#say lesssssss
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sorry but that's so hot
#deadpool#deadpool and wolverine#wade wilson#âhighly dangerous in combatâ oh BET#i cant fight for shit but i can try#eew girl its giving brat taming lol#not even mcu divine intervention could stop me from giving this man awesome aftercare#âhighly skilled in unarmed combatâ good with his hands#say lesssssss
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why nobody tell me spellling is black omg omg omg
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hiii <33
first i want to say that i absolutely ADORE your page on here, your writing is just wow, perfection!! i really liked your sirius story (even tho i strayed off a bit and started liking rabastan too ahahahah-) it's amazing omg
and i was wondering would you be up for writing for barty? anything with him honestly lol, but if you don't have any ideas feel free to ignore this!
SAY LESSSSSSS (I've been dying for someone to request Barty or rosekiller pls send all the requests). Also! so glad you enjoyed that fic! (I played myself and kinda fell for Rab too đŹ)
I Wanna Be Yours | BCJ
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feat. Barty Crouch Jr. x blackcat!reader
SUMMARY: Barty is determined to win your affection, but due to his larger-than-life personality and your aloof nature, you find it difficult to trust his intentions.
CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pov switches once, a little angst and a little fluff, blackcat!reader, artist!Barty, only soft for each other, mentions of drinking and drug use, strong language, sort of insecure!reader, Barty is a giant simp
AN: i'm having my scene music renaissance, and something about that era is so Barty-coded. I have a few other songs that suit him in my mind, but I'd love to hear any ideas you guys might have!
masterlist
âHonestly, I don't know what Slughornâs problem is. If I want to make a love potion that makes Xeno hard for four days, I canââ
âFour days and I would die of deprivation,â Xenophilius chuckled, his arm draped over Pandora's shoulders.
âSure, but what a way to go.â
You walked beside them, half-listening to their sugar-dipped conversation, equal parts disgusted and deeply jealous. You'd never admit it, but you so badly wanted what your best friend had. Devotion, affection, complete and total acceptance. But you walked through life like a spring-loaded trap, biting the fingers off anyone that dared come close.
âShould we grab dinner before heading to the library? I'm starved,â Pandora said, turning her attention to you.
âSure, it's probably quiet this early anywaysââ
âGoing to dinner, are we?â Evan bound up between Xeno and Pandora, throwing his arms over their shoulders. âI'm fucking ravenous.â
Two arms looped around your waist, hauling you back into a solid chest. The familiar scent of clove cigarettes and paint enveloped you, as if you needed any clues to know exactly who had the audacity to handle you so boldy.
âAs am I,â Barty purred against the shell of your ear.
You wriggled in his hold, slapping at his forearms until he released you. âNot in the mood, Junior,â you warned, ignoring the way your stomach flipped when you met his dark eyes, eyeliner smudged along his lashes.
âAw, don't be cross, gorgeous. You looked like you needed a hug,â he teased, falling into step between you and Pandora, slowing his natural gait considerably. He snatched your books from your arms, ignoring your protest and cradling them against his chest. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and a Slytherin vest, his tie loose and sleeves pushed up, hand-poked tattoos sprawling and dark against his forearms.
âI'm fairly certain she needs a hug as much as she needs your dumbass in her space,â Pandora said, rolling her eyes. âWhich is not at all.â
âOh, she needs me.â Barty grinned. âShe just doesn't know it yet.â
âGive it a rest, Crouch,â Xeno cut in. âKeep pushing her and you'll end up on the bottom of the Black Lake.â
âOh, how exciting! How will you do it, treasure? Stabbing? Maiming? Choking? Oh Merlinâs fuck, please say chokingââ
âMaiming sounds about right,â you bit, attempting to get your books back, but he was far too tall, holding them way above your head. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of jumping for it, and crossed your arms over your chest with a huff.
âYou can maim me whenever you like,â he said, a cheeky smirk on his stupid, handsome face. âWill you do it now if I ask nicely?â
You ignored him, looking forward again.
Barty Crouch Jr. loved nothing more than fucking with you, finding the gaps in your armor and trying to pry them open. But no matter how attractive you found him, because saints was he attractive, or how endearing he could be in the in-between moments, you refused to play his game.
You would not be made a fool of, not like every other person he set his sights on and got bored with a week later.
âSo are we eating or what?â Evan asked, walking backwards at the front of the group. Any student unfortunate enough to be in his path quickly scurried out of it, cowed by the Slytherin's reputation for retaliation.
You watched them shrink away from Barty too, who clearly got some sick sense of pleasure from it. He even bared his teeth at a Gryffindor that veered to close to you, flipping your bodies around so he was on the outside and you were next to Pandora again.
âI'm actually going to head back to the dorm,â you said, slowing so you fell out of line with them. âSee you later?â You said to Pandora, who gave you a tight frown.
âAre you sure?â She asked, tilting her head like an avian.
âYeah, you guys enjoy,â you said, pretending you didn't see the disappointment flash across Bartyâs face as you turned on your heel, letting the opposite flow of students sweep you up and away from your friends.
The truth was, Barty scared the shit out of you. He was everything you weren't: outgoing, bold, rebellious, and just charming enough to get himself out of whatever mess he and Evan made. And for whatever reason, he was obsessed with pushing your buttons. And he did, with infuriating efficiency.
Pandora insisted it was all in good fun, that he was harmless, but you knew better. You saw the way he manipulated others to get what he wanted, the way he masked his calculation with charisma.
Barty Crouch Jr. was far from harmless, and even if he had his friends fooled, he would not fool you.
Barty's POV
Barty watched your head bob away through the crowded corridor, your books still heavy in his arms and guilt gnawing a hole in his chest.
Why couldn't he just fucking control himself? He felt like a noxious ball of energy, filling whatever available space he could, unable to contain his own impulses, a slave to his own existence.
He just wanted you so badly. You occupied every part of his mind, owned every thump of his wretched, ruined heart. He was irrevocably, intrinsically yours, but you couldn't stand him, and it was largely his own damn fault.
Because he was broken. Couldn't hold a normal conversation. Couldn't flirt in a way that wasn't deeply vulnerable, or obscene and intense. For Merlinâs sake, he'd begged you to choke him just now.
You were a fix he couldn't get, so he was suffering withdrawals from a drug he never had. He was going mad with it, the desperation for your attention. He would do anything to hear you say his name, to occupy an ounce of space in that beautiful brain, even if meant looking like an idiot. Like a psycho.
It was worth it just to have you look.
After dinner, the four of them returned to the Slytherin common room, Barty still carrying your books with a wrapped bundle on top. Every step towards your shared dorm with Pandora made his heart beat faster, a nervous sweat collecting along his spine.
Nothing made him nervous like you did.
Barty walked into the room last, his eyes immediately drifting towards your bed even though he tried to resist. You were curled up against a pile of pillows, surrounded by parchment and open books, your quill scribbling furiously across the page in your lap.
You glanced up when they entered, meeting his eyes for a split second, low-lidded and disinterested, per usual, and turned your attention back to your work.
The dismissal itched like a bug under his skin, his blood going hot and tingly. He needed you to look at him again.
He set your books on your desk and kicked off his shoes, flopping onto your bed before he really thought about it. It was softer than his, covered with quilts and pillows, and he noticed a little stuffed cat tucked away under your covers. He could smell you all around him, so sweet and warm, and whatever rationality he had left dissolved into goo.
âWho invited you?â You snapped, shoving at his shoulder with little success. A swell of affection at your pitiful attempt made his heart beat quicken, you were just so fucking cute.
He set the paper bundle on your chest. âThought you might be hungry, sweetness,â he said, hugging one of your pillows to his chest.
Merlin, you were so beautiful when you glared at him like that. He filed the image away for later, mentally sifting through his paint collection for the perfect shade to match your pout.
You looked a bit perplexed at the package, almost angry, and his anxiety returned, fighting through the haze caused by your proximity. âYou brought me food?â
He nodded, biting back âand dessert tooâ. He wanted you to actually eat the food, not throw it at his head.
Hesitantly, you unfolded the bundle, as if he'd given you something rotten, or was pulling a prank. It made his lungs squeeze with guilt. He was shitty to a lot of people, most people. But not to you, never you.
Your brow softened with relief when you realized it was just a sandwich, before quickly furrowing again. He wanted to smooth it with his lips, kiss you until it never creased with worry again.
