#that’s when the show really begins. but watch out!!

[pucksandpower]

The Interview

Max Verstappen x journalism student!Reader

Summary: when you are given an assignment to interview someone, you can’t resist asking your boyfriend to be the subject … it’s just a shame that your professor doesn’t believe the interview actually happened

The classroom smells faintly of old books and freshly printed handouts as you sit in your usual spot, third row from the front, slightly to the left. The room is slowly emptying out, the hum of post-class chatter gradually fading as students make their way out into the hallway. You’re gathering your things, sliding your notebook into your bag, when you hear Professor Carter clear his throat.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone firm but not loud. “Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You pause, your hand gripping the strap of your bag. His voice isn’t one that invites argument, and you’re already running through the possibilities of what this could be about. Your mind flickers to your most recent assignment — the interview with Max. The nerves you’ve been trying to suppress all week twist in your stomach.

You watch as the last few students shuffle out, closing the door behind them. Professor Carter leans back in his chair, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he flips through a stack of papers. His desk is a mess, as usual — books stacked haphazardly, coffee stains on nearly every surface, but his eyes are sharp when they finally meet yours.

“So,” he begins, tapping a finger on the paper in front of him. “Your latest assignment. The interview.”

You nod slowly, trying to gauge his mood. “Yes, sir.”

He holds up the paper, and you can see your neat handwriting sprawled across the page. “You interviewed Max Verstappen.”

It’s not a question, but you nod again anyway. “Yes.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Tell me, Y/N, how exactly did you manage that?”

Your heart skips a beat. You knew this might happen — knew that choosing Max, of all people, might raise some eyebrows. But you hadn’t expected it to be this ... confrontational. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, I’ve known Max for a while,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I asked him if he’d be willing to help me with the assignment, and he agreed.”

Professor Carter leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Known him for a while, you say?”

“Yes,” you reply, trying not to sound defensive. “We’ve been ... friends.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Friends.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you stiffen. You know what he’s implying — he doesn’t believe you. You fight the urge to fidget under his gaze, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Professor,” you start, choosing your words carefully, “I understand that it might seem unlikely, but I assure you, the interview was real. I can-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “Y/N, let’s be honest here. You’re a student at the University of Sheffield. Not exactly the kind of place where one casually befriends a Formula 1 driver.”

Your stomach twists tighter. “I’m not lying,” you say, a little more forcefully than you intended. “Max and I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice rising slightly. He sets your paper down on the desk, his fingers drumming against the wood. “If you’re going to fabricate an interview, at least make it believable. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, you know. Students who get desperate, who think that stretching the truth — or outright inventing it — will get them the grade they want.”

You stare at him, disbelief coursing through you. “I didn’t fabricate anything,” you insist. “I really interviewed him.”

Professor Carter’s expression doesn’t change. “Then prove it.”

You blink. “Prove it?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Show me some kind of proof that this interview actually happened. Otherwise, I’m going to have to give you a zero for academic dishonesty.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A zero. That would tank your grade — maybe even your entire semester. But the worst part is that he’s asking for proof you can’t provide, not without exposing the relationship you’ve been so careful to keep private.

You hesitate, your mind racing. What do you do? Do you tell him the truth? Risk everything to save your grade? But the thought of Max — his need for privacy, the way you’ve both agreed to keep things quiet for now — weighs heavily on you. You can’t just throw that away. Not for this.

You swallow hard. “I ... I can’t.”

Professor Carter’s eyes narrow. “You can’t?”

“I mean, I can’t give you proof,” you clarify, your voice wavering slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Y/N, you’re a smart student. You should know that in journalism, credibility is everything. Without proof, your story doesn’t hold up.”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I’m telling you the truth. I did interview him. Just because I can’t show you proof doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“And just because you say it did happen doesn’t mean it did,” he counters, his tone cool. He taps the paper again, a final, dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry, but unless you can provide evidence, I have no choice but to give you a zero.”

You’re stunned into silence, your mind reeling. You can’t believe this is happening. It feels unfair, like you’re being backed into a corner with no way out.

“Professor Carter,” you try again, your voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Please. I’m not lying. I wouldn’t risk my grade like this if it wasn’t true.”

He regards you for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might relent. But then he shakes his head, resolute. “I’m sorry, Y/N. My decision stands.”

The weight of his words presses down on you, and you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. You blink rapidly, determined not to let him see you cry. This is supposed to be a professional conversation, and you won’t let your emotions get the better of you.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I understand,” you say, though your voice is tight. “Thank you for your time.”

He nods curtly, already turning his attention back to the stack of papers on his desk, dismissing you without another word. You force yourself to walk out of the classroom with your head held high, even though every step feels heavier than the last.

When you finally make it out into the hallway, the reality of the situation hits you full force. You lean against the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes, willing yourself to keep it together. You can’t believe this is happening. A zero. All because you refused to betray Max’s trust.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out with trembling fingers. It’s a message from Max.

Hey, just finished training. Want to grab dinner later?

You stare at the screen, a lump forming in your throat. How do you even begin to explain this to him? Do you tell him everything? Or do you keep it to yourself, like you’ve been doing for the past year?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the words you want to say tangled up in your mind. Finally, you type a simple response.

Yeah. Let’s meet at our usual spot.

As you hit send, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You’ll figure this out. Somehow. You have to.

***

The restaurant is quieter than usual, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware blending into a muted backdrop. You sit across from Max in your usual booth by the window, the warm glow of candlelight casting soft shadows on his face.

He’s already ordered for both of you, the way he always does when he gets here before you. It’s a small thing, but it makes you smile — a reminder of how well he knows you, your likes and dislikes, the little details that make up your routine.

But tonight, the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of what happened earlier pressing down on you, a knot of tension in your chest that you can’t seem to shake. Max is talking about his day — something about the latest adjustments they’ve made to the car — but the words are barely registering. You nod along, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the conversation with Professor Carter, the way he looked at you, the disbelief in his voice.

“Hey,” Max’s voice cuts through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. “You okay?”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring at your untouched glass of water for the past minute. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just ... tired.”

Max studies you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. He’s not convinced, you can tell. But he doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, he leans back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink. “Long day, huh?”

“Something like that,” you murmur, picking up your fork and poking at the salad in front of you. You’re not really hungry, but you force yourself to take a bite, if only to keep your hands busy. The last thing you want is for Max to start asking questions. You know him too well — he’ll find a way to make this his fault, even though it’s not. And you can’t handle that right now, not on top of everything else.

Max is still watching you, though, and you can feel the weight of his gaze. He’s always been able to read you like a book, and tonight is no different. After a few more moments of silence, he sets his glass down with a soft clink.

“You’re doing that thing,” he says, his voice carefully neutral.

You glance up at him, confused. “What thing?”

“That thing where you say you’re fine, but you’re not.” His tone is gentle, but there’s a firmness underneath it. He’s not going to let this go. “Come on, what’s going on? Did something happen today?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your plate. “No, nothing happened,” you lie, trying to sound casual. “It’s just been a long week, that’s all.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound convinced, and you can feel his eyes on you, searching for cracks in the facade. “Because you’re always this quiet when nothing’s wrong.”

You sigh, pushing the lettuce around your plate. “Max, I’m fine. Really.”

There’s a pause, and then you hear him exhale softly, like he’s trying to be patient. “You know, you’re a terrible liar.”

Your stomach twists at his words, but you keep your eyes on your plate. You know he’s right — you’ve never been good at hiding things from him. But this ... this is different. You can’t just blurt it out, can’t just tell him what happened without worrying about how he’ll react. He’ll get upset, maybe even angry, and he’ll blame himself for something that isn’t his fault.

“Just ... drop it, okay?” You say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Max’s expression softens, but the concern doesn’t leave his eyes. “Y/N,” he says gently, leaning forward. “If something’s bothering you, I want to help. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

You shake your head, still not meeting his gaze. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Max’s hand is on yours, warm and solid, grounding you in the moment. “Let me decide that,” he says quietly. “Please.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you, but you bite down on the words that are clawing at the back of your throat. You can’t do this, not here, not now. So instead, you pull your hand away gently, offering him a small smile.

“Really, Max, it’s fine,” you say, trying to sound reassuring. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay?”

He hesitates, clearly torn between wanting to respect your wishes and wanting to press for answers. But eventually, he nods, though the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you change your mind ...”

“I know,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

You both lapse into silence after that, the conversation stilted and awkward. You try to focus on the food, on the comfortable routine you’ve built together, but the knot in your chest only tightens with every passing minute. You hate this — hate that you’re keeping something from him, hate that you’re letting it affect your time together. But you don’t know what else to do.

It’s Max who finally breaks the silence, setting his fork down with a sigh. “You know, I’m not very good at this.”

You look up at him, frowning. “At what?”

He gestures between the two of you. “At ... whatever this is. The whole ‘let’s pretend nothing’s wrong’ thing. It’s not really my style.”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite everything. “I know.”

“So why are we doing it?” He asks, his tone gentle but probing. “Why are you pretending that everything’s fine when it’s clearly not?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Because ... I don’t want to ruin dinner?”

Max’s lips quirk into a half-smile, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “Dinner’s already ruined if you’re not happy.”

The words hang between you, heavy and honest, and you feel the walls you’ve been trying to keep up start to crumble. You take a deep breath, feeling the tightness in your chest loosen just a fraction. Maybe ... maybe it’s time to tell him. Maybe he deserves to know.

“Okay,” you say quietly, setting your fork down. “But ... promise me you won’t get mad.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Mad? Why would I get mad?”

“Just promise.”

He sighs, nodding. “Okay. I promise.”

You take another deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s about my journalism assignment. The one where I interviewed you.”

Max nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

“So ... my professor — Professor Carter — he, um ... he thinks I faked it.”

Max’s expression darkens immediately, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What? Why would he think that?”

You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because ... well, because he doesn’t believe that I actually know you. He thinks I made the whole thing up to get a good grade.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Max says, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Why would he assume that?”

“Because I’m just a student at Sheffield,” you explain, your words tumbling out faster now. “And you’re ... well, you. He doesn’t think someone like me could actually know someone like you.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the anger simmering beneath the surface. “That’s-” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “What did he say?”

“He said ... he said he’s giving me a zero for academic dishonesty unless I can prove that the interview was real.”

Max’s eyes widen in shock. “A zero?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Max sits back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “That’s insane. You shouldn’t be penalized for telling the truth. Did you explain to him that we’re ... you know ...”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I didn’t tell him about us. I didn’t want to ... I mean, we’ve been keeping things private for a reason, right? I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

Max frowns, his frustration evident. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have to choose between protecting our privacy and your education. That’s not fair.”

“I know,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t want you to feel guilty. I know you would have found a way to blame yourself for this.”

Max looks at you, his expression softening. “I don’t want you to suffer because of me,” he says quietly. “I’d rather the whole world knew about us than have you lose out on your grades.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault, Max. I made the decision to keep things quiet, too. I don’t regret it.”

“But now you’re paying the price,” he mutters, frustration lacing his tone.

You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours. “We both knew there would be challenges. We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just hate that this is happening to you. If I could talk to your professor-”

“No,” you cut in firmly. “I don’t want you getting involved. That would just make things worse.”

Max frowns, clearly unhappy with your decision, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb still tracing soft circles over your skin. “But what are you going to do?” He asks quietly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I can talk to him again, try to convince him without bringing you into it.”

Max shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “It’s not right, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to prove yourself like this.”

“I know,” you say, your voice soft but resolute. “But I don’t want to drag you into it. We’ve worked so hard to keep our relationship private, and I don’t want this to be the thing that changes that.”

Max looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he sighs, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go. “Okay. I’ll respect your decision. But if it gets worse, if he keeps pushing ...”

“I’ll let you know,” you promise, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. “But for now, let’s just try to enjoy dinner, okay?”

Max nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite ease. “Okay,” he agrees, though there’s a note of reluctance in his voice.

You both lapse into a more comfortable silence after that, the conversation slowly returning to more familiar, lighter topics. But even as you talk about other things, you can feel the weight of the situation lingering between you. Max’s concern is palpable, and you know he’s still thinking about it, even if he’s trying not to show it.

But for now, you’re both doing your best to push it aside, to focus on the time you have together. You know you’ll have to deal with the situation with Professor Carter eventually, but for tonight, you’re content to just be here with Max, to enjoy the quiet moments that are yours alone.

No matter what happens, you’ll figure it out together.

***

Professor Carter’s classroom is as stifling as ever, the air thick with the scent of old books and the faint smell of chalk dust. You’re sitting in your usual spot near the back, trying to focus on the lecture. But it’s impossible to concentrate. Every time Professor Carter glances in your direction, your stomach twists with anxiety. The weight of his accusation still hangs over you, and you can’t shake the feeling that everyone in the room knows what happened, that they’re all silently judging you.

Your notebook lies open in front of you, but the words on the page blur together. You can barely pay attention to the lecture, your mind constantly drifting back to the conversation with Max. You told him you’d handle this on your own, but now, sitting here under Professor Carter’s scrutinizing gaze, you’re starting to doubt yourself. What if you can’t convince him? What if you really do end up with a zero on the assignment?

As if sensing your distress, Professor Carter pauses mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he looks in your direction. “Miss Y/L/N, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” He asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You snap out of your thoughts, your heart racing. “No, sir,” you mumble, trying to shrink into your seat.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Then I suggest you pay attention. This material will be on the final exam, and I’d hate for you to miss out on any more important details.”

There’s a smattering of laughter from your classmates, and you feel your face flush with embarrassment. You nod quickly, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Yes, sir,” you say quietly.

Professor Carter smirks, clearly pleased with himself, and turns back to the board. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. But just as you’re about to refocus on the lecture, the door to the classroom swings open.

Every head in the room turns to look at the sudden interruption, and you feel your heart stop when you see who’s standing in the doorway.

Max.

He’s dressed casually, in a black T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no mistaking who he is. The entire room goes silent, the air thick with shock and disbelief. You can see the recognition in your classmates’ eyes, the way they start whispering to each other, nudging each other and pointing in his direction.

Max strides into the room with the kind of confidence that only he possesses, his gaze scanning the room until it lands on you. His expression softens for a moment when he sees you, but then he turns his attention to Professor Carter, who is staring at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Can I help you?” Professor Carter asks, his voice sharp, though there’s a note of uncertainty beneath it.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, actually, you can,” he says, his tone polite but firm. “I’m here about Y/N’s assignment.”

Professor Carter’s eyes widen slightly, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to piece together what’s happening. “I’m sorry, but this is a private class,” he says, his tone regaining its usual authority. “If you have concerns about a student’s work, you can schedule a meeting during my office hours.”

Max crosses his arms over his chest, unfazed. “I think we can sort this out right here.”

You feel a mix of panic and gratitude welling up inside you. You didn’t want Max to get involved, but now that he’s here, you can’t deny the relief that floods through you. He’s taking a stand for you, and you can see that he’s not going to back down.

Professor Carter, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to maintain his composure, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “Max Verstappen, I presume?” He says, his tone clipped.

Max nods. “That’s right. And I’m here to prove that Y/N didn’t fake her interview with me.”

There’s a collective gasp from the students, and you can feel the tension in the room spike. All eyes are on Max now, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they realize what’s happening. Professor Carter, however, doesn’t seem impressed.

“I see,” he says slowly, his gaze flicking to you for a moment before returning to Max. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Max’s expression hardens, and you can see the determination in his eyes. “Simple. I’m here, aren’t I? She couldn’t have faked an interview with me if I’m standing right here.”

The room falls silent again, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. Professor Carter opens his mouth to respond, but for a moment, no words come out. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting this. He was so sure of himself, so confident that you couldn’t possibly know someone like Max Verstappen. And now, here Max is, standing in front of him, making him eat his words.

“I ... appreciate your enthusiasm,” Professor Carter finally says, though his voice lacks its usual bite. “But this doesn’t prove anything. For all I know, you could be here out of some misguided attempt to protect her.”

Max’s jaw clenches, and you can see the frustration building in his eyes. “You think I would waste my time lying for someone? If she didn’t do the interview, I wouldn’t be here.”

Professor Carter’s gaze shifts to you, and you can see the doubt still lingering in his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N, I told you that if you could provide proof, I would reconsider your grade. But this ...” He gestures to Max. “This isn’t exactly the kind of proof I had in mind.”

You feel a surge of anger rising within you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re standing up, your voice trembling but firm. “What more proof do you need? He’s here, in front of the entire class. He’s telling you the interview was real. What else do I have to do to make you believe me?”

The room falls silent again, and you can see the shock on your classmates’ faces as they watch you stand up to Professor Carter. He looks taken aback, his usual smug expression faltering as he stares at you.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then, Max steps forward, his voice calm but filled with conviction. “Look, Professor, I get that this might be hard to believe. But Y/N isn’t lying. She interviewed me, and she did a damn good job, too. If you don’t believe me, you can check with my team. They’ll confirm it.”

Professor Carter hesitates, clearly torn between maintaining his authority and acknowledging the reality in front of him. He glances around the room, seeing the way his students are hanging on every word, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

Finally, he exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Verstappen. But I expect Miss Y/L/N to submit any additional documentation that can verify this interview. Understood?”

You nod quickly, relief flooding through you. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Professor Carter waves his hand dismissively, clearly eager to move on. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to continue with the lesson.”

Max glances at you, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips. “I’ll wait outside,” he murmurs, and with one last look at Professor Carter, he turns and walks out of the classroom.

As the door closes behind him, you sink back into your seat, your heart still racing. The tension in the room starts to dissipate, and you can feel the curious stares of your classmates on you, but for the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel a sense of calm. Max believed in you enough to do this, to stand up for you, and that’s all that matters.

Professor Carter clears his throat, trying to regain control of the room. “Alright, everyone, back to the lesson. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

You open your notebook again, but this time, the words on the page seem clearer, more focused. You can do this. You’ve got this. And no matter what happens next, you know you’re not alone.

***

When you step out of the building, the late afternoon sun is warm on your face, but you barely notice it. The adrenaline from the confrontation in class is still coursing through your veins, and all you can think about is getting out of here, away from the stares and whispers that followed you as you left the room.

You spot him immediately.

Max is leaning against his car, casually checking his phone like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But you can see the way his shoulders tense when he catches sight of you, the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

The sleek black car gleams in the sunlight, and you can’t help but notice the way people are staring, some pointing, others whispering to each other. Max Verstappen waiting outside a university lecture hall is not something anyone expected to see today.

You make your way over to him, trying to ignore the attention and the pounding of your heart. You had told him not to do this, told him you’d handle it on your own. And yet, here he is, right in the middle of everything, like he promised he wouldn’t be.

“Hey,” Max says casually, slipping his phone into his pocket as you approach. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he’s waiting for your reaction.

You stop in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t get involved,” you say, your voice tight.

Max raises an eyebrow, looking entirely too calm for your liking. “I said I’d respect your decision. And I did — until I realized your professor is a jerk who needed to be put in his place.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to maintain your anger, but it’s difficult when he’s standing there looking so smug, so unbothered by the situation. “That’s not the point, Max. You went behind my back.”

He tilts his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Did I, though? Because I seem to remember you didn’t explicitly tell me not to.”

You huff in frustration, knowing he’s right but refusing to give him the satisfaction. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Max shrugs, unbothered by your accusation. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

You want to stay mad. You really do. But the way he’s looking at you, with that infuriating mix of confidence and affection, makes it impossible. You try to hold on to your irritation, try to keep the scowl on your face, but you can feel it slipping away.

Max must see it, too, because he steps closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. “No, you’re not.”

You look away, trying to maintain your resolve, but Max reaches out, gently turning your face back to him. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and you can’t help but lean into his touch, your anger melting away as quickly as it came.

“Stop trying to be cute,” you mumble, though your voice lacks any real bite.

Max grins, clearly enjoying this. “I can’t help it. It’s just who I am.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that tugs at your lips betrays you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you still love me,” Max counters, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can say anything, Max leans down and presses his lips to yours, effectively cutting off any protest you might have had. The kiss is soft, gentle, but there’s an undeniable intensity behind it, a promise that he’ll always be there, even when you tell him not to be.

For a moment, you forget where you are, forget about the stares and the whispers, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. All that matters is the feel of Max’s lips on yours, the way his hand cradles the back of your head, anchoring you to him.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your heart racing for a completely different reason now. Max looks down at you, his eyes dark with affection, and you can’t help but smile up at him, any remnants of anger long gone.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, still slightly dazed from the kiss. “Maybe I’m not that mad.”

Max chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back completely. “I knew it.”

You shake your head, but there’s no real frustration behind it anymore. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I know.”

You glance around, noticing the continued stares from the students passing by. You sigh, knowing this moment of privacy is short-lived. “We should probably get out of here before someone decides to take a picture.”

Max follows your gaze, nodding in agreement. “Good idea. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He opens the passenger door for you, and you slide into the car, trying to ignore the curious eyes still on you. Max walks around to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the engine. As the car purrs to life, he reaches over, taking your hand in his again.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, his tone more serious now, the teasing edge gone.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for being there, even if I didn’t ask for it.”

Max smiles softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You don’t have to ask. I’ll always be there for you.”

And just like that, the tension that had been weighing on you all day finally eases. You know things aren’t completely resolved with Professor Carter, but right now, with Max beside you, it doesn’t seem as daunting. You’ll figure it out — together.

***

The classroom buzzes with the usual energy as students shuffle into their seats, chatting with friends or tapping away on their phones. It’s a typical day, but there’s a different kind of tension in the air. Today, Professor Carter is returning the results of the investigative journalism assignments, and no one is quite sure what to expect.

You settle into your usual spot near the back, trying to shake off the nerves. It’s been a few months since the whole incident with Max interrupting your class, and while things have calmed down somewhat, Professor Carter’s stern demeanor hasn’t wavered. You still catch him eyeing you from time to time, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up.

The door slams shut as Professor Carter strides in, a stack of papers in hand. The chatter in the room dies down instantly. He’s never been one for small talk or pleasantries, and today is no different. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, just dives straight into it.

“Good afternoon,” he says curtly, his voice slicing through the silence. “As you know, today I’ll be discussing the assignments you all turned in. Some of you excelled, others … less so.”

You swallow hard, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. You did everything you could to make your article stand out, but now that the moment of judgment is here, doubt begins to creep in.

Professor Carter begins pacing the front of the room, flipping through the stack of papers as he speaks. “Several of you chose topics that were predictable but handled them with enough depth to warrant commendation. For example, Miss Klein tackled the opioid crisis in rural England — an important and underreported subject.” He glances up at a blonde girl in the front row, who nods in acknowledgment, her cheeks flushing slightly at the attention.

“Then we have Mr. Patel,” Professor Carter continues, stopping briefly to peer down at a lanky guy two rows in front of you. “Your examination of government surveillance policies in urban areas was thorough, albeit a bit heavy on the technical jargon. But it’s clear you put in the work.”

