#he had no fucking idea what was going on in the first place

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Monster (Azriel X Reader)

Word Count: 4700

Summary: Everyone thinks that Y/N is a horrible person for what she did under the mountain, and she agrees, but Azriel realizes that things aren't what they seem.

I have not wrote any fanfiction in 5 years, which is absolutely crazy. I've been talking to my boyfriend a lot about story ideas and he asked me, why don't you just write it down? So here it is, it's not exactly what I used to write.

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You had hoped you would die under the caldron-forsaken mountain. The 49 years have cost you everything: your family, your court and your humanity. Amarantha had chosen you to be her right hand, you had no one to lose and everything to gain. You became known as Amarantha’s bitch, arguably a worse title than Rhysand’s. Your job was to keep discipline under the mountain and frequently had to whip and grant Amarantha’s wishes of public torture sessions when the Attor was not around.

Your reputation had made it outside of the mountain and throughout the courts, you were known to be ruthless and would kill without hesitation. You were an absolute monster.

Before Feyre had come along and saved you all from the mountain, the only one who understood your pain was Rhysand. For the first few years of your position, Rhysand would look at you with hatred in his eyes. He tortured people too, but you knew he didn’t enjoy it in the same way you pretended to. Every time you tortured the poor soul who got on Amarantha’s nerves, you would go up to them after the fact and hold their hand and ask if they had learned their lesson.

You had a gift and a curse, your gift was the ability to absorb pain from someone else, but the curse was that pain demanded to be felt eventually. Every whipping, every burn, or every cut that you performed, you took it from them to feel later. You kept this secret to yourself originally, but it’s quite hard to hide things from Rhysand.

On one unfortunate night, he entered your chambers under the mountain and witnessed the blood beginning to pool on your back. “Someone give you a taste of your own medicine?” He smirked, leaning against the door frame.

“Get the fuck out, Rhysand.” You croaked, mouth dry as you felt another blow to your back from the whipping earlier. “If I wanted to sleep with someone, it wouldn’t be Amarantha’s seconds.” You could feel the walls you built to protect yourself from Rhysand crumbling, like they were nothing but paper, and his eyes grew in realization.

He walked over to you and placed your face in his hands, his eyes growing wide with understanding. “You don’t have to bear their pain alone, Y/N.” He whispered, but you shook your head.

“Please go away.” You whispered, tears filling your eyes. Nobody had ever seen you like this under the mountain, “I can handle it, really.”

You felt the next blow and cried out, Rhysand caught you in his arms and held you. You felt him in your mind, and then your physical pain was gone, and it was just you both in your head. He was right there, in front of you, and all you could do was sigh. “I can explain.”

“Are you…. Are you taking their pain?” He whispered, and you nodded. “Why?”

“We’re all trapped here.” You replied, your voice echoing across the black void. “Someone will hurt them either way, at least if I hurt them… I can take their pain away and they can pass peacefully.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Rhys asked, and you shrugged. “I could have helped you, we’re on the same side.”

“It’s my pain to bear, I wouldn’t have agreed to this job if I couldn’t take their pain away.” You whispered back, he nodded in understanding.

From then on, you had one friend under the mountain, and when Feyre became part of the picture, you had two.

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               When Feyre won the trials and you were released from the mountain, you realized that you had nowhere to go. Your court has disowned you and your family was…gone. Rhysand invited you back to Velaris to the dismay of his inner circle, and he agreed that your gift would remain a secret until you were ready.

               You trained as hard as you could and tried your best time and time again to win over the inner circle. You promised yourself you would tell them about your gift eventually but couldn’t bring yourself to do it, feeling like you would be using it as an “excuse” to torture others and end all the lives you did, when it was really inexcusable.

               The member of the inner circle that hated you the most was Azriel, he would immediately leave any room you entered, refuse to go on missions with you and would even stop training as soon as you were in earshot. You could sense him staring at you from afar sometimes, and whenever you would look it would be anger, hatred and maybe a little confusion in his eyes.

               You tried your best to make friends with everyone, but it’s hard to be friends with a sadistic murderer who laughed as they were killing the weak and defenseless. The only people who gave you a chance were Cassian and Feyre, and you couldn’t be more appreciative.

               One night, during one of your nightmares, you awoke to large hands shaking you awake and came face to face with Cassian. He looked at you in concern and placed a hand around your head in a brotherly, comforting way. Tears flowed down your face. “You were shouting your own name, what were you dreaming about?”

               “Cassian, do you think I can be forgiven for what I’ve done?” You whispered, looking up at him. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I need to tell you the truth.”

               Cassian was the first person you willingly told your story to, and he looked absolutely horrified. You showed him the scars on your back and told him about the worst things you have ever done. He comforted you for hours, and in return told you his stories about how he’s killed and how guilty he feels about it sometimes.

               It was nice having Cassian after that point, you two would spar, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to throw a punch when he was open. His laughter was a wonderful sound, and he would often catch you staring at Azriel- longing for his forgiveness but knowing that would most likely never happen. You knew he didn’t trust you, and you don’t think he ever would.

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

                “I need you two to go on a mission together.” Rhys explains, looking between you and Azriel. “I don’t care about how much you don’t like each other; this needs to be done. The attor was sighted on our border, and I need him found.”

               You took a quick look at Azriel before turning away, his hands were clenched into fists, and his shadows were swarming around angrily. “I can go by myself just fine.” Azriel snapped, “She’ll just slow me down and you know it.”

               “I need you BOTH to go, which is why Y/N is here.” Rhysand clasped his hands together, looking at you expectantly. “I think she will be helpful in this mission, since the attor is involved.”

               “I am familiar with the attor.” You sighed, peeking over at Azriel. “I may be able to lure him out.”

               “I bet he’s very fond of you,” Azriel turned to look at you, “I bet you killed more people than he did, did you guys keep count like a competition?”

               You stepped back, you had barely spoken to Azriel, but these were his first words with you. Every reassurance that Cassian, Feyre and Rhys had ever provided seemed to disappear.

               “I just don’t understand Rhys, why is she here? The rest of us have killed, sure, but for good reason. She is a monster.” Azriel’s shadows circled the room, and you could feel the hatred coming off him in waves.

               ‘You’re not going to defend yourself?’ Rhys asked you, and you gave your head a slight shake.

               “This is the last I’m hearing of it, Azriel, you better bring her back here in one piece or so help me.”

               After 3 cold days of searching for the Attor, he was nowhere to be found, and Azriel’s snide comments were getting on your nerves. The flight back to Velaris was cold and silent.

               “Hey, I’m sorry that we came all this way and didn’t catch him.” You whispered, staring down at the darkening landscape.

               “I just hoped that you would be useful for something.” He replied, not even looking in your direction. You sighed, your heart plummeting to your stomach. You had hoped, on some deluded level, that this trip would allow you to talk to him and explain yourself and maybe- just maybe- he wouldn’t hate you so much anymore.

               “I just wanted to say sorry- not just for the attor but for everything.” He looked down at you, and you couldn’t tell what expression was on his face. “I’m just- I’m trying to be better than I was under the mountain, the person I was then is not me. I hope you can believe that.”

               He nodded, looking back up at the setting sun. “I believe that you want to be better.” He said solemnly, “But if what everyone is saying is true, then there is no hope for you. You will never change, even if Rhysand and Cassian don’t see it yet.”  

               You couldn’t even bring yourself to nod, you felt the cold tears sting your eyes but tried to blink them away before they could fall. Azriel saw you for who you really were, the murderer. At least he won’t lie to you like everyone else has.

               The silence ticked by when all the sudden, an arrow flew by your head and hit Azriels wing with a sharp crack. He grunted in pain and dropped a couple feet; another 2 arrows swished by and tore through his other wing. “Azriel- land!” You shouted, searching the darkened forest floor for any sign of the attackers.

               “No shit Y/N.” Azriel shouted, his wings pumping as the ground came in closer. You felt Azriel turn to the side as another arrow whizzed towards your head, but he took another arrow to the wing. Did he just…protect you? You two landed on the ground in a heap, but you stood up quickly, knife in hand as you searched the darkness for your attackers.

               You feel a presence behind you, and turn around, quickly taking the archer to the ground and holding your knife to his neck. He was older, with pointed ears and white hair. He barred his teeth angrily, but with your knees holding down his arms and knife against his neck, he was stuck.

               “Why are you attacking us?” You seethed, your knife getting dangerously close to his neck. He struggled.

               “They told us you would be passing through- you killed my whole family you bitch!” he shouted, you froze, “Just kill me! Like you did to all of them!” You stood there in silence, hesitating, trying to remember who it was that you killed. You couldn’t kill this man too, you promised you would never hurt anyone again.

               Suddenly you were under him, his knife starting to slide across your neck. You didn’t even raise your hands to defend yourself, you could see the pain of his loss clearly on his face. You nodded, closing your eyes as you waited for him to finish. You remembered Azriel’s words from earlier, he was right after all, there would be no redemption either way.

               You felt the weight lift from your throat and took a deep breath, opening your eyes and seeing Azriel’s angry from holding up the man. Azriel looked absolutely terrifying in that moment. “No, don’t hurt him- “You started, but Azriel had his knife out and slashed his neck, throwing his body to the ground. You cried out, crawling over to the males bloodied form. His eyes frantically looked around, and you grabbed his hand, but there was no usual tug, no usual surge of power as you took his pain, you looked up again and met with lifeless eyes. The male was already gone.

               “Did you…did you know him?” Azriel spat out, grabbing you angrily by your arm and pulling you up. “He shot me out of the sky and just had a knife to your neck, and now you’re crying over him?”

               “of course I didn’t know him!” You pushed back at Azriel, looking down at the male who was dead. “I just…. I just….” You felt a wave of nausea roll through you and turned so you could dry heave. Another death, because of you, again.

               “You just what Y/N?” Azriel barked, and you flinched from him. “Tell me what is going on.”

               “He’s dead!” You whispered. Azriel looked astounded, looking at the man then at you. He then laughed. “Why are you laughing?”

               “Give me a fucking break, Y/N. Lets go.” He grabbed your arm, pulling you with him.

               You two wandered until you found a cabin, the candles were still burning when you arrived and there was a fire going in the fireplace. You were becoming more worried about Azriel by the minute, his skin was losing it’s color and he was almost limping as he walked. As soon as you both entered the cabin, he sat down in a chair and started removing his leathers.

               “Azriel- are you alright?”

               “I’m fine, I just need to get this arrow out of my wing.” He muttered, looking at you.  You watched him as he reached behind him, failing to get a good grip on it. “Would you mind?”

               “I can help.” You whispered, coming up behind him and looking at his wing. His wings were beautiful, dark and somewhat translucent, you had never been this close to him before. You could see an oddish green color seeping from one of the wounds and your heart dropped, poison.

               You slowly touched the area around the protruding arrow, he tensed up. Your fingers lightly traced the area around it, trying to figure out if pulling it out was the best option or if keeping it in to stop the blood flow would be better. Removing it would probably be best, since it was poisoned.

               “Azriel, I’m going to remove it now, okay?” You said quietly, bracing your hands on the arrow. This would hurt like a bitch, but only for a second. You pulled, wincing as the wing membrane tore open a little more. Azriel grunted. “I’m so sorry, but it should start to feel better now, okay? Let me go outside so we can ice it.”

               “No- don’t go.” Azriel looked back at you, his expression a little less guarded. “There could be more of them out there- it’s unsafe.”

               “I’ll be okay, we really need to keep an eye on this for a little bit.” You reassured him and walked out of the warm cabin and into the harsh cold. You grabbed as much snow as you could fit in your sack and came back in just a few minutes later, as soon as you walked in Azriel seemed to slump in relief.

               “How are you feeling?” You asked him, noting that his complexion had looked possibly worse than before.

               “I’m feeling okay.” He looked at you, his eyebrows scrunching, then a small smile came to his lips. You stopped in your tracks, if Azriel was smiling at you, there definitely was something wrong. “I feel a little funny….I think there was something in those arrows.”

               You nodded, coming over and handing the cold pack to him. He nodded and placed it against his wing, wincing at the cold. “You really confuse me, Y/N.” He admitted, his shadows seemed as lethargic as him as they swirled around you. “I can’t figure out who you are- I just see so many different things and it’s not adding up.

               “Who do you see?” You whispered, and he shook his head, somewhat confused. “You can tell me.”

               “You act like you are kind, and at first I thought it was for show, but you seem to be kind even when nobody knows it’s you.” He explains, his voice somewhat slurring. “You pay attention, you leave out books you know Feyre will like, you leave out Mor’s favorite snacks when she doesn’t even like you.”

               “And I’ve watched you train with Cassian; you refuse to throw a punch even when he’s wide open. Even- even with that guy outside who was going to kill you- you refused to hurt him, and you cried when he died.” Azriel looked at you, without hatred, for the first time. “How can someone who killed so many people, who tortured others and laughed as their families mourn, cry over a stranger? There is something you’re not telling me. Rhys and Cassian can see it, what are you not telling me? I want so badly to be on your side, please, tell me, who are you? ”

               You felt tears fall down your face, because he’s only saying this because he was drugged. “Azriel, I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.” You whispered, “I’m different than I was under the mountain.”

               Azriel nodded, head leaning back as he winced in pain. You grabbed his hand, not asking for permission, and pulled away his pain. You thought of your family, your last memories with them. Your mother, father and two brothers sitting at the table. Your brothers throwing food at each other whenever your parents weren’t looking, trying to get it into each other’s mouths, and trying to hide your laughter so your parents wouldn’t notice. You could feel him sigh in relief and fall unconscious. You sighed in relief, playing the memory again in your head, missing who you were 50 years ago.

               You woke up with a gasp, the pain from Azriel’s injuries tearing through your back. How did he deal with this much pain without even showing it? You snuck outside past Azriel’s sleeping form, and grabbed some snow into the pack that you had used for Azriel, hoping the cold would help your back.

               After shoveling some of the snow into the pack, you felt a presence behind you and looked up, seeing Azriel in the doorway. “Are you feeling bet-“

               “What did you do to me?” Azriel growled, walking down the three steps to confront you in the snow. “Who were those people? What did you do?”

               “You were poisoned Azriel, I just…I gave you some snow to cool you down and tried to get rid of the infection.” You looked up at him, trying to find the man who you had spoken to so truthfully a few hours before. “You were a little confused, which is expected.”

               He shook his head, “who was that family? Is that another family you killed?” he spat, and you froze in place. You didn’t realize that you had shown him that. “Forgot I asked. Don’t ever touch me again. Get back in here so I don’t have to protect your ass if someone else comes around to kill us.”

               You nodded, leaving the pack in the snow and making your way back up to the cabin. You could feel the chills start but could feel how physically hot your body felt. You laid down on the floor, where you were previously right next to the fire. Azriel stood next to the door, watching you intently like you might try to run away.  

               “Are you alright? You’re shaking.” Azriel stated, and you nodded. He walked over to you, hesitating then placing his hand on your forehead for a brief second. “Y/N, you’re burning up. We need to take off some of these layers.”

               You couldn’t find it in yourself to argue as Azriel ripped off your leathers, freezing at what he saw. He turned you over, but you were pale and nearly unconscious. You could hazily see a hint of worry on his face as you passed out.

The flight back was torturous, the pain had started shortly after you woke up, and with each pound of Azriel’s wings another wave of pain went through you. You noticed that for the first time, you were warm and Azriel kept you close to his chest. You could feel how slow your heart rate was, and the growing pain made your realize that maybe this trip would be the end for you.

“Hey Azzie” You whispered, looking up at him. He was truly so beautiful, especially with he early morning sunrise reflecting off his features and the small beads of sweat. “Are you hurting at all?”

“No Y/N, I’m fine.” He stated, looking down at you confused. “Azzie? Where is this coming from?”

“I think Azzie would be a fun nickname.” You laughed before groaning in pain. “I just wanted to tell you something really important.”

“And what is that?” He looked down at you, if you looked like how you felt, then you could understand the growing concern in your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? We could have left last night.”

“I don’t want to argue, please.” You whispered, trying to get closer to him. You felt cold and hot at the same time. “Those people I showed you- I did kill them in a way.” His arms stiffened but you continued. “That was my last good memory before I…. became a murderer. I didn’t protect them, I left and they came and attacked and I was the only one brought under the mountain.” The pain in your chest matched the pain in your back. “I couldn’t take away their pain, I couldn’t hold them as they died, I will never forgive myself.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Azriel whispered, you sighed and closed your eyes again, listening to the thumping of his wings. “Why didn’t you just use the antidote on yourself too, I could have handled it.”

“I can’t use it on me.” You whispered, before falling back unconscious.    