âI'm not hungry,â you said, setting the bag on the side table. A twinge of hurt stabbed between his ribs, but didn't let his smile falter. He knew that's what you would say. And he also knew you would eat it later, when no one was around to see you accept a small gesture of kindness.
That was good enough for him.
You slid out of your bed, leaving his side cold, and he stretched out against your sheets, wallowing in your residual warmth like a niffler in a pile of gold.
The others chatted around you, Xeno lighting up a joint by the cracked window, but you sat down at your desk, turning back to your work and tuning them out.
Barty sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed so he could pretend he was wrapped in you body instead of your sheets, his nose buried into your hair instead of your pillow.
Reader's POV
You and Pandora walked arm in arm into the library, chatting about the idiots in your Transfiguration class. You were headed to your usual spot at the back of library, a collection of over stuffed chairs by a stained glass window overlooking the Forbidden Forest, and stopped short when you saw Regulus, Evan, and Barty already there.
Barty was reclined in the window, his long legs propped up against the other side, a sketchbook in his lap, quill between his teeth.
âExcuse the hell out of me,â Pandora said, startling them all from their abnormal quiet.
Barty's head snapped up, his eyes immediately landing on you, and he about fell out of the window.
âWhat? Like you own this table?â Evan drawled, not looking up from his book,his expensive loafers propped up on the table.
âYes,â Pandora shot back, dropping down beside him and pulling out her books with clear agitation. "So if you're staying, keep your mouth shut."
Evan mimed zipping his lips and crossed his heart. Barty just turned back to his sketchbook instead of sauntering over to you with some cheeky quip on his tongue.
A prickle of uncertainty climbed your neck. Perhaps you really had upset him about that sandwich. You wish you hadn't said you were hungry as soon as it came out of your mouth, but you were too proud to apologize. You were so stunned by the gesture, so overwhelmed by his body pressed against you, his warmth mixing with yours, that you clammed up. Shut him down.
But even now, you couldn't bring yourself to approach him and apologize. Thank him. So, you sat down beside Regulus, the only other member of the group you found tolerable most of the time, and he greeted you with a dip of his chin.
You pulled out your work, determined to pretend Barty wasn't there at all.
Of course, you failed. Your eye kept wandering back to him, his sharp jaw silhouetted by the light, his pierced brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved across the page, silver rings adorning ink stained fingers. He was dressed down today, jeans and Slytherin sweater, the collar of his shirt underneath it crooked.
After an hour or so of quiet, he dozed off, his head lolled against the window, quill dangling loosely in his fingers. Barty did that a lot, slept in unusual places at unusual times when the quiet dragged on a little too long. Evan mentioned once that Barty struggled to sleep at night, insomnia or something, and even the draughts Madam Pomfry made him only worked sometimes.
Unable to quell your curiosity, you got up to retrieve another book, brushing past him and sparing a glance down at his sketchbook. Your own face stared back at you, framed with rough sketches of your hands, your eyes, the bow of your lips.
Your heart gave a painful lurch, a burst of affection making your bones soften, and you nearly stumbled over the carpet, catching yourself on the bookshelf at the last second.
You hurried down another row, praying none of your friends saw you, and braced yourself against the shelf.
Did Barty like you? Like, actually like you? You couldn't fathom it. It didn't make sense. You weren't kind to him, or outgoing, or special. He was all of those things and more, the most fascinating, maddening, all-consuming person you'd ever met in your life.
Surely, he didn't see all of those things in you? But why would he draw you if he didn't see something of interest? Something he liked?
Fuck, you couldn't breathe in this stuffy library. You needed air.
You steeled yourself and walked back to the table, collecting your things.
âSomething wrong, y/n?â Regulus asked, always too perceptive, and Barty stirred, picking his head up from the wall to peer at you through drowsy eyes.
âNothing, Iââ
Barty slid off the window and you lost your train of thought, heat scorching your cheeks. âRushing off to hang out with your more interesting friends?â Barty asked, his voice a little gruff from his brief nap.
âMore interesting friends? Not at Hogwarts,â Evan chuckled. âWe're as interesting as it gets.â
âIf you're bored, babygirl, all you had to was say so,â Barty hummed, striding up to you.
You placed a hand on his sternum to stop him from coming any closer, ignoring the flare of heat that accompanied the contact. âYou were asleep five seconds ago,â you argued.
âAsleep and dreaming of all the ways I could keep you entertained.â He grinned, wicked and sharp, and the simmering heat spread to your lower belly, your heart beating fast.
âWhat are you, a fucking court jester?â You bit, unable to stop your arm bending as he pushed closer, the smell of ink and his cologne making your mouth water.
âI'm whatever you want me to be,â he flirted, and Regulus and Pandora groaned in unison.
âWill you leave her the fuck alone?â Regulus snapped, tugging Barty back by a belt loop. âShe's not interested in your act, Junior.â
âAct?â Barty quirked a brow. âIâm dead serious.â
âDon't talk about his brother that way!â Evan shouted, far too excited to make the over-used joke once again, and you rolled your eyes. Apparently, the rare quiet time had come to an end.
âI don't give a fuck about his brother!â
âI don't give a fuck about you!â
âOh, so you're a bitch and a liar?â
âI'm not a bitch, you cunt!â
âI'll see you guys at the party later,â you said, using their bickering as your window of escape. You all but fled the library, desperate for some fresh air and clarity.
If Barty sincerely liked youâŠdid that change anything? Was there a way to know for sure how he felt? You didn't even know how you felt, not really. You'd never let yourself really consider it for fear of inevitable disappointment.
Sure, you found him attractive, everyone did. And yes, despite yourself you thought he was funny and sweet, in his own, odd way. And he was especially sweet to you. He never brought your other friends food, or waited for them after class, or snuggled in their beds. Well, besides Evan.
He didn't really touch anyone else either. But if you were close enough, as he often ensured you were, he was touching you whenever he could. Knocked together knees in the Great Hall, leaning on you during class no matter how many times you shoved him off, throwing his arms over your shoulder when it was cold, wrapping his pinky around yours in a particularly crowded hall.
Yes, his words were often obnoxious and bordering on insane, but his actionsâŠhis actions were sincere, thoughtful, almost tender.
Was that the real Barty?
Maybe you had been fooled just like everyone else into thinking he was nothing more than a joker, a rowdy troublemaker, when the reality was so much deeper.
Had you been all wrong about him?
By the time you and Pandora left your dorm room to join the party, the common room was a madhouse. Green lights flashed in time with the thumping bass, bodies dancing and mingling in every available spot on the dancefloor, a haze of smoke and glitter over their heads.
You were wearing a black mini dress and heels, held together by string and a prayer. Your hair hung in loose waves down your back, your eyeliner sharp and lips painted. You knew you looked good, lethal in the best way, but all you could think about was Barty's reaction.
Would he like it? Hate it? Or even worse, not even notice?
Together, you and Pandora moved through the crowd towards your friends usual place at the far side of the common room.
Of course, you spotted Barty first. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in all black, tailored trousers and a sleeveless undershirt. Apparently he ditched his actual shirt before you arrived in favor of displaying his countless tattoos, most of them done by his own hand. His hair was dark with pomade and pushed off of his face, glitter clinging to the sweat along his lean chest and shoulders.
He looked like a wet fucking dream.
Xeno let out a low whistle when you and Pandora stepped out from the crowd, drawing Barty's attention from Evan and Dorcas.
His jaw dropped instantly and with a dramatic flourish, he pretended to faint into Evan's arms, clutching at his heart. Despite yourself, you giggled, and Pandora shot you a surprised look through a gap in her boyfriends embrace.
âAre you trying to kill me?â Barty gasped, sliding out of Evan's arms and onto his knees. âLook atâbaby, look at you!â
You flushed under the attention, your blood heating as it raced through your veins, but you just rolled your eyes at him, a new confidence blooming in your chest. He loved it.
You strode over to the bar, closing his mouth with a finger, and leaned against the counter. âFirewhisky?â You asked the student bartending, and they stared back at you, dumbstruck, before rushing to collect your drink.
Barty leaned against your legs, his cheek against your thigh. âWhat are you doing to me?â He whined up at you, feeding into your surge of confidence.
You pushed his head away, tugging at the roots of his hair before releasing him, and he groaned, a low, panty-melting sound. âI'm not doing anything. You're just insufferable,â you chastised, accepting your drink.
âAnd you're beautiful,â he said, sounding almost reverent, and you nearly choked on your drink.
âFuck off and drool on someone else, yeah?â You snapped, overwhelmed by his candor, even though it was exactly what you thought you wanted.