You watch as Professor Carter moves on to the next paper, calling out names and offering critiques with the same detached professionalism. The topics range from environmental justice issues to the economic implications of Brexit — serious, weighty subjects that demand rigorous analysis. The longer he speaks, the more you feel the sinking sensation in your stomach. Your topic, in comparison, feels like a joke. An entertaining joke, sure, but still …

And then he pauses.

Professor Carter reaches the last paper in the stack, and his expression falters for a moment before he collects himself. He clears his throat and addresses the room, his voice taking on a more formal tone.

“And then we come to one particular assignment,” he begins, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing squarely on you. You freeze, every nerve ending on high alert. “An assignment that, while unconventional in its subject matter, demonstrated an impressive level of dedication and — dare I say — ingenuity.”

A ripple of whispers spreads through the room. You feel the heat of a dozen eyes on you but keep your gaze firmly on Professor Carter. His words are oddly measured, as if he’s trying to make sense of them himself.

He raises the paper in his hand slightly, glancing at it before looking back at the class. “Miss Y/L/N,” he addresses you directly, causing all the whispers to stop. “Your decision to investigate whether or not Toto Wolff, the team principal of Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team, dyes his hair … was certainly unexpected.”

You hear a few muffled snickers, but you keep your face neutral, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“However,” Professor Carter continues, raising his voice slightly to silence the snickers, “the lengths you went to in pursuit of the truth were nothing short of remarkable. Going through Mercedes' trash? That shows initiative. Questionable ethics, perhaps, but initiative nonetheless.”

There’s a stunned silence in the room. You feel the urge to either laugh or shrink under your desk. You aren’t sure which. Instead, you nod slightly, acknowledging his words without letting the grin you’re fighting show.

Professor Carter takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “In a field where skepticism is necessary, and where finding the truth often requires unorthodox methods, your work stood out. So much so that I found myself contemplating the absurdity of the situation. Here I am, reading about a billionaire’s grooming habits as though it were a matter of national importance.”

This time, the laughter from the class isn’t stifled. It rings out freely, and you feel your own lips twitch despite yourself.

“But,” Professor Carter interjects, silencing the room once more, “that is precisely the point of investigative journalism, isn’t it? To find the story others overlook, to dig deeper, even when the subject seems trivial. Miss Y/L/N, your article was, in its own way, insightful. You followed the evidence, and you made your case with conviction.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at you. “Though I must say, I’m not entirely convinced that your methods were ... strictly ethical. Dumpster diving isn’t exactly taught in this classroom.”

You finally allow yourself a small, nervous laugh, shrugging lightly in response. “All in the name of journalism, right?”

Professor Carter lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I suppose so. Regardless, your paper has made an impact — certainly more than I anticipated.”

He drops your paper onto his desk and addresses the class one last time. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Journalism isn’t always about the grand topics. Sometimes, the most interesting stories come from the strangest places. I encourage you all to think outside the box.”

With that, he begins handing back the assignments, and the classroom slowly returns to its usual rhythm. Conversations pick up again, but this time, they’re punctuated by curious glances and nods in your direction. You try to focus on the papers being passed down your row, but your thoughts are still stuck on Professor Carter’s words.

When your paper finally lands in front of you, you can’t resist flipping through it. There, scrawled in red ink at the top of the page, is your grade — a solid A. Next to it, Professor Carter has written a brief note: Keep pushing boundaries, but remember — ethics matter.

You smile to yourself, feeling a mix of relief and pride. The assignment had been a gamble, but it paid off in the end. And while the ethical considerations may have been a little murky, you can’t deny that the thrill of the chase had been worth it.

As class ends and students begin to file out, a few stop by your desk, offering congratulations or asking for details about how you managed to pull it off. You answer their questions with a grin, reliving the absurdity of your investigative methods. And though it feels surreal, you can’t help but feel a sense of validation.

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Professor Carter catches your eye and nods in your direction, a rare hint of approval in his usually stern expression. You nod back, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between the two of you.

Stepping out of the classroom, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. The whispers and glances no longer bother you. Instead, they serve as a reminder that you’ve proven yourself, in your own way.

And as you walk through the corridors of the university, you can’t help but think about what Max will say when you tell him about today. Knowing him, he’ll probably tease you about your methods, but you also know he’ll be proud — just as you are.

Because sometimes, in journalism and in life, it’s the unconventional stories that make the biggest impact.

[authorhjk1]

Public punishment

(Yujin X Wonyoung X Male Reader)

Your face remains expressionless as you pause the video.

"See, daddy? I told you she is such a slut."

You ignore Wonyoung as you stare at the woman on the screen.

Yujin really is a slut. Which you already knew from the first time you met her. Same as Wonyoung. The difference between those two is, that Wonyoung isn't as slutty as the older girl. Yujin shows off her body way more.

The three of you are all in a purely sexual relationship. But it seems like Yujin forgets that from time to time.

"You need to punish her."

You finally take a look at Wonyoung, who is sitting next to you. She's sitting straight, her hands resting on her thighs. You catch the small smile around her lips. She's loving this. She'd gladly throw Yujin under the bus, just so you can see her as the better of the two.

"I really should."

You think out loud, making Wonyoung scoot closer.

"She will be home in two hours."

"And?"

Wonyoung's eyes look up at you.

"Don't I get a reward?"

"For what?"

She pouts.

"Come on, daddy."

You sigh, knowing it'll be hard to resist her. But you try to keep your head clear. You need to find a fitting punishment for Yujin.

"At-At least let me suck it."

She looks up at you with those big eyes of hers, her lips still sporting that cute pout.

"Fine."

"Yes!"

Wonyoung exclaims. But before she can unbuckle your belt, you grap her wrists.

"But not like this."

You gesture at the oversized hoodie and sweatpants she is wearing.

"I'll go change. Just a minute."

Like an excited little bunny, Wonyoung runs towards her room in record speed.

You unpause the video of Yujin dancing in that little skimpy outfit of hers. She winks at the camera, plays with her pigtails...

All the fans seem to love her. Of course they do. Who wouldn't?

An idea slowly blossoms inside your mind. So many people. And all of them love her. Not just for her music, but her body and face as well.

You hear the door to Wonyoung's room open. You're not being paid badly, being one of Ive's managers and all. But you could certainly make a few extra bucks, if you play your cards right. A mischievous smirk plays around your lips as you finally plan out Yujin's proper punishment.

Wonyoung wordlessly kneels down in front of you, a satisfied smile on her face. She knows you like it when you can hold onto something. That's why she often wears pigtails or a ponytail.

While you keep watching Yujin's performance, Wonyoung finally gets her reward. You feel her lips close around your shaft. Her head begins to bob soon after, her lips gliding along your length.

While you watch the older woman dance on screen, you reach down and hold onto Wonyoung's pigtails with both hands. She gladly gives up control as you wrap her hair around your hands. You start to pull her back and forth, using her mouth like a fleshlight.

The young woman in front of you stays silent, expect for a couple of gags here and there. She tries to look up at you, although your eyes are glued to the screen. Wonyoung is wondering what you're thinking about. And even more importantly, why aren't you thinking about her?

She'd be completely satisfied with giving you head, if you were focused on her. But that's not the case right now. Wonyoung craves your attention. After all, that's why she told you about Yujin. You've been on vacation for the last two weeks, so you didn't even meet the two of them often during that time. And now that Wonyoung finally has you to herself, you can't stop thinking about Yujin.

But she can't complain either, because her mouth is completely stuffed with your cock. Unable to say a word, Wonyoung lets you use her mouth in what ever way you see fit. Even if you aren't even looking at her.

"What exactly are we doing here?"

Despite her annoying questions, Yujin still follows you into the mall.

"Wait and see."

You say, almost to yourself, as you look around.

"Are you just returning something? What's in there?"

For the nth time, Yujin is trying to sneak a peak inside the big bag you brought with you.

You take her hand and lead her towards a Chinese restaurant inside the mall. Right next to it is a sign that shows the way to a public restroom. The left one for women, the right one for men.

"Isn't it too early for lunch?"

Rolling your eyes at her questions, you drag her inside the men's room.

"Oppa, I shouldn't-"

Yujin finally stops talking when the two of you almost run into a guy who is just putting his pants back on.

"What the-"

"Relax, mate."

You pat his shoulder and lead Yujin towards the stall that is the furthest away from the door.

"What are you doing here?"

The guy, who seems to be a little older than you, is washing his hands while watching the two of you.

"Don't get any funny ideas. The two of you can go have fun at home."

He shakes his head as he dries off his hands.

"Young people theses days..."

You catch him taking a good look at Yujin.

"Although it's not like I can't blame you. If my wife was this pretty..."

Yujin feels a little uncomfortable as she feels him looking her up and down.

You told her to wear the same outfit, which she wore during her last performance. She thought you did so, because you liked it.

Small denim shorts, a white and black top with blue letters on it, a necklace, a choker and her hair in pigtails.

"You wanna have a go?"

Your question makes Yujin look at you, her mouth open. The guy raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Well, I didn't put the butt plug in yet, so her ass might be too tight right now. But her mouth and her pussy are amazing."

Yujin gasped when you first mentioned a butt plug. And now she stares at you in horror. How could you just offer her body, her holes, to someone the both of you don't even know?

"Oppa-"

"I do have a wife..."

She gets interrupted by the guy thinking aloud.

"But I guess a blowjob isn't cheating."

"Of course it's not."

You assure him, while Yujin just stands there, flabbergasted.

What the hell is going on? Why are you doing this? You were always a little possessive, wanting to make sure you're the only one Yujin and Wonyoung sleep with. So why are you offering her up to someone else? Especially without asking her first?

"Oppa, coud we maybe talk for a second?"

She's about to give you a death stare, but you ignore her, while pulling out something from your bag. A collar. With a chain on it.

"What is that?"

An unnecessary question. Yujin has worn this collar a lot of times before.

She leans away, but knows she won't be able to stop you from putting it on her. A moment later, the leather is secure around her neck.

"Would you at least tell me the reason?"

"Because of this."

You gesture at her clothes.

Yujin rolls her eyes.

"This is part of my job, you know? Being an idol?"

"Did you choose the outfit, or did the stylist choose it?"

Your question makes Yujin look down.

"I-I did."

"Thought so."

You pull at her chain, making Yujin stumble into the stall. Before she can react, you tie the chain around the hook that is attached to the wall. Usually people would hang their jackets there. Now it's a way for you to keep Yujin in place. She watches with big eyes as you take out a lock and secure the chain with it. She sees the key disappearing in your pocket.

"Stop this prank, you made your point."

Yujin tries to think positively. There's no way you'd actually do this, right? Letting another man use her mouth?

"We can go home and you can punish me there."

"This fic is called public punishment for a reason."

You walk out of the stall.

"Have fun."

The man looks at Yujin.

"Oppa?"

Yujin calls for you again, while her eyes are focused on the man's crotch. She watches how he pulls down his pants. The young woman can see the outlines of his cock underneath his boxers. She can't help but swallow hard.

He might be a stranger, but that doesn't mean she can't give him head just once, right? She might be an idol, but the guy doesn't seem to know her. And obviously there aren't any cameras here. So why not? You set this up, so Yujin might as well use this opportunity.

She closes her eyes when the man pulls his underwear off. Yujin licks her lips, wanting to get surprised. She smiles, before opening her mouth wide. How many people are you gonna send in here anyway? Three? Not much of a punishment, is it?

Her eyes shoot open when the man fills her whole mouth with one thrust. She didn't expect him to go all in from the beginning. Yujin quickly becomes a toy for this stranger as he uses her pigtails as handlebars. He's fucking her face, while also pulling her head onto his cock.

Yujin was prepared for a couple of lazy blowjobs. The butt plug stuff you mentioned seemed exaggerated to her at that time. Not anymore though. Are you really gonna let random guys have their way with her?

Yujin closes her eyes, letting the man use her mouth however he sees fit.

You feel a little weird as the first guy gives you 5000₩. You put the bill in your wallet and gesture towards the door next to you. He seems to be as old as you. When he opens the door, you hear Yujin gag inside the men's room.

You set up a chair, which people usually use for camping, next to the door. A cardboard sign is standing next to it.

"Mouth 5000₩"

"Pussy 10000₩"

"Ass 20000₩"

As you watch a guy, who barely looks like he is twenty, walk in your direction, you wonder how much money you might be able to make with Yujin today. If only 20 people pay for a blowjob, you'd make 100 000₩ in one day.

As he takes out his wallet to pay you, you hear the door open. The man, whom you met when you went inside with Yujin, is now stepping out of the restroom.

"That was amazing. She is perfect."

"Thanks."

You smile as you receive more money from the younger guy.

Yujin uses her finger to scoop up the rest of the man's cum. He shot his load all over her face and in her mouth without even asking. She was surprised, almost mad, at first. But for some reason Yujin is really starting to get off on this. The idea of more men walking in and just using her like a whore makes her feel warm and fuzzy. She could've sworn the door opened and closed a moment ago, while he was about to cum on her. Does that mean....?

Yujin can barely contain her excitement. Who comes next? When the next man steps into the stall, Yujin smiles up at him. She's aware that the first man probably messed up her face a little bit already. But the guy in front of her now is already taking off his belt. Seems like she doesn't look too bad yet. Yujin's mouth opens as she watches him undress. She doesn't close her eyes this time, wanting to have the full experience.

When he puts his cock in her mouth, Yujin immediately starts to suck him off. It didn't take her long to accept her new role fully. Her lips move along his shaft, making sure not to miss an inch.

"Damn, you're a whore."

Yujin's cheeks turn red as she hears him groan. Was that a compliment? Is she doing a good job?

She decides to do her best, not wanting to disappoint. Soon, the man's hands hold onto her pigtails too. Just like the first man, he begins to fuck her face as well. Yujin looks up at him, giving him her sexiest look, wanting to feel his load down her throat as soon as possible.

It still feels a little awkward to her. Twenty minutes ago, she never thought this would ever happen. Of course she has fantasies. And some of them include more than just one man, no doubt. But now being able to experience this is something different.

As the second man keeps fucking her face, Yujin hears the door open and close again. Her pussy gets even wetter at the thought of more men coming in to use her mouth. She does her best to use her tongue as much as possible, trying to meet the new guy quickly.

"Gosh, you're amazing."

The man, who's cock is in her mouth, groans once more. Yujin feels him throb and just two thrusts later, he buries himself as deep in her as possible. His cum shoots into her mouth and throat, almost leaving her gagging as he pulls out.

"Might come back later again."

"Yes,...."

Yujin coughs due to the cum in her throat.

"Please come again."

She waves after him as he leaves her stall, eager to see who's next. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees you.

"Oppa?"

"Having fun?"

Your mischievous smile makes her carefully nod her head. Once more shame colours her cheeks red. She shouldn't be enjoying this, it's a punishment after all. But she can't help it.

"Now that more people seem to be interested, I'm afraid we'll have to raise the stakes."

You walk closer and help Yujin to her feet.

"What do you mean?"

"Turn around."

You ignore her question and make her lean face first against the wall of the stall. Yujin feels how you reach around her and unbutton her shorts.

"Wait, oppa. You're not going to let strangers fuck me, right? Right?"

When you don't answer, a shiver runs through Yujin's body. Giving blowjobs to strangers in a random restroom is one thing. But offering her pussy too? Should she really go this far?

Yujin hesitates, thinking about telling you to stop. The sound of someone stepping closer makes her turn her head. She sees another man, who's now looking into the stall. Is he the one who gets to fuck her? Yujin can't help but notice that he is definitely younger than the other two men. Around her age. And undeniably handsome. Maybe just this once is okay?

The man watches as you start to pull down Yujin's shorts. The way she looks at him at the same time, even slowly biting her lip, makes him reach for his crotch. He slowly cups it through his jeans as you let Yujin's shorts drop to the floor.

The young woman is wearing a light blue lace thong. She's naturally arching her back a little, showing off her plump ass. You reach into your pocket and take out the butt plug and a small bottle of lube. After pulling down her panties as well, you coat the metal with the transparent liquid.

"Oppa, what are you doing?"

Yujin expected you to leave again as soon as you took off her panties. Wasn't that what you're here for? Yujin is quickly proven wrong when she feels the slightly cold metal poke at her rear entrance. You free hand pushes one of her cheeks to the side, making it easier for you to slowly work the plug inside of her.

"Just relax."

You whisper into her ear, giving Yujin goosebumps.

This isn't the first time she's wearing a butt plug. You and her have already experimented a couple of times. But quickly it dawns on her, why you're doing this. So you're not just offering her mouth and pussy to strangers, but also her ass?

Yujin expects fear or anger to bubble up inside of her. Instead, she's surprised when she catches herself thinking about someone, who's not you, taking her ass. In the end, it doesn't matter who fucks her as long as she feels good.

Yujin gasps as you finally push the butt plug completely inside of her. You give her ass a playful slap.

"Have fun."

As you place the bottle of lube on the sink before leaving the restroom, you hear Yujin moan.

"Oh, god..."

Yujin sighs as she feels another man shoot his load deep inside her pussy. How many guys have already used her by now? Yujin tries to count. Two came in her mouth, one on her face and three inside her pussy. Makes six. A dumb smile plays around Yujin's lips at that realization. Six guys within what? An hour? Two hours? She doesn't know what time it is.

When she hears the next guy unzip his pants behind her, Yujin feels her pussy getting wet at the sound. The last three guys all fucked her, so she is still standing the way you left her. Body against the wall of the stall. Cheek pressed up against the surface. She is holding onto the wall and the chain that keeps her in place for support. Yujin's legs are growing weak with every pounding she is taking.

"Fuck, you're tight."

The man behind her groans as he slowly pushes into Yujin's cum filled pussy. She lets out a moan herself, not prepared for his size. He lets her get accustomed to it, once he is fully inside of her.

But soon he fucks Yujin hard against the wall, making her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her moans echo through the restroom with every one of his thrusts. She felt his hands on her waist at the beginning. But now he is holding onto and pulling at her pigtails.

Yujin's back arches further, separating her a little from the wall. Which only means the man behind her fucks her harder. Her ass looks way better when she's slightly bent over. Her cheeks clap loudly against his body. Her own moans grow louder.

"Your cheap pussy feels amazing."

He growls into Yujin's ear as he fucks her as hard as he can. The young woman feels a wave of shame and arousal rush through her. Are you charging theses guys money so they can fuck her? And how much is her pussy worth?

Her deepest fantasies come to light once more as Yujin thinks about that. This whole situation is slowly turning her into a pleasure craving whore. Yujin can feel what a slut she's become. Getting used by strangers again and again in the men's bathroom. And you even take money for it as if she is some cheap play thing.

"Please breed my cheap pussy."

Yujin moans when she finally accepts her place. It's the first time she's said something to one of these men.

The man behind her was about to climax anyway. Yujin cries out as she gets cream pied for the fourth thime today. The man behind her groans into her ear, pressing her against the wall as he leans against her.

When he finally recovers from his orgasm, he pulls out of Yujin and gets dressed. She can feel how his cum slowly starts to leak out of her freshly fucked pussy. He slaps one of her ass cheeks one last time and then leaves the stall. Yujin is left alone, cum now running down her legs.

"Just go inside. She's in the last stall."

You collect the money from the 13th man, who is now entering the restroom. You're surprised that it's going so well. It's been barely two hours and you already made more money than you thought you would. Although you did notice that no one has tried Yujin's ass yet. You wonder if most guys are just not into anal, or if you set the price too high.

"Hi, daddy."

Wonyoung's familiar voice makes you look up. She is standing in front of you in a cute white dress, holding a matching purse. Her left hand is holding onto something that looks like a stick, wrapped in a plastic bag.

"I have a present for Yujin unnie. You don't mind if I bring it to her, do you?"

You shake your head, not without noticing how good Wonyoung looks in that dress.

As the younger girl steps into the men's room, she hears Yujin's moans echo off the walls. She hesitates, thinking about waiting for the man to leave. She saw him go inside as she walked towards you. But to her surprise, she hears him groaning already.

"Oh yes, fill that slutty pussy up."

Wonyoung almost laughs at Yujin's words. She did the right thing by telling you what Yujin did during their last performance. She's a cheap slut after all. The complete opposite of Wonyoung. If she can finally make you see that, Wonyoung will have you all to herself. It's just a matter of time.

"That was amazing."

The man praises Yujin, still catching his breath as he pulls his pants back up. Yujin is slightly disappointed that he didn't last long, but she decides to take it as a compliment. It seems like there will be more than enough dicks for her today anyway.

But when the next person steps into the stall, Yujin's eyes become big.

"W-Wonyoung?"

"Hi, unnie."

"What are you doing here?"

Her shakey voice reveals how embarrassed she feels right now. She was completely fine with being used like a slut while she was alone. But now that Wonyoung can see her, she feels ashamed.

And Wonyoung examines Yujin closely. By now, Yujin doesn't look as put together as before. Her pigtails are a little loose and her clothes are lying in a pile in one of the corners of the stall. Her face is mostly clean. There's still some makeup on it, but most has been washed away by now.

"I have an early Christmas present for you."

Yujin narrows her eyes in suspicion at Wonyoung's cheeky smile. She bites her lip when she sees the younger girl holding something that looks like a rod in her hand.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Wonyoung nods.

"Just for you, unnie."

Yujin holds her breath as Wonyoung takes out the mysterious object. It's almost as long as Yujin's entire torso. One end has a hook on it, the other ends in the same shape as the plug inside her ass.

"I don't think this is a good idea, I-"

"But daddy is okay with it."

Wonyoung steps closer. Yujin feels shame rush through her system once more. She is still feeling a little uncomfortable thinking about strangers being inside her most intimate place. So she was glad to some degree that no one seemed to be massively interested in her ass yet. But the anal hook, might have some men change their mind.

"Why are you even doing this? Did I do something wrong?"

Wonyoung chuckles as she stands behind Yujin.

"You know daddy is a little possessive. And acting like that on stage was a little too desperate, if you ask me. He would've found out at some point anyway."

"Wait."

Yujin can feel anger bubbling up inside of her.

"Did you tell on me?"

A sharp hiss escapes her mouth, when she feels Wonyoung carefully pull at the butt plug. She feels the ring of her muscles stretch around the widest part of it, until she is finally left empty.

"Of course I did. I'm a good girl after all."

The younger girl's triumphant tone makes Yujin curse her silently. Of course she did.

Wonyoung looks down on Yujin's gaping hole. She places the anal hook at her leader's rear entrance and starts to push it inside of her.

The older girl's eyes roll to the back of her head as she gets filled once more. She could swear that this one feels bigger than the one before. She's almost left breathless. As she tries to get accustomed to her asshole being stretched out even further, Wonyoung is already using the other end to secure it on Yujin's collar.

