#sorry he falls for the self loathing bait

[newty]

you know i dont even follow an em forster tag. i do not follow the maurice 1987 tag, james wilby tag, or hugh grant tag. but somehow i get tons of algorithmic maurice content on my dash. which would be excellent if it werent a bunch of aphobic unsympathetic vitriolic clive takes

[opheliajupiter99]

Death's Cold Embrace Pt. 2 (OUAW Horror Fanfic)

*The rest of the Carnivale had settled down to camp while they waited for Gricko to come back with Frost. The moon had hung high in the sky for quite some time now, and still Gricko had not returned. Hootsie whimpered, her head laid in Gideon's lap as he attempted to comfort the poor girl, dearly missing her papa*

*Torbek had fallen asleep, while Twig sat near Kremy, pouting as she looked up at him* "What if morning comes, and Gricko's still not back?" *She says, cupping her hands together as she speaks. Kremy looks out towards where Gricko had walked, sighing heavily* "Then we go find him." *He says, pausing for a moment to think before continuing* "...But if both of them end up lost, it must've been something real bad. The two of them ain't pushovers, after all."

*The two of them fall silent, trying not to imagine what kind of horrible monster could've not only taken both of them, but taken them without any of them noticing. Gricko was a bit easier to explain, as he'd wandered off out of sight; but what about Frost? One moment he was there, the next he wasn't. What could've possibly done that?*

*They continued to wait, but eventually the ache of sleep called to each of them, one of one, until each was tucked away in their sleeping bags. As Twig slept, she dreamed; but it wasn't as she normally dreamed. She was lost in black, swirling emptiness, only occasionally greeted with a sudden image, flashing through her head like a burst of lightning, scattered glimpses of a tower and a figure looming in the shadows. Then, she heard a voice...*

"Twigfield...come to me..."

*The voice sounded like Frost, but the tone in which the voice spoke was much darker; a haunting, looming threat. Despite this however, she found herself lulled by the strange voice, and her mind seemed to grow numb. So numb, in fact, that she didn't even realize that, while her mind remained dreaming, her body rose from its sleep, and her tired wings fluttered gently towards the voice, like a moth's wings would flutter towards a flame*

*When morning came, the remaining carnies found themselves missing now three members of their group. Torbek hugged Hootsie close, as they both were on the verge of a panic attack at this point, while Kremy and Gideon sat close together, trying to stay strong for the sake of the others*

*The husbands were silent for a few moments, Kremy with his legs tucked up against his chest, and his hands over his knees, head leaned against them as he stared off at nothing in particular, while Gideon sat with his legs outwards, fists clenching and unclenching as his face formed a scowl* "How the fuck could this happen?!" *The Genasi finally blurted out, startling the poor owlbear cub nearby that nuzzled closer to her Bugbear uncle*

*Kremy put a hand to his beloved shoulder* "Hey, hey, calm down, a'ight? It's gonna be-" *He began, before said beloved pulled away from his grasp, glaring at it* "Don't tell me it's gonna be fuckin' alright! Somethin's pickin' us off one by one right under our fuckin' noses! We don't know what the fuck happened to em, where they went, or even what the fuck it even is! I think I'm well within my goddamn wrong's to not calm the fuck down!" *Kremy just hung his head as Gid had this outburst, staring down at the ground in shame*

*After a moment, Gid's face softened a bit, sighing* "...I'm sorry. I just...what the fuck are we gonna do, man? Whatever this is clearly has a leg up on us - I mean we can't even spot it long enough to see em poof away." *The somber gator remains silent, still staring at the ground. Despite his demeanor of being a 'solo act' as it were, not caring for anyone beyond himself, he couldn't help but be filled with a venomous self-loathing whenever one of his dear family was harmed, especially by something he felt like he should've been able to stop in some way*

"...Bait." *The gator said finally, Gid blinking* "What?" "Bait." *Kremy repeated* "If whatever it is picks us off one by one and waits for some kind of right time to do it, then...one of us could be bait. Even if we don't -see- it show up, we could get some kind of idea of what it is, what it does, that sorta thing." *He said, his expression and tone both somber, knowing full well the kind of risk that person would be putting themselves under. The husbands look between each other, silent for several long, miserable moments; both were willing to sacrifice themselves, but neither wanted to lose the other*

"Torbek can go." *Torbek said suddenly, breaking the silence. The pair both looked to him* "N-No, come on man...we can't let you get locked up again." *Gideon said, frowning with concern. Torbek shook his head* "Torbek can't raise Hootsie. Mr. Kremy and Mr. Gideon promised they'd raise Hootsie if anything happened to Gricko, didn't you?" *The husbands look to each other, and each nodded slowly* "If Torbek has to get locked up again - or even die - Torbek wants to do it for his friends. And cause Torbek -chose- to do it, not cause somebody else told him to."

*Gideon felt tears come to the corners of his eyes; he knew that desire all too well. He always felt that he didn't care much how or when he died, as long as he died a free man - and a death in service of his friends would be the greatest death of all. He took a deep breath, and nodded* "I can't take choice away from a man whose had so few. We'll keep you as safe as we can, man...I promise." *Kremy frowned deeply, his guilty conscious only growing heavier - but Gid was right. It was Torbek's choice. He shut his eyes tight as tears formed, and nodded slowly*

*The group agreed to wait until nightfall to enact this plan, as that's when whatever it was they were dealing with seemed to strike. They ate, and enjoyed each other's company in the meantime, trying to keep Hootsie's spirits up as best they could, as well as steel their own nerves*

*...All while a dazed little Brownie sat perched high up in a tree nearby, staring blankly down towards the campsite, as her new master watched through her eyes*

[hansensgirl]

cattivo fino all'osso.

summary. | He’s bad to the bone, sick as a dog. But he knows that you like him a lot. 

warnings. | Dubcon (dubious consent), dark themes, thievery, malicious intentions, smut, slight angst, unprotected sex, naivety, manipulation, gas lighting, obsessive behaviourism, Daddy kink, spoiling, major age gap (she’s twenty, he’s nearly touching forty), face fucking, corruption kink, virginity loss, overstimulation, grooming, step dad/step daughter relationship, cheating, infidelity, fingering, finger sucking, smoking, spanking, use of a hitachi wand, thigh riding, slight mean!dom!charles, soft dom!charles, slight dacryphilia, humiliation, praise kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, choking, slight violence + more. 18+, DARK FIC

word count. | 15,433 words.

pairings. | Dark!Step Dad!Charles Blackwood x Innocent!Step Daughter!Reader.

authors note. | thank you so fucking much for 4.8k!! i’ll forever be grateful to everyone who supports and follows me, i love you all so fucking much. i wish everyone good in life and i hope you’re all happy and doing well. if you ever wanna talk i’m always here, no matter what! (unless i’m asleep or a bit busy.) i’m so sorry for the long wait, please enjoy. <33 also in this fic, hitachi wands exist so yeah! thank you so much @mypoisonedvine and @bbbbearr for being amazing betas! love you guys!

Fine wool that comes from Italy tailors his suit, only the best of the best. He barely remembers how he met her, as certain memories might as well be forgotten. The ceremony is small, only her and the priest. He doesn’t mind — he rather prefers it, actually. He doesn’t know much about his wife — other than the fact that she has a daughter and is quite wealthy. His best bet is that the daughter is some bratty five year old. A clandestine jewel slips onto her old finger whereas an expensive gold ring adorns his. He looks down at it, watching his 24 karat reflection stare back at him and he just can’t help but smirk. “You may now kiss the bride.” The priest says cheerfully, and Charles has no choice but to hold back a devastating sigh. He leans in for a kiss hesitantly, ready to convince her to do all kinds of things. The wedding ends with a small cake, gifts sent from family members that weren’t invited and aching limbs.

“Honey, you’re too tired for us to have fun… We’ll save it all for tomorrow, okay?” He says, pressing a lame kiss to her forehead. She simply hums and drifts off into dreamland, leaving Charles behind. He waits for her breathing to slow down and then starts planning his next move. A glass of whiskey sits in his hands and he’s leaned back in an expensive leather chair, plush velvet pillows comforting him. Tones of beiges and browns compliment his caramel twisted hair perfectly, all falling under the same colour palette that would have an artist drooling in awe. He looks around the house — admiring the fact that portraits of her father and rare paintings are decorating the house. Not one photo though, no. They’re too ostentatious for photographs — photographs wouldn’t flatter their ego like portraits do.

He loathes it all, that big green monster known as jealousy peering over his shoulder. He wants the glory, he wants the richness, he wants it all… and in due time, it’ll come. It’s a mix of jealousy, envy, anger and frustration. He downs the rest of the amber liquid, exhaling as it burns his throat. He sets the glass down and stands up, shoving his hands in his pocket. His feet pad against the expensive floors, and he wanders about the house. He pulls drawers open, empties different vases and boxes and he even takes down those paintings and portraits. His eyes go wide as he marvels at the sight behind one of the portraits, a safe. It’s almost laughable, an heiress who’s worth millions of dollars has a measly, pathetic way of hiding her safe keepings and valuables. He carefully hangs the painting back up, remembering it very well for another time.

He wonders where else there could be hidden in the large castle-like mansion. Jewels, money, papers for properties… god — he nearly swoons at the thought of it all. He decides to retire to bed, knowing he’ll need enough rest for his shenanigans that’ll soon begin the next day. He slips into a silky set of pyjamas, before slipping under the cashmere blankets and turning on his side. He shuts his eyes but occasionally opens them up every now and then, far too excited and nervous to get some shut eye. Sleep sleep sleep… His mind chants, begging for some rest after tiresome spinning like a spindle with devious schemes. Soon, though, the liquid amber takes him over and he eventually shuts his eyes, not at all prepared for the true treasure he is going to find.

The day starts early for the newlyweds, butlers pulling open the lavish curtains that decked out the grand windows. Sunlight fills the room and blinds Charles at the same time. His wife is long gone, off to do some pre-honeymoon treatments and shopping trips. He shoos them away and gets up from the bed eagerly, his caramel laced locks are twisted in knots. He threads his fingers through his hair and waltzes into the lavish bathroom — admiring his reflection in the spotless, large mirror. The bathroom alone was more opulent than anything Charles had ever laid his eyes on. He felt like a newly crowned king, getting ready to sit atop his diamond throne. Charles chuckles at the absurd thought, before reaching for the toothbrush that was laid out for him. After numerous minutes of self-pampering and whistling, Charles was finally ready.

He walks with a bounce in each of his steps, a cheerful smile on his face and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants. His breezy, light linen shirt perfectly frames him and he doesn’t care about anything menial anymore. The enticing smell of breakfast fills his nostrils and his stomach sounds with a loud grumble, demanding food. He sighs and thanks one of the butlers as they pull out a chair. He sits at the head of the lengthy oak table that had numerous engravings on the legs. He politely asks the butlers to serve him two waffles with syrup and blueberries on top. “Thank you, kind sir.” He smiles at the older man who simply keeps quiet and nods — already working his way onto Charles’s list of who to be wary of.  

Charles moans at the sweet, delectable taste of his breakfast. The noise makes everyone in the room shy and they quickly leave him alone — ready to keep the house in shape. He scarfs it all down with ease and tops it off with a glass of earl grey tea with some honey drizzled in. It soothes his throat and calms him down. He leaves his dishes on the table and starts to wander again -- through the kitchen and other rooms in the house. The mansion is no different to something like a palace. “Hey, you! Come here.” He calls out to a maid who was silently dusting one of the many fireplaces. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood?” She sheepishly asks, bowing her head as she looks at the floor. “I want you to get everyone here, right now.” He ordered.

“E- Everyone, sir?” She squeaks out in shock. He grumbles because he absolutely hates repeating himself. “Mhm, and if you don’t get them in the next two minutes, you won’t see the inside of this house again.” He growled, sending her off. He watches as she leaves and picks up a box that had his name on it. Along with it were many more gifts that were sent from almost every high society blue blooded person there was in America. He opened it up and pulled out a pipe — a beautiful one to be exact. The wood has speckles of the finest gold in it and a gold band wrapped around the bowl of it. He lights it up and takes a drag from it, before pulling it away from his mouth and puffing the grey smoke away like it is a habit of his. “The staff, Mr. Blackwood.” One of the butlers says, making Charles turn around.

About two dozen people stand in front of him, all of them wearing simple cotton shirts as their uniform. “I want you all to go home and do whatever you miserable people do, only come back when I tell you to.” He orders, before taking another drag from the pipe. “But Sir-” One of them speaks up, their voice quiet. He quickly shuts them up with a death-like glare and he dismisses them. Hushed voices whisper on and on about him but he doesn’t care — no, why would he? He just became a member of one of America’s most richest families. He knows people are bound to talk, he’s known that all his life. Charles puts out his pipe and lets out one last puff of smoke. He opens up more gifts, scoffs at the fake well wishes and moves onto the next thing that he lays his eyes on.

The clicking of heels grabs his attention. “I said to go home!” He yells out, before looking back to his pile of gifts. “Well, I mean… This is my home.” You shyly say, clasping your sweaty hands together. Charles turns around abruptly and god, he’s breathless. Innocent beauty fills his eyes and you’re the only thing he can focus on. “You must be Charles, my new dad!” You cheer, walking up to him. He only nods his head, not able to find any words to even cultivate a simple phrase. “I’m your step daughter!” You say, before giving him your name. He repeats it and you can’t help but smile at the way it rolls off his tongue. “It’s nice, very beautiful.” He compliments, placing his hands on his hips.

“Like you.”

You can’t hold back the strong smile that creeps onto your face and neither can he. “Your mother never mentioned your age.” He adds and you look down at the floor. “I… It’s a thing… usually, when she tries to remarry, nobody wants to marry someone who has a twenty year old daughter already.” You explain, your voice a bit sad. “I’m sure it hurts, right?” He pokes and prods, testing to see how far you could handle him and his intrusive questions. “Never really thought about that, to be honest.” You confess bluntly. But you have, and boy does it hurt. “My mom told me all about you!” You exclaim after a few moments of awkward silence. “Really, huh?” He baits, raising his eyebrows. “Mhm, she’s so whipped! She always lights up whenever I bring you up, it’s so sweet.” You admit, pulling at the sleeves of your knitted cardigan.

He smirks, knowing that his own charming ways have successfully worked it’s magic. “Anywho, enjoy your gifts! I look forward to getting to know you.” You quickly bid, before scurrying off. Charles’s eyes follow you, until you’re out of his sight. His tongue pushes at his cheek and he can’t help but to chuckle to himself. He rewinds the interaction like it’s his favourite film and it replays in his mind. He can’t forget the way you fail to look him in the eyes, the way you were shy and oh, he could just tell you were an innocent little thing. A poor girl who has the luck of not being corrupted by the nasty world that turns saints into sinners. He then realizes that out of all the money, out of all the jewels and out of all the gifts there were — you were the most precious one of them all.

You don’t know what to do, truly. These… tingles aren’t rare for you. They were quite common, actually. You never knew what to do about them, hell, you don’t know what they are and you’re too scared to ask anyone. But they’ve never been this strong. You like Charles, and those few minutes of interaction only have you confused about how you like him. You rub your thighs together and it does nothing but worsens the feeling, making you let out a loud whine. You decide to ignore it, but you can’t help but to notice the pooling slickness in your panties. It’s a lot and for a second you’re worried, but then you get used to it. You already had your period for the month, so you just leave it as it is. You groan as you realize what you forgot to tell Charles.

You rush out from your bedroom and walk slowly to the foyer. Each step made you whimper, the slight friction to your pussy teasing you. “Charles?” You call out before you’re greeted by him sitting in a chair whilst he has his new pipe in his mouth. You frown at the smell of smoke and tobacco, hating how disgusting it was. But the sight of him was delicious. You bit your lips and admired his hands, his lips, his face, just everything about him. “Charles?” You called out quietly before looking down at your feet. “Yes, babydoll?” He looks at you, exhaling one last puff of smoke before putting the pipe out. “I- I forgot to tell you, my mom is going to be coming home tomorrow night — she gave me this note to give to you.” You tell him, handing him the folded up piece of paper.

Charles silently celebrates, hoping that your mother would have to push whatever spontaneous trip she went on forward. He silently nods at you, “Thank you, babydoll.” You let out a small whimper and rub your thighs together at the nickname. ���What’s wrong, baby? Hm?” He asks, beckoning you towards him. “N- Nothing, Charles.” You lie, trying to disregard the very obvious tingles in your core. “Now, now… I hate it when people lie to me, okay? And don’t call me Charles.” He growls and it goes straight to your pussy. You whimper again, only this time it's louder. The overly debauched sound makes Charles’s cock stir to life, throbbing in his expensive boxers.

“I’m so sorry, I just don’t know what’s happening… It’s really weird and plus, I don’t know you that well.” You shamefully squeak out after apologizing to him. “Hmm…” Charles’s mind travels to the deepest, darkest parts ever. Such a soft, innocent, sweet, docile little doll I have all for myself… “What should I call you?” You ask, inching closer to him. He rakes his blue-grey eyes up and down your beautiful body, only now realizing how short your dress is and how strong your arousal was. The bitter scent of it fills the air and he lets out a hum of both satisfaction and delight. “...” He ponders in silence and gets distracted every now and then by you, before he comes up with the perfect name.

“Call me daddy, babydoll.” He smirks.

“Ok, Daddy…” You sheepishly smile. “Good girl, now come here.” He orders and pats his lap. You sat on his lap gently, figuring that this was normal — it felt normal, right? He grabs your thighs and slides his hands up and down your bare, caressing you softly. He inches closer and closer to your soft panties and soon pulls them down, making you gasp and nearly jump off his lap. He growls and grabs your hips harshly, pulling you closer to him. “Don’t be scared, baby… Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? I just wanna help my babydoll out.” He says softly, rubbing small circles on your skin. “Uhm, well…” You didn’t know how to explain the weird feeling to him. You had so many questions about it too, but you were scared that he would judge you.

“It’s my job to take care of you now, okay? And if you don’t tell Daddy what’s wrong, how can I help you?” He reasons. You nod your head and realize he makes a good point — but you’re still hesitant. Seconds that are almost silent soon pass by — the only sounds being your heaving chests and your thrumming hearts. His grip on you tightens and you whimper, the slight pain being too much for your sensitive body. “I have these uh… these tingles?” You say, sounding so unsure of yourself. Charles can’t help but coo at you, you really were an innocent little girl. “They started when I was a wee thing, or a uh, a teenager! Sorry…” You ramble adorably.

“Tell me more, dove.” He probes, daring himself to inch his hands to an intimate part of your body. “Oh, uh, okay!” You chew at your lip as you think about what to say. “Spit it out, dove… I hate waiting, and I’d hate to force it out of that pretty mouth of yours.” He growls as he quickly grows impatient with your shy ways.  You gently grab one of his hands and settle it above your core, but it isn’t touching your mound. Charles so desperately wants to inch his hands into your panties but he knows that he has to be patient, he has to wait. “Sometimes they’re not too strong, and sometimes they’re so unbearable and- and I just don’t know what to do! Is it normal? Am- Am I weird?” You prattle.

“It’s not weird at all, baby. It’s completely normal…” He trails off, thinking about what you said. “I just don’t know what to do!” Charles looks at the times and notices that it was almost lunch, and he wasn’t going to miss out on eating expensive food. “Well, since it’s almost lunch time, we need to eat! Can you cook?” He asks, pulling you off his lap. He throws one of his arms around your shoulders and leads you to the kitchen. “Mhm…?” You sound so unsure — because you are. One minute ago he was touching in places your mother told you that no boy your age should be and was demanding you to tell him a secret of yours. But the next, he treats you like you’re nothing more than a friend.

He stands behind you and follows you around like a shadow as you do your dance around the grand kitchen. You feel like prey and he’s the predator, just waiting to pounce on you whenever he wants. You light the stove up and heat up some leftovers biscuits from yesterday's lunch. “I uh, I made these yesterday…” You say and the crackle of fire coming to life fills your ears. “I love biscuits, they may be basic but they’re still one of my favourites!” He joins in, standing right behind you. Gently, he settles both of his hands on to your waist in a calming manner, making you sigh in delight. His touch sends shivers to both your spine and core and you furrow your eyebrows together.

“What’s wrong, hm?” He poses his question with a playful squeeze to your waist and you giggle with pure innocence. “When you- Actually… nevermind.” You trail off, thinking he’ll be disgusted with you. He squeezes your waist again and rests his chin on your shoulder before leaning close to your ear. “Hmm, maybe I should tell your dearest mother that she raised her daughter to be disobedient…” He threatens out loud and you quickly shout out in protest. “No! Please don't, ‘m sorry!” You plead. Your mother is quite strict, and god forbid that you’d ever disobey her or anyone. “When you t- touched me, more tingles came…” You tell him, staring at the biscuits. “Aw… Well if you bear up with them just for a few more days then I could help you out!” He exclaims, turning down the fire for you.

“Really? You’d really help me out?” You ask enthusiastically, your eyes lighting up with disbelief. Charles raises his eyebrows and smirks as he nods his head in conformation. You squeal like a little child on their third birthday, wrapping your arms around the conniving man who is your step father and you push your head into the crook of his neck. He hugs you back and presses a kiss to your cheek, making you smile. You pull away and take the biscuits off the stove before ushering Charles to sit down. “Hmm… How about we eat outside?” He asks, opening the door to the lavish backyard. “Anything you want, Daddy.”

Your leg bounces as you become increasingly nervous. Ever since Charles came, your tingles have grown to worsen. You remind yourself constantly that it’s normal, and that he’ll help you out. You’ve begun to be weary, though. So here you sit, in Charles’s bedroom, waiting for him to finish his bath. You flop back into his soft bed and your dress rides up your thighs, scrunching up at your hips. You hear him whistle an Ella Fitzgerald tune, and you can’t help but to sway your head in rhythm. Charles continues to whistle as he steps out of the tub and drains it before wrapping his lower half with a cotton terry cloth towel. He swings the door open and the calming tune stops abruptly, and you frown like a brat.

Charles’s eyes went straight to your bare thighs that he would just adore to have  wrapped around his head. He catches a glimpse of your soaking panties and clicks his tongue. The sound itself isn’t too loud but it’s enough to snap you out of your hazy daydreams of paradises and false promises. You sit up and don’t bother pulling down your skirt. “Uhm, hi?” You squeak out, waving at him. He disregards your greeting and stalks closer and closer to you, a dangerous scowl on his sculpted face that all but terrifies you. Drops of water cascade down his body and you eye him with no shame at all. You look back up at him and stifle a whimper and you feel your tingles come back.

“Didn’t I tell you to be patient?” He asks with a menacing growl that rumbles in his chest. You nod silently, too scared to even dare to utter a single word to him. “Words, doll, or else you won’t like what’ll happen next.” He threatens, leaning down to trap you under him. You gulp thickly and your bottom lip trembles in fear. “Yes, daddy…” You whisper quietly, bowing your head down in disgrace. He grabs your arms roughly and pulls you closer to his frowning face and his eyes are blown out with both anger and lust.  “So then why can’t you wait? Hm? Are you that Goddamn desperate?” He queries, and you can’t hold back the sudden flinch that jerks your body. “N- No! I’m sorry, I really am!” You apologize to him softly.

Once again, the slightly bitter yet sweet scent of your arousal fills the air and dwindles there. “Fuck, so damn needy.” He curses under his breath -- the scandalous, foul word making you gasp. “I think you’ve been a bit of a bad girl, hm?” He ponders out loud but leaves no room for you to speak. He sits down on the bed and pulls you with him, laying you across his lap. “Daddy? Are you gonna hurt me? Are you gonna tell my mom?” You ask him innocently — your voice filled with worry and curiosity. You squirm in his lap and furrow your eyebrows when something touches your stomach. It’s long and as hard as a rock. “Not if you tell her, princess. Everything we do is our secret, okay? And you don’t reveal secrets, ever.” He reassures you before pulling up the skirt of your dress.

Cool air hits your scantily clad butt and you giggle at the feeling. Goosebumps crawl all over your skin and a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t even realize that he dodges your first question as you are too distracted by him. His large, warm hand caresses your ass and your eyes flutter shut. It’s soothing in its own way and you realize that nobody’s ever touched you the way he does. He pulls his hand away and your bottom lip juts out in a bratty, needy pout. His hand returns to your ass, smacking it harshly and brutally. “Ow!” You cry out in pain, choking on a gut wrenching sob that would make the bullies at your school call you a cry baby.

“Shh, it’s okay angel…” He soothes, gently rubbing the irritated skin. Your chest tightens at the pain and Charles can’t help but pity you. “It’ll be over soon, baby, don’t worry.” He lulls to you, making you nod your head. “O- Okay, Daddy…” You whisper out, trusting him. He pulls his hand away and spanks your other cheeks with a sounding pop that reverberates throughout the room. The thing touching your stomach is even harder now, slightly throbbing under your soft skin. He does the same to the next cheek, delivering an even harder blow that makes your whimper louder than before. The tears have started ages ago and they stream down your face quicker than the way rivers flow. They soak into Charles’s left thigh and he lets out a “sh” to soothe you.

He continues to spank you until his hand hurts, until his skin is aching but not as much as you are in pain; and even then he didn’t want to stop. He feels your arousal leaking out of you like a waterfall, slickness coating your inner thighs and his towel. He can’t deny the fact that he’s so aroused that his cock hurts. It throbs and weeps, pre-cum leaking from the tip and the clear fluid stains his blue towel. “Shh, it’s okay now, baby. I’m all done now, Daddy’s finished.” He lifts you up with ease -- large muscles bulging -- and he settles you onto his lap. You wrap your legs around his well-built torso and the squelching sounds from your pussy makes you furrow your eyebrows. Your wet pussy rests right on top of his hard cock and the tingles are stronger than they’ve ever been.

You push your tear-soaked face into the crook of his neck, sobbing at the immense pain that radiated from your butt. He runs his hands over the bruised skin and whispers sweet nothings to you -- they aren’t nothing to you, though. You soon calm down and your pain dwindles down to nothing as you choose to ignore it. You look up at Charles and he looks at you, smirking at the love in your eyes. “Such a good girl, took your punishment so well.” He praises and you can’t help but to giggle at his words. Your face flushes with heat and you shy away from him. Involuntarily, your hips buck against Charles’s cock and you both let out lewd sounds. You moan softly and whimper, but Charles growls ferociously like a starved animal. Your pussy throbs at the sound and you whine loudly, clenching around nothing.

“What’s wrong baby? Hm? Tell Daddy what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.” He slurs slightly, moving your head from the crook of his neck. “The tingles…” You tell him, your voice small and weak. “Aw… Poor baby, you want Daddy to make your tingles go away?” He asks, pinching the bruised skin of your ass. You groan at the pain and your clit thrums under your panties. He fondles with the skirt of your dress and finds the zipper with his broad fingers. Slowly, he teasingly pulls it down and passes the soft fabric over your ass and down your beautiful legs. He throws the now pointless fabric onto the floor and admires the way your breasts bounce as they’re freed. He wants nothing more than to suck one of your hardened nipples into his mouth whilst he fucks you into oblivion.

But he has to wait, he needs to be patient.

He watches as goosebumps crawl all over your skin and he listens intently to the breathy moan you let out. Your nipples twist into harder peaks and they ache in such a way that you’re desperate to do anything so that you’re relieved of your tingles. Charles hooks his fingers into the band of your panties and he pulls them down, softly apologizing when you let out a whimper as the fabric passes over your bruised ass. You’re bare in front of him and you feel shy, slightly insecure under his gaze. You move the hands that were wrapped around him and you use them to cover up your naked body.

“No, no… Don’t do that baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He husks, roughly pushing your hands away from your body. “Daddy? I have a question…” You tell him, pure wonder and curiosity laced in your gentle voice. “Tell Daddy, go ahead baby.” He ushers, pressing a few kisses along your collarbone. “What that pointy, hard, big thingy there?” You ask innocently and Charles nearly chokes. What a fucking jackpot. “This, baby?” He asks, bringing your hand to wear his hard cock is. “Mhm! It’s very, very big… What’s it supposed to do?” Your words make Charles blush and you’ve truly flattered him. “That’s my cock, baby.” He tells you, and you can’t help but to repeat after him. “Your cock…” You whisper back and he nods.

“And it’s all yours baby, but you wanna know what isn’t yours?” He insinuates, and you nod desperately. One of his hands cups your bare, wet pussy and you moan at his touch. “This is mine, you’re mine.” He growls, unable to control the ferocious animal inside him. You nod in agreement and buck your hips against his hand, grinding yourself on him. “Shit… So slutty, hm? Just can’t help yourself, can you baby?” He degrades, groaning at the way your slick covers his hand. You gasp at the insult but also furrow your eyebrows with confusion at his second sentence. It then dawns on you as to what he means so you decide to nod in agreement and he chuckles at you.

He flips you over abruptly and you’re amazed at his strength -- even though you’ve ogled at his large muscles quite a bit beforehand. He crawls in between your legs and slots himself there. You’re forced to keep your legs open, even though you’re skeptical. It felt wrong… Maybe it was? “D- Daddy, is this wrong? I mean, it feels wrong…” You ask, looking down to your barren legs. “No baby, you’re doing great!” He answers incorrectly and you shake your head. “N- No… Not like that…” You whisper, scared to look at the burly man that knows you better than yourself.

“Baby… Do you think I’d let you do something bad? Hm? Never, this isn’t wrong… Everything I do is right!” He explains and then it dawns you. Everything he says is true and god, how dare you not believe him? He’s older, wiser and he knows better than you. “‘M sorry, Daddy!” You apologize, voice sincere and you’re ready to repent for all your sins. “It’s okay baby, just lay back and Daddy will make those tingles go away…” He whispers and you eagerly obey him. “Do you ever get tingles?” You ask him, parting your legs even wider than before. “Of course… I have tingles right now.” He tells you, his patience ebbing away at the edges. “Can I make them go away?” You follow up, your eyes brightening with interest and intrigue.

Charles lets out a coo, and he revels at how innocent and adorable you are. “Yeah, you wanna make my tingles go away?” He asks, his cock throbbing as millions of lewd, obscene thoughts run through his already twisted mind. “Yes please! Please Daddy?” You beg him desperately and he chuckles. “Such a needy little slut, aren’t you? You want my cock so bad…” He degrades and the words send a wave of neediness throughout you. A spark of confidence ignites in you and even though you don’t know much of what he said, you still choose to repeat them all after him. “Mhm, I’m such a needy slut for you, Daddy!” You squeal, and Charles can’t help but moan.  

Suddenly, he wraps his large hand around your throat and squeezes the sides. You don’t know what succubus has possessed you but you let out a wanton, salacious moan anyways. He pulls you close to his face -- which was flushed red -- and he stares into your eyes. His beautiful, steel blue orbs are now blown out with lust but the feral look he gives you is just as good as the rest. “Such a dirty mouth, should I wash it out with soap? Or stuff it full with my cock?” He growls and smashes his lips against yours. The kiss is messy… It’s sloppy and you have no idea as to what you’re doing. You try to keep up with him and you easily let him dominate you.