Fuck, you didn't know what you wanted. And even when you did, it seemed your subconscious wasn't always in agreement. You had wanted him to drool over you. He was literally on his knees, but some broken part of your brain couldnât accept it. So you pushed him away.
âCâmon, you simpering mutt,â Evan said, hauling Barty up. âI think I saw a kegger over there.â
Barty started to protest, but Evan and Regulus dragged him away.
âYou should have some mercy,â Xeno said, leaning on the bar beside you.
âOh?â You raised a brow at him, taking a sip of whisky.
âPoor prick is besotted,â Dorcas supplied.
âHe's full of shit,â you bit, that panicky feeling crawling up your spine.
Pandora shook her head, and your eyes widened. âIt's true, Iâve never seen him so fucked up over someone before.â
âHe's not the obsessive type. Not when it comes to dating, at least. He loses interest as often as he changes his underwear. But he's been stuck on you for months,â Dorcas said.
âYeah, he usually obsesses over like quill tips, and arsonââ
âYou guys are serious?â You asked, cutting off Xeno. âYou think he actually likes me?â
They all stare at you, dumbfounded.
âYou can't tell?â Pandora asked, grabbing your face and shaking you. âBabe, he's absolutely gone for you.â
âLike, gone gone,â Dorcas added.
âBut it's Barty, I meanâheâs never seriousââ
âExactly, that's what makes it so obvious!â Pandora cried, exasperated. âI thought you knew!â
âWhy would you think that!â You shouted back.
âBecause he says it constantly!â Your friends yell in unison.
âHe was on his knees, y/n. Like literally on his knees,â Xeno said, shaking his head. âIt doesn't get much more devoted than that.â
Devoted. It clicked then, the signs you'd been brushing off, refusing to see clearly because of your own veil of distrust. Because you didnât allow yourself to accept the truth out of fear. Barty had been showing you for months how he felt, and not just in his words, in his actions. Bringing you food when you were hungry, walking you from class to class, meeting your barbs and verbal lashes with a smile.
Heâd been wearing his heart on his sleeve this entire time, and all youâd done is punish him for it.
Oh, fuck. How could you be so blind?
You set your drink on the bar and pushed through your friends, ignoring their calls as you forced your way through the crowd, searching for Barty in the sea of green. You found him standing with Evan and few other members of the Quidditch team, cheering while a fifth year shotgunned a dandelion draught.
âBarty!â You shouted over the roar, grabbing his wrist.
He turned, his eyes widening in surprise. âY/n? Are you alrâwhere are we going?â
You dragged him into a shadowed alcove, slightly hidden from the party. Your heart was pounding in your ears, tears already burning behind your eyes. âBe honest with me,â you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.
âAlways,â he said automatically, brow heavy with uncertainty.
âHow do you feel about me?â You asked.
Understanding dawned, and Barty's expression melted into something painfully soft, painfully sincere. âI just wanna be yours.â
The admission stole the air from your lungs, made your heart freeze in place. "M-mine?"
âYours,â he breathed, his hands finding your waist, grip tight as desperation filled his eyes. âPlease, let me be yours.â He lowered to his knees again, his head by your navel. âI promiseâI promise Iâll be good, if youâll just give me a chance tooââ
You leaned down and grabbed the silver chain around his throat like a collar, dragging his mouth to yours in a fervid, frantic kiss. He surged upwards, lifting you into the air and crushing you between his body and the wall, forcing air out of your lungs. You wrapped your legs around his narrow hips as his tongue pried open your mouth, desperate to taste you. Desire pumped through you, scalding hot and more potent than the whisky, making your head spin, your skin tingle.
You tugged at his hair, drawing him closer, and he whimpered low in his throat. Your cunt clenched at the sound, your thoughts turning singular: make him beg. Your tongue traced his lips, tasting beer and cigarette smoke, and you sucked his lower lip between your teeth, biting hard before soothing it with your tongue.
His hips canted up into your core, his hands moving down to squeeze your ass beneath your dress and grind your core against him. You gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment, and he seized the opportunity to pillage your mouth again, licking at your teeth and the roof of your mouth.
âYour dorm,â you panted, yanking his head back by the roots of his hair.
He didnât hesitate, throwing you up and over his shoulder in a startling feat of strength.
âBarty!â you squealed, giggling and slapping at his back while he carried you to the stairs, his hand keeping your dress in place so you didnât flash anyone. He couldnât have made it any more obvious what was happening, and you found that you didnât care. If you were going to be with Barty, you were going to have to get used to being loved out loud.
âLook at her ass again, see what happens!â You heard him bark, his voice a rumble through his ribcage, and you rolled your eyes, smiling to yourself as he carried you up the stairs.
A moment later, you were being tossed roughly onto his bed, the door slamming shut with a muttered alohomora. Barty crawled up your body, his dark eyes flashing with a feral hunger that made your pussy purr, and he dove into your neck with his teeth and tongue, making you gasp and arch into his body, your whole body alight with pleasure.
âEasy, baby,â you cooed, petting his hair to try and settle his frantic affection. Poor thing couldnât seem to control himself, so worked up he was rutting against your thigh. âIâm not going anywhere, darling, relax.â
He whined into your neck, clutching at the fat of your lovehandles. âNeed you so bad,â he groaned. âMâsorry, canât help myself.â
You rolled over him, straddling his hips with yours. âI know, love. Just sit still and be good for me, yeah?â
He nodded vigorously, watching you kiss down his body with heavy-lidded eyes. You pushed up the hem of his undershirt, licking a stripe between the valley of his abdomen muscles, admiring the tattoos youâd only gotten glimpses of.
âSo pretty, Bat,â you purred, and felt his cock twitch against your chest, his head falling back against the pillows. âBeen wanting me this whole time?â
âYes, so badlyâfuck, treasure, pleaseââ he moaned when you grazed your teeth along his hipbone, sucking the skin into your mouth to leave a mark. His hand tangled in your hair, rings cool against your scalp, and you released his skin with a pop, admiring the plum-colored bruise left behind. âIâm getting that tattooed,â he panted, dragging a thumb over your spit slick lips. âSwear to Salazar.â
You giggled, shifting further down to undo his trousers and finding that he apparently skipped boxers. His cock sprung out to slap against this stomach, rigid and flushed, a bead of pearly precum dripping down to his navel. Gently, you traced a finger over the protruding veins along his shaft, admiring him.
Barty hissed through his teeth, his muscles tensing to keep still.
âGood boy,â you praised, wrapping your hand loosely around him, pumping once, twice without any real pressure. He was long and slightly curved, gorgeous, and you couldnât resist dragging your tongue up the root of him, feeling the velvety texture against your lips.
âFucking shit, youâre going to kill me.â His fingers tightened in your hair as you lapped at the head, savoring the salty taste of him.
You looked up at him through your lashes, his head thrown back, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, every muscle flexed tight. Fighting for his life to hold still.
âBaby,â he whined when you stopped, picking up his head to look down at you.
âSay your mine,â you ordered, hovering just over his cock, holding his wild-eyed gaze.
âIâm yours. Iâm so fucking yours.â
You smiled and wrapped your lips around him, swallowing down as much of him as you could manage and he cried out, rough and breathless with relief. You bobbed up and down on his length, tongue pressing against the root of his cock and using your hand to stroke what you couldnât reach, and you watched his soul leave his body.
âBaby, baby, baby,â he chanted, using your hair to lift and lower you a little faster, his control starting to falter as you pulled him apart. âBloody hell, youâre way too good at this. What the fuckâoh saints. Your mouth feels like fucking heaven.â
You hummed in response, letting him push you further down, gagging on his length before he released you and you pulled off of him to catch your breath, a trail of drool connecting your lips and his head.
Barty groaned. âNever mind, Iâm getting that tattooed. Right on my fucking forehead so every time I look in the mirrorââ
You climbed back up his body and draped yourself over him, silencing him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue laving across your lips to taste himself. âDo you ever stop talking?â you teased, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his temple.
In a quick movement, he flipped you beneath him. âThereâs one sure-fire way to shut me up,â he purred against your ear before kissing and licking down your neck and chest. Every pass of his lips was electric, a bolt of pleasure straight your weeping pussy, swollen against your panties and desperate for attention. âThis dress,â he murmured, tracing the swell of your breast with his tongue. âWear it for anyone in particular?â
âI wanted to see your reaction,â you admitted, gasping when his big hand came up to knead your tit, fingertips still a little stained from sketching. His rings were harsh against your skin, and you arched into him, relishing in his greedy touch.
