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gutsby · 5 days ago

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Father Figure

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Dad[dy] kink. Age gap. Oral (m!receiving). Premature ejaculation (Joel cums in his pants while he’s kissing you AS REAL LOVERS DO). Drinking and drug use. Gratuitous dad rock references.

Note: We all saw that video. This was begging to be written.

Another note: For a more immersive read of the pregame, listen to my freshman year Kegs & Eggs playlist (yes, it sucks).

Word count: 19.0k

Freud would’ve had a field day with this shit.

Really, there was no sane explanation for the obsession that seized you and your friends come Parents’ Weekend every year. But there it went. Again. Like clockwork, all the forty- to fifty-something fathers arrived for their first meal on campus. Like the cock-starved coed she was, your roommate bumped your shoulder as you walked and nodded to the first set of families approaching the dining hall. Out of the pack, you spotted four grey heads.

“Would, would, would, and would,” Aly observed, almost clinically. Her strides were long and resolved in their path

“That one could get it.” Her brother shrugged on your other side. He tipped his chin up, then added: “Look.”

And look you did. The batch of men, women, and all their college-aged children struck you as little more fun to ogle than your average wall of paint waiting to dry. Though the moms and dads were, admittedly, the kind of attractive you rarely saw outside an L.L. Bean magazine—as were all the rest of the kempt and polished crowd that populated your school—you were hungry as fuck. You’d agreed to join your roommate’s family for the kickoff banquet of the weekend, and you needed food. On top of that, you’d sworn off middle-aged men forever.

Aly and her brother didn’t know that, though, so you played the game and trudged ahead. When a handsome blue-eyed man born in 1970-something stood back and held the door open for your trio going in, you had to fight back a smirk at the look Aly gave him after thanking him.

“Oh, he wanted me bad,” she hissed once safely inside.

“Looks a bit like Rob Lowe,” you offered noncommittally.

“What about your dad? Is he gonna be here tonight?”

That last fragment of conversation had come from Aly’s brother, and the curiosity in it was sincere. Then he’d wiggled two dark brows your way and said he bet your dad was a silver fox like no other, and you’d had to roll your eyes before strolling into the wide open dining area. You were late; the food, evidently, was all already served.

“My dad’s at home with a broken femur, so…no,” you answered slowly. Starting to weave your way through a sea of round tables and following Aly’s lead as you did, “Probably not your type. Just old. Very embarrassing.”

You stuck your index in your mouth and pantomimed gagging, and the sophomore beside you just laughed.

“Yeah? Desperate, too?” he challenged.

“Pathetic, really,” you replied.

For a second, you felt a pang of guilt at the way you were describing your father. Surely he couldn’t deserve being characterized like that. Then you recalled how he’d boned your mom’s best friend while he was married, had never really made amends after the fact, and was still fucking said mistress’s brains out on the reg to this day.

You’d done plenty of wrong behind his back, to be sure, but that kind of took the cake for fucked up betrayals. He could stand for a little bit of ribbing every now and then.

Presently, Aly was paving the way straight toward a pair of bright and beaming faces at a table near the back.

“Our parents named us after a goddamn Grateful Dead song and the city they first saw the band in concert. Nobody does pathetic better than Scott and Michelle.” She waved her arm in a wide arc and grinned over there.

And you would’ve gladly countered that no, that actually makes them very fucking funny and cool, but the chance to do that was gone in a moment—the next had you approaching their table and meeting with big hugs.

Even for you, who had never seen these people before in your life, there was a warm welcome. You got long, suffocating embraces and cheery greetings of, ‘Oh, you must be Aly’s roommate!’ and ‘We’re sorry you got stuck with our shithead kid’ before you had a grin plastered on again and were being ushered to sit down.

You took note of the little placards opposite each chair, counted four, five, six of them altogether, with an empty spot beside your own, per usual, and you took your seat.

“Dallas, honey, I love you,” the woman across the table, Michelle, said with all the restraint she could conjure up, “I love you to pieces, but what the hell are you wearing?”

That steered the conversation in a decidedly light, playful direction from the start, with Aly’s brother defending his decision to be decked out in full school-sponsored athleisure tooth and nail. He’d been recruited to play lacrosse, so naturally, wearing the far-too-tight crimson lycra was all part of the deal. Aly insisted that he just wanted to show off the biceps he didn’t have, Scott hypothesized it was the crisp, wintry Boston air that had made his son dress like a total douche, and Dallas tried bringing the inquisition to a speedy end by lifting one middle finger up and flipping his napkin into his lap.

“Fuck you guys, I’m hungry,” he declared, emphatic. Fighting the urge to laugh along then grabbing a fork.

Just as fast as he’d picked it up to dig in, though, his mom was slapping the silver utensil out of his hand.

“Not yet,” she chided.

“Why? We’re all here,” Dallas groaned.

“Because,” his father returned, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin before casting a quick look around him, “We’re still waiting on one more to join us. See?”

With that, Scott nodded toward the card next to you, and immediately, your cheeks warmed. You shook your head, mouth working a little less fluidly than you would’ve liked as you piped up and told them—assured them all, rather:

“My dad’s not coming. He got a little, uh…hurt at work.”

And you were certain that would be the end of it. You’d just moved to grab a fork yourself, eyeing the plate full of food in front of you then, when another hand stopped you on the spot. It was Aly beside you, grip insistent as she gave your wrist a little shake, and in your periphery, you could see her tilt her head the opposite direction.

She was staring, silent—totally unlike herself.

Normally when something crossed her path nearby to make her twist her whole fucking neck to get a glimpse, it was followed by a dry remark. A comment, a compliment, or a lewd invitation to fuck me, please.

While the last of the three clearly wasn’t an option to use around her parents, you at least would’ve expected to hear something. When nothing came, you turned your head too, having just snagged a bite of roast beef on your fork and shoveled it in before looking that way.