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               “I need help in here!” Azriel’s voice boomed, causing you to stir and groan from your position in his arms. “Rhysand!”

               You heard thumping and were placed on a soft surface; you felt a warm hand against your cheek and found yourself leaning into it. Then the pain started, and you felt yourself writhe as the poison worked its way through your back.

               “I’m not sure what happened, one minute she was fine.” You heard Azriel say in a panicked voice, “then she’s shaking from the cold, no matter how hot I turned up the fire. She has a fever, and her skin is cold to the touch. She has been delirious for the past two hours of the flight, talking about forgiveness and you and Cassian knowing the truth. What is going on Rhys?”

               You could feel a set of hands on your back and you screamed in pain as they tried to flip you over. “Don’t do that! You’re hurting her!” You heard a voice yell, and you tried to keep your mouth shut to prevent any more noises from escaping.             

               “High lord, I’m going to need to him out of here if he can’t control himself.” You heard the women say, you recognized her voice, was that the healer?

               “Azriel, what else happened?” Rhys voice asked, you realized that you couldn’t open your eyes, but you weren’t in as much pain, Rhys must be doing something to you.  

               “We were attacked on the way back; I took three arrows to the wing but she didn’t say anything. Hell, I didn’t even see an arrow go towards her.” You could hear, maybe it was worry, in his voice. “Then she healed me somehow, but she didn’t heal herself. She couldn’t tell me why.” You felt a hand grab yours, and from the ridges of skin there could tell it was Azriel.

               “Please, help her.” You heard him whisper.

               “Madja, Y/N an absorber healer, she’s been poisoned.” Rhys instructs; you hear a gasp from the healer.

               “By the cauldrons, I have never met one before, they are so rare.” You hear her say.

               Despite Rhys’s efforts, you feel another wave of pain shoot down your back, but you keep your mouth closed to avoid screaming. “Azriel- get out.” Rhys shouted, and you tried to shake your head in objection. You need Azriel, you gripped his hand tighter, or tried to in your half-conscious state.

               You felt your shirt rip open, and then your hand was released, and steps were taken away from you. “Rhys- what are those- why does she have all those scars on her back?”

               “She can explain when she wakes up.”

               You woke up with a start, a scream on your lips. “Y/N, you’re okay.” A voice said, and you felt two hands rest on your shoulders. You snapped your head to see, Azriel? You looked around, you were in your room, but a chair had been pulled up next to the bed.

               “How long…”

               “3 days.” Azriel stated, settling back down into the chair.

               You nodded, “and…why are you in my room?” You looked around, cautiously looking back at him. He looked…incredulous.

               “Oh I don’t know, maybe I’m just making sure you wake up.” Azriel cocked his head to the side, anger filling his eyes. “Why would you do that Y/N? I would have been perfectly fine, but you almost got yourself killed, you had no right to do that to yourself on my behalf!”

               “It’s not like I can help it!” Your voice was hoarse, and you winced at the scratchiness In your throat. He grabbed a cup of water for you on the nightstand, and you drank almost the whole thing. “Azriel- can I be honest?”

               “Please do, I need a good explanation.” He retorted, sarcasm lacing his tone. His shadows were surrounding you, but seemed almost- relieved.

               “I can’t watch people in pain.” You whispered, “Watching you in pain killed me inside, and even though you hate and can’t stand to be around me, I couldn’t just watch you go through that.”

               “I did hate you.” Azriel says, grabbing your hand. “How else was I supposed to feel? You had killed people I knew, people with families, tortured for fun and acted like you enjoyed it. Hell- I think the whole court hated you.”

               You looked down, nodding, tears in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

               “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Y/n.” You looked up, locking eyes with Azriel, “I was such an idiot, the signs were there, and you’re a terrible liar. When I saw the scars on your back, I – I lost my shit. Literally. I don’t Madja is going to let me anywhere near the healing quarters anytime soon.”

               “I was just trying to help people the only way I knew how.” You whispered, a tear spilling. He nodded, reaching up and cupping your face.

               “I feel like a monster too, I’ve killed and tortured, but I’ve always done it in the name of our court.” He exhaled shakily, giving you a small smile. “But you are kind, and I have just been so frustrated over the past couple of months because I wanted to hate you so much- but couldn’t bring myself to. Watching you laugh with Cassian and Feyre, I felt so helpless like you could never open up to me like that. I literally couldn’t even be in the same room as you, because I felt so…jealous for no reason.”

               “Rhys- when he told me about us going together, I was angry. Angry that he would put you in danger just for the sake of getting us to get along.” You watched anger fill his eyes, “and he almost got you killed.”

               “I’m okay.” You reassured, smiling through the tears that were still falling.

               “just make me a promise, okay?” Azriel released the grip on your face and grabbed your hand, fiercely. “I never want you to take my pain again, or anyones for that matter, okay? My pain is mine to bear, alone.”

               You nodded, feeling some relief. “Thank you Azriel, I…this means a lot to me. I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for so long.”

               “I want to hear everything,” he squeezed your hand again, and you could feel your heart flutter. “I will never let you get hurt again, and honestly…Azriel is so formal. I’m okay with Azzie….as long as its between us.”

[gutsby]

Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Joel Miller x Babysitter!Reader

Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Creampie. Mommy/Daddy Roleplay (HEAR ME OUT!!) Brief boot humping. Squirting. Perv!Joel. Breeding kink.

Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men

Word count: 12.7k

Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

“I heard mommy screaming before. Is she alright?”

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Big boy.

Gif by @berryispunk

Pairing: Clint x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 2065 Summary: You enter a video rental shop looking for something spicy and end up finding the best fuck you've ever had. Basically PWP, I'm FERAL for this man, okay. Tags/Warnings: reader has no description, she wears leggings and a top, smut, sex in a public place, a dash of nipples play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (do better irl, please, especially with strangers), sex with a stranger, pet names, dirty talk, Clint has a filthy mouth of course, no reference to the plot other than the video rental, reader is absolutely unhinged and feral, cream pie, reader is on the pill, some somewhat stereotypical ideas, reader doesn't like the name 'Clint', other filthy things I don't even remember, I wrote it basically in a frenzy LMAO. A/N: Inspired by the gif above, I saw this post by @berryispunk on my dash earlier today and started typing right away LOL English is not my first language, no beta, no proofreading, no nothing, I apologize for any mistake.

Thank to anyone who will read!

Masterlist

Your idiot boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, and you haven't seen a cock since. 

Nothing. 

Absolute desert. 

Until a few weeks ago you were too grossed out by the male gender to think about it but you need something now. 

You are thirsty. 

Hungry.

Working from home some days a week was distracting, and you found yourself increasingly brooding, taking long breaks to linger in long sessions with your favorite toys. 

The fantasies going on in your head, however, were always the same and as satisfying as they were, you felt you needed something more. 

At least until you had met a man worthy of your time.

That's how you found yourself after work in the video store near your office. You frequented it often but had never entered the adult video section. You were embarrassed, but you had no other way to find material of the kind you were craving.

The section was divided from the rest of the video store by a thick red velvet curtain, and as you approached it the guy behind the counter gave you an 'eloquent look. He was a thin guy in his early twenties, long black hair, a lower lip piercing, his tattooed arms poking out from a T-shirt cut off at the sides. 

“Hey baby, can I help you?” he had said with a grin painted on his face.

You had raised an eyebrow in response, “No thanks.”

Definitely too young and looking like someone who spends his time getting stoned and playing video games every day all day.

You peeled back the curtain and entered, prowling around the various shelves. Naked women everywhere on video covers, big boobs, bleached blond hair, full lips and winks. On another shelf, black women were smiling at you, on the one below Asian women. 

The world of porn was more organized than you expected. 

Everything was silent, shrouded in the red light of three large neon X's hanging on the wall.

You were perusing at a video with a nice redhead woman, a black woman and a men with a huge cock when you heard steps coming from the opposite direction you were. 

A man appeared right in front of you. 

A very handsome man actually. 

Tall, broad shoulders, a face sculpted by God in person, big nose, kissable lips and slightly messy beard and mustache, thick deep brown hair and a gorgeous pair of brown eyes. 

Please tell me you are looking for my pussy, you thought. 

Fuck. I’m really unhinged at this point.

He ignored you and continued to search the shelves for something. You follow him with your eyes, drinking in his figure dressed in light jeans, a plaid shirt and a black leather jacket. 

He had a little too much gel in his hair, a scar under his right eye and seemed like a troublemaker. But at the same time he was certainly not someone you should have to explain where the clitoris is to, like the guy in his early twenties outside.

You spotted his big hands, long thick fingers, they seemed a little callous but definitely experts.

“What do you recommend?” You suddenly asked. 

You couldn't believe the nerve you'd just shown, but fuck it, we ball, you thought.

He turned and looked at you as if he had only just seen you: “Oh? Sorry, what did you ask me?”

He didn't seem annoyed, just very surprised. 

“What do you recommend?” you repeated as your knees weakened under his gaze. 

“Oh,” he said, as if he didn't care at all about being surrounded by video covers with naked women of all kinds. 

You bit your lip, touched your neck, and looked away after looking at him intensely for a moment. Your winning move, usually. 

“Well, I don't know...” he hesitated, coming closer to you. ”I guess it depends on what you like.”

His voice had become lower, it was hoarse, incredibly sensual. 

As he got closer you looked at his big boots, almost as if it didn't matter. In reality you were noticing his big feet. 

Big feet, big hands, big nose...he must have something else big, I hope.

You looked up, and he was just a step away from you. 

“What do you need tonight?” he teased you, with a sinful little smile on his face.

“Something really wild” you smiled “Do you know where I can find it?”

He smirked “Are you into women, too?” 

“Yes” you replied boldly, licking your upper lip. 

“Sexy” he stated. 

You laughed softly while he took a video from the shelf 

“This one is good” 

It was the one you were looking at when he entered. 

“Uhm.. did you see it?” You asked with a suggestive wink.

“Yes, darling, several times, actually. It never disappoints” he shrugged and looked at you like he wanted to devour you.

Oh yes, I caught him on the hook. You thought.

“Well, ladies are very beautiful... and he has a nice cock” you observed, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

“You like big cocks?” it sounded even more raspy and went straight to your pussy.

“Actually…yes” you replied, getting dangerously close to him and looking at him from below, batting your eyelashes. “I bet you have a nice one, by the way”

“No one has ever complained, sweetheart” his hand reached your face, his knuckles grazing at your cheek.

“Then show me” you whispered.

His eyes had become even darker, practically just pupils. 

He ran a hand over his mustache and said, 

“Damn, you're really cheeky. You don't even know my name.” 

“I don't want to know that. I want to know if you want to fuck or not.”

“Here?” he asked, his eyes wide. 

“Why not? You scared?” You teased him.

“I'm no wuss, honey” he growled before slamming your against the shelf behind you

You were left breathless for a moment.

"Show me what you got, big boy" you purred a moment after.

You didn't know what had gotten into you, having sex with a stranger in the adult section of a video rental shop? It certainly wasn't on brand for you, but at that point you wouldn't have backed out. 

His hands had clasped your hips, moving over your ass and groping you strongly.

“Oh baby, when I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk straight for days.” 

“Good. I haven't been fucked properly for a while”

You regretted this confession until he squeezed your ass again, pulling you towards him and saying, “A pretty little thing like you? Fuck, there really is no religion left in this world.” 

“Well, make me shout to God then.” 

His mouth crashed on yours right after, his tongue immediately pushed at your lips and you let it in, licking it and trapping it in a dance with yours.

His hands went up to play with your nipples through your top; you weren't wearing a bra and your nipples immediately stiffened against the fabric.

"Fuck, yeah" you moaned. "I knew your hands were skilled" 

His thumbs kept brushing on your hard buds while his mouth moved to your jawline and your neck, peppering them with kisses, biting at your tender skin and soothing it right away with his tongue.

“You smell so good, baby” he whispered, inhaling the scent of your perfume “like apples and vanilla. It makes me want to eat you up” 

He immediately lowered himself, pulling down your leggings and panties in one go, leaving you naked from the waist down. The cool air in the room made you wince.

“Look at this pussy, she’s weeping huh?” 

He had said this, a moment before starting to kiss your thighs, biting and licking, slowly moving up towards your center.

“Fuck” you moaned burying a hand in his dark curls “please”

He had started by licking your outer lips, then dipping his tongue between your folds, going up to your clitoris and swirling around it.

You would pull his hair and moan, completely enraptured. He was so damn good. 

He definitely knew where your clit was and exactly what it needed.

He began to fondle it, alternating between licking and pressing and then started to jerking it off quickly with his tongue.

You'd completely lost it when he'd taken it in his mouth and started sucking it.

“Yeah baby, you like that huh?” He muttered before nudging at your entrance with his index and middle finger.

He curled his fingers inside you, continuing to suck on your bundle of nerves until you had actually called on the name of God, quivering under his touch.

Your back was hitting against the shelf and it hurt but you didn't care, you were moaning like someone possessed and you didn't care, no one had ever made you come like that with oral sex. 

You couldn't believe how lucky you were, right there and then you decided that your instinct was pretty reliable after all.

“Well, now that she’s nice and wet I think I'll serve her the main course” he groaned. 

“Please” you breathed.

“Still hungry, huh?” he chuckled as he got up. He lifted your top to reveal your tits. ”Gorgeous. Stay still for me”

He unfastened his belt and jeans, letting them fall to his ankles and then pulling them off stomping on them.

His cock was indeed as delicious as you'd thought. 

Big, thick, pink and incredibly hard right before your eyes. 

A small bush of hair all around it and two big balls just below. 

It made your mouth water.

He moved closer to you in an instant, one hand on your tit and the other on your clit as he slowly entered you.

“Fuck, you're so tight.” He grunted. 

“And you’re so big. Just the way I like” you cooed.

He was at least 8 inches and proceeded cautiously, feeling you stretch for him “You're so good, baby, I can't wait to be all inside your hot, soaking wet pussy”

“Make me full, please” you urged him, staring at his gorgeous brown eyes, taking in his lips agape and little beads of sweat running down his neck.

He grunted again before fully sinking inside you. “Can you feel it deep inside, baby? Are you full enough?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s perfect.” You moaned. “Move. Please”

He didn't have to be asked twice before starting to dive in and out of you, at a slow pace at first, making you feel every inch that stretched you, veins on his length gliding against your damp walls, his engorged tip hitting that special spot over and over again.

He increased the pace at your next prayer, squeezing one of your ass cheek with one hand and putting the other behind your back to prevent you from really hurting yourself.

“Christ, babe you’re gripping me so hard, I don't think I can hold on much longer” he muttered 

Your fingers were tangled in his curls at the base of his neck, you lured him into a deep, sloppy kiss, after whispering in his ear “Paint me. I'm on the pill” 

“Fuck, do you want me to come inside you? Do you want to go home with my seed dripping between your legs?”

“Yes” you purred “go on, big boy, that's exactly what I'm hoping for.”

“Come for me first, be a good girl. I can feel you're close”

You came after another couple of strong thrusts, your moans muffled by his lips on yours. 

He came just after you, unloading long, warm streaks of his seed inside you.

He kept thrusting into you until he softened, grunting and groping your tit with his large hand, his thick fingers tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said as he came out from you and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘It's one of the craziest things that has ever happened to me.”

“Um... do crazy things happen to you often?’ you asked smiling

“Sometimes.”

He pulled on his pants, gave you another kiss and headed for the tent.

He didn't ask your name. He knew he didn't need to.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Thanks to you. I'm Clint, by the way. I often come here on Thursdays, if you'd like to see me again.” 

He left without saying anything else. 

Clint. What a crappy name. Good thing he doesn't look like it.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @lemon-nomel @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @baronessvonglitter @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites

archive tag: @pedrostories

let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away. ❤️

[berfgrimm]

sharp dressed man | choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x reader

pairing: choi seunghyun (t.o.p) x f!reader

warnings: smut, oral, cheating, deepthroating, dirty talk, friends to lovers

note: this is a request that i promise started out as white haired Seunghyun. then i remembered this performance existed and i panicked. i’m so sorry but I hope you enjoy!!

———————

You have to know what Seunghyun tastes like. The thought is stuck in your brain like it’s a broken record, repeating over and over. You shouldn’t think about it. You’re both seeing other people, albeit very casually, and on top of that, you’ve been friends for years. Still, the loop plays in your head because of one stupid fucking gesture.

Your friends invited you to their performance on Inkigayo, and of course you accepted the invite; you loved to see them on stage, in their element. What you didn’t expect, however, was to watch Seunghyun grab a handful of his crotch mid-performance. A handful. The crowd screamed and you would have too if you didn’t feel like you were going to pass out.

