard it is to do what you do everyday, but let me just say that I think you're doing an excellent job."

He thinks you'd do even better. 

By the time he had finished reliving that fond little memory, he could spot the street sign for the street the school was on. Ruffling his hair, he made a sharp right turn and slowly pulled into the parking lot. His black chevy truck performed beautifully like always so he gave her a solid pat on the hood. He turned on his heel, immediately seeing his children hugging either one of your legs. He was only 10 minutes late, it wasn't any better but he would never make his kids feel like he abandoned them. He never wanted them to go through what he had gone through when he was their age. 

He adjusted his collar and made a last ditch effort to wipe his fingers off on his clothes. He heard a  quiet cough. He shot his head up to catch your unamused eyes. A wry smile appeared on his face as he jogged over to you. When he reached  the three of you, he immediately crouched and placed a hand on Luke and Leia's shoulders. 

"Dad's really sorry, okay? He just lost track of time but he rushed over here as fast as he could as soon as he realized what time it was."

Luke peeked out from behind your leg, "Like the Flash?"

"Yes, Luke, like the Flash." Anakin chuckled, slowly opening his arms wide in the hopes that his kids weren’t too mad at him. 

Thankfully he was instantly overwhelmed by two bodies slamming into him, almost knocking him onto the ground and tumbling down the concrete steps. Luke was clutching onto him so tightly and Leia was giggling up a storm. He stood up and gently ushered his kids into holding one of his hands so they could stand beside him. 

He cleared his throat a few times before finally addressing you. 

"I'm so sorry, I don't know if you overheard but work was really hectic today and I didn't want to waste more time cleaning up. Please just think of me how you did before, I won't look like this tomorrow."

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. Your blouse had a floral pattern today, blue covered in peonies and apple blossoms. Your pants were some kind of plaid thing but you make them work so well. Anakin had  to actively keep his eyes from eye fucking your wide hips and oggling the expanse of your butt in the tight pants. Just thinking about how little must be left to the imagination made his cock ache in his overalls. But he restrained himself, he was going to ask you out when he was in a much better and.... cleaner state. He pushed the thoughts down and settled himself down with daydreams of the near future. 

"It's alright, Mr. Skywalker. I understand your situation, so long as it doesn't happen frequently and the children don't have to wait too long, we won't have a problem." You gently admonished the older man, not hiding the protective tone in your voice but still looking up at him with bashful warmth in your eyes. 

Stars, the way you were already so protective over his kids made him even harder. He briefly wondered how you'd be with their younger siblings. The image made his heart flutter and a wide smile stretched his lips. He shuffled from one foot to the other, praying to whatever God is out there that he's able to hide his boner in his baggy overalls. He still had quite a few years before he even wanted to think about having the birds and bees talk with the kids. He adjusted his overalls quickly and reached out a greasy rough palm to you. 

"I swear this won't happen everyday, thank you for being so kind. I definitely won't forget it." He murmured with a wink that was open to interpretation. 

You bit your lip as you leaned forward to slip your smooth palm into his. A sharp shiver traveled up Anakin's body and butterflies erupted in your stomach at the contact. You clicked your heels together and shook his hand, the weight of it made certain kinds of thoughts pop into your head that you'd rather not deal with at the moment. 

Reluctantly Anakin pulled his hand away, making sure it lingered more than was necessary or appropriate. He put his back to you and double checked that Luke and Leia had one hand in each of his and their other hands on the strap of their backpacks. Luke had one with planets on it while Leia had one with dinosaurs. He looked down at their feet to make sure that they were going slow and steady on the steps. They reached the bottom of the steps and walked across the parking lot to Anakin's truck. He opened the back seat, lifting Leia first and waiting for her to settle in before nearly throwing out his back bending down again to help Luke in. He buckled them up and made sure their seatbelts were fastened properly. He took a few steps back and gingerly closed the backseat door on Luke's side. His back was screaming at him on the trip around the back of the truck, it especially burned when he haphazardly threw his door open and climbed up into the driver's seat. 

The drive home was the same as it was everyday. Leia excitedly told her father all about every single detail of her day and Luke needing less coaxing to talk about his as the school year progressed. Luke was upset when they ran out of apple juice at lunch because that meant he had to have grape. Leia bragged about the rock she painted during craft time. Anakin listened intently, no matter what kind of depraved shit he felt for their teacher, he wanted to take extra care that both of his kids felt heard and appreciated at the end of the day. He responded with jokes and questions to keep them talking, it distracted them from realizing how long the drive was to the house.

They pulled into the house's garage half an hour later. Anakin was about ready to collapse into a pile of bones in his recliner. Luke and Leia ran like bats out of hell through the door and up the stairs to their bedrooms. He could hear the sounds of them putting their backpacks on their hooks and unzipping them to go through the jungle of papers they stash in them. 

The fridge was fresh out of Dr. Pepper so Anakin grumbled and got a can of bud lite from his locked minifridge on the counter. He managed to make it to the couch before he let himself fall face first onto the cushions. 

The pitter patter of tiny feet bounding down the stairs yanked him from sleep so he sat up and leaned his cheek against the arm of the couch.

"Dad! Dad! Dad! Look!" Luke blurted out, shoving some kind of paper in his dad's smushed face. 

Anakin grimaced but made himself sit upright. He reached out and took the paper from Luke, holding it at a good distance away from his face and at a downwards angle so he could read it properly. 

"What's this, buddy?"

"It's a paper for the party, Dad! The Valentine's day one that's um.... this Friday, i think.” Luke nervously wrung his hands in his striped shirt as he spoke. “I want to get something for my teacher too…” 

Anakin rubbed his shaved chin as he read the paper. Luke was right. It was a newsletter informing parents about the Valentine's Day party each class would be holding on Friday. There would be no working or classes and instead every class would have an all day party for both the children and their parents. Students were allowed to bring any snacks of choice, but they had to bring a box of valentine cards for their class and give one to every student in their class.

"That must be nice, having no school for a day. Well, i'll be there on Friday and tomorrow we can go to the store and get the supplies for you and your sister." 

“And we can get something for my teacher?”

“Of course Luke, that’d be a very nice thing to do for them.”

"Okay! Thanks, dad, love you!" Luke cheered, bouncing on his feet and kissing Anakin on the cheek while giving him a second long side hug before running back upstairs. 

The next day the Skywalker family was back in the truck on the way to the biggest local supermarket in the area. It wasn't too far, just in the next town over. They could've gone to the smaller store back home, but the kids liked having options and liked car rides that were like little road trips. (Why they hated the longer drives when they were to school but liked them in situations like this, Anakin could sympathize. 

Anakin shut the radio off when they pulled into the large parking lot of the supermarket. He put his car in park and turned the engine off. The wind chill smacked him right in the face as soon as he stepped out of his seat. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms to warm himself up and walked over to get Leia and Luke out of the car as quickly as possible without freezing his ass off. They did the standard routine of holding their dad's hands while they crossed the parking lot. Anakin was telling them to look both ways to watch out for any cars that were coming as they walked along the crosswalks. Mercifully they weren't in the cold long before they entered the store.

The bright white LED overhead lights made Anakin want to pass out but he followed closely behind the kids that were already running themselves ragged all over the place. He reminded them what they were here for and his arms were pulled to their breaking point all the way to the card aisle. There were so many options of valentine card packs. There were Bluey ones, Spiderman, ones that looked like the cootie catchers you fold and pull apart, et cetera. 

Luke ended up choosing Spiderman ones that came with pencils. Leia chose a kitten design for her cards. 

Anakin almost fell asleep on the ride home. He let the kids pick out drinks from the little displays in front of the registers so they were miles away in sugar rush land. He made a note to pop a couple ibuprofens before he went to bed. Some days are easier than others but since his wife passed away when his kids were newborns, he’s never known what it was like to be able to depend on someone else to always be there to help. His childhood friend Obi-wan stops by every so often to stay over, his mom and step-dad babysit when he stops being stubborn, but that’s once in a blue moon. The sunset casts light onto the sunspots and hair on his arms. He rolled both of his sleeves up because his body typically runs hot and global warming making the temperature 65 degrees in the middle of February does him no favors. 

The McDonald’s they drove through got the kids happy meals wrong three times, something that was clearly a sign of the apocalypse. 

He had to remind Luke and Leia not to run too fast as they clammored out of the truck with his assistance and bolted to the front door. Anakin sighed his millionth sigh of the day and clamped a hand on Leia’s head to steady her as he searched his rusty old keyring for their house key. His steady hand inserted the key into the lock, ushering his kids inside with his free hand while he pushed the door open. His long legs moved at a sloth like pace, Leia and Luke ignored him and shot up the stairs like two little rockets.

“Guys, slow down. Marshmallow feet, remember?” He reminded them and leaned around the corner so they could hear him, shaking his head in exasperation when all he gets in response is a couple “Okay, dad!”s. 