âSent me to my knees, sweetheart. Damn near killed me.â He pulled the top of you dress down, your tits spilling free, and he took one pert nipple into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue while he teased the other with his hand.
You keened, hands flying into his shaggy hair. Every pull of his mouth went straight to your cunt, making your hips buck against his thigh. He shifted to press his leg harder against you, letting you chase your pleasure, and hummed in approval against your chest.
The friction was amazing, buzzy heat spilling under your skin and making you moan and cling tighter to him, trembling with unspent energy. âFuck, Bartyâplease.â You werenât sure what you were begging for, but he seemed to understand you perfectly.
âSay your mine, treasure,â he said, biting at the side of your breast, and you yelped.
âYes, Barty! All yours! Just pleaseââ
He pushed two fingers into your mouth, silencing you while he shifted down your body. Without warning, he buried his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your pussy through your panties with an eagerness that made your eyes cross, your teeth sink down on his digits.
âSo fucking sweet, baby. Melting like sugar fâme.â He yanked your panties down your legs and returned to his feasting, laving his long tongue through you before sucking hard at you clit. He slipped his fingers from your mouth, needing both hands to spread you open for his consumption.
Your mind was wiped clean, erased completely by all-consuming bliss as he practically mauled your pussy, vicious in his pursuit of your pleasure. His tongue fucked into you, the slurping loud and lewd, while he massaged your clit with his thumb. You dug your nails into his sheets, trying to stifle your screams into his pillow.
"So responsive, baby. Ready for more?" He asked, easing his middle finger inside of your clenching channel, curling against the gooey spot behind your pelvic bone that made you melt into the mattress. Adding a second finger, he started nursing your clit again, letting his dexterous artistâs fingers coax you open.
Once you were moaning, loose and languid against the mattress, he ramped back up, working your g-spot like it stole something from him he was hellbent on getting back. He dragged his teeth against your clit, soothing the flare of pain with his tongue, and you felt yourself draw tight, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
âBartyâoh God, Iâm going to comeâoh fuck, oh fuck!â You lifted almost completely off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you, ripping through sinnew and bone to consume your heart, devour you entirely.
Barty slowed his ministrations, dragging his tongue through your spasming pussy with long, lush licks, his hold tight on your thighs when you started to inch away from him, your body twitching and shaking as you came down from your high.
âThatâs my treasure, so fucking gorgeous when you come for me,â he hummed, smiling against your skin, and nuzzled his nose against your clit while he withdrew his fingers, making you jump and whine. âNot so mean now, are you, sweetness?â
You shook your head, trembling and weak, completely boneless beneath him.
"So soft for me, hm?" He dragged you down the bed, throwing one of your calves over his shoulder while he swiped the head of his cock through your messy slit. âBetter hold onto something, darling. You've got me at the end of my leash.â
You wrapped your hands around the bars of his headboard and he grinned, a wicked slash across his handsome face.
âFuck, I knew you were perfect for me.â He notched his cock at your entrance and with a smooth roll of his hips, buried himself to the hilt. You both cried out, the fullness, the stretch more intense than anything youâd felt before. âI was fucking made for you, baby,â he groaned, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, your pussy fluttering around him.
âFuck, B, feels so good,â you mewled, rocking your hips to meet his thrust for thrust, the bed creaking loudly beneath you.
He used his hold on your elevated leg to lift your hips off the bed, ratcheting up to a punishing pace, making you scream and thrash on the bed while he fucked you with every ounce of desperation and determination heâd harbored over the last few months. His teeth sunk into your calf, hard enough to send a bolt of pain down your leg and make you cry out, heightening the pleasure radiating from your core until you were teetering on the edge again, every graze of his cockhead against your cervix winding you tighter, higherâ
âShit, baby, Iâm gonna come soon,â he grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy, erratic and rough, and you could only nod. âCan feel it, tres. Câmon, babygirl, come with me. Please, need to feel you come around me, mâdying for it, please, pleaseââ
You came with a scream, your vision whiting out as sunlight blazed through you, eviscerating every ounce of tension, trepidation, fear, and leaving you a beacon of light, nothing but giddy, delirious stardust.
âFuck, yes, thatâs itâfuck!â Barty came a heartbeat after you, the swelling and throbbing of his cock as he painted your inside white prolonging your release, wringing every drop of pleasure from you until you both collapsed onto the bed, chests heaving and sticky with sweat, the glitter from his skin decorating yours.
You reached for him, trembling and raw, and he gathered you into his chest, kissing your cheeks and forehead with a dizzying gentleness. âBarty,â you breathed, hands curling against his chest, too overwhelmed with feeling to say anything else.
âIâm yours,â he whispered, cradling your face to bring your gaze to his. âIâm yours.â
You nodded, leaning forward to kiss him, taste him again, letting the warmth of his body, the heavy beat of his heart, ground you in the reality of this moment. Barty was yours, and you were his. And you were safe. He wanted you despite your attitude, your armor, your callousness. He wanted you exactly as you were, more than happy to lay in the shadows with you, or draw you out into his light to dance.
âAnd Iâm yours,â you breathed against his lips, and he smiled.
âI'll be right back,â he murmured, pressing a delicate kiss to your head before flying out of bed and wrenching open the door, his cock barely stuffed back into his pants. âSHEâS FUCKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNEEEEEEE!â He screamed down the stairs to the party.
A chorus of cheers rang out, reaching you from the common room. You buried your face into his pillow, laughter bubbling up despite the embarrassment scorching your cheeks.
Barty whirled around, a maniacâs grin on his face, and he dove back into bed, determined to stake his claim as many times as possible before sunrise.
Thank you for reading!
#barty crouch jr#marauders#barty crouch jr fic#barty crouch jr fanfic#barty crouch junior#barty crouch x reader#barty crouch x evan rosier#slytherin skittles#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter smut#marauders era fics#marauders fanfiction#marauders fic#bcjr#rosekiller#barty crouch x regulus black#harry potter#the emeralds#rosekiller fic#barty crouch jr x you#barty crouch jr x reader#barty crouch jr x yn
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MY KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN FICS SAY LESSSSSSS
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HIIIIIIIIIÂ
iâm having a breakdown
thereâs this girl I have a super massive crush on who I totally thought was straight but iâm not fucking kidding when I say I think she maybe asked me out?????????
iâm like- normal and yet also not. usually when we are both at the same place I donât talk to her cause like- sheâs gorgeous and iâll die
weâre also friends tho (when I manage to forget sheâs the best person to ever exist I can vaguely talk)
but she keeps INITIATING conversations with ME at SOCIAL EVENTS (ie, parties i donât want to be at) and flirting and iâm an awkward messsssss
weâre both 17 and weâve known each other kinda a while- I left her bday party early last year to read this new book I got and she said it was âadorableâ
thatâs when this flirting thing startedÂ
and to be clear, she flirts and I blush and fail to speak
I CANNOT TELL IF SHES SERIOUSÂ
and sheâs so fucking cool like- I actually want her to step on me (in a totally normal way)Â
ANYWAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY yeah
so she asked me to go with her to this club place and I agreed cause I tried to say no but I CANNOT say no to her
she made a point kinda to say âjust usâ like three times????? anyway, I looked this club up-
itâs not a club. Itâs basically a cafe for DATES or something IDKÂ
but COUPLES are expected to go there
HELPPPPPPP
but legit- iâm not crazy. It was literally LAST MONTH that she said, verbatim âiâm definitely straightâ (after staring at an admittedly hot girl)âŠ
mixed signals much?????
PLUS thereâs the fact that sheâs miles out of my league. Sheâs literally the most beautiful person to ever exist and iâm like- fine. Maybe lesssssss
(to be clear tho- iâm not in love with her cause she looks hot- iâm in love with her cause sheâs the best person I know and is totally amazing⊠and iâm probably not actually in love with her or anything cause iâm only 17 and teenage love is fucking stupid so NO brain)Â
So yeah- HELP?Â
(also sorry to contribute to ur chaotic ask box â€ïž)
Hi hon!
Ooo this is tough because I one thousand percent would think she likes you back if not for the âIâm straightâ comment! LikeâŠwhat?
I think you need to do some digging. Do you have mutual friends you can ask? Does she have social media you can look through to find exes?
If not, maybe you need to go on this not-date date and see. Because yeah, I agree, she is flirting hardcore so those are some MIXED SIGNALS. Maybe she doesnât know herself, you know?
