#i have a good relationship with nearly everyone on staff

[collaredkittyboy]

My legs are so tiredd :<

[luffington]

hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader

aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.

The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much. 

He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week. 

You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken. 

The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank. 

The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.

Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.

“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.

Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.

Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”

“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”

The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.

“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman. 

“But I am sit–“ 

A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.

“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, “I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.” 

Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision. 

Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”

“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”

You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?” 

Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”

Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual). 

“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”

“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”

The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts. 

“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”

“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.

Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end. 

“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”

You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.

“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”

A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.

Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”

“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back. 

“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce. 

He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy. 

Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds. 

“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response. 

“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”

“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”

Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly. 

“Crocodile, please…” 

“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way. 

Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain. 

You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.

Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.

“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…” 

The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”

If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move. 

“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”

“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”

Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.

“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”

Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving. 

Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.

“You… you didn’t cum?”

“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”

“W-wait, give me a minute –”

“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”

Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt. 

“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.

Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own. 

Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”

“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.

“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”

His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail. 

[liveontelevision]

I beg of u pls more slowburn luci... I'm starved... No one writes him as well as you💔 I'll give you my kidneys 💔

THIS ONES FOR YOU BB

Did it Hurt? Lucifer x Reader

enjoy some quick fluff >:)

♡♡♡

Lucifer always had a habit of losing his temper. It wasn't often, usually when a specific document was giving him a hard time or when he would return from any meeting that took place at Heaven's Embassy. Or, with the relocation of his quarters, whenever a certain radio demon would push his buttons just a bit too much. You've seen it enough times to know when to leave him be and when to step in, but you hated to admit how familiar you became with him in this state.

It was a lot of work keeping up with the hotel after its renovation, and Lucifer did everything in his power to keep the hotel running behind the scenes, so Charlie could focus on her new residents. Being his assistant for so many years, even following him to work at the hotel, you were absolutely delighted to see him so passionate to work, obviously motivated by his rekindled relationship with his daughter. But with the whole redemption premise, it meant a lot more contact with Heaven, and that drained his battery more than anything you've seen.

You hated to compare, but it almost reminded you of his depressive episodes after Lillith disappeared. He walked the halls in a daze, putting on the brightest smile only around the other hotel staff, but you knew him too well to be fooled by his lovely grin.

Throw some drinks into the mix? You'd witness a truly gruesome sight.

It was almost evening when Lucifer realized he actually had caught up to his work and had the chance to enjoy his night. His first thought, no matter how much he'd deny it, was to find you. It was always easier to enjoy his rest and relaxation when you were around. Something about you just left that affect on him. It'd drive him crazy if he thought about it too long.

You found yourself in the newly renovated lobby, still decorated with a bar that exentuated both Lucifer's and Alastor's aesethetic. It was one of the few things they had compromised on.

Lucifer insisted you stop work for the night, but you only agreed after thoroughly skimming over his documents to see if there was anything that would keep him up too long. After finally being swayed, you give him a quick pat on his arm and wished him a good night, assuming he would take the oppurtunity to sleep through his newfound free time.

With a satisifed sigh, you slammed your empty cup on the bar's counter, shouting for another. There was a loud roar of cheers coming from everyone around you as Husk refilled your glass. You lost count after the first hour or so, your head beginning to spin before you could consider the consequences. Soft Jazz music was playing from a small radio, hidden from view, and the entire hotel staff was bustling and chatting as if it wasn't nearly midnight on an average night in Hell.

You had heard something particularly ridiculous from Angel that sent you into a laughing fit. Nearly falling from your barstool, you felt a sturdy hand brace the small of your back. Startled by the sensation, you whip your head around a little too quickly, leaving you dizzy and blinking before focusing in on Alastor keeping you upright.

"Careful, my dear! I enjoy the festivities as much as the next depraved sinner, but we can't have the king's secretary hurting themselves now, can we?" His words seemed rude, but he managed to say them with a charm that prevented you from truly questioning it. It didn't stop you from mumbling under your breath, "i'm not his secretary.. asshole deer demon - " You managed to say it quiet enough that he didn't react, but you did catch his ear twitching and turning torwards you for a second. You quickly resumed some random conversation with Charlie or Vaggie, you couldn't remember its contents if you were asked about it today, but it was better than dealing with the repercussions of insulting the radio demon.

It went back to being chummy and pleasant for a moment before you saw Charlie peering past your shoulder, an excited gasp escaping her lips.

"Dad! Come drink with us!" Charlie leaned back from her barstool, Vaggie bracing her drunken sweetheart from falling flat on her face. You quickly turn, dizzying yourself again, before seeing Lucifer making a hasty decent down the stairs. His hair was freshly quaffed, and he wore a clean white dress shirt, that smelled of a sweet cologne when he walked past you. He had that twinkle in his eyes that would appear whenever he was in Charlie's presence. You loved seeing his eyes that way. They'd shine no matter how heavy the bags under them were.

"Of course, kiddo! Your old man's got the night off if you'd believe it! Pour me a.. uh... something strong!" He puffed his chest out proudly, happy to spend some much needed time around demons in a casual setting. He propped himself against the counter between you and Charlie. When you finally caught up to his words, your eyes widened slightly, giving him a gentle tap on his shoulder. Lucifer turned to look at you, and you caught him speechless for a moment. Your cheeks were red and hot, your eyes dazed and a bit watery from laughing too hard, but still reading concerned for some reason. He's seen you in loungewear before, but you were barely put together in this state. Your hair was sprawled across your shoulders, a few strands blocking your eyes. You wore sweatpants that loosely hung from your waist, revealing your middrift that was visible from underneath your cropped t-shirt that bagged off your shoulders. After snapping back to reality, Lucifer let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in.

"Yes, yes, dear, here I am. Hope you've been having fun - but not too much! Fun.. Aha... what-what is it, what do you need..?" He stumbled over his words, attempting to be charming but failing miserably. A staticky chuckle responded to his words before you could get out what you wanted to say. "Poetry, your highness. True poetry~" Lucifer hated to look away from you but did so anyway to send a red eyed glare to Alastor, who sat across the bar. He scoffed before scooping his freshly poured drink into his clawed hand and taking a quick swig, slamming it back down. He coughed for a moment, hitting his chest with a balled up fist before sending Husk a teary-eyed thumbs up. "Smooth.. Another..!" He squeaked out. You resorted to taking a soft grip on his forearm after he got too distracted to hear you out before.

"Sir, be careful! We both know you can't hold your liquor.. just - be careful." You spoke in a hushed tone, far closer to his ear than you intended to be, but personal space became foggy in your drunken state. He shivered, feeling your breath against the side of his face, then quickly turned his head up to hide the red creeping across his cheeks. Clearing his throat and picking up his refilled glass, he let out a pompous laugh.

"Thanks for worrying about me, but i'm fine! I'm the king of Hell! I can handle my.. whiskey?" He turned to Husk with a confused look on his face, only to get a confirmation on his drink. He sent a charasmatic smirk in your direction after getting a thumbs up from the bartender. You couldn't help but giggle, covering your mouth to not embarrass him or yourself. He always eased your nerves like this.

What a dork.

You smiled to yourself for a moment before feeling a hand brush the hair that laid across your eyeline out of the way and tucking it away behind your ear. You looked up, fluttering your eyelashes as your eyes focused in on the figure. You turned red seeing Alastor brushing his claws across your hair to keep it away from your face. Without proper judgement, you cringed at the suddenly intimate interaction and jolted away from his clawed hands.

"Now, now, I'm only trying to help! You look an absolute mess, darling." You shrunk at Alastor's words. He still spoke charmingly, but it was clear he had a few drinks as well. You let out a nervous chuckle, running your hands through your own hair and crossing your arms over your exposed middrift.

Lucifer's seen you stick up for yourself before. You were as passionate as he was in that sense. So seeing you almost curled up into a ball at Alastor's words, that were spoken closer to your face than he'd ever want to see, made him growl. "Keep your distant, buddy, maybe you should call it night. If you know what's good for you, that is." Lucifer's confidence only grew with the alcohol finally hitting him. He laid his arm across your shoulder, slightly leaning you away from the demon that towered over the two of you. Alastor found a weakspot and knew exactly what to do with it.

The chatting went on for another hour or two. After Lucifer was calmed down by Charlie and yourself, you all managed to have a decent time until demons started heading back to their rooms one by one. Lucifer was going on a rant about some bullshit documents that Heaven sent and how he'll have to set an appointment to go to the embassy soon, while you propped your head on your hand and only half listened. It wasn't because you were disinterested, you were just coming off your high. You still weren't sober enough to warn Lucifer that he probably had one drink too many, but that was a problem for later.

"Why not send your little servant to deal with Heaven, hmm? I've seem them dealing with plenty of your problems, i'm sure another burden won't hurt, wouldn't you agree?" A wave of radio static washed over your body as you felt large hands fully encase your shoulders. Alastor's claws were cold against your skin, your shoulders exposed by the drooping of the oversized shirt you wore. When he was drunk, his little quips seemed much more personal.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, carefully pulling your torso away from his grip." Ha ha ha. I'm fine, Alastor. I can handle myself, even against Heaven. If i have to, I could totally deal with an angel!" You bragged, maybe the confidence of alcohol made you respond, maybe something else.

"How about you? Think you can handle an angel, Al?" Lucifer added to your words, his arms across his chest. Alastor's eye twitched, his clawed fingers digging into his dress shirt where he was nearly killed this past extermination. The static in the air crackled louder for a moment, before Alastor spun you around to face him. His hands were planted firmly on either side of the chair, caging you in uncomfortably.

"Oh rest assured, sweetheart, I'm fully capable. If you ever need.. protection.. on one of your little errands, do let me know, hm? Maybe you'll need a gentleman to accompany - " He slowly moved in closer to you, until your could barely hold yourself up, your breath hitching as you lost the strength to handle his exessive teasing. Lucifer ripped on of Alastor's hands away, before pulling you from your seat and holding onto your arms to brace you from the quick movement.

"Back the fuck off, bitch." Lucifer's eyes were glowing a familiar red, his teeth snarling at Alastor, who was standing with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Oh dear, did I make a mistake? Is someone a bit protective? Best not lose this one, your higness!"

Damn, that's cruel, you thought, wincing at his words.

You hadn't even confessed any feelings, not that they were clear to you. You considered being in some sort of romantic relationship with Lucifer as your still not entirely sober mind wandered from the frightening moment.

Before you could realize, you were tossed to the side, stumbling onto the carpetted floor with a light thud. Your vision returned to see a fully demonized Lucifer, gripping Alastor's collar as he yelled out some profanities, puffs of flames leaving his mouth as he spoke. You were completely shocked to see how Alastor stood there with a grin on his face. Like he was enjoying it. You quickly stood to your feet, the adrenaline coursing through your veins being more than enojgh to sober you up.

"Sir! Stop!" You reached out and grabbed Lucifer's sleeve, only to be nudged off a bit forcefully. He definitely wasn't using his full strength to keep you away. This was one of the moments you would step out, Lucifer was always impossible to calm down in this state and the alcohol surely made it worse. He lifted his flame engulfed fist, ready to drive it directly into Alastor's shit eating grin.

"Lucifer!" You finally shouted. He paused, slowly releasing Alastor's shirt and stepping away. He scoffed and didn't even snap his fingers, yet a portal appeared behind him. You could see from the outside that it led to his office.

"You're not worth the trouble anyway, fucker." A final puff of fire left his lips as he stepped through his portal that instantly vanished. It left you alone with Alastor in the lobby, the collar of his shirt and a few of his hairs lightly cinched.

"What the fuck is your problem?? Stay away from me! And him? Leave him alone! Damnit, he doesn't deserve this..!" You huffed, making your way up the stairs. Alastor stood alone, his stature still unphased. His eyes shook and he finally let out a shakey breath once you were out of view.

●○●○●

You recognized where to find him and quickly made your way up to his tower. Sure, it stung that he would just leave you after causing such a scene, but that still didn't stop you from worrying about him.

You opened the office door slowly, peaking in to see an empty office. You stepped in and scanned the area, no sign of the king of Hell. You noticed a soft flicker of light coming from the window and went towards that direction. The large windows of the office opened up, one in particular leading to a small balcony that displayed the Pride Ring as a bustling landscape of city lights.

You let out a soft breath, taking in the view before finally seeing Lucifer sitting on the railing, his hands holding him up. The flickering that led you towards him was the flame that sat at the crown of his head, his demon form still intact. You knew it took him awhile to calm down, but you rarely got the chance to see his powerful features this close. His tail was hung over the railing, swaying like how a cats' would. His wings were fully sprawled out, only moving with his breath and his horns, a vivid red at the tips, tore through his scalp, breaking up the purity of his white flesh. The flame that sat between them was much smaller than before and his eyes were still red, but you could see his yellow irises looking down at the city. His shirt had torn from the back, you assumed with how fast the situation at the bar escalated he didnt properly consider the physical damage he'd cause. In this vision of raw power, just the sight of the back of his neck and shoulder blades peaking from his torn shirt was what made your blush.

He turned his eyes towards you, then looked back to the city, adjusting his wings so you could have some space to stand near him. At least he was welcoming you in. You carefully stepped over the ledge, bracing yourself on the railing as you got a full view of the city. The wind left a much needed cool touch to your face, making you let out a soft sigh. You propped yourself up on your elbows, bending at the hips slightly.

"You know, considering how terrible the people are down there, the city really is beautiful. From a distance." You spoke softly, testing the waters; seeing if he simply needed a distraction from the outburst." Actually, it looks pretty similar to a city on Earth. Not as busy and a lot less bloodshed, but still similar. I've never been, but this is pretty close to the pictures i've seen." You described. Sometimes the mention of Earth was good for him to hear too, so you gave that a shot as well.

"They used to be white. Sometimes in the sunlight, you could even see some gold flecks in there." He finally spoke, his voice hoarse. He stretched out his wings slightly, motioning that those were what he was referring to. You twisted around to fully face his wing that had outstretched in your direction. "They were really beautiful."

"I'n sure they were, sir. Do you like flying? I saw you doing it when you were fighting Adam, you seemed really fast." You spoke softly, deciding not to argue the fact that they were still beautiful in this state. He didn't need to debate right now. "May I?" You let your hand hover just above his feathers, the wind occasionally blowing them into your touch. He nodded, even if he was exhuasted, he still seemed anxious at the idea. You carefully trailed your fingers in the direction of the feathers, now a blood red. They were still unbelievably soft and they essentailly leaned into your touch, as you traced the spine of each feather mindlessly.

Clearing his throat and letting himself calm down from the touch, he did his best to respond." I-I used to. In Eden, I would.. mm... I had to patrol and catalog Adam and - well... any progress or changes.." he stammered out his words, occasionally stopping to let out a quiet hum." I just don't see the point anymore. Plus, it's probably not the safest bet." He let his head fall back for a moment, his wings slowly but surely pulling you towards him.

"What about your tail? And.. your horns? Those only appeared after you.. erm... after you arrived in Hell, right?" You moved on to the lower wing that was closest to you. There were some loose feathers that were sticking in all sorts of direction, so you carefully wiggled those out and continued to comb through the large span of feathers, running your nails along the very top with slight pressure. "Hng.. right, yeah. Those are newer." Was the only response he managed to get out.

"The horns.. did it hurt?" You were almost scared to ask, the idea of horns sprouting through your head and breaking your skin on multiple occasions made you shiver.

You continued to groom his wings as he responded. "T-The first time, yeah. But now, not so much. Or maybe i'm just.. I'm just used to it.. Mmh!" He winced mid sentence, his wings curling in with a jolt. You felt his tail rope itself around your wrist and hold it in place. "Oookay! That was n-nice.. thank you, but- yeahh.. Ahha.. that's enough of that." He chuckled nervously, and you looked over at him after not doing so for awhile. His face was flushed red and his chest was heaving. You couldnt tell if he was hurting or.. "Oh! Sorry! I didn't mean to.. Sorry..." you weren't exactly sure what you were apolgizing for, but considering the possiblities made you turn red.

"Nono, it's fine. It was nice, I promise." He managed to compose himself, but left his tail around your arm loosly. "But, uh, yeah! Yup! Horns are new, Tails' new. The fire's definitely an interesting choice, can't get rid of that even if i tried. And trust me, I tried." He went on, leaning back on the railing and letting his wings tuck in, but still left them in view. You let your head fall to your shoulder, cocking your eyebrow. "Get rid of it? Why? Doesn't it go away on its own?"

"After awhile yeah. But here I am, in a situation where I definitely don't need to use any of this shit - I-I don't know what it's for other than intimidation, but I still can't get it to go away on command. After all this time.. The vodka probably doesn't help either." He huffed, clearly frustrated at his physical appearance. You had taken to fiddling with the tip of his tail as he spoke. You did it much more softly, and it didn't seem as sensitive, so he didn't comment on it. But he still had a red hue across his cheeks and his tail twitched every now and then at certain touches.

You let out a quiet giggle, "It was Whiskey, but yeah i'm sure that didn't help either." You clarified in a teasing sense, then fell comfortably into a silence for a moment. You could just barely hear cars honking, gunshots and music when neither of you spoke.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, it definitely does the job. You left Alastor shaking in his boots back there." You said with a smile, turning your head to meet his eyes. They were still mostly red, but you could see them softening just at the sight of you.

"Good! He deserves it. Sweetheart, if that prick ever does anything - "

"Don't worry, he won't. You know he only picks on me to get under your skin." You walked your fingers up his arm before seeing his fist clench at the sensation.

"I-I suppose.. I- Uhm... What are you doing..?" He started to sound nervous, but didnt pull away from you. You stopped what you were doing, realizing one hand was sitting on his thigh and the other was making its way up his arm. You yelped and pulled your hands back, placing them on your cheeks just to gauge the heat immiting from your skin.

"I-I don't know! Sorry! M-maybe i'm still drunk..! Yeah, that has to be it.." you stammered, a blushing mess. The sound of his soft chuckle was quick to ease your nerves." Maybe.. it's curiousity... Do you- not to sound weird, say no if i'm wrong - but.. you can- ahh.. touch my horns, too.. if you want - " He wasn't trying to be crude, you could tell he really just wanted to calm you down. Or maybe he just wanted to be touched. You nod your head slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his.

He shifts his positioning to face you, and leans his head down a bit. Taking each of your hands into his own, which were a bit shaky , he pulls them up to meet his intimidatingly tall horns. You basically shut your eyes in anticipation, only opening them back up when you get a good feel. They were smooth, like the surface of a violin, but they felt heavy. You wondered if they felt heavy to him. You carefully menuvered your hands around the fire that was nearly the size of a matches flame at this point, sliding up to the tips. They were ridiculously sharp. It made you more anxious than anything else, they couldve pricked your finger if you werent being careful enough.

"Remind me to remind you how sharp these are. You'll poke someones eye out if you're not careful. Unless that's what you're aiming for, then go for it." You tried speaking to him as you did this to break the intimate silence of the moment.

He let out a nervous laugh. From his view, he could see most of your stomach, more visible than before due to your reach. You actually felt a particularly heavy breath reach your middrift, making you tense up for a moment. Still, lucifer was careful to keep still after the comment on his sharp horns.

You made your way down to where they met his temples, hesitating for a moment before feeling the skin that was stretched over the bone-like features. It felt like scarred flesh. Your felt your heart drop in your chest at the sensation. When he said it hurt the first time.. the horns must've physically ripped through his skin. Without thinking, your hands trailed down to cup his cheeks, making him lift up his head with a questionable expression." So? Did you get your fill?" He asked, a stupid smirk dancing across his face. You scoffed, taking the moment to look into his red eyes. They almost hid the tiredness of his usual colors.