The white and orange ibuprofen bottle stored in one of the many dark wood cabinets over the fridge beckoned him with a come hither motion. He’s little more than a slave to his baser instincts so he dutifully heeded the call. The cabinet creaked when he cracked it open but he couldn’t give less of a fuck as he dove for the pill bottle and shook out a few orange pills. He exhaled in relief in a way that would suggest he was smoking weed when his adams apple bobbed as the pills hit his stomach. 

With that mindless task out of the way, Anakin slowly journeyed up the stairs to get Leia and Luke ready for bed. He kept a stern eye on them to ensure they brushed their teeth, used their mouthwash properly, and washed their faces. After the kids completed their bedtime routines, he tucked them into bed while humming a lullaby Obi-Wan had taught them when he held them as infants. He gave them their time to say goodnight to their mom, Luke looked at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling when he said it and Leia clutched her stegosaurus plushie when she whispered her goodnight. 

Anakin didn’t contribute but he warmly kissed his twins on their foreheads and tucked the corners of their comforters around their shoulders. 

His heavy work boots thundered against the hardwood floor of the hallway as he walked out of their room and down the carpeted stairs to the den. He unhooked the buttons holding up his overalls on his shoulders and shimmied his ruined overalls down to his ankles. His hairy thighs expanded as he stepped out of them so he could kick them to the other side of the room. He was left in only his boxers and a white tank top that would never be white again. So he flexed his arms as he took that tank top off too. Grease stains were all over his body but he could at least take a shower now. 

His boxers joined the towels from yesterday’s shower on the floor as his soft cock flopped out. He gave it an absentminded stroke that injected something molten into his bone marrow. He bent over to reach the faucet and turned the water on. The shower didn't start until the water babbling over his thick calloused fingers was hot enough to cook a lobster in. 

He rolled his shoulders back as he stepped into the shower. His mouth dropped open in a silent exclamation and his neck popped as his head lolled back. The onslaught of boiling hot water pin pricked his skin in a pleasure-pain sort of way that made his thoughts temporarily quiet down. 

His cock gave a couple twitches but Anakin elected to wait until he had at least washed his hair before he rubbed a much needed orgasm out. 

3-in-1 shampoo that smelled like some dior cologne was all up in his hair, his hands unhurriedly glided through his short-ish soapy strands. He angled his head back and let the lather he had worked up be drowned out by the shower head. He grabbed his vanilla & shea butter body wash and let the spout rest against his glistening pecs as his fingers curled around the stocky bottle and squeezed. The smooth liquid spurted out over his pecs and dripped down his body. He reached his hands right up under the steady stream and soaped up his pecs, ghosting his thumbs over his puffy nipples before spreading his hands out and spreading the soapsuds all over the rest of his body. 

Squelching sounds echoed off the shower floor as Anakin widened his stance. His right hand was subconsciously traveling closer and closer to his half-hard cock. He had worked so hard, finally being able to relax and luxuriate in the silence made the blood in his body migrate further south. 

A certain teacher flashed through his mind, his head whipped down in shock to discern how greatly his flushed cock swelled up faster just at the single image of his kids’ kindergarten teacher. 

An aurora borealis of fantasies swirled in the air. 

You’re kneeling on a pillow (he would be at serious risk of getting more brow wrinkles if you had to touch the harsh dirty floor with your bare skin.) and bobbing your head up and down the fat cock making a bulge in your cheek. Your sparkling eyes have this glazed over look to them as he anchors his hands on the back of your head. He widens his stance and bullies your throat with his heavy cock. You squeak and sputter but you take it like such a good pet. Your plump lips slide off of his meat a couple inches but before he can do anything, you’re groping his taut ass as you wiggle your head down to the base of his cock. Your eyes flutter shut as your brain shuts off; your nose is buried right in his musky bush. His face scrunches up in the best kind of pain, but he locks his gaze on the way your eyes roll back when he begins to skull fuck you.

Thank god for oral fixations. 

“Gonna let Daddy soak this warm throat pussy?” Don’t worry, he knows you can’t exactly use your vocal chords properly at the moment. So he nods your head for you, deepening his thrusts into slow sharp jabs. 

He’d baptize you in cum if you let him, your skin would look so pretty and glossy covered in it. He’d help you wipe it off after he cements the image of your eyelashes sticking together in his mind. 

Now he’s grabbing your love handles while his cock builds his dream home in your guts. Your ass shakes back against his hips as you try to steady the phone in your hands and face it towards the overhead. He grabs your hair in one fist and gently tugs your head up so you can pay attention properly. He didn’t go through all this just to let you hide away from him. In a perfect world, the kids would be staying with his mom so you’d be more than welcome to lose your voice.

The vision in his mind shifts to you being on your back, hands trembling trying to hold your legs as close to your chest as possible. You’re looking up at him like he was born in the center of the sun. He’s looking back at you like you’re the moon made flesh, eternally encapsulated in his sea of stars. Anakin smiles triumphantly but with a heady passion in his gait that threatens to burn his lungs to ash, coughing them up over your open heart. 

“You’re doing so well puppy, that’s my brave baby.” He coos and pries your hands off your thighs finger by finger. 

Once your hands are free, his larger ones ardently seek out yours like a dog going after a bone. The rough texture of his digits feels like an uncomfortably pleasant caress as they lace together with your own. He doesn’t look at anything else; can’t think of anything else when you make the cutest little watery gasp as his cock humps along the crack of your hole. The red tip of it gets caught against your outer sweet spot as if trying to give your crotch small pecks. His eye wrinkles crinkle when his smile widens and he offers a breathy laugh. 

He squeezes your hands tightly as he wraps a hand around his cock and directs it to its northern star. Your nails digging into his knuckles don’t distract from your hole stretching itself wide to suckle at his encroaching length. 

And if in the shower he spilled into his feverishly fucked fists at the concept of crimson liquid mixing with cum to make a pink swirl where your bodies meet, you’d never know. He thumbed at the glans under his cock tip as he came down from his high, skirting a fingernail up a vein on the side and wishing he was mouthing the space between your shoulder blades; preening your white feathers with his scratchy tongue. 

The next couple days were gone with a couple of blinks. He never deviated from his routine; wake up, wipe off the drool on his face, get kids ready and take them to school, go to work, clean up, go pick kids up from school, help with whatever work 6 year olds would have, put them to bed, jerk off in the shower till his legs ache, fall asleep on his stomach with his the right side of his face smushed into a pillow. 

He did find some time to put together a teacher’s appreciation basket for you. You more than anyone else deserved a few something somethings on a day meant to represent love. The gifts were packed nicely and neatly in a vintage wicker basket wrapped in a red gingham bow and covered in see through red plastic wrap. Your reaction would regrettably have to be viewed from afar, but he’d know how to move forward depending on what adorable expression you had all over your face.

The night before the party, Anakin allowed Luke and Leia to stay up a smidge later than normal so that they could get all of their things ready for the party. Anakin’s special present slept soundly in the seat next to his in front of his truck. An additional gift from Luke was tucked inside along with an item from Leia who had insisted on it when she found out Luke was getting you something.. The basket being hidden away for the time being allowed him to focus completely on helping his children with their gifts at the coffee table. 

Luke’s eyes were droopy as he wrote down the names of his classmates in the hearts made to look like Spiderman’s mask in his cards. He inserted  most of the pencils in the intended slot on the left of the cards by himself before he slumped against Anakin’s arm and weakly pushed the pile of cards towards his dad. Anakin chuckled as he ruffled Luke’s fluffy blonde hair and teasingly whispered that he didn’t know a boy could be so sleepy. His son blinked at him as if to say how unfunny his dad was before yawning and snuggling further into his father. 

Anakin pushed the rest of the pencils into the card slots and sealed all of the cards with red heart stickers. He lifted his head to look across the glass coffee table to check in on how Leia was doing. For how fiery his daughter was already at such a young age, she wasn’t immune to getting tired before 8:30. The signature buns on her head that she loved begging him  to do for her had loose hairs poking out of them because of how Leia had buried her head in her arms. 

Anakin blew a breath out in fond chagrin as he easily reached over the table and delicately removed the pins holding the buns in place. He fluffed out the hair that fell down so her scalp wouldn’t feel weird when she woke up. 

He hoisted Luke up in one arm and Leia in the other (something they were getting a bit too big to continue doing) and slowly but surely deposited them on the couch. He snatched a white plush blanket from the linen closet and settled it over them before turning back to the massive amount of paper cards on the table. He finished the last of Leia’s cards a short while later. He sorted the cards into orderly piles and put them in sandwich bags that he took to the kids room so he could put the bags in their backpacks. 

Anakin came back to the living room as he tried to shoo the sleep away by digging his knuckles into his eye sockets in a lazy rub. He opened the cabinet and took out a package of pink frosted sugar cookies with red heart shaped sprinkles, a pack of capri suns, and a tupperware bowl full of mini brownies. With a long drawn out yawn he set the snacks out on the counter so that he would remember them tomorrow morning. He got a set of paper plates and a sectioned set of cutlery in case you needed any extra. Maybe you’d give him one of those corny gold star stickers as a thank you. 