"There you go, unnie. You look so beautiful."

"Oh, please. Stop mocking me and leave."

Wonyoung laughs.

"You think I'm done already?"

She shakes her head.

"I'm already here, so why don't I make this visit a special memory for the both of us?"

Her mischievous tone has Yujin sweating. What else is this brat up to?

Wonyoung takes out her phone.

"Smile, unnie."

"What?"

Wonyoung makes a peace sign with her fingers, smiles into the camera and a flash lights up the stall.

"What the hell, Wonyoung? Delete that."

"Oh, unnie. You still think you can order me around?"

The younger girl looks straight at her.

"Now I'm the one in control."

A smile plays around her lips.

"Why don't you kneel down? I'll get a better picture that way."

Yunin rolls her eyes. She could put up a fight if she wanted to. But would you punish her for that as well? Probably. Wonyoung is right. In this moment, Wonyoung is the good girl. But Yujin has still some fight left in her. She just doesn't move.

Wonyoung waits for a couple of moments, but then tugs at Yujin's collar. It's enough for the object inside her ass to move. Yujin gasps. Then bites her lip. The younger girl does it again, a smile still on her lips.

"Come on, unnie. Just one more picture, hmm?"

After hesitating, Yujin finally gives up. She is convinced it's better to let Wonyoung take a picture of her, instead of letting her watch Yujin getting used.

"There you go. You look amazing."

Wonyoung takes the picture and shows it to her.

"See?"

Yujin's cheeks burn red.

There she is. Kneeling on the floor of some restroom stall. A collar around her neck, a chain keeping her in place. The anal hook is visible as well, making the fact that she is naked even worse. Her face doesn't look as good as she has hoped. One can definitely tell that she took a couple of facials today.

"Oh, we got company."

Wonyoung remarks excitedly as the door to the restroom opens.

"Don't be shy, come over here."

She motions the man to walk over to her.

"Hello."

He gives her a quick bow and then his eyes meet Yujin's. She can tell he's hesitating, not having expected to see someone else here.

"Oh, don't mind me. Just enjoy yourself."

The man glances at Wonyoung, before looking back at Yujin. His eyes roam her body for a couple of seconds. Eventually, he undoes the button and the zipper of his jeans.

Yujin's eyes are fixated on his cock as he pulls it out. Definitely one of the biggest she's had so far today.

"Is it okay if I... If I put it in your mouth?"

His words are dirty, but he looks almost innocent. Yujin nods, a small smile playing around her lips. He's cute.

When the man steps closer, Yujin opens her mouth. She wraps her lips around his cock, sucking on his tip. The guy instinctively puts his hand on the back of her head and slowly pushes his length inside of her further.

"Yes, that's it. Make her take it all."

Yujin almost forgot Wonyoung was still there. But now her eyes stare right at Wonyoung's phone, which is obviously recording. Yujin closes her eyes. It's not like Wonyoung will stop if she asks nicely.

"Try to fuck her face. It feels amazing, trust me."

Yujin is cursing Wonyoung silently once more. The man hesitates, but eventually takes a hold of both her pigtails. His first thrust is shallow, almost weak. The next one barely makes her take half his shaft. Yujin opens her eyes to look up at him. She winks playfully and then forces herself further down his cock. If Wonyoung wants a show, so be it. It's not like Yujin will ever recover from this anyway. Might as well make the best out of it.

"Oh, there you go. My unnie is such a cock drunk slut."

Under Wonyoung's dirty commentary, Yujin continues the combination of blowjob and face fuck. The man in front of her has gained a little more confidence and has started thrusting into her mouth a little harder and faster. His grip on her pigtails has tightened. Committed to delivering Wonyoung the most dirtiest video possible, Yujin decides to become sloppy.

She leaves her mouth open a little wider, stops swallowing her own spit and just starts to let it naturally escape her mouth. Soon the man's whole cock is drenched in her saliva. Her knees and the already wet tiles underneath her get hit as well.

Wonyoung bites her lip when she sees Yujin look directly into the camera. She just looks so sexy while getting her face fucked. The younger girl can't help but rub her thighs together. How much she is now longing for your cock using her mouth just like that. She keeps recording as she continues to think about exactly that. How you used her mouth like a toy last night, barely even looking at her, while your eyes were glued to Yujin on screen.

"I-I think I'm gonna finish."

The man who's fucking Yujin's face clearly hesitates, his grip on her pigtails softening. But Yujin just shakes her head and lets her tongue roam his cock.

"Give her your cum, she wants it."

Wonyoung catches the man's red cheeks, but her focus is on making sure that the camera is capturing Yujin, who's doing her best to make him climax.

With a loud groan from the man, she finally achieves her goal. She quickly moves back, letting his cock pop out of her mouth. With closed eyes, Yujin takes his cum like a pro. He paints her face, coating her cheeks, nose and lips in his semen.

"You look amazing, unnie."

Wonyoung has to hold back a laugh after stopping the recording. She takes one last picture of her leader covered in cum for good measure, before deciding to head out.

"Have fun in here. Daddy promised to buy me lunch."

With a provocative wave of her hand, Wonyoung strides towards the exit.

Yujin lets out a weak groan as the man behind her closes his pants again. She's bent over the closed toilet, her ass at the perfect height for anyone who would come in.

The man who just came inside her ass is now putting the anal hook back into place. Yujin grimaces as she feels his cum getting pushed deeper into her guts and the cold metal stretches her out again.

Her assumption was right. After Wonyoung came by, a lot of people started to use her ass. By now, Yujin can't even count anymore how many men have used her throughout the day. Definitely more than twenty. Maybe fifty? Or more than that?

Her weak body has made her feel tired and exhausted. As she hears the door open again, just after the last man closed it, she just sighs in defeat. It's not like she didn't enjoy her punishment. In fact, she's still enjoying it. But a break once in a while would've been nice.

As you walk past the sink, you grab the almost empty bottle of lube. You hold your sign in the other hand, smiling as you check the back. You made a mark for every guy who paid you. You almost earned a month's salary within a day.

"Oppa?"

Yujin looks at you when you walk inside her stall.

"It's time to go home, the mall closes in half an hour."

"Is-Is my punishment over?"

Yujin has slid off the toilet seat and is now kneeling on the floor again.

"Almost."

"Are there still more people, who want to use me?"

She looks tired and worn out, but you catch the small glint in her eyes, when she think there are more men yet to come.

"Well, one to be exact."

Realization hits her immediately.

"You're going to use me too, oppa?"

A grateful smile makes its way onto her lips.

"Yeah."

You put down the sign and undo your belt.

"Why don't you get my cock wet first?"

"Yes, oppa."

Yujin quickly takes her place right in front of you. As soon as your pants hit the floor, her mouth closes around your length. Just like the dozens of times before today, Yujin's head bobs up and down on your cock. Her tongue pressed flat against your shaft, her lips forming an airtight seal.

"That's right."

You encourage her as you take a hold of her pigtails.

"This is all you're good for. Offering up your holes like a public slut."

Yujin moans with your cock in her mouth, sending vibrations through your body.

You soon take over, fucking her face like so many men before you today. The young woman's makeup is completely gone and there are still dried up drops of cum here and there.

Wanting to ruin her face even further, you eventually pull out. Yujin looks up at you, mouth still open. You use your cock to smear her own spit all over her face, making her close her eyes.

"Now you look perfect."

"Thank you, oppa."

Her voice sounds a little dry after getting her throat used so often today.

You reach for her collar and pull Yujin to her feet. She moans loudly, feeling the anal hook move inside her ass, stretching her out even more.

"You like it when people use your ass, don't you?"

Yujin weakly nods.

You finally unlock the lock that kept her in place. Pulling at her chain, you guide Yujin towards the sink.

"There we go. It's time for you to enjoy your reward."

Your calm voice had it's desired effect on Yujin. She looks at you through the mirror at the prospect of a reward.

"Which is my cock in your ass."

Yujin doesn't have time to protest. You start to pull the anal hook out of her hole, making her moan and groan once again.

She doesn't stay empty for long. It only takes you a moment to use up the rest of the remaining lube.

"Oh, god."

She sighs weakly as you fill her up completely with only one stroke. Burying yourself deep inside of her, you lean over her body, whispering in her ear.

"I hope you learned your lesson. If not, this will be the new way of spending your free weekends."

"Yes, oppa. I did."

Her reply is cut short as Yujin feels you moving inside of her.

You're amazed at how tight she still is. For how long was her ass totally filled? Probably longer than five hours or something. It still feels as good as if you just pushed into her for the very first time. The tight ring of her muscles grips onto your cock as you thrust into her again and again.

Yujin can't do anything but look at herself through the mirror as her ass takes one last pounding. She's relieved that the day is finally over, that she can rest soon. And yet, she can't help but beg you to fuck her harder.

"Please, oppa. Give it to me hard. One last time."

You hold onto her waist, increasing your pace as you start to properly ruin Yujin's asshole.

She can feel your cock drag along her walls. How your tip reaches the deepest of places, how your hands dig into her flesh.

"Oppa..."

A small, almost lazy, orgasm washes over her.

Yujin doesn't even have enough energy to support her upper body anymore. She's is just lying on top of the sink, enjoying how you use her body for your own pleasure.

"Fuck, Yujin. I'm gonna fill you up."

"Yes, oppa."

Yujin looks at you through the mirror.

"Cum in my ass."

Her weak voice almost tempts you to grab her pigtails and properly ruin her one last time. But you acknowledge that she must be completely dead inside.

You enjoy her tight warmth for a little longer, until you can't hold it back anymore. Leaning over her again, you rest your head on her shoulder. Being buried deep inside her ass, you finally cum, filling her completely.

"Damn, your body is amazing, Yujin."

You don't get answer. Looking through the mirror, you make sure she didn't just fall asleep.

"How many?"

Her voice is barely above a whisper, when she finally speaks up.

"What?"

"How many men used me today?"

You plant a kiss on the back of her head.

"63."

---------

Hi, everyone!

The first story of December is here. I hope you enjoyed the read, there are four more fics to come. The length and quality of the next stories will increase (I hope) so that we have one big final for the last story.

Stay healthy!

[pixxlotl]

Going with the "Grian is the one who designed this game as opposed to the others" headcanon, it makes you think about the superpowers he gave his friends, how they were all laughing and having fun in the beginning, and that was intentional. It goes to show that even when forced to design the death game his friends are put through (a punishment for trying to usurp the Watchers time and time again), he still cares. They all know he's the one who designed this game, and he hopes they realize the little mercies he's giving them.

He gives Cleo the power to bring people back from the dead, just so he can have a chance to see his best friend again.

He gives Pearl the power to fly, and hopes she appreciates having her wings back, if only for a short time.

Jimmy gets to go invisible because Grian knows the Watchers aren't happy with the curse being broken. He wants to protect him.

As for Martyn? Grian doesn't really know a lot about what's going on with him and the Listeners, but he might as well try to strengthen that connection in the little ways he can without arising suspicion.

He says it himself in the beginning, "let's not forget this is a PVP series," but it sounds hollow even to his own ears. It's pandering to the watching eyes, making them think the lighthearted fun is all unintentional.

He falls out of the sky with the wings he gave to Pearl, and he wonders if the Watchers are starting to catch on.

[janeyseymour]

Drunk Actions, Sober Thoughts

Summary: Janine's end of the school year party gets a little out of hand- handsy.

WC: ~3.2k

You’ve been a teacher at Abbott Elementary for a few years now, teaching alongside Gregory Eddie as a first grade teacher. And because you’re grade-level partners with one of the  more infamous teachers at the school, you become friends with that group- the group of teachers who tend to be a bit more outspoken and have more of an in with the, at times inconsistent and slightly ridiculous, principal.

You weren’t always a part of that group, but after a couple of months, they began to welcome you with open arms. The one teacher that took you under her wing the most was none other than South Philly Princess Melissa Schemmenti. The rough and tough, often hard to read, leather jacket and eyeliner wearing badass of the school grew close to you quickly once you showed her that you were here to stay.

You don’t even really understand why she took to you the way that she did, but you aren’t complaining. It’s much better to be on her good side rather than her bad side. Although, you would dare to say that she doesn’t have a bad side; she always looks phenomenal.

Because you have this in with the iconic group of Abbott Elementary, you manage to get yourself an invitation to the “party of the century” as Janine Teagues is putting it.

“You’re going, right?” Melissa asks you at lunch.

You chuckle. “Of course I’m going.” Then you lean in closer to her and Barbara. “If only to watch those two-“ You point to Janine and Gregory flirting. “-finally get their shit together.”

Barbara smirks knowingly. “I have a feeling they will.”

“One can only hope,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “They need to get their heads out of their asses and just fuck already.”

“Melissa!” the kindergarten teacher scolds as she smacks her friend’s hand.

The redhead can only shrug. She stands by what she uttered.

You just nudge the woman beside you before closing up your container and standing. “And on that note,” you laugh. “I actually do have some final things I have to finish up in the classroom, so I’ll see you all tonight.”

You leave with a small wave and a smile, and as you turn to go, Melissa’s eyes don’t leave your body.

“Girl,” Barbara’s deep voice pulls the redhead out of her trance. “You got it bad for her.”

Green eyes are rolled so hard that the kindergarten teacher is shocked they don’t get stuck that way. “I do not.”

“I have a feeling Gregory and Janine aren’t going to be the only ones who get it together tonight,” is all the kindergarten teacher mutters to her best friend.

“Oh please,” Melissa groans. “And even if I did have a thing for her, which I do not, it’d never happen. Ain’t no way a young thing like that would want… this.”

Barbara almost quips about how she’s caught you hanging onto every word that Melissa says, how your eyes rarely leave her figure when she isn’t looking, how you tend to follow her around like a lost puppy dog. But she doesn’t. Instead, Barb just shrugs.

The two older women of the friend group show up to Janine’s house an hour early to help get the place in order. And oh is it a good thing they did, at least that’s what they think. In reality, the second grade teacher had planned for that- the life of poor Janine. But they manage to get the small apartment ready in time for the party to begin.

And quietly, Barbara Howard tells herself that she’s going to play matchmaker. She’ll get Gregory and Janine together as much as possible, and she’s also going to attempt to get you and her work wife to finally see what’s going on between the two of you.

A drunk Melissa tends to be a more confident (not that she could get much more confident than she already is) and affectionate person than a sober Melissa. But in order for the redhead to get to that place of feeling good, Land Barbara knows that she’s going to have to let Sea Barbara out of her cage. So right as guests begin to arrive, the kindergarten teacher pours two shots and hands one to her work wife. The two take them in tandem, and then Barbara is mixing up two cocktails- strong cocktails.

“Jesus, Barb,” the second grade teacher grimaces as she wipes the little droplet that dribbled down her chin. “Are you tryin’ to get Sea Barbara to come out?”

The kindergarten teacher just gives an innocent smile, points to the cup, and takes another large swig of her own drink. Melissa follows. 

By the time that you show to the little apartment, the party is in full swing. Janine lets you in with a smile, Gregory by her side. You give your grade-level partner a curious look, but he shakes his head subtly.

“Come in! Come in!” the second grade teacher is all grins. “The- the party got a little hectic, and not everyone is in their assigned places, but… it’s a party!”

You just chuckle and thank Janine for hosting as you step inside. Your eyes scan the place, and in the center of the dance floor is that vibrant red hair that you were hoping to see. She’s… wow. And Barbara is right next to her dancing with a cardboard cutout of… why is Barbara dancing with a cardboard cutout of Allen Iverson?

Despite your confusion about what is taking place in the center of the room, you make your way over.

“Hey, hey,” you yell over the loud music.

“Oh my God!” Melissa yells as she practically throws herself at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Had dinner with my mom,” you chuckle as you hold her in your arms. Wow. She gives good hugs. And despite the fact that she’s very hot from dancing in such a small space, she smells incredible. “But I’m here now!”

“Yes you are!” Green eyes scan over your outfit, and you can’t help but notice the way that her gaze lingers on the deep neckline of your shirt. “Wow. You look incredible!”

The lights are dim enough that the redhead hopefully can’t see the blush that creeps into your cheeks. You thank God for that one.

“Barb!” Melissa taps her friend. “Look! My girl finally made it!”

Her girl? You hope that your surprise at that title doesn’t show on your face. You just smile and wave to the kindergarten teacher who already seems to be quite inebriated.

“We gotta get you a drink!” the second grade teacher grins. She’s pulling you off towards the drink section before you can even figure out what’s happening.

“Here,” Melissa pours you a rum and coke and shoves it into your hand before you can politely decline the offer.

“Oh,” you chuckle softly. “I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight… have breakfast with my dad tomorrow morning, and don’t wanna show up too hungover.”

The redhead nods along before reaching for the solo cup and taking a sip of her own concoction. She screws her eyes shut tightly as she swallows. “Damn, I made that strong.”

You roll your eyes before taking the beverage back into your hand and taking a small sip. “Oh my…” you suck in a breath. “Wow, Mel.”

She shrugs with a smile before taking you back into the center of the party. The crowd is mostly people you know, but there are a few unfamiliar faces, or faces that maybe you weren’t quite expecting to be here.

After you ask who one person is, you find yourself being tugged alongside Melissa as she introduces you to those that you aren’t very aware of who they are. It’s hard for you to focus though, because the redhead keeps a warm hand on the small of your back almost the entire time, and whenever someone gets a bit too close to you for her liking, Melissa pulls you flush against her. Each time she does that, her grip gets just the slightest bit tighter on you. It really wouldn’t take that much more to just… lean over and kiss her cheek, or have her kiss yours. You find yourself wishing that’s what would happen, but it never does.

It also catches your attention that she almost always introduces you to everyone as ‘her girl’. You hate to admit it, but you practically glow each and every time she calls you that. You hope you aren’t being too obvious in your feelings for the redhead beside you. Even if you are though, you’re fairly certain that you’re the only relatively sober one here, and then woman clinging to you is beyond hammered at this point.

“My girl,” Melissa nearly purrs as she takes a sip from the red cup that you’ve been carrying around for her. “Thanks for holding my drink, babe.”

“Babe?” you raise your brow with a laugh.

The redhead just shrugs with a grin and shoots you a wink. She finishes it off, sets the cup on the counter, and then she’s pulling you back into the center of the party- the dance floor.

Her hands are all over your body as you dance. They find their way to your back, your hips, and then you feel a hand slip into the back pocket of your jeans as she pulls you closer.

“Mel,” you gasp out in surprise.

She pulls her hand out of your pocket immediately. “Sorry, I- sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be,” you smile at her. If she’s going to touch you, now is the time. She won’t remember it tomorrow, and it’s not like this will ever happen again. “I know I have a great ass, and the only person I would want touching it is you.” You delicately take her hand and put it back where it was.

Melissa’s perfectly drawn on brows creep up her forehead ever so slightly before she resumes her dancing.

From a few paces over, Barbara clocks that act, and she shoots the cameraman an impressed look before going back to dancing with a cardboard Allen Iverson. 

All good things must come to an end, and after about an hour of having the woman of your dreams pressed up against you tightly, practically grinding on you with her hand in your back pocket and squeezing gently from time to time, the party begins to die out. People begin to say their goodbyes, Janine is starting to clean things up, and you see that it’s probably your cue to start heading home for the night. You glance at the clock on the wall, and it’s nearing two in the morning.

The redhead still right by your side, holding onto your arm, whines slightly when the music goes off. She doesn’t extract her hand from your pocket though.

“I think it’s about time we start heading out,” you chuckle gently.

“But I’m having a great time,” Melissa mumbles against your neck.

Your cheeks once again heat up at feeling her hot breath against your skin. Still, you shake your head, and you glance over to Barbara who is attempting to find her shoes that she discarded long ago.

“Barb, how are you getting home?”

“Oh I called Gerald,” the kindergarten teacher promises you.

“Can I hitch a ride?” Melissa asks her work wife. “I don’ wanna get into an Uber like this.”

Barbara, who would usually always take her best friend home, shakes her head though. “Melissa, I am exhausted, and I need to get to bed. I’m sure Y/N will take you home though, right dear?”

You nod. “Yeah, I can take Mel back,” you smile. “Not a problem at all.”

The redhead, in her drunken state, just grins and kisses your cheek before sticking her tongue out at her work wife. “Hear that, Barbie? I don’ need you to give me a ride- not when I have my girl here with me.”

The lights of course turn on before the blush dissipates from your cheeks, and there’s a small stain of where Melissa had kissed your cheek.

“Alright, Mel, let’s start heading out, yeah?” you chuckle softly.

Her hand only leaves your back pocket briefly to hug Barb goodbye, and then it’s slipped right back to where it’s been for the last hour. “You ready to take me home?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Let’s go, hun.”

You get her to your car, and then when she struggles with the buckle, you can’t help the slight giggle that escapes your lips. She turns to you with a pout.

“Oh, don’t do that,” you laugh softly. With ease, you clip the seatbelt. “Alright, Mel. You gotta direct me.”

She gets you back to her house with ease, although you can’t help but be the slightest bit distracted because while her hand isn’t resting in your back pocket anymore, it’s sitting on your knee and every once in a while glides up to your thigh. Her thumb rubs circles on your jeans warmly, and you can feel her gaze on you.

You pull in to her driveway and smile at her softly.

“I don’t want tonight to end,” Melissa sighs quietly. “Would you want to come in?”

Silently, you turn the key to turn your car off and climb out. You’re at her side a few seconds later, opening the door and holding out a hand to help her out of the car.

The two of you walk up to her house hand in hand, and then Melissa is pulling her keys from her purse. She fumbles with the lock for a few seconds, and then when she pulls the keys out of the lock, she drops them. 

You lean down to pick them up, and when you stand back up, her lips are on your own. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to your body, but the second it does, you’re kissing her back. It’s only a few seconds, but it’s everything you could’ve imagined and more. But you know she’s nowhere near sober.

“Melissa,” you whisper.

Her hand cups your cheek and pulls you in again. You can taste the rum that she was drinking earlier on in the night, but you can’t find yourself to care. Despite the fact that your brain is screaming at you to stop kissing a drunk Melissa, you can’t stop. 

She pushes the door open, and before you know it, you’re pinned up against the wall, and her lips are hungrily on your neck, teeth just barely grazing your collarbone. Her hands and wandering all over your body.

When you realize that she isn’t going to stop any time soon, you know you have to put your foot down. You’re not about to cross a boundary- not when she’s absolutely hammered.

“Mel, you gotta-” You sigh softly. “You gotta stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she whines.

You pull her face away from your chest gently. “And I don’t want you to, but… you’re not in the right state of mind.”

“I’m in the perfect state of mind,” the redhead tells you. “I- I want you.”

“Not like this,” you tell her firmly. “Not when you’re hammered out of your mind. I’m not going to take advantage of you like this.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she continues to try to convince you to keep going.