His tongue explores your mouth and you try to do the same to him, but you just can’t. You whimper against his mouth and slick drenches your thighs. Years of pent up arousal only now coming back at ten-fold and the dam just breaks. He pulls away and puts you on your knees. You look up at him like a kicked puppy and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. Both of your chests heave and you’re face to face with his cock. He pulls the towel away and you gasp, earning a chuckle from Charles.”Daddy… It’s so big…” You tell him and he’s flattered. “Thank you, baby. I’m truly flattered, do you want to touch it?” He says, smiling down at you. “Yes please! But- but, how?” You ask him, a bit nervous but also excited.

He takes your hand and brings it up to his cock. His other hand plays with your fingers until they’re wrapped around him. It was hard and hot under your soft touch. It throbs and thrums, veins trailing the sides and his aching tip weeps with pearls of pre-cum. The slick stickiness of it rolls down his cock and soaks your hand. You can barely fit him in your hand, his cock being impossibly thick. He groans under your touch and he places his hands on the back of your head. Roughly, he guides your mouth towards his cock and shoves it past your spit covered lips. You gag and try to push against him -- a silent way of telling him “no, it’s too much.”

But he only just pushes your hands away and thrusts his cock deeper into your mouth. His manly flavour fills your mouth -- soaks in your tongue and you find yourself falling in love with it. Lewd gags and chokes reverberate around the room and they’re music to Charles’s ears. His cock is all the way down your throat and you’re struggling to breath, but that doesn’t matter. He moans loudly and then abruptly pulls his cock out from your mouth. You gasp for air and take in a deep breath before smiling up at him. His cock glistens with spit and you’re ready to take him again. Your jaw already hurts but it’s okay. “Shit, so good. You look so fucking gorgeous with my cock stuffing your mouth, can’t wait to see you covered with my cum.” He groans, holding your chin up.

You tilt your head to the side in confusion, not understanding one of the words. “You see, baby, when you make the tingles go away just like that then something will fill up your mouth -- and you’re going to have to swallow it, okay? Can you be a good girl and do that?” He tells you and you immediately nod your head. “Good.” He nods, before squeezing your jaw open with one of his strong hands. Your mouth pops open and is soon filled with his cock once again -- your gags spurring him on. Saliva and drool leaks from your mouth in waterfalls, and so does your tears. He bobs your head up and down his cock, moaning loudly and cursing under his breath. “Oh fuck, yes yes, your mouth feels so good!” He shouts loudly, the praise going straight to your aching pussy.

“C’mon baby, suck my cock like one of those cherry popsicles I bought you, use your tongue.” He orders and you obey. You hollow your cheeks out to the best of your ability -- not knowing what you’re doing. Your tongue weakly drags along underneath of his cock and it bumps up a few throbbing veins every now and then. You spread your legs and sway your hips back and forth against the bed and you don’t even realize what you’re doing -- but Charles does. The head of his cock bumps up against the back of your throat and you let out a moan, sending him closer and closer to his release. Spit travels everywhere and strings of it are leaking down to your chest. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum… And you’re going to swallow it all up, right? That’s all you’re good for, just a cocksleeve for me to use- fuck, just to make Daddy feel good.” He growls like an animal, thrusting his hips into your mouth.

He fucks your mouth at a brutal pace, his heavy, swollen balls slapping your spit-soaked chin. He grips your head tightly and then his hips still. His balls tighten up and a groan rumbles in his chest. “Oh fuck, yes yes yes!” He moans as he hits his climax. Warmth fills your mouth and his cock spurts out thick, white ropes of cum. His cum slips down your throat but also fills up your mouth. The copious amounts of his cream leaks out of your mouth and drips down to your chest. Charles thrusts his cock into your mouth a few more times, dragging out his orgasm until he’s almost on the brink of being overstimulated. He slowly pulls it out of your mouth and your jaw aches immensely.

He reaches up and softly massages your face, easing the pain away. “Thank you, Daddy…” You whisper out, your voice all hoarse yet still so soft. “You’re welcome, baby.” He smirks down at your tired face. “I like that a lot, Daddy… I like making your tingles go away!” You shyly admit -- flustered and even more aroused than ever. “That’s the point my dumb little baby, you’re supposed to like pleasing Daddy!” He tells you and you let out a gasp of realization at his words. “Now lay back, kitten, Daddy needs to make your tingles go away.” He pushes you back against the soft bed and spreads your legs wide open. Your slick has leaked everywhere -- all over your thighs, on the bed sheets and down to your butt too.

He rubs your glistening folds with his fingers and your wetness nearly drowns his digits. A searing, hot, burning feeling comes alive in your pussy and you let out a loud moan. Your body heats up at the pleasure and you’re hot to the touch. He teases you, fingers running through your folds, dancing around your clit and they also prod at your incredibly tight hole. “Daddy… That feels so good!” You moan out loudly, your doe eyes rolling back into your skull. “Yeah it does, just wait until I fuck you -- God it’s going to be amazing.” He groans, rubbing your clit in soft circles. More slick drools out of your hole as he plays with your sensitive pearl of nerves. Pleasure shoots up your spin and you’re unable to describe what the feeling is like, but you’re sure it’s something sent from heaven.

You can’t stop moaning as his fingers bring you closer and closer to your release. “D- Daddy? I feel like I uh, like I need to use the bathroom!” You sheepishly tell him, and he lets out a coo. “No you don’t, it’s going to make the tingles go away baby, you’re going to like this a lot.” He growls, rubbing your clit even harder and faster. A searing flame spears through your stomach and the knot that inside your tightens up. Your moans of pleasure grow loud, maybe a bit too loud for Charles’s taste. He shoves his other fingers into your mouth to quiet you, and you immediately suck them just as if they're his cock. The sight makes Charles even harder than before, as he hadn’t become flaccid yet. Your back arches off the bed and your eyes shut tightly as you cum for the first time ever.

“Oh Daddy!” You shriek behind his fingers, the knot inside you bursting. More stronger tingles pierce through your poor spent body and your clit is throbbing. Slightly creamy, almost clear cum leaks out of you and the feeling becomes too much for you. He continues to rub your button, and your body squirms immensely. You feel like you should tell him to stop but you know you shouldn’t. “There you go, my slutty little baby… You liked that a lot? I know you did.” He coos, making you heat up from his attention. Your cunt is coated with your cum and it drips everywhere, the sight makes Charles go feral. You clench around nothing, pulsing with pleasure. He soaks his fingers with your cum, absolutely drenching them until your pussy is a bit more cleaner than before.

He brings those same digits up to his mouth and sucks your delicious, sweet cum off. He moans around his fingers and stares at you dead in your doe eyes. You whimper and feel more wetness gush out of you, your tingles coming back once again. You spread your legs a bit wider and Charles already knows that you want him to help out. “What do you want, baby? Hm? You gotta tell me, or else I can’t help you out.” He husks salaciously after pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a sounding ‘pop’. “I have more tingles, Daddy… Can you make them go away?” You shy ask, slightly ashamed yet so goddamn barren. Your words are mumbled and garbled, as his fingers still occupy your mouth.

“Of course my little whore, anything for you.” He grins at you, his pearly whites making you giggle with butterflies in your stomach. His fingers are now spit soaked, adding onto the slick that pours out of you. This time, prods at your tight hole and your whimper. “D- Daddy, that feels funny… Kinda like that, that thing that happened… Why did stuff come out of me? Is it good?” You ask behind his digits that are soon pulled out. Wet fingers caress your beautiful, innocent face and he simply chuckles. “It felt good though, right? That’s supposed to happen, and that wet stuff is perfectly normal… It’s like sweet syrup, okay?” He shuts down your pondering mind and you nod your head.

He pushes two fingers into your spasming cunt, making you unexpectedly shriek. “Oh!” You moan deliciously as Charles quickly finds your sweet spot. Your entire body is filled with immense pleasure and Charles begins to pull his finger out. You squeeze him tightly and all he can think about is stretching you out with his thick cock. “Felt full…” You whisper to yourself, and he quickly pushes two digits into you. You let out whimpers of pain and pleasure from the stretch and he scissors you open slightly. You don’t know what to do with your empty, sweaty hands except for gripping the bed with them. Beneath your fingers is crumpled cloth and your arch your back off of it.

He pushes his fingers deeper, filling you up to the hilt. They're pressed up against your g-spot and he begins to thrust his fingers at a rapid pace. His palm rubs your little clit and you can’t control your loud moans. The obscene, wet sounds of your pussy makes a flush of blood flow to Charles’s cock. It swells with arousal and he can’t take it anymore. His other hand goes up to his cock and he begins to stroke himself at the same pace as his fingers. Your silky walls squeeze his fingers and sticky wetness coats them. Charles groans as you clamp down on his long digits. The hand on his cock speeds up and you watch him as he chases his release. It’s a sight that you just can’t tear your eyes away from. You feel that intense build up again — impending fireworks ready to burst in the sky. Broken pleas leave your mouth, litanies of please please please and Daddy Daddy Daddy.

He speeds up both his hands and you’re soon creaming around his fingers. You cum with a scream of euphoria, “Daddy!” You clench down on him tightly and your cum leaks everywhere. Your pussy throbs and he fucks you with his fingers until you’re overstimulated. You unconsciously grind against his hand and your clit is overwrought from the two powerful orgasms.  Your heart pounds heavily and your chest heaves as you try to come down from your high. He takes his fingers out of your worn out cunt and shoves them in your mouth. “Suck them, yeah, just like my cock!” He growls, speeding up his hand on his cock. His foreskin peels back and forth, and beads of cum and pre-cum drip onto you. With a shout and growl, white strokes of hot, sticky cum lands on your skin. You moan at the lovely feeling and he just admires the sight of you covered in cum. Beautiful.

Days pass and you’re on the edge, but so is Charles. He can barely control himself from jerking off almost everyday ever since that afternoon after the bath. The sight of you sucking his cock and fingers, hearing you moan, watching you cum and oh the innocence you still have makes him harder than a rock. You’re no better, though. Ever since then you’ve been insatiable. You linger around Charles all the time, following him around like a shadow of his. The tingles haven’t ceased either, no. They’ve come back even more and you want your Daddy to make them go away. You want him to make you feel good and you want to return the favour so fucking badly. “Daddy… I have tingles!” You whine needily, dragging your feet behind you as if you’ve been raised with no manners. “I know baby, but you gotta shut the mouth of yours up and let me do my work!” He growls, the ever impending arrival of your mother being today.

You flinch at his tone but your panties slicken up at it too. You continue to waddle behind him, not even paying attention to how he was searching for all your treasured goods. “Please, Daddy? Please, please, please? I have so many tingles! Do you have any tingles? If you do, can I make you feel good? I think I got better at sucking my cherry popsicles, can I please suck your uh- your thing? I’ll be good at it, I swear-” You ramble on and on until Charles cuts you off with his booming voice. “I said that’s enough! Not another goddamn word!” He yells at you so harshly that you’re on the verge of crying on the spot. His cheeks are shaking with anger and frustration and his face is flushed with heat.

You open your mouth to apologize to him but the hand that is now wrapped around your neck stops you from doing so. “Are you too much of a dumb slut to understand? So desperate for attention, and you just wanna cum so bad… Tsk tsk, such a whore. You want Daddy’s cock so bad, you don’t care if he’s busy, right? Aw, don’t cry now… Daddy wants to see you cry when you’re choking on his big fat cock, I want to see you cry while you’re cumming over, and over, over…” He ferociously whispers in your ear, making you gulp in fear. He squeezes your throat even tighter and you gently wrap your hands around his wrist. You struggle to breath but you also can’t help but to enjoy the feeling of him choking you. You whimper at his words and rub your thighs, thinking about how he can make you feel good. “Nuh uh, none of that.” He wedges a thigh between your legs and rests your cunt on it.

He moves his thigh back and forth, clenching the muscles in it to make the friction increase and a breathy moan catches in your throat. You whimper and instinctively, you grind yourself against his well-built thigh. Pleasure blossoms from through your core and Charles stops moving his thigh — leaving you as a whining, needy mess. “No, Daddy’s not going to let you cum at all, and don’t even think about trying to convince me. You’re a bad, slutty little whore — And you need to be punished. Go to your room, and if I hear you crying then I’m going to bruise your ass.” He snarls, ending his long string of words with a sharp spankl to your butt — a warning. He lets go of your neck and you bolt past him, locking yourself in your quaint yet luxurious room until your mother comes home.

Your mother comes home — chaotic and stressed out. Being a large person in the highest of society was tough. She locks her lips against Charles and jealousy’s big, ugly, green head rears itself from behind you. You watch through the cracked door and your mother hurries to get ready for drinking with Mrs. Dubois and Mrs. Caroline -- two of her many rich friends. You feel hurt when she doesn’t search for you, a pang in your sweet heart but you ignore it. You want to step out of your room to go visit her, but you don’t want to upset Charles again. You remind yourself that he’s your step father, and your mind wanders to all sorts of doubts. Was this wrong? Sometimes it felt wrong… But Charles would never do anything wrong! You giggle away at your silly mind, oh how it would come up with the most absurd things.

You watch her leave and sigh heavily to yourself before plopping down on your bed. Swinging your legs back and forth, your tingles still there in your pussy. Your tits ache and you kick yourself for poking at Charles. A knock on the door startles you —two raps that are harsh. You hesitate from getting up to open the door, but after two more raps you decide that it’s for the best. “Baby? Open up, Daddy’s ready to play now.” he calls out from the other side, a devil luring you to commit sin after sin. You giggle with both glee and excitement, ready for playtime with him. You open the door with a smile on your face and then you gasp at the large stack of gifts that Charles was holding in his arms. “Hi, Cha- Daddy…” You say breathlessly, meeting your eyes with his silver-blue ones. They’re blown out — just like how they usually are whenever you see him.

They hold a certain darkness that you’ve never seen before, a sort of storminess that you’d love to revel in. “Hi, baby… Let me in now, I have the rest of the night planned out for us and I’d hate to have to punish you for bad manners.” He says with a sweet baritone, but his threat is bitter. You’re easily charmed, though and you don’t even pay attention to his warning. You let him in and shut the door behind yourself. “I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I was annoying you- I just had tingles and I wanted you to help out, that’s all!” You apologize, wrapping your arms around him before he could say anything. You nuzzle your nose in the crook of his neck and he urges you to sit on his lap — your favourite seat ever. “Mhm, I know you’re sorry baby, thank you for apologizing so nicely. As much as I like seeing you in pain, I just can’t do that to my sweet little girl.” He whispers in your ear, before kissing your cheeks.

“Do you forgive me, Daddy? Are you still mad at me?” You pull away and look him in the eyes, demanding honesty. “Of course I forgive you, baby… You’re such a good girl! Look at what I got you, I bought you some gifts.” He smiles at you sweetly and your insides flip with happiness. You squeal and immediately thank him, before trying to give him a kiss on the cheek just like how he did to you. He hands you a box and you immediately unwrap the floral wrapping paper. Your furrow your eyebrows in confusion but are grateful nevertheless. “D- Daddy, what’s this?” You ask him, handing him the box. Inside is something that resembles a microphone. It is a pastel pink and has a few buttons. “This is a magic wand, baby! Like the ones that fairies have, and this one can make you feel really good.” He explains, and hands you another small box. Inside are batteries — something that your mother told you not to mess with. You whimper and gasp before handing them to him. You wiggle yourself further into his lap and wait for him to set up your wand.

He hands it to you and it’s quite weighty, but you take it anyways. “Whenever you get tingles, Daddy can use this on your little button — okay? But we’ll save this for another time. You like Daddy’s thighs, don’t you?” He asks, taking the wand away from you. You sheepishly nod and wiggle in his lap again. He grips your waist tightly and squeezes, before moving you so that you’d straddle his left thigh. He clenches the muscles in his thigh and the already stiff muscle becomes even harder. Charles’s large cock bulges through his pants, all hard and aching already. “You like that, baby?” He asks again, reaching his hands up your dress and tearing away your cotton panties. “Mhm!” You nod harshly, your cunt sopping and drooling. He drags you back and forth slowly and the arms that are wrapped around him squeeze even tighter.

Your clit grinds against the rough material of his pants and he moves you back and forth. He bounces the same thigh slightly and a series of moans rumble through you. “O- Oh my… Daddy, that feels s- so, hng, good.” You whisper, moans cutting through almost every word you utter. “Look at you, a dripping mess all over my thigh. Can’t help it, hm? Just feels so good, only Daddy can make you so slutty.” He groans in your ear, before sucking a few hickies across the bare skin on your neck. Your eyes roll back into your skull at the euphoric feeling. “Look at you, all dumb and stupid, just drooling at the thought of being my slut.” He chides, smearing the saliva that leaks from your mouth. “Daddy, I have lots of tingles now!” You squeal as he presses you further down on his thigh. A burning feeling spreads across your pussy and abdomen and your drooling hole clenches around nothing.

“Yeah, baby, I bet it feels so good, right?” He purrs, moving one of his strong hands to your ass. He gives you a few spanks, pushing you closer to your release. “I think that thing is happening again… Those fireworks!” You tell you, gasping and moaning at the pain and pleasure. “Fuck, got me so hard right now.” He groans, roughly grabbing one of your hands to palm his cock. “Feel that, baby? That’s all for you and your slutty pussy. All yours- God, fuck” He swears after you accidentally rub your hand over his cock and squeeze it. You let out an extremely loud moan, not even caring if anyone was home. The staff was gone and so was your mother, so who are you to care? “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” You cry out as your beautiful face frowns in pleasure.

You can feel that high building up and Charles grinds his clothed cock into your hand. “Go on, cum, cum all over my thigh like the needy little baby you are. God, everyone in this damn town would be so ashamed to know you’re such a whore for your Daddy’s cock. And I bet you don’t care, do you? You just can’t get enough of me, cumming all the time, making a mess of that pussy of yours…” He growls at you, his words making you gasp and moan. He continues to rub your pussy against his thigh even though you’re pushing at him slightly. “Daddy, the tingles are too much,” you whine desperately, trying to writhe and push away from him but only worsening the tingles. “Shh…” Charles sibilates, holding you still even though your fussing didn’t stop.

Tremors claim your body and Charles drags your pussy against his thigh even harder. You fall against his chest and the fight in you leaves your body. A lewd, guttural moan leaves your mouth and you’re cumming all over his thigh. “Oh Daddy!” You squeal as pleasure overtakes your body. Your cunt throbs and you’ve soaked his pants completely. Charles gets harder at the sight of you cumming all over him. Your cunt gushes all over his pants and you’re moaning loudly. “Good girl, such a good girl for Daddy!” He praises, smiling at your writing form. You gasp as he continues to rub your pussy on his thigh, letting you ride out your orgasm and slightly overstimulating you. You babble like a baby and your grip on him is flimsy at this point. Your chest heaves and he lifts you off his thigh.

Suddenly, you’re kneeling on the ground and he’s freeing his cock from the confinements of his pants. It’s leaking, crying fat beads of clear pre-cum and suddenly you remember his husky, mainly taste on your tongue. “It’s your c- c…” You’re not sure whether or not you should say it, so you decide to keep your mouth shut. He laughs at you and his cock is a raging red, almost purple. He brings you a little closer to his cock and your face to face with it. Your mouth salivates at the sight of it and you want nothing more than to suck him off. He slaps his heavy cock against your cheek, once, twice, three times. You moan at the delicious pain and it sends a rush of blood to his cock again. He begins to stroke himself in front of you, knowing that you crave him in your mouth so desperately. “Look at me, baby. Watch Daddy jerk himself off, yeah, just like that. You want my cock so bad, don’t you? In due time baby, don’t worry.” He tells you in between moans.

You feel more tingles building up in your pussy and more wetness leaking out of you. You impulsively open your mouth up, ready to welcome his cock. But instead he shoves two fingers into your mouth and you take them delightfully. His digits are soon covered in spit and his pre-cum has been smeared all over his cock. He begins to pump his hand up and down -- base to tip. His thumb occasionally swipes over his leaking tip and he moans throatily. “Can I help you out, Daddy? Please?” You beg with puppy eyes, and he just can’t resist. Though your words are garbled, he still knows what you need. He keeps his two fingers in your mouth and takes his hand off of his cock. It bounces up and slaps against his stomach, weighty and thick. He grabs one of your hands and guides it until it’s wrapped around his cock.

It’s heavy in your hands but God, are you grateful to have it all for yourself. You try to mimic his movements, moving your hand up and down even though you don’t have a good grip on him. He moans loudly as your thumb accidentally swipes over his red tip. He further pushes his fingers into your mouth until you’re choking on his digits. “Oh, god, yes…” He groans, and your mind rewinds to the times where the priest from church always told you that anything involving private parts is wrong. The memory makes you stutter and your morals are now conflicted. He takes notice to the slowly disappearing eagerness you had. “Oh baby, do you think Daddy’ll ever let you do something bad? Never, everything they tell you... it’s all lies, okay? Daddy knows what’s best, and you should listen to Daddy. Now stroke me just like how I was, okay?” He tells you, pushing his fingers against your gag reflex.

You once again mirror his movements, enjoying the fact that you’re the reason as to why his tingles would go away. You quicken up your movements on his cock, and he asks, no, he orders you to tighten your hand and you’re trying your hardest. “Now twist your hand a bit, baby, and move a bit quicker.” He gruffs, and you try to do as you’re told. Your hand moves in corkscrew-like motions and Charles begins to grind into your palm. His cock throbs and twitches under your touch and his balls are slowly beginning to tighten up. His fingers swirl in your mouth and your other hand comes up to cradle his swollen, heavy balls. He lets out a guttural moan and more pre-cum drips from his tip and stains your soft skin. “Oh god…” He groans and he hits his release. Hot spurts of thick cum drips from his tip and copious amounts of it leaks everywhere. You continue to stroke him until he tells you to stop, and even then you don’t want to.

He takes his hand out of your mouth and guides you to his cock. “Clean Daddy up, yeah… That’s it, lick up all my cum... Tastes so good right? Swallow it all like a good girl.” He commands and you greedily lap up all his cum. You’re addicted to the taste, even though it’s slightly peculiar. Salty yet sweet, manly and husky. You try your best to clean him up until he’s satisfied, You smile up at him shyly, staying in your place on your knees as you wait for your next order. You watch as his cock slowly begins to soften and as he shoves it into his boxers. Your gaze lands on the gigantic wet spot on his grey linen pants and your eyes bulge out in shock. He looks down to his thigh and back to you before chuckling in such a swooning way. “Look at the mess you made, baby!” He cooes, reminding you of the way you were grinding on his thigh like it was a normal thing to do. You’re flustered and you shy away from him, embarrassed with all the attention. “Aw, don’t be coy now; you were just riding my thigh like a bitch in heat, and now you wanna be innocent?”

The blunt scent of smoke fills the room with ease. Charles sighs in delight, knowing that his plan was taking place at the very moment. You sit between his feet, re-reading the letter that Charles has given you. “She’s gone already? Didn’t she just come back, Daddy? We haven’t even spent time as a family yet!” You cry out in both distress and sadness as Charles continues to take a drag from his pipe. He smoothes a soothing hand over your hair and tears begin to fall from your eyes. She’s gone for two darn months? There’s no way you’ll be able to handle that! You stifle your sobs to your best ability and oh how Charles’s cock throbs at both the sound and the sight of you crying. “Don’t you feel sad, Daddy?” You ask through your tears, hiccuping and sobbing.

“No, baby. Do you wanna know why? It’s because I support whatever your mother wants to do… And you should too, baby. Now stop being a crybaby and let me take your mind off it, Daddy has some things to tell you.” He shuts you up and puts out his pipe before pulling you onto his lap. You gladly let him do so and he wipes your tears away for you. He lets out a breathy chuckle and smiles, before kissing the tip of your nose. “If I see you crying then I’ll put you over my knee, okay? None of that right now.” He orders, and you sheepishly nod. You hate being over his knee just as much as he loves it. You quickly blink away any forthcoming tears before your bottom is bruised up. “Have you ever been to Italy? It’s quite the beauty, to be frank.” He begins and your ears perk up.

“I have, and it’s quite lovely. There’s nothing as beautiful as the sunset in Florence from the top of the dorm room… It’s the most exquisite sight, I’ll take you some day.” He reminisces, staring at nothing as he recalls the lovely trip. “Oh, to bask in that lovely sunlight again would be delightful, and to drive down the streets as it rains…” He sighs blissfully and you let your imagination run wild. Images of you in Charles’s car brings you joy and you can’t help but to hum in agreement. “Mother always tells me about Italy, mostly about the stores and beautiful men but I’ve always liked the scenery.” You tell him, and he nods as he listens to you speak. You continue, “I’ve seen paintings, and photographs! I have a few cousins that live there too, I love it whenever they phone us and tell me about their home.” You giggle to yourself as you remember all those times.

Charles grabs your chin gently and makes you face him. You look into his eyes and then to his lips. They’re plump and pink and all you’d like to do is to press your own against them. You’ve always liked his kisses, no matter what. The ones on your hands, legs, shoulders but god do you love the ones he leaves on the inside of your thighs. You shiver at the memory of him kneeling down and spreading your legs wide open. As if he could read your mind, his other hand begins to run up and down your thigh. You’re both insatiable -- addictive and you can’t get enough of each other. “Are you close with your cousins, baby?” He asks out of the blue. You clear your throat before responding. “Ahem, uh, we were before Mother married for the third time, I think they should let her be!” He’s told. Your cute lips have formed and slight pout and all he wants to do is bite and suck on them until you’d tell him to stop.

“So you don’t talk to anyone else in your family?” He questions you, raising his eyebrows high up to the sky. “No…” You sigh and start playing with Charles’s fingers. “Uh huh…” He nods, letting your words sink in. You trace little invisible shapes on his hand, slightly ticking the brooding man. “Can you take me to Italy, Daddy? I would truly love to visit!” You ask suddenly, pouting at him. “Sure, baby, but you have to let me do a few things to you first, okay?” He negotiates, and you easily agree to whatever conditions he has for you. “Of course, I’ll do anything for you, Daddy!” You exclaim, accidentally putting an emphasis on ‘anything’. He smirks and cracks his knuckles. The pops make you cringe and squeem in his lap, earning yourself a slap to your thigh.

“Go get the gift I have for you, and be quick, you know I don’t like waiting for too long.” He warns you warily. You quickly dash up to your room, bare feet pattering against the hardwood floors like rain falling on an umbrella. You ravage through your closet and pull out the box before running back downstairs. Your dress gets caught on a piece of stray wood that had been broken from when the butlers were bringing in the new furniture and you huff in annoyance. You impatient yank the cloth from the wood and wince as it rips. You turn on your heels and continue to rush back to the smoke room where Charles was. You pant heavily and struggle to form any words, making Charles chuckle. “What happened to your dress, baby?” He asks, furrowing his eyebrows. You look down and suck in a sharp breath, not realizing that the rip was that bad.

“It had gotten caught on some broken wood…” You admit under your breath. “Hm?” He asks again, not hearing what you said. “It had gotten caught on some broken wood, Daddy… I’m sorry!” You repeat a bit louder, adding an apology at the end. Truth be told, you’re slightly terrified of Charles as anyone would be. “Aw, you’re so clumsy and stupid aren’t you? Just destroying your clothes as a dumb baby would.” He tuts, taunting you and your accident. “Don’t worry baby, Daddy is going to take care of you and that stupid cunt of yours.” He growls, making you gulp. You don’t even think about the overwhelming tingles that have taken your core -- no, instead you think about what he could possibly do next. He pulls the left strap of your dress down, revealing your bare breast. He is closer to you than before and you can’t even remember when he had gotten up from his seat.

He smiles down and you and you look up at him with your lips slightly parted. He does the same to the other strap and exposes your chest for himself and himself only. Cool air hits your tits and your peaks turn rock hard. They twist up painfully and ache for him and his delightful touch. You lose your breath for a few seconds and he pinches your nipples and plays with them -- and you accidentally end up dropping the box. He tuts at you again and you’re quick to pick it up before he takes it away from you. “Such a stupid baby, you need Daddy to help you out because you can’t do anything right, hm? Other than sucking my cock, of course.” He degrades, making you whimper. He guides you to the throne-like chair and makes you sit down. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and tilt your head at him as he gets down on his knees.

He places the box next to him and spreads your bare legs far apart from each other. He hikes up your dress to your waist and lets out a coo as he spots the evident wetness that has soaked through your panties. The light beige cloth is tarnished and he’s the reason why. “Daddy… What are you doing?” You nervously ask him as you crane your head down to look at him. He looks up at you with an almost devilish smirk and hooks his fingers into your panties before pulling them down your legs. He admires the healed cuts and bruises that probably came from your childhood. He throws your panties behind him and places your legs onto his strong shoulders. You’re not sure what he’s about to do and millions of questions run through your mind.

“Daddy, wh- what are you doing?” You question him, watching as his tongue runs over his plump pink lips. His nips at your thighs -- biting, kissing, and bruising the skin. Arousal leaks from you and smears onto your pussy. He inches his face closer and closer to your pussy before finally answering your question. “I’m going to taste your cute little cunt, baby.” He bluntly tells you before licking a fat stripe up your cunt. “Hu- Oh!” You let out a lewd moan and tangle your fingers in his fluffy caramel hair. The feeling is overwhelming as Charles laps up your wetness even though each lick makes more leak from your drooling hole. He drinks up everything you have to offer like an animal, wanting more and more from you. His tongue travels through your folds, just barely brushing over your clit and you’re writhing above him.

The lewd sounds of his mouth on your pussy echo throughout the rooms but are soon drowned out by your moans. Suddenly, he latches his lips onto your swollen clit and sucks hard. Stars fill your vision at the unfamiliar feeling and you accidentally buck your hips up. He growls in your pussy and slams your hips back down before laying a heavy hand on your lower abdomen. His tongue swirls around your bud and flicks over your clit. You feel dizzy and his tongue and lips continue to send you into oblivion. You slightly tug on his hair and another growl rumbles from Charles, pushing you closer to your release. The fireworks aren’t sparking as much as you’d like them to and you feel empty. Under Charles’s strong arm, you wiggle your hips as you spew alphabetical nonsense.

“Daddy…” You moan out, your voice soft and sweet. He knows what you want but god -- seeing you all needy and desperate makes him even harder than a rock. He relents his sucking on your clit and you whine until he runs his middle finger through your wet cunt. He lightly flicks your clit with his tongue as he suddenly pushes his long digit into your cunt. He quickly finds your g-spot and the build up inside you hits its limit. You cum with a guttural shriek and he continues to abuse your poor cunt with his mouth and finger. Your pussy clenches around his finger and your clit throbs under his tongue as cum gushes out of you. He drinks it all up and stares right at you as he does so. Your sweet taste fills his mouth and he craves you even more -- but his cock is far too hard for him to do anything else.

