#he might be blackmailing him to live and work with him but he knows what buttons to push to also seduce him 💀 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ponderingmoonlight · 30 days ago

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How to accidentally seduce your mission

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,7k

Synopsis: You’re an underqualified, overworked nobody who got blackmailed into seducing the legendary demon hunter Dante Sparda. Problem is—you forgot what he looks like. Now you’re sitting in a bar, tipsy, accidentally spilling your entire top-secret mission to a mysterious (and annoyingly hot) stranger... who may or may not be the guy you’re supposed to trap. Spoiler: He is. And he’s loving every second of it.

Warnings: reader is super clumsy and absent-minded in this lol, lot of fluff + fun, this is a comfort fic for all the trauma I normally dump on y'all hehe, drunk reader ENJOY

This is absolutely ridiculous and you know it.

You, out of all people, responsible for luring none other than Dante Sparda into a flytrap?

You, a random girl from across the street who simply opened the door at the wrong time. You, who can’t even survive a single second in Call of Duty’s easy mode, who always sucked at doing sports. Oh, you’ll be so dead after this.

But you have no other choice.

“It’s following my instruction or losing your friends and family – you decide.”

You groan out loud, your eyes darting around the worn-down bar without a real aim. To be honest, you have to be the worst candidate for an undercover mission in a world you fail to understand. But apparently, that’s what makes you the perfect fit. Maybe this is what they’re searching for – an innocent girl who is sick of working a full-time job and doesn’t want to lose her relatives yet.

Who is Danta Sparda even? A demon hunter, as it seems – not like you already caught on the principle of “demons” living in this world. A pretty strong man.

And obviously, a wanted man as well.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

A grin spreads across your face almost instantly when the nice lady from behind the bar sets down a glass of something promising in front of your eyes. Oh, you haven’t been out drinking for ages. Just a little sip of alcohol would ease your nerve for sure.

“And don’t you dare to touch a single drop of alcohol.”

If it wasn’t for that shitty man who nuked all the fun out of this forced mission.

“I do, but I still need to pass I guess”, you mumble into your hands.

What a shitty way to end the day. Can this Dante guy finally show up so that you can distract him until the others arrive?

Now that you think of it…do you even know how that man looks?

“Shit shit shit”, you hiss to yourself, frantically pulling out your phone.

Maybe they already showed you but you didn’t care enough to listen. Or maybe they forgot as well…Right?

No, there’s no way in hell they did.

“I’ll just leave this here for you, I think you need it girl.”

Did they send it to you? Show it? Print it out? Your stomach twists uncomfortably while you search through each and every cat pic.

“I don’t even know how he looks…”

You don’t even realize that your mouth starts sipping on what appears like your last straw on its own, taking in the sweet but burning sensation of what tastes like pure heaven at the moment.

It’s not a secret to anyone that your head is lost in the clouds. Fuck, you even told that guy when he started threatening you that he’s the one who makes a big mistake with recruiting you to seduce a random guy at a bar. But your family and friends rely on you. What if they get killed because you didn’t care to listen to what that jerk said to you?

“Get yourself together, (y/n).”

Your thumb fumbles across the screen as you scroll past endless folders named things like “catbuttz2024,” “RENT RECEIPTS??,” and “do not open 3am.”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing about Dante Sparda. No file. No profile. No creepy black-and-white security footage that the jerk promised would be “burned into your memory.” Ha. What memory?

You squint, tapping your gallery open again, eyes barely holding focus as the images begin to blur slightly. Okay. That might be the drink kicking in. Just one sip. One. Maybe two. And a half. But it was sweet, and you earned it by still being alive.

“Excuse me,” you wave lazily to the bartender, “can I get another one of those soul-healing, throat-burning miracle potions?”

The bartender raises an eyebrow, gives you that “really?” look, but still turns and begins mixing. Probably out of pity or morbid curiosity - you’re not sure anymore.

You sigh, dramatically, slouching against the bar with your phone resting on the counter like it betrayed you. Because it did. Because now there’s no way you’ll know who Dante Sparda is unless he conveniently walks in with a neon sign taped to his back that says “HI, I’M THE GUY YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SEDUCE OR STALL OR SACRIFICE, WHO EVEN KNOWS.”

Your drink arrives with a thud, the kind that feels final. You toast it to no one.

“To being criminally underqualified and too sober for this shit,” you mutter, then sip again.

It burns less this time - or maybe you just care less.

Your head starts to feel fuzzy around the edges, thoughts floating out of reach like balloons slipping into the sky. You remember vaguely that Dante is supposed to be hot. Or dangerous. Or both. Or maybe just grumpy. Or a silver-haired guy with a blindfold. Is that the right franchise? Did your mind stop working when someone mentioned that he’s hot?

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, staring at a badly lit image that might be a shirtless man with a sword… or a cosplay from your cousin’s Facebook.

“This is useless. I might as well just ask every man in here if he’s secretly the spawn of hell.”

“That’s one way to start a conversation.”

You blink.

That wasn’t your thought. That was out loud. That was a voice. A man’s voice. Low. Smooth. Kinda cocky. You freeze mid-sip, your tongue still somewhere in your drink, and shift your eyes without turning your head.

There’s a man sitting next to you. A real man, apparently.

He wasn’t there a minute ago. Or maybe he was and your drink already declared war on your perception of time and space. Either way, he’s here now, and you can feel the heat of him like he carries his own gravitational pull. Red coat. Glove-stripped fingers wrapped lazily around a glass. That hair – silver, tousled, annoyingly perfect. His legs are spread too comfortably, like he owns not just the bar stool but the air around it. Smirking.

You swallow too loudly. The drink goes down like regret.

“Oh,” you mumble, blinking once. Twice.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, with just enough amusement to make your stomach do a flip.

“You look a little lost.”

You give him a wobbly smile, the kind of smile people wear when they’re trying very hard to seem like they’ve got their life together and totally didn’t just toast to their own failure.

“I’m not lost. I’m just… situationally misplaced.”

He chuckles. Of course he does. Of course the man with the confident sprawl, good hair, and unfair cheekbones has a laugh like sin on vacation.

You frown. Did he only come here to make fun of you?

"Are you judging me?" you ask, more suspicious than you probably have the right to be, considering you’ve just referred to yourself as ‘situationally misplaced’ like that means something.

“I’m just sitting here. You’re the one muttering about hellspawn and seduction strategies.”

You blink.

You did say that out loud.

Fuck.

“No, no, no,” you whisper, pressing the cold glass to your cheek in full-body regret.

“This is so not how undercover operations are supposed to go. I think I skipped the lesson on ‘keeping your damn mouth shut.’”

He lifts a brow.

“Undercover?”

You groan, slumping against the bar dramatically, like gravity itself is just done with your existence.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I literally opened the door to borrow eggs or something and now I'm supposed to trap a demon hunter. Like, what does that even mean?”

You glance at him, wide-eyed, glassy, and very much over it.

“Do you know what it means to trap a demon hunter? Because I sure as hell don’t. They gave me no instructions! Just this vague ‘seduce him, stall him, distract him’ crap. I work in customer service. My skill set involves apologizing to Karens and fake smiling until my soul escapes my body.”

His lips twitch.

“Rough gig.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you reply with a defeated laugh, waving a hand as though physically pushing away your life.

“Apparently the guy I’m supposed to trap is named Dante Sparda or something. He’s hot. Or terrifying. Or hot and terrifying. I don’t know. No one sent me his photo. And now I’m sitting here trying to Google his ass while looking like I’m filming a low-budget espionage porno.”

You jab your thumb at your phone like it personally offended you.

“And I keep getting fan art and cosplay! Look at this. Look! This guy could be Dante. Or Gojo. Or someone's edgy OC from Tumblr.”

The man next to you peers at the screen.

“Hmm. Tough call.”

“Right?”

You nod, a little too fast.

“Like, is that a demon hunter or a K-pop idol with a sword fetish?”

You sigh again. Loudly.

“I swear, if I ever meet this Dante guy, I’m gonna tell him straight to his beautiful demonic face that this mission was BULLSHIT. I’ll be like: ‘Sir, I am unqualified. I get anxiety ordering pizza. Please just fake your death and let me go home.’”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching you with thinly veiled amusement.

“And you’re sure you’ve never seen him before?”

“NOPE,” you declare, far too proudly.

“Could walk straight past him on the street and not even blink. Unless he sparkled. Does he sparkle? Is that a thing with demon hunters? Ugh, what am I saying? Of course he doesn’t sparkle. He probably broods. That’s like, their thing.”

He hums, as if seriously considering this.

“So if, hypothetically, he were already here… what would you do?”

You laugh - bitter, tipsy, tired of it all.

“Cry, probably.”

You turn to look at him now, fully. He’s watching you with that same smile, like he’s in on a joke you’re too drunk to understand. Like he’s humoring you.

And it suddenly hits you like a piano from a cartoon sky.

“…Wait,” you whisper, sitting up straighter.

“Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Well-“

“I know it”, you interrupt him, pointing your index finger almost through his eye.

“You know that guy, right? You know exactly who I’m talking about.

“Me, knowing Dante Sparda?”

The stranger shrugs oh too smoothly.

“Me, knowing Dante Sparda?” the stranger says with a smirk, and you narrow your eyes because he’s got that smug tone, the one that says I absolutely know and I’m enjoying your idiocy far too much.

“I might be able to show you,” he adds, tilting his head like he’s offering you directions to a taco truck and not your entire mission objective.

You wobble upright on the barstool, heroic in your tipsiness, point a finger at him that drifts a few inches to the left of his actual face.

“You’re shady,” you declare.

“And hot. Shady-hot. Like a morally ambiguous lifeguard.”

“Is that a yes?” he asks, already standing, already knowing your answer, because you’re far too drunk to play hard to get with answers or sobriety.

You nod, nearly falling off the stool in the process, and mumble something about snacks and not wanting to be murdered unless there’s at least a playlist. You make it precisely five steps outside the bar before your knees betray yo, and you half-crumple into him like a fainting goat. Was it a good idea to gulp down two cocktails in like an hour after not drinking for quite some time? Maybe not.

“Okay,” you mutter into his arm, “the sidewalk is aggressively tilting.”

“You’re drunk, sweetheart.”

“You’re observant,” you reply, clinging to him like he’s your emotional support lamppost.

“New plan: We go to my place. You clearly can’t walk, and I’m not carrying your dramatic ass all over town,” the stranger suggests visibly amused while literally dragging you across the sidewalk.

“Rude,” you mumble, but you lean into him anyway, because he’s warm and smells like leather and trouble and something vaguely like cinnamon toast.

You arrive at his place and immediately in what feels like a heartbeat – or maybe it only does because you make yourself heavier on purpose to that he carries you all the way.

“Wow, I expected more… blood,” you comment before faceplanting into his bed and yelling into the mattress, “I claim this land in the name of poor life choices.”

He kicks off his boots, chuckling, and when he settles into bed next to you - fully clothed, respectful, infuriatingly smug - you let out a contented sigh like this is somehow a spa.

“You’re suspiciously nice,” you mumble, voice muffled by the pillow.

“What are you, the demon hunter with a heart of gold?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lies there, arm behind his head, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth like he’s waiting for a punchline.

You’re lying on your side now, facing him, and something about the way the light hits his face, or the way his hair falls, silver and wild like it just stepped out of an anime, you start to squint. Not because your vision is blurry (though it is) but because your brain is trying to connect dots it forgot were even dots. Somewhere, you’ve seen this face before not long ago.

“Hey…” you mumble.

“Yeah?”

You squint harder. There’s something nagging at the edge of your mind. Like a memory. Or a pizza topping you forgot to finish.

“Have we… met?”

He laughs softly.

“Not exactly.”

“No, no, not like…I’ve seen you somewhere,” you insist, propping yourself up slightly with all the grace of a sleepy gremlin.

“You look like... like someone I was warned about.”

“Oh yeah?” he repeats, still playing along, smiling like a cat watching a turtle slowly realize it's being stalked.

You blink at him. Hard. And then - click.

One, slow, drunken brain cell trips over a wire and launches a dusty memory from the back of your skull: someone shoving a photo in your face during a chaotic mission briefing, mid-pizza bite, yelling something about “That’s Dante! If you see him, don’t piss him off unless you’ve got a death wish! He’s your target. Your mission is to seduce him and we’ll do the rest, got it?”

Your mouth drops open in slow, dawning horror.

“I have seen you before,” you whisper.

“Someone showed me your picture. I was eating pizza and not paying attention but I saw you.”

“Oh?” he coos, smirking.

“I saw your stupid handsome face!” you moan, smacking your own forehead in sheer drunk disbelief.

“I literally got briefed on you while covered in cheese grease and now I’ve been sitting here like, ‘Who’s this sexy stranger?’ YOU’RE THE MISSION!”

Dante's full-on laughing now, his shoulders shaking, absolutely no shame.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart. But hey, did you call me sexy?”

You groan and collapse back onto the bed, face-down.

“I hate this. I hate my memory. I hate pizza. And I hate you.”

“You don’t hate pizza.”

You lift one finger into the air without looking at him.

“I hate it temporarily. Out of shame.”

You hear him shift closer, feel the bed dip just slightly, and then he’s pulling the blanket over you, absurdly gentle for someone with literal demon blood, for someone who get hunted.

“Still,” he murmurs, voice low and warm in the hush of the room, “you came a long way. You found me. Sort of.”

You peek up at him from the pillow.

“Accidentally. While drunk.”

“A win’s a win.”

You snort, half-laughing, half-exhausted, your head starting to spin in the good way now - the warm way, the safe way. And even though he’s the guy you were supposed to track down like a trained agent, even though this whole night’s been a blur of chaos and embarrassment, somehow you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to yell at you properly. And that I just want to rest here a lil’ longer,” you mumble.

“Lucky me.”

A pause.

Then you add, voice slurring slightly, “...You’re still shady-hot.”

And as your eyes drift closed, you hear him chuckle one last time.

“Sleep, rookie. You’ve earned it.”

Tags: @umbrasworld @moonlighteevee @elrondswifeyyyy @levisbrat25 @dragon-lord-lysander

@punem699

@sunshine7queen @dreamywisterias-blog @mizzowizzo @kawaistrawberry21 @legoyass

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mandalhoerian · 3 months ago

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(6) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

When a last-minute opportunity presents itself to become a distraction from the shame of not attending the reunion of your university friend group, you take it. One thing, though, yes, you might have been wrong for chickening out. But falling overboard in a storm, almost drowning, and getting saved by the biggest oddball of a skinny dipper out in the wild is a bit too much for instant karma, you think.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 13k | read on ao3

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note: apologizing for late chapters is getting old now i know, but i swear it would have come out earlier if it hadnt been for tumblr's ridiculous mature content label flagging issue . i've been wrestling with that bicth now ever since that update dropped on the 11h. all seal raf chapters are FLAGGED and i cant get them out of superhell. and apparently its their image recognition bot, i had to change the banner image. god if i have to deal with this bs AGAIN im crashing out i hope you enjoy the chapter

The wetsuit is half-zipped, clinging damp against your hips, something that doesn’t quite want to let go. You’re sitting on the flattest rock you can find near the lip of the cove, knees drawn up, elbows balanced on them, phone balanced precariously between your fingers. The mist is still stitched thick between the cliffs, and the morning sun hasn’t quite managed to cut through it yet. Cold air brushes against your bare arms, lifting the baby hairs, biting gently. Your knees are cold. Your mind is worse.

The group chat lights up again.

You scroll without reading at first, just watching the little cascade of names and icons — familiar and sharp-edged in ways you can't explain. It’s watching someone else’s memories keep moving while yours have stalled out in the same old frame. Same island. Same ferry. Same breath caught in your throat.

Yesterday’s conversation still occupies your mind, and you read through it once more.

"F4NT4STIC 4 REUNION ERA" (Yesterday, 13.37) [ tara ♡ ]: LADIES . YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT ISSSSSSS [ simone (👹🤙) ]: girl i already took the days off. if yall flake i’m showing up to macie’s with a suitcase anyway [ fleetwood mac ]: LMAOO i mean my living room is still 80% cardboard boxes but sure, suffer [ simone (👹🤙) ]: if there’s karaoke i’m unplugging the speaker with my teeth [ tara ♡ ]: also HELLO??? miss ferrymaster of heartbreak bay??? [ tara ♡ ]: we see you reading and not respondingggg [ tara ♡ ]: THE WAY SHE’S STILL NOT ANSWERING [ fleetwood mac ]: come online and disappear if you're alive. don't write anything if you’re still in love with your ex [ fleetwood mac ]: you’re still in love with him???? [ fleetwood mac ]: damn it didnt work [ simone (👹🤙) ]: she’s gonna come back in like six hours and act like nothing happened [ simone (👹🤙) ]: literally text back. we're not mad you couldn't come. stop acting like this is a break-up !!!

(Yesterday, 23.35) [ you ]: sorry. alive. extremely salty. [ you ]: had to scrub barnacle residue off my soul before texting back. [ fleetwood mac ]: SYBAU girl you disappeared like a victorian child into the mist 😭 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: anyway. macie's wine count is at 3. tara made a playlist. theo hasn’t cried yet [ you ]: bold of you to assume he won’t [ fleetwood mac ]: we placed bets. i give him until desert [ tara ♡ ]: also you were right, he brought the seal mug he made in his pottery course. Unironically. [ you ]: I feel the emotional blackmail all the way from over here … [ fleetwood mac) ]: i had to leave the room. i was spiritually unprepared [ you ]: move it like half an inch every time he looks away and pretend like nothing happened to freak him out that paranormal shit is going on. for my sake. please [ tara ♡ ]: That's horrible. How do you come up with stuff like this? Do you want us to get kicked out if he makes a scene? [ tara ♡ ]: I'll send you pictures 😘 [ simone (👹🤙) ]: we set a place for you vtw. it’s got a rock on it. and a fork. [ you ]: that’s exactly how i would’ve wanted it <3

Your thumb pauses above a message. Just names. Names that once belonged to cramped dorm rooms, midnight indomie, and mutual breakdowns in libraries that smelled of old glue. The kind of friendships that were lifelines — loud and chaotic and necessary. And they still are. But you’re quieter now. Less sure what part you should play in their world.

Tara’s already published several scientific papers, both on her own and with her teacher — ResearchGate profile overflowing with content. Simone’s backpacked solo through South America and made it look unreal the entire time, every photo gold-dusted and cinematic and you’re sure she lives in an indie travel documentary. Macie just got picked up for a docuseries pilot. The one who shall not be named passed his bar exam and launched a website in his name that has to be surely coded by a tech god and branded by a Parisian design firm.

And you?

You still have this wetsuit from sophomore year. A freezer full of discount frozen meals. A collection of ferry schedules memorized down to the second.

You still work shifts that stretch into your bones. Still sleep in the room with the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck to the ceiling at fourteen. Still get asked by tourists if you ever get tired of paradise. As if it’s not the same damn shoreline every day. They don’t know paradise comes with guilt-paid free health insurance and the inability to look into your parents' eyes without sweating through your shirt.

The museum front desk application sits untouched on your desktop. The deadline came and went while you were distracted by nothing in particular. There’s a half-written email to the local heritage center still sitting in your drafts. Volunteering was mentioned once, briefly, in passing, and never again.

You told your advisor you were taking a year. Time to figure things out. To recalibrate. To breathe.

But the year kept slipping. One month into the next. One season curling into the other. You started taking the same walk every morning. Then you stopped bothering with a route. Some days, even brushing your teeth was something that had to be earned.

You tried to make plans. Tried to start a spreadsheet. Color-coded your week and pretended it meant something. It lasted three days. Then the shame of seeing your own optimism undone by inertia sent you spiraling into the sea with your phone on do-not-disturb.

Sometimes you wake up already disappointed in yourself. Sometimes you manage to coast until lunch. The rest of the time, it sneaks up in strange places: folding laundry, stirring pasta, passing your own reflection and not recognizing anything urgent in your own eyes.

You keep saying you’ll get out. That it’s temporary. That you’re not stuck. You tell yourself that so often it’s started taking the shape of a prayer. Or a dare.

But every time you scroll, you feel it. That sharp, quiet pinch in your ribs. You're watching a starting line recede in the distance while your legs stay tangled in the sand.

A sharp twist of your mouth curls before you can stop it, too bitter to be a smile, too wry to be pain. You toss your phone a few inches further across the towel, willing the distance keep the elephant in the room away for a while longer.

And Theo. Of course he’s there.

Ha.

You sit still. A breath leaves your nose. The rock beneath you is cold, uneven, your palms flat against it. Wet grit clings to your fingers. You focus on that. The gulls loop overhead, shrieking into the pale air. Below, the tide moves against the rocks in shallow bursts, licking foam into the cracks and pulling it back again with a hiss. The world hasn't stopped, but it’s ignoring you on purpose.

No, you're ignoring it on purpose.

A sleek head breaches the surface a few yards out, rising between two fingers of rock where kelp sways below in long green ribbons. A huff leaves him in a pfbbbth sound — short, damp, unimpressed — and he glides forward in a meandering path, stirring flecks of foam in his wake. The water around him flattens, then rolls behind his body in lazy spirals. Even the cove is used to making space for him.

You don’t smile. It almost happens, your face twitches because it wants to. But it doesn’t make it all the way. He’s watching you, waiting, head tilted just slightly.

"Someone’s a little restless today," you mutter.

He barks again. Short. With an imaginary question mark at the end of it. Surely it’s because he hasn’t received his usual cooing greetings and your, “Hi, hi, hi, my cutie pie,” — but your spirits are as gray as the weather. You can’t summon the cheerfulness.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming."

You slide into the water slower than usual, the cold biting at your ankles and climbing. Raf circles once, then again, but doesn’t dart off the way he normally does. He floats closer instead, trailing you as you wade out to the deeper part. When your feet finally lift from the sand, you turn toward him.

"I should’ve just gone," you say. "I don’t know why I’m so scared of a little get-together. Who cares if I’m not working yet? I should just say I’m taking a gap year… Like for uni graduates. Or say like I’m looking into Work and Travel but haven’t really liked any of the choices or something."

He tilts his head. How clueless and cute. Smooth brain. No ridges or lumps, no valleys or bumps; all ideas slide right off.

"You don’t even know what LinkedIn is," you mumble. “You’ll never have to. I’m so jealous, you don’t even know.”

Raf makes a bubbling snort.

You hate how bitter it makes you, sometimes. Hearing them talk about opportunities and networking and beautiful apartments with friends who leave them soup in the fridge. And you smile, as you’re supposed to. It’s good news. You’re proud. You are.

But it still seeps into the spaces between each of your vertebra, shapes you into a shrimp before the stateliness of ambition and purpose, making you feel small for not having more to offer, and worse for resenting even a flicker of it. There’s something sour in you that can’t be sweetened into a lemonade.

And you don’t want to be that person. You don’t. But you are. Quietly. Privately. The kind of ugly that you don't admit aloud unless you’re alone. Or talking to a seal.

"I hate that I get annoyed," you say under your breath. "Every time one of them says they’re doing great, I get that twist in my stomach like I swallowed a rock. Even when I’m proud of them. Even when I love them. What does that make me, huh?"

Raf offers no reply. Just a slow blink and inquisitive, a train’s choo-choo sounding breathing from his flaring nostrils.

"It makes me pathetic. That’s what."

Your throat tightens. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove and look up toward the cliffs, eyes still hot.

"There’s something you’re unlucky with. You know what?" you say, voice hoarse. "Of all the fish in the sea, you ended up with me. Should’ve gone for a marine biologist. Or a rich heiress with a yacht."

Raf surfaces again, blinking at you with deliberate slowness that mirrors a cat’s. Then, with a low chuff, he glides closer and presses the side of his head against your shoulder. You’re still floating when he wriggles around, flippers flopping clumsily, and half-latches onto your side, a wet, overgrown toddler trying to hug a pool noodle. His whiskers tickle through the neoprene.

You flip onto your back and float, arms out, hair fanning around your head with a seal glued to you. The sky above is pale and empty, the kind of soft gray that feels too big when you're already too full. You drift for a moment with your ears half-submerged, the world muffled except for the splash of Raf's flippers somewhere nearby. Clouds move. You don't.

"Watch. You’ll get discovered by some cute environmental documentary crew next and leave me behind. Get famous. Start an OnlyFans for your flippers."

Pause.

“OnlyFins,” you snort to yourself.

Raf lets out a long, wet blort, and disappears underwater with a cute bloop.

You barely have time to curse before something nudges your ribs — hard. Then again. And then you’re yanked downward, the flipper hooked around your waist is basically an overly confident tugboat.

You surface with a gasp and a splash, hair in your eyes, sputtering.

Raf bobs a few feet away, grinning in the smug way only a seal can, going "AUUUUU," over and over again, following that up with a performative spin and a slap on the water.

"No more jokes, fine," you cough.

He dives again, leaving a trail of bubbles — pops up, and pauses, twisting back to look for you. His head bobs once. Twice. Then he disappears again, darting just beneath the surface, drawing a path for you to follow. A loop, a spiral, a flourish. He resurfaces ahead with a sharp snort and flicks water in your direction.

You blink water from your lashes. "Okay, okay, I get it. Impatient little show-off. Seashells aren’t going anywhere, let me go get my gear, damn."

He dunks under again, tail flippers wagging just enough to be smug about it.

And after your preparations, you follow.

Because if anything makes sense — if anything ever feels whole — it’s this. Salt in your mouth. Raf’s stupid flipper smacking water like an impatient bunny stomping his foot. A sky so wide you can’t get your arms around it.

You may not know how to move forward. But here, right now, you don’t need to.

Here, you can just be.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, the dive with Raf has dried to salt on your collar, and your limbs are already back in work-mode — anchored, alert, one hand on the wheel, the other near the comms, watching the weather shift with a sailor’s instinct and a whole life of knowing exactly when things stop making sense at sea.

The last round trip of the day is quiet in a different way today, though. No commuters or tourists, and no one but you on board.

A rare fluke of timing: your dad tied up with engine trouble on the backup skiff; the senior deckhand down for the count after slipping on ice during today's last unloading shift and sent home limping; the second deckhand called out with food poisoning from bad market shrimp; the engineer out for two weeks recovering from wrist surgery after trying to fix a rusted coupling by himself; the backup engineer already covering freight route duties on the north side; and the high schooler who usually mans the snack kiosk bailed last-minute for a school recital he 'forgot' to mention until this morning. Even the part-time lookout who mostly just watches Raf from the upper deck found a way to slip away.

You’d said yes before your dad even finished the ask instead of just cancelling the entirety of the day off — if a perfectly fine excuse for why you didn’t show up at the reunion made itself available to you, you would take it without question. It was serendipity, why let it go to waste?

And it was only one run, the weather wasn’t supposed to break yet. You knew the route. You could handle it.

Though, frankly, it felt good to be trusted with something this real and just empty your head for the rest of the day.

So it's just you, the hum of the engine, and a stretch of sea that's growing moodier by the minute.

You clock it before it starts showing.

The pitch is wrong.

Movement is expected, up-down, up-down, sometimes with more vigor and distance. No, it’s not that. It’s the angle, the timing, the tension underfoot that rolls in just a half-second too late. The swell pattern doesn’t match the forecast, the wind has teeth it wasn’t supposed to, and the gulls have gone silent over the water.

You glance up from the console, watching the sky fold itself into layers. That soft lilac haze from earlier has gone bruised at the edges. There’s a kind of waiting baked into the air now, the hush before the sky opens its mouth and howls.

You should’ve already turned back. You know the signs. You’ve trusted them before.

But the timing’s tight, and you know the shape of this route better than the lines in your palms. If you hold speed and cut between the outer channel markers, you might beat the worst of it. The system’s moving in fast — but not fast enough to make you fold early. Not if you don’t have to.

Besides, there’s only one round trip left back home. The radar isn’t red yet. The pressure’s dropping, but the water’s still got give in it. Dad made worse calls in tighter windows.

So you stay the course.

Pushing until everything starts pushing back.

The ferry bounces over a swell so hard you almost lose your grip on the wheel, rattling the life preservers along the wall with a thwack loud enough to echo inside your skull. Water sprays white across the decks, and something about the sound makes your bones ache. For a moment, you swear you can taste seaweed. Feel the drag of sea lines on your wrists, rough as rope burn.

But you catch yourself. Stabilize your footing, hands steady on the wheel, leaning into the rise and fall as they taught you in driving school all those years ago. The first day your father stood beside you and showed you how to balance the revs and the brakes on this machine, how to feel each part working together to drive, how it wasn't about forcing the craft, but guiding it with trust — it’s all muscle memory.

Trust the machine. Trust your gut. Trust your judgment.

So you do. And you guide. Until the storm arrives. Until the weather begins to roll in dark as tar — resentful black clouds, brindled with light, coiling together as if building, brewing, churning in unison above. Eerything then becomes curtained with rain and water, a shower splintering against the ferry roof. Sheets of water cut across the deck is a fog obscuring everything further than a foot away. Wind batters against the sides of the hull, shrieking louder and louder every minute, whistling shrill through every seam and corner and vent, and by now the ocean is actively trying to shove this boat off the face of the earth.

Everything turns sideways for one split second, and your heartbeat almost rips out of your throat, and when the ship steadies itself it takes several painful heartbeats of thinking I fucked up, I fucked up before you regain equilibrium and resume steering.

Everything starts to make sense.

Raf had been strange from the moment you showed up this morning — clingy, louder than usual, almost pacing the cove. He kept making pup noises at the tide, splashed too close to shore while you suited up, and refused to go too far in the open water — his favorite thing was to drag you out further before. When you finally entered the water, he didn’t dart ahead the way he usually does. He hovered, brushed against you, circled you so tightly you had to push him off just to move forward.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too busy rereading texts, too busy spiraling over group photos and inside jokes and what-the-hell-was-he-thinking-by-showing-up.

Raf’s insistence was a complication you didn’t have room for when you’d been already feeling stifled enough. Even underwater, he kept doubling back to check on you, tapping your hip with his nose, making strange high-pitched whines that only made you more irritated.

When you got out, he followed you up the hill, paralleling you from the sea. Right up the ramp. Flopped against the loading zone and refused to budge, and not in the usual cute way. He clung to your boot when you tried to walk. Grabbed the hem of your jacket and yanked. Made noises so loud and pitiful that a couple tourists pulled out their phones to call wildlife protection. They thought he was hurt.

You shoved him back toward the cove and joked that he was a diva — a barnacle, a stage-five clinger.

