#octopus yacht

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[solxamber]

Guide Rank: Overwhelmed || Malleus Draconia

Being a high-ranked guide is tough—you’re basically a glorified babysitter for overpowered, emotionally constipated espers. But it gets harder when Malleus Draconia, the strongest esper in existence, asks you to guide him. And somehow, despite it all, you’re pretty sure Malleus is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Or: Guideverse au!

The world is a nightmare. It used to be bad enough with things like taxes, slow WiFi, and that one sock disappearing in the wash. But now? Now you have random cosmic hellmouths opening up and vomiting out monsters that think humans are snack-sized protein bars.

They call them Gates. They pop up out of nowhere like your intrusive thoughts at 3 AM, and if no one deals with them, entire cities get turned into discount horror movie scenes.

The only reason people aren't living in a monster apocalypse is because of Espers—overpowered individuals who fight these creatures with sheer force, wild abilities, and a complete disregard for their own safety.

But there’s a tiny problem. Espers have the durability of a wet paper bag. They burn through their energy, go berserk, or outright implode if left alone for too long.

And that’s where Guides come in. Guides stabilize Espers, keep them from disintegrating mid-fight, and prevent them from making headlines as "Local Hero Explodes on Live TV."

And you? Congratulations! You are an SS-Class Guide, one of the absolute best. This should mean power, prestige, and maybe even free drinks. Instead, it means you are a walking, talking, highly sought-after life support machine, and every Esper on the planet wants a piece of you.

And not in a fun way.

You’ve spent your entire career dodging unhinged, desperate, overpowered individuals who think "force-bonding" is a reasonable dating strategy.

Some try to flirt their way into your schedule (bad idea). Some try to bribe you with things like gold, private yachts, and one guy who straight-up offered you a castle. And then there are the truly feral ones, who don’t understand the word “no” and think "What if I just grabbed them?" is a valid problem-solving technique.

One time, an S-Class Esper sent you 72 marriage proposals in a single day. Another time, a different one broke into your apartment and left a PowerPoint presentation on why you should bond with them. With transitions.

If you had a nickel for every time you had to physically dodge an Esper trying to latch onto you like a clingy octopus, you wouldn’t need this job anymore. You could retire to a nice, peaceful life in the mountains, away from all of this nonsense.

But no. You’re still here. Still dodging Espers who treat you like a Black Friday deal at 90% off.

Something has to change.

It’s another day at work. Another day of wading through a swamp of increasingly deranged requests for guiding, because apparently, every high-ranking Esper on the planet thinks you’re the Holy Grail of Stability™.

You take a deep breath, open your inbox, and immediately regret your life choices.

Request #1:

"O Supreme and Benevolent Guide, I have compiled a PowerPoint titled ‘Why You Should Guide Me and Not Those Other Losers.’ Please see attached. I am very persuasive. Also, I have snacks. Just saying."

Attached: A 657-slide PowerPoint presentation with bullet points like “I Only Go Almost Berserk Like Every Other Tuesday” and “Look At This Dog I Found, Do You Like Him?”

Request #2:

"Greatest and Most Esteemed Guide, I humbly request your guidance. I will literally pay you in gold. Actual, real gold. Or cash. Or—listen, name your price. My mental stability is at stake here. I am ONE bad day away from levitating into the stratosphere and exploding like a firework. PLEASE. I am BEGGING you. Sincerely, your most devoted, desperate, and slightly deranged fan."

Attached: A poorly photoshopped picture of you both standing in front of a sunset. You’ve never met this person in your life.

Request #3:

"GOD-TIER GUIDE, PLEASE, I WILL DO ANYTHING. I WILL FETCH YOUR GROCERIES. I WILL WALK YOUR PET. YOU DON’T HAVE A PET? I WILL GET YOU A PET. I WILL BECOME YOUR PET. PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, JUST GIVE ME 10 MINUTES OF YOUR TIME. MY LAST GUIDE QUIT ON ME AND MOVED TO AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION. I AM VERY STABLE. PLEASE."

Attached: A video of the sender crushing a monster’s skull with their bare hands while sobbing.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

This is your life now.

And then—you see it.

A request.

A normal request.

No groveling. No bribery. No half-deranged monologue about why their existence is crumbling without you.

Just a plain, simple request for a guiding session. No attachments. No drama.

You do not even look at the name or the rank.

You just slam the approve button so hard your screen nearly cracks.

And you schedule them for today.

Whatever poor, normal, well-adjusted Esper just sent that request? You’re about to meet your new favorite person.

You hear a knock on your office door and, without looking up from your third coffee of the afternoon, you say, "Come in." You assume it's just another esper with an unhinged request or a government official trying to bribe you into a permanent bond arrangement (as if free coffee is enough to make up for dealing with an unstable murder machine forever).

But when you finally glance up, you’re met with Malleus fucking Draconia.

SSS-class esper. Only because the measuring device physically cannot display values above SSS. If it could, it would probably just scream in binary before shutting itself down out of fear.

And Malleus, the walking cataclysm, smiles at you. A polite, almost sweet smile that absolutely does not match the soul-crushing amount of raw, unstable power radiating off of him.

He thanks you, so genuinely, for agreeing to guide him, and suddenly, you feel like maybe—just maybe—the guy who sent you a PowerPoint presentation about why he’d be the perfect esper for you would’ve been a safer choice. Because in what world were you qualified to guide Malleus Draconia?

But you’re a professional. A highly trained SS-class Guide. You’ve dealt with terrifying espers before. (You survived guiding Leona Kingscholar, and that man once threatened to bite someone’s hand off for waking him up.) So you take a deep breath, paste on a practiced, reassuring smile, and gesture toward the couch. “Please, take a seat.”

Malleus does, settling in like a well-mannered prince, and when you take his hands, his power hits you like a truck.

No, scratch that. A truck would be merciful. This is like getting yeeted into the sun.

Because for all his outward composure, for all his eerie, elegant calm, his body is ripping itself apart from the sheer force of his own abilities. His energy is so volatile, so uncontained, that even just touching him feels like holding onto a live wire dipped in liquid magic.

You open your mouth, fully prepared to yell WHAT THE HELL, but instead, what comes out is a weak, strangled, “So… how long has it been since your last guiding?”

Malleus blinks, tilting his head slightly, as if the question is odd. “Ah,” he hums. “A rather long time, I suppose.”

You squint at him. "Define 'long.'"

There’s a pause. And then, with the same pleasant smile, he says, “Over a decade.”

…

…A decade.

You stare at him. Your soul leaves your body. Your hands are on him right now, guiding him, and no other guide has touched him for ten whole years??? You’ve guided espers who've almost lost their minds after three months without stabilization, and this man—no, this monster, this eldritch entity in the shape of a handsome Esper—has been raw-dogging reality for a full decade???

And the worst part is, you get it.

You’ve heard the stories. No guide is willing to risk their life guiding him. He’s too powerful, too unstable, too dangerous. But also??? He’s the reason those cowardly soy-latte-drinking guides even get to enjoy their caramel cream monstrosities without getting eaten by a Gate Beast. The least they could do is try.

So you do.

You take all that power, all that impossible, barely-contained force, and you stabilize it. As much as you can, at least, because Malleus is like an ocean, vast and endless, and you are one person desperately trying to keep the tide from sweeping away an entire city. But you manage. And when the strain starts to weigh on you, when exhaustion creeps in, Malleus—ever the gentleman—gently removes his hands from yours before you overextend yourself.

He looks at you like you’ve done something extraordinary. And in that soft, almost reverent voice, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

And when he asks if you’d accept his request again, how could you possibly say no?

You’ve seen Gates before. Too many, in fact. You’ve spent years standing at the edges of battlefields, waiting for Espers to stumble out after pushing themselves to their limits, ready to catch them before they crumbled into a pile of unstable, overpowered problems.

Usually, you’re waiting outside, stationed alongside other Guides, ready to stabilize the Espers who come stumbling out looking like they just did twelve rounds in a blender.

And today? No different.

The Gate suppressors finish their job, and as the shimmering tear in reality finally vanishes, a wave of exhausted Espers begins to stagger out.

Your fellow Guides immediately spring into action, swarming their assigned Espers like the world’s most exhausted yet underpaid nurses. You hear the usual litany of groaning, the occasional complaint about “why does guiding feel like drinking a warm glass of sadness,” and at least one voice yelling, “DON’T THROW UP ON ME, BRO.”

All in all, a standard post-Gate event.

But then—then.

Malleus Draconia walks out.

And the reaction is palpable.

Every Guide freezes. The air itself seems to shift, a held breath, a quiet hesitation, a collective someone else handle it.

Which, yeah. Fair. SSS-class esper. Walking apocalypse. If the world were a video game, he’d be the final boss, the secret bonus boss, and the eldritch horror you accidentally summon if you input the wrong cheat code.

