#facial care after 40

[tossball-stick]

what? no. vaughn doesnt have visible abs. huh? neither does rhys. they never have. what are you on about? yeah, theyre like, normal people. theyve got some pretty soft tummies actually. yeah, sure, vaughns less so. but rhys? yeah sorry hes actually a little flabby around the stomach. like a normal 40 year old, yeah. mhm and hes got hair there too. and on his chest yeah, his face too. yeah ive seen people posting about some aus where hes never had a moustache for some reason?? what weirdos

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

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summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must. 

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege. 

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

���He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family. 

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture. 

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed. 

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child. 

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.” 

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 40: good luck

NOTE: another christmas gift hehe 💞 happy holidays everyone <3

PS. i love them (scarayn) your honor :((

You felt a little bad while wishing Kazuha his good lucks when you went with him to the stadium.

Half of the reason was because you felt traitorous wishing him good luck when later, he might find you on the opponent's bleachers. Half of it was because you knew your wishes of luck for you brother were half-hearted — because half of you hoped that your lover could win this time.

You let out a big sigh as you two walked towards his team, which caught Kazuha's attention.

"Why are you sighing like that? You're even more nervous than the one who'd actually play!" He joked, attempting to lighten up your mood.

"I'm not nervous!"

"You are."

"Am not!"

"Are."

You rolled your eyes, having long forgotten the conflict you were feeling just seconds prior. "I told you, I —"

"Captain! There you are!" Venti exclaimed as soon as you and your brother got close enough to them. "Oh, [Name], hi! Long time no see!"

You smiled and waved at them. The team reciprocated your gesture, but you noticed a particular dark green-haired man with golden eyes avoid your gaze.

"Xiao!" You called out. "Good luck!"

He stiffened. At the specific mention of his name, he had no choice but to turn to you. Venti tried to stifle a laugh, but his weird facial expression right now is a proof of his failure.

"You're so cruel," Xiao mumbled. Really, he was finally trying to move on from his suppressed feelings, and now you give him his own 'good luck'?

You are so cruel. And the worst part is that you don't even know.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." He managed to flash a small smile. "I said thank you."

"Oh, okay!"

You noticed Venti patting Xiao's back apologetically while still holding back a laugh before you turned away. You started observing your surroundings — Xiao swatting away Venti's hands, your brother occupied by his teammates...

Now was the perfect moment to sneak away.

Making sure you were not seen, you slowly distanced yourself from your own university's varsity team. You put on a white baseball cap, which goes perfectly with your boyfriend's jersey that you've kept perfectly hidden underneath your oversized red jacket.

'Ugh, the lengths I go to!' You complained. 'Why do they belong in different teams?'

If you had known your future boyfriend would be from University of Inazuma's football team, you would have done everything to convince your brother to accept the university's offer after he had passed their entrance examinations.

If he and Kuni were in the same team, would they be friends like your boyfriend is with Heizou and Aether?

Unfortunately, the halls in the stadium were not sufficient to accommodate your musings. Soon enough, you found yourself welcomed by navy blue cheering balloons and bleachers displaying waves of blue with occasional whites — a stark contrast to the abundance of maroon placards and shirts from where you originally came from.

Although being aware that you aren't as popular as your brother, you still feared the possibility of someone recognizing you. You made another effort to lower your cap more as you unzipped your jacket, letting your boyfriend's jersey be visible.

People kept giving you weird glances, perhaps due to your jacket being red despite being in the blue team's wing.

But you couldn't care less.

You wanted to also somehow show support for your brother, even in just small ways.

After faithfully referring to the ticket that Kuni had previously handed you, you soon found the section where you were supposed to be settled in.

A familiar long, braided purple hair demanded your attention right off the bat as you went through the VIP gate. Around her, several men clad in navy blue varsity jackets and a few already in their jerseys were huddled around.

You smiled, admiring how your boyfriend's brows were furrowed. Not in frustration, however. This time, it was in concentration.

As Coach Ei took her time giving her final reminders, you sneakily made your way into your seat, which you noticed was directly right behind a player's seat currently occupied by a very familiar sports bag.

You busied yourself with your phone, first texting your brother and then his friends one final 'good luck'. Your seemingly endless loop of scrolling through your feed then came to a stop as you heard some shuffling.

"Hey."

You looked up, only to see your boyfriend looming over with a grin, one knee kneeling on the seat right in front of you. His right arm resting on the seat's backrest, and the other on his thigh.

"Hey," you breathed.

"My jersey looks the best on you."

"I know," you jokingly replied.

"Don't we all know?" A certain maroon-head butted in. "He's been telling us that nonstop ever since he gave you one of his jerseys!"

"Hi [Name]! Nice to finally meet you," said the sunshine-haired boy. "I'm Aether, Scara's friend. Also a midfielder."

"Hi!"

Kuni's other friend grabbed your hands and shook them aggressively. "Hi [Name]! Nice to finally meet you! I'm Heizou, Scara's friend and a defender. Also the one your brother blocked because he thought I was your boyfriend!"

"What?" Kuni turned to look at you. "Your brother thinks that?"

You laughed. "He does."

A scowl was now plastered onto your lover's face. Heizou, also noticing this, shivered. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Maybe, he should now start preparing for the repetitions his captain would make him do once they finish this game. Maybe, he should take what he said back and tell Scara that it was a lie, and that he was just joking.

"Uhm—"

"They're calling for the players now," Ei announced to the team. When her eyes spotted you, she gave a subtle smile and wave before getting back to work.

Heizou let out a sigh of relief as Aether laughed next to him, the two already heading out to the field.

You placed your attention back to your boyfriend who's still in front of you, still maintaining his position from earlier. His earlier grin was already replaced by a frown, though.

You lowered your cap again.

Scaramouche swore his heart dropped when you cupped his face using both of your hands, gently tugging him closer.

"Why is your face like that, hmm?"

"What? Handsome?" He feigned ignorance.

You smiled. "Well, yes. That's true. But you look annoyed."

"It's nothing."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

You took a quick glance towards his teammates. Seeing as most of them have already left for the field, you knew you had to settle this fast.

"Kuni." You called.

"What?"

You replied with nothing.

Nothing aside from closing the distance between the two of you — eyes closed, skin touching, lips intertwined; deep breaths the only thing audible upon parting.

"You—"

You put your index finger against his lips.

"Good luck!" You grinned.

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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[kjupchurch-xx]

Oh, Baby!

This chapter contains a tiny bit of SMUT.

Hugh and I were expecting our first child, not something he'd planned at the age of 40 or me at the age of 26, but one thing led to another and we ended up finding out we were expecting. Though, that's the kind of thing that happens when you aren't exactly careful, if you know what I mean. Of course you do. Besides that, things were well, we'd just celebrated our second year of marriage, our third year together and he was just nominated People's Sexiest Man Alive.

Flashback to the night of conception:

I laid beneath him as he gazed down into my eyes, his tan skin glistening in the dimly lit room. His thrusts slow, steady and full of passion. With one hand, he was cupping my cheek as my soft moans filled our bedroom. His other hand keeping him atop of me without bearing too much of his weight on me. I could see his facial expressions through the dim lighting, he was letting out soft moans while continuing to make love to me. I could tell he was getting close by the expression on his face.

As he leaned down to kiss me softly, he mumbled against my lips, "I love you, gorgeous." as his thrusts continued. As I reached my orgasm, he climaxed with me, not pulling out as he pressed his forehead against mine, continuing to kiss me with so much emotion, so much love. He collapsed alongside me, pulling me into his embrace, pressing another kiss on my forehead as we slowly drifted off to sleep.

Present Day:

Hugh and I did not know the gender. After suffering a miscarriage last year, we didn't care about a gender, we cared about a healthy baby. However, we did have our names picked out. If Baby Jackman were a girl, her name would be Paisley Grace Jackman, if Baby Jackman were a boy, his name would be Christopher Michael Jackman, which was a nod to Hugh's father, Chris and Michael since it was Hugh's middle name. Grace came from Hugh's rekindled relationship with his mother, Grace.

I was 38 weeks pregnant and my baby bump has already made me double in size. Whenever Hugh wasn't filming, he'd sing, read or even talk to the bump. The baby always kicked at the sound of Hugh's voice, regardless of what he was doing. Hugh was ecstatic to be a father, he even cried when he found out we would be having a child. I spent most of the time wondering what our precious gift would look like, if they'd take Hugh's Australian accent or take on more of my Southern accent.

"Here Beautiful, I made you a brekkie. Pancakes don't cause your morning sickness anymore, right?" He asked with a soft gentle voice, bringing me a plate of the pancakes he'd made from scratch.

I smiled, "No, pancakes are fine now. I've been craving pancakes. Thank you, love." I said, grabbing the plate, devouring the food he'd brought me as he sat beside me.

He started caressing my upper thigh, "How're you feeling today, love?"

I yawned, "I'm okay today, but I've really got to pee. I'm so fat now, I can hardly waddle at this point." I snickered while struggling to get up.

He quickly stood up, taking both of my hands in his, helping me to my feet. "You're not fat, stop that. You're beautiful and you can tell by how much sex we have that I'm still very much attracted to you, bump and all." He chuckled.

I playfully rolled my eyes, heading in the direction of our bathroom to pee for the 50th time that morning. As I stepped into the doorway, I had this immediate urge and quickly realized I did not have to pee. In fact, my water had broken. All over the floor and all over the clothes I had on. The doctor had previously told us once I hit 38 weeks that Baby Jackman could come at any time, so knowing this, we'd planned ahead and had a bag packed just in case. Thank god.

I yelled for Hugh as I waddled my way into the bedroom to quickly change pants. He came rushing into our bedroom, "Are you okay? What happened?" He asked, his voice dripping with concern as he stepped close towards me.

"I um, my water... My water broke. It's happening." I stammered, a panicked look spread across my face. He quickly grabbed the bag we'd packed in one hand, and used his other to carefully usher me to the car outside. He threw the bag in the backseat before carefully helping me into the front seat, leaning down pulling my seatbelt across me. I could feel the contractions beginning at this point. The sharp waves of pain leaving me quivering, eager to get to the hospital to get relief.

He held my hand as he drove us towards the nearest hospital, bringing my hand up to his lips, letting them brush lightly across my knuckles, "We're about to see our baby. I can't wait." He spoke softly.

I wrapped my arm around my stomach as I felt another wave of pain getting ready to rush through my abdomen, "Holy shit, this is fucking painful." I winced.

He caressed my arm, "I know love, it'll be over soon. We're almost there, just hang on."

As we arrived at the hospital, he helped me out of the car, grabbing the bag and slinging it over his shoulder, using his other arm to steady me as my contractions grew stronger. Once he got me inside and I was rushed back by medical staff, he ran out to park the car before coming back up to the room I was being wheeled to, in a wheelchair. Upon arriving to room 232, I was helped out of my clothes and into a hospital gown. The nurses came in with friendly, welcoming personalities and smile plastered their faces to get me prepped and check my dilation before allowing me to have my privacy.

I could feel the tears coming. I was now alone in the room, I was about to push my first kid out, I'm in pain. I'm terrified. I know he's just parking the car, but I'm petrified.

The door to my room swung open and in ran a panicked Hugh as he noticed the tears spilling down my cheeks. "Baby girl, are you okay? Is the baby okay?" He asked frantically, grabbing my face gently.

I nodded, "I'm scared." I swallowed the hard lump that felt stuck in my throat.

He began caressing my face, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead, "It's okay, my love. I'm here. There's nothing to be afraid of. Soon, we'll be holding the baby. Our baby." He said reassuringly as he wiped his fingers over the tears streaming my face.

I grimaced as that now familiar wave of contraction pain made its way through my insides. The feeling was getting more painful with each wave that hit.

Hours had went by. My dilation slowly, but surely getting closer. The discomfort and pain I felt has me second guessing if getting pregnant was the right choice. I just wanted the pain to stop. As a nurse walked in, Hugh stood up, standing beside me, holding my hand tightly.

"Mrs. Jackman, it's time to check your dilation. Hopefully we're at the point we can begin pushing." The nurse, who'd introduced herself as Nurse Jackie informed us as she moved the blanket, leaving me exposed to check my dilation. "I'm calling your obstetrician to come down. We'll be ready to begin pushing once he gets here, Mrs. Jackman." She said, removing her rubber gloves and discarding them, washing her hands then walking out of the room.

I looked over at Hugh, running my fingers down my pregnant belly. "I don't think I can do this..." I expressed, my voice laced with fear and doubt. "This pain is fucking unbearable." I shouted while clenching my fists as my body stiffened from another contraction.

He ran his fingers through my hair, "You've got this, love. It'll be all over soon. I promise."

I nodded at his words, slowly closing my eyes waiting for the obstetrician to enter the room. I'd already been given an epidural, but surprisingly, it didn't seem to numb the pain much. Neither did anything else the nurses offered me. About 3 minutes later, the obstetrician entered the room and I immediately felt as if I were going to be sick.

He walked over to me, "Alright Mrs. Jackman, you'll slip your feet in these stirrups here on the bed and we'll start pushing."

I nodded as he guided my feet into the stirrups and got into position to help me deliver my baby. I quickly looked at Hugh, who was standing beside me, at my head with a tight grip on my hand.

Dr. Whitin looked at me, "On the count of 3, I want you to push for me, okay?" He instructed me.

I nodded, closing my eyes as he began to count. Once he hit 3, I pushed hard, praying for relief. Praying for this pain to subside. He did another three count and a nod for me to push again. Still nothing.