He pulls his head away from your pussy and looks up at you again. He watches you as he pulls his cum-coated finger out of you and he shoves said finger past your lips. Your taste fills your mouth -- sweet yet a little bitter. It’s a stark contrast from his taste as it was more husky and manly. His finger leaves your mouth with a distinct ‘pop!’ and you look up at him with a face that just begs to him. He latches his lips onto yours and kisses you ferociously. Charles lifts you up from the chair and your sensitive pussy presses against him by accident. You whimper at the unexpected feeling and cry out against his lips. “Daddy! D- Daddy…” You try to keep up with his lips but you can’t, so you decide to give up. His tongue searches your mouth and he occasionally sucks on yours. He’s so experienced, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows how to make you easily submit to him, he knows when to nip at your swollen lips and he knows exactly what you need.

He carries you to your bedroom, each step of his adding friction to your pussy. You’re sopping wet and you’re so damn needy for him. You whine against his lips and he pulls away as he climbs the steps. Strong, veiny hands squeeze your ass roughly and his marriage ring digs into your skin. You look ruined -- dress torn and your tits exposed, lips plump and hair disheveled and your cunt is rubbing against Charles. He enters your room and throws you on the bed. You look up at him and he rips your dress off of your body roughly. He pulls the pink wand out from the pocket of his pants and you realize you had forgotten about it. He sets it on the bed and quickly undresses himself, desperate to relieve his ache. You watch him intently, spreading your legs out of instinct and you can feel more wetness dripping out of you.

You can’t keep your eyes off of him, the sight so enticing. Bulging muscles and a beautifully sculpted face that you could look at forever.  He crawls on top of you and puts his hands around your head. He’s left in only his boxers and you can see how hard he is. He’s huge, and sometimes when you think about his cock you can barely get the size right. “Daddy… What are we going to do now?” You ask sweetly, looking up at him. “Daddy’s going to take your innocence away, baby. I’m going to ruin you, turn you into my little minx.” He tells you bluntly, cutting right to the chase. You unconsciously moan at his words and your pussy clenches at the thought of him ruining you. What would that entail? He growls lowly in your ear before attaching his lips to the sweet spot of your neck.

He sucks a hickey onto your skin -- licking, biting, sucking like it’s a hobby of his. You moan at the sensation and he chuckles against your neck. “So sensitive… God, what am I going to do with you, baby?” He sighs, asking himself a question only he knows the answer to. “You can do whatever you want, Daddy! Anything you do is right!” You giggle, answering his question. He groans and a rush of blood heads straight to his cock. He pulls his boxers down, sliding them over his built thighs and past his legs. You watch carefully as his cock bounces up and slaps his lower abdomen -- a sight you’ll never get used to but always love. He grabs the base and spreads your legs even wider. He slaps the tip of his cock on your clit, earning a squeal from you.

“Do you like that, baby doll?” He questions, slapping your clit again. You mewl and nod your head feverishly. You stare up at him and he looks down at you with a Cheshire smirk. He runs his cockhead through your wet folds, smearing the few drops of pre-cum that leaked from his slit. The large, bulbous tip teases your pussy. It bumps up against your clit and as soon as it prods at your tight hole, you feel a bit of panic. Your mother had told you all sorts of horrid stories about those types of things, but you never thought much of it. “Daddy, what are you doing?” You ask him, scrambling to hold one of his hands for comfort.  You lace your fingers with his and he coos at how innocent and docile you are. “I’m going to turn you into my own little angel, okay baby? What’s wrong, hm?” He questions, squeezing your hand tightly.

“I- I’m scared… Do I have to do it, Daddy? I mean I really wanna do it! I’m just unsure, I guess…” You ramble adorably, looking deep in his eyes. His features don’t soften, no, because he knows that deep down inside, you'll do anything for him. “Baby, you’ll make me the happiest man alive if you do this! Don’t you want to make me happy like you always do? C’mon, baby doll, don’t make Daddy upset… You’ve been such a good girl for me! And I know how much you absolutely love being my good girl.” He frowns slightly, beginning to pull away from you. You quickly pull him back to you and Charles smiles at you. “I’d like to still be your good girl, Daddy! I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I swear!” You beg and apologize, tears glossing over your eyes. He shushes you and your chest heaves in a panicking manner.

“Hold onto my shoulders, baby, but don’t hurt me. Okay?” He orders, placing your hands there for you. You nod your head and easily obey his orders without a single peep of objection. He wraps his left hand around your neck, and his right hand goes back to grip his cock. Charles drags the fat tip up and down your wet pussy against, bumping your sensitive clit with it and covering it with your juices. He slowly drags his tip down to your hole and begins to push in, enticing a slightly muffled shriek from you. He shuts you up by pressing his lips on yours and squeezing your throat slightly. His thick cock pushes into you, stretching you out painfully. The burn of the stretch makes you squeeze his shoulders tightly and you whimper loudly into his lips. Charles moans loudly as he sheathes his cock completely into your cunt.

The stretch turns into a dull ache and it’s soon pleasurable. Your wet velvet walls hug his cock tightly, perfectly, as if you’re made for him and him only. “God, so damn tight. Just squeezing my cock like a little slut.” He groans, pulling away from your lips. Both of your faces are frowning in pleasure. He digs his fingers into your hip as he fully bottoms out. It felt like it would never end, as if he would keep pushing into you. Charles swears under his breath and savours the feeling of your pulsing walls squeezing his hard cock. You writhe under him, growing desperate. “Daddy… Please, please, please…” You beg, eyes rolling into your skull out of desperation. “So needy for my cock, just begging for it already…” He tuts and you feel your cunt flutter at his words. He pulls his cock all the way out from your wet pussy and it glistens with your wetness. You feel too empty, far too empty for both yours and Charles’s liking.

He suddenly pushes back into you and begins to pump in and out of your cunt without any warning. You moan loudly, litanies of “Daddy” continuously leaving your mouth like a mantra. His cock practically splits you in half and he fucks into you with a carefree pace. The sounds of skin on skin are drowned out by your moans and groans. His cock hammers against your poor g-spot, pummeling in and out of you with no relent. “Oh Dio, che puttana per il mio cazzo, eh? La mia puttana, solo la mia. Ti rovinerà per ogni altro uomo — anche se sei mia e solo mia.” He groans loudly, the foreign language igniting those fireworks in your core. “Oh Daddy! Oh- oh my…” You cry out, your body jerking with each thrust of his. Charles deepens his thrusts and his cock pummels against your cervix, making you cry out. He whispers a soft apology even though he loves seeing you in pain. He pulls out of your cunt, leaving you a needy, desperate, pathetic slutty mess under him.

The hand around your throat tightens a bit more, causing you to choke on your whines. He grabs the wand behind him and flicks it on, letting it come to life. Charles pinches the bottom of his cock to stave off his release, his balls swollen and heavy. He trails the wand on your inner thighs and watches as you let out a silent scream. “Pretty little angel, my angel… You’re so stupid for my cock, aren’t you? Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of you. He moves the hand that was on your throat down to his cock. He slaps the velvet tip on your pussy and runs it through your slit again. He pushes into you and continues to drag the wand along your body. The vibrations tease you and so do his slow thrusts. “P- Please, Daddy, it’s not enough for my tingles, please!” You beg, your hands still on his shoulders. He smiles down at you and lets out a coo, before turning off the wand and throwing it to the side.

“Mia bella sgualdrina, ora mi prenderò cura io di te. Ma ti prenderò a bordo, ti prenderò in giro e ti porterò al tuo rilascio più e più volte, solo perché mi piace vederti tutto più profondo per me.” He husks in your ear, before dragging his cock in and out of you even quicker. He throws one of your legs over his shoulder and fucks into you harshly. His swollen balls slap against your ass and his pelvis grinds against your clit — pushing you closer and closer to your release. He watches you fall apart under him, turning into a little whore just as he had planned. “Please, please, please, please, I want the fireworks so bad Daddy!” You beg, not even realizing that you’re talking. His cock throbs at your words and with one particularly hard thrust, you come undone. You bite back a scream as you cum all over his cock — coating it with your cum.

He looks down to where your bodies are connected and lets out a loud moan. The sight of your poor abused cunt being pounded by his cock makes him harder. He watches as your cunt clenches around him tightly and his grip on your hips becomes tighter. You squeeze his cock tightly and your chest heaves gravely and you’re overly sensitive. He snaps his hips into yours and occasionally grinds his cock into you, just to see you writhe. “You’re taking my big cock so fucking good, baby.” He husks in your ear, before letting out a moan that would make a nun blush. “I can hardly believe you’re taking it all, dove. I was so damn afraid it wouldn’t fit.” He groans, nudging his cock against your g-spot. Your eyes roll back into your skull. You nod your head, realizing that deep down you had thought the same thing. “Aw, too dumb to speak?” He asks tauntingly, bringing his hand to your clit.

He rubs your pearl of nerves that had been abused by his mouth. “I want to fill you up so bad, baby. I want to see you swell up with my seed… Want to see your belly grow with my baby, la mia piccola sgualdrinella.” He moans in your ear. His words set you off again and you arch your back off the bed as you hit your release for the third time in one day. You wriggle away from him as the fireworks become too much for you. You moan loudly and your pussy clamps down tightly on his cock. You squeeze him with all your might as you cream yourself around his cock. Charles shudders at the sights and swears in Italian under his breath. He rubs your clit even harder even though you’re shaking your head and trying to get away from his cock. “Don’t run away from me now, gattina… C’mon, I know you can’t handle my big fat cock, but don’t be like that…” He mopes before letting out his signature breathy chuckle.

You dig your nails into his shoulders as you continue to get railed by him. “Oh my god!” You squeal as you struggle to come down from your high. “C’mon dolce ragazza, give me one more…” He growls, making his thrusts slower and deeper. “Anything you w- want, Daddy.” You croak out between your pornographic moans. He swears he’s about to break you with how hard he’s gripping you, but he can’t find it in himself to stop. His cock head bumps up against your g-spot continuously and lewd, wet squelching sounds fill the room along with the smell of sex. A thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead and he’s panting non-stop.  He grinds his cock into you, enticing a loud scream from you. He immediately clamps a hand over her mouth and presses his forehead to yours. “Shh, shh… Do it, cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, before letting out a loud moan.

You cum with a loud, incessant moan that’s muffled by his hand. Charles groans as his orgasm is triggered too. He pushes deep into your pussy and his cock stills. His balls tighten and your cunt clenches around him as you both cum at the same time. The feeling of his cum filling you up makes you moan pathetically. White, hot, stickiness coats your walls and fills you up to the brim, the never ending amount of it making you sigh is pleasure. Charles watches as some of his cum leaks past his cock and he’s instantly hard again. He waits until he fully comes down from his high before pulling out from your pussy. He’s not sure whether he should go for a second round or not, but you’ve already made up your mind. “Daddy… Can I have more, please? I love it so much, a- and I’d really like for you to help me with my tingles again!” You beg with puppy eyes and an irresistible pout.

He moans at your desperation and neediness before laughing breathlessly. “Oh la mia principessa, you’re already such a slut for my cock…” He smiles down at you and you just whine, making grabbing hands at him. He rolls you over and sits down with you straddling him. Charles’s cock is right against your used pussy and he drags the head through your soaking, cum-coated folds. “Please, please put your c- cock in me…” You beg in a hushed voice, falling onto his chest. He bucks his hips up and enters your pussy in one smooth thrust. One hand lifts you up slightly and the other wraps itself around your throat. “Oh please!” You beg even louder, your face all contorted in pleasure. A growl rumbles in his chest and he begins to fuck up into your pussy. You cry out, and feel tears stinging your eyes from the overwhelming feeling. Both yours and Charles’s cum leaks out of you and drips all over his cock and even leaks down to his balls.

“Cosi' dannatamente bisognoso, Dio. Non ne hai mai abbastanza del mio cazzo, eh? Voglio toccarti tutto il tempo, piccola, voglio vederti gonfiare con il mio sperma. Non vedo l'ora di vedere le tue tette riempirsi di latte, guardarle rimbalzare mentre ti scopo.” He moans softly, panting like a dog. You have no idea what he’s saying, but you just nod in agreement. He chuckles and squeezes your throat just to watch you squirm under his touch. “Oh my god, Daddy! That feels so good, please…” You whisper to him, and he moves his hand on your throat to your ass. He grabs the supple flesh before spanking you for fun, enjoying the way you whimper and clench around his cock. He spreads your butt cheeks and his ring finger dances over your puckered hole. He chuckles as you begin to panic, not even knowing what he’s doing.

He lets go and spanks your ass one more time before making sharper thrusts. He’s deeper than before and you can barely handle it. You dig your nails into his chest, leaving crescent shaped scars that he’ll look back on in the near future. Both of your moans become louder and more desperate, the fireworks in your cores intensifying slowly but surely. “You’re going to cum, aren’t you? Go ahead, do it, cum all over my big fat cock. I’ll fill you up again, don’t worry my little slut.” He smiles, ghosting his lips over yours. On command, you come undone around his cock again. You squeeze him tightly and grind down on his cock on instinct, earning a loud moan from Charles. He spanks your ass again and the delicious sting has you cumming harder. You coat his cock with your juices and tiredness takes you over. You let him rail into you non stop — even though there’s a tinge of blood mixed with your shared cum.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re done already, baby. Daddy’s not even finished with you, yet. We’ll have all the time in the world baby, don’t worry. I’m going to breed you with my seed once we get to Italy, gonna make you needy for my cock all the time; it’s going to be the only thing on your innocent mind.” Charles promises, and you only smile and nod at your Daddy. He groans under you and you can hear the rumbles of it in his chest. “Please f- fill me up, Daddy!” You beg, not even knowing what you’re asking him to do. He lets out a moan at your words and begins to bounce you up and down his long, thick cock. He drives his cock in and out of you incessantly, chasing his orgasm for the second time and you’re whining loudly.

“Oh god, I’m going to cum so fucking hard baby, I’m going to fill you up just like you want me to… Fuck yes!” He shouts, watching as your tits bounce with his each and every movement. He stills and brings you down on his cock, painting your walls with his sticky, copious amounts of cum. He watches as it leaks past his cock that is stuffed in your abused pussy. He rubs your overwrought clit just to see you in pain, before pulling his hand away. You both sigh and Charles rubs his nose against yours, making you bubble in giggles. “Daddy?” You call out to him after a few moments of peaceful silence. “Yes, baby?” He answers, smiling down at you wickedly. “I… I love you…” You whisper to him, before breaking out in a smile. He lets out a hearty chuckle that you’re all but used to.

“Oh princess, if only you knew.”

[starlightshadowsworld]

Son of none

Based off this post: Aka Percy Weasley was abandoned by his family and I don’t think they realised just how much danger an 18 civilian blood traitor son would be when stuck behind enemy lines. Well never fear, a fic is here as if I don’t have any other drafts...any whoooo

@transparentfreakpursepanda

Warning for blood, torture, self loathing. Mentions of bullying and neglect. Cursing.

(Also while writing this I was listening to Polaris by Natewantstobattle and...yeah if you want more angst while reading this listen to them and think of Percy :)  )

Percy deserved this.

Knowing that didn't change things. It didn’t make it easier to make it duck past the office that had once belonged to Barty Crouch Sr without feeling dread and greif. As harsh as the man could be and that he had not bothered to learn Percy's name... Percy still mourned his loss. For all that he was, Barty Crouch Sr had been a good man.

Life at the ministry taught him quickly, that kind of wizard was few and far between.

He wondered if the look Barty Crouch Sr had shared with his son before his death wax the same his father had shared with him the day he left.

Maybe it wasn't wise to compare yourself to a deranged murderer, but if that's the kind of wizard his family thought he was...

"Weasley"

It was stern, drenched in spite that was not unlike his old potions professor. But sadly even Snapes treatment of him in class did not hold a candle to what was happening now.

Percy lifted his head, it felt heavy. Infact all of him felt that he was on fire. The figure infront of him came into focus, not that Perch could quite recall his name. Edward? No that didn't seem right. Not Edward was his wand in hand and looked very annoyed, his dark mark was on full display.

Percy became very well aware in that moment that he couldn't move. He was bound to a chair in a room that looked very much like a cellar. He was still in his ministry robes, though they were dirty and tattered and stained in something.

It took Percy longer than he should've to realise it was his own blood. Not that he knew where he was bleeding from. "You Gryffindors and your bloody stubbornness" sneered Not Edward, he was a broad man, towering over Percy.

"You're wasting my time, and yours of you don't hurry up and tell me where your family is hiding." Percy shook his head, defiantly even if his body protested at the sudden movement. "Like I said before, even if I did know, I would never tell you." 

And than Not Edward would shout profanities all the while using his subordinates to use Percy as target practice till he passed out. That had been the cycle for... Well he wasn't sure for how long. Apart from the first time when Percy had weaved a convincing story about the family heading to Romania to hide away with Charlie...a whole false hunt that ended with the brand he now had on his arm. 

But this time was different.

Not Edward smirked "thought you'd say that, no matter. We've found out how to get there attention, and they'll hand themselves over." Percy laughed, it was a strangled and it sent another wave of pain through his body.

Not Edward was still smirking, in fact if anything his confidence grew. "And better yet, you're going to the bait that brings them here." And that stopped Percy laughing at once, he was quieter. "What makes you think they'd come" the words were barely above a whisper that echoed throughout the room.

Not Edward (Percy really needed to learn this man's name for his own internal monologue's sake) rolled his eyes "don't pull that on me, you Weasely's are more attached than a bunch of grapes. Rest assured, they'll be coming one way or another."

With that he left. Percy tried not to think about the fact a death eater had more confidence in his families arrival than he did. His mind wandered to the day he left, guilt pooled in his stomach. No amount of head trauma would erase the disgust and rage in Arthur’s eyes, Percy knew at that moment he had lost all right to call the man father. 

He could never look him in the eye again, he couldn’t even look himself in the mirror without seeing him staring back. His mothers eyes haunted him, she’d been the only one to try to reach out but he had slammed that back in her face. Not that Percy should have been surprised, he’d always been a parasite. 

If anything they must’ve been relived to be rid of him. 

They wouldn’t come, he knew that. Than why did his heart race, did tears threaten to fall and his stomach churn at the thought? Percy thought of his siblings, young and old...they wouldn’t have given him a second thought. Fred and George would mourn the loss of their favourite target, but they would move on they all would if they hadn’t already. 

For Percy though, this was the end of the line. 

_______________________________________________________________

Weasley family dinners were always something else, Bill knew this better than most. He smiled to Fleur who sat at his side, amusement on her face as they both watched Molly do as she does best. It was organised chaos at its finest, and while Shell cottage was a far cry from the Burrow, somehow it all came together. Harry was laughing at a story Ginny and the twins were telling, Charlie and Hermione were actually helping Molly along with Arthur. 

But even with how familiar it was, it was missing a certain brother rolling his eyes at the story and telling the true ending to the annoyance of the twins. Who would than direct the others to helping out with dinner to there mothers amusement. 

Percy. 

Ever since the watch, a muggle watch at that had arrived on his wedding day, with no name for the sender but only Bill’s name signed by an all too familiar handwriting...Bill hadn’t been able to take his mind of his little brother. His absence at his wedding and just seeing him around the house stuck out like a sore thumb to Bill. He wasn’t the only one either, he could see how his Mum would pause her eyes searching before looking down and moving onto something else.

Much like now when she put down the plates and realised that she’d left a little extra to the side. “Mum, I get that you miss him but you can’t keep doing this. Percy’s not coming back” the first to say it was Charlie, his voice soft like he was talking to an irate dragon. “Good riddance” that came from Ginny, in that whisper that wasn’t even trying to be quiet. 

Instantly Molly became much like a dragon. “Ginevera Molly Weasley, don’t you dare speak about your brother like that!” She yelled, hot tears burning in her eyes. “Molly...” Interjected Arthur, putting a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder “you can’t blame her for her anger. Come on, let’s dig in.” And that should have been the end of it but Molly turned to him, her own temper boiling. 

“Don’t you start, Arthur. Don’t you tell me I should be sat eating dinner while my son is out all alone.” She spat. “Mum, it’s fine Percy’s probably having high tea with the new minister, talking about the importance of  cauldron bottoms” snickered Fred, “pfft yeah, just sat around telling the dark lord about his book report” agreed George. Bill frowned, as did Fleur but that was nothing compared to Molly. 

Her gaze hardened and the twins shut up instantly, they’d never seen her this mad. “I dont care if you hate him, I don’t care if this isn’t my home...you speak of my son following HIM, get out of my sight now.” She said, slumping into a nearby chair. Bill stood up, putting his own hand in his mums which she took gratefully. “Percy may be the most ambitious lion around, but he wouldn’t join you know who. He left to join the ministry because that's what he believed in, death eaters isn’t even in the equation.”

And Bill meant those words. More than he ever thought he would. 

“Though is there any difference between the death eaters and the ministry anymore?” Asked Harry, the place was filled with them after all. “Yeah? Might be but they’ve kept the employees, not that I know what’s going on in there anymore.” Said Arthur, adding his 2 galleon’s into the mix. “And there not going to take kindly to a Weasley” Said Hermione, making everyone look down as if they hadn’t just realised that. 

It didn’t matter if Percy had disowned himself, his family was very much publicly fighting the people he was now stuck with. 

And that was when fate decided to be extra cruel and the radio burst into life. 

“Greetings from the Ministry. Our daily transmission has already been received today but we have an exceptional treat for the wizarding public. We will be instead hosting an interview with one of our newest employees, give a hand folks to Percival Ignatius Weasley.”

Everyone in the room froze, and yet Ron who was the only one of the family minus Fleur not to speak, ran to the radio and put the volume as loud as he could. 

“Say hello your family, Percival.” Taunted the voice, it was very gleeful as it spoke. No response was heard. “Oh, silly me I forgot how many hours you young people work, not to worry let’s get him up boys.” 

A splash was heard and a shuddering scream. “Morning Percival, sorry do you prefer Percy? Don’t care, lets start the interview. So Percival, how are you finding the ministry?” Everyone sat with baited breathe.

And yet it was there Percy who, through shuddered breaths managed to whisper a “fuck you...fuck you and your ministry”

“Well that is very rude, and here I thought your mother would have taught you manners” “don’t...don’t you talk about her.” Said Percy, Molly broke down into tears and Bill held her close. Unable to tear his gaze from the radio, no one could. 

“What do you want to say them? I’m sure they’ve missed you. In fact, just for you we’ll be hosting a party. And there all invited to the ministry, so long as they bring a certain Mr Potter.” 

There was a silence before “don’t come...don’t. Whatever you do, don’t... it’s fine. I’m fine, I love it here.” He laughed, everyone cringed at the sound he made, as if he was choking. “It’s fine, don’t come...parties are overrated yeah.” The transmission started cutting off, Ron frantically along with the twins tried to get it working. 

They heard “too busy. Don’t come, Harry don’t...stay where you are!” Before the  transmission cut off.

No one could speak, horror was etched into all of there faces. The twins were scrabbling over themselves with wand in hand to track where the transmission had come from. 

The Ministry. 

“We’re going...now” said Molly, standing up. Her tears were gone, grabbing for her wand and coat. “Molly...be rationale, we need to plan this.” Said Arthur, Molly spun on her heel and glared. “I am not going to sit here while those...monsters torture MY son! Planning will take to long, did you hear him Arthur?! Did you hear your son crying out in pain...he doesn’t have long left...” Arthur looked down, unable to respond. 

Molly looked at the rest of the family, her gaze saying it all: You can come with me or you can stay. The first to stand was Bill, closely followed by Fleur who met his thankful gaze with a determined smile. Charlie and Ron were next, grabbing there wands with Harry and Hermione following. Ginny and the twins exchanged guilty looks but stood. Arthur couldn’t look at any of them, he simply picked up his wand. 

“Harry, I understand if you wish to stay” said Molly, he shook his head. “I might not know him well but Percy’s family 2...I cant sit here while you guys go even with the danger.” He replied, and somehow that was all it was, Percy was family...enough said. 

And so the family of lions got up and left, to find the one they left behind. 

_______________________________________________________

Percy was terrified.

A part of him argued that he should be grateful they came at all for him. Maybe it was out of pity, out of ensuring that he wasn't able to be used against them.

Yes, that's all it was. He was nothing afterall, he was merely a civilian in a war.

And yet hearing Molly tearfully and frantically whisper his name. Hearing Hermione yell the counterspell to his imprisonment to Ron who did so perfectly. Seeing the light of spells cast by Ginny and the twins to stun Not Edward... (Who was apparently called Edgar... Eh close enough.)

Feeling Charlie carry him in his arms, mumbling curse words. Smelling Arthur's cologne.

It all felt right. It was warmth that he couldn't remember experiencing. It was enough to lull him to a facade that everything was fine.

But when his wounds were healed and he saw them all looking at him... Percy knew he had to shelf that dream. "I told you not to come" was the first thing he said, averting his gaze. (Couldn't look them in the eye)

"And you must've lost a few screws if you thought we wouldn't" said Bill, meeting Percy's gaze. "You shouldn't have" is all he replied. "And what, let you be killed by the ministry?" Gaped Ginny. Percy shrugged "wouldn't have made much difference, you've only gone and put yourselves in more danger."

"Are you... Are you fucking with us right now?" Asked Fred, incredously. "No, im too busy ranting about cauldron bottoms to do that." And if Fred paused, Percy didn't see it.

Seeing as no one was getting anyway, Bill sat beside Percy who immediately felt on edge. "Thanks for the watch" he said simply. Everyone blinked in confusion and than realisation as no one has known where Bill's new watch had come from. Percy smiled faintly "You're welcome, reminded me of you."

"Although, I do wish you could've gave it in person" continued Bill, testing the waters. Percy surprised him by shaking his head "no you wouldn't have. It was your day, I wasn't going to ruin it." Bill frowned "is that what you think?" Percy shrugged again "it's what I've been told."

"You are way to chill after being tortured" said Charlie, Percy looked at his bandaged arms and snorted. "Eh? It's nothing new. That guy was just there for the theatrics, sadist if you ask me." Charlie raised an eyebrow "nothing new?" Percy nodded "yeah, what you think the ministry that's so far up Voldermorts ass would allow me to work there without some 'interviews'."

Everyone paled.

"But than why stay there?" Asked Arthur, Percy froze. Steeling himself, switching from calm to panic to calm in an instant but they all saw. "I've got business there, things I need to get done and ensure are done. Speaking of which, thanks for the rescue but I should be off."

He didn't belong here. Not anymore.

"Percy, you can stay." Said Molly, already standing up to get his room prepared. "No, I can't. I have work, I have a duty... And I'm no longer part of this family." When he said that, Percy felt like the wind was knocked out of him but stood his ground. "Percy... That's not true.."

Percy met Arthur's gaze, his father's eyes. "Really? Than pray tell why did no one tell me you were all in hiding... Or a warning? And don't say it was impossible because I managed to send a parcel to a location I didn't even know about nor knew existed."

No one could answer that.

"I'll be off, and don't worry I won't tell them anything. Just do what you do best, and leave me alone." Arthur managed to grab Percy's wrist though he hissed in pain and pulled his arm back like he'd been burnt. "Don't.. Touch me, Arthur Weasely."

Arthur recoiled, Percy looked away. "I spent my whole life wanting to be someone you could be proud off...I listened to all the critism and yes I was a prat. But the moment I made my own choice you already made me aware I didn't belong in my own house. I’m sorry...that I’m not athletic like Ginny, I’m not smart like Ron or as successful as Bill and Charlie, I’m not a hero like a Ron or fun like Fred and George. That I’m just plain ol prat Percy.”

He began to walk away. Just like he did before.

"That choice was against following Dumbledor, turning against the light." Said Molly, wanting him to understand. Percy laughed, with no humour at all but glaring hard. Rage emanated from him.

"I'm sorry if I choose not to stand behind an old coot who routinely sends an abused boy to his abusers, who nearly got 3 11 yearolds killed because he wanted to weed out a possibility. Who nearly got thousands of children killed and did nothing to save Ginny with the chamber. The man who wouldn't give an innocent man a trial and got him sent to the worst prison for 12 years... Who put teenagers in a death game and let an underage kid join because why not. That man is a monster and I refuse to follow someone like that. But no that means I'm blindly following authority." He sneered, staring at them all.

"And the ministry? Because as corrupt and fucked up as it is I know I can do something. That changes can be made in the systems to benefit everyone, Dumbledor is someone who breeds child solider’s and let's a known abuser teach at his school and somehow I’m the only one who isn't okay with that."

And with that Percy left, no one knew what to say. They simply sat in silence, absorbing everything they just heard. Ginny thought about how Percy had profusely apologised after she was free from the chamber, how he’d made time for her since than. Ron thought of all the times they’d have an adventure and Percy would watch over them like a mother hen. 

Bill and Charlie recalled when Percy would still come to them for help before he started Hogwarts. When they found him bruised and broken from bullies except this was because of them. “He really thinks that doesn’t he...?” Said Fred, George nodded. Neither could smile, guilt pooled in their hearts that they didn’t think he felt like that. 

Molly sobbed for her son who was once again lost and Arthur wondered where he had gone wrong to lose his son all over again. 

________________________________________________

Meanwhile Percy entered a muggle flat in London. Alone again just like he belonged, laying on his bed and looking at the brand on his arm.

'Son of none'

And if that didn't hurt most of all.

Suffice to say they all things to think about for when they’d meet again. 