He bit Elias when the poor old guy tried to help nudge him off the deck.

You didn’t look him in the eye when you closed the gate. Didn’t even wave, muttering something about spoiled animals and going inside. Because you had a job. Because you were on the schedule. Figuring out how to phrase it, how to make ferry work sound intentional, how to talk about staying without admitting you failed to leave. You practiced the words, hoping the right ones would dull the sting.

You didn’t notice how restless he went in the way he took the lead once the engine started.

You didn’t want to.

You'd practically ignored him the entire day for being annoying. To entertain the idea he was like that because he sensed the incoming weather... but you were too wrapped up in the reunion and your own spiraling thoughts to notice what he was trying to tell you. He knew something was coming — you’re sure of it now — and you hadn’t listened.

Too busy nursing your own useless grief.

And now you’re the only one out on the water when the storm decides to bite, regret and fear coiling around each other snakes in the pit of your stomach. The poor little man must be terrified wherever he's hiding. You hope he's tucked away safely somewhere sheltered and cozy, not roaming around trying to find you and ending up hurt or lost or trapped. If something horrible happened to him during this storm, it would be all your fault.

And now, as the radio crackles to life, a sharp burst splinters through the chaos, and all those words ash-scatter.

"—ayday—day—fishing boat—toward—Devil’s Teeth—repeat, Dev—no powe—can’t steer—"

It cuts out, sharp as a snapped line.

Your hand’s already moving. Mic in hand before the words even sink in. "Copy, how many aboard?"

Nothing. Just static, thin and needling, buzzing against your skin.

Your heart doesn’t lurch. It drops clean and heavy, straight into the pit of your stomach.

You flick your eyes to the GPS. The rocks are close — less than a kilometer to starboard. But you don’t need the chart to tell you that. You can already see them, those serrated black silhouettes clawing up from the water ribs punched through the ocean’s skin.

The Devil’s Teeth. The name alone carries some horror. They don’t forgive. Sharp enough to sheer a hull clean if you come at them wrong, but deceptive enough to trick even seasoned sailors into thinking they’re safe.

Above the water, they jut out like gap-toothed palisades — almost orderly, almost safe. From a distance, they seem to mark a clear path, multiple narrow channels that promise passage. But beneath the surface, the truth spreads wide and uneven, masked by the shifting tide, what looks navigable from above is a maze fanning out is a hidden reef below, disguised by the illusion of space, a trap waiting to splinter anything that trusts too easily.

Now, you watch from the waterboarded windshield as the ocean breaks against them sideways, spray exploding into the air in fractured bursts, mist swirling breath from something alive and restless. You’ve seen them before. Too close once, from a rescue boat.

You know the pattern they form, the way they beckon, offering what looks to be safe passage only to tear apart anything foolish enough to trust it. And you know the names of the people they’ve taken.

You flick the comms again, voice tighter now, a thread of instinct winding tight in your chest, tugging you toward the danger. "Any vessel transmitting, identify yourself.”

The wind shrieks through the cracks, high and thin, something caught between teeth. Water lashes the glass, streaking down in frantic rivulets as the ferry pitches harder, the deck groaning with the weight of the sea.

Your breath catches as you scan the horizon, nothing but the vertical outlines of the Devil’s Teeth. Black knives from the churn. For one terrible moment, everything slows. The sea draws back, coiling, holding its power just a beat too long. Waiting.

And then it breaks.

You move, but it’s not a choice. It’s reflex tangled with terror, the wheel wrenching in your hands as the ferry shudders beneath you. The shift is too sharp, the hull protesting with a low, gut-deep moan as it fights the turn. Your muscles burn, braced against the pull as the deck tilts hard, balance slipping for half a heartbeat. The bow dips — just a fraction — before you correct, knuckles losing color where they grip the wheel.

The spray blinds you for a moment, mist shearing across the windshield. But you blink, steady, locked on the path that doesn’t exist but has to be there. The space between those treacherous spires where, if you’re off by even a meter, the sea will swallow everything.

Raf knew. He tried to tell you. Fuck, you hope he’s not out here. He’s too much of a smart cookie for that, but still, you hope to god he’s safe.

The comms hiss softly, a broken thread of sound lost in the roar that fills the wheelhouse.

"—adrift—can’t—hold—taking on water—drifting t—engines are—"

Static. Again.

But you don’t need to hear it. The truth is already laid bare on the horizon.

Your eyes are locked on the shape just beyond, the battered fishing boat barely holding its own against the waves. A thing too small for this weather, its hull pitching wildly, the wind tossing it like it’s a toyboat in a child’s pool.

You flick the comms again, voice tight. "Vessel approaching Devil’s Teeth, do you copy? Repeat, do you copy? I need the status of anyone aboard!"

The answer is silence, thick and pressing.

But the sea answers instead.

Each wave shoves the boat closer to the rocks, their sharp edges barely visible between the peaks of the swells. You can make out three figures, barely, blurred shapes clinging to the railing, fighting against the chaos, one at the bow, steady but strained, another near the stern, slower, unsteady.

And the third—

A hollow space where someone should be.

"Shit," you breathe, throat tight.

You throttle down, the ferry groaning as the engine strains against the push of the current. The bow swings wide, cutting across the waves, too close but angled just right to shield the smaller boat from the worst of the wind. The wheel vibrates in your grip, the metal cold and damp, the pulse in your fingertips matching the beat of the sea.

The deck is bobbing harsher under your boots as you cut the engine to idle. A deep, unsettling quiet follows, the kind that means the sea is holding its breath.

You shove the throttle down, setting the engine to idle, the ferry rocking in protest as it fights against the churning sea. You can’t leave it drifting for long, but there’s no choice now.

The door to the deck slams open under your hand, wind tearing through as if the sea itself is trying to conquer its way inside. Salt spray slices across your face, cold and biting, nails and claws of an animal trying to get you. You barely register the sting. Your focus is on the deck below, where the equipment locker sits by the stairs. The rope should be there.

You swing down the short, steep steps, boots skidding slightly as the ferry shifts beneath you. The locker groans as you yank it open, cold metal biting into your fingertips. The rope’s there, coiled tight, damp and heavy.

You haul it out, the weight dragging at your arms as you push back up to the deck, boots pounding on slick metal, breath burning in your throat. The rope is rough and solid in your hands, the damp fibers biting into your palms as you step toward the railing, eyes locked on the men still fighting the sea.

"Line! Now!" Your voice barely carries, but the men on deck move. One of them, older, face lined with years of fighting the ocean, catches your eye, and you know you can trust him with this. He knows. He moves fast and nimble as you toss the line, and he hauls hard, pulling the boat closer inch by inch.

The younger man beside him fumbles, hands trembling as he secures the line, but his eyes are wide and fearful, darting between the shifting boats, the storm reflected in them. You can't have him slipping.

"Hold!" you shout, stepping to the edge.

The fishing boat rocks violently, a wild thing barely clinging to the world. But it holds. For now.

"Get them across!" You wave the first man forward, stretching your hand. His grip is iron, calloused and cold, and he hauls himself over with a grunt. The second follows, shaky but determined. His boots slip, but you grab his arm, steadying him as he clambers onto the ferry.

"One more!" The older man’s voice is barely audible over the wind. He points—

And you see him.

Near the stern. Slumped, half-draped over the edge. Too still.

"I’m going." Your words are lost in the chaos, but you’re already moving.

The wind slams into you the moment you step across, boots slipping on slick metal. You grab the railing, knuckles white, muscles straining as you pull yourself onto the listing deck. The world tilts beneath your feet, the boat rocking harder as if it knows it’s losing.

"Come on," you mutter, heart pounding.

He’s heavier than he looks. Deadweight. His clothes soaked through, dragging with seawater. Your fingers slip against the slick fabric as you grip his arm, muscles screaming as you try to pull him up.

"Help!" You barely need to say it. The older man is there, hands grabbing the man’s other arm. Together, you drag him inch by inch toward safety. The wind howls, the sea pushing harder, trying to reclaim him.

You’re so close.

"Almost there," you breathe, arms burning with the weight.

The man’s head lolls, his breath warm against your neck, but it’s faint. You brace, dragging harder, the metal beneath your boots slick and treacherous. Every muscle in your body screams for relief, but you hold on.

"You hang on, girl!" The older man shouts, his voice raw, but the younger one is there now too, reaching to grab the man’s collar and help.

"I’ve got him—" You don’t finish. The deck tilts—

The ferry shifts—

And the wave hits.

It’s not a push. It’s a blow. A force that tears you off balance, rips your grip from the man, and sends you weightless for a heartbeat before the world crashes back in. Or, you crash into the world. It resembles falling on solid ground from considerable height, except that it swallows you right up.

Cold.

Needles slip beneath your skin, knifing past layers of wool and overalls until nothing is left but frost-bright pain. Nothing blazes brighter, burns colder; the sea owns it all, every sensation, every heartbeat, every flicker of memory, snuffing them out one by one until all that remains is fear. Cold, bone-deep, blinding fear that has you kicking and flailing.

The water wants you. It pulls without pity, claws without remorse, wrenches without warning. Everything happens at once: pressure and chaos, liquid ice tearing at your lips and choking down your throat. The current twists around you, a tangle of unrelenting hands dragging you deeper even as you fight.

Down. And down. Until light bleeds away, dissolving like ink in water.

Something flashes just outside your blurring vision—

Then something else—

And another—

Infinitesimal silver glints cut through the dark. Shifting shadows dart between the pinpricks of pale light as shapes coalesce above. Thin silhouettes slice through the dark, through the gloom as you fall farther from safety. The pressure builds, crushing against your skull, a terrible humming filling your ears as if the entire ocean is singing an ode to your demise. Your chest begins convulsing fiercely, throat contracting in response as you begin thrashing around, lungs on fire and desperate for oxygen. Drowning in the sea, alone, terrified and hopeless, primal instincts demanding you do everything you can to stay alive, struggling uselessly to kick upwards towards the surface.

Wherever that is.

You reach upward desperately with a lone hand, vision having tunneled from lack of oxygen and panic combined. In that brief moment, something soft brushes the tips of your fingers. Like... fur...?

There's no way to know. Darkness has already consumed your consciousness, the struggle to survive giving away to oblivion and acceptance the moment your lungs breathe in water.

Singing.

Somebody has been singing to you.

Nearby. Simple, wordless, a melody winding slowly through the haze. Notes rise and fall around you — lavender smoke, crocheting your consciousness together bit by bit. You think maybe the song sounds familiar, that you could remember how it goes if only you could focus enough. As it is, your pulse stirs in time with the tune, waking limbs that were limp and numb as they thaw, muscles flexing as if remembering the shape of themselves.

Warmth comes first. Gentle heat kissing along the edges of your senses before bleeding inward in honeyed tendrils. Softness next: fur beneath your chin, blankets pulled tight across your chest.

The quiet of snowfall settles around you after that, muffling, easing, cushioning every inch of you as reality drifts into your awareness.

Everything returns in increments: salt crusted to your lips, drenched clothes wrapped around your frame, a layer of sodden clay. Beneath you: sand. Matted to the backs of your arms, your calves, the hollow of your throat. Behind your shuttered eyelids, sunlight filters softly. Red glow, distant orange. Sunglow, the color of melting copper. There is sky above you and beach below, but most importantly — there is breathing inside you again, each exhale shuddering as your pulse struggles toward normalcy, softly but surely.

Slowly, ever so gradually, you pry your eyelids open.

A canopy of branches, feather-soft green interspersed with golden brown, stretch overhead in a gentle dome. The bark glistens in the morning light, sticky still from the previous storm. Below the shelter, sand stretches outward in a sweep of endless shoreline, punctuated only by tufts of grass and gnarled driftwood that form a natural barricade from any casual passerby. The tide ebbs gently just past that barricade, washing fizzy seafoam high up the shoals before sliding back out lazily in a smooth curl, and further still, the horizon stretches — spun cotton candy, pink on blue, melted into haze at the edges, mingling seamlessly with the sky. And you're tucked carefully among the roots of one of those great trees, cradled and swaddled by the same fur-coated bundle your cheek is pillowed on, wrapped protectively in its embrace and held secure.

It takes your brain a full minute of groggily attempting to piece together these strange details before you realize there's a figure in the water, maybe twenty feet out, half-shrouded by the hush of early light.

Your brain coming back to you is akin to hitting the floor after falling for some time. You flinch. Sit up too fast.

A tangle of dark gray, thick hide spills from your shoulder, pooling in the crooks of your elbows. You shove it off with a gasp, limbs sluggish but panicked, fingers catching in the strange texture. It hits the ground with a muted thump, heavy as wet rope but somehow dry and fluffy at the same time. The cold hits you immediately then, skin pebbling beneath the cling of soaked denim and wool and the frigid touch of salt wind. A full body shudder grips you, hard, teeth rattling in your skull, blood singing through your veins faster.

But not even that kind of cold is enough to distract you from the sight before you.

There’s a person waist-deep in the shallows, facing the sun.

Long hair drips like spun violet ink down a narrow back, plastered in curling sheets to sharp, bare shoulders. You've never seen natural hair that long in your life, it trails all the way down her body to fan out against the waves, streaming in shimmering bands over the crests of each swell, lit gold in the early sun. She tilts her head back to face the dawn fully, and you can only see the barest hint of her profile from the angle, the delicate slope of nose, the lushness of parted lips. There’s something arresting about the stillness of her, the way the sea seems to hush around her body. A statue the tide forgot to reclaim.

For a breathless, silent moment, she simply stands there, perfectly balanced, completely undisturbed, arms spread at her sides as if greeting the daybreak directly, skin glittering in the light, slick with seawater and—

A scar. A slash across one side of her shoulder, pale even against her skin tone, stretched tight as though dug deep enough to make bone.

Huh, you absentmindedly think. I think it's the same side as Raf's?

You break out of your trance with a loud gasp with the thought of your seal friend, which causes her to whirl around to face you, startled and wide-eyed.

Which brings another revelation. The person in question is a man, not a woman.

Skinny dipping, at that.

Your brain catches up to your eyes in a rush of static and shock. This is a Family Feud moment.

Name something a burglar would not wanna see when he breaks into a house.

The contestant yelling it with his whole chest. Naked grandma!

Naked HUH?

The buzzer in your head goes off.

Question: What’s the last thing a girl wants to see when waking up alone on an unfamiliar beach after falling unconscious?

Answer: Naked man.

You make a strangled noise and scramble back so fast the pelt half-slides off you, and at the same time, sharp pain lances through your right side, turning the motion into more of a hunch than a duck and roll. The sudden flare knocks what little breath is left out of your lungs, knocking sense back into you in the process.

Wait, what happened? Why does it hurt?

"Easy! Easy." The naked dude darts forward through the surf without missing a beat, water splashing everywhere with his hurried strides. The sound of his approaching footsteps makes you instinctively curl inward, arms hugging tight around your midsection while wincing. You don't look up, mostly out of embarrassment, and your thoughts immediately go brrrr when you become hyper aware of the fact you're definitely going to see things you won't be able to unsee. "You'll bleed again if you keep squirming like that! All my hardwork's gonna go to waste!"

You flail one arm between the two of you in a futile barrier while the other cradles where the injury is, still keeping your face down and staring down furiously at the ground to avoid looking anywhere higher than knee level. "Ah-ah-ah! Stop, stop!”

The sloshing of jogging doesn’t stop.

“Just — man, don't charge at me, I don't know you!"

He stops short as though you've thrown a rock at him, legs cutting off mid-stride with a chaotic splash. For one blessed second, all is still again — except for the water lapping at his shins and your pulse banging against your teeth.

Then, a noise.

A half-choked sound that might be a laugh. Or a cough. He doesn’t come any closer. Just stands there, suspended mid-motion, your words having pinned him in place. The water stills around his legs. The surf hesitates, then draws back with a hush. You're still locked on a particularly blurry patch of sand wet with the red of your congealed blood like your life depends on it, but you hear the the tiny inhale that catches weird in his throat, and the breeze picks up with a stutter again.

He erupts worse than a volcano all of a sudden. “You’re joking! What? You don’t know me? You don’t know me? After everything — you just made me go through, that’s—”

“—a very reasonable response!” you shoot back, your voice high in octave, blood rushing so rapidly to your head that you’re not even comprehending properly.

“Wow,” he says, all affronted drama and wounded pride in one breath. “It's not like I'm gonna eat you. Humans aren't even safe for consumption anyway!"

"Whoa-hoh—" you start, but he steamrolls over you before you can properly get a word in.

There’s the wet slap of a foot shifting in the surf, heralding that he’s gearing up for a rant. “Most people say thank you, you know. Or ‘hey, cool of you to make sure I didn’t die horribly’—"

"You're naked, random guy!" you shout hoarsely, throwing out a pathetic arm to shield you from any and all compromising views. This is the politest way you could have put it. The next best thing was to shout, 'Don't come near me with your dick out.' Which. Yeah.

An awkward pause follows the admission, thick enough to make you glance up before thinking twice about it. You get a flash of purple before you look away once more, clutching the strange gray fur to yourself as some sort of feeble shield.

"—der why," he mumbles, more to himself than anything else.

"Excuse me?"

He deadpans, stopping just short. “I said, so now you’re body-shaming the guy who literally rescued you from certain death?”

“I’m shame-shaming the fact that you’re approaching me with your — your — entire situation out in the open!”

"You have my pelt," he says, with almost childlike seriousness, expecting you to be able to read his mind from the tone of his statement alone.

"Uh, okay?" you respond articulately, weirded out by how the conversation was lacking common sense. "What does that have to do with your clothes?"

This time, the quiet stretches out like taffy.

“I want you on the other side of this damn island if you’re an exhibitionist, I swear to god don’t think for a second I’m not capable of—”

“I am not!” The way his voice changes pitches has to be studied. “Have you lost your mind in the ocean? I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing after everything I’ve done for you—”

You tune out his yapping. Yeah, this isn't getting anywhere. You're stranded on an island with a man you don't know, politely asking him to put his penis away, which, he won't get the hint for some reason and making it a 'I am who I am,' moment. Do you have to yell "Pervert!" at this guy for him to get a move on? Things couldn't get more absurd.

You rub your forehead wearily and groan in defeat. Is there something ironic about this exchange? Because you sure feel there should be something ironic here. There is probably supposed to be a joke somewhere here. The universe loves to deliver them in bundles.

An idea strikes you.

"Here, hold on," you say, shakily standing up while keeping your face diverted elsewhere. Your side does hurt, but the burn doesn't stretch as bad as when you felt it at first. "Just... turn around, please. No sudden moves."

"No sudden moves?" He answers with audible skepticism, the shuffling on the sand giving away his complying after a moment. The nervous waver in his words does manage to placate you somewhat. An exhibitionist wouldn't act this way. “I’m turning my back to you. How am I gonna know what you’re doing? For all I know, you could be ogling me with your squidlike human eyes, which, mind you, I wouldn’t blame you for—”

God, he loves the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?

Muting him out once more, you pick up the fur coat blanket thing from its dropped position with an audible, "Hup!" It's bulky in your grip, almost too thick to lift, yet remarkably light at the same time — trying to pick up water without getting wet.

“—I’ve been told I’m distractingly shapely in the flesh, but I didn’t exactly wake up today planning to be admired in the wild. And it’s not even my best side, you know? My shoulders are uneven. I think. They used to be non-existent—”

You're in no position to be in awe right now though, so you brush off all possible questions concerning the bizarre phenomenon until later. With as much caution as you can muster, you raise it up like a curtain until the only part you can see of the man is his luscious hair, and start walking up to him.

“—Not that I’m implying anything. You are not the ogling type. Then again, I once trusted a cormorant and it stole my entire lunch while I was mid-swim, so what do I know? I’m just out here, my back wide open, accosted, and trying very hard not to hold a grudge—”

Then, you drape the cloak of fluffiness onto his shoulders in the gentlest manner you could possibly afford, avoiding touching his skin. The pelt closes around his back, reminiscent of the wings of a giant bird closing protectively, encasing him from neck down to calves. A gasp slips out of him. So small you might've missed it if you hadn't been holding your breath, waiting for any negative reaction.

His own hands come up to pull the flaps snugly closed, then he slowly looks over one shoulder at you with such stunned wide-eyed silence you almost want to crack a smile at him, but promptly freeze in place as soon as you lock gazes.

Not only does he have the most enticing eyes you've ever seen with vertical heterochromia transitioning from blue to pink like a bi-color tourmaline, but he has such an attractive facial structure that is both masculine and delicate all in the same breath it punches all of your buttons in one go and oh god — it is so not helping this entire situation. This stranger is the epitome of beauty. Handsome face and lovely features and soft bone structures and everything you didn't expect from a random naked dude on a beach you couldn't recognize as a local.

And the hair. You'd seen it from afar already but... it reminds you of strands of ashen lavender blossoms dripping with morning dew, wet waviness disappearing underneath the collar of the pelt. You'd kill to have this Rapunzel hair. It's unfair how a man—

You snap back to attention with a hard blink as the initial shock wears off.

"There you go, now I won’t get flashed," you exhale with obvious relief, trying to will yourself to act casually so you don't seem weird to the stranger who probably saved your life.

His head tilts, just barely. Long strands of wet hair slip over his shoulder as he stares down at the pelt wrapped around him — your handiwork. The fur shifts slightly under his touch, and he goes very still, watching it settle again. You wonder what he’s waiting for.

“You gave it back to me,” he says.

The words come out soft, a little too careful for something so simple. He looks at you, expecting the world to shift around what he just said. He’s silently saying this should mean something to you, too — but it doesn’t. And that mismatch only deepens the quiet between you.

You blink.

He lifts the edge of the fur in his hands, shaking it, then looks at you like the answer should be obvious.

A pause. “Right,” you say slowly. “And… that’s important to note because?”

He shifts his weight, brows drawing together in a look that’s too serious for the situation. “You could’ve kept it.”

"Wet as my clothes are, you need it more than I do.”

He is surprisingly docile and red in the face now that he has something on for modesty and can’t quite look you in the eye. The tips of his fingers peeking from all the fur in his grip are fidgety.

You give a wry grimace before remembering the manners Dad always told you to have around new acquaintances. "Yeah, um — uh, thanks. For saving my life.”

You tell him your name, and bow your head a bit in acknowledgment. His shoulders pull in tight at the sudden gesture of goodwill — though you aren't quite sure why — but relax after a breath as he meets your stare squarely, searching for something. The intensity throws you off balance; those odd and piercing mismatched shades fixed solely on you make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in both curious and fearful wonderment.

"And you are...?"

"Oh," he says, as if the question took him off guard, too. One hand comes up to brush through damp locks. Almost self-conscious, if the look on his face is anything to go by. There’s some sort of a faraway look in his eyes. "Raf — Rafayel."

"Were you the third guy on the fishing boat, Rafayel?" You recall that last crew member was slumped half overboard and passed out, prompting the rescue attempt that sent you both to sea in the first place. If Rafayel was wearing his pelt when you attempted to pull him up, the added weight could have been a factor in tipping both of you over. You find it's all a blur in your memory, though, and suppress a shudder. "Did you fall with me or—"

A shadow passes over his features as quickly as the changing tides. When he speaks, though, it's measured, almost cautious. "Yeah, I—" He pauses, shakes his head. Locks those impossibly colored eyes on you again, bright in the early morning light. "How are you feeling, though? Still hurts?"

"My side feels bruised like I was elbowed in the ribs but besides being chilled to the bone from falling into the ocean, I'm alright," you supply honestly. "I saw the blood on the sand, though. It feels unreal that I'm up and about right now. How can a scrape bleed that much?"

Rafayel's mouth goes flat as a line, looking you up and down with a concerning intensity deepening his tone. "You're lucky I was able to pull you back from the worst of it."

Shallow as it is, your wound isn't even dressed, but you decide not to engage in a conversation about the technicalities, patting him on the arm once in thanks and walking around him to get out of the forest line's shadow.

The beach stretching wide and strange before you is a postcard you don’t remember collecting. The sand is darker than you're used to, siltier, almost gray, and littered with glinting shells you don’t recognize, long and spiraled in augers, brittle as glass. Pale reeds jut from the shore at uneven angles, hissing faintly in the breeze, and the driftwood here is stripped bare, almost white, tangled in patterns that look too intentional for nature.

The water itself is clear, almost iridescent, casting strange reflections across the shallows, warped ripples that shimmer pink and green, an oil slick pretending to be pretty. And further out, offshore, strange half-drowned statue-shaped stones loom out of the surf.

You know this archipelago better than most, its coastlines and hidden inlets, the soft-bellied coves that tourists miss, having traced its map with your own hands, ferry lines, rock clusters, the way sandbanks shift after storms. Usually, it takes you seconds to place yourself. A curve in the shoreline, a type of dune grass, the slope of a treeline, something always gives it away.

But this place doesn’t register. No matter how long you stare, it refuses to sort itself into something known. The landscape’s been scrubbed clean of every tell you’re trained to read.

The most logical possibility is Seolhwine’s Hook — the island nearest to the Devil’s Teeth. That makes the most sense, right? You were heading back when the squall hit, and it’s the only one close enough for a current to drag you to overnight, and for Rafayel to be able to swim with you. But even then… even that doesn’t feel right. You’ve docked at Seolhwine’s before. This doesn’t match.

“I hate to say it but... Do you know where we are?” you ask finally, turning to him.

"My aunt's," he answers with a straight face.

You pause mid-shiver, your brain tripping over the simplicity of the statement.

You give him the flattest look you can afford, eyebrows lifting slowly. The pelt is clutched too high at his chest, his fingers wound tight in the fabric, you think he might be afraid of dropping it, though it doesn’t seem he notices he’s doing it. You can’t tell if he’s being deliberately evasive or if he genuinely thinks this is the helpful version of an answer.

"What?"

"Look, I’m all for jokes usually, but right now I need an actual place name — not just that your aunt lives here. I’m cold, I’m tired, and I just want to figure out how to get home—"

"It's my aunt's island."

You blink. Once. Twice. The explanation hangs in the air, weirdly self-satisfied. And it’s not satisfactory at all. Not even close.

What’s with the serene confidence of someone stating the color of the sky, as if “my aunt’s” is a perfectly normal answer to what island are we on? As if those two words magically orient you on a map?

You wait for more. Anything. The punchline. The name. Even a smirk. But there’s nothing.

Is he joking? Is this some elaborate bit? Or does he genuinely think that’s helpful?

The frustration in you sharpens. You’ve had to deal with flaky locals and clueless tourists and broken ferries before, but your patience is thinning by the second. You’re exhausted, still damp, still bleeding a little, and now stuck playing twenty questions with the world’s most uncooperative pretty boy.

"My aunt’s island."

He says it again, but there’s a slight shift in tone — firmer. He's correcting you. Thinks you’re the one being slow. And somehow, that makes it worse.

You stare at him. This time longer. He looks so damn earnest about it, truly believes he’s given you a helpful answer. It’s not smug. It’s not sarcastic. It’s not even deliberately vague to give away he’s fucking with you just to be a tease. It’s literal. Painfully, infuriatingly literal.

You’re trying to get directions from a very impatient child who only answers exactly what you ask and nothing else. Nuance is definitely a foreign language he never got taught.

But something tugs at the edge of your thoughts.

Because as stupid as it sounds — and it does sound stupid — it’s not impossible.

You look around again, really look this time, and you realize something’s been bothering you since you first stood up. It’s too pristine. Too quiet. There’s no old trailhead, no ferry dock, no graffiti-scuffed boulder where kids have carved hearts. No signs. No fishhooks, no cigarette butts. Just wind, tide, trees.

It clicks.

They’re marked on the maps you’ve seen, but only just. Annotated with little circles and names like SH-07 or East Ellinor. Places people like you aren’t supposed to go. Places the ferry routes steer around.

You’ve never been to one. You’ve never had a reason to. The people who owned them had their own transport, their own staff, their own little worlds with locked docks and private everything.

That’s why you didn’t recognize it. It’s not not on the map. It’s just never been part of your map.

You exhale, slow. Let the realization settle.

"So you're saying this is one of the private islands."

Rafayel’s brows lift in vague approval and he nods fervently. "Yes! That. Exactly. It's very private."

You rub your forehead, as if that’ll push the absurdity back into place.

Of course it is. Of course you almost drowned and then washed up on a privately owned island like some shipwrecked stray. Of course the first person you meet is a socially weird, mostly-naked man claiming ownership through familial inheritance like it’s a perfectly casual thing to drop.

You stare up at the sky for a moment, trying to piece together how the hell you even got here.

None of the private islands are anywhere near the Devil’s Teeth — most of them are tucked deep in the inner chain, clustered where the water’s calmer and the currents don’t rip you sideways. But this? This place isn’t close to any of that. You were unconscious, but you remember the storm. You remember going overboard, water in your lungs, panic in your throat, and then nothing. Blackout.

But you weren’t alone.

Rafayel said he pulled you out. Which means he swam you here.

You glance at him again, still draped in that ridiculous pelt and giving you weird pointed looks conveying that he wants to tell you something so bad. He doesn’t look winded enough for someone who hauled another body through open water during a storm. But if he did — if that’s how you got here — then he swam farther than you can make sense of. And maybe lost his clothes in the process. Somehow the latter makes more sense compared to the hypothetical that precedes it.

You were near open sea. This doesn’t add up. Even if he unexpectedly took you somewhere else than Seolhwine's, it just happening to be his aunt's private island is no coincidence.

You look back at him, more confused than before.

"Come," he says softly, extending his hand toward you with palm upward. "I'll take you to her. We'll help you get home. I promise."

A dozen different responses crowd your tongue as you stare down at his offered hand. All the questions rattling between your ears, each booking it for your lips faster than the next. None make it far. Suspicion should be there, but your instincts are unresponsive. They don’t find anything worth questioning about the situation despite the red flags.

Sure, maybe a weird randomly naked guy saved your life, brought you to a secret beach that doesn’t look on any travel maps, and claims to have ties with some rich aunt that owns the whole damn thing...

But he isn't dangerous.

You know that fact unequivocally. Call it a hunch, maybe? Gut intuition. It makes no sense considering your rational side has zero interest in jumping through hoops to trust the random person that literally dragged you out of the ocean to the least convenient place he ever could — but then again, life tends to toss the strangest circumstances and situations your way whenever you least expect it.

What matters most is getting back home, your parents have to be dying of worry — a search party must be out there wasting resources. Having someone who seems oddly comfortable on the island lead you directly to shelter would certainly speed things along.