Friday morning was ushered in by  two children risking their dad’s life by flopping on his stomach with all the strength they had while he was sleeping. 

“OH FU-“ He shouted before he remembered who was in the room and gently rolled them off of his stomach. “What exactly do you two think you’re doing?”

 "It's time to wake up dad, we're gonna be late for school!" Leia said with a dismayed look on her somewhat chubby face. 

Anakin looked away and meekly mouthed a 'sorry' as he looked at the led clock that he had forgotten to set an alarm on. 

Fuck, not again. 

He sat up in bed and hunched over; his head buried in his hands. Luke and Leia crowded around him as they tried their best to comfort their father, giving his back light pats. He let them pull his hair so that he'd look up at them. He smiled in gratitude and crawled out of bed as quickly as he could to get the day started. 

He made a comical sight; hobbling around the floor with his ripped jeans pooled around his feet as he raced to get his kids ready for school in time. His belt was a fairly new black leather piece that he'd been keeping for a special occasion, but the anxiety of the morning made him grapple with getting the buckle in place. Once that was done a shameful amount of time later, he shoved his clothes to the side in his closet as he searched for a nicer, more "classy" dress shirt. Anakin gnawed at his bottom lip and eventually decided on a black silk button up that matched his belt. He crouched, chanting in his head that he hoped he wouldn't tear a muscle, and chose a pair of italian leather slides that his mom had gotten him for Father's Day a couple of years ago. The bathroom mirror held back no punches when it showed Anakin the state of his head. He crossed his fingers and smoothed back his hair with the tiniest glob of gel; the water he splashed on his face would have to do some serious charity work. He could only hope that you liked the naturally unkempt but not too unkempt kind of look, a striking sort of ruggedness. 

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad..." Luke droned, understandably fed up with waiting on his dad to deal with another one of his mini mid life crisis episodes. 

"I'll be right there Luke, hold on a second, please."

Anakin gave into his son’s begging and let him brush his teeth with the birthday cake flavored toothpaste today. Even though the dentist moaned about how hard it was to clean out when they introduced it to Luke at his last appointment. His Spiderman toothbrush played a jingle meant to sound like the theme song when Luke did his 2 minutes of brushing. Anakin stood protectively behind him as he spit in the sink, his hand hovered over his head so he wouldn't hit it. He took Luke's toothbrush and ran it under the water before he put it back in the clear organizer next to the faucet. He poured the recommended amount of mouthwash from the bottle and passed the lid that acted as the cup to Luke. Luke grimaced but he tipped the cup up so the blue liquid would pour in his mouth, he swished it around and then spat it out too. He sipped from the glass of water that was handed to him and proudly beamed at his father.

"Good job, Luke. I'm so proud of you." Anakin congratulated him, Luke was still finicky about floss so today would not be the day that he attempted to get him to use it. 

Being a parent means knowing how to pick your battles and what time to schedule them. 

Anakin brushed Luke's hair and fluffed it out a bit like a surfer (how Luke likes it). He grabbed his son by his underarms and lifted him off of the step stool. The mirrors in their house were still a bit too high for his kids to see properly so for now the stools had a purpose. He would be sad when they no longer needed them. 

Anakin quickly dipped into the twins room to grab their backpacks. He had already gotten them dressed after he got out of bed earlier. He helped Luke put his on and then repeated the same process with Leia. Her toothbrush made a loud roar when she finished brushing, and she had a fit of giggles in response. His daughter preferred straightforward mint toothpaste so morning routines really weren't that much of a struggle with her. Once she put the glass of water down on the sink, she eagerly turned her back to her dad and pointed at her loose hair. Anakin saluted as he began shaping her hair into the buns she loves so much. He reminded her not to mess with them too much or they'd fall apart, and she always responded that she knew that already. 

They got in a single file line on their mission out the door. Anakin nabbed the containers of snacks and briefly freaked out wondering if he lost the cards before he remembered that they were in the kids' backpacks. He double checked if his keys and wallet were in his pockets, and to his relief everything was where it was supposed to be.

Well, mostly everything. He'd never forget about you, don't worry. 

He put his phone on do not disturb before tossing in the front seat next to his along with the basket already sitting there. 

Anakin told Luke and Leia to buckle their seatbelts as he inserted his key into the keyhole and started the car. He heard them buckle up and waited for the tell tale clicks before putting his car into drive. They had to leave than some of the other kids in their school would have to since they lived farther away, but because it was so early the twins could only yawn and hold onto the other twins' booster seat. Anakin thanked the cosmos and turned the radio on but kept it a low volume; Frank Sinatra's rich voice was the best company on a drive like this. 

The school entrance was abundantly decorated. A large white banner along the front entry archway announced the festivities. A flurry of red, pink, and white ribbons hung across the ceiling of the lobby. Every door had hearts representing the students in their class covering them, the kids's names scrawled in their own messy handwriting with cheap crayons. 

The door of your classroom was the last one on the left. You kept a bottle of hand sanitizer in front of it because you were very particular about hygiene, a trait that served you extremely well in your job. Luke and Leia pointed out where on the door their hearts were as they waited for you to open the door. The Skywalker family were the first ones there so Anakin wasn't sure if it was okay to just drop in on you unannounced. He wished that you would drop on him unannounced. He cradled his gift basket  in his arms as if it were a fragile baby.  

A few minutes later, your heels were heard clacking against the tile floor. The silver door knob jiggled before it stopped moving and the door took its sweet sweet time opening. Your head poked out and your face brightened when you saw who was at the other end. You sunk down into a squat, putting your hands on your knees as you addressed the children. 

"Why, hello Leia; hello to you too Luke. You're a tad early, but you can go ahead and hang your backpacks on the hooks in your cubbies. I haven't finished setting everything up, so you can sit down on any of those chairs at the front of the class." You greeted them and shook their hands before pointing out where they could sit. 

The twins obviously sat together. You didn't have assigned seating in your class, and you felt that Leia and Luke would be more comfortable sitting together during their first year at school. It wasn't guaranteed that they'd be in the same class next year. You were too sensitive to try to separate them. You cried a lot because of how scary school was when you were in their place, so you couldn't imagine being the cause for any tears your students shed.

Anakin was once again too caught up in studying your outfit. You had on a fitted shirt with a cardigan on top, it had thin strings that could unwind with no effort from him if he reached out and just pulled.

But that could wait. 

The kids scattered off to choose their seats. Your classroom had three circular tables with five small red chairs. Each chair had a small blanket on the back with a valentine's pattern. The table at the front where Luke and Leia were sitting had heart shaped placemats with a lace trim that looked like it should've been a doily, but in a… good way. You had red and pink plates on the smaller table next to your desk, as well as clear forks and spoons that looked like they had confetti inside of them. You figured that the parents would bring all of the refreshments and you didn't know what your students would want; you thought that the safest bet would be to hang back. 

Anakin did the most he could to soften his gaze when you straightened up and automatically locked eyes with the older man. He clocked how you instantly glanced down at the floor for a split second. You adjusted your collar, for some reason, and gave him the world’s smallest smile. Anakin was so certain that if he leaned in close enough, he would be able to hear your heart racing at the same accelerated pace as his.

 Some say that means it’s love. 

You fluttered your eyelashes, “Hi, Mr. Skywalker, thank you for coming. It’s always a pleasure to see Luke and Leia, but i’m glad that you could be here for them”

“Believe me, no one’s more happy about me being here than I am.” He blurted out without thinking, ‘Uh, I brought some snacks and drinks for everybody.”

You took in the capri suns and the desserts as your smile grew. Your hand curled around his bicep subconsciously, “Oh my gosh, that’s so nice of you! I’ll just put those over the-“ 

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Anakin sauntered past you to put the food down on the table next to your desk. He placed the frosted sugar cookies down first, followed by the capri suns and brownies. 

He turned to face you and his shirt seemed to tighten over his chest as he rested his hands on his hips. His fingers flexed absentmindedly, like they wished they were gripping something else. 

“I can handle it, sweetheart. I’m 42, not 72.”  He chided you, strolling back over and chucking you under the chin; you were cute if you thought you’d be lifting a single finger the entire day. 

The way you nearly fell head over heels trying to fix your assumed faux paus was even cuter, “No, no- I- I didn’t mean anything- I just- Y-you look very capable to me, sir.” 

If your brain would let you, you would rip your face off to hide from your big mouth. Why the hell would you tell the much older father of two of your students that you think he looks “very capable”? WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO CALL HIM “SIR”? 

Anakin scratched his chin and decided that he’d let you off the hook with no more teasing from him. That’s a lie though, he was confident that you could take whatever he gave you. 

“Careful, don’t stroke my ego too much or I'll have to stroke yours. And please, I'd hate to have to remind you again, my name’s Anakin.” He was flirting a little too shamelessly for where you were, but he was still thinking with his upstairs head and guided you to a back corner. 