After the third attempt at pushing, I looked at Hugh, completely out of breath, tears pouring down my face, "I can't do this. It hurts too bad."

He quickly grabbed both of my cheeks, looking me in the eyes, "You can do this, baby. You can do this. Just keep going."

I exhaled sharply as Dr. Whitin did another 3 count for me to push. I pushed, but nothing was happening. I felt myself slipping into a panic attack as the pain was at an all time high and nothing seemed to be working. Hugh continued running his fingers through my hair, his other hand holding mine. I'm sure I'd damn near been his hand during pushes.

"If the next push doesn't get the baby, we'll need to take you for an emergency c-section. Listen to me, I need you to push as hard as you can. I know it hurts, but we have to do this as quickly as possible, alright?" Dr. Whitin said, sounding a bit concerned.

He held his hand up and began another three count, "Push!" I heard him, the nurses and Hugh yell. I pushed as hard as my body would possibly let me, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I felt light headed. I didn't know if I were going to vomit or pass out at this point. I hear cries filling the room, but I'm too exhausted to move or try to look. Hugh looks at me with tears pooling in his eyes, as he leaned down kissing my head.

"Looks like it's a little girl!" Dr. Whitin exclaimed, holding the baby up  and allowing Hugh to cut the cord before the nurses rushed our baby girl to be cleaned up.

"You did it, mama. She's here." Hugh cried, seeing the sight of his beautiful little girl.

Before I could react, Nurse Jackie came and laid her on my chest. "Look at that beautiful baby. She has a head full of hair!"

I wrapped my arms around the baby that was swaddled in a blanket and looked down at her. She had a head full of dark brown hair. She was the perfect mix of Hugh and I. Perfect in every way. I heard him sniffle beside me, looking down at her.

"She's perfect." He cooed, "Hi Paisley, it's your daddy." His smile was the biggest I'd ever seen it.

I looked up to him, "Hold her." I said, passing her towards him. As he grabbed her from me, his eyes had a glimmer in them that I'd never seen before. Not even from his films. 

He peered down at the small 5lb newborn in his arms, smiling down at her. "She's so perfect." He looked back up at me, "Thank you." He said softly. 

I cocked my head to the side, "For what?" I asked, furrowing my brows. 

He sniffled, looking down at Paisley, "For her. She's everything I imagined she would be." He said softly as she looked up at him cooeing. 

I closed my eyes, resting my back against the pillow. Paisley was perfect. He was the perfect husband, who I'd always known would be the perfect father. I'd fallen into a peaceful slumber overhearing him singing to our daughter as he cradled her.  

[fkinavocado]

a very indulgent exploration of what could've, should've been...

Don't Worry Darling (SPIN-OFF) - Masterlist, Author’s Notes & Warnings / alternatively, read on wattpad

Part One (word count: 6.2k)

“... Jack? Excuse me, Jack? Is that really you?”

The man reluctantly stopped in his tracks and turned around, recognizing the woman but having forgotten her name. “Oh… hi there, uhm…?”

“Emma. It’s Emma. You remember me, right?”

“Yeah, you’re, uhm… you used to work at the hospital…”

Emma approached him, noting he wasn’t keen on breaching the gap himself. Poor fellow, she thought. He looked a mess. She was surprised she’d even recognized him. “Oh, I’m still at the hospital! How are you, Jack? You know, we’re all worried about you. Why didn’t you take us up on our offer, hm? We’d have loved to help you any way we could… It can’t have been easy. Gloria told us she came over once with a home cooked casserole but no one answered the door. She assumed you’d moved. Which is good, we thought. But we couldn’t get a hold of you, you must’ve also changed your number…”

Jack wasn’t really making eye contact. His gaze downcast, a hoodie atop of a beanie on his head and an oversized, worn out puffer jacket that almost swallowed him up. He looked very poorly even hidden behind all that. His facial hair unkempt, as was his hair tucked underneath his beanie, seemingly longer strands of it all messy and straw-like peeking out. His glasses loose at his temples. His face was hollow cheeked and she really feared he wasn’t looking after himself properly at all. But what really stood out to her was the bouquet of flowers he was carrying.

“Yeah… I moved out of there. Too many memories.”

“Those were her favourite… pink roses,” she mused. “You miss her so, don’t you, Jack? You can’t even bear talking to me about her, you poor man, even after all this time… What must you be going through… do you– agh. This is so insensible of me to even ask. Forgive me. But if it’s any consolation, us at the hospital haven’t given up hope. We still think she’s out there, somewhere, our Alice…”

Jack cleared his throat and took a step back. “I should get going…”

“Of course. Do take care of yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to reach out, you know where to find us. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,...” he stammered a bit, not knowing what else to say. He walked for a while in the wrong direction, just in case the nosy woman decided to follow him. 

He hadn’t moved. That would’ve been near impossible, and since he managed to dodge the bullet while the police were sniffing around for the longest time, he figured there wasn’t any reason to do so anymore. But he couldn’t have her know that, which is why he never answered the door to the other woman with the casserole either. 

After making sure she wasn’t following him, he resumed his walk home. He wished he could find some type of work from home. He’d be saving so much time and money on the commute, plus he’d always be there, which was quite imperative, all things considered.

What if there was a power outage? The one time that’d happened, there’d been dire consequences. Consequences he hadn’t had to endure. And he simply couldn’t allow that to happen again.

There were so many things that could go wrong while he wasn’t home.

Plus, if he worked remote he could take on a full shift. As it was, he had to work part-time, which wasn’t nearly enough to make ends meet. But the commute and all the prep he had to do were taking up too much time, time he didn’t want to waste here.

Finally arriving home, he made sure to secure the front door- the lock and all 3 of the bolts. 

Checking the computer screen, he only had 40 minutes left. The woman had made him late, what with all the detours he had to make to be sure she wasn’t following him.

Canned tuna it was, then. Again. No time for cooking. Not that he had much in the fridge anyway. 

He always felt antsy between the time he got back home and logging in. He wanted to get everything done and out of the way as soon as possible- cooking, laundry, cleaning (more like tidying up, the apartment was far from clean even by his standards), everything on autopilot, peeking at the computer screen every now and then to make sure he didn’t miss his log-in window.

With 20 minutes to spare, that was his que. 

“Oh!” He rushed back to the kitchen to retrieve the flowers, then using the keys that he wore on a chain around his neck for safekeeping, he unbolted yet another set of locks on the bedroom door. 

There she was. 

His heart always swelled in his chest seeing her there, safe and sound. Everyday day, without fail, a sigh of relief escaped his lips once he entered the bedroom. He’d probably never stop worrying while he was away for work.

“Darling, I… miss you all the time…” he hummed the lyrics to a song he used to sing to her often, placing the flowers in a vase by the bed. “Got you flowers, your favourite! Even that pesky Emma from the hospital remembers they’re your favourite. You’re so loved, hm? My precious girl.” He sat on the edge of the bed and reached to caress her supple cheek. “But I love you the most.”

Jack knew he did. Who else would do all this for her? Nobody! He tended after her, emptied out her waste bags as well as checked the respective connecting catheters were secure in place, cleaned her up, all without so much as wrinkling his nose. He replaced the IV, taking note that there was some bruising on that arm so he made sure to switch, he removed her compressive socks and massaged her limbs thoroughly before putting them back on, even made sure to hydrate her lips though she was getting all her nutrients through her IV, hell- he thought of everything. He did it all for her happily, and would do much more if needed. 

She’d done so much for them, too. 

She still did!

But long gone were the days where he’d see her come home from back to back shifts at the hospital, with barely any time to get some sleep in before she had to head back, all because she had to support the both of them all while paying off her student loans. 

Medschool was so expensive. Had he met her before he’d have talked her out of that career path. He’d have talked her out of any career! No. That was his job. He was the caretaker. He was the breadwinner. It’d been like that since the beginning of time. It was only natural for the man to provide. The fact that she’d had to for all that time had been killing him, every day that he had to sit at home and wait for her to get back from the hospital only to see her defeated, exhausted, drained beyond belief. 

Resident doctors were paid shit but strung out to the max. Especially surgeons. 

Meanwhile, Jack had struggled to find a job for the longest time. Unlike her, he hadn’t gone to college, let alone university. His parents couldn’t afford it at the time and he knew better than to tie himself up in student loans. He’d had odd jobs but nothing really ever stuck. He had no real skills, and every entry job demanded some form of higher education nowadays.

Plus, someone had to do house chores, cook and clean. And they couldn’t afford help. 

It’d been eating him up inside. It was all backwards! 

All up until he’d met someone online and got to talking over a game of World of Warcraft. This guy swore up and down about this dark web programme he’d found, but it was all very hush-hush, and Jack had to put in some serious gameplay time until he managed to extricate the info out of him.

The guy was very paranoid about telling him and even used a code system for what to look up. Jack took the lead and before long, he fell down the rabbit hole of what he now knew to be the Victory Project.

He got so immersed trying to digest all this new info being thrown his way all of a sudden that he nearly got caught listening to one of the podcasts when she’d gotten home from the hospital one day. He’d even forgotten to call the plumber. Boy- had that pissed her off.

She was already on edge all the time. Never had any time for him anyway- but if she got upset over silly little things she shut him out completely. 

He felt emasculated. Rejected. Reduced to a housewife.

Jack smirked to himself, as he tended to her whilst pondering all that. Securing the straps back around her wrists he mused at how things had changed. “I fixed it for us, I told you I would. Now you’re the one who’s waiting for me just as we speak. And I don’t even come home to you in scrubs, do I? No, I come home to you all handsome, suit and tie and ready to get my fill of you. Never too tired for you, am I darling? You’re such a great cook, god knows my mouth waters just thinking of all you’ve slaved over for us to feast on, but all I wanna do is feast on you instead. Aren’t you lucky?”

Jack watched her expressionless eyes for a moment as if waiting for her to answer him back, and promptly remembered to apply her eye drops, noticing they looked extra blood-shot than normal. He then finally got comfy in bed next to her. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. He was hard already just in anticipation of the way she’d excitedly open the door for him. The door to their lavish home, and their extravagant life together that he’d earned for the two of them. Him. 

He fixed the device around his own eyes and turned it on, taking her hand in his. 

“Welcome to the Victory Project. There are currently 72 active users.”

Nothing beat this. The pleasant, warm afternoon air sweeping through his perfectly coiffed hair as he rushed to get home to her from the Victory Headquarters. Here, the weather was always perfect… whereas, in the apartment, he had to keep the heating on a lower setting, the bill was ridiculous during the colder months. He always had to wear layers and layers, but not in the bedroom- no, he kept a radiator in there. All for her. He had to switch it off for safety reasons while he was away at work but it wasn’t like she was aware of her surroundings anyway! All the more reasons why he had to find something remote so he could work from home and clear up all these little things that bugged him about the whole arrangement. 

But he didn’t want to think about all that, not while he was here. No, here, those problems didn’t exist. This was his preferred reality, this was what he chose to believe was real. All the rest was just a means to an end.

He could feel all his exhaustment leave his body the closer he got to the house. He seldom wondered why she couldn’t have done the same for him coming back from the hospital. Why she couldn’t just leave all that baggage at the door and be glad to be home, back to him, where he waited for her like a lovesick puppy with separation anxiety.

He knew the answer to that now, of course, and that was all Frank’s merit- the brain behind this whole thing. He’d listened to his podcasts for a long while before he enrolled into the program. There was no way she could ever respect him within their given dynamic at the time. The roles were reversed and she couldn’t allow herself to be a woman to her man.

He’d fixed it, though, and boy, had Frank been right.

Every day, without fail, he knocked on the door coming home from work and there she was- all smiles and carefree and so eager to please him, in any way he saw fit. All because she respected him now. He was the man of the house, he was the breadwinner, he put a roof over her head, he got her all her little heart desired and kept her satisfied and happy. 

Which is why when nobody answered the door he was a bit taken aback.

Using his key that he’d rarely ever had to use himself to unlock the door, he let himself in and carefully inspected the silent house.

He knew, realistically, that there was no way something could’ve gone wrong- there was no crime in Victory. No one had broken into their home. But still, he searched the house tentatively. “Alice?”

Everything was spotless, and most striking of all, he couldn’t smell a trace of the homecooked meal he’d so been looking forward to. That tuna was enough to sustain his physical body, but not his large appetite.

Reaching the bedroom, he furrowed his brows with worry upon finding her… sleeping. Passed out on the bed, clad in her street clothes. She’d seemingly come back home from town exhausted and must’ve stretched her bones a bit by the looks of it. 

He contemplated waking her up. Maybe crawling between her thighs and having her gasp awake at the feel of him lapping languidly at her folds. He loved waking her up like that, and she did too. She loved being loved on, and Jack absolutely loved pleasuring her. She was so much more responsive, so much more sensitive to his touch, he could pleasure her over and over for hours on end. Probably ‘cause of all the practice he was having on a regular basis. And maybe he adjusted some settings regarding his stamina while creating his profile too, but at the end of the day, why not? He did it for her. All of this was for her!

Jack grunted to himself before closing the door to the bedroom so he wouldn’t perturb her sleep, deciding last minute to forgo his initial plans. Funny he’d been reminiscing about how things used to be just in time for this to happen all of a sudden.

It must’ve been a glitch in the system or something. This wasn’t in line with what he’d designed for themselves. Here, they were never tired, ill or imperfect in any way. Jack made a mental note to look into this after he logged out.