But unlike every other high-class Esper, who would immediately demand a Guide’s attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a supermarket, Malleus just… looks around. Sees the other Espers getting help. And without a word, he simply starts walking away.

And something in you breaks.

It’s not just that your fellow Guides are scared of him. It’s the fact that he expects it. That he doesn’t even try. He just accepts that no one will come for him, and he leaves.

It’s one thing for a terrifying Esper to demand your attention, to expect you to fix them as if you’re a mechanic and they’re a car with the check engine light permanently on. But this? This quiet resignation? This acceptance of the fact that no one will help him?

Oh, absolutely not.

You push past the usual crowd of unstable, desperate, feral Espers who are trying to grab at your hands (“PLEASE, I WILL PAY YOU IN GOLD—OR FAVORS—WHICHEVER YOU PREFER”), and you march after him.

“Malleus,” you say, grabbing his arm before he can vanish into the night like a dramatic antihero.

He turns, blinking down at you in quiet surprise. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” you say, like he just told you the sky is blue. “I’m a Guide. This is my job.”

His expression flickers, the barest crack in his usual calm. “You would guide me?”

“Yes,” you say. “Now sit down.”

He actually listens. Thank the stars. You’re not sure what you would’ve done if he refused. Probably wrestled him to the ground, which would have been a terrible life choice, but whatever.

You sit across from him, take his hands, and—oh.

Oh.

Oh wow.

It's as bad, if not slightly better than the first time.

If guiding most Espers is like sifting through a river, guiding Malleus Draconia is like being pulled into the center of a supermassive black hole. It’s overwhelming, his power a heavy, crushing thing that hums under his skin like an unrelenting storm, pressing at the edges of your mind.

“How long has it been since your last session?” you ask, voice a little strained as you work to stabilize him.

Malleus tilts his head, thoughtful. “My last session was with you.”

Your grip tightens around his hands. “It's been 5 months.”

He hums. “No other Guide has been willing to take me on.”

That—that makes you want to throw something. Because sure, Malleus is terrifying. Sure, he’s a walking natural disaster. But he’s also the reason those Guides get to breathe.

You exhale sharply. “Well. That’s stupid.”

Malleus blinks. “Stupid?”

“Yes. Stupid.” You focus, pouring everything you have into stabilizing him, because you might not be able to guide him fully, but you sure as hell can make things better.

Malleus says nothing. He just… watches you.

And when you’re finally done—when you pull back, exhausted but satisfied—he tilts his head, voice soft.

“Allow me to escort you to your car.”

There’s a weight to the way he says it. A quiet intent.

You glance at the still-lingering crowd of Espers who have been waiting for their chance to pounce, and—ah.

That’s why.

Because Malleus walking with you means no one is about to harass you for an impromptu guiding session.

You glance back at him.

Malleus Draconia. The most powerful Esper alive. Unstable. Dangerous. Literally a walking storm.

“…Okay,” you say.

He walks you to your car, a steady presence at your side, and for the first time in years, you are not approached, begged, or proposed to on the way.

It’s peaceful.

Nice, even.

And as you slide into the driver’s seat, Malleus thanks you again, voice warm, quiet.

And impulsively—because your brain has fully given up on thinking before speaking—you blurt out, “Repay me by taking me out for coffee.”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

And then—Malleus smiles.

Not his usual polite, diplomatic smile. A real one.

And you realize, with sudden clarity, that you may have just changed the course of your entire life.

The next day, you step out of the Guidance Center, utterly exhausted.

You’ve spent all morning dealing with overworked Espers who don’t believe they need guiding until they start twitching like a broken lightbulb. One guy genuinely tried to convince you that he was “built different” and then proceeded to collapse mid-sentence.

So yeah. You’re tired. You just want to go home, take a nap, and not think about the absolute disaster that is your job.

And then you see him.

Malleus.

Waiting just outside the building, standing with the kind of stillness that makes him look more like a painting than a person.

But it’s not just him.

It’s the flowers.

A full bouquet, wrapped neatly, cradled in his hands like something precious.

And when he sees you, he smiles.

Your brain immediately blue-screens.

You walk up to him in a daze, already bracing yourself for the inevitable attention this is going to bring because, let’s be honest—Malleus Draconia standing outside your workplace holding flowers is about to start rumors.

(And by rumors, you mean your coworkers are never going to let you live this down.)

But when you reach him, he doesn’t do anything dramatic. Doesn’t say anything insane like “these flowers pale in comparison to your radiance” or “I will obliterate anyone who disrespects you.”

(You have, unfortunately, received both of those lines from unstable Espers before.)

Instead, he simply hands you the bouquet, his voice warm. “For you.”

And just like yesterday, you realize—this is different.

It’s not some desperate attempt to tie you to him, not an unstable Esper trying to own their Guide before anyone else can get to them.

He’s just… appreciative.

Grateful.

Your heart does something very annoying and fluttery at that realization.

You glance at the bouquet, then back up at him, and—oh.

He looks so pleased.

Like giving you flowers is the highlight of his week.

“…Are you free for that coffee now?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, expectant but unassuming.

And despite your exhaustion—despite knowing that this is probably the beginning of something huge and irreversible—you find yourself smiling.

“…Yeah,” you say, holding the flowers a little closer. “Yeah, I am.”

So far, this coffee date has been perfect.

You’re sitting across from Malleus, ranting about the absolute clowns you have to deal with daily.

“…And then this Esper looked me in the eyes and said, I will literally perish if you do not guide me this instant. Like. Sir.” You slap a hand on the table. “Sir. Please. This is a Starbucks.”

Malleus chuckles, eyes alight with amusement. “And what did you say to that?”

You sigh dramatically, tilting your head back. “I said, ‘Sounds fake, but okay.’”

He actually laughs at that—low and warm, and oh no, it’s really nice.

Before you can spiral about that, your drinks are ready. Malleus, being the gentleman he is, gets up to retrieve them.

And that’s when you feel it.

That unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Your instincts immediately go on high alert. Slowly, casually, you glance at the table next to you, expecting to see some shady esper trying to worm their way into your life.

What you actually see is so much better.

Sitting at the table next to you are three of the most suspicious individuals you have ever seen in your entire life.

The first one is a tiny man drowning in a trench coat three sizes too big, like a detective in a noir film gone wrong. He has an obviously fake mustache that is slightly peeling off his face, and he is watching you intensely.

Next to him, there is a guy wearing a tragically ugly pink wig.

He is asleep on the table.

Just. Fully unconscious. Like someone just unplugged him.

And finally—

A tall guy in fake glasses with an even faker nose, aggressively shoveling cake into his mouth while glaring at you like you just stole his firstborn child.

It’s silent.

You blink.

They blink.

And you immediately have to slap a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

Malleus returns, setting your drink in front of you, and you immediately point at the disaster trio sitting next to you.

“…Do you know them?” you ask, barely holding it together.

Malleus follows your gaze.

Sees the absolute circus happening at the next table.

And sighs.

A long, suffering sigh. The sigh of a man who has seen some things and has just realized he is doomed to see them for the rest of his life.

“Yes,” he says, like the words physically pain him. “Unfortunately.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

You immediately wave them over.

Because honestly?

Why not.

They look hilarious.

And you were right—Lilia (who introduces himself with a flourish and an actual theatrical bow) is an absolute riot. Silver, despite the crime against fashion sitting on his head, is actually very nice. And Sebek—who is still burning holes into you with his eyes—is begrudgingly polite, only because you’ve been guiding Malleus.

It turns into a full-blown sitcom.

At one point, Lilia pulls out a picture of an egg and tries to convince you that it's a baby picture of Malleus. You're not sure if he was serious. Sebek is still glaring at you, but it’s now 30% hostility, 70% begrudging respect. Silver almost faceplants into his drink.

Malleus, across from you, looks like he’s actively questioning all of his life choices.

It’s beautiful.

Eventually, when it’s time to leave, Malleus insists on walking you to your car.

And that’s when you notice it.

He’s pouting.

Not a dramatic pout. But his lips are slightly pressed together, his brows furrowed, like a cat that just got denied a seat on the kitchen counter.

You immediately find it endearing.

“What’s up?” you ask, amused.

Malleus exhales, glancing away. “…I was hoping for this to be a time where we could get to know each other.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s adorable.

You grin.

And before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Malleus freezes.

His eyes go wide. His breath catches. He looks like you’ve just blue-screened his brain.

You step back, grinning. “I'll see you around.”

And before he can respond, you slip into your car.

But as you drive away, you catch a glimpse of him in your mirror—

Standing there, hand pressed to his cheek, smiling like you just gave him the greatest gift in the world.

You hate Gates.

You hate that they can just open whenever they want, completely ignoring normal human schedules like some kind of otherworldly chaos entities (which, to be fair, they are).

But mostly, you hate that they always seem to open in the middle of the night.

