#or maybe i'll just work in an h&m until i fucking die

[evilchildeyeeter]

every time i have a pe lesson i lose a tiny bit of my will to live

heads up i kinda started venting in the tags so if you dont want to put up with that just scroll <333

[venteamocha]

I've seen @nellplays talk about the @attollo game, and I've had it in my to-play list for SO LONG and I'm finally playing it and I decided to do a live post because I never have and I want to and I hope it will be fun to read.

Main review:

Very well written and beautifully descriptive. I could SMELL those locations and for some of them it was more pleasant than others.

Someone brought up that it was confusing a while back and the only thing I found confusing was some of the time shifts. For some reason I thought we were in the same time period when we got the candy and it went to the sibling, I thought we'd just left the shop and gone back and the trip had just been skipped, and then suddenly we were back in the shop and it was clarified that the sibling stuff was in the past. I'm adhd though, so attention is an issue and this could be a me thing?

My MC:

And now the babbling!

Prologue

An Iron FOREST!? That is BADASS!! Okay there are no other options. Do the trees bleed rust when it rains?? Do they rust??

THE MAYOR HAD IT BUILT?? On the one hand he did a cool thing but on the other this guy immediately made me think Anish Kapoor with his big metal bean.

Ah yeah mayor is fantasy Bezos and his Amazon doesn't deliver.

Take the road less travelled by, maybe I can get this guy killed the way I'd die if this were me.

WHAT.... is your name? WHAT... is your favourite color?

We're going to Wonderland!!

Chapter 1

"Naturally, your car had been working until you actually needed it." OH GOD WHAT A MOOD.

I never had a tire iron. I'm a clown. 🤡😆

"America's equivalent to the CAA" 😆 A fellow Canadian, eh???

The vantablack joke!! When will our hero Stewart Semple save us?

My super size drink is my ridiculous trenti drink from Starbucks with almost enough sugary caffeine and milk to drown an infant in.

T o u c h t h e s l i m e. What's the worst that can happen? You get a weird disease that makes your hand fall off? You'll have a great story to tell!

Ahh yes my purpose. My destiny. Eating slime off a fantasy 7/11 ice box. I hear it calling to me and the sound is like the screech of a sugar high toddler in a McDonalds.

Teenager: I've been stoned before but this person is on stuff I can only dream of. Minimum wage won't be enough for me to save them from themself.

Maltazers! Cryptocurrency! This fantasy 7/11 has it all!

I took it because I'm a bad person. Wait, no! I'm sticking it to the man!! Yeah!! Fuck 7/11 and their week old hot dogs!! This is why I crave ice box slime!!

"Indescribable fear of the rolling stones" JSDHDJS let this be about the band

I have some Canadian Tire money wedged in my purse 😔

All convenience stores are liminal spaces imo

If I get a sudden urge to lick this 7/11's toilet I will get very sick but I'll do it because I'm a monster.

A GLORY HOLE FDJDDUJSKSAAOAJ

NO I REJECT THESE CHOICES I'M TAKING A PEN AND WRITING A NEW ONE ON MY PHONE SCREEN MYSELF-

OH GOD IT'S A VOID HOLE IT'S A CTHULHU GLORY HOLE THIS 7/11 IS FOR MONSTER FUCKERS

"The hole releases its grip on you" I'm gonna have this phrase pop up in the depths of my brainmeats someday and it will make me twitch like a chihuahua

The insane void hole not only dropped me on a Florida beach, it also broke my phone? Man, fuck these eldritch abominations.

Back to the city before I really do get eaten by Cthulhu or something similar.

*You have acquired a knife and are now officially a thief*

Toto, we ain't in Kansas anymore.

Sysba 😳

Ice boxes are gonna be poor Quinn's (my mc) trauma, I can tell.

H-humans became angler fish... I...

Flock of birds?? My face when I'm reading all this: 😯

It's my seat now. I will live and die here.