You followed her gaze and nearly inhaled the food.

With a startled gasp and a ‘Christ!’, your eyes widened to find a man who wasn’t your father at all—just his best friend and your ex-fuckbuddy, Joel Miller, walking over.

It was a sight you weren’t prepared to see in a million years. What the everliving fuck this man was doing two thousand miles from Austin, Texas, on your college campus, striding into the very first meal of Parents’ Weekend, looking like that, was so far beyond your comprehension you couldn’t speak. You just stared and sucked in the sharpest, strangled breath, fought back a cough, and tried not to die swallowing a cube of meat.

From the way that man was approaching you now, asphyxiation might not be the worst, you thought idly.

Joel’s here.

Joel’s here, and he’s wearing slacks and a button-up.

Joel’s wearing business casual, and he’s walking over.

Who the fuck does this man even think he’s trying to—

“Sorry I’m late,” Joel cut in, smile bright and easy on his face. Then, stepping behind your chair, leaning down:

“Hey, sweetie. How are ya?”

He kissed the top of your head.

The tone sealed his fate completely.

Joel was pretending to be your father.

This wasn’t his brightest idea.

Call him sick, insane, selfish, besotted, or rotten straight down to his core, Joel Miller was no longer one to care. He had a goal in his head. Less than a week ago, you’d left him high and dry in Austin after having told him you loved him—in the middle of climax, but aloud, no less—and the month before that, you’d left him again. Back to college, where you could happily pretend he didn’t exist.

Tonight, he wasn’t letting that happen. This weekend, Parents’ Weekend, was of course reserved for families, but Joel knew your father wasn’t coming. He knew you wouldn’t be expecting your dad or anyone else to be there, and since you’d taken to the usual course of ignoring all his calls and texts, he felt he’d had no choice.

You couldn’t stay closed off like this forever.

Eventually, you’d both have to reckon with what this was and how to move forward, or the mess of the last month would never change. You would never believe he saw you any differently from a one-off hookup or a taboo outlet of pleasure. And if that was all you saw him as, so be it. But he had to get the truth of it out now, one way or another.

Even if he had to roleplay the father figure and play the most fucked up game of paternal charades known to man, he’d get the answers he needed this weekend.

You were good at games. Unfortunately, Joel was better.

He’d take this fake-out to the max and be the best faux father you’d never asked for. Maybe you’d hate him for it.

As he’d squeezed your shoulder and sat down beside you at the table, felt your gaze heavy and stunned on his, he also couldn’t help but hope you might still love him after.

“Scott Ingram. Pleasure to meet you.” The broad hand had been extended his way before he was even fully seated. The face across from him was kind. Intrigued. Tinged with a faint trace of curiosity, “So you’re dad?”

“Stepdad, yeah.” Joel had had to leave a bit more room for plausibility before he’d made his formal introduction.

Then he’d met Michelle. Aly. Dallas. The latter two more piqued with interest than the first, as though unsure of what they’d just been told, but willing to go on anyway.

“Old and pathetic my ass,” Dallas had murmured your way, low enough for Joel to know those words were meant for only you to hear. You stiffened in response.

“So glad you could make it up! Is your leg doing better?”

Aly had smiled warmly over at him, and Joel had only hesitated a second. Then he remembered his friend.

“Oh, my— yeah. Just…peachy. Yeah. All healed up.”

He didn’t flit a look to you; he could feel the searing imprint of your gaze and the way you hadn’t bothered to hide your frown when he’d referenced the leg he’d never broken. The way you could’ve pulverized the napkin in your lap to dust from how hard you were squeezing it in your fist—you didn’t like to admit it, but that was your nervous tic, and Joel knew it well. He propped his elbows on the table and didn’t miss the way a head turned his way from a neighboring group. Then another. He hated every starch white button-up he owned with a burning passion, but he couldn’t deny this one was eye-catching.

Not that it mattered, really, because the only glossy gaze he cared to snag was presently nailing him with daggers in its path. Still, it was a comfort to know he’d make a good-looking corpse if that look of yours ever did kill him

“Oh, my, my, oh hell YES—”

The sing-song trill of a baritone beside him roused him from his trance. He looked over and saw Scott grinning.

“—honey put on that pa-a-a-a-a-arty dress!”

It was Michelle that finished the line for him, while they both bobbed their heads along to the Tom Petty song blasting overhead. Evidently, dad rock would be alive and well all weekend. Joel wasn’t mad to see that happen.

“You a Tom Petty fan?” Scott jerked his chin up to him.

Before he could answer, though, Michelle interjected:

“I’d say he’s more of a Simon & Garfunkel guy.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Joel smiled.

“Mom, Dad. Please stop,” Aly moaned.

“Seriously.” Dallas’s mouth was full.

And, just as he fought to swallow the heaping glob of food he’d just crammed in, his dad snapped his fingers.

“No, I know it! You’re a Billy Joel man, Joel. No doubt.”

Joel blanched as white as the shirt on his back. You coughed. He hadn’t even noticed you’d chanced a bite of food beside him, but now you were sputtering—choking on a morsel of beef or mashed potatoes or something—and he didn’t think twice. He pivoted right to you and dropped a hand on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. He patted you twice, eyes a little wider.

“Hey, you OK?”

Fleeting memories of a night not too long ago flashed through his mind: driving town by town, state after state, blaring Billy Joel extra loud in his Bronco with you riding shotgun. It had been something special between you then. Now, your gaze was on him like you despised him.

“I’m fine,” you answered, tone clipped.

You shrugged his touch away. Joel blinked back to Scott.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he said, thoughts occupied by you all the while, but he reckoned it was something his neighbor had wanted to hear, because he saw a satisfied little smile cross his lips, ‘I told you, Michelle.’

“Everybody likes Billy Joel, dad.” Aly rolled her eyes.