Like, is there some kind of Gate Union that collectively decided on this? Do they hold meetings where they specifically vote to screw over guides by opening at the most inconvenient times?

And in the dead of winter, no less.

Truly, suffering knows no bounds.

Still, you drag yourself out of bed, slap on as many layers as physically possible (to the point where you briefly resemble a sentient pile of laundry), and head to the Gate’s location. On the way, you stop by an all-night café, because if you’re going to be miserable, you might as well be miserable with hot chocolate.

You even get two cups.

Not because you always do this for espers (you don’t—they can suffer like the rest of you), but because he is different.

Malleus.

The most powerful esper on the field tonight. The one who singlehandedly keeps half the Gates from turning into full-scale disasters. The one who always acts like he’s completely fine no matter what comes out of them.

And, most importantly—

The one esper you have a ridiculous, stupid, undeniably massive soft spot for.

So, you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You’re perched on a bench, holding your hot chocolates, trying not to think about how this is starting to feel like some kind of romantic drama scene, when you finally see him step out of the swirling remnants of the Gate.

Even exhausted, he still looks ridiculously elegant. His coat is dusted with frost, his dark horns curved like the wings of a dragon at rest. His presence—so big, so vast—immediately settles over the field, even as other espers struggle to regain their balance.

His expression is neutral, as always. Composed. Untouchable.

Until—

He spots you.

He blinks, as if surprised to see you.

And his face softens.

He doesn’t react right away, like he’s making sure he’s seeing correctly. But then, when it clicks, his lips part just slightly—an unspoken question, a faintly surprised blink—before they curve into the warmest, most gentle smile.

And wow. Wow.

Maybe the cold is getting to you, because you suddenly feel a little too warm.

You lift a hand and wave.

Malleus immediately starts walking toward you, his movements slow but steady. His eyes stay locked on yours, like he’s drawn to you without realizing it.

“You’re here,” he says, voice carrying that soft rumble that’s way too nice to listen to at this ungodly hour.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, Gates don’t believe in work-life balance, apparently.” You hold up the second cup of hot chocolate. “Here. Thought you could use something warm.”

“For me?” he asks, sounding so genuinely touched that your heart does something stupid.

“No, for the other giant dragon esper who just walked out of that Gate,” you deadpan.

Malleus huffs out a soft laugh, the kind that makes you think he doesn’t do it nearly enough. He takes the cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours, and you don’t miss the way he lingers there for just a second too long.

“You should let me guide you,” you say, reaching for his free hand.

Malleus makes a vague sound of protest. “That isn’t necessary.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

And then, before he can argue further, you unleash your most powerful technique.

“Please?”

Malleus Draconia—the Apex Esper, the one who holds dominion over storms and shadows, the one who can level an entire battlefield with one command—

Folds like a house of cards.

“…Very well,” he murmurs, looking a little defeated, a little amused.

You beam and take his hand, immediately pressing your energy into his.

And wow, yeah, he definitely needed this.

His presence, which is usually so steady, flickers faintly at the edges. He must have been holding himself together through sheer force of will, because the second you start guiding him, his shoulders finally relax.

Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

You feel his weight lean into you ever so slightly, just enough that you know he’s letting you support him. His energy curls around yours, vast and dark but gentle, like the hush of a midnight storm.

For a while, neither of you speak.

The night is quiet, save for the distant sounds of other guides working, of espers coming down from battle-highs.

You steal a glance at Malleus. His eyes are half-lidded, his breath even, his fingers curled loosely around yours.

“…You do this often?” he asks suddenly.

“What, guide tired espers?” you shrug. “Yeah. Someone’s gotta be here to catch them before they crash.”

Malleus hums, a thoughtful sound.

“…No,” he says. “I meant… this.”

You blink. “This?”

“Wait for me.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your grip tightens slightly, a flicker of warmth creeping up your neck.

“I—” You hesitate, then exhale through your nose. “No. Not really.”

Malleus watches you closely. You can feel his gaze on you even as you pointedly avoid meeting it.

“…Then why?” he asks, and his voice is so quiet, so genuine, that you feel yourself falter.

You take a deep breath.

And then, before you can overthink it, you grin.

“Well, you always push yourself too hard,” you say, squeezing his hand once for emphasis. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t keel over from exhaustion.”

Malleus huffs, clearly amused. “I assure you, I would not—”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

He laughs, quiet but real, and your heart skips a very concerning beat.

“…You are quite peculiar,” he muses, gazing at you like you’re some kind of strange, fascinating mystery.

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, waving a hand. “Now, if you really wanna thank me, take me out for coffee again later.”

Malleus pauses.

You watch, in real-time, as your words settle.

And then—

Slowly, slowly, he smiles.

“…I would like that,” he says, his voice quiet, but so very certain.

And suddenly, the cold doesn’t feel quite so biting anymore.

It was late. Too late. So late that if anyone dared to bother you right now, you would simply keel over and die on the spot out of sheer spite. You had finished your work, logged everything, and were seconds away from clocking out and going home to live as a blanket cryptid when someone grabbed your wrist.

That was already mistake number one.

You turned around, tired and mildly homicidal, to see one of your fellow high-ranking guides standing there. You recognized them—someone competent, someone respected, someone you had never spoken to outside of required work matters.

And yet, here they were, gripping your wrist like you were about to reveal the secrets of the universe to them.

"You got a second?" they asked, eyes shining with something too intense for this ungodly hour.

No. You did not have a second. You barely had the energy to stand upright, let alone entertain whatever nonsense this was about to be. But before you could tell them that, they were already pulling you off to the side, lowering their voice like they were about to ask you for classified information.

"How’d you do it?"

Your brain, already running on fumes, barely processed the question. "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb," they said, looking equal parts exasperated and impressed. "How'd you bewitch Malleus Draconia?"

Your mind, previously sluggish and exhausted, full stopped.

The sheer audacity of the question short-circuited your ability to respond. You just blinked at them, waiting for them to explain whatever the fuck they were talking about.

They misinterpreted your silence as playing coy because they leaned in conspiratorially and hissed, "Don't gatekeep. We want a bite too."

It was at that moment you considered committing actual murder.

"I'm sorry. A bite?" you echoed, voice dangerously calm.

"You got Malleus Draconia—Malleus Draconia—to let you guide him, regularly," they stressed, looking half in awe and half like they wanted to shake you for answers. "No one else has ever gotten close enough to work with him like that. If we knew he was harmless, we would’ve stepped in ages ago. But we weren’t going to take the risk."

You could physically feel something in your brain snap.

So that was it. That was why. It wasn’t that they hadn’t had the opportunity to guide him—it was that they had actively chosen not to. They had taken one look at Malleus, decided it wasn’t worth the effort to risk handling someone as powerful as him, and just left him alone.

And now, because you had proven he wasn’t some terrifying force of destruction, they suddenly wanted in? They suddenly thought they deserved him?

Like he was some exclusive club they wanted membership to?

Your hand twitched. You ripped yourself free from their grip, scowling. "Screw this."

Their eyes widened slightly, clearly not expecting that reaction. "Wait—"

But you were already storming off, anger burning through your exhaustion. You didn’t even realize where you were going until you stepped outside—

And saw Malleus standing there.

Waiting.

For you.

His sharp eyes flickered with concern the second they landed on your face.

"Are you alright?"

Your rage didn't cool, but it twisted into something tighter, something that made your throat close up for an entirely different reason.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached out, grabbed his hand, and started dragging him down the street.

Malleus didn’t resist. He simply followed, letting you pull him along like this was perfectly normal behavior.

The café door chimed as you shoved it open with more force than necessary, still stewing over the conversation from earlier. Malleus, utterly unbothered, stepped around you to order both of your usual drinks without hesitation.

The fact that he had memorized your order without ever asking, without making a big deal of it, without using it as some kind of flex, made something in your chest ache.

You sat down at the table, staring blankly at the surface as you tried to untangle your emotions.

Why were you this angry?

Was it because they had ignored him? Because they treated him like some kind of trophy instead of a person? Because they had assumed the worst of him and only changed their minds when it was convenient?

Yes. Absolutely.

But then—why did you also feel like crying?

Your fingers curled into fists on the table.

And that’s when it hit you.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

You liked him.

Like like liked him.

Like the kind of like that made you want to scream into your hands and never recover. The kind of like that made you want to turn back time and stop this from happening before it was too late. The kind of like that meant your life was now ruined beyond repair.

Your whole body tensed, brain going into full meltdown mode.

And then—just to make everything infinitely worse—

A cup slid into view.

You looked up, and there he was.

Malleus.

Standing in front of you, holding out your drink.

His eyes were gentle, studying you carefully, like he could see every single thought racing through your head. "Are you alright?" he asked again, voice quiet, sincere.

And in that moment, you realized you had two options:

• Stay here, drink your drink like a normal person, and accept the horrifying truth of your newfound feelings.