Keep me updated!
Naming you mixed signals anon â€ïž
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My uncle said âsleep wellâ SAY LESSSSSSS
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Hasira scary movie preferences? đ
Hehehehehehehehehe say lesssssss >:)
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Muichiro I think is definitely the type to be into slasher flims, despite his young age. He'd probably indulge in the scream series. I'd also like to think he likes traditional Japanese horror, more specifically the Japanese version of the movie "The Ring".
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Sanemi is definitely the same way as Muichiro... minus "The Ring". Although I think he'd prefer the movie "Saw" over anything else. Anything with blood and gore he just loves, given he has a lotttt of rage.
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Mitsuri is definitely not a horror freak. But put a horror-comedy movie in front of her and she's hooked. With that said she's definitely interested in the "Scary Movie" series. You know, the series where they make fun of famous scary movies? Yeah, Mitsuri loves that stuff.
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Obanai, naturally, will love whatever Mitsuri likes. He gets a good laugh out of the Scary Movie series anyways. But his personal preference would be movies like "Centipede" and "Anaconda." He just likes animals, especially creepy crawlies, and of course snakes. So I feel like he'd naturally take a liking to these movies.
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I think Gyomei is definitely into religious horror. Movies like "The Exorcist" or maybe even "Ouijia" interest him. He likes to understand the psychology behind demonic possession and just the supernatural overall.
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Shinobu... oh God. She'd probably be into something like "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" or "The Purge". I feel like if she didn't hold back at all she'd kill anything/anyone, and everything/everyone in sight. Plus, given her humor I feel like those movies would match her unhinged side.
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Rengoku might be into films that have to do with haunted objects, occasionally enjoying a good religious horror movie like Gyomei. Movies like the "Annabelle" series and "Childsplay" really interest him. It's astonishing to him how objects can become insanely haunted to the point of causing poltergeist activity. And of course he likes movies like "The Exorcist" and "The Nun" much like Gyomei.
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Tengen doesn't really like horror movies, but he gets a good thrill watching a TV show like "dead files" or "ghost adventures". He likes to watch it with his wives, despite Suma chickening out about halfway through an episode lol. Regardless though he just finds it to be, in his eyes, pretty flashy to know that people will actually go out of their way to investigate all of these places. Mainly to prove to people that ghosts and demons do indeed exist. Be it through science or experience, he's interested in it all.
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Giyuu isn't very picky when it comes to horror movies. Frankly I don't think he even likes them at all. The only time he'll watch one is when he's around Shinobu, and even then he'll still cringe at what she likes in that regard. However, I think he'd get a pretty big knack out of a psychological thriller. So movies like the "Predator" series, the "Paranormal Activity " series, and the movie "The Prodigy" are just some of his favorites.
...
Aaaaaannnndddd there it is! Hope you enjoyed, thanks for the request! Lmk if you guys want more!!
#kny headcanons#kny#demon slayer headcanons#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba headcanons#kimetsu no yaiba#obanai iguro#tokitĆ muichirĆ#mitsuri kanjiro#sanemi shinazugawa#gyomei himejima#kyojuro rengoku#uzui tengen#giyuu tomioka#shinobu kocho#demon slayer hashira#hashira headcanons#hashira
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Could the kink smut story with bakari and his princess be about his girl wanting to try cockwarming or maybe him punishing her by sitting on him maybe in public/ or a party? Denying pleasure? Just full of nastiness?đ„”đ€€ his dick pulsating inside of her and her feeling every part of itâŠ
Say lesssssss lmaooooo yâall are filthy and Iâm here for it đđ„”
Gonna try to make it as nasty as I can lol (weâll see how I can do hahaha)
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I just realized that Dream doesn't really wear jewelry like he wears his ruby obviously and I think he wears an earring every once in a while but could you just imagine him wearing rings?? Like I don't know but just picturing it looks hot but I don't know I'm just bored
baby say LESSSSSSS SAY LESSSSSSSSSS. ITS HONESTLY A PROBLEM THOUGH. HE NEEDS MORE BLING. HE NEEDS MORE OOMF. I WOULD SIMPLY DIE IF THIS MAN WITH HIS LONG ASS FINGERS WORE RINGS. I WOULD NEED HIM TO MAKE HIS RING CLAD HANDS MY OWN PERSONAL NECKLACE. ughhhhhh my nemesis my goth boyfriend ughhhhhh i hate him. have you seen these fan arts of him with some bling?
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THAT IS MY BOYFRIEND WHO SCARES THE KIDS OFF THE FUCKIN PLAYGROUND. SCARY BOYFRIEND RIGHTS I WANT HIM SO BAD
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Would you mind taking Hazel and Jade for a Starbucks run auntie?? đ„č
You said Starbucks run?
With my two favorite nieces?
Girllllllll
*runs immediately to grab her keys and purse*
Say lesssssss
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Elibean, tell everyone there's a party we're going to Friday and they have to dress like whores! -Thorn
SAY LESSSSSSS, dress like whores party time!!!!! @ezekielbannerhere @marykateobrien @garrettinspace
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OHH SAY LESSSSSSS, lets fucking go!!!
first, let me say i really do love the aesthetically vibes of this like i love the insta posts so much.
second, rafe please stfu because you have no control over who reader dates, sheâs not yours anymore.
third, these anons are crazy, âjumping from guy to guyâ like if reader was, how is that any of your business?
iâm so glad that reader punched the girls at the end cause ainât no way, they come up to her and pour drinks and expect nothing to happen back at them??
HEARTBREAK: LIVE | part twelve
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MASTERLIST (SMAU) | Ex BF!Rafe x Radio Host!Female Reader
Summary â After a mysterious breakup with the university's golden couple, you went incognito. However, when your best friends drags you back into a spotlight, hosting a radio talk show, you find yourself opening up again. This time, with whole world listening (including Rafe).
Navigation â Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen
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IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!
taglist @ghostofwriting @mimibaby01 @itneverendshere @platinumblondeedition @inthelibrarybtw @psychocitylights @carrerascameron @theeternaloptimistt @diasnohibng @frankoceanluvr11 @lilithblackkk @he6rtshaker @promiscuousg1rl @whytheylosttheirminds @harrys-housewife @softbunlvr @maybankslover @starkeydolly @a-lovers-card @rafesgiirl @psychicnatural @rrosiitas @enthusiastms @dinakisser @doll-face222 @ilovefiction4lmen @goldsainz @starkeygirls @romantic-punch @maybankiara @yootvi @4ria790 @thepopcultureaddict @httpsdrewstarkey @rafegf-real @rafeslovergirl @yuckblushin @xoxosblogsblog @logansblackgf @watchmerora @lou-la-lou @astroniii @vonhoe @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @congratsloserr @ilyrafe @rafesdrew @marooningmirrorball
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#êȘ¶ seriblogs ê«#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe x you#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron social media au#obx#rafe obx#rafe outer banks
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I just need to say, you bring such joy to my dashboard. I love that you're constantly getting me to try another drama (lmao) and the best part? Your tags.
In short, your blog is awesome.
kdfjlhkjfhdlskjdf <3 les go Influencer me lesssssss go skdjfhgslkjfdg
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yâall whAT am I having a stroke or is it just now sinking in that we actually got irl sapnap content today,,,, WHAT
#Iâm losing my mind a little#like did today actually happen?#is this real#say lesssssss#sapnap#mcyt#mcytblr
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Yk when you asked for really minor characters maybe you could try writing for ginjima Hitoshi of inarizaki đłđł
HEâS SO HIGH ON MY LIST RIGHT NOW. i donât know how i justâŠ..didnât remember him? because heâs absolutely precious. i love his little eyebrows. and his favorite food is bacon wrapped potatoes đ just looking at his stats and personalityâŠâŠâŠyeah. iâm gonna be writing for him. possibly extensively.
tell me a really minor character i should try to write for
#AND HEâS A GYM INSTRUCTOR POST-TIMESKIP#SAY LESSSSSSS#ginjima is about to become to me what omimi is to libri#heâs so handsome and the one timeskip image iâve found of him is SO. CUTE.#megâs thoughts
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em, i'm sobbing at this! your writing is always so so beautiful, the way you set the scene is so immersive, i love it.
i'm feeling a lot of things about this right now. her and frankie's friendship, how they talk to each other, him and lucia, her and lucia, it all feels so natural and it's just the most adorable thing. then, how they both have a crush uuuurgh i live for that shit! and shirtless frankie?? say lesssssss
and finally her and her dad? i cryyyyy you worded all of this so beautifully, it hurt just right and i love love love it.