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 15 rewatch thoughts

- mayfeld does hear when the droid talks to him the first time, you can see him pretending not to like he hopes he’ll just go away haha. I also guess he’s had a lot of time to think, picking apart pieces of the large fascist machine he used to be a part of and going over everything he clearly regrets 

- hahaha fennec and boba are in the back intensely keeping watch the entire time they’re on the prison planet. I suppose a good two thirds of this crew is uuuuh extremely wanted by the new republic lol

- the thing din’s voice does at the end when he says “but you still know your imperial clearances and protocols. don’t you.” is beyond fucking words, it sends a chill right through me

- 

1) din fiddling with that panel; I think he’s phenomenally nervous behind the helmet here, that’s the sort of keeping his hands busy he does when he’s anxious and 2) why the hell does boba have this many chairs instead of like space for cargo haha does he throw bounty hunter parties in here or what

- ngl boba correctly guessing at a glance what sort of ore they’re mining and informing everyone in his sardonic deadpan voice is Big Sexy  

I love how he and fennec are standing together when they’re both present in these opening scenes too, first at the very back when they’re keeping a lookout: 

and then in the foreground while they discuss the scan 

it’s a nice subtle way to get across that they already have a dynamic, they’re somewhat used to working together as a unit at this point. (she’s also looking over at him when she asks what they might be mining in there, like she’s mostly asking his opinion instead of opening it to the floor. they’re talking the mission out between them before din enters the conversation)

- the inside of slave 1 when the ship’s moving makes me a little bit motion sick, I really love seeing it but I hope we don’t stay in here too often haha

- aaaw the small weary sigh din gives upon realizing none of his bros can go with mayfeld. I’m sorry about basically your entire life buddy

-

the awkward way din adjusts the helmet like he’s trying to get used to the way it feels ;______;  

- ah the distinct implication that mayfeld is needling din about this because he’s actually feeling super uncomfortable being back in empire gear and he needs to transfer that discomfort over onto someone else so he won’t have to feel through it... very psychologically understandable and such a fucking piece of shit asshole character trait to give in to haha

- din’s level of side eye is so epic you can see it straight through the helmet fhaskjfhd

- neat detail: din’s head turns slightly toward mayfeld when he calls mandalorians a ‘race’. (it’s sort of cool  that we as the audience know why that bothers him, but mayfeld probably didn’t even pick up on it). also shows that mayfeld doesn’t actually quite understand what he’s talking about, even when he makes decent points he’s caught up in his own myopic nihilistic point of view. ‘we’re all the same’ ------> ‘everyone’s secretly as shitty as me deep down’. (which also betrays a lot of self loathing, since we see later he does have the capacity to NOT be that shitty when he chooses to. rick famuyiwa manages to get a LOT of really interesting nuanced stuff into this character in two short episodes, that’s super impressive)   

the bright sunny look on mayfeld’s face when din finally gives in and takes the bait tho fsajdkfhasj he’s awful but that’s very funny

- rip all these excellent dudes who really only wanted to accomplish the noble goal of ruining the empire’s entire day and didn’t know they were also trying to blow up My Dad Who Does Not Deserve Any Of This, it’s honestly just really sad that there’s no moment to talk that out

well at least they blew up the entire refinery on their way out, I’m sure that’s the way they would have wanted their memories honored lol

- the comedy beat of din running out of ammo for the first time ever and the music briefly cutting out for it is so so good for me 

hahahaha din seems to actually take a moment to be a little aghast at that dude who ends up crushed under the treads of the tank thing, he’s just sort of staring for a few seconds too long and that’s how pirate nr 2 takes him by surprise and shatters his shoulder armour 

- I feel a bit bad -- two of the ‘pirates’ try to hold on to each other for balance and then din punches them apart and off the tank :( I mean it’s not like he could just let them murderate him either but like. ouch I’m guessing this one might haunt him for a while for several reasons huh

(the sequence is actually this guy, let’s call him pirate 3, swings the spear at din and misses, instead hitting his buddy who’s trying to get to his feet, then looks horrified and grabs for him to make sure he doesn’t fall off, and then... mando’s forehead happens to them haha)

- poor fennec and cara just running up that hill while everything’s on fire, they must be wondering what the FUCK is going on (at least cara knows that things blowing up is a sure sign din djarin is in the middle there somewhere)

- everything about carano in real life aside for one second -- I do like that we get this contrast in build between our main female characters of the episode and the way their costume designs enhance it

 - awwww the little gesture din does with his hand after he removes it from mayfeld’s chest after stopping him from leaving, it’s just so... sweet. it’s a little bit appeal, a little bit reassurance, it just lightens/softens the tone of what he says a bit (he has quite a lot of like... not conciliatory mannerisms exactly, but small touches here and there that are there to communicate that he’s not angry/aggressive or trying to be a dick about it even when he’s emphatic. I keep wondering how much that is just him being him and how much is him being practiced at settling other people’s hot tempers)  

- this shot is just... genius

it’s din seen entirely from the outside, with nothing of what we’ve learned to recognize as him for almost two seasons now in view -- not even his face, which we have at least a tenuous fledgling attachment to from before. it’s like we get introduced to him almost as if anew again and again in this episode, just like he’s getting introduced to new aspects of himself and what he’s willing to do and having to struggle to find ways to have that fit with who he is. his discomfort and stress is our discomfort and stress. it’s so interesting 

- I can’t stop cackling at this moment even in all the tension -- you only get a sliver of din’s profile but you can feel the sheer MURDER radiating off him sdhfasjk

- aaaaaaaagh the way you get a whole different view of din’s habitual impassiveness when you can actually see his face... the way he keeps appealing to mayfeld ‘just don’t make more trouble, just shut up’, the way he goes completely silent and watchful and frozen..... those are all really obvious trauma responses, and it leads you to wonder how often he touches into that even when he’s in his element, when he’s got the full armour on. hmngh my heart  

- ‘the believer’ is such a galaxy brain title for this episode, because it could be referring to either of the three men around this table or all of them at once. (and crucially the only person whose beliefs aren’t in a living, breathing state of adapting to the world around them is the empire officer, with his horrific inhuman ideology. mayfeld thinks he believes in nothing, and proves himself explosively wrong by the end of the episode, and it’s redeeming for him in some capacity. din is facing a more internal dilemma of different parts of his (and his culture’s) beliefs/values clashing and having to decide which one’s more important, to his identity and to how to exist in the world as a person (and love for the baby wins out supremely in the end. of course it does Y_____Y). the empire dude only sees the same sterile fascist world at the end of his shit rainbow that he’s clearly always done, even when faced with proof that it’s untenable. (I mean he wouldn’t give a fuck that it’s immoral because he’s y’know evil, but he’s not even fazed by the fact that the empire provably FAILED, and failed so quickly) his belief is a dead and deadening thing to contrast the others. man when this show goes off with the themes it goes OFF haha) 

- love the triumphant heroic mando music kicking in as we’re finally getting to pick off imps, love that for us 

- din’s protective instincts at work again, he helps mayfeld to his feet and makes sure he’s safely on board before going further in himself ;_______;

- fennec’s professional approval at mayfeld’s shot hahaha. well I guess he was supposed to be a sharpshooter back in the day huh

I do Not think she likes mayfeld even after all that, though, the withering look she sends him on her way past... should have killed him stone dead on the spot

- seeing din back in the armour is like a physical relief, I can breathe again haha

- tfw you catch yourself thinking ‘at least when all this is over we can go back to the razor crest and everything will be normal again’ and then you rEMEMBER 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[katsidhe]

could you do 9.10 and 9.13 for episode reviews.

Love your takes btw.

9.10 Final Thoughts

well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend season 9. God I love season 9. buckle in. 

Plenty of what season 9 tries to do with angel drama falls flat, but plenty of it doesn’t. It’s at its strongest when interrogating the ways that the angels are looking for personal purpose, rather than folding themselves into various suit-clad factions. In this episode, we have Gadreel, Abner, and Thaddeus, all with very different takes.

Thaddeus is the most boring of the three—a straightforward narcissist and sadist. (Lucifer will follow in his rockstar-impersonating footsteps in s12. SPN clearly has a dim view of the music industry.) We don’t care when he dies, and we aren’t meant to.

Abner’s found a family, and he’s let go of revenge. He’s clearly found peace and happiness—but it’s stolen.  I’m ambivalent about this. I guess I could take his word that his vessel was abusive and therefore deserves to have been permanently body-snatched, and I guess I could believe him when he says his new family loves him, even though they clearly don’t know what he is or what he’s done. His regard for humanity as something other than a project is… uncertain. Even if everything is as sunny as he explains to Gadreel, there is fundamental selfishness and short-sightedness here. Get what you want, Abner says, and never let go.

Gadreel asks Abner if his vessel is happy. This reveals both Abner’s scorn for his vessel, and Gadreel’s uncomfortable awareness of and respect for Sam (and his bartender vessel, who Gadreel stares at, and who accepts Gadreel back easily).

Gadreel! OF COURSE Gadreel’s gotta be the scapegoat for Lucifer’s release, HAHAHAH. I love him to pieces, oml. Seriously, the Sam parallels could not BE more blatant. I’ve talked about this before, that it makes the earned antipathy between them all the more alarming, all the more visceral. The big sticking point is that Gadreel’s years of pointless torture came prior to his “redemption” arc, rather than as a consequence of it. Gadreel has all of s5 Sam’s despair and helpless anger and self-loathing, all of his drive to set things right at any price, and all of it is amplified by his trauma.

Sam and Gadreel’s relationship is defined by its liminal spaces. Gadreel threatens to tear Sam apart, but he does not, even when he is tortured. He locks Sam away in a dream rather than force him to watch him kill, or to suffer. But when Sam forces Gadreel out, Gadreel leaps instantly on telling Sam he is weak, reciting back Sam’s fears and Gadreel’s own. This reads like Gadreel is aiming quite a lot of his own self-pity and self-hatred at Sam.

Cas’s murderous rage at Gadreel when his identity is revealed is fun. It shows that Heaven’s PR team did a good job, for one thing. But Cas is furious because it’s specifically Lucifer. And the Apocalypse, and all the attendant suffering, his and Dean’s and Sam’s. It’s a personal wrath.

“Stupid for the right reasons…” oh, Cas, your scarcity of positive human role models is showing. Also, Cas’s particular brand of reassurance here isn’t actually something Dean has a problem with. He expresses regret over having been tricked—he says he’s stupid, he says he got played—but he’s never in doubt that his intentions were good. He’s never in doubt that he did the righteous thing. He’s never in doubt that he’d do it again.

Dean apologizes to Cas for barring him from the bunker. (Sam will not receive an apology.) Cas compares what Dean did to Sam to what Cas did by trusting Naomi. There’s a key difference here. Cas’s moral compass is not the problem; it’s his critical thinking skills.

Crowley, Cas, and Dean are a hilarious trio. (Also, I really hope that Cas’s pimpmobile got to Heaven too, like the Impala.)

Crowley being genuinely sorry that Kevin’s gone and his willingness to risk his life to help Sam are the best two moments of the generally weak Crowley-has-human-blood plot line. They feel earned. [also Crowley’s ‘I told Kevin he should’ve run!’ is both accurate, funny, and sad.]

Let’s talk 4.21 parallels! I mean, first, the glaringly obvious: Sam locked down to be purged of something supernatural; Sam suffering; Dean unable to bear Sam’s tortured screams; a very atmospheric fan. Dean walking away.

and then, of course, there’s “at least he dies human.” Right off the bat, Dean tells Cas he’s going to kill Gadreel. Cas, concerned, says that this will kill Sam too; Dean, sounding tortured, says he knows. Now, obviously, Dean doesn’t kill Sam. He doesn’t even get particularly close. But it’s really interesting that this is the first thing Dean brings up! He declares unprompted that he’s ready to kill Sam rather than leave him possessed. Which is both a recapitulation of the save-him-or-kill-him mantra, and an ironic twist on the decision Dean made in 9.01. Then, Dean knew Sam would rather die than be possessed, but had him possessed anyway. Now, Dean has decided instead that Sam must die because he is possessed. Obviously Dean’s opinion on the possessing entity has changed in the meantime: Sam’s hasn’t, but Sam’s isn’t what matters. 

Dean reaches new levels of PEAK IRONY when he declares that Cas should possess Sam too. Cas has to actually point out that Dean can’t, in fact, volunteer Sam’s permission. Because apparently Dean had forgotten, lmaooo. Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to oblige. Dean directs Cas to burn Sam’s tattoo off.

The language of this entire scene is so sexual. I mean, it’s Crowley, of course it is, double entendre is his first language. But this theme recurs again and again. Here it is just more pointed than usual. It is queasy.

Gadreel has Sam trapped in a Dean-type happy place—a hunt with ghouls and cheerleaders, no organic produce to be found. And I don’t think it’s because Gadreel doesn’t understand what Sam likes. I think it’s because Gadreel’s aim was for Sam to feel comfortable, not blissful. It smacks of Hallucifer, just a bit—using the verisimilitude of Dean’s louder moods rather than trying to appeal directly to Sam’s contentment, because of his always questionable, always a question, sense of reality. If things were too smooth, too cheerful, Sam might just be suspicious. Sam is easier to trick by proxy. 

The HORROR of this episode for Sam: Gadreel washing someone’s blood off of Sam’s hands. Crowley pushing needles into his brain. Sam’s body and life as a bargaining chip as Gadreel threatens to kill him, and then as Dean threatens to kill him right back. The quiet heartbreak as Sam remembers Kevin’s death, as he realizes the magnitude of Dean’s betrayal. But the worst part of it, I think, is somehow still Sam’s face when Crowley comes to get him in the dream where Gadreel stashed him. How his expression just crumples as Crowley tells him he is trapped in a lie, that his mindscape is once again a prison, that he truly cannot trust his reality. The sheer devastation of this on top of Sam’s history, plus the knowledge that Dean did this—and he pulls himself together and puts his foot on Gadreel’s neck and casts him OUT anyway. Sam Fucking Winchester.

and then the Bridge Scene. The lighting, the staging… it’s fucking gorgeous. It’s one of those scenes where I knew as I was watching it for the first time, seven years ago, that it was going to be something. I held my breath and still hold my breath. I can’t take my eyes off the way that Sam is shaking slightly, the entire time. The way he can barely meet Dean’s eyes but he does it anyway. He SAYS HIS PIECE, says it clearly, says it with an even tone despite what he’s gone through, despite the holes in his head that were healed seconds ago.

I love the gentleness between Sam and Cas here. I love knowing that 9.11 follows this. I love that there is no question that Cas will leave with Dean—he is staying with Sam, to heal and support him, even after he spent this episode mostly reassuring Dean.

Dean does not start this conversation to apologize. He starts out with the intent to DELIBERATELY egg Sam on: “come on, let’s hear it.” It’s an incitement, because Dean wants Sam to act angry, so that Dean can feel more justified in leaving. Sam does not rise to the bait.

Dean has an excuse for every point Sam has: I had no choice, you were dying, it’s not in me, he saved your life. He says, “I did a bad thing with bad consequences and I would 100% do it again, anyway, bye.”

And then the most infuriating thing: Dean is in the wrong, so he tells the person he’s wronged, ugh, I’m just such an awful poisonous person, I’m going to burn for this. It’s so clearly wrong-headed. Intentional or not, it’s such an obvious invitation for Sam to comfort him that it might well have been embossed. If this were in e.g. season 15, or if the crime he’d committed had been less awful, I can easily hear Sam’s reassurance: no, Dean, I promise you’re a good person, we all make mistakes. It is the most toxic way possible to frame a potential apology.

The textual theme of Dean-as-poison (and, for that matter, the consequence of Kevin’s death vs. the initial crime of the possession) is an intentional muddying of the waters: Crowley, Cas, and Dean himself all bring it up in some fashion, linking some fundamental aspect of Dean himself rather than Dean’s choices to Kevin’s death. Crowley is trying to be cutting; Cas is trying to be supportive; Dean is both excusing himself and camouflaging that fact in his exhausting self-loathing. There is a complicated interplay of what the text says about Dean’s guilt and what it condemns; this pattern continues throughout s9, and reaches its apex in the next several episodes. Dean’s love as a condemning feature rather than a redeeming one is one of my favorite things about SPN, and s9 has it in HIGH gear.

But, here, at least, Sam doesn’t rise to this bait either. “Don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.” The problem is obviously, achingly, exhaustingly clear. Sam’s spelled it out in this very conversation: you tricked me. You lied to me. You got me possessed when I was willing to die. But Dean, and a fair portion of the audience, can’t hear it. So he doesn’t. And they don’t, and they pretend that this line is some sort of puzzle! a cliffhanger on a conversation unfinished! when it was the conclusion, not the beginning.

image that is now inextricable from 9.10

[notquiteaghost]

and still i will live here

the witcher, geralt/jaskier, 1.4k, established relationship, post-Rare Species, [jaskier voice] no you can’t break up with me actually

also on AO3

Jaskier isn’t an idiot. He knows Geralt knows that — has, on multiple occasions, forced Geralt to admit he is, actually, capable and useful and, even, in some respects, smarter than Geralt.

See: if Jaskier lashed out in anger at Geralt, the fool, the mess of self-loathing and abandonment issues held together by scar tissue and tight leather, he would take Jaskier at face value, without question. Would swallow once, nod tightly, and leave, and do his best to avoid Jaskier until his dying day. That’s why, when Jaskier is filled with broiling anger and bitter hurt, he slips off by himself and gets absolutely shitfaced, or picks a fight, or buys cheap crockery he then hurls at trees until it’s dust.

Because Jaskier is the one with people skills.

So, yes, they’ve had a very shitty few days. No Roach, an extended amount of forced interaction with armed strangers, Yennefer, apparent innocents apparently dying in ways Geralt can blame himself for — really, Jaskier would be hard pressed to think of a series of events possible of winding Geralt up any worse.

He had thought, naively, that they would at least get back down the damned mountain before he had to wind Geralt down again. As if Yennefer of thrice-damned Vengerberg can ever walk away from a situation without having burnt the whole of it to the ground, and salted that and all.

“If life could give me one blessing,” Geralt snarls, “it would be to take you off my hands.”

And, really, Jaskier isn’t an idiot. Was standing just here, unwilling audience to Yennefer taking out her own grief on the nearest target, and while he’s long run out of patience for playing mediator to that disaster, he isn’t going to sit by and let Geralt cope with one of his loves pushing him away by taking the initiative and pushing the other away first.

Honestly, the nerve of it! He can’t hold it against him, he knows, but as if he would ever willingly leave. It’s been twenty years , what would he even do.

Geralt, though, is in no state for sharp reminders of which of them gets to call the shots about the state of their relationship and which of them once nearly lost a leg to his stubborn determination he was better off alone. Anger is coming off Geralt in palpable waves.

Jaskier, then, nods. Says, “Right. I’ll just go back to camp, then, if that’s how it is”, and then does. Walks away, packs up their things, and figures the time it will take to get back to Roach will be long enough for Geralt to cool off and remember he has all the people skills of a rotten turnip, and Jaskier has saved his life at least four times, and is also the only person in the entire Continent willing to sleep with a man actively bleeding from multiple wounds.

Jaskier lost the argument about waiting until Geralt’s gaping gashes had at least scabbed over before they fuck, and he’ll be damned if he loses this one, too.

 When Geralt makes it back to Roach, Jaskier is sat on the ground at her feet, sharpening a dagger and humming to himself as if Geralt had only been gone an hour to hunt their dinner.

Geralt stops short. Runs back through the journey, the fight, tries to work out when Yenn started to fuck with his head. As she left? Before? He knew he shouldn’t have stayed in her bed— 

“Not the best start to an apology,” Jaskier calls, one eyebrow raised. “Not that I was expecting much, mind, but really, Geralt, I’m not one of the witch’s tricks. Do you truly think so little of me?”

Geralt has absolutely no idea what’s happening.

Jaskier lets out a sigh, heavy and put-upon, and gets to his feet, closes the distance between them. The expression on his face lends no credence to him not being one of Yennefer’s tricks.

“How long have we known each other?” He asks, and doesn’t give Geralt space to answer. This is a lecture — Geralt’s input isn’t often required. “How many times, now, have I sewn you back together? How many evenings have I passed up women, men, and coin to spend in your bed? How long has it been since I spent a night away from you?”

He does pause, then, and with meaning. Geralt still doesn’t speak. His throat is caught.

“If you’re truly sick of my company,” Jaskier continues, tone softening, face softening, “then tell me to go, and I will. But not when whatever tear in you Yennefer’s carved this time is still bleeding.” Fuck. “Because I know you, you fool of a Witcher, and I believe I’ve made my stance on your self-sabotaging tendencies very clear.”

Fuck.

The ways Yennefer cuts him, Geralt knows to expect. But, fuck, Jaskier slicing him open always catches him offguard. He’s so gentle. Geralt aches.

This isn’t a trick.

This would be far easier, if it were a trick.

“There you are,” Jaskier says, soft. Fond. He steps yet closer, brings a hand up to tuck a lock of hair behind Geralt’s ear, cups his jaw. Geralt has no hope of holding back his shudder. “You really think you could be rid of me that easy?”

Geralt bites his tongue. Nothing he can think of to say would do anything but insult Jaskier’s intelligence, or give Jaskier cause to slap him. He leans forward, instead, to press their foreheads together. Brings his own hand up to rest on Jaskier’s chest, over his heart. Closes his eyes.

“I do still expect an apology, you know.”

The words fall from Geralt’s mouth with an ease directly proportional to the ease Jaskier let him in his space. “I’m sorry.”

“And…?”

His throat catches again. No matter how well Jaskier can play the strings of him, the words he demands always stick. “I shouldn’t— I was— I won’t. Do it. Again.”

Jaskier huffs, and presses a kiss to his temple. “I’m not asking for promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.” Damn it, he should never have fallen in bed with a wordsmith. Jaskier wields endearments like weapons, and the noise Geralt makes is as if he was stabbed. Another kiss, Geralt can’t bear it— “Darling, darling, it’s okay. I have you, I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Distantly, Geralt is aware of them sinking to the floor. Of Jaskier gathering Geralt close to his chest, closest, tucking his face to the curve of his neck, running a hand over Geralt’s back. Geralt’s chest is tight, his throat is tight, his eyes sting. He’s shaking and he can’t stop, and Jaskier smells of his expensive oils, of home, and Jaskier sings, I will take good care of you, I will take good care of you.

Eventually, Geralt pulls away. Wipes his face. Casts about for his dignity.

Sees the look on Jaskier’s face. Tries not to immediately fall to pieces again.

“Not to lord it over you,” Jaskier says, voice still so fucking soft, “but we could’ve done that days ago, and travelled back here together. I had to catch my own food, you know.”

Geralt makes a noise. A grunt with the harshness sanded off.

“And, to be clear, if you ever say anything like that to me again, I will stab you.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean it. I’ll use your sword, and I know where all your scar tissue isn’t.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier huffs. “And, next time I see Yennefer, I will likely need you to stop me doing something foolish.”

“You won’t stab Yenn—”

“No, I won’t, because she’s the most powerful mage on the Continent, and you’ve already got a monopoly on recklessly baiting her.”

Geralt harrumphs. Jaskier just  laughs , the bastard. Why does Geralt like him.

Jaskier slides a hand into his hair and, finally, kisses him. Geralt fists a hand into his shirt and pretends all the tension in him hasn’t instantly melted.

They’re a long way off, now, the rumours of a job Geralt was planning on chasing up next. Low on supplies, too, but he’s barely begun to run through what he knows of nearby towns before Jaskier makes an aggrieved noise and moves his mouth away just long enough to say, “Planning later. Kissing now.” And, well, the brief journey alone wasn’t the best. And Jaskier tastes so sweet.

He hums, to hear Jaskier gasp, and begins to work at Jaskier’s shirt.

[hansoulo]

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 4

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon-typical violence and blood, grief, angst, death, y’all know the drill (there’s some descriptions of gore this time! if you watch narcos i don’t think you’ll be fazed by it but just a heads up. also talks about kidnapping and implied trauma. take care babes)

Word Count: 1.2k bc i needed the suspense soz

A/N: *throws this at you and runs away*

masterlist playlist

You were cold. That was all you could remember. Things returned slowly, falling in and out of your memory like specters. A hand over your mouth. Concrete. A flickering light bulb and a sicario - who couldn’t have been very smart because if he was he’d have realized that you didn’t know anything. Okay, maybe that was a stretch. You knew a little, courtesy of Horacio. Too much, probably. Enough to make yourself a target, anyways. Damn this. Damn you.

The sound of gunshots was enough to wake you from your daze and you vaguely register the taste of blood in your mouth. You force your eyes open, tensing your hands that lay tied behind you to get the feeling to return. The room was bare, faintly lit by the weak light of the early morning, and you felt your shoulders pressed up against plaster. Oh. You were on the floor.

This was much less professional than the last time you were kidnapped. Of course, then you were only bait. A pretty face with a ring on your left hand and the last name of a man they knew they wanted dead. Well, they got that soon enough.

You could be bait this time, too, for a different man. Apparently, you had a type.

---------

Shouting. Running. Slamming doors. Horacio’s yelling something in Spanish. Something about sicarios and traps and hostages and- You. His…. friend? Neighbor? Unpaid babysitter, who also knew how he took his coffee? (Scalding hot with tons of sugar, in the white mug with the chipped lip that was always in the top left cabinet.)

They used zip-ties on your wrists. You kinda want to laugh. Shoulders tight from being pulled behind you for so long, you shift your weight until pinpricks erupt across your numb legs. You should probably call out to him or something, to speed the process along, but your throat is burning something awful so you just let your head fall back and listen to the sound of tactical boots.

Three.

A round of gunfire, shot quick from the hip of a stranger you can’t imagine makes for very good company. You can hear bodies fall, but you know it’s not him. He wouldn’t go down that easy.

Two.

“Dónde está ella?”

“Mi coronel, aquí.” A muffled curse. The cock of a gun. Then, the door is pushed open with a loud creak of its rusted hinges.

One.

He’s on you like a man starved, all dark green fabric and hulking shoulders as he seems to just… appear, crouching down with a hand brushing your cheek. You don’t actually remember seeing him walk over, so maybe you really did hit your head on something. That would explain the ringing in your ears. And your busted lip. And the way that every time Horacio moved, there seemed to be two of him dragging out a few seconds behind.

Hands, strong and callused and more familiar than they should be, grip at your shoulders to coax your head up. The world comes into focus then- less blurry but way more frightening. The walls are streaked with red and your eyes catch a crimson path on the floor, snaking around to the doorway. All you see is a man’s shoe.

“Hey, hey look at me.”

You feel yourself- as though disembodied- shaking your head frantically as you duck your face to the floor. He reaches to cut away the ties around your hands, one knee braced against the floor and his mouth pursed in a line. The scent of gunpowder chokes you, presses down on your lungs like the deadweight of a corpse. Your face feels hot, burning like you’re running a high fever and you can’t string two words together without thinking about blood and bodies you can’t fix and how you can’t remember anything - which means you can’t remember what they’ve done to you. It’s too much. It’s all too much. It's too much. It’s too-

“Look at me.”

Fuck.

Horacio’s hand moves to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb tracing over the split skin of your bottom lip. His eyes seem to hold everything inside them, the embers of a flame you’re used to seeing sedated now flickering something dark. Something you should want to run from.

What’s another arrow in the quiver of your self-loathing? Not much, you suppose. Not much at all.

You look.

--------

He walks you back to the complex with his fingers still curled around your arm.

“Are you alright?”

Horacio’s voice is quiet, softer than you’ve ever heard it but god, what you would give to hear it again.

“Yeah, yeah I’m- I’m fine. Just… tired.”

He nods - unconvinced but letting you lie anyway - and steps back to open the door for you. Right. He has your spare key.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and at that Horacio shakes his head. He’s good at hiding things, at hiding how he feels, but you know he’s holding his breath- trying to keep from frowning. For your sake. “I- I don’t know if I can do this, Horacio,” and you try to focus on the way his chest rises and falls to steady yourself but it’s not a good idea because it just makes you want to collapse, dead on your feet, into him. “Whatever this is.”

“Chiquita-”

“No- no. Don’t. You-,” you choke out the words, fighting tears as the exhaustion of the day finally seems to make itself known. “You can’t call me that. I- I'm not your chiquita,”  and the last word comes out a bit sharper than you wanted it to, a bit too biting towards the man standing outside your apartment door with your keys still in his hands. Your eyes soften when you see the jagged metal gripped in his palm, hands tensing with scarred, white-stretched knuckles. Horacio’s jaw is tight again and you're reminded of how you teased him once. You’ll grind your teeth down clenching your face like that. Loosen up a bit.

The words leave your mouth, breathy and slightly shaking, before you realize what you say. “I’m not your anything.”

You want to slam the door in his face. You want him to slam the door in your face. You want so bad to be angry, to have someone to blame besides yourself and your own fucked up head, but you can’t. So you don’t. You just walk into your apartment and let the lock click quietly behind you, listening to footsteps as they retreat across the hall.

The rational part of your brain tells you to go to bed, to fall asleep after a good cry in the comfort of your bedroom surrounded by soft things and another wall separating you from him, but you hadn’t really made a habit of listening to reason lately. Why start now? The floor was as good a place as any.

Your back slid down against the door as you sat, drawing your knees to your chest with a shallow breath. There was a quote from somewhere. Shakespeare, maybe. Oh brawling love, oh loving hate, oh anything of nothing first created. This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

This love feel I, that feel no love in this. This love… this…

Romeo and Juliet. That’s what it was. The irony of it makes you laugh, the sound lacking humor as you shake your head.

They were doomed from the start, really. Still, there was something beautiful about it. Dying for someone else. Knowing they’d do the same.

You would die for him. That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you… what scared you was knowing he would die for you, too. Just like before.

The thought makes your chest seize up, the lump in your throat growing heavier with every passing second. You couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t live with yourself if you did. You barely lived with it now.

You fall asleep to the sound of crying. It wasn't yours.

Taglist: @chelsfic​ @itzagoodthing @lesqui @glowingpena @agirllovespasta @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @amarvelousmandalorian @paniclana @huliabitch @symbiont13 @jayoknrjk28 @ah-callie @watsonwise @raabiac @angelicpascal @sparrows-books @popculturepriestess @spookypym​

lmk if you wanna be added/taken off. eventually i’ll get around to organizing like separate permanent/series/character ones but i’m lazy so. later.

[chloelucia13]

Chapter 11: The Spy

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt:  You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally. 

Chapter Summary: Leaving everyone alone at the lab may have been one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made, but at least you had a team of people who were ready to take on whatever was coming (even if they were children or acted like one)

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some angst, some violent descriptions, language, horror elements

Word Count: 2205

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this part! I’m very excited for the next few parts coming up, so be emotionally prepared for them! As always, let me know what you guys think! The taglist is open!

Catch up here!

Tags: @just-my-fandom​, @nightbu-g​

As soon as the medics were able to get Will into a bed, you pulled Mike out of the room so that you two wouldn’t be in the way. You immediately collapsed into a nearby chair, both of your hands pressed over your ears to block out the sound of Will’s agonized screams.

However, you couldn’t decide if it was worse when he was screaming or when he was silent. 

You pulled your hands from your ears when his screams ceased, and you immediately glanced up at Mike, whose eyes were glued on the scene in the room in front of him. “What happened?” you whispered.

“They sedated him,” he responded, his shoulders slouching slightly with the small relief.

You nodded, leaning into the stiff chair as you stared down at the tiled floor beneath your feet. “I should’ve done something.”

“How? Not even the doctors know how to help him. You did everything you could.”

You shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten out of the car, maybe that’s why this is happening to him.” A sigh left your lips. “I don’t know.”

*** You woke up early that morning in the stiff hospital chair, all of your bones and joints screaming when you shifted. “Jesus Christ,” you sighed, forcing yourself out of the chair and onto your feet.

The eerie silence of the hospital was jarring, and the flickering fluorescent lights above your head made you nauseous. It was too much like the situation you were in exactly a year ago, but this time you weren’t stuck in a hospital bed. And this time, you were all alone.

You walked down the hallway and into Will’s room, that same horrible nostalgia punching you in the gut when you saw Will laying there in that hospital bed, still unconscious from the tranquilizer he was given. To the side of him, Bob and Mike sat in two chairs, nervously observing Will as if they were waiting for him to wake up at any moment.

“What time is it?” you whispered, pulling their attention away from Will. “Where’s Joyce?”