"Hey," he gently adds when you're quiet for too long, breaking the train of thought running rampant inside your mind. The softness in his tone brings your attention back to him entirely, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He offers his hand a little higher, which draws your focus back on it with curious clarity. How smooth it lookd, even from this distance, perfect nails without a single scratch or imperfection, fingers delicate, elegant bones visible under the pale skin. "I just want to help. You're safe with me. I won’t hurt you."

You stare at his hand, then at his face, then back again. The tone is soft, the words gentle, but something about it scratches at the back of your brain. The kind of voice usually reserved for nervous animals crouched under porches. Any second now, he might start whistling and offer a treat.

Though the weird phrasing shouldn't work its weird magic on you, it does. Maybe because it sounds so nostalgic and familiar in a way that it invokes a sense of safety in you? Or maybe because you're tired, soaked to the bone, bleeding lightly still, and sore all over and this guy seems too nice to be anything less than honest?

Perhaps both. Probably both. You really have no business trusting strangers who wear big pelt blankets instead of actual clothing and give basic information away akin to some kind of social anxiety sufferer with performance issues, yet here you are, contemplating on the idea of taking his hand.

What the hell, you think eventually. Sure. What alternative is there? If the worst comes to pass, you intend to make him have one less limb to his name — it would be his own fault for walking around like a Resident Evil nude mod. How did that one text post go? Boy put that boaner away lest a sloppy little critter grabs hold of it.

But you’re not that sure what kind of answer you expected when you ask him where you’re headed, but he doesn’t so much point as let his hand drift outward, loose and imprecise — more communion than instruction, as though the land might whisper the route if you stand still long enough. He plants himself in the emptiness with the ease of someone who’s never needed a map, naming vague landmarks with the casual grace of someone expecting the road to rise just because he’s ready to walk it.

As someone who has mastered the art of minding your own business, you don’t call out this behavior. As long as he gets you someplace you can call help from, Rafayel is free to be a weirdo.

But you do press him for information.

“She has lavender near the steps, and her door is the color of the sea,” he offers, like that narrows it down. “The path smells of sage sometimes, if the wind’s right. And there’s a stone shaped like a sleeping dog near the turn — you have to squint a little. The house groans when it’s too warm. There’s a wind chime that only rings when someone she doesn’t like shows up. And the garden gate bites if you don’t know how to open it.”

Not helpful. But then he refuses to add anything else more along the lines of fucking common sense and normal people direction-giving. What does he expect, the scent alone pulling you in the right direction if you just walk long enough?

And maybe he's right. Maybe you're the weird one for expecting something as formal as an address out here. If this really is a private island, there might only be one house. Maybe 'lavender and a blue door' is all anyone needs. Maybe people out here remember things by the curve of the land and the way the air smells after rain.

It isn’t a real plan. It’s the shape of a promise, just strange enough to follow, just vivid enough to believe in for a little while. The way he speaks about it, there’s no room for doubt, and you’ve learned to believe in the word of a local in all your years of living around the archipelago.

So you follow.

The pelt shifts when he moves, catching bits of drift and sand, trailing slightly as he walks beside you through the underbrush. He doesn’t shiver, unlike you. And that makes sense, considering how warm and cozy you were when that thing was your blanket when you first woke up.

The morning light hasn’t yet burned the fog from the trees, and the forest path ahead is dappled in grey. Your boots sink into the softened moss with a squelch. His bare feet barely make a sound, but your skin does hear something because of your wet socks.

You glance sideways at him. No wince, no flinch, not even when he steps straight on a gnarled root that would have you cursing in three languages.

“Seriously?” you mutter. “You don’t even feel that?”

“I’ve walked stranger paths,” he says. Great.

You stop walking with a groan. The wind catches your soaked clothes, cutting straight through to the bone. Your arms are already shaking.

“Okay. New plan.”

He watches as you crouch in front of him, back turned.

You look over your shoulder with an encouraging gesture for him, “Climb on.”

He tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Piggyback. You're barefoot, this path is hell, and I'm freezing. Carrying weight warms you up.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You're not that heavy, and I’ve hauled crates bigger than you off ferries for years. So. Just. Climb on.”

He makes a strangled noise. “I didn’t learn bipedalism just to be carried like a pup by you!”

Such drama. There really is no time for this and you’re not in the mood for negotiations.

You grab one of his wrists and tug it over your shoulder. His entire hand twitches in response. “If it makes you feel better, this is entirely me being selfish. I want to get warm.”

He hesitates, and it’s not pride, he keeps glancing at your side, where the torn side of your turtleneck still clings damp and darkened. His hands hover like he might stop you.

“You’re not healed,” he mutters. “Not properly.”

You hitch his arm higher on your shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“That wound’s still raw.”

“So are my fingers. Cold does that.”

He makes a frustrated noise.

“Listen, enough with courtesy stuff, okay? I don’t care, I’m freezing,” you cut in. “And you don’t have shoes. We’re both going to be miserable either way, so pick your poison.”

He sighs, dragging it out. Eventually, he caves, muttering something under his breath that could be an insult but could also be a compliment. He hoists himself up, arms settling uncertainly around your shoulders, pelt-covered legs bracketing your hips, and you make sure he won’t slip away from your grip because of the material. You’re trekking along the forest in no time, feeling pleasantly distracted from the cold.

“This is deeply undignified,” he mutters.

“And being inexplicably naked in front of a stranger isn’t? Where and why did you lose your clothes anyway? You still haven’t told.”

There’s no response, except from a huff he lets out from his nose, which fondly reminds you of Raf. It must be a tale particularly embarrassing for him to tell, and he did have the fur to make it up for, so you once again don’t pry. Master of minding your own business.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get comfortable.”

He doesn’t. He sits stiffly at first, as though unsure how much weight he’s allowed to give you. Then he starts shifting. Sighing. Squirming. Grumbling under his breath about the jostling, the pace, the way your shoulder bone is probably bruising his ribs.

"You walk uneven," he complains after the first bend. "See, it hurts after all, yeah? Put me down."

"It's a forest," you grit out. "The ground walks uneven."

"I wish you would listen for once."

"That's a wasted wish on a star. You've known me for like what, fifteen minutes?"

He exhales through his nose again, slow and beleaguered. No witty answer to that one, it seems.

The longer you walk, the more he settles. His complaining slows into occasional muttering, then thoughtful silence. The forest begins to close in around you. Damp leaves brush your arms. The world smells of pine sap, wet bark, and something almost metallic beneath the rot. The silence here is dense, broken only by the soft rhythm of your boots against the ground and the occasional rustle of something unseen in the undergrowth.

Then his voice, soft and close beside your ear: “Do you name the trails you take at sea? Or are they just known to you?”

“What?”

“The water routes. The ones you steer the ferry along. Do they have names?”

He’s talking about sea lanes. You’re about to question how he doesn’t know these things, considering he’s a fisherman, but remember he might not be one. His aunt owns an island. This is a rich kid who probably wanted to fish and got the locals involved in his request.

“They’ve got designations. Letters, numbers. Eights and alphas and things like that. But most of us just… call ’em what we call ’em.”

“Like?”

You think a moment, breath fogging in the damp air. “There’s Shiverstretch. That’s the fast cold current between Dolos and Ternhook. Everyone calls it that ’cause it’s a backslap to the face, especially on the morning runs. And there’s Dead Hour Channel — no wind, no sound, just this long, empty drift. Makes you paranoid that something’s watching. I don’t like that one.”

You feel him shift slightly on your back, listening.

“There’s Longshout,” you add. “Named after a guy who tried to boat through in a storm and ended up yelling for help the whole way ‘til he ran aground on Fallow Reef.”

Rafayel snorts quietly. “That one sounds personal.”

“It is. He still works the east docks. Won’t shut up about it.”

“How do you find your way around, then? I always wondered. Do you read the water like seals do?”

“Reading the water is one way to put it, I guess. They’re charted. We use navigation systems. Landmarks. Depth markers.”

A pause. The trees rumble, disturbed by a sudden gust of wind, brittle leaves dropping pebbles onto the path in front of you. Rafayel shifts awkwardly behind you, almost toppling off to the left before righting himself with a steadying grip.

"Question," you say. "What indicators do you use? Chip on a tree or something?"

He whispers eventually, cheek lightly pressed against yours. You feel his eyes on you. "Smells."

You blink, twisting around to glance at him. He seems surprisingly somber all of a sudden. "Uhhh...."

"Just focus on the road, we're almost there. You'll see."

The path winds past the last of the scrub grass, and then it opens.

The trees fall away in a hush of damp leaves and saltlight, and there, cradled in the middle of the forest-clad small valley, is a sprawling, mansion of a house that doesn’t quite belongs to any century in particular. Can't be called old or modern. The word you’re looking for is neo-classical architecture made to be a beach house. Pale limestone, veined and sun-bitten, gleams beneath the overcast sky. Its walls are streaked with wind-carried brine, but the stone holds strong, weathered soft rather than worn down. And there is the giveaway Rafayel was talking about: blue door.

Lavender spills along the pathway in loose drifts, unruly and fragrant, tangling with sea-thrift and clover like the garden grew itself wild. Carved wooden shutters hang half-closed against the morning chill, and a curved archway frames the entry looks the part of a half-remembered temple. There’s something mythic about it, a story you were almost told once. A place that holds onto memory whether you want it to or not.

And then there’s the scent, ocean first, bright and sharp, but something warmer curling beneath it. Resin, maybe. Incense burned into the beams. Citrus oil in the wood grain.

You adjust your grip beneath Rafayel’s knees as you approach the door. Acting as a barrier between your bodies, his pelt is still slung down your back , trailing behind like a second spine, damp at the edges. He hasn’t said much since the last hill. Just rested his chin between your shoulder blades and hummed, quiet as tidewash.

You reach the first step. Hesitate. The house isn’t grand in the usual way, no columns, no gates, but there’s a heaviness to it. Not unfriendly, but expectant.

You knock.

Silence falls. The melted caramel of sunlight scatters through the dark glass in the windows. Rafayel shifts on your back, going rigid so suddenly it almost jolts you. His breath stills sharply against your spine, and in that single suspended moment, you can feel the piano wire of tension strung through his bones.

You don’t get the chance to ask why. Wood cracks loudly within the doorframe, and there's a pop, a groan, and then a soft, sweet creak as the lock disengages, allowing the door to slowly swing inward with an audible squeak.

The scent hits first, warm and strange. Spiced velvet, a whisper of cloves, dried orange peel, and something more ancient baked into the lintel wood. Then the figure behind it, unexpected.

For an “aunt,” she looks barely older than him. Mid-thirties, maybe, though it’s hard to tell. Her features are sharp, dignified, and her presence is a light cloud, wrapped in layered satin and lace shawl, white and lilac, all shot through with shimmer where the light catches on glinting jewelry. Her hair is swept back, rich violet and pinned with silver shells, and her eyes—

Dusty purple brightening with shock.

“Rafayel?” she breathes, her grip whitening on the frame. Her gaze darts down, takes in the sealskin clinging to your back, the way his taut arms still drape over your shoulders like iron bars. “Gods, is it really you? Look, look at you! Oh... oh!"

Rafayel slides off you, and she practically throws herself out the door as soon as the initial shock wears off, taking two long steps across the threshold until she's directly in front of you, cupping his cheeks with hands that only tremble the smallest bit. He meets her halfway, tilting his forehead to rest against hers as his own hands come up to gently caress her elbows, cradling them lightly. His motions are hesitant at first — touching with clear clumsiness, as if handling glass. But the moment she exhales an astonished little laugh, something changes, he pulls her close, tightening his grasp not to let her blow away on the wind. The woman leans fully against him then, looping her arms around his neck with a relieved shudder that shakes both their frames.

And you're there, a comical stick figure at the background of a well-drawn manga panel with a big arrow pointing at you.

You hope they won't hunt you for sport. Private island. Two eerily good looking family members. Girl who got deliberately delivered there when a closer island was the most blatant option. This has the potential to be a horror movie premise.

But no. Nope. Too late. She glances past his shoulder as soon as her embrace is complete and the silent reunion done with, locking eyes with you, and your soul flees your body, trying to squeeze itself back through your pores like some furtive worm to avoid the full brunt of her curious scrutiny.

She raises one perfectly shaped brow, but before either of you can exchange any words or reactions, Rafayel says something.

You say something, because it's in a language you don't know, one that doesn't bother to make itself easy, sharp at the edges, rounded at the core. It rolls out of his mouth, mist over moorland — thick, tangled, hard to follow. The stone-teeth syllables grind against each other, but every so often, they break open into something strange and sweet, the howl of a reed pipe carried on sea wind.

It just plays into the horror movie vibe because why would he blatantly switch language to probably speak about you, judging from the glance thrown your way, as if you aren't there? Probably conspiring how to eat you! You do feel like tenderized meat.

The woman hums again, a thoughtful note this time, and the conversation carries on in murmured exchanges of tone and gesture — softness here, a flicker of frustration there. And yet you can pinpoint the exact moment everything changes. Rafayel says something. But she draws back, cups his cheeks in her hands, and stares at him hard, searching. Whatever she finds isn’t enough, because she shakes her head once, firm, decisive. He asks again. Another shake, stronger this time, more insistent. Her fingers flex tight against his skin as if she means to hold him there, but he speaks again, something softer, fainter, and her hand relaxes, trembling on the edge of defeat. A faint frown crosses her face, a small downward curl that somehow turns the lines at the corner of her lips into parenthesis, closing off the shape of whatever she might have said next.

"Hey, uh," you finally intervene when their staring contest becomes too intense. They both startle, seeming to remember your existence at once. You smile nervously, holding one raised palm up in defense and nonthreatening greeting. "Sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but could I, um..." Your free hand gestures vaguely to indicate the general situation you find yourself in. "Use your phone? I don't mean to intrude or anything, I just. I got thrown over board during the storm, I don't even know if my ferry was capsized and I really, really need to get back—"

Rafayel says something else under his breath, hasty now, almost tripping over his words.

Her brows furrow in mild concern at his rambling. "Oh dear, I apologize, yes! Do forgive me for being impolite, I forgot myself for a moment there."

You nod politely in acknowledgment of her apology, lowering your arm hesitantly. "Not a problem, it happens."

"It's been so long since our house had guests," she admits candidly, placing an elegant hand over her heart in embarrassment. "Come, come in, please, you need a hot shower and change of clothes." She takes you by the arm and guides you inside. "You're drenched! Look at those goosebumps. Oh, you poor thing."

She leads you into a grand hallway filled with golden hour sunlight spilling through windows framed by sheer white curtains billowing lazily in the breeze, and it is not unlike stepping straight into the interior design section of an expensive department store. You could smell the money dripping off every nook, cranny, wall, and corner. If your wet socks were making muddy imprints on the flooring you knew you'd pass out from mortification on the spot. The floors here look pristine and polished enough for you to see your reflection clearly on its surface. Even the vase tucked neatly into the center of a glossy dark wood console table is worth more than your boat. Everything about this mansion is clean and orderly, it must be heaven on earth for a neat freak like your dad.

"He needs clothes the most, I think," you try to joke, letting her steer you through the main hall with wide curious steps and an awestruck stare. Rafayel, wherever he is behind you two, remains silent. You think he might have disappeared somewhere.

Her grip tightens around your arm like a mother hen dragging her chick into a coop to shelter from winter, her nails lightly digging into the sleeves of your sweater with a pleasant firmness that feels strangely grounding. "Don't worry about him, you focus on getting warmed up now."

"Thanks, ummm..." you begin, hoping it's polite to ask for her name while inside her home. But before you could continue, she turns to regard you with a serene smile — so gentle and graceful she could've been sculpted from marble if it weren't for her very lively personality. She smells nice, too. Floral. Very floral. The same kind of perfume bottle your aunt kept on display near her sewing machine that you stole a few sniffs of when Grandma wasn't looking.

Her attention is summer afternoon sunbeams on your chilled skin. "You can call me Talia.”

433 notes · View notes

justgiulia · 7 months ago

Note

HIII I HAD A THOIGHT THAT HAS BEEN KILLING MY MIND AND I NEED TO TELL IT TO SOMEONE OTHERWISE IM GNA EXPLODE

get this . everyone chilling at ramshackle dorm doing their own thing, yuu (and grimm by extension), ace and deuce sitting by the table talking about whatever crosses their mind

Eventually the conversation escalates to birthdays and holidays and ace asks how old Yuu is. Azul interjects with saying Yuu's age from the contract they signed a few months ago, but then Yuu pipes up and tells them that they're one year older than that.

Theres a small moment of confusion until it dawns onto Deuce that Yuy's birthday was a month or two ago and they never spoke a peep about it. Not even to grimm!! And when asked, Yuy makes an excuse like "that was when __ was kind of close to overblotting and I didn't want to make it about me because that'd be so nitpicky—"

It was based off an audio i heard and idk if i want to write it into a short drabble for myself i probably cant since im only on book 2 ueue). But like. its a fun prompt methinks. what would all of them do when they find out Yuu deliberately didn't say a thing about their birthday

🎊

You didn't tell them about your birthday?!

characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Azul Ashengrotto, Grimm.

author's note: let's just pretend I didn't just post a request from almost 2 years ago 😭 I'm deeply sorry. also, I apologize for not uploading anything this month but I'm working on something big 🙏

warnings: none

Ace Trappola

For his Immediate Reaction, he is offended in the most dramatic way possible. He gasps like you’ve committed the ultimate betrayal.

Once he processes that you skipped celebrating because of an overblot situation, Ace feels a bit guilty. He won’t outright admit it, but his teasing becomes a little softer as a result.

He insists on throwing you an over-the-top, borderline ridiculous party.

“I’m talking about party hats for everyone and cake so big Grimm can’t finish it—well, maybe.”

His idea of a celebration is half a joke, but you know he’s secretly serious about making it memorable and deep down, he’s touched by how considerate you were and wants to make sure you never feel overlooked again.

Deuce Spade

Deuce is visibly upset, almost like he’s the one who forgot your birthday, feeling terrible for not realizing sooner.

“But Prefect, birthdays are important! You deserve to be celebrated!”

He gets way too worked up about making it up to you, like it’s a mission, he might also wonder if he’s a bad friend for not noticing your birthday had passed. He’ll pay more attention to your subtle hints in the future (even if you weren’t giving any).

"I won’t let this happen again. Next time, we’ll do something amazing. I swear.”

You swear his sincerity makes you feel just as guilty for not telling him.

Azul Ashengrotto

Acts unbothered on the surface but lowkey blames himself for not catching on sooner, especially since he prides himself on knowing useful details about everyone (and blackmailing them).

Azul will subtly try to make it up to you in his own way. Maybe he gives you a small but meaningful gift with a nonchalant...

“Consider this a late birthday present.”

He might tease you about this later saying something like...

“Oh, Prefect, you wouldn’t hide something as important as a birthday from us again, would you? It’s not wise to keep secrets from your allies.”

But the teasing is his way of showing he cares.

Grimm

“You didn’t even tell me, your best pal?! Unbelievable!”

He paces around the room dramatically, occasionally glaring at you with exaggerated betrayal.

As much as he tries to play it off as annoyance, it’s clear he’s genuinely hurt that you didn’t trust him with such important information.

“I live here! I’m supposed to know these things!”

His solution to everything is cake.

“Alright, let’s bake a cake right now. Wait, no—you bake the cake, and I’ll taste-test it!”

Grimm will insist on celebrating your birthday retroactively, even if it’s something small. He’ll demand a party and act like it’s all for you, but deep down, he just wants to feel like he’s making things right.

Overall, they argue over how to properly celebrate your next birthday. Ace wants chaos, Deuce wants heartfelt, Grimm just wants food, and Azul suggests something elegant but practical.

Despite their differences, they all agree on one thing: they’re not letting you keep secrets like this again. You can expect everyone to be hyperaware of your birthday next year—and they’ll make sure it’s unforgettable.

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clockwayswrites · 6 days ago

Text

Danny in Metropolis

Ch 5??? maybe 6? idk pacing

masterpost

“Danny’s parents work for Lex!”

Lois glanced up from where she was typing away at her laptop on the couch. Clark sat next to her, chewing on the end of a pencil as he squinted down at some notes.

“Well, that’s sadly not unusual in this city,” Lois said. “You said they were scientists, right?”

“Yeah, but you don’t get it!” Kon threw himself onto the small sofa that was crammed into the living room. “They work for him. Like, Lex recruited them level of working for him. Moved the whole family out here and gave them a fancy lab level. Like Danny has met Lex and is creeped out by him level!”

“That is a bit more concerning,” Clark said with a gesture of his abused pencil. He shrugged bashfully at the look that Lois shot him. “Well, it is.”

Lois ignored him. “Kon, honey, Lex is Lex, but he’s not going to do anything to Danny. Sure, it’s yet another concerning fact about Danny’s parents, but Danny’s parents don’t define him.”

Kon scowled at the wall.

“Just like Lex doesn’t define you, Kon,” Lois continued gently. “The fact that Lex creeps Danny out doesn’t mean anything about you, it just means that Danny has good sense.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Kon lied.

“Well, it would be understandable if you were,” Lois said as she waved the matter aside. “Would you like me to do some looking into what his parents were hired for? There’s might be much out there but I can look.”

“Or the League can look,” Clark offered quickly. “Since it’s Lex, it’s always useful to know what he’s up to. New scientists might mean a new plot.”

Kon sighed and slumped further into the couch. “Or just that I’m being a creepy boyfriend.”

“Well, maybe a little,” Lois said.

Kon turned over to try and smother himself with a pillow. “Thanks, m—” He bit off the word.

“But also,” Lois continued, “you are who you are, as a person and a hero. Knowing the facts is important. I think that a little bit of looking is alright. Just stay away from Bat level of looking, you know?”

“You mean don’t tell Tim,” Kon said when he was done with his futile attempts to do himself in. He rolled over enough to glance at his amused parents.

“At least not to start,” Lois said.

“But I’m sure that Tim and the others would love to meet Danny, Lex drama aside,” Clark said.

Lois got that cat with the canary look again. “What about spring break? It’s coming up soon, isn’t it? Bruce has that cabin. I bet you all could use it.”

Clark, on the other hand, looked mildly panicked. “I don’t know about that. I mean, a bunch of teenagers staying alone…”

“They save the world alone,” Lois said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m sure that we can get most of them to agree to some ground rules, and then they can talk Tim into mostly behaving.”

Kon couldn’t help a soft laugh at that. “Yeah, we can find something to blackmail or bribe him with. If he brings Bernard and Danny’s there too, Tim will have to behave some just because of that.”

“See? Perfect,” Lois said. “I’ll give Bruce a call tomorrow to ask him about the idea and the cabin.”

Clark sighed. “Which means he’ll say yes.”

“Of course,” Lois said.

Kon continued to pretend he was oblivious about whatever it was that his parents had going on with Bruce. Besides, apparently he had a spring break to plan.

#poor kon #but spring break!#dp x dc #dim #superdead ship

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beardedjoel · 1 year ago

Text

oasis

dbf neighbor! joel miller x f!reader. one shot.

main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: your dad's friend is tasked with looking after you while he's out of town. he ends up finding you somewhere you absolutely shouldn't be. blackmail ensues. 8.3k words.

for @iamasaddie's writing challenge! my genre was dark and the prompt was "please don't tell my dad!" thanks for the amazing challenge! 💌

warnings: 18+ MDNI! dark themes, joel is pervy and sleazy, age gap (reader is under drinking age but an adult so 18-20, joel's age unmentioned but he calls himself an old man and he's 50+ in my head), consensual but there are elements of coercion and blackmail so... (it's dark! okay!), unprotected piv, lap sitting, lap dance, thigh/crotch riding, orgasm denial, pussy pronouns, dirty diiiirty talk, cumshot?, reader has hair that can be pulled and wears lingerie but otherwise is undescribed.

a/n: this is less edited than my usual work but i hope i did it justice! it was very fun and silly to come up with this idea and i ended up loooving how crazy it got!

Keep an eye on her while we’re gone, eh?

The words from your father ring through Joel’s ears when he hears the start of an engine from where he sits in his living room, his view on the plush couch offering a perfect view through the large picture window on the front of the house. Right to where you live with your dad, where he can see the lights of your car come on. Bingo. He’s got you now.

Obsession felt like a strong word, but Joel could describe it no other way as soon as you’d moved in across the street - your dad was a longtime friend and neighbor, talk of his little girl rampant for years before he’d had the chance to meet you. You were going to be going to college nearby, so you moved from where you lived with your mom in California down to your father in Texas, right across the street from where he’d had the pleasure of laying eyes on you for the first time.

Young. Supple. Beautiful. And so damn shy.

He hated just how much it turned him on when your timid eyes would find his. The pervy old man who couldn’t keep his eyes off a young girl - what a god damned cliche he’d become. He kept tabs on you, at first not really realizing he was doing it, eyes peering out the windows to catch you on your way out the door or coming home soon escalated to trying to see into your bedroom window at the front of the house. His time with your father mysteriously seemed to double, then triple, any chance he could to get close to you, see you in your natural habitat, hoping to learn more about this special girl that had captured so much of his attention.

You dressed modestly, too - far too modestly for his liking - he knew your father was a strict man, and assumed just as much about your mother from the way your dad talked about his ex-wife. He never got to see enough of you, except for the few times you had on shorter dresses when the summer heat just got to be too much to bear, and those rare occasions burned themselves into his memory, a bank of images to pull from when he took a hand to his cock and thought of you.

He’s up in a flash, smiling softly to himself as he quickly slides on his shoes and swipes his keys from the front table, exiting the house and seeing your car still parked in the drive. You always sit there too long before driving off, probably playing on your phone, texting your friends, whatever the hell young girls like you do. All Joel knows is he’s grateful it gives him enough time to sneak to his truck before you can get too far, waiting until you pull out and start down the street before starting his own car.

Joel checks the time as he starts down his driveway and sees it’s well after 9:00 pm. Where the hell could you be going, you naughty thing? Your dad has a strict curfew for you, he knows, and if he’s tasked with keeping an eye on you, he might as well do it right.

So he follows you. You get on the highway, heading towards downtown, and Joel’s eyebrows raise as he turns up his music, cruising along behind you, so unaware as he sees the outline of your own head bopping along to your music when he can get a clear enough view.

When you finally park, the city streets bustling with people out late on a Friday night around you, Joel sits in his truck, eyes peeled as he watches you round a building, disappearing. Oasis, the glowing sign on the front says. It looks a bit seedy, this area of town, a bouncer on the outside that you’d given a curt wave to sending Joel’s expression into pure shock before a determined smirk crosses his lips.

It turns out it’s not as exclusive as having a bouncer would make it seem. Joel waits in line with the others, feeling a bit out of place but his appetite to bust you outweighs all of it. Not more than ten minutes later he’s inside, the dark hallway opening up to a massive room laid out in front of him. It’s busy - bodies everywhere, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and arousal permeating everything and Joel blinks to adjust his eyes to the dim mood lighting. A dance floor takes up most of the middle, crowded to the max as music bumps through the speakers, and two bars flank either side, fully packed as well. There are lounges everywhere - cushy leather couches with tables, and as Joel’s vision comes in in full, he sees more private spots along the edges of the room on a slightly elevated area, curtains closing them in.

Too busy taking everything in, he doesn’t even notice the most important detail right away - the waitresses. More specifically, the way they’re all dressed. Gorgeous bodies of all shapes and sizes, parading around in what is essentially lingerie - a lacy black bra paired with a matching set of panties, sheer black stockings and a garter trailing down their legs all the way to the heels that adorn their feet. Joel feels a twinge inside his belly, pulling low and taut when he spots one of the waitresses with thick thighs and a plush stomach grinding on a woman sitting on one of the couches, the receiver throwing her head back in teasing, pleased laughter before taking a long sip of her drink. He continues scanning the room, seeing another man closer to his age being straddled by a different waitress with one of the nicest pairs of tits Joel has ever seen in that same uniform, her hips swaying and grinding so close to his crotch as she gives him a lapdance.

Fuck.

His mind spins faster, blood going hot as it runs through his veins, his cock twitching under the denim of his jeans. It’s been too long - all the pining, the built up frustration, and he’s needy. He finds it hard to believe you’d just be out partying at a place like this, certainly not the neighborly girl he knows. Bringing over leftovers you’d cooked for you and your dad, always with a little treat on the side and a soft smile, your frilly socks and white tennis shoes, collars that never revealed much past the very top of your gorgeous tits. But it still made him fucking crazy, all of it. He wanted to be the one to ruin it, to see who you really are underneath all of the fluff and sweetness. Because at the end of the day, he knows he wasn’t imagining that glint in your eye that told him you had more to offer.

Joel shakes the distractions and his dirty, racing thoughts, eyes scanning the room for you, remembering his mission. He is about to internally ask himself the question when your appearance answers everything he needs to know. Slack jawed, he looks on as you step out from behind one of the bars, tossing a smile over your shoulder at one of the other workers as you start to move carrying a tray full of drinks.

When you emerge in full, strutting your way across the room, you’re wearing it. The outfit. The skimpy bra and panties to match all of the other servers. Your coworkers. Oh, he’s so thoroughly fucked right now, he thinks in a rising panic. But then again, so are you.

“Thank god you’re here! You’re seriously such a life saver,” Kristina says breathlessly as you breeze into the locker room. She’s one of the supervisors here at Oasis, the club you’ve been working at since the beginning of the summer. Sure, you were underage to serve alcohol, but the owners of this club seemed willing to turn a blind eye to a lot of things to gain good talent. Good pay, direct cash, and an insane amount in tips. Enough to pay your way through college, you hoped. Beyond all of that, once you’d gotten into the swing of things you found that you liked it, too. The power you felt in these heels, the way eyes followed you everywhere, you’d never felt so desired, so free or sexually open in your life. Although the only time you’d actually had sex was with your one ex-boyfriend, and it never felt like you do here - sexy, with raw desire filling the air, something so tangible you feel you can reach out and touch it sometimes.

You pull your shirt over your head, unclasping your regular bra and swapping it for the black, lacy one that lives inside your locker. Kristina stands nearby, unfazed by your bare chest as she thanks you. She’d called you about forty five minutes ago, begging for you to come in on your night off when another server, Rochelle, got sick right as things started to pick up. Friday night tips hadn’t sounded so bad when you had no plans apart from watching TV in your dad’s empty house, so it felt like a win.

“No problem,” you say, smiling at her. “Happy to help.”

“You’ve got section five tonight - Justin has Laura covering right now, just switch out when you’re ready, kay?”