i'm already veeeery invested, i cannot wait to read more about them!
you're such an incredible writer babe <3
Arizona | On Call
part i
summary: frankie has a question.
pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader
ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. mostly fluff here, folks. and some (maybe a lot of?) angst. just a couple of buds chillin'. some talk of dead/absent parents.
reader is a teacher and has hair, but she is otherwise a blank slate.
wc: 5.1k
an: wow - i really did not expect this little guy to get the response it did yesterday. eternally grateful for your support and enthusiasm. i love you. hope y'all enjoy <3
dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics
That taste All I ever needed All I ever wanted Too dumb to surrender
- arizona, kings of leon
series masterlist | main masterlist
Itâs quiet in the house.Â
Golden, gooey sunlight pools on the living room floor, slanting through the windows. Itâs warm against the arm he has resting on the edge of the sofa, not a chirp or a lawnmower whirring outside, and when Frankie closes his eyes, youâre the first thing he sees.Â
Evenings like this are the mirror of when your truck first rattled up the street and groaned to a halt outside your front door. He can see it now, within the darkness behind his eyelids, how heâd peeked from behind the curtains in Luciaâs stifling room, her small, sleeping body sprawled on the bed behind him. How the truck door had swung open, how your bare legs had emerged from the cool of the cab, how youâd hopped down onto the pavement and raised a hand to shield your eyes from the low-lying sun. Youâd licked your teeth as youâd rechecked the address and looked up at the house - your house. Blown a deep breath out from your cheeks and then turned back to the truck to scrabble around for your keys.Â
Frankie had turned from the window as soon as youâd bent across the front seat, only glimpsing the bottom of the plush of your ass peeking from below your sweat shorts before heâd swept the curtain and the image aside.
Heâd given it two minutes before heâd clattered out of his front door at the same time as youâd emerged from yours, raising a hand in greeting over the fence that separated your houses. Youâd answered with a wide grin and a lilting hey, neighbour as heâd looped the boundary, holding out a palm for you to shake. I'm Frankie, heâd said, shooting a thumb over his shoulder at his open front door. From across the way. Youâd given him your name in return, quirking an eyebrow as you asked whether he was feeling strong.
The truth is, that day Frankie would have been whatever you needed him to be. Immediately taken by your warm charm, your glinting smile - the mischief always just behind your eyes, the way you moved through your house. Even now, he cooks you dinner during exam season when youâre up to your eyeballs in papers, mows your lawn when heâs already cutting his own. Offers a shoulder to cry on when youâre missing your dad, always your best friend with spare beers when youâre free on a Saturday night - and you never fail to return the favour.Â
The way things are now, itâs like he canât even remember what it was like to not have you next door. What it was like when he wasnât launching your paper onto your porch, what it was like when you werenât soaking him and Lucia with the hose over the fence as they launched water balloons at you from the other side, both your backyards filled with squeals and shouts of laughter. Heâs so glad - so infinitely glad - that fate or whatever it was that had a hand in these things dropped you on the curb that evening a year ago. That he had grinned and laughed and said yes maâam, that he had lept at the chance to be a good neighbour and started lifting the boxes from the truck bed, helped you set up your wifi, invited you in for a beer in his kitchen when you ordered food for the two of you as Lucia slept soundly upstairs.Â
He remembers being shocked at how easy it was. Easy conversation, easy laughter, easy silence. Easy friendship.
How heâd looked forward to seeing you across your lawns in the morning, calling out your greetings as you clambered into your truck and he fastened Lucia into her booster in his. The catch ups over the fence when youâd finished your days, recounting stories from the classroom or cockpit, Lucia chipping in her own from nursery. The delight in your eyes when theyâd knocked on your door a couple of weekends after youâd moved in, arms laden with a tub of homemade cookies. How youâd invited them in, drinking coffee and juice, how easily youâd gotten on with Lucia. Sheâd adored you after that first afternoon spent together, falling asleep in your lap as youâd settled in front of the TV in low evening light. You and Frankie had talked long afterwards in lowered voices, you refusing to be relieved of his daughterâs tiny sleeping body, insisting you were just as comfortable as she was. The little girl only stirred when Frankie made you snort with laughter at something one of his friends had said.Â
Conversation had turned to friends, family. He told you about his brothers in arms, his mom and dad, Luciaâs mother. A woman who was jetting across the country as a flight attendant, an amicable breakup leading to easy co-parenting. Youâd gladly told him about your friends, but hesitated before telling him of how your mom had disappeared from your life when you were little, how your dad had passed away a couple years back. Heâd stretched an arm out, one hand settling on and squeezing your knee. Big palms warm and heavy, thick fingers gentle and understanding. When youâd followed the line of his arm up to meet his eyes again, crow's feet folded in their corners. Kindness, understanding. Someone who knew loss, too.
He asked about your dad, what he was like, and youâd regaled him with stories of growing up with ice-cream dates, summers you spent fishing on the local lake, how heâd carry you on his shoulders, his tight throat when he told you how proud he was of you at graduation.Â
Heâd tentatively asked if your dad had been why you moved out here, understanding the need to put physical distance between yourself and the pain and memory of your surroundings.
No, youâd said, eyes glinting ruefully, this was because of a breakup.
Frankie hadnât pushed for anymore after that.
Youâd invited them over for dinner the weekend after, and Frankie had stood by your side in the kitchen, insisting on helping you cook, immovable despite the rag you whipped at him. As you chopped and fried, you'd told Lucia about stars and blackholes and plants and bugs. She was especially taken by bugs.
Youâd dug out books youâd borrowed - and never returned - from the school library for her to pore over, even giving her a magnifying glass to use to hunt for critters in your backyard as you and Frankie had washed up afterwards. The three of you then spent an hour on your hands and knees on the grass as Lucia found worms and beetles and caterpillars, a soft smile on Frankieâs face as you shouldered her never-ending questions with all the grace of a bona-fide teacher.Â
Every night that week, Lucia had clamoured to go next door and see the bug lady again.
Frankie had had to explain that you were busy working (yes, even this late, mija), and then had to endure the tiny stomping of feet as Lucia explained to him - with all the levity a four-year-old could muster - that there just werenât enough bugs in their garden; they had to see the bug lady.
Bug lady. The first nickname theyâd christened you with. Youâd laughed with a full chest when he told you, and assured him it would be a mantle youâd bear with honour. Bug lady. And then, with time and growing softness, it was shortened to bug, and it stuck.Â
Tonight, there is a different question to can we come over and look for bugs? that he needs to ask.
He thinks - knows - youâre the right person for it. Deep in his heart. Can count on one hand the number of people heâd entrust the safety of his daughter with, and all of them are too far away to call.
He needs a babysitter. And so far, heâs gotten nowhere fast with his inquiries.
The numbers heâs tried have been polite enough, more than good at their jobs. But they have clients already, families who came way before him that meant accommodating sitting at relatively short notice would be sporadic at best and impossible at worst.
And heâs running out of time.Â
His first late night flight is Thursday; some rich guy taking a date up into the skies to watch the view over the city. Itâs good money, and he'd be lying if he said he didnât enjoy the sights, too. The glimmer of the city below, the ridges of the hills, flash of the ocean in the distance. The worlds and lives of so many people cradled in the bowl of the valley. Itâs beautiful, humbling. Itâs worth sharing.
Youâd enjoy it, he knows. And every night flight reminds him of an evening not too long ago when heâd struck a deal with you, asking you to grab him a beer when youâd gotten up to go to the bathroom mid-movie. Youâd wiggled your eyebrows at him, whatâs in it for me?
Heâd snorted at you, offering various services and items in exchange, all refused, but then before Iâll take you up in the heli if you - had even finished leaving his mouth, youâd leaped up from the sofa, grabbing his hand to shake on it before he could back out. At night. Youâd specified, nodding, wide-eyed as though heâd been the one to say it.
Heâd rolled his eyes at your eagerness, demanding you make sure it was an extra cold one for that, and youâd bowed in the doorway, smirking.Â
âAt your service, my liege,â youâd said, before scampering out the way of the cushion Frankie launched at you.Â
Heâd had to ask you to explain to Lucia why she shouldnât call him my liege two days later, when it seemed sheâd lost the meaning of Papi in an effort to be like you. Youâd snorted into your soda when he told you, but had fixed Lucia with serious eyes when you told her that Papi was a very special name to call her dad, one that helped him feel loved and appreciated. Lucia had acquiesced quickly afterwards, stretching her arms out to Frankie before he lifted her from her chair, tucking her face into his neck as she apologised profusely, reassuring him that she still loved him the same, just that my liege had sounded so fun coming from your mouth. Frankie had looked over her curls at your bitten lip, your silent laughter, holding his own amusement behind his teeth as he stroked her back and cooed that he knew, mija, itâs okay.