You noticed his eyelids begin to droop and before you knew it, your lips had brushed together in a tender kiss. You pulled him in closer, your hands still planted on his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up to sit on the railings beside him, never breaking contact during the process. He was careful with you, even as you parted your lips to invite a heavier kiss, he held his shut. You pulled away for a moment, moving your hand to his lower lip and just lightly brushing your thumb across it. His breath became heavy at the delicate touch, his grip around your waist falling onto your hips. You left your thumb on his lip and took the opportunity to slide your tongue slowly into his mouth. He yelped, his eyes suddenly shot open at the boldness of your actions. His suddenly limp hands, almost clawing at your hips. His forked tongue eventually made his way into your mouth, still with caution. You felt the fork in his tongue and smiled into his lips, enjoying this new discovery a little too much. He melted into your touch and followed your movements, barely having the strength to keep his head up on his own. You reveled in the moment, before feeling a sharp prick on the tip of your tongue. You pulled away, giving you both a much needed break to breathe.

You run your tongue across the top of your mouth, the smallest taste of blood hitting you."Oh! Fangs!" You quickly exclaimed, the realization hitting you before you could form a real sentence. He stared at you almost dumbfounded, not sure how to respond.

Once you had both composed yourself enough, you noticed that all of his demonics features had retreated, leaving just his wings sprawled out. He let out a satsified hum as you looked into regularly colored yellow and red eyes. You ran your hair through his hair, that had become messy from the horns, and pulled him into another kiss. Lingering for just a moment, you pulled back and smiled, letting your eyes dart across all he features." You're beautiful, Lucifer~" you hummed, your thumb caressing his cheek. You almost couldn't tell, but he did his best to keep any tears from welling in his eyes.

♡♡♡

I wanna work on my multi-part series after all my exams as a heads to you lovely lil people

[falllpoutboy]

the ritualistic humiliation of alicent this season was absolutely disgusting and the show constantly needed to remind us that she is the character we should root against all the time and never feel bad for her, everyone else gets a pass because they’re a slave to fate, apparently, but not her. nearly every single plot point this season regarding her is swiftly followed by a punishment, whether literally or narratively.

she starts this season by having clandestine consensual sex with criston cole her sworn sword. they are so bad at being clandestine that otto and larys have clearly suspected something is going on with them. after being stood up by her, larys then replaces her regular lady’s maids with some from his staff so that they can spy and report back to him which makes alicent uncomfortable enough to send them away. that’s punishment #1

she and criston are having sex when b&c happens and are interrupted by helaena and jaehaera running in. but remember, jaehaerys was not the original target of b&c, and the mastermind behind it, daemon is redeemed by the end of this season, so alicent is so much of a POS hypocrite that while she too busy having sex with the LC of the kingsguard, her grandson dies on HER watch. and as much as i loved alicole, i really hate that the writers used their relationship to seemingly punish the characters when they literally haven’t done anything wrong. and now helaena knows about the affair too. punishment #2

alicent is confronted by rhaenyra at the sept of baelor, who lets slip that she heard viserys push for aegon to be king as his last words to her. but oh no, silly alicent, rhaenyra is here to tell you about the song of ice and fire, this stupid prophecy that has been passed from Targaeryen king to heir for generations now. how would alicent have known about it when she is neither king nor heir? doesn’t matter, she’s stupid for believing his words to be literal and stupid for playing a part in crowning her son. punishment #3

alicent takes moon tea, as an abortifacient or as a late contraceptive, we’ll never know! but the very act of taking moon tea is now perceived by grand maester orwylle, who now also has reason to suspect queen alicent has been having an affair. punishment #4

bitter and disillusioned with herself for not knowing about a stupid fucking prophecy nobody told her about and letting her horrible son aegon be crowned (even though the council was planning on installing him anyways), alicent talks down to aegon by reminding him he’ll never be as good of a king as his father (L O L) and he should do nothing. such a rousing speech leads to aegon getting drunk, flying out into battle on his dragon and getting maimed because of it. why did you say such mean things alicent? now look what you did. punishment #5

back at the small council, alicent advocates for herself to be regent with only one person there to agree with her, grand maester orwylle but not even her lover and closest confidant advocates for her. the son she is scared of the most becomes regent instead. silly alicent, don’t you know you will never be respected in a room full of men? how do you like misogyny, something you have apparently never personally experienced until this day, now? punishment #6

alicent goes to the sept of baelor to pray with helaena when a riot mob happens and is forced to retreat. this mob is apparently so righteously angry at not having enough food, they throw fish in her face with such good aim and call her the queen of fishes, alicent trips and falls for leaving helaena behind momentarily, and she also receives a bloody gash on her arm before barely escaping with her life and helaena. oh alicent, didn’t you know that the blockade of ships that carries food into the city which has been enforced by rhaenyra and corlys has actually been your fault the entire time?? punishment #7

back at the small council, alicent confronts aemond and is relieved by her duty on there by him. maybe its because she brings up a theory that he is now avenging the bullying he went through when he was young, which one could argue happened on her watch, is why she gets the boot. oh well, there goes any little ruling power and say in the war effort she had left. punishment #8

alicent sees off her brother ser gwayne who makes mention that their father otto kept her closer to him than gwayne because she was his favored child. Oh! so because alicent was otto’s favorite, it doesn’t really matter that he sold her into marriage and marital rape at age 14 last season. why would you ever want to be otto hightower’s favorite child? punishment #9

alicent also asks about daeron, with gwayne saying how unlike to aegon and aemond he is because he was raised away from them in Oldtown and not by her.. she even says this and gwayne dissuades her of that opinion but honestly, once alluded to that alicent is a bad mom, it’s just her biased brother claiming otherwise. punishment #10

[sharkorok]

all eyes on you (enhypen)

or the moments that make everyone think you’re dating

cw/genre: idol!reader, reader doesnt have specified gender but implied to be a female, fluff, so cute bye, secret relationships, humor, u have delulu fans

requested: naurrr

a/n: ehe thx for 100 followers :) I hope my writing makes u happy because knowing people read my works makes me super duper happy! luv uuuu

•-•-•-•-•-•

heeseung

-at an awards show your outfits were matching, like very obviously matching

-matching bracelets, you had one on your left wrist and he had one on the right, the colors matched each other, same style and aesthetic…

-he gets v nervous but also you were in some dating rumors with another idol so…he wouldn’t be mad if he was next tbh….BUT THEN UR GROUP WAS ASSIGNED NEXT TO HIM??

-dawg was sweating the whole time trying not to admire you and how cute you two looked

-but no every one of those “enhypen mma reaction” or “heeseung reaction focus” showed him very clearly staring at you 😭, twt had a field day with you two

-he can’t help it, you looked so good and how can he keep his eyes off his lovely s/o when they’re all dressed up + matching?? seriously his management was insane for putting him so close to you

-and when all groups were leaving he was seen literally sprinting to be closer to you

-ya dispatch didn’t even need to confirm anything after that awards show

the others r below!

jay

-during a live he got his guitar out and started playing all your favorite songs

-and this was literally a day after you named your favorite songs

-then to make it worse he was like “yeah these are y/n’s favorite songs don’t they have good music taste?” and then he kept talking about you and staff was sweating while watching istg

-the way he talked about you tho,,he either had a massive crush on you or you two were dating

-the ship edits the next day were insane honestly some of your fans need to get into the editing business because you genuinely believed a photo of him holding your waist was taken at inkigayo

-he doesn’t even try to hide how much he likes you istg, he goes out of his way to talk to you at awards shows and always films challenges with you, he gives the shippers so much content

-then another time jay cooked your favorite food in a vlog and specifically said it was your favorite food, name dropping and everything

-literally no one is surprised that you two are confirmed dating after a while.

jake

-accidentally went on live while talking about you

-he fully believed he closed out of the app when he was talking to jay and saying stuff like, “I’m really excited to see her at the performance, I hope we have time to hang out…” and then he hears notifications and sees that he was streaming and he nearly faints

-plays it off like he fully intended for everyone to hear that and continues like he planned on going live

-he’s also trying to hide the way his eyes flickered up to your rapid texts being like, “JAKE WHY ARE WE TRENDING ON TWITTER??”

-jay is behind the camera just trying not to laugh becuz how do you even recover from this one, literally all the comments are talking about you and him

-“y/n…? yeah ahahah I know her uh huh mhm anyways moving on” and his horrible deflecting skills are making it even more obvious

-and when you go on live?? oh u bet the comments are “did you see jake’s recent live?? are u cheating on us y/n?”

-u desperately distract by spoiling your comeback but there’s already 14k Tik toks analyzing every interaction you had with Jake and why you two are cosmically intertwined

sunghoon

-describes you to a T when asked about his ideal type

-he meant to just mention the broad details but he gets excited talking about u ok :(

-“yeah a good heart and around (your exact height), with (the hex code of your eye color) eyes, born on (your birthday), hobbies include (every single one of your hobbies) and also…(literally all the information under your kprofiles page)”

-ur fans catch on and are like “isn’t this literally y/n” and he’s like “omg nooo coincidence”

-it is NOT a coincidence bro he was fully thinking of you and only you during that interview

-anyways you don’t help the situation by describing him too when asked about your ideal type, but ur at least a tad less obvious 😭

-“yea I love guys who ice skate and stuff”

-u two definitely get scolded by management

sunoo

-sometimes he forgets to care about keeping things secret (like that lipton tea thing he did)

-so he’s showing fans his camera roll and he shows selfies you never posted before…in his camera roll…never before seen by anyone but him and you to the camera and is like

-“y/n’s visual is so perfect, right?”

-and yeah duh ur stunning and gorgeous but fans are distracted by your beauty for a second before being like “hm…how did he get those selfies and why r they in his camera roll”

-ur fans r thankful for the content tho so he kinda did everyone a favor

-but it’s a LITTLE suspicious…but neither of you address anything so it just festers a little

-until you two do a tik tok challenge together and he captions it with a heart emoji like oh my god 😭

-you’re not innocent either when you said “sunoo’s visual is so amazing” like both of you get some media training I beg

-everyone loves how obviously whipped you two are for each other tho :,)

jungwon

-accidentally exposes your polaroid in his phone case

-thankfully he has photos of his members and maeum but why were you there??

-he completely ignores it tbh he shows the photos to the camera and is like “these r the polaroids in my phone case. anyways.” n he’s playing it cool but internally he’s PANICKING

-“hopefully they didn’t see the heart I drew on the Polaroid,” he thinks foolishly

-we did.

-so you try to do some damage control on your own live when asked about why he has ur photo in his phone and ur like “oh we’re really close friends!!”

-n honestly that’s a good and healthy response because everyone has the right to their platonic relationships

-but jungwon’s heart he drew on your Polaroid was just a little bit tooooo suspicious…anyways this leads to fans over-analyzing every single interaction to the point you two weren’t allowed to be seen in a ten foot proximity at events for a while

-but at least it reminded jungwon to be more careful lolol

niki

-accidentally rizzes you up on live television

-you’re an mc for smth and you’re interviewing enhypen and you’re like, “oooh, some burning questions, what is your ideal type?”

-and Niki, with no hesitation fully goes, “you lol” and you see ur career flash before your eyes

-ur co mc is nervously laughing and niki realizes like oh wait we’re being broadcasted so he’s like “oh just kidding haha!!!” even though you two are making awkward eye contact while you’re mentally scolding him

-he’s so used to teasing and flirting with you in private so it’s a little hard to shake off in public

-anyways fans notice he’s looking at you a little too lovingly and being a little too genuine when he responded so it’s not long before you see ship edits on Twitter and tik tok

-doesn’t help when you answer the ideal type question with “someone who is playful and funny” thinking it was broad enough but ‘twas not <3

-he doesn’t really care too much but thought it was funny, even if he had to take a media training class again afterwards >:T

[alastor-simp]

Sensitive Soul😔 - Alastor x Reader

Requested by @ju1yyyzzz

The Hazbin gang were all lounging around the lobby, minding their own business. Charlie was reading a story book, definitely romance. Vaggie had her spear in her hand, practicing her moves. Sir Pentious was observing her. Apparently Vaggie wanted to teach him some physical combat, since he relied too much on his gadgets and egg minions. He was sloppy, but he had a lot of confidence, which Vaggie respected. Angel dust was chatting away at the bar with Husk. Their relationship had improved a lot, leaving you feeling very happy to the point you cried. Zooming sounds were happening all across the room. It was Niffty, chasing after the insects with a knitting needle. The look in her eye was crazy and glad she was aiming it towards the bugs, and not you. Alastor was relaxing against a chair, legs crossed while sipping from a coffee mug. The hotel radio was playing a broadcast from the human world. The fact that it could pick up stations from the living world was insane. Must have been Alastor's doing since he always looking for more entertainment.

The phone in your hand was your source of entertainment for the time being, as you kept flipping through Sinstagram. Static emanated from the radio, beginning to play a broadcast in regards to some sort of pandemic happening on earth. The grin radiating on Alastor's face was nerve wracking, as he continued to listen in on it. "HAHA! How utterly entertaning! Makes me remember the good old days during the Great Depression! So many orphans!" It felt like you had been punched in the stomach. 'How could he find that entertaining'. Your thoughts were becoming depressing, and tears began to appear in your eyes. Charlie took a break from her book, and looked up, noticing your sad expression. "Y/N, Why are you crying?" Realization hit you as you touched your cheek and felt wetness. The room got quiet, everyone gazing at you with concerned looks including Alastor. "I-I'm I-. I need to be excused." Jumping from where you were sitting, you rushed out of the room, leaving everyone confused. Angel was the first to speak up: "What the f✪✪✪ was that about?"

Charlie felt the need to comfort you, but she concluded that your probably needed a minute to calm down. She looked around the room, observing everyone. "Did any of you say anything to them?" Everyone shrugged their shoulders, stumped. Niffty zoomed next to Charlie, wanting to tell her something. "She started to cry when Alastor was laughing about something on the radio." Eyes all turned to Al. Alastor still had a smile on his face, but mentally he was riddled with confusion. "I was only reminiscing about the past! My words did not bare any insults towards them!" A spear was drawn at his face, causing him to arch an eyebrow. Ohh how scary he thought. Vaggie was fuming, nearly about to strike Alastor. "Whatever you said apparently made them upset! Now go and check on them, bastardo!" The air grew ominous, as Alastor powers began to expand, clouding the room with black mist. The smile on his face began to grow monstrous, as his eyes turned into radio dials. "Now Vaggie! There is no need for threats! But I advise that you lower your w̶͈̒͜è̶̫̤͖̃̀̔̋́a̴̝̮̾̽̋̌̈́̎̍p̵̳̟̩͈̬̹͓̔̀͌ó̸̟̃ṇ̵̹̻̽̉ ̶̩̞͓̃̓͌̈́ȍ̷̬ṛ̸̨̡͈̹́͜ ̵̡͈̰͎́̚ḛ̴̞̯̭̥͊̅̇̃̎̆l̵̖̔͑͆̿s̸̙̐̌̐̆̓͠è̵̛̻͑̓̊͠!" Charlie jumped between the both of them, wanting to appease the situation. "Vaggie Stop!" Charlie words reached her girlfriend, causing the spear to be lowered, as she crossed her arms. Charlie then looked at Alastor, who had managed to calm down slightly, yet the air was still tense. "Alastor. Could you please check on Y/N?" A shook of his head, brought him back to normal, as he stood up from the couch. "All right!" The staff in his hand at appeared, giving it a twirl before he stood up from the couch, walking away with his hands behind his back.

"Now where could the little darling have gone?" Alastor announced to himself, as he ventured down the hallways. His first place to look would be your room. Giving a rhythmic tap on the door, he waited for you to open the door. His ears twitched, trying to pinpoint any sounds from the other side, but heard none. "Hmm. Not here." Alastor continued to look for you. The last place to look was the hotel garden. It needed a lot of weeding and pruning when he first arrived at the Hotel. Niffty and you were able to fix it right up, planting certain hellflowers and fruits and vegetables. Sounds of sniffling reached Alastor's ears, "Ah so you were here!" he thought. He found on curled on the ground, laying on the concrete ground, admiring the flowers. His eyes noticed the tear streaks that were still prominent on your cheeks. Turning your head around, you saw Alastor standing next to you, before looking away. "Why the long face my dear?" Alastor chortled to himself, while you remained silent. Your lack of silence bothered Al. He still couldn't piece together why you were crying in the lobby? He snapped his fingers, causing a cushion to appear on the ground. He didn't want to dirty his pants. Plopping down, he continued to look at you. His smile stayed the same, but his eyes were looking at you with slight concern.

"My dear, what has you so upset? Was it something I did in the lobby that bothered you?" He patiently waited for your answer. Wiping your tears with your sleeve, you turned your head towards him. "You didn't do anything Al. It was the topic you brought up that got to me!" Cocking his head, he pondered what you said. A lightbulb flashed in his head. "Ahh yes! The great depression!" His smile became giddy. His entertainment for misery was appearing again. "Yes. I know to you it was highly entertaining, but to others it wasn't. It just made be think about all the hard-times during that time, and the orphans and what-not. I know its stupid to cry over something like that, but certain things or topics I'm very sensitive too. Often times it results in my breaking down in tears like you just saw." Alastor continued to stare at you, while you talked. He was relieved he didn't cause something directly to upset you, but it did stun him a a bit at your reasoning. His years being a radio host/serial killer harden him, to the point certain depressing topics became utter joy for him. It gave him a bit of realization that subjects like this were very bothersome to others, including you. "I apologized if I worried you and the others. Just didn't want to cry in front of all of you over something stupid. Wish I wasn't such a cry-baby." Casting your eyes down, you gazed at ground.

A fluffy material touched your cheek, causing you to jump. Looking at Al, he was cleaning your face with a handkerchief. His signature smile, had dropped. It wasn't a frown, but he was a full on smile either. More of a slight grin. "Y/N, there is nothing wrong with crying over stuff like this. My time in Hell has made me immune to depressing topics. This doesn't make you a cry-baby, it just means that you have a pure soul. You care about the well being of others greatly, to the point of tears. It is quite alright my dear, and I would like to give a proper apology to you." His words were insanely sweet. More tears began to pour out your eyes, shocking Alastor even more.

"My dear?! What did I say? Why are the tears still coming from your eyes?" His actions were frantic, as he continued to wipe the tears from your eyes. The tears still flowed, but a smile was on your face. "Hehe, I'm sorry. Your words were very sweet and just made me very happy that I wanted to cry." Alastor gave a chuckle as well, shaking his head. "My my what a strange demon you were. Still, you were very adorable." He thought to himself. Soon the handkerchief had removed all of the tears that were flowing down. The signature grin he wore returned, as he got up from his position, snapping the cushion away. His hand extended out to you, allowing you to grab it. Being pulled up, you got up off the ground, and stood in front of Alastor. His other hand was placed on your cheek, giving it a stroke before returning back to him. "Shall we head back my dear? The others must be getting worried!" He smiled down at you, to which you responded back with a nod, as the both of you walked together out of the garden to rejoin the others.

~END~

*Tagging*

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen , @aceofcards0-0 , @jyoongim , @saturnhas82moons , @unholycheesesnack, @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah , @cookiekyo , @iiotic , @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie

[whenmemorydies]

See this?

Carmy is about to pull this shit. He is really about to go in and likely blow up one of the only good relationships he has left from The Beef. After yelling at Tina from the pass. After stressing out everyone and their fucking dog cos he thinks this is acceptable behaviour if its all in service of a star?