And Joel would’ve liked to look your way again. Maybe dropped the fatherly moue for half a second and flashed an apologetic look shared just between you and him. But then the conversation shifted; the whole table began to eat, more pleasantries and questions about home life and backgrounds followed, and all the talk from there converged on where they were planning to go out after dinner—how they’d make the very most of Parents’ Weekend. You sat back and ate in silence, mostly. You wouldn’t meet his gaze for even a moment, and when you rose from your seat to get another drink, Joel felt himself stand too, as if out of habit. He hadn’t meant to.

It hadn’t been his intention to follow you out of the dining area, strides swift to try and keep up, but he did.

It hadn’t been his goal to corner you by the soda dispenser, either. Away from the eyes of everyone else, or at least in a private enough space not to be seen by too many people, Joel felt a little more at liberty to talk. He lowered his voice and drew even closer then to speak.

“Sweetheart—”

You’d filled a cup halfway with water. As soon as he’d said that word, ‘sweetheart,’ you turned and chucked its contents directly in his face. Liquid splashed up at him, and for a second, Joel had only to stand there with his eyes closed and his body completely frozen in place.

Water dripped in silence before he wiped at his chin.

At the same time, you were tossing your cup aside.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ call me that,” you growled.

Then, shortly: “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Honestly, he didn’t know. He opened his eyes.

And, just as he raised both hands in a semi-conciliatory kind of gesture, you scowled and backed away from him.

“You’re sick, Joel. Pretending to be my goddamn da—”

“I know. I know,” Joel winced as he spoke, wrinkles no doubt creasing even deeper along his face as he saw yours fall. You weren’t happy to see him in the slightest. “I know it’s fucked up. I just…needed to talk to you, hon.”

“About what?!”

He could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He wanted to cup them in his hands, or else kiss the frown off your lips in a way that would be totally inappropriate for a stepdad to do, but already, he sensed his resolve was eroding. It didn’t matter, anyway, because you weren’t letting him get within an inch of you, based off your look.

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, “There’s just so much—”

Of course, the next moment was punctured by a voice. His words were cut short; you were both forced to turn.

“It’s all settled now,” Aly declared with cheery conviction. She snagged a cup and started filling it up with Sprite, “Pregame at Dallas’. Seven Oaks after. Lucky’s after that. Maybe a brief intermission at The Alley, if you’re up for it. Afters at A.J.’s, probably. Depends what the vibe is like.”

Joel had barely processed half of what was said, and it still sounded like a lot from where he stood. He blinked.

Then Aly’s eyes fell to his collar, and she lifted a brow.

“You got a little…drinking problem there, Joel?”

He glanced down at the mess on his shirt and tried to smile with her. It was hard to fight the color jumping to his cheeks simultaneously. He scrambled for the words.

“Oh, uh—”

“Dad’s real smooth with it,” you cut in, suddenly, like the paternal moniker was nothing at all. You didn’t look back, “I’m fine drinking wherever. Your parents coming, too?”

Aly’s grin stretched even wider. It looked devious.

“They wouldn’t miss this bingefest for the world.”

At just the intonation of those words, Joel’s pulse sped up. He saw a knowing look pass between you and your roommate, and in a second, he sensed he was fucked.

He really shouldn’t be drinking tonight.

A hundred shots probably wouldn’t have been enough to kill it—this ringing in your head hurt like a motherfucker.

Joel wanted to talk.

Of course he wanted to talk.

Just on his terms, on his time, with your closest friends and their family members all assuming he was your dad.

Because that made a lot of fucking sense.

You’d meant to split from Joel the second you showed up. Dallas’ off-campus house was many things, but small and quiet were not among those descriptors, and you planned to use all of its space to your advantage tonight.

Simply put, the place was a glorified playground for college degenerates. Afforded the distinct honor of housing eight members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity in 2,700 square feet for over fifty years, the Craftsman home was no small wonder to anyone who saw it standing today: the house was shit. Dallas loved it.

You’d enjoyed it, too, for at least the first year or two of college. Then you’d wisened up to the antics of a few too many numb-skulled Pikes, got tired of listening to the same ten tracks being blasted in your ears every other weekend, and decided you’d just stick to the bar scene, where at least patrons were prohibited from standing on elevated surfaces and breaking bottles over their heads.

When Dallas rushed, and eventually joined the fold last year, you’d been hesitant to go back. Then, when he’d promptly decked the first guy who tried dragging you up onto a table with him, you figured you could safely visit again and not have to worry while your friend was there. The kid did a pretty good job of weeding out assholes.

“My lady.” He stood and bowed before presenting you with a fifth of Pink Whitney like it was the finest wine.

The bottle was half empty. You’d been passing it back and forth for the last hour in between rounds of pong.

“Been sayin’ shit like that ever since he saw Gladiator II.” His housemate Cory called from closeby. He flicked his wrist once and sank his shot in the second to last cup.

“You are not General Acacius, brother,” Cory’s teammate Pete chimed in. With a lucky throw of his own, he hit the final Red Solo cup and shook his head like it was nothing.

You were all on the third floor, away from the noise downstairs. While the so-called ‘pregame’ surged ahead on first, in the basement, and outdoors, you’d managed to find relative quiet among eight or nine friends and acquaintances, plus a guy railing lines off a frisbee in the corner. Nobody knew where the fuck he’d gotten it from.

“I like to pretend,” Dallas said with a shrug. Then, once you’d taken a swig of the pink drink and handed it back: “My parents play next. Gavin, put the coke away, please.”

Gavin sniffed the air at least four times like he had a cold. Then he tucked his credit card back in his wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and knocked the frisbee on the floor.

‘Yessir’ was all you heard before he was leaning back contentedly. The girls Cory and Pete had just played seemed equally indifferent as they sauntered off—likely looking to get their hands on whatever the hell else the redhead had in his jeans and quick to forget about the game. Blow was way too easy to spread at these parties, and clearly, no one gave a shit about redemption round.