“I actually got you something myself, but uh,  if it’s all the same to you, I'd wait to open it until you’re nice and snug at home.” 

He gladly took a short walk to your car with you and helped you set the basket down safely in the trunk. He told you to stand back as he slammed the trunk door shut; slapping it for good measure to make sure it was properly closed. 

The two of you returned to your classroom and like the good little helper Anakin wanted you to know he could be, he helped you greet the incoming parents and students. He even took any concessions they brought and put them with the others

By 8:15 everyone you expected was in your classroom. A few kids were without their parents so you asked some of the other students to invite them to enjoy the party; a party’s no fun alone. 

At some point around 9:00 you had the stray daydream of Anakin pinning you against the wall outside of your door as he savagely plundered your mouth with his teeth and tongue. Finger shaped bruises and a promise to ‘see you at home, baby’ would keep your usually freezing cold body warm. You glance at the man out of the corner of your eye to see that he was already staring. He looked like he wanted to teach you a lot of things.

Whatever that meant. 

The morning half of the day consisted of the cafeteria delivering breakfast and watching a couple of movies that the class voted on. The Lego Batman Movie was first (a unanimous decision), and Wreck-it-Ralph was picked after that (some kids wanted to watch the minion movie like always but you were secretly happy that they weren’t the majority.) 

Lunchtime was when you decided to let the students have the snacks, they were welcome to go down to the cafeteria with a guardian if they wanted actual food but they didn’t have to. You weren’t surprised when none of the seats became empty. 

Anakin had to wrench the small plastic chair away from his ass before he winked charmingly and speed walked to the snack table to help you. The air between the both of you had inexplicably become charged with insurmountable tension. The chaos didn’t give you much chatting time so you could only glances and brush your arms together; how accidental those touches were was up for debate. 

Especially when he needed to get through to the plates and forks behind you. 

“Sorry, let me just squeeze past you.” He whispered in your ear, his big hands using your waist to steady you as he pressed his back flush against your chest. 

In the blink of an eye he was gone. The invisible hands chained to your skin remained. You fanned your face with one of the cheap paper plates as you floated back to your body and got a hold of yourself.  

You looked over at the Skywalker trio to see Luke and Leia point at you as they tirelessly tug on their dads sleeves until he caved. You saved him the trouble and went to them, bending down so you could hear the twins properly.

“Do you two need something? I could see you making a fuss over here.” You teased. 

“Dad forgot to give you our presents….” Leia mumbled and Luke nodded sharply. 

Your eyes widened, “Oh! You didn’t have to get me anything, but the day’s not over yet. You can give them to me now.”

“I did not forget, Leia.” Anakin shook his head, fidgeting in the uncomfortable chair. “They’re in the basket Dad brought, and your teacher has it in her car outside, okay?” 

You nodded and confirmed their fathers words, “He’s right. I didn’t know that there were things from you and your brother in it too but it’s safe and sound. I pinky swear.” 

Two much smaller pinkies met you halfway and wrapped around yours. The Skywalker twins giggled as they turned it into an impromptu arm wrestle competition and beat you easily. (You felt they were going to snap your finger off if they kept tightening their hold so you bowed out.) 

Anakin watched with hearts in his eyes and his head propped up in his hand, his eyes crinkled at the inherent domesticity of the act. 

Luke and Leia agreed to call their exhibition match a draw. 

The sun had already set by the time you got home. You were so tired that you nearly dropped your keys down the stairwell; you didn’t want to spend your night fishing them out of the grass.The wicker basket in your arms was at risk of falling too but you got your door opened and you crumpled on the loveseat.

 “Oof, I should probably get this sorted out now or I'll just forget about it.” You said as your body protested you moving a single inch from your sunken spot. 

You grabbed your emerald green pair of scissors and cut the top of the plastic wrap off.The wrapping  squealed as you tore it off the rest of the basket. You peered into it and thankfully it looked like a run of the mill teacher’s appreciation gift; for a valentine’s day it was a little strange but since it was from Anakin… you’d slip on your rose colored glasses. 

There was a medium sized teddy bear, a couple three wick candles; your favorite was the one that smelled like the conversation hearts candy. There was also a custom made box of chocolates from the bakery you frequented, and three burgundy roses that you trimmed properly before dropping them in the vase on your kitchen island. 

The ‘world’s best teacher’ stood out like a sore thumb but it made you smile anyway. 

The teddy bear was incredibly fluffy and bubblegum pink; it’s holding a sparkly red heart with the word ‘princess’ sewed in hot pink thread in the center. You swept the fur away from its black eyes so it could see. The bear was pretty cute, and you had a problem handling your stuffed animal addiction, so you headed to your bedroom and laid it down with the rest of your plushies. 

You yawned and your mouth stretched like a goldfish when it does the same thing. The strings of your red cardigan came undone by your hands and you let it slide off of you and hit the floor. Your pink ribbed top joined it when you gathered enough energy to give a damn and move your arms. 

Your white bra was so plain but like hell if it didn’t make the man palming himself over his jeans rock hard. The kids were sound asleep in bed and the walls were thick so he could be as loud as he wanted. But this particular session wasn’t about achieving some grand climax. No. He just wanted to take things slow tonight. If he happened to gradually tumble over the edge along the way, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Anakin loved you, every inch of your body would soon be blissfully aware of that. 

The miniscule camera in the dot above the i in Princess loved you just as much. 

The fire that would wait to invite itself in for a surprise visit until you had left for work loved you more. 

a/n: i had this in the drafts for a bit but i was having a moment so i didn’t post it until now. happy valentine's day 💞

[lunarriviera]

[overthinking about blorbo follows] [quasi-spoiler for uts s2 e3] look okay so here's the thing. shen yi is an insanely gifted classically trained painter who now lbr spends most of his working life sketching holdup mugshots off of grainy cctv footage, an occupation that at this point for him has to be boringly straightforward. maybe once in a while there's a cool serial murderer and he gets to come up with a way to reconstruct an entire person's body from one molar, or invent some new shrimp colors or something. then he goes home and paints his fucking heart out all night and for what, who is seeing it? who is seeing him? (and don't say du cheng bc i love him but we all know he probably wears black because he's red-green color blind.) so here he is, showing his canvases in a little group exhibition and trolling quietly amongst the clueless spectators, and no one even knows who he is because he's not showing up at the gallery opening in a suit du qing poured him into, clutching a glass of room-temperature champagne. instead here's someone standing the correct distance away from the canvas and you can practically hear shen yi's invisible antennae go sproing. idek who this charismatic pointy-faced guy is yet, maybe he's under the skin's answer to sheev palpatine but the point is, no one who can see what shen yi is doing talks to him about his work. so when weasel man says "he's a genius" and shen yi gives that tiny smile that's so frail it's almost invisible— he gave that smile one time before in s1, remember? when du cheng says "it could be that shen yi is wrong—but that's impossible, so we're crossing that one out." it's a beautiful little character note from tan jianci bc very likely shen yi isn't even aware he's doing it. maybe he's even telling himself "oh please how dare this guy, who does he think he is, clement greenberg"—shen yi who literally set fire to his ambition in the service of honing a moral compass so ruthless and unbending you could set greenwich mean time by it. but somewhere down in there, always—inside any person who chooses a life devoted to making things—is the desire for those made things to be seen.

who was the last person who said "he's a genius" not about his police work but about his painting? the last person who looked carefully at all of his values, hues, lines, shapes, gestural movements, mark-making, brushstrokes, depth of field, play of light, and really saw what he was doing, enough to be critical of it? when you're a working artist and someone sees you well enough to critique you intelligently? the pleasure is breathtaking, frankly on a spectrum with the erotic. (you could also argue he's smiling ruefully at the declaration that the painter's having become a cop is what ruined his work; when shen yi possibly thinks: you know nothing, it opened up everything for me. but i'm not so sure about that. because did it? has it? do we know that?) tl;dr weasel man is holding out an opened box of fresh turkish delight and it remains to be seen whether shen yi is going to faceplant into it. but i for one could not blame him. it is exhausting to have an enormous part of your psyche be all but completely invisible for years on end.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Hi Aneta! May I request something with Joel Miller with either "I can't live without you" or "the only way i know how to describe what i feel around you is home. i feel at home." (or both hehe) thank you!!

Hello, sweetie. I hope my scribbles bring you some joy. Thank you. ❤️ i'm sorry for all mistakes

warnings : a few bad words, a mention of sex, a little angst but fluff at the end

prompts list here

Tears welled up in your eyes, your throat constricted so much that you couldn't swallow, but you stared at him stubbornly. The air was heavy. All the words spoken, mostly by you, circulated somewhere between the two of you.

A spark was enough to ignite the powder keg you and Joel were sitting on. Now you just had to decide how hurt you should come out of this confrontation.

"I can't give you what you want..." Joel spoke up, not even looking at you, just somewhere nearby, clearly overwhelmed by all this "I can't give you what you really deserve."