Love the sexuality options!

"You're not into sex or romance and this man affirms your decision" Love this tea 😌

Sadly I'm attracted to trash and ice box slime so he has a chance with me.

Ah, I'm finally a real writer 😢

Ugh, I think I'm gonna end up playing Sylvester's route 😔

"They're from the outside" gave me some bad tingles 😯

Haha yeah I can't be harmed, I'm the mc! And also, uh, don't like death, especially my own.

Haha I got arrested- OH JESUS CHRIST THIS IS LIKE THAT STEPHEN KING STORY THE MIST OH GOD I'M GONNA GET EATEN IN ONE BITE LIKE THAT DUDE FROM JURASSIC PARK AND GOD I MADE TWO REFERENCES FROM ONE SCENE WHAT AM I DOING

MORE SLIME

I never get to eat the slime. I'm like a baby doing its best to eat some glue but my mom keeps yanking me away at the last minute.

We're going where?

[mail-me-a-snail]

Sobriety

Chase Brody has been doing everything to combat his alcoholism; going to AA, therapy, being social, exercising...and yet it still isn’t enough. One afternoon, a year after his divorce, Jackie drives him home. tw: alcoholism, panic attacks, car accident ment, suicide ment.

"So, how was it?"

 Chase shrugs, both to slide his backpack off and to answer. He puts the bag in the backseat, then twists back around to buckle himself in. Jackie, mask off and in a plain red hoodie and worn jeans, as opposed to his jumpsuit, sits in the driver's seat, fingers drumming against the wheel in sync with whatever metal is playing on the stereo, Chase doesn't know—he's too tired to go through the challenge of deciphering the lyrics. The chaotic banging of drums and rippling guitar riffs about sum up the state his head's at.

 "It was fine," he says coolly, "I guess. Todd brought his guitar this time." Todd—Todd Danvers—being the head of the group. Great guy, might've made it as a part of the church ensemble, if he hadn't drunken so much wine like every meal was communion. Washed his face in the tub of holy water they have at the door, that's what Todd had told them all, that first day, when Chase was still having the shakes.

 "What'd he sing?" Jackie glances over at him as he twists the key in the ignition. The car hums to life, and they pull out of the center's parking lot with a low rumble.

 "Pretty cover of What Have They Done To You Know. Daniel Knox? Funny, you wouldn't think a guy like him would be into that kind of indie music."

 Jackie laughs, though it's not as bubbly as Chase thought it would be. It's more like an exhale Jackie leans into.

 There's no conversation that follows, so the clicking turn signal, honking cars passing by, and radio fill the silence. He's gotten better at his anxiety with cars. Chase picks at the neon bandages on his fingers—the story is that he tried rather unsuccessfully to build a shelf—nails, all that, you know—but that's not what happened.

 Promise a man, a very wasted, high off his rocker man, a few hundred bucks and he just might cut his whole hand off for you. He'll play the knife game like a roulette wheel, spinning and spinning, until he hits the jackpot, or until he has no fingers.

 Nicks for nickels, that's what his buddies down at the bar say. Nicks for nickels. Money isn't easy to come by lately and he doesn't want to have to depend on Jackie's or his brothers' help for the rest of his life. It isn't fair.

 So, he works, doing odds and ends and stupid dares, because the companies in the city aren't hot on having a recovering alcoholic under their brand. We'll call you back. Your resume looks great, Mr. Brody, you'll be at the top of our list. You'll be a fine employee.

 Ha. Right. Three weeks later? Not a single call, nor email. Nicks for nickels again those nights that followed.

 "Where's your mind at, Chase?" Jackie says amiably, once they're on the long stretch of road heading towards the house. "What're you thinking about?"

 "My shelf," Chase answers, trying his best to sound mournful, stretching his bandaged fingers out in front of him, "Hurt like a son of a bitch to put it together."