Mike shrugged. “Like 6 a.m. And she’s in a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

Again, he shrugged. “To figure out what to do with Will and everything, I guess.”

You nodded, glancing at Will for one more moment before staring at the floor. “I’m, uh, gonna go take a walk. Maybe stop by my house and get some food or something. I’ll be back soon.”

You stood there for a second before turning on your heel and making your way out of the room and over to the stairwell, in a zombie-like state as you made your way down the couple flights of stairs, out into the lobby, out the doors, past the metal gates, and out into the woods. 

You hated how familiar everything felt. The emptiness of the woods, the chill in the air was too much like it was that night everything happened. 

And you couldn’t forget how hoarse your voice was when you screamed for Jonathan. Now that hoarseness was only in your mind, but you were still screaming for him. Just silently this time.

And Jonathan and Nancy were another world away, just like how they are now.

You couldn’t help this self-loathing that plagued your mind, it was all too familiar to you. And it fucking hurt, but you couldn’t stop.

You vigorously rubbed at your eyes as soon as your house came into view, not wanting to let anyone see you in such a way. With a huff, you hurried through your back gate and into your house through the back door.

“Y/N! You’re home!” your mother sighed with relief, rushing over to you as soon as you stepped inside. “Have you seen Mews?”

You shook your head. “No, how come?” you asked, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen.

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday!”

You furrowed your brows. “That’s odd. That’s probably the last time I saw him too. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

She sighed, nodding her head and grabbing her purse off the counter. “Alright, well I’m gonna go get some missing posters printed for him. Call Kathy if you see him!”

You nodded, not even being able to fully say goodbye to her before she hurried out the door. You watched as she drove away, your brows immediately furrowing when you saw Steve’s car parked out front.

The apple you had not forgotten on the counter, you hurried back out into the backyard. “Dustin? Steve?” you shouted, looking around.

And then you noticed that the storm cellar had been pried open.

With your heart in your throat, you rushed back inside to your room and retrieved your machete from your closet. You took a deep breath, tightening your grip on the handle before hurrying back outside. Once there, you peeked into the storm cellar.

A crunching noise sounded from the woods, and you covered your mouth to stop a scream from escaping. You shook your head, letting out a sigh before inching out of the backyard and into the woods, silently following the sound.

The sound led you to the old train tracks, and you held your machete out in front of you as you walked along. “Steve? Dustin?”

As you rounded a dense corner of trees, you could see two figures about 100 yards ahead of you, both of them throwing something on the ground. You furrowed your brows and looked down, noticing chunks of meat under your feet. You groaned in disgust before picking up your pace, making sure to avoid stepping on the meat.

“What the hell are you guys doing?!” you shouted at them, startling them both. They both spun on their heels to face you.

“Jesus! Put that thing down!” Steve shouted, holding his hands in the air.

You huffed and let your machete fall to your side. “Why are you guys throwing chunks of meat on the train tracks?”

The two boys exchanged a look. “I don’t think you’ll take ‘for fun’ as an answer,” Dustin sighed. You shook your head, narrowing your eyes at them. “Alright, it’s a long story. Come with us.”

The three of you all continued to walk along the tracks, both of the boys continuing to lay down a trail of meat. “So on Halloween, I found this weird pollywog in the trash can,” Dustin began to explain. “I kept it in the turtle enclosure.”

“Why?” you asked, dragging the tip of your machete against the dirt.

“To impress a girl,” Steve teased.

“Madmax?” Dustin nodded in response. “Ah, the perfect way to a girl’s heart.”

“Anyway!” Dustin huffed, already annoyed with the teasing. “he grew out of the enclosure, and...”

“I’m assuming you haven’t seen your cat recently,” Steve hummed, and your heart sank.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you urged.

“That pollywog turned into some weird sort of demogorgon. He... He ate Mews,” Dustin sighed, his shoulders slouching.

You nodded silently, pressing your lips together. “You okay?” Steve asked, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“Mews was my cat,” you whispered. “I got him when he was a kitten, when I was eight years old. I knew he was gonna die soon, he was old. Just... Not like this.” You sniffled and blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve squeezed your shoulder. 

“He escaped, so we’re trying to lure him back,” Dustin explained. 

“And I’m gonna kill him,” you stated plainly.

“Atta girl,” Steve hummed. “Probably not the best way to deal with it, but I’ll go with it.”

***

By the time the sun had gone down, you had just finished creating a makeshift armor around the broke down bus, which all of you were now using as a shelter. Lucas had been on the roof, surveying the area for the past ten minutes or so as the rest of you sat on the old leather bus seats.

“So you guys really fought one of these before?” Max spoke up, looking at you and Steve, two of you nodding silently. “And you’re like, totally 100% sure that it wasn’t a bear?”

“I don’t think bears take people into another dimension,” you sighed, chuckling slightly.

“Shit, don’t be an idiot. Okay? It wasn’t a bear,” Dustin cut in, basically hissing the words at her. “Why are you even here if you don’t believe us? Just go home.”

You all stared at him in shock for a moment before Max rose to her feet. “Geesh, someone's cranky. Past your bedtime?” she snapped back before going up the ladder and onto the roof.

“That’s good, just show her you don’t care,” Steve encouraged.

“I don’t,” Dustin huffed.

“Okay, hold on,” you spoke up, sitting up. “First of all, horrible advice.”

“How do you think I got so many girlfriends?” Steve chuckled out.

“And why do you think you’re single now?”

“And why do you think you’re so in love with Jonathan?”

You pursed your lips at his words, slouching back slightly in your seat.

“I’ve got eyes! Ten o’clock! Ten o’clock!” Lucas shouted from his perch, startling all of you into action. The three of you in the bus immediately peered through the guarded windows, watching for the movement in the fog.

“There!” Steve shouted, pointing at the shadowy figure.

“What’s he doing?” Dustin asked.

“I don’t know.” You all watched for a few moments longer, beginning to panic as the creature didn’t move. “He’s not taking the bait. Why is he not taking the bait?”

“Maybe he’s not hungry?”

“Maybe he’s sick of cow.” Steve leaned back, thinking for a second or two before turning towards the exit and walking that way.

“Steve? What are you doing?” you questioned, eyebrows furrowing with worry and shock.

He stopped and turned to you two. “Just get ready,” he breathed out, tossing his lighter to Dustin before turning back and quietly stepping out of the bus. He began to walk out towards the middle of the empty area of the lot, his bat held tightly in his hands. He let out a whistle before calling for the creatures as if they were dogs. 

“What’s he doing?” Max asked worriedly as she climbed down the ladder.

“Expanding the menu,” Dustin stated.

“Being a dumbass,” you corrected, not taking your eyes from the window.

“Come on, buddy. Dinner time. Human tastes better than cat, I promise,” Steve continued to call for the creature, planting his feet on the solid ground.

“He’s insane,” Max said in disbelief.

“He’s awesome,” Dustin amended, a big smile on his face.

A breeze blew through, blowing the fog away to reveal a reptilian creature with the stature of a dog and the face of a demogorgon. 

And then three more appeared, surrounding him.

“Steve, watch out!” Lucas shouted from his perch.

With no hesitation, you rushed out of the bus, your machete held out in front of you as you ran over to stand back to back with Steve. The creatures slowly began to close in on you two. “Steve, we’re surrounded,” you informed him, both of you looking around to gauge just how many were there.

“Steve! Y/N! Abort! Abort!” Dustin shouted from the bus.

Suddenly, all the creatures began rushing towards you two at once. The two of you found a clear path and ran that way, swinging at a few creatures when they lunged at you. From the bus, the kids shouted for you two to hurry.

You two jumped into the bus as soon as you were close enough, and Lucas yanked the lever that shut the bus door.

“Are they rabid or something?” Max asked as Steve began to barricade the door from the inside.

“They can’t get in!” Lucas shouted as Steve held the door closed with his feet. The bus began to shake from the force of how hard the creatures were launching themselves at the door.

Steve lost his control on the door, and a few of the creatures broke through, gnashing their teeth at all of you. You swung your blade at them, catching a few of them, but not deterring them. Steve joined your side, effectively launching a few back with the force of his bat.

Max let out a scream as soon as you were able to get the door closed, and you turned to see a creature’s head peeking through the emergency exit on the roof of the bus. Steve pushed her out of the way, holding his bat up. “You want some? Come get this!” he shouted at the creature.

The creature hissed, baring its teeth, before it went silent. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you heard its footfalls retreating from the exit and off the roof of the bus. A silence followed its exit, and you all shared a look of confusion.

Steve stepped out through the door and you climbed onto the roof to survey the scene, seeing that all of the creatures suddenly deserted the area.

“Maybe you guys scared them away,” Dustin offered as you climbed down the ladder.

“No way,” Steve argued. “They’re going somewhere.”

[raz-b-rose]

What does family mean?

So I posted this as a reblog on my post about wanting some Timephoon Louie angst and I’m going to make this separate post as well. 

It was a ton of fun to write and I really took on a life of its own. I will post on A03 later this week.

____________________________________________________________

Louie’s hand slipped off the tubs spoked knob, his heart pounding in his ears as he regained his grip. He willed his hands to stop shaking, he couldn’t mess this up. A panicked glance at the advancing mob gave him the extra boost he needed to finish adjusting what he needed. He jumped on the top, pointing the shower head at the growing crowd of past citizens of the world. The blue light blinded him as everyone was returned to their proper time. 

He stood there, waiting in the silence of the halls. Not completely silent though, he could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. The seconds quite literally ticked by, adding together into minutes upon minutes. Soon those minutes added together for a far greater amount than it should have. He should have fixed everything. 

His hands begin to shake violently, nothing compared to the jitter that they were when he was trying to get the tub to work. His chest felt tight, his throat tightening with each baited breath. He climbed down from the tub, eyeing the foyer with failing hope. 

“Guys?” There was no response. The ticking of the seconds continued to be the only sound. 

“Huey, Dewey, come on…” Louie curled into a ball on the floor. The painful pressure continued to build behind his eyes, or was it on the rims of his eyes? Both? Doesn't matter, just that he was crying, the silence quickly filled with the sounds of his heaving breaths and broken sobs. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you can come back now, I learned my lesson.” He choked out, screaming into the very empty, too large mansion.

He wished to hear Mrs. Beakley’s lecturing tone, berating him for his latest stunt. Webby playing peacemaker, maybe even telling him about all the things he did wrong in that logical voice of hers. To hear Scrooge lecture him about the value of hardwork. 

Heck.

He even wanted to hear Della's, his moms, voice. They might still have a rocky relationship, but he wanted to try. Wanted to try. 

He looked up, gasping in horror. The walls were rotted and dust heavily sat upon everything. He stood up, spinning in a wide circle. The tub sat at the foot of the stairs, rusted and falling apart. 

"No!" He rushed to the tub, wanting to touch it, but knowing deep down, he shouldn't. Why were his hands so big? When did he get so old? Where had all the time gone?

He hadn't just failed, he had been alone for years. He had killed his brothers. Sent them far away from him, to suffer through the past alone. Leaving him to suffer through the future alone. 

He gasped, hands gripped in the sheets tangled around his body. He felt as though he was being punched in the chest, over and over. He couldn't make out the bottom of Dewey's bunk, even though he knew it was there. Just a black void. 

He slowed his breathing, carefully sitting up, knees to chest, head thrown in his hands. 

The nightmares wouldn't stop. It has been months, and he just couldn't shake it. What's more his mother's words continued to plague his mind, every living moment. They just played on repeat. 

Your little scheme to bypass the present almost cost us our future"

He had always wondered who she was exactly thinking about when she said those words. Was he considered, or did he get in the way of her perfect little family of three? 

"I watched your brothers blink out of existence because you wanted a short cut to riches" 

'I watched them disappear too.' He smacks himself in the head, self loathing boiling in the pit of his stomach like it does every time he has a nightmare. 

He had never been apart from Huey or Dewey. They had always been together. He was lost without them. He needed them to get him out of trouble. Trouble he always got himself into. 

"Your plans- your schemes- they only lead to bad things for your family" 

He always put on the air of not caring, of being completely self-focused and distant. That he didn't need anyone, but that wasn't true. He always needed his brothers. 

He was trying to help the only way he knew how. He wasn't special like Huey or daring like Dewey. He was just plain old Louellyn Duck. The youngest, last, forgotten triplet. 

Della (he couldn't bring himself to call her mom to himself quite yet) hadn't really gone out of her way to get to know him. 

She spent most of her time with Dewey and any leftover time with Huey. She tried sitting with him on the couch once, but quickly left. 

Before the Timephoon incident, he tried getting her involved with one of his schemes. She wasn't paying attention as he talked, quick to shoot down the idea. She refused to see him. To know him. 

He had tried, and tried and tried. He tried to see what Scrooge was talking about, with them seeing all the angles and him being like Della. That was just one angle he couldn't see. Not anymore. 

"You took off in that contraption without thinking about the consequences or the people you would hurt" 

Maybe they were more alike after all.

"Classic Louie" That's what Dewey had said. 

Louie lays his head down on his knee, watching the small patch of moon flicker on the floor, the clouds moving quickly across the sky. 

But he had one thing Della never would. The last ten years of his life with his brothers. Even if he almost threw that all away in an instant. Just thinking about it made him sick to his stomach. 

"If you want to be a part of this family...you've got to stop" 

Louie couldn't hold it back anymore, the tears were soft, falling in big, fat, silent drops. Those words alone spoke volumes about how Della, who was supposed to be his mom, really felt about him. 

He wasn't what she wanted. Whatever image she had built up in her head, he clearly didn't meet it. He was a disappointment. A fraud. Not truly a part of this family. What did family mean to Della, if she made such a point of him understanding what family was. To her, he had to be someone he wasn't.

But it wasn't for a lack of trying. He tried to put in more effort for things that didn't catch his interest. He helped Huey with Junior Woodchuck achievements. Whatever Dewey wanted to do that day, that's what he did. He even took up reading history to help Webby. 

Even all of that was selfish though. He was afraid to be alone. Afraid that if he looked away from just a moment, they would be gone. 

He slipped from his bed, his bare feet barely making a sound as he walked across the room to the chair he had taken up as his post. He barely slept anymore, content to sit and watch his brothers sleep, finding small comfort in their presence. 

He watched Dewey sleep in a position that could not be comfortable. His head was twisted, with one arm behind it and the other haphazardly over the side of his bunk along with a leg. His other leg was bent inward. Good thing he's a flexible kid. 

Huey however always slept perfectly tucked in, both hands resting on his stomach, feet pointed up from under his blanket. 

Louie smiled at them, hugging his knees to himself. He loved his brothers with all his heart, more than riches, more than pep, more than himself. Definitely more than himself right now. 

Slowly, the sun rose. And with that Louie moved from his chair, content that his brothers were safe without him watching them for a few minutes. 

He got ready for the day, the new habit of being up before Huey a bewildering change to aforementioned boy. Louie smiled to himself, but it was not out of joy. Huey tried to get him to explain why he was suddenly up so early, not accepting any excuse he gave. Louie would never tell them the real reason. 

He had asked the night of the Timephoon what had happened to them. They still haven't told him. They had both looked off to the side, rubbing their arms in discomfort, clear distaste at the question. He left them alone after that, taking the hint that they didn't want to talk to him. They said they forgave him, but it was clear he wasn't trustworthy right now. That scared him too. 

He cleaned the room silently, a morning routine established out of fear of losing his brothers to his inherent selfishness. They couldn't be mad at him if he pulled his own weight from now on. He could prove his value to this family, even if it was just cleaning up messes. 

"Louie what are you doing?" 

He jumped, careful to not turn around to face Huey. He continued to pick up clothes and toys. 

"Cleaning."

"At 5:30 in the morning?" 

"It's the best time, don't you think. The rest of the day freed up from at least one chore."

"You always, well used to, sleep till 9. What is going on? You hate helping with chores"

"Can't I just help my brothers?" Louie muttered, hating the integration. "Don't you like the new me?" 

"Well, its nice, sure, but you aren't you" 

Louie stopped, arms full of discarded items. He still hadn't turned around. If he looked at Huey now, he knew he would break. Who was he? Who did his brothers want him to be? Huey admitted he liked the changes Louie had taken on, but it wasn’t enough. 

"Louie," Huey said softly, directly behind him. When had he gotten off the top bunk? He tucked his head into his chest. 

"Lou, you can talk to me," his hand gently resting on his shoulder, a slight pressure trying to pull him around. 

"Nothing to talk about. Everything is fine" 

"Nothing is fine. You're not sleeping, you barely eat anymore, and just seem so-" Huey stops, his voice starting to rise. 

"Lou, we are worried about you," This time Louie does turn around, surprised to see Dewey up and standing with Huey. 

They just stare at each other. Louie's gaze goes from one boy to the next. Ironically, they both have identical expressions of concern.

"Louie, is it something we did? Or Scrooge? We can help fix it." Huey says gently, removing his hand from his shoulder, instead clapping them tightly in front of his chest. 

Louie rears back in shock "What?" 

"Yea Louie, let us help fix it." 

"Unless you can help fix me, then there's nothing you can do" the words are spoken without thought. He couldn't help but feel slightly angry that they would blame themselves and even Scrooge (a man of many faults mind you) before placing any blame on Della. 

Maybe he had no right to feel the way he does and Della is right and he's just too selfish and inner focused to see it. Maybe he really doesn't belong in this family. 

Huey looks at him with heartbreak, while Dewey just looks at him in confusion. 

"There's nothing to fix Louie. You're fun the way you are" 

"Yeah, we wouldn't be the same if you were different" 

That's true, if Louie was different, then things would be better. Not how they were right now. If Louie could just be different, if tried hard enough to prove to his brothers and everyone else that he could be who they wanted him to be, things would be better again. 

"I don't fit in. I don't belong. So I have to change to make things better" He argued back. 

He starts putting things away, trying to end the conversation. He knows he's being rougher with the toys then necessary, throwing them into the chest and onto the shelf, but he doesn't care right now. He's on edge and he wants out of this room. 

"Of course you belong!" Dewey exclaims in bewilderment. 

"Where did you even get such an Idea?!" Huey sounds furious. 

"Doesn't matter," he mutters again, wishing he had changed into his hoodie. He felt far too vulnerable in his nightshirt. 

"Did someone say that to you? Thats stupid!" Louie is surprised at Huey's anger, and with that one distracting thought, he is unable to control the flinch he makes at Huey's words. 

Dewey notices, looking at him with searching eyes. "Who said that to you Louie? Is that what all this is about?" 

"This?" He mumbled weakly, hoping to change the subject away from their inquiries. They both loved Della too much for him to bring his own dislike for her into the mix. It would make this already terrible morning worse. 

"The waking up in the middle of the night, the crying, the sudden interest in anything we do, all the cleaning..." Huey lists off more, but Louie stops listening.

 Louie just looked at them, feeling his chest being punched once again. His palms felt clammy and he tried really hard to keep his breathing under control. He turned away from them, curling into a ball on the floor. He can’t hear anything except for the blood rushing through his head, and the air entering and leaving his body. 

"I'm going to get mom," Dewey announced, already moving towards the door. 

"No!" Louie lunges after Dewey, tackling him to the floor. 

"Why not? She can help!" Dewey snaps, "She makes everything better!" 

"No she doesn't!" 

"Yes she does!" 

"I don't want to talk to her!"

"Then talk to us!" Dewey snaps again, looking agitated at Louie's refusal to get Della involved. 

If Della came here she would just scold him again. He'd probably get grounded again because he upset Huey and Dewey and nothing he said would make her listen. 

He clamped his beak shut, just vigorously shaking his head. He can feel himself starting to cry again, hands unable to keep their grip on Dewey's cloths as the nerves course through his body. 

"If you want to be a part of this family...you've got to stop" 

He just needed to stop. 

"Stop what Louie?" 

"Stop being me" he whispers, hiding his face with his hands. He was such a screw up, he could do nothing right. All he could hear was his breathing again, then he felt the hot wet tears on his face again. 

"Louie calm down" Huey hugs him tightly, his body shaking with his own. "You're ok" 

"Louie…" Dewey sat down next to them, putting a hand on his knee. 

"I'm sorry, really really sorry. I mean it!" 

"Sorry about what?" 

"All the trouble I cause, all the problems I started, for making you worry" Louie rambles, trying to list everything and nothing at the same time. 

"Hey we never stop worrying about you, you're our baby brother" Huey strokes his head, holding him tighter. 

"You don't cause problems.." Dewey's own voice starts to shake. 

"Please don't leave me" he chokes out, grabbing on to Huey and Dewey, "I promise I'll change, just please don't leave me" 

Neither boy knows what to say to that, only they can hold him and exchange concerned looks over his head. Eventually Louie falls back asleep, Huey gently tucking him in and following Dewey out of the room. 

They both still don't say anything until they feel they are a safe enough distance not just from their room, but the rest of the occupants of the mansion as well. 

"What started all this?" Dewey whisper yells, clearly still on edge from Louie's melt down.

"I have an idea..I think it was the Timephoon" Huey whispered back. 

"That was forever ago!"

"Yeah but we never really talked about it with him" Huey thinks back to the few weeks he was stuck in the old west. How he struggled to hide in plain sight and how alone he was. 

When he first arrived, he was scared. Then he was angry. Angry at Louie and his stupid selfish get rich quick scheme. Angry that he was alone. Terribly alone. Then suddenly he was back in the foyer. 

He was dazed for a moment, all anger at his brother instantly being replaced with worry has he helped him stand. His hands shook and he offered a wobbly smile. He quickly turned to Dewey, grabbing his face in clear relief. 

Huey still felt angry and definitely found it hard to forgive him. He said the words, they both went through the motions. He could tell that Louie just thought he had to say sorry and that would clean his hands of the whole mess. Huey didn't feel as though he really understood what he put everyone through. His reaction to Moms grounding felt pretty obvious. 

But maybe Huey didn't understand what that whole event put Louie through? 

Dewey looked at Huey, trying to understand why Louie would be having a melt down about that now. 

Sure he had entered up with Webby in one of the greatest eras of all time. Sure he had been alone-ish, without his brothers, for a week. Dewey tried really hard not to think poorly of the experience, after all, it was just another adventure. Another adventure without his brothers or his mom. 

When Louie had asked about where they went, Dewey suddenly realized that time had only passed for a few minutes while he had spent a week away from his family. 

His mom had only gotten back, and he almost lost her all over again. He didn't want to be angry with Louie, but when he asked that question, Dewey couldn't find it in himself to tell him how he was really feeling about the whole thing. Best to just bury it deep inside and forget about it. 

Clearly Louie had not forgotten about it. 

“How can we help if he wont talk to us?” Dewey is frustrated and needs something to do to make things better, and Louie wouldn’t give it to him. 

“He really didn't want us to get mom” Huey murmurs, rubbing his hands together anxiously. Dewey stops his pacing, looking back towards the bedroom. 

“Why?”

“Think about it Dewey, has she ever spent time with Louie? Does she understand him? Like we do?” 

“I’m sure she has..wasn’t there that time, no we were there, or the, nope that was just us” Dewey drifts off into his outloud musings. 

“I’m not saying mom was in the wrong to ground Louie, but I think the whole thing could have been handled better” Huey cuts him off, Dewey growing frantic in trying to think of a time Mom and Louie had spent together. 

“Better?”

Huey rubs his arm in discomfort, “I was, still am a little, mad at him for the whole thing. I was alone for weeks Dewey. Weeks!” 

“I know what you mean, I almost lost mom again” He says it bitterly, speaking the feelings aloud for the first time ever. They both stand in silence, both processing their feelings on the matter internally. 

“I feel like there is something we are missing, and I think it has to do with mom” Huey is the one to break the silence. 

“He would be even more ticked if we went to her without him knowing,” Dewey chimes in, making his way back to the bedroom, “you’re right. He really didn’t want us to get mom.”

They slowly open the door, relieved to see him still on his bunk, chest rising steadily. They get dressed quietly, leaving a note for him. He needed to sleep and the family would understand. 

“We should try to see what we can learn from mom, without directly asking her.”

“How do we do that?”

“Dunno, I’ll come up with something though” They enter the dining room, taking their usual seats, both eyeing the empty one between them with worry. Mrs. Beakley places their breakfast down, Huey stopping her before she places one at Louie’s seat. 

“Louie isn’t feeling good today, he’s still asleep”

“What is he ok?” The boys look at Mom who was halfway into her chair, she looks back the way she had come. 

“Yea, we took care of him, he just needs sleep” Dewey chimes in, shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. He calls out a muffled thank you to Mrs. Beakley who sighs a comment about manners. 

“Are you sure, I should go check on him” Mom is fully out of her chair now.

“He needs to be alone right now,” Huey quickly adds. If Mom was to wake up Louie now, things would probably only get worse. “Trust us.”

“Oh ok,” She sits back down, sending a longing look out the door once more. That was a good sign. 

“It's a shame Louie isn’t feeling good today, I needed his help on getting this old spell book from the city archives,” Lena surprisingly contributes to the conversation. Normally she only interacted with Webby. 

“Louie should know better than to help you with what sounds like an illegal activity” Mom glares at Lena. 

Lena eyes her, studying her, “Louie is good at that stuff, makes it more fun too.” She finished with a shrug.

“Yeah! Louie is so smart!” Webby chimes in, bouncing in her seat, “I really hope he feels better soon!” Lena rolls her eyes fondly at her energy. 

“He always comes up with the best adventures” Dewey chimes in, hopping on Webby’s hype train, “It’s been awhile since we have had one” He sits back down, remembering the morning, and why they need to figure out what happened. 

“Good, it means he’s learning,” Mom’s tone seems to hold a bitterness to it, but Huey felt he could be imagining it. 

“What's wrong with Louie’s adventures?” Webby asked. She wasn't malicious about it, rather she just seemed confused. 

“He needs to be aware of others outside himself, and when he learns that he can plan adventures, not schemes, with you guys again.”

The boys exchange a look, Huey quickly looks at the empty seat, then Mom. Dewey frowned, feeling a protectiveness burst within his chest. Louie was always thinking about others. He disguised it with selfishness, but he was always thinking about them. 

“Louie is very aware of others” Dewey spat the words before he really thought about who they were directed at. Why was Mom saying something so untrue about his baby brother. 

She blinked at him in shock, her mouth hanging open slightly. Dewey was starting to get the feeling that Mom was the one to say something bad to Louie. He really didn’t want to see her. Huey’s eyes darted between Dewey’s clouded expression and Mom’s surprised one. 

“Good Morning Everyone!” Scrooge cheerful calls out, taking his seat at the head of the table. Webby and Lena offer weak greetings, eyes glued to the growing drama at the other end of the table. Scrooge, lowers his paper, taking notice of the lack of greeting from his nephews. He eyes Dewey’s uncharacteristically angry expression, remembering the last time he saw it was when he told the kids about what happened to their mother. Even more surprised to see it aimed at said mother, who seemed just as surprised at her son's anger. 

“Have you not noticed how hard he’s been working? Or how tired he is all the time?”

Della stutters, a heartbroken expression wrinkling around her eyes. Huey and Dewey wait patiently. “I thought he was always like that...I...I didn’t see anything different” 

“Mom have you ever really spent time getting to know him?” Huey quietly askes, but Scrooge can hear the steel edge to his words.

“Of course-”

“No, I don’t think you have” Dewey cuts her off, “If you did then you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t” Dewey struggles to find the words, turning to Dewey to finish for him. 

“You would notice these things.” That wasn’t what Dewey was trying to say, but it was good enough. Mom seemed to put Louie down, judge his actions harsher than their own and pushed him aside. He just couldn’t understand why. 

Lena grabs Webby, quietly slipping from the room. Scrooge sat there, eyeing the family in discomfort. He raises his newspaper, taking refuge behind its ridiculous size and equally ridiculous stories. 

“Guys, I-”

“Why don’t you love him like you love us?” Dewey snaps. Huey is surprised by Dewey’s temper. Normally he would be the one screaming and yelling, not Dewey. He was also surprised at how he was talking to Mom. He loved her so much, but then again, family can lead to the worst sense of betrayal. And Huey thinks Dewey feels very betrayed right now.

“Of course I love him! He’s my son.” She sounds desperate now. Yes of course she loved him-

“But do you like who he is?” Huey asks quietly, having taken hold of Dewey’s wrist, both of them sharing Louie’s vacant seat now. 

“What?” She sounds offended. 

"You don't have to like family, but you can still love them" Hurt glanced over at Scrooge, who had flinched, crinkling his newspaper. 

"Of course I like him" Della quickly defends, staring at her boys with fear. 

"Then spend time with him" 

"Take an interest in what he actually likes to do. It's nice having him help with my badges but he hates it." 

Both boys get up from the table, breakfast unfinished and they waddle out of the room, "we are going to go check on Louie now" they said in their rare moments of spoken unity. 

Della sits there in a moment of defeat, the silence deafening. Scrooge slowly lowers his paper, looking at his niece with find sympathy. 

"The lads have a point dear."

"I feel like the worst mom ever. I will never stop feeling like the worst mom ever" 

"Della dear, you have been back in their lives for only a few months now. All of you have had a decade worth of experiences without each other. I would expect at least that long to properly get to know each of your boys"

"But Louie just-" she glanced at the door, standing and moving to sit closer to Scrooge. 

"I can't let him make the same mistakes as me."

"Ya don't think Donald hasn't spent all his time raising them to be great children?" 

She shakes her head before resting her head in her hand, gazing at the door sadly. Of course her brother would ensure they would turn out different from herself. She knew she had been selfish and rash. The last time they spoke, had been their ugliest fight yet. If anyone would try to ensure the past didn’t repeat itself, it would be him. 

"Louie has an entrepreneurial spirit and looks for the quickest and easiest solutions to his problems. Whether that holds true afterwards is always left to be seen but the kid has a drive, it just needs to be directed, not squished" 

Della deflates even more, "awe lass don't beat yourself up too much. This whole thing is a learning experience for all of yews" 

"I wish this was easier" 

"Every parent does lass" 

The boys trudge back down the hall, Dewey still boiling hot and Huey eager to get back to Louie. They quietly open the door, peaking in slowly. 

Louie was awake and had a wide eyed far off look of fear. He was breathing heavy and was drenched with sweat. His death grip on his pillow spoke volumes to them. He was crying again, and hadn't removed his gaze from the wall in front of him. 

Huey approached first, Dewey closing the door behind them softly. Even when he got on the bed, Louie didn't react, only continuing to stare at the wall. Dewey crawled on next, pulling Louie into a bone crushing hug. He looked down, reaching up to grab his arm. Huey joined in on the other side. 

“I’m sorry. Sorry we never talked sooner, sorry we didn't care, sorry for everything” Huey whispered. 

“Huey..” Louie murmurs.

“Me too Louie. Sorry I forgot about you. Sorry for being a terrible big brother”

“S-kay”

“It really isn't,” Dewey cant put any real force behind the words. 