You confirm, quickly finishing up your swap into your uniform, admiring yourself in the mirror with a soft smile, still getting used to the look of lingerie on you. You’d have been stupid to keep something like this in the house with either of your parents, not worth the risk if they found out about it.

The noise of the club blares, making you wince for a quick moment as you step out from the calmness of the locker room to the deafening noise beyond and get your bearings behind the bar. It really is busy, but all you can see is money when you glance around, admiring how full the place is tonight.

You’re stopped in the middle of your flow after swinging by the bar to pick up drinks for one of your tables. It’s an extra flirtatious group of men who are practically ready to feast on you, but for all the poorly managed things about this club, they at least have a strict no touching rule with the staff that is enforced by any number of the security guards around. So you get to have your fun, keep your distance, and hope they pay extra for a lapdance from you and tip you well for it.

“You’ve got a, uh, private request,” Justin says, speaking quietly but leaning close to your ear so you can hear him. You pull back, a look of surprise on your face, a questioning glance that he confirms with a nod. “We’ll cover your tables. Room seven.”

Your mind spins faster as you walk towards the room. The rooms aren’t fully private, just a halfway curtain that gives the impression you’re more alone than you are. That luxury doesn’t come cheap, so whoever booked this room and asked for you must mean business. In fact, management hasn’t even put you on serving private rooms regularly yet, reserving that right to the more tenured employees until you work your way up the ladder. You smile, wondering who it could even be that specifically requested you - a regular that loved the banter you’d offered? A new customer who was drawn to you from across the room? It makes your heart skip a little, anticipation and a hint of nervousness coursing through you as you reach the curtain, stepping beyond to see your mystery customer.

Holy shit.

The sultry smile you’d plastered on fades right off your face, replaced with a deep set frown, your mouth open but unable to speak. Your stomach is rapidly dropping to depths it's never known before as your face starts to burn hot, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. Your arms fly up to your chest, crossing them over as some kind of futile cover of yourself, but his eyes are trained there unashamedly, seeing the way your arms have really just accentuated your cleavage. He’s spread out on one of the loveseats, completely alone, knees wide apart, lap open and desperately inviting when it absolutely should not be.

“M-Mr. Miller?”

Joel was having far too much fun with this. The priceless look on your face that had wiped off the pretty grin you’d had was worth every damn penny he’d spent on this ridiculous room just to get you alone. You think you can cover up, somehow, but it only really offers Joel a better view of your bottom half, the lacy shorts style panties a treat for his weary gaze, the garters sitting against your soft skin one of the most enticing things he’s ever seen. He instantly feels his cock getting hard as his eyes rake up and down your body, settling on where your tits are now pressed together against your crossed arms.

“Mr. Miller?” you stutter out after a long, dense silence between the two of you.

“Don’t cover up on account’a me, sweetheart,” Joel replies cooly, threading his hands together behind his head, looking even more relaxed than when you’d first walked in. Your arms seem to tighten around you, the complete opposite of Joel.

“Wh-what are you -” you start trying to ask, and Joel notices how you suddenly look unbalanced, legs shaking underneath you. You attempt a step forward, bringing yourself further into the room and it gives Joel an even closer look at you, and god damn you’re gorgeous. Your skin looks flawless, so smooth and soft looking - the apex of your thighs coming closer to eye level as you move forward, all adorned by that lace that’s making him wild. He’s never seen anything close to this much of your skin before, and he has half a mind to grab you right here and toss you over his lap, taking everything he wants from you.

“Could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I?” he questions you, enjoying the tease, the way he sees your face screw up a little tighter at the very valid point he was making. You’re caught, and there’s no way around it now, he thinks smugly.

Your face falls, eyes going to the ground and watching your feet shift nervously in your heels. “I-I get it. You made your point. I’ll go home, okay? I know I shouldn’t be here -” you stammer out, and the guilty look on your face tells Joel what he’d already suspected - your dad knows absolutely nothing about this job of yours.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Joel says, but he makes no move to get up, keeping a steady, unrelenting gaze on you. When you flick your eyes up to him, he sees they’re watery, and it makes his insides twinge with a strange mixture of regret and pleasure as he sees the tears brimming along the edges of your eyes, the subtle panic he can see growing.

“You’re bein’ very bad, ain’t ya? ” Joel tuts, and you seem to almost flinch at the words from where you awkwardly stand in front of him still, unsure of what to do, where to go. Joel feels that pleasure growing warm in his gut, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “I mean, look at that outfit, sweetheart -” Joel starts with a low whistle, sitting forward slightly so you can see just how much he’s admiring it, his eyes narrowed in inspection, the weathered lines in his face apparent with the way his brows are raised. “Thas’ a far cry from those clothes you wear on my doorstep, play actin’ a good little girl.”

“N-no! I don’t - I didn’t mean - I am good.” You’re more and more visibly flustered, your arms wrapping around yourself as Joel continues to tease you, intent on bringing you down a few more notches.

Joel gives you a condescending glare. “Darlin’, ain’t nothin’ good about this. Lemme tell you what I think…” He leans back again, staring up at you, not once inviting you to sit, and knowing you won’t unless he does - he wants to make you sweat. “You never got to have that rebellious streak w’ both your parents bein’ who they are, did ya? An’ you thought you deserved it, to have a little fun, didn’t you?”

Your lip quivers and you blink back another set of hot, embarrassed tears, eyes trained back on the dark, faux marble floors, refusing to speak.

“Didn’t you?” he asks again with more bite. Fucking brat. Good thing Joel had plenty of tactics up his sleeve to whip a wannabe brat back into a good girl, he thinks with a sly smile to himself.

“Y-yes! Okay? I wanted to do something… for me,” you finally admit, feeling yourself shake a little at his demanding words.

“Now was that so hard?” Joel asks, becoming acutely aware of just how hard he is, almost painfully so now that he’s been teasing you, fantasizing about this moment for far too long. You shake your head, still hung downwards in shame before bringing your eyes back to his. They look soft, youthful and desperate, and Joel has never felt so turned on in his goddamn life, all the power he’s feeling rushing right to his cock.

“J-just… please don’t tell my dad,” you say, almost quiet enough Joel can’t hear it over the distant bump of the music. But he made it out, the words he’d been hoping you’d say, the ones he knew you’d have to utter.

“I won’t,” Joel starts, seeing the relief flood your face, nearly laughing at how quickly you put stock in his words before even hearing what else he has to say. So naive. “But what’s in it for me, hm? Ain’t gonna keep a secret without a little… incentive.” Joel’s hands plant on his thighs, running up the length of them as he watches your emotions shift in real time, your jaw going slack, eyes widening and barely blinking. You just stutter, completely taken aback and Joel had expected as much - you’re too good of a girl to navigate a situation like this. Good thing he already has his next words planned and loaded up to help you along.

“Laps feelin’ mighty empty, y’know…” Joel muses, leaning back and spreading his palms out on the leather couch next to his thighs. You flash your eyes to his legs, then his face again, mouth gaping open, finally realizing just what he’s asking for.

You can’t believe this is happening to you. You should never have taken this job, kept such a big secret from your dad that you knew he’d absolutely kill you for if he found out. You were technically an adult now, but that didn’t mean you could just throw away his rules while you lived at home with him.

And now you were being blackmailed by his friend. His very handsome friend, but you’re trying hard not to think about that right now. There’s no way he’s serious about this, no way he could actually want this from you? The neighbor girl, his friend’s daughter? Mr. Miller had always been kind, just a bit of a grumpy edge to him but he loved to joke around with your dad. You often caught them laughing together, too shy to have inserted yourself enough with someone who made your skin grow hot just from glancing into his dark, chocolate brown eyes. But without that buffer of your dad, here alone in the dim lighting of the club, it was like he’d become another man.

“Y-you want me to…?” you say, blinking hard as you stare at his thick thighs and crotch, all spread wide open. It’s enticing - normally even with an attractive customer you find yourself thinking of it more as work - fun work, but still work. But with Joel… you’d felt heat pooling between your thighs as he observed you this entire conversation, the desire starting to outweigh the embarrassment you were feeling.

“Paid for it, didn’t I?” he remarks practically, a nip of impatience edging his voice as you swallow hard and step forward.

“Y-you don’t have to… we can get a refund if you don’t want me to do it…” you say, trying to remind yourself not to mumble, but your nerves are getting the best of you.

Joel’s head shakes slowly, his hand drifting out smoothly from his body towards you, tenderly locking on to where your wrist dangles at your side and pulls you closer. Closer. Closer, until he’s pulling you down so that you have to bend down, coming face to face with him. Your cheeks burn, breathing heavy and stunted as the tension in the air thickens, his lips so close to yours. You can’t help but glance at them, the inviting curve of his lips drawing you in, but Joel’s eyes are elsewhere, peering down right between your bodies where your tits are on such display for him, spilling out of the bra at this angle.

“Like I said,” he coos softly, eyes obviously drifting up towards your face, “I need a little incentive to not spill your dirty little secret, darlin’.” A smirk grows on his face before he lets go of your wrist, and you stumble backwards a little.

“Y-you -” you stutter again, trying to counter him, but you come up short. “O-okay…” you mutter with a sigh, taking a deep breath before you hesitantly turn around, facing your back to him.

Joel tuts immediately at your lack of enthusiasm. “None of that, gimme the full show, sweetheart, or the deal’s off.”

You huff quietly, taking a few steps away from Joel, readying yourself. He can see the change in your demeanor already, the more confident strides you take before turning around, facing him again. Then you begin your routine, practiced and ready, pacing towards him with a feline, graceful energy, heels clicking on the floor as you slip one leg in front of the other, heading towards him. You almost hesitate, pushing yourself through the doubt as your hand reaches out, grazing along his shoulder, moving inward towards his collarbone.

Your fingers drag along his chest, where one button of his flannel shirt is open, wishing you could delve your whole hand inside and feel the more than likely gorgeous planes of his chest. Christ, he’s so meaty, so thick everywhere you touch.

A soft rumble escapes his chest before you turn around, grinding your ass downwards and then back up, teasing him by getting a little lower each time. But it’s not enough, he knows you’re holding back, your movements a little stilted and awkward. His cell phone is out of his pocket before he can think much more about it, snapping a photo of the way your ass is grinding down towards him, just enough of your side profile in the photo that it’s undeniably you.

“Come on, know you can do better’n that.” Joel clicks his tongue, making you freeze, hovering awkwardly above him. “Do this for a livin’ lord knows how many nights a week. If you ain’t gonna give me what I paid my hard earned money for I can call your daddy right now… maybe jus’ text him this picture. What d’you think about that?” Joel asks, holding his cell phone forward and into your eyesight. You gasp, hands grabbing for it just as he snatches it away.

“D-delete that! Please!” you cry out, feeling panic squeeze at your chest. Fuckfuckfuck you are so thoroughly fucked right now if Joel has photo evidence.

Joel smiles down at his phone, peering at the image one last time before pocketing it. “No can do, sweetheart. Now, I don’t really wanna have to ask again, yeah?”

You only gape at him for a moment longer before snapping your mouth shut and positioning yourself above his lap again. “F-fine. Jesus,” you mutter angrily, finding that the irritation you’re feeling is starting to spur you on as you begin to move again, feeling yourself turned on by Joel’s musk in your space, the heat of his body radiating towards yours in this close proximity. Not to mention you can sense just how turned on he is, how much this is affecting him as you move with more conviction, hips delicately swinging in front of him. If he wants a show, you’ll give him your best yet, you think with determination.

“F-fuck… attagirl,” Joel lets slip when you brush his crotch with your ass. He’s barely holding it together with your curves swaying tantalizingly in front of him, something even his wildest dreams likely couldn’t have conjured up. He’d never think he’d see you like this - so sensual, so fucking gorgeously in control of your sexual aura that it could make a man lose control. Your customers were beyond lucky, he thinks with a pang of jealousy shooting through him, making his blood boil hotter, his possessive side come out. While he’d been at home pining over you, thinking about you with a hand stroking his own cock, you’d been here - rubbing your pretty ass on all those lucky fucks and their undeserving crotches.

The thought makes him insane, the image of you doing this to any other man, so when you lean back against him, pressing your back to his chest, your ass just beginning to grind on his jeans, his hands go to your hips instinctively trying to bring you down onto him, to claim you. You slow your movements to a stop, leaning your head back towards his ear so that you’re almost entirely pressed against him now.

“Not s-supposed to touch,” you say, you voice the only thing giving away just how nervous you still are.

“Don’t fuckin’ care, if I’m honest,” Joel huffs back quietly, his voice husky and breathless. You bite back a moan as his rough hands wrap around each side of your waist tightly and help guide you that last inch downwards, sending your ass fully rolling over his crotch.

“H-holy shit…” you whimper when you feel the rough denim brush along the outside of your panties. You feel a flush run through you, your skin burning hot as you realize you won’t be able to hide how wet you’ve gotten for very long. It began slowly, just with his brooding, questioning eyes on you, now reaching a fever pitch as you’re in his space and feeling the prominent bulge in his pants.

It’s been far too long since you were satisfied. Truly satisfied.

Your breath catches as Joel fingers wiggle inward a little after hearing how much you’re getting into it, even closer to the waistband of your panties, the two of you facilitating the grinding motion together as you bear down a little more on his lap. Joel lets out a pleased hum, still somehow giving you the sense that he’s the one holding back now. His hands still have an air of respect to them, like they’re vibrating with the need to wrap completely around you and pull you to him, to roam your skin and grab at all the forbidden parts of you.

When the thought flashes across your mind, you realize you want him to.

“T-touch me…” you whisper, immediately clamping your betraying mouth shut as the words float out into the air. You hold your breath, waiting to see if Joel heard you.

“What’s that, gorgeous? Couldn’t quite hear you,” Joel says, his tone a low, mocking sound that tells you he’s baiting you, that he wants to play with his food before eating it. Your eyes narrow before they shut completely, rolling back when he forces your ass to move along his bulge again.

“F-fu- touch me,” you spit out a bit louder. “Please.”

“You poor thing,” you hear him tut from behind you, forcing your hips upwards and away before grasping onto your hands, turning you around to face him. “Can’t get us in trouble now, can we?” he asks tauntingly, his eyes giving you a heated staredown as they widen, almost looking sympathetic if there wasn’t so much of an appetite behind them.

You whimper, visibly whining as your face screws up, squeezing his hands with yours. Joel tugs, so lightly that you’d almost think it was your own idea as you start to come back down towards him, pressing the warmth between your legs against his thigh. You sigh shakily, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly swing one leg over top of his and bear down a little more, straddling his thigh.

“We w-won’t… we won’t…” you breathe out, knowing it’s not the complete truth, but room seven is especially tucked back, hardly getting any traffic. In fact, it was known for bending the rules a bit.

“She’s so needy, huh? You all wet for me, sweetheart, that it? She need a little relief?” Joel taunts, and when you open your eyes to meet his gaze, he’s practically pouting. Your cheeks burn at how desperate he’s making you sound, but your hips twitch of their own accord, sending a zing of pleasure up your spine and you whimper quietly again, giving yourself away even further.

“Y-yes, Mr. Miller…”

“Keep on doin’ your little dance, pretty girl, jus’ right there,” Joel urges you, a hand finding the small of your back, the other locked onto your hip as you start to rock forward, then back again. Relief instantly floods you as your clit brushes against the ripples in the hard denim, making you move harder against him, mouth popped open in fresh ecstasy.

“Close that mouth before I shove somethin’ in it, you fuckin’ tease,” Joel grits out, his eyes burning wildly, finally giving you a glimpse at how affected he is as he keeps his stare on your face, starting to sheen with sweat. Your mouth snaps shut, a stifled moan pulling from your throat and behind your closed lips, threatening to burst out of you.

“This ain’t against the rules? Havin’ a pretty girl ride my thigh?” he asks in cruel teasing, flickering eyes glancing down to where your hips are shamelessly rocking on him.

“I- I don’t - know-“ you choke out, your legs starting to tremble as the pleasure slowly, steadily builds deep inside of you. “I d-don’t care…”

“Riiight, she’s on her rebellious streak now, ain’t she?” Joel mutters facetiously, smiling a devious grin as he watches your face screw up in concentration. You truly don’t care, you can’t care anymore when whatever the hell is going on feels so good. Damn this job, damn Joel’s games, you’re going to get what you need out of this right now, too. Your head is thrown back as your whines and moans escalate, showing Joel just how close you’re getting.

“That’s it, god you’re beggin’ for it, ain’t you? So dirty…” Joel’s hands grip tighter along your hips, starting to drag you inwards, towards his aching, clothed bulge. “Beggin’ for your daddy’s friend's cock while you make a mess all over his thigh, aren’t you? Who would’ve thought a good girl like you’d be wantin’ to get fucked by an old man?”

His words make you clench around nothing, the harsh tone making your insides twist in pleasure as you roll your hips a little faster. “F-fuck… I - I need to - Mr. Miller -” you plead aimlessly, feeling your core tightening, the obscene wetness driving you to full on madness as your pussy aches, cries out for Joel.

Your leg is being dragged over top of him, forcing you to fully straddle his lap, thighs stretched wide and burning at how wide you’re going to accommodate his huge frame. You’re in disbelief at the rough, needy noise Joel makes as soon as your cunt is pulled down onto him, Joel’s hands forcing your hips to start thrusting against him. You nearly lose your balance, wrapping your arms around his neck to hang on as he looks at you with determination. Hands planted firmly on your ass, squeezing hard as he relishes in the feel of finally having you like this, feeling your warm heat seeping through his denim right to where he’s desperate to have you most.

“Joel,” he corrects in his haze, stunting your hips to press down hard on his cock, sending a gasp flying out of your mouth at the sheer size of what’s to come. Your mouth is practically watering, so close to what your body craves now, what it needs. When your fingers graze the button of his jeans, he stiffens, seeming to snap out his lustful fog as he swats your hand away.

“Fuck… later,” Joel says suddenly, using every bit of self restraint to push you back, moving your heat from his bulge, the instantaneous lack of you devastating him to the core.

Your brows quickly knit in confusion at the sudden change in course. “W-why…?” you whisper breathlessly, bringing your lips near his neck, kissing the rough skin, working your way up to his patchy, gray flecked beard. His hand is at the back of your head, yanking you backwards by the hair, tearing your lips off of him in a brutal rush. He holds you there, the pull on your scalp starting to prickle harder as you sit staring at him like a tamed animal being held up by its scruff.

“Can’t fuck you properly in here. Too many fuckin’… people. Prying eyes wantin’ to see what all the fuss is about.”

“I-I can be quiet,” you retort, hating just how much it sounds like begging but the hold he has on you right now is so intense, so inexplicable that you’d say anything, you think.

Joel huffs, a tiny, incredulous snort coming out of his nose. “No, you can’t. Not if I’m doin’ what I plan on doin’ to you. We can’t have anyone come snoopin’, can we?”

You shake your head, suddenly wondering if he’s about to drag you out of here, take you home to his bed, or your bed, you think with a shudder. You feel a pull inside your belly, thinking you just might let him if you don’t get your head back on straight soon.

“An’ you still gotta work the rest of your shift, make your money, don’t you babydoll?” Joel says with a smirk growing, making your face fall completely into a deep frown. “Call it a little punishment for bein’ such a bad, naughty girl, yeah? Then you can finish up givin’ me my piece of the pie.”

You find yourself gaping at him for the umpteenth time tonight in disbelief. He wasn’t going to just leave you… like this? Was he? You can feel your clit pulsing against your panties, your body tense and wound up, on the precipice of coming so hard you saw stars only a few moments ago.

“Up, now,” Joel says, shifting his legs so that you’re forced to move, scrambling up onto your shaky legs, feeling like a newborn fawn getting your footing again.

“W-wait… I already - didn’t I… give you what you want?” you ask, suddenly feeling yourself snapping out of the heady, lust filled haze Joel had you in. This was insane, right? You can’t fuck him, you shouldn’t. It wasn’t right for either of you, and you’d been crazy to have just been this close to letting him stuff you full.

Joel’s head tilts, watching your slightly messy hair and smudged makeup for a few beats with a discerning gaze. “Nah, darlin’, you just gave me what I paid for. This is what I want.”

Your heart and stomach sink to new depths. “N-no. Joel! You said… if I gave you the lap dance you wouldn’t tell my dad. And I gave you a hell of a lot more than that -” Joel stands, interrupting you, coming forward and crowding your space, his hulking mass like a tower next to you, shadowing you with his commanding energy.

“Watch your mouth,” he snips, a hand gripping onto your wrist. “I’m the one callin’ the shots here, an’ I changed my mind once I saw just how pretty that sweet little pussy of yours can be. So here’s what’s gonna happen…” Joel’s fingers come up to ghost along your cheek, trailing down your neck, along the swells of your breasts as he speaks. You can’t help but shudder at the attention, how good it feels on your sensitive, needy skin.

“You go on out there, tell ‘em what a great job you did in here, work the rest of your shift like a good girl, thinkin’ about just how fuckin’ wet you got these pretty panties, how bad she needs a little help from Mr. Miller.”

Your breath is caught in your throat at his words, hitching further as his touch skates further down, sending your hips twitching forward.

“An’ I’ll be waitin’ for you after, darlin’, for what I’m owed.”

Your heart pounds as you slip out the side door and into the alleyway, pausing to let the cool night air wash over you as you gather your thoughts. Your mind is at war with itself, one half of you knowing this is a terrible idea, setting you up for complete disaster in the future. How could you ever face Joel again if you two took it that far? Then again, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to face him in the daylight already, anyways, without your cheeks burning so hot they caught fire. The other half of you was winning, had been winning as you worked the rest of your shift in a complete daze, hardly recognizing your own movements as your body burned hot and needy, mind completely scrambled by the conundrum of your father’s closest friend coming onto you and more.

You spent the rest of your shift coming to terms with the fact that you do want to fuck him. So badly. Even if it’s wrong, a complete mistake in every single way. You also know your mind isn’t to be trusted right now, running on pure horniness and desperation, never having been fucked in the way you know Joel could. His experience, his power, the way his lustful eyes had drank you in like the sweetest balm - it was all too hard to turn down. You turn, looking the opposite way down the alleyway from your car, starting to think you might be able to sneak around the block and get in your car and drive off without him noticing, wondering exactly where he’s waiting for you. You don’t see a soul, hear anyone else in this alley apart from the distant music from inside and chatter from along the main street which is a far cry from where the employee exit to Oasis dropped you.

You take the risk, heart thrumming wildly as you start down the alley, saying a silent apology to Joel in your head, and then yourself for letting this secret come out, knowing Joel was definitely not bluffing if you didn’t follow through on your end of the deal. Better to face punishment from your father than have to deal with the consequences of fucking his best friend and facing the feelings that would come after. You’re only halfway down the alleyway before a warm, rough hand is slapped against your mouth and an arm is draped around your middle and tugging you backwards. A wall of muscle meets you and you whimper loudly behind the hand, starting to yell.

“Shh, shh, no screamin’,” the voice coos, distinctly recognizable. Shit.

“Tryna sneak off on me, huh, pretty girl?” Joel says next to your ear, his neck craning down to breathe you in, groaning. It’s so feminine, so light and soft, the faded scent of your perfume and body wash makes him instantly mad with need for you. His hand slips down, giving your lips some room to answer now that you’ve stopped fighting him, leaning back into his hold a little more.

“N-no,” you choke out, lying. “S-swear.”

“Didn’t change your mind? Want me to send those pretty pictures to your daddy?” Joel coos, starting to walk you towards the brick wall of the building, pushing your body forwards until you’re pressed against the cool, scratchy surface. You hold back a moan when his body leans into you fully, completely dominating you as you’re at his mercy against the wall.

“I j-just d-don’t think we should -” you utter half heartedly, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, fearing what might come next after your suggestion.

“Why’s that?” he asks, dripping with condescension. “Seemed you couldn’t wait to get stuffed full of me not too long ago, yeah?”

“I-it’ll be weird after, w-won’t it? How can we… be around my dad? How can you?” You finally find your voice, your bravery, to ask him the question you’d been thinking the entire night.

A small chuckle blows past the side of your head from where Joel’s mouth sits against your head. “Think we both learned tonight I’m willin’ to keep a secret,” he says, his voice getting more harsh, a needy coarseness to it that sends goosebumps along your skin. Joel feels a frenzy overcoming him when he notices your thighs clenching, how shallow and wanting your breaths are becoming now. He can’t wait much longer… can’t stand the torture he’s endured at your sweet teasing for a second longer.

“I-I want it…” you finally say in a harsh whisper, your resolve faded within seconds. Your ass ruts back into his hardness, an ache that hadn’t subsided in the least in the last hours as he waited for you. Patiently. Like he had already been all of these months.

“You know I’m gonna ruin anyone else f’you, darlin’, don’t you?” he asks as his lips trace along your shoulder, now clad in a tank top that you’d changed back into. The bits of bare skin he touches taste like heaven, feel almost unbearably soft and inviting against his plush lips. He couldn’t possibly deserve any of this, but he couldn’t help but take it, anyhow. He could pay for his sins later. Your neck is next on his list, another supple spot of heaven to taste as he mutters the words again. “Don’t you?”

You just nod at first, dumbstruck by the feel of his lips, turning your head to try to meet them. “Yes,” you tell him softly, knowing it’s the truth, and there isn’t a turning back from this moment anymore. His lips are suddenly all there is, devouring your own whole as he takes in bounds, your tongues and teeth and mouths in a desperate clash, panting into one another as Joel starts to tug at your jeans, fingers flying desperately to tear them down.

You let him.

The second he’s pushing into you, you see bright white flash across your vision - that pulse of pain shooting through the very fabric of your being, your nerves lit up and screaming out from deep inside of you. Joel’s groan is barely audible through the ringing in your ears as he doesn’t stop, finding solace in your tight heat when he pushes himself into you in full. It’s heaven incarnate, you are heaven incarnate, he thinks, practically panting out the words as he feels your wet tightness pulling him in, walls pulsing as you adjust to the sheer volume that is Joel. Your cheek is crushed against the brick, mouth propped open in shock, the rough scrape on your face the only thing keeping you grounded as you whine out a long, wanton sound, something completely foreign to you.

“So… fuckin’... dumb on this cock,” Joel utters as he starts to move, a slow drag of his cock out and back in before he makes good on his promise to ruin anyone else for you, to never have a comparison to the blinding pleasure you feel rocking your entire universe as he quickly ruts into you. “Fuckin’ heaven.”

“J- fuck -” you stutter out, completely speechless. When one arm wraps around you, finding your clit, needy and puffy from hours of torturous edging, everything else melts away. The dark alley, the fact that you could be seen at any moment, the way you weren’t even sure you trusted Joel to keep your secret despite you following through on your end - none of it fucking mattered anymore.

“W-wanted this so bad, y’don’t know what you do to a man, sweetheart… Jesus fuck,” Joel says, uncharacteristically soft as his hips roll, sending your own bouncing onto his hurried fingers swirling along your clit. Desperation clings to the both of you now, hot and heavy air, hurried movements like this could be torn away from the two of you any second.

“Joel… I’m fu- I’m close, so close, please…” you rush out, feeling a pull of warmth at your center, his cock brushing along just the right spot to send you to that edge. You start to moan louder, the noise echoing in the open space around the two of you, your hand hurriedly slapping over your mouth to muffle it as the high starts to rock through you. His name screams from behind your hand, the sound still clear enough to send Joel to a state of crazed fervor, thrusting into you at an impossible pace, sending you bouncing harder against the wall. You twitch and shake, your eyes rolling back as you come harder than you have in months, maybe ever. Just like he’d promised, the absolute bastard.

“Fuckin’ creamin’ on this cock, shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” Joel marvels breathlessly as the obscene squelching of your bodies meeting only gets louder. “Oh, good girl, such a pretty, messy slut for a dirty old man, aren’t you?”

“G-god, yes, fuck… I am…” you whimper out with flustered nods, completely spent as you come down from your high, letting Joel use your cunt to chase his own now. You twitch at the overstimulation, your body still tingling pleasantly as he turns you into his own personal fuck toy, your body his for the taking.

“Pretty as a picture, all fucked out like this,” he says slyly one hand planted on the wall next to you now, the other playing lazily with your aching clit. “Never gonna be able to give me up now, are you?”

You shake your head, lost in the moment with your answers as you feel another orgasm washing over you, less intense but still pleasant waves of pleasure rolling through while you gasp for breath, completely full of Joel each time he thrusts heartily into you, stealing away your air.

“Please… c-can’t…” you mumble through your climax, hardly able to take the stimulation anymore but knowing the sick little part of your brain is happy to do it for him, let him use you until he’s completely spent himself.

You don’t have to wait much longer for your wish, hearing Joel grunting, almost whimpering when he’s suddenly gone from you with a wet, slick pop, leaving you cavernous empty. He barely makes it out of you before his hand grips his cock, twitching in his palm as he comes towards the ground right in between your legs, ropes of cum coating your pulled down jeans and underwear, the brick wall, the pavement below you. His forehead is pressed to your back, sticky and hot as he catches his breath for a silent beat.

You’ve never felt anything like this, this satisfaction, this pure unadulterated filthiness and pleasure. The addiction already grips you, your poor, sore cunt already anticipating the next time he could ruin you.

But then it hits you like a train, pulling you out of your reverent little bubble - this can’t happen again. It’s out of your system, out of his, and now you both have a secret to keep. You start to pull your pants up, the movement seeming to bring Joel to his senses, reaching down along with you.

“Sh-shit, here, let me,” he says in a rasp, tugging your jeans up, the immediate feeling of wetness sticking to your body and making you cringe. “Little souvenir for ya,” he comments cockily, knowing his cum is now sticking to your skin, knowing that thought will sustain him for at least the next few hours. But that’s wishful thinking, he realizes, knowing that he could find himself buried in you the entire night, over and over again, considering hauling you away to do just that when you interrupt his thinking.

“I- I’m sorry…” you mutter, not even fully sure of why you even say it. For some reason, you are sorry that you put the two of you in this position, even if it ended in something so incredible that you have a hard time even putting it into words.

Joel spins you to face him, thumbing your chin and pinching it, bringing your face to look him in the eyes. They look a little softer than they had inside the club, more like the neighbor you’ve come to know. So charming and disarming when he wants to be.

“Don’t be,” he says, leaning down to kiss you more gently than he had before, something tender and sweet that you find yourself immediately falling for, body melting into his as you hang your arms around his neck, wondering when along the way you started feeling so comfortable with this.