But why? Who cares that Seunghyun grabbed himself? Why should it matter to you? If anyone asked it definitely didn’t matter to you, and you did not think about it for the rest of the evening. But now you find yourself alone in a dressing room with Seunghyun, and it’s the only thing on your mind. His bandmates had decided to get dinner after the performance, but Seunghyun stayed behind; you opted to stay with him, to see if you can will yourself to stop feeling like this. After twenty minutes of near silence, Seunghyun finally speaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look at him quickly. He has a look of genuine concern and it’s the first time you become aware of how you may be presenting yourself in that moment. Your body feels tense and your face tight, having been more focused on your thoughts than your appearance.

“Uh, yeah, I’m cool,” you reply, relaxing your shoulders and straightening out your back. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been acting strange all night,” he pushes. “You weren’t like this before the performance. Did you think that it was bad?”

“What? No, not at all!” You turn to face him, pulling one of your legs up onto the sofa with you. “I love watching you guys perform,” you continue. “I have no complaints.” The last part was a lie; if you were in the right state of mind, you’d tell him off for making you feel even a fraction of what you’re feeling right now.

“I can tell something is off about you,” he insists. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you say, with a smile. You realize that you have your hand resting on his thigh, and have no idea when you placed it there. “Fuck, sorry,” you say, retracting your hand as if it was on fire. “I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“Hey,” he laughs, turning to you and grabbing both of your shoulders. “Calm down. You look like you’re—”

You kiss him. Fuck, why did you kiss him? You pull away almost as quickly as you kiss him, and you can’t bring yourself to look in his eyes. You feel your heart pounding and your eyes water, panic setting it.

“Fuck, I am so fucking sorry, Seunghyun,” you say, shaking your head looking down at your lap. “I don’t…I don’t know why I did that. I mean, I know why, but I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. I have no idea what came over me. You were out there on stage and you touched yourself like that — I don’t know! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Fuck, I’m sorry.” You ramble so much, you don’t give him the opportunity to say anything in response, but his hands still hold onto your shoulders.

“You…” Seunghyun begins to speak but he trails off for a moment, and you can hear him pull in a slow breath. “I touched myself on stage, so you kissed me?”

“I’m so sorry,” you repeat, your skin flushing and the weight of his hands now becoming unbearable. You shove his hands off of you and stand from the sofa, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible. “My mind started to just…wander,” you continue, pacing back and forth as you still refuse to look at him. “I don’t know why; I can’t explain it. I watched you touch yourself like that, and I wanted to know…what you would feel like, and what you would taste like. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. If I could not feel like this, I would. Trust me. I don’t like to feel out of control like this. Now, all I keep thinking is how I want you to talk dirty to me, like you could say whatever you want, I wouldn’t care. I need it to be nasty. I shouldn’t…fuck, I shouldn’t have said that either.”

You can’t stop yourself from rambling, not until you finally lay eyes on Seunghyun. He still sits on the sofa like he was before, his eyebrows furrowed — he’s confused. You pull in a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try to stop yourself from shaking, which is a new development. You’d hoped that if you said everything you were feeling out loud, then you’d realize how it sounded and could just get over it, but now it’s worse. You feel like you’re going insane, completely embarrassed; you have to get out of this room before you do something stupid.

“I’m going to leave,” you say, taking a few hurried steps towards the door, but you feel Seunghyun lean to catch your wrist, stopping you. When you look at him, for a moment, he looks as torn as you feel, his eyes studying your face for something but then his expression changes.

“Lock the door,” he instructs. “Then get on your knees.”

All of the blood feels like it rushes between your legs, and you could realistically pass out. You lock the door quickly and move around to the front of the sofa to kneel down in front of Seunghyun parted knees. You’d never noticed how slender his fingers are but now as his hands unfasten his belt, you can’t help but pay attention. He keeps his eyes on you as he unbuttons his pants and drags the zipper down, untucking his shirt in the process. Seunghyun pushes the waist of his pants down enough so slip his other hand inside of his briefs so he can wrap his fingers around himself.

“You know that I’ve been seeing someone,” he begins, pulling his hardening length from the confines of his tight pants. “But you don’t care about that? You don’t care that I’ve been sleeping with someone else, do you?” He’s not really asking, but is almost degrading you for wanting to blow someone who’s taken. It shouldn’t be hot, but you love how his voice sounds.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, your eyes trained on his hand that slowly strokes his cock.

“Haven’t you been sleeping with someone, too?” Seunghyun continues, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a small smirk. “Is he not taking care of you? Is that why you’re crawling to me like this?”

“I can’t…” You shake your head, unable to come up with any response that will be remotely reasonable.

“This is all you can think about?” Seunghyun nods his head towards his lap, and you immediately nod. Of course he smirks at your response — why wouldn't he be amused when you’re this pathetic?

Seunghyun keeps stroking over himself, making sure you keep your eyes on either his erection or his face. You can actually feel how wet you are and your first instinct is to touch yourself but that’s not really what you need. All you want is to feel him in your mouth, so maybe if you tell him that, along with some other stuff…

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste it,” you mutter, and you swear you can see Seunghyun falter just a little, his hand stuttering in one of his strokes. That’s when he stops, beckoning you over with a crook of his fingers; you don’t think twice, inching forward until you’re between his spread knees. You need to get a better view, a better way to get a grip on him.

The tremble in your hands is noticeable as you reach towards the waist of his pants. Your fingers curl around the fabric near his hips, catching the elastic of his briefs as well and tugging; Seunghyun lifts his hips enough to help you pull the material down to his thighs.

You start with his balls, massaging them gently for a moment before you wrap your free hand around him, near the base so you’re able to angle him just a bit. You drag your tongue from the base all the way to the head of his cock, the tip of your tongue taking special care to tease the dip where his shaft meets his head. He sighs, spreading his knees just a little wider to welcome you in.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his member, before you spit over him carefully so you can get him slick. You stroke slowly at first, your hand enveloping every inch as your other hand sets on his thigh. You flick your tongue over him to get a taste of his precum and already you feel yourself desperate to go faster to get to taste even more. You take his tip into your mouth, sucking on his gently, your hand shifting to massage his balls softly again.

“Fuck,” Seunghyun mumbles, so quietly, you almost miss it. You lift your gaze to meet his, blinking as innocently as you can manage while you take him just a little deeper into your mouth. His gaze is unflinching, focused on the way his cock enters your lips.

Your hand moves higher now, wrapping around the base of his shaft again and slowly stroking to meet what you don’t take into your mouth. It feels so good to have him in your mouth, listening to the way his breathing changes as you quicken your pace just a little — so you whine.

“Is this turning you on that much?” Seunghyun asks, his hand cupping your jaw to lift your head up, causing him to drop from your mouth. Your hand picks up the slack, stroking him fully at the same pace but adding in a small twist with each pump. “You were moaning on my cock,” he says, his thumb rubbing over your lips. “You didn’t even realize it. You’re strung out on a little bit of precum, and you’re hungry for more, hm?”

“I love giving head,” you say, slightly breathless as you gently bite the tip of his thumb. He smirks, pressing his thumb between your lips and past your teeth; you keep your eyes on him as you suck softly on his thumb, all while you still stroke your hand over his length.

“I think you just love having something in your mouth,” Seunghyun suggests, and you grin around his thumb. He pulls the digit out of your lips with a pop, and you tease the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around slowly.

“The feeling of a big, hard cock shoved into my throat, making me choke on it,” you press, an animalistic feeling overtaking you. “It’s like a fucking gift. I feel like I’m being rewarded.” You notice the way Seunghyun’s thighs clench when you speak so you keep your eyes on him, slowing down the movement of your hand and instead leaving kisses nearer the head of his cock.

“Is that what you want right now?” he asks, voice low and raspy. “You want me to reward you?” It makes your mouth go dry, the lazy way he speaks, so you swallow hard, which you’re certain he notices.

“If you think I deserve it,” you respond, placing another kiss to the head of his cock, just to tease him. Seunghyun lets out a huff of breath, breaking eye contact when he closes his eyes.

You take the opportunity to slip him back into your mouth, taking him deeper this time. Your mouth begins to do most of the work, bobbing up and down so you can take him deeper into your mouth. Your hand strokes what you aren’t what you’re not prepared to take yet. Seunghyun lets out a small groan, slightly strangled like he’s trying to keep quiet. That’s not what you want; no, you have to hear what you’re doing to him, you need his moans.

Your hand on his thigh shifts between his legs, massaging him again, and you feel him fucking twitch in your mouth. It makes you moan and that does it; he starts to groan deeper in his chest, the sound coming through clearer this time.

“You love giving head, hm?” Seunghyun asks, his voice deeper now but shaky as he tries to stay composed. “Are you already wet just from having me in your mouth like this?”

“Mhm,” you hum around him, and his hips twitch involuntarily, shoving them upwards so he forces himself deeper into your mouth. When you gag around him, Seunghyun takes hold of your head, pulling your head back so he can peer into your eyes. “Fuck, don’t make me stop,” you plead, panting and desperate. “I was just getting to the good part.”

Seunghyun smirks at your words, and brings his hand to your jaw again, slipping his thumb between your lips and past your teeth. You take the hint and open your mouth for him, awaiting your next instruction.

“Wider,” he mutters, and you listen, feeling yourself get wetter from the tone of his voice alone. “Wider. If you want it deep, you’ll have to make room for it.”

God, why does that make you whimper? Was it even sexy, or are you that overwhelmed with desire? That’s for you to figure out later, because now you have to open your mouth as wide as you can for him, sticking your tongue out. Seunghyun places his hand on the back of your neck, near the base of your skull, urging your head down to his cock again.

You take him into your mouth, not quite all the way, but you hold him there for a moment, hollowing out your cheeks. You slowly pull back, applying the same amount of suction as you go until you only have his tip left.

“You were begging for it and now you’re teasing,” Seunghyun chuckles, breathlessly. You pull him out of your mouth and purse your lips to blow cool air over his tip just to watch how he reacts; his thighs tense and he lets out a huff of breath, giving you a warning glare.

As you move to take him into your mouth again, you notice a smirk on Seunghyun’s lips. You bob your head faster, taking him even deeper and deeper, your saliva dripping from your mouth and coating his cock. You didn’t realize that you were salivating like this for him, that you would be this pathetic when you finally got a taste, but right now, you don’t care.

When he starts to reach the back of your throat again, you moan in excitement, gently scraping your teeth over him just a little and he inhales sharply through clenched teeth. He grabs the back of your head, guiding you down to keep taking him all the way to the back of your throat. You gladly relax to be able to accept the intrusion he presents and take him over and over as you bob faster.

“F-fuck,” Seunghyun stutters, gripping your head firmer and pressing.

You take him deeper, the absolute most you can and fuck, you’ve never had anyone push your throat to the limit like this. You struggle to keep him there as long as you can, your gag reflex fighting against your efforts, but you grab his thighs, your fingers clenching as you struggle. Your eyes begin to water, feeling your limits begin to break, your gagging becoming more difficult to ignore.

“Jesus,” Seunghyun moans, still holding your head until finally you can’t take it anymore. You squeeze his thighs to signify for him to let you go, and he does, allowing you to sit up.

You cough, and swallow, trying to calm your reflexes but tears still trickle from your eyes. Seunghyun cups your face with both hands, tilting your head up so he can look into your eyes. He looks unlike you’ve ever seen him, overcome and desperate to find some semblance of composure. You breathe hard, trying to catch your breath but you get lost in his eyes for a moment, finding slow breaths even harder to reach.

“You’re sexy like this,” Seunghyun whispers, wiping some of the tears from your eyes. “On your knees, choking on me.” Your hand grasps his cock, stroking at the same pace as before, but you keep your eyes locked with Seunghyun’s, watching the way that he struggles to keep his gasps and moans quiet.

You sit up higher on your knees now, resting taking his hands and lacing your fingers together so you can pin his hands onto the sofa cushions. You open your mouth and flick your tongue over his tip for one more tease before you take him into your mouth again. This time, you go fast, using only your mouth and the motions of your head; you bob quickly, taking him all the way to the back of your throat each time.

You can tell he’s getting close. The way he can’t keep his legs still, his hips thrusting up to drive himself deeper into your mouth. His moans sound so fucking good, the sexiest noises you think you’ve ever heard. Your panties feel absolutely drenched, your nipples are fucking hard, your head spinning because, fuck, watching your friend fall apart like this for you is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You want me…fuck, where do you want it?” Seunghyun asks, his voice tight. You don’t answer because you need to keep him in your mouth. “God, you want it down the back of your throat? You want to swallow it?”

You hum an affirmative around him, and his grip on your hands tightens so firmly it hurts. You have to pull one of your hands free so you can touch him again, massaging him to help encourage him along. You feel the way he throbs in your mouth and you salivate even more in anticipation.

You quickly pump your hand over him, still sucking on what you can as Seunghyun’s moans grow louder, deeper, vibrating through his hips and into your mouth. Until he moans your name amongst a string of expletives, as he finally comes. You can’t help but moan because he taste salty, and sweet, and so fucking good. You keep working over him, pumping everything you can from him and swallowing every drop.

“Fuck, oh, my god,” Seunghyun groans, when start to slow to a stop. You pull your mouth from him, licking your lips as you look up at him. His cheeks are red, his eyes struggling to stay open, his hands in his hair; this is the hottest he’s ever looked.

You lick your fingers clean of what you didn’t catch in your mouth, savoring the taste of him one more time. You can see Seunghyun’s eyes following your movements carefully, the quick rise and fall of his chest beneath his silky shirt not slowing down. You grin, using the edge of the sofa to support your weight as you stand on your shaky legs.

You try to play it cool but you can feel how aroused you are as you walk towards one of the makeup tables to grab some towels. You wipe your face dry, trying to think of an excuse to leave because now you’re thinking about the conversation that might happen. You aren’t ready to discuss things; you’d rather savor the moment as long as you can and maybe never speak about it again. You’re not sure, but until you figure it out, you know you want to keep the upper hand — if you could call it that after how pathetic you acted. You move back towards Seunghyun to toss a towel onto his chest, then pull your phone from your pocket to pretend to read a text.

“You should get cleaned up,” you say, looking at Seunghyun. “Wouldn’t want that girl you’re seeing to find you like this.” He looks surprised, his jaw slack as he tries to think of something to say in response, but nothing comes out. “Thanks, this was fun,” you say, slipping your phone into your pocket again. “I’ve got to meet up with someone.”

You cross to the exit, disengaging the lock and pulling the door open without sparing him another glance. As you make your way through the building in search of the exit, you try to think of what outcomes you could face. A part of you hopes that you got this feeling out of your system and you won’t have to talk about this with Seunghyun again. But another part of you makes up a dozen different scenarios of what could happen the next time you see your friend. Either way, you know your next move is back to your hotel room to take care of this ache between your thighs before you change your mind and run back to that dressing room with Seunghyun to beg him for help.

[star4daisy]

18/02 - husband - 1272 words - @rosekillermicrofic

“Where is he?” Barty asked desperately as soon as he entered the hospital. “Where the fuck is he?”

No one answered him. The place was a convoluted mess, with people running around, crying kids and wounded people in the waiting line. Barty barely avoided colliding with them as he ran to the front office.

The line was so big he considered stabbing himself to get admitted, that’s when he saw his salvation in the form of one Pandora Rosier. Barty skipped the line to where she was way ahead, ignoring all the protests around him. If anyone tried to stop him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting physical.

“Do you know how he is?” he didn’t bother saying hi to her, he couldn’t make himself talk about anything other than Evan.

Pandora didn’t look nearly as distraught as Barty felt, but she had always been better at keeping her emotions in. It must run in the blood.

“Haven’t gotten any information yet, they said I needed to check here first.”

“Motherfuckers.” Barty cursed, ignoring the old lady in front of them who was sending him dirty looks.

It felt like an eternity before they were called, but Pandora only had two people in front of her in line. Barty let her do the talking, he wasn’t in the right headspace to be polite to anyone right now. Not when Evan was injured and Barty didn’t know how he was doing. Didn’t even know if he was alive. No. Barty couldn’t let himself go there or he’d lose his mind. Turn the entire hospital into ashes in his wake. Hell, he might let himself burn too so that he could meet Evan again.

“What’s your name, sir?” The lady finally turned to him after Pandora had already given all her information and Evan's.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.” Barty had no patience to entertain her.

“Document, please.”

Barty gave it to her as quickly as he could, almost dropping it in the process, he didn’t know why his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Okay, Mister Rosier just got out of surgery, he’s still at the ICU, so only family members and partners can go up.”

“Okay, I’m his partner.” Barty didn’t even blink, there was a time when it would’ve cost him everything to admit it, but now it came as easy as breathing.

“I meant legally,” she clarified with an apologetic look. “His sister can go in, but I’m afraid you're not on the allowed list.”