You shake your head. “Mel, I- I care about you a lot. I don’t want you making a mistake that you aren’t going to want to face tomorrow.”

“It ain’t a mistake,” she tells you. “I been into you since you started workin’ at Abbott. Just didn’t think you’d be into this.”

“Oh, I am,” you chuckle, and you feel the red in your ears, your cheeks, and your chest. “But I think that maybe we should talk about this later… not while you’re drunk.”

“Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts,” Melissa tells you.

You roll your eyes. “I know, hun. I know. But I- I think we need to have a real conversation about this tomorrow.”

“Fine,” the redhead pouts. “But I still don’t want this night to end.”

You smile at her softly. “Why don’t we just hang out then?”

She nods against you, and she pulls you up to her bedroom.

“Melissa.”

“Not for that,” she waves you off. “Just want to change, figured you would want to change too.” She throws a tee and shorts your way.

You make your way to the bathroom and change before knocking on the bedroom door before entering. When you walk in, Melissa is propped up in her bed and scrolling on her phone.

You sit next to her, and your coworker rolls her eyes. “You don’t gotta be so stiff. I ain’t gonna try nothin’ right now. Just want to relax.”

You sigh softly, but you move slightly closer to her. You set your alarm just in case you end up falling asleep here, and then you set your phone down.

“I really do like you, you know. I don’t just want sex from you,” Melissa tells you. “Just needed some liquid courage.”

“I believe you,” you yawn out quietly. “Just don’t want you making a decision while you’re in this state.”

“See, and that’s what I love about you,” the redhead sets her phone down, takes her glasses off, and lays herself down. “You’re you- warm, sweet, considerate, caring… stunning to look at.”

“Get some sleep,” you chuckle softly.

Melissa yawns. “Don’t go tonight though.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “But I do have to slip out early tomorrow morning to meet my dad, so please don’t be concerned if I have to leave before you wake up.”

“I won’t,” your coworker says sleepily. Her eyes close, and she’s sound asleep within minutes.

The next morning, you wake up before your alarm. Your body is practically underneath Melissa- her arms are wound around your waist tightly, her head rests on your chest, and there’s a smile on her lips as she sleeps. It’s hard to tell where her body ends and yours begins.

You shimmy slightly just to turn off your alarm so it doesn’t wake her. Gently, so gently, you untangle yourself from her and slip out of the bed. You gather your things as quietly as you can, and you somehow manage to make your way out of the bedroom without waking her.

Once you’re in the living room, you manage to find a pad and pencil and write her a short, but sweet, note.

I had to slip out to meet my dad for breakfast, but I’ll come by after. We can talk then, because I really do want to talk about the things that happened last night. 

You sign your name with a scrawled out heart, and then you exit the house, mind swirling with what journey you could possibly be embarking on with the redhead of your dreams if she was serious about the things she said last night. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[cherubcameron]

Rafe frowned as he watched you read your book on the golf cart, Topper and Kelce surrounded him like always. But your eyes, the person he really wanted attention from, was glued to your book.

You did this every time.

Well, Kelce was attempting to score a ball into the hole, Rafe approached you.

“Hey, hey.” Rafe said, his jaw clenched. “Babe, baby.”

You took your wireless pink headphone out of your ear. Your brown bambi like eyes staring at his cerulean ones.

“Yeah?” You say, nonchalantly.

“You’re supposed to be watching me play.” Rafe says, through clenched teeth.

“But..golf is boring…” You say, your face scrunching up. “Plus, I’m only a chapter away from finishing this book and—

“You can’t bother to be interested in what I’m interested in?” Rafe said, coldly.

Your eyes droop in annoyance, “Don’t start Rafe.”

“Don’t start? Don’t start, you don’t start. Put it away.” He attempts to grab at your book, but you push it out of his grasp.

“Bro! You missed it! I made it in!” Kelce yelled, from a few feet away.

“Hold on!” Rafe calls out, “Baby, please. I just need—

You grin at him, “Go on…”

Rafe eyes you, they begin to wander around. “I just need your attention baby. Please. Don’t make me beg.”

You giggle at him, you actually giggle at him. Rafe scowls.

“Hmm, nah I’m good. Golf is boring.” Rafe closes his eyes and lets out a breath. He can tell from your face; you’re enjoying this.

“Baby, I swear to god—

“Okay, okay, fine.” You close your book, extending your arm so he can help you off of the golf cart. He does so but once you’re down, he pulls you close to his chest.

“Listen to me. When I say something the first time, yeah?” He says.

“Someone’s just agitated they didn’t get their attention on a silver platter.” You caress his cheek, “Poor baby.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute. And that you’re my girlfriend. Come on, I wanna show you how better I am than those two losers.” Rafe says, dragging you towards Topper and Kelce.

[mr2swap]

Swap syndrome 2: armpit addiction.

-damn heat… -

The time on my cell phone showed 2:05, the idiot Travis had made me wait but in a way that made me happy I would have to charge him $50 more for being late.

Today was a very fucking day at the gym, it was so hot that I had to change my shirt, but still the rancid aroma of sweat coming from my hairy armpits filled the interior with my car, I was in the same parking lot of the gym where it is only A couple of minutes had left a huge sweat stain on the floor.

But despite everything I loved my new life, after the great shift and finding myself in this boy's hot and muscular body, from the beginning I knew this was a good thing, when I woke up in Travis's bedroom and looked down to see two juicy pecs, a sculpted six-pack and long, hairy legs, the first thing I did was take out my huge cock that was hidden among a leafy bush of hair and give myself the best handjob of my entire life.

It had been a little over a year since that moment, I quickly got used to Travis' life, kept his muscles big and strong and all thanks to his tiny YouTube channel where he showed all his exercise routines, but that was all wasted talent for Travis' glorious, beautiful body.

I no longer had my college degree or anyone to turn to, yet I was able to easily make money from all these fags, who wanted to sleep with me and this body.

Still not in the same city where I used to live, I watched the news and learned everything that had been happening in the world and that the real Travis was out there in my tired, flabby 40-year-old office worker body.

A tapping on my car window brought me out of my thoughts, it was the real Travis I grimaced in disgust as I looked at my old face once more in front of me, I looked at the time on my phone once more, and now it was 2:07 that now meant $70.

The door of my car and Travis jumped inside it, his first action was to completely inhale the disgusting smell inside the car, after that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, After that he lunged at me trying to reach my armpits, but in one movement I moved his old, ugly face away from me.

-You know the rules Travis, first I want the bills-

He extended one of my hands while he took out his wallet and extended a small wad of cash. In one quick movement, I snatched the bills from him and began to count them one by one while a nervous expression formed on the real Travis's face.

-Are you fucking with me? Only $500? -

There was nothing left of the old confident Travis, the confident, outgoing boy had disappeared, in his place there was only a perverted faggot who paid me for a few minutes of my attention due to swap syndrome. When we swapped our bodies, I thought I would get rid of him to always, but this pathetic middle-aged man was clinging to me like a leech trying to get close to me with his twisted homosexual intentions. I didn't really care what he did with my old body, but I thought I could make some money a month by squeezing every penny of this situation.

-Please! Just, just 5 minutes! I had to pay this month's rent and my landlord told me that if I was late another month he would throw me out on the street.-

I rolled my eyes as Travis the bitch kept giving me stupid excuses about how hard it was to find a good job now that he was a middle-aged man and he was tired all the time from working so much.

-Okay, just shut your fucking mouth.-

I put my hand on his head and pushed him into one of my hairy pits and choked his nose with the sour sweat that was collecting in my armpits. The initial struggle quickly turned into pleasure, I could feel Tyler's breathing slow. He shook until he filled his lungs, his mouth savored the curly hairs of my armpit and sucked up the small drops of sweat with his dirty tongue as if he had crossed a desert.

Tyler's small hands slid to his crotch and he began to frantically massage his cock over his pants, occasionally Tyler would move away from my armpit to get some air and lick my muscular arms with his disgusting sticky tongue, I watched as they passed minutes on my cell phone and before 5 minutes had passed, Tyler's small wrinkled cock soiled his pants with semen.

I pushed Tyler away and a satisfied smile formed on Tyler's face, his chest rising and falling as he tried to recover from the addictive experience he had just experienced, a few hairs from my armpit had stuck to his face and a stain of sweat had formed on the collar of his shirt.

I didn't have time for this, this experience had made me horny, I wanted to unload the enormous amount of cum that wanted to escape from my huge hairy balls, but the disgusting man next to me was not worthy of this...nor did I have another $500

I extended one of my long, muscular arms and opened the door of my luxurious sports car.

-Now get out bitch, see you next week-

As soon as I clean every trace of Tyler from my car, I'll call some of my girls, so I can fill their pussies with my beautiful, hot seed.

This is a second installment of the swap syndrome story, but the only thing they share in common is the same syndrome that is spreading among those affected by the great shift, you can see more by visiting my Ko-fi page:

Hello, if you liked this story, and you want more, you can take a look at my new Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

[d3vdgvrlll]

trauma ig

@gorelvr and anyone else who wanted it

i’ll start from the begining because it’s the one thing that will make my story similar to others. it will have a begining and an end just like anyone else’s. i have been sexually abused since i was seven years old. my cousin joe (obv not his real name i was in israel at the time) he was considerably older than me. 13, not too bad, but at the time it felt like a worlds difference. it didn’t start slowly, not at all, and pieces of it i don’t even remember. i do remember closets tho. it wasn’t just an rape either. he wanted me to like it- either that or he was just sadistic. he would make me smile and beg for it, make me please him as a lover, told me it was right since i was his blood. in fact, he would draw this blood quite often. he would pinch me, beat me, cut me, anything to make me cry, because he had a rule. if i cried, he could come back to use me again. he would do anything to draw out a mere sound of discomfort, anything, any excuse so that he could come into my room at night and violate me. he called me his wife. he called me his girl. and in my native tongue i had to tell him i loved him as well. when i was 9, after two years of this, with no one believing me (and if you ask how it’s possible, youve clearly never heard of arabic jewish culture-) i move to america. i lived in chicago, and suddenly, i was a normal girl. sure, i couldn’t speak english but i was clean. no longer dirty. i was far away from joe and i thought maybe id be far from the pain too. i was far from the bombs that rang in my ears as i walked home, the desolate shelters littered around playgrounds, the constant whisper of “you are never safe” far behind me. i was ahead of everyone else, and when i heard that another one of my childhood friends died of an attack, it didn’t feel better, but at least it wasn’t me. at least it wasn’t me.

this is where i met a friend named lucie. she was the first female friend id ever had. my wonderful grandma, who was like a second mother to me (at the time when she was alive my mother was still kind, the lines on her face less pronounced, her words filled with less poison) signed me up for swimming classes with lucie. after swimming class, me and lucie would shower together. it’s started off because i had conditioner that she needed for her blond hair, conditioner that i was willing to give up to her because she was so much whiter than me, so much purer. she then asked me for favors. to touch her. she’s press me against the wall and kiss me, and when i resisted, she wouldn’t even react. she asked me for more. she said “if you do it well this time, you won’t have to do it again.” and “kiss me for longer this time, you only did two seconds, you promised ten” and each request, no matter how hard it was for me to do, was done. and each time, there came another. no matter how much she promised it’d be the last one, there was always more. i couldn’t get away from it. i was trapped. i was scared, and i wanted her to be my friend. she taught me that if u don’t give people ur body, they won’t stay. she taught me that im worthless besides what i can offer to others. she taught me everything i know and live by, and then she left anyways .

seventh grade- i had a very nice science teacher. i was doing very well in his class. his name i really cannot say because he is still teaching at the school in illinois, and no one has believed me, no matter what i insist happened. we were doing a bridge project. i was failing, because my grandma was dying. she was dying, and she was my everything. watching her- it was the hardest thing i’d ever done. but i couldn’t avert my eyes because it felt sinful. it felt wrong to look away because it was hard to watch- she was my grandma after all, the one who raised me, loved me, showed me the good in the world. so i watched. i watched and stayed with her and read her books she couldn’t hear me reciting while she lay in her hospice bed barely breathing. i wrote down the stories she told me through her tubes, and i tried to imagine that the wires connected to her were flowers instead, that she was somewhere were her grimace was rlly a smile. she stayed alive until my birthday, my 12th birthday, because she didn’t want to ruin it. she stayed alive, in pain, riddled with so much terror, to see me turn 12. one day, i walked into her room and spoke to her, and watching her eyes try to open, her oxygen intake spike up, her stiff limbs try to reach me- it killed me. i love her and always will. it feels awful to group her with this awful man- my science teacher, but in this story they do go together, unlike in real life where my grandma was such a big and powerful woman she always stood alone. or with me. i digress, the man- let’s call him Mr.P- he failed me. i was excelling- frankly, because im very smart and quite good with physics and such, but he still failed me. (shortly after this whole ordeal i was neurologically tested and i have an IQ of 156). i walked into his class one day, and all i can remember is him smiling, saying that he would give me an oppurtunity for extra credit, but that it had to be secret- you can tell where this is going. i had already learned from lucie that nothing is good abt me besides my body, and so when he took mine, the second person to- i could just sit and cry. at least this man let me cry- at least this one didn’t kill my hair to get a reaction, with the promise of hurting me more the less i liked it. i don’t remember much besides my face being pressed against vents on the side of the classroom. i would “wake up” (ptsd) with blood between my thighs, and cuts on my face from the metal on the vents, because of how hard he shoved my face in them. he had a daughter- she was 6 at the time. when i graduated, he told me he’d do the same to her. that was the first time i cut myself. because i knew i couldn’t stop him. i knew that i couldn’t do anything. i knew that what lucid taught me was wrong. my body wasn’t even special- it wasn’t even “worth it”, it was just available.

i moved all over the US, living in austin, chicago, colorado, and florida for the longest times. chicago was my home though, and i know the city like the back of my hand. this is not something many people can say, but i survived being homeless in chicago during the polar vortex. for those who don’t know, the polar vortex is a phenomena that happens every year. winds from the arctic pass through canada and end up in the midwest, chilling the air to roughly -58 degrees F or lower. after my grandma died, my mother became mean. angry. she scared me. she hit me. it’s too much to get into and frankly, i live with her and my dad now and i feel odd talking abt it. it’s my current reality as well, but what i learned from them is that words mean nothing. so i wont spend them here. after a week of being homeless and running to and from school, living in an underpass, someone started walking “home” with me. his name was pat. this is the man i often reference in posts. he was my best friend, not at this time tho. we walked home together for weeks, not speaking a word to each other, until one day i caught an awful case of pneumonia, the second time id fallen ill with it in the month. this time, i couldn’t walk, stand, breathe, or talk. i was passed out when he found me, at least that’s what he told me. he said he carried me to his friends house and that’s were they saved me. his friends name was biscuit, and biscuit ended up being a huge drug dealer. he kept me in his attic- it had a hole in the roof but it was better than dying in the cold. i had already lost my left foot to frostbite- i still can’t feel it but i can walk on it now, which is better than before. in the attic, and idk much abt it because rlly the memory is so hazy- sometimes i wake up in a cold sweat bc im back there, and sometimes idk if im dreaming or if its real- but rlly truly i dont know for sure what happened. all i know is that biscuit used to bring his friends up there, while i was healing (they put tons of drugs in me idek what they used to help me get better but im pretty sure it was a combo of depressants and steroids)- they would pass me around. i just get hazes- visions sort of. i dont even remember. i remeber the feeling of their hands tho, and suddenly feeling a lot colder, feeling the wind on my bare skin. i remember waking up with wind rash and scabs from cigarette burns. i don’t remeber enough o accuse anyone of anything though, so i didn’t mention it to pat. in my head, he didn’t even know. i was wrong ofcourse- he knew. he always knew.

when we got better and went back to our respective homes, we stayed very close. we formed a trauma bond. codependcy. it was wonderful while it lasted, but soon, he started to fall for me. he never raped me, but he did other things. i don’t care to specify at the moment because i fear ive already gone into prolific detail about things i never wanted to think about again. truthfully, i love pat. i do. i hold no hatred towards him, and i really don’t like to talk about all the bad things he did to me, because he was my sweet boy. i never loved him like that- he was just my best friend, but when i speak about him people don’t seem to understand. he understood me, and it’s just. hard to talk about because there’s so much to say. i can’t write it all down in this small part of a bigger story because i have so much to say about him that i’d rather just give it out in pieces. if you see something tagged with #pat or #i miss him, it’s probably about him.

idk what else to say. i’ve been manipulated many times since. used, beat, thrown away. at least pat had the decency to lie to me about it while he did. i’ve never been anyone’s first choice, and i’ve never felt as loved as i did when i had him. he was my best friend, and while this story isn’t about him, it’s hardly about me either. long story short, people used me because they could. i was available. i was around. i used to feel like a victim until i realized im just not special enough to be that. im not special enough to be anything to anyone, and my body wasn’t even “chosen” to be used because its me, it was just convenience. idk. that’s as much as im willing to share. there’s more but - for now this is enough.

[n0vazsq]

Enough for now | Hector Fort x Reader

pairing . . . hector fort x gf!reader

summary . . . After a fight between you and Hector, he gets the silent treatment

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.1k+

warnings . . . angsttttttt!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . wrote this in a rush bc im watching the f1/f2 qatar sprint race but i hope yall like it!!

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . Hector had been distant for days now, his silence heavy in the space between you both. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that brought peace. It was suffocating, the kind of silence that left you questioning everything.

You had tried, tried to reach out, to comfort him, but every attempt felt like you were talking to a wall. Each message, each question left unanswered. He refused to open up, and you were left standing there, not knowing where you stood.

It all started with an argument. The first time you really snapped at each other. You had asked him what was wrong, tried to break through the walls he’d been building around himself. But instead of letting you in, he had pushed you away.

"Why can’t you just leave me alone?" he’d shouted, his voice laced with frustration. "I don’t need you hovering around me, okay? I don’t need anyone."

You stood frozen in place, the words stinging like a slap. All you wanted was to help. All you ever wanted was to be there for him, but somewhere along the way, it seemed you’d become a distraction. The hurt was almost unbearable, but you didn’t say anything back. You just stood there, silent, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

The silence that followed the argument stretched on for days. You didn’t speak to him, and he didn’t speak to you. Each day felt longer than the last. It was as if the space between you was growing, widening like a gap that neither of you knew how to bridge.

You tried to give him space, to let him deal with whatever was bothering him. But it felt like you were suffocating in your own apartment, walking on glass every time you moved.

It wasn’t until the fourth day of complete silence that you realized something. Hector was stubborn, always had been. But it wasn’t just his ego keeping him silent. There was something more. Something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite figure out. Something that felt like regret, but too egotistical to show it.

You sat by your phone, your thumb hovering over his name in the contact list. You wanted to text him, to ask if he was okay, to break the silence. But each time you tried, you stopped yourself. Was it really okay to keep chasing someone who had made it clear they needed space?

You wanted him to come to you, to speak, to show that he cared. You wanted to feel like you mattered enough for him to break the silence.

But he didn’t.

Days turned into a week. You stopped looking for messages that weren’t coming, stopped hoping for an apology that seemed more distant with each passing day. It hurt to admit it, but the silence was beginning to take its toll. You had stopped reaching out, letting the walls between you both build higher and higher.

The world outside felt like it was moving on while you stayed stuck in this state, unable to move forward. And yet, you knew you couldn’t go on like this. Something had to give. You needed closure, or you needed a way to fix this, to make it better.

But when he finally walked through the door after a long week, your heart froze.

His eyes were tired, his posture hunched as if the weight of his own guilt was pressing down on him. Hector opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

You stood across from each other, the distance between you two more suffocating than ever. You knew what he wanted to say, but you also knew how hard it would be for him to say it.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he whispered, his voice raw, like the words had been trapped in his throat for days. "I was… I was just angry. I didn’t know how to handle everything, and I lashed out. I’m sorry. Just please, talk to me. I miss you."

The apology hung in the air, floating between you both, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

You looked at him, the ache in your chest threatening to destory the walls you’d built to protect yourself. The anger you’d felt before had faded, but the hurt was still there. The silence was still there, pressing down on you both, paining like you were pressing on a bruise.

You hesistated, not wanting to speak. But seeing the pleading look on Hector's eyes, the way he fidgeted with his hands, made you finally break.

"You shouldn’t have said that." you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to help you. I tried, Hector. But you just… pushed me away."

He stepped forward, slowly, as if afraid you might pull away. He reached for your hand, but you didn’t pull back. His touch was hesitant, unsure, like he was still afraid of making things worse.

"I don’t want to lose you," he said softly, his voice strained. "I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know how to deal with everything sometimes."

You stared at him, feeling the weight of the words, feeling the shift in the air. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed him until now. The silence had stretched on for so long that you’d almost convinced yourself you didn’t care anymore. But you did. You always had.

"I don’t want to lose you, either," you whispered back, the words heavy with everything you couldn’t say.

For a moment, neither of you moved. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next step. You didn’t know if you could just forgive him like that. But you also knew that there was no way to move forward without trying.

The distance between you two felt smaller now, but there was still a part of you that wasn’t sure. You weren’t sure whether this would be the beginning of healing or if the walls were still too high. But as Hector's hand rested against yours, you realized that the first step had been taken.

And that was enough. For now.

[seasprincess]

Hiiii!! Could you please do princess!reader x Rafe angst to comfort 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Kinda like a sofia at the country club moment, like princess overhears Rafe saying something about her that he didn’t mean? Maybe about her being overly clingy? Idk just a thought! Hope you’re doing well, happy 100!!

angst to fluff!!

“I don’t know man she’s just like clingy.” Rafe shrugs as he looks at Topper, sipping from the glass. His muscular hand coming to rub the back of his head as he adjusts in his seat.

He’s just gossiping with Topper. Honestly they do it more than you and your fiends. Talking about everything and nothing.

But what Rafe didn’t realise that the clingy girl in question was walking back. And that girl heard everything.

For the past few days Rafe’s words have been practically ringing in your ears as you lay in bed. Shutting yourself off from him as you go quiet.

At first Rafe thought you were in one of your moods. That’ll pass in a day and you’ll be right back with him.

But when you cancelled going shopping with him. He immediately knew something was wrong.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Rafe says, slightly pissed as your bedroom door swings open. He’s uninvited and unannounced. Typical for him.

One thing Rafe hates is him being ignored. He can’t stand it.

He can ignore people sure, but if someone ignores him. That’s a no.

“I did.” You say as you adjust the sleeves of your hoodie. And Rafe notices that. Not the fact you adjusted your hoodie, the fact that it’s your hoodie and not his.

He’s done something for sure. He knows that now.

“Well not answering my calls or messages seems like ignoring to me.” Rafe is snarky as he talks. He’s honestly more sassy than a teen girl most of the time. “So what have I done?”

You shrug. Not wanting to answer him. Not wanting to get into anything right now.

“Just felt clingy.”