“Gavin.” Dallas’ tone was a warning.

At the same time, his housemate had just snagged an ID where it was left on the table and held it up to the light.

“Hang on, it looks like this guy, uh…” Cory squinted to read the text on an apparently too-old driver’s license. “Looks like he called dibs on next round…Joel Miller.”

Your grip tightened on the spot. You said nothing. Cory was just then starting to remark that this dude’s the spittin’ fuckin’ image of that one guy from Game of Thrones, Dallas, come look, when the door to the room swung open, and in walked the man of the hour himself.

Joel was joined by Scott, Michelle, and a horde of others.

Well, maybe five in total. They were all freshmen girls.

Giggling, grinning freshmen girls who were quite literally hanging off his body on either side, or else trailing behind him, admiring him like he was the single greatest thing.

Where were all their fathers? That was your fake dad.

Christ, that sounded bad, and you hadn’t even said it.

When Dallas offered you the bottle again, you declined. You were more than just buzzed. And Joel was drunk.

Apparently.

And was he—well shit, were they trying to strip him?

One of the bubbliest girls from the group was tugging on Joel’s shirt. Three buttons were already undone, and a smooth, tanned patch of flesh glistened through the ‘V’ in the fabric. He’d been working up a sweat downstairs.

A sea of black-and-grey hairs peeking out through the trough of cotton was the last thing you saw before you had to look away. It was too familiar. And there you saw some girl fresh out of high school, feeling him, teasing at the material while she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“You are so lying!” she slurred, voice pitchy and shrill.

What was worse, you couldn’t even fault the girl for it. That had been you just a few short years ago, hadn’t it?

Beside her, her friend snagged his sleeve: “Show ussss!”

Scott and Michelle had approached the table where Dallas was setting up the cups for the next round and you were trying not to stare. You reckoned you were failing pretty miserably at the task when the next thing Mrs. Ingram did was lean in closer to you and whisper.

“Real hot commodity with the girls, isn’t he?” It was soft.

She was right.

You forced your gaze to your feet, pretending to assess the wet and sticky mess underneath them. You hummed.

“Yup. Real ladies’ man,” you answered quietly. Strained.

“They’re convinced he’s got some ink hidden under his shirt. That’s a creative way to get a man topless if I’ve ever seen one.” Scott chuckled next to you, tone teasing.

Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t quite place what it was. It hardly felt like jealousy at all—but that was worse, somehow. Joel was your stepfather in every other mind but yours and his, and here he was, soaking in all this attention that you couldn’t give to him.

Maybe that was for the best.

Joel deserved a woman he didn’t have to love in secret.

“OK, who’s up—Joel or mom and dad?” Dallas asked.

“I’m out. Joel can take my place. And don’t we—”

Pete snapped his fingers, then pointed at Cory.

“We forgot to grab the other keg, didn’t we?”

“Fuck me.”

“Let’s go.”

They were gone in a second. That left Joel, Scott, Michelle, plus one open spot. Dallas set the last cup.

“Who’s gonna be Joel’s partn—”

“ME!”

That had to have come from three girls, at least. One on the couch and two more on either side of Joel, along with a slew of hopeful looks from others in his orbit.

They’d dispersed some, thankfully. Though not physically clinging to your pseudo-stepfather and begging him to peel off his shirt, they stayed close.

One of them giggled and nudged her friend: “Maya can!”

The girl who’d just been playing tug-of-war with the front of Joel’s button up waved her hand in mock indignation.

“I suck at pong. You go, Claire,” she crooned.

It was clear from the sideways glance the first girl had flashed that she wanted Joel to protest. Maybe insist that she play anyway, if you had to guess. It was all so confusing—what with how this group was flirting, and fighting, and insisting simultaneously that they couldn’t possibly play, even though they’d like to, but maybe…

Your skull started ringing again.

You were just about to turn to leave, when Dallas cut in:

“Sorry, ladies. Gonna be a Daddy-Daughter duo tonight.”

Then he gestured to you, beckoned to Joel, and grinned. Your stomach could’ve plunged to that floor you’d just been pretending to study. You quickly jerked your head.

Even Joel, for all his calm and unaffected dealings, the pretty damp mop of hair hanging in ringlets against the sides of his face, and the way he kept pretending not to be concerned by the flock of girls, had to pause a beat. You saw his throat work. Before you could try and decipher the look that was crawling up his face, you made the split-second decision to interject yourself.

“No, Dallas. I’m not playing again.”

You tried to avoid grinding your molars.

This time, the tone he heard wasn’t one of a thinly veiled acceptance—something begging to be disputed when it tried to decline the offer—but instead an emphatic ‘no.’

No way were you playing another game with this man.

Joel already had your head fucked ten ways to Sunday by being here at all, and now you had to pretend to be platonic, his goddamn beer pong partner, while a gaggle of freshmen girls sat frothing at the mouth for his dick?

Yeah, but no.

Hard fucking pass.

You didn’t care what it looked like. You shot Dallas a look, grabbed a stray Solo off the table, and made your way to the door, calling something over your shoulder about being too tired to play, and offering your spot to Maya.

That should make your old man happy enough.

It wasn’t like he could do anything here with you.

And then you left. Before you did, though, you passed Gavin and the mysterious white bag he was starting to fish out of his pants, and without thinking, you grabbed his hand. You didn’t like doing coke, had never seen the point in taking your level of intoxication that far out on an ordinary night, but, all things considered, this evening was anything but normal. You deserved some relief. If that couldn’t come in the form of Joel packing all his shit and leaving, then so be it. But you weren’t about to hang around and play the nice and polite stepdaughter when all you wanted to do was scratch your fucking eyes out.