He remembers, with a lurch below his navel, how Lucia had then asked whether youâd call him Papi to show him he was loved, too. How both your jaws had fallen slack, how something had flickered behind your eyes too quickly for him to catch before youâd told her you call him other things to the same effect. Fish, buddy, and then mouthed over the top of her head, asshole. Frankie had laughed, the jumping of his body pushing Lucia into her own giggles, and youâd soon followed.
Itâs strange how much like a family youâve become over the last year, how well youâve slotted into their lives. One of his best friends, pulling up with the boys when it comes to ranking his favourite people. Filling gaps he didnât even know were there, healing fissures he thought had closed. How well you fit in his arms, how well your head fits beneath his chin. How well your lips might fit with his, how well you -
A breath of laughter puffs from his nose, and he rolls his eyes at himself. Heâs too old to have a crush, too old to be smiling to himself when he thinks of the girl next door, his best pal. Besides, he has a bad track record with dating friends, anyway.
He checks his watch, stills, listening for the sounds of a restless daughter. Satisfied, he pushes himself up from the orange-bathed haven of the couch with a grunt, pulls open the front door, and skips down the porch steps.
The stubble of the lawn is cool beneath his socks as he jogs across the grass, curving around the picket fence between your properties to pop back up on the other side, striding towards your house.
He takes the steps up your porch two at a time, rapping his knuckles against the sage green of your door. He waits no more than five seconds before he knocks again, earning an irritated alriiiiight from the other side.
The click of a lock, and it swings open to reveal you in shorts, a cap, and a worn cotton t-shirt - sun-warmed, soft, gorgeous.Â
You grin at the man on your doorstep, and he grins back.
âEveninâ, teach.â
You click your tongue at the nickname.
âWay past your bedtime, Morales,â you tease, âYou need a warm milk?â
Frankie flicks the back of his hand against the bill of your cap, giggling as it falls to the ground.Â
You smooth your hair, scrabbling for the hat, scowling at him.
âNeed a warm milk,â he mocks, and you land a carefully curled fist against his bicep as you stand, deadening his arm. âOw, pendeja,â he pouts, rubbing at it. âYou know, wearing a cap indoors still doesnât make you cool.â
That pretty, playful little scowl flickers over your face again.
âI just finished my study break, actually.â
âOh yeah? What are we studying today? A million ways teenagers make your life hard?â
The scowl is stolen by a bitten back smile, and you wave him off, turning on your heel down the hallway, tugging your cap back on.
âWhaddya want? Pain in my ass,â you call, walking away from him and back into your kitchen. He follows, drumming his fingers along your sideboard as he goes.
âI need a favour, if you have any spare.â
Your kitchen is bathed in the same warm glow as his living room, but instead of quiet, thereâs the slow turn and hum of your laundry machine in the closet, the sweet croon of a voice from the record player in the corner. Fruit in a bowl, bottles of gifted wine, pictures of friends, paintings from students. The jungle of houseplants you keep towards the patio doors, the jumble of papers, books, planners, and pens spread around your laptop on the table.
Itâs so you. So like home.
You pick up the stem of your wine glass, half full, between your thumb and pointer finger, eyes turned up to the ceiling as you count on your other hand. You wince and suck your teeth, eyes falling back to his.
âI dunno. âS not looking good, Fish,â you say somberly, âMy favour quotaâs already been exceeded this year.â
âBaby, itâs March.âÂ
You shrug.
âBeen busy.â
He raises an eyebrow at you, and you scoff.
âWell, I guess I could make an exception for you, big guy.â
He smiles, leaning against the kitchen counter.
âI need a babysitter.â
You nod, swallowing a mouthful of wine before placing the glass back on its coaster. Papers shift and whisper as you hunt for your phone, buried in the piles of essays.
âOh. Sure. I have some numbers -â
âActually - I was thinking -â
âNow thatâs dangerous for all of us.â
He points a finger at you, and you bite your lip, humour lighting your eyes.
âHa. Anyway. I was thinking - I know⊠I know you got that big car bill last month. And I know you donât get paid enough. And you know Lucia loves youâŠâ
You frown at him.
âYou want me to babysit?â
He bites his lip, looking over your table with clearer eyes. Youâre busy. Always busy. Overworked and stressed. A heat crawls up his neck, early onset guilt.
Maybe this was a bad idea. He inhales deeply.
âYeah. But Iâm starting to realise that might be a lot to ask.â
Hm.
He watches as you pull out a chair and sit at the table, studying him.
âIf it makes it any better, youâre my last resort.â
Heâs relieved to hear a flutter of a giggle in response, and you clap your hand over your heart.
âOuch. There I was, thinking I meant more to you guys than that.â
He crosses his arms, shaking his head, smiling.
âYou know you do, bug.â
You take your cap off, throwing it away from you on the table, rubbing at your forehead.
âIâve got a lot of work to do, Frankie,â you say softly, eyes gentle.
He sighs.
âI know. You can say no. Itâs just - all the numbers Iâve called are kind of booked up, thatâs all. And I guess - I wanna leave her with someone I trust. Someone I know. At first, anyway.â
You stare at him still, thinking.
âWhat are we talking?â
âOnce or twice a week. Three at the very most. Just for late night flights.â He pauses. âIâll pay you top dollar.â
You make a disapproving noise.
âYou donât have to pay me, Frankie.â
âOf course I do, donât be ridiculous. Itâs on your time. And if it helps you outâŠâÂ
You frown at him, but he fixes you with a look. No negotiating. You turn your gaze out to your backyard.Â
He watches, nervous, as you chew your thumb.
Your eyes find his again.
âCan I take work over? To do round yours?â
âAbsolutely.â
âDo I have to cook?â
âNo. Iâll make sure thereâs food. For both of you.â
You nod slowly.
âAnd Luc is in bed byâŠ?â
âSix.â
You nod again.
âIâm not expecting the whole nine yards,â he says, shifting. âNo cookies or playdough, nothing like that. Just someone to look after her. And Iâll still be making calls.â
âWhen would you need me?â
Frankieâs mouth twitches.Â
âThursday this week. Tuesday and Friday next week.â
You take another drink of your wine.Â
âCan I sleep on it?â
âOf course, bug.â He smiles. You return it.
âThen Iâll sleep on it. Iâll see what the scheduleâs like and let you know tomorrow.â
His smile widens.
âAlright. Thank you. Really.â
You stand from your chair, holding up a palm.
âI ainât said yes yet, Morales.â
The smile turns goofy.
âYes, maâam.â
He steps away from the counter and pulls you into his arms. Holds you there for a minute, rocking, enjoying the warmth, the closeness, your smell. Reminds himself that itâs weird to think about your scent as much as he does.
You untangle yourself from him, hands on his biceps where you give a little squeeze.
âAlright,â you say, âOff you go. See if the kid hasnât burned the house down yet.â
He chuckles as he retreats, backing down your hallway to the open front door.
âSee you tomorrow, teach.â
âGet lost, Francisco.â
You sign off by flipping each other the bird as he pulls the door shut behind him, just as you usually do.
And as he steps back into his still-quiet house, he tries to tamp down his grin and his fluttering heart, just as he usually does.
You text him two hours later, when heâs fresh from the shower, clad in only his boxers.
Alright, I slept on it. Iâll be round Thursday.
Along with the swell of relief in his chest, this time the grin and the flutter are much harder to smother.
The night before you left for college, youâd had a nightmare.
You werenât the type to scare easily; eighteen years old and free from any of the real worries the world could bring. And you were so fucking excited for this next adventure, so ready to begin the rest of your life. Still, youâd found yourself doing something you hadn't done since you were a child.
Youâd knocked first - softly, so softly. Waited for a come in that never came. Your dad had stirred anyway as you closed the door quietly behind you, turning, half asleep, to see you stood twisting your fingers in the middle of the carpet.
âYâalright, sweetheart?â heâd asked, all gravelly and tender, threatening tears to spill over your lashline.