“Excuse me?” Barty’s voice went up without even meaning to. “I’ve been with him for years, we’ve known each other since we were eleven and you’re telling me I can’t fucking see him because we don’t have a stupid piece of paper saying we’re partners?”

“I’m sorry sir, but only spouses and family members are allowed, you’ll have to wait until he’s out of the ICU.”

“Wait my ass, I’m going in to see him.” Barty hit his fist on the glass separating them.

“I’m gonna need you to calm down, sir. Or you’ll be asked to leave.”

Barty’s laughter was brittle. “The only way I’m leaving here is if you're all on a casket if you don’t let me in.”

“Barty,” Pandora interrupted his tirade. “Evan is fine, he’s in the room now. He wouldn’t want you to end up in jail or worse when he’s okay.”

“Fuck off, easy for you to say when you can go in. I need to see he’s okay with my own eyes. I don’t believe this cunt or any of these useless motherfuckers.”

“Barty,” her tone was full of warning.

“I need to see him.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Yes, there is,” and then Barty turned around and started running.

He had no idea where he was going, barely avoiding hitting running nurses, he heard footsteps behind him but gave it no thought, he had a one-track mind when he was determined and nothing made him as focused as Evan.

Barty saw a sign with ICU written indicating that it was located on the seventh floor and ran to the elevators. He pressed the button five times before he saw security coming in his direction.

“Shit,” Barty checked around him for anywhere else he could go when he saw the sign for the stairs, without thinking twice he threw it open.

Barty was out of breath before he hit the third floor. He wanted to kill himself. Fuck him for never accepting Potter’s invitation to do cardio with him. They reached him before he got to the fifth floor. Barty was never smoking again, he was so out of breath he thought they might have to call a doctor for him too.

Maybe they would have if Barty hadn’t punched the first security guard to reach him, or if he hadn’t kicked the second one making him almost fall off the stairs. Unlucky for him he wasn’t in his prime anymore after all the running, Barty should've dealt with them before running, maybe he would've had a shot but as it was now he was taken kicking and screaming bloody murder.

Barty spat blood at the security guards' feet as soon as they threw him out through the emergency exit, he hadn't even felt it when they hit him. “I’m gonna kill all you motherfuckers.”

“You’re lucky we aren’t calling the cops on you,” They warned him.

Barty paid them no mind, even though one security remained outside to watch if he was gonna try to make a run for it again. Barty had never been so pissed in his entire life. How dare they not let him in just because he didn’t have a stupid piece of paper saying Evan was his forever?

It wasn’t like they hadn’t already been committed to each other for years, Barty had simply never believed in the concept of marriage. Not when all the examples he had were bloody awful. But now, after this, he was making Evan his husband as soon as he got out of the hospital.

Barty was pacing in front of the hospital when he had his most brilliant idea, he wasn't sure what gave him the idea, but he knew it was the only way he was being admitted to the hospital again after the stunt he had pulled. 

Barty turned to the guard with a shit-eating grin on his face — he couldn’t stop himself — he was a bloody genius. Barty took out the pocket knife he carried everywhere he went. He was getting in there even if he had to draw more blood.

“Don’t even try it,” the man warned him, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the knife in Barty’s hand. “Stay back,” he said as he reached for his walkie-talkie and called for reinforcement.

There was no need, Barty just needed him to see what was happening. As soon as the others stepped back outside, complaining that he was still there Barty turned the knife and stabbed himself on his side.

“Oh, shit.”

"Crazy motherfucker."

“Oh my fucking god, hold him.”

Barty was still smiling when they stopped him from hitting the floor and carried him inside the hospital. He laughed when they admitted him to the ICU and said he needed immediate surgery. 

“Barty?” Pandora asked with worry when she saw him passing in a litter. He didn’t even see when they put him there. “What the fuck did you do?”

Barty got one glimpse of Evan sitting down on his bed with a frown on his face before he passed out.

Evan was alive.

It was worth it.

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Hii <3 what about camboy!Art realizing he developed feelings for shy!reader because for the first time in his life - he is feeling jealous

Jealous Camboy!Art x Shy!Reader

Art felt pathetic staring at you from across the room hanging around the sleazebag that’s been attached to your hip all night as if he hadn’t peraided a girl or two in front of you before. It’s not in his nature to care at all, his love life was equivalent  to a revolving door. He liked some women more than others, the ones that stuck around were nice but they never mattered. Sometimes he’d feel guilty about it especially when most of them were left crying on his doorstep deplorable explanations thrown their way ‘listen it was just for fun, I don’t see you like that’ rightfully faced with heated curses.

It was his idea to bring you to a house party Patrick was hosting, all of his get-togethers were raunchy he knew that but regretted stepping foot when everyone's eyes landed on you. You didn’t notice it of course, you were so sweet and happy you actually had something to do on a Friday night. Patrick bound over to the both of you draping an arm over your shoulder. “So you’re Art’s pretty girlfriend” He teases, completely wasted. The statement making butterflies rise in your chest, your eyes shimmering at the thought, “Ye-” 

“No” Art interrupts, you flinch at his callousness snapping you out of your giddy daze. Silence surrounds the three of you. Art evading your bewildered stare, “so you guys are fuck buddies?” He asked glancing between the both of you, failing to tamper down how awkward things had become. “Something like that” Art laughs patting Patricks back, his rejection making your insides crawl.

“Well actually” you began to explain yourself but shut up when you met his stony gaze that screamed ‘drop it’

“Have fun guys, alcohol is in the kitchen” he squeezes you tight against his side and pinches the nape of Art’s neck narrowing his eyes, a signal to not be a dick before walking off.

He swore to himself it would never come to this, developing an inkling of feelings towards you was impossible especially with his roster of never ending women that honestly he never fell for but Art Donaldson didn’t get jealous until now. He didn’t notice how bad it was until the asshole kissed you on the cheek but watching you laugh and fawn over him was the final straw. 

“Hey” he grimaced “we’re leaving.” He tugs on your arm before you can protest “but this guy he’s so sweet-” you stammer gazing back at the poor guy left alone in the kitchen. He seethes ‘sweet’ as fucking if “No he’s trying to fuck you and dump you” Art frowns angrily pulling you past the sea of people, what does that loser have that he doesn’t? He makes you happy, you love the cuddles and the orgasms are great Art spirals 

“you’re wrong, he was going to take me on a date, actually to a place I’ve been wanting to visit” He stiffens up, “date?” spinning back in disbelief “what do you mean?” He squints, yanking you close against his chest.

“I-” what does it matter to him, you shake your head confused “we were going to the arcade I’ve been talking to you about, I wanted to go with you but you’re never interested” his face drops at your saddened expression guilt quickly surging through him, the palpable distress made him uncomfortable. “Look I can take you” he shrugs away your complaints. 

“But you don’t mean it.”

“I’m just someone you make porn with.. I like it and it’s nice, it’s not the same.” you stutter and take a minute to think chest bubbling in anger when the wave of realization hits you. Art's the hypocrite using you for sex. He’d invite you over, get you off, post the clips and send you away. You were a whore, it was just glamorous because he had the following, gave you a share of whatever he made and pretended to desire you, if he did it was only for your body. What you gave him.

“you’re making this a big deal” he whined but he paused his patronizing when your eyes began to water, “hey” the man grabs your shoulders moving fallen strands of hair away from your face 

“stop” he winces as you shove him away, body trembling anxiously. This was bigger than just the two of you, everyone knew you were just a body to him, no one saw your face but it was obvious, “fuck you Art.”

a lump in his throat grew at the sight, understanding why you were so upset, you felt used. 

“I care..” he whispers cupping your face wishing he could take back the lies “I swear I do” the look of doubt on your features saying other wise, ”I’ll take you” he caves aware you’re unconvinced “fuck him we can go together” he pleaded 

“Fine.. but you have to actually try.” 

“I will” he promises, enveloping you in a tight hug nuzzling his face against your cheek

[allertonhoe]

A1 + A19 with rafe! I don’t know if these go together but I feel like they kinda do, some angst that turns into like realization and fear and fluff cuz they’re friends! You can just use one or the other or both whatever you come up with will be amazing because you write so well! Your writing is so good and I loved the other prompts you wrote recently. I’m glad you started writing again because I love your work! Congrats on 500 💕

oooh no they totally work!!! it's not super fluffy (the end kinda is lolol) but i kinda made it an indirect sequel to this request 👀 you totally don't have to read it to understand what's going on tho!

& thank you so much!!! i'm so glad you're liking it!!! 🙈 thank you for the request, i hope you enjoy!! ☺️

prompts: "We’re not just friends and you fucking know it." + "I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me"

content warnings: 18+ MDNI, original afab!reader, obx!universe, smoking weed

500 follower celebration!

With summer in full swing, another kegger was taking place at the beach tonight. The sky was painted in a mixture of light blues, purples, and pinks as the sun disappeared into the Atlantic Ocean. A bonfire placed in the middle of the sand, standing tall and blazing fiercely.

You were sitting with Sarah and her group of friends, scattered into a circle and casually passing around a joint. You weren't as close with them like you were with Sarah, but there was no bad blood between any of you. Plus you weren't one to turn down free weed.

While you tried your best not to give him your attention, you could feel Rafe's heated glare towards you from where he stood with his own friends across the beach. Watching your every move like he had any actual authority over you. You refused to give him the reaction he wanted so nobody, especially his sister who was only a few feet away from you, got any wrong ideas that weren't actually too far off.

The one time you'd hooked up during a rager at Tannyhill didn't turn out to only be one time. In fact, it became a bit of a habit when you and Rafe would find yourselves alone with each other. Which now was happening more often than not.

And despite the two of you being on the same page sexually, it was still the total opposite in every other aspect of your relationship. Hence the reason he was shooting you daggers, although his distaste for the Pogues didn't help much either.

You stumbled slightly as you decided to get up from your spot, the cocktail of substances hitting you hard. Reaching out to the first thing, or in this case person, you were able to grab to stabilize your balance. Pope instinctively snatching your waist and stopping you from falling flat on your face.

"You good over there?" He chuckled at your misstep.

"Yeah," you affirm. "Just a little buzzed."

"A little? That's some great weed. How damn spoiled are you Kooks?" JJ feigns dramatically, Sarah giving him a playful shove.

"Where are you going anyways?" Your friend asks curiously.

"Gonna find a bathroom," you inform them.

"It's getting dark. Do you want me to come with?" Pope kindly extends to you.

"I'll be fine, but thanks," you ensure the group, shooting them another reassuring smile as you made your exit.

You walked down the beach, eventually turning into the woods to find a more secluded area. But as the music faded into the distance, you started hearing what you could swear were footsteps. You made sure to stay vigilant of your surroundings, stopping a few times to properly assess the area before continuing further.

It was like you were in some eerie fairytale, the sounds echoing through the dark forest unnerving you more than you honestly expected. Kinda wishing you'd taken Pope up on his offer, but boiling it down to your anxiety just getting the best of you.

You knew you weren't exaggerating though when you heard a branch snap behind you. You took out your phone and turned on the flashlight, calling out a frightened 'hello' like you'd actually get a response. Panicking when you realized you had nothing to help you defend yourself, and that you weren't really in the right mindset to do so either.

"Hey, it's just me." A familiar voice announces nearby, Rafe revealing himself from behind a couple of trees with his hands up in surrender.

"Jesus Christ, are you fucking kidding me, Rafe?" You scold breathlessly. "I thought I was about to get mauled by a bear. What the hell? Warn a girl."

"What? Heyward couldn't have protected you?" he grills.

"Are you fucking serious?" you remark, mirroring his sour attitude. "You're jealous I was sitting next to Pope?"

"I'm not jealous because you were sitting next to him," he denies immediately, as if you were out of line for even suggesting it. "You two were all cuddly and flirting. I saw the way he had his hands on you."

"I almost fell on my ass. He was being a gentleman," you justify.

"A gentleman? I'm sorry. I didn't realize you wanted a fucking knight in shining armor." He scoffs sarcastically.

"I seriously don't know what your issue is right now. We just fuck around, we're barely friends..." You dispute, Rafe looking at you resentfully as you finished the sentiment.

"Don't do that," he growled. "We're not just friends, and you fucking know it."

"Are you high? What are you talking about?" You investigate in confusion. You were used to his possessiveness, but this was something he'd never actually communicated before.

"I... Fuck, never mind," he dismisses, noticeably frustrated that he couldn't articulate what he wanted at that moment.

"No. You literally followed me out here to make me feel like shit for no reason. Say it with your chest," you taunt.

That's when he stops himself, a wary look crossing his features. If you knew any better, you'd think he was actually hesitant over expressing himself. But this was Rafe Cameron, the most daunting guy on the island. The chances of that happening were basically the same as him admitting...

"I think I'm in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me."

His voice is quiet and hesitant instead of packing its usual punch. His hands shoved in his pocket and eyes sheepishly avoiding yours instead of the unapologetic demeanor you were used to; that he was aggravating you with minutes ago on the beach. You just stared at him for a minute, waiting to see if he corrected himself or took back the declaration, but it didn't happen.

"That's not funny..." You finally manage to get out, your reply just as vulnerable as his was.

"Trust me, I'm not trying to be funny..." He mutters.

"Rafe, what are you-"

"Can I just..." He interjects, his words faltering just as quickly as they came out.

A few seconds passed as you waited for him to make his case. He brushed a hand through his hair as he contemplated what he said next, like he was trying to make sure it wasn’t wrong thing. The gravity of his confession actually hitting you, bringing forward emotions you'd always avoided when it came to Rafe.

"I get why you wouldn't believe me or think this is some sick joke on my end. But have I really not made it obvious? He surveys, only capable of shaking your head to respond. "Wow, okay. You're really making me put it all out there..." He stalls even further.

"I, uh... I've always been into you. Ever since Sarah brought you over the first time. You've never been intimidated by me, no matter what I said or did. And fuck, I haven't been able to stop thinking about anything else since we started fucking around. I've never felt like this? And I don't know if that's love or whatever, but something just snapped when I saw you and Heyward like that. More than usual." He rambled, completely unfamiliar with this side of Rafe.

You couldn't muster up an answer for him. You didn't know where to even begin. As unpredictable and impulsive as you've known him to be, this was totally out of left field. There was no denying your physical attraction to him; you wouldn't be giving him a second look if it were just based off his normally hostile personality.

"Fuck, please say something," he pleaded weakly.

"I don't know what to say," you contend, meeting his gaze apprehensively. "I've barely accepted the idea that I'm hooking up with one of my closest friend's brothers. This is a lot..."

"You know me. You know I wouldn't just throw this all out there to mock you," he maintains.

The tension between you could be cut with a knife, Rafe laying everything on the table. He'd never expressed much in terms of affection when you were together, his approach with you typically impassive and a bit rough. So you couldn't help but let out a small giggle as it all swirled through your head.

"What?" He frowns, anticipating the worst.

"You like me," you assert plainly, like you were schoolchildren. Your lighthearted tone immediately causing his body to relax and rolling his eyes at your teasing.

"I know, I can't believe it either," he retorts sarcastically, a sly smirk poking through.

"Hey! See how far being a smartass gets you," You threaten playfully.

"You know, you're really keeping me on my toes here..." he complains, pointing out that you hadn't really given him any reassurance since his confession.

"Sorry, am I making the big, bad Rafe Cameron nervous?" You gasp, sauntering up to him and wrapping your hands around his neck.

"Stop saying it like that," he grumbles, only making you more enthused.

"Well I'm not just gonna fall at your feet," you indicate cheekily. "You need to woo me a little bit,"

"I haven't wooed you yet?" He bantered back. "Wouldn't expect anything different than you giving me a hard time,"

His hands grazed up and down your sides, as if you were the most delicate thing in the world. The previously unsettling sounds of nature now calming, hearing crickets chirp around you. Rafe's features were washed in the moonlight, somehow making him look even better than he usually did.

"I know this is definitely the opposite way we're supposed to do things," he establishes. "But can we just take things slow and see where it goes?"

"Do you really think it's gonna work between us?" You interrogate timidly, a nagging insecurity present knowing your standard dynamic.

"I honestly don't know," he acknowledges. "But I'd really like to try."

That was as long as you could hold yourself back, getting onto your tiptoes and kissing him. You could barely recognize the version of Rafe standing in front of you—well composed, sentimental, genuinely charming. But you could tell he was being earnest and for some reason, no matter how much he did get on your nerves sometimes, it made you want to try too.