Immediately a lightbulb lights up in Rafe’s head, realising what’s happened. Remembering which moment you went quite on him. That moment in the country club you came back and werent your normal self.

“This is about the country club isn’t it?” Rafe says as rubs his head, eyes watching you as you look away from him. You can’t make eye contact with him. Too worried that if you do the tears that are pricking at your eyes will fall.

Which of course they start to do. Slowly rolling down your face as you keep looking away from him. Not wanting to look at him as it would make it worse.

So you just continue hugging the pillow that rests in your lap.

“Princess come on.” Rafe sighs as he sits down on the bed in-front of you. Hand coming out to touch your thigh. Slowly he begins rubbing it with his thumb. Hes the one averting his gaze now as he looks off to the right.

He hates to see you cry, hates it even more when he’s the reason behind it.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was just stupid okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I was answering Toppers question. About why you like to cling on to my arm all the time.” Rafe’s eyes lock onto you. Wanting to make sure he’s not making this even worse than it already is. Like he usually does when he opens his mouth. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing alright?”

You look at him finally, listening to his words. Taking them in as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve.

“Really?”

“Yes. I like you by my side. Showing you off as my girl.”

Rafe’s hand comes to your cheek, thumb wiping away any of those excess tears as you sigh. Leaning against him.

Of course there was more to it. Of course you jumped to conclusions. You just felt bad, you just think the worst.

“Now we’re going shopping so get up.” He places a kiss on your head before helping you up.

[annwrites]

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part five. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: tragedy strikes when a plane crashes. john insists upon your relationship taking the next step. · tags: mothering kink, lactation kink · tw: possessiveness, codependency, attachment issues · word count: 3,742

One hundred and eighteen people are dead. In an instant. Just…gone. Fallen from the sky. Innocent people just trying to get from one place to another. Including a mother and her little girl. Teachers, families, couples…

It’s been everywhere today: on the news, social media, and on the lips of every person you pass in the halls at your college.

And you feel sick every time you think of the terror they must’ve felt. How…helpless they were as they probably clung to each other in those final moments, praying for someone—something—to save them…

You try to push it out of your mind, to the best of your ability, so you might make it through the rest of the day without bursting into a puddle of tears.

That evening, you pick idly at your dinner as you watch John on your flat screen.

Three minutes. If he’d been three minutes sooner, there at least would’ve been a chance at saving them.

And then you watch as he actually gets choked up—as tears stream from his bloodshot eyes—and your own chin wobbles in response.

Please, God, don’t let him blame himself.

He got there as quickly as he could.

While part of you hates him—is terrified of him—for the way he’s been treating you since first meeting a handful of days ago, you're sure he would’ve practically carried that plane to safety if it’d still been in the air when he arrived. He has every right to be angry. To be upset. Because countless lives have now been destroyed, and over a hundred taken through an act of evil—of terrorism.

At least they’re dead now, too.

You hope that if there is a hell—from whatever religion is it that they prescribed to—that they’re suffering in it.

You glance down to your barely-touched dinner, then rise to put it away.

Once you’ve brushed your teeth and are ready to lie down for the night, you glance to your balcony doors, and, most unexpectedly, fill with disappointment when you find the space to be empty.

Then, you quickly fill with guilt immediately after. How could you expect him to show up here after the day he’s had? You are the furthest thing from his metaphorical plate—from his mind.

The real world is calling now, and your time of being a distraction to him is over.

He’s gone, and he’s not—

Just as you step toward the doors to close your curtains is when he lands outside them, causing you to jump from fright.

And then tears quickly gather in your eyes as you turn the handle.

John turns around slowly, and he gently rests his hands on his hips while shrugging slightly. “I—”

He shakes his head and glances to his feet. “I tried. I really—if I’d gotten there sooner—”

You throw yourself against his chest and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you choke out between sobs.

You run your fingertips through his hair and bury your face in his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” you whisper. “There is nothing you could’ve done. This is not your fault.”

He slips an arm beneath your legs, and he carries you back inside.

John currently has one of your nipples in his mouth, and is gently sucking on it for comfort while you rub his head and keep blankets tucked tightly around him.

You turned quiet white noise on awhile ago to try and lull him to sleep, but every time you think he might be close to drifting off, he begins sucking again.

Such a strange arrangement this is tonight. And in general, really.

But you won’t tell him no in anything he needs to soothe himself. He’s been through utter hell today, and he came to you of all people to make it better. To hold and console him.

“Do you think they’ll do it?” You whisper.

He hums in curiosity.

“Let supes into the military,” you explain while resting a palm against the warm skin of his back.

He releases your breast from his mouth and swallows before replying, wishing you could lactate. He’d like that tonight. But he instead has to make do with what you have to offer.

At least he has the rest of you to do with as he pleases. Whether you like it or not.

And you’re even stupid enough to buy his sob story about being filled with immeasurable guilt over not being able to save the day. When, in reality, he doesn’t feel an ounce of it.

Because, really, it may just work out in the long-run for Vought, and get them exactly what Madelyn has been wanting for months on-end.

He smiles at the thought of her being pleased with him this time. She should’ve been for the last plane he brought down, but he set things right with those words he fed VNN just a handful of hours ago.

And now here he lies in your arms, while you coo over him like a loving mother.

He snuggles closer to you, feeling completely content for once.

He could get used to this. But only when he needs it—rather, wants it—of course. He can’t keep coming over here every night like he has been. Can’t come off as needy.

Even if he feels like he does need it: you, your attention, affection, and maternal comfort and love.

Finally, he replies. “It’d be ignorant as shit for them not to after what happened today, don’t you think? I mean, for the military to say that they’d rather have ordinary soldiers on the frontlines, as opposed to those who can survive a bullet or bombs…”

He shakes his head in indignation. “No different than today. Every day this country fails its people—people the government is supposed to be working for. Instead, they’re getting them killed needlessly. So, if us entering the military can save innocent lives, then I’m all for it.”

Your eyes flit between his while you gingerly cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your touch. “I know that physically, you can’t be hurt.”

You trail your fingertips up to his temple. “But what about in here?”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Sweetheart, you have already been through so much pain because of these people. Going to war…the things you’d see—”

“I can handle it,” he says, cutting you short.

You grow silent for a moment.

“Is this something you want, or something you’ve been told will happen to you if the people at Vought get their way? Meaning you have no true say.”

He’s not used to this: someone looking out for him. He’s not so stupid as to think that when Madelyn tells him that all she does is to protect him that she actually means it. She’s just…telling him what he wants to hear. But, because he’s so desperate for the attention…he’s willing to pathetically play along.

But with you, it isn’t a sick game. It’s honest. You are.

You ghost your fingertips over his lips, waiting for a response.

Until he decides that he doesn’t much feel up to trying at giving one.

So, instead, he takes your nipple into his mouth again, and he begins to suck.

You sigh quietly, but don’t push the subject. Instead, you gingerly cup the back of his head and begin to hum a nursery rhyme, so as to lull him, hopefully, to sleep.

When John wakes in the morning, it’s not in your arms, but he’s immediately comforted by the smell of eggs cooking and the sound of bacon sizzling on the stovetop across the room. And you hum along quietly to pop music, which plays softly on your little vintage countertop radio.

Sunlight streams through sheer gossamer curtains a few feet from the bed, and he’s practically swaddled in blankets, with plenty of soft pillows to keep him comfortable.

He really likes it here with you. It feels like…home. A home he’s never, in all his life—over forty years—had a chance to have. But this place is just that.

It’s well-decorated, cozy, clean, and warm. Charming. Idyllic, even. Honestly? You deserve an entire house, he thinks. He’d love to see what you’d come up with in turning it, gradually, into a home. Maybe into one for the both of you.

You playing the role of his perfect, dutiful little housewife…? He loves the idea. Fucking adores it. And it’s not like you could ever hope for better, anyway. What woman wouldn’t want such a life given to her by him of all men? Only an imbecile would refuse it.

Now, he has something to truly think about and consider. Given you continue behaving yourself for him—continue doing as he says, and being his well-behaved young lady…and playing mommy to him, which he needs most of all.

“This is nice,” John says after taking a bite of buttered toast, with a smile on his lips.

A smile that you return while gently brushing your foot against his beneath the table.

You’re still wary of him. You’re not so stupid not to be. To be wholly trusting and adoring toward him when you know what he’s capable of would just make you careless toward your own safety and well-being.

Maybe you are anyway.

But what choice do you have but to continue entertaining him like this? To continue…mothering him.

“I’m glad,” you say quietly before taking a drink of orange juice.

He leans back then, and you watch as he looks around your apartment, carefully taking in every feature and facet.

You shift nervously in your seat, wondering what he’s thinking—why he’s studying the space so intently all of a sudden.

And then his eyes meet yours again, and you merely look at him shyly from beneath your lashes while swallowing a forkful of cheesy scrambled eggs.

“I like it here,” he remarks. “It’s so…homey. You’re a good little homemaker.”

You flash him a toothy smile, and he genuinely returns it, enjoying the sight of you so happy.

You like being praised, he notes. You probably have no one to give you regular encouragement and approval. No one to give you attention.

He likes that you seemingly like having his. And certainly likes that his is the only that you have.

He doesn’t need to worry about someone else standing in his way—between the two of you. Between him and what now belongs to him. But, even if such a person existed…it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“Thank you,” you say while actually blushing. “I’ve worked really hard on it. It’s not much, but I’ve done my best with what little space and money that I have.”

He takes a sip of milk, then licks his lips. “I can tell. I do wonder, though…”

Your brows furrow when he begins to trail off. “What, baby?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. God, he really fucking loves when you call him that. He likes when you call him any pet name, in truth. Baby, sweetheart, sweetie… He wishes you’d call him more. Like, perhaps, your sweet baby boy—or your perfect little boy. Maybe, in time, you will.

He shrugs, then waves his hand, as if he’s trying to be nonchalant. When, in reality, he wants you to push him to tell you. Wants you to show interest in what is it that he has to say. Wants to know that what he thinks matters to you more than anything. Well, that he matters to you more than anything—not just what he thinks.

You gently set your fork down on your plate, then rest your hands in your lap. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

He glances to his right, to where your balcony doors lie. “Just wondering what you might think about my place at Seven Tower.”

You blanch momentarily as he looks back to you.

He’s about to segue into asking you to come see it, isn’t he? His apartment, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if he offers to give you a tour of the entire building, just as an opportunity to show off. Not just how he, most likely, knows the whole of the place like the back of his hand, but also so you can witness how everyone there probably bows and scrapes before him: the face of the Seven. The face of Vought. The face…of the entire country—of America.

You know he’s waiting for a specific response. An agreeable one. One that will please him.

“What’s it like?” You ask, feigning mild curiosity, even if you couldn’t care less.

It’s probably like every other corporate skyscraper: soulless and without character. Just a giant advertisement for their brand. A monument to their greed.

He takes a bite of his bacon and chews thoughtfully for a moment before answering. “Guess you’ll just have to come and see for yourself to find out.”

You proceed to stare at him in response to his, admittedly, predictable answer.

You refrain from shifting in your seat, so as to prevent him from bearing witness one of your ‘tells’ for when you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh. W-when?”

You grab your glass of orange juice and hold it between your hands to try and keep them steady—to prevent them from shaking from nerves.

“How about today?” He replies, taking another bite of his eggs.

You grip the glass more tightly. “How? I mean—”

“I can fly you up. We’ll just go in through the roof. No need to bother with metal detectors and what-not.”

You nod slowly.

At least you won’t have to worry, then, about crowds and people snapping pictures of you on their cellphones. That is the very last thing you desire: obnoxious notoriety, and to have yourself splashed across the cover of a supermarket tabloid with a question in bold print asking who Homelander’s new girl is.

And there’s still Emma.

Emma, who you’ve been…somewhat avoiding as of late, strictly from guilt. Guilt that you’re lying to her by omission. Omitting the fact that you’re carrying on with Homelander, for lack of a better term, that is.

If she ever finds out, her heart will break in two. You’re dealing with enough right now, such as the man who sits before you. Adding the loss of your best friend to the list of stressors upon you might just be more than you can handle.

“Okay,” you finally say in reply.

John watches and trails along behind you as you walk slowly around his apartment, looking it over.

He suddenly feels like all his nerve endings have been exposed. It’s a similar—if not near-identical feeling—to how he felt that first night he laid in your arms without a stitch of clothing on, minus his briefs.  But he’s gotten used to it; likes it even: the warmth of your body against his own in the middle of the night, when it feels like the two of you are all that’s left in the world.

“So, what do you think?” He asks, eager for your thoughts.

You turn around and ease your head back as you gaze up at him and into irises of blue.

“It…” You trail off.

You don’t want to anger him with your answer, but are also growing tired of lying to spare his overly-sensitive feelings. It’s exhausting walking this dangerous tightrope every time you’re together.

If he doesn’t want an unpleasant answer, then maybe he shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place, and furthermore shouldn’t be asking your opinion on his personal living space.

You nearly flinch when he reaches up and cups your cheek.

You truly detest his suit, including his gloves.

So, you reach up, take his hand in yours, and pull gently against the fingertips of the soft red material.

He stays quiet as you remove it, and then his other one, before tossing them both onto a nearby table.

You blink innocently up at him and he smiles.

You fill with relief that he didn’t take offense to the gesture.

God, he is truly exhausting.

He cups your cheek again and brushes his thumb along your soft, flushed skin. “You can be honest.”

You mentally raise a brow at that. “Did you decorate it, or—”

He purses his lips and shakes his head. “No. Not something I’d ever waste my time with.”

He smirks. “That’s women’s work.”

You do raise a brow then and frown slightly as well, so he grins at your response.

He turns you around and pulls you back against his chest before wrapping his arms around your neck. “So?”

“Well, it’s very clean, which I like,” you say while resting your hands on his arms.

He snorts. Of course you’d reply with that.

“And?” He pushes, wanting for more.

You sigh. “I hate it. It’s very…empty. Impersonal. It feels like we’re in an American History museum instead of what’s supposed to be your home. There’s no…personal touches. It feels far more like Homelander’s living space, and less like my John’s.”

He stills, which you take immediate note of, and you grow cold all over.

You fucked up. Said too much. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Your John,” he whispers.

With your back against his chest, you can’t see the tears shimmering in his eyes at the sweet sentiment.

Your body loosens and relaxes, and you lean further back against him—your legs now a bit wobbly-feeling from the sudden onslaught of adrenaline.

“I mean, do you like the way it’s decorated and arranged?”

His mouth tugs into a frown and he shrugs. “I don’t spend much time here, to tell you the truth.”

You turn around and slide your hands up his chest and into his hair while standing on tiptoes. “You could always have it redone, sweetie. Hire a decorator, pick some things out and—”

He smiles widely and you shut your mouth while your brows furrow.

“What…?” You ask hesitantly while cocking your head slightly to the side.

He rests his hands against the small of your back, holding you close.

“I could just have you do it for me,” he states while sliding his hands higher, beneath the soft feminine top you have on.

Your eyes flit between his, waiting for explanation.

“You could come live here,” he explains. “We hire a decorator, like you said, or I just give you my credit card and let you do as you please to turn this place into a proper home. I foot the bill while you…y’know, go nuts.”

He…wants to live together?

Oh, no. No, no, no. That is way too big of a step to take, and far too soon.

His attachment issues know no bounds.

There’s a specific word for this level of it, isn’t there? Co…something. Codependency, yes! And now he’s made you the subject of his sick version of it. You wonder how many have come before you—have failed and disappointed him—then disappeared, per Vought, so he can inevitably find another to take their place.

Or, maybe you’re the first.

Who knows?

But if you are…why?

He never did answer that question, did he? Why you, that is.

You don’t think you should force that answer out of him right now, though.

“Baby, that is…a huge step. And I don’t think that…after only knowing each other for little over a week, for us to…take that leap—”

The light slowly drains from his eyes, and his smile disappears.

You swallow thickly while your heart jumps into your throat.

“What? You don’t want to be here? Don’t want me around?”

You jump into damage-control mode. “Of course I do, baby. But… I have less than two months left in school before I get my diploma. I’m about to be loaded down with finals. And there’s work, too. Just…to move in the middle of it all…”

You cup the back of his head and smile warmly, desperate to keep him from getting angry. Terrified of what will happen to you if you don’t succeed.

“How about this, sweetheart: we can compromise, maybe, if you like? You could pack a bag: clothes, toiletries, books and movies—I’ll even help you. Just…whatever you like. And you bring it all back to my apartment. I’ll clean out one of the drawers in my dresser for you, and some space in my closet, a spot in my bathroom—whatever you need—and you can continue staying there, just like you’ve been. But this way, it’ll feel more like your home, too. I mean, you like it better there, right? You said that you do.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then gaze warmly into his eyes as you wait for—you desperately fucking hope—a positive response.

He considers for a moment—you note how he grinds his jaw while in thought—and then he exhales while nodding. “Alright. Fine. But only until you’ve graduated. Right?”

You ignore the feeling of fear that overtakes you at his insistence. “Of course. I’ll just have a lot less on my plate then, sweetie. And it’ll be good to wait. Because it’ll give us more time to get to know one another. And you to have an opportunity to make sure that that’s what you truly want: me living here. Because I’d hate to…to just move in, and you decide a week or two later that you’ve made a huge mistake, and I have no apartment to go back to because I gave it up, you know?”

He nods his head from side to side in understanding. “Okay. I’ll pack a bag or two, and I’ll just continue coming to you every night.”

He smirks while leaning down and cupping your face between his hands—the image of him crushing your head between them flits briefly through your mind—and he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Besides, I love seeing you comfortable and in your element, anyway. And it’s nice having home-cooked meals so often.”

He grabs one of your ass cheeks, and your eyes widen in surprise. “And we don’t have to worry about the lemmings here at Vought up both our asses when we’re being intimate and when you’re…y’know, looking after me.”

You nod. “That’s all I want: privacy. And for me to have you all to myself.”

You hope he likes that last bit… You only tacked it on for his benefit.

When you feel his erection suddenly pressing against your stomach—hard and firm—you have confirmation that he does.

And then he presses his lips to yours once more.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon @chaimshelii @sacha1slytherin

[misotsukiiyeooo]

can you write something with dad! Vernon?? idk but I'd really love to see it

"Baby?"

Pairing: Dad!Chwe Vernon x Mom! F! Reader

A/N: Heyyy! So I did take into consideration that he is an older brother however, I wanted him to be a bit naive when it comes to younger kids. (he'd still be a great dad!)

Genre: Fluff (Hint of crack)

Word count: 4.1k

Synopsis: Vernon says many things, but one word recently caught your son's attention.

You come home from a quick trip to the store and notice Vernon sitting on the couch with your son, watching a cartoon.

When they hear the door close, they both turn to face you in unison. "You came back fast," Vernon remarks as he gets up to help you with the bags.

"Was I not supposed to? You boys looked like you were enjoying your alone time, huh?" You cross your arms, teasing him as he puts the groceries away.

Unable to hide his smile, he turns away. "Well, we did have to pause a very important show…" His sarcasm is relentless.

"Really? Is Spongebob that important?" you reply, amused. "Y/N, it's Spongebob." Vernon looks at you as if it’s the most evident thing ever.

“Yeah, baby, it’s Spongebob!” your son exclaims excitedly, a grin lighting up his face. His new vocabulary word catches you off guard, and you can’t help but raise an eyebrow in curiosity. “Baby?” you echo, trying to understand where he picked it up.

He nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I hear Daddy call people that on the phone all the time! Isn’t it funny?” He bursts into giggles, clearly amused by his use of the word.

Shifting your gaze to Vernon, You put your hand firmly on your hip, ready to confront him. He tries to focus on unpacking the groceries but can’t meet your eyes. “Oh, he does?” you say in an amused tone, watching Vernon gulp nervously.

“Yes, I hear him call you that too, but I don’t understand because you’re not even a baby! Daddy’s silly,” your son continues, still giggling. His laughter rings out as he looks from you to Vernon, clearly enjoying the playful moment—at least for him.

"We'll talk later," you say, glancing at Vernon. Then, you walk over to your son, who sits quietly, and take a seat beside him on the plush couch. "Listen," you begin, choosing your words carefully, "I know there might be times when you hear Daddy calling me—or whoever that word—but I need you to understand that you can't call me that, okay?" Your voice is soft and gentle, hoping to ease the confusion you're seeing in his little frown.

“Why not?” he asks, his big eyes searching yours for an explanation.

You take a deep breath, wanting to convey the importance of what you're about to say. “Because I'm your 'Mommy,' not your 'baby.'"

His face shifts into a thoughtful expression, and after a moment, he replies, "Okay… I won't call you that anymore." A smile breaks across your face, and you reach over to ruffle his hair affectionately.

You let him continue watching his show before turning back to Vernon. "Listen, babe. The only time I ever said the word 'baby' on the phone with anyone but you was when I was talking to an actual tiny human. Other than that, I only call you that."

You watch him patiently as he explains, "It's okay, Vernon. I understand; it just caught me off guard for a moment. But then I thought about it, and I knew you wouldn't do something like that." You give him a reassuring smile, your heart feeling warm.

"But you have to watch what you say now that our little munchkin is picking up on everything," you tease, glancing at your son who is giggling happily.

"Yeah, you’re right about that," Vernon chuckles, pulling you close and wrapping his arm around you as he enjoys the sight of your son’s cheerful smile.

Your son turns to face both of you, curiosity getting the best of him. "But…" He thinks for a moment, then asks innocently, "Why does Daddy call you that, Mommy?"

"Well… I'm not sure how to explain it, but—" Vernon cuts you off. "I call her that because she is my baby, the same way you're our baby." You cringe slightly at his wording.

Your son bursts into laughter. "What? Mommy's your baby? Daddy, I don’t think you understand how the family tree works… I learned about it in school yesterday. Want me to show you the paper?" Vernon is left speechless by your son's naive and unintentional fact-check.

You cover your mouth to hide your laughter, failing miserably. "You know what? Maybe I should review that paper with you…" Vernon takes your son's hand, and they both walk to get the paper. You can't help but laugh at his flushed face.

Reqs are open!!

Taglist!!

@jjunie-0 @honglynights @allieyaaa @bath1lda @black-swan-blog27

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Old Man- Billy Butcher x Reader

Summary: Billy shows reader that he’s not as much of an ‘old man’ as she says he is

Word count: 1, 226

Billy Butcher tag: @rustanddusted

*wanna be tagged in my next Butcher fic? Click here*

The arrow on his laptop slowly clicked around the screen, as Butchers research continued.

“Yah know, it’s a little difficult to find shit out with you sittin’ there watchin’ me, princess,” Billy commented.

He began typing with two pointed fingers as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

“I know, I’m just so distracting,” you joke with a breathy voice as you adjust your legs to sit over the arms of the chair.