“Besides,” Joel adds, a devious smirk pulling his lips upwards. “Your daddy ain’t home for a few more days. Think we can find a few more ways to convince me to keep your little secret.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #x reader

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bunni-v1 · 2 years ago

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First Years Finding Out Your A Girl?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Mild swearing, STRICTLY Female Reader, Discussion of Jack having a good sniffer (lol)

Info: Headcannons; Ace, Deuce, Jack, and Epel x Reader (platonic); Mostly for fun

🍓Hi. I'm back... sorta. I didn't have much time to write over the summer, and I honestly don't know how much I can write during school cause my schedule is... yikes. But I picked up something I wrote a while ago, edited it, and decided to post it. I'll be answering whatever's in my ask box right now, and then maybe work on some other stuff.

Ortho & Sebek

Second Years

Third Years

Dorm Leaders

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part.

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course, but we’ll get to him).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

FIRST-YEAR SQUAD

Ace

-He’s one of the first ones who find it out, and it’s in the very cliche anime way.

-After some point of knowing you, Ace is so comfortable that he just invites himself into ramshackle.

-It’s never been an issue or anything. You’re thick as thieves now, you’ve survived death together a handful of times. If you ask Ace, that’s about as close as you can get with someone.

-Normally, you and Grim are just sitting around in the living area, but this time you aren’t. However, he does hear voices coming from your room. His curiosity is peaked.

-So, slippery guy that he is, he sneaks up to your room and his curiosity only grows when he hears a woman’s voice. Prefect getting lucky? And he didn’t tell him? Ace thought you guys were friends.

-He creeps up to your room, slides open your door, and!!! Holy shit it’s you. It’s you in a towel. It’s you and you’ve got tits?!?!

-His first reaction is to… well… scream.

-“You’re a girl?!?”

“Why are you in my room???”

“You’ve got- boobs!”

“Get out Ace!”

-Bro sits very politely and very quietly on your couch after that. Deep behind his blank stare, he is seething. You were a girl this whole time, and you didn’t tell him! He thought you guys were friends!

-He definitely fights you about it once you’re down and dressed. He’s just salty, he’ll get over it.

-Swears up and down he won’t tell anyone.

-Immediately tells Deuce.

-That's it though! Deuce is part of the main quartet, he deserves to know! (You scold him for this too, but you figured it would happen one way or another).

-From him finding out, he doesn’t really treat you differently. You’re still a person, why should he act differently cause you’ve got different body parts than him.

-Though, and he won’t admit this, he’s a bit more… watchful of the others around you. Yeah, you can hold your own and he respects you… but guys like Azul exist, and he’s seen firsthand the torture Azul is capable of.

Deuce

-As stated before, Ace outs you to Deuce almost immediately after finding out.

-Deuce, in all his awkward glory, completely shuts down. Disconnects from this plane of existence. He cannot believe the news he was just told.

-You, one of his best friends in all of twisted wonderland. You, the person who survived multiple overblots alongside him. You, who have seen him at his most vulnerable… are a girl.

-It isn’t even the fact that you’re a girl, it’s the fact that you kept this a secret from him for so long. You guys are… bros… how could you possibly hide something so important from him. Did you not trust him?

-Yeah… he overthinks things quite a bit.

-He also ambushes you the very next day with a million questions (very loudly (very in public)), to which you calm him down and reassure him that “No, Deuce, I don’t suddenly hate you. I wasn’t hiding it from you maliciously. I was going to tell you at some point, I just hadn’t had a good time to.”

-Deuce’s behavior definitely… changes… in some ways.

-Deep down he knows you’re a kick-ass bitch and you don’t need to be cared for, but he can’t help but want to.

-It’s definitely his mommy issues in play here.

-He just becomes more… protective and aware around you. Not in a creepy obsessive way, just in the same way a guard dog would.

-Like Ace, he’s more than aware of what the people on this campus are capable of, and you’re completely magicless on top of being more feminine. Some guys at NRC would hop on an opportunity like that like nothing.

-He just doesn’t want to see his friends getting hurt okay :(

-It’s like you gained an overprotective older brother who also sometimes barks!

Jack

-Out of everyone, Jack was the first to find out.

-I don’t wanna be the cliche writer but… he’s got a sniffer on him.

-He definitely could smell that something was up, but he didn’t want to assume!

-You could be trans, you could be genderfluid, you could be anything other than a woman! It’s not his place to judge, and smell isn’t always the end all be all. You could just really smell feminine and that's how guys come in your world.

-Mr. Respectful would never want to assume anything… but he’s a little curious he won’t lie.

-Jack REALLY found out shortly after Ace, Deuce and Grim got their asses in trouble with Azul.

-He’d never been given a reason to spend any more than a few minutes around you at a time. However, since he got pulled into this mess, he’s spent a lot more time with you.

-It happened when he was forced to hide under the desk in his office.

-You were so close and you just… smelled like a girl.

-He is so polite and so upstanding, he would NEVER ask you directly. But the suspense of not knowing really does take a number on him.

-By the end of Azul’s overblotting he is so awkward and nervous around you, that you absolutely have to say something.

-At this point, you figured most of the beastmen had an idea of you being feminine, however, you had no real confirmation of that.

-Jack is such a “let's not bother other people” kind of guy, that you knew he wouldn’t want to say anything to you if you knew… so you decided to take the plunge.

-At the museum, you pull him aside and you have to ask.

_”Jack?”

“Hm?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“…”

“I figured as much. Don’t tell anyone, m’kay? I want to tell my friends on my terms.”

-It makes Jack respect you more than he already did. Not only did you have the confidence to confront him, but you did it calmly and you were understanding of his position.

-And honestly? Not much changes between the two of you.

-He just respects you a little more. He’s not particularly protective around most other students, he talks to you the same, and he doesn’t act like you’re special. You’re just… a friend.

-The only thing that he may be different about is other beastmen. He does his best to shield you from them if he feels they might be a threat to your well-being.

Epel

-Epel, being a more feminine-looking man himself… doesn’t think much of you.

-At this point, you’re well acclimated to things at nightraven college, and are very good at being “one of the boys.”

-His ONLY implication is how… differently Rook and Kalim treat you.

-At this point, Kalim has found out via the previous chapter, and Rook knows because of course he does. (We won’t be getting into that today though)

-They both are more… delicate with you? Rook whips out the charm times ten when you’re around. Kalim, although friendly with everyone, seems to be even MORE friendly when you’re around. Like he wants you to like him.

-Even Deuce and Ace have a few… odd tells.

-They both pointedly ensure Jamil is at least five feet away from you at all times. Glare at Rook when he’s a little too charming.

-Other than that, nothing really gives it away.

-Epel is completely and totally in the dark because you’re really good at hiding that you’re a woman.

-He does, however, eventually find out because… Deuce slips up. He’s there giving his big speech on the beach, hyping Epel up, and somehow he manages, “And the prefect is a woman, but she never lets that get in her way!”

-Epel: Shocked, confused, in awe… says nothing. He lets the information ruminate.

-He lets it ruminate for a very long time.

-So long, in fact, that he doesn’t raise his suspicions until the two of you are on a broom heading off to save Vil’s life.

-The silence was killing him, so he had to ask.

-“Prefect, are you a girl?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I couldn’t be sure, I look like a girl too, so you never know.”

“Yes, Epel, I’m a girl.”

“…Cool.”

-Honestly, he’s kind of jealous of you. You passed better than him, and you had to try harder.

-It doesn’t change how he treats you, honestly. He’s not that kind of country bumpkin, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t have a little resentment held against you.

-He thinks you’re cool as hell, and you help redefine what femininity can look like to him much better than what Vil does.

-He, however, does actively become more protective of you.

-Not because he thinks you can’t fend for yourself, but because he kinda wants to show off a little.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola #ace tr #deuce spade #deuce spade x reader #jack howl #jack howl x reader #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #x reader #bunni's treats 🧁

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holycowboytiger · 5 months ago

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Poly!141 x Hacker!Reader (Part 2)

GN!Reader

(It is heavily implied that the reader is autistic)

CW: Blackmail, implied murder, religious trauma, religious imagery, reader is slowly losing it- or they lost it a while back

(A/N: this is not the best chapter, I'm actually iffy about this one and the pacing, but i really wanted to show a little bit more behind the curtain, and some more about the reader- so !! tada!!)

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fuckfuckfuckfuck,,, what the fuck do you do?! Peter has the laptop,, he will see.. fuck he'll se everything,, they'll be ruined, kiss their jobs goodbye- you need to do something-

Wait... Why do you care? This man had cursed your eyes, and his fuckass boyfriends had been harassing you at work for the better part of two weeks, who cares if Peter finds those videos- who cares if the taskforce's secret is revealed, and their careers are torn into shambles?

who gives to shits if all they live and stand for will be ripped away from them?

......It's you, you care, strangely enough you might be the only one who does, this office adores some drama, and 141 being revealed would cause such a stir people would be talking about it for years on end, but you knew what else would come of it.

At the same time- do you want to put yourself on the line? Do you want to be shady and blackmail your fellow techies to protect these men? You could just leave it... It has nothing to do with you, and to take time out of your own day to help these guys out? Are you really that charitable?

Who are you kidding... now is not the time to have a morality check, you know what's right,, and what is wrong, and - maybe you care a little bit, these men don't deserve to be revealed in such a way, and you can save them from the shame the contents of the laptop would bring.....

It would ruin the taskforce's lives, all four men would be disgracefully discharged, and their names would be dragged through the dirt for years to come, and as heartless as you were, you just couldn't let it happen, maybe you could be like an office vigilante?

Batman would be proud.....

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

Holy shit you're actually doing this aren't you? You're such a good person, maybe it will make up- and cleanse you of your previous sins, wash the blood off your hands of the people you laid to rest.. For good reason

those people deserved to die, you know this, as desperate and gut wrenching as their screams were, they deserved the punishment you laid upon them... Maybe this- this kind gesture will ease your mind, maybe this action will help you sleep easier

Fuck it... time to go keep 141's secret, hopefully without their knowledge.

The cogs turned in your head as you slowly worked out a plan, was it a morally correct plan? no, absolutely fucking not! but you've skinned someone alive so how bad could this be ?

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

Your eyes narrowed at Peter as he took the laptop from Soap, his own eyes lighting up as Soap slapped his shoulder and thanked him,, calling him a life saver- yeah right.. If only Soap knew that Peter had a habit of straying a bit too far from home, to girls that are a bit too young for him.

Would Soap care? Surely he would right? That's something he cant turn a blind eye to right? He was a good person, You're a good person.. right? Of course you are, you're helping him out... But is it really a good deed if you're doing it for selfish reasons?

To calm the sinful thoughts in your head? Are you a good person? surely...Surely not? You've killed people, tortured people because in your eyes they're bad...

What would the big man in the sky say? He would tell you to forgive,,, wouldn't he,, what you have done,,, the people you have hurt,, there is no prayer great or long enough that would grant you passage to the pearly gates...Maybe.. Or maybe you were sent down here to do the dirty work, to do the actions your forgiving God could not bare....

You're a good person.. you are a good person...right?

you don't have time for this.. get it together, you need to get that laptop..

Rising from you desk you approach Peter, slapping on the best smile you can without looking deranged you stand infront of him.. looking like a predator whose spotted easy prey

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

''Peter! Hey there...'

''Uhh,, hello?'' his eyes narrowed at you

''Hows your wife hm?'' you are great at social interaction! no really you're doing great, this is a normal structured conversation..

''She's... she's good! Do you need something?''

''Yes actually''

strike one, revealing that you're here for selfish reasons and don't give a fuck about how his wife is doing..shit

''Okay? What is it?''

''That laptop''

strike two, you're too forward

''What?''

''The laptop.''

''I-Im, not too sure I can give it to you- Johnny.. Soap asked me to take care of it''

HAH look at this loser, using Soaps name like they're friends, the guy probably doesn't give a fuck about him, he's only a tech drone, only here to take care of his technical troubles

''oh- yeah.. sure- but- but you have alot on your plate right? You're close to a promotion right? You wouldn't want to direct your attention somewhere else, especially when you're sooo close? Right?''

Ok ok- we're getting somewhere, stroke his ego-

''Yeah but- I'm sure its nothing big-''

''Peter. You seem- weary to give this laptop away.. I know you look up to the guy but- its just a device''

''You seem a bit too eager to get this laptop.''

Strike three, he's onto you, switch tactics, you need that fucking laptop.

''If you don't give me the laptop, your wife will find out who Cierra is.''

''wh-what?!''

''You heard me.''

''What,, what the fuck?!''

his eyes widened, you've got it, secured the bag,, by- strange means, but you're a strange person, it isn't ideal to let him know this early into the plan that you know of his adultery, but you don't have alot of ammo in your arsenal.

''The laptop.''

''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Yes you do. Black hair, green eyes, freckles? How strange, I thought your wife was blonde and blue eyed Peter. And.. Isn't, Cierra a bit young for you?''

''You- You're fucking insane, I would never-''

Denial- he thinks your bluffing. Show him you aren't

''You also frequent a motel on the west side of the city- what would your wife think when she finds out that you actually did get your Christmas bonus this year? but you spent it on that little side piece of your's..hm?''

''finefine! fuck...Just - just don't''

''I wont. Just do as i say and your secret is safe with me'' for now..

Ahhhhh the sweet taste of blackmail and victory in the morning, truly a breakfast to die for... except its not morning,, its early afternoon.

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

You return to your desk, trophy in hand, and you get to work quickly, afraid Soap might return too soon and see you working on his problem.

Just wipe the search history, take care of the virus, and DO NOT TOUCH THE FILE. You know what's in there and you are not curious enough to check if its been updated.

or are you?

NO YOU ARENT- BRO STOP???

anyway..

The wipe only took about five minutes, that's great! in and out, Soap wont suspect a thing! ...

You should reward yourself with a coffee! Even if you hate it, you haven't slept in days, keep yourself awake.

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

Sauntering into the office kitchen, you come across someone you weren't the happiest with coming face to face with, and by the scowl you received, he wasn't happy either-

He's the taskforce's pretty boy, Gaz- or Kyle? Garrick? Wasn't his callsign because someone spelt his name wrong? Hah, loser-

Ok stop that's mean....

Forcing your gaze to the floor you approached the counter, opening one of the cupboard to reach for a mug, you were going to offer Gaz one before you stopped yourself, this guy does NOT like you- make your coffee and get out.

Would it be weird if you just left now? Took the mug with you? ..

Yes that would be so weird, but you really don't feel like making coffee whilst a member of special forces watches you like you're defusing a bomb.

You reach for the coffee tin before feeling how ...empty it was.. oh for fucks sake- Sandra that bitch, she definitely finished it- Ugh, fucking- such an inconsiderate asshole..

Now you have to put the mug back like a weirdo and leave-

''None left hm?'' Pretty boy spoke up

''Uh.... no.'' you answered

''Shame that.''

you swore, you fucking swore you saw a smirk cross his lips- that prick- he knew- he knew it was empty, and just didn't tell you, letting you embarrass yourself infront of him,

''Yeah'' fucking shame he didn't die from that fall from a helicopter

you sigh and put the mug back. Guess you'll just have to fight off sleep with pure will power, which never worked.

Turning to leave, you avoided Gaz's heavy gaze and dragged yourself from the kitchen, ignoring the urge to bash his head onto the counter.

Maybe you should leak the videos...

No- no you should not, shake your head, hes an ass, but he does good work,,, and he takes it up the as-

ok enough.

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

You walked back to your desk and picked up Soap's laptop, preparing to take it back to Peter- only,, he wasn't at his desk.. Where the fuck did he go?

Is he on lunch??

No its only 2:30...

Your eyes scan the room until they land on your target, pointing at your workspace,, talking to.. Soap...oh fuck....

Peter looked flushed, as Soap glared at your desk, then his eyes landed on you, holding his laptop.. fuck...fuck... caught red handed, with your hand in the cookie jar... do you think this is the time that you unlock your secret invisibility powers? Or teleportation! anything to get you out of here

Maybe you should flee the country, change your name to something ridiculous- and oh fuck he's coming over, and he looked pissed, brace yourself! this is the day you're gonna get knocked out! in work! infront of a bunch of people, not your proudest moment but hell, it was for a good cause-

''You. With me.''

Don't fight it, just, let him take you away, maybe he'll be nice and shoot you out back, maybe he'll bury you too!

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

Following him felt like you were being led to the guillotine, walking through the empty halls until you find an area that you now realise is the barracks, this is not your territory, you are out of your element, lets just hope his teammates aren't here, lets hope he doesn't jump you with his boyfriends, as much as they would enjoy it-

Soap stops suddenly, and you almost walk right into his back, he whips around with an unreadable expression, he looked you up in down, before his eyes zeroed onto his laptop, still firmly in your grasp

''Can ye explain to me why I gave Peter my laptop to fix, and why it is now in yer hands hm?''

shit.

#cod x reader #poly!141 x reader #call of duty x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #john mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader #poly!141

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darnell-la · 2 months ago

Note

Old man Logan filming reader while fucking her while he threatens to blackmail her + humiliation kink

note: we didn’t know how to make the story, but we found a way as always. as you guys know, we’re freaked out, and by that, we mean, we’re the freakiest page on Tumblr. if we could say make our stories more spicy without getting reported, we would…

warnings: cnc, rough sex, kidnapping, manhandling, chained, angry Logan, etc

———

Y/n isn’t to much of a good person when it comes to hanging out with her friends. She had thought arguing with her Uber guy that her friends ordered wouldn’t come back and bite her in the ass, until now.

Once she woke up in a dark room, changed and gagged with the familiar smell, she had known she should’ve stayed home tonight.

Logan made the quick decision to teach people what happens when they mistreat strangers. He thought he’d maybe scare her a little, but after thinking, he wanted to do more.

No one knew where he lived. No one knows that she’s fine yet. She couldn’t possibly get away from him, and he didn’t have to let her leave. He could keep her for himself since a girl like her wouldn’t be too much to miss out in the world.

“Just look at you. Pathetic. All that talkin’ you did with your friends went out the window, huh, Bub?” Logan teaser as the young girl fought against the chains and tried to scream, but couldn’t.

“No one can hear you. We’re far away from any kind of human life — Perfect for me,” Logan said as she got up from a chair and stepped towards her, walking past a camera he had set up to look directly at her.

“You see this? This was thrown in the dump — It works perfect for what I need it for,” y/n’s heart began raising, not knowing what this man was going to do to her. She’s never been tortured before, and she had no plans to die any time soon.

“Please,” y/n cried through her gag, hoping to gain some sympathy from the older man, but the only thing that was gained was a rick hard boner that poker hard through his jeans.

“I’m not going to let you go- ever — And, if you somehow escape, just know I’ll have hundred of videos of you crying on my cock — Soon you’ll visibly enjoy it, and I don’t think you’ll want the world to see that, right?”

Y/n barely understood anything the man was saying as she never stopped fighting, screaming, and begging in her chains.

“You’re prettier then I thought — It was pretty dark out there hours ago, but now that I’ve got you in the spot light and closer to my face — I can definitely see myself making a good slut out of you,”

Logan quickly got into his knees and climbed in top of y/n, now hobbling onto her skin as she screamed for some kind of help.

Chaining her hands behind her back made everything easier to bite down on. Her kicks were annoying him, but not enough to stop tasting her.

“What a goddamn peach,” Logan said as he moved down to her lower body, now pulling down her skirt that she loved for the night. Now she had wished she never wore it. Same goes for her shirt that shoes to much of her cleavage.

“Please, stop!” Y/n tried her beg to beg the man through her gag, but that only turned him in. She was all bite out ago, and now she’s crying for him to get off of her. The night cousins have gotten any better for the old man.

“No need to shave for me, princess — You’re to pretty to be worried about a bush,” Logan roughly moved y/n around the mattress to make sure the camera a few feet away from then would catch the angle he wanted to use her in.

“I bet we’d make a great couple — Never liked a young brat, but if you’re as tight as I think you are, I’ll consider,”

Y/n knew she was ain’t getting out of this situation. Getting out of chains seemed impossible unless he let her out. Even if she could get out of the chains, what would she do then? Logan is way too huge to fight off.

“Hey, relax — Let me at least get in first, yeah?” Logan said as he moved in between her legs. “Might wanna save all that fighting for when it actually matters. Unless you’re fine with being relaxed on my cock,”

Those words had triggered y/n’s brain, instantly making her cry. She never thought anything like this would happen to her, but she just had to go home alone tonight. She ever does, yet, tonight, she did.

“See what you’ve got me looking like?” Logan said as he pulled himself out of his jeans, dropping his huge length on top of y/n’s now uncovered cunt. “Might take a bit to fit, but I’ll make it work,”

As Logan spat all over her heat snd his cock, y/n tried her best to make every begging word clear. Now she was more focused on how she would be able to take him. She’s never seen a cock that huge in real time.

“Hey- Hey — All that begging ain’t gon stop me, okay? You should’ve thought abut your fucking actions when you were bitching with your friends,”

Y/n wanted to argue back with the man and tell him how rude he was at first, but all of that died when she felt him push into her, almost getting everything in, in one go.

The young girl could celery scream. All she could do was stiffen up and and take deep breaths as the man began thrusting into her slowly, trying to get every inch of himself through her folds.

“Fucking hell, Bub,” Logan growled as he continued to thrust, feeling her grip him tighter than he ever thought anyone could. “I’m definitely filling you up more the once a day,”

“S-Stop,” y/n stuttered as she felt an instant knot fill in her stomach. “Relax yourself so I can push better,” even thought Logan wanted to teach the young girl a horrible lesson, he still wanted to make sure she enjoyed some of it.

To watch and see her hide the pleasure is all he wants, especially for the camera. She’d never leave or think about treating him like shit again if he had that against her.

“P-Please, no more,” y/n begged as she felt his balks brush against her other hole, letting her know he was all the way in. “I-I can’t,” y/n cried into her gag as her eyes rolled back.

Logan went to speak until he felt y/n gushing around him. He couldn’t believe it until he looked down then back up at her face. The way her eyes crossed showed him how hard it’ll be for her to ignore how much she’d love the pleasure he’s about to give her.

“Yeah, that’s it — Keep it coming,” Logan said as he placed his hands in her waist to pull her into his thrust. “All that crying, and you’re crying on my dick — What a fucking lie you are, Bub,”

Y/n shook her head, not wanting his words ti get ti her head, but they already had. If her were to ask her right now if he felt good inside her, she would be lying if she said another other then yes.

“Maybe after doing this a few times, we can let whatever happened earlier tonight, go — We can leave it behind us and get to know each other — Would be a dream to have a pretty thing like you around with no complaints,”

Y/n continued to shake her head, upset that the way he talked to her as he fucked her was making her feel a type of way. She’s not even scared of him anymore. The only thing she’s scared of is what he said before — Having her enjoying this caught on camera.

“I’ll tell you what, Bub — If you do good for me for a month, I’ll let you redeem yourself. I’ll be nicer and might even say fuck it to the tapes. How does that sound? — But, only if you stay,”

Y/n wanted to curse at the man. She wanted to scream and punch him, but sadly, the only thing she could do was nod quickly with her fucked out eyes. The way he pounded into her made her forget that he was a stranger who had kidnapped her.

“That’s my girl,”

193 notes · View notes

osmanthus-wine-addiction · 3 months ago

Text

23 Voyeurism

Zhongli x Reader / NSFW / Modern AU / Reader is a camgirl / Consensual Voyeurism and Exhibitionism / Zhongli is reader's landlord and sort of her roommate / Power imbalance / Ambiguous age gap / Emotional avoidance and fear of attachment / Mentions of manipulation, blackmail, and parasocial dynamics / Don't worry, it's sweet at the end! / Word count 12K

You would've noticed someone standing at your door had you been less occupied with your chat. When you finally turned at the knock on your door, your eyes landed on the unexpected face of your landlord, whom you hadn't seen in almost half a year. Your heart might as well have stopped.

"Ahem… I did not mean to intrude." A deep voice pierced the silence.

Your chat went crazy. How could it not? The expression on your face changed three times in the span of a second. First was pleasant surprise, then panic, finally settling on a furious blush. Your chat was going a million miles an hour, demanding to know who had interrupted your stream. Wild guesses were thrown around. Some were close, others way off. Nobody got it right.

"Perhaps it would be best if you closed your door." The man at your doorway reminds you.

"Thanks. Can you please shut it for me?" You asked sheepishly.

The door clicked and you tried to resume the stream, but no matter what you tried, you were unable to get back into the right state of mind. Zhongli's sudden appearance had completely thrown you off your boat. All you could think about was him now.

You bit your lip in frustration as Zhongli's devastatingly handsome face resurfaced in your mind. When you first met your landlord in person, you instantly developed a crush on him. With the eloquent way he talked, you had expected someone well put together, but you didn't expect him to be this good-looking. It was just a pity he only graced your eyes once every few months, each stay limited to a fleeting week or so. He came and went, leaving you both thankful and disappointed. He would usually send you a short notice by text just before he lands, but you were streaming today and had been ignoring all your calls and messages.

You end the stream and drag your anxious self out of your room. To your horror, Zhongli steps out of his own room at the same time. His hair was still slightly wet, indicating he had just taken a shower. You awkwardly follow him into the living room, taking a seat as he fetches a pot of tea that had been brewing. He set down two cups and filled them, one for you and one for himself. Finally, he lowers himself into the adjacent seat, amber eyes falling on your flustered face while crossing his legs elegantly. He raised his cup to his lips, taking an unhurried sip. You felt like you had returned to your highschool days, sitting in the dean's office.

Zhongli was significantly older than you, so even if he doesn't intentionally intimidate you, you felt small in his presence. It didn't help that he had accidentally witnessed you doing such a scandalous act. The memory would probably scar him forever if you did not alleviate the tension right away.

"I'm sorry you had to see that!" You said all in one breath.

"Are you perhaps in need of money?"

"No!" You answered too quickly. "I mean yes, I originally started doing it for the money. This place isn't exactly cheap haha…" You laughed nervously. "I'm okay now."

Working a job like yours, you wouldn't normally be able to afford to rent a place like this alone, especially not with the rampant price hikes in the market right now. It was perfect, close to your workplace and located in a safe, guarded community. Best of all, your only roommate, who also happened to be the owner of the property, was never around. He only needed to keep one of the two rooms locked for when he happened to be in the city during business trips. To say you got used to his absence was an understatement. You often left doors wide open and walked around the house half-naked. Only during his brief stays did you behave yourself and keep up some semblance of decency.

"I apologize if I came off judgemental. That was not my intention. What you do to earn a living is not my concern, as long as you don't miss any of your monthly payments."

"So I'm not going to get evicted?"

Zhongli chuckled. "I do not believe you are breaching any of the terms stipulated in our lease, so why would you be?"

You let out a breath of relief.

"So how long have you been home?" You asked, not realizing how the question could imply other things.

He cleared his throat. "Half an hour."

Your eyes widened as a flush rose in your cheeks. He definitely heard more than he could stomach, or he wouldn't have come knocking.

If it weren't for your voice, he might've thought there was a stranger in his house. All those flirtatious interactions with your chat was a persona you put on for the camera. The person you presented yourself as was much bolder than how you were in real life, how Zhongli remembers you. You imagined how shocked he was, standing in front of your bedroom door, catching you shamelessly touching yourself while entertaining your audience. How long did he endure the sounds coming from your room before he got up to see what you were up to? Just how long had he been standing in front of your open door before he knocked?

Did he perhaps get a bit excited watching you entertain your thirsty viewers? Was that why he had to go get a shower? The poor gentleman. Maybe if it were anyone else, you'd take offense if they peeped, but him? If he gave you the chance to show him, you'd try to make all of his closeted fantasies come true too, no tips required.

You couldn't help but let your eyes wander. Zhongli had on a simple buttoned shirt and a pair of slacks. With that handsome face, tall frame, and lithe body, he was already blessed in looks, but now you wondered if he was well endowed down there too. How could you not?

"I…I don't mind that you saw me. It was my fault for forgetting to close the door. Tell me if there's anything I can do to make things more comfortable while you're here. I only stream three days a week and for about two hours a time, but I can always adjust that if you need me to be quiet while you work. If you want, I can give you my schedule." You rambled on, unaware of how your words seem to encourage him to be present for those times rather than avoid them.

Zhongli smiled appreciatively at your efforts to accommodate him. This was not the first time he had seen you frazzled. The more flustered you were, the more you talked. The thought conjured up another sinful image in his head. He imagined you trying to talk, blabbering incoherently in between moans as he fingered your dripping cunt. How adorable would you look, spread out underneath him as he teased you?

Your sweet moans and sighs were what had drawn him to your door, but the pretty flush of your skin and the tantalizing curves of your naked body was what had rooted him there, staring like some depraved creep. He was not proud of his lapse in self-control, but at that moment, he was no different from anyone in your audience.

You sounded so eager to please, working so hard to satisfy those needy viewers of yours, but at the same time so overcome with need yourself. He felt sorry for you, but he had to reign in his presumptions. If you didn't enjoy the attention, you wouldn't have been so engrossed that you failed to notice him at your door earlier. How lucky it must be to be one of your viewers, to be able to see you up front and center, to be addressed so affectionately while you pleasured yourself to their demands.

"I would love to know your schedule." Zhongli's voice was deep and velvety as always. There was a heavy tinge of suggestiveness though, his reply twisting your words into an invitation that he was simply responding to.

Your face burned as you blurted out your schedule. In your head, it certainly sounds like you were now making plans for him to join you next stream.

Zhongli made a mental note of the hours you mentioned. He had no business to attend to during those times, so he would undoubtedly be home. There was no need to deliberately leave his own house just to avoid your streaming schedule. He was not some unrestrained teenager who couldn't handle a bit of temptation. Perhaps with repeated exposure, the both of you would find some way of dealing with the blushing elephant in the room.

"How is work treating you lately?" He asked you, genuine care emanating from his voice.

"I'm surviving." You replied vaguely at first, but realized that he's probably asking because he thinks you're struggling to come up with rent. "They gave me a small raise when I got promoted so I don't need to rely on this side hustle as much."

"That's wonderful." He nodded, his guilt dissipating a bit at your words.

If he had known just how much financial strain you were in, he would've kept the rent the same as the previous year when you renewed the lease with him. He doubted your family and friends knew what you did to make ends meet. As your landlord, he was directly responsible for the additional sum that lead you to take on this extra work. Perhaps you learned to derive some form of joy from it, but if the demand for money were not there, would you have even considered it?