[void-occupation]

At first he thought that maybe it was just a prank or an outing Charlie had forgotten to tell him about, but after he discovers he can't even call Husk or Nifty to his side, that's when he starts panicking because he knows that they're Gone. He practically searches every room, tearing the hotel apart for even the slightest hint of what happened to them, and he just becomes more frantic the longer he goes with no leads until he finally collapses in the lobby on the couch and has a proper panic attack. The others try to calm hims down, especially once he starts pulling at his own hair and gouging his arms with his claws, but - obviously - they can't help very much and just have to watch him fall apart.

There's a brief moment where he wonders of they've all just abandoned him, but he dismisses that thought because he knows Charlie would never leave behind the hotel she worked so hard on (the others are struck with the realization that Alastor truly believes that they would abandon him, and Charlie's love of the hotel - the building is the only thing that would keep them from leaving him behind)

Alastor is absolutely consumed with trying to find them - he doesn't take care of himself regularly, he barely sleeps, barely eats, only visits people or does his radio show if it's to help him look for them. He just can't stand the idea of losing anyone else he's grown to care about, so even if everyone else thinks they're dead, Alastor just refuses to believe it. Part of it is the fear of loss and ending up alone once more, but there's a deeper part too.

He knows exactly what it's like to disappear and either have everyone give up too soon or simply not look for them in the first place (both during his 7 year absence and after the battle with Heaven), and he refuses to do the same. He ends up becoming terrified that his contract holder might have done something to them, and reaches out to them

Ironically enough, this is how the others find out that Alastor doesn't own his soul - he's so desperate to find any lead that he'll confront the one he's most afraid of to do it.

In the end, when they eventually manage to find a way to undo the spell, Alastor tries desperately to act unaffected, but after a few denials that he even noticed they were gone, he bursts into tears because he was so terrified that they might be gone forever

And there's definitely going to be a lot of Talks after everything is over and done with because holy FUCK Alastor actually needs some serious therapy and reassurance that the people around him will actually not leave him for whatever reason he's cooked up in his head, and ALSO what the FUCK what do you MEAN that someone owns your soul and held you captive for 7 years??????? Overall there's just A Lot of things that need to be discussed in the aftermath of this shitshow

Been thinking about a fic idea where Charlie botches a spell during a hotel redemption activity, where Alastor is the only one not present for. Lucifer was trying to coach her through the spell, but got distracted because he noticed there was a fucking drone outside the window pointed directly at them.

As far as the drone picks up, one second all the hotel members are there. The next second, they're gone. Vanished.

To the hotel members, they don't notice anything out of the ordinary at first at all. They're still in the hotel, and they can see each other just fine. It's a bit confusing when the drone just... promptly gives up and flies away. But they all figure Lucifer catching it just scared TV face away. So, no big deal.

Then Alastor comes back. Charlie greets him, but he seemingly ignores her. Lucifer, pissed by this attitude, tries to grab him— only for his hand to go right through Alastor's shoulder.

Realization immediately sets in.

They've become ghosts.

Obviously, ghosts don't exist, but this newly discovered spell (Lucifer is definitely trying to reword the situation to make Charlie feel better here) basically gives the properties of the stereotypical ghost.

They can't be seen. They can't interact with the world around them. The only person of their ragtag group who remained untouched by the spell was the singular person who wasn't there— Alastor.

There's more rules to the spell apparently, which they figure out quickly. For one, they are anchored to the hotel. At first, they thought that they couldn't go through walls when Lucifer tried to walk through one to the outside, but it turns out that they CAN walk through walls. They're just blocked from going out of bounds.

The last thing they figure out about the spell is that there doesn't seem to be a time limit. Which, obviously, is very bad. Usually, temporary spells with similar effects only last a couple of hours, but when everyone wakes up the next morning still incapable of grabbing a simple door handle, it becomes evident that they've gotten into a bigger mess than previously thought.

And then, Alastor realizes that everyone is "missing."

And he freaks the fuck out.

Yelling their names, breaking down doors, having straight up panic attacks. And the hotel inhabitants are watching it all happen, unable to say or do anything while Alastor begins physically harming himself, ripping out his hair and gouging deep marks through his skin with his claws.

They already felt pressured to figure out how to undo the spell, but now the pressure is worse because if they don't figure this shit out soon, Alastor may actually permanently hurt himself at the rate he's going.

(A few individuals, meanwhile, are hit with the realization that Alastor may actually care for them. More than he was ever willing to show.)

[crowsofdarkness]

Fallen: Chapter Three

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fallen Angel! Female Reader.

Content Warnings: language, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: The new Avengers recruit has many secrets, one of which Bucky is desperate to discover.

Authors Note: This is a little AU with Bucky! It will have six chapters! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Tags: @that-blonde-girl @starfly-nicole @bookofriverr @civilbucky

“Faster!” 

“Harder!” 

“Come on, you can do better than that!” 

Sweat dripped from my forehead into my mouth, the salty bitterness stinging my tongue, and I let out deep breaths while trying to calm my beating heart. With a quick duck, I missed the oncoming punch, landing my own into the hard chest in front of me, not holding back my strength. 

With a smile to his face, he placed a hand on his chest. “That’s what I’m talking about.” 

I couldn’t help but snicker. “Please, don’t act like that actually hurt Captain America.” 

Steve laughed now and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just glad that you’re not pulling your punches anymore.” 

Sensing a quick break in our training, I allowed myself to take a large drink of water, my heart rate coming down fast. 

“I don’t think you would allow another training session to continue like the first three,” I spoke honestly. 

“We both know what you’re capable of, Y/N. You don’t need to hide it from me; anything.” 

With his words, I stared Steve straight in the eyes, knowing exactly what he meant. I was hiding a big part of me from him, from everyone, only because I didn’t want the others around the compound to witness it. 

“I’m already the new kid around here. The last thing I need to be called is the freak,” I said. 

Steve sighed with his hands low on his hips. “No one thinks that.” 

“Really?” My brow raised while I held up my hand, fire spreading to the tips. “All I have to do is think about it and fire is in my hands.” 

With a tight fist now, the flames evaporated. “Don’t even get me started on the other thing.” 

Within the last few weeks, Steve had taken the job of training me, preparing me for becoming the newest member of the Avengers. At first I was very shut off about the whole idea but knew that if I wanted to continue having a place to live, I needed to at least try. 

Steve was very comforting from the start, allowing me time to warm up being around him, but as time went on he could immediately tell I was holding back. We both knew what power and strength I possessed but I was afraid of letting it be shown on full display. Tony and him had seen it one time but it was brief; they, along with others, didn’t see to the full extent of what I was capable of. 

An immense amount of pain spread throughout my spine and with a painful hiss, I grasped for the closest thing next to me. Which happened to be Steve’s arm. 

My powerful grip meant nothing to his super strength, my nails digging into his skin didn’t cause him to flinch an ounce. 

“When was the last time you let them out?” Steve wondered once the pain had subsided. 

“Not since you captured me,” I admitted. 

“No one is going to look at you differently, Y/N,” Steve reassured. 

“So what? I’m supposed to walk around the compound with my wings on full display?” I shrugged. 

“Even if it’s for a few seconds when no one is around. Keeping them in has caused you pain, Y/N. Is it even worth it?” 

“To stay alive, you fucking bet.” I nodded. 

Steve sighed, knowing no matter what he said that I wouldn’t change my mind. 

I used to be so strong before my sister was murdered. I would walk around with my wings spread wide, proud of the woman I had become over the centuries but now, it was different. 

As far as I knew, I was the last of my kin that fell centuries ago and knowing that I had a target on my head for the things on my back, I kept them hidden now. There was word on the street that Ivan was looking for me, wanting to skin my wings from me for a chunk of change. But the pain had become almost unbearable and I didn’t know what it could do if I continued to keep them hidden. 

“Same time tomorrow?” I questioned, changing the subject. 

Steve let out a breath and ran a hand over his face, the stubble on his chin no doubt tickling his palm. “I’m actually headed out on a mission for the next week so you’ll continue your daily training with someone else.” 

My brows knitted together. “Who?” 

He motioned behind me. “Speak of the devil.” 

Turning on my heels, my heart jumped in my throat when I saw who my new trainer was going to be. He leaned slightly against the entryway of the room, arms crossed over his chest. The vibranium arm shone bright in the light. 

“Hey Buck. I was telling Y/N that you’re going to be taking over for me for the next few sessions.” Steve spoke towards Bucky. 

Bucky, who was now standing a few feet in front of me, gave Steve a nod while sending a small smile my way. 

I couldn’t look him in his eyes, knowing what I know about our past. If he ever found out that I was sent to kill him all those years ago, I don’t think he would smile like that towards me. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” I turned my attention towards Steve. 

“Don’t hold your punches with Bucky. He can handle anything you throw at him,” Steve reassured me. 

“Somehow I doubt that,” I muttered to myself, quickly giving them a small wave before leaving them to themselves. 

The nighttime cold wrapped around me as I stood on the rooftop of the compound letting the soft noises of the crickets and soft waves of the water behind the building ease my mind. Steve's words from earlier kept rattling around in my head. 

Let them out for a few minutes.

The choice weighed heavy on my shoulders, not knowing if it was the best one. The pain had become almost too much to handle, bringing me to my knees just a few moments ago. No one knew I was up here on the roof so no one would be able to see them so what could be the harm? 

Letting out a deep breath, I rolled back my shoulders and felt an almost euphoric feeling fill my veins when the wings spread wide around me. A few dead feathers fell around my feet and I cringed, knowing that it was from keeping them inside for a long period of time. 

They stretched far out and I did the same with my arms, fire spreading to the tips, and in those few moments I felt like myself again. Everything that was causing worries within me had vanished with this quiet solace. 

Steve had become a close friend of mine here, no one else bothered to spend even a minute to get to know me only because of these things on my back. There were countless lores of my kind, mostly evil and vile, so of course they wanted nothing to do with me. My kind was known for killing anyone in our way to get what we wanted or needed. We took control of the innocent in order to get the wealth that we had for centuries. 

However, with being the last of my kin on Earth, none of that mattered to me. I could go anywhere in the world with the simple flap of my wings, but I chose to stay here. I chose to try and better myself and make up for the past choices, hoping to right my wrongs. I also chose to stay here because I needed to make amends to one person who had no idea of what I could have done to him. 

Bucky wanted to get to know me because we shared the same past; being used as weapons for Hydra. I couldn’t allow myself to get close to him because I knew that once he did find out I was sent to kill him, the friendship he wanted would be nonexistent.

Which is why the nerves were high for our training sessions. If there was any way that we would become close, it would be during these sessions. 

With a quick sigh, I brought my wings back, the skin of my shoulder blades melting together and once again I was normal as the people beneath my feet. 

Well, almost normal. 

[flowersbane]

my humble offering to the rookanis community:

de riva! rook & lucanis meet face to face for the first time at viago’s “coronation” as fifth talon.

notes: • rook is a fledgling at this point • i use she/her pronouns for rook • unedited because i literally wrote this on a whim lol • written as a one-shot but idk if ppl like it i have one more idea for a second chapter

Viago’s coronation was a soirée of all the things she hated. Politics, niceties, formalities, and ceremony. She was halfway through her third glass of wine when she realized she had indulged too heavily in drinks. The room tilted. She staggered to keep herself upright. Fuck, she thought. Viago is going to kill me.

Pulling her hood over her head and her mask over her face, she slunk off, into the shadows of the grand hall in hopes of avoiding him and thereby his ire. Most of the other Talons were here, but Caterina Dellamorte had yet to arrive. The idea of the First Talon not attending set her on edge. Her absence would effectively tell the other houses that she did not support Viago’s rise to power. If such problems began plaguing Viago’s rule so quickly…

She ran into something, which was entirely unlike her. There shouldn’t be a pillar here…

There was not a pillar there. As she turned, her narrowed eyes met a pair of brown ones. Lucanis Dellamorte. She would recognize him anywhere. Even here, in this low light where he was unexpected.

“You—”

He placed a finger over her lips.

Alarm shot through her, immediately sobering her up as she considered every implication of him sneaking around House de Riva.

“I can explain—”

She shoved his hand away, brandished her dagger, and aimed it at his throat in a single, swift motion. “Then you’d better do so quickly,” she warned.

“This is an overreaction I assure you—”

“Explanation. Now.”

Lucanis sighed. He seemed far too comfortable at knife point for her liking. She hated how in-control he seemed, even though she should be the one in power in this situation. “I arrived a few minutes ago. Caterina will be here soon, but she wanted me to tell Viago that she was running late.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you were sneaking around.”

He lifted his shoulders in a casually helpless manner. “I’m not particularly fond of crowds. I thought I might save myself the headache of small talk by remaining… inconspicuous.”

She didn’t believe him. But of course she didn’t believe him. What kind of lame excuse was that? ‘Oh, I’m feeling shy so I had to slink around in darkness at another house’s celebration’? Please.

“The death of the former Fifth Talon must have Viago on edge,” Lucanis observed. “Just how many of House de Riva’s Crows are patrolling from the shadows this evening?”

She realized he had misinterpreted their meeting and mistaken her status. Well, she wasn’t about to correct him on either accounts. “That’s not for you to know,” she said. “Just know that House de Riva is always watching.”

He bowed in an almost mocking manner. “I will keep that in mind.”

Tsking, she withdrew her weapon from his neck. “You’d better, Dellamorte.”

He remained unbothered, the corner of his lips even turning more upwards as he spoke again. “Now, may I continue on my way?”

Irked into spitefulness by his dismissive demeanor, she practically bared her teeth at him when she said, “no. If what you say is true, you should have no problem with me accompanying you to see the Fifth Talon.”

“You’re a suspicious one, aren’t you? I can’t imagine why being in a room full of assassins would put someone on such high alert.”

Her expression remained flat. “Let’s go.”

She resisted the urge to push him forward, into the light of the party. He may have been caught sneaking around House de Riva, but he was still the grandson of the First Talon. She wouldn’t get away with mistreating him too much. Unfortunately.

Fortunately, Lucanis followed her without argument or complaint. She got the vague sense that he was amused by her display, which only served to make her more irritated.

She wove through the assemblage of assassins as she brought herself and the Demon of Vyrantium before Viago.

She removed her hood and mask. He regarded her with a silent question, to which she answered by flicking her head in Lucanis’s direction. Viago was good at politics, unlike her, so he was able to keep his expression polite as he greeted the First Talon’s grandson.

“Lucanis,” he practically sung, making her wince. Nothing made her more uneasy than watching Viago charm someone. So used to the cold, direct way he spoke to her, it simply felt… wrong to see him like this; as though she were staring at some unknown creature parading around in his skin. “Good of you to stop by… I assume on behalf of the First Talon? I hope nothing has happened to her?”

“Not at all,” said Lucanis. “We had a bit of trouble with our carriage, so she sent me ahead to inform you of the situation and assure you that she will be attending your celebration.”

The unpracticed eye would not have caught the flicker of relief flash across Viago’s face. “Ah, I see. Thank you for going out of your way to tell me this. Please, enjoy the festivities our house has to offer. We are all very honored to host the members of House Dellamorte tonight.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucanis flashed her a smug look that seemed to say told you so; which she thought was ridiculous. It wasn’t like she wanted to be right. Clicking her tongue, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the ballroom. If she had to spend one more second in this torturous environment, she would start making everyone else’s problem. Especially Viago’s. It would cost her, but it would serve him right for making her attend this stupid party.

As she left, Lucanis turned back to Viago.

“I don’t recognize her. One of your new Crows?”

Viago shook his head. “She’s still a Fledgling. We’re… close, so I had her attend…” Then, his eyes narrowed as though he suspected he already knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “Why? Did she say something to upset you? She’s never been good at playing nice.”

A ghost of a smile danced over Lucanis’s face. “Not at all. She’s amusing.”

Viago snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

- + - + - + -

related reading: rook de riva headcanons

[princess-of-the-corner]

Public Divorce AU

Mostly Random ideas/events that will not leave me be. Some I am 100% “Yes, this is how it would play out”, others it’s more “this is the vibe, but I’m not sure on exact events and actions”. As always, we run on suggestions and ‘yes and'ing each other!

- So, the Rogercop thing goes a little differently, cause both André and Audrey showed up for Parents’ Day to try and score some good publicity points, and. Uh. One thing leads to another, and André fires Roger for…well, he gives some legit reason, but the ACTUAL one is that he thought Roger was “taking Audrey’s side”. He wasn’t, for the record. He was actually standing up for both Chloé and Sabrina, and was just trying to get the Bourgeois to maybe calm down. They did not, and Roger ends up fired. Shortly after, Roger starts working at the Museum as a security guard, which it turns out he’s actually pretty good at.

- Most Chloé related Akuma go differently. Instead of going after Chloé, most are going after André or Audrey, cause they showed up and did something stupid. Chloé’s still at root cause for a few, but not nearly so many.