A few lines wouldn’t be the worst way to start the night.

Joel wasn’t drunk.

He wasn’t tipsy, either.

And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have appreciated the way this hazel-eyed firecracker had nearly crushed his toes from how hard she’d jumped up and down at hearing you abdicate your position. Maya had shrieked, and Scott and Michelle hadn’t been able to fight back smiles, and trying not to wince too hard, Joel had politely excused himself. He’d claimed that he needed some air.

The oxygen he found down the hallway a few minutes later was stale as shit, but he couldn’t exactly complain.

He’d asked for this, after all: the thumping bass, shaking floors, passageways that reeked of weed and cheap perfume, and girls that refused to let go of his neck.

Well. He hadn’t asked for that last thing.

Thirty years ago, he might’ve found it cute—what Maya and Claire and every other glossy-gazed Phi Mu seemed to be offering with every bat of their lashes. Now, if the arms latched around his throat weren’t yours, the idea just made him sick. He cleared his throat and walked.

And before long, his feet had carried him to the end of the hallway. Where in the hell had you gotten off to?

Would you be back soon?

And why had you taken that kid with you?

Joel’s palms were sweaty by his sides. He didn’t like being kept in the dark—didn’t think traveling some 2,000 miles to be closer to you would still leave him wondering like a fucking idiot if he would see you again.

Then he reached for the nearest door. A bathroom.

The door was just cracked, allowing a sliver of light to shine through and a peek at a sea of tile flooring to greet him. Joel pushed on the knob without thinking to knock.

When he stepped inside, he had to stop.

It was too much to process and walk at once.

For the first time in his life, he felt shell-shocked.

You were on your knees in front of that red-haired fucker. Stabilizing one hand on a denim-clad leg in front of you, patting his thigh, having him murmur something back—probably words of encouragement for how nice your mouth felt around him—and then tilting your head up.

Joel could only see you from behind. His vision was red.

“What the fuck are you DOING?!” he bellowed out.

The two of you leapt apart, your head jerking back.

He wasn’t thinking. Joel blew straight past you and went for him, the little pencil-dicked Pike who’d just had his dick down his stepdaughter’s throat, presumably, and he grabbed him by the shirt. He shoved him hard against the bathtub on the wall, watched him flail a few steps, and then, before the kid could recover his balance, Joel shoved him again. He might’ve tripped further back and fallen into the tub, had the older man not reached for him again—and reared back to punch him square in the face.

That blow never landed.

In the next instant, a smaller body was forcing itself in between him and the kid, and the only other thing Joel could see through his own blinding rage were your two eyes—wide and panicked and horror-stricken, clearly.

“JOEL.”

Still not prepared to retreat, Joel reached out again.

Your hand knocked his down in a blink. Hard.

“J— Dad. Dad. Stop. Please don’t hit him.”

Suddenly, that tone was approaching a plea. You must’ve caught a glimpse of the rage pulsing through his veins and sensed it might’ve been too much for him to control—but of course, Joel knew better. He could always stop.

He stepped off and turned to you at once, teeth bared.

“How the fuck could you even—” he started again.

“I’m sorry, dad,” you broke in, words sounding like a sob, “It’s not his fault. Really. I— I didn’t mean for you to see.”

Sucking some other guy’s cock. Yeah, of course not.

Joel’s face flared with an anger unlike anything he’d felt in years, and if it weren’t for the skittish sack of shit stumbling away, and the warning that was starting to radiate off your skin, he would’ve liked to knock him out.

He might’ve, if the kid hadn’t run out of the room.

If you hadn’t turned slightly, he might’ve yelled again.

And then he saw it, from where you’d pivoted—the toilet.

Sitting on the smooth white porcelain lid in three thick stripes, the sight greeted him like a punch in the gut.

He wasn’t sure what it meant for an excruciating second. He stared. Then he processed what that substance was.

You’d been crouched over the toilet doing a line of coke.

He wanted to feel relief. For a moment, maybe, he did.

When your eyes narrowed on his and you shook your head in a scowl, it didn’t feel like he should be happy. Or ready to celebrate this latest discovery. Instead, realizing that you hadn’t been blowing a guy in this bathroom but were simply doing drugs in front of him, Joel felt bile jump up his throat. It was like a knot the size of his fist, and he wasn’t sure how to react, but he couldn’t stand that look on your face. You were just as angry as him.

“What the hell was that all about, Joel?!” you snapped.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut back in:

“Sorry, sorry—I mean ‘dad.’ You fucking asshole.”

“And this is why you up and left?” Joel hissed.

“I just—”

“Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

“I didn’t—”

“What that could’ve been laced with?”

He pointed to the cocaine on the lid of the toilet—apparently there hadn’t been enough space on the skinny porcelain sink to set up your lines—and at the same time, to Joel’s amazement, you sank to your knees.

“Well, I don’t know, dad, why don’t we test some out?”

And then you swiped a casual touch through a line and lifted your index to your mouth. With your other hand, you pulled at your bottom lip a little, and were evidently about to test your drugs the old fashioned way: by rubbing the powder against your gums to see if it made them numb. Joel swatted at your wrist before you did.

“Don’t,” he growled. Without even realizing it, he reached and grabbed your chin. His fingers engulfed half your face in an authoritative, upward-tilting grip. “Put that stuff anywhere near your mouth, and you will regret it.”

That didn’t seem to stir you, but your hand stayed put.

Joel stepped away just as quickly. He went to the door.

He shut it.

And when he returned, you hadn’t moved from where you’d been knelt. He was glad. Something quiet and dull throbbed between his ears, though he wasn’t recovered enough from the shock of the last few minutes to really investigate that. He just stood back over you, frowning.

His voice was lower when he spoke again:

“What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

It was a question as much for himself as it was for you, and your lips twitched at the end of it. You shrugged, and you sank back onto your heels, peering up as you did.