"I have a proposal for you, one that you may very well refuse if it toes your boundaries too much. This is simply something I'm offering as an addition to what you're already doing, a means to lessen your financial burdens if you will." Zhongli begins, stern eyes locking with your curious ones. He sounded so pragmatic, it was like he was ready to whip out a printed contract and have you sign it right then and there.

"Let's hear it."

Zhongli was not someone who relished in squeezing every last drop of interest out of others simply because he could. As high as prices were in this neighborhood, the room you rented from him was a steal for all the perks included. You smiled, trusting him to come up with something that made sense and benefited both parties simultaneously.

"Allow me to sit in while you stream and I will pay you a fixed sum which I can either issue to you as a bank deposit or deduct from your payment this month. I will not speak nor make demands of you. Neither will I touch you or interact with you in any physical capacity as that would disrupt your work. Merely treat me as if I am not there. I will refrain from making any inappropriate actions without your explicit consent, including touching myself. If it comes to that, I will leave the room so as to not affect you."

Your brow went up, mostly from shock but also from pleasant surprise. His proposal was almost too good to be true. Sure, it was a bit out of your comfort, having a living breathing spectator in the room while you cam, but something about that person being Zhongli specifically made your heart race. An image of him sitting in that armchair at the corner of your room that was just out of your camera's frame surfaced in your mind. If it were someone else proposing this, you'd shoot them down immediately.

Drawing in a deep breath to give the impression of hesitation, you held his gaze. Inside, you had already made up your mind. He was giving you a blatant chance to seduce him, clueless to the unholy thoughts he effortlessly plants into your head. It was your chance to show him what he had gotten himself into, reel him in with your well-practiced charm and charisma, or fail miserably and end up begging him to fuck you instead. Would it really be a loss? Dignity be damned, at least you'll have crossed one thing off your do-or-die-regretting list. He just didn't know it yet and you were determined to keep that mask on until it melts off your face from the heat.

"How much exactly and how long?"

"However much you usually charge for private sessions. Are they usually priced by bid?" He asked you, obviously unfamiliar with the unspoken rules of the trade. "As for the duration of this proposal, I will only be here for two weeks this time, so we can set it to that."

You nodded. "My price differs from stream to stream. Sometimes it's a few hundred and sometimes it's a few thousand depending on the length of the call. It's not really comparable since I'm not actively interacting with you."

"I see." He stroked his chin in thought. "How about this instead."

He quickly calculated the difference between your monthly rent before and after the lease renewal, rounded it up and presented it to you. Six sessions total, it would help you out immensely in the next few months he'd be gone and he receives a front row seat to an indulgent performance that all your viewers would probably kill for.

"That works…" You agreed, voice going soft like a whisper as you wrapped your head around the fact that he'd be watching you the next time you streamed. "The price is a bit higher than I expected. I can throw in another perk for you."

Zhongli chuckled, smiling at how considerate you were being with him. He wondered if this was how you treated all your viewers who tipped you. Seeing how hard you pushed yourself earlier, he hoped the earnings you made were at least proportional to the demands you received, or else he would be inclined to sponsor you himself and save you from all the trouble dealing with hordes of entitled men who didn't even bother to pay you well for bending over backwards. He could easily imagine what kinds of disrespect you must tolerate everytime you streamed, needy viewers ordering you around like they owned you just because they tipped, the thoughts tugged at his protective nature. It was silly, he knew. You weren't some damsel crying for his help, so it was unwarranted of him to feel the need to shield you from that imagined harm.

Perhaps it had been too long since he had last been in a relationship. Why he was feeling these sentiments towards you, his tenant of all people? He had always found you attractive, drawn in by your subtle charms rather than your physical looks, but now his mind could no longer hold off those more illicit forms of admiration. Was it simply just the sight of you streaming earlier? Things had changed in that instant, like the ringing strike of a hammer against a chisel, cracking the smooth surface of the rock. He could no longer go back. The wall that stood between the two of you had already crumbled.

"You're not going to ask what that perk is?"

"I'm sure it would be worthwhile." Zhongli smiled.

"How about I let you pick out what I'm going to wear on stream? Unless someone tips and overrides it, of course. I have to honor tip redemptions…" You thought aloud.

"I look forward to perusing your wardrobe when the time comes."

"It's settled then?" You asked.

He nodded, smiling fondly at you. "I'll leave you be now. There's still some unpacking to be done." He excused himself, dragging his suitcase into his room with him.

That suitcase had been sitting in the living room this whole time, as if reminding you that he would only be here for a while before disappearing from your life yet again. Perhaps that was why you should keep your distance from him, especially your heart. It was fine being attracted to Zhongli, but anything deeper would be emotional recklessness. You'd be no more than a fling if things got out of hand, even if he never struck you as a player. It was just the inevitability of his departure, like clockwork every time. You knew better, at least that's what you wanted to believe.

When the next stream day came around, you sat at your desk adjusting your mic and lighting. You even printed out a silly little sign to place on the armchair in the corner. It read 'VIP GUEST' in big bold letters. Soon enough, you heard a soft knock on your door. Your special viewer arrived. He had just gotten home from lunch with his client. You had to admit, Zhongli looked absolutely ravishable in formal wear. Your thoughts drained down a predictable gutter. How satisfying would it be to remove all those layers one by one? Would he start tugging them off if you managed to get him hot and bothered enough? Alas, you were the one stripping for the camera, not him.

Zhongli took a seat in the chair, an amused smile on his lips as he picked up the place card. You went off to gather your outfit candidates for the stream. As promised, this was his choice to make.

"This one, this one, or this one for the lingerie?" You asked, holding them up against your chest in succession. "I'll be honest, sometimes my choices are misses rather than hits. Maybe your taste aligns better with my chat's."

"Is that so?" His brow raised in surprise. "Let's go with this one today, but I can imagine you'd look lovely in all three."

"I want to try different styles, but I think the majority of my viewers prefer a consistent look. I can tell with the viewer count and tips."

"Hmm…" He leaned back and stroked his chin in contemplation. "Perhaps there's an element of successful branding working against you in this. Once consumers of a product come to expect a certain thing from you, it would be hard to branch out. Straying from what's already been established can certainly be met with repulsion."

"Well, if they don't appreciate your taste, I guess they're out of luck." You laughed, putting away the two sets that were passed up.

Even though Zhongli had technically seen you naked already, you didn't want to kill the suspense by stripping and changing into the lingerie right in front of him.

Every stream, you had to dangle yourself like a carrot in front of viewers, drag it out until the tips start pouring in. You had it down to an art, teasing and toying with their imagination, making them work just as hard for their own satisfaction as you did for their wallets. It was a twisted game you played with your admirers, because you were simultaneously the prey and the predator. You fed them exactly what they wanted, but they only wanted what they can't easily get. They wanted to toy with you, make you jump through hoops for them, roll over and beg for treats like a circus animal, but if you catered to their every whim, the magic is instantly lost. They enjoyed competing over you, having you fluster over their shows of dedication as they out-tip each other for your attention. Sometimes you felt like an inanimate bystander, as if you were a covetted painting at an auction. Other times, you were the knockoff purse laying on a dirty tarp at a flea market. It all depended on how much these disembodied usernames were willing to throw at you. Even as your numbers climbed and the algorithm pushed you in front of more and more viewers, you never forgot how awful it felt to be the latter. It reminded you every stream to not lose yourself to the illusion of being that painting. You could go from one to the other at the blink of a viewer's eye.

It was just for the money, you tell yourself. You had to do what you had to do to keep this roof over your own head. It worked out in your favor and you didn't have to pack your bags even after the market phased this place out of your budget.

For the longest time, you had nobody to rely on but yourself. You couldn't reach out and ask your parents for money. They were already struggling to make ends meet themselves and never once asked you for help. You couldn't ask your friends for money, because you hated to taint your relationships with such worldly troubles. They gave you all the emotional support you could ever ask for so you could have the strength to deal with these pesky problems.

When Zhongli asked you if you were in need of money, your knee-jerk response was to deny it, but the relationship between the two of you was transactional to begin with, so you accepted his proposal without much hesitation.

As you greeted your excited chat, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him. How did things evolve into this strange arrangement? It feels like an absurd fever dream. Blaring alarms and obnoxious carnival music went off in your head. Buried underneath all that commotion was your own heartbeat, racing with anticipation.

Were you a friend to Zhongli? You didn't know him well enough, at least you didn't think so. Was he just your landlord? Not quite, since he was also your roommate from time to time and he definitely cared more for you than the usual landlord does their tenant. Could you trust him? It probably wasn't wise to since you weren't in the sanest mindset. He could easily turn this situation into blackmail and demand things you didn't initially agree on from you. Wasn't that how it usually goes down?

Too much hinged on Zhongli's character and you weren't dumb enough to expect altruism from him. He was a businessman and money flows where there is plenty of shade. Opportunists would always try to turn a profit at every chance. Could you really expect him to be the sole exception?

What does he gain from this exactly? You get money from him, a very practical thing. He doesn't even get to talk to you during your live, something that you indulged your viewers in for the entire duration of the stream. If he were an exhibitionist, maybe whipping out his cock and having you react to it would stroke his ego, but he explicitly cut out all possibility of that.

Your chat was starting to get impatient. An entire hour had passed and that lingerie set that Zhongli picked had not yet made an appearance. The viewer count fluctuated, but it didn't faze you. Your tip bar was the true indicator of how thirsty your viewers were. Once they started trickling in, you knew it was time to start the actual stream. All of the friendly banter was just a lengthy intro.

"Truth or Bare? You guys are really nosy today, aren't you?" You read the redeem that had just popped up on the screen.

The questions started rolling in, each one attached to a tip. A timer went off and you read the highest tipper's question aloud.

"Am I a virgin?" You sighed. The amount of times you had gotten this question was exhausting. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes and pull on a puppy dog face instead. "How many times do I have to tell you guys? That question will never be answered. Unless you already know that and just want me to take something off…"

Your hand reached up to tug at your hair tie. This was a popular strip game you played with your viewers. It doesn't end until you're completely naked, so you always prepared for it. Jewelry and hair accessories counted, but you tried not to be too overt with it. You would always get a flood of compliments when you let your hair down, so starting the stream with your hair up created a little something for your viewers to look forward to, an appetizer of sorts.

"Am I single?" You read the next highest bidder's question after the timer went off again.

It was one of your regulars, who obviously already knew the answer to that question.

"I know you're just trying to give me an easy pass, so thanks."

Someone brought up the voice that interrupted you last stream and consequently ended it. Apparently your chat were not goldfishes, to your detriment. Once one person bit, they were all biting, all wanting answers. You watched in horror as your chat became consumed with theories again.

"I'm not lying! He's not my sugar daddy either okay? I'm not into that."

You had to fight the urge to turn and look at Zhongli, who you knew could hear every word that comes out of your lips.

"No, for the last time, I don't have a boyfriend. If you're so curious, you can bid for the next question."

You quickly shut down the overflowing questions before they got out of hand. Your mods also began timing people out for being annoying. The game went on.

"Do I like being eaten out?" You scrunched your nose. "I want to say it depends on the person and if they're good at it, but would you really say no to a blowjob? Not everyone has a giant cock, but everyone can eat pussy well. They just need to be willing to learn. If they're willing to do it, I think I'll enjoy it. Now if they're confident about it…" You giggled at the thought. "That's hot."

Who were you kidding? Everyone apparently. You talked as if you've sampled peak oral before and had a wealth of experience to draw from. In reality, you probably had as much as the dude in your chat who asked that question. It was all about the bluff.

"Pain tolerance?" You read the next tip winner's question after the timer went off. "I'm a chicken. No pain, at all. I'll bite you if you make it hurt. I like the gentle ones."

You received a few questions here and there that you refused to answer, so after removing your necklace, earrings, and socks, you finally had to take off some actual clothes. Your chat was high as a kite and the viewer count shot up.

"What was my first guy like? As in boyfriend, or like the first guy that managed to get me naked?" You tapped your chin as if you were really going to answer the question.

It could just be another angle at the first question you started the game off with, but you wanted to get confirmation first since the asker tipped quite a lot to win the bid. A sigh left your chest when it turned out your suspicions were right.

"That's for me know and for you to keep wondering." You tried to be sweet about it, giving the camera a wink. "Since you were so generous with the tip, you can decide if you want me to take off my shirt or my shorts."

You got your answer, shorts. Getting up off the bed, you stood up to unbutton the denim shorts you had on, making sure everything was in frame. Slowly, you unzipped it, making a little twirl for the camera before taking it off. At the corner of your eyes, you caught Zhongli with a smile on his lips, jaw resting against his hand. His posture was relaxed, legs crossed elegantly as if he were admiring something much more demure. The way he was looking at you made you feel like a ballerina on stage as opposed to a streamer playing a stripping game with her chat.

The next question was an easy one, but the one after, you couldn't answer. You grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head, removing it in one fluid movement. Finally, you were in just your underwear.

Zhongli's eyes raked over your figure, smooth skin adorned in nothing but a few pieces of lacy fabric. The color suited you, contrasted nicely against your skin, just as he envisioned when you had him choose between the three sets. He could only see you from an angle, the best view reserved for your viewers. You couldn't even meet his eyes, but he enjoyed the discretion, being able to take you in as he pleased, watching you smile and laugh without sparing him a single glance.

You got up to grab something from your desk, finally rewarding his patience with a view that your entire chat had already been spoiled with. It was a fleeting glimpse, but it was enough to satiate that growing itch. You posessed an undeniably tantalizing figure, one that he never had the chance to properly admire until now. Watching that adorable, unassuming shell of yours stripped all the way down to lingerie like this was a delightful treat.

Last time, Zhongli had walked in on a stranger with your face and voice. This time, he saw your transformation. He could never have imagined you in this way before. Ever since two days ago, he could not get that racy image out of his mind. Those two conflicting versions of you overlapping in his mind did something to his body.

He was not the only one whose attention you commanded, cock straining against the fabric of his pants. Countless nameless, faceless strangers were also lusting after you, some he could imagine already desperately stroking themselves at the sight of your pretty tits encased in lace.

More questions came. You reached behind your back to unhook your bra. Zhongli drew in a breath. The lacy garment was discarded on your bed. Next went your panties, which you took your time removing. You climbed off the bed, getting up close to the camera so that it could capture what you needed it to. As requested by your chat, you did a spin, catching Zhongli's eyes as you turned your back to the screen. A flush rose in your cheeks as he drank in the view, caressing your luscious mounds from afar with nothing more than his smoldering gaze. His amber eyes seemed to melt you with their intensity as they glided down your body, settling on the remaining piece of fabric. No words were exchanged as agreed, but you didn't need them. Your fingers hooked underneath the waistband, sliding your panties over your hips.

You broke eye contact, turning to face the camera again, but then immediately bent over to pick up the lace garment dangling around your ankles. Zhongli shifted in his chair, fingers sinking into the plush armrest. His bulge was painfully visible now.

You had just presented your VIP guest with a gratuitous view of your unadorned ass, before all your other viewers. Were you feeling sorry for making him wait until last? He could tell it was intentional. His mind was instantly clouded by wanton thoughts of squeezing and groping those soft globes, perhaps adding a pink handprint or two to them even. Had you always been this cheeky?

At last, thoughts were only thoughts. He couldn't act on them. The tie around his neck was starting to feel tight, so he tugged it loose and unfastened the first two buttons. It helped, but only barely. This was all the relief he'd be getting while sitting in your room. Touching himself was strictly against the terms laid down.

You began playing with your tits, probably a request by your chat. Even from the side, he could see the way they almost spilled between your fingers as you kneaded them. Your lips parted to let out soft moans as you pinched and rolled your nipples between your fingers. The sweet sounds sent shivers down his spine. His cock twitched as you let out another moan, this time louder. One of your hands were now buried between your legs while the other continued massaging you breast. Zhongli couldn't see what you were doing, but he could imagine it. Your finger sunk between your pink folds, stroking your sensitive walls as your lips parted to let out those wispy moans. Your camera gave everyone in your stream an indulgent view of your pussy, getting wetter and messier everytime you pulled your slick-coated finger out. One finger was hardly enough, so you added another, fingertips curling and dragging along your sensitive walls. The moans drifting from your lips turned into soft whines, then whimpers. The expression on your face must be divine, if only he could see it. That was reserved for your stream.

He watched as you reached for the object you had grabbed from your desk earlier, a toy apparently. He couldn't tell what it was initially, because it didn't look like one at first glance. He had to admit, it was rather tastefully designed, discreet like you were. You pulled off the cap, holding the silicone tip flush against your dripping heat. You pressed the button and the vibrations started, immediately making you jolt with pleasure. Gently, you pushed it in.

Zhongli's clenched his fist, adverting his gaze. Your decadent moans still reached his ears, causing his breath to grow shallow. His jaw was taunt, muscles tensed. You sounded almost tortured, probably looked the part too. Your camera captured everything, but he could only imagine your pretty face, contorted with ecstasy as you chased your orgasm. His cock was so unbearably hard, the leaking tip dug into the seams of his dress pants.

You came undone, walls fluttering around the toy as your orgasm finally came and swept you away. Sweat coated your neck and your chest heaved, heart still racing as the ripples subsided. You laid there, back against your sheets and legs parted so that the camera could catch the mess you made of yourself. When your senses returned, you glanced over at the corner of the room where your armchair sat. It was now empty. You didn't even notice when Zhongli had gotten up and left the room.

After cleaning yourself up and winding down with your chat, you finally ended the stream. Everybody got what they showed up for, but at the same time nobody was satisfied. You managed to get yourself off, but what about Zhongli? If he was fine, he wouldn't have walked off before the stream ended. Did you really manage to make him lose his patience?

Zhongli had no doubt gone to take a shower. You could hear the water hitting the bathroom tiles from the hallway. You wondered what he thought about the arrangement now that he had a taste of it. What could be going through his mind right now? Would he still want to continue?

You didn't get to see the state he was in before he left. Did he leave because he got uncomfortable, or did he get that turned on? The possibility of it being the latter gave you an unexpected headache. This was technically his proposal. If he couldn't handle the very terms he came up with, he'd have to persuade you to loosen them up. While your rational side would shoot that thought down immediately, your impulsive side welcomed it too eagerly.

You liked this house a lot, but nobody could deny you had the hots for its owner too. If you sleep with him, chances were, you'd probably have to leave as soon as your lease ends. There's just no way you're getting into a relationship with your landlord, especially one that involves a lot of fucking around and not much of anything else. He'd be leaving in less than two weeks, leaving you scrambling to make sense of whatever loose ends he leaves in his wake. Repeat that every time he comes back and any sane person would become an emotional wreck. You wanted to fuck him badly, but it would literally ruin your life if you did. There's no way you'd let those intrusive thoughts be anything more than a self-indulgent joke.

When you joined Zhongli in the living room later that evening, the two of you pretended nothing ever happened. Nobody brought it up like the two of you had mutually decided to get amnesia about those two hours in your room today. You asked him if he was hungry. He offered to cook so you let him.

An amused smile crept into your lips as you rested your arms on the backrest of the couch, watching Zhongli chop and dice vegetables. This was pretty much your house, since he was only around a couple weeks in the year. The apron around his neck was yours, but you couldn't help but find it adorable on him too, in a mismatched way. This was not the first time he's cooked for you. You were already aware that he was a good cook when you first moved in. He had treated you to a homecooked meal, complete with soup and side dishes.

If your mom found out you know a handsome, single guy who cooks good food, she'd order you to seduce him and lock him down. If she knew he owned the house you lived in, she'd already be banging down your door. You couldn't possibly tell her.

Zhongli was the kind of gentleman old people always want to introduce their daughters and granddaughters to. Honestly, it could all just be a front. You can't exactly say you knew him well enough to vouch for him. All you really know about him was that he's unmarried, owns the house you live in, does business all over Liyue, is a good cook, loves reading, hates seafood, gets along with birds and little animals, and is very old-fashioned when it comes to certain things.

You only go into Zhongli's room once in a while to help him dust off his shelves when he's gone. As curious as you are about him, you respected him way too much to go snooping around. Likewise, he doesn't overstep boundaries and seemed to operate on a strict set of self-inflicted rules, on top of being away for most of the year, so you never really had to deal with the usual roommate drama that your coworkers always seem to be complaining about. Life was good, aside from the rising rent, but that wasn't really Zhongli's fault. Was it too much to wish for life to go on like this forever?

Once dinner was ready, you helped set the table and sat down opposite of him. It always felt more like a home when Zhongli was around. You ate alone most of the time, consuming mostly takeout on workdays whenever you didn't have the time nor energy to cook yourself a decent meal.

"This reminds me of my mom's bamboo shoot soup."

Zhongli chuckles. "Perhaps there's similarities in our recipes."

"It's not really the taste." You shook your head.

"I see. It must be nostalgia then."

"Yes! I swear, there's a taste to it." You beamed at him while enthusiastically helping yourself to the yummy stuff.

There's nothing quite like the satisfaction you feel when the person you're talking to puts what you're struggling to say into words.

"You should invite her to come visit you."

"She's too comfortable in Qingce Village. The big city isn't for her. She says all the honking cars give her a headache."

Besides, it wasn't like this was your house. You just rent a room in it. Where would she sleep and keep the mountain of stuff she'd most likely show up with? Better to pay her a visit when you get time off from work than have her visit you.

"A pity. It would be nice to meet her."

"Zhongli!" You almost spat out the mouthful of soup in your mouth. "You can't say things like that! I know you're good with the old ladies, but if my mom sees you, she'll think we're an item."

"Hmm…" He hummed, his expression unreadable. "You could just tell her the truth. Surely she can't be as unreasonable as you say."

"You don't know her like I do. I'm just protecting you." You said with a full chest.

He laughed heartily, his amusement infecting you and causing you to break out in laughter as well. Since you had just swallowed a spoonful of soup, it went down the wrong pipe. You coughed repeatedly while Zhongli got up to get you tissues and pat your back.

"There there. I should not have laughed." He said while patting your lips dry with a napkin. You tried to snatch it from him but failed.

"You know, I wouldn't get nostalgia from your cooking if you're just around more. It's been too long since I've had soup this good."

"Would you mind if I stayed?" Zhongli asked you.

Your brow went up as you glanced over at him.

"This is your house, Zhongli, not mines. Why are you asking me? You can stay for as long as you want." You said with a laugh, obviously not following his train of thought.

Zhongli's sighed, amber eyes studying your face. Were you really this oblivious or were you just pretending to not understand his intentions?

"Would you like for me to stay?"

You froze upon hearing Zhongli repeat the question. Something was off about the way he worded it this time. Why does it sound so… suggestive? Like something a one-night-stand would only ask if they were entertaining the possibility of becoming something more. You swallowed, face heating up all of a sudden. Were you overthinking? The last time you checked, you haven't slept with Zhongli yet. Why was he talking like the two of you have already crossed some invisible line?

"If I say yes, could you?" You asked cautiously.

"I can make it happen, if that's what you want." He replied, equally as carefully.

"Then stay."

As soon as you let those two words roll off your tongue, you held your breath. Your heart felt like it was going to burst with how hard and fast it was beating.

A glimmer of something faint in his eyes grew brighter the instant your words met his ear. It almost gave you the impression that he had been waiting to hear them.

"I will make arrangements to extend my stay here for another two weeks."

"Wait!" You quickly blurted before your head grew so big and light, it floats away. "You're really going to stay longer, just for me?"

You pinched yourself underneath the table. Nope, this wasn't you hallucinating or daydreaming. On the surface, you were all smiles, but inside, you were a nervous pile of knots.

He nodded, a reassuring smile on his lips. "My calendar is more flexible than you may think. Another two weeks will not disrupt my work."

Zhongli explained to you once that an operating partner was just a fancy title for a business consultant. He spends anywhere from weeks to a month in a single place, monitoring various companies he's contracted with. From what he just disclosed, apparently it was entirely up to him to decide how much time to allocate to each venture he oversees. Most of the correspondence, reports and whatnot, could be done without his physical presence. He did not even require an office, but a place to stay was still needed. The house you lived in served as one of his many footholds. You wondered if he had tenants renting his other properties. Did he treat them all to slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup, or were you the only one with that perk?

You were still reeling from the fact that Zhongli had just rearranged his entire schedule this month, all because you told him you wanted to see him around more often. Since when did you hold so much influence over him? Even if your viewers regularly shower you with attention, you never let their thirst get to your head. Likewise, you had always kept a conscious distance from your landlord, as irresistible as you found him.

Now that you think about it, Zhongli certainly seemed to be the one making any effort to bridge this deliberate gap you had put in place. He was always sharing interesting stories about the places he's been and bringing you little souvenirs. You've always found him to be odd in that regard. Most landlords wouldn't even bother to get to know their tenants, since the only thing that truly mattered was getting paid on time. Getting too acquainted opened up the possibility of exceptions to that, which Zhongli had already shown he did not mind when it comes to you. You had paid your rent late multiple times in the past. He never threatened to evict you nor did you receive any stern warnings from him. It's almost like it was an afterthought to him. Still, the transactional premise of your relationship always managed to hold a firm grip on you. Now, that grip was slipping and so was your rationality.

The next streaming day, Zhongli took his seat on your armchair while you set up your equipment. Like before, you let him pick your outfit. There was something so undeniably wrong with this whole situation, this debauched contract that you had somehow agreed to. So many alarms should be going off, but they were all muted.

This was something you would never have seen yourself agreeing to when you first signed that lease with him. It was bizarre beyond anything you had the audacity to imagine. This was someone whose belongings you wouldn't even dare peek into while he was away. This someone was now watching you shamelessly touch yourself in front of a camera.

You tried your best to ignore how Zhongli's mere presence in the room affected you. Even if he didn't say a word, you couldn't help the tingle that ghosts over your skin everytime you catch his gaze. Did he find the sight of you in the bra and panties he chose arousing? When your hands glide over your skin, carressing your body, does he wish they were his instead?

Like the last time, you see him get up and leave. He doesn't make eye contact and you try to act natural in front of the camera even though your mind was no longer in the room with your chat. Slick dripped down your thigh, mixing with the lubricant you had coated your toy with. You bit your lip, riding the pitiful thing, whimpers and sealed moans captured by your microphone.

This time, you managed to catch a glimpse of Zhongli as he stood up. You got an answer to that burning question that had been eating you up inside since the last stream. The tent in his pants ruined his facade. It told you everything you had been dying to know.

You ended the live shortly, mind filled to the brim with Zhongli. So this attraction you've always felt was not unique to you anymore. Do you pretend you don't know how hard you could make him, ignore how badly he wants to fuck you after seeing you touch yourself?

Unlike the last two streams, there was no sound of water coming from his room. You imagined Zhongli barely making it to the privacy of his own room without yanking his belt off. What if he couldn't hold himself back, instead giving into the impulse? You envisioned him palming himself desperately to the thought of you, thighs clenching at the self-indulgent images clouding your mind.

"Zhongli?" Your voice drifted through the gap, barely above a whisper.

Despite your better judgement, you pushed the door open some more. It was dimmed inside so you couldn't make out where Zhongli was.

Had he been in so much of a hurry, he forgot to close it, or did he leave his door open like this on purpose? Suddenly, the door flung open all the way. Your eyes shot upward, meeting Zhongli's as he came to the door.

"You ought to get some rest, dear. What are you doing here instead?" He asked you, amusement threading his voice.

"You left before I finished streaming, so I just…"

Like he asked, just what exactly are you doing here? Were you here to confront him about that raging hard-on you saw him leave your room with? Your gaze discreetly fell to his crouch. It seemed he had yet to resolve his dilemma.

The indecent thoughts running amok inside your head made for a very curious expression. His eyes swept over your face, then down your body. Upon ending the stream, you had put all your clothes back on, but under Zhongli's smoldering gaze, it was like he had you undressed again with a mere glance.

"My apologies for the sudden exit. Was there something you needed from me?" He smiled at you harmlessly, but the effects were anything but. Either he really didn't notice the blush on your face or he was pretending.

"That's what I came here to ask." You deflected, growing increasingly frustrated with his unyielding demeanor. Even with an obvious tent in his pants, this man wasn't making a single move on you. "Are you sure you want to keep playing the gentleman?"

"Ah, so you do see the affect you have on me." He chuckled.

"I'd be blind if I didn't."

"Ignorance can often be a blissful disposition. At least for you, I believe it to be so."

"Sit down." You ordered him in a tone far too intimate than what you ought to sound like with him. "I'll help you get it down."

"I assure you, there's no need to do any favors for me that are not included in our agreement." He immediately turned down your scandalous offer, a rare tremble in his voice.

"Was cooking for me and bringing me gifts part of our lease?" I asked as I took a step forward, forcing Zhongli to take a step back.

If he continued, you'd have him sitting at the edge of his bed anyways, so you just kept walking, unhurried and intentional. His body was not rejecting your offer the way his lips were. Dealing with a well-intentioned hypocrite like Zhongli, you just had to give him what he wanted and his front would crumble under the weight of his own contradicting desire.

"Ever since you saw me the first time, you've wanted me, haven't you?" You began your lewd accusations, raising your hand to his chest to prod him with a haughty finger. "You couldn't resist making that proposal, knowing exactly how inappropriate it'd be. Now look at yourself. You can barely keep it together. Sit before I change my mind and leave you high and dry."

"Hmm." He hummed, not sounding at all offended. "It seems you have me all figured out already."

Something glinted in Zhongli's eyes before he wrapped his hands around your wrist, gently tugging you into his lap as he sat down at the edge of his bed. This was what you demanded. Except why did it feel like the roles had suddenly reversed? The moment he admitted you were right and he was entirely at your mercy, Zhongli had successfully coaxed you into a false sense of control, an illusion of power.

You sucked in a sharp breath as his hardened length slotted between your legs. The fabric of his pants did little to mask the swollen girth of his cock and neither was it enough to keep the wetness clinging to your heat from seeping through.

"May I remove your clothes?" He asked, still hesitant to discard his manners. You appreciated this immensely, found it unbelievably hot. Or probably it was just him. Everything he did and said seemed to effortlessly turn you on.

His hands reached out to lift your shirt from your body as soon as you gave him permission. Then it was your skirt. You climbed off his lap to allow him to undress you. Soon, you were in nothing but the set of lingerie he had picked before your stream. His eyes raked over you form unabashed, silently marveling at how well the material and color complimented you.