They all move to laying down. Huey and Dewey look at Louie, while he stares at the wood above them. Huey ran his fingers through his head feathers and Dewey continued to squeeze with all his might. 

“What is family?” He finally speaks. 

“Messy.” Dewey answers.

“Biological” Huey quips. 

“Are we family?”

“No we are best friends. That's something totally different” Huey reassures. He may not have chosen his brothers at first but he did now. Family could be an obligation, but they never would be. He chose them, and always would. 

“Duck brothers forever” Dewey adds. Louie sniffs, the threat of more tears imminent. 

“So if I never stopped scheming and continued to hurt you you would never leave me?”

“I won't lie and say the Timephoon incident didn't hurt me,” Huey answers, speeding up the soothing gestures of his hands when Louie stiffened beside him, “But even that would never make me hate you, and that was pretty bad.”

“Louie, I really don’t get why you want to change, you’re good the way you are.” Dewey’s anger had long since burned out. “What did Mom say to you?”

“What?”

“Stop avoiding the question, I didn’t just get into a fight with Mom for no reason. Now spill”

“You got into a fight with Del-Mom?” Louie’s disbelief is echoed internally by Huey. It was a hard thing to imagine. 

“Yes, now spill” He demands again. 

Louie turned his head, surprised by Dewey’s serious and determined expression. “She said that if I wanted to be a part of this family I had to stop.”

“Stop what” Huey was quick to ask, reaching a hand across Louie to calm Dewey. He was angry too. What kind of mother said such a thing? Threatening to kick him out of this already dysfunctional family because what, he wanted to ensure he or his brothers never lived in poverty again? 

“Stop scheming, stop planning. They only lead to bad things for you guys anyway” He felt and sounded so defeated. 

“I mean I almost lost you guys. It wasn’t on purpose, but still, I almost did that.” Louie could feel his panic rising as the choppy remnants of his last dream resurfaced. His brothers had willingly left him that time. Nothing he did could change their minds. He didn’t try hard enough. He tightened his grip around Dewey’s arm and pushed himself further into Huey. 

“Louie we know that you were just trying to help in your own way,” Dewey tries not to wince at Louie's grip. 

“What if I hadn’t been able to bring you guys back? What if I had been alone forever? What if I mess up again, and you guys really do leave?”

“Woah Louie calm down, that didn’t happen and won't happen. I promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that Huey. Even you don’t know that” 

“You’re right, but I can promise that I, we, will never leave you” 

“Stuck with us forever. Mom just has to accept that” 

“I’m not what she wants.” Louie whispers. 

“She just doesn’t understand you. We know you, that's all that matters” They had tangled themselves together into a more comfortable cuddle pile. 

“Next time you have a nightmare, come get us please. We will help remind you of the truth” Huey is the one to make the request, but Dewey quickly nods along. Louie relaxes between them, closing his very sore eyes, hoping to lessen the headache that had built up. Huey continued his menstrations and Dewey was trying his hardest to lay still. 

“I’m going to go get you some food and water” Dewey detangles himself, Louie smiling. He knew Dewey couldn’t sit still for long. At the sound of the door closing, he closes his eyes once more. 

“If It makes it better, Mom really didn’t realize she messed up.”

“Not really. It wasn’t like I didn’t try to connect with her”

“I know.”

“I miss Uncle Donald. He understands”

“He will be home soon, I’m sure of it” 

There was a gentle knock at the door, both boys glancing at it in confusion until Della poked her head through. 

“Hey boys, oh where’s Dewey?”

Louie stiffened, pulling the covers up to his chin, turning towards Huey. If Della noticed she didn’t show it. Huey glanced at her warily. 

“Getting Louie some food and water,”

“That’s nice of him, how’re you doin bud?” Della kneels besides the bed, reaching towards him. He pulls back, burying himself under the covers. Huey moved to sit up, keeping one hand on his head and the other on his arm. He wiggled so his head was in his lap. 

“Why did you threaten to kick him out of the family?” Louie listens carefully. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did!” He shouted from beneath the covers. 

“Louie I would never say that.” Della sounds almost angry.

“It was on your stupid recording from when I was grounded. You said that if i wanted to be a part of this family, I had to stop being me.”

“Oh” That's all she can say? Oh. Louie grinds his teeth together. 

“That’s not what I meant” 

“What else could you have possibly meant?” Huey snaps, his own temper now rearing its head. 

“Just that he needed to be more considerate of the family and stop causing problems?”

“Causing problems”

“Wrong word,” Della starts to stubble over her words.

“Listen boys, I wanted to apologize. I’m still trying to figure out this mom thing and I know I keep messing up, but I really want to try”

“If you really wanted to try, you would have spent time with Louie sooner.” 

“I do-”

“No you don’t,” He rejoins the conversation, pulling the covers off his face just enough to breathe easier, “Every time I tried you always had something else to do or it wasn’t ok for me to do.”

“Louie..”

“Della,” He ignores her sharp intake of breath, “It’s going to take more than an ‘I’m sorry’ to fix this. Guess that’s one thing I learned” Louie is bitter and tired and was really done with this day. He wanted things to go back to normal. 

“Mom, we can talk later, Louie needs some time” Huey placates, his tone gently. As Della is about to leave, Dewey re-enters the room, eyeing her warily. A quick glance at Huey has him holding his tongue and marching past her. 

“Here Lou, this will make you feel better. All three boys relax at the sound of the door closing. Louie sits up, carefully drinking the water and nibbling on the lukewarm pancakes. Dewey had clearly used the microwave to reheat them, but he was hungry and didn’t really care right now. 

Things were far from better, but weren’t terrible anymore. Louie felt relaxed, but the nightmares and fears were still there in the back of his mind. He watched Dewey and Huey talk about unimportant topics, smiling softly at the normalcy of it all, despite the circumstances. He can see himself being ok, believe it even. It was just going to take time. And thankfully, they still had plenty of that left, together. 

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Justice' - Justin Bieber

So did Justin Bieber change direction? Will he do his latest album... justice?

Uh...

Released a mere 13 months after the bland and tiresome Changes, the Canadian singer delivers yet another set of mawkish love ballads and Top 40-baiting pop to remind us all once again that he really, really, truly, madly, deeply loves his wife Hailey Baldwin and of his commitment to God.

On ‘Deserve You,’ he admits: ‘When I'm in my thoughts sometimes/It's hard to believe I'm the person you think I am/The person that you tell me you love.’ He’s even ‘off my face in love with you,’ replacing one vice for another as he finds himself stoned after one touch of Mrs Bieber. On the skittering, soaring ‘Ghost,’ he vows: ‘If I can't be close to you/I'll settle for the ghost of you.’

Bieber also pledges to die for her, to walk through fire ‘even if your kiss would kill me,’ on ‘Somebody,’ be the shoulder for her to cry on, and even calls he ‘the only good thing I’ve ever done’ on ‘Anyone’ as they dance under a sky full of diamonds.

‘Love You Different,’ however, leaves nothing to the imagination: ‘Under covers ain’t no rubbers/ On this planet I’ll treat you like a mother/ Let’s make babies.’

If it was just a couple of love songs dedicated to his wife, it’d be fine, but one after the other, at this level of co-dependency and self-loathing from a now 27-year-old Bieber, is just suffocating and kind of frightening. Then again, Homer did say complete and utter dependence is a ‘wonderous, marvellous thing’...

The breezy ‘Peaches,’ meanwhile (ft. Daniel Caesar and Giveon) is carefully tailored to be a potential Song of the Summer, this time praising Georgia-grown produce and California weed alongside his wife. It’s like a more grown-up version of that ‘you gotta keep your head up, oh-woah’ song, with just a dash of Maroon 5’s ‘Sunday Morning.’

Then there’s previous single ‘Holy’ (ft. fellow wife-lover, Chance the Rapper), a sweeping gospel pop ode sampling, of all things, Elvis’ ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love with You,’ that sees Bieber ‘runnin' to the altar like a track star.’ But this goofy eagerness for The Lord is outmatched by some even goofier lines from Chance, like this one: ‘Life is short with a temper like Joe Pesci.’ As both an Italian and a music lover, I just can’t abide. Then again, Chance really doesn’t like criticism, so that probably explains its first draft-like quality....

Look, I have no problem with religion or spirituality of any kind (Except for Hillsong, ‘cos fuck Hillsong, fuck Morrison and fuck prosperity gospel). I don’t even consider myself an atheist. It can help provide guidance and comfort in troubling times, as it’s done for Bieber. It’s also quite ironic that I post this review on Good Friday... But like a lot of born-again types, he must espouse his religious beliefs at every single turn, in the most preachy and insufferable way possible; there's just no in between.

Justice also sees Bieber attempt to restyle himself as some sort of humanitarian – by sampling the powerful words of Dr Martin Luther King Jr.

But rather than use them to speak out against racial injustice or police brutality, they’re merely used to prop up Bieber’s overwrought declarations of love on piano ballad ‘2 Much’ and on an interlude halfway through the album... which is immediately followed by ‘Die For You’ (ft. Dominic Fike), dedicated yet again to Hailey.

Although he admits that ‘I know that I cannot simply solve injustice by making music, but I do know that if we all do our part by using our gifts to serve this planet, and each other, that we are that much closer to being united,’ Bieber’s social conscience rings hollow, nothing but a gross, vapid, self-indulgent attempt to capture the cultural zeitgeist. It's corporate brand wokeness; the bare minimum when it typically comes to celebrity activism. Or maybe this is some weird way of atoning for the awfulness of ‘Yummy’ and trying to game the Spotify algorithm. That he didn’t anticipate such backlash in the first place is also pretty galling.

Even the album’s title is perplexing: What justice is Bieber fighting for, exactly? The right to bone Hailey Baldwin? The right to dedicate soppy ballads to her?

But, like Changes, there are a few diamonds in the rough.

The hazy, drum-powered atmospherics of ‘Deserve You’ could’ve easily sat alongside Purpose’s biggest hits, like a softer, slower take on Jason Derulo’s ‘Cheyenne.’ ‘Unstable’ (ft. The Kid LAROI) is sparse and ghostly with those ‘Another Day in Paradise’-like vibes.

‘Die For You’s intensity is matched by punchy 80s synths. ‘Somebody’ (produced by Skrillex) is also urgent and feverish, given some extra grit with some power pop riffs and murky percussion, while the glitchy ‘Love You Different’ (ft. BEAM) is as bold and vibrant as ‘Sorry,’ combining garage-inspired beats with dancehall swagger.

If Bieber had just stripped away all the cheesy ballads and stuck with the 80s synthpop, he probably could’ve turned Justice into his very own After Hours (not nearly as good, mind you, but still better than... this).

Justice is not nearly as profound as Justin Bieber thinks it is, his latest album once again let down by cheesy, uninspired lyrics and a lack of focus as he relies on a grab bag of styles: early MTV-style New Wave, tropical pop, RnB, pop rock. Although the acoustic ballads are, thankfully, kept to a minimum and the production is just as slick, with much stronger collaborators for the singer to bounce off (Then again, just about anyone is an improvement on fuckin’ Lil Dicky...)

Like Changes, it’s also about five or six tracks too long. Hell, there’s no less than four deluxe editions of Justice: The Target Exclusive, The Walmart Exclusive, The Alternate Version (featuring one extra track), and The Triple Chucks Deluxe. It’s so fuckin’ shameless, but what do you expect from the guy who released ‘Yummy’?

His quest for TikTok notoriety blew up in his face. His attempt to ‘continue the conversation of what justice looks like’ is hollow and plain tone-deaf. His syrupy, obsessive odes to his wife have more than grown thin at this point. If he doesn’t gain some self-awareness soon, then It’s hard to know just where Bieber goes from here...

- Bianca B.

[quentinblack]

Smoke and Mirrors

Word Count: 2.5K words

Chapter 13 - Andromeda III: Pride and Prejudice (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Andromeda Black & Druella Black

Gaius Lestrange had not been a regular fixture at the Black family’s opulent manor-house in the Bedfordshire countryside for very long, but Andromeda had already grown quite tired of his presence. His persistent brown-nosing of her father over the summer months had been nauseating at best – at worst, even somewhat concerning considering her eldest sister would, at some point in the next 12 months, wed his eldest son and officially join their families together in the process.

Bellatrix had been looking forward to her 17th birthday with baited breath for months, as she would finally be considered a fully-grown adult-witch, thus, not just capable, but also legally able to make her own life choices.

Or at least that was what she had thought.

In hindsight this train of thought had been nothing short of abject naivety on her part, as the mere idea that she would not still be behest to her Father’s will whilst she still lived in his house was nothing more than a pipe dream.

The subject of finding a suitable wizard to marry her off to was not something that had been readily discussed by their Mother and Father in recent times, in-fact -  more or less any subject involving Bellatrix had been off limits following the abortion incident.

Andromeda guessed that Bellatrix had thought after that scandal that she would’ve avoided the long-held tradition of pure-blood arranged marriage. It was something that Andromeda and Cissy had pondered themselves, after all, whilst the Black family name was practically royalty, what self-respecting, rich, pure-blood wizard would wish to marry one of their sons off to Bellatrix after all of that?

That had probably been something that her Father had also been rather concerned about. He had always been bitterly disappointed that he had never been birthed a male heir, but he always had the consolation prize of being able to marry off his darling daughters to the cream of the crop in pure-blood bachelors.

He was very good friends with the obscenely wealthy Abraxas Malfoy and if the rumours were to be believed - they had once discussed the possibility of marrying off their first born children together, with that philanderer Lucius even briefly courting Bellatrix at one point in time.

Of course that was undoubtedly off of the cards completely now, with Abraxas loathe to marry off his prized asset to such a disgraced young witch. Lucius would no doubt end up marrying one of the other less discredited pure-blood girls he liked to pursue at school. It could be Danielle Avery, Amara Greengrass or maybe even that bitch Olivia Burke – but definitely not Bellatrix.

Bellatrix was damaged goods and not even the prospect of their family name, reputation and wealth could paper over the cracks she had created. As her father had discovered - there was not a single self-respecting, rich, pureblood wizard who would considering marrying off their son to such a witch.

However, luckily for him, whilst there were no self-respecting, rich, pureblood wizards who would consider it – there was at least one rich, pureblood wizard that would consider it.

This was where Gaius Lestrange had come into the picture.

He was not self-respecting in the slightest, instead, he was utterly shameless in his lust for power, respect and social climbing. Whilst many other noble men with names like Malfoy, Crouch, Yaxley and Nott had pride and reputation to lose by entering their sons into such a bargain with Bellatrix – Gaius Lestrange was from a family that had not yet managed to carve out such pride or reputation into their name.

From what Andromeda had gathered from her Mother the vast majority of the Lestrange family had still been based in France at the turn of the 20th century, but following Grindelwald’s rise to power in Europe, a lot of the men had moved their wives and children to the comparative safety of Britain.

The patriarchs of the family did not do this to avoid Grindelwald’s war, on the contrary, the vast majority were actively following him into battle - and thus, they feared possible reprisals from a French Ministry that was keen to crack down on the dark wizard’s most loyal supporters by any means necessary.

Gaius Lestrange was still a teenager bogged down in his studies at Hogwarts when Grindelwald fell, with his Father subsequently locked up for life in the same prison that housed the man he had followed until the bitter end.

The Lestrange family had quite a few prosperous business ventures scattered across France, but they were soon purged following their owner’s demise and Gaius and his Mother were left with nothing but the cramped little cottage that housed them in Nottingham.  Andromeda’s Mother had not expanded on how exactly Gaius Lestrange had managed to acquire the comparative riches that he held today, but she did not have any reason to believe it had come about entirely from legitimate business practices. All that she knew was that at some point Gaius, after befriending many other like-minded pure-blood wizards at Hogwarts, had eventually married the misshapen looking Edith Bulstrode and popped out two sons – one of which was now lucky enough to have Bellatrix as his prospective bride.

Rodolphus Lestrange could indeed consider himself lucky to have Bellatrix as his bride, as the lanky, dark-haired boy was not someone that Bellatrix, or indeed any of the other Slytherin girls seemed to show any romantic interest in.

Bellatrix liked to flirt and fornicate with the most powerful, ambitious and talented boys, not quiet, timid lackeys like her prospective fiancé. Rodolphus was not particularly gifted in any of his classes, nor did he possess enough talent on a broom to warrant a place on the dominant Slytherin quidditch side. He was a follower, not a leader, with the only person he seemed to have any influence over being his younger brother, Rabastan, who was even shyer and stranger than his sibling.

Andromeda doubted that Rodolphus would be able to tame her sister, in-fact, she figured Bellatrix would probably chew him up and spit him straight back out. In many ways she thought that made Gaius Lestrange’s eldest son the ideal man for Bellatrix, but if her repeated tantrums were anything to go by, it did not seem likely that she saw it that way herself.

“Andromeda, my dear, you have not eaten much of your steak,” her Mother said suddenly, interrupting her day-dreaming at the dining room table.

“Did Rudy not cook it how you like it? I will summon him at once, he can cook you another one.”

“No, Mother, this one is fine,” she quickly replied before her Mother could have a go at their house elf.

She was not lying – the food that Rudy had prepared her was no less nice than it always was, but she just had too much on her mind to be hungry enough to eat it.

Even if he had over-cooked it she would not have complained about it. She hated to see him chastised by her Mother, or worse, when he would punish himself for the slightest of errors or mistakes in his cooking or cleaning.

Bellatrix had for many years taken a great sadistic pleasure in fabricating problems with the meals he prepared for her, not because she had any particular hatred of him, but purely because she enjoyed watching her Mother berate and punish him. There were even a few occasions that he had broken down in tears, which had brought great amusement to her triumphant sister, who seemed to enjoy watching others getting publicly humiliated, especially if they were people or creatures that she considered beneath her.

“This is not the first time you have not finished your dinner this week, Andromeda. I do hope you are not taking part in that silly dieting trend that seems to have become popular with young witches. The Prophet said it originates from the Mud-

“I am not dieting!” she snapped before her Mother could say the word.

Druella Black did not take too kindly to any of her children raising their voices at her, but ever since Bellatrix’s fall from grace she had been a lot more lenient with her two younger girls.

“Andromeda Black!” her mother muttered in a stern voice.

“I am sorry Mother,” Andromeda lied, which caused the angry expression on Druella’s face to fade away slightly. “I should not have raised my voice at you… it is just lately I…  I am feeling so…

“Yes?” her Mother replied eagerly. “What is it, dear? I have sensed something has not been quite right with you lately, please, do tell me what it is and we can resolve it.”

Andromeda had to think of something fast.

She could not tell her Mother what it was that was really stressing her out. That her Father selling off her sister to the highest bidder like an antique ornament had hit her with the stark realisation that this could one day soon be her fate too.

It wasn’t so bad for Cissy.

Fabian Prewett might be a flamboyant, rebellious Gryffindor, but he was still a pure-blood from a wealthy wizarding family. Her little sister still liked to keep their budding romance a secret, but there was no reason to believe that their Father wouldn’t greenlight a marriage between them if it one day got that serious.

Andromeda would not be so lucky.

Ted was a muggle-born and she would probably be disowned by her Father if he even knew she was dating him, let alone if she asked for his blessing to one day marry him.

“I am absolutely dreading going back to school, Mother,” she mustered up. “We start studying for our N.E.W.T.S and I just… I do not think I can hack it!” Andromeda blurted out, as she unexpectedly burst into tears.

Her Mother did not reach out to comfort her instantly, as she had spent many years training herself and her daughters to avoid showing such extreme emotion, but after a few moments she came closer and began to run her fingers through Andromeda’s dark brown hair.

“Oh, my dearest daughter, you are such a silly girl sometimes,” she whispered softly in a slightly patronising tone.

The reason that Andromeda had burst into tears was indeed due to her dreading the return to Hogwarts, yet it was not her N.E.W.T.S that kept her up at night, but her relationship with Ted.  

Her courtship of him had initially began as an exciting act of defiance and rebellion.

Their first date in Hogsmeade had been somewhat, if not entirely, influenced by her desire to rebound from Lucius Malfoy.  She had thought that if the Slytherin seeker had found out she had been on a date with another boy, a muggle-born no less, that he would first get extremely jealous- and then come to his senses and realise what a mistake he had made by casting her aside for Olivia.

As luck would have it that Hogsmeade trip had seen an incredible torrent of rain, which had put off most students from even bothering to venture out of the castle. Andromeda had headed there primarily to get the books that she wanted, not imagining that the muggle-boy with the silly haircut and the nice cheek-bones would bother braving the rain to meet her – but to her surprise when she had entered Tomes and Scrolls there he had been, browsing a book-shelf on the other side of the room.

They had gone on that date to Madam Pudifoot’s and save for the waitress had not seen a single soul from school the entire afternoon. In hindsight it was damn good fortune that they hadn’t. If anyone from Slytherin had spotted them together then their fledging relationship would have been over before it had even begun.

For the next three months they had primarily communicated by owl-post, with Andromeda frantically studying for her O.W.L.S she at least had a feasible excuse not to want to be too distracted by becoming Ted’s girlfriend. Then in July when most of her exams were over, they had met up again by the Great Lake in “their” spot, when the very last of the year’s Quidditch matches were taking place.

Much like their first meeting they could talk by the trees with very little chance of anyone stumbling upon them. That was when Ted had first raised his suspicions of the real reason why Andromeda had been somewhat pushing him away – that she did not want to be seen in public with him, that she could not be with him because he was a muggle-born.

She had tried to explain to him that it wasn’t that simple – and that he didn’t understand how her parents would react if they learned she was dating a muggle-born. He had at first been crestfallen, then he had furiously issued her an ultimatum, stating that if she was never willing to openly be his girlfriend then they were both just wasting their time.

He had begun to walk away from her when she desperately called out for him to stop, then as he had turned back to look at her she had ran towards him and flung herself into his un-expecting arms, before surprising him even further by passionately pressing her lips against his. It had been their first kiss – and before the sun had set that evening, she was pretty sure they had also had their one hundred and first kiss too.

Over the summer they had met up at least twice a week – and Ted being a muggle-born meant he would always take her places that no witch or wizard would ever see them. It was perfect. It was lovely – and now it was going to be ruined by them going back to Hogwarts.

There were no secret rooms in the castle they could meet up away from the prying eyes of the pure-blood contingency.

Andromeda knew that Ted would not be willing to settle for months of letters and the occasional secret meet-up when there was a Quidditch match on – and he should not have to settle for that, he deserved to be with someone that loved him enough to publicly be his girlfriend.

But how could Andromeda do that?

She couldn’t.

And she knew sooner or later that Ted would break up with her and find someone else who would.

He would probably get with a pretty muggle-born or half-blood girl that didn’t act like a fish out of water whenever meeting up with his non-wizard friends and family. Andromeda would then have to watch Ted and this girl holding hands as they strolled around the castle grounds, or maybe when a Quidditch match was on she would stumble upon them kissing in “their” spot by the Great Lake.

Andromeda felt the hot tears continue to run down her face as her Mother carried on stroking her hair.

“Now, now, Andromeda… you are being so silly. There is nothing for you to worry about. Whatever happens your Father and I will be so very proud of you. Do you hear me?” she said, as Andromeda wiped her wet eye-lids and saw her Mother’s best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“But what if I… what if I-

She briefly considered confiding in her Mother.

It was only for a split-second.

She thought that maybe she would understand.

Maybe she would let her fall in love with whoever she wanted after all.

“Even if you do fail your exams… and Andromeda, dear, you will not, but even if you do… you are a beautiful young pure-blood woman. You will be sixteen in a few weeks. It will not be long before your Father begins to search for a suitable husband for you… and I mean a truly suitable husband, not the… not the riff-raff that your sister has had to make do with… and then Andromeda it will not truly matter how good or bad your grades are. After all, as your Father quite rightfully points out… the only real reason a pure-blood girl needs to go to school is to advertise.”

“To advertise… to advertise what?” Andromeda mumbled amid her post-cry sniffles.

“To advertise themselves to the best young pure-blood men of course. It seems your sister was a bit over-eager in that department – I blame myself partially, although I did do my utmost to prevent her from doing anything too stupid. Oh but I did fail her… I did… oh Andromeda it is all my fault!”

It was not long before her Mother too had begun to cry – and in what was a very un-Black like event, they held each other for a good long while whilst they both bawled their eyes out.

Her mother, crying because she thought that she had not done right by Bellatrix – and Andromeda, crying because she knew now that when the time came, she would not do right by her either.

[kaesaaurelia]

best of a bad situation

For @whumptober2019 day 25: humiliation.

This is a continuation of day 3 (delirium), day 9 (shackled), and day 23 (bleeding out).  Premise: Aziraphale has been captured by Hell; Crowley is expected to interrogate/torture him in front of an audience of demons, and can’t let on that they’re friends.

Aziraphale/Crowley; content warning for torture, mutual noncon, and coping mechanisms for same.

Crowley steeled himself for what he was going to have to do next. He didn't want to -- to --

He didn't want to rape Aziraphale. Just thinking it felt like a gutpunch. But given how badly Beelzebub had healed Aziraphale, Crowley didn't like to think what she'd do to him if she was to -- to interact physically with him any further.

And he'd already stabbed Aziraphale, and twisted the knife. What was one more terrible thing, really? His hands weren't clean, and never had been, and it would be cruel to draw the line here and let Aziraphale suffer even more at the hands of Beelzebub.

So he looked Aziraphale up and down in what he hoped seemed a lascivious way, although it was safe to say that Aziraphale was at his least desirable covered in wounds and pus. The expression on his face, though... he was looking right at him, challenging him. He'd suffered, but he wasn't broken.

And this -- this might destroy their friendship, but at least it wouldn't break Aziraphale. Probably. Hopefully.

He snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale was entirely naked now. "Well, angel, I'll be sorry to let you go after this; we've had such fun," he said, unzipping his fly, hating himself for doing this, and also desperately unhappy that his superiors and who knew how many of his coworkers would be watching him.

"Would you just get on with it?" snapped Aziraphale, and Crowley was oddly relieved by that. It wasn't permission, certainly, but it was -- acknowledgment that it was going to happen whether either of them wanted it or not.

"Eager, are you?" Crowley asked, stroking himself, trying to think of this as -- as a game. As anything but what it was. Yes. He tried to pretend that his immediate future held a soft bed with a satisfied angel in it, one who whispered loving things and kissed him and held him and made gentle fun of his attempts at being faux-intimidating. He thought of Aziraphale's well-kept, elegant hands on his dick, of Aziraphale willingly letting Crowley undress him, tried to bring out all his stupid wank fantasies of the past few millennia, and tried not to see Aziraphale as he was, in front of him, brave and frightened and terribly wounded.

"Not exactly, but with you it won't take long," said Aziraphale.

Crowley could hear laughter from behind that two-way mirror. "Really, that's the insult you're going with?" he asked. He pulled himself together, and, hoping he wasn't visibly shaking, got close enough to Aziraphale that they could've kissed if Crowley only leaned forward. He tried to see past Aziraphale's defiant expression to some sort of forgiveness, but he couldn't find it.

Well. Aziraphale had asked him to get on with it. Crowley wouldn't hurt him more than he had to, though.

He rubbed his dick up against Aziraphale's arsehole, using a little miracle to prepare him, and -- and Aziraphale made a noise, and Crowley hated himself so much in that moment, but if he closed his eyes he could pretend it was a good noise.

He pressed his face against Aziraphale's neck. This was selfish; he didn't want to have to see betrayal or loathing on Aziraphale's face when he did this. But it did let him hiss, "I'm sssorry, I'm sssorry about thisss, angel, I don't --"

"Just get on with it," Aziraphale whispered into his ear, in the same impatient tone he'd used before.

"Right," said Crowley, and he pressed himself as gently as he dared into Aziraphale, who made another little noise. Crowley tried to pretend very hard that Aziraphale wanted this, and the worst part was it felt good, it felt so good, and Aziraphale was warm against him, and --

Crowley realized, with mild horror, that Aziraphale's dick was stiffening between them. It was one of those, those weird, counterproductive physiological responses built into bodies, probably, but on one level Crowley thought Fuck, he's going to hate me so much for humiliating him in front of all of Hell,and on another, shallower, survival-focused level he thought Yes, it's all just a game, I just need to play along, but really he's enjoying it and when we're done it'll all fall away into nothing, I just need to get through this, it's fine.

He set up a slow rhythm. Aziraphale was breathing heavily now, and Crowley whispered "I'm sssorry, I'm sssorry, I'm sssorry," into his neck like it would help anything.

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasped into his ear, and he could pretend that it was a gasp of pleasure, and not simply the name of Aziraphale's tormentor. Then, Aziraphale whispered. "I'm -- I'm sorry I just -- nhh -- could you -- could you go faster?"

"What?" But it let him hold onto some small hope that Aziraphale wouldn't completely hate him after this, and so he sped up a bit.

"Thank you, yes, oh Crowley," said Aziraphale into his ear, and shit, he barely had to work at pretending anymore. Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley could feel him shaking. "Making the best -- of -- of a bad situation oh keep doing that pleasepleaseplease," Aziraphale whispered in his ear, and.

Well.

He didn't have to tell Crowley twice.

"And, and if -- if it would be more convincing," said Aziraphale, "you could, you could bite me --"

"Fuck," whispered Crowley, and nipped at Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale whined. "Please, please, harder," he whispered. So Crowley sank fangs into him, and Aziraphale cried out as the coppery taste of his blood filled Crowley's mouth.

Crowley took hold of Aziraphale's hips, and as soon as he had, as soon as it could be disguised as Crowley's doing, Aziraphale was jerking forward, taking him in further and rutting against him. He nearly cried Aziraphale's name out aloud, but remembered himself after the "Ah!" and contented himself with fucking Aziraphale as hard as he could, as Aziraphale gasped and moaned against him.

His thrusts became fast and irregular, and he was so close, so close, and when Aziraphale finally moaned and came against his stomach, Crowley was lost.

Breathing heavily, he stepped away from Aziraphale, cleaned himself up with a miracle, and zipped himself back up before he dared look at Aziraphale again.

The first thing he noticed was that Aziraphale was flushed and filthy, sticky with blood and come, and the reality of their situation hit him once more. The guilt was crushing and immediate.

Then he worked up the courage to look at Aziraphale's face, and realized, actually, they were in an entirely different sort of trouble, because for all the shit Hell'd put him through today, Aziraphale looked... well, unmistakably self-satisfied. He must've noticed Crowley staring, eventually, because he tried not to look so pleased with himself, but -- well. Aziraphale was a terrible actor.

"Crowley, what the Heaven wazzz that?" Beelzebub demanded. She looked -- well, she looked horrified. Dagon wasn't much better.

"I, ah." Shit. How to even come up with a lie to cover this? "I."

"You weren't szzupozzzed to make him like it!" said Beelzebub.

"I -- I didn't, I think -- I think -- I think this angel is defective," blurted Crowley. "Look, I fucked him as hard as I could, I even bit him, I don't know what more you expect."

And then! Aziraphale started fucking laughing.