This part of 3x03 Doors was such a jagged scene for me because of a few things (including what I've said above). What else got me:

Tina is someone Carmy knows, that Carmy loves (go back to their scene in 1x08 Braciole talking about Mikey. Go back to Carmy's soft "hey Tina you go ahead, you take the night off okay? I got you.");

Tina is an older woman of colour who has made the commitment to skill up so that she can work at The Bear after working at The Beef. Carmy has seen the work she has put in but in this moment, he pays none of it any mind. Imagine being T. Imagine how that would feel. Imagine how it would feel knowing all we know after watching Tina's journey in 3x06 Napkins. The thing is, Carmy doesn't need to know all of T's backstory to know his behaviour is unacceptable. The fact that he knows some of it and proceeds to act in this way is just more evidence of his white privilege showing its ass.

Carmy does not have the self reflexivity here to look at his young, white, male self yelling at this older WOC and see how fucked this is: how he's become another white guy in a litany of white men barking at workers of colour, not seeing Tina for the whole human she is but reducing her to a means of production. The racial dynamics on this show are so evident but don't get talked about nearly enough. I know the writers have crafted those dynamics on purpose because as beautiful a character as Carmy is, he's also a product of his environment as a white chef trained in a highly racially segregated field. This has repercussions for his relationships in season 3, particularly with the BIPOC characters in his life. @november-rising speaks about Carmy's behaviour in relation to Black women's experiences of love and professional recognition devastatingly here. Read their post and the reblogs.

While this shit made me so mad this season, it was also in character - as I've said here - for a white guy trained in fine dining to revert to established patterns of behaviour. Though, I'm gonna need the writers of the show to show US that they did this on purpose and have Carmy ATONE for this shit in season 4. Otherwise, what kind of redemption arc will this man have? This shit is hurtful to the BIPOC characters and BIPOC viewers of this show in no small part because white men the world over have a LONG history of using BIPOC people as a means of production and as a means of production alone. If you're unsure about this, please go look up the Transatlantic slave trade. Please go look up the history of colonial indentured labour. Please go look up The British East India Company. Please look up the forced labour regime in the modern prison industrial complex. Please go read a fucking book. And no I'm not saying Carmy is responsible for the slave trade (LMAO please hold fire if this is where your mind is going). I'm saying BIPOC folks carry with us a long ass history, an intergenerational history of this shit. But guess who else does too? White folks. So don't act like they dont.

This shit is also hurtful because we know how respectful Carmy can be. We’ve seen him in seasons 1 & 2. We know he knows what being a practical ally looks like (even if he may not have the language to name what he was doing) when he made sure to bring the staff of The Beef with him to The Bear and invested in them accordingly. We know he loves and respects them, none more so than Sydney. But there were so many times where he did not act like it in season 3. And when folks have got histories - not just personal but cultural too - as long and as loaded as we ALL do, actions account for a lot. What you do is the shorthand for who you are in the world, whether you like it or not.

Ok back to the scene.

Who comes in and simultaneously saves Carmy's ass and ANOTHER of his relationships? Who protects Tina and keeps the kitchen from exploding AGAIN?

Who supervises her sous chef like a fucking pro?

Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

And who knows that he's in the presence of greatness but doesn't know how to articulate it cos he's not integrated, not by a fucking long shot. Who needs to attend some anti-racism training along with Al-Anon and therapy (so he can get the benefit of understanding his role in this system and get a better understanding of his own mind)?

Yeah you Carmen, you.

Better get on that shit before you lose the woman who is the beat to your whole heart another means of production to a chef who's going to pay her better, give Syd insurance from the jump and total creative control. Just saying.

[agustdiv1ne]

♫⋆｡`♪ ₊ﾟ.11:01 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun

genre: smսt, bratty sub!yeonjun, rockstar!yeonjun, dom!fem!reader, yj wears a collar at all times bc i said so, light petplay (he gets called pup, but nothing further than that) <3

wc: 2.9k

yeonjun's little secret is hidden in plain sight.

his skeleton in the closet is encapsulated by a simple piece of leather wrapped around his throat — it's something that he nearly always has on, whether it be promotional photos, meet and greets, or concerts. his fans have spotted it on him when he's out partying, perusing festivals, even while he's simply out and about. sometimes, he even attaches a longer piece to it, wraps it around his wrist like a leash, and yet everyone always dismisses it as some sort of social commentary (he's honestly seen enough think pieces on twitter to last a lifetime). and when someone asks about it? he brushes it off and smoothly changes the subject.

because it's not just a plain old choker, or a collar worn to criticize an oppressive social regime — no, it is yeonjun's indirect way of telling the world that he belongs to you.

indeed, you, the pretty little girlfriend of tomorrow by together's famous drummer, have more power over him than anyone else. he's yours to keep in line, yours to ruin — yours to own, wholly and completely. sure, you keep your relationship with him fairly private, but the collar is your own way of staking claim on the man that is desired by everyone. what can you say? you’re a little territorial.

and maybe it makes your sex life just a bit more exciting.

yeonjun slams his sticks down on his drumset’s cymbals one final time before he’s ripping his in-ears out in order to hear the crowd. their screams heighten the adrenaline racing through his veins, his heart pounding against his ribcage so hard he thinks that it might burst from his chest. slick sweat shines against his bare, tanned skin under the blazing stage lights that illuminate him and the rest of the band. they blind the crowd from his eyes, but he can still hear the frenzied screams of “i love you!” and “fuck me please!” and the cries that beg them to continue the show — he eats it up, basks in the untouchable feeling as he stands on his chair and dramatically bows to his fans. hopping down to join the rest of his members at the front of the stage, they give their wild fans one last goodbye as the platform they stand upon begins to lower below the stage, each of them waving to fans. before he is fully off stage and the mic in his hand cuts off, he allows one last bellow of “thank you, chicago! good night!”

impatiently, he mumbles a quick “good job” to the other guys before he’s leaping off the moving platform, removing the stage gear that is strapped to his torso beneath his tank top and tossing it to the floor with little abandon. the staff can pick it up for him later, because all he can think about is finding you right now; he’s excited to hear what you think, always a glutton for your praises. 

frantic eyes scan the crowded backstage area, trying to spot you amongst the sea of staff. his steps grow faster when he realizes you’re nowhere to be found, his heart racing for entirely different reason now. where are you? are you in his dressing room? are you fucking hiding from him? 

“jjunie!”

his head whips around in a flash at the familiar call of his name, watching as you slink over to him in the most mouthwatering outfit he’s ever seen. your skintight black shirt leaves little to the imagination, with plunging cutouts that show off the curvature of your breasts and leave your navel bare, tucked into what can barely be called a mini skirt due to how little it covers. your eyes shine as you stare up at him, hands reaching up to cup his jaw before you pull him into a messy kiss full of teeth and tongue and passion, ignoring the chaos that whirls around your bodies. he moves down to trail his lips down your neck, but you stop him with a single finger slipping under his collar at the back of his neck, pulling him back by it. the feeling lights a fire within him.

“easy there, tiger,” you laugh, smirking as you meet his kohl-lined eyes. “we’re in public.”

“but baby,” he whines, hands wandering down to your ass, slipping under your skirt, and delivering a hard squeeze to the bare flesh. “need you s’bad.”

your tongue subconsciously runs over your front teeth while you watch his once clear eyes grow all hazy and hooded. brushing a thumb over his plump lips, you murmur, “so needy already, hm?” he nods, and you bite back a cruel comment. “then how about we go to your dressing room, pup?” 

yeonjun feels the fire inside his stomach roar to life at the pet name, no longer just a tiny flame, but something all-consuming and desperate. the next few seconds pass as a blur as he makes a beeline towards his room, adorned with a star and his name. the door slams behind you, your back pressed to the wood soon after as he cages you in, his lips crashing against yours with fervor. he brazenly gropes at your exposed flesh, his already hardened cock pressing against your thigh through his jeans. he’s getting too bold, isn’t allowing you to lead — and you’re becoming annoyed.

your fingers find the thin strip of leather around his throat once more, pulling harder this time. he chokes at the feeling, fingers pressing deeper into your flesh, refusing to move as he diverts his attention back to your neck again. annoyance brews into a bubbling anger, your fingers leaving the collar to twist in his hair and yank. a yelp sounds from his throat at the tingly pain branching across his scalp.

“already forgetting who’s in charge, pup?” you grit out, pulling harder all the while. he releases a shaky breath, but doesn’t move to give you an answer. scoffing, your gaze sharpens. “get on your knees.”

“no,” he replies, defiance coloring his tone and expression. “i don’t wanna.”

you use your free hand to grip his chin. “don’t you want to cum tonight?”

“obviously,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

squeezing his chin, your vision spots red, and you seethe, “then get on your fucking knees.”

he gives you a similar response as before. while yeonjun is usually obedient, there are times where he becomes too greedy, too bold in trying to steal the reins from you unrelenting hands — it seems tonight is one of those nights, but you know just how to put him back in his rightful place. he’s too easy, really. 

without warning, you shove him away, stalking over to the other side of the room where your purse lies. you ignore his questions of what you are doing as you dig through the bag, quickly locating what you want: his leash. the black leather is cool against your skin as you wrap it around your hand, the clip held between deft fingers. it matches his collar perfectly; simple yet effective, you surmise. his eyes widen at the sight of you returning to where he stands with it in hand, mouth going dry as he realizes you aren’t in the mood to play tonight. 

yeonjun freezes as the clip loops around the small chain that holds his collar together, biting his lips when you tug, testing the integrity. your expression betrays nothing of your inner thoughts, gaze steely and borderline bored — you refuse to look at him now, moving in silence. he feels a tug from behind now, and it presses the leather against his windpipe for a moment. his cock twitches, and he aches to touch himself, to relieve the unbearable pressure in his pelvis. 

“i was gonna reward you tonight, y’know, for doing so well,” you sigh while you step in front of him again. your calm yet venomous tone sends tingles down his spine and more blood towards his center. you poke at the center of his chest before you continue. “but you decided to be a stupid little brat and not listen. so!”

you’re just being cruel now, but the pathetic furrow of his brow and the pout forming on his lips is the least of your concern at this point. you saunter over to the couch that sits in the middle of the room, bend over right in front of him, and slip your thong down your legs. behind you, he audibly gasps, both of your holes on proud display in front of his eyes. his attempt to surge forward is quickly thwarted, the length of his leash too short to even come close to reaching you, and he turns back to find that you have tied it to the doorknob. he reaches for the knot—

“don’t even try it,” you call. “that isn’t one you know, stupid pup.”

turning back to you, he finds you leaned back on the couch with your legs spread wide, perfectly manicured fingers slowly circling your clit. you emit a quiet moan as you tease yourself, hips rolling up into your fingers to search for more stimulation. gulping, he remains silent, focused on the way your entrance flutters around nothing. 

“i get to touch, you get to watch,” you sigh, pressing harder against your bundle of nerves. “and don’t even think about touching yourself without permission.”

knees weak, he stands there, vision growing hazy around the edges at you prod and tease yourself, working yourself up at a painfully slow pace. he knows you’re doing it on purpose, but his cock is so hard and it’s so painful and he just wants to—

“put your hands back at your sides,” you order, further threats already pouring out of you before he can process the command. “or do you want a worse punishment? want me to go get your bandmates? i’m sure they’d love to fuck me, make you watch with no way to stop them from taking me, have them use me ‘til they’re satisfied— mh, just thinking about that is getting me close.”

across the room, yeonjun feels tears line his eyes. the fingers that have sunken into your entrance should be his. he should be the one between your legs right now, his lips wrapped around your clit and your thighs suffocating him until he’s dizzy on your taste and scent. he should be the one with his cock in you, not anyone else — and especially not his fucking bandmates. falling to his knees, a sob wracks his form, but you’re still not feeling particularly kind. 

“aw, are you crying? you’re such a pathetic little thing, jjunie. can’t even listen to basic fucking orders, but you cry when you don’t get your way?"

the first tears slip down his face when your first orgasm hits you, your legs struggling to remain open as you whimper and whine, exaggerating your moans on purpose. you throw your head back and arch your spine, giving him a better view of your soaked hole as you ride out the waves of pleasure. 

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks streaked with tears and his head hanging low. his fingers dig into the meat of his thighs, but you can catch the shake of his fingers despite his grip. 

of course, you heard him well enough, but you decide to feign ignorance. “what was that, pup? look at me when you speak.”

“i’m sorry!” he shouts, his pupils blown out and blurry with lust. “‘m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, please— please let me touch you, wanna make you feel good. i can’t—”

“you’re sorry now?” you interrupt, his head nodding up and down in rapid succession. “huh, i’m not sure if i believe you.” 

“pleaseee!” your boyfriend sobs, disregarding anyone that may stand on the other side of the door, his voice thick and shaky. his collar has been pulled taut against his neck with how desperately he has tried to move towards you; his head is hazy and he can barely think about anything except pleasure, both his and yours. “please please please please—”

his begging continues as you rise from the cushions. you ignore the slight quake of your limbs, now leering over him while he stares back up at you, his shiny, swollen lips parted to allow soft pants to escape. crimson stains his cheeks and spreads down his neck, black streaks of ruined eyeliner mixing with it — an absolute painting.

extending a foot, you press the heel of your shoe against his erection. his jolts, a drawn-out whimper escaping him. your lips form a condescending pout as you press a little harder. “poor pup. so sensitive. so pathetic.”

“‘m not pathetic,” he whispers. with a single eyebrow raised and your head titled to the side, you crouch down to his level, gently gripping his chin.

“no?” you question softly. “then why are you so hard just from me degrading you?”

“‘m sorry, can’t— can’t help it.”

“aw, i know, baby.” you reach up to run your hand through his dusty rose hair, removing a few sweat-slicked strands from his forehead. “i’m gonna untie you. i want you to go sit on the couch, and take your pants and boxers off for me, okay?”

“m’kay.” 

he does as promised once you untie the knot. he even went one step further and removed his tank top, his cock pressed against his abdomen, the entire shaft an angry red, his veins more pronounced than usual. precum beads at his tip, dribbling over the side of his cock. obediently, his hands lay at his sides against the cushions. his fingers curl as you undress.

you move to straddle his lap, cupping his face in your palms. “i’m gonna put it in, pup. you're gonna be good, right?”

he nods before he inhales sharply, your fingers touching him where he needs you most. you guide his leaky cock to your entrance with one hand, biting your lip as you begin to sink down on him. the stretch causes your head to spin and your walls to flutter around him. he whines. “don’t, ngh, don’t do that.”

“what? this?” you ask as you purposefully clench your walls. his whimper morphs into a shout when you sink down fully, taking him to the hilt and staying there. his dick presses against the spongy spot deep inside you, stretches your walls perfectly. your pussy was made to take him, just as he was made to listen to you. 

the rhythmic grinding of your hips is enough to have him crying out, tears flowing down his face once again. you lean down to kiss them away, hands finding his and pressing them against the cushion on either side of his head. sighing in delight, you begin to fuck him faster, bouncing up and down on his cock. his mouth is frozen in a permanant ‘o,’ head thrown back while he bucks up into you.

“feel so good inside me, jjunie. so big,” you moan. he twitches inside you at the words, which spurs you to keep going. “such a dumb little thing, just need my pussy and you’re gone? have to have me think for you? so— fuck, so cute. you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“y-yes! all yours, ‘m only yours!” he replies. you smile at the admission, releasing one hand to pull at his collar. his thighs begin to quake below you, muscles contracting and relaxing sporadically. you lean in to kiss him and swallow his loud moans, holding him close by the strip of leather. power paired with pleasure surges through your veins, pleased at his ruined state. you smile against his mouth. 

“rub my clit,” you encourage, feeling his thumb move like lightning to the little bud, his sloppy circles causing your rhythm to falter. “i’m gonna cum, jjunie. want you to cum inside— fill me up, pup. don’t you want that too?”

“yes! yesyesyesyes-” he rambles and rambles until you feel him spill inside you, ropes of cum painting your walls and triggering your own orgasm, his cock pulsing inside you as he continues to cum. your walls flutter as you ride out your high, your fingers moving to press his face against your breasts. he kisses and sucks at the flesh between high-pitched whines until you finally come down, the pulsing of your walls ceasing. slowly, you lift yourself off him, ignoring how his seed spills from your hole and onto the couch. with one final peck to his lips, you adjust his collar and sit next to him, pulling him into an embrace and allowing him to bury his head into the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“did so good for me, jjunie. i’m so proud of you,” you murmur against his hair, rubbing soothing circles against his back. you gently rock him back and forth with you, making sure that he’s comfortable. “do you need anything, baby?”

“nuh-uh,” he says, voice vibrating against your skin. “just wanna be held.”

with a fond smile, you nod to yourself and squeeze him a little tighter.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[leilakisakabiri]

Loved the promises we keep ❤️, could I request for Gavi, where his obsessed with the reader (in a good way) and is very overprotective with her and their friends tease him about it ?

Match Day (Gavi)

Summary: You’ve never gone to any of Gavi’s games despite being his girlfriend. The day you finally decide to go things go far from planned.

Warning(s): This is important so please read. This post has some content related to death and kidnappings involving small children. If that is a sensitive topic for you at all, please do not read further.

A/N: Guys I can never write requests the correct way. I know what this request is supposed to be, but when I start writing I just start coming up with ideas and then the end result is always a little different than I intended. So anon, I know I made it probably a lot different than you expected but I hope you still like it, and thanks for the support! Please send requests guys I have no idea what to write about.

Word Count: 4.1k+

Masterlist

You bit your lip anxiously, brows furrowed, as you read the comments on Gavi’s latest Instagram post. The two of you had been dating for nearly a year now, making your relationship public about three months ago. Since then you had been plagued with comments every day, people feeling the need to criticize everything you did, whether it was the way you posed in a photo, what you wore, or even how much you posted Gavi on your account. Nothing you did seemed to stop the backlash. 

Now, however, the comments had shifted, you were no longer being bombarded daily about mundane things, instead, the comment section of Gavi’s post had been flooded with apologies and I feel so bad for hims. 

Someone pointed out a few days ago that you had never attended a single one of Gavi’s games. Since then, people had gone crazy speculating if the two of you were still together, and if so, then why you weren’t supporting him like any normal girlfriend would do. 

The comments only worsened with Gavi’s latest Instagram post which he shared after winning the UEFA semifinal against Italy. He thanked all his team members, the coaching staff, his family, and you for helping him to achieve his dreams and pushing him to be the best. 

His fans had not taken kindly to that. His entire comment section was filled with people urging him that he could do better or chastising you for not supporting him. 

You felt a pang of guilt as you continued looking through the comments. It’s not that you didn’t want to support him, or that you felt like you were above him in any way. In fact, you were always the first one to tell him how proud you were of him, always in awe of his abilities. You made sure to watch every single game, texting him whenever something especially exciting happened on the pitch to share your thoughts, whether it be something as small as a “the ref is wack” or a “you’re so insane I can’t believe you made that goal, my brain can’t process how you did that so effortlessly.”

Gavi knew that you would support him in anything, and he always made sure to remind you that even though you weren’t there it still meant so much to him that you would take the time out of your day to cheer him on. In the end, you supposed that’s all that really mattered, however, you just couldn’t shake the feeling that you were in the wrong. 

Although he always told you it didn’t matter to him, you knew it was a lie. You had seen how excited he was when you guys first started dating and he had asked you to wear his jersey to his game. You had also seen the disappointed look on his face when you gently declined, explaining to him why you wouldn’t be able to come. 

He understood, and never asked again, but in the back of your mind you knew he wished you were there supporting him like everyone else’s partners did. 

Your anxiety was something you never shared a lot with anyone. None of your friends knew it played such a big part in your life, assuming if you canceled plans, it was because you just didn’t feel like going. And you played into it, becoming branded as the flake in the friend group because you would always back out of plans once a location was set. 

One time you had agreed to go to the beach with your friends, everyone excited for a day of barbecuing and swimming in the salty ocean. That plan had quickly been canceled, however, once it had started downpouring and after much back and forth everyone had decided to play tourist for the day and go visit the Sagrada Familia. After seeing that text, you immediately dropped out of the plans, informing everyone that you had gotten food poisoning even though an hour earlier you were packed and ready for the beach. 