• Launch yourself out of the nearest window and never be seen again.

Option two was looking real tempting right now.

Another night, another gate opening at the worst possible time.

You were so tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary, existentially exhausted. The universe seemed determined to ensure that you never got a full night’s sleep, and you were starting to take it personally.

Still, you were here, bundled up against the cold, sipping a hot drink as you waited for Malleus.

The gate was a high-level one tonight. You knew it had to have been difficult—he was strong, but no one walked out of those things completely unscathed. So you were already standing up, ready to meet him halfway, when—

That guide.

The one who had all but interrogated you last time.

They stepped in before you could move, approaching Malleus with their best professional smile, like they hadn’t spent years pretending he didn’t exist.

"Do you need guidance?" they asked smoothly, their voice dripping with the absolute audacity.

Malleus blinked at them, clearly surprised. Because why wouldn’t he be? No one else but you had ever offered before.

And your chest burned.

Of course he’d pick them.

They were higher-ranked than you. More experienced. More respected. Malleus, despite everything, was still an outsider to most of the guide network, and it would make perfect sense to accept help from someone with more prestige.

You braced yourself, swallowing the bitter feeling threatening to rise—

But then—

He looked past them.

His eyes landed on you.

And then he smiled.

"I must decline," he said simply, voice polite but final.

And then—much to their visible horror—he walked right past them and straight to you.

The sheer triumph that surged through you was immeasurable.

You barely stopped yourself from cackling, but as you took his hand, guiding him like always, the urge to turn back and stick your tongue out at that seething guide was so strong.

Malleus, oblivious to your inner gloating, watched you with a softness that made your heart ache.

And then, suddenly, it all just—

Hit you.

The sheer depth of your feelings, the way your chest tightened at the sight of him, the way everything in you just settled when he was near—

You broke.

You grabbed him, yanking him forward, and before he could even react—

You kissed him.

Malleus let out a surprised sound against your lips, but after only a second of hesitation—

He kissed you back.

It was warm, steady, and when you finally pulled away, he was glowing, his expression soft in a way that made your breath catch.

"I like you, Malleus," you confessed, your voice quieter than you expected.

And his smile—

It was like you had given him the world.

He cupped your face so gently, kissed your forehead like he was sealing the moment into reality.

"I have feelings for you too," he murmured.

You melted.

You leaned against his chest, warmth seeping into you despite the cold night air.

And as his arms wrapped around you, as you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you couldn’t help but be so glad you had accepted his guidance request all that time ago.

(And okay, maybe you were also smug as hell about it. Because when you glanced back at that other guide—

They looked ready to throw hands.)

You had been waiting.

Patiently. Lovingly. For months.

Malleus loved you. You loved him. You were in a relationship, you slept in the same bed, you guided him, he refused to let anyone else even offer—so what the hell was taking him so long?

Why wouldn’t he just ask?

It was infuriating. It was agonizing. It was the most painfully obvious conclusion to your relationship, and yet—

Malleus refused to bond with you.

And frankly? You were at your limit.

So tonight, as you lay wrapped around each other in bed, his arms comfortably encircling your waist, you finally decided to just ask him.

"Malleus," you said, looking up at him, voice soft but firm. "Why haven’t you asked me to bond yet?"

He stiffened. Just slightly. His fingers twitched where they rested on your back.

And then—

He gave you that look. The sad, gentle smile. The one that made your heart clench because it meant he was about to say something infuriatingly self-sacrificial.

"If you ever regret me," he murmured, "you won’t be able to guide anyone else." His thumb traced circles on your back, soothing even as his words infuriated you. "I don’t want that for you."

You froze.

You stared at him.

And in that moment, you were torn between laughing at his stupidity or crying because how could someone so powerful be so utterly dumb?

So you did neither.

Instead—

You kissed him.

You kissed him until he was breathless, until his arms tightened around you, until his body melted into yours and he let out the softest, neediest little sound against your lips.

When you pulled away, his pupils were blown wide, his expression dazed, and you felt the way his heartbeat had turned erratic beneath your palm.

"You," you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, "*are the only thing I've ever been sure of in my life."

Malleus let out a shaky breath.

And then you kissed him again.

You pressed him into the bed, slotting yourself against him, feeling his hands grasp at you like he was afraid you might disappear.

But you wouldn’t.

Because you were here. You chose him.

And that night, you finally bonded—just as you always should have.

Malleus had always been powerful. From the moment he was born, strength had been woven into his very being.

His draconic lineage alone made him stronger than most, but when his Esper abilities awakened, it had set him apart even further. Too far apart.

The strongest being in the world.

And because of that, people had feared him.

It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Even other Espers, who should have understood, kept their distance. Some whispered about him behind closed doors, about how a being as powerful as him didn't need guidance in the first place.

It had been Lilia who had guided him for most of his life, a steady presence who never flinched, never wavered, never treated him as if he were something to be afraid of. But when Lilia lost his guiding abilities, that stability was suddenly gone, leaving Malleus untethered.

For years, he had gone without. And then, one day, he heard about you.

You were a Guide who accepted nearly every request. You had guided Espers with overwhelming abilities, those who were labeled as difficult or too much to handle. You had never turned anyone away. And so, despite knowing the likelihood of rejection, Malleus sent a request.

He had expected nothing to come of it. But instead, he got you.

You had seemed nervous when you first met him, but it wasn’t the type of nervousness he was used to. There was no fear in your eyes, only cautious curiosity—an instinctive wariness, perhaps, but not rejection. And despite whatever initial hesitation you had, your hand had reached for his without trembling. You had guided him.

For the first time in over a decade, Malleus had felt light.

And then, the first time you guided him outside a Gate—

That had been a key moment in his life.

He had stepped out, battle-worn, expecting emptiness. And instead—you had waved at him.

You had smiled at him.

He had thought, at first, that perhaps you had simply been assigned to check on him. That maybe it was some unspoken duty, a requirement of your role. But then, as if that warmth weren’t enough, you had asked him to coffee.

He had expected a quiet outing, a moment to rest and speak with you in a more peaceful setting. Instead, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver had shown up, disguises both laughable and obvious, as if the flimsy mustaches and oversized trench coats could fool anyone. He had braced himself for your irritation, for exasperation or a resigned sigh.

But instead—you had laughed.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you had welcomed them to join you.

That had been the moment he first thought, perhaps, he liked you.

The first time you had brought him hot chocolate would forever be etched into Malleus’ memory.

It had been a bitterly cold night, the kind where the air cut through even the thickest of coats, where breath curled in the air like mist, and the sky was so crisp and clear that it felt endless.

The battle had left him drained, his energy worn thin in a way he had long since grown accustomed to. He hadn’t expected you to be there. There had been no reason for you to wait for him—you could have guided someone else, finished your duties quickly, and gone home to rest.

But instead, there you were.

Sitting on a bench, bundled in layers, your arms crossed to hold in whatever warmth you could, with two cups of hot chocolate in your hands. You had waved at him like it was the most normal thing in the world, like of course you were waiting for him. Like of course you had brought him something warm to drink.

He had been so startled by the sight that for a moment, he simply stood there, staring, trying to commit every detail to memory. The way the streetlights cast a soft glow against your skin, the way your breath curled in the cold, the way your fingers tapped against the side of the cup as you held it out to him.

He had taken it without a word, still dazed, still trying to process why you had done this. And then, as if you hadn’t just shaken the very foundation of his existence, you had grinned and asked him to take you out for coffee again.

Malleus had never known such warmth, even in the frigid winter.

Then there was the day he had waited for you.

He had been standing outside the guidance center, patiently waiting for you to finish your duties. It had been something of a habit by then—he always waited for you when he could, just as you waited for him. He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up when you spotted him, the way you always greeted him like you had been expecting to see him there.

But that day, when you finally stepped outside, there was no warm smile, no familiar greeting. Instead, you stormed out, eyes blazing, frustration radiating off you in waves. Malleus had barely opened his mouth to ask what was wrong before you grabbed his wrist and started dragging him down the street.

He followed without hesitation, allowing you to pull him along, his mind still catching up to what was happening. You had led him straight to your usual café, barely stopping to take a breath as you shoved the door open and beelined for your favorite spot. Malleus sat across from you, watching with quiet curiosity as you fumed, hands clenched around your menu, your foot tapping aggressively against the floor.

And then, as the tension in your shoulders refused to ease, as you let out a frustrated huff and glared at your drink like it had personally offended you, you had finally told him what had made you so upset.

They had questioned you. They had asked how you had bewitched him, of all people. Like he was some trophy, some untouchable relic that no one had dared lay claim to until you had somehow managed to crack the code. They had assumed that if he were harmless enough to guide, then they would have taken him for themselves. They had spoken about him like he was something to be owned.

Malleus had expected you to be upset. What he hadn’t expected was for you to be so furious on his behalf.