"Shut up, shut up!" snapped Crowley, and even he couldn't work out whether he was Terrible Demon Crowley or Actual Terrified Crowley, but it didn't make a difference, Aziraphale only laughed harder.

"Get him out of here, it'zzz bad for morale," said Beelzebub. Aziraphale's shackles fell from the wall, and sprouted a chain with which Crowley could lead him.

"What -- what do you want me to -- should I release him back to Earth?" Crowley asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"I don't care, juzzt, pleazzze, get him out!" said Beelzebub. "You were doing szzo well, Crowley," she added, sounding -- disappointed? "I don't know how anyone could szzcrew that up."

"Right, you're coming with me," growled Crowley, cleaning and re-clothing Aziraphale with a snap, and jerking the chain. Aziraphale was straight-up giggling now, and Crowley hurried him out of Hell as fast as he could.

Once they were in the elevator, Crowley removed the shackles.

Aziraphale was still laughing, but after a few seconds in the safety of the lift, it became sobbing.

"I. Aziraphale. I'm." He swallowed. What the fuck was he supposed to say? I'm sorry for raping you, but I really enjoyed the part where you begged me to bite you harder?

"It's -- it's fine," said Aziraphale, wiping tears out of his face. His hand came away bloody. "Oh."

"It issn't fine, Aziraphale, it'ss." Crowley took a deliberate breath. "It's. I'm sorry."

"You -- you only did what you could, my dear."

"Yeah, but..." Crowley was going to reflexively blame himself, but he realized he was still my dear, and -- and he could live with that. Just that, nothing more, forever. That could be enough. "I. Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes, I think so. Eventually," said Aziraphale.

"I didn't -- I didn't hurt you, did I?" Crowley asked.

"Well, I don't know if you remember this, Crowley, but you did stab me in the gut and twist the knife around," said Aziraphale, just a bit hysterical.

"Beelzebub and Dagon told me to, I couldn't -- I couldn't just --"

"If Beelzebub and Dagon told you to jump off a cliff, would you?" Aziraphale asked, pointedly.

So they were doing this, then, this pointless bickering. But Crowley was comfortable with that, so he took the bait willingly. "Yes? Yes, obviously! Why would I n-- Aziraphale, I have wings, we both have wings."

"Yes, but --"

"And the alternative to cliff-jumping would probably be, I don't know, being buried up to the neck in shit for forty years, or slowly being devoured by a giant spider, organ by organ, or -- or having to call an insurance company that uses one of those voice recognition phone mazes, and I'd have a really weird problem that isn't programmed into it -- like, like I'm trying to make a claim on my giant spider insurance or something. Of course I'd be shoving ahead in the cliff-jumping line! I'd be flinging myself off that fucking cliff," said Crowley.

"Giant spider insurance?"

"I don't know!"

The lift doors opened.

"Am I... am I driving you home?" Crowley asked. Everything felt so fragile and terrible now.

"I don't know. Are you?" Aziraphale asked.

"You shouldn't walk home after -- after all that," said Crowley, and he led Aziraphale to the Bentley.

The ride home was terrible and silent. After many long, empty minutes, Aziraphale said, "You're driving very carefully today."

Crowley slowed and then came to a full stop at a red light. "Yeah," he said. How long did these things take to change colors? He didn't know. It could be hours, days even. But he didn't trust himself with speed right now.

At the shop, before Aziraphale got out of the car, Crowley said, "Wait. I. Can I -- is there anything I can do?"

Aziraphale froze, and Crowley wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, or if there was even a right thing to say.

But then Aziraphale said, "Come into the shop? Please?"

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Amor y Miedo (Love & Fear)

I’M BACK(ish)!! I’ve been going through some shit and honestly had no motivation to write until I slowly found my mojo again. I whipped this up and didn’t get a chance to edit so lo siento por adelantado (I’m sorry in advance).

Please be kind, it’s been awhile and ENJOY! 

Angel Reyes x Reader

Warnings: angst, language (duh)

Translations-

mi dulce: my sweet 

el diablo: the devil

lo siento mucho mi amiga: i’m so sorry my friend

Hasta nunca pendejo: see you never asshole

estúpido: stupid 

***********************************************

Blood sluggishly saturated down her floral blouse, her constricted breathing enslaved beneath her ribcage. She was beyond questioning the source of origin merely aware of the crimson liquid oozing down her forehead, reminding her she was indeed alive but way past okay. At this defining moment in her short life, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to care, at least not any longer.

Abandonment ached its path throughout her, physically and mentally grasping until reaching her wits end eager to consume. Always putting his needs before her own. The only clarity provided for Y/N was simply that in her dire time of anguish Angel Reyes was nowhere in sight, and that fact hurt a million times more than the wounds covering her delicate skin. Allegiance, love, and expectation rebelled against her once again solidifying her sorrow feat.

Voices echoed off the silent walls slowly encroaching their way into her mind. Please make them stop. One voice in particular stood out above the others, one that once soothed her into submission, but that feeling disintegrated faster than the speed of light. Agitation trickled down her spine as she began to piece together the events that brought her into destruction’s route.

Angel spoke hesitantly probing for any words of consolation but failing all over again- “Y/N, this isn’t how—”

“I thought you were the one, Angel. The man who hung the fucking moon, stars…the whole goddamn shebang. Boy, how wrong was I?”

Exasperated, Y/N glanced around recognizing the familiar territory she found herself in. How the hell did she end up in the clubhouse?  

Within the dimly lit room, the older Reyes stared blankly at anywhere else his eyes could perch ignoring the pleading ones seeking his own. His cowardice soon came into full effect as his heart galloped to an unnatural pace, his stomach tightening with anxiety of what was soon to come.

“I allowed you…us to create this false sense of illusion for my own damn comfort, but I was never endgame. How much longer were you going to string me along? One last fuck or until it wasn’t convenient for you?  Which is it, hmm?”

“I can explain mi dulce.”

Wait…please don’t answer that and for the love of god don’t fucking call me that.”

Love and fear. The two most destructive forces to grace Earth. Fear had turned her inside out; love had only made her stupid. Y/N eagerly walked into the arms of the Mayans ignoring all potential warning signs, and solely focused on the handsome man who proclaimed his love for her, and for a moment it was enough.

Her voice shattered like glass succumbing to tiny shards hazardously scattered across the floor. “You weren’t there. No explanation will make this better and I think you know that. Forgiveness is a freedom and that is a luxury I am unable to afford.”

Bishop’s shadow reflected upon the walls alerting her of another presence besides their own before finally clearing his throat.  “Y/N, you’re safe now. With us.”

Hatred radiated from her words causing her throat to rumble; “I’m not safe anywhere. The fucking cartel made sure of that when they kidnapped me from right under your foolish noses.”

“What the hell did they want with you of all people?”

“To send a message, el diablo himself sends his love. They’re not fucking around anymore and you guys have been too preoccupied buying time to notice the war that’s raging especially in Mexico. Gorgeous place by the way, outstanding citizens I might add.”

Lost in thought Bishop took his cue and made his way towards the exit; “I’m going to talk this over with the others. Holler if you need me, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He paused near the frame of the open door and sighed; “Lo siento mucho mi amiga. We failed you and that I can guarantee you will never happen again.”

Y/N nodded his direction taking his words at face value. “Gracias Bish.”

Her neck craned viciously quick taking in Angel’s cowardly frame, she shook her head incredulously.

Disbelief etched into her features; her frown creased into imminent sadness as torturous thoughts of self-loathing began their trek to the surface.

“By the way…Adelita says hello Angel.”

Confusion seized him, his left eye flinching in the process as guilt simmered into his reality.

“Some of the most poisonous people come disguised as friends, lovers, even family. People would be much happier if they admitted things more often. Don’t you agree?”

“I had no idea they were working together. They were supposed to be enemies. I swear to you.”

“It’s easy to blur the lines when your attention is elsewhere. Tell me you’re not sleeping with both of us?”

“Never, she’s just—”

“A distraction? An interest? Another one of your many secrets?” Exhaling loudly; “I want you and I can’t have you. You let me believe I could break down your barriers but you’re just the bait and I was idiotic enough to fall for it…for you. I’m so done Angel.”

It was at that precise moment that Y/N didn’t need to be saved. She needed to be found and appreciated for exactly who she was, a warrior of a woman. She would just have to hang the moon her damn self.

“Good luck for your future endeavors Reyes. I wish I could say it was nice knowing you, but, well that really isn’t the case anymore. Hasta nunca pendejo.” Her dark chuckle was all he was left with as he watched her gracefully slither out of the clubhouse and painfully out of his life.

“Fuck” He whispered to himself; “When did I get so fucking estúpido.”

[evilrubberducke]

Read You Like a Book

A fluff filled IzuMina story about dorks and dates. Not too much to say besides that. I hope you enjoy.

Summary: In the midst of a lovely date, Mina discovers that Izuku might just be paying more attention to her than she ever realized.

Also on AO3!

“Midoriiiiiii, you lied to me!” Mina whined as she took in the building before her.

The Csilla Book Emporium was the largest bookstore she’d ever seen, spanning nearly a block in length and several stories in height, all filled to the brim with books of every sort. Supposedly they had every book under the sun, and if you couldn’t find it on their shelves they would have it sent there in just a few days. Under normal circumstances, Mina would have been happy to spend the afternoon there with Izuku.

It was the sign out front, proudly advertising their “First day of summer textbook/workbook sale!” that gave her pause.

“I didn’t lie!” He protested, though he seemed to be having trouble keeping eye contact with her. “I told you I wanted to take you somewhere fun. This is fun!”

“It’s schoolwork Midori.” she put on her best pout, a technique which had improved dramatically since they had started dating. He was a sucker for a good pout, and if you used puppy dog eyes as well, it was a surefire way to get what you wanted.

“I know, but if we get it done now, we won’t have to worry about it later.” He was holding surprisingly firm under her gaze, only shifting a little bit as he spoke.

She held out for a long moment, but eventually she was the one that cracked first. “Fiiiiine. But I’m holding you to your word. You’re taking me out somewhere fun after this.”

He smiled at that. “Ok. We’ll go anywhere you want.”

She shook her head. “Nuh uh. You don’t get out of it that easy. I came here to be wooed, only to be bait and switched. You’ve got to earn your way back into my good graces, and that starts with coming up with somewhere nice to take me.”

At that, Izuku began to resemble the boy she remembered from their first year at UA. The ball of perpetually frightened energy who couldn’t keep himself from muttering about Heroes every few minutes. She’d almost forgotten how cute he could be when he was off balance like this. These days he seemed like he could take anyone on without even flinching, and the smile he always wore reminded her enough of All Might that she had started to give Todoroki’s crackpot theories some real consideration.

His muttering now a soothing background noise, Mina pulled her boyfriend into the bookstore.

---

The pair had headed straight into the workbook section, competing with several other students for precious space and even more precious deals.

Izuku proved surprisingly adept at claiming space among the crowd. He didn’t really fight for space so much as slip through the gaps between people, pulling Mina along behind him. When she asked he claimed he had learned from watching his mother navigate sales at the grocery store which he would only describe as ‘cut throat’.

She could tell he was taking their task seriously, as he didn’t even notice the amount of attention they were getting from the other patrons. The crowd had quickly clocked the presence of UA students, and from there it was only a quick jump to recognizing UA’s rising power couple.

Mina was a little embarrassed by the whole situation. Some enterprising reporter (read nosey snitch) had snuck into the back halls during their second sports festival. They had caught a picture of her and Izuku cuddling between matches, and ran a story about ‘Love Blooming on the Battlefield’. With her and Izuku both placing in the top five for the festival, people had quickly started to call them a power couple, and comparing them to UA’s previous big three.

It was odd to think that she now possessed  a following. Sure, it was a select following but it was still a strange experience. She’d even had someone come up and ask for her autograph the other day. It really made the fact that she was a hero feel real to her.

At least they were being left alone. There were whispers, and more than a few intrigued looks thrown their way, but no one tried to disturb them. Mina wasn’t sure if it was due to respect for their status, not wanting to miss a workbook they were looking for, or if they were intimidated by Izuku’s intense focus as he hunted for whatever it was he was searching for.

No matter the reason, Mina took the opportunity to browse with Izuku. Much as she was loath to admit it, having the extra books would be useful for their studying, something she knew Izuku would manage to corral her into at some point this summer. Resigned to her fate, she rolled up her sleeves and got to searching.

---

It still amazed her how astute Izuku could be. Every workbook he grabbed was for a subject she was struggling with, or had scored poorly on in their last exam. She hadn't even discussed the exam with him, too disappointed in her own performance. Sure, a C was better than she had been doing at the start of the year, some would even call it a great improvement. It just didn’t feel like one when compared to the rest of the class. With three perfect scores, one by Izuku himself, and several more As, it just left her feeling like she was falling behind with every step.

She’d tried he best, she really had. But in the end the concepts refused to stick in her head no matter how much she studied.

She sighed as she hefted a math workbook up and glared at the cover. It was so frustrating to be praised for her excellent combat skills, only to be lambasted week after week over something she just couldn’t seem to master.

She looked up as Izuku squeezed her hand absentmindedly, while he debated the value of two texts of his own. Even so deep in his own head, his muttering going full bore, a part of him was still making sure she was okay.

It warmed her heart in a way she couldn't even begin to describe. She returned the squeeze and cuddled closer to him. It was hard to be sad with his warmth leaking into her.

---

“I-I’m sorry it’s not much.” Izuku apologized. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

They were in a cafe just off Mustafu’s main shopping street. It was a cozy place, run by a small family who were more concerned with making sure their customers were satisfied than with making a profit. Entering the business felt like stepping into the home of a long lost relative. A few patrons waited in line, and more were seated at tables around the cafe, but it didn’t seem crowded in the slightest.

“It’s perfect Midori.” Mina said.

It really was too. Mina had heard about this place from Uraraka a few weeks ago. Apparently the pink cheeked girl had stumbled across it during one of her patrols with Ryuku. Since then, she had been singing the praises of the cafe, calling it a hidden gem of Mustafu.

Mina was inclined to agree. The menu was smaller than most of the popular cafes that she had been to, but it felt like it was curated rather than limited. Each of them had a cute name, and a small little blurb about how it could help your mood. Ever since she had heard Uraraka mention it, she had wanted to come here.

She just didn’t remember telling Izuku about it.

“But...how did you know I wanted to come here?” She asked, confused.

“You were talking about how you wanted to go here with Uraraka the other day, weren’t you?” It was more of a question than an answer.

She cast her mind back to the conversation in question. They’d been chatting in the common room, taking a break from homework to have a quick snack. Izuku had been there of course, he’d been helping her study since before they had even started officially dating, but she was sure he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been in one of his muttering fits, focused on creating a new super move.

Now that she thought about it, this wasn’t the first time he’d known something about her without her having to state it. For instance, the time he’d shown up with flowers for her mother’s birthday even though she’d only told Toru about it. Or when he’d switched to buying her cherry sparkling water instead of lemon when she got tired of the flavor.

But it wasn’t for everything. When they were planning a surprise party for Todoroki, Izuku had come close to forgetting about it, despite being there for the planning meeting.

And then it hit her. The thread connecting his random fact acquisition was her. It was like some part of his mind was paying attention to what she was saying, or even just thinking about, despite the other 90% being occupied.

It was only just a theory, but now she wanted to test it.

“Midori, do you know what my favorite movie is?”

The sudden shift in topic seemed to take him by surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Umm, The Princess Bride, right?”

It was absolutely right. She considered it a guilty pleasure, and most definitely hadn’t watched it with anyone from UA. After all, she had a reputation as the dorm’s number one horror buff to maintain.

It was...odd to realize that he knew her so well without even seeming to try. She knew plenty of stuff about her boyfriend of course, but it was different with Izuku. He wore his heart on his sleeve in so many ways. It was easy to tell what he liked, from his favorite hero to his favorite foods. Even his more subtle tastes were obvious when you looked, though not everyone seemed to be able to take the hints. Just a few weeks before, Kirishima had dragged Izuku to a raunchy comedy with the rest of the guys in the class. She wasn’t sure exactly what he saw, but Izuku had looked vaguely traumatized by the experience.

He was easy to please, always happy to help or to listen to her talk, completely able to entertain himself if she left him alone, and an all around sweety. He would be the most low maintenance boyfriend in the world, if it weren’t for his insistence on self sacrifice.

She was pulled from her musings when they reached the front of the line. She had already made her choice when she had first seen the menu, but Izuku had waffled for a while. When he finally chose his drink, it was all she could do to hold back a snort. The woman who took their order seemed surprised, but after looking him over, she nodded once and punched the request in.

The “Little Hero” was clearly meant for children, a chocolaty affair with a generous helping of whipped cream on the top. When Izuku finally laid eyes on his drink, his brow scrunched up in confusion, and Mina finally lost it, cackling softly at her boyfriend’s misstep.

Izuku did his best imitation of a strawberry while he meekly accepted his drink and made a beeline for the table they had picked out and Mina followed him, still recovering from her bout of mirth.

The seats they had managed to get were hidden slightly from the rest of the cafe by a large potted plant. Mina appreciated the bit of privacy that it afforded them. She didn’t really care about being watched, but she did enjoy having a bit more alone time with her boyfriend.

“Enjoying your drink?” She teased as he took a tentative sip. The barista had really gone all out, adding chocolate shavings as well as sprinkles and a stick of cinnamon to the top of what Mina was sure was an unhealthy amount of whipped cream. Her own drink was fairly simple by comparison. An Iced coffee with some cinnamon to give it some extra flavoring, with a small heart drawn in the cream for her, which was a nice little touch.

“It...it’s pretty good.” Izuku said timidly, eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of him.

“Apparently!” She said with a chuckle. When he lifted his head up to look at her, she could see that a bit of whipped cream had lodged itself at the end of his nose. Combined with the confused and slightly embarrassed look on his face, it made for an insanely cute picture. Mina was half tempted to whip out her phone to commemorate the moment, but decided against it.

Instead she reached across the table and deftly wiped the offending spot away. Then on a whim, she took a moment to run her thumb along his cheek.

Izuku relaxed into her touch, his eyes closing as he sighed in contentment.

Mina felt her heart skip a beat. She was sure in that moment that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Izuku was beyond strong, incredibly smart, and so dedicated she was sure he would crawl through hell on bloody hands and knees if it meant saving someone in trouble. And here he was, melting like putty in her hands simply because he enjoyed being around her.

It made her feel truly special.

--

They didn’t get any studying done that day, much to Izuku’s chagrin. Instead, they spent the day wandering Mustafu to see if they could find any other hidden gems like the cafe. It wasn’t a productive day, but it was a pleasant one. A day spent in easy company was just what the pair had needed after the stress of UA. And at the end of the day, they were both perfectly content to fall asleep in the arms of the one person in the world who could read them like a book.

[missfeisty199]

“What About Our Tea?”

(Friendlypack Fic)

Summary: They were going to be enjoying a nice cup of hot tea to warm from the overbearing wintertime outside, but things get thrown in a whole other direction when Stan walks in on Jimmy changing.

Content warnings: major angst with a very happy ending, mention of prostitution/sex work, mention of abuse, mention of self-loathing, loss of one’s virginity, explicit sex between male and male (with consent of course). 

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Author’s Note: WOW, this was WAY longer than I had initially planned! This idea was only inspired by this scene from “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World”, but the thought of what it would be like for Stan to (finally!) lose his virginity to Jimmy got a hold of me, so here we are. Hope you still love this fic!  

It has been unusually frigid in the bustling city of Los Santos lately. Even in the wintertime on other occasions, the city still maintains a sort of warm climate with soft winds and clear skies. Fall, Winter, Spring, or even come Summer, the Los Santos sun still shines on as it stares down the city with raging heat.

This time, however, wintertime is actually what wintertime entails. Freezing winds, light fall of snowflakes, thick attire, snow as white as a pure lamb covering every inch of ground, and plenty of hot drinks to go around. It was currently this that Stan Wheeler and Jimmy Bending were discussing as they walked along an empty central park at night.

“Surely you wouldn’t just have straight hot water with nothing in it,” Jimmy muttered to Stan as he lit a cigarette to get some sort of warmth through him. “I’m not even sure that’s healthy.”

“Oh, but it sure is, Friendly J! The warmness kills off all the bad stuff inside and cleans the pores!” Stan replied with confidence.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, but whatever.”

The pair had just recently finished off what was thought of to be a normal delivery in the Sandy Shores area until it turned out to be another accomplice bait thrown by Mr. Lang Buddha and his stooges. Memories of the Polito Bank robbery came flooding into both men’s conscience, sending panicked chills down their spines. Luckily the men played both their cards right exactly the same way they did in Polito, managing to get off safely just the same way.

Mr. Buddha did manage to take Jimmy’s car keys again, along with the actual vehicle itself instead of just abandoning it this time, and with Kiki being too busy with a film shoot to pick them up, the two were left no other option but to go on foot in the snow. They had been walking for what felt like hours until they finally made it back to Vinewood, catching sight of the park in which they presently found themselves strolling through.

Reflecting on all that has happened in the day, Jimmy let out a deep sigh as he exhaled the smoke from the cigarette, seeing his own breath in the chilled air. “Well, this has been a pretty lousy excuse of a date.” He did not intend for the wording to be taken so seriously, but it apparently caused Stan to stop walking and look at Jimmy perturbed.

“S-so t-this is a d-date, eh?” the older companion stuttered.

“Oh, did I say this was a date?” Jimmy sarcastically questioned.

Even with the freezing temperature, Stan felt his face heat up in a blush. “W-well uh...um...i-it sure sounded l-like you did.”

Seeing his friend fluster gave Jimmy the leverage to tease him. “Hmm, guess it was just a slip of the tongue, Staniel.”

He flashed Stan a mocking smirk, actually getting quite amused at the fact that he was so stunned about this that his frequent bold speech had melted into a sheer blubbering stutter. Jimmy even winked at Stan, even though his dark shades would thankfully prevent him from seeing so. Not only that, but it secretly made Jimmy feel honored that even he had that effect on Stan and not just beautiful women.

“O-oh…tongue, yeah...”

Remembering where they were and what weather they were standing in reminded Jimmy of where the two were heading to. “Anyways,” he began, “we gotta get out of here before a blizzard freezes us stiff.”

Clearing his throat, Stan agreed. “You’re right, Friendly J.”

“Besides, the night ain’t over just yet, Sunflower. I think there’s a thingy over here somewhere.”

The perplexed look returned in Stan’s expression. “A thingy?”

“Ya know, a shortcut to the apartments,” Jimmy corrected as he made his way across the road and in the direction of behind some buildings, Stan obviously tailing right behind him like a loyal puppy.

They may have spent God knows how long walking straight from Sandy Shores in the heavy snow, but for whatever reason, it was as though the way to the apartment complex had the duo fly by in a dazed void. Stan was about to head over to his apartment when he felt Jimmy hold on to his hand suddenly, the touch startling him.

“I ain’t gonna leave ya to sit with just a cup of hot steaming water,” Jimmy chuckled as he pulled Stan towards his own place. Stan had no other choice but to go along with it.

They entered Jimmy’s apartment, thankful for the little warmth it brought at the very least. Jimmy stubbed out the butt of his cigarette on a small ashtray buy the window and shrugged off his thick jacket, chucking it at the sofa that rested in the corner of the living room. He gave Stan the okay to do the same for his winter coat as they made their way to the small kitchenette.

“Ya ain’t tricking me into having that devil’s juice, are ya?” Stan asked Jimmy as he took a seat at the far-too-small table in Jimmy’s kitchen.

“I wish it was that easy, Wheeler,” the younger of the two replied. “I’m not. However, since you are so damn picky about what you put into your body, I’m gonna treat you to a nice hot cup of tea. ”

Stan was taken aback. “Tea? You mean the beverage that entitles dirty leaves contaminating the drinking water?”

As if Stan’s own lead-filled bottled water was any better, Jimmy thought to himself. “Look, it shouldn’t be all that bad since ya technically have to use pure clean water to make it.” Jimmy opened his fridge to take out a Brita-filter pitcher full of cold water. “Besides, ya have to boil said water as well.”

Stan was still reluctant given his own biased preferences, but he was grateful that Jimmy was being generous to help them warm up from the weather. “O-oh alrighty then,” he mumbled.

“So, what kind of tea do ya want?” Jimmy asked the blond man once he had poured water into the kettle pot and turned on the stove.

“There’s more than one kind?”

Jimmy had opened one of the cabinets and took out a box full of mixed tea bags. “Let’s see... we have Raspberry Zinger, Country Peach Passion, Wild Berry Zinger, True Blueberry, Black Cherry Berry, Peppermint, Sleepy Time...”

He continued on listing off what seemed like a tremendous assortment of tea flavors, so much so that Stan had begun to wonder if Jimmy was pulling his leg and just making up names to spite him. When he had not said anything after a while, Jimmy took advantage of picking out a flavor himself.

“I think I’ll go with a nice cup of Sleepy Time,” he said, enjoying the fact that Stan had no say in it otherwise.

Stan knew this as well, accepting his defeat. “That sure sounds good to me.”

Jimmy had set two separate tea bags on the kitchen table, taking a seat across from Stan.

Neither of them said anything for a while, the only sounds filling in the room coming from the soft bubbling of the boiling water in the kettle. Jimmy ran a hand through the tealed locks of his hair before going to rub his face, the other hand pulling off his shades, but not entirely so that Stan could see his eyes. Stan always wondered to himself why Jimmy would never let him see what his actual eyes look like. He has only caught very quick glimpses when his seizure spasms would cause him to accidentally knock off Jimmy’s sunglasses, but the younger man would turn away in pain and frantically search for his shades.

Stan could not remember if Jimmy’s eyes were a dark hue of hazel or brown or perhaps a unique color of green. The only thing he knew was that Jimmy suffered from migraines from time to time, so it was best that he always had his shades on to block out any bright lights and such.

Stan was about to bring it up with Jimmy at last but thought against it at the last minute. He decided to go with some other topic. “So, I never figured a cool guy like ya would be into some of the tea.” Then he felt bad for even saying anything at all.

“Oh, I have some once and a while,” Jimmy said, making Stan thankful that he had not offended him. “I drink tea when my migraines just really get to me, or to relieve some stress from a day or night’s work. Like tonight.”

Stan could only vouch for that as well. “Yup yup,” he sighed.

Jimmy had finished massaging his face from all the stresses, putting his sunglasses back on.  

“You should really save the damn phone number for when they call again, that way you know to just fucking ignore it. Put the contact under something obvious, something like ‘Big Dick and His Henchmen, Don’t EVER Answer’.”

“B-but they said they know what we look like,” Stan nervously answered back. “Ignoring their call would just mean bullets planted into our skulls, Friendly J.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see them fucking try it,” Jimmy scoffed. He saw the scared look in Stan’s crystal blue eyes and sighed. “I’m kidding, Stan. Besides, if they hadn’t done so this second time around, they probably ain’t got the gonads to do it a third time...if there is a third time. I know I said to watch out for drug dealers like Buddha, but I’m sure they’re just putting up a front. All bark and no bite.”

“We should have seen it coming when they told us to meet them in Sandy Shores,” Stan uttered.

“The place where there ain’t hardly any service around, not even a bank to rob,” Jimmy finished off. “A big fucking waste of our time.” He glanced to the kettle pot on the stove, waiting to soothe his nerves of frustration as patiently as he could.

“I...I’m sorry about them taking your brand new vehicle, Jimmy.”

“Why’re you sorry, Stan? It wasn’t your fault.”

Stan shifted in his seat, a look of culpability in his eyes from what Jimmy could tell. “It...it kind of is. I was foolish to answer the call and agree to the deal.” His voice was quiet, so much so that Jimmy had to apply some extra hearing than normal, but he understood Stan clearly nonetheless.

“Aww, Stan. You didn’t know.” Jimmy reached across the table and placed a hand on Stan’s in a reassuring nature. “You were just looking to make some cash, doing your job as usual.”

“S-so you’re not u-upset with me?” Stan sounded like he was seconds away from shedding tears, and it hurt Jimmy to see him be so hard on himself. Yes, Jimmy had just bought the car today. Yes, they had to walk all the way back to the city because of it. Yes, Buddha threatened their lives if Jimmy were to call the cops or AAA.

However, he was not upset with Stan.

“It’s the whole circumstance I’m upset with, but not you, Stan. Never at you.”

This gave Stan a sense of relief. No, a lot of relief actually.

He still felt shivers from the outside run through his body, especially in his arms since he had on his regular baby blue polo shirt.

Jimmy took notice and got up from the table. “Let me go fetch you a blanket.” With that, he left Stan alone in the kitchen to head into his bedroom just down the hall. It gave Stan some time to be with his thoughts.

Gosh, darn it, Stan! You know you really fudged it up this time! Jimmy may not be fuming with you, but you know it really was all your fault he lost his brand new car! You know Mr. Buddha is a very dangerous man. You’ve seen and heard things about him. You know what he’s like! You know what he can do! When will you learn, Stan?! When will you learn that your actions have consequences?! Wait...where have I heard this before? Ah, darn it all, it doesn’t matter! What matters is that you could have gotten you and Friendly Jimmy killed! All because you wanted to make a quick buck, some quick dosh! I mean yes the people of Los Santos need water, and it is your dream to sell them the sweet glorious 10% lead-filled water, but you definitely should have known better! You gotta stop being so naive! Think about what you’d do if you lost Jimmy, all because of your actions! You would be nothing without Jimmy! No Jimmy means no point of living! You’ve lost Denisse, you may have lost the respect of your sweet baby boy Roy, but you certainly haven’t lost Jimmy just yet! Wait...speaking of Jimmy, how long does it take to grab a gosh darn blanket?

Stan quieted the voices in his head to look out for any clear sign that Jimmy was still around. The only thing he heard was the shrilling whistle of the kettle pot, signifying that their tea was ready. He got up from the kitchen table and turned off the stove, easing the cry of the appliance.

He figured since he was already up he might as well check up on his dear friend. The apartments are only so small enough for what they are worth, every room only being a few steps away, so it wasn’t like Jimmy could have gone too far. He made his way through the short hallway where he saw an open door to a room that Stan could only assume was Jimmy’s bedroom.

What he saw when he entered said room stunned him into a frozen shock. Stan saw Jimmy standing half-naked in front of his closet, his boots were scattered across the floor along with his velvet-hued T-shirt. His exposed back was towards Stan, and he was about to work on pulling down his black jeans when a gasp Stan had not noticed he was holding escaped him. Jimmy had turned his body around in a haste, his face immediately blushing crimson red against his light skin once seeing Stan in the doorway. It was then that Stan took note of Jimmy’s sunglasses off, at last, seeing that his eyes were indeed a dark brown color from where he was standing.

“STAN, WHAT THE FUCK? I’M CHANGING!”, Jimmy screeched.

“I...duh...I...o-oh...uh I...eh um...I...I...S-SORRY!” The only thing Stan knew of to do in such a flustered state was to cover his face with his hands and turn his body a full 180 degrees. His feet did prevent him from walking out though as if they had been nailed down to the floor.