 Jackie's mouth presses down into a flat line. He says nothing for a few moments. He changes the station. Something light and electric plays.

 “You know, you could've called me," Jackie says eventually, when they've hit the chorus. "I'm a champ at furniture building. You should see Henrik's desk now; beautiful, if I do say so myself."

 He may sound proud, but he's still frowning.

 Chase picks at the hem of his ratty grey hoodie; he doesn't even remember where he got it.

 "I handled Patricia myself," he shrugs.

 "Patricia—the shelf has a name now?" That gets a laugh out of the hero, and Chase smiles a bit. Jackie's laugh had always been infectious. "Well, you did a fine job, in any case."

 "You're right, though: I'm not as good as you and JJ at that furniture stuff," Chase admits, and cuts Jackie off before he can protest. "No, no, it's true. I've always been the tech guy."

 "'suppose so," Jackie amends. He pauses, turns the radio down, then asks hesitantly, "Chase, how'd you hurt your hands?"

 The lie comes instantly. "I told you, Jackie—Patricia fought me tooth and nails!"

 "No, Chase, that's not what happened." Jackie's voice is firm, if not stern. It's a scolding tone of voice that only Henrik uses with Chase, so it makes him look away in guilt. "Please. Tell me what's really going on. If—If someone's hurting you, or something, I'll—"

 "—No, Jackie, it's not like that! I..." Chase rises on the defense.

 "Then, what is it, Chase?"

 "It's none of your damn business!" He can't stop his voice from raising. He's quick to anger these days—an after affect of the drinking.

 "I'm your brother!" He's still looking at the road. His grip is tight on the steering wheel. "Of course it's my damn fucking business! I'm worried about you Chase, and—"

 "I don't need you to look after me!"

 "Then, who will, Chase? Henrik? Marvin? Jamie? Fucking Robbie? If I don't look after you, you'll...you'll hurt yourself again and I can't let that happen!"

 "I can handle myself."

 "Clearly, you can't."

 "Oh, because I'm a screw-up, is that it? I'm a nobody who isn't good at anything, who almost killed himself—"

 "Stop it."

 "—is that it, Jackie? Is it because I'm a suicidal disaster?"

 "You know what?" Jackie punctuates, "Maybe that is it." Maybe you are a fucking screw-up."

 The anger and disappointment in his voice is so raw it silences. He knows that this is just a row, but it still terrifies him, the way Jackie sounds so much like...Anti.

 Blood rushes through his eardrums and it feels like he's about to burst. His heart runs a hundred miles a second and it hurts. He can feel his pulse behind his eyes, in his fingertips, in his mouth. Jackie disappears from his view as the edges of his version grow black.

 He can't breathe.

 Is this what a heart attack is?

 The world shifting in and out of focus, like a bad camera, and the road disappearing, like the headlights were never there, like he isn't in a car again, barrelling down a street he can barely see, with the kids in the back, and God, Stacy, I know, okay? I know! Please, don't yell—please don't yell at me! I'm trying not to drink anymore—N-No, I'm not drunk— in the front seat, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel tight, and he is, in fact, drunk, so the world is swimming around him and, CHASE—!

 The windshield shatters into a million pieces.

 It happens so slowly Chase can touch the glass as it flies past him. He's in the driver's seat now. He looks to his right, and Stacy is there, beautiful Stacy, her face smacking into the dashboard. He looks down at himself. He's uninjured. He's wearing a ratty grey hoodie, red Converse, blue jeans. In his reflection in the rear view mirror, his brown hair has green strokes; he had done a poor dyeing job.

 Chase closes his eyes.

 "What is real?" His therapist's voice comes back to him, clinical and calm. In this moment, in this panic—ask yourself, "What is real and what isn't?"

 He opens his eyes.

 Real: He is uninjured.

 Not real: Stacy and the kids are here at this moment.