The truth was that you suffered from severe panic attacks, usually triggered by large crowds. 

Growing up your parents had both been in law enforcement, with your mother being a well-established Defense Attorney and your father being a credited Private Investigator. 

They often told stories from their jobs at home, much to your brother’s entertainment, certain cases they were working on that had just closed, or new leads that were quick to transform into cold cases. 

There had been one case however that had stuck with you, haunting you for years, causing you to always make sure that your windows were closed, and your door was locked like a mantra every night before bed. 

The missing person's case involved a young nine-year-old girl, the same age as you were when you had first heard it, who had been spending a beautiful summer day visiting the local fair with her family. She had been prancing around, going from vendor to vendor, seeing what prizes they had. It had only taken a second for someone to lay their eyes on her and attack, grabbing her forcefully before turning and disappearing into the crowd. No one could do anything, everyone searched, but there were too many families, too many young girls that matched her description. It was useless. 

“Poor girl and to think she was taken just because she wanted to get a better look at the pink stuffed bear. I hope the family at least gets closure.” Your mother said, shaking her head sadly. 

Your brother piped up beside you, “Won’t they find her though?”

She gave him a sad smile, “It’s very unlikely hijo, she went missing on Wednesday. Usually, if they’re gone for longer than 24 hours the chances of them coming back are very slim.” 

Your breath had stopped after she uttered those words. Even at nine, the realization had kicked in – you had been at the fair that same day, blissfully licking a popsicle and chatting with your friend, naïve and unaware that probably a hundred feet away from you a young girl was being ripped away from her parents, never to be seen alive again. 

You hadn’t even heard her screams or pleas for help, and you had been right there. 

The thought made you feel sick to your stomach, bile rising in your throat. If it was that easy to kidnap someone and take them away even when they were surrounded by people that knew them, then what was stopping something like that from happening again? Who’s to say you wouldn’t be next? 

Since that day your demeanor had shifted drastically, no longer were you the same bubbly, outgoing kid, who would never shut up and always dragged her parents to new places. You had shrunk into yourself, biting your nails anxiously, eyes darting to look for nearby exits in every new location. 

Your parents had taken notice of your sudden personality shift and tried to help the best they could, never bringing up cases again, even going out of their way to avoid places packed with people because they knew how easily it scared you, but the damage had already been done. 

That fear, as silly as it may seem, carried into your teen years, swelling into full-blown panic attacks that were triggered by large crowds or noisy places.

The first person you had shared your condition with, aside from your family, had been Gavi. 

Your friends relentlessly teased Gavi saying that he was making you even more scarce than you used to be in group hangouts, declaring that he wanted you all to himself. Gavi took all the teasing with a smile and a shoulder shrug, never denying or admitting anything, and you knew he only did it because he loved you. 

It couldn’t have been easy for him to miss hanging out with his friends, whom he rarely got to see in the first place due to his busy schedule, simply to stay back with you so you wouldn’t have to be alone, but he did it every time anyways. If you didn’t go, he didn’t go, simple as that. 

You squeezed your eyes shut; you knew you owed it to him. 

He was always bending backwards, willing to accommodate any of your silly requests just because it made you feel safer. You knew it was time to step out of the box you had locked yourself in for way too long. 

You glanced at the time, you had about thirty minutes until kick-off. You knew you would be late, but if you left within the next fifteen minutes you were confident you could make it before halftime. 

You hyped yourself up. You were going to do this. No going back now. 

You went to turn off the TV that had been droning on in the background, fingers hovering over the power button when an ad caught your eye. 

It was an old speech from Martin Luther King, “Courage is the power of the mind to overcome fear.” He spoke before the screen cut to a page urging individuals to join the troops. 

You let out a loud laugh, not believing what you were seeing, who knew an ad for the national army would get you so emotional? You weren’t someone who was super into manifestation but even you couldn’t deny this felt like a sign.  

Wait a minute why was an ad for the US army playing in Spain?

You decided not to think too hard about it, instead focusing on getting ready. You dug out the jersey Gavi had given you all those months ago and put it on. You rushed to get all your things about to head out of your apartment when you realized one crucial item was missing. 

You didn’t have tickets. 

You let out a groan, trying to think of what to do. You wanted to surprise Gavi so you obviously couldn’t tell him, and it was so close to kick-off that tickets were no longer being sold. 

You fell back onto your couch in defeat. Now what? 

Suddenly you shot up, hands searching for your phone, you sent a quick text to Anna, one of Gavi’s teammate's wife’s asking her if she would be able to help you.

She responded right away telling you to come to the stadium and that she would meet you at the ticketing line. 

Bless her heart. 

You thanked her over and over again as you rushed to the stadium, adrenaline pumping. 

You were in awe once you got off the train, Camp Nou was the biggest thing you had ever seen in your life. It was massive, expanding probably over a hundred feet in the air. You giggled seeing Gavi’s face blown up on one of the billboards. 

You reached the ticketing line, thanking whatever higher power was looking out for you that it was empty. 

“Hi sir, I’m here to meet a friend. She said she’s on her way down.” You informed security once you reached the gate entrance. 

“Ticket?” He asked not even sparing you a glance. 

“Oh sorry – uhm my friend has my ticket, and she’s inside.” 

He finally looked at you, “No ticket. No entry. Now leave.” 

“I understand that, but if you could just give me a minute I’m going to call-“ 

“I’ll tell you one more time, if you don’t have a ticket, you’re not getting in. Leave.” 

You huffed, backing away, pointing at your phone, “I’m just gonna call her, okay?” 

He glared at you, and you gave him an awkward smile, unsure what to do. You went to dial Anna’s number when you heard someone yelling your name. You looked up, seeing Anna waving crazily as she approached the security guard. 

“Let her in, she’s with me.” 

You quickly walked over to them, waving back at her. 

“She doesn’t have a ticket.” The guard replied in a bored tone. 

“That’s fine! She doesn’t need a ticket to go to the box, she’s with me.” Anna argued. 

The guard pointed at your neck, “She doesn’t have a family pass. I can’t let her in.” 

Anna huffed, “Well I do! And I’m saying she fine, she’s one of the player's girlfriends.” She held up her badge showing her VIP status. 

The guard only continued to glare at her, “If she was really a player’s girlfriend, she would have already had a pass. I’m not letting her in.” 

You groaned, annoyed at yourself for not coming sooner. You knew that no one at the stadium aside from the players probably knew who you were, you just hadn’t realized how many problems it would create once you did come. 

“Don’t make me get Antonio.” Anna threatened. 

Finally, the guard seemed to break, his eyes turning wide, “You wouldn’t.” 

She nodded her head slowly, “I totally would.” 

He gave you one more spiteful glare before he stepped aside allowing you to pass. You thanked him quickly, only getting a grunt in response before you greeted Anna. 

“Thank you so much for coming to get me.” You said, hugging her. 

She laughed as she guided you through the stadium, “No worries. I thought Marco might be the one guarding tonight, he takes his job too seriously.” 

You smiled, “Yeah he seemed a little tough.” 

She rolled her eyes, beginning to walk up the steps to the family section, “That’s an understatement. He’s been working here for like ever. Since before Robert even moved here. I remember the first couple of times I came to see a game and he was always interrogating me, even after I showed him my badge! I think he’s just mad, he never got a promotion.” She exclaimed. 

She led you to the seats, introducing you to all the other girls. 

“So, what made you finally decide to come?” She asked once the both of you were settled. 

You looked around the stadium, seeing that the game was nearly through the first half, with only 15 minutes remaining. 

“Change of heart I guess.” You answered vaguely, not wanting to dive too deep into it. 

She nodded her head, “Well anyways I’m sure Gavi will be so excited when he sees you.” 

You chuckled next to her, unsure if that was the reaction he would have. 

Ever since you had opened up to Gavi about your anxiety he had been a huge support system for you, always pulling you aside to make sure you were comfortable with a situation, and he tried to avoid putting you in situations where he felt your anxiety would spike, meaning that he had banned you from all his games and practices. 

You knew he would probably be shocked to see you in the stands, but you hoped he wouldn’t be so worried that he would slip up in the game. 

While he had maintained that football would always be his number one priority everyone could see a shift in his demeanor since he met you. No longer was he staying hours after practice, trying to achieve the perfect curveball, instead he was putting his all during practices then driving to your apartment, annoying you while you did your homework, and passing out on the couch with you in his arms, a random movie playing in the background. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard the halftime whistle. You saw Robert look up at the stands, presumably searching for Anna, before he made eye contact with you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. 

He waved and walked over to Gavi pointing at the section you were in. 

The midfielder raised his head at his teammates’ shouts, looking up at the stands with a confused expression. 

His family already said they couldn’t come today. 

His eyebrows only furrowed further when he couldn’t pinpoint a difference. Everyone was the same. 

His heart stopped, and he instinctively put his hands over his eyes, blocking out the lights, to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. 

He felt his heart rate increase rapidly and his eyes widened, because there you were, sitting pretty in his jersey, a shy smile on your face as you waved down at him. 

He continued to stare at you, not believing what he was seeing. He felt anxious for you, just thinking about you sitting there surrounded by thousands of people. He quickly broke eye contact rushing into the tunnel. 

You sat back in your seat confused at his actions. Was he not happy to see you? Why did he leave so abruptly? 

You got your answer a moment later when your phone started beeping repeatedly indicating the flood of text messages you were receiving. 

You opened it seeing them all being from Gavi, asking what you were doing here, if you were okay, if you felt safe. 

You smiled at how gentle he was with you, going to respond. You were in the middle of reading a text when he sent another message causing you to lose your place. 

You groaned, secretly finding it adorable how stressed he was for you. You sent him a message letting him know that you were okay, but it took five minutes of back and forth for you to convince him that you weren’t going to have a panic attack in the next twenty seconds. 

In all honesty, you felt fine. Yes, every now and then the thought that you were surrounded by so many people would pop into your head, but it was starting to get easier to ignore, you just had to remind yourself that you were next to people who knew you. Plus, the game itself was an easy distraction, and after the second half started you found yourself getting into the game, yelling at the ref whenever they made a poor decision, and cheering on Barcelona as they made their way up the field.

“Oh fuck off, that should have been a freekick!’ You shouted after Pedri had been slide tackled aggressively, resulting in the boy landing rather awkwardly on his ankle. 

Anna was quick to agree next to you, “C’mon, he didn’t even touch the ball. Don’t be a loser!” 

You giggled at her words, enjoying how she always said whatever came to her mind. She grinned at you shrugging her shoulders as if to say she did nothing wrong. 

You continued watching the game, leaning against the railing as you both chatted about your lives, interrupting each other every couple of minutes to shout something about the game. 

Before you knew it the game was over, Barcelona sealing the win with a goal in the 87th minute, securing their 2-0 lead, scored by none other than Gavi himself. 

You screamed, jumping around as he celebrated, running over to your section with the biggest smile on his face, kissing the crest on his jersey before he pointed up at you, mouthing the nickname he always called you. 

You grinned back at him sending him down a heart which he immediately reciprocated before being tackled by his teammates. 

Once the other team had left the field the celebrations started. All the players started to walk towards the fan section, taking off their jerseys and handing them to fans. 

Anna had pulled you down the stairs with her, letting you know it was time to go see the guys. 

You were ecstatic taking in the buzzing atmosphere around you, cheers of joy filled the air, and the stadium was filled with red and blue confetti. 

Had this been what you had been missing out on the whole time? 

You were so focused on making sure not to lose Anna in front of you that you hadn’t noticed the flock of people behind you, all rushing down the steps hoping to get to the players in time to get a photo or autograph. 

You were about halfway down when you were suddenly shoved from behind causing you to lose your balance. You knew what was going to happen the second your feet left the ground, you shut your eyes, hands reaching out to stop your fall, but it was useless. 

You landed on the ground with a hard thud, body slamming into the concrete steps, head hitting the railing on your way down. 

Everything felt like it was moving in fast motion, all the bodies around you moved at a sickening pace, blurring together as you lay motionless on the ground, vision hazy as you tried desperately to calm the pounding of your heart. 

You pushed yourself into action as soon as you regained some consciousness. You pushed past the legs rushing past you and pulled yourself to the side, where empty seats greeted you. You made a move to sit up but let out an audible gasp, hands going to clutch your left rib, your brain short-circuiting from the throbbing pain. You bit your lip, pleading with yourself to not over hyperventilate and make a scene. 

Gavi, who had been watching you intently, eyes never leaving your figure as you made your way to him, was quick to respond to the situation. 

As soon as he realized you went down, he was running, jumping over the barricade as he shoved past the people trying to grab onto him, thrusting jerseys and papers in his face for him to sign.  

He felt his body pulse with anger, jaw locked, as he ran up the steps. He could faintly hear security yelling at him to come down, but he paid them no mind, only focused on getting to you. 

He kept replaying the moment he saw you fall again and again in his head and each time he thought about it he only grew more livid. How dare someone shove you like that? 

He finally reached you, shouting at people to move out of the way as he shoved through the crowd. 

His eyes were wild and frantic as he grabbed you, helping you to a sitting position. You could see how quickly his chest was rising and falling and you wanted to tell him to breathe but the words failed to come out. 

His hands gently touched your rib, applying pressure to help soothe the pain, “Are you okay baby? I’m so sorry.” 

He looked so scared, and you all wanted to do was reach out and remove the lines of stress you could see forming on his forehead. 

“I’m sorry are you-” The man who pushed you spoke up, realizing what had happened. 

Gavi was quick to cut him off, eyes blazing as he spun around to face the man, “How fucking dare you.” 

The guy held his hands up in surrender, “I didn’t see her!”

Gavi only grew more frustrated, taking a menacing step closer to him, teeth clenched, but you grabbed his hand, shaking your head, your voice weak, “It was an accident. Please don’t.” 

Gavi’s expression softened once he looked at you, watching you clutch your side in pain as you pleaded with him. He sighed, giving the man one last glare before he backed off coming to your aid. 

He pushed your hair out of your face, tilting your face, searching for any bruises. 

He sighed in relief when he didn’t see anything. He went to remove his hand and you felt his breath hitch. 

You looked up at him only to see him already staring at you with a beyond worried expression, face distraught, “Shit Y/n you’re bleeding from your head.” He spoke, showing you the blood coating his hand. 

You felt yourself let out a breathy laugh, “Well at least I didn’t get kidnapped.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, not appreciating the joke, “I’m serious Y/n. This is bad.” 

You reached out to grab his hand in your own, “I’m going to be fine. See the medics are already here.” You said, moving your gaze to the medical staff who was climbing the bleachers rapidly, eyes fixed on you. 

You felt him squeeze your hand as the medics surrounded the two of you, “You’re never coming to another game again.” He warned. 

You smiled at him, squeezing back, “Think I might have to break that rule."

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hi!!! can you do a part 2 of the knight x Gerhard story? Do they get to meet Angelico ? Goodness knows that baby could use all the attention he gets

Gerhard watched the clock out of the corner of his eye fervently. Where the hells were they?!

He had heard back from [Y/N] first thing upon their return, as promised, and he invited them to the Delico estate that following day, as promised. He had not received a letter back, but assumed the answer would be yes as they seemed so intent on coming before they left. Perhaps that was Gerhard's mistake. Assuming. Maybe the time apart had given [Y/N] time to rethink the situation, and they were not coming. Perhaps this was too much of a big step in their relationship to just come out in the open like this….

“Lord Dali-sama, you have a visitor.” The wizened old butler announced as he came into the nursery. Peaking everyone’s interest and making Gerhard’s throat suddenly feel tight.

“A visitor? My, my, this is unexpected. Who is it?”

“It’s just me Dali.”

Gerhard’s heart hammered in his chest, but he tried to keep it together on the outside. Seeing [Y/N] again after the weeks they had been away, dressed so finely but not so obvious, made him feel both at ease that they were here and more panicked than before.

“Well! This is indeed unexcepted but a pleasant surprise!” Dali said immediately. Indeed the ‘more the merrier’ type as [Y/N] had claimed. “What brings you here?”

“Lord Johannes sent me on a mission some time ago for reco of the situation in the outlying areas. To see how much the panic & malefices of the murders might have spread past the city.”

“Hmph. Why would Lord Johannes do such a fool thing like that? Expending resources unnecessarily at a time like this seems uncharacteristic of the man.”

“I know this is a hard concept for you to understand, Dino, but the populace of our kind is more than just the city & it’s nobility.” Gods how he missed them.

[Y/N] gave the rest of their report and luckily, through their efforts, the regulation of the murders had indeed been kept to the city. The looming threat of a mass calamity was always in the back of their minds, but it seemed it was off in the distance. Which was a good thing.

“Would you like to stay for lunch, [Y/N]-chan? Since you came all this way.” Henrique offered quickly once it had dissolved to just general conversation.

“If it’s not too much trouble…”

“Of course not!” Dali insisted.

“I was talking to your staff.” [Y/N] glanced at the nanny who just chuckled at their antics.

“Not at all. Adding one more with this crowd is no trouble at all for the Delico staff. I shall let the chef know.” She then bowed and left to complete her task.

Work done, everyone seemed to go back to their own respective tasks that they had been doing before [Y/N] arrived. Gerhard coughed once and stood, “it is good to see you.” He said. Trying to seem nonchalant.

“It’s good to see you too.” It was nearly impossible, however, in the face of that smile.

“Let me introduce you to my son.” Gerhard knew of no other casual way to do this, so they might as well jump in.

They walked over to the corner of the room where the children were playing. Quietly drawing & coloring for once. “Angelico,” the boy’s head popped up in alarm at the sound of his father & his name, “I would like to introduce you to someone. This is [Y/N].”

The boy seemed confused for a moment, but then quickly realized how important this was and sprung to his feet. “H-How do you do. I am Angelico Fra, heir to House Fra.”

“It’s nice to meet you. May I just call you Angelico?” [Y/N] asked as they knelt down and offered their hand to the boy. Angelico nodded once. His cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, as this was the first person his father had even introduced him to, and took their hand. “What are you and Rapheal drawing?”

“I’m drawing bears!” Angelico answered quickly.

“Wow! Why bears?”

“I like bears!” Gerhard didn’t know that.

[Y/N] sat beside Angelico and listened intently, almost as much as they had in the brief, to his son ramble on about his drawing and the different bears in his picture. They seemed genuinely interested. They even told him about a time [Y/N] went hunting with their father and had come across a bear in the woods. Gerhard didn’t know that either.

But he did know, that this perhaps would not be a terrible way to spend the rest of his life. With Angelico and [Y/N]. He was relieved this meeting had gone well, and tried to keep his mind focused on the mission after; instead of frivolous dreams.

[always---wrong]

So I know it can be hard to find aroace Alastor and Alastor/ platonic relationships content. But I have put together a list of Al bonding with the others platonically. (All are on AO3)

Escaped By A Hair by PurpleArrowandLeather

Alastor's retreat to lick his wounds nearly costs him his life. Thankfully, Charlie is worried enough to go looking for him.

Post Season One

Mother, Dearest by WritingSoupBowl

In Episode 6 instead of having a meeting Adam tries to kill Charlie and Vaggie. Trying to escape, they run into Al's mother.

You've Got A Face for Radio by ckret12

This one is specifically about how Alastor is Aroace and I love it.

"He's never wanted sex. He's never wanted love. He's never seen a problem with this.

It's taken about a century, but he's pleasantly surprised to discover that the rest of the world is finally starting to catch up with his perspective."

Staff Infection by ItAllStartedWithANightFuryLovingGirl

This one is adorable. Everyone gets sick and Al won't admit he needs rest.