And he shouldn’t have liked it—shouldn’t have felt anything beyond quiet gratitude for your defense of him. But there was something ugly in his chest, something selfish and dark that thrived off the way your anger was so fiercely his.

For so long, people had feared him, had rejected him, had kept him at a distance out of self-preservation. And yet, here you were, not just standing by his side, but fighting for him, defending him, choosing him.

And he wanted that.

He wanted the way you almost stormed into battle for him. He wanted the way your voice shook with anger because you cared about how he was treated. He wanted the way you grabbed his wrist without hesitation, the way you dragged him to this café because he was the person you sought out in your frustration.

He wanted you.

And as you finally sighed, your anger fading just enough for you to take a sip of your drink, Malleus came to a quiet realization.

He had liked you before. But now?

Now, he was falling.

Malleus had never expected to be offered guidance by anyone else.

It had never once crossed his mind as a possibility—he had long since grown used to being avoided, used to the way others hesitated to even meet his eyes, let alone reach out to him. The moment he stepped out of the Gate, still feeling the lingering exhaustion of battle, he had been prepared to find you, as he always did.

And yet, instead of you, there was someone else.

A guide—one he recognized, one who had been among those who had always turned away from him before. And now, suddenly, they were standing before him, offering their assistance as if it were something he needed, as if he should be grateful.

Malleus didn’t even consider it.

How could he? How could anyone else fill the space that was meant for you? How could he even entertain the thought of accepting someone else’s hand when your hand was the only one he ever wanted to hold?

So he simply stepped past them, not bothering to spare them a second glance, not wasting a single breath on an answer. Because they were irrelevant.

Because you were there.

And the moment he spotted you, standing just a few steps away with that bright, warm expression that was meant only for him, he felt something in his chest ease. Like everything had shifted back into place, like the air had cleared, like he was where he was supposed to be.

And when you laughed, really laughed, like this was all some great joke only the two of you were in on, he thought it might be his favorite sound in the world.

And then you took his hand, and the moment your fingers intertwined with his, he knew with absolute certainty—there was no one else for him. There never could be.

And then you kissed him.

For all his years, for all his strength, for all his wisdom, Malleus Draconia had never once been prepared for this.

You had grabbed him, pulled him in, and pressed your lips to his, and Malleus had let out an embarrassingly surprised sound before his instincts took over, before his hands found their way to your waist, before he was kissing you back like he had been waiting for this moment for centuries.

And maybe he had been.

Because when you pulled back, just far enough to whisper, “I like you, Malleus,” he felt like the world had stopped spinning, like time itself had come to a halt just to give him this moment, just to let him have this.

And when he smiled, it was because it felt like you had just handed him the world.

So he kissed your forehead, let his lips linger against your skin, and whispered against you, “I have feelings for you too.”

And when you leaned against him, when you let yourself rest against his chest, Malleus felt something settle in his soul.

He was home.

Then you asked him to bond.

And Malleus hesitated.

Not because he didn’t love you—he did. He had never loved anything the way he loved you.

But because he was afraid.

Because bonding with him meant forever. It meant you would be tied to him, it meant you would never be able to guide anyone else, it meant that if one day you woke up and realized you regretted him—realized you wanted something else, something more, something that wasn’t him—then you would be trapped.

And he could not, would not, allow that to happen to you.

So he had told you no. Not because he didn’t want you, not because he didn’t ache for you in ways he could never put into words, but because he would die before he let you shackle yourself to him forever.

And then you had kissed him.

Hard.

You had pressed him into the bed, breathless and unyielding, your lips against his like you were trying to prove something.

And maybe you were.

Because when you finally pulled back, when your fingers threaded through his hair and your forehead rested against his, you whispered, “You’re the best decision I’ve ever made.”

And Malleus—Malleus, who had spent his entire life waiting to be chosen, waiting to be wanted—felt his walls crumble.

So he let himself believe you.

He let himself hope.

And when he kissed you again, when he let his hands roam over your skin and let himself take you, it wasn’t just an acceptance of your love.

It was a promise.

A promise that no matter what, no matter where life took you, no matter how much time passed—he would always be yours.

And as the bond settled between you, as he felt the pull of your soul entwining with his, Malleus let himself hope for more.

He hoped you would be with him forever.

You woke up feeling warm.

Not just from the blankets wrapped around you, or the way the room was still dim from the early morning light, but from the way Malleus was wrapped around you.

His arms held you firm but gentle, his breath soft against your forehead, his body curled protectively around yours. It was comfort in its purest form.

You smiled, still basking in the afterglow of your bond, and tilted your head up to kiss him.

Malleus stirred, letting out a sleepy hum as his lips curved into a small, contented smile against yours. His eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep, and you both just… looked at each other.

The love in his gaze was overwhelming.

So, naturally, you asked the most important question of your life.

"Was the egg picture that Lilia showed me actually you?"

Malleus blinked.

Then blinked again.

And then, to your absolute delight, he looked flabbergasted.

"You—" He stopped, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of your first words after bonding. "That is the first thing you wish to ask me?"

You nodded, completely serious. "I've been meaning to ask for a while."

And then—

Malleus laughed.

Laughed and laughed.

Deep and rich, his chest vibrating against yours as his entire body shook with amusement.

You pouted and waited for him to get it together, only for him to kiss your forehead, still grinning.

"Yes," he admitted, eyes twinkling. "That was me."

You gasped. Vindication.

Finally.

The mystery that had plagued you for months was solved.

With a triumphant little noise, you snuggled back into him, pressing your face against his chest as sleep threatened to claim you again.

Malleus chuckled, tucking you closer, and as he rested his chin atop your head, he couldn’t help but think—

Despite your eccentricities, he had never been happier than being yours.

Masterlist

[ozzgin]

Ozz, I feel like you awoke something in me for sea creatures, cause first the octopus hybrid and now the circus merman? Also, would totally kiss the octopus head person body octopus hybrid. Same with the eldritch god. Why they got to be so attractive? -hand biter spouse

Truth be told, I wasn’t too convinced either. It was something I randomly decided to do this week, because I do like sea creatures and thought “eh, why not?”

I’m glad they were to your liking! And that you like the octopus-headed man, you’re a real one for that. 💕

Maybe the next stop will be a shark loan shark (literally) or something to that effect. Big, burly shark hybrid with a short temper and a Reader who owes him money 😭

"How did you find me here, I'm in the middle of the ocean", you sigh, defeated, from your stolen yacht.

"I need that money", he barks, visibly annoyed. You glance over the rail and notice he's been swimming in a full suit, using his suitcase as a floater.

He ponders for a moment.

"There's other ways you can pay me", the shark man grins.

You shiver.

[chaoscouncilcreaturecorner]

Water & Beach-Themed Names & Pronouns List

Names:

🤍 Masculine Names:

🐚Caspian - Origin: Caspian Sea

🐳Kai - Origin: Hawaiian - Meaning: "Sea"

🐚Ren - Origin: Diminutive of Rene or Japanese - Meaning: "Water lily; Lotus"

🐳Maxwell - Origin: Scottish - Meaning: "Great steam"

🐚Clyde - Origin: Scottish River Name

🐳Alon - Origin: Hebrew; Filipino Word - Meaning: "Oak tree; Wave"

🐚Solomon - Origin: Christianity; Hebrew - Meaning: "Underwater bridge; Peace"

🐳Earwyn - Origin: English - Meaning: "Friend of the sea"

🐚Salmon - Origin: Hebrew; English; French - Meaning: "Salmon; Peace"

🐳Mortimer - Origin: French - Meaning: "Dead sea; Stagnant sea"

🖤 Feminine Names:

🫧Cordelia - Origin: Latin; Celtic - Meaning: "Heart; Daughter of the sea"

🦑Mira - Origin: Latin, Slavic, Arabic, Sanskrit - Meaning: "Admirable; Peace; Female ruler; Ocean"

🫧Maya - Origin: Greek; Central American Indian empire name; Latinate Variation of May; Spanish, diminutive of Amalia; variation of Maia; Hebrew - Meaning: "Water"

🦑Talia - Origin: Hebrew; Australian Aboriginal - Meaning: "Gentle dew from heaven; By the water"

🫧Tallulah - Origin: Choctaw, Irish - Meaning: "Leaping water, Lady of abundance"

🦑Maren - Origin: Latin - Meaning: "Sea"

🫧Sabrina - Origin: Celtic, Latin name for the River Severn

🦑Marina - Origin: Latin - Meaning: "From the sea"

🫧Guinevere - Origin: Welsh - Meaning: "White shadow; White wave"

🦑Jennifer - Origin: Cornish variation of Welsh Guinevere - Meaning: "White shadow; White wave"

🩶 Neutral/Androgynous Names:

🌊Haf - Origin: Welsh; Icelandic - Meaning: "Summer; Ocean"