 “R-Real," he whispers, "I am in a car. Not real: it's S-Stacy's car." He looks around to the backseat, but can't bear to look at the kids. He keeps his gaze on the floor. "Real: m-my backpack is on the seat. Not r-real: the kids are here."

 He dares to look up. His backpack is there, black and canvas, with multiple patches. It's half open. Inside are comic books and his laptop. He twists back around, staring head-on at the blank, empty road, like someone forgot to continue building the rest of the world. Either that or there is no world outside of this one car crash.

 A car crash that happened all of two years ago. He's surprised that his other regular nightmare isn't here.

 One night in March (it was now September), he had gotten a visit from their eldest brother. Chase had been drunk at the time, swearing and bawling, so when Anti showed up...Chase did the stupid thing: he took a swing at the demon, thinking he was going to take something else away from him. Of course, he didn't like that.

 A scar, eight or nine inches deep, on his abdomen twitches. He puts a hand to it. That had been the night he swore off drinking, for good.

 "Lots of good it did you."

 Chase jumps, and screams when he catches two empty black pits staring at him intently from the rear view mirror. That voice. Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

 "Y-You're not real," he says, voice cracking out of pure terror, "You a-aren't real!"

 :Oh, I'm very real, Chase," Anti appears beside him in the passenger seat, clipping through Stacy, who's blood drips in slow motion. He is just as demonic as Chase remembers him; black, empty eyes that dripped like ink down his pale cheeks, all black attire, his Converse up on the dashboard, and the grossly shiny red gash across his neck. He almost looks like Jack, in a way.

 "N-Not real, not real—"

 "Say it all you want, Brody, but I am real. I've come to finish the job."

 "W-What?"

 "Hold still."

 A hand closed around his neck, pushing him back, his head smacking into the car door. He cries out, arms lashing wildly and legs thrashing, but Anti isn't deterred. The knife glints above his head. The shards of glass reflect upon it, making it shimmer in all sorts of colors. The radio goes wild; static, static static, filling the world, making Chase's ears ring with its volume.

 "D-Don't do this, please, God, fuck, don't—What do you want from me?!"

 Anti smiles. His eyes turn grey-blue, white scleroses. His gash disappears.

 He's a perfect reflection of Jack.

 "Sobriety," he says, in Jack's achingly calm, innocent voice, "Is that too much to ask, Chase?"

 "Fuck, no, no, please—!"

 The knife comes down into his heart.

 "Chase?"

 Anti's...Jack's voice echoes in his ears. It sounds so far away.

 Not real: Jack talking to him.

 "Chase?"

 Real: he's about to die.

 "—CHASE!"

 He jolts awake, panting for air like he had been drowning. His face, neck, and shirt are certainly wet; he's sweating bullets. His hands are shaking something awful. Chase swings his gaze around, trying to take in everything at once.

 "No, Chase, please—l-look, look at me!" Hands touch his cheeks gently and he flinches. They return, directing his eyes forward. Jack...no, not Jack—the hair is a neon green...Jackie. Jackie looks at him in worry, blue-grey eyes looking over him. His touch is warm. His hands are shaking. He's got tears in his eyes, but his breaths are controlled. That's the Jackie he knows—never truly removing the mask.

 "J...Jackie?" His heartbeat is still thumping wildly, but it's slowing down, as he can feel it in his jaw. His brain feels like molasses. "I don't...what..."

 "I pulled over," Jackie drops his hands, but holds Chase's in both. "I didn't mean to call you that, I'm sorry!"

 Chase blinks slowly. He looks out the windshield, unbroken, rain dropping in fat splats, the window wipers working overtime—when the hell had it started raining?—and they are pulled over. They're in front of a house he recognizes as being part of the neighborhood. They're not too far from home. The sun is setting, but the sky is too grey to tell where. The clouds are dark and stormy. People rush by the car and into their homes, some with umbrellas, others caught without.

 "N-No, Jackie, it's...it's my fault. I shouldn't have yelled at you." His words come back to him and they fill him with shame.