In the meanwhile- he’d never tried his hand at cooking here, where presumably he’d be a lot better at it than he was in reality. 

Just like with everything else.

*

Alice blinked her eyes awake. She took in her surroundings and hesitantly stood up on the bed in the dark room, letting her sight adjust. 

How did she get back here? Not here, here. She had an inkling of how she’d managed that- but back to the house, from the Headquarters. She couldn’t remember making the trek back.

Maybe she didn’t have to.

Maybe this was the default setting she woke up to everytime after entering… the simulation. Because, what else was this if not that?!

How long was she out of it? Judging by the darkness surrounding her, a good few hours. Perking her ears up, she could hear music- so Jack was home too.

She cradled her knees to her chest, trying to let it all sink in. She hadn’t had time to properly digest what had happened, in her unconscious state.

Hell, she was surprised she could even remember.

But this explained it… explained all the fuzzy deja vu-like flashbacks she kept having. Explained her brain fog and all the things she just couldn’t follow through in her train of thought. Explained why she sometimes couldn’t account for most of her day until Jack came home from work, almost as if she’d been on auto-pilot. 

Explained all the vivid “dreams”. 

They weren’t fanciful dreams, idealistic wishes of a progressive feminist world for which she’d gotten shock therapy at the Victory’s doctor’s orders.

They were her memories.

Waking up tied down to that bed… her own bed, from another life, had been traumatic, but she clearly was still in shock to be so calm about it. 

She hadn’t been calm initially of course- not when she couldn’t move her arms or blink her eyes shut. 

She’d managed to slip out of the confines, her wrists weak and frail and barely recognizable, yanking her IV out of her vein by accident- she hadn’t even known it was there!, all in an effort to get those things that forced her eyes open off of her face.

She’d been hysteric. Tried to muffle her own screams, because she didn’t know who was around to hear them. Tried to calm herself down, but the more she noticed, the more she hyperventilated. Like the fact that had both urinary and rectal catheters sticking out of her. Then she noticed how emaciated she looked, almost like she couldn’t even recognize her own body. She couldn’t feel her limbs, she felt numb and achy all over, bruises all across her skin from sitting still for so long. Her throat was hoarse, she couldn’t really scream that loud even if she wanted to.

She’d fumbled out of bed and immediately collapsed to the floor. She was too weak to stand, and she prayed she hadn’t broken any bones in her fall. She sat there crying in a fetal position for god knows how long, thinking of all the fractures she’d fixed in the OR, and all her knowledge that had gone to waste. 

All her life that had gone to waste!

This room, this bedroom- her old life came back to her in a flash, flooding all her senses. It felt like everything was finally clicking into place, and despite how miserable and utterly devastated she felt, it was a relief to finally figure it out. 

With the way nobody came rushing into the bedroom, she knew she was alone. Unless Jack was at this computer, headphones on– oh god. She felt her mind split into two trying to reconcile the fact that these two very different men were one and the same!

She was alone strapped to the bed- which could only mean one thing. He wasn’t constrained like she was. He hadn’t been forced into this. Unless they were being kept separate… both victims of this sick mindfuck. 

Because… surely– surely Jack couldn’t be behind this.

… Could he?

Scrambling for the door, determined to get some answers, she reached for the doorknob.

When she couldn’t get it to open, she mustered up all her strength to stand up- but still- it was no use. It was locked. And with the way it felt it looked like the door had been tampered with, bolted shut from the outside, not just locked. 

She was trapped. A prisoner in her own home. She eyed the windows next and even if by some miracle they weren’t bolted shut too- she knew she was too weak to try and use the fire escape. She’d surely succumb to her death trying to evade. She needed a plan- a better plan.

Her brain was scurrying to come up with something-anything, all the while dry heaving at the sight of her waste bags still attached to her by those catheters and the overall stale smell of the room, but she knew that with how dehydrated she was, vomiting would take her out completely at that point. She head to keep it together, had to–

She’d heard what she recognized to be the front door. Her blood froze in her veins. She didn’t know who it was, she had no idea who was behind all this. She had no clue where Jack was, if he even was part of this– her heart told her no, he couldn’t have, but at this point she had no way of knowing what was real or not, let alone what this all meant.

She couldn’t risk being found conscious. She was clearly being kept in a comatose state, treated as one such patient at least, and the fact that she’d woken up from that induced state was definitely not intended to happen.

She remembered what had happened before she woke up like this- she’d reached the infamous, off limits Victory Headquarters. Because a plane had crashed in that direction, and the trolley driver didn’t believe her nor wanted to take her there!

She’d made the trek all the way there… it’d taken her ages, in the scorching sun- and finally, finally, she’d reached the imposing building, in hopes of finding some help or at least some answers at that point!

Next thing she knew, she’d woken up strapped to this bed. Her bed, in her old bedroom, from her old life that had been stolen away from her!

She needed to gather as much information as possible, and the only way she could do that was to get back into that bed and pretend she never came to.

There was no other way.

She hurried as best she could, barely making it back to the bed, made sure she was laid out in the same outstretched position. By some miracle, the catheters were still in place, their respective bags on the floor by the foot of the bed. The hardest part was fixing whatever that contraption was over her face and around her eyes. It dug deep into her flesh and she remembered to wipe any traces of tears from her face when new ones began rolling down her face. She was surprised her body could even produce them with how parched she felt. She then inserted the needle back into her bruised vein– which was sure to get infected at this rate, whoever was doing this to her was amateur at best, or they didn’t much care to keep her alive. She didn’t know which prospect was worse. She slipped her wrists back through the strap loops, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious she’d gotten them a bit loose when she struggled her way out of them. 

And then she’d waited. And waited. And waited. All the while a bright red light scanned her eyeballs systematically, no doubt whatever was used to induce her into that trance or whatever it was that created the optimal parameters for the alternate reality to take place. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. She couldn’t even begin to understand how it worked- all she knew was that it was all too real to be just a dream. No. That was a controlled environment. The world simulation came to her again.

Her whole body froze as she’d heard the lock, then what she counted to be 3 other bolts on the bedroom door. She could only see directly above her, and that barely- but she could hear him when he came in. 

Smell him, even. 

And it wasn’t the smell of expensive cologne she’d grown used to, but a more familiar smell. A smell that felt more real, more ingrained in her subconscious- that of clothes he’d dug out of the laundry hamper to wear a few more times when everything else was too dirty even for his own standards, mixed with canned tuna and the faintest amount of deodorant that did nothing to mask the fact that he’d skipped showering for a day or two.

Her heart sank when she heard him hum to himself the song that had been stuck in her mind for ages- the one she’d been humming herself but couldn’t remember where she knew it from. This is where she knew it from. It’d been their song, in a way, a song he’d made up just for her.

“Darling, I… miss you all the time… Got you flowers, your favourite! Even that pesky Emma from the hospital remembers they’re your favourite. You’re so loved, hm? My precious girl.” She felt him sit on the edge of the bed and tried her best not to flinch when he leaned in to caress her cheek. “But I love you the most.”

She could feel her eyes well up with tears. Tears she couldn’t even blink away. 

He then started tending to her and she mustered up all of her willpower not to lurch at him when he’d gotten her out of her restraints- she knew she was no match for him, not in her weakened state by any means.

He was doing this to her. It was him! All while declaring his love for her. She felt her heart break into a million pieces, all the while forcing herself not to make any movements and break her cover. Not even when he cleaned her with wet wipes up and checked the catheters, emptying the waste bags. God- she wished she was dead. For a while she zoned out completely, much like rape victims. She just let it happen to her, dissociating from her body completely, mentally checking out.

He’d eventually poured what must’ve been eyedrops into her sockets and that brought her back to reality. Whatever reality was anymore…

And then… to her utter shock, she felt him get in bed next to her. The familiar clank of the device she’d placed back onto herself could be heard and she realized he was putting on the same headgear. 

He was… joining her? He was willingly putting himself through this? Sure, he wasn’t forced into it against his will, there was nobody strapping himself to the bed, nobody feeding him through an IV and treating him like a comatose patient.

But he was entering the simulation the same way she was. Through that headgear.

Is this what he did everyday while he was “at work”? Was this the infamously secret Victory Project that she couldn’t even ask him about- exiting that alternate reality and coming back here?

She heard him switch it on and then the whole room went dark before a projector of sorts played a familiar black and white scene on the ceiling, above the bed. She felt him interlace his fingers with hers and she was done for- she couldn’t fight it. Whatever this was, it was working fast, making her slip into unconsciousness almost immediately.

Followed directly after by her waking up in her other bedroom. Unrestrained. Nothing to force her eyes open. Clean. Rejuvenated even.

But scared shitless.

Traumatised.

Heartbroken.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, trying to make sense of it all in the darkness. Thankful to be able to move freely, thankful to feel like her old self, but well aware that it was all an illusion, that her real self was held hostage somewhere god knows where. Helpless, frail and alone.

She felt conflicted. Why was he doing this?! Why had he done this to her? She’d heard him say he loved her most. Heard he’d brought her flowers, even though she couldn’t even see them. Felt him tend to her, he was doing a lousy job at it but was keeping her alive and she could tell he was trying his best, being gentle, careful, thoughtful even when the reality was he didn’t have to. Not when, for all he knew, she was unconscious. 

This was insanity. 

There was no other explanation. No other justification. She understood the nuances- could see why this was- on paper- a better life. But it was fake! And most of all, it wasn’t her choice!

She’d been forced into it, against her will, without her even being aware of it! Her life had been robbed away from her. Her family, her friends, her hard work. The only common denominator… was Jack.

She didn’t know how to go about it, but if there was any chance of her escaping, she had to play dumb and pretend she knew nothing.

She wasn’t sure how she could face him knowing what she did, but she had to. She had to buy time, enough time until she could put her plan into motion. 

She didn’t know if she’d succeed, but she had to try. She had to. She had to escape, claim her life back, good or bad.

She got off the bed, marvelling at how strong and healthy she felt, as opposed to how she’d collapsed on the floor in her real body. That alone emboldened her, she had to go face the music.

And face the music she did. Jack had put a record on, blasting it at high volume with little consideration to her being asleep. No surprises there.

But as she approached the kitchen, she took in the sight of him… cooking. Or, trying to cook. 

Apparently, you couldn’t tweak everything in this alternate reality. Or maybe he didn’t care to fumble with his cooking skills. Because he’d definitely perfected some of his other skills–

“You’re awake!... I didn’t have time to set the table.”

“What’s going on?” She watched him scurry around the kitchen, trying to do a dozen things at once and failing. 

“Well, I’m making you dinner. Now, we were supposed to have five courses. Unfortunately, I think we’re down to about three.” 

She took note of the mess, especially the way something was about to catch on fire on the stove.

“That– don’t look at that. That course is officially off the menu.”

That’s when it clicked in her brain– the fucker had switched up his accent! He had a British accent here! Oh, she could laugh if she didn’t feel like murdering him. She reminded herself it wouldn’t be the real him she’d be murdering, though. No, for all she knew if she harmed him in any way here, she might end up trapped inside this simulation forever if her plan failed. Or until her real body died, with no one to tend for it, even as poorly as he was, in the real world.

She had to thread carefully. “What happened?”

“I got a little aggressive with the seasoning.”

“How long have you been home?”

“Uh, a few hours.” He proceeded to make even more of a mess in his attempt to jump from one dish to the next. “Okaaay. Nope. Don’t look at that. That’s– Okay, so I’m making that roast, you know the one you made for my birthday? Only with a few changes…”

“I was here when you got here?” 

“Yeah. Asleep in the bedroom. Do you put carrots in a roast?”

“How did I get home?” That was a reasonable question. Last thing she knew of this reality was she’d reached the Headquarters. She needed to know if anyone knew about it.

“Trolley, I think.”

“Wait, so he came out and got me?!”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Jack, I got off the trolley. I saw a plane crash.”

“Alice, I think I would’ve heard if there was a plane crash.”

“No, Jack, I saw it…”

“They tend to be rather loud…”

“... and I started walking–”

“–and hard to miss.”

It was dawning on her that she wasn’t going to milk any info on this out of him. He was going to pretend the plane never crashed, of course, whatever that even meant for this simulation. Or maybe the plane crashing was only visible to her version of this altered reality. She couldn’t know for sure. But he seemed unconcerned otherwise. She didn’t think he knew she’d gone there. She really must’ve re-entered right back into the bedroom, after all, she, along with all the other women, were never meant to go up there, the Headquarters were off-limits.

Meaning that was probably from where the men entered. Since they were the only ones who came and left. The women were probably all bound to their own respective beds back in the real world, they were never meant to leave the simulation. It made sense why she’d found herself back in the house- where she belonged. And it made sense if that was where the man entered and exited since that’s where they all allegedly went everyday for “work”.

Her heart sank at the realization that it was highly probable that all the other women were victims, just like her. Unless everything and everyone else was a simulation around them.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

She tried not to flinch when Jack finally noticed she’d zoned out whilst trying to process all of this, and touched her shoulder, taking a better look at her.

“No…I don’t know–I’m not…”

Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms. That smell of expensive cologne hit her again, overriding the smell of stale clothes and canned tuna from her recent memory. And his embrace felt so familiar, so comforting, that for a moment she allowed herself to pretend like this was the person she knew to love her. The person she couldn’t wait to come back home from work everyday. The person that made her smile and laugh and moan and cry tears of happiness. She knew him well, she loved him with all her heart. And she was reluctant to accept that this man was the same that was keeping her strapped against the bed. Because that was the reality of it. 