"Bullshit!" you hissed "You're talking nonsense, Miller."

"I'm too old for this, and you..."

"Oh, here we go again." you shook your head, smiling as if you knew exactly what he would say "Joel, people in Jackson don't give a damn about how old you are, or me, or what we do and who we do it with. Don't bring up that argument, because it's lame."

"You don't understand..."

You took a deep breath, because you knew that this man was slowly pulling you to a place where you could explode. You had known each other for a long time and had been through a lot, but when it came to talking about what was between you, that's when the problem arose.

Joel was distant, he didn't like talking about emotions and feelings. You respected that, because that's just how he was. You didn't want to change him. However, when you showed up in Jackson and your life was finally a little more stable - everything changed.

You didn't have to fight for survival every day anymore, and threats didn't lurk around every corner. You both became closer, just like that. And then, on that stormy night, you found yourself in his bed. 

You had the impression that you had both been waiting for this for a really long time. The closeness of your bodies, his cock buried so deep inside you that you knew you would still feel it a few days later, your lips thirsting for each other... 

And then Joel took a step back again, and your head was a fucking mess. You didn't know what you had done wrong, what could have made him pull away from you again. It was driving you frustrated.

"I never expected anything from you, Joel." you started, trying to keep your voice calm even though your heart was beating hard in your chest. "But I care about you and you're important to me. More than anyone else. I can't live without you, Joel. And it's driving me crazy that I don't know what's between us."

"We're friends..." he mumbled quietly, resting his hands on his hips and still avoiding your gaze, too afraid that when he looked at you he wouldn't be able to give you up.

"Friends don't fuck three times in one night."

Shit! He had that night in his mind again. Your body was so wonderfully soft and warm, your quiet moans filled his head. Just the memory made him feel like his body remembered the pleasure of being inside you perfectly. You were his death.

But you no longer had the strength for it. Emotional exhaustion took over you and your desire to explain what had happened between you.

"Fuck it." You mumbled, shrugging, "I'm tired, Joel."

He gave you a quick look. All the will to fight had fled from you, you seemed so small and weak. Powerless.

"I'll talk to Tommy tomorrow. I'll ask him to find me another apartment. I don't want to bother you any longer." you added in a quiet voice, and Joel was sure that his heart had stopped "I think it's best for us. I don't want you to feel trapped by me or anything... I can't pretend that it didn't mean anything to me... I'm sorry that I got you into this."

You wanted to leave this place as soon as possible. You wanted to close the door behind you and let the night hide your tears that wanted to leave your eyes so badly. Joel's presence and his silence only hurt you more.

"Don't do this. Don't leave."

His voice stopped you right by the door. It was so quiet that you thought that you imagined it yourself. But then you heard his voice again, this time clearer.

"Don't leave me, because I don't know how I'll survive this. You're everything. You always were, and you always will be."

You squeezed your eyelids shut, letting a few tears flow down your cheeks. The movement behind you meant that Joel had come closer to you, but he didn't have the courage to touch you. He was standing close, though, you could feel it.

"I'm afraid of losing you, of letting you down. When you're close to someone, it hurts even more."

"You don't want to lose me, but you're doing everything you can to make it happen, Joel." You spoke quietly.

"I don't deserve you, baby, I know that. The only way I know how to describe what I feel around you is home. I feel at home. I'm sorry I let you down like this..."

You turned slowly to face him. Brown, soft eyes stared at you with such intensity and hope that you felt like they were looking straight into your soul. You hesitantly touched his cheek, Joel closed his eyelids as if your touch was a relief to his aching body.

"You've never let me down." You whispered. "I just want to know that we're in this together. I don't expect big words, I want you."

"And you have me. God knows you've had me for a long time, babe... I was just scared as hell that you wouldn't want me."

"The only thing I don't want is to hear such bullshit." You replied, and Joel's lips curved into a small smile.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against your forehead, strong arms wrapped around your waist and you snuggled into Joel's chest.

His scent, his warmth, it was your home. The best you've ever had, the only one you've ever known. 

And you were his.

[anadrym]

Extended Author's Notes for Left Behind Ch16.

Spoilers!

Chapter title is from "Ashes of Eden" by Breaking Benjamin. I considered using a line from "Dark of You," but I think the tone doesn't quite match what I'm going for. It's too hopeless.

Nasir knows Caitlyn is also not in great shape, but he doesn't push the issue for two reasons: 1. He knows she's not going to let anyone worry about her when she's so worried about Vi; and 2. He literally has his hands full with Vi, and he can't bring anyone to help Caitlyn because they're trying to stay unnoticed.

I've been kind of flip-flopping on how bad Cait's ribs are, but I think we're going with: they're bruised and one is cracked, but there are no major breaks. Lying down is discouraged for broken ribs, so being in the hiding place has aggravated the injury. It hurts, a lot, but it's not dangerous. She's just pushing herself way too hard.

Vi, waking up cradled safely in Nasir's arms: WHO THE FUCK IS THA- Oh, Caitlyn's here. <3

Also, remember that Caitlyn is running on very little food and sleep. So that's why she feels so terrible.

Petra! I personally don't like making OCs to throw into fanfic, it's just not my thing. We're all here for the canon characters. But I am happy to bring Petra back. I love her. She cares so much but she's so damn cranky about it.

Petra asked Nasir to go back to Piltover just on the off-chance that Cait changed her mind on dying for revenge, but she didn't expect anything to come of it. She really didn't think Caitlyn would come back, and she never in a million years thought she'd bring someone else with her. Remember, she has absolutely no idea who Vi is or what she means to Caitlyn. One of the last things the two talked about before Caitlyn left was how she doesn't let herself care about people because she lost everything and can't bear to do it again.

Mmm, imagine this scene from Jamal and Angel's POV. Ghost, badass assassin who keeps to herself and doesn't let anyone get close, turns up with a half-dead girl and begs, almost in tears, for someone to help her. We love it when a character drops the mask.

It's probably obvious, but Petra does take them directly to her own apartment.

I've been trying to keep bringing up how shakey Caitlyn's hands are right now. Snipers have steady hands, even under extreme stress. Cait's hands are shaking specifically because of low blood sugar and exhaustion.

Vi reacts to Petra's hand touching her hair because of how the Baroness would grab her by the hair.

Nasir doesn't stick around because it's suspicious for his ship to be back at this port so soon. He's got to go before anyone suspects that something is up and starts digging for information that could lead them to Petra and the girls.

I had the word "festering" scrawled on the side of the document because I wanted to use it and had to find a spot to squeeze it in. I sometimes just really like the vibes of certain words and write them down so I can try to fit them in somewhere. :)

It was really important to me that Petra ask Caitlyn if Vi trusts her. She wants to make sure they're not doing something potentially 'violating' unless there's no other option. As far as she knows, Cait and Vi met within the last week, but it's still better to have someone she knows and trusts undressing her, rather than a stranger.

Petra is short-tempered because she's stressed, and Cait is irritable because she's hurt and hungry and tired AND stressed. That's why they're at each other's throats here. It's a miracle they don't start fighting.

The two paragraphs between Vi begging Caitlyn not to leave and Caitlyn swearing not to are the direct result of your comments. A lot of the time, you all point out things that I might kinda gloss over, so I go back and make sure to emphasize things that y'all mention as important.

AAAHHH, THE SCAR! The reason Cait hasn't noticed it until now is that it's hidden under Vi's hair, not to mention it's five years old so it's not super obvious. It's also pretty small. (Remember that Cait's brain has added details to her memory that aren't accurate - she didn't actually see any gore or anything.)

I don't know why, but I decided a while ago (during Blood & Bone?) that Caitlyn only uses the line "for me" in desperate circumstances, because Vi won't say no to it. Interestingly, in the first chapter of this fic, Vi tries the reverse and Caitlyn refuses.

I imagine it's incredibly gratifying for Caitlyn to see just how angry Petra is at Vi's condition. Pretty much everyone else has been... dismissive? The Baroness and her people range from apathetic to almost proud of how much they've broken Vi. Nasir is a mild person, he shows mostly concern. But Petra is fucking furious. That validation of her feelings is so important to how Caitlyn can start sorting out her emotions.

Petra only tends to Vi's legs in this chapter, but don't worry, she takes care of her arms and neck in the next one. She's also going to take care of Caitlyn.

I feel like I should have more to say, but I can't think of anything? So, yeah. Sorry this one is short. And late.

Teaser for next week:

She's done this before, Caitlyn realizes with a jolt.

Before she can delve more deeply into that thought, Petra says, "Alright. Go clean yourself up."

Caitlyn opens her mouth to protest, but Petra cuts her off. "Ghost." Then she sighs. "Caitlyn. Ten minutes. She'll be fine." She meets Caitlyn's gaze evenly, and her eyes are heavy with sympathy. "You'll be fine."