🦈Current - Origin: Water current - Meaning: "The motion of the Ocean"

🌊Siren - Origin: Greek Mythology

🦈Tasi - Origin: Chamorro; Christianity - Meaning: "Ocean; Sea"

🌊Dipsi - Origin: Hindu; Bislama - Meaning: "Light; Ocean"

🦈Daria/Darius - Origin: Persian - Meaning: "Sea; Possessing Goodness"

🌊Pelagic - Origin: Greek - Meaning: "Of, Relating to, or living or occuring in the open sea; Oceanic"

🦈Mer - Origin: The Word Mermaid/Merman; Spanish - Meaning: "Ocean; Sea"

🌊Wave - Origin: English - Meaning: "Arched form of water or sound"

🦈Bahari - Origin: Swahili - Meaning: "Sailor; Ocean"

Pronouns:

Nature Themed:

Sea/Foam

Wave/Waves

Moon/Moon

Tide/Tidal

Cur/Current

Co/Coral

Bub/Bubble

Wa/Water

Oce/Ocean

Sea/Sea

La/Lake

Ri/River

Aqua/Aquatic

Coa/Coast

Tide/Pool

Sho/Shore

La/Lagoon

Dead/Zone

Deep/Blue

Hurri/Hurricane

Isla/Island

Nau/Nautical

Ocean/Floor

Sur/Surface

Under/Water

Tsu/Tsunami

Al/Algae

Bac/Bacteria

Kel/Kelp

Sea/Glass

Animal Themed:

Wha/Whale

Shar/Shark

Jell/Jellyfish

Fi/Fish

Sea/Horse

Tur/Turtle

Sea/Seal

Or/Orca

Sea/Dragon [Leafy Seadragon]

Dol/Dolphin

Clown/Fish

Blue/Tang

Ott/Otters

Sea/Lion

Octo/Octopus

Squi/Squid

Wal/Walrus

Lob/Lobster

Spon/Sponge

Be/Beluga

Angel/Fish

Mana/Manatee

Star/Fish

Eel/Eel

Sea/Urchin

Cuttle/Fish

Barra/Barracuda

Man/Manta

Ray/Ray

Croco/Crocodile

Mythology/Legend Themed:

Sea/Serpent

Ocean/Dragon

Si/Siren

Mer/Mermaid [Merman, Merfolk & Merbeing Also Work]

Sing/Singing

So/Song

Lu/Lure

Kra/Kraken

Levi/Leviathan

Loch/Ness

Ap/Apsara

Ka/Kappa

Ni/Nixies

Ca/Calypso

The/Thetis

Ne/Nereids

Oce/Oceanids

Na/Naga

Na/Naiad

Po/Poseidon

Tri/Trident

Tri/Triton

In/Indra

Nep/Neptune

Va/Varuna

Ce/Cetus

Ich/Ichtyo [Ichtyocentaurs]

Sea/Monster

Sel/Selkie

Ma/Makara

Beach & Pool Themed:

Flip/Flop

Mock/Mocktail

Mo/Mojito

Be/Beach

Sta/Stand

Swi/Swim

Ba/Ball

To/Towel

Sun/Sunscreen

Bo/Boat

Beach/Side

Pool/Noodle

Beach/Chair

Bu/Bucket

Palm/Tree

Tree/Tree

Sun/Sun

Sha/Shade

Sha/Shadow

Pool/Pool

San/Sand

Go/Goggles

Sur/Surf

Sun/Sunset

Re/Resort

Salt/Salt

Sand/Sandcastle

Ya/Yacht

Fi/Fishing

Fin/Fins

Emoji Themed:

🐢/🐢s

🐍/🐍s

🐙/🐙s

🦑/🦑s

🪼/🪼s

🦐/🦐s

🦞/🦞s

🦀/🦀s

🐡/🐡s

🐠/🐠s

🐟/🐟s

🐬/🐬s

🐳/🐳s

🐋/🐋s

🦈/🦈s

🦭/🦭s

🐊/🐊s

🌴/🌴s

🐚/🐚s

🪸/🪸s

🍹/🍹s

🦩/🦩s

🛟/🛟s

⚓/⚓s

🪝/🪝s

🏝️/🏝️s

🌅/🌅s

🏖️/🏖️s

⛱️/⛱️s

🩴/🩴s

🫧/🫧s

🌊/🌊s

🍧/🍧s

🧊/🧊s

🍨/🍨s

🍦/🍦s

🥤/🥤s

🍸/🍸s

🍹/🍹s

🦩/🦩s

🛟/🛟s

⚓/⚓s

🪝/🪝s

🏝️/🏝️s

🌅/🌅s

🪨/🪨s

🌙/🌙s

🌑/🌑s

🌒/🌒s

🌓/🌓s

🌔/🌔s

🌕/🌕s

🌖/🌖s

🌗/🌗s

🌘/🌘s

👡/👡s

🥽/🥽s

🏄/🏄s

🚣/🚣s

🤿/🤿s

🪸These weren't requested, just decided to post some things as well until we start to get requests!

🪼All of the dividers are from: saradika.tumblr.com! Thank you so much for these beautiful dividers! ^^

~ Created Mainly By: 🧨⛓️📻 {{ Wilbur/Alastor }}

[sfwsnace]

On our Discord server @achromatophoric made me realize the alleged leaked photos from S2 of Mortica and Gomez’s bedroom had a octopus or kraken head board which gave me a head canon

The Addams having a past history of being sailors

Maybe that’s how they got their fortune

Being sea merchants….. and maybe some piracy on the side 🏴‍☠️

The Addams still connect with those roots with an old timey sailing vessel like a sail yacht they frequently bring out

[nightmarerodent]

How do the Kids' feel about extreme heat and how good are they at sea?

Frost dies instantly. RIP little snowflake ❄️

Jacqui and Cassie are from Texas and California respectively so are able to take hotter temperatures pretty well.

Jin spent a lot of time in Outworld, which is mostly a desert climate fluxing between extreme hot and extreme cold depending on the time of day so he should be ok.

Takeda is completely immune to heat. Perks of being Hanzo’s apprentice and learning how to command hellfire.

As for the ocean Cassie probably had the most experience on the water but those are mostly yachts. Jacqui would probably be the most useful in terms of technical skill, followed by Jin. Takeda would be useless but, hey, at least he’s a good swimmer. (Because he’s an octopus 🐙)

[slackville-records]

“I wrote Octopus’s Garden in Sardinia. Peter Sellers had lent us his yacht and we went out for the day… I stayed out on deck with the captain and we talked about octopuses. He told me that they hang out in their caves and they go around the seabed finding shiny stones and tin cans and bottles to put in front of their cave like a garden. I thought this was fabulous, because at the time I just wanted to be under the sea too. A couple of tokes later with the guitar – and we had Octopus’s Garden!”- Ringo

[splat-newt]

remaking this poll because there's a decent few i missed and it was starting to bother me

If you want further clarification on any of these, let me know in the replies!

[labete-du-gevaudan]

This image of the Umguza Monster was drawn by Philippe Coudray in his 2009 book Guide des Animaux Cachés. In 1950, this glowing octopus-like creature was seen at the Umguza River, near the Umguza Dam. It was first reported by a butler at the nearby Umguza Yacht Club. It had also been seen by a worker on the dam. The creature reportedly crawled out of the water and onto a nearby pier. It was large enough to cover the width of the pier.

Bernard Heuvelmans believed that the Umguza Monster could have been bioluminescent microorganisms that are often seen floating in the water. However, others disagree considering the creature crawled out of the water. Heuvelmans also suggested that it could have been a species of bioluminescent freshwater octopus.

[rea-grimm]

Otaku guardian of the gate - Chapter 1

You've been looking forward to this trip all your life and you finally got it. Even when you were little, everyone saw you following in your parents' footsteps. You could even say that they infected you with the desire to find the mysterious gate from Atlantis.

When you were older, you all looked for her together. That is, until that fateful accident when they left you here alone. You couldn't get over it for a long time. Maybe until the time when you decided to find the given treasure in their honour.

With this plan, you stood aboard a small yacht equipped with sonar and various computers in the middle of the open ocean and three small uncharted islands. Apparently, the gate should be under one of the islands.

Equipped with special diving gear, you stood on the edge of the ship and watched the water below you. There was a strange calm. Sometimes a fish or a lone shark swam by, but that was it. It was strange because by all accounts it should have been a complete fish paradise.

You checked the necessary things one last time before you jumped. The water was warmer than you expected. You sank and headed for the bottom. You could already see that there were many sunken ships of different nationalities and from different times. 

Long Viking ships decorated with shields, which were partially buried by sand, Japanese frigates, Spanish galleons, giant ships with torn black flags flying in the currents, metal warships and many others.

You swam around the rocks, trying to find anything that might indicate a gate. You found something like an alley of statues in various poses. Based on the style, you assumed they came from ancient Greece. Some were missing their heads, others their limbs, and some were whole. Museums would fight over it.