To Make A Skirt by another_athena

This has to be one of my favorites in this list and it's longer. It focuses on Al and Angel a lot. It's incredibly clear that Alastor is Aroace in this one and I love it. Also boys wearing feminine clothes together. It's just adorable and it has some angst.

In sum: Angel is bored so Al teaches him how to sew.

(I love touch-averse Alastor so much)

Good Friends To the Second End by Neo_followthe whiterabbit

More platonic Al and Angel. It has a coming out scene with Al too and that's pretty good.

I love these two being friends.

Okay, those are all for now but I was wondering if anyone had any like these? I love reading stuff like these

[bambi-kinos]

Thank you so much for replying to my ask! Sorry for the long reply back but I just love discussing these two.

Yes the rock and roll lifestyle and Paul’s infamous cheating before Linda has me very sceptical about him being 100% faithful to Linda too. That Jane Asher story is insane! The idea of Wings being a way to keep an eye on it is very interesting and not implausible at all. However in my opinion, Linda gives me the impression of someone with a strong sense of self, who would decide to walk instead of being disrespected in that way.

I also find it strange that decades and decades on, no one has said anything other than Paul being absolutely devoted to Linda. Not even anonymously, someone who doesn’t like Paul could seriously hurt his reputation spilling that information, not to mention the potential money, fame from it ect. This goes hand in hand with having a sexual relationship with John. I mean, surely they couldn’t have hidden it from everyone. Some people must of known, and not just an inner circle of loyal friends. Take tour managers or hotel staff for example.

So why do you think nothing has come out all these years later?

What comes to mind is the phone call Paul had with a biographer very soon after John’s death (I’m sorry I’ve forgotten his exact name) where he secretly recorded all he said and later published it. (Ouch!) Paul’s completely baffled at Yoko’s statement that no one had hurt John more than Paul had. (Said by John himself)

If they had a sexual, emotionally intense relationship, wouldn’t Paul have known that it was this John was referring too? He comes across as very smart, surely he could have put the dots together? His bewilderment seems completely sincere, not a pr trick. What’s your opinion?

I honestly go back and forth on this because I can see a relationship between those two being way more than just platonic. On and off hook ups in the 70s amongst the angst could also explain John’s sporadic comments about Paul throughout this decade. One day praising him, the other cursing him. Both parties not being brave enough (and a whole host of other factors) to not commit or acknowledge what was going on fully would have been very confusing to say the least.

But I still can’t get my head around the points I made earlier that counter this argument. Would love to hear your take on things!

EXTREMELY based ask anon, your mind is very sharp and I love it!

okayyyy there's a lot here so let's take it bit by bit

However in my opinion, Linda gives me the impression of someone with a strong sense of self, who would decide to walk instead of being disrespected in that way.

If we're anywhere close to the ballpark then Linda nearly called off the wedding when Paul told her about him and John. But then after that, she would chaperone Paul when he went to see John and hang out with him like when they went to LA. It's hard to say what Linda would or wouldn't stand for IMO because she saw the real Paul, all of him, and stuck that out for over twenty years.

I don't think that Linda would be okay with Paul cheating on her necessarily but I wouldn't write off her pretending not to see when he was sneaking out under her nose. It's not the same thing as having an open relationship but she and Paul had agreed to try for Mary sometime in 1968 before she knew about him and John and witnessed the messy break up. She doesn't strike me as the vindictive type so I wonder if knowing she was pregnant and wanting her kid to know who her father was played any role in her decision. And Linda purportedly didn't like the idea of getting married again according to a quote floating around here -- Paul had to convince her it was a good idea, not the other way around. There's reason to believe that Linda may have been happy just being a common law couple or whatever the UK's equivalent is and that Paul insisted on getting married.

I'm not saying definitively one way or another, Linda is much more opaque than Paul. But I'm hesitant to say that she wouldn't tolerate cheating or she wouldn't look the other way on it, because why else did she let Paul visit John so much otherwise? She knew what was going on.

Just something to think about I guess.

I also find it strange that decades and decades on, no one has said anything other than Paul being absolutely devoted to Linda. Not even anonymously, someone who doesn’t like Paul could seriously hurt his reputation spilling that information, not to mention the potential money, fame from it ect. This goes hand in hand with having a sexual relationship with John. I mean, surely they couldn’t have hidden it from everyone. Some people must of known, and not just an inner circle of loyal friends. Take tour managers or hotel staff for example.

So why do you think nothing has come out all these years later?

The biggest reason is that The Beatles worked very hard as a unit to cover up their infidelities. Paul was two paternity accusations lodged against him, one was the German girl and the other was Liverpool girl. Blood tests proved that both of these paternity claims were false (and Anita later admitted that she had a second boyfriend concurrent to Paul at the time, she just didn't think he was actually the dad until her son spilled the beans that Paul's paternity test proved false.) Despite these two paternity suits being lodged against Paul, he still paid the girls hush money through Brian. There's another story of a paternity claim being lodged against John that Brian paid to go away. The hookers they engaged with in the hotels were also paid for their time and to not launch any paternity suits against The Beatles. And so on.

The most encompassing answer is simply that Paul and the other Beatles paid off their babymamas AND that they have lots of legal representation on their side to make offers that can't be refused. I have long thought that the sudden muzzling of Heather Mills was the result of a super injunction, a feature of British law where a person with enough money and influence can forcibly shut someone up. A super injunction is, to put it mildly, a massive pain in the ass to obtain yet Paul is well positioned to have used one to make her shut her mouth and stop libeling him in the press. If Paul is ruthless enough to use something like that against his ex wife and mother to his child then he is absolutely willing to turn it on lays from the 1960s and 1970s. Most of the time I would bet he does not have to; we all have a price and for a sufficient amount of money, I wouldn't bother Paul with a paternity suit either.

Then there's just love and personal loyalty. The Beatles inspire incredible loyalty in their fans and their hook ups. Peggy Lipton went completely insane for Paul after meeting him only a handful of times including showing up at his hotel in a swimsuit hoping to be taken on Paul's Dirty Weekend with Linda. Now imagine that loyalty in a 19 year old girl who hooked up with Paul during 1966. Why would she say shit to anyone about having sex with Paul or getting pregnant by him? She would absolutely feel inspired to protect him. I think this would be just as true in 1976, the loyalty that the boys inspired in their fans is remarkable.

And think about it: if you had slept with one of the Beatles, would you out him to anyone? Or would you keep it a secret? Think carefully about it. By outing him, you are also outing yourself. Especially if Paul was married at the time. Do you want to admit you're complicit in Paul McCartney's adultery? That sounds like a very unpleasant prospect to me and besides, you want to keep a little piece of him to yourself.

Tour managers and hotel staff likely suspected something but it was truly a whirlwind for them too and I think a lot of them just second guess what they know. Homosexual activity was completely unthinkable and virtually unknown in the 60s and 70s. The only people who would truly know is the housekeeping staff. They would see the telltale signs of who slept where and what they were doing; those room manifests don't tell us shit because we can be sure that the boys swapped beds and rooms all the time depending on what they wanted. For John and Paul especially, I imagine there was a lot of wandering in the night and seeking each other out.

Take that story of Ringo disappearing during the 1964 tour to go on a joyride with a police man with Paul waking up and alerting Mal and Neil that he was gone. Why was Paul awake in the night? Why didn't he just go ask John and George where Ringo was first thing? Surely if your third band member goes missing your first instinct would be to ask the other two if they've seen him but instead Paul, for some reason, seems to have known immediately that Ringo was not with John and George in their hotel room and promptly tattled to the roadies. This is despite the room set up which was supposed to be Paul/Ringo and George/John. Hm!

Only housekeeping would know the truth of the situation and those men and women are dead or lost in the crowd. However even then we don't have reason to think they had proof: John and Paul being intimate would only leave behind the remains of...sex. And the truth is that The Beatles liked having sex with girls while they were in the same room together, including switching. What reason was there to think that it was just two guys boning instead of two guys and two girls?

What I'm driving at is that tour managers and hotel staff and housekeeping servicewomen had a lot of circumstantial evidence but unless they caught John and Paul in the act, then they had no reason to understand what they were seeing. Anyone who did catch them would have been paid off with the brown paper bag money Brian picked up from the bootleg merch vendors that sold fanmerch outside their concerts. And if that failed then yes legal action would have been launched through Capitol's legal arm because Capitol had plenty of superstars before The Beatles that had to be managed. They knew the drill, they weren't angels. Managing sex addicts and homosexual activity was business as usual for a suit even in 1964. They wouldn't want to scuttle that secret either because if Paul throws a fit and buys out his song catalogue then it's good night Felicia.

So in between those three things -- personal loyalty, bribes, and the threat of legal action especially since Paul has rich boy privileges -- no one is saying shit. Not any of the groupies, none of the women Paul was probably hanging out with while married, no one who ever caught him with John. It's just not worth it.

What comes to mind is the phone call Paul had with a biographer very soon after John’s death (I’m sorry I’ve forgotten his exact name) where he secretly recorded all he said and later published it. (Ouch!) Paul’s completely baffled at Yoko’s statement that no one had hurt John more than Paul had. (Said by John himself)

If they had a sexual, emotionally intense relationship, wouldn’t Paul have known that it was this John was referring too? He comes across as very smart, surely he could have put the dots together? His bewilderment seems completely sincere, not a pr trick. What’s your opinion?

Hunter Davies. The phone call with Hunter Davies is very interesting because he was someone Paul knew...but otoh he's still a reporter. Paul knows that. Hearing more about the Lennon McCartney feud soon after John's death was a hot story so could Paul reasonably assume that Hunter would write up the story.

I posit that Paul, in an act of true cynicism and spite towards Yoko, deliberately leaked some of his issues with John in order to spit in Yoko's eye. Especially with that pointed line about how he knows things about John that Yoko never knew...and that he won't publish them until after she is dead. You want to talk about ouch?!

I think that Paul is being genuine when he's confused about how he could have hurt John which makes me think @menlove is right and that India may have been a nothingburger or didn't feature Paul getting cold feet about John.

There are a couple of candidates for "John said no one hurt him like Paul did." We'll probably never know what they are but these are my personal options:

John asked for a relationship with Paul in India; Paul did something John interpreted as a rejection especially in light of Paul self destructing and John going on a multi-day bender when he got home.

Paul suddenly bringing Linda into the limo during the New York City trip to promote Apple. John seems genuinely baffled and confused about this with the "and next thing I know she's married to him" line. It was completely out of left field and John was caught by surprise.

Paul getting the drop on John with regards to announcing the Beatles break up. John expressed bitterness about this (because it was a ploy to force Paul to stay with him, Paul wasn't actually supposed to follow through with it) because it humiliated him publicly.

John was still hung up on the Family Way score and was destroyed by that and by Paul going "fuck it we'll do it live" and recording so much stuff solo for the White Album.

You may have spotted a problem with this already: there are multiple instances where Paul could have profoundly hurt John that would linger in John's memory. How can you possibly choose just one?

What if it was all of these and that eventually the hurt and abandonment mounted and John couldn't take it anymore?

Ultimately though I think Paul is/was confused and angry because the narrative was all about how Paul hurt John, and nothing about how John hurt Paul, another thing Paul brought up with Hunter during the interview. If John was pissy about Paul announcing the break up first, then why was no attention paid to John announcing "I want a divorce"? Why is it so important to sweep John being a dickhead under the rug? I think that's what had Paul so confused and pissed off, to the point that he couldn't really pinpoint one single thing that could have hurt John. 'Are you serious, I hurt him when he's the one who abandoned me multiple times through out our relationship and never apologized for any of it?' That would piss me off monumentally if I were Paul, I'd deny all knowledge of hurting John too since he refused to own up to hurting Paul in the first place.

I honestly go back and forth on this because I can see a relationship between those two being way more than just platonic. On and off hook ups in the 70s amongst the angst could also explain John’s sporadic comments about Paul throughout this decade. One day praising him, the other cursing him. Both parties not being brave enough (and a whole host of other factors) to not commit or acknowledge what was going on fully would have been very confusing to say the least.

That's pretty much it. Keeping in mind that Yoko kept John hooked on drugs to keep him from making up with Paul as well.

I think the confusion and frustration Paul expressed/expresses is a byproduct of the fog of war. He's too close to the subject matter, he can't figure it out because he can't see the big picture.

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine ✤ joel miller part ii — crushcrushcrush

series masterlist & foreword | ao3

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

fic summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E | pairing/AU: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

chapter warnings/tags: (7.1k) this is an 18+ fic so mdni! dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), power imbalance, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is really not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood, some pervy!Joel, dacryphilia, solo m!masturbation (Joel jacks off in a school bathroom, dirty bastard), solo f!masturbation, wet dreams (mentioned), pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, sweetheart etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible, Tommy is mentioned and is 2 years younger than Joel

a/n: thank you to those who read and enjoyed part one!! i'm absolutely over the moon with all the comments, reblogs and likes!!! it warms my lil heart right up! chapter title comes from crushcrushcrush by paramore but also overlaps with crush by ethel cain which i've been listening to relentlessly when writing this fic. we get more joel this chapter, i hope i'm doing him justice lol - also i mention the epq a million times in this chapter - it's a qualification where you do an extended project that you have to do in sixth form and it's a fucking ballache so everyone hates doing it, trust me

account tags (tagging people who asked and people who seemed interested in chapter one, let me know if you'd like to be added): @sugadolly @yorkshirewench @jodiswiftle @pedgito @mel2fine @canteenee4 @dugiioh @undercoverpena @javiermillerrrr @littlemisspascal

banners and graphics from @saradika-graphics

Thursday 17th October

6:30am

As the weeks of the new term pass, the season changes. The balmy days of September merge into the typical chill of October. Long daylight hours surrender to darker nighttides, elongating the late autumn evenings. Its mornings are darker, sunrise commencing later and later as each day passes. The drop in temperature, though gradual, is noticeable, making the warm cocoon of your bed all the more inviting when your blaring alarm disrupts your blissful sleep. With great reluctance, you pull yourself from the inviting nest and pull the covers back in a haphazard attempt of making your bed. It feels a little pointless as you’ll only be getting back in it later tonight but you don’t want your mum to nag. Making your way to the bathroom, the laminate floor of the hallway beneath your bare feet makes you cringe with its cool touch. The tiles in the bathroom are colder but you decide to suck it up and jump in the shower as a warm place of refuge.

Your carefully crafted shower playlist echoes, a cacophony of sound that's a ritual to your morning routine: shower, get ready, breakfast, drive to college. Using the shower like your own personal recording studio, you sing  along like nobody’s listening as you wash your body with sweet smelling soaps, the music helping to calm you before the busy day ahead. A knock at the bathroom door startles you cold. It nearly sends you slipping on the shower’s floor.

“Don’t be in there all day, Mum and I need to get ready too, you know,” your dad grumbles from behind the door. You mumble out a response, rolling your eyes, letting him know that you’ll be out soon. You wash the remnant bubbles of body wash left on your body before switching off the shower and drying off with a rough towel. Wrapping it around yourself, you exit the bathroom and return to your bedroom.

Like any other teenager’s room, it’s untidy. A pile of laundry in a basket threatens to overflow—you make a mental note to deal with it when you get home tonight. The main source of mess is concentrated on and around your desk, textbooks and folders stacked one upon another like a tower on one side with notebooks in a scattered pile on the other with your closed laptop in the middle. The past few weeks of term brought with it a tsunami of work and you’d manage to tread water in the sea of revision, coursework and homework but it was tiring trying to keep on top of college plus everything else and your room was evidence of that.

Conscious of the time, you get ready with haste, applying a light amount of makeup (to avoid sanctions for ‘wearing too much’) and pull on your uniform: a crisp button-up shirt tucked into a pleated plaid skirt, dark tights and shoes, tie, and a fitted blazer that bore the college’s emblem on the breast. You look at yourself in the full length mirror, inspecting yourself, readjusting your tie so it doesn't look completely ridiculous and rolling up your skirt a few times so it hits just above of your knee. The uniform isn’t much to your taste but it could be much worse. Satisfied, you pack your bag with the notebooks you need for the day and head downstairs for breakfast.

The clock in the kitchen shows that it’s past half 7 and it hurries your pace. You make some toast lathered in butter and eat it hurriedly before calling out goodbye to your parents and rush out the door. A silent prayer passes to your lips as you get in your car, hoping that it’ll start with no issues. Turning the ignition, the car sputters to life, thank god. Moving into gear, it creeks as you roll out of the driveway and drive to college.

9:17am

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you seethe under your breath.

Holding an essay that you’d completed a fortnight ago for Mr Hall, the other History teacher, you almost crumple it with how tight you grip the papers. It’s littered with red squiggles of Mr Hall’s sloppy handwriting, taunting you as if it were hyperfocusing on every little mistake you’ve ever made. Shuffling through the essay’s pages, scanning its contents, a laugh of disbelief erupts from the back of your throat. The final comment scrawled on the last page nearly sends you over the edge with indignation:

I don’t think you’ve grasped the concept of this topic very well. Try harder next time. Grade: 11/25. 

Bullshit. In an attempt to prove yourself to the despised teacher, you made sure that your spelling and grammar was immaculate and even asked Mr Miller to proofread for you as a favour. In the short few weeks since his arrival, you’d built up a good rapport with the new teacher. It was inevitable with the way he was, his charming allure drawing you to him. It also helped that you found him earth-shatteringly attractive.

You watched him in anticipation as he read your work, feeling the tips of your ears grow hot. It’s probably shit, you think. Pure rubbish. After a while, he put you out of your misery.

“This looks good to me, darlin’,” he drawls, his praise sending an involuntary shiver through your body, “really good, actually. It’s well-written, concise, and has what appears to be thorough source analysis,” he compliments, his thick fingers gliding over the paragraphs, as he focuses on the text. “This is miles better than some of the stuff I use’ta grade when I was teaching at the university and those were meant t’be college level,” he scoffs, returning the papers back to you.

His fingers lingered a little too long as they graze against yours, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

“You mean it? You’re not just saying that to not hurt my feelings, right?” you ask nervously, unsure of yourself.

“‘Course. I don’t mess around, darlin’. Let me know what you get. ‘Be interested to know.”

Noticing your displeasure, Chelsea nudges you. “You alrigh’?” she inquires, her voice low to avoid anyone overhearing.

“That man is taking the absolute piss. Look at this shit.” You shove the paper across the desk for her to read. She reads through the essay without a sound, concentrating.

“What the hell, 11 out of 25? Lemme check mine, I haven’t seen it yet,” she says and reads through her own work, confusion dawning on her face. “I got 16 out of 25? But yours was way more detailed. Doesn’t make sense. Yours is at least a B, surely?” 

“Well, according to dickhead over there, it’s an E.” Exasperated, you take the essay from her and shove it in your bag. You just can’t fucking win with this man; it feels like he’s determined to undermine and belittle you at every turn. Even on results’ day back in August, he barely acknowledged you, only offering a curt ‘well done’. Before you can rant further, Mr Hall beckons the class for their attention and begins his lesson. Throughout the rest of the period, you seethe like a pot over a flame, slowly simmering, threatening to overflow.

10:50am

As soon as the bell goes, you dart out of the classroom with little regard for Mr Hall and his hollers, berating you for leaving his class without waiting to be dismissed. If you stayed a second longer in that classroom, you were sure to explode. Unbothered by his threat of a detention, you storm down the corridor with reckless abandon. Wanting to be anywhere else right now, the thought of jumping in your car and skiving the rest of the day was tempting. Tears of frustration threaten to fall and the mist of anger clouds your mind so much that you’re startled when you slam hard into someone’s chest as you round the corner.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going, you fuckin—” you launch into berating the person but stop abruptly when you realise who you’d collided with, your face scorching with embarrasment.

Mr Miller stands before you, his broad frame towering over you. He let out a husky laugh, his eyes glinting with a teasing warmth.