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Gotta love adding some Bill angst on top of dimensional shenanigans and comparing yourself to another version of you from another dimension. Now it's a question of how easy they are to follow, seeing as there's always the chance their gf might be different terrain wise, and how things might have changed in 30 years. Then if they do catch up, what can they even say? They don't know the SG Stan's as well as their own, maybe give them space? Also what was up with the book? I imagine SG Ford would be freaking out thinking he brought the book here also, seeing as Bill had no way to access this dimension until he popped in, just to add to the guilt.

Sea Grunk Ford feels so awful. Will feel, once he's calmed down and can think clearly again. And yes, same! What if it's because of him that this Bill might find another entrance into this universe?

SG Stan: As soon as I'm able to hear your self-blaming, I'm going to noogie you so hard, you nerd! If the book's here because of us, then we both carry responsibility and we'll look if we're able to help fix it! But first, since you're somewhat aware again, you're going into hug prison if you don't have any objections.

SG Ford: *buries his head into SG Stan's chest, giggling hysterically*

SG Stan: No objections heard. Your sentence starts now until you're feeling better, and then some.

Cat Verse Cast: We know the book is bad news because of Bill, but why did he have a panic attack?

SG Stan: Just the sore loser from our universe using Triangle Bullshittery to try to con more people. And that asshole thinking it's fun to show around how much he hurt my bro. That's all I'm going to say until Stanford's calmed down properly.

--

But apropos the terrain! I imagined that SG Ford climbed up somewhere high, to the Cat Verse cast's bafflement. How did he get up there, he's almost sixty years old??? And how do they get him down?

SG Stan: *exhausted* Stanford's become an sci-fi nerd action hero. He can climb cliffs / trees like this barehanded. Fuck, the grappling hook's still back at the house.

Carla and CV Stan: You have a grappling hook?!

I don't think the cv Carla and Stan would be too surprised about the grappling hook really, but they would be at how fit sg Ford is. Then sg Stan tries to convince cv Stan to climb up as a cat and convince him to get down. Fianlly put his cat body to good use. Give his bro some cuddles so he clams down enough to climb.

Cc Stan, looking at cv Ford: uh...

Cv Ford: it's fine Stanley, we do need him to get down

Cue all of them watching cv Stan struggling to climb a tree an old man scaled in 10 sec. Sg Stan starts heckling him about it as he slides down the 20th time.

[pruneunfair]

Tears on the withered flower is one of those overhyped dark fantasy romance cuz it has ONE OR TWO realistic points: being the asshole sexist ex and the innocent mistress who was lied to and tricked, funny enough they're the hated villains, the husband I can get, but the mistress Ari, yeah ppl don't realize that this is an actual thing that happens right now, somewhere in this world, a woman is being tricked by an asshole cuz his wife can't do her job right

Listen, I don't have issues with protagonists being problematic, it adds depth to characters and not everyone in real life is a joy to be with, but when the Protagonists are severely overhyped and you became too much into them, when that magic wears off, you feel so Empty, it's like how I was with Navier, now I'm just a stranger to her cuz ig I was seeing her through the rose tinted glasses too much

That's the exact same thing with Tears on a withered flower, I get it, it works well for a dark wish fulfilment, it's like a dark appetite for something bitter, but again I don't think it's doing really good at that, a real wish fulfilment to ME at the very least give the characters some basic traits besides being pity party and crazy hottie cuz that shit is real old and honestly watching a "woe is me" character can be so fucking annoying and exhausting

Also the attitude from die hard fans when we have issues with the weird ass anatomy meant to be overly sexy is because we just hate conventionally beautiful or sexiness, I literally read smut most of the time, it's not about the boobies or the unrealistic overgrown muscles, it's the fact that y'all can't even try to look deeper into your characters and are acting like we're the mean bullies who ruin their perfect romance story that's viewed through their pink lens and can't think further than that

Not to mention the clear bullshit that a 30+ woman FL can't even look like she's in 30s and a weirdly grown teenager, I saw her teen girl version, the only difference is her body looking a Victoria secret model and ofc some random guy who's obsessed with FL off the street is the good guy here even though there's a million ways he can go wrong and no one thought he was just using her like her ex-husband did, but since he's hotter that's okay, ughhh

Tears on a withered flower has such a weird relationship with me because when it wants to be, it is actually realistic when it comes to relationships. The latest chapter is Hae Soo telling Tae Ha that their relationship is just physical and he got all sad about it cause he had sex with her and everything guys 🥺

As of Hae Soo didn't just get out of an abusive relationship and is now being rushed into a new relationship with some guy who we STILL don't know why he is so obsessed with her. Plus so far, Hae Soo seems to acknowledge what we were all thinking: That their relationship is literally just lust and I agree because so far it's just been him cornering her or having sex with her, a few dates here and there but it's still must physical sex.

[cleolinda]

Silent Hill 2 commentary: Wood Side Apartments (3)

PREVIOUSLY ON: James' feud with a grade schooler, decorative storytelling, our first encounter with Pyramid Head, and the scariest scene in the whole game.

Spoiler policy: Just about anything but That One Big Thing near the end of the game, particularly information about characters, their motives, and their dynamics. The game’s eight endings may also be discussed. Content notes are below the cut.

Content notes: This post is mostly about fighting and exploring. The combat involves body horror, acid vomit, and realistic amounts of blood. By this point, we have both the wooden plank and the gun.

1:14:30: "This is so stressful. I say this admiringly. It's so stressful!" The thing about this game is that you have to stay vigilant—the combat is very sporadic, but you're always watching for a mannequin to be right around the corner. The tension is exhausting, and this is why I'm sitting there halfway through this video saying, "I'm so tired." I love it, but this is why it took me about six weeks to finish the game the first time.

Mostly, this apartment exists as a throughway with easter eggs to somewhere else, but there's a double bed with that blue-flowered sheet again, and there's a broken mirror on one of the pillows. Given what we've discussed about "a body without a head" (V2 1:48:25) and "James can't look himself in the eye," it's almost like the mirror is resting there as a person would, next to a space for someone else. There's also that deep, hoarse breathing that's meant to evoke Mary's illness. I feel like there's symbolism like this scattered throughout the building just to have something there, you know? Bloober Team really went out of their way to make these apartments look like a variety of people lived there, and if you're going to think up all these furnishings and back stories so players can explore, they might as well reflect James in some way.  

1:16:45: This moment with a mannequin lying in wait encapsulates what I love about them: there's body horror, but it's also waiting there in this coy little pose that's both sort of charming and incredibly disturbing. I love fighting them but I hate fighting them, you know? I kind of wish we were on the same team. 

A Strange Photo on the windowsill: "Career's humble beginnings." Midway through my first run at the game, I started recording it for my own reference, and thus, I actually have a shot of James' cubicle to compare it to: 

All images are ©2024 Konami Digital Entertainment, and captured from my gameplay in January-March 2025.

1:19:00: I struggle with one of the ankle-biter lying figures out in the hall. It keeps slithering away at top speed. "Do you want to do this or not?!"

You know, I'm probably the last person who should shake my first and cry "WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!" to the heavens, given that I did all this research to tell you why the monsters are like this, but I'm not asking in any literal sense. It's more, Why, Why Hath These Tribulations Been Visited Upon Me. 

1:20:10: "Oh, it's YOU." The next one, a straggler with stitches, is even worse: "I am not dying here. FUCK THAT."

There's a fire escape staircase you can let down that goes between the second floor and the ground floor, and it turns out to be really, really useful. 

1:21:15: Apartment 207. I proceed to traipse around the Wood Side complex savescumming the "Let's NOT Party!" achievement so I don't lose 50% of my bullets shooting 11 "WELCOME HOME" balloons. I was fully willing to eat 13 deaths on my original run, 11 of them sustained from extracurricular practice fighting, but I'd rather run around reloading saves for a one-time thing than lose half my ammo. 

By the way, this room is decorated for a party (complete with a moldy, uncut cake). In an abandoned town. This is the question I keep asking: Did people leave Silent Hill gradually, or all in one cataclysmic day? But there's always that third option: what we're experiencing has been conjured in the moment, by Silent Hill as an entity, specifically for James. At which point, "Welcome Home" is addressed... to him. It's a continuation of that "home" theme: Home Again by David Wiltse, "The Long Way Home" on the jukebox, Silent Hill as a resort town that nonetheless symbolizes the person that was "home" to James. 

1:30:00: The night before I recorded this, I was browsing the Silent Hill Wiki and saw the line, "James was proficient in track and field in his 'school days.'" I laughed so loudly that I scared my dog because Remake James famously can't go faster than a gentle jog, to the point where it's laughable in a chase scene several hours from now. "WELL IT DID HIM A LOT OF GOOD."