Subsequently, you found several stones in which various symbols were engraved, the likes of which you had never seen in your life. You then came to a rock that had smooth straight walls and a rectangular entrance leading inside. As if there was once a former door. You tried your luck there. Apart from a few old containers, you didn't find much there. That is, except for the giant black scale, which glistened orange and purple in the light.

After a long day with no organized results, when you may not have found your gate, but instead a lot of other things that could have been a great discovery in themselves. After writing the report, check the photos and all of today's knowledge, which you also checked with your notes. You were definitely close.

Now, after a day of work, it was finally time for a little rest. You were originally thinking about a movie or your favourite TV series where you wouldn't have to think too much and would rather relax. It all sounded tempting, but you had already seen it, and on the other hand, you remembered an anime that you downloaded in case of emergency and that you promised your friend that you would watch.

This anime called The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl was her favorite and she kept convincing you to watch it too. After constant coercion, you nodded your agreement, earning yourself a hug from a lot of octopus, possibly breaking a rib or two.

You made yourself comfortable and played the episode on your laptop. You watched outside on the deck because the weather was nice and you didn't want to shut yourself inside unnecessarily.

After about the first 10 minutes the boat rocked slightly on the waves and you felt as if something was watching you. You settled yourself a little better and turned briefly to look back. 

The original thought that it was nothing, just some fantasy, very quickly turned into Damn, Damn, what is this? You completely froze when you saw your reflection in a giant orange eye that resembled the eye of a snake.

At first, the eye looked like it was watching anime with you, but then it focused on you, winked, and disappeared in a flash with a giant splash under the water. It wasn't until the creature disappeared that you realized you'd been holding your breath the whole time.

The brain could not recover from the shock. A giant eye meant a giant creature and this was a giant snake. The rational part of you tried to explain that it was just a vision, a mere imagination. The other part of you was screaming at you that it was Leviathan, the mythical guardian of Atlantis and that you were damn close.

To take your mind off something else, you played the first episode again from the time you saw the snake. So you watched the first two episodes without any incident and you became calm that it was all just your desire for discovery. When you played the third episode, halfway through, the ship rocked again, and you once again had the strange feeling that you were being watched.

You turned around and there it was again. A giant eye with an iris coloured orange with dark purple edges belonging to a giant black snake. The eye focused on you again and looked like it was about to sink again when you called out to it.

"Wait!" you exclaimed, running ahead to the railing. The snake was already almost completely submerged and only a piece of its head with eyes and horns that resembled branched dark blue corals was visible. 

"You can watch with me!" you exclaimed without even thinking about it. Just so the snake wouldn't sink again and you could get a better look at it.

The snake seemed to hesitate for a moment before re-emerging and tilting its head to get a better view of the computer. He even rested his head lightly against the ship, which had tilted a little. As she leaned over, the snake took off its head again, as if it was afraid that it would sink you otherwise.

When you were both "settled" you started watching. You watched the entire first series and it was truly an incredible experience. Because you would never have thought that a giant snake would enjoy this kind of anime so much.

You could tell for yourself that it wasn't your cup of coffee and you enjoyed the changing scenery of the expressions on the snake's face more than the anime. Shock, joy, nervousness... 

He always got excited when the main character appeared there and either hissed or snorted when someone wronged her. It was truly an incredible spectacle. In the moonlight, his body played with orange and purple highlights.

You turned it off after midnight as your eyes were slowly drooping and you were slowly falling asleep to it. Before you turned it off, the snake disappeared under the water and your boat swayed so much that you had to grab onto something to keep from falling. Such an experience. No one would ever believe you.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Obey me! Masterlist

[minileena]

Part four babeyyyyyy

Layna

We're far enough away from the action that I can comfortably sit on Evelyn's shoulder without drawing eyes. It's not abnormal for two differently statured friends to be walking about together, right? Just two gals walking around downtown.

On the inside, though... I'm struggling to keep from trembling.

I'm missing something. I'm sure of it. Just because I can't see the angle Evelyn's playing at doesn't mean she doesn't have one. Maybe she's waiting for me to take her to my fence where she'll double cross me and leave me a smear on the sidewalk before pawning the diamond off. Maybe she needs me to be next to her when we enter the hotel so no one thinks twice about a single girl renting a motel, for one night, for no reason, within walking distance to the scene of a recent theft. Maybe it's something else I just can't think of. But she must be onto something.

Suffice to say, this walk is tense for me.

For Evelyn, though...

"So," she begins, cutting through the silence. "What would you do if you were a millionaire?"

The question is clearly phrased as a hypothetical because we're in public and we don't want any eyewitnesses to two weirdly dressed women discussing an incoming large influx of cash so close to a crime scene. As for why shass asking it... I don't know. Trying to look normal? Still keeping up cover? I can keep up cover a while longer. What's something that normal people say to a question like this?

"I dunno. Something fun, obviously. I've always wondered what yacht life would be like." I say this with a casual cloak over my tone.

Evelyn juts her jaw out to the side, effectively nudging my shoulder in a playful way.

"That's a lie," she says without hesitation. Her voice lowers a bit, just quiet enough for me to hear without the passersby being privy to our conversation. "I don't want a cover story. What are you really gonna do?"

Another gambit? Maybe I'm being recorded? She wants to frame me, maybe? get me in jail so she can take the diamond for herself? That would just draw attention to her, though.

What the hell is her angle???

I lean forward a touch, trying to gauge her expression for hints.

I just see a smile. A genuine, encouraging smile.

"Housing," I find myself answering honestly. "Proper apartments for parvi that actually meet government code are really hard to manufacture, and full-on houses even more so. I think plumbing specifically is such a nightmare that typical pricing is insane, so most of us just... find workarounds. A shoebox in a human friend's apartment, stuff like that. I've never lived in a place where I didn't have to DIY hackney some kind of basic necessity."

Evelyn's smile doesn't waver, but does manage to take on a more sympathetic quality. "I... I'm sorry about that. I hadn't really ever thought about issues like that. I guess I'm not super well-informed."

"Most humans aren't," I say in reassurance. "Why... why are you asking?"

She cocks an eyebrow.

"Do I need a reason? Is curiosity not enough?"

My fingers tap irritatedly against my thigh. I can't see through this. I'm usually really good at reading through acts like this, but Evelyn... she has me stumped. I'm still at a complete loss.

"I've always wanted a pet octopus," Evelyn says suddenly.

I fail to stifle a snort in time.

"Wh... What?" I ask, visibly incredulous.

"They're probably the third most intelligent species on the planet, next to the two of ours," she continues with a wide grin. "I've always thought they were neat. But I've also always thought it's cruel to keep one as a pet. They're too smart to be kept in tiny tanks. So, as a millionaire, I could buy a tank that spans through a whole house. Maybe hire some people to help me keep it fed and healthy."

"You can't actually be serious, though," I cut in.

Her gaze breaks away from mine and she goes back to staring at the road ahead of her. "Semi-serious. It would be cool, but I think that's billionaire rich, not... forty million dollars in the bank rich. Someday, maybe.”

At this point I've nearly forgotten the situation we're in together. I'm completely immersed in the conversation.

"Uh, left here," I stammer out.

Evelyn reaches up to pat my head with a finger. "Thanks, Siri."

I scoff. "As if I haven't heard that joke a million times before."

A few minutes later we're still talking, discussing dream houses and swiping through amazon for fun things to impulse-buy. Not planning or making cover. Just... talking.

It almost manages to make me feel at ease.

Eventually we turn into the motel, a decent quality establishment; they actually have some parvus necessities, though they are, of course, a tad overpriced because of it. Not that we're gonna care once we cash in the diamond.

"Room for two?" The clerk asks as we walk in and ring the service bell.

Evelyn turns to glance down at me for my approval.

"Room for two," I confirm. Neither of us is going to separate from the diamond, so we're kind of forced to sleep together tonight.

As the clerk starts typing away at his computer, he tries to make casual conversation.

"So," he says, "you two finishing up a date?"

I nearly choke on my own saliva.

"No, just friends passing by and in need of a bed for the night," Evelyn replies smoothly as I try to recover from the comment.

"Gotcha," the clerk replies with what I can only assume to be his best customer service smile. We all have our masks, I suppose.

We get checked in and head to our room for the night. I freshen up in a parvus half-bathroom, a little annoyed at the lack of a shower. We find a cot my size in one of the drawers, though, and we promptly set it up on the nightstand.

"Are you tired?" Evelyn asks as we finish settling the mattress onto the frame. "Like, at all?"

"No," I say honestly. "Too much adrenaline. I can calm down, though."

"Wanna throw on the TV before the endorphins inevitably pass through and leave us to crash?" She says with a giggle.

I smile, knowing the exact feeling she's describing.