Your comment earns you a sly smirk as he continues his two fingered typing.

“God, you’re such an old man,” you laugh at his typing, now standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder.

This comment makes him stop, and it almost seems like you’d won in getting him to stop working, but he just goes back to it.

“Yeh well if I’m such an old man, maybe you can put your hands to work and give me a massage. Me shoulders killin’ me,” Billy complains as he leans into your touch.

Smirking at the idea of getting Billy to moan in one way or another from your touch, you begin to knead into his strong shoulders. Almost immediately, Billy begins to moan from your soothing touch. The sound was like music to your ears, and you could see your plan was working as his fingers stopped typing.

“You really are an old man, muscles all tight, groaning when you stand up,” you joke as you continue to massage his shoulders.

“Guess I just need a young thing like you to take care of me,” Billy flirts back.

You’d tried to me subtle with your flirting, mainly just making fun of him in a playful way, never really intending for it to go anywhere.

Your hands stop at his flirty words, making Billy chuckle as he rises from his chair. Once fully facing you, he wastes no time grabbing you by the hips and pushing you against his desk. A small gasp leaves your lips as you feel his hardening cock now pressing against you.

“Is that it, princess? You wanna take care of his old man?” He continues his teasing, as he pushes you to sit on desk, his fingers now digging into your hips as yours press into his strong biceps.

His eyes never leave yours as he continues.

“I mean you talk about how old I am all the time. That just your little way of saying how badly you want me, sweetheart?”

His smirk reacting to your stunned face is wicked as he presses his face against your neck, beginning to leave hot open mouth kisses on the sensitive skin. You can’t help but dig your fingers into his hair as you moan out.

“Aaaww is that it, sweetheart? You wanna take care of daddy?” He taunts, his strong fingers now digging into your cheeks, forcing your lips to jut out into an over exaggerated pout.

He stares into your eyes cheekily, cocking an eyebrow and waiting for a reply.

“Yes, daddy,” you reply as best you can with your lips pushed out.

Your words excite Butcher, as his smile widens to show off his teeth. The image of his exposed teeth making him appear like a wolf, hungry for the prey he’s caught.

“Good girl. You wanna ride daddy on the couch or on his bed? I mean I’d fuck you but like you’ve said I’m such an old man,” he jokes.

“The couch. Closer to the door in case my pussys too good and you have a heart attack,” you joke back as he releases your face.

Your joking does nothing to hurt him, and only seems to excite him more. His strong hand reaches around your throat as he pushes his lips against yours, in a hungry kiss.

Pushing off the desk and making your way over to the couch, you hungrily rip at each others clothes. By the time you’ve made the short distance to the couch and you’re straddling Billy’s lap, you’re both completely naked; some of the clothes left along the way torn from literally ripping them off of each other.

Billy’s strong hands stroke from your thighs and over your waist before grabbing two handfuls of your breasts.

“Fuck, what did this old man do to deserve tits so perfect,” he growls as he rough squeezes at them, almost in a trance.

The intense trance your body has Billy under only breaks as your hand wraps around his throbbing cock. You barley pump it before Billy is loudly groaning and wrapping his strong arms around your body, pushing you against his warm chest.

“You want me to take care of you, old man? Let me do all the work and I’ll make you feel so good, daddy,” you tease, lightly nipping at his neck as you line yourself up with his thick cock.

Sinking down onto him, your head is thrown back at the perfect way he stretches you out. Your loud moans mix together, and your eyes lock as you begin to move.

Your hands hold his shoulders for support, while his hands grab at your ass and hips, while you begin to grind and bounce on his lap. His cock his filling you up perfectly, and he keeps hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Fuck, princess, taking care of me so good. Your pussy feels fuckin’ amazing!” He groans out, staring at your blissed out face above him, as his grip tightens of your ass.

Leaning forward, your hands go past his head and grab onto the back of the couch, and you bury your face into his neck as your movements speed up.

At this new angle, Billy can see your ass perfectly. Grabbing onto it with two hands, he forces your movements as he feels himself getting closer.

“You gonna finish already, old man? Not even gonna let me cum first?” You breathlessly joke into his ear.

Your teasing earns you a deep chuckle, as Billy powerfully thrusts his hips up into you. His cock pushes even deeper inside you, causing you to scream out a moan at the perfect feeling.

“You think I was just gonna get you to ride me once, princess? Unlike the boys of your generation, I actually know how to treat a lady. Gonna cum deep inside your tight little pussy, then I’m gonna spend so much time between your legs making you cum that you’ll forget how to fuckin’ walk!” He groans out as he takes over.

His thrusts become more powerful and your head begins to go dizzy with pleasure.

“Here I thought you were gonna look after me, but you got me doin’ all the work. It’s okay, princess, daddy will look after yah. You gonna let me cum in your tight little pussy?” He asks breathlessly, right on the brink of finishing.

“Yeeess! Cum in me, daddy,” you moan against his ear.

Billy growls out as his hands on your ass tighten and his heads thrown back, yelling out a powerful moan.

He thrusts into you lazily a few more times, before his grip on your ass loosens.

Catching his breath, his arms wrap around your body, as he sweetly pushes you against him.

“How’s that for ‘old man’?” He chuckles at the fucked out look on your face, as he sweetly kisses your forehead.

[gretagerwigsmuse]

oh my gosh did we grow up in the same family? do we have the same life? i feel so seen reading this like duchess is so sooooo much like me! i absolutely loved all the specific details of not only her kitchen, but the food, the prep work, the bit about the hope/‘hopeless’ chest (i get one grandma’s china and my sister gets the other’s), the parade, the bread, her cute lil cocktail dress, the apron, the speciality cocktails, buying tupperware for the guests to take leftovers (more people need to do this)!!! and her callsign is so perfect from what we see, miss absolute hostess with the mostess! i also like how duch thinks of his as ‘bradley,’ but calls him rooster in the beginning? so perfect! more below 💕

“And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. - i have this same headcanon! i think bradley is really extroverted, but at the same time he’s really solitary?

And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. // Friends. - oh 🥺 this is hurting so good

Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. - YESSSSSS ugh i know that absolutely does it for him yup! 🫡

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. //  Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. - oh 🥺 why is she me?!? like trying to make everyone else happy and be a good hostess and looking cute in her cocktail dress and being in her comfort zone, but still being a little insecure about the other girl and feeling frumpy or prim? like i know this exact feeling 🥺

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. - this is the best feeling about entertaining like that moment of yes i did all this, yes it was worth it

“You okay, honey?” - oh im blushing 🤭

“When I was drunk?” “When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” - oh my god i would simply start crying?!? i gasped reading this part

“As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” - i knew it! i keep saying the man has a raging housewife kink (in a completely non regressive way of course!)

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” - many many thoughts

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour. 

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased. 

“Gross.” 

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.” 

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.” 

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash. 

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.” 

“You want a hand?” 

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. 

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. 

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later. 

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?” 

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed. 

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off. 

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels. 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head. 

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey. 

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face. 

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk. 

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.” 

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?” 

“You don’t - ” 

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” 

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.” 

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’ 

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”  

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.” 

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?” 

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.” 

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate. 

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat. 

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.” 

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.” 

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.” 

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.” 

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity. 

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs. 

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.  

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant. 

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong.  “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head. 

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist. 

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itchied to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets. 

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” 

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?” 

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. 

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.” 

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?” 

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated -  and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest. 

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress. 

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon. 

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain. 

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.” 

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile. 

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.” 

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work. 

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman. 

“I just followed her directions,” he replied. 

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. 

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.” 

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.  

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall. 

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you. 

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze. 

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley.  “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware. 

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor. 

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family. 

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked. 

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head. 

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. 

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow. 

Which left only Bradley. 

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep. 

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking. 

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?” 

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected. 

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?” 

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” 

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” 

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.  

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” 

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.” 

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.” 

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?” 

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.” 

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile. 

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and - 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail. 

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher. 

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” 

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper. 

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” 

“You like me?” 

“Yeah. You like me?” 

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth. 

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.” 

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile. 

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?” 

“No more ‘hoe phase.’” 

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.” 

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?” 

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.” 

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night. 

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.” 

You couldn’t help but agree.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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[floralcavern]

Charlie and Vaggie are BORING.

For a while, I was a Charlastor shipper. Then they were like “but what if Alastor had a maturity level to be her dad?” so I was like “Oh, nevermind-“ and now I’m highkey a Charlie x Emily shipper. But why, why, WHY is Charlie x Vaggie so damn BORING?! Well, here’s some good videos to watch on that before I discuss-

So, what could have been done to fix this? Because I usually LOVE the black cat x golden retriever ship? But the fun part of it is seeing how they bounce off each other/affect each other. We kind of get that, but like… every characters’ relationship in this series is so shallow that we don’t get it much. And Charlie is just a bad protag overall, but, whatever..

So, Charlie being THIS naive pisses me off. She is the Princess of Hell!!!!! Why is she so clueless about everything? There’s a difference between positivity and seeing the best in everyone vs being… kind of stupid. And what makes it more annoying is that Vaggie is more self aware of how this place works than Charlie, THE HELLBORN. I think it would not only be more fun, but also make more sense, if Vaggie was more naive than Charlie about how this place works. They can still keep their same personalities, of course, but Vaggie still thinks and remembers how Heaven functioned and worked and Charlie, trying to be ever so positive, is just like “Oh.. ya.. another turf war. But hey! Only 100 people died this time! Ahaha.. ha..” and Vaggie, being an exorcist Angel, is like, “Ya, aha… WAIT, WHAT-???” because she’s still just not entirely used to that idea and then she’s like, “Oh, right.. ya, that’s not that bad,” when she remembers just HOW bad this place is. Like, she goes in expecting the worst because she already thinks everyone here is awful, but then she’s always thrown for a loop for just how awful it really is. I can imagine this would be pretty funny.

“You disgusting sinner. I can only imagine the absolute vile things you did, you-!”

“Ya, I exploited babies.”

“….You what?”

“I exploited. Babies.”

“….H-How? How do you do that? What? Why? What the fuck???”

Also, MAKE CHARLIE CRASS! But, like, in such a sweetheart kind of way. If characters are going to swear, give them their own ways and cadences for how they do it, rather than making them all sound like middle schoolers. That was something I really liked they did with Alastor.

Charlie, when she swears, it just doesn’t sound mean at all. When she says bitch, it sounds like she’s saying “sweetheart”. When she says fuck, it’s purely out of excitement and joy. But, she is crass because she was born and raised here and Vaggie, meanwhile, never swears (because in my version, the angels never swear, not even the exorcists) until the series goes on and she does it more and more with more aggression. I think that’d be funny, especially if it was Charlie’s influence that rubbed off on her.

Also, one thing I’d find interesting for a good arc between their relationship that would make them come out stronger in the end is if Vaggie was, like.. accidentally racist toward Charlie on multiple occasions. Charlie, being a sweetheart, is like “Oh, no, pffft, i-it’s fine! She didn’t mean it!” and everyone else at the hotel is like “🤨” but after Vaggie being an exorcist is revealed, Charlie snaps more at Vaggie when she undermines Charlie for being hellborn, eventually calling her out. I can believe Charlie forgiving Vaggie fast for being an exorcist, that’s in character, but that’s the problem! Because then, it feels kind of… ‘eh’ and like it really didn’t do much to develop their relationship. Giving it some sort of barrier that’s been around since the very beginning that Charlie now finally has the courage to call Vaggie out on will make it feel like there’s actual change in the relationship.

And now… SHOW THEM DO COUPLE SHIT! Or, at the very least, them having an actual dynamic rather than just “I protect youuuuu…” I swear, background handholding and stuff is fine, but it’s all fluff!!! Show what they’re actually like as a couple. Show them getting ready for bed together! Charlie cursing up a storm when she’s really excited and Vaggie is so shocked, but also kind of into it, but also kind of horrified because she just is still in that mindset of full, complete purity. And, most of all, PLEASE JUST SHOW THEM FLIRTING! Please, please, please!!! It’s not that hard, PLEASE!!! It does wonders for showing the characters’ personalities and relationships. How do they flirt, how do they react to flirting, what makes them uncomfortable, what makes them flustered, what’s considered common flirting between them, what’re some inside jokes they have? Just… SHOW THEM BEING AN ACTUAL COUPLE, PLEASE.

If I have to rely solely on fanwork for me to find the MAIN COUPLE even remotely interesting, then you’re doing a bad job writing them!

[a1ecmcdowell]

THE REAPERㅤㅤ—ㅤㅤEVENT OF THE FUCKIN' CENTURY.

THE REAPER disappeared off the face of the planet in the 20th century. SOLDIER BOY is the only one who holds the answers. A WAITING GAME ensues to see which, if either, makes it out of the depths of the unknown first.

includes, they're gay ㅤㅤㅤ u get to meet the side characters < 3 ㅤㅤㅤ idk i think that's it IT'S MILD. COMPARED TO WAHT COMES NEXT

word count : 3.6k

notes, my monthy fic update is done time to drop off the face of the planet again for 2384590438 years PERDFKLSLJ sry for edging aftercare for so long i'm just a girl whose interests change like the weather

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprev part!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterpost!ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnext part!

04.

COLE WAS NOT wearing his fucking glasses and that was final. The Vought stylist brought them in underneath a silver platter like he was supposed to be excited for the reveal of glasses that would help his failing eyesight. As if that was something he would ever be excited for. The rest of his life, watching it fail despite the rest of his body healing fine, all because his powers just did that? Going blind because his powers just did that? 

The only reason he did not tell Allie to get fucked was because she was the messenger. He didn’t shoot messengers. He just shot the sender twice.

“They’re really not so bad, Reaper,” she said in that soft voice of hers, tucking her hair behind one of her ears, fingers catching on the temples of the Vought Exclusive glasses she’d tried on. She was a sweetheart, really. Cole couldn’t believe he thought about shooting her.

Couldn’t believe a lot of the shit in his head, if he thought about it. So he didn’t.

“You try having your eyes failing on you, then tell me they’re ‘not so bad’,” he grumbles furiously, staring at his reflection in the large, golden framed mirror in one of Vought-American’s special dressing rooms on the upper floors. Cole meets Allie’s eyes in the reflection of the glass. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry.” 

She plucks his glasses off of her face, and unfolds hers from being tucked into the neckline of her peplum dress, sliding them into her face. “Should switch you and Obsidian’s suits for that. Inconvenience the both of you.”

“Hey, he’s innocent in all of this, alright?” Cole laughs, a sound he doesn’t often do. Too locked up in his head, where it’s all dark and fucky. A pause. “Obsidian’s coming?”

“Rumor has it,” Allie singsongs in response, coming up behind Cole to smooth out the skin tight leather of his outfit. He’s beginning to think she has a thing for him. He’s beginning to think he needs a new damn stylist — or whatever she was. “They want to show unity, between the Six, now that Soldier Boy—”

Oh, fucking kill him. 

“Yeah, yeah, no need to stroke his ego while he’s not here to get off on it,” he grumbled all over again, waving his hand in dismissive irritation. “God forbid he know they threw a fucking Gala for his safe return. As if he can die. As if I haven’t tried—”

Allie beams at him in the mirror, like he’s a spectacle. “Sorry,” she splutters when he catches her, head falling, “it’s just— I’m an intern, so I don’t get to see the likes of you all very often and— it’s real?”

Opportunities fall into his bored hands sometimes. Cole glances down at himself in his latex supersuit, then flicks his eyes back up to her. “Yeah. All real.”

Hates himself instantly. Has never, not once, felt so much like Ben in his life. 

“No!” she splutters all over again, her fist punching out to hit him in the arm. “The rivalries. The drama. I thought it was just publicity.”

Cole knew that, by the way. He’s just falling victim, like the rest of America currently, based on the newspaper headlines, to the influence of Soldier Boy. Get him out of here.��

Still, he puts on his media trained smile and nods once. “A lot of it’s just for show.” He talks himself out of trying to kill Soldier Boy twice an hour. “All in good fun.” He knows how he’d do it, too. “Gotta keep people watching, y’know?” Ben not included. Because Cole wanted to burn his eyes out and make his stupid head explode. 

Cole claps his hands together, turning his head to the door. Still closed, no sign of Legend yet, coming to collect him and the others. “Well, Allie. Go check for me that The Legend hasn’t croaked yet, yeah? He’s late again.”

Allie, seemingly having been waiting for an order, jumps into action like a robot. Cole felt a wash of relief the moment that she was out of the room. 

He didn’t hesitate to glance at the vanity counter that she’d left his glasses on, shooting the brightest beam of light at them to try and shatter them. No avail. Worth a shot, though. 

His door cracks open, and he first hears it in the sounds that come before the actual movement. Heavy stomping footsteps, an even heavier sigh. 

Cole expects Legend. Has an irritable teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. 

It’s Ben. 

“Just wanted to see if this was killin’ you yet, princess,” Ben hums, cigar hanging out of his mouth, hair styled flat and gelled against his scalp. “Having to celebrate me tonight.” 

“I’m not celebrating shit,” Cole says through a scoff, running his fingers through his hair. He really should start putting an effort into his appearance, shouldn’t he? Can’t just bank on being the one of the Six everyone’s afraid to cross. “There’s free wine. I’m goin’ for free wine.” 

“Don’t be like that,” Ben puffs an exhale of cigar smoke into the dressing room, making it smell like leather and tobacco at once. “You owe me a bit of fucking respect after the display yesterday.” 

Cole’s eye starts twitching, like it always does when Ben opens his mouth and tries to reprimand him for not kissing his ass. “Yeah. Alright.” 

He expects Ben to hound him a bit more, just to really solidify how much his feelings were hurt by specifically Cole’s unhappiness about his return. They’ve played this stupid game enough that Cole can predict every single one of Ben’s steps and still goes easy on him. 

Instead, there’s the telltale scrape of heavy, solid metal on hardwood, and he only has time to blink before the whistle of something flying through the room overtakes any other sound. Ben’s shield. 

Cole doesn’t have time to physically defend himself, or even react, before the edge of it slams into his abdomen and shoves him against the wall. Against the wall, into the wall — what was the difference? Drywall cracks behind his spine, and there’s a split second of blearing pain behind his eyes before his blood’s already sending its defenses to heal it. 

“What the fuck?” Cole shouts, his boot kicking at the titanium steel and trying to shove it off of his leg where it’d fallen. Expectedly, he can’t move it. 

Expectedly, he’s getting pissy. First they want him to make a grand debut next to Soldier Boy in fucking glasses — to prove that Soldier Boy is the strongest in his time of praise, he guessed, or maybe just so he could see. Either way made his blood turn to fire and ash. Then this—

“I have to go to a gala dedicated to me with a fucking hole in my chest,” Ben snarls, his booming voice echoing throughout the small dressing room. “Do you know how patronizing that is?” 

“I didn’t know you knew what that word meant,” Cole says, mostly to himself, “been reading the Daily Tribune? Doing the crosswords?” 

“I will fucking kill you one day, Reaper,” he responds through his gritted teeth, his own boots stomping on the ground as he goes to retrieve his shield, “and there won’t be a goddamn person to mourn you, and not a person to reap you either.” 

Anger flares through him like a lit match. It’d been a minute, and it’s rusty at best, but he gives in to the dark. The shadows cast behind the vanity, the darker ones beneath the soft, maroon couch in the middle of the room. 

He thinks it, and they finally, finally fall silent for a second, obeying the command in his head and curl into a wispy black hand around Ben’s throat. 

“Nice trick,” Ben rasps through his strained throat, his twitching lips betraying the calm facade he wears like a mask, “gonna dim the light now?” 

Finish it. He doesn’t. Finish him. He won’t. “Maybe the one in your eyes.” 

“You wish.” 

You wish, you wish, you wish. Fuck, he did wish. 

It’s always like this when he gives in to the shadows. Their voices quiet when he reaches out to them, and then they’re loud, pounding in his skull. 

He’s gotten used to pushing them away, though, Even when it makes his limbs feel too big for his skin, denying something so innate within him. 

Cole holds the grip on Ben’s throat a second longer before he wills the shadows into bleary black smoke again. Ben’s hand comes up to rub at the reddened mark on his skin, his eyes ablaze with fire. 

Ben’s hands shoot out before Cole can blink, strong fingers grabbing Cole by the nylon of his supersuit, They drag him in until they’re nose to nose, hot angry breath splaying on his face in puffs. 

A blink, and Cole thinks he might hit him. A blink, and he’s certain he will, already preparing to have to pop his nose into place again, crack his jaw on track again. 

He kisses him. 

It’s bruising. teeth clashing into teeth, hard enough to send them both back into the wall behind Cole. Cole is too shocked to do anything, at first, except for let him, even as it felt like ice water being poured directly over his head, turning everything to ice. 

Finally, he returns to his senses, and he shoves Ben back with his hands on his chest. Ben’s hands only curl tighter into the nylon fabric. “What the fuck, Ben?” 

Ben’s chest heaves, heavy breaths leaving his parted lips. He says nothing in his defense, not a single word, but his eyes falling to Cole’s mouth says a thousand of them. One second, they’re staring at each other. The next second, Cole isn’t sure who moves first; him, or Ben. Ben, whose hands drag him back in by his grip on his shirt. Cole, who lifted his hands to grasp at Ben’s face, holding him in place so he couldn’t break free again. 

It wasn’t romantic by any means. It was entirely lust and anger driving their mouths together. Ben pushes him back against the wall and the cracked drywall behind them, using his grip on Cole’s suit to lift him easily. 

The skin tight fabric of their supersuits leaves little to the imagination about how this was affecting them, which does nothing but make Cole groan into Ben’s open mouth. 

Ben shoves him harder into the wall, his voice a low, warning omen on his lips. “Shut the fuck up.” 

For once in his entire life, Cole listens to him. He’d deny it until he died, though. 

Ben’s knee knocks roughly against Cole’s, forcing him to spread them wider, and once Cole obliges, he presses himself deeper between them. Ben’s tongue swipes across Cole’s bottom lip until it opens, invading his mouth with force, just as he invades everything. 

That thought alone has Cole shoving him off of him until Ben’s spine collides with the vanity, stumbling after him to sink his fingers in the waistband of Ben’s pants, pulling his hips closer but still keeping him pinned to the vanity. 

Ben’s pupils are blown, eyes glazing as he stares into Cole’s. He leans in, teeth clamping around Cole’s bottom lip and drags it backwards until it pops back against his teeth. 

“Hey, Reap,” a voice — Obsidian’s, he realizes — calls from the other side of the door, and Ben jerks back so quickly that his teeth bite into Cole’s lip. Cole’s eyes flare at the blood that draws to the surface of the skin, his eyes already flaring— “They’re about to announce us downstairs in the Plaza.” 

The gold in Cole’s eyes dies down, but his heart still rests firmly in his throat; can feel it when he swallows. Ben’s teeth are clenched tightly, his jaw flexing in the process. 