1:31:00: Apartment 208. I honestly don't have any evidence that Apartment 208 is inhabited by "a fucking serial killer," but it's got a distinct Se7en vibe to me (I nearly said "written all over it"), from the room crammed with notebooks to the weird little chamber that the tenant APPARENTLY traps people in. I don't usually transcribe entire notes, but this one left behind by that tenant is worth examining: 

You must think I'm cruel But this prison is of your own making The choice was yours I watched you make it over and over and over again This time's not gonna be any different And I'll be here Watching

So one interpretation is, we have walked into yet another story of strangers' lives going on in this complex, and this has nothing to do with James and we'll never know what the hell this absolute freak was doing. Another is that this does relate to James in a partial, dream-logic way; "over and over and over again" suggests time loops and that oscillating-fan cycles-and-repetition symbolism. Whether you think Silent Hill is hell, purgatory, or something else for James, it is "of his own making"—he's here due to something he's done (and the guilt he feels about it), but his version is also constructed of imagery from his subconscious. The "choice" must be [spoiler that James can't remember], and we'll watch him watch that on a video tape near the end of the game—did the speaker watch James make that choice in that memory, or is James literally repeating that action in the present/future? Because the "Maria" ending hints that James will reenact events from his life with her as well. 

At which point: Who is "I"? Silent Hill itself? Or even some part of James, speaking to himself? Taunting himself, trapping himself? I genuinely don't know. This game loves to just drop weird little confetti bombs of what the fuck all over the place. 

Anyway, there's also kind of a hypergraphia situation with the writing all over the walls and ceiling; our three clues to the safe code are hidden there.

Right where the rooftops piece through the night Left are homebound footprints with no owner in sight But has he found home, oh, please pray tell Or a river of memories leading right to his hell

So you're looking for drawings of

Houses (rooftops), with the "home" theme again

Another house with footprints (like the footprints on the loading screen. This is recreated from the original game, and I actually don't know if there's a significance there)

A river (James is associated with water, and the "bad" endings ["his hell"?] both involve the lake)

and the numbers on them, which are the code to a safe ("right" and "left" in the poem give you the directions) that contains a key and also our first coin, the Man, and yes, all of this is exactly as complicated as it sounds.

When I mention the disgusting bathrooms as having a Se7en aesthetic, I may have been thinking of Fight Club—while both are iconic David Fincher movies, they had different production designers, and Fight Club’s was Alex McDowell. That said, I would be very surprised if Bloober Team didn’t also have some of Arthur Max’s work on Se7en on their inspo boards. 

I also mention that this kind of reminds me of the Saw movies, except that I haven't seen the Saw movies because Silent Hill 2 is about as much gore as I can handle. I always send my videos to Ian first, and he emailed me back that, right as he was saying to the screen, "But you recapped—" my voice said, "Yes, I know I recapped Hannibal." (I didn't watch it for the gore, that's for sure.)

1:36:10: The key opens your exit, a door with the nine-square arrangement of the Nine Delusions, the nine monsters and bosses that are James' distractions. Usually the squares are red, and that's why our save points involve James looking into a red square. I probably didn't need to write this up this puzzle at such length, but the location is visually very striking.

1:38:40: Not only do I get confused by how to work the dial on the safe, despite having played this game before, I can't even explain what confuses me about it in a coherent fashion. I am tired. We are 50% of the way through this video. 

1:40:45: Apartment 205, where we get the padlock key. This is another area that freaks me out beyond all reason:

What the FUCK is this room? What is happening here? There's like a tarp taped on the ground. There is all kinds of nasty whatever around this chair. It's under a single light bulb like it's an interrogation room, or maybe a torture room, or maybe a murder room, I don't know. What is going on in this building? What is happening! 

As Eurogamer points out in the "What Was Life Like in Silent Hill 2 Before Its Downfall?" video, there may be some PTV/drug-related crime that would explain WHATEVER was happening in this room. Also, you have to whack three creepers; I talk about "I Grew Up in a Haunted House and I Didn’t Notice," an essay about being too busy with roaches and crickets in a very old house to notice that I was apparently living with spirits (?) as a child.

1:44:50: FINALLY, I get to the 2F laundry room, and James discovers that the Woman coin is stuck in the garbage chute.  

Next post: Eddie's introduction; a swimming pool full of lying figures and an apartment full of mannequins; "IF WE'RE DYING IT'S AT LEAST GONNA BE SOMEWHERE RESPECTABLE!"; canned juice.

(SH2R commentary master post)

[therewasatale]

just hold on

On Ao3.

"Just hold on, we're getting closer to my hideout."

His maker's voice sounded worried - he felt worried - and it made his skin crawl.

"Geoffrey?"

"Just get us somewhere dry." The ex-hunter snarled; his right hand trying to hold the piece of wood in his side stable, while he was holding onto the Ekon with his left. Each step felt like knives stabbing and pulling deeper in his body. His blood slowly seeping away.

His fingers dug deeper in the Ekon's coat and he ignored the crackling fire from behind them.

It has been raining non-stop for three days at least. The cold raindrops flowed through his hair, down his neck, and into the depths of his now ragged coat.

Narrow streams flowed past their feet, their shoes sometimes splashing into the dirty puddles.

For a couple of minutes, he was able to swallow his pride, and let the creature hold him up with one arm.

"All right. I got you." Reid, concentrated, and as carefully possible, tapped into his abilities.

They disappeared into to shadows.

And behind them the flames engulfed the warehouse building, along with the bodies of the dead Vulkods inside.

Dawn drew near, they both felt as they walked along the Dock Streets. The gray rain clouds began to fade as the sun crept higher and higher on the horizon.

Finally, they found the red door, and Reid easily opened it - leading to a quarantined room. He still didn't let go of McCullum, his arm was still under his and he took care to step at the same time as he was.

"This way."

They reached the worn-down bed and McCullum let himself be lowered down on the dirty mattress.

"For God's sake pull it out." Grunted the ex-hunter. The pain helped. It made his mind sharp. He knew that since he was turned, he was able to survive a lot and that piece of wood won't be enough to kill him.

"Then on three I --"

"Don't talk, just do it!" He barked back.

It probably impaled his liver - not like he was using it anymore. However, being in this mess was his own fault; or so he thought. "Fucking Vulkods, and their strength."

"All right then, one, two --"

The painful yelp filled the room, and it made a couple of sparrows to flew away from their hiding spots from under the near rafters.

Blood gushed out from the deep wound.

"Fuck! You said on three!" McCullum's fingers gripped into the metal of the bed frame, denting it. It wouldn't kill him, but he still needed to time to get used to the pain of the much deeper and uglier wounds that he could endure as a vampire.

"And you told me to do it."

"Fuck you!" But there wasn't really anger in his voice. He gritted his teeth and focused; the darkness flowed out from the deepest parts of his wound and knitted it close. With that, the pain faded away. "Shit!" McCullum sank back to the bed.

"Good job."

"Shut up." His pride was whole again as well.

"I will leave you soon, but first, can you tell me what happened in that building?"

"What do you think?" McCullum scoffed and tried to rub the exhaustion out of his eyes - the pain went away, his hunger remained. "I just followed the scent of rancid blood and found monsters."

"And you went against three Vulkod, all by yourself?" It was Reid's turn to let out a scoff. "If I wouldn't know you, I'd think that you want to get yourself killed."

"You don't know me." The ex-hunter pushed himself up to standing, his eyes gazing right into his maker's. "You do not know me! Just because you put this curse on me, you don't funking know anything about me!"

Reid waited for a couple of seconds. "Maybe it was true before," He was almost completely got used to arguments like these. "But I've turned you, and since then we have this connection, and while I can ignore it - I'd rather make sure to watch over you and the others instead."

And it was the truth, wasn't it? The truth that made McCullum swallow from its weight.

Even after everything the Ekon in front of him cared for him. Genuinely cared - hell, he was worried.

Over the days and weeks, he tried to not pay attention all those feelings that weren't his. And push down the urge to be next to his maker.

He wanted to hate this connection with every part of his being, but he couldn't. Knowing that someone was out there and cared for him, even after everything, it made his soul relax a little. This shook him up his core, and made him question all those answers he thought he knew about the vampires - about his enemies.

"Fuck off." McCullum turned his face away, and focused on the pitter-patter of raindrops against the dirty window. "I can handle myself; I've already told you, leech."

"Leech. Yes. You can call me Jonathan considering everything but --" Reid knew this blind stubbornness too well – he let out a tired sigh. "Very well, in that case I won't bother you from now on, Geoffrey." He took a step away from his progeny. "I better hurry back to Pembroke; morning will be here soon and I don't think the rain will last much longer to keep me safe either."

McCullum watched the Ekon's back as he walked to the door. His hand curled into a fist; his finger dug into his palm - he had to hold himself back from calling after his maker.

"Have some rest, and please, take care." Reid glanced back him, as always, he still had that friendly smile that tied a warmth knot in the ex-hunter's stomach.

The door closed, and McCullum waited, when he was sure his maker left, he let out a long sigh. "You too." His legs gave in, as he fell back, the bed creaking under his weight. "Jonathan."

[askhakukusanagi]

Dear Mr. Kusanagi,

Please elaborate on the nature of your curious relationship between yourself, Mr. Kamurai and Mr. Ishibashi.