But this version of Jack that was holding her felt so real as well…

“I had a really weird dream. A really weird dream…”

“I’m sorry.”

Her heart sank. Was he, sorry? She buried her face deeper into his chest and held her breath, stifling a sob as tears flooded her eyes immediately. She wanted to break down in his arms and ask him why he’d done this. She wanted to give him a chance to explain himself. Wanted for him to somehow, magically, make it all better.

But she knew there was no way for him to do it. There was nothing he could say or do to justify what he’d done to her, even if his intentions didn’t seem as evil as they truly were to him.

Because she knew Jack. She knew he’d probably convinced himself somehow that this was the only way out of the miserable life they were living- and be it as it were, it was her life! He’d had no right to steal it from her like that. 

“Do you know what weird dreams make me? Hungry.” He fed her a carrot he was holding jokingly then turned her around as she chewed absentmindedly, her mind racing, still taking in the reality of what her life was. Or the alternate reality, more like it.

Jack cupped her face, searching her eyes and declared solemnly, “Alice, I want to be honest with you about something.”

She almost choked on the carrot she was chewing on. Was he–

“I don’t think these mashed potatoes are gonna work.”

She swallowed, a bitter taste in her mouth at her naivete. “That’s because you need to boil them first, baby…”

“I knew it… I knew there was a step missing. Such an idiot,” he smiled bashfully.

She laughed at that. A manic laugh, but he didn’t seem to notice. Not at how incompetent he was at such a basic life skill- who the hell tries to mash raw potatoes?!- but at how hopeful she’d been for a moment there, believing he was about to confess everything just like that, out of the blue.

“Let me put a pot on…”

“No, no, no–”

“Come on, let me–”

“Make us some drinks. Relax.” He pulled her out of the kitchen and into the lounge, declaring “I am your chef tonight!”

Lord knew she desperately needed a drink at this point, so she sighed heavily, getting to it, when he stopped her in her tracks, “hey!”

“Hm?”

“You love me?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She replied like she used to, back in the real world. Something she didn’t remember ever doing here, but it just came to her by reflex now that her memory of her past life had come back to her fully. And for some reason that she couldn’t explain, she meant it, still. “The most.”

Jack seemed pleased with her answer, and resumed his ‘cooking’. Alice turned to the whiskey bottle and downed two doubles, one after the other. 

How was she ever going to get free when her stupid heart had meant what she said?

She couldn’t allow herself to be fooled by this false reality any longer. Couldn’t allow to slip into his arms again and pretend he loved her when this was anything but love. 

So she waited. Waited until he fell asleep that night (thankfully all the “cooking” had seemingly tired him out and he didn’t try anything)- praying this meant he was truly asleep.

Got dressed, tiptoed out of the house and geared up for a long journey to the Headquarters. She couldn’t risk taking the car and waking him or the neighbours up, alerting them with this unusual behaviour. There weren't any trolleys late at night by any means- everyone was sound asleep.

Everyone but her.

She was no longer asleep.

A/N: i've been meaning to get to this for the longest while! hopefully it scratches some itches we've been left with. i had fun writing this first part. more to come 👀

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

🦋follow me on wattpad to get notified whenever i post something new/update!🦋

[cursingtoji]

Big Boy Toji, dad!toji, non-muscular body appreciation, toji calls reader mama

40 something year old Toji who doesn’t have the carved abs he used to have in his twenties

now he has a belly, soft and huggable

his kids favourite thing is sleeping on top of him, he’s warm and comfortable

he doesn’t care about shaving every other day anymore

going a few days and maybe a week with a stubble

he will definitely shave if you ask tho

but it’s just very fun to watch you squirm when his thick facial hair tickles your skin as he kisses your neck

in his younger year he used to shave his chest and abdomen too cause he thought women liked it better that way

he doesn’t care about it anymore either, you like his chest hair and he’s quite aware about how your eyes drift down his happy trail when he’s shirtless he lives for it

his chest is hard when he flex but still soft enough to be your favourite pillow during the night

he’s not any less hot either

his arms are still muscular, maybe even bigger than before due to the long hours he spends on your house remodelling lifting all sorts of heavy material for you to have your dream home (and him saving as much money as possible)

sometimes you catch him looking at himself for a bit too long in the mirror after shower, he rubs his soft belly and grabs his sides

you don’t want to make him self aware so you carefully snicker behind him, wrapping your arms around his soft torso and kissing his shoulder blades

“come on daddy, why don’t you put those guns to a good use” you whisper on your tiptoes running a hand on his arm

“sure thing, mama” he picks you up so easily it never fails to amaze you how strong he is after all those years

sometimes he’ll carry a seven year old megumi (which’s already too heavy for you) in his bicep while doing other things around the house like he’s nothing

the extra weight he gained over the years shows up especially when he uses his old sweat pants, he doesn’t seem to realize how it hugs his ass so perfectly

he also doesn’t understand why his crotch feels so tight so he keeps pulling the material of his pants

“doll did you put those in the dryer? i think it has shrunken” he says looking down while you sip your coffee paying good attention to his perfect butt

his thighs are not immune to his growth either, they are not as muscular as they were when he used to workout but oh boy you can spend a ridiculous amount of time starting at them when he sits down, legs spread in his old basketball shorts

when he brings his friends over for a barbecue in his yard you bet he’s gonna pull you to sit on his lap at some point (or several) during the day

there’s no better feeling for him then sipping his cold beer while rubbing his loved one legs and watching his kids playing at the playground he build himself

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 05

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, violence, betrayal.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

If they thought you weren’t lucid enough to make decisions, now they could be certain of it. But the truth is, you had never been so sure about anything. All you wanted now was to quiet the storm of voices inside your head, and the environment you were in wasn’t helping much.

“Please, boys, give us some privacy,” Gerard, the executive, requested, never stopping the pen spinning between his fingers. Apathetic gaze, controlled breathing, minimal facial expressions. Let’s just say your current boss wasn’t an easy man to read between the lines.

The gum in your mouth gradually lost its flavor, and the rubbery texture sticking to your molars seemed stiffer with every chew. It matched the tension in the room as glances crossed over the table, both of you waiting for the boys to leave.

“This must be some kind of terrible joke.”

“At no point did I say it was a joke,” you replied simply, eyebrows raised, making it clear how little you cared about the conversation. “I want to go back to Richmond.”

There were things you had learned from Noah without much effort, and one of them was hiding everything behind a blank face and short sentences.

“Can I know the real reason you’re acting so high and mighty, throwing away your career and, as a bonus, sabotaging my band, where I’ve invested money, time, and effort?” he asked, tapping the pen against the wooden table. “But I mean a real reason, something I should actually take seriously. Not your tantrum with one of your colleagues after he got tired of screwing you!”

His words seemed deliberately harsh, and you had expected this, knowing that any weapon he had to hurt you, he would use. But nothing moved you so easily, and he would need to try a little harder.

“Gerard…” His name left your lips almost like a song. “I’d like to remind you that this band you’re so eager to protect when you throw in our faces every dollar you’ve invested belongs to me and the boys, nothing more. I don’t remember seeing you in any of those dark attic meetings when Bad Omens was nothing!”

With utter calm, you adjusted your posture in the chair and crossed your legs, never breaking eye contact.

“It’s so easy for you to come in now, after signing a piece of paper that grants you rights to four albums and a percentage of the merchandise, and act like that makes you the owner. But that’s not how it works,” you continued, leaning toward the table. “Bad Omens owes you the last album, which I just contributed to by writing the song. So my part is done. The tour can go on without me; Noah can handle it.”

Gerard listened attentively to every word, tracing an invisible line on the table. A raspy laugh escaped him, and it was impossible not to furrow your brows, wondering what the hell the old man found so amusing.

“Someone here didn’t read their own contract, did they?” Something about that question wiped the expression off your face instantly. “When you signed with the label, there was a clause in bold letters about all members remaining until the end of the contract. The absence of one results in a breach, with a penalty of up to 40% of the band’s earnings to date.”

“You…” you spat out in disbelief. “How dare you say that when you’ve spent the last few years sabotaging our band to favor your son’s? We can’t have our own marketing team, our social media is controlled by you, and we can’t even choose our release dates!”

If the band had ever played at big festivals, the credit should go to the connections they made along the way, using them as stepping stones. From the way Gerard spoke, it almost sounded like they did an excellent job and the members were ungrateful.

Five starry-eyed kids, elated at the possibility of someone finally betting on their band. All intoxicated by the promise of a better life and being heard, with zero knowledge of how things actually worked. Easy prey for a man like him.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, spinning his chair until he was facing you again. “You want to destroy the band, the same band you arrogantly claim as yours. But let me tell you, outside that door, you and those four idiots own nothing!”

He snapped his fingers in the air.

“Most of the money you’ve earned would be spent on penalties. The name Bad Omens belongs to me until the contract ends, as do the rights to the last three releases. Noah wouldn’t be able to sing Just Pretend even in the shower without paying me for every line. Got it? Or has the crap you sniff already rotted your head?”

Your fists clenched so tightly on the table that you could hear the joints crack from a distance. Gerard had never mentioned anything like this before; nothing had ever threatened you until now. From this vantage point, you were beginning to see a different side of him.

He walked around the table until he was beside you, and the warmth of his breath stirred strands of hair on your shoulder as he leaned in close to your ear.

"If you leave, the band ends. That’s the simplest outcome. But do you really think that’s what they deserve?" he taunted. "If my memory serves me right, it’s you who owes him. Isn’t it?"

"Get away from me," you growled through clenched teeth.

"I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly a desirable prison for me either, given the mediocre artist you’ve turned into over the past few years. You ruin your own performances, bring nothing new, and are declining in every sense." His voice was laced with scorn as he gave you a pointed once-over. "Your exit would definitely be a win for the band, but that idiot Noah doesn’t see it that way, and I’m not in the mood to cancel another tour because of you two!"

Back to square one.

The band had gained traction in recent months, but not enough to make money a non-issue—especially with Gerard overloading the schedule with more shows and commitments than anyone could reasonably handle. You had savings, but doubted they’d cover even half the cost of a breach-of-contract fine.

"You’d rather keep me working against my will, even though I’m visibly showing signs of physical and mental exhaustion?"

Like an overheated device forced to run nonstop without a break or a chance to be unplugged, that’s exactly how you felt. When the weariness in your mind seeped into your body, causing pain in every part you could name, it was like a flashing red warning sign in front of your eyes.

"If we’re being honest? I don’t care what you really want. I don’t care if you have to drown yourself in drugs to keep standing on that stage. I don’t care if you wreck your skin or drink yourself into oblivion after another fight with him, as long as it leads to you writing a decent song." He sighed, almost satisfied. Gerard pulled something from his pocket—a vial with a white substance—and placed it in your hand. "Keep your word and don’t be selfish by destroying your friends’ dreams. If you truly love Noah, you know what needs to be done. He already knows you’re weak; you don’t have to prove it all the time."

The entire conversation spun in your head like a rollercoaster of words. You wanted to punch him, to shove his teeth inward and make him swallow every personal insult he’d hurled about your life and your damn history. Seeing the triumphant smirk he wore after renting a space in your mind wasn’t part of today’s plans.

Clutching the vial tightly in your hand, you turned your back on him and slammed the meeting room door behind you. Leaning against the other side, you processed everything again, forcing yourself to search for the smallest crack you could cling to in order to flip the script. Being in his grasp was suffocating, like being suspended by thin strings against a wall.

Your spiraling thoughts were interrupted when you sensed someone’s presence. The scent reached you before he did, and your eyes closed as you clenched the vial tighter before shoving it into your pocket.

"I need to talk to you about what happened today, and don’t even try to tell me—" The harsh tone Noah used dissolved in a fraction of a second, his eyes shifting from furious to melancholy. "Are you crying?"

"Do you mind getting me out of here?" you pleaded, watching as Noah nodded slowly.

He walked beside you through the entire floor, waiting for you to step into the elevator before following close behind. During the descent, there was the sweetest silence, but you knew him well enough to tell he was agonizing over the words piling up inside him.

For some reason, he continued to respect your wish to say nothing.

As you reached the building’s exit, your steps froze, and Noah looked at you in confusion. When his eyes followed yours across the street, you heard him murmur something with a heavy sigh.

In a swift motion, Noah removed his cap and placed it on your head, pulling up your hoodie and sliding on a pair of sunglasses. It wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had.

Across the street, you counted six girls wearing the band’s T-shirts. They seemed like ordinary fans, phones in hand, but any group of fans had started to terrify you over time. You never knew how they’d react to seeing you, and that paralyzed you in place.

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, Noah tried to provide as much reassurance as he could, pulling you closer into his hoodie. It shouldn’t have been this hard—just a few steps and you’d be in the van. Nothing could go wrong.

"Noah! Noah! Noah!" one of the girls shouted excitedly as you walked in a straight line. "Can we get a picture?"

"Girls, would you mind giving us some space?" he said gently, almost surprisingly. "We really can’t stop right now."

"But we just want a picture with you!" she insisted, her tone hardening.

"And I just want you to let us pass!" he snapped, dragging you along to keep moving.

"Noah would never refuse to take a picture. It’s all her fault!" she muttered to the others. "Every time they’re close, she pushes them away from the fans!"

The last straw broke the camel’s back.

A sigh escaped your nose as you ripped off the cap and sunglasses with the same speed you broke free from Noah’s hold, spinning around to face the group.

“WHAT?” You dared to ask again, as if you hadn’t understood.