“Easy, sweetheart, you rushing to the canteen or somethin’?”  You stay silent, afraid the tears in your eyes would spill if you said anything. It takes a moment for him to grasp the distress etched on your face.

“Talk to me, darlin’, what’s wrong?” His voice is low, as concern blooms across his face. The corridor begins to fill with students, its temperature rising and absolutely not helping with your impending meltdown. A heaviness settles in your eyes, and thick tears soon spill down your cheeks without warning. How embarrassing.

Without a moment's hesitation, Joel has a strong arm around you as he whisks you away into his classroom that’s just up the corridor, doing his best to shield you from prying eyes. Ushering you in and closing the door behind him, he pulls a chair from under a desk close to his and beckons you to sit down. Slumping into the rigid chair, you let the frustrated tears flow.

“Ugh, he’s such a fucking asshole!” you groan in resentment, your voice breaking as you bury your face in your hands and sob uncontrollably, finally giving in to your emotions. Joel stays silent save for a soft I know, darlin’, it’s gonna be okay, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, thumb softly tracing circles to soothe you. As your tears gradually slow and you start to regain your composure, he positions his leather office chair in front of you and sits down comfortably in the plush seat.

“Tell me what’s happened that’s got you so upset. Was it those boys again?” he asks softly, though sounds disgruntled at the thought of those idiots bothering you again.

“No, no,” you utter whilst using the sleeve of your blazer to wipe away any stray tears. “You know that essay I showed you? Well, I got the grade back off Mr Hall. 11 out of 25. An E.” Your voice wavers, a stray tear falling down your warmed cheek.

His eyes widen with utter disbelief, but he doesn’t interrupt. The gaze of his delicious brown eyes is unwavering as he listens to you, providing you with a safe space to vent your resentment.

“I just don’t understand what his fucking problem is. He’s always talking down to me, shitting on whatever I hand in, giving me crappy feedback. Like if my work is so bad, at least help me with providing constructive criticism, it’s literally his job,” you express, waving your arms in exasperation, hands chopping through the air as if to slice through the grievance.

“Yeah, I don’t like him but I try to be as respectful as I can, y’know. I’m just so tired of the bullshit.” You let out a loud sigh, feeling the weight of the issue begin to dissolve from your tense shoulders.

Joel shuffles in his chair before he moistens his lips with a short flit of his tongue, thinking thoroughly before he approaches his next question: “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno, since last year.”

“You got the essay with ya?”

“Yeah, lemme grab it.” You rifle through your heavy bag, searching. It takes a second but you find it.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he coos with a slight but comforting smile, taking the papers from you. He twists back to grab his glasses from the desk behind him elongating his body to reach them.

The front of his button-up shirt comes untucked in the process, revealing a glimpse of his soft, somewhat imperceptible trail of hair descending from his soft abdomen that beckons your curiosity and desire. It draws your eyes, each subtle curve and line a tender reminder of his natural magnetism. Paired with the groan that escapes his lips as he stretches behind, this sight feels obscene to observe.

Warm arousal pools low in your tummy, and you feel wet slick begin to permeate the soft folds of your cunt. Biting your plump lip, your thighs clench, seeking any solution to relieve the slow building pressure in your core. It does nothing but wind you up tighter like an iron spring, threatening to burst. You tear your ogling eyes away before he notices and you cross your legs in a last ditch attempt to find reprieve, your skirt hitching a little higher revealing more of your pantyhose-covered thighs; it’s not purposeful, but it isn’t accidental either. He slips the glasses on, sneaking a glance at you in that damn skirt before reading through the papers.

Joel's immediate reaction to reading the essay was parallel to yours: what the fuck? He had heard about Anthony Hall's reputation around the college; Hall was disliked by the majority of staff whilst the students absolutely despised him. Sure, Hall had always been polite enough to him in department meetings and casual encounters, but Joel had sensed something was off about him. Joel was never one to judge someone immediately based on rumour or appearance, he had just thought that Hall was just a bit of a weird guy, awkward and antisocial. However, holding your essay covered in some of the harshest feedback he'd ever seen as a lecturer and teacher, Joel reached his conclusion: Anthony Hall is a douchebag.

“Jesus Christ…” he breathes, flicking through the essay. Some of these comments didn’t even make sense to what you had been writing about, they were just nasty. Joel wondered if Hall had been drunk or high when marking your essay. Possibly both. The more he read, the more his heart ached for you. He’d come to know how hardworking you were in his few weeks at the college, always asking questions to deepen your understanding of certain topics in lessons, often staying behind to pick his brains about what he thought about a topic. 

Whether it was to genuinely seek his opinion or  simply to have an excuse to talk to him alone, he didn’t mind. He cherished your company in any capacity. He found your expression endearing as you focused on the tasks he set, your brow furrowing slightly with concentration, and the way you bit your lip when faced with a challenging question was something he found particularly alluring. Your soft laughter at his corny jokes, even when the rest of the class would roll their eyes, felt like an intimate connection between the two of you.

The way your hips moved when you approached his desk to ask a question set his heart racing and watching you leave, your skirt swaying, teased him to no end, stirring an inquisitiveness about what lay beneath. He couldn’t help but notice that you sometimes rolled up your skirt making it shorter, and silently hoped you did that just for him—and it drove him absolutely crazy. These subtle gestures, whether intentional or not, kept his thoughts occupied, leaving him to navigate a delicate balance between professional restraint and his own personal curiosity.

“So what do you think? Is he right or…?” you trail off, breaking the silence. Joel hadn’t realised that he hadn’t said anything for a while, the incredulity of the essay situation overcoming him.

“I’m just speechless, honestly. I ain’t ever seen anything like it. Barely know where to begin…” He falters, a kink in his self-assured armour he so often wore with pride. Your stomach drops and worry sets in for a moment. Sensing your insecurity, he endeavours to repair the armour.

He flashes a sweet smile, an eyebrow slightly raised for a moment, revealing soft crows feet that grace the outer corner of his espresso brown eyes. “But I can tell you that this is a fantastic essay. It ain’t fair the way he’s graded it. I can tell you that for free, darlin’,” he pauses a moment. “I’m gonna talk to him about this,” waving the essay nonchalantly, “if you’re happy for me to do so, ‘course,” his steady gaze meeting with yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna cause…” The rest of your words die in your mouth as Joel’s gazes intensifies as if to command you to lay your trust with him. Understanding, you nod, fidgeting with the bits of skin around your nails. As his look softens, his eyes glisten as the sunlight hits the flicks of toffee and golden honey tones of his orbs in the most delicious way.  

“Alright, you talk to Mr Hall, just please leave out the bit where I had a menty b.” You let out a nervous laugh, shuffling around in your seat. 

“The hell is a menty b?” He scoffs, ever confused by the way young people communicate these days. It was bad enough at home in Austin with teen colloquialisms, but British slang was a different beast altogether for Joel. It was like a new language that often forced him to wade through an unknown branch of the English lexicon when he conversed with his students and staff alike.

“Mental breakdown, duh,” You smirked, a teasing grin creeping across your lips, “you coulda guessed that one easy if used your head.” Rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion, you wanted to tease him, wanted him to get wound up so much he had to pin you down and put you in your place. One day, maybe, for now that desire remains in your dreams.

“Hey—don’t let your mouth write a check your butt can’t cash.” He quips, playing along in this rally of dalliance.

You shoot him a playful but confused look. “What does that even mean?”

A quiet but teasing gruff chuckle escapes him. “Means don’t run your mouth ‘less you got the gall to back it up.” He quips, leaning back to chuck the essay on his desk.

The sliver of silky hair makes an appearance again and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself as your clit swells with the want—no—the need for her to be touched. Sure you’ve had some less-than-stellar experiences that left you disappointed, aching for more, but this was a whole different kettle of fish. He’d barely laid a finger and had you a dripping, horny mess. If he only knew about the party in your panties when he taught you the concepts of American politics or the grounds for Regan’s war on drugs, you were sure he’d say you’re a bad girl and needed to be taught a lesson. And god, you wish he would.

“I’ve got the gall.” You challenge, arms crossed in juvenile defiance, playing it up.

“Ya think so?” Matching your energy, he readjusts himself in the plush leather office chair, leaning towards you. The tension in the air is palpable, thick like thunder, waiting for the lightning to strike. 

Joel’s tone shifts, husky, pouring thick like honey. “Wanna put your money where your mouth is, darlin’?” He tests, kissing his teeth, that gaze pouring into you as he tilts his head slightly in curiosity, dark golden eyes flitting between yours and your lips. 

Before you could respond, the bell cuts through the air like a jagged knife cutting you out of the moment like a butcher carving through a baron of meat. You let out a heavy sigh. EPQ is your next lesson and the thought of it makes you cringe.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters under his breath in a hope you won’t hear, his large palms falling to his lap with a soft slap, “best get to next lesson sweetheart. Don’t want you to be late, now, do we?”

Begrudgingly, you gather your things without much haste, not caring about being late. The day feels like a write-off to you at this point. Mr Miller walks you to the door, opening it for you—always the gentleman. Leaning casually against the door frame, his broad shoulders exude effortless rugged charm.

“Relax, alright? I'll handle it with Mr Hall. No need to worry your pretty little head, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise. Thank you, sir.”

And with that, you shuffle along to third period. You forget about the essay for a while, smiling to yourself, revelling at the fact that Mr Miller called you pretty. It makes the day that little bit easier to deal with.

11:32am

Closing the door behind you, Joel resigns himself to his desk, letting out a gruff sigh, thumb and finger massaging the bridge of his aquiline nose. He hated to see you so down and upset, but you looked so goddamn pretty with tears streaming down your face. Sordid illicit imaginings of you cloud his mind, his growing erection straining against his trousers, a pertinent reminder that he is probably—definitely—absolutely fucked. 

Working in a college is hard work. Piles of marking. Countless meetings to attend. Difficult conversations to be had with students, parents and co-workers. The burden of it all could and would ruin some professionals without a way to relieve the stress. Some nights when Joel found himself needing release after a stressful day, you crept into his mind.

Deep down it was wrong to think of you like that, but it didn’t stop his mind from picturing how you’d feel around him, whether it’d be your soft mouth or sweet cunt. Before he had the chance to battle the moral ethics of it all, he’d be a panting mess, hand wrapped around his thick cock, fervently chasing a state of oblivion until he came hard with thick ropes of cum shooting across his soft belly, leaving him gasping for air.

The first time it happened, he was wracked with guilt for days afterwards, and couldn’t bear to meet your gaze the rest of that week, despite your best efforts to make conversation. He was getting it out of his system, that was all. He wouldn’t do it again. Or so he thought.

The next time he found himself chasing a sordid release was a day you wore your hair in two pigtails adorned with little pretty pink pom-poms.

Jesus Christ, she’s got to be doing this on purpose, right? She’s gotta know she’s being a goddamn tease.

He carried on the lesson as planned, trying to not let it affect him by thinking of dead puppies and suchlike but as soon the opportunity arose during lunch break, he escaped to the male staff toilet, locking himself in the lone cubicle.

It felt wrong, dirty, perverted and it probably was, to be truthful. But the thought of having you, something so forbidden, so illicit, clouded his judgement and made his dick harder. He pushed those criticisms to the back of his mind as he undid his belt and removed his thick, veiny cock from his pants in a swift motion. There was only a short window for him to get this over and done with.

Lazily pumping himself at first with the saliva he’d crudely spat in his hand, he relished in the pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut with sick thoughts of your smaller hand in place of his.

Fucking slut with them lil’ pigtails… she knows what she’s doing… gagging for this fucking cock.

Slow pumps quicken to fervent strokes, fabricated images of you on your knees for him taking him in your sweet mouth flashed in his mind.

Such a pretty girl taking my cock… good girl, that’s it… just like that.

A groan threatened to emerge from his throat and he bit his lip so hard he could taste copper which only spurred him on. Pearls of precum leaked from his slit, languid drops dripping down the head, mixing with his spit, a delicious slick coating his length. That familiar tug in his stomach and twitching dick signalled the beginning of the end, and he had to prop himself up with his other hand against the wall of the cubicle to steady himself as he tugged his cock with reckless abandon.

You want my cum in that pretty little mouth huh?… Fucking take it… F-fuuuuuck.

The peak of his release hit him like a tonne of bricks, blurring his vision. Ropes of cum spilled over the toilet seat and landed inside it with a few crude plops. He stroked his length through the aftershocks, panting and gasping for air, body writhing with oversensitivity. After coming down from the high, he took a moment to realise what he’d just done. Jerked off at the thought of you, a student, in the bathroom like some dirty pervert—fuck’s sake Joel. Shame surged through his veins like heroin, the guilt blooming through his body.

Before Joel could contemplate his actions further, he heard the door of the bathroom slam open. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck. With great haste, he wiped away the evidence of his sordid release from the seat and flushed it away, wishing he could do the same with the guilt decimating his conscience right now. His hands were trembling as adrenaline merged with shame whilst he tucked himself away, zipping his trousers up and re-buckling his belt. Sweat had made his soft curls adhere to his forehead, his heart beating so hard that he believed it would burst out of his chest at any moment.

In an attempt to keep up appearances, he went to wash his hands and saw the last person he wished to see in a bathroom: Anthony ‘the smallest man that ever lived’ Hall. Joel offered a polite nod, not wishing to converse with the man and washed his hands under the scolding hot tap. It was the least he deserved after the stunt he just pulled.

“Are you okay, Joel? You look a bit out of sorts.” Hall asked with his nasally tone, whilst relieving himself in a urinal. 

“‘M fine, thank you.” Joel’s tone was pointed, hinting that the conversion needed to be over, like yesterday.

Hall didn’t catch the hint, the stupid bastard. “It’s just you look a bit clammy… are you coming down with something?”

Oh, fuck off Anthony, not now.

“No, sir. If anything it’s just a cold.” He lies, anything to get the twat to stop talking to him whilst scrubbing his hands of sin.

“Well stay away from me then, I don’t want your yankee germs.” He guffaws at his own dumb joke. Joel forced a weak laugh out with every fibre of his being as he wrung his hands dry on some paper towel before discarding it in a bin.

Eager to escape the situation, Joel said a curt ‘see you later’ and slipped past before Hall could say anything further to him. He rushes back to his classroom, cheeks flushed, self-contempt coursing throughout his body. He coaches himself through the peril swirling through his mind: Pull yourself together, Joel, this has to stop, she’s just a girl. That’s the last time.

It’s about three days before he is choking his cock again at the thought of you, chasing that debauched oblivion again.

Monday 4th November

11:43am

It’d been a few weeks since Mr Miller promised to talk to Mr Hall about Essay-gate. That was the name you and Chelsea had given the affair; it seemed fitting as you’d learned about the Watergate scandal in the weeks since the incident. You didn’t want to pester him about the outcome of the conversation between the two teachers, fearing that you would be annoying him, but you thought you’d know by now at least.

It surprised you when you would come to find out the conclusion when Mr Miller knocks on the computer room door of your EPQ lesson, asking for you and instructing you to bring your things as you wouldn’t be coming back. You were more than happy to follow him. Quiet elation melts over you, grateful to be missing EPQ, not that you’d be doing a lot anyway apart from dicking around or browsing online. Arriving at his room, he placed your usual chair in front of his plush leather office chair. It feels a little silly but it warms your heart seeing the arrangement of chairs facing one another, a setup becoming all too familiar when you had your chats with the history teacher.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, darlin’,” he jokes teasingly, large hands running through his curls as he relaxes into his plush leather chair. A black button-up shirt hugs his body in all the right ways, emphasising his broad shoulders. The top button is undone, revealing a small birthmark that you long to kiss and nibble on. You laugh, giving him a look of incredulity—amused by his joke and distracted by how striking he looks in black. It almost makes you forget there’s a reason as to why you’re here in the first place.

“So, there’s some good news, and some bad news.” He begins, his large hands laced in one another. “Good news is Mr. Hall decided to re-evaluate your essay thanks to my… suggestion.”

Joel’s use of the word suggestion was a little white lie. He had actually torn Anthony a new one, launching into a scathing critique of the man’s grading, thoroughly deconstructing the other teacher’s justification for the low mark. In the end, it boiled down to Anthony’s preference in writing style, rather than the substance of the essay. His feebled reasoning angered Joel further, almost flying off the handle during the confrontation.

Joel had come well-prepared: leveraging on his past experience as a college and university lecturer and the mark scheme Hall should’ve been using to grade, Joel had compellingly demonstrated that your essay not only met but surpassed the required standards. 

“And the bad news…?” you pry, bracing yourself for the worst.

“The old grade was submitted in the latest data-drop. Admin’s flagged you up for needing extra support in History until the next drop in about 6 weeks.” Joel looks at you carefully, gauging your reaction.

“The fuck?” Fucking Mr Hall causing shit again, goddamn. “Can’t he change it, it’ll literally take a second?”

“I tried, darlin’, but Admin’s locked the drops until the next window and I can’t get access to edit ‘em.”

“Fuck’s sake.” You sigh, swearing under your breath. “So lay it on me, what does this all mean?”

“‘Means that you gotta attend some sessions—like tutoring.”

“Ugh, so I’m stuck with Hall?” The thought of spending any more time than necessary with the man makes your skin crawl.

A quiet grin of delight creeps across Joel’s lips. “We decided that it’d be best for you to work with me, actually.”

Another white lie. When he found out you were getting extra tutoring, he wasted no time going to Admin to make sure you worked with him instead of Hall. Officially, this was justified by the ongoing animosity between the two of you. Unofficially, though, Joel’s real motivation was far more intimate, borderline voracious—he wanted you all to himself and was willing to pull every little string to make it happen. He knew full well you didn’t need the extra help; in fact, he knew you were more than capable. What he really wanted was the chance to be alone with you. He knew he was probably sick for wishing to spend so much time with his barely legal student, but his curiosity of the situation got the better of him. He wanted to see where this, whatever it was, was going and he was strapped in for the ride.

“So ya stuck with me for an extra few hours a week—ain’t you a lucky thing.”

He winks, and your breath catches in your throat. You try to clear it, hoping to disguise your reaction, but Joel is not fooled. He quietly savours the way your reactions betray you each time. He finds it endearing that you think you're discreet, clutching your crush on him like a poker hand, when Joel can see through your cards with ease.

“So how’s this going to work?” You ask after composing yourself, keen to find out the details of the arrangement.

“Hang on, lemme check the email Admin sent me.” He swivels around to his desk and logs into the computer. You notice the way he types, only using his pointer fingers to tap on each key. Such a boomer, you think, quietly laughing to yourself. Joel doesn’t notice, concentrating on hitting the correct key instead. Once logged in, he pulls up the email and reads the screen intently, scanning each line carefully.

“Alrigh’...” he draws out slowly, before turning to you, “according to this, you’ll be able to miss one EPQ lesson and the last 2 hours need to be taken out of your own study periods.” He draws his attention back to the computer, changing the window and revealing a document with a copy of his teaching timetable.

“I’ve got a free period this hour when you’re in EPQ so that could work. And I’m happy to have you in these periods here, here, here or here,” he explains, pointing at the empty cells in the timetable. You get your own timetable up on your phone to compare schedules.

After a lengthy discussion, you both decide that you’ll see him for an hour on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday where your study periods matched with his free ones. Mr Miller emphasises that you could bring any work with you to the sessions, not just History, as he was willing to help where he could. It was so kind of him to offer and it seemed that he genuinely wanted to help you succeed. He even gave you his phone number to contact him with any questions you had. You weren’t sure if he was allowed to do this but you didn’t care. Mr Miller had given you his phone number. You saved it under JM with a little sparkle emoji, concealing his identity in case of prying eyes.

The first text you sent at home that night was simple, yet your hands trembled as you typed and deleted it over and over, not wanting to sound like an idiot.