Sincerely,

Ritsu Shinjo

I assume you're recording, right..?

Ah... well... haha, at least if you ever decide to make a podcast of all this, you'll have for a good episode, huh?

Kamurai...

It's hard, to call someone a friend and to know it was your own fault, and to become someone unspeakable for them. But, who am I to talk about his reactions when they were deserved?

On top of that, he's become lazy. He's smart, we all know he is, but he should really be using the one braincell he keeps running to think of insults, and use it to maybe use his power to his advantage.

But, truthfully, I'm jealous. If I was in his position, I'd hopefully have enough sense to do everything in my power to show appreciation for all he's found himself with. I could never hate him. Somewhere deep down, I still admire him. In his prime, he was one hell of a King. Maybe I was the one who ruined it. Maybe I should be the one to take the weight of all the names they sling at him. The man who made the tyrant.

We're more alike than I wish we were. We run. We look at our problems, and we flee from them. He's no less a coward than I am, if you get to thinking about it. Only I left, and went somewhere to be useful.

I'm not ready to face him yet. Not when there's a good chance he'd just fucking kill me.

And then there's Tohma.

I miss him.

He got me out of Frostheim. In a selfish way, I wonder if it was hard for him to push for my removal. Even so, my replacement was... perfect, really. He can handle what I never could, and put up with what broke me. And he's strong. It's like he's made for this. Handsome face and resilience to match... who better to stand by the king?

I'm jealous. I wish he'd stand by me instead.

But, this is better for him. Jin is better for him. His criminal record was pardoned by the king, and he was taken for what he was. And, he gets to live luxury and make his own path in his new house. He's better there than here, even if I worry about how tired he looks, and how... what's the word. How fragile he's become. If he doesn't stop enabling Jin, he's the one who will suffer for it.

It actually scares me a good deal. If he dies of exhaustion... he'd-... he'd likely-... I am not strong enough a man to handle that.

I want the best for him. But, the best isn't here. The best isn't me, nor is it Jin.

Maybe we should switch again.

Subaru would be so good to him.

For: @ritsu-shinjo

《Please go check them out!! They're absolutely gifted, and I love interacting with them so much. Mun appreciation post. They're putting me through it right now while they're GMing and I am loving every second.》

《I slipped a few references in there for them :p》

[pedge-stuff]

accident (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

poll winner! eat up, 54.5% of you. (and, thank you!) if you wanna influence the next thing too… my asks are open…

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," as always.

summary: he can’t lose you.

——————————————————————————

You're kind of a sight.

Hunched in the hospital hallway, in your Calvins and socks and nothing more. The Emergency Room of New York Presbyterian is dangerously overcrowded, people streaming in and out of curtained-off rooms emitting beeping alarms and low moans. 

Some nurse had fixed a sling across your shoulder, tucked an industrial icepack against the pulsing swell of your collarbone, wiped some blood from your face and side and hands, and then left you on the bed. Your phone is gone— laying somewhere on the Brooklyn Bridge, probably.

It hurts. Really hurts, now that shock and adrenaline have given way to a bone-weary exhaustion. No drugs yet, haven’t even been seen by a fucking doctor— the pile-up was extensive, whole ER crowded with bloodied and bruised passengers.

Seems like it's just your collarbone that's broken. At least, it feels broken. The nurse touched it, hissed, and muttered something about an x-ray before he was off running towards an urgent-sounding beeping down the hall. Pain radiates up and down your left arm.

Over an hour now, just sitting on a cot in the hallway. The dinner should be half over by now. You wonder, halfheartedly, how mad Pedro is. How long he waited outside the Museum of Natural History before giving up and going into the charity benefit by himself. Oscar and Elvira were supposed to be there, so at least he wouldn't be completely alone. But, still. You couldn't give him a heads-up without a phone.

Eyes closed against the bright fluorescents, you attempt some deep breaths, concentrating on the bite of the plastic ice against your bare skin. No idea when they’ll let you leave, but you’re fantasizing about going the fuck home. Seems like maybe a lot of things need to happen between now and then.

“— there, fuck.” A familiar voice, close.

Blinking, you wonder for a second if you are hallucinating. A familiar head of brown-and-grey curls is bobbing and weaving down the hallway. You catch flashes of the emerald suit that was hanging on the closet door this morning, fresh from the dry cleaners.

Pedro may as well be floating, with the speed he reaches you. How the hell?

You barely have time to register his presence before there are warm hands on your cheek, your neck, the back of your head. 

"Oh, thank god. Jesus christ." Pedro is looking you up and down frantically. You realize you don’t really know what you look like right now. Covered in goosebumps, cold and a little numb and very exposed. Possibly a little bloodier than the last time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” It is the only question you can think to ask, though it feels like a really stupid thing to say.

He busies himself with kissing your face. Panic-stricken, feather-light things, all along your brow line and the bridge of your nose. Your cheeks are still cradled in his large palms.

When he pulls back, Pedro's eyes are glossy. His mouth opens and closes, like he doesn't quite trust himself to speak, dragging in a shaky inhale. "Baby I’m your next of kin. The police called and said you'd been in an accident. Said you were at Presbyterian, couldn't tell me how serious it was, if you were still—" Voice cracking, he squeezes his eyes shut, slow tears trailing from the corners of his eyes.

Your cheeks are suddenly cold as he pulls back to scrub at his own. "Sorry," Pedro whispered. "I was really fucking scared. Jesus. The Uber was driving so slow, and I was worried that we would get here and it would be too late. Or that it was already too late, and I didn't even know."

It is your hand to cup his cheek, with the hand not currently strapped and elevated. "It's okay. I'm okay, we're okay. Everything is okay." You brush a thumb across his cheekbone.

"You're not okay," he sniffs mournfully. Suddenly, Pedro pulls back, looking you over again. "What's the damage?" There is a frantic quality to his examination, eyes wide, brow furrowed.

“I think my collarbone’s broken, otherwise just cuts and bruises. Seatbelt did it." He hisses, inspecting the sling without daring touch it.  "I don't really know what's going on— it seems like some people got really hurt." 

You remember, at the last second, to act 27 though you very much feel 17. Square your throbbing shoulders, alert. It’s something you are maybe a little too conscious of: the jailbait soulmate.

It lasts all of ten seconds— a replaced hand in your hair tips you forward, gently, until your forehead is pressed against his starch-shirted stomach. Warm fingers rub the nape of your neck, migrate down the length of your bare spine.

Involuntarily, you shiver. "Baby, where are your clothes?"

"I don't even know, at this point. The nurse was supposed to bring back like a gown or something, but that was over an hour ago." Before you've finished speaking, he is shrugging off his suit jacket, careful as he drapes it over your slung shoulder.

Your brain is slowly catching up to the absurdity of the circumstances. "Pedge, did you leave the dinner?"

He gapes at you. "Of course I left the dinner, are you insane?"

"You were supposed to be speaking!"

"You are in the hospital. There is nothing more important to me, sweetheart, and no way in hell I would stay at that stupid dinner knowing you were here." You pull yourself away, reluctantly and slow, to sit up. Pedro thumbs your jawline, tilting your head up slightly, so that you meet his eyes.

"I love you," he says softly. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you. I don’t want to know.”

Chaos continues around you. Other patients are waiting for other nurses, crowded on other cots, with other broken extremities. But none of them could possibly be as lucky.

At your insistence, Pedro gingerly takes a seat beside you on the bed. Your legs bump where they hang off the side. Pressing your uninjured side against his, you sit, and wait.

Still half-naked and exposed, unmedicated, exhausted, but at peace.

[abysskeeper]

You know, I thought I'd feel...more towards this. I remember the despair of election night 2016 and the few weeks after. It's not really there now. It's just exhausted resignation and grit teeth determination as we go again.

And there's a thousand things I could say. Anger still exists here somewhere, lurking below the depths. So does sadness, and desperation, and contempt. But what good will any of that do in this moment? All of what I want to say will be flung around in the ensuing months anyways.

So I'm sitting at the busstop waiting to go to work and...I think I'll donate some more to Palestinian and Ukranian charities. I've done it periodically, and now that my vote didn't do anything, it's all I have left. It sucks our election effects so much more beyond us...but here we are.

I think I'll write today, to remind myself I can still create. They can't take that from me. My words still matter, and art will be one of the most important things we have in the near future.

I think I'll call my parents today. The conversation won't be easy, they didn't want this anymore than I did, and this is going to make a personally hellish year even harder moving forward. But we'll figure it out, like we always do. We have each other, and it'll be important to hold onto family moving forward, no matter what shape it takes.

And I think I'll finish buying my friends' Xmas gifts too. Support to small, minority-owned businesses is going to become a necessity now more than ever. Besides, my friends need cheering up as much as I do, and it's good to remember there are still things to look forward to, however small.

All that to say...there's still some good. By god there's still some good and you're going to have to find it. Find it and sink tooth and claw into it and do not fucking let go. Do not let anyone take it from you.

We're all going to need it.