"I, uh... sure.”

The TV isn't signed into any streaming services, and neither of us want our login information on a random motel near the sight of a robbery, so we settle for cable, which is, of course, horrible. We find something somewhat inoffensive and throw it on in the background while we settle down from the chase.

Through the dull jokes and canned laughter playing through the TV speakers, I take a moment to fully process my situation.

"You really don't have an angle, do you?" I ask after a while of silence.

Evelyn shakes her head. "Even split. Cross my heart."

I clench my jaw and tap my fingers nervously against the mattress. "Why?"

She sighs and leans her head against the wall, staring up at the popcorn ceiling for a few moments before answering.

"Jade was my tech girl for this job," she says. "We needed to work together in order to pull this off. No one can do this kind of job lone-wolf. Hell, even a team of two is stretching it, but... I didn't bother finding anyone else. Because it's so fucking hard to get someone you know won't screw you over."

The human's gaze moves back down to me, expression forlorn as she continues. "Jade and I were going to sleep in her van tonight. But if either of us fell asleep, the other could steal the diamond before morning. So the solution was to put the diamond in a briefcase and handcuff ourselves to it before passing out. The handcuff key was in a timer vault. All because we couldn't trust each other.”

She rolls over onto her side, resting her chin on her palm. "It's so... god, it's fucking annoying, isn't it? Setting up safeguards so we don't screw each other over a few hundred thousand dollars on the millions we'd both make if we could just chill the fuck out? It makes the job more complicated, it makes all of our dealings tense and tedious... If we could all just agree to fucking get over ourselves and trust each other, these types of jobs could be cakewalks. But we always need to make sure no one has even the slightest incentive to screw each other over, otherwise... we will. Because we're assholes."

Evelyn turns back over to lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling again. "I promised you we'd split. Why is it so absurd that I refuse to go back on that after you lost your leverage over me? Everything would be so much easier if we could just... trust each other, y'know?"

The room is quiet for a few moments, save for the sound of the boring sitcom droning in the background. I'm eventually the one to break the silence, though probably not with the reaction Evelyn was expecting.

"Fuck you," I utter, voice trembling with anger.

Evelyn turns to look at me with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Tears are welling in my eyes.

"Wh... what?" She asks in genuine shock.

"Fuck you!" I say again, gripping my bedsheets so hard I edge on tearing a few seams. "Don't you fucking talk about trust like you can hand it out like candy on Halloween. Like... like we're all selfish, greedy assholes looking to milk a few extra bucks out of a job no matter who it fucks over. Like we're beneath you for not letting our lives hinge on the whims of some rando you do a job with.

"Do you think I like this? This fucking game of leverage and incentive? Do you think anyone actually wants to be playing? You think I don't hate every fucking second I have to blackmail and steal and cheat people over a pittance?

"Maybe it's easy for you to just... decide to trust someone. Worst they can do is pull a gun on you, and even then you actually have a nonzero chance of fucking defending yourself. Maybe that's how it works for you. Maybe that's your reality. But don't you dare try to use that experience to tell me to 'get over myself.' I have to be like this. I don't have the luxury of a choice. I live in a world where it's so easy to take advantage of me that you can do it with a flick of your fucking wrist. That's my reality. And the only way to make it in my world is to lie and cheat and blackmail. Because if I don't then I have nothing. The moment there's a chink in my armour, the moment I miss a detail or don't see an angle..."

I swallow down a sob, trying to look this human in the eye with my chin raised in defiance.

"I have nothing else. All I have is my fortress of exploitation. There's nothing else behind these walls. If they're breached I'm dead.

"So don't you fucking dare talk about how easy it would be to trust each other if we just 'got over ourselves,' because there is nothing, absolutely fucking nothing that I want more than the luxury of getting to trust someone."

My breaths are heavy from my rant. My jaw is clenched.

Evelyn simply gazes on in shock.

"I..." She tries to begin, but no follow up comes.

A tear streams down my cheek.

"I'm sorry," she finally manages to say. "I didn't--"

I turn over in my bed before she can finish her sentence, pulling a blanket over myself and turning my back to her. I don't have the luxury of getting to be able to storm out of the room in anger, so this is what I have to settle for.

Evelyn doesn't speak another word, and eventually turns the TV off, leaving us in silence as we both fall asleep.

Layna's rants are so funnnn i really really liked her speech to Evelyn in zookeeper where she psychoanalyzed her aloud and then also the speech with jasper in chapter 14 I think those were so fun to write anyways one more part left in this little au one shot

[bellafarallones]

Mermay Prompt List

I wrote my own list of mermay prompts! Feel free to use for art, writing, whatever

A ship trapped in ice at the North Pole

A mer weaving among submerged branches in the dark, murky water of a swamp

A mer in the desert whose lake or stream is rapidly drying up

A mer who swims up the same river every twenty years or so to spawn but this year discovers that the river has been dammed/severely polluted

A mer farming pearls in giant clams

Cultural differences between surface mers and deep-ocean mers

Mers fighting for reef territory

A mer constructing an elaborate, colorful nest to impress a potential partner 

A mer who isn’t so much half-human, half-fish as all eldritch

A mer having an octopus as a pet

A sharp-toothed mer who subsists on blood and shuns the sun - and the blood of warm-blooded animals is a particular luxury

A mer who is vain about their hair

A mer whose skin speaks for them

A siren musician annoyed no one can give unbiased feedback on their songs

A mer trapped in a fishing net

A mer who finds a human shipwrecked on an island

A mer playing in the wake of a pirate ship 

A mer rescues a drunk human who fell off a yacht (or was pushed?)

A luxurious beachside resort that caters to the wealthiest of both mer and human

A human feeling up a mer in a hot tub

The city of Atlantis: the sunken ruins of a human settlement, or a thriving mer metropolis? 

Human and mer rival treasure hunters

A lighthouse keeper who doesn’t believe mer are real

A mer in disguise as a human shows their true form for the first time in 20 years after being pushed into a pool 

Mers arriving in a seaside town in the wake of a hurricane

A mer in a hotel pool

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bathysphere the year is 1930, two humans have just descended for the first time 800 feet below the surface of the ocean to observe the marine life, and the mers were not at all prepared 

Pre-1900, a human mapmaker makes a deal with a mer for information about an area not navigable by ship

A mer in an aquarium (exhibit or employee)

Humans kept in a zoo underwater for mers to look at

[4headedmonster]

“Ringo’s son Zak taken with a fish-eye lens in Sardinia, 1968. “I like cameras and I like lenses. I used whatever I had at the time. I bought a Pentax in Japan the first time we went there. This was taken with a timer on Peter Sellers’ yacht. I wrote Octopus’s Garden on that trip.” ©Ringo Starr/Genesis Publications || taken from shutterbug.com

[jb1sposts]

3 week princess

From Egypt birthday 16 years old 3 Plex

Fanatic of planes and yachts and scuba's

Area's "zones

Ball room red velvet.

Zues room green emeralds

Octopus room pink velvet

Hummus wrapped calimary

Hummus wrapped salmon

Hummus wrapped. Shrimp

Finger food

Devil eyes with muscle shoots

Whiskey pound cake

Rumm red velvet cake

Vodka cream cheese cake

Monkey brains sea shell lime garlic shoots

Turtle brains. Sea shell hot sauce garlic shoots

Wheel brains sea shell lime garlic shoots.

Egypt took rolls Royce

Wrapped wheal heart

Wrapped turtle heart

Wrapped. Monkey heart

Royal Egypt champagne 1616 bold rich

Royal. Saudi Arabia. Champagne 1489 brutt spicy

Royal turkey champagne 1902

Bold full

Sweet sixteen candles up raising cane's

16 candles for each triplets

Green candles with white doves

Red candles with blue king Cobra

Yellow candles with orange tigers

Birth to 16 years. Aged

Down fall

And up skalles

Sweet sixteen dress to birthday cake.

Tail 16 meters long with peacock

Tail 16 meters long with white swans

Tail 16 meters long with king dragon

Knight with swards when sweet sixteen

Birthday girls walk into the hotel casino

To my lost Barbie

[fyeah-chanyeol]

241005 Chanyeol @ One Day Café in Busan

© milkys_1127

A1) since its in busan so busan satoori challenge for 🍒! he followed it well🫳🏻 A2) for the song cover in japan later op recommended fujii kaze kirari cuz it fits his voice, he said it already been decided but its a song that he also likes🩵

A3) if 🍒 could only eat 1 busan's specialty~ haven't tried them all (namcheon halmae tteokbokki vs lee jaemo pizza) but pizza! A4) if 🍒 has time to travel to busan for a day! he chose to eating sashimi at the gwangalli breakwater instead of yachting at haeundae

A5) since he's at busan so, stir-fried octopus vs cold wheat noodles? haven't tried the octopus but he like the noodles🍜

Translation by peacherry612.