 "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that, either. I didn't...you're not a screw-up."

 "I am." He shakes his head, tears blotting his eyes, drops falling onto his pants. He hiccups. "I'm s-such a fucking m-mess, Jackie."

 The seatbelt unclips beside him and warm arms envelope him. He lets Jackie hug him, unclipping his own seatbelt. They stay there for a moment. Two.

 Chase comes clean.

 Nicks for nickels. The bar. His "friends."

 Most importantly of all, the drinks. You don't go to a bar and not have a drink. He doesn't drink until he's blackout drunk anymore, but he drinks enough to be numb. He's relapsed. He was only able to slip in AA the following day after a strong shot of vodka and some breath mints. The whole session, he had been hammered by a hangover.

 Jackie listens silently, but the weight of his disappointment bears down on Chase's shoulders like an anvil.

 "Chase..." He starts, but the other shakes his head frantically.

 “I know."

 "You're not supposed to drink anymore."

 "I know."

 "I'll... I'll talk to Todd tomorrow, your therapist, too. They have to know about this."

 "N-No, Jackie, I have to tell them myself." Having their disappointment on his mind would destroy him, but he needs just a little bit of control of what's happening. "But promise me one thing?"

 "Anything."

 Chase bites his lip.

 "Don't t-tell the others." Jackie opens his mouth to protest. "No, Jackie, y-you have to promise me this. Not Henrik, Marvin, or any of the others...I don't want them to know about this. I don't w-want them to think I'm weaker than they already think I am. And I know they do. I know all of you do. And y-you're all right."

 "You are not weak."

 "I relapsed." Chase rubs his face with his palms. "It hasn't even been six months."

 "Chase," Jackie says firmly, "Look at me."

 When he does, hesitantly, the hero takes a breath.

 "Chase Brody Mcloughlin, you are the strongest person I know," he starts, "because despite all you've been through, you are still here. You are still living and breathing and I know it hurts, but you are so incredibly brave for surviving. I am proud of you, even if you've relapsed. This road you're driving down, it's not an easy path. I don't have to tell you that for you to know. There'll be bumps and detours but...I'll always be here for you. We'll always be here. Anytime you need us. I'll help you get back on the road. I promise."

 That is why Jackie is Chase's hero. Despite everything, anger and pain and injustice...he still manages to be kind.

 Chase nearly starts bawling. He bites down on his knuckles and just nods. He can't say much, so Jackie turns the engine on.

 "Let's go home."

  --

 They park near the sidewalk. The rain has lightened to a drizzle. The clouds are clearing. The stars are coming out. The lawn is wet with dew. The lights in the living room are on.

 Chase feels sick looking at the house. His eyes and nose are stuffy and red and he has a headache coming on. He can't hide the fact that he's been crying. Years of dealing with Anti has trained his brothers to notice the smallest of details.

 "Chase," Jackie murmurs, "if...if you are serious about being able to handle yourself, I...well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but there's this apartment in the city that I've saved. I haven't spent anything on it, but...if you want, I can help you get it. Contribute a little. The rest can be up to you. I'll help you get a job, even."

 Chase looks at him, unsure. "Really?"

 “Yeah. I know you've spent most of your life away from us and it's a bit of a shock to be caged in with us again, so..."

 He loves them, but the house is stuffy. He misses his old apartment, but he had missed his brothers, too.

 "Thanks, Jackie," he says, "I'll...I'll have to think about it."

 "Okay. Take your time."

  --

 At dinner, no one suspects a thing.

 Jamie fills him in on Robbie's garden—it's going smoothly, with beautiful, flowering succulents. For a zombie, it's no surprise he has a green thumb, he jokes, and Chase laughs.

 Marvin teaches him a card trick, much to Henrik's disdain; no magic at the dinner table, he scolds them like a mother hen.