“You thought—” you started, soft.

“I thought you were in here blowin’ that little shit.”

Your smile split into a grin. Your eyes glistened.

“Is that so?”

Joel didn’t have the strength or the presence of mind to answer, so instead, he just nodded. His scowl deepened.

“You and me,” he resumed, having just exhaled a breath, “We’re gonna have ourselves a little chat later. Got that?”

And he meant it. Not just about drugs and other men and the dangers of accepting cocaine from strangers. He had more to tell you tonight than his overwrought mind was likely capable of sharing right now, but he’d say it.

Soon.

Eventually.

Once he got this bulge in his slacks sorted out.

With you, it was never a conscious decision, and it rarely ever occurred at times it was appropriate to happen. Like when your friends and their family and half of the Pike fraternity weren’t all milling about around this house. When he hadn’t almost decked a kid for giving you coke.

When you weren’t shuffling on your knees to greet the growing erection in his pants with a grin on your face.

“Will this ‘chat’ come before or after you fuck Maya?”

That was it.

Joel seized hold of your head again—this time, from the back. One palm rounded the base of your skull and yanked your face forward, mushing your nose and your lips against the fabric of his pants in an obscene sort of kiss. He made you rub your face against the hardened tent there, and he groaned when you whimpered. The reverberations of it traveled from his groin to his brain in two milliseconds flat and made him think insane things.

Like having your mouth right now.

Taking from you here what he thought he’d almost lost.

The sight of your head hovering anywhere near another man’s crotch made it crystal-clear to him, though he’d known it well before: he wanted you. He needed to have you. How you could even crack the joke about a shred of his attention being elsewhere had him tightening his hand in a fist in your hair. He didn’t care if it felt wrong.

“You know what girls like Maya can do for me?” he said.

He tilted your head back so your gaze could find his. He didn’t let you answer, but he let you stare for a second, and then he worked your pretty parted lips over the front of his slacks again. He let the taut grey fabric tease the cusp of that opening, tasting a bit, before drawing back.

“That’s right,” Joel went on as if you’d just responded, “Nothing. Absolutely fuckin’ nothing. Open your mouth.”

And you did. Wider. From the look of it, there was spit pooling inside, and your tongue hovered just within it when your lips met the front of his pants. You cupped your mouth around his clothed erection and kissed it.

Your eyes were locked on his as you did. The sight felt extra obscene—Joel couldn’t ignore the fact that he was dressed in near-formal attire, and you had on jeans and a tight cropped tank. He looked polished and professional; you were a beaming pretty thing making space between his legs to kneel. You felt like a dream with your lips over his swollen, aching cock; Joel felt old. Paternal, almost.

Was it wrong to think you needed to be taught a lesson?

Of course it was. He wasn’t your dad. He didn’t do that.

But when you smiled up at him with your lips still brushing his straining bulge, Joel couldn’t resist the smallest impulse to wonder—what if he showed you?

What if he let you know exactly what he wanted, how he needed it done, and that he only ever craved it from you? If he couldn’t say it outright in words, he could guide you.

Teach you.

Your tongue traced the seam of his zip, and he groaned.

“Damn near gave your old man a stroke, y’know that?”

“I know,” you said softly. Kindly, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

His cock throbbed at that last affectionate word.

His hands couldn’t help themselves: one stayed planted on the back of your head, and the other made its way to his belt. He undid his buckle, button, and zip in a blink.

“And what was that prick’s name?” Joel grumbled.

“Gavin.”

Your mind seemed two million miles away from any shit-brained fratboy at the moment as your gaze fixed itself on the length he was working out of his pants just then.

When it bobbed out and got within an inch of your rapt expression, your lips parted on instinct; you leaned in.

Swiftly, Joel’s hand on your head halted the movement.

“Gavin, huh,” he returned, tone treading on patronizing. He knew you were salivating for that little pearl on his tip. He gripped your hair hard. “This what you’d do for him?”

You whimpered.

“No, daddy. No, just— just you.”

Joel hummed his approval but didn’t let you move. He watched you eye the head of his cock like there was no single sight more appetizing in the world, and then he saw you lick your lips. You’d get positive reinforcement.

He would take things slow, and by the end of it all, he hoped to have made it clear that this was what he wanted: you, and only you. That he didn’t want you doing this with anyone else other than him. Here, now, or ever.

The last was a lot to say, so he fed you an inch instead.

He let his cock slide between your lips and stretch them.

You breathed something soft and sweet at the first intrusion of his tip; your mouth cushioned that inch, and his head was immediately enveloped in warmth. Your tongue darted out to greet him in a gentle lick. Joel groaned again, and his fingers constricted in your hair.

“That’s it, honey,” he told you, “Suck on daddy.”

His hips hadn’t meant to jump, but the pleasure from just the cusp of your mouth was too much for him not to flinch a little. He stabbed another couple inches in that pliant ‘o’ and felt you work your jaw open to take him whole. You looked so obedient. You were doing so good.

You bobbed your head gently, and his hand didn’t need to coax you at all. You were hungry, mouth sliding up and down his thick, throbbing dick and leaving trails of spit in its wake. You wanted to please him now; he could feel it.

You had no idea what you did to him. All he wanted now. It was like trying to explain a color in words, and all the man could do was just hold your head in place and watch you take him. When your back straightened and one palm braced itself up against his thigh, the other about to curl around the base of his length, he shook his head.

He brushed that hand away and made it rest on his other leg, so you were left with just your mouth around him.

You peered up, confused. Joel was, too.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to lead the way. Make you see what he wanted you to by guiding your motions and filling your mouth the way he needed. He tried as much by shifting his left hand to meet the right at the back of your head. Gently, he pushed your face forward to suck more in.

“Breathe through your nose, baby. Wanna feel you.”