“Alright,” Cole calls back through the door, his voice strained and thick.  “I’ll be down.”

“Right. Tell Soldier Boy, too, if y’see him.” Yeah. Cole saw him, alright. Ben’s eyes dare him to say something about it. “His own party and he’s M.I.A.” 

Cole’s lips twitch. Ben’s eyes darken. 

Obsidian’s footsteps echo down the hallway outside before Cole can say anything, though, and weighted seconds pass where neither Cole or Ben move. One crowded against a desk, the other crowding him. 

Ben shoves past him once Cole’s mouth opens, the altered reality they’d found themselves in shattering around them. His shoulder knocks hard into Cole’s on his way out.

The door slams behind him, rattling in the frame against the hinges, leaving Cole to bear the weight of it all on his shoulders. 

—

Downstairs, the rich and the influential sit at circular tables in the ballroom of the Plaza, dressed to the nines and muttering amongst themselves. Golden lights hang over each table, illuminating the tablecloth and their glittering wine and champagne glasses. The stage at the very back of the ballroom is the brightest; stage lights drown it in glowing white, a podium in the center and three chairs to right of it, an open space on the left. 

“Hope you plan on dimming that,” Obsidian says from somewhere in the shadows over Cole’s shoulders. Sebastian Orville looks surprisingly steady on his feet and comfortable in this crowded setting for someone who hasn’t left his house in three months, minimum. Cole supposed three months was enough time to get his gravity shit in control, if anything. 

His eyes are as stormy as ever, though, when Cole glances over his shoulder to look at him. Constantly shifting swirls of black and gray, so at odds with the rest of him. Messy curtains of sandy brown hair falling in his face, tan skin, strong jaw. He’s the most boyish of the Six’s men, in a way, and somehow one of the least human in what he does. 

“How are you here?” Cole asks incredulously, scanning his form for any indication of what is possibly keeping him from sending every glass, every table, every person, from slamming into the ceiling. 

His lips twitch, but before he can answer, Klara, Liberty, says in a false whisper, “they’ve got him shackled.” 

Sebastian’s smile is wide and genuine for someone who’s housebound, and more than likely one with furniture floating around it like bubbles. He raises his folded hands up, sleeves falling down his elbows and revealing solid black shackles. “I am being very polite today.”

“Go on, let ‘im see how you walk,” Steven, Stratostorm, nudges him forward by the elbow. “He was shufflin’ around all over the lobby. Y’Shoulda been there.” 

Cole would have rather ended his life than be around these idiots for longer than he has to now. “Yeah. Should’ve.” It was the alternative, though, to making out with Ben Anderson in his dressing room. Every single option felt like a fever dream. 

Joanne, the youngest of them all, is silent, though Cole doesn’t need his stupid glasses to know why. Bloody Mary is a terror to most,  the goddamn poster child for Vought Guard Dog in the same way that Soldier Boy is Vought’s special snowflake. 

Obsidian and Stratostorm are still chatting in loud whispers behind Cole, with the occasional chime-in from Liberty. Still, though, there’s no sign of the man of the hour, and Cole can’t help but wonder if he ditched — and if somehow, he’s gonna find a way to flip the blame onto him. 

Legend walks onto the stage, and the room’s buzz of chatter dies into soft murmurs of intrigue and interest. Here’s the man who manages the Six’s shit — or really just covers their asses. To these people, though, he must seem like a god instead of just a glorified public relations manager and string puller. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he starts into the rectangular microphone braced on the podium, “it is with great honor to announce to you the safe return of our Soldier Boy, and along with him, the end of the war.” 

The room erupts into applause. Cole’s already bored, having heard variations of this speech in mindless gossip around the city and straight from the war-ender himself. “It’s another great honor to announce the attendance of the Six with us tonight—” A bright white spotlight bursts above them, illuminating the five of them, drawing the attention of every pampered head in the room. “All here to celebrate the re-arrival of leader Soldier Boy.” 

Cole wanted to tell him that Soldier Boy couldn’t lead a duck to water, but whatever. He didn’t care that much. He cared more about the notable absence of Soldier Boy, knowing that the man wouldn’t ever miss an opportunity to hear about his accomplishments. His skin is crawling with unease over the unknowns that keep building up. 

“Dim that shit,” Obsidian says again under his breath, “I haven’t seen the light of day in months. I’m going to fucking burst.” 

Cole’s eyes roll. Not that he was listening to Legend rattle on about the united front that was supposed to be the Six — checkmate to Allie for having guessed that part of this speech right — but he was a little preoccupied trying to find someone. Someone who he’d made out with in his dressing room. Fuck. 

Still, he glances up into the light, used to the way bright things burn his retinas at this point, as he turns the brightness down a few notches. Murmurs erupt in an undercurrent of sound beneath Legend’s speech. Cole doesn’t bother listening in to hear what they might be saying. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Legend says suddenly to an equally silent ballroom, “Soldier Boy.” 

The answer to Ben’s initial question when he’d walked into Cole’s dressing room was, yes, this was killing him. Celebrating someone that he hated and that hated him was a great feat. Still, he can’t deny the rush of relief that floods his veins at the fact that Soldier Boy was up there, even if it meant that the room was deafening with their equal relief. 

Klara leads the five of them around the back wall while they’re all distracted by whatever the hell Ben is saying — war talk, Cole imagines, or whatever war stories Ben can conjure up to make him look like God’s greatest gift. 

The open space on the right of the stage was for them. To stand and be gawked at like zoo animals. Cole was already counting the seconds to when he could leave and slam a dirty martini or twelve. 

“Now would be a good time,” Joanne whispers without moving her mouth much, her words slurring through her razor sharp teeth, “to unshackle Obsidian.” 

A rare joke — rare words — from her. Cole can’t help but quirk a smile. She’s too young to be reduced to silence like she’s been. It wasn’t her fault people were scared of her. 

“Strato’s got the key.” Obsidian jerks his head slightly in Stratostorm’s direction. 

Stratostorm is less subtle with his reactions, head swiveling back and forth between the two of them, before his eyes land on Cole. He thinks, at least. The visor over his eyes makes it hard to tell. “I do not have the key.”

“What?” Obsidian splutters out, clearing his throat to try and cover it when the sound echoes off of the walls of the stage. Cole can’t help the burst of laughter that breaks free from his throat. Obsidian’s chains rattle in his outrage, bound wrists flailing at his waist, out of sight.  “You fucking promised you wouldn’t lose it, you said—”

Their argument falls to the backburner of Cole’s mind, though, because his eyes make their way over to Ben at the podium, only to find him already looking at him on his strut to join them. Legend’s taking the podium again. 

Ben settles next to Cole, arms deliberately not touching. Cole’s eyes dance to the ceiling, asking gods that long abandoned them for some strength. Then at the spotlights, dimming them, too — the last thing he wants is more attention on him than necessary while his face is red hot. 

“What happened in—”

“Didn’t fucking happen,” Cole cuts him off, eyes straight ahead still, jaw ticking. “Don't Need your orders. Already got it.” 

“Good.”

“Good.”

The rest of their time onstage, Cole doesn’t remember. He’s sure he blacked out in his efforts to ignore Ben right next to him— the heat of his body rolling off in waves. At some point, they were dismissed, and Cole went straight to the first server he saw, taking two martinis off of his tray without a second thought. 

What he really needed was a cigarette. He gave himself ten minutes, though, before he excused himself from whatever useless conversation the equally useless politician had dragged him into. He really fucking hated these things. 

Ben catches up to him before he can push open the exit door behind the stage, hoping for some semblance of illusion of privacy. Cole bristles, his fists clenching at his sides. “Don’t,” Ben grits out, his face unreadable and brutish at once. 

“Fuck you, Ben,” he spits out, his eyes rolling instantly as if it was just second nature, dismissing any and every word out of his mouth, “I’m actually, physically and mentally, sick of your shit tod—”

“Can you shut the fuck up and listen for a second?” Ben snaps, eyes locked onto Cole’s and haunted. The sight of it is the only thing that snaps his mouth shut. “I’m being fucking serious. Don’t go out there.”

Cole has no other choice than to bite. “Why?”

“Obsidian’s dead.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFEEDBACK & REBLOGS ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤGREATLY APPRECIATED!

tags: @jasvtsc @depressionbarbie2023 @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas (idk who else to tag the day i'm BLANKING i make a taglist is the day i'll see heaven)

[coffeegnomee]

Ooooo you wanna tell me about PrinceZam and Lifesteal lore soo bad 👀👀 (I just started s6 and I'm super interested in it lolol)

Just started season 6. oh me oh my. welcome. I wrote a summary a while ago for s3-5, here it is below.

updated to add the eclipse arc too since i glossed over it last time. and added s6 up to october. 8.5k words.

I didn't hold back on any plot twist/spoilers but like, knowing what happened is very very different from watching it unfold so all videos and vods are well worth watching. but this can give a waypoint as many videos are published months (or years) after the events.

s3 zam made an empire to keep spawn from being grieffed, everyone opposed it because he called it the PrinceZam Empire, they killed him, and he agreed to be executed and banned by Red. He came back for the finale in which vitalasy wanted to revive everyone but then banned himself (or got banned i forget) and keeping everyone unbanned became Zam's job(TM) and he resolved to never give up. After 5 (or so) bases in one week that Spoke leaked every time bc he was secretly still teamed with clownpierce, spoke did a dramatic dialogue with Zam on a hill, "why are you trying to save a world people are actively trying to leave". There was a big war which ended in Zam having another dialogue with Spoke where Zam attacked spoke with a stone ax until spoke continually killed him until he was banned. Spoke got him to give up, spoke won. It was awesome. You can watch Zam's vid on it "i was banned for saving this smp" or the finale streams, both are great recap of s3. (both the spoke dialogues happened in the same vod, it's a really easy watch)

s3 was the best season for yt vids imo, i particularly love clown and branzy's videos on the funhouse, casino, cleansing, and finale vids and if you just watch that you get everything. Everyone had good videos if you start searching channels.

s4 ends with the wormhole, a game breaking glitch that Spoke Vi and Ash found (also Subz was there) and used to completely destroy the server. Before all that the server runs as normal, starting slow with the youtube arc where everyone is making their silly random youtube videos. Zam initially wants to go solo but the joins Team Awesome which is commonly just him Mapicc and Ro but also Spoke and Terrain (iirc). There are many fun shenanigans. a spawn prison, the medusa arc. Around the mid season Team Awesome finds a dupe glitch. They dupe endless gear, god apples, and hearts and get into fights where Mapicc and Zam fight together constantly. this is The Dupe War. There are videos on it, but no streams. It ends with them withering the entirety of spawn, completely annihilating it (there's more to the arc but that is important)

During dupe war Zam and Mapicc thought Spoke was betraying them by orchestrating it with Parrot, turns out it was just Spoke who was orchestrating Everything because part of the wormhole glitch required Spoke to socially engineer Parrot into clicking a sign that would give Ash creative mode. When Ash got creative he loaded his hotbar and the Wormhole Barrel(TM) was brought into the game.

That same day Ash started showing the server the exploits (changing the course of the season DRAMATICALLY). Everything that was going on between the dupe war and this moment got put on pause.

What is everything? Well after the Dupe war Mapicc and Ro were planning on keeping duped items in a stash so they would never have to worry about items. Zam realized he Hated That(TM) bc exploits are unfair. So he left the team dramatically, fought them on the nether roof, and perished fantastically. He then retreated to his sanctuary where he built a castle.

Mapicc finds him at that castle the next day and filled with rage at zam betraying him begins The Castle Arc, fantastic arc, well worth watching as vods on Zam's channel. it's the vod after "the end of team awesome" which is also a great vod. Mapicc torments Zam nearly daily while Zam was also repairing spawn with Subz. Subz, as the finale of his spawn cleanup fights Mapicc and Ro who have become the bbegs of the week, he gets exiled. Zam grows a backbone and ALSO fights them, also looses, and then proceeds to die to Ro 13 more times. This is the Stone Sword Incident.

Left on 2 hearts he does a stream with Clown and Branzy which gets him banned by Mapicc because he had paid Clown one heart to be his protection. So Mapicc thought he still had two. they revive zam and he is left on 3 hearts (or was it 1? I forget. mapicc might've taken two of them back after revival) he turns to his only ally on the server, the only person who came and defended him from mapicc during the castle arc: ItzSubz_.

Subz invited him to his team, the Eclipse Federation. What transpires after here is the most beloved arc in all of lifesteal history, from a fandom perspective. I wrote a whole writeup on why it works so well from a story telling perspective that's one of my first posts on my blog. you can use the #gnome rambles tag to find it easier.

What started as a team, protection, safety from Mapicc, two allies who would come on to fight Mapicc and anyone else whom he got to fight on his side (though subz was more active than vi) turned into a nightmare.

After Ash leaked the wormhole items vi and subz quickly dmed him to meet at the base. Vi (iirc) told him to stop stream and delete the vod, which zam did. Unbeknownst to him, subz accidentally hit go live instead of start recording and for the less than 10 minutes he was live, he and vi implicated themselves as the originators of the wormhole glitch. The secret was out.

By the time they made it to the base to meet with zam they decided to tell zam everything, letting him know that they wanted it to have been a good surprise, something exciting that they could all do together. Vi promised that there was a plan for the items, an arc that he wanted to make happen that he had been planning since the very start of the season. I forget exactly how much they told him, but it was not everything.

Faced with Vi's season long plan, and still not knowing What the plan was, only that it was good, zam agreed to go along with it, trusting subz and vi that they knew what they were doing.

Zam, beyond all reason, had found himself on the very team that was behind the new exploit after just having left Team Awesome over exploits.

He asked if chat could know the plan, and vi and subz both agreed they wanted to keep it secret but that zam could ask off stream. Zam being Zam, could never hide something that huge from chat, didn't want to hide something that huge from chat. So he decided to not know, placing all his trust that Vi would tell him what he needed to know and that everything would be okay.

The doom lifted, for a brief time everything was okay again. But soon enough Vi was ready to start phase 1: a bedrock prison at spawn for the tyrants of the server. Zam didn't like that their team would have the power to imprison people, and he didnt like it was bedrock. He tried to communicate that, and vi and subz both assured him they would only put people in that the server as a whole agreed needed to go in. That helped zam for a short time. i dont remember all the meetings super well, but there were many. one time vi told zam they had "amplified" the glitch. another he said they had a bedrock farm in the end. vi was desperate to keep zam on the team because he loved zam and enjoyed his presence and didnt want the team to fall apart. zam at one point committed fully to the plan and killed himself in a hole to show his commitment (vi also jumped down and also died). the next day they made the prison and the day after zam regretted building out of bedrock. he hated exploits. nothing could shake him from the deep-set hatred that this was unfair for the server. he didnt want to ruin vi's plan, but he didn't know if he could continue supporting it.

around and around he went. changing his thoughts based on what vi said, changing based on subz, changing based on chat, changing based on vi. Feeling trapped, seeing no hope in being understood he roamed the server in despair. filled with the weight that the exploits would get worse in phases 2-5 he shouldered the burden without being able to tell anyone.

Beyond anything else he felt completely indebted to subz and loved subz more than anyone. subz had fought for him and protected him from mapicc, he had taken him in and given him hearts and gear to get back on his feet, he was always there ready to log on and help zam fight or save him when jumped.

Around this time there were many conversations with bacon and planet. They had seen some of the exploits, spoke was leaking them slowly since the prison was built, spawning a warden and endermite that could one tap players, using potions that gave you all the effects in the game. pvp was a thing of the past.

Bacon and Planet were investigating, trying to figure out who was pulling the strings and where the plot might go. Pretty quickly they figured out zam knew a lot, but zam wouldn't tell.

When Vi made the prison, they interviewed him, and planet got so upset that all this plot looked to be was a prison that could be used, not even would be used that he immediately started talking to bacon about getting zam to leave eclipse. he had previously been a proponent of zam sticking it out because being in the thick of content is always good on this server even if you don't love the methods. Zam was ready to leave the team but he was wracked with guilt and the fear of being alone again just like he was after betraying team awesome. they invited him to their team if he left, but he was still hesitant. he cared about subz too much to leave.

A few days later zam one again invited Branzy on, knowing that the next day he would have to make a decision about being on eclipse. There was a meeting scheduled about the next phase tomorrow. Spoke turned branzy into a dolphin with a potion and after the shenanigans, zam asked branzy for advice about what he should do. it's one of my favorite stream moments from s4, branzy approaches the lore with great seriousness and helps zam work through his thoughts to figure out what he wants to do. zam doesn't quite make a decision but has many talking points for the meeting, equipped with new metaphors to explain how he's feeling and how he needs vi to promise change, not just do little things that don't mean anything in the big picture.

At the end of the conversation planet joins call and starts asking zam innocent questions. he finds out about the book that vi once showed zam that had the whole wormhole plan, zam says it's in one of the bases, but not which, and he ends stream soon after. But once stream ends he gets curious to reread what vi wrote so he journeys to the base. Upon arrival though he realizes planet and bacon are both in the area. He sees them through the wall and walks into a room he has never seen before filled with barrels. planet and bacon drag him into a call and show him that the room is filled with every exploit and more, things they hadn't seen yet.

Seeing the extent of where the wormhole would go, and supported (or influenced depending on how you look at it) by planet and bacon, zam finally commits to leaving eclipse. he can't be part of this. this is too much. these exploits are far far worse than anything team awesome did.

So the next day he makes his traitor's requiem. He confronts vi, bacon planet and jaron come through the end portal invis and they kill vi, marking zam's departure from the team. Vi is furious zam didn't come to them, that he would betray so callously and kill him so instantly. Subz resignedly accepts that zam never was going to be able to be a part of the team, he was too against exploits.

Wracked with the pain of betrayal and loosing the person he loved deeply even though he had lied to him, Vi started to embrace the wormhole powers. Through a different glitch he was able to fly in survival, and with the one tap potions he tormented planet in the prison, killing him over and over and giving the heart back. but he insisted that he was not going to use the powers to become evil.

over the next days vi would roam the server using exploits, a ghost on the wind debating what to do with his infinite power. bacon and planet and zam got him in a call to talk about how vi was being a villain and they wanted him to give up the exploits. vi refused to see what they were saying.

but then spoke, lead by parrot and mapicc and ro, took a power play and tried chunk banning vi to end the evil on the server. parrot leaked the plan to vi and vi got out, but once again vi was facing the ridicule of the server for something that he wasn't even wanting to be.

So vi gave up the exploits. summoned the whole server to himself and burned all the items in his echest. but the server didnt believe him for a second. they were convinced he had more exploits hidden in the world. they were convinced he was the villain and were angry he wasn't just doing things with it.

but vi was done. spoke (iirc) killed him and after leaving call vi found himself atop the prison, gazing down at the server he loved, the server that hated him. it was over. he threw himself from its height over and over until he was banned.

after the ban, zam was left listless. he had betrayed eclipse because he feared they would be evil, but vi just banned himself off, sealing into the story that he would not be the villain. he couldn't talk to subz, he was too ashamed. so he became a farmer and lived inside subz's floating islands at spawn.

but one day while he was on subz revived vitalasy. zam wasn't invited but he busied himself at his farm, hoping his old teammates might want to talk to him. But something far far worse was about to happen. a ban message rang through chat. subz was killed by vitalasy. subz left the game.

his world shattered. The one person he cared about was gone. gone and he couldn't even talk to him. couldn't tell him how much he regretted betraying them. he needed to revive subz. right. now. he got vi into a call, a bottle of sunshine, sure it was just a mistake, sure subz was not really gone.

But vi was crying. he didn't explain it all to zam, but subz had brought him back on the server to tour him around their bases. filled with grief vi dragged his feet from location to location. eventually subz brought him to his newest base, and in the corner he could see a room filled with signs spelling out depression. lost, alone, a failed team that he had brought together, now split apart. vi immediately realized what subz was about to do. subz brought him to the end and revealed his masterpiece base, and then told vi to kill him. he wasn't capable of reuniting the team while he was alive, maybe in death vi and zam could reconcile. He was determined to have vi kill him. vi refused for an hour until he finally got subz to promise to return when he needed him most. And he banned him.

vi had zam meet him in the end and faced with that innocent smiling idiot's face, vi had almost no words. subz had left him a book telling him his final wish was for them to reconcile and vi begrudgingly decided to let zam in. he showed zam the end base. zam apologized instantly, wanting nothing more than for everything to be all right. but his focus was completely on reviving subz, almost ignoring vi in his desperation to get subz back. two lost birds.

vi explained that subz wanted to be gone and even if they revived him he wouldn't come back. they agree to be teammed again, and i think it's this zam vod or the next time he talks to vi, but within 30 minutes he's regretting saying yes to everything and wondering if it was the wrong thing to reconcile and get back together with vi. so. still good old princezam.

but it was done. they were reconciled. as the wormhole approached zam reconciled with everyone he had wronged.

but he forgot about pangi. in the wake of vi banning himself zam no longer wanted to do a "trap the gods" idea with pangi since the exploits were over. time and again this season zam had preferred his own plan over pangi's and often fought against him even though the two were friends. even though pangi was always there to help zam with his plans. frustrated at being snubbed, pangi took zam through the course they had made together, ending with the void trap they were going to use to lock the exploiters under the bedrock.

zam jumped in willingly, having taken off all his gear so as to not loose it in the void, but pangi had repaired the bedrock with the bedrock they had stolen from ash. pangi gave a great villain speech and trapped zam in bedrock. zam accepted his fate. so full of regret for all his action this season, this was nothing compared to what he felt he deserved.