 Jackie watches him from across the table. He can feel his gaze boring into his skull.

 The dining room is warm and full of life. Chase isn't completely involved mentally, but he's enjoying the sounds of dinnerware and conversation. He's not sure what they're having for dinner, either, but it's good. He just feels so out of it because of the emotional roller-coaster that was today.

 The prospect of having a new apartment and a stable job...it terrified him, because what would happen if he relapsed again?

 He tries to still his hands when he drinks water.

  --

  "Goodnight, Chase," Jackie kisses the top of his head, then goes to the doorway of his room.

 “Goodnight. Thanks, Jackie. For today."

 Jackie smiles and says nothing. He shuts his door.

 Chase goes into his room and closes the door behind him. The bed is messy, but he doesn't care. He slides right into it, tossing his phone onto the desk, and closing his eyes.

 He feels the small grooves of scars along his fingers—he had finally taken off the bandages. More scars, more tallies. One on his abdomen, a few on his wrists...a bullet scar on his scalp. He doesn’t even have the gun anymore. Jackie had surrendered it to the police. He still feels the ghost sensation of cool metal on his palm.

 He sits up and crosses the hall, knocking softly on Jackie's door.

 "Come in," the hero's voice floats from behind it. He opens the door.

 Jackie is lying on his bed in his somehow neat room, with a shelf full of comic books arranged by series and brand. His hoodie is slung over the back of his desk chair. He looks up from his phone when Chase stands in the doorway.

 "What's up, Chase?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

 Chase shuffles his feet.

 "Can I...can I bunk with you tonight? It's just that I, I can't stop thinking about it all, and I'm...I'm scared."

 "It's no problem, buddy," Jackie's expression softens, and he moves over, patting the space beside him. "Come 'ere."

 Chase settles in, hesitantly, putting his head on Jackie's chest. He can hear the hero's heartbeat and breath. It's a comforting sound.

"Thank you," Chase whispers.

 "Anything for my little brother," Jackie smiles. "Goodnight."

 "Goodnight."

 He's terrified of building a new life for himself because if he relapses it will all come crashing down again. He doesn't know if he can handle that.

 But he has to try.

 As much as it hurts, he has to. If not for himself, for Henrik, Marvin, Jamie, Robbie...and Jackie.

 For Jack.

 It's what he would've wanted.

And that’s what makes his relapse so crushing.

[boyfriend-vernon]

s t u d y  b u d d i e s

g e n r e - s m u t

w a r n i n g s - h i g h s c h o o l  a u, v i r g i n  r e a d e r, u n p r o t e c t e d    s e x, e x p l i c i t  l a n g u a g e

o r i g i n a l  c o n t e n t - i did write this and the original that can be found on wattpad at the user ong_seunguwu

o r i g i n a l  i d o l - k w o n  j i y o n g

a u t h o r  n o t e -  i do not condone underaged or unprotected sex. by writing that they are seniors in highschool i am implying that they are 18 years of age. the reader is on the pill (mentioned briefly at the end). please do not engage in unprotected sex unless you are in a long term relationship with a trustworthy partner.  that being said please enjoy sex as much as you want with the use of aforementioned protection!

A paper ball hits you in the side of the cheek and you roll your eyes. Seriously? We are fucking seniors for crying out loud. You pick it up off of the desk with a sigh. As your economics teacher drones on and on about monopolies and societal revenue, you quickly and stealthily open up the wadded piece of paper.

"Pssssst Y/N,

I need your help studying! I know the test is tomorrow and I can't fail it! PLEASE!

-Call Me Mr Fuckin' G.O.D."

You roll your eyes, not at the request, but at how he signed the letter. You smooth out the paper and grab your pencil.

"Vernon,

 Of course, I'll help you study, but you'll owe me! And if I call you anything it'll be dipshit...

-You're Saviour."

You gently fold up the paper into a neat little square and hand it to your neighbour.