- Chloé does end up meeting Zoé. Zoé and her dad get dragged to Paris by Audrey as part of the “divorce proceedings” (she’s really rubbing them in André’s face). Both are extremely apologetic to Chloé, who’s just “trust me, this is NOT your fault”. They end up sticking around Paris (everyone is confused on WHY) and Zoé starts attending school with the Miracuclass.

- Still stuck on Lila being baffled by how “low maintenance” the class is, when in actuality, it’s more effort, it’s just stuff she enjoys, so it FEELS like less effort. She’s kind of suspicious and waiting for the moment she’ll have to lie to keep these “friends” but it never comes.

- the incident that majorly contributed to Chloé’s current “Don’t Give A Fuck” attitude, was André, in an effort to prove how bad of a parent Audrey is, posting a video of a slightly younger Chloé having a breakdown over something Audrey had done (unsure of what). Like, it was a moment captured by an opportunistic reporter, and at the time, André went to great lengths to ensure that clip NEVER saw the light of day. He basically bought the rights to the footage, meaning if anyone else aired it without his permission, André would be within his rights to sue the hell out of them. Then, when he needs ammo for his dick-measuring contest with Audrey, he uses that clip to prove how awful of a parent she is, proving himself to be just as bad, because he just showed a very vulnerable moment of Chloé’s without her permission. When Chloé tries to confront him about it, André dismisses her concerns, and just points out it’s Audrey’s fault for upsetting Chloé in the first place. 

- André and Audrey start dipping into illegal activity to try and get back at each other.

- when André starts bringing home his new girlfriends, that’s when Chloé unofficially moves out of the Hotel. She does NOT want to be around for this. While she still technically lives at the hotel, and will occasionally spend the night if André had her show up at an event or something, she is otherwise packing up all her stuff and moving into the Agreste Mansion. (It took almost a week for Gabe to realize she’d taken over the guest room closest to Adrien’s.)

- the Style Queen Trilogy goes differently. Or rather, it goes mostly the same, right up until Style Queen is pointing her glitter ray at Adrien. At that point, it gets derailed, by Chloé bodily launching herself at Style Queen and grappling with her, shouting for Adrien to run. Adrien does indeed book it (if he changes into Chat fast enough-), but Chloé gets hit with a glancing blow. And rather than immediately changing into a statue, Chloé starts slowly turning to glitter, starting from where the ray hit, but she’s still conscious and mobile. So she keeps going. Keeps trying to fight Audrey, keeps trying to rip the item off. She kicks, bites, and claws at Audrey, snarling and shouting the whole time. Eventually, she’s too disintegrated to hold on, and Audrey throws her off, resulting in Chloé dissipating into a cloud of glitter upon hitting the ground, vanishing. Ladybug and Chat Noir beat Style Queen, and Miraculous Cure everyone back, but this is the incident that gets Fu to give Chloé the Bee. It’s also the incident that makes Gabe start running all his power ideas for André and Audrey by Nathalie.

- For almost a week after this, Adrien and Sabrina are both extremely clingy. So are most of their friends. Chloé’s actually pretty ok (it didn’t hurt, felt more like going numb, and she was so enraged she barely noticed) but everyone else has ✨trauma✨.

- Infinity War is now banned media for their class.

- Chloé tries to do a “I don’t feel so good, Mister Stark”, sends half her class into a panic attack. 

- the Incident that finally gets both Audrey and André “taken out” so to speak, is near the end of the divorce. Because everything is more or less settled, except for one thing. Who gets custody of Chloé. This is complicated (for them) by Chloé being old enough to have input, which is “I’d rather live in a sewer than with either of them”. The way they decide to handle this is by each trying a big spectacle to prove THEY are the better parent, and said spectacle ends up with Chloé (and possibly others) becoming endangered. Not by an Akuma either, this is just plain mortal stupidity. Also, probably illegal, whatever it is, resulting in both André and Audrey being arrested, and Chloé ends up under someone else’s Guardianship (Gabe? Someone else?). The thing that sprung to mind was they each separately hire some goons to kidnap Chloé, so that they can come in and “save” her, proving that THEY are the superior parent, but they accidentally do it on the same day, so instead they had a mutual shoot out or something.

- because Chloé’s parents get arrested, Chloé gains control over BOTH their financial assets. She promptly begins to sell off EVERYTHING SHE CAN. Some personal effects, she can’t touch, but what she can, she is selling. The hotel? Sold. Style Queen Magazine? Gone. Yachts, cars, jets, stocks - all sold to the highest bidder. Everything they fought over during the divorce, she sells as soon as she can.

Thoughts? Opinions? Comments?

-

Ohohoho!

- Au where Roger is decent hell yeah!

- absolute rip to them getting involved but YEAH that’d cause Akumas

- they end up sticking around because Mr. Lee is like ‘well someone has to look out for this kid’s wellbeing’

- Lila is both happy and filled with anxiety.

- OH OUCH. Yeah that’d- that’d really break all love and trust huh? It’s one of those things that Chloé would’ve used to think that Andre scrubbed the video from existence because he cared, but now it’s just so clear that it was only to save his own reputation/image and it taints everything.

- these damn rich people

- I just imagine Gabriel actually showing up to breakfast with Adrien for once only for Chloé to waltz in still half-asleep in pajamas and messed up hair and just steal Adrien’s toast and Gabe is like ????

- Oh this HURTS

- Yeah everyone’s traumatized

- OH SHE WOULD LMAO

- Honestly yeah them doing some ridiculous shit that can’t be handwaved as Hawkmoth’s fault because hey no Akumas this time just them? And that’s the tipping point because sure before this was clearly an unhealthy environment for Chloé but it was never anything that could get them in legal trouble it just made everyone judge them. But now? This is Al Capone’s taxes. Also yeah the incident being them both staging danger to ‘save’ Chloé and prove themselves the ‘better parent’ makes sense.

- selling everything they fought over is the ultimate power move

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer stared at the first man. Was he serious?! After everything he's done- he thinks he can just walk in here and ask for help?

The king looked at Adam up and down, he sees no reason as to why he would need help. Especially from Lucifer of all people.

But, maybe he could use this to his advantage.

Lucifer laughed: Oh, I bet you do. So, tell me.

Leaning back in his chair, Lucifer put his feet on the meeting table, enjoying the way Adam's eye twitched.

Lucifer: Why isn't Heaven safe for you~? You're their little golden boy! Adam could do no wrong! They used to tell me that, you know. Took every opportunity to brag about you. To praise you, for doing... nothing. So, you can't blame my curiosity when Heaven suddenly becomes unsafe for you- and by unsafe, do you mean they told you 'no'~?

Adam glared at Lucifer: Are you done?

Lucifer smirked: Nope! Could you imagine running to ME for help?! The Devil, of all people! Oh, Adam, you must truly be desperate! It's a good look on you~.

There were a few reasons why Lucifer was loving the fact that Adam came here without covering his face. It reminded Lucifer of how he broke Adam's helmet like it was nothing, and now, he could see every emotion that crossed his face.

Adam was beyond pissed off. He knew this wouldn't be easy. He didn't expect it to.

Sighing, Adam folded his arms and looked away from the king: Look- I just... need to get away for a bit. And the only place I can do that is in Hell. I... I don't fucking need you, alright? I just thought-.

Lucifer: Ah ah ah! Actually, Adam, you DO need me! And I quote: "Heaven isn't safe anymore and I NEED your help". End quote. You need my, Adam. And if you think I'm just going to let you wonder around MY domain, you're soarly mistaken.

Adam growled, glaring at the king. Lucifer even smiled when he saw hatred in the first man's golden eyes. He would feel threatened if he wasn't the king of Hell.

Adam: You're such a fucking asshole-.

Lucifer: Why? I'm only stating facts! I didn't say you COULDN'T come to Hell! It's just... if you're going to be taking up space in my home, you'll be paying your way~.

The first man was silent, staring at the king: I... "paying"?

Lucifer: ...Did I stutter?

Adam: N-No... just... "paying"... how? Did you want me to... y'know...?

Lucifer stared at the first man for a minute before laughing. For an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Lucifer: G-Goodness, no! I'm married, Adam! And uh- no offence, but I don't think you deserve my cock~.

Staring at the king, Adam wants to rub his face in the fact he's had his cock four times but he knew better than to say anything.

Adam: Fuck sake- fine. What do you want me to do, then?

Lucifer: Ooh, I don't know~... I want you to wear a maids outfit and do some housework~.

Adam: ...What?!

Lucifer: Don't get so emotional! That's my cost. You clean and cook for me when I'm not staying at the hotel, that is. This is a big ask, Adam, to protect you from Heaven, especially when I have no idea what's going on!

Adam: I just... look, it doesn't matter, alright? I'll do your bullshit housework just... don't tell anyone I'm here... please...?

Lucifer: ...Even my daughter?

Adam glared: Especially her. I'm not here for her bullshit redemption, I just need a few months to figure things out, alright?

Lucifer hummed and snapped his fingers, a contract appeared on the table in front of Adam.

Adam: ...The fuck is this?!

Lucifer: What? Did you seriously think I'd let you stay and work under me without a contract in place? Oh, Adam, try and rub those two braincells together, could you? Just this once?

Adam: Brain... what? What do they have to do with this?

Lucifer smirked and shook his head: Nothing. Nothing at all. Once that's signed, we can get going! I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing your new home!

Adam growled and summoned a pen: Don't talk to me like I'm some mutt.

The king rolled his eyes and waited for Adam to sign the paper. It was taking... a while.

Lucifer: Adam? Are you done?

Adam: Shut up, I'm reading.

Lucifer: Hm, that's all well and good, but mind speeding it up a bit? I have lunch with Charlie, and I still need to get to... situated~.

Adam glared and scribbled his signature: I don't need to get "situated", you bitch, I just need to be somewhere Heaven won't find me! For at least... seven to nine months... give or take.

Lucifer: ...Huh? That's... specific. But, never mind!

Snapping away the contract, Lucifer decided he'll check everything later. Walking over to Adam, he took his hand, and teleported them to his mansion.

Lucifer: Here we are! House Morningstar!

Adam couldn't help but braise himself, resting his hands on his knees as nausea washed over him.

Adam: F-Fuck...

Turning around, the king raised an eyebrow at him: You good there? Teleporting can be a bit rough... but I thought you'd be used to it.

Adam: I-I am fucking used to it. I just don't... do it a lot. I can fly, asshole, why would I... teleport places...?

Lucifer: Hm... who knows, who cares? Come on, keep up! We have so much to see and so much do in so little time!

Once Adam was sure he wasn't going to vomit, he glared at the king as he walked off, looking proud of himself. Fucker.

Adam: ...you better be worth it, you little shit...

Lucifer: What was that?! I can't hear you when you're so far away!

Adam: I wasn't talking to you! Asshole...

Adam the Exorcist

@beef-brisket

Lute looked up wide eyed as her commander was giving his speech and there was a little sinner coming up behind him.

Lute: SIR BEHIND YOU!?

Adam stopped and turned, he gasped and grabbed Nifty by the neck and threw her at the hotel crew and Lucifer, glaring at the lot of them.

Adam: THIS ISN'T FUCKING OVER!!

Lucifer: I think it is bud, you should go home.

Adam glared more, he was leaving because he wanted to not because this little fucker told him to. He waved his hand giving them the signal that extermination day was officially over.

Adam: Exorcists fall back!

Lute: But ..... Sir -

Adam: NOW Lute!!

She nodded and glared at the King and princess of Hell along with her friends. They all flew back to heaven and Adam flipped Lucifer off before he was fully back in.

Adam groaned when the portal closed, they had never had it go that wrong that fast. This wasn't going to end well.

-

Adam: Retire!?

Sera sighed she knew Adam wouldn't take this well.

Sera: Yes Adam, it's time you step down as the commander of the exterminators.

Adam: Is this about what happened!? Because it won't happen again.

Sera: You're right, it won't.

Adam sighed: But Abel? My boy is too soft to do that job.

Sera: There's no one else to do it. You nearly died down there we....... We can't lose you.

On one hand he understands where she's coming from, but he was meant to do this! The only reason things went bad was because Lucifer showed up.

Lute just HAD to kill the princess's pet.

Adam: I don't want him to die.

Sera: He won't. We will be doing a more regimented training routine. You deserve a rest Adam.

Adam: ..... Yes Sera.

She smiled and held out her arms, Adam hugged her. She was only doing this because she loves him, he knows that. Doesn't make it suck any less.

Adam went back to his room to lay down, he didn't realize how tired he was until he did.

There had to be a way that he could still be an exterminator.

Some how.

[ghosttoastx]

*shaking you gently please give my teeny tiny ink crumbs*

How did Error and Ink meet? Does he have a nickname for him? Is anyone allowed to babysit and does ink have a favourite? Does ink have any abilities besides being the cutest ever? Is there a little Broomie and Buggy? (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

Ask and you shall receive :3 don't mind my writing plssss I just woke up (┬┬﹏┬┬)

How They Met:

I imagine that Error finding Ink was by chance. For one reason or another, Error finds himself smackdab in the middle of a fight between Nightmare and the gang, and the Star's (since Ink isn't there, the Stars would only consists of Dream, Blue, Core Frisk, and Possibly Red). I image the whole fight shenanigan would take place in Outertale, which would be why Error was there in the first place and why he was caught off guard.

Anyways! Error gets dragged into the fight (he's very pissy about this) and in a ditch effort to get away (he was not fleeing. definitely. he would never heheh) from the conflict, he quickly throws himself through a portal, not really thinking about where exactly he wanted to go, just that he wanted some stars-damn peace and quite.

And Peace and Quite he shall receive. Kinda.

Error finds himself in a vast white expanse, taking a moment to register that this was not his Anti-Void. After some frustration, he'd begrudging sate his curiosity about the strange AU he'd found himself in and look around. Not that there's really much to see.

After examining the strangely apathetic sketches that were the residents of the world, Error would become bored or disappointed in his lack of findings. Feeling even more sour about this whole ordeal from before. There's nothing even here worth while for him to Destroy!! What a fucking rip off!!

turning tail to leave, Error goes to open a portal, though he stops and screeches the most unholy of screeches when something snags one of the ends of his scarf.

he whirls around, tugging the end of his scarf away from his pursuer, ready to rip whatever abomination decided to mess with him to shreds. He's taken off guard (again today) when the tiny thing that had decided to grab him came up with the scarf. He shakes the garment, trying to dislodge it, to no avail as (what appears to be) a small skeleton monster giggles joyously.

Error stops jostling his scarf (and in turn the tiny skeleton monster) with a frustrated huff. without warning the small monster grabs hold of Error's arm, causing him to shriek in fury and panicked anticipation.

...

But nothing happened. No sudden bursts of glitches, no buffering no nothing. Error stood there, dumbfounded as the skeleton clung happily to him, completely unaware of Error's internal conflict.

After a moment, Error haphazardly (albeit hesitantly) grabbed the wretched abomination, holding him at arms length.

He stands there in the whiteness, staring intensely at the small skeleton. Whatever else this anomaly might be aside, the thing was definitely a child. Aging was weird in the Multiverse but Error would have to guess that the kid was maybe two?? Three years old?????

Error continues to stare at the kid for a moment, debating with himself, before sighing a heavy 'fuck this shit' and plops the kid back on the ground (was it even ground?) turns and walks away into a portal.

...

. . .

. . .

It took all of 30 seconds for Error to reappear, scoop up the kid, and reenter a portal to the Anti-Void.

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

Okay. That ramble ended up becoming more of a drabble heheh oopsies. I might write a proper drabble later to better execute the idea. Preferably not this early in the morning next time lmao

Anyways!!! Moving On!!!

Nicknames:

I don't really think Error himself would give Ink any nicknames. At least not any endearing ones. But I feel like some of the others might have nicknames for him. And by nicknames I'm referring to things like 'kid', 'kiddo', 'bud', etc. etc.

I feel like Ink himself would give nicknames to the others as well. but like. he'd be bad at it. I feel like he'd just do that thing where you add a 'y' at the end of someone's name. Like 'Blue' would be 'Bluey' or something. 'Dream' 'Dreamy'. You get the idea.

Nightmare have and 'y' nickname would b interesting I feel tho. 'Nightmare' would be 'Nighty'. which could lead to Nightmare being reminded of himself and Dream when they were younger or something which could be reallyyyy interesting to explore heheh. But!! that'll have to be for another time >:3!!!

Babysitting:

Error's a busy guy, destroying AUs and stuff. As much as he'd hate it, He'd definitely need a babysitter for Ink while he was out. Not only to keep an eye on him, but to also keep him company.

Ink wouldn't like being left in the Anti-Void alone for long periods of time. Despite the Anti-Void and Ink's abandoned AU not exactly having the same feel as one another. The Anti-Void is still a vast expanse of whitespace.