Thanks for agreeing to help me, I appreciate it :) just texting so you have my number too

After sending the message you buried the phone under your pillow, too anxious to watch and linger, waiting for his response. You’re surprised when his reply comes back within a few minutes.

my pleasure, darlin. can’t wait for our first proper session on wednesday. X

The message, punctuated by a kiss at the end, sends your heart into a flutter. You remind yourself he probably sends texts like that to everyone, not just you. Then, a second message arrives with a buzz, startling you and causing you to nearly drop your phone.

don’t forget the watergate worksheet tomorrow—ya gonna regret letting me have ur number when I’m nagging ya for homework haha. X

You begin to type with haste. Your fingers hover over the x key, debating on whether to return the gesture. Fuck it. No harm done, it’s just a letter after all.

Hahaha I won’t. See you tomorrow x

Within a minute, his response arrives.

see ya then. sweet dreams, darlin. X

You decide to leave it there and head to bed. As you slip into sleep, Mr Miller haunts your dreams: his rugged face, strong hands, broad shoulders, and deep caramel eyes are a tantalising vision. That night is the first of many dreams you have about him, leaving your soft folds drenched with longing when you wake.

Wednesday 20th November

12:31pm

The arrangement of additional tutoring worked out well. You got to miss an hour of EPQ and you were able to spend even more time with your favourite teacher. During the sessions, you were able to get your college work done whilst getting to know more about Mr Miller.

In your exchanges, you find out he grew up in Austin, Texas, with his younger brother Tommy. Tommy, a soldier turned contractor, founded Miller’s Construction after an honourable discharge from the US Army at 23. Mr Miller would help Tommy out during grad school summer breaks and whenever money was tight. Despite the long, gruelling days under the hot Texan sun, he enjoyed the hands-on work, something different from the realm of academia he found himself in. He’d graduated with a respectable bachelor's degree at 22 and then pursued a master's in American History and Politics. Working as a teacher’s aide during his master's program had ignited his interest in teaching, leading him to take up lecturing positions at community colleges and universities around Texas after grad school. Eventually, seeking new opportunities, he moved to the UK, where he worked at several universities. However, the insecurity of temporary contracts pushed him to switch to the further education sector, seeking the stability of a full-time salary. And that’s how he found himself teaching at your college.

You’re mesmerised by how he recounts his life—his eyes gleam with fondness when he speaks of Tommy, his voice comes alive as he recalls the wild nights in Austin with his younger brother when he was home from service, and he speaks openly about his initial fears of leaving home. Getting to know Mr. Miller on such an intimate level feels like a breath of fresh air; teachers often seem like distant robots, detached from their true selves. You never quite understood why.

Today’s session is like any other. After a long double period of English, you find your way to his classroom. He looks up as you enter, greeting you with a warm, inviting smile that makes the day’s stress melt away.

“Hey, ya ready for our session?” he smiles, that kind expression always so infectious that you felt your own lips curling.

“Gimme a sec, I just had back-to-back English and my brain feels like jelly. Who knew Shakespeare’s sonnets could be so confusing.” You sigh in exasperation, dropping your heavy bag on the desk closest to Mr. Miller’s with a thump. Rifling through it, you find your notebook and pencil case, then shuffle through the notebook for your university entrance essay drafts. With the UCAS deadline steadily approaching, you’re anxious to finish. You’re on what feels like the zillionth draft, and it’s driving you crazy. Mr. Miller noticed your frustration during your last tutoring session and encouraged you to bring it along this time so he could help. How kind of him.

You hand the drafts to Mr. Miller, who spends a few minutes reading through them, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. You watch him anxiously, your heart racing, as he writes comments in the margins. After what feels like an eternity, he hands the pages back to you. Your heart flutters at the sight of his positive feedback, the final comment punctuated with a smiley face: ‘This is great, darlin’, keep it up :)’

Warm stirs in your chest as you read over the comments, a coy smile tugging on your lips and you find yourself giddy with elation. 

“Happy?” he muses, quietly pleased with your reaction. He felt good about making you happy, you deserve it after all considering the essay fiasco with Mr Hall.

“Yeah,” you respond, drawing your eyes away from the pages to meet his eyes, “I just had one question.”

His brow furrows, a little confused. “Sure, darlin’, shoot.”

“Why is it that you always call me dawrl-lin’?” you imitated his Texan drawl, narrowing your eyes. The nickname had intrigued you and you never heard him call anyone else so why not ask?

“Now, that was a terrible impression, ya need to stay in your lane.” He chortles at your inquisitiveness.

He pauses before revealing his answer.

“I only call pretty girls darlin’,” a smirk flashes on his lips, before realising what he’s implied and its implications. You feel your breath catch in the back of your throat and you suddenly feel hot.

Shit, he thinks, chastising himself. Y’done gone and crossed the line, you fuckin’ tool.

“It’s a-a Texas thing,” he attempts to justify himself, lying through his teeth. Joel's eyes widened like a deer in headlights. His mind was racing with the consequences of his behaviour. Reported. Investigated. Suspended without pay. Fired. Blacklisted from teaching. All because he couldn’t stop himself from running his mouth trying to flirt with you, and forgetting himself.

“‘m sorry if I was making you uncomfortable. I can stop if you wanna.”

In truth he didn’t wish to stop. He wished to whisper it over and over whilst he ravished your body, nibbling, biting, kissing you all over.

“It's okay, Mr Miller. I kinda like it,” you smile, glancing back at your work. You didn’t just like it though, you loved it. Texas thing or not, you were quietly delighted he’d given you a pet name that was reserved for you. He sounded so seductive whenever he called you darlin’ during class, in the corridors in between lessons, or during your one-on-ones, he had to know what he was doing, surely.

Every time darlin’ passes his lips, without fail, knots form in your tummy, affecting your ability to concentrate on occasion. Sometimes, when you were on your own late at night, save for the company of a bullet vibrator attached to your clit, the wicked imaginings of Mr Miller could and would often throw you over the precipice of bliss. You imagine him whispering darlin’ and sweet nothings in your ear whilst his calloused fingers skillfully worked with your clit before devouring your pussy as if he were starved. The thoughts of him leave you a shaking mess, forcing yourself to stifle any moans and gasps with the palm of your hand as the waves of illicit bliss ripple through you, making your cunt flutter with pleasure as you tease your sensitive bud through the aftershocks. You always felt a little shameful after the fact, unable to hold his gaze the morning after, the thoughts of Mr Miller ravishing your body still raw in your mind from the night before.

“That’s alrigh’ then. We’ll keep it that way,” he replies, quietly relieved.

She’s not gonna snitch on me, he thinks.

What a good girl.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, I love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!💞

[erimeows]

TFA Characters' Toxic Traits

Me with another TFA headcanon set? Who would've guessed. Got the inspiration for this one after realizing I'd done it with MysMes but not with Transformers. Enjoy!

Optimus Prime: Shoulders every single burden all by himself. Will not ask for help and open up to others when needed, even though not doing so ends up negatively impacting everyone more in the end than asking for help would've.

Bumblebee: Toxic positivity- enough said. You vent to him and he's like "oh but you have so much to be happy about!".

Bulkhead: Will not take sides in any conflict of his own accord even if he knows that one side is "right" if he fears it will upset any of his friends. Passively steps out of conflicts even when he's needed, unless it's an absolute emergency.

Ratchet: Refuses to open up about trauma that he has even though it affects the way he acts and negatively impacts the people around him, who are very confused as to why he acts the way he does.

Prowl: Has an ungodly superiority complex, tends to think he's better or smarter than others (even when he's not), though he's trying to work on that.

Sentinel Prime: I think we saw in the show, but he's very prideful and will never admit that he's wrong in any situation. Also terrible at offering genuine apologies- more of a sarcastic "I'm sorry you feel that way" than a genuine "I'm sorry I did (x)" kind of guy.

Jazz: Gets uncomfortable when things get too serious to the point that if people try to open up to him about something deep, he will change the subject or deflect them 90% of the time.

Ultra Magnus: Too by the book. Will do things that he doesn't believe in or ignore wrong doings for the sake of legality.

Megatron: Very selfish and very charming, which is a bad combo. Similar to Starscream, he will be nice to your face if needed and then screw you over in the end as long as it benefits him.

Starscream: So many, but the worst one is lying to people's face and then talking shit behind their backs or doing them wrong for his own benefit.

Blitzwing: Depends on which of the three personalities you're dealing with because they all have some pretty over the top toxic traits, but the worst and most prevalent one is that all three of them tend to belittle others to feel better about themselves- especially if their life is going bad or if they're feeling insecure about something in particular.

Lugnut: The Megatron obsession, obviously. It gets to the point that anyone and anything else in his life that should be prioritized get(s) pushed to the side for Megatron's sake when Megatron doesn't value him nearly as much.

Blackarachnia: Very vengeful and obsessive about getting revenge to the point that it's unhealthy. Obviously this is seen in her TFA episodes where she wants revenge on Optimus/Sentinel for what happened when they were in school- but those emotions are over a huge tragedy that happened in her life and are almost understandable. This toxic trait also applies to, say, someone who accidentally shoulder checked her or took her lunch from the staff fridge. If you wrong her in the slightest, she will make sure she has revenge, even if it was a genuine mistake.

Lockdown: Can't handle commitment. He's not scared of it, just not emotionally mature enough. Whether it be a job, a friendship, a romantic relationship, or whatever else, he won't commit. He doesn't care whose feelings it hurts or if he's passing up on something genuinely good for himself either.

Swindle: Also can't handle commitment, but I'd argue that his worst toxic trait is actually his concern for money. He's terrified of being broke to the point that it consumes his every waking minute. Sure, he enjoys the swindling, but if he misses out on money he panics and he will go to ridiculous lengths to get a good deal or to rip someone off.

[soongyeopsal]

Since ur requests r open

Here's a thought. Hoshi having that post concert adrenaline surge, so he pulls you into a room backstage and fucks you till u see stars 🤩

▸ Pairing: idol!Soonyoung x F!reader ▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / pwp / established relationship If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: rough sex, piv, creampie

▸ Word Count: 542

▸ A/N: Indi, you knew exactly what you were doing here and I love you. 🥵 Ty @shuadotcom for the quick beta!

Soonyoung is almost always energetic, but nothing hypes him up more than being on stage. When the members wave to the crowd one last time and that platform descends beneath the stage, however, the satisfaction of having put on a good performance doesn’t extinguish the fire in his veins. Before you came along, exhausting himself at the gym was the closest feeling he could get to relief.

Now, Soonyoung has options. It started as a gift from you to him, but now, a year after the first time, it’s just tradition. He nearly sprints to you from the platform when they’re finally backstage and pulls you into an empty prop closet with no ceremony. The second the door is closed, he’s devouring you.

You’ve learned that when Soonyoung is like this, he’s single-minded, consumed with the need to claim you. So you let him. Eager hands tweak your nipples roughly through your top as he traps you against the wall, lips instantly attaching to your neck. He doesn’t linger, though; he can’t when he can feel his heartbeat in his cock. 

Soonyoung’s fingernails lightly scratch your hips as he yanks your panties down, hurriedly praising you for wearing a skirt tonight to provide him easy access. He makes preparation quick, twisting two, then three fingers into your core, groaning as he imagines the bliss he’s about to enter. 

Just the kiss of your pussy lips against his cockhead is enough to make him blow his load, but Soonyoung’s goal is always to make you cum first, so he screws his eyes shut and peppers your collarbone in kisses instead as he sheathes himself in you. All of his restraint goes into holding off his orgasm, so he can’t spare you from the rest of the overflow: his pace is frantic, kisses turn sharp with teeth, and delicate fingers flex into a bruising grip on your supple flesh. 

No matter how many times he fucks you like this, erratic in the darkness of a cramped room, Soonyoung always manages to overwhelm you. When he’s pounding into you, everything you know is reduced to feeling. All you know is sweat, scratches, a stretch, and the delicious drag of his veiny cock against your walls. If you asked Soonyoung, he’d say he only feels love – true, but inaccurate. Right now, what he actually feels is your fingernails clawing into his biceps and your pussy nearly locking him into place as you cream around him. It all translates to seventh heaven and feverish “I love yous” as he pounds every ounce of his essence into you.

You’re both so lost in each other, in the thrill of finally releasing the tightness in your stomachs that you can only hear each other’s cries distantly. The same can’t be said for the staff members who awkwardly pass by the closet, waiting for you both to finish so they can return items to storage.

It’s only a matter of time before someone calls out your scandalous behavior that just couldn’t wait until the hotel. But until then, you’ll keep smiling pleasantly and greeting everyone when you finally leave the closet hand-in-hand, Soonyoung’s and your cum slowly dripping from your entrance and pooling in the seat of your panties.

[girlbloggersfolly]

DELTA DAWN - part 1 // Camp Woodrow

Pairing: camp counsellour!joel miller x camp lifeguard!afab!reader

Rating: Explicit (not yet but it will be) 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: (1979 summer camp AU) After making a spontaneous trip northwest to a summer camp in need of staff with a few new friends, you find not everyone is so welcoming.

Chapter warnings: age gap (20 + 49), a whole lot of me waffling, extreme slow burn enemies to lovers ect ect ect, swearing, drug use, cigarettes, complicated relationship (not joel and reader.. yet), perv!reader, f!masturbation. absolutely NO use of y/n, reader has hair that can be put in a ponytail, and she can swim duh. This chapter is very tame, basically, just setting it up.

a/n: ok wow this is exciting, first chapter done and i'm pretty happy with it. Just a warning, i really mean it when I say slow burn, there will be no fluffing around at alllllll for a couple chapters, i'm not sure where i'm taking this or how long it will be, i'm thinking maybe 4? anyway enough chatter there'll be enough of that in the fic, if your reading this i love you sooooo much!!!!!!!

Camp Woodrow 1979

The Knack blasted from Sharon’s stereo, smoke plumed from Billies Joint, you’d been driving for a night or so. Mid-morning sun streamed through the windows, it was a brackish heat you had been getting all too used to. You’d met Billy, Sharon and Abel in Salt lake city at a gig, and now you were pleasantly stuck with them for the rest of summer. The drive from Salt lake city to Oregon was long, even longer in Sharon’s dads Buick which hadn’t seen the inside of a mechanic’s since 71’. The three of them had been working at Camp Woodrow each summer since they were, what was it? 15? Somehow they’d managed to persuade you to pack up your whole new life of groupie love and tour buses into a beat up Buick, taking the scenic route up to Oregon for a long, stagnant summer of campfires and controlled water sports, organised fun. You’d made the mistake of mentioning to Sharon you had lifeguard training; there and then it’d been decided you’d be the perfect replacement for their good friend Woody, who usually took the role of Lifeguard in camp, he was off in L.A, having made a name for himself in adult film. It was a long story you’d heard each salacious detail of. 

It’d been a total coincidence, meeting the three of them. You’d let some girlfriends drag you to a gig in a shifty basement venue (Billies band’s place (who weren’t nearly the legendary group they thought they were)) and had been… charmed by Billy… You’d fucked, he was just okay at it but he was easy on the eyes, knew a good dealer and it was cool to tell people you were fucking a hotshot ‘rock star’, even if he was less than generous in the bedroom. Soon you were fast friends with the whole group of them, groupies and all. So here you were, head in Billies lap, high off the broken sun on your face and second hand smoke, his hand drumming along to Doug Fieger’s voice on your bare stomach. You’d hitched a ride in Sharon’s dad’s car with her, Billy and her ‘it's complicated’ Abel.

“Are we there yet?”

Billy coughed through a cloud of smoke, yellow tinted sunglasses making him look all the pretentious rocker he wished he was. 

“Can you open a fucking window, do you know how hard it is to get that smell out these seats?”

Sharon said through agonising chomps of that wad of gum she’d had in her mouth since they’d driven through Boise. Billy cranked open the window. The hideous thrum of wind on the highway beating through the static air of the car. Your hair whipped around furiously and you sat up, stirred from the holy-half-high state. 

“Happy?” Billy said over the obnoxious sound of the engine and the wind. Sharon scoffed loudly over the sound. “I asked when are we going to fucking be there.” He spluttered yet again over his joint, smirking at you while he complained like a child to a very frustrated Sharon. “It’s just down the next turn,” He said, looking at the map in Abel’s lap, he was more focused on the magazine in his hands, you peaked over his shoulder, a sexy nun, the big, hot pink letters ‘TEASE’ haloing the cover.  

“We’re lost,” Billy hit his head back against the window, gosh he could really be a baby sometimes, you remarked internally, increasingly tired of the whole ‘Billy’ thing, a sticky situation you’d gotten into. The car broke into complaints, Sharon, searching frantically for the inconspicuous turning and little wooden sign to Camp Woodrow, stationed at the mouth of lake Calgonie. They’d eagerly shown you their collection of polaroids from the camp in the first few hours of the drive. It was exactly as you’d imagined, a classic all-American summer camp, straight from a gnarly slasher flick. 

“Motherfucker!” Sharon retaliated triumphantly as she manoeuvred the cranky old Buick down the sharp dirt road turning Camp Woodrow 500 yards. Bullseye. The road was almost too narrow, lined with unruly trees, leading up to the clearing in the dense foliage. Billy threw his joint out the window, stretching so his shirt rode up, showing off that lean torso that he was so damn proud of, flashing you a movie star grin. You tucked your hair behind your ears, putting your chuck taylor’s back on after the drive. You knew you all stunk of weed and BO.

 The car came to a pained, screeching halt in a makeshift parking lot. There were two cars parked in the other ‘spaces’, you noticed a blue Ford F-100 pick up, covered in mud and dust, your dad had one of those. Sharon let out a suggestive moan as she stretched, slamming the door behind her so hard you thought it might fall off. You all followed after her, Billy’s arm over your shoulder proudly, as if he was the one who’d just driven for 10 hours instead of whining the entire drive. You told yourself to just get over it, the summer was too long and too hot to hold onto this strange resentment you’d been harbouring for him as of late.

“Hey Abel! Sharon!” You heard from behind you, spotting a man you hadn’t seen before. He was shorter and well built, had a groomed moustache and lustrous black curls. “Tommy!” Sharon squealed, The pair embraced. You took the chance to get acquainted with your surroundings, turning away from the reunion to the woods behind you. Beautiful, it really was. You were a city kid, a suburban mole, so any chance at kindling some kind of a relationship with nature had you jumping at the opportunity, even if it meant dealing with children - Billy included. Trees as far as you could see, as high as you could see, the air clearer than you’d known it in the weeks you’d spent with these stoners.

“You remember Billy,” Abel said to Tommy, motioning to the boy next to you, who waved in his wanton fashion; too cool to put any effort into something as taxing as a wave. “Of course,” Tommy put his hands on his hips, it was hard to forget Billy. “And who’s the lady?” Tommy grinned, sauntering over, offering his hand to shake. Before you could introduce yourself, Sharon did it for you, telling him your name, which he repeated to himself. “She’s Woody’s replacement… lifeguard.” Sharon added, showing you off like an action figure. You fiddled with the hem of your denim shorts absentmindedly. “Ahh, lifeguard,” He had a firm handshake, making polite eye contact, you knew you’d get along with him. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’m super excited to get started.” You said warmly, the words falling from your mouth in something like a croak, you realised you’d hardly spoken for the entire drive, absorbed in tireless thought. Tommy clapped his hands together and turned to Abel and Sharon, then back to you and Billy.

“Well the kids are coming tomorrow, so, should give y’all time to settle,” He gave a little talk, friendly, he was what a camp manager should be, what you expected him to be. It immediately settled you, but the dead weight of Billy’s arm on your shoulders, tying you to him, was a constant jarring reminder of the mess you’d got yourself into with him.