"You like it, don't you? Dressing me up and stripping me down like your personal plaything…" You whispered into Zhongli's ear as you lowered yourself back into his lap. "They have no idea that you're in the room, sitting there just outside of the camera. Neither will they ever know what we're doing right now, after the stream. They can only see, but you…" You smirked at him. "I'll let you touch me if you promise to be good."

"How unfair of you. Though I'm not complaining since I do enjoy watching you pleasure yourself. What better than to inflict such sensations on you myself?" He mused, hands unapologetically gliding over your soft skin, which he had previously been unable to touch. It was as silky as the imagined it to be. He drew in a breath, taking note of your every minute reaction to his touch.

How long had he been yearning for this? He couldn't even recall anymore. Perhaps it was a good thing, being away so often. He would've been that much more tormented by your enticing presence had he been around as often as you would've liked. How he managed to keep his hands off you this entire time and his gentlemanly impression intact, he couldn't fathom, but he was glad you were finally ready to accept the possibility that he might want more from you than your monthly rent.

There was also so much more he wanted to give you, but he never found a suitable excuse, nor possessed the appropriate role to approach you in that manner. The last thing he would want was to scare you and have you scurrying off like a spooked mouse. Zhongli was your landlord afterall. By default, you had so little power. He wanted desperately to even out this imbalance, but as long as this dynamic existed, he was powerless to change anything. That was the reality of your relationship with him, until that day he came home to find you camming.

That catalytic moment had altered something within him, along with his perception of you. He suddenly found himself spiraling. The proposal, though not entirely thought out at the time he offered it to you, was a desperate attempt to ground himself again amidst the bizarre circumstances. Just when he thought he was regaining his bearings, you come into his room to offer an even more preposterous proposal, sending him on yet another unpredictable tangent. Perhaps that was what you've always been to him, an agent of chaos, but he could only welcome it, along with everything you came with.

"Zhongli…" You called out his name breathlessly. "I know you like seeing me in these, since you picked them out, but don't you—"

"Shh.. " He silenced you. "You're much too impatient, dear. If I can wait this long for you to come to me, I can spare a couple minutes to admire you in such tasteful lingerie."

You blushed at his words, failing to catch the veiled confession he slipped in due to the pink fog clouding your mind. He let out a sigh as his lips feathered along your shoulder, igniting goosebumps in his wake. Finally his fingers reached behind your back for the clasp of your bra, unhooking it. You drew in an anxious breath, knowing where his hands were going to venture next.

His fingers splayed over your breast, cupping it gently in his large hand. Soft moans drifted from your lips as he proceeded to knead it, squeezing the supple flesh between his fingers and playing with the sensitive peak.

"Can I kiss you?" You asked him, arms draping over his shoulders.

Zhongli chuckled. "I thought you didn't want to."

"You think too much." You scrunched your nose playfully, pulling him in to press your lips against his.

You couldn't blame him for assuming though. If you wanted to kiss, it would've happened before he ever asked to take off your clothes and it'd have to be initiated by you, according to his exasperating list of unspoken rules. A kiss was something he had not yet been given access to, so you'd have to lead him to it. This was something you'd gradually realize as the two of you become increasingly entangled with each other. It was not a subconscious habit, but a deliberate one. He was a patient man, you've always known this. It's just sometimes, that patience can get a little inconvenient for you.

"I don't get it." You pulled away from his lips to catch your breath.

"What is it, dear?" He asked you calmly.

It wasn't that you were unsatisfied with the kiss. You just couldn't understand why Zhongli was taking his time like this when you were mentally prepared to take all the shortcuts the moment you made the offer to get him off.

"How are you so hard, but kissing me like you can wait another hour? Don't you want to fuck me?"

He smiled, reaching up to stroke your cheek. "Well, you're already in my lap. There's no need for urgency since we both have no reservations this evening. I do in fact have an hour to spare."

"If you want to hold it in, then hold it in. As long as you don't burst before I get a chance to put it in, I won't punish you." You teased him.

He swallowed thickly. "That I can promise."

You went in for another kiss, tongue pressing against his lips for entry. Zhongli gave it, enthusiastically meeting your demand for more. He welcomed your pillage, your curiosity, and all your audacity. It was an immeasurable delight, experiencing just how much you wanted him. You weren't putting on a performance nor trying to appease an audience to earn a living.

"I can't take it anymore." You tore away from the kiss again, panting from how turned on you were.

Zhongli's smoldering gaze followed your hands as you frantically unbuckled his belt and unfastened his dress pants. He didn't seem fazed by how rough you were being with the expensive material. Anticipation brimmed in his eyes as well. You finally pulled down his pants, freeing his erection. It sprung upright, tall and rigid. The daunting size of it instantly sobered your lust-ridden mind.

You swallowed at the sight as you wrapped your mind around his girth, wondering how it was going to even fit. The sight made you involuntarily clench your legs. Now that the fabric was out of his way, every drop of slick seeping out of your eager cunt landed directly on his shaft.

Were you really going to fuck Zhongli? No matter how unreal it feels, you could never really help the way your body reacts to him. Even while streaming to hundreds of thirsty strangers, you didn't feel like half the slut the sight of Zhongli's cock had you reduced to. If he told you to get on your knees right now and suck him off, you'd do it without a second thought.

You heard Zhongli's shuttered intake as you wrapped your hands around him. A feverish tint was beginning to take hold on his face and a haze fell over his eyes as you began to stroke him, your movements slow and unsure. He let out a soft groan, hand enveloping yours in encouragement as he moved your hands at a faster pace. His hands also caused you to place more pressure in your grip. You bit your lip in concentration, focusing on making him feel good. His cock throbbed under your sweet torment and his breath grew heavy. Beads of precum slid down from his tip.

"Need me to touch you?" He breathed, voice gravelly with arousal.

"Please…" You answered breathlessly.

It must be obvious how needy you were getting, with your soaked pussy rubbing against his thigh. The moment Zhongli's hand cupped your drenched entrance, you shuttered. His fingertips traced your slit, barely sinking in between the soft folds. You whimpered softly, grinding yourself against his hand. As deep chuckle caressed your ear as he finally plunged a finger into your cunt. Your slippery walls immediately clenched around it as he pumped in and out of your eager hole. He added a second finger, scissoring them inside the narrow space, stretching you in preparation for his cock.

"I think I'm ready." You panted against his neck. "Can I put it inside?"

"Be my guest, sweetheart." He replied, withdrawing his slick-coated fingers.

You lifted yourself up on your knees. Zhongli’s hands rested on your waist to help you align yourself with his tip. The second your warmth enveloped the head of his cock, he let out shuttered gasp. It felt way too good, the way your tight heat immediately clenched around him, drawing him in like a fever dream. Indeed, having you in his lap like this, taking his cock inch by greedy inch, it certainly resembles a dream he was guilty of having from time to time. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, as if afraid you'd suddenly run off and end it all too soon.

Zhongli thrusted upwards, his patience finally crumbling as he buried himself to the hilt inside your fluttering walls. You had never felt so full, so satisfied. Those toys you played with during stream? How were you ever going to get off on them after having a taste of this? It was no longer just your imagination, but the memory. The pleasure Zhongli was giving you was something you could see yourself coming back time and time again for, like some depraved cock addict. He fucked you so well, your mind was turning into mush. You didn't even register when he had flipped you underneath him or when the rest of his clothes disappeared. He pressed your knees against your sides, pausing only momentarily to admire your blissed out expression and your hair splayed messily over his silk sheets.

Soft squelching filled the air, intermingling with your gasps and moans and Zhongli's occasional grunt. The way his thick girth dragged against your stretched and sensitive walls was downright unfair. His tip grazed your cervix as he bottomed out, hitting all those places that made your toes curl in one smooth stroke.

"Enjoying it so far?" He asked you as he drove into your slippery hole.

Over and over, he rammed himself into you, tearing a needy moan from your lips each time he pulled away. You could barely catch a breath, much less answer him in any degree of coherence.

"Zhongli… Zhongli…" Was all you could say.

At least you knew who was fucking you so good. Zhongli groaned as you neared your limit. The way you trembled in his grasp, your lips latching onto his in desperation as your nails dug into his skin, it was all too sweet. The feeling of being inside you like this, holding you so closely and hearing your unbroken moans of pleasure, it was worth all the wait in the world.

You couldn't tell who caved first. Maybe it'll happened at the same exact time. Zhongli barely managed to pull out last minute, his thick cum splattering all over your stomach and thighs. It was a filthy mess, but you were too lightheaded to care. Your body still tingled from the intensity of the sensations that had coursed through it moments ago. Zhongli panted, focus gradually returning to his eyes. The first thing he saw was your beautifully flushed face. He reached down to stroke your cheek, earning him a silly grin from you.

"That…" You drew in a breath. "That was insane…"

"Are you alright?" He asked you.

The concern in Zhongli's voice was like a drop of warm honey dissolving amidst a swirling mass of emotions. You were only now coming down from the high.

"Better than ever." You replied, still breathless. Your eyes dropped to his spent cock. A smug grin overtook the dazed expression on your face. "I did good, didn't I?"

"You were amazing, dear." He whispered after pressing a kiss to your forehead, a tender gesture that caught you off guard. Were you and Zhongli this close now?

"So what happens now?" You murmured against Zhongli's chest as he settled beside you. "You pretty much just ruined it for me."

"Have I?" He raised a brow. "You were the one who came to my door to solicit your help. How exactly have I made matters worse for you?"

You smiled, satisfied with his reaction. Zhongli was more amused than offended by your accusation, an indication that he was not someone who immediately withdraws at the first sign of complications.

"I still have to stream, you know." You reminded him.

"And I still have plenty of work to do, but now I have this utterly enticing distraction to fend off my mind. I'd say the ruin goes both ways." He chuckled as he twirled your hair between his fingers. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You nodded. "So how do you propose we go about this?"

"Well, for one…" Zhongli let go of the strand, tucking it behind your ear. "I am rather fond of you. Would you be adverse to being with me in a more exclusive capacity?"

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" You squinted at his oddly worded question.

Zhongli had always been a precise person. In certain instances however, he also becomes overbearingly formal. The more uneasy he feels, the longer his sentences. You couldn't hear it in his voice, but if he wanted to get a certain answer from you, he would ask it in a way that would make it unreasonable for you to answer in any other way.

"I was hoping to ask you that before I leave three and a half weeks from now." He chuckled, relieved that this discussion was happening much sooner than anticipated. "But if you have an answer now, I will take it."

"I think I need some time to think about it. You should too, Zhongli." You paused to draw a deep breath. "I don't want to be with someone that I'm only going to see once every few months. If this doesn't work out…"

"If things do not work out, nothing between us needs to change. I will not force you to be with me if you do not wish to be." He replied. "Matters of the heart cannot be dealt with by deliberation. If you do not like me, you can tell me. I will not hold it against you."

"I do like you though!" You corrected him, earning yourself an amused chuckle. "You're good-looking, polite, caring, plus you make really good soup. What's there not to like?"

"I suppose I have a fair chance then."

There was nothing fair about Zhongli. From the moment you met him, he already checked off all the boxes needed to sweep you off your feet. Everything afterwards only served to make sure you'd never be able to keep your eyes off him. Now, after you've had a bite of him, you wouldn't be able to keep your lips or hands off him either.

"Ngh…Zhongli!" You cried out his name in a pitiful sound between a whine and a sob.

Every evening after a stream, this would predictably happen. You'd find yourself at Zhongli's door or he'd be at yours. Usually you'd be the one impatiently throwing yourself at him simply due to his patience surpassing yours, but he'd understand your urgency nonetheless. It was impossible for him to not get riled up watching you cam. Something about your eyes not being on him while you pleasured yourself gets him really on edge, like a tiny piece of gravel grating against his sole. Only when you're wrapped seamlessly around his cock did this irritation go away.

You took him so well, your wet haven so warm and tight, he was slowly losing it, loathed to imagine leaving you all by yourself once he had to go. With the way you begged, driven delirious by your own toys, who would you go to once his door was locked? He hated to imagine you seeking relief in any other way that didn't involve his cock repeatedly pounding into your needy cunt. Who else could fill you so perfectly, make you unravel so completely?

This was Zhongli's last day in town before he leaves for his contract in another city. After mulling over it all night, you canceled your stream, something you rarely did. You sent out the notice without any hesitation. There would alway be a next stream, but everyday with Zhongli was precious. When he finally found out he had you all to himself, he insisted on taking you out to a nice restaurant and even got you a bouquet of qingxins, maybe as a reminder for you to not overthink. How could you not though? His question from two weeks ago still lingered in the back of your mind.

You had enjoyed every aspect of Zhongli's company, despite how short his stay was. You could tell he was not holding anything back from you. No matter how he conveyed it, whether through his meals or in bed, his care and attentiveness covered you like a thick blanket. Even if you knew he was about to board a plane and disappear from your sight for months on end, your heart was still grounded, as if it had taken root.

"I will miss you dearly." He sighed as you bid him goodbye that evening at the airport.

"Well, if you can't stand the loneliness, I don't mind taking a quick vacation." You joked. "I have a lot of PTO saved up so I might as well use it."

"You still haven't given me an answer." He brought up the question that had been eating at your brain ever since he asked it.

"Zhongli…"

He stood there quietly, waiting for your reply.

All the people around you faded into a blur. You could almost hear the beat of your heart quicken ever so slightly. Looking up into Zhongli's gorgeous amber eyes, you wondered how you ever managed to resist him for so long.

"Do you think I can still say no?" A faint but hopeful smile spread over your lips. "Just don't break my heart. I don't want to be wrong about you."

A relieved smile took hold on Zhongli's face as your words reached his ears. You've never seen him smile so unrestrained before and it melted you into a puddle of shared joy.

"I would never wish to. How could I bear to break something I've been waiting to cherish for so long?"

You furrowed your brows. "What do you mean for so long? Don't tell me you've been crushing on me this whole time."

He chuckled, gathering you into a tight parting hug. "I won't refute that."

"You're such a loser. Couldn't you tell I liked you?"

"It was not apparent to me. I would hate to assume incorrectly and make things uncomfortable between us."

"Fine. I should've made a move sooner." You replied with a heavy dash of sarcasm. "Or dropped more obvious hints."

"Indeed you should've." He had the galls to agree!

"Are we really going to debate this right now? Right here? If you don't get on that plane, you're going to be stuck here with me."

"Is that not what you'd want?"

"No, go away. I can only take so much of you."

"You take me just fine, if I dare say."

"Zhongli!" You fumed, blushing at the reminder.

The shameless man laughs heartily at your expense. Lord help you. Even when he's teasing you, your heart flutters.

Finally he rushes off to the gates. As soon as he turns his back, a sigh leaves your chest. This time was harder than all the previous times you've said goodbye to him. You were no longer the same person you were four weeks ago. Your crush on Zhongli was no longer just a crush.

A fond smile graced your lips at the thought of the man who had just departed. He left you with a warm and safe feeling, nothing at all like what you imagined you'd face everytime you convinced yourself to not let him into your heart. It was about time. Not like you could casually hand it to someone else with his name etched all over it. It was in good hands now, you assured yourself.

"Do take care of yourself and try not to eat too much take-out. Send me photos so I can see that you are eating well. Nevertheless, don't miss me too much, darling."

You scrunched your nose at the text message Zhongli sent just as you got into your car.

"Are you my dad or my boyfriend?" You texted back. A silly grin was plastered on your face the entire ride back.

Sure, he was a bit old-fashioned and treated you like a rebellious teenager despite your age, but you liked the thought of constantly being on Zhongli's mind. As long as the person was right, what bad could a bit of distance and time apart do? If anything, it'd make you yearn for each other a little more intensely.

Maybe you'd even consider sending him the link to your streams.

----

I swear these oneshots are getting longer and longer. I don't know how I keep typing up so much context for kink prompts. Anyways, this one was inspired by fanart of Zhongli sitting in an armchair. Mainly this and this. You have these two artists to thank for the brainworms that infected me and forced me to write this longass smut!

#zhongli x reader #zhongli fanfic #zhongli smut #zhongli x you #mdni #minors do not interact #mdni 18+#kinktober 2024

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toastyfirefly · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! Could you please write Yandere TFP Soundwave with an autobot reader who had just recently arrived on Earth?

HELL YEA ANOTHER ONE- i mean…… thank you for the request!

Yandere TFP Soundwave who recently got to earth x reader

When he first got to earth, he was AMAZED by all the different flora and fauna growing on this planet

He was also amazed by how primitive human technology was!

He decided to use what the humans called “the interwebs” in order to figure out how the humans thought and worked

And on the “interwebs”, he met you

You were a very interesting little human, fun to chat with, great personality, and cute too

He made up a fake human name and an account on the line so that he could chat with you more easily, using photos he stole borrowed from some human lowlife (he’s a catfish fr fr)

What that name is, you might ask? It’s Sunny Consons

He made sure to learn every little thing about you, what you liked, where you worked, where you lived, the full names and background checks of everyone you know and love, blackmail, favourite colour, etc etc, he even learned some stuff from chatting with you on the interwebs!! :D

And after a while, you two started on the line dating

Eventually, you asked to meet up in real life, and reluctantly, he agreed, deciding that it was finally time to bring you back to the Nemisis, where you belonged

You two decided to meet in a forest that was shockingly close to your hometown

And made you promise one thing

Not to freak out

You were waiting for him in the area you two agreed on, he was running ten minutes late, and you were slowly starting to wonder if meeting him in the middle of a giant forest was the smartest idea

Suddenly, you saw what looked like an aircraft flying towards you, it looked like it was going on a crash course, and you were gonna be one of the things it hits

Before you could get off the rock you were sitting on to run out of the way, Soundwave de-transformed and landed safely on the ground, crouching down right in front of you so that he could be closer to your level

You were frozen in fear, too absolutely flabbergasted to scream

He leaned down and handed you… a bouquet of flowers? Now you were even more confused

You shakily took the flowers, not wanting to upset the giant alien robot who could crush you with ease (he would never ever hurt you, but you don’t need to know that)

A smiley face emoji appeared on his visor before he carefully picked you up with a tentacle, gently patting your head with another one

After you calmed down, he carefully put you into his hands before transforming and flying back to the Nemisis, he luckily already has everything you need set up

Now, it’s time to bring you back to where you belong, with him on the Nemisis

And who knows, maybe you’ll meet the other cons too AND DEFINITELY WON’T MAKE THEM YANDERE TOO

~Writer

#tfp #Transformers #Tranformers Prime #Yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #tfp x reader #soundwave #soundwave x reader #TFP soundwave #Yandere soundwave #Yan #Yandere Soundwave x reader #Yan Soundwave x reader #I love writing dumb fan fictions SOOOOO MUCH you guys don’t even know #X reader

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natalievoncatte · 1 year ago

Text

Lena squared herself up after she stepped from the elevator.

This has taken considerable work. She’d had to arrange for her absence from boarding school to go unnoticed, or at least, unremarked upon. If Lillian got wind of her running away, she’d have been skinned alive. Perhaps literally. Since her adoptive father’s death, she’d actually looked forward to school, and to being away from Lillian’s abuse. Lex was now the only thing keeping her from Lena, and Lex was preoccupied with his project.

Her brother had been away for school for some time, but they had summers off together at least. When Lex took over the company when he turned 21, he grew distant and aloof, spending more time with his friend Clark or at work than with family.

With his absence came Lillian.

Still, she had managed to build a support network. Frank, her bodyguard-slash-driver was Lex’s man, but he was useful. Lena had spent months buttering him up to participate in her plan: she needed wheels.

In the meantime she’d acquired blackmail material. The head master at the school gave her a broad latitude after she implied that she might expose certain proclivities of his. That gave her the time away she needed. She’d carefully negotiated a higher allowance from Lex in exchange for accelerating her studies in anticipation of beginning her undergraduate studies at sixteen, which was a triviality for her anyway.

Lena walked down the hall, heart pounding against the backpack clutched to her chest. Each step felt heavy, alive with portent.

She could turn back now. She could turn her back now.

What if she was wrong? Paranoid, addled, as crazy as her mother, just like Lillian said? What if she was about to not only blow up her whole life, but slander her brother. If this went sideways, she didn’t know what exactly would happened to her, but Lillian had once, while tipsy on whisky from Lionel’s stash, told Lena that if not for Lex, she’d have Lena garroted with piano wire and buried on the estate, and like any bag of trash, no one would notice she’d been disposed of.

When she told Lex, her hands shook like leaves. He looked at her for a long cold moment and she worried that he’d slap her or scream or throw her out of the house, but he simply said, “I’ll talk to her about it.”

He did. She never made another threat.

He also brought her a wooden box, ornate and polished. Lex sat next to Lena and opened the box, showing her the contents, lying on red velvet. A five shot snub nose revolver and two speedloaders.

“I’ll teach you how to use this,” Lex said, grimly. “I know you’re smart enough to know if you need to. If anyone tries to harm you, kill them. I’ll clean it up.”

Lena had been terrified of it for months, even as she enjoyed the shooting lessons from Lex, given in a remote part of the estate near a burbling creek, the shots cracking the morning peace and shaking dew from leaves.

She had the gun in her backpack, and her hands were shaking.

The other contents of her bag were a weapon far more devastating. She was about to fire it and she’d have to accept the consequences.

Finally, she stood outside the door. Apartment 18B. The name on the lease was Lois Lane, but according to Lena’s reconnaissance, Clark Kent had been living with her virtually full time for the last six months, not long after something changed in his relationship with Lena’s brother.

Lena’s hand hung before the door for a good minute before she knocked, weekly. She hadn’t considered what might happen if they were simply not home. Her legs felt watery and her eyes burned. She knocked again. She was committed now.

The door swung open and Lois Lane stood before her. She was beautiful in an understated way, obscured by limp hair in a chaotic bun, rumpled clothes, and the stink of coffee on her breath.

“Who- what? Kid, what do you want?”

“I need to see Clark Kent. Is he here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Lena Luthor.”

There was a gust of wind behind her, and Kent stepped into view.

“Lena?” said Clark. “Lex’s little sister? What are you doing here?”

Lena’s throat went tight. She swallowed hard, and as she anticipated, his demeanor changed. He softened. He craned forward slightly, studying her intently, and his brows shot up when looked at her bag.

He was checking her vital signs and he’d spotted the gun. In the bag.

“He knows you’re Superman,” Lena choked out, “and he’s going to kill you.”

Lois glanced at Clark with a stunned, stunned wide expression. Then, she grabbed Lena and yanked her inside, slamming the door. Lena squeaked.

“How do you know that? Lex knows? Did he tell you? What do you mean he wants to kill Clark?”

“Hey,” Clark said, crouching beside Lena to bring himself to her level, resting a comforting hand on her slight shoulder. “Take a breath, Lena. You’re safe here.”

In Lena’s plan, she was going to begin explaining, starting with how she deduced his identity and lay out what she discovered in his files. That was her plan, but no plan survived first contact with the enemy.

Lena began to sob.

Superman knelt beside her and removed his glasses, and enveloped Lena Luthor in a warm, protective hug. She sobbed harder, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” Lois whispered.

She drew the gun out of the bag and checked it with professional, practiced familiarity, dumping the shells into her hand.

“I think she’s telling the truth.”

Clark nodded.

Over the next hour, Lena was swept to Lois’s big couch and sat in the middle while the pair sat on either side of her. When she was hungry, Clark went out to get her favorite guilty pleasure meal, a big greasy burger and fries, and a milkshake too. Between bites, she explained everything, telling them about her brother’s insane plan to turn the sun red.

They believed it all. Lena had receipts.

Eventually, Lena was exhausted, everything had been said, and she sat with dull shock on the couch and stared at the black mirror of a blank television set, marveling at how small and helpless she looked, like a drowned rat.

“Why don’t you lay down for a while?” Lois said, gently. “Here, I’ll put something on the TV for you.”

Lena didn’t make it ten minutes in before she was asleep, curled tightly on one end of the couch with a pillow under her head.

She woke sometime later. It was dark now and she heard voices on the far side of the apartment.

“I called Bruce. He said he’s in, and he’s bringing reinforcements. I’m going to try to get a Green Lantern on board. We have to move fast. Nevermind me, if Lex does this, millions of innocent people will die. We’ll have to move fast.”

“What about the girl?” said Lois. “She can’t go home now. We have to get her somewhere safe.”

“I have to get you both somewhere safe. I should probably come up with a reason to get the building evacuated. One Lex realizes he’s been caught out, he’ll come after both of you.”

“You’re right.”

“I want you to go out,” said Clark. “Make it look like you’re heading out to a convenience store. Bruce is sending Alfred to pick you up, he should be here in an hour. I have somewhere else in mind for Lena.”

“Where?”

“It’s better if I don’t tell you, just in case.”

When he emerged from the back bedroom, Clark Kent was resplendent, clothed in the persona of Superman.

“Lena?” he said, gently. “We have to go. I’ll take you somewhere safe, where your brother won’t find you.”

Lois joined him. “You’re going to put on some of my clothes, and I’m going to check your hair. You can’t take anything with you. Lex Luthor might have been tracking you the entire time.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. What if she was right? That might be a move Lex would play, tracking Lena so that he could use her against his enemy. Lex had become cold, single minded. Lena was wondering how long it would be until she was disposable.

“Okay,” said Lena.

“I’m going to have to fly you.”

Lena did as she was told. She put on an outfit that belonged to Lois, a hilariously oversized Gotham U sweatshirt and leggings. When it was time, Superman bundled her up in his cape.

“I’m scared of heights.”

“I would never drop you,” he said.

Lena screamed when he took off. She was glad for the cape, glad she couldn’t see the ground. She curled up around him and pressed her eyes tightly closed, wondering exactly how fast they were going.

The landing came surprisingly fast. He’d alighted on the grassy lawn of a lovely beach house. Lena smelled something baking and heard voices inside. Clark knocked on the door.

A girl, a little older than Lena, opened the door. Golden curls spilled over her muscular shoulders, and she wore an oversized pair of glasses that did nothing to dull the endless depths of her blue eyes. There was something profoundly sad behind the curiosity in those eyes. She looked at Lena with mild confusion.

Lena stared back. There was a wild stirring in her stomach, and she shifted uneasily on her feet.

Then, the girl addressed Clark in a rapid, clipped, and utterly strange sounding language.

It hit Lena like a shockwave.

They were speaking Kryptonian.

“Lena,” said Superman, turning to her. “This is Kara Zor-El, my cousin. The last daughter of Krypton.”

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #runaway Lena #my headcanon is that Kara is older #teen supercorp romance #Lillian Luthor is a rancid bitch #teen Lena was adorkable #Kara has jock tendencies but is only jock adjacent #You can have a little butch Kara as a treat

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cleoluvrr · 9 months ago

Text

black magnolias I - rafe cameron x reader

i gave you all my light, and i got nothing to show for it

WARNINGS: mature content; domestic violence, coercion, classism, religious trauma, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, blackmail

masterlist

the sound of old baptist hymns vibrated your bones, the drums and tambourines dancing in unison as dozens of feet stomped rhythmically. the floor of the building was littered with the bodies of women dressed in white, their plump frames covered in sheets to protect their modesty as they were prayed and shouted over by fellow churchgoers. the floorboards creaked under the weight of heavy feet and hard-bottomed dress shoes. the smell of mildew and old wood was strong, no amount of spearmint chewing gum able to mask the unpleasant scent of the damp wood that wafted into your nose with every breath.

church was the last place you wanted to be on a friday afternoon, shiny black shoes tapping against the creaking floorboards impatiently as you checked your phone for what seemed like the thirtieth time that hour. you’d prefer to be at the bait shop with your friends but ever since returning from the journey in search of the lost gold, your parents hardly let you out of their sight.

they were already convinced that your friends were a bad influence; that they were making you lose focus on school and the life they worked so hard for you to get. the one that you were making for yourself. you had scholarships and college acceptances lined up for you, a good job on figure eight, a nice boyfriend that would do almost anything for you. you were so close to losing it all because of the pogues–not that you were absolved from all responsibility. however, going missing for weeks in the middle of the caribbean while they were back at home, not even sure if you were alive or dead, only strengthened that belief.

it was strange being back in the old, wet building after so many years. your parents were always very religious, the two of them raised in the very church where you sat. and for a lot of your childhood you were too.

it was routine to attend worship sessions three times a week, your parents praying for a miracle that would never come. they thought that forcing you to come would make you just as devout as them, but it only made you hate the place more. the cult-like behavior only drove you away the older you got, the rift between you and your family growing larger the closer you got with the pogues. becoming involved with them is when your relationship with your parents began to strain.

when you met kie your sophomore year of highschool, she introduced you to the pogues. the way they lived life was the complete opposite of yours; on the edge, only worrying about the present and not the future. it was so odd to see them never concerned with what happens after highschool. kiara’s parents thought that you were a good influence on her. that if she became friends with you then she would leave the boys behind for good.

her parents were like yours in many ways; overbearing and judgemental of people they believed they were better than. instead of locking you away in a camp for troubled teens like kiara, they prayed over you day and night trying to cast out the demons that took their beloved daughter.

you wish you’d never told the truth about why you went missing for those weeks. maybe then you wouldn’t be stuck going to church every other day with a leash so tight it might as well be a noose.

it was a miracle that you graduated high school on time, and something greater than that to still have your job when you came back. pope wasn’t so lucky, and his parents never let him forget it. sometimes it felt like walking on eggshells around him when you talked about anything college related, knowing that everything he worked for blew up in his face while running behind the pogues. it felt unfair.

you both worked just as hard for everything you built, but you had connections and he didn’t. you got lucky. it was the truth even though he refused to say it and you didn’t want to admit it.

the sight of a quarter past two on your phone had you jumping out of the old wooden pew like it was on fire, silently making your exit before your parents could stop you. nobody was paying attention to you anyways, the church goers far too occupied with yet another praise break. the yelling and holy ghost-catching was distraction enough for you to slip out without being noticed. reaching up to wipe the anointing oil off your forehead, you take in a deep breath, the fresh air a relief to you after sitting in the stuffy must of the old church for almost four hours.

“yo!” you heard a familiar voice shout from a short distance. the sight of your friends in the twinkie made your face light up with a smile, jj’s head of shaggy blonde hair poking out the passenger side window as he waved you over. “don’t have all day sunday’s best, we have business to attend to!”