Feel you deeper, he should’ve said. Either way, it made for a slow and painstaking slide down your tongue—sensing you flatten it and inhale a shallow breath as he worked his way in—and at the stretch, you gagged a bit.

Joel eased up, just enough to let you flit your gaze to his.

“You wanna feel me, too, sweetheart?” he asked gently.

You nodded, mouth still full of cock. Your eyes glistened in a way that said you might’ve guessed there was more to it, but you weren’t exactly in a position to ask just what. You let the fingers of both his big hands splay against the back of your head, and your jaw slackened more. Your gaze stayed on his as his cock slid deeper.

In that, there was wordless, tranquil reprieve. The sight of his spit-soaked length stuffing your mouth, skin all shiny and wet, and the way he kept going further and further and further, until your soft pert nose grazed the hairs of his belly, made Joel’s member swell harder still. There was scarcely an inch in between your lips and his heft of stomach. Your eyes were still fixed on him, and as the seconds ticked by, there was moisture welling at the corners. Joel moved his hands to thumb at those tears.

“Good girl. You’re doin’ so good for daddy,” he praised.

And something stirred in the depths of his body when he felt you try to nod again, like you were thrilled to be giving him pleasure and wanted to show it in some way.

Joel could’ve stayed like that for hours if his dick would only have let him. As it was, though, he felt the stir in his stomach accompanied by something else—a familiar pinch, and a warning jolt of pleasure. He cursed quietly.

You’d just started. He’d barely got an inch down your—

“Fuck,” he cursed again, when he sensed you swallow around his dick. The head of himself was breaching somewhere deep within your throat, and he felt it.

This wasn’t what he’d planned. You’d taken him deep before—at your father’s birthday bash last month, actually—but then you’d been blowing him under a table. He couldn’t hold your gaze or watch your throat open around him, couldn’t see the minuscule wince in your eyes or try to brush that discomfited look aside with his thumbs in the way he could now. He felt it in the pit of his gut, though: he would burst if he didn’t slow down.

With that one grounding thought, Joel tried pulling out.

Your body below him responded in sharp protest.

‘Daddy, no’ seemed almost to jump off your tongue, though it was presently weighted down by his cock. Your nails worked deeper into the fabric of his pants, like the tight, possessive grip was all you could manage to let your intentions be known to him. Then the look flared in your irises, too. They were begging him to stay in place.

Joel obeyed. Though it was you on your knees for him, lips, tongue, and throat pulsing and sucking to give him the utmost pleasure, he felt pangs of powerlessness, too.

He couldn’t help it when your lips stretched more, when your mouth opened wider, and your throat took him in all the way. He was fucked. He let out a sharp, hoarse grunt to let you know as much, and he cursed out loud again.

And then, completely axing his every well-laid plan, Joel felt the first rope of cum unload from his throbbing tip. Then another. And another. And another hot flurry of pleasure cropped up from that place your mouth was presently attached to him, and this time, the wave was too much to be overcome. The whole thing flooded him.

Without a hope of beating out that primal instinct, Joel just cupped your face in his palms and let his climax fill your throat. He couldn’t think, and while you seemed a tad surprised at how early it came, you didn’t fight it, either. You simply sat back, peered up, and let him fuck your mouth in the gentlest, most desperate thrusts, mind likely eager to feel his spend paint your open throat.

You hardly had to swallow at all—hardly could swallow, with how deep he’d gone. His cum jetted in milky strings through your plush, wet channel, and Joel could feel it gliding down with just a moment’s hitch of resistance.

Impaled as you were, you gagged once, and he withdrew in the next instant. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath or for his cum to get down inside you. He felt too much to be troubled now; he yanked you to your feet and drew you into him. He pushed you back against the sink.

Your legs latched around the backs of his, and your body was thrust against the mirror. It was tender, somehow. Joel didn’t fight to claim your lips or invade your mouth with stifling kisses; he just pressed you to the reflective glass and hedged you in under him. He kissed you gently.

In between movements against your body, he mumbled:

“I’m sick of missin’ you all the damn time, sweet pea.”

He wasn’t sure where it came from. It just came.

Much like he had, except the stringy ropes of cum that had spurted from his dick seemed far less of a mess than whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth right now. He felt exposed as soon as he’d spoken it you.

Then he saw your lips twitch. You kissed him back.

Someplace within where your mouth slotted over his, you were able to get out a couple murmured words yourself.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” you returned in a whisper.

You snaked your arms around the back of his neck and kept kissing him, over and over again, like your body was just starting to melt, and the heat was making you dizzy.

Joel could relate. Every time you touched him, he felt it.

He gripped your legs where they were still curled around his sides, and he held you tighter to him. He pressed his torso to yours until he was half-sure he was hampering your breaths, and then he pulled back. Briefly. Panting.

When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut in for him:

“I wish you could…be here. I wish we didn’t have to…”

Hide.

Your mouth seemed to have your mind and your usual reservations beat by a mile. It was moving fast, like his. Before you could stop yourself, your thighs constricted around his hips, you pulled him in closer, and just as you were about to finish that last quick, splintered thought—

“We’re leeeeeeeeav—OH! Shit!”

Aly Ingram’s sing-song tone was shortly supplanted by a shriek. She’d thrown open the door, unannounced, and when she saw the two of you collapsed against the sink, Joel’s undone pants hanging precariously over his hips and your mouths scarcely two inches apart, she jolted.

Or jumped, really.

She almost leapt through her skin, it seemed, and before she could even begin to recover, she just slapped her hands over her eyes and stumbled back. She was drunk.

“I didn’t see that! I did not seeee—”

“Aly!” you half-hissed, half-groaned.

“I literally didn’t see shit. You’re all g—”

Before either you or Joel could utter another sound, or attempt to split apart, Aly let out a second shrill yelp. This time, it was because she’d just tripped over a trash can backing out. She’d only very narrowly regained her bearings, had grabbed hold of the doorknob and was dragging the door shut, when the girl all but sang again:

“Have fun, be safe! Don’t make babies!!”