"Pass it to Vernon." You mouth at them. They nod and pass the message until Vernon is the one holding the note in his hands.

He opens the letter with little to no discretion, causing you to fight the urge to facepalm. He smiles happily to himself and rolls his eyes before grabbing his pencil to reply. A few minutes later the once again balled up piece of paper is laying on your desk again.

"Y/N calling someone older than you dipshit is disrespectful... Maybe you'll tutor me in the ways of economics and I'll tutor you in the ways of mannerisms. I'll walk home with you mkay?

xx- Vernon"

You bite back a light grin and when the teacher isn't looking, turn around and flip him off. He glares at you and you stifle a giggle.

Later that afternoon as the bell rings for the last time, signalling the end of the day, you walk through the crowded halls quickly. You finally make it to your locker. Unlocking it you shove the textbooks you don't need inside with a sigh. Shutting it allows you to finally see the goody boy leaning against the locker beside your own.

"Hey there pumpkin." He says cheekily.

You roll your eyes and turn towards the exit. You begin walking, with your backpack over your shoulders and Vernon beside you. Once outside of the large high school he links his hand with yours.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You ask him incredulously, a dark blush flowing over your cheeks.

"Shut up loser. I'm only holding your hand. You won't die." he replies slightly annoyed.  

"It's just weird! Since when do we hold hands?" You question.

"Hush, I just wanted to hold your hand, but if you're gonna whine about it then never mind." He says sounding embarrassed.

"N-no... It's fine. I was just surprised is all." Your blush grows darker.

By the time that the two of you reach your home, he is swinging your hands back and forth cutely and your chattering is nonstop. Once inside you both kick off your shoes and drop your bags by the door.

"Snack first?" You ask, making your way towards the kitchen. You two had been friends since you could barely walk and so this obviously wasn't his first time in your home. Before you could make it more than a few steps away he grabs your wrist and pulls you back. You yelp as you stumble back towards him. He chuckles and pins you up against the door.      

"Is everything okay down there Y/N?" A masculine voice calls out from upstairs, making both you and Vernon freeze.

"Sorry Mr. Y/L/N! I accidentally bumped into her and scared her!" he calls out.

"Hansol is that you? It's been a while!" The voice calls out again.

"Yes sir it has been a very long time," he begins shooting you a look that gave you chills, "Y/N invited me over to study for our big economics test tomorrow!"

"Oh that was a great idea on your part honey!" your father calls out to you this time.

"Yes sir, he is pretty good at the subject and I figured it would be v-very b-beneficial to m-me." You stutter out as Vernon licks up the side of your neck before beginning to suck on it.

"Well, I'll leave you two be! I have a big presentation tomorrow so I'll be up here in my office working on that! Knock if you need me!"

"Will do sir!." Vernon responds all the while looking at you with a smirk. You both here the door to your father's office close and you look at him incredulously.

"What are you doing?" You whisper sternly.

"You asked if I wanted a snack." He replies with a shrug looking you up and down hungrily, "I figured I'd help myself to what your parents made."

"Not only was that extremely cringe, it also isn’t on the fucking menu."

"When you tell me to stop I will, but for now..." He trails off as his mouth returns to your neck.

"Verns, s-seriously. My d-dad is l-literally right up the stairs." You say biting back moans.

"But your daddy is right here," he replies with a cocky smirk, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around him.

You protest in harsh whispers as he walks you to the kitchen and sits you down on the table.

"Oh hush Y/N.," he says darkly, spreading your legs.

You push down the hem of your skirt to cover your crotch. He chuckles before grabbing a fist full of your hair and pulling it back. It hurts a little, but it turns you on more. His hot breath fans over your ear.

"Y/N I'm going to count to three. You better have your skirt lifted up and your hands above your head by the time I'm finished counting. If you don't this will be a lot harder for you."