“Exactly what you heard! Every time you come back, you drive him away from the fans! Your mother is right when she says you’re a disgrace because you don’t just ruin your life—you’re ruining Noah’s too!”

“GO TO HELL, YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

Everything happened too fast. After screaming, you pounced on the girl like a leopard on its prey. Your still-injured hand, cut from smashing the mirror earlier, struck her face, the same face you relentlessly hit with blow after blow.

The flashing cameras capturing the scene didn’t faze you. You’d escaped the cage, desperate for the release of your fury. The metallic scent of her blood filled the air as she squirmed beneath you, but you pinned her torso down with your legs.

“Yes! Show them who you really are!” she shouted in between the slaps that turned her head from side to side. “A deranged lunatic who shouldn’t be allowed in society because you act like an animal.”

A strong grip on your waist yanked you back, forcing you out of your dominant position despite your resistance. Overpowering your screams, Noah threw you over his shoulder and stormed toward the van with long strides. You fought to break free along the way, but with no fans left around, he ensured you couldn’t return to the battlefield.

In the backseat, you focused on pressing the blood-soaked bandage against your fists, deliberately adding pressure. The sharp sting of pain and the remnants of glass shards still embedded in your skin kept you awake, the sensation clashing with the adrenaline surging through your chest.

“You’re going to need a stronger bandage for your hand,” he said, looking down at you. Noah was holding back a laugh with considerable difficulty. “And guess what? Everyone else left, so you’ll have to accept my help.”

“Fine.”

Noah hesitated, clearly surprised by how quickly you agreed, undoubtedly questioning if he’d heard you correctly.

“Huh… well, that wasn’t so bad. Actually, I’m impressed you still have decent reflexes,” he teased, nudging you with his elbow. “What did you say? POW! POW! POW!”

The way he pitched his voice high and reenacted the fight scene made you burst into a long laugh. Slowly, you shook your head, denying that you were giving in so easily, but there were exceptions when he reminded you of the old Noah.

“Wow!” he said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile at me like that.”

“Well, it’s not like you give me many reasons to.”

The van stopped in front of the place you’d called home since the breakup—a small space with furniture still wrapped in plastic, its windows sealed like no one lived there. Noah scanned the area, inspecting every detail, including the pile of unopened mail. Something on the wall seemed to catch his attention.

“You still have this,” he remarked, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he touched the lightning bolt keychain hanging among your keys. He used his index finger—the one adorned with the ring you had given him. “It was the only thing my money could buy back then. A stupid keychain.”

It was never just a stupid keychain to you.

“When you moved out, some of my things came with you, and if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like them back.”

Your mind tried to sift through what he might be referring to. Clothes, records, books—maybe even his glasses. Yes, plenty of things had come with the move.

“I…”

The words lingered, dying at the edge of your lips.

“I got rid of everything that was yours.”

“Everything?” His eyes cracked like poorly cut crystal, his voice betraying a shift in tone. “You didn’t want to keep any part of me?”

And in that moment, Noah wasn’t talking about material possessions.

“No, Noah.” You clutched your palm as if it could hold you up, resisting with everything not to let your voice break. “I didn’t want any part of you.”

Reluctantly, he smiled, but his tearful eyes betrayed him as droplets rolled down his cheeks. Sniffling to fend off the emotion, he wiped his face quickly, inhaling deeply as he straightened and looked at the ceiling.

“Thanks for today. I’ll manage from here,” you assured him firmly, taking a step back. Noah nodded and adjusted himself to head toward the door but hesitated, stepping back as if he’d missed something.

“If your plan to leave the band failed, unfortunately, I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow,” he said, his expression shifting as quickly as a gust of wind. “But I expect you to value my time this time. I can’t deal with your lack of professionalism anymore, and I won’t let it slide from now on.”

At last, he turned his back, and the door closed as you allowed yourself to collapse into a fit of sobs, sliding down the wooden frame. Through your gasps, you thought you heard something on the other side—a sound so similar, just as anguished, slicing through the walls of your chest without anesthetic.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @anarchydomainglory ; @iluvmewwwww75

[kooberist]

𝚆𝙷𝚈 𝙳𝙾𝙽𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻?

pairing: doctor!jungkook x menatally insane!reader

warnings: smut, one sided love, 21 year age gap

jk is 40 and reader is 19

Jungkooks big frame under yours as your hips bounce on his with every plop and bounce. Sweat pours out of every pore on your body as the room fills with the smell of fresh sheets and sex. The older man's cock hits every spot in your pussy with ease from how wet he got you. "Holly fuck. Fuck me daddy fuck," you exclaimed as his tip kissed against your gspot and your high built.

Legs trembling and giving out but keeping up just for your realse You felt a wave of pleasure wash over you as you felt yourself come undone. The doctors' thrusts became more intense and your body began to quiver as you felt yourself about to explode. You came, your orgasm taking you by surprise as you screamed in pleasure.

Jungkook placed his cigarette in the pink heart shaped ash tray you made for him and took a tight grip of your hips as he started to bounce you up and down on his creamy cock

"Selfish whore only cares about herself" he gritted through his teeth. His thrusts became faster and deeper as he felt you tighten around him. You screamed in pleasure as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of pleasure. You both climaxed in harmony, and he held you close as you came down from your high.

+

"I love you, Daddy," you said lowly as you brought the ciggarete to your lips. Your words made Jungkook want to throw up. He had a wife and three kids—something to live for. Jungkook knew you had issues and problems (no shit, he works at a mental hospital and gets paid for girls like you to tell him the problem). Jungkook looked at you as nothing more than a vagina and a patient; that's it. "What the fuck are you talking about, Y/N?" he asked as he cocked his head to meet your eyes.

His words and facial expression hit you hard as you realized he didn't love you the way you loved him. He was just going to take advantage of you after all the flirting, making out, and serious sh*t you two had exchanged.

You sat up, bringing your head off his chest as you looked at him. "I love you, Jungkook. You told me you'd take care of me and keep me close." That last sentence made the lump in your throat feel as if you couldn't breathe. Gathering your clothes while teardrops rolled down your cheeks. "Y/N, are you fucking insane? I have a life and a family; I can't fucking give that up for some mentally ill little girl with Daddy issues."

It hit you like a truck. "You told me, Jeon. You called me your girl and your bunnie. You were my first, and I gave myself to you. Does that fucking mean nothing?"

"C'mon, you know I didn't mean it." His words were cut off by your burst of anger.

"Fuck you and stay away from me before I get your sorry ass fired!" You threw every piece of clothing you had in your hands at the man in front of you as tears flooded your eyes.

Droplets leave a trail behind the swaying blanket wrapped around your body as you walk to your room.

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 — 𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 & 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!wayne!reader, age gap ( reader is 18+ and Hal & Barry are in their 40s ), daddy kink, filming sex acts ( and sharing them without reader’s knowledge ), oral sex ( m!receiving ), facial, slight dumbification, peer pressure, all characters featured are 18+ 

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ this is actually the prelude to my halbarry dp request, i just felt it would be better to split them into two parts. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading &lt;3

“Jesus Christ, Hal, can you at least turn the sound down a little bit?” Barry was staring— crimson-cheeked, sapphire eyes big as saucers, at the video on the screen of Hal’s phone. the sound was turned all the way up, and it seemed like your fervent clucking and Hal’s grunting was bouncing off each wall and coming back to make him dizzy. “Someone’s going to hear it.”  he already knew he was watching something he shouldn’t be, and his anxiety was turned up to one thousand: terrified that Batman would appear at the door any moment, and hear the sounds of his daughter’s throat being violated by a team member. Barry would be an accomplice to that, in his mind at least. but he was still staring at the video. 

for some reason, he couldn’t look away. 

but Hal wasn’t even listening; he hadn’t stopped talking about it. grinning widely, he had his fist clapped on Barry’s shoulder, “— I’m tellin’ ya, that girl loves to suck cock. She was begging me, both hands in my jeans, big puppy dog eyes,” 

“Hal…” 

“— when I finally gave in and pulled it out, she fuckin’ went crazy for it. Said she’d never sucked anything so big before. You shoulda seen her trying to get the whole thing in her mouth; kept just whining and licking, I had to step in after a minute and shove it in for her. Cute, little thing nearly choked.” Hal sank his teeth into his lower lip, reminiscent of just how happy you looked, as he watched your head bobbing up and down on the recording. your eyes were looking up directly into the camera, pupils blown out with lust, eyelashes wet where the tip of his dick battered the entrance of your throat and teased your gag reflex. “Just look at her, man. She was dripping wet after just sucking me.” 

Barry blushed deeper— you did look like you were enjoying it. and, as wrong as it may have been, he was kind of liking watching it. 

when Hal’s hand pushed your head down and the entirety of his cock disappeared, you gag but your eyes roll back. he only holds it for a second before he lets go and you bounce back up, sputtering for air. “Look at me, baby girl,” Hal was panting, and when your eyelids fluttered upwards toward the camera, Hal grabs hold of the base of his cock, now shiny with your spit. Barry realized then that Hal must’ve used a construct to hold the phone steady, because one hand was gripping himself, while the other angles your face in the desired position, his fingers dipping into your mouth for only a moment. he slaps the bulbous, pink tip against your cheek hard, and you whimper in sordid delight, a dazed smile on your swollen lips, “‘s Batman your daddy, huh?” closing one eye, you mewl and shake your head. “No?” he teases. “Am I your daddy?” whining with your mouth hanging open, hoping to persuade him to get bored of spanking it against your cheek and lips and slip it back in, you nod. 

“Do you have a death wish? Seriously, do you?” Barry asked, incredulous. but, he couldn’t deny, he felt a subtle ping of jealousy towards his friend. “You do realize if Bruce or the Batkids find out about this, you’re toast, right?”

Hal grins wider, his eyes glued to the screen, “Wait, wait, wait! Watch this part, this part is real good.” he clearly didn’t care about the possible repercussions. 

“You’re my daddy,” you purr, grasping his cock with both hands. Hal releases a euphoric exhale when you suck on the head, stroking the remaining inches in tandem, “Green Lantern’s my daddy!” your voice was heavily muffled since your mouth was full, but when you looked up at the lens, Barry could see your eyes smiling. they were sparkling, and his breath caught in his throat. you were so happy to be pleasing him. 

“Jeez…” he mutters, mostly to himself. he was humiliated to admit that he was hard in his joggers. 

“I know, right?” Hal chortles, running his finger against the screen to scrub ahead. he hits the pad of his finger on the play button in the middle of the screen when your face is painted with his cum, dripping down your chin, and he’s holding your hair at the crown of your head. 

“Like that, baby girl?” Hal was crooning, rubbing his twitching cock over your parted lips as it spurts what remained of his release; each eruption granting a moan that rumbles deep in his chest, “Like that daddy made you all messy and cute? Does my cum taste good?” 

giggling, you nod, your tongue swirling around the tip. you seemed utterly drunk on it; Barry was looking into the pixels of your eyes, examining how glassy they were. he could imagine that you probably couldn’t even remember your own name in that moment. it seemed like the only thing on your mind was Hal’s cock. 

lucky bastard. 

“Yeah? Can’t even use your words anymore?” a shake of your head and an incomprehensible babble later, Hal guides the tip of his cock back to press against your slack lips, which part with absolutely no resistance, and take him into your mouth again as you gurgle a happy whine. “That’s a good girl,” he purrs, and his hips jut forward to give you every inch again, “if you’re too cockdrunk to talk, we can just put that pretty mouth back to work. Clean me up, baby. Make sure you swallow all the cum you suck off me.” 

the video ends there, and Barry doesn’t say anything for several seconds. he just stares at your face as it’s paused— he never expected he would ever see you like that, and he was ashamed to admit that it was sexy as hell. still, you were Bruce’s daughter, and Barry couldn’t believe that, in that moment, he wanted to be Hal. he wanted to be the one in the video, feeding you cock, watching you devour it until your eyes crossed. a plethora of other vulgar possibilities crossed his mind in the short period of time between the end of the video and when Hal spoke again. 

like what you must look like with your legs spread open, soft wet pussy clenching and begging to be fucked. he could hear his name in your gentle voice, and he physically rejected a shudder to creep up his spine as he envisioned pushing his cock into you. you must be so tight, he would have to force it. 

“You know I can send you the video if you need it for jerk material, right?” Hal teased, digging his elbow into his super friend’s rib cage. effectively pulling Barry out of his sordid thoughts. “After all, I get to play with the real deal any time I want. She said so herself: she wants to be my little stress reliever.” 

“You’re absolutely insane.” Barry countered with a bemused shake of his head. “Batman’s gonna find out eventually. He has to. He’s Batman.” 

Hal quirks a brow, “Yeah, exactly. He’s Batman, which means he’s a little preoccupied saving the world with us to keep tabs on who his daughter is fucking, don’tcha think, buddy? Relax, I know what I’m doing.” giving Barry’s shoulder a pat, he tilts his head, murmuring thoughtfully, “Besides, you’re the only one that I wanted to show, Bar.” 

Barry’s eyes narrows as he looks at his friend, suspiciously now. “Why?” 

Hal’s eyes twinkled with mischievous delight, and he juts his chin in reference to his phone. “Because I want you to get in on it.” 

“What??” 

“C’mon, Barry,” Hal pleaded, shoving his phone into his back pocket, “you’re really gonna try and tell me I didn’t just watch you drool over that video? You don’t want to fuck her with me? Hear her moan and squeal for you like she does for me? It would be so much fun filling her up from both ends, tossing her back and forth. She’d love it, too. The little batbrat likes it rough as hell.” 