“shut up, jj. you aren’t even driving.” you rolled your eyes at him, shoes clicking against the concrete as you briskly walked towards the beat up van. the door shut loudly behind you as you took a seat next to pope in the back, the petticoat beneath your dress billowing dramatically against the cushioned bench.

the dark-skinned boy snickered beside you, a brown hand covering his mouth as he hid a teasing smile from your heated gaze. “i have bear mace in my bag, by the way. just thought you should know.” that only made him laugh harder, the two boys in the front joining in on the humiliation session.

you pouted silently for the rest of the ride to the shop, anxiously waiting to change into something more casual and comfortable than the outfit your mother picked out for you that morning. it made you feel out of place, even in the place that it was made for. everyone in the church wore old, dull clothes, bright colors faded from years of washing and wear and unable to afford much better. your family was always the best dressed out of the bunch, and it made you stick out like a sore thumb–more than you already did. your parents always believed that you “had to look your best to come before the lord in his house,” and so you did.

using your money on material things like pretty dresses and nail appointments just so your parents could show off in front of a church full of poor people when they were barely better off themselves made you feel sick; hearing them talk about how those people weren’t praying hard enough, how they didn’t believe in him strongly enough to receive his blessings. that their lack of devotion was the reason they couldn’t afford better for themselves.

for your parents to pretend that the reason they were in the position they were in because of their borderline-religious psychosis instead of the people you put them into rooms with because of who your ex-boyfriend’s dad was, was nauseating. your family was in that same position before you met him, and they’d be right back the moment anything went left.

you would never tell them that though.

“so, your folks ever letting you off that leash?” john b asks from the front seat, his erratic driving something you’d become used to over the years. you shrugged, the pads of your fingers tapping against the soft fabric of your dress.

“as long as i go to work, school, and…church,” it took everything in you to not gag on the word as it left your mouth. “i can do what i want.”

you heard jj scoff next to the brunette up front. “so, no.” he said, blue eyes meeting yours as he turned to meet your own. “you know, you’ll never have freedom unless you take it, y/n!”

“that’s easy for you to say, jj.” you rolled your eyes at him again, irritation rolling in on a cloud atop your head. “you said the same thing to kie. look where that got her.”

the other two boys groaned, the signs of an argument showing itself already after less than five minutes into the car ride to the bait shop.

it was routine for you and jj to butt heads. he always got everyone into life-endangering situations because of his stupid, rash decisions, and while everyone else would be mad at him for all of one day before forgiving him–you would never. you loved him just as much as the rest of the pogues, but he was selfish, immature, and never took accountability for his actions. it bothered you to no end how the rest of your friends just accepted that from him. you wanted him to be better, and he never would be if everyone just kept letting him get away with the same things over and over.

“uh, let me see…” he trails off, pretending to be lost in thought. “oh, yeah, free.”

“no, actually. i was thinking…homeless, estranged from her parents, locked up in a wilderness camp, and living in that ramshackle code violation you guys call a house.” you cut in. counting on your fingers, you list all the consequences kiara has faced after listening to jj one too many times. “i’d rather be called a demon two days a week if it means i can take showers whenever i want.”

“right. so don’t complain to us about it anymore if that’s how you’re gonna be.”

“i didn’t complain, you gave me unsolicited advice and i told you exactly why i don’t need it.”

pope nudged you gently, eyes wide as he silently begged you to stop before things got out of hand. shaking your head you lean back in the seat and let jj talk to himself for the rest of the ride, deeply uninterested in entertaining him any longer than you had to.

the car barely rolled to a stop before you were hopping out into the grass, the green earth padding your heavy footsteps as you made way to the refurbished wooden structure of jj’s house. sweat had started to trickle down the back of your neck from the layers of your attire and the heat of aggravation only made it worse.

you wanted to enjoy your weekend off, and nobody was going to ruin it for you. both of you were too proud to back down during an argument once you got up there, but you were smart enough to know when to pull back before it got to that point–jj would just have to find company with someone else for now.

as you made your way back out the door, you spotted more of the pogues sitting in the back of the old van. your hands held down the skirt of the short, cotton summer dress you wore instead of the thick material of the old one, harsh breeze sending the fabric billowing in the wind.

kiara smiled as you approached, her arms outstretched for a bone-crushing hug as soon as you were close enough. cleo and sarah joined her not long after, the three girls suffocating you with affection after not seeing them in over a week.

you’d been so caught up with work and school that it was hard to see them as much as you used to. “it’s a part of growing up,” is what your mother told you. you both knew that she only wanted to keep you busy so that you couldn't hang out with them, but you never said anything about it. you wanted to keep whatever peace you were able to make between the two of you.

“hey, pretty girl!” sarah exclaimed, her brown eyes and bright smile greeting you as she pulled away from the group embrace. “i missed you so much. i can’t believe you left us alone with these animals for so long.”

“i missed you, too” you sighed contently, hand reaching up to push hair out of your face. “my life has been so hectic lately. i feel like i barely have time to breathe anymore.”

the ride to the beach felt shorter than it usually did, the four of you busying yourself catching up as the boys sang loudly out the windows. it was favored timing that you had time off this weekend, the pogues practically begging you to come watch jj race in the enduro this year. even if you were busy, they would find a way to force you out anyway.

a large crowd of kooks and pogues took up space on the beach where the race would start, the sounds of loud cheers and bikes revving filling your ears as you approached. it was surprising that a fight hadn’t broken out yet, high tension thick in the air as bets were made before the race.

as you took in the organized chaos, your eyes caught on a familiar blond in all red not too far away. a barking laugh escaped you, the sight of topper in a full racing suit sending you into a fit of giggles. you tapped kiara’s leg, the girl joining you in doubling over when she spotted him on his bike.

“wow, i didn’t know he could look any more like a fucking idiot.” you said after catching your breath, the remnants of a grin still left on your face. “really outdid himself this time. i cannot believe you dated him.” sarah shoved you hard, sending you stumbling as you tried your hardest to hold back another fit of laughter. a deep red flush was traveling up her face, a ghost of a smile creeping it way onto her lips.

“why are we talking about my ex?” sarah rolled her eyes playfully. her arm raised to point out another person in the crowd. “yours is right there.”

freezing in place at her words, the mention of your ex-boyfriend sent a shiver down your spine. you slowly turned in the direction of where her finger raised attention to, heart stopping at the sight of a broad figure dressed in all black. you knew it all too well.

“yeah…her brother has gotta be way worse than topper.” kiara adds. you glare at her and she raises her hands in surrender. “sorry! but it's true…he literally tried to kill her–multiple times. and you. and pope. and literally did murder someone before covering it up–”

“yes, kiara, i know.” you cut her off abruptly. “i am fully aware that my ex is a murderous, abusive psycho with severe family issues. thank you for reminding all of us.” you knew she didn’t mean any harm, but it was hard to not snap at the mention of him.

you’d spent so long thinking about what happened the last time you two spoke.

your boyfriend–ex-boyfriend, knew the real reason you were missing for all that time. he would never let you live down the betrayal of pushing him off that boat to save your friends, or ignoring him for months so that you wouldn’t have to face the things you did to him. there was no reason to feel bad; the man showed his true colors and he got what he deserved. but even after what you did to him in barbados, he didn’t rat you out. he vouched for you, though you wish he never had. your time hadn’t come yet, but you were all too aware that it would be on its way.

rafe cameron did no favors–not without getting one in return.

the two of you never officially broke up, not because you didn’t want to, but because you were too afraid to face him after what you did. at the same time, he knew where to find you. if he wanted to see you, to talk to you, he would. you were pretty sure that he moved on to another girl in your absence, the man and his business no longer your concern.

“uh oh…” kiara whispered to you as your only warning before another voice made its presence. her gaze flickered between you and whoever was standing behind you, her wide and worried eyes only serving as confirmation to their identity.

when she saw you were making no moves to face the looming body just inches away from you, she opened her mouth to speak. she didn’t even get a breath out before his voice filled you, the sound sending vibrations through your bones and fear coursing through your veins.

“been a while, huh?”

swallowing, you accept your fate. avoiding him forever was impossible–you'd have to deal with him eventually.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #outerbanks rafe #obx4 #x black reader #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #cleoluvrr fics #southern gothic #dark!rafe cameron

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shycloudkitty · 1 year ago

Text

You're too sweet for a monster like me

Summary : Leon's drowning his pain and suffering with whiskey. But you might be his true salvation.

Pairing : Vendetta Leon! × Fem Reader (A little bit of pre vendetta)

Tags : Established relationship, self deprecating talk (Leon does with himself), mostly angst with little comfort. (But it's there) and alcoholism

A/N: Update on why I disappeared for a while. It's because things got rocky with my academics and I recently broke up :( But not to worry I'm not gonna let a little heartbreak set me back.

And for this fic I'm thinking it to be a little pre vendetta Leon, like the incidents that led to him having depression in Vendetta. It's gonna a be short fic, may or may not write a part 2 about this. Let me know!

Part -2

WC: 1.6K

Masterlist | Ao3 account

Sound of whiskey getting poured in a glass fills the emptiness of the living room he was in. After all this was all he could do, the only thing he had control in his poor pathetic life.

One mission after another after another. Leon was getting tired after endless fights with the B.O.Ws, corrupt governments in countless countries that were ‘speculated’ to have a new damned virus or a bioweapon war waiting to happen.

And every damn time he was supposed to deal with it, he was supposed to do the government’s dirty work for them, he was supposed to fight every goddamned ugly creature created by the worst of mankind, he had to carry out every gut wrenching decision that government instructed him to do, everytime he was the last man standing and he was never gonna get out of this cycle.

Yes, that's right. He was just a little puppet for the government that was supposed to fight B.O.Ws for them. Someone who was blackmailed into this life and do their bidding, by of course the government.

At first, he tried to take it positively and thought of how many people he could save like he always wanted to and at such a large scale. Something he was extremely passionate about since he was a kid… saving people's lives, protecting them. That's why he wanted to be a cop and now that he was a government ‘special’ agent he would be able to do more.

But he definitely didn't expect the destruction those missions would cause on his own self too, taking every piece of his humanity, every last hope he seemed to have, gone & extinguished in the flames of every bioweapon war he was called in. He definitely didn't expect and could never have anticipated what he was getting thrown into.

When will this cycle end?

A question he thought every second of his life but never had the answer. Forced to play hero each time and with no real win, fighting was like choosing between the lesser of two evils.

He was just a weapon, just a pawn that the government moved each time when they wanted to achieve something. And why would a pawn's life matter in the grand scheme of things? A pawn was created just to be shot down. And that's what he was.

While he was lost in thoughts and his whiskey all alone. He almost missed the soft voice whispering his name, such a gentle voice calling out to him. Feeling a soft hand on his back, trying to get his attention. He turned back to see who it was… and there was the reason. You.

Soft eyes looking at him with a sympathetic smile asking him how he was or that he had eaten anything today?

Leon slowly shook his head to get out of the fog clouding his brain and blinked a few times to focus on you.

Leon's words slurred as he spoke “What?”

“I asked how are you doing today?” Your soft words of concern clearing his brain fog better, making him aware of his surroundings and himself.

Leon blinks once more and looks down at his whiskey and then back at you. “... Better than yesterday.” A lie, he was the same as yesterday.

He could see her lips twitch in a small smile as she sat down besides him on the couch and said. “You're a terrible liar when drunk…”

Leon managed a soft huff at her reply. It almost weirded him out that you could see through him, but he guessed that's what happens when you have someone who cares for you. Leon looked away, sighing deeply and replied. “I'm just tired…”

Leon heard a soft sigh, feeling the soft couch dip a bit as she shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and gently held his hand. “Leon… I'm always here for you, you know that right? I may not be able to give solid advice to you, but I'm a good listener.”

You could feel him relax under your touch a bit and saw him look your way from the corner of his way, still not facing you. “...I know.”

“So, you know I'm also worried about you?”

Leon winces at that, the last thing he wanted was you to worry about his pathetic self. You already have done so much for him just staying by his side through all this. Hell, you were an angel just for putting up with him and actually loving him. You weren't supposed to be worried about him and you definitely weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

Leon clears his throat and shifts a little bit away from you although he didn't let go of your hand and says. “I…It's nothing.”

You couldn't help but frown at how closed off he was being for the last few days, you understand that his last mission was rough although he never went into details about his missions with you. And you knew he needed space to process all of it but you hated the way he was ‘processing’ his loss. Drinking, lost in thoughts and closing off when you tried to get close. It was hard for both of you.

You slowly shifted towards him again, getting close to him once again. Gently taking the whiskey glass from his hands and moving it away from him. “Leon…”

He looks back at you and he looks…lost. A raging storm of emotions present in those pretty blue eyes of his that you loved so much. “I know it's hard Leon and I'm happy to give you space to think but the way you're doing it… is making me worried.”

You took a deep breath and continued. “Is there anything I can do to help? I can't… see you like this.”

He closes his eyes and deeply sighs once more, years of weariness and defeat visible on his face. He shakes his head and whispers. “You're not supposed to worry about me…”

Leon feels soft hands cup his face gently as she replies. “Can't help it. It sorta happens when you care.”

Leon opens his eyes to see you staring at him with a soft warm smile, your faces close. He presses his forehead against yours for a while trying to calm his anxious thoughts. He then pulls you closer by your waist, pulling you in a hug and burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath. Your scent filling his senses and offering some peace that he needed to ground himself.

He often wondered what he did to deserve you? Did God or whatever the power universe has, take pity on him and decide to gift him an angel? You were always so sweet, so gentle with him, loving, caring, understanding. You were his sunshine and he couldn't look away. All he could do was soak up in the warmth that you always seemed to radiate everywhere you stepped.

You were perfect and it scared the hell out of him.

He was scared that one day you will see the monster he actually was. That one day you will wake up and see him for who he was, the things he had to do to make a living and think what a disgusting monster he was, what he truly was… not some ‘Hero’ or the ‘Golden boy’, just some monster and a weapon crafted to perfection to destroy the undead. And he hopes that day never comes.

He continues to hug you tightly to himself, his face buried in your neck as he takes deep breaths to calm himself. He then softly whispered. “You smell…like daffodils.”

The sudden comment made you chuckle a bit and kissed his cheek, hugging him tightly. “Yeah, I bought a new perfume today, didn't think you would notice. Does it smell bad?”

“... No, it smells good. It suits you.” And sighed deeply. He then whispered. “You're too sweet for me. Don't know what you see in me.”

You turned to face him and kissed his cheek. “don't say that… I see that you're a hard working, resilient person who keeps going even when the odds are stacked up against him. Whatever it is that you're going through… you can pass through it.”

He turned his head to face you, his expression softening into something more vulnerable as you say that. Clearly touched by your words. Feeling a lump rise in his throat as he closes his eyes once more and exhales shakily.

You were so…innocent. You had no idea what was going on in his head or what actually he turned into. You also had no idea about the vicious but repetitive cycle he was in.

Opening up about this life of his…would ruin such a sweet and innocent thing like you, he was sure of that. He knew you weren't a kid or anything or that you never faced hardships in your life. But this…he can't tell you about what he faces out there, what kind of ugliness his line of work shows him everyday, the dark side of humanity.

He can't taint the only ray of sunshine he ever found in his life.

You look up at him with that sweet dazzling smile, thinking he was someone ‘great’. But reality couldn't be farther from the truth.

Hello everyone! Long time no see, I'm sorry for my disappearance. I promise I will try to be regular now, I know this was short I will probably try to make a part 2? Idk but this was mostly written for my creativity to start flowing again. If you liked it please like it and reblog. I would be very grateful 😊

Fun fact: Daffodils are a sign of hope!

Thank you for reading this, hope you have a good day!

-Bella

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 27 days ago

Note

i forgot to send a req 😭

I have an idea about Swindle where the reader is one of his customers who is clearly not happy with the terrible after-sales service (and the in the process) and decided to "ask" for a refund. Which means keeping Swindle around, using him, threatening him to see him struggling just for fun, to pay off his debts?

Idk what continuity to set on, maybe idw? Or whatever. I cool with everything, literally

♡ “CUSTOMER COMPENSATION” — Swindle [IDW]

the comedic potential cannot be ignored. im sorry for the late posting. i wanted this to be peak so i really took my time with this one radat… might have become borderline crack.

scenario: you're a pissed off customer with a psychotic streak and Swindle tries his best to get out of your clutches with a deal you can't refuse, you may be the first bot he's ever given any compensation.

setting: Swindle's luxury apartment on Luna 2, this does not follow any storylines in IDW but Starscream rules Cybertron

Swindle was having a wonderful day, a fine day, really. It was absolutely smooth. Ripped off a couple of those ugly four helm-ed aliens for tech he found at a scrapyard for a profit of two hundred shanix, in all fairness, he did work to get it in working order so a profit was understandable (by his own definition of understandable). Even if it was by a ridiculous margin given the standing of Shanix when compared to other interplanetary currencies— not like it once was, the worth of the shanix had considerably dropped because of the frivolous war in which his lawyers advised him to say that he had no part in. So for legal reasons, he didn’t play a role. Swindle just hopes the other Combaticons are smart enough to keep their vocalizers shut and have lawyers do the talking, where ever the rest of his old team was.

But, despite all the controversy surrounding the war and the factions and the current socio-economic state of Cybertron, business was booming and the war was great advertising for him. So much illegal arms smuggled and sold, he had an off-planet deposit practically drowning in shanix. He's still getting customers.

Now, before you call him any aggressive labels like ‘war profiteer’ or ‘terrorist supplier’, one should know that he was just an opportunist. The war was ‘prime’ business. And he helped solve the conflict too! By selling hundreds of thousands of counterfeit, cheaply mass produced weapons, slapping some new paint and calling it a newer name and appealing to a buyer’s perception— slimey, sure. But faulty, low-quality scrap was one way to end a war. Someone would be destined to lose that way!

And surely, it wouldn't come back to bite him on the tailpipe.

Sure, there's been break-ins at his customer-service centers lately… Some of his employees were threatened by a masked assailant but it was all the usual. Just another day of being an ex-Decepticon. He hadn't thought much about it, and was quick to dismiss the signs of a storm.

Besides, the war is over. He got pardoned (thanks to the oh, so merciful Starscream… All that blackmail in store helped him out a ton) and he's a new mech, even if his business is still up and running— But not on the scale that it once was, he needs to be covert to avoid Prowl's detection— Secret service offices scattered across Cybertron to not only avoid Prowl and his own network of informants but also any.. particularly distasteful customers.

And you were the latter. You continue to silently listen to his pede-steps as the mech walks into his living space, all giddy and smiling. But you're going to wipe that smile off his face even if it kills you. Though he remains blissfully aware of your presence in his living space— gleefully, with a pep in his step, the businessmen switch the lights on with a simple clap of his servos, it's none of the mainlights thankfully… The room is still quite dimly lit, good cover for yourself. Swindle lived in luxury within a deluxe apartment complex on one of Cybertron's moons, probably why it took you so long to find him. Of course your sensors couldn't pick up on that slime with all the EM interferences up there. But you only realized this after cycles of harassing Swindle's underpaid employees at each of his customer service stations, you'd finally managed to get his precise location after some… persuasion.

He will rue the day he crossed you, Swindle should have known better than to cross you of all Decepticons— Sold you a faulty grenade launcher frame modification which you only came to realize was faulty after an emergency situation in which you somehow proceeded to barely survive. He was going to pay and pay your bills, Starscream didn't exactly make frame repair very cheap in his new Cybertron.

You managed to break in and now you're hiding in his office-space, you served megacycles as a Covert Operative. This was child's play. The security measures of his home were laughable. Whoever he hired for this swindled the Swindler himself or maybe he was just being a cheapskate… either way, it works out in your favour. Your talons scrape his desk as you gently drag your servos along its surface, you had lots of fun reading through his numerous accounts and sales pitches as you patiently awaited for his arrival.

As Swindle hears the light scraping noises from the other side of the room, his finials shooting upward for a moment as he grumbles, entering the code on his keypad, he fails to notice your handiwork. It's a subtle sign of a break-in. The lack of conflict has made him less observant. But the same could not be said for you.

“I thought they'd taken care of the scraplet infestation—” He mutters as the metal door slides open and just as he steps in, the door slowly closes behind him. A standard reaction from its mechanisms. He turns towards the switch board right by the door, his pede-steps being the only noise audible, until your venom pierces through the silence.

“I can assure you, I am no scraplet, Swindle.”

The energon in his lines froze. Had he been a measly organic, Swindle would've been in cold sweat. He recognizes that voice well. The cold yet soft tone, the looming danger before him laced in it— scaring him yet luring him in closer with its silent anger. An old customer.

Swindle was warned of you, in a rather cryptic way by Vortex back in the day and he never took it seriously. Truth was, he didn't know who he was dealing with at first. Despite there being something slightly off about you (which, in his defense, is a common trait for every Decepticon), you were oddly irrelevant. Nobody had a thing on you. No mention on any record, he asked your designation around and all he got is “who’s that?”. Maybe that's why Megatron made you into a Covert Operative, your seemingly endless ability to be in the background and remain disarmingly irrelevant was a quality required in that field but at the time, he only thought of you as another chump. Swindle liked to do a little ‘background check’ on all his customers, just to make sure they could pay for what they were ordering. Certainly, a reasonable practice but he couldn't find a damn thing on you.

Swindle will admit, he had made a… severe miscalculation. All that ‘not judging a book by its cover’ thing had some merit after all. Especially altering having its proof sit on his chair, by his desk, in his luxury apartment.

“You so much as rattle your plating, I will shoot.” The subtle yet threatening glow of the blaster in your servos charging up, he's brought back to this world as he's made acutely aware of how compromised his situation is.

“We.. We can talk this out!” There's an audible panic in his tone, his pedes imperceptibly shifting backwards— an attempt to make a run for it but the door behind him is closed, he'll need to enter the code on the keypad to leave. He can't even see you. For all he knows, you could be armed with some sort of plasma canon.

The distinct sound of a cannon charging up makes his frame stiffens and all other movement ceases as he raises his servos up, a natural yet futile reaction— a pathetic attempt to shield himself from the wrathful bot sitting with an even angrier sounding cannon, as if it would do him any good.

“C'MON– WE CAN TALK THIS OUT!”

The lights immediately illuminate the room and for a moment, Swindle thought he was at the Afterspark with how bright the room was but his optics adjusted quickly. You must've found a way to access his override codes.

And there he sees the last face he could ever want to see— not that it was yours specifically, no; he has nothing particularly personal (maybe until this) relating with you. But Swindle can tell the sneer of disgruntled and possibly disappointed customers well-enough.

“Oh, hah! It's a.. It's you!” Swindle says with poorly masked nervousness as he brings his servos down. The mean looking cannon still pointed at his direction. Swindle would've notified his security only if you didn't have that damned thing pointing right at his helm. And Swindle might be a con-mech but he's not stupid enough to think he can possibly outrun cannon fire.

You continue to keep your unamused look, sitting relaxed on his chair with your stabilizing servos spread— One servo gripping the cannon, pointing it right at him and the other supporting yourself helm up as you lean your full weight on his rather comfortable chair. Your posture radiates an arrogant confidence and malice that Swindle has only seen on Megatron before which makes him somehow, even more scared.

“20 decacycles.” You mutter, shifting your position as you sit up with your backstruts straight against his chair. You're definitely a bit too big for it but currently, Swindle is about to oil himself so he doesn't really find it funny.

“...what?” He didn't really catch that, he smiles nervously— In a manner a bad door-to-door salesman would when they're aware of how low-quality the items they're selling are. A stark contrast to the pearly, charming smile of the arms dealer that had so painfully deceived you.

“Twenty decacycles of complaining at your so-called ‘Customer Service Line’.” You huff out, the anger barely contained in your tone as you rise up, imposing figure and the cannon your strong servos are holding up single-handedly more than just an act of intimidation for him. Swindle feels small, his spark is hammering. He looks like a cornered scraplet and you couldn't be any more happier.

His purple optics widen a bit at the mention of those ‘call-centers’, making a call to one of them to address an issue in purchasing was like trying to write a letter to a dust-bin labelled ‘feedback box’ with a paper shredder inside it. Of course nothing would be done.

“They kept telling me that I would get compensation in the form of a fragging gift card.” You sneer as you walk up towards him, looking down at him like he was scum of the Earth. Definitely awakened something in him but now is NOT the time for that. However, his fear didn't hold him back from defending his business practices.

“Hey, hey.. Do you know how much shanix you could save if you use gi–” Bargaining for a lower price from his suppliers and sweet talking customers into buying an overpriced product might've been his forte but it seemed as if he couldn't talk his way out of getting scrapped for the life of him. You drop the cannon with the loud thud, swiftly proceeding to slam his back against the door with your servos on his pauldron. You hold his frame up higher against the door so that you can look at him optic-to-optic, just so he could see the sheer rage in you. His pedes dangle as he's pinned against the door, hanging like a portrait nailed against a wall.

He swore his systems practically offlined for a moment. The sheer proximity and unprofessionalism from a usually well-mannered customer would've been daunting but Swindle can't help thinking of what could've been if this were a different context. He continues to get lost in your gleaming optics as he daydreams momentarily.

You seem to notice this— his inner conflict raging on. And an absolutely sadistic idea pops up in your helm, one which makes your derma curve into a devious smirk. How far would he be willing to go with this? How far can you push him? You'd manage to collect a lot of… evidence on him to say the least.

“You know, I went through your accounts.”

“You did… what?” Swindle is not a fool and he knows for certain now that you're not a fool either. There are heavy implications behind your words. And the smile playing on your dermas is a warning.

“Yes. You know, I have to admit. You must have quite the auditor.”

“Well, I know a bot…” He mumbles as he remains in this awkward position with you but you feel generous, you move your face away from him so you could gently put him down so that his pedes kiss the floor like they're supposed to.

“Whoever he is must be very compliant.” You sigh, there's a hint of playfulness laced into your dangerous words which make him all the more concerned and strangely intrigued.

“I mean, laundering shanix you've gotten from illegal arms must not be easy with Prowl around.”

You mentioning Prowl couldn't lead to anything good and the wolfish grin you have is good enough of an indication.

“I gotta keep those enforcers off my tailpipe somehow.” He's not denying your accusation. Not in the slightest. “If you've seen my accounts then you'd know how much selling an exemplar piece of Cybertronian weaponry could fetch ya.” Swindle takes a strange sort of pride in that fact.

“Hm. Of course.” You're not surprised. The atmosphere remains thick and you lean towards him as your servos continue to keep him caged against the door. The thought of trying to grab the cannon on the floor does cross his processor but he's not going to be a test for your reaction-time. “And I suppose breaking the Tyrest Accord is worth that much.” You mumble out, the mere mention of that anti-customer-inclusion policy was a threat.

Swindle's expression is one of many but mainly shock— not that he's shocked at your implied accusation of him breaking the Tyrest Accord but the fact that you've managed to find out that he's been catering goods to the more fleshy type.

“You think I can't figure that out? I'm practically a spy. Or did you think I was stupid?” There's barely any distance between the two of your faces. He would've been sweating buckets as an organic. Swindle is in a whole load of slag.

“Nonononono! Of course not! Pffft– D-Don't be ridiculous!” Swindle waves his servo, dismissing what you said. His EM field is emitting nothing but nervousness and he's doing a horrible job at keeping it tucked to himself in such a stressful situation. Despite the sneer you have on your face, you're enjoying this a lot more than he could've ever imagined— seeing his distress is like watching your favourite sports team win.

“You're uh.. a very, very capable mech. Horrifyingly capable!” His nervous chuckling does damage to the usual deceptiveness of his smile, Swindle has no clue on what to do. You're so close. And he can't do a damn thing other than feel the gentle flow of air from the vents of your frame.

“And you know who else knows that?” You lean even closer, the ex-vents from every metaphorical breath you take right against his faceplates as you speak in that sultry tone, a dangerous playfulness lacing it into a gift he is afraid to open and look into.

“Wh-Who?” He asks, his purple optics fixated on your face, analyzing every expression with little success. Until he sees that gleefully smile plastered across your faceplates. You're enjoying this. Your helm is right by his audial now that you've leaned to his level.

“Prowl.”

A single designation, one word that is enough to instill fear into the sparks of any ex-Decepticon illegal arms dealer. Swindle stiffens as he catches onto what you're implying— You're going to rat him out to Prowl of all mechs. This wasn't just a personal attack, this was a full-on death threat. This would not only collapse his entire business but also leaves him behind bars. Welp. Better than a death sentence?

“And I have it all on the record.”

Frag. Nevermind. Death sentence it is. Because of course you were smart enough to make a copy of all his accounts on a data drive. It was solid incriminating evidence. This can't possibly get any—

“Also, I'm sure our, oh so wonderful Lord of Cybertron would be thrilled to know you've managed to rack up four million shanix alone from cycles of tax evasion.”

Swindle might combust any moment now that you've mentioned Starscream. He's never felt so helpless before. His pride crumbles as you've managed to uncover some of his many financial crimes. And this was just his financial crimes. Swindle worries if you have access to the old, currently shut-down Decepticon database… You must've been absolutely enraged at him to go this far. A real psycho, Swindle thinks to himself. You've got it all calculated. It was actually sort of impressive.

But maybe he could convince you to join him? Maybe. Being a ex-Decepticon Covert Operative meant you had to be blacklisted from at least seventeen different planets. He could give you equipment as well as use your services to his need to keep his even more un-cooperative customers silent and you've seen the profit he makes. Swindle is doubtful you'd resist a deal as sweetly tempting as this one. Swindle's derma forms a thin line silently as he thinks of a way to get out of this. The moment you get bored, Primus knows what you'll do to him!

“How about five percent of all company profits?” He smiles, feeling a lot more confident in his plan. The old deceptively charming used-car salesman smile returning to his features, Swindle sees a mutually beneficial opportunity and is willing to take it. His offer makes you quirk an optical ridge, questioning just what his motives are. Could you even trust him on this?

“For some prolonged… shall we say, services?” So he wanted to keep you around? Either way, it wasn't confirmation that he wouldn't doublecross you but it was a solemn declaration that he wouldn't betray you in the foreseeable future. You lean away from him. You may have been a vengeful mech but you were daft, you were a bot with a purpose but your purposes did need a lot of funding.

“Ten.” You reply sternly, leaving no room for bargaining and Swindle winced visibly, as if it physically hurt him having to give away that much. But his frame relaxes. He lets out a deep ex-vent.

“...deal.”

Maybe Swindle could talk himself out of a life-or-death situation, unlike what you previously thought.

me successfully attempting to understand how money laundering works for a fanfiction:

this was so much fun to write! i have a few more ideas for swindle which im not sure i will execute. i don't know why but when it comes to Swindle, i end up getting so many ideas for no reason

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