And zam broke. he entered his mind and confronted all his past selves. his eclipse self tells him he cant just give up and abandon vi again, not after everything. zam thinks he has hurt vi too much to ever be forgiven. his team awesome (i think) self tells him he should just give up and destroy the server instead of wallowing in self pity.

he kills himself with a water bucket (ooc pangi had dropped it to him so he could get out) and decides to talk to both vi and spoke to figure out what side of the wormhole he would be on. vi isn't available. so he speaks to spoke first.

he meets spoke on a hill just like in s3, and asks to join him in ending the server. spoke reveals that he has not just all the exploits, but op. he gives zam creative mode, shows him custom items he coded, transports a whole chunk of the overworld to the end, gets in a console battle with parrot's admin account and wins. spoke is in complete control of the server.

mapicc was already on spoke's side and so once again devotions are together, fighting side by side just like on team awesome.

zam talks to vi next and iirc doesn't tell him he's already joined spoke, he's aware he has a team secret to keep and either way vi says he doesn't have plans for the finale. i actually dont remember when vi finds out zam is on the wormhole side.

over the next week spoke does prep events for the wormhole, involving inactive server members, mapicc and zam corrupt the world (grass to netherack, wood to basalt) with boots spoke coded for them. devotions wonder if spoke will betray them, they dont like that they're just minions and not equals, spoke isnt giving them actual power, just toys and tricks. they promise to end the server together no matter what happens.

the night before the end zam wonders if he's making the wrong decision again, the chatters fan the flames and he works himself up into second guessing everything. spoke might betray him. planet has found out he's on spokes side and hates him. he's messing everything up again. he was so against exploits and now he put himself on the exploit team.

suddenly he realizes chat is the problem. he's trying to make everyone happy, even chat, and he needs to just decide to do what he thinks he should do. and he decides that he wants to end the server as fast as possible so that subz can return in s4. because it's always been about subz.

the day of the wormhole arrives and about 100 other mcyts join the server to kill parrot, planet, bacon, and jaron. earlier spoke had said if they can survive the wormhole he will give up the exploits and they can save the server before ending it. over the next 48 hours they play a protect the president event.

vi revives subz the first day and suddenly zam is faced with the object of his desires back on this server. they have a final terribly tragic conversation where subz is disappointed in zam for joining spoke, zam cant defend himself because he agrees with subz, vi joins and chews zam out for betraying and tells him if he didn't want to play he should have just logged off. vi and subz are on parrot's side and killing people with leftover exploits vi still had. they leave, and zam even more dejected than ever.

planet decides to live the whole event at 3 hearts despite parrot having gathered 100 over the season. right at the end spoke asks both sides for items to ban and eventually hearts get banned, so planet is stuck at 3. in the final moments he almost gets banned but minute (as a guest) has planet kill him to get a heart again (minute's video on the wormhole was actually really good btw), but mapicc catches up to planet and bans him in the last 10 seconds of the event.

spoke, because the players fought so hard, brings everyone to the control room telling them they can choose to save the server or end it. while the server discusses mapicc and zam message each other and decide to jump in both options at once so that the server has to end. there's a final conversation on the grass where vi says this was the ending he wanted.

the long and complicated season is over.

s5 starts slow, Zam is very much done with being the main character and not much happens for about like 5 months. zam takes a full 3 month break from streaming, but when he returns in january he joins Mapicc and Bacon and they invite Jumper and Pentar to make the Abyss. they start breaking bedrock at spawn and getting players to fall into the void. its a fun and long and shenanigan filled arc that takes a deep turn as themes of players leaving the server start setting in. This season rek left before it started and parrot, poafa, mid, subz, and vi all leave mid way through. lifesteal feels like it's crumbling.

After days of fighting, planet gets zam into a call and asks him why the abyss is doing all of this. zam mentions mulitple things but lands on player activity. planet walks to the void hole and says "if the goal is player activity then, in a way i guess you lost" and then jumps into the void. the ban sound pierces the air announcing planet having been on one heart that whole time.

The abyss is mortified. They did like their idea of player activity but planet was right, just killing memebers made them give up. so they concoct a new plan, a week long scavenger hunt for the rest of the server to complete: if they finish the Abyss will stop voiding all of spawn, if they dont spawn will be destroyed. Minute heads up the opposition in the Foundation.

for multiple 9-12 hour streams zam labors at building the freakinator to destroy 5 layers of bedrock. mapicc joins him most often, usually just sitting in call to keep him company but being there nonetheless. Jumper and Pentar start helping more once the scavenger hunt really starts while bacon joins call to work on the clues. many fun hours of banter and laughter fill the air.

jumper pentar and mapicc take valorant breaks much to zams embitterment. jumper accidentally gets pentar to fall into the void with multiple skulkers of pistons, enraging zam. zam and jumper both are filled with excitement at the future making all of spawn into parkour civilization.

the whole arc zam has to face the concept that he cares more about this project than anyone else on the team, even though the abyss wasn't originally his idea. he has to fight constantly to battle the bitter voices that tell him they don't care about him and are bad teammates. only mapicc stays in the positive light. everyone else drains resources and falls into the void with the pistons he spent hours crafting.

As the scavenger hunt continues (oh day one of the scavenger hunt wemmbu demands 50 hearts or he will orbital strike spawn. foundation and abyss join together to unite the server in stopping him. spoke leaks the orbital coords he got bc he is owner to ash and the foundation take the win at being the one to destroy the canon and spawn trap wemmbu to 2 hearts. though the shot still went off and a large portion of spawn got destroyed despite the server trying to waterlog everything)

the foundation runs through clues faster than the abyss thought they would, so bacon adds some extra steps at the end. minute gets frustrated and decides to log on before the final session starts to try and finish the hunt. zam is planning on breaking the first bedrock to void at 3pm and minute wants to beat him to it.

despite everything, in a mad rush right at the end, the foundation gets the final clue at 2:55pm. they are to give the abyss one task of their choosing. they are in control. they decide the abyss members should die to the void once and never break bedrock again. The players jumped into the void.

But what nobody saw coming, or none dared imagine even when there were signs, was Jumper was secretly on the Foundation's side and leaked the scavenger hunt answers whenever the Foundation got stuck.

All the work, all those pistons, stopped in an instant. The betrayal was one of the most insane things to happen on lifesteal ever. three months of deep cover. actively helping the team. dreaming of parkour civilization together. multiple trust tests and steadfast dedication promised. all lies.

Mapicc immediately tries to kill her, Zam helps but both give up as Minute defends Jumper and both fight them back. There is no resolution to the betrayal. (Clown's video of this arc covers the whole Foundation side and is great)

Mapicc vows to destroy her life, Bacon agrees, Zam is down with it. Leaving Pentar to have the difficult choice: stay on the team and destroy the only member he knew before joining the server, or leave. He leaves. Later he joins Jumper and Minute as a team

Mapicc and Zam try fighting Minute and Jumper over and over but fail again and again.

The Presidency Arc begins, the server elects one person to get legal exploits basically: changing three things about the server. 4C and Reddoons together win, disappointing Mapicc and Zam greatly as red and 4c were extremely inactive and only wanted CaptainSparklez on for one event, removed the heart recipe, and had a third thing so forgettable i dont remember it and it didnt happen.

Basically they stalled out the already stalled progression of the server. Nobody was doing any big arcs since the abyss weeks before, the last arc was soundly destroyed by betrayal and no revenge was possible bc Minute and Jumper were just slightly better pvpers than Mapicc and Zam.

With the captainsparklez event on the horizon, Zam being lower on hearts, and having just died to Minute and Jumper in a fight where he semi-illegally restocked, was called into the principle's office with Ash (owner of s5 with spoke). Ash told him off, and then was reminded that he didn't remove heart crafting recipe, so he did that and told Zam to just kill 4C and Mid if he wanted more hearts.

Once again Ash is changing the trajectory of the server. Zam goes into a moral quandary bc he's kind of evil this season but is he THAT evil to kill two non-pvpers? While they're building? In the middle of the debate Ash logs on again and /msg him why they're still alive. So Zam kills 4c. He feels awful and spirals and goes to his and Pangi's base to think, but upon seeing their bed, realizes he could just farm Pangi off the server. Or just take half his hearts. The idea is so horrible, the depths of darkness so great, that he just starts laughing. and laughing. and laughing. (vod: "an agent of chaos is born")

So begins Zam's Joker arc, incredibly relevant to s6. Throughout the Abyss, Minute had been calling himself batman, and thus became the fixation of the Joker arc.

The presidency had also passed to Minute who had run saying he would do pvp style events but then just added the aether, changed the kit, and added the Blaze and Caves achievement race (BAC). And he was already talking about ending the server in peace.

This upset Mapicc Bacon and Zam, who had become The Players by this time. After consulting with Spoke (bc he always ends the server), they came up with a plan to break up all the teams. Mapicc started reaching out to Clown and Leo to see if they would betray the PMC, their team with Minute. And they came up with the plan to try and steal the presidency from Minute after his term was up (3 weeks, 3 changes) and use it to make the server hardcore, thinking they would finally be able to kill Minute and Jumper.

Zam full on went onto his Joker arc, blowing up builds, having people choose to blow up builds, fight each other, and a host of other Joker inspired moral dilemmas. minute told zam that the reason he wanted to join lifesteal was because he looked up to him for his s3 heroism. (vod: "murder chicken machine") Jumper also had a great yap session with zam at this time ("your president doesn't care about you")

Zam's main tactic was taking all his armor off in front of minute and jumper, taunting them to kill him and break their peaceful ending. If they wanted him to stop destroying the server they could just kill him.

But they refused. over and over.

Then the Blaze and Caves event happened, Minute's final presidency event. whoever got the most achievements from the 900 or so new ones would get a heart cap of 30. Zam being Zam loves small tasks and went on a week of 12 hour streams to get them all, stopping all Joker activities.

In this week Mapicc made fun of Minute for not just killing Zam and over the course of the conversation Minute agreed to bet the presidency bc Mapicc implied that they were just opposing Minute bc Minute stole the presidency from Mapicc bc the vote was rigged after the CaptainSparlez event. If Mapicc could get the majority of the server to vote him out, he would step down.

Wemmbu approached Mapicc and I forget who suggested it first but what came out of it was Wemmbu would pay everyone who voted for him $500, Mapicc wanted Wemmbu to get the presidency bc he thought more people would vote for Wemmbu over him, and then proceeded to convince everyone on the server to vote against minute within like a 2 hour span. (you can watch the entire thing go down live on Zam's vod. it was incredible)

Minute was completely cooked. The presidency was ripped out from under him, Clown and Leo voted against him, everything was rigged from the start while he still believed the server would vote for what was right, not what was interesting, and definitely not for irl money.

Minute's vod "meet the yappers" is a vod of all time.

That Saturday the BAC achievement race was finished and Zam got 30 hearts, Pentar came in second and got 25.

The server got turned to hardcore, and the Players accidentally killed Bacon with an arrow cannon like 5 minutes into it that they were planning on using on the whole server.

With the presidency gone, Pentar, Minute (Brandon), Ash, and Jumper became officially PB(And)J and gave up being the nice guys. They were still self-proclaimed the good guys and they still wanted peace, they just had to kill a few people and then there would be peace on lifesteal.

So they, all four of them, jumped Zam and killed him in a couple minutes flat when zam had threatened to blow up the vitalasy hole, Vi's last place on the server before leaving. It was the classic Joker threat, but he went to actually do it bc Ash was being extra obnoxious in the call. And then got instantly murdered. and Zam was banned.

Then like a week later (iirc?) Jumper asked Mapicc on to talk, she told him she regretted betraying the Abyss, that pb&j wanted to kill people and she just wanted the server to end in peace, and that she wanted Mapicc to kill and ban her so she could end her season on her terms.

It was a trap. Minute shot Mapicc with an arrow cannon. Killing him instantly.

They then got Wemmbu on and used their presidency power that was left over to cancel out his presidency power of immortality (it was just as confusing as that sounds) and killed him instantly.

Wemmbu didn't like that(TM) so he changed the tnt damage to 100 and dropped a nuke on them instantly killing Jumper Ash and Pentar. But that was unfair(TM) (and he lagged the server illegally to do it) so it was undone.

As a result Zam borrowed Pangi's account and Mapic borrowed Spoke's and they were back on to oppose this peaceful ending. Clown and Ro also locked in and were super active in the finale.

Wemmbu's next presidency thing (this was before they killed him. whatever. time moved weirdly in the finale) was the blessings and curses, Zam was pretty much emotionally done with the server, so in a final act of GayJoker flare, blessed Minute with fire res (which was useless bc Minute had 64 notch apples).

Mapicc and Clown were Not Happy with this, Mapicc took it as a betrayal, which upset Zam a lot because his whole thing this season was not betraying his team bc that's all he did s4. So he locked in for the finale. Pangi's account accidentally got banned, so he borrowed Spepticle's account.

Minute and co were not logging on a lot, even though they had a whole meeting about them playing at least a couple of hours a day so The Players could actually try and ban them and it would be a real finale event. Mapicc pulled out Salty Mode and once again got Minute to cave and Jumper and Pentar logged on and they did a 4v3. Clown out general'ed Minute and Minute got banned and Pentar got banned. Speptical logged onto his account to kick Zam off mid fight which was a delightfully great bit of possession control.

Jumper had to survive two days and got Squiddo and Ash to help, the three of them tried chunk banning Clown and Ro and Mapicc (zam got banned by clown so they couldnt use Spep's account to get Mintue back on). Mapicc died bc Squiddo made a mod to tap into Wemmbu's mod from his presidency and she nuked him and he died from an elytra glitch.

Eventually the next day Jumper and co chunk banned everyone, but clown and Ro walked out of it bc you can join and move a bit before you get kicked. Jumper elected to stay canonically in the ban and give up, even though they let the ban despawn by accident and she could log on. She conceded the event.

Everyone went to Branzy's carnival which had been happening in parallel to all of this the past couple months. They celebrate his final moments on lifesteal, and bid adieu to one of lifesteal's most beloved members. He won't be joining season 6.

And then we have s6.

Zam starts the season deciding to never kill a player again. he will just build peacefully at spawn, swearing off violence in the wake of his violence in the joker arc and s5 in general.

within 12 days he is killed by pentar on bacon's suggestion, killed by mapicc 3 times in a row, killed by bacon and planet's trap which they pulled to stop leo from killing him, along with a host of other small moments that almost make zam break.

on the 12th day he tries building a shulker farm for hours and hours. pangi bothers him throughout the whole process and he shoots him with his bow to get him to go away over and over. in a bout of frustration over the farm not working he builds a closet to lock the spirit of the joker in. he tells bacon about the closet and how he has terrible nightmares and the demon in his closet tells him to kill people. eventually he gives up on the farm but later that night he logs on to mess with bacon more. bacon and planet manage to piss him off within a couple of minutes and he again starts using his bow to shoot at them in petty frustration.

but planet takes off all his armor and takes an arrow to the head, popping like a grape. zam got his first kill.

that night he stalks spepticle and is menacing in the distance. he tells spep he wont remember this when he wakes up but spep will.

the next day he's in agony over what he has done. pangi comforts him and tells him its not his fault. zam builds a tree and writes his first oath, swearing to never crit or bow at players ever again.

satisfied that he's learning to control his bloodlust he decides to try and get to 20 hearts from building because mapicc asks him to build him a castle. the next day flame asks him to build him a volcano for 3 hearts which makes him raise the price on mapicc's castle also up to 3 hearts (after two conversations)

at the same time squiddo, 4c, and cube run the peace trials to decide who they will give the mace to. eventually they choose clown because he put his all into it.

as time continues more and more people choose to follow zam in pacifism. woogie swears off violence after mane blows up their base and red kills kab. kab swears off violence after going in a box for a week to process red killing her. pangi swears off violence so people feel comfortable coming to his recording events. zam hates that people are copying him. it was never about making lifesteal peaceful, it was about his own bloodlust.

one day flame comes to spawn during session asking for a 10v1 fight. everyone thinks there has to be a trap, but he denies it. mapicc starts getting people involved for the fight and they get about 5-6 people because zam woogie and pangi all refuse bc pacifism and terrain never pvps and has no gear.

right at the end zam decides to let go of his oath for a day to participate in the fight so flame can do his idea. he wont kill flame but he will crit him. but flame decides there's not enough players and he hears that rek and others will just run if they get low and flame wants to kill them all, not end in running. so he cancels the fight to plan it another day.

everyone disperses and logs off but a bit later wemmbu calls zam back to spawn so he can watch them blow it up. flame is destroying builds to piss off the players so they will want to fight him. zam is horrified and gives himself up as a fight so flame will stop. flame and wemmbu kill him and keep blowing it up because it was never the point. they want a 10v1 not a princezam alone.

flame burns down zam's tree and as the fire consumes the tree zam can only helplessly look on while flame and wemmbu mock him in vc.

Zam almost breaks. But pangi logs on right after and he suddenly realizes he can rebuild spawn over and over from a schematic and nothing is bad at all. Skipping away he starts gaia's hand, a group of players who will help him rebuild spawn and fight flame. He's afraid of getting so involved and so close to fighting because it might make him slip up and break, but if flame burning his tree couldn't make him change he didn't think anything could.

pangi takes it upon himself to talk to flame, giving him lite therapy to get him to see that people take time to build and building is enjoyable by building a house with him. flame begrudgingly builds the house thinking it's dumb the whole time. but pangi gets him to agree to not blow up spawn anymore and pagni will organize flame's fight for him. but minutes later wemmbu logs on and starts blowing up mapicc's castle. pangi is helpless to stop him because of his pacifism and he's pissed that flame can't control his teammates. he leaves telling flame to stop wemmbu or the fight is off. minutes later again flame calls him back to the house they built and wemmbu has blown it up. flame is completely dejected and feels like he cant stop wemmbu and also that it isn't his problem to fix. pangi gives him one final chance, but he's at the end of his rope. but they leave agreeing to get flame the fight.

zam gets into mccr and leaves the server for this week to practice, during his absence the fight happens, but right as the 10 people stand together in a pre-fight pep talk mapicc and spoke tnt minecart the whole circle, killing everyone. the players are pissed and refuse to fight again. mapicc says its because wemmbu blew up his castle, and that flame needs to kill wemmbu and he can have his fight. mapicc and wemmbu end up fighting and bc mapicc was on his phone hotspot he starts to loose so he runs from the fight. in retaliation the server griefs his castle, enemies and friends together.

after the cart incident zam logs on to get updated, pangi and mapicc both hate how flame is bullying the server into getting his fight and they promise to stop flame.

in the ashes of his tree, zam no longer has an oath, so he writes a new one that focuses on refusing to kill and refusing to use violence to solve his problems. he's emboldened by his idea to rebuild spawn over and over whenever flame destroys it, convinced he will outlast him.

flame logs on and zam gets him to admit he can't control wemmbu and also cant betray wemmbu bc wemmbu has something over him that will ruin him. zam this time promises to get flame his fight if he can convince wemmbu to stop blowing up spawn. he logs off to win mccr the following weekend, and the day he returns flame has decided to do his fight during session and uses 1000 dogs to aid him.

also while he was gone kab killed planet twice, almost banning him but then gave back the hearts.

zam is left listless, there is nobody to fight. he builds a field of daisies to frolic in. he doesn't know what he will do. where his journey will take him. but for now he's content. he has completely become the pacifist.

days later mapicc calls him to his castle and reveals that he's been stalking him for months and trying to get him to break and start killing. it has obviously been unsuccessful. at one point about a month before he had taken off his armor and started attacking zam and zam still refused to hit him, only doing it accidentally before running away and getting out. mapicc offers him hearts if he kills him and zam easily refuses. they end the arc teammates rather than enemies.

with nothing going on in the server, bacon decides that while mapicc prefers having zam as a friend, he prefers having zam as an enemy and so he choses to join wemmbu to help guide him to do more interesting arcs. wemmbu takes him in and same day kab leaks spep's location and wemmbu kills spep with bacon in tow and the team starts to form.

that same day bacon starts training kab to learn to escape fights, during it kab sets her bed in front of him. a little later mane logs on and kills kab bc they have a feud going on since the start of the season, and then finds that bed and kills her again. kab immediately thinks bacon betrayed her and sends hannah after him to kill him, he dies in one hit because he's on 4 hearts and then dies again trying to get his stuff back and is overall rather pissed at kab and hannah because he didn't leak the bed. they get wemmbu on and update him and bacon refuses to team if kab doesn't give the heart back. it ends unresolved but a couple days later kab gives bacon the hearts and the california girls becomes a team (name will come later).

zam thinks bacon is being fishy so he investigates him but wemmbu leaks pretty quickly that they're a team. but then wemmbu gets hannah to kill poafa at spawn twice and zam can do nothing but watch and give poafa two of his own hearts. he's left with nothing to do and no ideas of how to fight wemmbu without fighting.

mapicc drops his stalking video and then dies to wemmbu in a 1v1 and zam logs on in time to see him die. bc of both things he's sent into a reflection turmoil over who he is on this server. mapicc has got him feeling like the team awesome days and it scares him. who do the players on the server view him as? he realizes independence was nice, but it's also isolating and he's all alone. he resolves to find teammates. but even so he doesn't have options he likes at all.

then one day bacon revives planet, and wemmbu kills planet twice and all the members of the server are too afraid of wemmbu to attack him and protect planet. zam is crushed but still doesn't know what to do. he gives planet hearts from his own hotbar, but he's running low and he vowed to not kill and he doesn't want to slip and go down a route that will make him evil again.

then while musing over ideas he flies to spawn and sees derap and mid, touching down he intends to chat, but derap kills mid, banning her instantly. horrified zam asks him why but derap just says it's because there were no repercussions to his actions. that word sticks in zam's brain and he realizes wemmbu has never had to face any sort of repercussions for his actions.

bacon and mapicc log on and zam shares his realization and him and mapicc decide to use zam as bait to get wemmbu into a fight where mapicc and spoke can kill wemmbu with zam as support (not using strength). they get the fight, flame joins in, but mapicc and spoke both die and zam gets out. zam, in post fight talking with chat admits that he's felt more happy while fighting than he has most of the season. he starts to very seriously consider changing his oath to allow fighting, but he doesn't want to do it by his own choice so he asks poafa and kab on.

the poafa conversation is very dear to me, zam admits that the whole reason he did pacifism was because of the "chicken murder machine" conversation with minute s5 where minute said he was inspired by zam s3. Zam has been wanting to reconnect with who he was in season 3 so he swore off fighting and vowed to protect the server at all costs. poafa gently helps him see he's not fighting on fair ground and it wouldn't be bad to fight. that he is capable of looking at the reasons he's fighting and choosing to not go too far.

he talks to kab, and feels good enough to choose a new title, pacifism never fit, but first derap comes back asking what the heck happened because he saw the mapicc and spoke death messages and zam and mapiccs banter with flame after the fight so he knows zam fought. zam admits what he said earlier changed everything and that he is going to fight from now on.

after derap leaves he writes a third oath, this one labeling him a protector of spawn, and collects a sword "galaxia, the protector sword" plus a bunch of strength pots from a barrel right by leo's void hole that he has stashed a couple of days ago as he thought over this arc change. (this is the vod PRIDE)

that brings it to 10/15/24

since then there's been small things that may or may not be relevant as the season continues to unfold. zam is still in his protector arc. mane has taken up the mantle of destroying spawn. a couple weekends ago there was a massive battle for spawn trying to kill mane once so he would stop. it all failed. minute became a legend for trying to 1v1 mane and lost but maybe won the ideological battle. mapicc's team built an orbital cannon to use against mane and involved zam. devotions have had incredible lore. kab is doing something with zam that who knows how will end. derap is doing lore with zam.

we are firmly in the mid season where all early things matter and we're establishing all the relationships that will matter for the end of season lore. and this mane spawn destruction may very well be the mid season economic miracle like the cleansing, dupe war, and abyss were in previous seasons. We'll see if anyone does anything bigger after him. Seasons usually end around may/june so there's still plenty of time to go unless they decide to go rogue.