Barry opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t find a lie convincing enough to persuade his friend and himself. so he sighed, and settled with, “So now you’re trying to get us both killed.” 

it wasn’t a yes, but it definitely wasn’t a no, and Hal realized this. 

[granolawriting]

A change in fate ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: Your toxic ex kicks you out of your place without another word. Only hiring a mover to get your stuff somewhere else. And when Joel finds you in a state of disarray, and stays indifferent, you butt heads until it comes to a head when your paths cross again after that night. That time, much more complicated.

Content warning: age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers.

word count: 4k

A/N: this is the first of a two-part series inspired by an old movie I grew up with. If you can recognize it, I'll like, give you a really big treat. no nsfw this chapter, but the next one will. And as always, let me know if you like my work or if you have any suggestions for anything else I could write :)

Part 2 out now!!: to make you forget

“NO. No. No no no no no no no NO!!!” 

Your fist hits solid wood once more. Every slam that pounds upon its impenetrable front leaves a mark on your hand in the shape of bruises and soreness-- you try the door once more. It's locked, as it had been the last ten times you attempted to open it. Desperation laced in the fruitless fervor that played its sound of metal clanking on metal as the knob refused to turn. 

The thump on the ground follows a fall of your knees. Defeated, hopeless, in a dress that isn't even yours. Tears stream from your face in such passion you can't even feel them anymore as more of you is wet than it is dry. You imagine you look a mess, hair disheveled as you held it as you screamed at him-- makeup once beautiful and elegant streams down and across your face in the motion your hands chose to wipe away your tears. 

A screeching of tires followed by the shutting of a door is what knocks you out of this pathetic display. A man walks over to you and begins to pick up the boxes right beside you, carrying them to the back of his truck that has the title “MOVERS” painted on its side. You clamor to your feet, disorientation doesn't help the heels strapped to your feet as you chase after him;

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going with those? Who the hell are you?”

Rancor coats your tongue as your anger spits out onto him, He stands in the middle of an empty parking lot with only the light emanating from houses and lamps decorating the street are you able to take him in. 

He was tall, perhaps 6ft, an older man. Salt and pepper hair covered just above his forehead and a stern face was complimented by equally gruff facial hair of similar color, and a frown that seemed natural for him. He wore an old jacket-- probably made in the same year you were born with plaid linings on its inside to support a Carhartt branded outside. All the clothes upon his body seemed worn, from the stained jeans and a belt fitted so many times it might as well have been made for the exact curve of his body, to the heavy worker's boots with every scratch telling a story beyond your years. He looks at you. Up and down his eyes register curiously the woman that stood before him. He scoffs, and with a low Texan drawl he replies in kind; 

“Well princess, looks here like someone was kind enough to get yourself a mover for all them boxes outside the house. ‘Supose you know where i'm to drop em off?” 

“They can stay right here.” 

It comes out of you not in a literal sense, but you guess a plea of desperation. You can't imagine that this is actually happening. You can't just leave. After all the years you spent with him, all the hours you poured into his care and the best he can do is call up some old guy to take your shit somewhere else? 

“Now you know I can't do that. I ain't come all the way down here just for’ nothin. Now, I was hired to move, least you can let me do is my job.” 

His palms outstretched to you as he finishes putting the first box in the back of his truck, looking to you with little care for what you’re properly going through, moreso just a plea to let him go home sometime before 1 in the morning. 

your breath grows uneven again, you feel something build up in you again as you just refuse to accept this. Turning your back to him, you storm over to another box untouched by him and kick it, screaming and crying and truly just making a mess of yourself as you collapse once again on the curb of the sidewalk. Folding your arms across your knees, and with a head buried deep in your chest you sit there for a moment as you listen to the crunch of his boots against the loose gravel along the pavement trail back and forth past you as each box is stored into the vehicle. 

“Still haven't given me an address. Or were ya’ thinkin' of just sitting here and lettin' me take yer’ things?” 

Irritation follows his tone as he becomes increasingly impatient about your behavior. 

“I don't have anywhere to go.” 

“Surely you got someplace. Now get a move on, I'm bout damn tired of all this.” 

He drags you up by your upper arms, feeling his calloused hands hold onto the smoothness of your body as he lifts you to your feet. Shocked though, you push him away from you in haste;

“I can get up by myself. Thank you very much.”

You dust yourself off for just a moment before continuing, he looks at you with impatience.

“And I need a ride.” 

He stammers a bit as he begins to speak, 

“A- fucking,? Damn. alright then. Just get the hell on alright? Sure you wouldn't want em’ having to pay me extra.” 

He walks back to his truck as you follow, The two footsteps upon the concrete road are all that can be heard in the neighborhood as your pain slowly wells into your chest, and the outbursts cease. 

------------------------------------

“Now, listen here. We've been drivin' for damn near an hour now, and ain't nothing come of it. Where the hell am I takin you? Or I'm about to leave ya on the side of the damn road. I've got a kid at home.” 

“Just take me to the other side of town.”

“Are you fuckin kidding me? Now, I don't know what you've got goin on and I truly, don't want to. But you're real damn selfish ya know that? Makin me drive all over town like this like I'm some goddamn taxi. This place best got some money to pay me for.” 

His voice is deep, gruff, and when laced with the anger of a despondent woman who seems as if she has all the time in the world he's not keen to hold back judgment anymore. His hand grips the steering wheel firmly and doesn't look at you for a moment as he speaks to you. 

You're taken aback, to say the least. After the pain you've felt, the torment you've faced the only thing to greet you is the unwanted mouth of some old man who doesn't know what he's talking about.

“I'm selfish? You don't know the night I've had. How can you call me selfish? You were hired for a reason so why don't you just do your fucking job okay? As long as you’re getting paid it shouldn't matter a damn to you.” 

You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms in his passenger seat, watching him with disdain as he grips the wheel and drives relatively carelessly through the empty streets just to get you out. 

After a few minutes more, and by a few you mean around 30, you find yourself in front of a home you’d never think to see again truthfully. As you take in the sight of it, a simple house facing an otherwise unimpactful street, but you held memories of all your years within the confines of these blocks. You were home, after so many years away. 

“Get out.” 

He says bluntly. The clock shines a bright 1:47 on its dash, signifying that you definitely didn't meet his “before 1” pleas. But damn, could he have been any nicer about it? 

You watch as he hops out of the car himself, to the sound of a hard opening of the back that held all your belongings. And as you made your way ever so slowly out of his truck, trying to not fall as the step was coated in the darkness of the night that was no longer politely illuminated by street lights. As you made your way to the concrete below you, rounding his truck was he almost done putting your stuff back out, only on a different curb this time. And without a second to spare, he gets back into his truck, and leaves. Not a word said to you, not even an exchange.

What an asshole. 

-------------------------------------------

“So you’re telling me, that the man you were with for how many years, kicked you out for what?” 

The voice of your childhood friend rang once more through the old walls of the house, in the kitchen where you two sat. this was her family home, one that she now inherited, and one that after many years of silence on your part, she gladly opened up to you as well. 

“We were together almost 3 years. And he just, found another girl I guess. But she was in my closet, filled with her clothes. It's as if he’d moved me out overnight. He didn't have a word to say to me, it's like I never even mattered to him. But I've told you this time and time again, what more can I even do at this point?” 

She repositions herself with her legs crossing over one another as she looks for a response, taking a sip of coffee before having it dawn on her. 

“Today. 3 pm. Uncles holding a barbeque. You remember my uncle right? Everyone will be there. Maybe we could find you a good little rebound to bring you down to earth.” 

“Are you- a rebound? Seriously? Is that all you can think of right now?” 

“Listen. The only thing you can do with a broken heart is fix it. And that doesn't happen in a day. Least you can do is get something tasty to chase the pain with. Like hot old guys. You’re only 21! This is the prime time to do whatever you want.” 

You think for a second. Letting this wash over you as you try and figure out the next thing to do. Do you really doll yourself up after the most traumatic evening of your life is not even 24 hours in your past, just to eye all of your friends older relatives, and family friends that you’ve been ogling at since you were 16? 

I mean fuck it, what else are you going to do. 

Following your friend up the stairs, she lets out an excited giggle at the prospect of having you back after so many years. There's so many things to tell, different people to see, and subsequently laugh at, but the best of all her skills with a brush have gotten much better since the last time she helped you look good. Much better, apparently for as you looked at yourself in the mirror you could barely recognize the woman looking back at you-- let alone any trace of the girl sat in a torn dress the night before screaming outside her ex’s house. 

You put on a pretty yellow dress, adorned with flowers It's hemmed all properly frilled to some level, and the flow of the skirt portion barely getting over your back end does the top also treat you well; a low neck cup to shape your chest perfectly as the daintiness of your outfit, paired with little yellow heels, made you look properly irresistible. 

-----------------------------------

“Guess whos backkk!!!”

The excited shrills of your friend beside you make everyone who'd arrived at the party thus far to crane their heads back to look, all of which subsequently smiled with shock as they looked upon you. None of them had seen you since you were 17, about 18 years old. That's when you left, the moment you could. Looking back you missed all of this so much, the community, the story told in every face that looked upon you. But all is lost now and the most you can do is make the best out of the time you have right now-- and as it stands you’re at the center of it all. 

They approach you by the droves, asking every question they can that have undoubtedly had rumored answers to in your absence; detailing from where you've been, what you’re doing, where you go to school, where you work, and most hurtful-- how your ex was doing. You briefly told them all that you and him had since parted, and that you were just getting back on track, spending some time at your friend's house in the meantime. They all looked upon you in sympathy, but as more people entered the party the more they dispersed to greet other guests. 

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?” 

A low, familiar tone enters the backyard where you stand, and turning around to face you is your friend's father. Who, for most of your life was like a father to you as well. He opens his arms and you follow suit, embracing him in what feels like a much-needed hug, before setting you down again to continue talking to you. 

“Oh, honey if, if I'd known you were coming I'd have brought you something. How long has it been since I last saw you? God, you seem so grown up now. It's like I barely even know you.” 

His head moves to look behind him for a second, and soon he ushers someone forward to join in the conversation. 

“Ah, there's something I'd love for you to meet. This is a good friend of mine, Joel. I haven't had him around any of these much, he just moved back here from Texas a couple weeks back. But he's someone I've known my whole life. Kinda like you and my daughter in a way!” 

Though as the man who emerged behind him reared his head, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was him, of course, it was him. That asshole that drove you home like you were the greatest burden he's ever had to carry. 

“Yer fuckin kidding me.” 

He looks at you in shock. Nothing more. However, you see that to his side is a young girl, no older than 12 who seems to be in awe over you. Her hair was tucked into each side of her face to illuminate it in a crown of curls that came to her shoulder and stretched all the way to her ears in volume. She wore a small shark tooth necklace, and some form of singer on her shirt that you didn't recognize.

He-, Joel, looks down at her; 

“Sarah how bout you go say hi to your friends for me. I'm gonna be busy a moment” 

She runs off, and your friend's dad begins to speak again. 

“Do you, know each other from somewhere? I can't imagine you do.” 

“She's that insane little girl I told you ‘bout. The one kickin n’ screaming all over the place. Reason why Sarah hadta’ stay the night at your place.” 

“The insane little girl?” 

You chime in.

“There's no way- Joel, you’ve probably got the wrong girl” 

“No, he has the right one.” 

You stare directly at him, sending daggers into each of the brown eyes that look back at you. 

“He kicked me out of his car at almost 2 in the morning without a single word. Isn't that right?” 

Though no matter how piercing your gaze it fails to impact him as it should, for with equal level tone he snipes back; 

“Yep, after makin me drive all the way cross’ town just cause she wanted to. Knowin I got someone waitin’ for me. Clearly, something she don't understand all too much anymore.” 

That was unnecessary. 

Something brews inside of you as you glance upon his finger void of a ring, even a tan that would indicate its recent removal. Though as the only sane-minded person seemingly left to observe watches your eyes as you make such a connection, he swiftly puts an end to it. 

“Now, Joel. you know how young girls are they-” 

“I'm not that young.” 

“Alright well, they. Are just passionate, that's all. She was with him for how many was it now? Three years? Left the moment she turned of age. Clearly she just doesn't know how a mans supposed to be. This is all she really knows.” 

This is all she really knows.

That's all that rang through your head as the conversation died and Joel exchanged brief apology. That in a way, he was all you really knew. And now you’re back home, and you don't know what to do with yourself, really. You don't know what you like, or what you don't like. It was all just, him. For so long. You vowed to yourself that day that, no matter what went on you would say yes to anything. To embrace kind of, anything that came your way as some divine fate, or at the very least a fun experience. 

As the night droned on, and you fielded the barrage of squeals, hugs from people you don't remember, and a bit more liquor you could've accounted for, the night came to a slow end. Feeling eyes on you constantly was one thing, but feeling the eyes on the man with who’d you'd had a comfortable reunion was even worse in a way. Although, as you looked upon him in your own moments you saw in him something unveiled after the veil of hatred and sorrow fell off of you. Something, interesting about him. Attractive. Obviously nothing you were going to personally indulge in, but an interesting assertion nonetheless. He stood in the light of the evening, fairy lights covering the backyard as it illuminated his now more time-appropriate outfit; one of marginally better jeans and a plaid shirt, rolled to his elbows to reveal what were impressive forearms, and with the proper fit of his shirt, showed an impressive physique for a single dad.