The path to the camp staff cabins was a pretty one, scenic, you listened to your own steady breaths merging with the sounds of the forests. Billy walked ahead of you, his own suitcase swinging as him and Abel laughed their way into their own cabin. Separated by gender, convenient for yourself. Sharon lit a cigarette and grabbed the bottom bunk. You guessed it was so she could sneak Abel in and fuck him a little less conspicuously.

You sat on the top bunk, staring up at the damp ceiling, smoking a cigarette and listening to Sharon tuning a little radio, she cursed over the static.

In the evening you and Sharon decided to take a walk, leaving the boys to turn their cabin into a gas chamber, the forest stunk of them. “C’mon Lifeguard,” Sharon taunted, grinning at you through her cherry chapstick-ed lips. You took it all in, the forest, which opened up to Lake Calgonie.

“Holy shit,” You breathed as you stepped out onto the dock, the sun was setting over the trees, casting a vibrant orange hue over the lake. Your trance was broken by the click of Sharon’s Polaroid camera, the whir of the picture being processed. “It’s something, huh?” She nodded, somewhat proud of the landscape. “This is-” You started, unsure of the right word for how you felt, a little stoned from earlier, weary from the drive, muscles aching, brain heaving from the whole Billy thing, in complete awe of the situation you were in, impossibly, fucking happy. “Is it deep?” You turned to her, realising she was taking a picture of you. Click, Whirrrrr.

She fanned the two polaroids for a bit, tucking them in her bra, a trick she’d giggled about a few weeks ago. “Yeah, gets pretty deep in the middle,” She shrugged, more absorbed in the development of the polaroids she’d taken of you. She noticed the curious, awe-struck look on your face.

By the time you and Sharon returned to the camp the fire was blazing, crackling pleasantly, Billy, Abel, Tommy and an older lady. “Now, I know it wasn’t you two dumbasses who got the fire started,” Sharon landed the playful jab as she planted herself on Abel's lap, announcing her arrival the way she always did, her laugh echoing through the forest. Billy shuffled up to make space for you on the log, his arm around you in seconds, you were sure that that fucking arm would break your damn shoulder soon from how much he rested there. 

“Hey where’s Joel?” Billy asked suddenly. You were only half listening, now the fully developed polaroids were being flashed at you; it was you looking over your shoulder in candid surprise, engulfed in the flashlight and the rich sunset from behind, like a deer in the headlights. “Well what’s he doing in his cabin?” Billy said loudly with a cocky chuckle.

You tuned him out, letting your brain run away with itself, watching as the older woman examined the polaroid that Sharon was passing around for admiration. “Beautiful ain’t she,” Sharon quipped, shooting you a playful wink as she peered over the older woman’s shoulder at your picture. Tommy poked at the fire, blowing at it expertly, so this was the country man. “Oh, this is Lou by the way,” Tommy nodded towards the bright eyed older woman, “She’s one of our senior camp leaders, and our chef,” He said with a tight smile towards you, clearly the introduction was pointed. It was dark now, the faces of your friends and acquaintances lit up by firelight, illuminated in the orange. 

“Hey I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You whispered to Billy, waiting for him to direct you. “It's between the weird tree, with all the branches, remember? and the bigger Cabins, showers there too.”

It was the first time you’d been alone for a couple days. As much as you were charmed by your fast friends, a long lonesome walk to the john was very much needed. Abel’s lighter, you'd borrowed one night from his coat pocket, clicked to life in your hand, the small flame lapping at the cherry end of your cigarette as it hung between your lips. You walked slowly to prolong your time alone, admiring the trees, listening to the forest by night and the gentle padding of your sneakers across the dirt.

After relieving yourself in the makeshift hut you wondered if you could even call a ‘bathroom’, you wandered as slowly as possible down the path, blowing plumes of smoke into the still night, feeling the trees sigh around you. You imagined what your parents were doing right now, sitting in their condo in Cedar city, probably off to bed. You rarely thought of them anymore. 

You were brought to a standstill by one of the larger cabins, you took a drag of your cigarette and stood watching the window. You suddenly felt like a complete peeping tom; a man appeared in the window, not a man, a wife-beater clad god. He paced up to the edge of the room, giving you time to properly take him in; a quality of moustache you’d only seen in porn flicks, a soft, yet muscular torso, paired with arms that looked like they could snap Billy in two. You let the cover of nightfall mask the growing warmth on your cheeks. He stretched, wife beater riding up to reveal the unruly outline of a happy trail. Jesus christ. He was older, that was obvious enough, late forties? early fifties? You tucked your lips into a thin line, gazing at him, feeling like one of the fucking creeps you so often complained about and really not caring.

“Who is that guy?” You mused to Sharon back in the cabin, as she went through her skincare regiment in the janky little mirror, your limbs draped down from the top bunk like a fancy throw rug. “What guy?” She said, the tube of moisturiser taking up her full attention. “I ran into this guy when I went to pee? Moustache, in his forties, maybe fifties?.” You were like a teenager again, batting your eyelashes up at the ceiling. “Joel?” She cooed, turning to face you abruptly, clearly she had the same idea, you’d pulled her attention now. “You met Joel?” She seemed very impressed by this, but met was a strong word, you’d watched him in his cabin for a minute or so. You suddenly felt like this was something you shouldn’t have done, for whatever reason, maybe it was that sultry look in her eye all of a sudden, the accusatory tone in her pouty mouth. “Mhmm” You hummed warily, sitting up to look down at her from the top bunk. She scoffed, massaging her skin “Joel’s Tommy’s big brother, he runs the camp with him, total hunk right?” She teased. It made sense, Joel had looked like his brother, taller you thought, a little rougher around the edges. “How come he wasn’t at the fire?” You pictured him in his cabin, all alone. You now remembered Billy asking for him earlier. “He’s not the biggest fan of um, Billy and Abel, caught them sneaking in these girls, y’know, getting high a couple years ago, but they were like 17, like he’s had it out for them for a while.” This story didn’t come as a surprise, you imagined a young Billy and Abel getting caught smoking pot with girls by the lake. “It’s really only thanks to Tommy that we were allowed back, Joel would’ve gotten rid of them a while ago, wouldn’t’ve been outta line to either,” Sharon rambled on, all you could think about were those broad shoulders, the curve of his aquiline nose, it was a perverted stereotype you didn’t mind filling, young girl absolutely taken by an older man she most definitely could not have. “It’s a shame, he’s so fucking hot,” Sharon said as she pursed her lips, applying a healthy amount of lip balm to her pout. 

Camp LIFEGUARD t-shirt on, little red running shorts that covered next to nothing, chuck taylors to match, another pair of Billies big brown sunglasses on your nose, you were every bit the summer camp lifeguard. Tommy had your lifeguard certificate and paperwork, breakfast had been a breeze, it was all ready. The kids were arriving in the afternoon, so you had the morning to scope the place out alone, leaving Sharon with the guys and taking the path to the lake.

The lake was invigorating as you dipped your toe through the strangely still surface, chuck taylor’s, socks, shirt, glasses and the little metal whistle all bundled into a polite little pile on the edge of the dock. You sat down, taking a deep breath and splashing your feet gently in the water, the tiny ripples lapping back at your calves. It truly did feel like a movie to you, clad in that red, lifeguard swimsuit, hopefully catching some sun.

The morning was pleasant, if a little humid. As warm as it gets in the pacific northwest, you basked in the quiet of the lake, sliding slowly into the water. It was eerily calm after the recent chaos that had become your beloved life. 

You hadn’t swam leisurely in a while, not in a lake for even longer. You avoided the silty bottom by pushing off immediately to the middle, planning to test just how deep this lake was. It was strangely clear, you could see the bottom for a while, but as you swam out, below you it was just your flailing limbs treading in the dark blue. The hum of a boat engine broke the trance you’d been under all morning, snapping into consciousness as a small speedboat made its way around the lake, right up close to where you were treading water. You hadn’t seen it from the dock, hadn't noticed any waves.

 It came to a quick halt, splashing water in your face. “Motherfucker” You spluttered as you spat out lake water. You wiped your eyes and shielded them from the sun to see who this obnoxious, nautical asshole was. He looked down at you, crouching, silhouetted by the sun. 

“You shouldn’t be swimming without a lifeguard.” As your eyes adjusted to the bright light you identified the asshole: Joel, your blood ran colder than it already was. You could see him better now, dark glasses on, those sun kissed forearms, his slightly sun bleached STAFF t-shirt, that low, southern voice still unbearably charming, pouring over you like molasses even when he was being cold.

You realised you were staring and looked to your left at the dock. “Sorry, sir,” You started, hoping he’d appreciate the formality, “I am the lifeguard,” You grinned up at him with a saccharine bat of your eyelashes, really trying to appeal to the sexiest man you’d ever seen. He was still staring down at you in the water, sunglasses giving away nothing.

He let out a short scoff, obviously not amused. “Well what happens when you drown?” He said coldly, he did not seem at all charmed by that killer grin you flaunted so well, so you let it drop ever so slightly. Maybe you couldn’t kill him with kindness? “No lifeguard out to save your ass,” He looked down at you pointedly, still crouched beside you like you would’ve done with a kid that dived in a no dive pool. 

“I’m a strong swimmer.” You cocked your head, he scoffed again, shaking his head in casual disbelief. You were too absorbed in working out whether he looked more like Burt Reynolds or Tom Selleck. “I don't care how strong’a swimmer you are, missy,” He retaliated quickly, your lips parted in slight surprise, you weren’t used to people being even slightly unpleasant to you, thanks to your people pleasing.

“I'm sorry?” You said in the wake of your surprise.

“Look, lifeguard, I’m gonna ask you to strongly swim back to the dock right about fuckin’ now,” He stood up to his full height chuckling at you in that southern baritone, again darkened to a silhouette by the sun. You remembered how good his muscular body looked in that wife beater, his goddamn broad shoulders, then pushed the thoughts from your brain, it was fucking embarrassing, you batting your eyelashes and grinning at him like he wasn’t reprimanding you.

After hastily making your way back to camp, a complete state, your cheeks annoyingly hot with embarrassment and a sinking feeling that you could only call ‘horny’, you caught up with the rest of the guys. They’d somehow got the radio set up and were sitting around it outside the boy’s cabin like moths to a light, Buffalo Springfield was playing softly, the sound slightly subdued, broken by static every so often.

You leant on the wall beside them, trying to collect yourself after whatever the fuck that was. “How's the water temp, sugar,” Billy landed a light slap on your ass. You couldn't even look at them, afraid to see your own flushed reflection in their tinted sunglasses. “Tepid.” You heard yourself say absentmindedly. You knew two things for sure, Joel was an enigmatic pain in your ass; another to add to the ever growing list. The other, he had you wrapped around his little finger, you hated yourself for it, but hated him more. “I need a dart,” You sighed, keeping your eyes on your feet as Billy lit your cigarette.

The kids arrived intermittently once Abels casio read 15:00, hoards of them, and quickly. Bumbling groups of girls and boys, completely feral. You silently thanked god that all you'd be doing was watching them, making sure none of their little heads stayed underwater for too long, leaving the morale-boosting, camp spirit stuff to your friends and the other staff. Luckily no water sports on the first day, so you were free to lounge around without worrying about some kid dying on your watch.

You sort of wished you had a way to get your mind off the whole Joel thing, it really shouldn't have gotten to you as much as it had. But there was something about the whole thing, something simply despotic about the way he looked down at you, ordering you about, it fucking jarred you all afternoon, distracting you even from Billy’s hand on your ass.

The next time you saw Joel that day he was with a few kids, a couple suitcases tossed over his shoulders, a big grin on his face as he spoke to them, it wasn't mocking, wasn't charged with some quick-witted comment that he’d make sure really stung, it was paternal, sweet. You don’t know why you thought he’d be cold to everyone.

Damn kids didn't know how good they had it as he made them laugh, beaming with child-like enthusiasm. “Who’s that?” You asked Billy quickly, as if you didn't know full well who that was, as if he hadn't been the only thing on your frazzled, embarrassed mind. Billy scoffed, watching Joel just as intently as you had been. “That’s Joel Miller,” he said that name with more passion than you’d ever heard him put into anything, “Him and I don’t get along so well, sweets,” He nodded, you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at these pet names he’d been experimenting with. You tuned out the rest of Billy’s moaning, regretting even asking him, the phrases ‘Grade A asshole’ and ‘hypocrite’ were tossed around quite senselessly. 

You needed a shower, everyone did but you weren't going to be the one to tell them that. With a crispy towel in hand and Sharon's flip flops you haphazardly made your way through the dark forest, the kids all in their cabins, staff eating round the campfire. Sharon said she'd meet you there in 20, at least one other person in this damn place knew when they needed a shower. The shower shack was something you’d have to get used to. Even in the abysmal water pressure, even with the ceiling completely caked in cobwebs occupied by creatures you really did not like the look of, the hot water was balm. It washed the smell of the lake off of you, and the dizzying BO you’d gotten used to in the last few days, cleaned off that lingering scent of pot from your skin.

You sang quietly to yourself, an Elvis song that'd been stuck in your head all week. “Your kisses lift me higher,” you scrubbed yourself with the ratty bar of soap you’d found in Sharon's wash bag, the song falling out of you at an increasingly enthusiastic pace, volume rising as you let the water infiltrate your scalp.

“I just might turn into smoke but i feel fine,” Billy was not an Elvis fan, never had been, but that didn't stop you from humming along every time he entered your brain. You heard another shower start and Sharon getting in, not for one second stopping the music falling out of you. You weren't a particularly gifted singer, but in the shower that never mattered. After singing the song countless times you turned off the water. “Just a hunk’a burnin love,” You hummed, the cool night air causing your skin to goose pimple, your nipples to harden as you wrapped your body in the itchy little towel that really didn't do much to cover you up. 

You lit a cigarette as you stepped out, deciding to wait for Sharon outside the showers as she’d instructed earlier, admiring your reflection in the clouded mirror, wiping them clear. “Hurry up, fuckin’ cow,” You chuckled, raising your voice over the sound of the shower that was still going. Like a spell, it stopped, for once she was feeling nice.

"‘Bout time,” You giggled as you combed through your hair with your fingers, cigarette hanging precariously from your lips. You didn’t look away from your reflection as you grabbed your toothbrush from the pocket of your shorts which lay in a little discarded pile beside the sinks. “It's like being at The Westgate, Las Vegas,” The familiar voice chuckled, that condescending comment about your spectacular rendition of Elvis’ ‘burning love’ going right over your head in favour of utter shock and realisation, which hit like a ten ton truck.

You practically spun on your heels to see a smirking Joel Miller shirtless, a towel slung carelessly around his hips. The wind was knocked out of you as you let your eyes linger on his torso, just how fucking built he was, beaded with water, his chest sprinkled with hair matching that on his face. Holy shit. 

You looked back at yourself in the mirror, hugging the towel tighter to your body, scooping up the toothpaste you’d jetted all over the sink from squeezing the tube in your state of shock. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. “Thought you were Sharon,” You said shakily to the sink as you washed the toothpaste from your fingers, your voice now lacking the confidence it’d possessed when you called Joel Miller a ‘fucking cow’. You felt like slamming your head through the mirror right about now, not daring to check if the heat that had spread across your cheeks was visible. “Thought you were Elvis,” He quipped, ever the witty bastard, pulling out a small razor and some shaving foam, clearly he was planning on staying. 

You took a drag of your cigarette to pull yourself back to earth. “You make a habit of sneaking up on girls in the shower?” You heard yourself say, like your mind hadn’t turned into that of a perverted teenage boy after you saw him last night.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” So he knew he was hot shit, standing there more naked than you were comfortable with in that moment, that towel doing very little to distract you from the fact he was right there, all of him, rubbing shaving foam on his jaw. “You're too old to be talking like that,” you said coldly through your dead-pan, the biting words lacking the fire you intended for them. He chuckled slightly, his low voice almost a growl, reverberating through you as you attempted to squeeze your toothpaste onto the toothbrush without making another mess.  “Definitely Billy’s girl,” He said to himself as he held his razor up to the light.

Now that was too far, you turned your face to him, lips parted into a half-hearted scowl as you watched a couple droplets fall from his hair, you held on to the little towel for dear life. “What's that supposed to mean,” You shook your head in disbelief, that had truly been a low blow. “Well you are ain’ch’ya?” He shrugged, bringing the razor to his cheek, you said a silent prayer to god that his hand would slip. “No,” You said after a moment's hesitation. Billy wasn’t your guy and you certainly weren't his girl, he was a friend you sometimes, reluctantly let hump you until he finished. “He know that?” Joel scoffed, suddenly very talkative, you hadn't expected that from the authoritarian asshole who’d scolded you this morning, now a scintillating asshole. “Seemed awful comfy this even-” You cut him off quickly. “It's none of your business Joel,” you snapped, turning back to look at your glassy reflection.

This man would be the death of you; all of this, and now another mouth to ask you about Billy. “Billy’s a prick,” Joel said casually as he shaved his face, it almost startled you, the first thing you agreed with him about. “Aren't you perceptive?” The sarcasm rolled out of you, prompting another of those short, patronising chuckles from Joel.

“What's the appeal then?” It was a good point, why did you hang around with Billy when you could admit that the kid was a complete dickwad. Was it those looks? the way people seemed to gravitate towards his obnoxious laughter? It was all embarrassingly shallow.

“We hang in the same circles,” You shrugged, now completely absorbed by watching Joel shaving so expertly, still hoping your prayer would be answered. “Is he a good fuck?” Joel asked brazenly, not looking away from his own cold expression in the mirror as he cleaned up his moustache, your breath caught in your throat and you stamped out your cigarette on your ratty sneakers to disguise your prudish shock.

The answer was no, a dead no, no matter how much he thought he was. “And there's another thing that's absolutely none of your business,” You began brushing your teeth, glancing at him to see the telling smirk on his lips, that was all he needed to know. 

After a much needed break in the conversation you spat out the toothpaste, holding your hair back and running the tap. You turned to leave with the pile of clothes in your arms, you’d rather’ve taken the short journey to your cabin in the little towel than spend another damn second in that room with Joel fucking Miller. “Hey, kiddo,” Joel interjected casually, you turned to look at him with an obedience that made you sick.

“Next time you find yourself peepin’ on me in my cabin, just knock on the door.” 

You huffed an exasperated, short breath as you slammed the door to the cabin behind you, happy that Sharon was nowhere to be seen. You changed, cursing Joel under your breath over and over and over again as you pulled one of Billy’s ‘Supertramp’ t-shirts over your wet head of hair. That motherfucker! Where could you even start?

He’d seen you watching him. He’d known all day that you stood in the treeline in the unassuming disguise of nightfall, smoking as you’d watched him get ready for bed. He’d called you ‘kiddo’?! you groaned as you curled yourself into the quilt on your top bunk.

You guessed that Sharon was banging Abel in the next cabin, Billy had probably passed out from a long day of doing absolutely nothing. No matter what you thought about to get your mind off Joel; the image of him shirtless and dripping wet, his quick retaliations, nothing helped. You counted sheep, sang ‘Burning love’ a couple more times through, the shame just didn't wear off. He’d gotten the better of you today, catching you out at all the right moments, embarrassing you over and over again.

Finally, after stalling what you knew would be your only relief after a day like this, you let your hand venture under your panties, touching yourself gently at first, ego too bruised to allow yourself what you really wanted. Soon you were practically crying his name into your pillow, back arching desperately. You’d broken into a slight sweat, lips parting quiet ecstasy as relief washed over you. 

You made the decision then and there, it was sink or swim, you weren't going to let today happen again, not let your epic, man-eating reputation be stamped into the dirt  by some old washed-up cowboy with an ego for days and some strange Tom-Selleck-esque power over you.

You were going to become Joel Miller's worst fucking nightmare. 

PART 2