âYeah,â youâd mumbled, âJust had a nightmare.â
Heâd simply lifted the covers on the other side of the bed, and youâd slipped into their warmth, scooching into his side, breathing in his smell. Heâd cradled you in his arms like you were still a kid - afraid, vulnerable - and youâd let him. Let the tears soak into his shirt. Felt his grip tighten on you, the kiss he pressed to the top of your head. The promise within it, within the cool moonlight bleeding through the curtains.Â
If you donât wanna do it, all you gotta do is say.
Heâd known you didnât need to hear it, knew it was all youâd worked for, dreamed of. So instead, heâd murmured something else.
âIâm so proud of you.â
Youâd nodded into his chest, and heâd waited until the tears stopped falling before he asked if you wanted to talk about it. You hadnât at first. But heâd always promised that talking about a dream broke it.
âI dreamt you werenât here.â
The vision had hung in the room for a moment, lapping against your dadâs quiet breathing.
âI am. Iâm right here, sweetheart.â
Youâd nodded again, that deep, swooping panic of being completely alone in the world threatening to claw through your chest and sweep away his comfort. You couldnât say anything else. Nothing about the empty house youâd seen, the dust sheets covering lonely chairs.
âAlways gonna be here. Canât get rid of me.â
Youâd both known he was wrong. That one day, this night would be a memory. That one day, youâd try to remember what it felt like to be held like this, known like this, try to remember the scent of his sleepshirt, and not be able to. But that would be years - decades - away. Tomorrow you start the beginning of your real, grownup life. Tomorrow, heâll drive you across the state. Heâll haul your boxes up to your dorm room, and heâll sit on your bed and look around and smile at you. The smile will be small, full of love, pride, grief. The grief of letting his little girl go, of looking at you and seeing you at all ages at once. Newborn, tiny in his big hands. On his shoulders, laughing at the sky. Nervous on your first day at school. Shy at the gate of highschool. Flying through the years, surrounded by friends, now landing here.Â
And when he stands to leave, to tear himself away, the tears will fall again. Youâll say youâre not sure, your whole world rocking, tilting. And heâll tell you that you might not be, but he is. Youâre gonna be great. Youâll be amazing. And his most favourite line of all.
A ship in a harbour is safe. But thatâs not what ships were built for.
And youâll laugh, and youâll hug him, and youâll wish you could for a little longer. But youâll walk him downstairs all the same, out to his car. Youâll shield your eyes and wave until his license plate disappears, and then youâll cry in the sun until you have a headache. By the time youâre out with your roommate that evening, youâll feel better.Â
You wonât think about whether he cried on the way home, whether his body shook with sobs. Whether heâs sat in front of the TV now, unable to focus on the movie thatâs playing because the house is too damn quiet. Wonât think about how, when he tries to sleep, he can still feel that little girl curled up into his side. How he contemplates his own mortality, hopes it wonât come for him for decades, hopes heâll see you graduate, meet someone, be happy, achieve all you want to.
For now, there is only the blue moonlight, the deep breathing, the warm arms.
And four years later, your nightmare will come true.
Youâre awake, though barely. Faintly aware of the wet on your cheeks, of the ache deep in your chest. The memory, the dream. You try to burrow your face into him, try to breathe in his scent, recall the way he talks. And as the same moonlight from the dream floods your vision, you remember.Â
Four years later, and the hurt is still as raw.Â
You curl into yourself, folding your arms around your body, holding it in, holding it together. Breathe through it - in through the nose, out through the mouth. I love you. I love you. Your voice and your fatherâs blending together. You try not to let it overwhelm you. Try not to recall all the moments, all the last moments. The hospitals, the treatments, how he wasted away before you, how you could do nothing about it. But itâs hard. So hard, alone, in the middle of the night like this.
When the burn in your throat eases, you reach for your phone. 3:32am. You unlock it out of habit, texts still open. The conversation youâd had with Frankie earlier - times, dates, what heâd make you for dinner.Â
You wish they could have met each other.Â
Youâre sure Frankie would have loved him. Would have loved his laugh, would have shot the shit about baseball, would have clapped him on the back and joined him for beers on the porch like he does with you. And youâre sure your dad would have loved Frankie. Would have seen his kindness, his patience, his humour. A good man, just like he was.
Sometimes, when the younger man leaves your kitchen, your dad appears, sat at the table across from you.Â
âYou like him.â He says.Â
âCome off it, dad,â like you donât both know youâre lying. He gives that knowing little shrug.Â
âWhatever, kid,â he says, âI see the way you look at him. Like you looked at - who was it - Jordan, in seventh grade?â You always throw something at him then. A marker, a highlighter. And he always laughs at you.
You click your phone screen off, bathed in half-darkness once again. Stare at the frozen ceiling fan, the divots and shadows on the ceiling. Tired, but too awake to sleep.Â
You grumble as you swing your legs out from the covers, standing from the bed. Pad downstairs in the dark, flick on the kitchen light, fill the kettle and set it to boil. Through the window, across the way, Frankieâs kitchen light is also on. Your brow furrows - this isnât a time either of you should be awake - but then he appears in the window, shirtless, busying himself with something by the sink, and you quickly avert your eyes. Something youâve gotten good at doing since you moved here.
Good at desperately trying not to notice his soft curls, the way his biceps stretch his t-shirts, the way his shoulders fill doorways, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. The way he says your name, the golden skin youâve glimpsed, the noises he might make -
You roll your eyes at yourself. Crashing out of an engagement, skipping town and developing a crush on the DILF next door is so⊠you.Â
Annie would have gotten a kick out of it, thatâs for sure.
The kettle finishes its boil, and you reach for a mug, a tea bag. Watch the tendrils of steam curl from the clutch of the ceramic as you brace your hands on the marble either side of it. You chew the inside of your cheek, head hanging between your shoulders, startling when your phone buzzes, furious-sounding as it crawls across the countertop.Â
You know who it is before you see the caller ID.Â
âHey, neighbour.â
âHey, bug.â
You smile into the receiver, holding the mobile to your ear as you move to the sink, adding cold water to the tea. You look up through the window to find Frankie also stood before his, looking back at you. Mercifully, heâs found a shirt, but his bed head still has your stomach turning in cartwheels.Â
âWhatâs up?â
âSaw your light on. Wanted to check youâre okay.â
You hold up your mug, cheersing him through the glass.Â
âIâm good. Just having a little drink.â
You watch as he cocks his hip against the counter.Â
âYeah? What kinda drink you got?â
You exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes.Â
âChamomile.â
Thereâs a beat, and then his voice is soft, tender.
âYâhad a nightmare, too?â
You shake your head.
âNot a nightmare, just a dream.â
âDad?â
You nod, sipping.
âYeah. You know how it is. Lucia okay?â
You watch him flick his gaze to the hallway, the stairs beyond your line of sight. Hear the scratch of his whiskers as he rubs at his beard.
âSheâs alright. Nothing a warm milk and her night light canât fix.â
You smile at him.
âYou remind me of him, you know.â
Frankie pauses his scratching, peering out at you, surprised.
âYouâre a good dad. The best. He was, too.â
Your voice is low, affectionate. Something pulls deep in his gut, something that forces a tight bubble up his throat. He swallows a couple of times, closing his eyes to the kindness.
âThank you, bug.â
âI mean it.â
He nods, voice crackly and deep when it comes to you.
âI know.â
You watch each other a moment longer, separate rooms, separate houses, such closeness bridging those gaps. Frankie breaks the quiet.
âYou sure youâre okay?â
You smile, nod, sip.
âIâm sure. Should head back to bed, anyway.â
Frankie hums down the line, thoughtful. A breath whistles through his nose.
âGânight, bug.â
âGood night, Fish.â
You wait for the beep of the disconnected line, Frankieâs wave through the window. The hard lump in your throat as you watch him retreat to the doorway of his kitchen, the darkness that stares back at you, the ache of being alone again on this moon of grief.Â
And something quieter, more selfish. Creeping and tidal that laps at the edges, a want for a man you have convinced yourself you cannot have. A sadness that buzzes deep in your skin, curls back layers of your being, tells you that you cannot afford to be broken again. Not like your dad. Not like Annie.Â
But you like him, your dad says. Whatâs so wrong with that?
You cocoon yourself tightly in your duvet, your back to the moonlight, the reminders. Tired eyes blinking at the door. Waiting. Waiting, in a different life, different house, different state, for eighteen year old you to tiptoe in and tell you about her nightmare.Â
Waiting for you to tell her that her dad is right there.
That she should hold him a little longer before he drives home tomorrow.Â
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