Optimally, out of all of them, Error prefers to leave Ink with the Stars more often than not. More Specifically Blue, but Dream and Core Frisk (sometimes Red too) kinda just come as a package deal.

Error's not to keen on leaving Ink with Nightmare and his gang to frequently. Mostly because their group is much more...unpredictable. I suppose. (Error doesn't appreciate their efforts at encouraging Ink to play 'pranks' on him.)

Ink loves all of them. he doesn't really mind who's watching him for the day. Though out of everyone, I feel like Ink would really Enjoy having Blue watch over him.

But I also feel like Ink would really like hanging out with Nightmare. Not necessarily because Nightmare is a good babysitter, but more so because Nightmare is the one to avoid him the most. Kids are curious, and Ink would be super duper curious about cool, spooky, mysterious Nightmare. So he'd just kinda hang around him.

Nightmare has a lot of conflicting feelings about this.

Ink’s Abilities:

As of right now, no one can really figure out what's up with Inks magic. it's weird and goopy and not like any magic any of them have seen before.

No ones really sure what to do with this.

Broomie & Buggy:

At this point in time, neither Broomie nor Buggy are a thing quite yet

[isacksteban]

His Shadow — Strollonso (4) (3)

Lance couldn’t move.

His whole body felt wrong — too hot, too cold, too small for what was pressing against his ribs. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, his grip on Fernando’s jacket locked so tight he could feel the fabric bunching under his fingers.

Fernando didn’t let go.

Didn’t shift, didn’t tease, didn’t say anything.

He just held him.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead pressing harder against Fernando’s shoulder. It wasn’t warm — not like it should be. But it wasn’t cold, either. It was something in between, something that shouldn’t have existed at all, something Lance had no idea how to deal with.

The worst part was, Fernando was steady.

Like he knew.

Like he’d been waiting for this.

Lance swallowed hard, voice wrecked and uneven. “Say something.”

Fernando exhaled slowly, his hands tightening just slightly on Lance’s arms. “What do you want me to say?”

Lance let out a short, breathless laugh — wrong, shaky, on the edge of something he didn’t have a name for. “I don’t know.”

“Then we have a problem,” Fernando murmured.

Lance did move at that — jerked back slightly, just enough to look at him. Fernando let him, but only barely, his hands still firm where they rested on Lance’s upper arms.

Lance hated the way Fernando was watching him. Hated the softness there, the quiet understanding in his dark eyes, like he had already figured out everything Lance was too scared to say.

Like he had known before Lance had even admitted it to himself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lance muttered.

Fernando smirked, but it was gentle in a way that made Lance’s stomach twist. “Like what?”

Lance clenched his jaw. “Like you’re waiting for something.”

Fernando tilted his head slightly, his fingers twitching like he was considering pulling away, but he didn’t. “I’m not waiting for anything, novato.” His voice was quiet. Even. Certain. “I already have my answer.”

Lance hated how that made his chest tighten.

He hated that Fernando wasn’t mocking him, wasn’t throwing it back in his face, wasn’t pretending it wasn’t real.

Because Lance had spent weeks pretending.

And Fernando?

Fernando had never pretended at all.

Lance’s hands curled tighter into his jacket, his breathing still unsteady. “This is fucking stupid,” he whispered.

Fernando’s grip tightened, just slightly. “I know.”

Lance shook his head. “You— Fuck, you’re—”

Fernando’s smirk flickered. “Dead?”

Lance flinched.

Fernando let out a soft, almost sad laugh. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know that, too.”

Lance sucked in a shaky breath, his pulse too loud in his ears. “Then what is this?”

Fernando exhaled slowly, gaze still locked onto his. “What do you think it is?”

Lance let out another breathless laugh — wrong, wrong, wrong. “I think it’s impossible.”

Fernando hummed. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

Lance hated him.

Hated the way he didn’t let up, the way he was forcing Lance to say it — to acknowledge the thing that had been growing between them since the beginning.

The thing Lance had ignored.

The thing that had destroyed him when Fernando disappeared for a week.

The thing that had left him curled over a toilet, shaking, wrecked with something he had no idea how to handle.

His hands were still shaking now.

But Fernando was steady.

Lance took another breath, trying to find words — any words — that would make sense of what was happening.

But there weren’t any.

So instead, he just whispered, broken and wrecked and real, “I don’t know what to do.”

Fernando’s hands finally moved — sliding from Lance’s arms to his wrists, his grip light but solid. Like he wasn’t holding him in place — just keeping him here.

Keeping him from running again.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Fernando murmured. “I’m right here.”

Lance’s chest ached.

Because he was.

Fernando wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t asking for anything. He wasn’t waiting.

He was just there.

And for the first time, Lance wasn’t sure if that made it easier or so much worse.

Because now that he had admitted it — now that Fernando knew — there was nowhere left to go. Nowhere but here.

Lance didn’t know how to move.

Fernando was still holding him — not tightly, not in a way that forced him to stay. Just there. Grounding him. Making it impossible to pretend that this wasn’t happening.

Lance’s pulse was too loud, hammering in his ears, drowning out every rational thought he had left.

He had said it.

He had fucking said it.

And now?

Now there was no taking it back.

“I don’t—” Lance’s voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying again. “I don’t know what to do.”

Fernando’s hands tightened just slightly around his wrists. “You don’t have to do anything,” he repeated, voice calm, steady. “You don’t even have to say anything else.”

Lance clenched his jaw, staring at the floor. “That’s the problem,” he muttered.

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “What is?”

Lance squeezed his eyes shut. “I want to say something.”

Silence.

Then — softer this time — Fernando asked, “So why don’t you?”

Lance let out a short, breathless laugh—shaky, wrong, on the edge of breaking again. “Because it’s stupid.”

Fernando’s fingers twitched against his skin. “Lance.”

Lance shook his head quickly, trying to pull away. Fernando didn’t hold him there, didn’t stop him, but he didn’t let go either.

“Lance,” Fernando said again, quieter now.

Lance finally looked up, his vision blurred at the edges. “What?”

Fernando exhaled. “I need you to listen to me.”

Lance hesitated.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Fernando studied him for a long moment, something careful in his expression, something softer than Lance had ever seen before.

Then he said, “I know this is impossible.”

Lance’s stomach twisted.

“I know what we are,” Fernando continued. “I know what I am.” His voice didn’t break, but there was something underneath it — something tired, something small. “And I know that at the end of the day, you’re going to leave this place, and I won’t.”

Lance’s throat ached.

Fernando inhaled slowly, his grip on Lance’s wrists light but unshakable. “But for as long as you’re here,” he murmured, “I am, too.”

Lance’s breath hitched.

Fernando’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “So tell me what you want.”

Lance’s whole body trembled. “I—”

Fernando waited.

Lance clenched his jaw, fighting the way his chest ached, the way his heart was screaming for something he couldn’t even name.

He wanted—

He wanted—

What?

What the fuck did he even want?

Fernando was dead.

There was no future. No way forward.

But Fernando was here.

And right now, Lance didn’t want to run anymore.

So he let out a shaky breath, finally meeting Fernando’s gaze.

And he whispered, raw and real — “I don’t know.”

Fernando’s lips twitched — not quite a smile, but something close. “Okay.”

Lance’s fingers curled into the fabric of Fernando’s jacket, his grip weak, but still there.

“…Okay?” Lance echoed.

Fernando nodded. “Yeah.”

Lance let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “You’re not gonna push?”

Fernando tilted his head. “Do you want me to push?”

Lance groaned, dropping his forehead against Fernando’s shoulder again. “I fucking hate you.”

Fernando laughed.

And this time, Lance laughed too.

Because maybe he didn’t have to figure it all out today.

Fernando was enough for now.

For the next three months.

The next day felt off, like his brain hadn’t fully caught up with what had just happened. He and Fernando had talked — actually talked — about what was happening between them, and Lance hadn’t spiraled into another breakdown or thrown up in a bathroom stall.

Progress.

Still, things felt different.

Fernando walked next to him like he always did, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, expression unreadable. But for the first time, Lance wasn’t pretending he wasn’t there.

He felt him. Saw him.

And he didn’t try to ignore it.

It was both relieving and terrifying.

“So,” Fernando drawled as they made their way toward the cafeteria, “you gonna keep pretending I don’t exist, or are we past that now?”

Lance groaned. “Shut up.”

Fernando smirked. “That’s not a no.”

Lance rolled his eyes, pushing open the cafeteria doors. “I don’t know what you want from me, man. You think I’m just gonna announce to Esteban that I spent half of yesterday clinging to a fucking ghost?”

Fernando’s smirk widened. “You were clinging.”

Lance scowled. “I was not—”

“Dude, who are you talking to?”

Lance froze.

Esteban stood by their usual table, brow furrowed, staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

Shit.

Lance cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Uh— no one.”

Fernando snickered. “Smooth.”

Lance resisted the urge to elbow him through the stomach. Instead, he plastered on a casual smirk and dropped into the seat across from Esteban.

Esteban squinted at him. “You good, man?”

“Yeah,” Lance said quickly. “Fine.”

Esteban didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. He never did.

Lance exhaled, opening his lunch bag. For a second, it almost felt normal — like things hadn’t changed, like he wasn’t sitting next to the literal ghost of a guy he was kind of, maybe, definitely in love with.

Then Fernando propped his chin in his hand and stared directly at him.

Lance’s stomach flipped.

He kept his expression neutral, shoving a bite of food into his mouth, but Fernando knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

He smirked slightly, voice low enough that only Lance could hear. “Careful, amor,” he murmured. “You’re looking at me too much.”

Lance almost choked on his sandwich.

Fernando laughed.

Lance glared at him, cheeks burning, but Fernando just stretched lazily in his seat, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Lance hated him.

Lance wanted him.

Lance had just managed to shake off the feeling of Fernando’s gaze burning into the side of his head when Esteban decided to make everything worse.

“So,” Esteban started, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing, “Logan was asking about you again.”

Lance froze.

Across from him, Fernando went completely still.

Lance swallowed his bite of food a little too fast. “Logan?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Esteban snorted. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You know Logan has a thing for you.”

Lance did know.

It wasn’t exactly a secret — Logan had been hovering for months now, coming up with excuses to talk to Lance, laughing too hard at his jokes, finding ways to sit next to him in class.

Lance just… hadn’t dealt with it.

Because how was he supposed to?

Logan was real. Logan was alive. Logan was the kind of guy Lance’s dad would actually approve of — clean-cut, smart, nice enough. The kind of guy Lance was supposed to like.

The kind of guy Lance could have a future with.

And yet Lance could feel Fernando beside him, radiating something sharp, something dangerous.

“Oh?” Fernando mused, voice deceptively light. “And what exactly did Logan say?”

Lance’s stomach dropped.

He kicked Fernando’s ankle under the table — not that it did anything.

Fernando just smirked, leaning back like he was enjoying himself.

Esteban, oblivious as ever, kept talking. “He was asking if you were seeing anyone,” he said. “Like, really asking. I think he’s gonna make a move.”

Lance’s brain short-circuited. “A— what?”

Esteban grinned. “Dude. You have to know he’s into you. Half the team has bets on when he’s gonna ask you out — the whole team is pretty convinced that you like guys anyway.”

Lance felt like he was going to die.

Fernando, on the other hand, looked way too entertained by this. “Wow,” he said, tilting his head. “Logan really likes you, huh?”

Lance shot him a murderous glare.

Fernando just smiled.

Esteban nodded. “Yeah, man. And honestly? You should give him a chance. Logan’s cool, and, like… when was the last time you even went on a date?”

Lance gripped his sandwich so tightly the bread nearly crumbled.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Oh, sorry, Esteban, I actually haven’t been interested in Logan because I’ve been too busy having a full-blown existential crisis over the fact that I’m in love with a ghost.

Yeah. No.

So instead, he forced a smirk and said, “I don’t know, man. Logan’s not really my type.”

Fernando laughed.

Esteban frowned. “Why not?”

Lance hesitated. “I just—”

“He’s alive,” Fernando supplied helpfully.

Lance kicked him again.

Fernando grinned.

Esteban groaned. “Dude, you’re so picky.”

Lance exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not picky. I just—” He hesitated. “I don’t like Logan like that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Esteban said, waving him off. “I’m just saying, don’t be surprised if he finally asks you out.”

Lance groaned. “Kill me.”

Fernando smirked, voice low enough that only Lance could hear. “No need,” he murmured. “You already look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lance hated him.

But when Fernando leaned in slightly, smirk still in place, eyes darker now, Lance realized something.

Fernando hated Logan more.

And somehow, that made Lance’s stomach

flip, now it was clear that Lance wasn’t the only one who was struggling with wanting something impossible.

Lance barely made it through the rest of lunch without completely losing his mind.

Fernando wouldn’t stop smirking.

Every time Lance looked in his direction, there it was — that obnoxious, knowing grin, paired with a look that screamed so, about Logan, huh?

Lance ignored him.

Or, at least, he tried to.

Esteban, still completely oblivious, kept going on and on about Logan Sargeant, something about how “this could be good for you” and “when was the last time you even liked someone, dude?”

Lance nearly choked on his drink.

Fernando just laughed.

Lunch couldn’t end fast enough.

By the time Lance made it to his next class, he was tense, distracted, and hyper-aware of the fact that Fernando was still following him.

Still watching him.

Still enjoying this way too much.

“You gonna say something?” Lance muttered under his breath as he slid into his seat.

Fernando plopped down in the chair next to him — his chair, the one that no one else ever sat in, the one that technically wasn��t real but might as well have been.

He grinned. “Nope.”

Lance groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

The teacher started the lesson, but Lance barely manged to absorb a word of it.

He kept thinking about what Esteban had said.

About Logan.

About how easy it should be.

Logan was real. Logan was normal. Logan wasn’t impossible.

And yet Lance glanced to the side, where Fernando was sitting with his chin propped in his hand, spinning a pen between his fingers. He looked bored, but Lance knew better.

He wasn’t bored.

He was waiting.

And that realization made Lance’s chest ache.

Because as much as he wanted to push this all down — wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, wanted to pretend Logan was the right choice — It was Fernando who made his pulse race.

It was Fernando who he wanted to look at first when he walked into a room.

It was Fernando who made him feel like he was constantly on the edge of something dangerous, something real, something that could wreck him.

Lance clenched his jaw, staring hard at his notebook.

He had a feeling Fernando wasn’t going to let him ignore it — ignore their time running out — for much longer.

Lance made it through the rest of the school day without dying, which was honestly a miracle.

But the second he stepped out of the building, Fernando was right there.

Waiting for him.

Lance exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You really have nothing better to do?”

Fernando grinned. “Nope.”

Lance rolled his eyes and started walking.

Fernando, of course, fell into step beside him.

They walked in silence for a while, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement.

Lance could feel Fernando watching him.

Finally, he sighed. “Just say whatever you want to say.”

Fernando smirked. “Logan, huh?”

Lance knew that was coming, but it still made his stomach flip.

He groaned. “Fer, please, not this again.”

Fernando laughed. “I’m just saying, novato— he likes you.”

Lance scowled. “Yeah? So?”

Fernando shrugged. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Lance hesitated.

Because that was the real question, wasn’t it?

What was he going to do?

If he was smart, he’d say yes. He’d let Logan take him out. He’d do the normal thing, the right thing.

But the thought of it made his chest feel tight.

Because Logan wasn’t who he wanted.

And Fernando fucking knew it.

Lance clenched his jaw. “I don’t know.”

Fernando hummed. “Interesting.”

Lance groaned. “Shut up.”

Fernando just grinned, bumping his shoulder as they walked. “I’m just saying, novato— maybe you should figure it out.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

But even as he said it, he knew this wasn’t going away. Even if Fernando was.

Lance collapsed onto his bed the second he got home, staring at the ceiling.

His brain wouldn’t shut up.

He wanted to stop thinking about it.

About Logan. About Fernando. About the fact that one of them was possible and the other one wasn’t.

But he couldn’t.

Because every time he closed his eyes, it wasn’t Logan he saw.

It was Fernando.

Smirking at him. Watching him. Waiting.

Lance groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he shifted against the mattress. He didn’t want to think about Fernando like this. Didn’t want to admit to himself how badly he wanted him, how much the older — was he older? had he aged at all in the last decade and a half? — man got under his skin in ways that no one else did.

But it was useless to fight it.

His body already knew.

Knew the way Fernando’s gaze lingered on him, dark and knowing. Knew how his voice, that low, teasing drawl, curled around Lance’s name like a promise. Knew how the faintest brush of their shoulders in the paddock sent heat licking down his spine.