… … …

 Thats stupid. Anyways, the night drew to a close and as you saw your friend too wrapped up in the conversation of someone relatively older than her, you decided to take the few blocks walk home, especially since you didn't have a car anymore either. Though as you exit the front door to travel down the sidewalk you hear a familiar accent call out to you after only a few feet have been made distance between you and the doorframe; 

“Ya’ walking home this late at night?” 

“Yeah, I am. Not like I've got a car do I?” 

You turn your body to look at him, but only after you've finished your sentence, using the body language of someone unequipped for any more stupid banter to cue him into leaving you alone. 

“How’s about I drive you home. Least I can do after what I’d said today. It wasent quite my place.” 

His voice has an unfamiliar tune of sympathy as he lets out that apology of sorts, so you engage. Though, begrudgingly. 

“Don’t you have a daughter to take care of? That seemed what got you so mad before.” 

He sighs a little, you notice you've hit a bit of a nerve. 

“Well, she’ll be stayin' at a friend's place for a few days, really hit it off. Got nothin but time on my hands now.” 

“Well in that case I'm not gonna say no to a free ride. Obviously.” 

You smile a bit, a first with him. Other than ones of sarcasm, every interaction you've had with him thus far hasn't been all that pleasant. And he smiles back. And, as the light of the moon shines down upon his weathered face, the smirk on his makes your smile grow even more. 

Hopping into his car once more, you take the road to your place with a little more enjoyment than how it transpired the night before. This time, the sound of his music accompanied by a hum through his car is what played to fill the silence of the atmosphere. Something old, country, of course. You’d never heard it, and it sounded well beyond even his years. But despite that, there was a comforting air that was shared in the car-- cool air blowing in from the windows rolled down, watching as his arm held on to the side of the car door from the open window, tapping its side in unison to the beat. 

“This here is it right?” 

Pulling up to your shared home you felt almost a little reluctant to respond with a yes. Though when you do, he steps out of the car as you do as well. You watch as he awaits your circle to the front where he stood, as a means to walk with you to the front of your door. Looking at him curiously as you reach the entrance, he gives response to your motions, though you watch as his fingers fiddle with one another ever so slightly as he poses such a response;

“It ain’t right leaving a lady to walk all by herself after dropping her off. And, I just wanted to say again that it ain't my place makin assumptions about you like that. Wanted to know if I could make it up to ya’. Kinda seems like lifes dealt you a bad hand right now, thought to offer you a drink over it.” 

A drink? 

You thought about that for a second. The man that kicked you out of his car, literally less than 24 hours ago, is now offering to take you out for a drink. Well, it was as a means for apology. So that's something. Nothing more to it, it's a Southern thing. They drink to anything. Especially sorrow. 

“I think I’ll have to take you up on that. You’ll know where I’ll be.” 

You reply with a smile that grows just large enough to show your teeth. He gazed at you for a bit longer, as his eyes grew brighter at the prospect of an invitation accepted. He was a lot less harsh than meets the eye, it seemed. But you still weren't properly convinced. And, there was still much a mystery about him that although intimidated you, enticed you even more. You cock your hip to the side of the doorframe, leaning up against it as he spoke to you as a means to accentuate your figure just a bit as he looked at you. Just to see what would happen. 

“Oh, alright then. 7 alright with you? I’ll come pick you up course’.” 

“Seven’s more than alright with me. I'll see you then, Joel.” 

As you bid farewell to him, you watched as his eyes tracked your movements as you did so. The way your hips have shifted place, the tone at which your voice shifted ever so slightly. He took in your gaze, a small cat eye that sharpened your eyes paired with the sly smile of a woman your age was enough to catch his stare for a moments longer than it should've. You relished in that. 

He leaves you off with a nod and a smile, though you take the time that he walks back to his truck as a means to take in all that he was without interruption. He was handsome, to say the least. There was something to be said about a man with southern hospitality and an ass made from manual labor that reached deeper into a realm of attraction that was often untapped by the men of your age range. And you enjoyed greatly that you’d discovered such a thing. 

Tomorrow, 7pm, Joel. 

[didi-writes]

♡ 𝆬   teacher! William Afton x reader

characters : 2497

warnings : big age gap (reader is around 20 and William is in his 40s) , teacher x student relationship, mentions of rough home situations, use of darling nickname, non-consensual kiss

notes : not proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes! hope you enjoy anyways ♡

fluff + gender neutral reader

He sighs, putting down the papers he was grading and turning around in the chair. He faces the classroom, everyone busy chatting or doing whatever. William coughs and stands up, the classroom falls silent and he smiles slightly "I'll be handing out everyone's test from last week now. Let's all overlook it together, hmm?" He says and starts to hand out the papers. Giving each student their test back, William walks over to Y/N, placing the paper down onto their desk. "Meet me after class, please?" He asks, in a low but calm tone. They nod at him and pick up the paper, Y/N's eyes scanning across the letter filled paper, a big red F marked at the top of it.

They sigh and look back up at William again, who has now returned to the front of the classroom. "If any of you have any questions while I explain all the questions that were given on the test save them until I'm done, yeah?". William Afton, was Y/N's history teacher, he was fairly older than themselves. Y/N wasn't necessarily bad at history but since things at home had been rough they didn't get the chance to revise all the topics that were discussed in class at home, and so failed the test this time.

As William stood there explaining the questions, Y/N stared at him. Noticing how his tone of voice was calm and low, the way he stood there awkwardly in his brown pants and light vest, the dark purple tie tied around his neck. Y/N started to blush slightly as she stared at the man. William put his hands into his pockets and let out a long sigh "Well then, any questions?" He all of a sudden says, causing Y/N to flinch a bit and return back from their daydreaming. Nobody in class says anything nor raises their hands. William nods and turns around to walk back to his desk, sitting down on the chair that stood by it. "Well then..." He says, looking up at the clock hanging on the wall behind him. "School's almost out, why don't u all do some studying until the bell rings" he says, the class all nod and do the exact opposite. Y/N sat there fidgeting with their fingers, turning to look outside of the window.

A few minutes pass until suddenly the bell rang, everyone quickly got up and left the classroom, leaving just Y/N and William behind. "Well then Y/N, care to explain this grade to me?" He speaks, getting up from the chair and closing the door to the classroom. He walks back and sits down, Y/N gets up from their desk and walks up to William's desk.

"Uhm...i guess I just didn't study, sorry" they awkwardly reply. William nods slowly and let's out a low hum "All of your other grades were rather good, what made u not study?" He asks, his facial expression serious as he stares into Y/N's eyes. "It's....really none of your business to be honest Mr.Afton" they blurt out, a bit louder than a whisper. William's eyes widen a bit and he chuckles "If you tell me I may be able to help. You don't want to redo the year now, do you darling?" He says, the 'darling' catching Y/N off guard. They look at him, cheeks blushing slightly as they shake their head no. "No....its just been rough at home, I haven't been able to study" Y/N replies rather quiet and looks away, letting out a soft sigh.

William understandingly nods and stands up, he places a hand onto their shoulder, his height towering over Y/N's. "I'm here for you, do u want to talk about it?" He says, calmly. They look up at him, tears prickling at their eyes. Y/N starts sobbing, William gets caught off guard but quickly wraps his arms around Y/N as reaction. They continue to sob, William gently strokes their back with his big hand "shh..its okay" he says and continues to comfort them. Y/N pulls away and wipes their tears away with the palm of their hand. William smiles softly at them and reaches his hand up to their cheek, helping Y/N wipe their tears away.

He looks down at them, not thinking and leaning in, kissing Y/N on the lips. They freeze, in shock of the sudden kiss until William pulls back. "....sorry, I didn't think straight, this is..this is wrong" he blurts out, backing up a bit. Y/N slowly shakes their head "..it's alright with me" they softly whisper. William looks at them, a soft blush coating his cheeks after having kissed them. He grins and nods "then, meet me here again tomorrow after your last period. You should be going now, darling" he says. Y/N nods and quickly makes their way out of William's classroom, looking back once more and smiling slightly at the man. They close the door and let out a soft sigh, releasing it was wrong to want him but not caring anyways.

thanks for reading,, have a good day or night ᰔᩚ

[wannab-urs]

Outtakes - Boys Kissing

An outtake for the people like me who love reading pedro boy x pedro boy. These are exclusively fics with no reader character, so if you're looking for MMF, check out my Multiples outtake. All fics are either M/M or M/M/M or... you get the point.

If you'd like to appear on the spreadsheet, drop me a message here or on my discord @/wannab_urs

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Pretend Alleyways - Dieter/Marcus Moreno series by @radiowallet

One then two chance meetings between famed actor Dieter Bravo and lone wolf Heroic Marcus Moreno leave both yearning for a connection in the least likely of places. Diametrically opposed in every way, what happens when the two men decide to explore the spark of lightning between them?

Alternate universe, third person point of view, mlm dynamics, no reader insert, smut, drug use, smoking, language, drinking, violence, banter, teasing, arguments, depression, anxiety

A Lesson in Blackmailing - Joel/Veracruz one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

What happens when a FEDRA officer working his way up the command ladder makes the grave error of crossing Joel Miller?

Smut, mlm dynamics, alternate universe, FEDRA!Veracruz, frottage, power dynamics, degradation, sir kink, attempted sexual coercion, dark!Joel, no reader insert

The only time we have - Din/Poe one shot by @nerdieforpedro

taking care of physical needs all Din and Poe doing? All they're capable of? Only the darkness and walls know.

anal sex, cum worship, body worship, rough sex, semi-public sex, cockwarming

Ahórcame, Papí - Joel/Frankie/Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop

After he gives a recovering addict a job (and subsequently falls head over heels for him), Joel and Frankie have a sweet, fulfilling relationship as Daddy and little exploring their kinks. Then, they meet Ezra at a leather club, another damaged vet with his own issues and kinks. They take him home, and he never really leaves.

Daddy Kink, Daddy/littles, pup kink, Breathplay (hands on throats), Orgasm Denial, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Control "Training", Light BDSM, Aftercare, Soft Dom Joel, vers Ezra, Bottom Frankie Morales, Oral Sex, Cockwarming, AnalSex, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Breeding Kink, Heat/rut kink, PTSD mention (vets), gags, fingering, choking, cum eating, prostate milking, fucking machine mention, the elusive "sissygasm"

Hold Please - Dave/Javi P/Marcus Pike series by @ghostofaboy

Dave decides to arrange a little get-together for him, Javier and Marcus.

Anal fingering, oral sex, anal sex, facial, orgasm denial, threesome - m/m/m

Obscenery - Dave York/Tim Rockford series by @sin-djarin

Dave is worried about the day ahead and Tim offers him some advice.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, edging, orgasm delay, these two come with their own warnings - in particular Tim's mouth and how much Dave really likes it.

Bloody Kisses - Tim Rockford/Dio series by @perotovar

shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

takes place in the early 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, hurtful names (fairy boy, faggot, queer as a slur, etc), a gay porn magazine, lots of references to peter steele of type o negative (and his playgirl issue), male masturbation, acab, angst, protected p in a, fingering, excessive amounts of lube

In the shadows of others, we grow - Tim Rockford/Dave York series by @sin-djarin

What happens when you put two different areas of law enforcement in the same room a few times a year to atone for their 'sins'? You find common ground and figure it out. Together.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, each chapter contains individual warnings.

I Know You By Heart - Joel/Ezra series by @sixhours

Joel and Ellie settle into their new lives in Jackson but it's not the easiest transition. Thankfully Jackson has a counselor to help with that.

Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), canon-compliant with season 1, SMUT, gay sex, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, alcoholic behavior, age gap (~10ish years so barely a thing)

Cosmic Oddities - Din/Joel series by fromthewhales (AO3)

Turning a clan of two into a clan of four and asking the very important, albeit unhinged question: What if space dad and apocalypse dad were Weird About Each Other?

parental bonding, parallels, angst, everyone has issues, everyone needs a hug, touch starved din djarin, injuries, strangers to ??? to lovers, smashing the space western and the zombie western together like 2 ken dolls, trauma, crack-fic adjacent at times, hurt/comfort, soft not super explicit smut, self harm, found family, din djarin eventually removes the helmet, blindfold, long distance relationship, survivors guilt, angst with a happy ending, non sexual intimacy, it gets worse before it gets better, alcohol mention, game II canon divergent — but boy does it come close, canon typical violence, minor character death, major character injury, bi!din djarin, bi!joel miller

Held by the Moon - Dieter/Dave one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Dieter is determined to prove his dedication to the film consultant on his latest project. Dave is determined to not cross any professional boundaries. Only one has the mental fortitude to see their intentions through.

dommy daddy subby baby vibes, "is somebody gonna match my freak?" is the main theme here, drugs/sobriety, Dave is uptight, Dieter is a silly goose, brief film industry stuff, heavy flirting, Dieter is on some Esmerelda shit and Dave is lusting bad like Frollo but without the attempted murder and self-righteous religious stuff, drug testing but make it erotic, this pairing made me insanely horny

Breaking Down Walls - Din/Dio one shot by @crowandmousewritingco (mouse)

Dio doesn't lose fights, but what happens when he does.

dio gets his ass beat, emotions, fluff

Baby, I'm-a Want You - Joel/Javi P series by @perotovar

javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where javier and joel are gay porn stars~

unprotected p in a, oral, fingering, ass eating, use of plugs, gay terminology (bear, twink, etc), handjobs, blowjobs, swearing, smoking

[thaltro]

Hey there, I saw your recent post and just have to say that once upon a time when I was bored I decided to check out the tumblr tag for ut au's even though I'm not as interested in it anymore as I was before just to see what's been happening in the fandom then found out about your account and fell in love with your art!