Gah Stan look what you’ve gone and done now! You gosh darn idiot! How could you walk in on your best friend in the whole world being almost completely naked?! How dare you?! You gosh darn frickity pervert! How could you go and do such a thing?! You could have waited! You could have waited for Jimmy in the kitchen! How could you go and invade Jimmy’s privacy - WAIT someone’s touching me!

Even with his hands still enclosing his eyes in the darkness, Stan felt his body being turned back around in such a fragile manner. Then came when another set of hands uncovered his face, and a familiar and near voice instructed him to open his eyes. When he did, there was Jimmy only an inch away from him this time, and there was a smile on his face.

“J-Jimmy…,” Stan began softly. “Your eyes…” He now had the chance to examine the other’s facial features. With Jimmy’s shades off, Stan was able to see that there were very obvious bags under Jimmy’s eyes, along with bloodshot redness in his scleras.

“Yeah, cocaine does that,” Jimmy chuckled. “In all seriousness, though, I have trouble sleeping at night. That’s why they’re so bloodshot and exhausted, and any brightness that comes in just hurts them. ”

“Oh...w-well how come?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why can’t you sleep at night?”

Jimmy nonchalantly shrugged. “Um, I suppose from the line of fucked up work I do. Work involving strangers...paying strangers... naked paying strangers. Does that ring any bells, Stan?”

“Oh! Right, right!”

Stan really did tend to forget that one of Jimmy’s so-called occupations under his belt was prostitution. Maybe because the thought of Jimmy having to forcefully sell his own body to people and let them do whatever they want with it made Stan’s stomach turn. He did not like the image of Jimmy having to do such a thing in his head, so that was probably why Stan would block it out from his memory.

“So, did you come in here just to watch me strip tease or what?” Jimmy said. Kind of half-jokingly, yet also half serious.

“Wh-n-no! I-I didn’t mean to...I...uh…”

“It’s alright, Stan,” Jimmy said, his face slowly inching closer to Stan’s. “You don’t have to answer that.”

It was then that Jimmy softly pressed his lips to Stan’s, leaving the older man speechless. He did not know what else to do, or better yet his body did not know. He just...stood there with his lips sealed shut, and Stan wasn’t sure why though. He wasn’t sure why his body had just shut down.

Yeah, it was a surprise to see Jimmy kiss him...but it wasn’t like Stan hadn’t thought about doing the same thing before…

“J-Jimmy…,” he murmured. Stan had wished he had not said anything if it meant for Jimmy to stop.

Blushing, Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I...I’m sorry, Stan. I guess my job as a sex worker has got me - ”

“No, it’s not that at all,” Stan had cut off.

Jimmy blinked. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I...well...I...I want to kiss you back...but…you recall the story of my ex-wife and I, right?”

It took Jimmy a while to figure out what Stan meant, then he remembered that his ex-wife Denisse would never allow Stan to touch her at all. Puzzle pieces came together and created the full picture.

“You’ve never even kissed anyone before,” Jimmy said.

“Exactly.”

Jimmy was a bit relieved to know he hadn’t done anything to make Stan uncomfortable, but it also made his heart ache for him.

“Besides,” Stan added, “I-I don’t know if I’d do a good job...with you...with everything that goes along with it.”

“Everything that goes along?”

Stan shifted his weight, having become so restless. He felt like a loser. He felt so small. It irritated him that he knew what he wanted, but his low-self esteem and inexperience got the better of him. If his own wife at the time never wanted him to lay a single finger on her, then who the hell would? With Jimmy, on the other hand, and the line of unfortunate work he has been dealt...well...

“Damn it,” Stan sighed.

He was tired of beating around the bush. He didn’t care one single bit if he just rambled on and on to Jimmy.

“I want to kiss you, Jimmy! I want to kiss you, and I want to touch you...but I don’t know how to do any of those things! My ex-wife wouldn’t let me do that, so why would someone like you?! I also don’t want to do anything that makes you think of me like all those other folks that take advantage of you and your body! I would never want to use you like they do! I wouldn’t want you to flinch if I were to lay even a fingertip on you!”

It was Jimmy’s turn to be surprised. He knew all about the whole ex-wife thing, but he hadn’t realized Stan was extremely bothered about Jimmy being used as a fuckboy since the middle-aged man always forgot or was insensitive about it. The occupation conditioned him to have the mindset that anyone he’d get intimate with would just end up using him like a cum dumpster and hand him some major hundreds of paper greens. It made him think that this was all his body, or even his own existence, was good for.

That’s exactly why he was never able to sleep well at night. Every chance he’d get at closing his eyes, he’d be transported back to clients that would intimidatingly tower over him, assault his asshole until it’d hurt too much to sit or lay on a bed, or even choke and beat him if he did something they did not like.

So the fact that Stan was worried about making him feel uncomfortable if he’d touch him...really just made Jimmy’s heart melt straight to his stomach. He thought it was the sweetest thing ever.

“S-Stan…” Jimmy cringed at his own voice shaking like he was about to cry. Fuck, maybe he actually was.

“It’s the truth,” the blond lamented. He set his eyes on anything other than Jimmy at the moment, but the younger man had suddenly cupped Stan’s cheek, causing him to look back at Jimmy. Back to those beautiful, yet tired, bloodshot eyes of his.

“Stan, you wouldn’t be like any of them. Not by a long shot.”

“Then I’d be lousy at pleasing you since I don’t know where to even begin.”

Jimmy placed his hand on the other side of Stan’s face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll show you.”

“R-really?”

Jimmy nodded, even throwing in a genuine smile. It made him so happy to see Stan, his Stan, smile back at least. “Your pathetic excuse of an ex-wife may never have let you touch her, but I will gladly allow you to.”

Stan cleared his throat. “S-so, where should I s-start?”

Jimmy smirked, tilting his head to mimic the expression of deep thought. “You said you wanted to kiss me back, didn’t you? We can start with that.”

They brushed their noses against each other before Jimmy brought them back to a kiss, pressing his soft lips to Stan’s just as gently as before.

This time, Stan reciprocated it, finally taking control of his senses. He even let his eyes close as he tilted his head to really kiss Jimmy with meaning. Stan then picked up the distinct taste of the cigarette Jimmy had a while ago, along with the smell of cigarette ashes and sweat and bold cologne. All these overloads of tastes and scents should have disgusted Stan but he couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t mind it at all because he was kissing Jimmy at last. To say it felt like nothing Stan’s ever felt before was a stretch, but nevertheless, he knew for certain that he was loving it.

Because it was with Jimmy.

One of Jimmy’s hand let go of Stan’s face and trailed it down his neck and chest, not wanting to break their lips’ exchange for one second. He knew it was definitely safe to touch Stan this way because he heard a soft moan come from the older man. If anything else, the contact even urged Stan to open his mouth to get more of Jimmy’s lips, and he had to desperately restrain from pushing Stan up against the wall and take him then and there.

Instead, Jimmy took one of Stan’s hands and gently placed it on his own bared hip.

It was like a switch had turned ON in Stan’s brain, and he knew what he was asked to do without any words from Jimmy. He placed his other hand on Jimmy’s exposed chest, allowing him to gradually feel all of him at once.

They then separated for breath, much to Stan’s dismay. Jimmy moved down to kiss Stan’s neck, delicately at first and then sucking at the skin. He felt the goosebumps from Stan rise under his lips, signifying again that this was fine to do.

“You learn fast,” Jimmy chuckled. “It’s okay, you can continue doing what you’re doing.”

Seeing as Stan was given the green light to keep touching Jimmy, he smoothed the palm of his hands over every inch of his body. His hands admired the buff of Jimmy’s biceps, the light hair on his arms and chest, the broad of his shoulders, and even the slight flex of his abdomen when Stan’s fingernails brushed over it. One of Stan’s hands went as far as catching Jimmy’s nipple, causing the other to let out a low groan and dig his head into the crook of Stan’s shoulder, suddenly nipping his teeth on the sensitive skin.

Stan flinched a little, then giggled nervously once he realized why it had happened. “Did I do something right?” he sheepily asked.

“You did,” Jimmy reassured. “Could...could you maybe do it again?” Jimmy’s voice was shy when he said it, but it made Stan’s heart flutter knowing he was leisurely on the path to satisfying Jimmy.

His fingers graced against Jimmy’s nipples like before, even pressing down into the buds and feeling them get hardened. It reduced the younger of the two to become a purring mess. The sounds from Jimmy and the attack of his lips on Stan’s neck and shoulders urged the blond to explore all the ways to work his companion. It was as if endless treasures were unlocked for him to cherish from the very second he met Jimmy. It may have taken Stan long to get over Denisse, remembering all the days and nights he had cried about their divorce.

It made him feel foolish beyond belief to think he had wasted all this time chasing around beautiful women all over Los Santos, only to find that the key to all heaven was right next to him. That key just so happened to have a name; Jimmy Bending.

“J-Jimmy?”

“Yeah?” Jimmy answered when he separated from Stan, looking into his eyes.

“Were you just going to bring the blanket from your bed?”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows before remembering that they had tea awaiting them and Jimmy was supposed to bring him a blanket. “I...guess so. Do...you still want a blanket, Stan?”

Putting some thought into it, the blond shook his head, placing kisses on Jimmy’s face instead. “Later.”

“Oh? What about our tea?” Jimmy inquired playfully. He was actually astonished at Stan’s new-found confidence. He still hasn’t quite nailed the seductive part just yet due to his inexperience, but that doesn’t mean Jimmy didn’t also think of it to be adorable at the very least.

Stan ran his fingers through the tealed part of Jimmy’s hair before cupping the back of his head. “I can...not have tea.”

Before anything else was said, the two returned to kissing with so much vigor put into it. Jimmy gently led them over to his bed, turning them around so that it was Stan who would lay on the somewhat decent mattress and Jimmy towering over him. Although the way they were positioned easily reminded Jimmy of various “appointments” with clients, he knew for certain that this moment here with Stan was nothing at all like those. Just the way they took the time and care to discover what turned them on and turned them off said enough.

“Do you want to take anything off?”, Jimmy asked.

“I...I’m not sure. I’ve never been naked in front of someone before.”

Jimmy chuckled, mentally cursing Stan for always being so cute in everything he says and does. “You don’t have to be completely naked if you don’t want to, Stan. I’m not entirely naked myself, as you can see.”

“Well...you were about to b-before I walked in.” Stan blushed a beet red.

“True, but I originally wasn’t planning on being naked for long. Now, however, I don’t mind it at all.”

Neither did Stan apparently, considering that his eyes couldn’t keep from staring at the shirtless young man above him. “I do feel bad for being the only one in clothing out of the two of us,” he admitted. “I..I just don’t think I-I’m all that...you know...compared to you and all.”

“Oh nonsense, Staniel,” Jimmy comforted. He massaged the older man’s arms before trailing down to Stan’s waist to untuck his polo shirt just enough to slip his hand under. He felt his stomach, then up to his chest where there was evident curly, thick hair on pecs. Jimmy wrapped a finger around some of the tuffs, amused at seeing Stan sigh at the touch. The blond even pushed his body up against Jimmy’s hand to get more feeling. “Still not sure about getting undressed there?”

“U-um…”

“Would it make you feel better if I turned off the lights?” As much as Jimmy wanted to see all of Stan clearly, what he wanted more than that was for him to be safe in however way he wished. “It wouldn’t be all that dark,” he added. “There’s a faint glow from the city lights at this time, even with the curtains drawn.”

“O-okay then,” Stan said. “We can do that.”

With that being said, Jimmy got off of the bed to quickly turn the light switch to OFF. Just like he described, the entire room was pulled into slight darkness with the illumination of blue and pink from the lights outside the complex. Jimmy returned to his place above Stan. “So, you wanna start with the fanny pack?”

Stan nodded, and so Jimmy reached his hand down to his waist as the other lifted his body up to help. Jimmy unclipped the accessory and gently set it on the nightstand. “What’s next, Staniel?”

“You can do my shirt.”

Jimmy pulled Stan’s polo shirt up from the bottom as he lifted his arms up to assist. Stan may be a light-skinned fella as it already is, but his bared chest and stomach were even lighter now that Jimmy saw him shirtless finally. He leaned his face down to the exposed fleshy skin, making sure to worship every spot of Stan by planting attentive smooches. He also wanted to make sure Stan knew how beautiful he was to Jimmy.

“What were you so worried about, Staniel?” he said between kisses. “You already look gorgeous and strong as it is. I wouldn’t even dream of you looking any other way.”

Words could not describe how grateful Stan was for Jimmy to show his body some rightful appreciation. He decided not to even use words at all, and just let sounds do all the talking. He let out moans as his hands roamed their way over Jimmy’s hair and then down that smooth back of his. He gripped Jimmy’s hips to pull him down closer to him, pressing their torsos tight with so much need to feel skin to skin.

Jimmy made his way up to devour his lover’s lips as if his life depended on Stan’s kisses, never getting enough of them. It was already becoming his new favorite drug, and it delighted him to no end to hear the beautiful man beneath him moan and whine and sigh, all because of his doing. Even the strong grasp of Stan’s hands on his body excited Jimmy, and the feeling of one of them going as far as cupping one of his arse cheeks sent Jimothy spiraling into aroused bliss himself.

Without any warning whatsoever, he thrust his still-clothed groin against Stan’s, a deep moan emitting from both of their throats. When they broke apart to catch their breaths Jimmy starred into Stan’s bright eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Stan. What are you doing to me?” he gasped.

“Touching you? I thought that was obvious?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know you’re touching me, Stan.”

“D-did y-you want me to stop?” Stan asked nervously.

“Are you kidding me? Of course not! The complete opposite actually.”

It overjoyed Stan so much to know that Jimmy was loving his touch, mentally shouting a sort of “take that!” at Denisse. He squeezed Jimmy’s buttocks again, getting the same reaction from him as he rubbed against Stan. The blond was surprised to feel a distinct hardness this time around from Jimmy, and his own khaki shorts felt tight around the edges, meaning only one thing.

“J-Jimmy…”

“Yes, Stan?”

“Can...can I take off your pants while you take off mine?”

Jimmy soon widened his eyes at how direct the request was. “Are you absolutely sure you’re ready for that?” he questioned.

“I mean…” Stan chewed his lip anxiously. “M-my undercarriage is losin’ some empty space here…”

“Stan.”

“Yes, Jimmy, I am absolutely sure. I’ve gone these long forty years of emotional twists and turns without losing my virgin-card even once. I thought it’d be over and done with when I married my ex-wife, but that certainly was with no prevail. I thought that the women I’ve desperately pursued after in this city would be the answer, but still nothing. Then, here you...here we are…”

Stan didn’t even have to finish his sentence. Jimmy’s eyes softened. He cupped Stan’s face in both hands and kissed him. “Stan, I am honored to relieve you of your position as a forty-year-old virgin,” he whispered.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes?”

“I...I love you.”

Hearing something like that would usually make Jimmy feel nauseous. Like Stan, he never thought he was someone worthy of being loved by another person. Love was something Jimmy didn’t believe in anymore, losing hope in it long ago. So long ago that he couldn’t even remember the exact date and time.

To Jimmy, love meant a lot of things:  

punches from strangers, bruises, abuse, pain, being thrown around like a ragdoll, money, drugs, sex, forced sex, nightmares, not being able to look at yourself in the mirror, feeling disgusted with everything about yourself, and not being able to love yourself.

Love was something that Jimmy believed only to be in movies. Movies with happy endings, and it’s happy endings he thought he would never receive for as long as he lived.

Until now with Staniel Wheeler.

“I love you, too.”

With all that was said and done, both men got to work on unbuttoning one another's jeans and shorts. There was no need to be in any hurry, so they took all the time they wanted, admiring every curve of their hips, thighs, legs, and calves. The men kicked off their bottoms and tossed them aside, along with Stan’s boat shoes.

Jimmy palmed the self-evident bulge in Stan’s boxer briefs, causing him to whimper and shimmy his hips to maintain the contact with the other’s hand. It wasn’t even much that Jimmy was doing but it still sent rushes of arousal through Stan. Out of nowhere he grabbed Jimmy’s wrist and pressed his hand farther down on his crotch, letting out an elongated moan louder than what Jimmy’s heard from him yet.

It felt like Jimmy’s head was spinning just from watching Stan go crazy right now, and they were only still in their underwear. It caused his own member to twitch with lust. He had never thought that he’d ever find a man twice his own age to be so God damn attractive.

“What do you want right now, Sunflower?”, Jimmy inquired. “How can I take care of you?” Usually, when these kinds of questions were asked by Jimmy to people he’d be with, his tone would be that of forced passion with no other need than to only get his clients off. Now, his tone was affectionate and with meaning.

Stan looked up at the young and handsome man above him, not even being shy about what his body needed from him anymore. He was giving himself to Jimmy and he couldn’t have thought of anyone else in Los Santos or even the entire world to finally lose his virginity to. “I want you to jerk me off, Jimmy. I want your hand to wrap around me.”

In all truthfulness, Jimmy never thought that he’d hear such a request of him coming from Stan of all people, but it added more fuel to Jimmy’s fire in his stomach. “Of course,” he whispered. He pulled Stan’s boxer briefs down ever so carefully like he was unwrapping a fragile gift on Christmas morning, and he certainly was in a way. Just like that, Stan’s dick sprang out of the fabric. Jimmy looked him up and down, taking in the reality that Staniel Elizabeth Wheeler was fully naked in front of him. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“W-what is it?” Stan began to worry that Jimmy was suddenly turned off by him, thinking that he was disgusted and had changed his mind.

That wasn’t the case, however, as Jimmy smiled at him. Even with very little light in the room, Stan could see the love in Jimmy’s eyes. “You are so beautiful, Stan.”

Relief washed over Stan. “Come here.”

He pulled Jimmy down and the two shared a quick chaste kiss before the other already sat back up again. Jimmy reached his arm towards his nightstand and opened a drawer. His hand fumbled in dimmed darkness for a bit before he had pulled out a small bottle full of clear liquid and a Trojan condom. He sensed hesitation in Stan’s eyes, and he was quick to calm his anxiousness.

“The bottle is lube. It’s going to make my hand slippery so that giving a handjob is easy. We won’t use the condom just yet until you’re ready.”

“Ah, alright.”

“And wouldn’t you know, the lube is actually water based!” Jimmy thought this would excite Stan at least.

Instead, it perplexed the older man. “Water-based lubricant? Why would that be a thing? Water is for drinking, and only for drinking! It’s for quenching the thirst of parched people - ”

“If you utter one more word, I will send you out into a snowstorm with your boner hanging out. I won’t even give you back your clothes, you’d just walk up the stairs to your apartment cupping your shivering balls.”

The interruption from Jimmy cut Stan off, and he giggled embarrassingly. “R-right, I’m sorry.”

Jimmy popped the cap of the bottle open and poured a very little amount on his palm. He then placed the lube gently on the nightstand and looked down at Stan. “My hand’s going to feel a little cold at first,” he warned. “You ready?”

Stan nodded. “Yes.”

Jimmy gently wrapped his hand around Stan’s erection with a firm grip. At hearing him groan at the touch he started a slow and steady rhythm, aiming for Stan to get used to the feeling of what a hand on his dick felt like. It was clear that Stan was enjoying it as he sucked in air and swirled his hips to get more friction. “Do you want me to go faster, Staniel?” Jimmy asked.

“Y-yes...please?” It came out more like a desperate beg than just a simple answer, and it sure got the message across to Jimmy.

He began to pump his fist at a quicker pace, and as expected Stan went crazy over the sensation. There came a heat in his pelvis and his hips would spring upwards here and there. Stan’s head rolled back into the pillow under him and he placed his own hand on his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Aww, you don’t have to be shy to moan in front of me, sweetie,” Jimmy reassured. “I wanna hear you.” With his free hand, he caringly moved Stan’s own hand away, giving a small peck to his soft lips, letting Stan’s blond mustache tickle him. Never did Jimmy pause his other hand that was occupied on the older man’s shaft, stroking it rapidly than before.

“Jim...Jimmy...mmm feels so nice…haaaaaah.”

Stan had thought that he was going to release himself onto Jimmy’s hand right then and there, but was proven wrong when nothing happened. Nevertheless, Stan was in heaven as Jimmy catered to his body and needs while continuing the work on his dick. Jimmy’s free hand caressed both of his nipples back and forth the same way Stan had done for him moments ago.

Not only that but then Jimmy soon replaced his fingers and leaned down to Stan’s chest. There then came the feel of something warm and wet and Stan looked down to see that Jimmy was running his tongue on his nipples, sending him into a frenzy.

Throughout this whole time, Jimmy had held off from giving any attention to his own hard-on, wishing to put more focus onto Stan. That is until one of Stan’s hands reached out and palmed Jimmy through his briefs, causing him to shot up and let out a yelp of both surprise and extreme lust. “S-Stan,” he gasped, “what’re you…”

“It ain’t fair that you’re taking care of me while nobody’s doing it for you.”

Jimmy’s heart jumped. “It’s not...about me, Stan. You’re the one priority here…”

Stan obviously ignored Jimmy and pulled his briefs down swiftly, his erection flying out in a single swoop. It was somewhat already wet with pre-cum so it was easy for Stan to mimic Jimmy’s hand on him, wrapping his fist and jerking the younger man. Unlike Stan, however, Jimmy let out a high pitched moan and immediately started thrusting himself into Stan’s hand.

“F-fuck Stan...I...I don’t...oh Jesus fucking Christ…” Jimmy’s mind raced as he tried his very best at fight off the imminent heat pooling in his stomach already. He was overwhelmed that someone wanted to take care of him for once instead of the other way around. “Stan...S-Stan please s-stop….STOP IT!”

The outburst made the older man pause what he was doing, and a look of horror was on his face. “I...I’m sorry, Jimmy...I just wanted to -”

“I know, Stan. You did nothing wrong, and I’m so flattered that you want to pleasure me at the same time. I love you for that.”

“Then why’d you tell me to stop?”

“Because...because I don’t want to finish just yet. Once I cum it would take a good while for me to fully take your virginity. I’d just be too exhausted to do it, Sunflower.”

Stan hadn’t thought of it that way, obviously for reasons they had already addressed. He recoiled his hand away from Jimmy’s member and interlaced his fingers with the others. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.”

Jimmy smiled and brought their intertwined hands to his lips, giving a sweet kiss to Stan’s fingers as a way of saying everything was fine.

“Um...Jimmy?” Stan uttered softly.

“Yes?”

Stan was quiet for a good while then. He even shifted his eyes away from Jimmy’s and he bit his lip. Jimmy began to think his outburst had scared Stan too much to request or do anything, and he mentally kicked himself in the ass for having him stop taking care of him. “Stan, I’m sorry for yelling at -”

“I’m ready,” Stan suddenly spoke up.

Jimmy blinked. “W-what?”

“I’m ready,” he repeated, even gesturing at the packed condom wrap on the nightstand.

A shiver ran down Jimmy’s back. So they were going to do this. They were really going to do this. He was really going to do this. It was then that he realized he was actually quite nervous about it, which was really ironic for many reasons. It wasn’t like he hadn’t taken other people’s virginity in his lifetime. Then again, those people were around Jimmy’s own age range. Stan was different, but not to say that it was a bad thing. Jimmy had to remember that while Stan is older than him, he had circumstances that led them to where they are now.

When Jimmy really thought about it, the fact that he was going to take the virginity of a way older gentleman excited him. Besides, there was another way this moment with Stan would be much different than the others.

Jimmy was not going to simply fuck Stan...he was going to make love to him...and that made everything so much better.  

“I love you, Stan,” he said as he reached for the lube bottle again along with the condom.

“I love you too, Jimmy,” Stan had answered back.

Jimmy carefully opened the thick wrapper and pulled out the prophylactic, then rolled it ever so gradually onto his dick. Then was for him to prep Stan, who had been attentively watching Jimmy as he himself nervously anticipated what was to come. Even he knew that this was going to be it, a major moment in his life right now. Albeit it took Stan way longer for this to happen to him, he thought better late than never.

He watched as Jimmy popped the cap of the lubricant bottle open and poured the liquid onto his fingers again, only this time he separated Stan’s legs apart with just enough room to fit in between them. Stan flinched a bit when he felt the coldness of the liquid on Jimmy’s finger on his exposed hole. “Okay,” Jimmy began. “This is where things start to get heavy. What I’m gonna do is what’s called prepping, where I’m sticking in my fingers little by little until your body is used to having something foreign inside of you.”

“L-like a prostate exam?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy chuckled. “Just...yeah, just like that. So what I need you to do is relax, and breathe in and out. Can you do that for me, baby?”

The new nickname made Stan’s heart soar, and he smiled up at Jimmy. “I can do that.”

Jimmy lined up the tip of his index finger and instructed Stan to start the breathing process. When he heard him suck in a breath, Jimmy slowly inserted his finger inch by inch into Stan’s hole, whispering affirmations to ease Stan as he would groan and flinch again here and there. It went on for a bit until Stan gave him the alright to add in a second finger, and then the whole process repeated as Jimmy eventually added a third and final finger, then urged him to relax as he moved the digits in and out of Stan. After a good few minutes or so, Stan went from groaning because of the foreign feeling to then letting out faint moans.

“You okay to move forward?”, Jimmy asked.

Stan nodded.

With that, Jimmy took out his fingers and added a small addition of more lube to Stan before taking the tip of his protected member in his hand. He leaned forward to bring his body even closer to Stan while also maneuvering him to have his ass off the bed just a bit.

“I want you to breathe more, the same way you’ve been doing.” When Stan did what he was instructed to do, Jimmy pressed himself through the tight ring with care. He repeated lines of “you’re doing so good” and “keep going” throughout the process, even placing reassuring pecks on Stan’s nose and face. Again Stan would go from groaning to soon sighing and whimpering with pleasure the deeper Jimmy went in. It did hurt him, to say the least, but he knew it wouldn’t be that way for long, and the focus on Jimmy and how good it will feel helped ease himself.

At last, Jimmy was fully inside Stan. “How are you feeling?”

Stan exhaled the last breath he was holding and gazed into Jimmy’s doting brown eyes. “Ain’t gonna lie, it feels strange, but it’s a good strange.”

Upon getting his answer that Stan was alright, Jimmy smiled and kissed him. “I’m going to start thrusting now. Let me know if we need to stop at any time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jimmy began a steady pace of shallow thrusts into Stan. The other smoothed his hands over on down to Jimmy’s back just to have something to hold on to. At a given point Jimmy’s steady rhythm increased and they both began to feel ultimate pleasure, with Stan being the first to moan lowly and the other followed. Jimmy’s weight shifted on top of Stan as he placed both of his hands in between Stan’s head and buried his face into the crook of the blond’s shoulder. He kept pushing in and out of Stan even faster and deeper until he felt him wrap his strong arms around him and let out an elongated gruffed whimper. He had already managed to find and hit his sweet spot. Jimmy lifted his head a bit to inspect Stan’s face for any warning and was met with such a breathtaking sight. Stan’s eyes were closed and his jaw was hung open. “You okay, there?” Jimmy made sure.

“O-oh Jimmy…”

Just the way he had moaned his name out like that was enough of an answer for Jimmy, and so he lost himself in his own aroused bliss. He locked his lips onto Stan’s in a passion-fueled kiss as he let his hips run on auto, even slipping in his tongue for a good measure, not even knowing if Stan would like it or not. Apparently, Stan did as his own tongue had run against Jimmy’s, and only then did things really get carnal.

Jimmy brushed against Stan’s prostate and the bottom man tightened his grip on Jimmy’s body, his fingernails digging into his back. The mattress below them soon squeaked the more Jimmy drove himself into Stan, making both grateful for the fact that he only lived on the ground floor. He took in everything about Stan in that moment, from how so unbelievably amazing it felt to be inside Stan, the way their heated skin slammed into one another, the moans that he was driving out from Stan, the mysterious yet sweet taste the inside of his mouth held, the way their lips devoured each other greedily, and then finally the reality that he was sharing this moment with him.

They soon parted for much-needed air, a given chance to hear their moans more clearly now. “S-Stan...Staniel…mmm my Staniel....fuck you feel so damn good, my precious Sunflower!”

“Jim...Jimmy...o-oh s-sweet Lord y-you fill me up so d-darn well!” There was an evident heat spreading all through the depths of Stan’s being, and it was something that he knew could not be contained for very long. He didn’t ever want to have this, all of this, to stop. He wanted nothing more than to stay this way with Jimmy forever, them being connected together and become one with their bodies. It was all just so addicting, not even his addiction to oxy could ever match what’s happening here.

The burning pool inside of Stan was approaching quicker than he could have held off and he clung onto his lover as if he’d fade away if he didn’t. “Jim...Jimmy I...I feel s-something…”

“Go ahead, Stan,” Jimmy finished him off, his own release catching up. He reached down to stroke Stan off to help him reach his climax, sending him over the edged.

“J-Jimmy...Jimmy...o-oh h-haaaah J-Jimothyyyyyyyyy!”

Everything had gone bright has Stan lost himself. His hips stilled and he came into Jimmy’s fist, his lover’s name on his lips as he rode off his orgasm.

It did not take very long for Jimmy to follow right behind Stan as he gave one last powerful thrust into him, letting out a hoarse groan while he spilled all of his hot load into the condom. He thought he saw stars even as he clenched his eyes shut and collapsed onto Stan’s sweating body.

The men had stayed that way while they waited for the high to wear off and regain their normal breathing. When they did Jimmy gently pulled himself out of Stan. He unrolled the soaking prophylactic on his spent member before tying a secured knot on it like it was a balloon and getting up from the bed. It was cute to hear Stan whine out of protest from the loss of Jimmy’s warmth on him. He went into the hallway to throw away the used condom in his bathroom waste bin and grabbed a hand towel from the shelf.

Jimmy returned to his room and his place on top of Stan, cleaning both of them up with the rag before setting it aside and laying his body back on top of him. He tiredly lifted his head to meet his eyes with the very man he loves, smiling weakly at him.

“How was that?”, he mumbled out, running his fingers through the curly and damp blond strands of hair on Stan’s head.

“Do I even have to answer that?”, Stan lightly laughed. Still holding onto Jimmy, he pulled him in for a chaste and fatigued kiss.

“I take it that I did pretty well then,” Jimmy chuckled.

“You betcha. Thank you.”

Jimmy grinned and kissed the tip of Stan’s nose before resting his head on his chest. “You’re welcome. I should also thank you as well.” The steady beating of his heart next to his ear easily lulled him to sleep. He knew from this very moment that he would never dare to try and fall asleep with someone he’d have intercourse with unless it was with Staniel Elizabeth Wheeler. There was possibly no escape from the life and job of a male prostitute, but at least Jimmy had someone at home to come back to every time.  

The last thing Jimmy heard before falling asleep in the safety of his lover’s arms was Stan whispering, “You’re welcome as well”.