Lance swallowed hard, his breath coming a little quicker now. He turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut, but the images behind his eyelids only became clearer — Fernando smirking at him, leaning in too close, the lingering scent of him filling Lance’s lungs. The way his hand would settle on Lance’s shoulder, fingers pressing just a little too hard, thumb brushing just a little too slow.

Lance exhaled sharply, his body tightening, warmth pooling low in his stomach. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t.

But he did.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers ghosting over his already hardening cock. A shiver ran through him at the touch, and he bit down on his lip, forcing himself to stay quiet even as his hips twitched into his own hand.

He imagined it wasn’t his hand at all. Imagined rougher fingers, surer movements, the kind that didn’t hesitate or fumble. The kind that knew exactly how to unravel him.

Fernando’s breath ghosted against his ear in his mind, teasing him, making him shiver. You’re pathetic, the voice murmured, half amusement, half something darker. Getting this worked up over me? You think I don’t notice?

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers tightening around himself as his hips jerked into his grip. His breath came in uneven pants, his body burning with need. He could almost feel the weight of Fernando behind him, pressing against his back, trapping him there, making him take it. Making him beg.

A choked sound escaped his throat as the fantasy deepened, the images sharper, more vivid. Fernando’s hands on his waist, pulling him back against him, rough stubble dragging over his neck. Teeth scraping, biting, marking. You want this so badly, don’t you?

Lance whimpered, his free hand fisting into the sheets, trying to ground himself, trying to slow down — but he couldn’t. Not when the thought of Fernando touching him like that, using him like that, made his whole body tremble with need.

He forced himself to drag it out, to savor it, his strokes slowing even as his body screamed for release. He wanted to make it last, wanted to stay in the illusion as long as he could, because the moment it ended, reality would come crashing back down on him.

His stomach tensed as he imagined Fernando’s voice again, low and taunting. Look at you, desperate for me. No one else can make you feel like this, can they?

Lance moaned, his body arching, his rhythm faltering as he edged himself closer and closer. The tension coiled so tight in his belly it was almost unbearable, every nerve on fire, every stroke sending him spiraling deeper into the fantasy.

Fernando would ruin him. Would tear him apart and put him back together, over and over again, until Lance didn’t know where he ended and Fernando began.

His entire body seized as the pleasure finally overwhelmed him, white-hot and all-consuming. He came with a sharp, shuddering gasp, his body jerking violently, his breath stuttering as wave after wave crashed through him.

For a long moment, Lance lay there, dazed and spent, his limbs heavy, his breath still coming in slow, uneven pants. His body was warm, languid, but the afterglow was already beginning to fade, replaced by that familiar, gnawing emptiness.

Because no matter how much he wanted it, no matter how much he imagined it, Fernando would never be his.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence, making Lance jolt. His stomach twisted.

“Lance,” his father’s voice came through, firm and expectant. “Why weren’t you at basketball practice today?”

Shit.

Lance scrambled to sit up, wiping a shaky hand over his face as he tried to will the heat from his cheeks. His pulse was still erratic, his body still tingling, and the last thing he needed right now was to deal with him.

“I— uh, I wasn’t feeling great,” he called back, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.

There was a beat of silence, then the doorknob rattled. “Open the door.”

Lance swallowed hard, hastily tugging his blanket over himself before forcing his legs to move. He stood on unsteady feet, heart hammering, and cracked the door open just enough to see Lawrence’s unimpressed expression.

His father’s gaze swept over him, sharp and assessing. “Not feeling great?”

Lance nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Lawrence frowned, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “You can’t afford to slack off, Lance. You need to stay sharp. You’re not going to get anywhere by skipping out on training. I'm sure you're still on edge from the accident but nothing came of it, you're fine so there's no excuse.”

Lance gritted his teeth. He was training — just not in the way his father wanted.

“I know,” he muttered. “Sorry, Dad. It won’t happen again.”

Lawrence studied him for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “Good.” He turned to leave, pausing only briefly. “Get some rest.”

Lance shut the door before he could say anything else, exhaling sharply. He dragged a hand through his hair, staring at the floor.

The ache in his chest hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had only gotten worse.

[yangjungwonisms]

Play the Game- YJW/ LHS/ Reader

warnings: NSFW, MDNI 18+

hi everyone! I wrote this about a week ago! I’m really nervous to post it here as I’ve never written member/member before. Technically when part 2-3 comes out it’ll be written as a threesome or even poly. I hope you all like it! and if you don’t, oh well!

Jungwon knew from the minute he introduced you to his friends that Heeseung had a crush on you. In the years since you two had started dating Heeseung became more and more obvious about his feelings towards you. In all that time Heeseung was very careful never to step out of line because his friendship with Jungwon meant too much for him to end it over a crush. Still, Jungwon tried to be sensitive about it at first, he’d memorize Heeseung’s schedule so you two could have your more intimate moments in private. But there were times Heeseung accidentally caught the two of you. Most of the time you and Jungwon were only kissing and nothing more, but sometimes he caught the briefest glimpses of Jungwon fucking you. He had to give Jungwon credit, he oftentimes heard the ferocity with which Jungwon fucked you and how it seemed to without fail reduce you to tears everytime. It made him more jealous than he could put into words.

Sometimes Heeseung would pretend he wasn’t home when he knew you two would be there so he could hear you. He couldn’t help himself, whenever he heard you two start to go at it he’d slowly start to palm himself over his jeans and most of the time he’d fuck into his fist trying to match the pace at which you were getting fucked by Jungwon. He had been attracted to you since the moment he had met you. But he would never do anything that would jeopardize your relationship with Jungwon. He never intended to catch you guys fucking but living with Jungwon there were some times it was unavoidable to be home at the same time. Still, he tried to be respectful about it. At first he’d make sure he was gone when you’d come over, other times he’d just pretend he didn’t hear anything. He felt even worse about getting himself off to the idea of you being fucked next door. But it wasn’t just you he was imagining. He wasn’t sure when it had started but over time the fantasies began to include Jungwon. But not long before he started thinking that way about Jungwon he had walked into the living room to see you on your knees giving Jungwon head. He stood and watched for far longer than was appropriate. What stood out to him the most was how attractive Jungwon looked with his head thrown back, biting his lip to try and keep from moaning. He stood there and watched Jungwon hold your head in place and start to fuck your mouth. Almost as if his body was moving on autopilot he snuck his hand down his

pants and started jerking himself off.

Jungwon knew he was there though, what he didn’t know though was how much Heeseung seemed to enjoy seeing him get his dick sucked. At some point Jungwon looked up and made eye contact with Heeseung. Heeseung’s movements still immediately, frozen in place, unable to physically walk away. Jungwon simply winked at him and motioned for him to continue. After that to work him up more he started moaning and fucking up into your mouth at a brutal speed. Heeseung couldn’t believe what was happening, he’d been best friends with Jungwon for years and they’d never found themselves in a situation like this. But it was too late to back out when Jungwon was staring at Heeseung daring him to fuck into his fist harder and even more so when he mouthed for him to cum. Jungwon had timed it perfectly for him to finish when Heeseung did. Jungwon had never thought about Heeseung that way but he loved the power he felt watching Heeseung silently heed his orders.

After that encounter Heeseung did his best to avoid you both for awhile. He had crossed a line and he knew it, he couldn’t bring himself to face Jungwon after what he had done. But one night when he thought he was alone in the apartment he thought back to what happened with Jungwon and before he knew it he was palming himself over his sweats until he was hard. Without you two there he was finally able to make as much noise as he wanted without worrying about being caught. That is until he gets a call from Jungwon. He wasn’t sure what prompted him to answer in the first place but somehow he found himself hitting accept. He did his best to collect himself before answering but yet he couldn’t Shake the idea that he had been caught. He didn’t know how right he had been. Since the incident Jungwon had been planning a way to get Heeseung alone to see if he could recreate what happened between them. Some twisted part of Jungwon needed to know what exactly it was about the situation that made Heeseung stroke himself to completion with Jungwon right in front of him. So when you weren’t able to come over that night Jungwon knew he had the perfect opportunity fall right into his lap.

Jungwon played his cards extremely close to his chest, he had planned it down to a T. He knew Heeseung would be out for the majority of the day so all he had to do was remain extremely silent so when Heeseung arrived home he had no idea he was still there. Everything worked perfectly when not more than an hour after he had gotten home Jungwon heard the familiar tell tale signs of Heeseung getting himself off. He hadn’t planned on actually calling him, but the louder Heeseung got the more turned on Jungwon became. So without a moment of hesitation Jungwon picked up his phone and dialed Heeseung’s number. Heeseung picked up and even though he could tell how hard he was trying to sound put together that anyone would be able to surmise what he had just been doing. “Hey won, what’s up”? He’s far more out of breath than he’d like to be when he speaks. “I can hear you, you know. Sounds like you’re really getting into it huh”? Jungwon couldn’t see him but he knew Heeseung’s eyes were wide open in fear. Heeseung felt the familiar warmth of pleasure start to shoot through his body again at the younger’s teasing words. “Shit, I didn’t think you were home. I’m sorry”. Heeseung knew he had been caught and he was a terrible liar and there was nothing he’d ever be able to say that would make Jungwon believe him. “What were you thinking about”?

Heeseung knew Jungwon had to be fucking with him at this point, there’s no way in hell he just asked him what he was thinking about while he was jerking himself off. “I- I uh don’t know what you mean”. He thought if he just pretended Jungwon wasn’t saying those words to him and asking questions he shouldn’t be then it would go away. “You know exactly what I mean baby. Now tell me, what got you so worked up that you were whining like a little bitch”? Baby? Jungwon called him baby, and why did it prompt Heeseung to put his hand back down his pants and slowly start to stroke himself. Jungwon knew he won when he heard the subtle little pants from the other end of the line. “Um-oh fuck, was thinking about you”. Jungwon couldn’t help the heat that had started to spread through his body hearing the way Heeseung was pretending he wasn’t affected by Jungwon’s words. He had been lazily palming himself since he heard Heeseung start touching himself earlier. “What about me”? Heeseung couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of his mouth at that. “Fuck- was thinking about how you looked the other day getting your cock sucked”. At that Jungwon snuck his hand underneath his pants, but not before he spit into his hand. But still Jungwon wouldn’t give in that easily. “Yeah? Too bad you didn’t get to see my cock for yourself. Hm you touching yourself for me baby”? Heeseung couldn’t pretend any longer that he wasn’t about to cum with Jungwon on the other line. “Yeah- fuck baby, I’m touching myself for you. Feels so good. I can’t stop. Haven’t been able to stop touching myself since the other day”.

Jungwon lost all sense of self control, starting to fuck into his fist slowly. He was doing absolutely nothing to disguise the wet noises coming from his hand working his cock. He didn’t even try to quiet himself either, moaning with abandon. “Fuck baby- made me hard for you too. I’m touching my cock right there with you hee”. At the nickname Heeseung’s hips stuttered into his hand making him work harder for his release after that. Without a second thought Jungwon put his phone on speaker, opening the camera and taking a quick picture of his hand wrapped around his cock. He pressed send immediately after. “Sent you something for being such a good boy for me”. Heeseung’s breath caught in his throat seeing how hard Jungwon’s cock stood in that picture. He had only ever seen his own cock but he briefly wondered if he was missing out never exploring it further. The tip was turning a deep shade of red from how long Jungwon had been teasing himself. He was beyond ready to cum at that point. “You like what you see baby”? Heeseung had to take a second to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Fuck your cock looks so good. You’re so fucking hard oh my god”. At that Jungwon started fucking into his fist faster, trying his best to match the rhythm Heeseung had set. “Yeah. It’s all for you hee”. Heeseung set out to take a quick picture of his cock to send to Jungwon. Call it his attempt at evening the scale. “Oh shit hee, you never told me you had such a big cock. You’ll have to show me in person next time”. Heeseung couldn’t physically speak anymore being too close to cumming. All it would take was one simple command from Jungwon to have Heeseung fall apart for him.

They were both too busy moaning to continue a conversation. Except Heeseung had this sick need inside of him to hold off on finishing until Jungwon gave him express permission. “Fuck, can I cum please? Need it so bad”. Jungwon felt smug satisfaction course through his body as he fought to stave off his orgasm. “Fuck yeah baby, cum for me”. It was a chain reaction for the two men. Once Jungwon told Heeseung he could cum it triggered both of them to fall apart with a swift synchronicity to it. It didn’t take long for the awkwardness to set in after that. Jungwon told Heeseung one more time how good he was for him and then bid him goodbye. Heeseung felt like a piece of shit after that, for one Jungwon was in a committed relationship. What Heeseung didn’t know was that the night he caught you sucking Jungwon off that you had been made aware of it afterwards. You liked the idea so much that you and Jungwon were fucking for hours that night at the mere thought of it. Jungwon confessed to you that he liked being caught by Heeseung more than he thought he would. It was then he asked you how you’d feel about him playing with Heeseung a little bit and then potentially bringing him into your sexual relationship. You voiced your approval and sent Jungwon off to start planning. Jungwon would eventually put Heeseung out of his misery and reassure him that he didn’t mess anything up in your relationship and that you were well aware of what happened and had encouraged your boyfriend to explore that side of himself. A day would come soon when Heeseung would find out just how far you two were willing to go.

[gasoline-drinker]

Reverie head cannons again!!!!

Casey and Honey :

Honey has this thing where, every time they call Casey a pet-name, they feel like they sound cringe. To combat this, Honey calls Casey shit like oomf, which pisses Casey off. (In a silly way dw)

Casey dyes his hair, and by this point it's so fried it fucking crunches when touched. The shit feels like aluminum foil.

Casey, if he ever were to actually fight someone, fights dirty, teeth and nails and shit like that. Mainly because he grew up the youngest, and most anxiety ridden, with 2 older brothers.

Casey grew up on those old cheap 2000s movies like spy kids and fuckin. Baby geniuses idk

Cyril and Dove :

Cyril smells funny. Not BAD, he just doesn't really shower often. He's a little greasy. (He also has a lot of body hair. No beard cuz he's totally a twink, but enough leg hair to knit some nice socks)

You'd think Cyril has shit posture, but surprisingly he has like perfect posture. His back is a straight line. Father and papa would kill him if he saw him slouching. Dove has shit posture tho

Dove is actually pretty fuckin' good at art, they just don't use it for anything other than drawing stupid shit

T-t-t-t4t..🥺🥺

Detective and Marlowe :

Detective and Axel are homies!! They talk shit together and Axel tells them the most foul stories!!!

Marlowe was like. In severe bisexual denial before going on the run. His whole thought process was like 'i can't like men, I have a girlfriend!! I am sososo heterosexual😁😁' (this is vergy much male Detective, sorgy.)

Marlowe usually sleeps on his back, never fully relaxed, always ready to wake up and attack someone. However, whenever he's really comfortable (like the first time he slept over at Detective's place, if that eventually happens IT WILL IT WILL IM DELUSIONAL IT WILL.) he is GONE. He does that thing cats do where they sleep so good they seem like they're definitely dead.

I feel like Marlowe will tear up when finally offered regular ass home cooked food. Dudes been living off fast food and chef boyardee for years.

Detective feels like they'd have just a shit ton of scars people can't see under their clothes, not as many as Marlowe totally, but still more than a normal guy should have. They're also all from much less cool things than Marlowe

Axel and Sunshine :

Axel grew up going to his grandma's house every weekend, so his nostalgia mainly flares up from those old 'as seen on TV' commercials, and bad 80s movies. Also his grandma had a clock that spouted one of the same 15 Bible verses every hour, and he very vividly remembers the little chime it made before each one. Knockoff soda is very nostalgic too.

Bunny, Kane, and Dion :

Bunny had just the most extensive PC setup. Everything was RGB, they're one of those weirdos who cares what their keyboard sounds like. That thing was their baby, before it was FUCKING DESTROYED. :(

Bunny, Experiment, and Dearest are family. Doesn't matter how close. attracting demons runs in the family.

Others :

Fausten is mute. Idk man we've never seen him talk :/ also the idea of your mentor just like. Silently looking over your work, emotionless, is HORRIFYING.

Lauren feels very 2000s older sister. (I'd let her call me a loser.. please have sex with me Lauren please please please please) (jokies!!!!)

Whenever Lauren leaves the house, and she knows she's gonna take like under 2 hours, she puts on those nature videos people use to keep pets from tearing up the house. Casey and Honey do watch them. (Just like Papa Reverie..)

Yk that scene in Still Wakes The Deep with the elevator shaft? The one where Caz is going up, and there's violin playing, and the sight above is so hauntingly beautiful, moreso than anything humans could make? That's what Mother looks like. She also has the same effect on people, body horror included :D

Essence eaters purr. Sorgy, I don't make the rules guys.