I haven't been into UT AU's in a while but I still stalk your account just because I love love love your character designs and the concept of nightwatch (I'm checking your profile every now and then just to check if there's any announcements on it like a madman) and the way you draw and color. If it wasn't for the fact that I need to be stingy with my money these days I'd genuinely commission you 😭‼️

Idk how I'm supposed to end this note but I just rly wanted to show the appreciation I have for ur art you genuinely inspire me to create <33

(PS Atrophy's design is so cool where'd you get the inspo for it I have to know)

This is genuinely really sweet

I’ve been working on commissions, just checked my inbox and I have a lot of sweet messages like this one- I’ll answer as many as I can soon it is 2- almost 3 am (time zone reveal) so I’ll sleep soon.

I’m really surprised people genuinely like my au, even though I’m not getting as many interactions (for some reason TikTok is pretty consistent- just not here?) I’m most confused at people actually caring 😭

Besides my beta readers and the few people I’ve spilled all my nightwatch lore too for no good reason, there’s a good handful of sweet people who like my posts without even knowing the full story. That means alot to me, like alot alot.

It’s nice hearing from people who used to be in the fandom and somehow came across my stuff. I kinda want to attract that crowd, I really don’t understand the newer fandom as i was introduced to the utmv when I was like 11 and the old fandom holds a special place in my heart.

Oh and to answer your question- Atrophy’s design is based off of men’s clothing from the 40-80s, his main outfit is 70s talk show hosty but he has a lot of different outfits. I’m a history nerd so I just go through old fashion books haha. His design is supposed to embody wealth and “manliness”. His tie is supposed to be an arrow which is a reference to his past, his red gloves are worn because he’s proud of being “red handed” and isn’t ashamed of the blood he’s spilt. He wears a moon mask that covers up any of his expressive facial features because he thinks it’s funny when his victims can’t read his expression. Atrophy purposely dresses like a villain, that’s what he sees his role as after all- might as well have a good costume.

Thank you for the ask, it cheered me up

[yourresidentstanlover]

Sooo this is a stan-centric blog, buuut I wanted to include various drawings of my gravity falls versions of my ocs, Mandy Simmons and Kyle Walker.

They're identical twins who were separated at 15 in foster care. They didn't see each other again until they were 52.

Mandy here worked with ford in the 80's. She presented as a man, and went by her middle name, Kennedy. It was fairly easy for her to pass, since she has PCOS which caused her to grow a decent amount of facial hair. She also has a more masculine build and is incredibly strong.

She worked with Ford until about a week before he fell into the portal. Ken left because Ford was going insane, and he couldn't handle it. He came back a few days after Ford fell in the portal, and decided to help Stanley bring him back. She gave up after about three years, and decided to leave and finish her education. Stan has no negative feelings towards her, both of them were stumped since the location of the two other journals was unknown.

But from improper binding and longs nights of work without a break, Amanda's ribs are all kinds of fucked up now. She had multiple cracked ribs from the binder being too tight, and her lungs are messed up from not being able to breathe properly.

Don't sleep in your binder kids.

Ken doesn't really give a fuck about her pronouns or his name, so call them whatever lol. She doesn't care.

This is Mandy and her wife, Kate ^^

Now Kyle's had it real rough. He ended up aging out of foster care at 18, and dropped out of college at 20. He lived out of his van for over a decade, and struggled with a serious drug addiction.

He lost his right arm at 26 and fell even deeper into despair. Kyle had to do a lot of unsavory things to survive, and has been arrested multiple times for petty crimes, drug possession, and prostitution.

After about 40-ish, he starts to get better, and he's managed to overcome his drug addiction (he still smokes a ton of weed tho).

He travels from place to place, not really staying in one area for too long. Kyle's got a lot of people after him.

He ends up in gravity falls, and stays for a bit while working as a waiter at Greasy's. He runs into Stan, they become quite friendly, and eventually Stan decides to rent out the storage room where the creepy wax statues were.

Kyle becomes pretty close to the Pines, and very attracted attached to Stanley. There's often a lot of sexual tension between them when they're alone.

Kyle waits until after Stan gets back from sailing on the Stan-o-War II before he tells him how he really feels.

And like Mandy, Kyle can't bind anymore. He fucked up his ribs from binding for too long with no breaks.

And Ford and Mandy built him a robotic prosthetic arm. Kyle doesn't wear it every day, but he will wear it when two hands make things easier.

[a-god-in-crime-alley]

So I’mma do a quick rant on Tim and the whole “forever 17” thing people are always going on about.

Disclaimer: some of this is based on my own experience with how I changed as I got older and comments from people that I went months and years without seeing.

I’m AFAB so it’s not quite the same. But I’ve never been one to remember a skin care routine and have relied on good genetics and good hygiene to make this point.

When doing some calculations for another post (you’ve probably seen that post I reblogged about the batkids ages) it hit me WHY it doesn’t look like Tim has aged.

Sure it might just be a style choice because DC wants to keep a chokehold on their Teen audience with Tim. (Even though Damian is RIGHT THERE!!! DC stop making Damian look like Tim for the love of GOD!)

A lot of people don’t actually CHANGE that much from ages 16-24 as long as they are keeping to the same exercise routines and diets. With the exception of Tim’s Brucequest, he kept to a fairly stable routine for Years!

The reason most people change so much early on is because they drop off their usual exercise (gym class) and repetitive diet (school or packed lunch). So you see people’s weight fluctuating (this can have an effect of visible face shape) hair either thinning or thickening and skin either clearing or getting more acne.

Add this to Tim probably having pretty good genetics (his mom looked like she was maybe pushing 30 when she died but was probably closer to mid 40s. Both Janet and Jack were around 10 years older than Bruce, who would have been mid 30s at the time.)

Tim not showing any signs of facial hair can also be down to genetics. Some cis men just NEVER get more than a single chin hair, maybe a max of 5 sparsely scattered along their chin. Those guys usually just pluck them out. They never actually have to shave. Though I think we Have seen Tim shaving again one point. Can’t remember when.

Either way, it makes sense for Tim not to actually look his age in any more than muscle mass. He’s noticeably built compared to how he was when Damian was introduced. (When the artists are going for a more realistic art style.)

Then considering his most recent dimensional adventure to save Bruce after the shit with Failsafe, you see just how much older he looks next to his mother (from that universe) and she didn’t seem that surprised with how he looked. Meaning her version of him is probably around the same age, and anyone who read that issue can see she looked pretty young.

Add all this to the fact it’s Canon that Jason is 23! He’s only at most 3 years older than Tim but is probably closer to 2 years older. (With Jason being 15 going on 16 when he died. And Tim was 12-13 by the 6 month mark after Jason died and Tim became Robin.)

So in conclusion, DC needs to stop acting like Tim’s still a Teenager and acknowledge that he’s a lot closer to 21 (hell, if we go by proper calculations he SHOULD BE 21).

What I’m saying is give us Tim going out for drinks with his older brothers. Have him show up at Jason’s after something bad happens and ask if he’s still up for that drink (in reference to that one time Jason offered to get a 16 year old Tim into a bar.)

Give us Funny Drunk Tim shenanigans to balance out that Dick is a miserable drunk! Have Jason get stuck babysitting both of them because he’s the only one that can actually hold his alcohol. Have the Girls be watching and laughing from across the bar because they unintentionally had their Girls Night and the same place the guys had their Boys Night.

Please DC, I am Begging you!

[am-i-interrupting]

Could we get a peek as to what some of reader and voxs intimate moments were like in OATSH?

Since I can’t decide on just one, here’s some little headcanon/future fics that I have in my head.

OATSH Master List

Living World

Vox and reader actually exchanged letters more than they saw one another in person. After moving back to New Orleans, there was a letter sent to Alastor’s old radio station address for them from Vox since he never got their address. It took three or four months of correspondence before he got it.

Vox is the man in life (aside from Alastor but he’s dead at this point so shuuuush) that they allow to touch them.

Eventually they could be talked into coming over to Vox’s home with no one over.

With the help of alcohol, the two would share kisses.

Without alcohol, there would be talks on the couch that would end in one of them falling asleep.

If it was Vox, they would admire him, take a moment to indulge in the want to touch before they’d wake him up and walk him to bed. The times he asked them to stay, he’d wake up with their perfume on his pillow but them nowhere in sight.

If it was Reader who fell asleep, Vox would carry them to bed. He’d be really careful about not waking them up as he took off their shoes.

Groggy mornings after where either way reader is the one who’s cooking breakfast because no, eggs on toast is not— that’s not a meal, that’s a sin.

Aside, I love the 40s slang for eggs which is “hen fruit” so yes, I will find a way to integrate this into the story.

Domestic times where eventually reader stops paying for a hotel and instead just stays with Vox when they come around and Vox does the same.

Reader bought a television specifically to watch Vox’s program and shows he guest starred in. They did this not because they wanted to see Vox’s face. No, it was to study his facial expressions and body language to save on having to figure it out during the little time they saw each other in person. Nothing else.

Vox has read all of their books and listened/watched/read all of their interviews. He has a section of a bookshelf completely dedicated to things related to them.

Reader actually has more than just the book about being raised by Alastor. They’ve written both fiction and non fiction alike. The other non-fiction book they wrote was about their experience specifically as a non-white child in the child care systems.

Fiction wise, they’ve written crime stories mostly. Shocker seeing who they were raised by.

Looking at Vox’s bookshelf, you can tell the most read book of their is a book where the main relationship focus is one akin to Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. Where those lines between admiration and romantic interest are blurred.

He reads that one the most but the creases in the spine and the permanent bookmark indicates that he section he reads the most is the one where you get to see the killer’s thoughts towards the end of the book.

“It was only when tucked away in a private roomette and the train started moving, that she let the events of the past months catch up to her. What started off as a fun game became something so different so quickly. Things became convoluted, so much more dangerous than anticipated.

“The stakes were high. Head or heart? She had made her choice.

“She hooked her finger around the cloth in front of the window. She pulled it back, taking at her last glimpse of this city. Her eyes widened when she saw him at the station. He was breathless. He looked around, frantic. She saw him and he saw her. He shook his head and she knew. People whose names she didn’t remember but recognized as his colleagues were behind him. A mouth moved in a question and he responded with a single word answer. She let her finger fall and the curtain shut.

“He’d made his choice too.

“A true pity that he was one of those good ones. A true pity, indeed.”

Vox knew it was written with him in mind.

He actually knew a lot more than most. The last time he saw reader before their death, was two months before. There had been a party. Something caused them to leave early. He went to follow to see what was wrong. They left suddenly.

Then a man came up to them while they were on the path back to their hotel. They ignored him at first but then something in them flipped and Vox was introduced to a side of them he’d never seen before.

Vox didn’t send them a letter for a month and a half after they left. Then he sent them one telling them to meet him next time they came. They were supposed to meet him the day after they died.

Hell

Overlord Reader is just reader getting the respect they always deserved to Vox.

He did not register how powerful they were until he saw them in their demon form for the first time.

Demon form includes, longer tail, sharper teeth, elongated, blackened hands. Vox thinks it’s hot.

Reader is a lot more open and affectionate than in life. Vox had no idea how to react to this at first. He definitely glitched the first couple times they grab hold of him in public.

Referring people to Vox when it seems like he could take advantage of their situation and make a deal.

Vox attending every single production at their theater.

Cleaning Vox’s screen when it gets smudged.

Vox brushing the reader’s tail for them.

Finally getting together and Vox just shutting down.

Not telling Alastor right away but definitely telling Rosie. Rosie is ecstatic.

Moving in together, sharing a space, teaching Vox how to properly cook, getting Vark.

Vox getting jealous of little baby Vark because they just. . . They bypassed him to give Vark kisses first. Excuse you.

Definitely gives very deep, passionate kisses in retaliation. They start bypassing him on purpose to get them.

Vox has so many photographs of them and Vark. Vox actually just has so many photographs of them.

The first movie Vox makes in Hell is actually based on his favorite book of theirs. He convinced them to play the murderer. Of course he’s playing the detective.

Alastor gets very protective of them because Vox is trying to steal them away from him with all this work.

Vox gets very protective of them because Alastor is trying to steal them away from him by intruding on their time alone.

Once Alastor just appeared in their home and caught a moment he should not have seen. Everyone screamed. Alastor temporarily went demonic. He starts knocking after.

Rosie and reader placing bets on who’s gonna win this fight when Alastor and Vox go at it.

Vox not feeling like he’s enough for them until he’s an overlord. Them having to assure him that if they wanted to leave, they would.

When he becomes one, him trying to propose. Alastor fucking with the proposal. Reader proposes instead.

Vox and Rosie team up for the perfect wedding.

Either always being in a honeymoon phase or acting like they’ve been married for fifty years. No in between.

Reader helping Vox strike a better work-life balance because they’ve been doing this longer.

Work visits where reader purposefully leaves lipstick marks when they leave. Work visits where Vox gives them a massage while they’re supposed to be focused.

Vox sitting close to reader during overlord meetings.

Heaven forbid someone mention them being too inappropriate with the PDA. Coincidentally there will be a scandal about them Vox covers in the news within the next month.

Comforting reader when Alastor goes missing.

The petty party of the fucking millennia begins when Alastor comes back.