He lets go of your hair and squats down until he is eye level with your crotch. All the while counting slowly to three. His voice has never seemed so sexy to you. You proceed to lift your skirt and raise your hands obediently. He smirks up at you as he hooks his fingers into either side of your panties and gently moves them down your thighs, then down your calves, and onto the floor. You are looking down at him nervously, as he pulls your hips to the edge of the table, his mouth centimetres from your heat. He gently kisses your clit and you shudder. He smiles and proceeds to lick it. You gasp loudly and he looks up at you.

"Your father is upstairs." he reminds you before licking your clit once more.

You bite your bottom lip and drop your hands to his hair. After assaulting your clit numerous times he surprises you by dipping his tongue into your dripping hole. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out, just a face expressing extremely pleasure.

"You're so tight Y/N and this is just my tongue. I can only imagine what you'd feel like around my fingers... Or better yet my cock."

"I-I wouldn't mind finding out..."

He sticks his tongue back inside of you and hums lightly before pulling it out again to look up at you.

"You're still a virgin aren't you Y/N?"

You look away embarrassed by the obvious fact. He chuckles, "Let's change that."

You look at him wide-eyed as he stands up and unzips his pants quickly. You try to look everywhere but at his obvious erection.

"You're so wet I should be able to just slide in. I'll be gentle with you Y/N, don't worry." He looks at you, but this time you see a lot of love in his dark eyes, not cockiness.

You nod lightly, a dark blush painting your cheeks. He pulls down his boxers and you finally give up on trying not to look at his erection.

"My eyes are up here ya know?" He questions jokingly, cupping your chin in his hand and lifting your head. He stares deep into your eyes before kissing you lightly. You are the one who deepens the kiss, with a cross between passion and aggression. He raises his eyebrow in a shocked but doesn't protest. As your kiss continues to heat up, you feel his tip brush against your core and you moan into his mouth. He slowly pushes his tip into, while lifting you lightly off the table. He slowly pushes his entire length into you and you tear up. You bite his lip harshly. He groans both at the bite and how tight you are around him.

"F-fuck Y/N." he groans out quietly.

"P-please move Vernon," you mumble.

He nods, pulling out and pushing back in. With just the first thrust you are already weak. He is surprisingly vocal; whispering out profanity and a slur of compliments to you. Eventually, his thrusts get faster and his grip on your hips gets tighter. You begin to meet his upward thrusts with downward grinds and when he hits your spot you connect your lips with his harshly. This quieted your moans significantly.

"Vernon, I th-think I'm g-gonna... Ahh." you moan out and he smirks thrusting harder and faster.

"Do it baby girl. Cum around my dick." he groans into your ear.

Right after he says these words you do and he groans. He tries to hold his orgasm in, to let you ride out your high, but he can't hold it for long and cums. Some inside of you and some on your stomach. You are both panting and sweating. He chuckles and so do you.

"I never thought you'd be my first," you say in between heavy breaths.

He smiles widely, "Can I be your last too? And every time in between?"

"Are you asking me out you asshole?"

"Is that a yes loser?"

"Well, no shit! And you’re so lucky I’m on the pill," you say as he sets you back down on the table and he nods knowingly.

As you try to stand up, you stumble forward and he catches you.

"So, what you're saying is I have to carry your fat ass?"

"Shut the fuck up! You didn't have a problem holding me up just a few seconds ago!"

He laughs as he pulls his pants and underwear back up. He rolls his eyes and picks up your underwear from the floor and then you. He lugs you over his shoulder and you yelp.

"TO THE BATHROOM WE GO!" he calls out loudly.

"Did you kids say something?" Your father calls out from up the stairs.

You tense up and Vernon answers, "Sorry I yelled in victory. I won our little economics game review!"

"Oh okay! Well, congratulations!" your father calls out once more and then the door is heard closing once more.

"Nice save douche-bag."

"Don't make me drop your ass." he replies.

You both laugh as he carries you to the bathroom and helps you clean up.