Joel scarcely knew how to react to that.

As it turned out, your roommate was open-minded.

Ply her with four or five shots of tequila and a couple High Noons, and she’d probably believe the moon was made of cheese if you told her in a serious enough tone.

But your goal tonight hadn’t been to convince her of a lie—it was to get a big, ugly truth off your chest that you’d been hoping to keep under wraps this entire weekend.

Now, after getting caught with your fake stepfather’s jizz drying in your throat, you had had to come clean about this thing. It wasn’t a story you’d wanted to tell, but it was one that needed sharing given the circumstances.

Aly had laughed her ass off when you told her everything.

Blame it on the strobe lights, the thumping music, or the thick, fetid air of the bar you’d just arrived at, but Aly had laughed a lot. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and slapped the tabletop beside her, like that was the single most insane thing she’d ever heard, and why don’t you write her a How-To? She’d love some tips on boning old men.

“He’s not that old!” you’d protested over your beverage.

She’d bought the drink. She said news like this was cause for celebration, and you couldn’t deny that. Smiling as you spoke, you figured this was good.

In fact, you thought getting caught by your closest friend was one of the best things that could’ve happened, all things considered, because now you knew at least one person was supportive and in your corner regarding Joel. On top of that, you had someone to help cover your ass—if a touch or a look between you two was too suspect, she’d tell you. From the second your group had Ubered to the bar, she’d been keen to see you close…though not too close. Presently, she grinned and squeezed your leg.

“I think you two would make a damn cute couple.”

“Huh?” You had to shout over the music to be heard.

“A cute couple!”

“Come again?”

You were really trying your best, but the blare of Bon Jovi overhead was a bit too much. You leaned in closer to her.

“YOU AND JOEL WOULD MAKE A CUTE COUPLE!”

And, as if on cue, Joel and Aly’s father reappeared at the table, holding the drinks they’d left to buy. Thankfully, the volume in the room was near-deafening, and neither seemed to have heard a word of hers. Scott was nursing some bottom shelf whiskey concoction while Joel double-fisted two shitty beers beside him. You had to admit, the latter looked good from where you sat: one more button was popped on his icy white shirt and a smile was plastered on his face, eyes straying to you more often than they should. The moment after that, you were doubly grateful for the blast of ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ in this bar—the next thing you knew, Joel was dropping his head casually and murmuring in your ear,

“Aly sure likes to stare, doesn’t she?”

Followed shortly by:

“Wanna give her somethin’ to watch?”

He was clearly joking. Your cheeks warmed anyway. Then, when he started to lift his head, he left a quick, parting kiss to your temple that could’ve been construed as a paternal gesture. To anyone else but you, him, and Aly, it likely was. Your gaze slid from Joel’s face to his forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He smelled like pine, sweat, and Natty Light, and you were just about to tell him that somehow that combo worked for him, when Scott interposed, loud as hell.

“You ask her yet?!” he bellowed.

He knocked shoulders with Joel in a playful way, and the pair nearly stumbled sideways. Scott elbowed his ribs.

“He’s drunk as shit,” Dallas observed idly.

“Well, what’s he—” you began to say.

Before you’d even finished the question, your answer came in the form of Joel nodding, visibly pretty buzzed himself, as he waved his friend off with a shove and a laugh. Scott just grinned bigger as Bon Jovi gave way to Steely Dan over the speakers. Joel leaned back to you.

“Scott invited us to go skiing out in Jackson, Wyoming.”

“He loves planning trips drunk,” Michelle added.

“Like they’re best friends,” Dallas chuckled.

You ignored Aly’s half-concealed smirk on hearing that; you were too stuck on the look Joel was giving you. Like he was drunk, but dead serious—like he’d agreed to this.

Something set for a future date, however nebulous and far-fetched and stupid the idea may have been, made your insides stir a little all the same. You tried tamping it down with another sip of your drink, but you still shared a glance with Joel. He was watching you more intently.

“Is that something you’d wanna do, hon?” he asked.

You might’ve liked to warn him that he was drawing too close—that his breaths were too warm on your cheek and Aly was straightening in her chair, blinking harder—but anything even approaching a remonstrance was evidently never meant to leave your mouth, as the next second had you nudged off your barstool, taken by the hand, and dragged toward the bustling crowd at the center of the room. Scott had suggested dancing; his son had readily agreed and was now leading you out to the crowd himself. You snagged one fleeting look at Joel.

Mr. Ingram had been dying to get out there, apparently. Behind you, the man spun his wife the best he could through the jam-packed dance floor of students and parents bumping their way through the very best of the ‘70s and ‘80s. He took a few graceless turns himself; while Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, and AC/DC reigned supreme over the wide open space, he pulled some mildly impressive moves. More importantly, though, he didn’t give a shit how he looked. This encouraged your group to let loose a little, too, and you somehow found yourself burrowing even further into the sea of people.

Your arms were compressed on either side of you. Your shoulders were bumped, and nudged, and given little more than a quarter of an inch for your chest to expand in the shallowest of breaths. Every pull of your lungs was an effort, and still, you couldn’t help but smile as you ran a quick look over the heads of everyone around. This was fun. Private, even. With dozens of nameless, faceless bodies gyrating in time with the music, you could blend right in. You could pretend that everything was normal.

Even with the press of a familiar form at your back, you could pretend it was just the crowd forcing him there—that Joel had just sauntered in behind you by accident.

It was risky, to be sure. The lights above flashed in bright white bursts, undulating with every pulse of the song being played, and it wasn’t too far from you that Aly and all the rest of them were strewn throughout the crowd.

But Joel hadn’t seemed to have noticed. Beneath the myriad limbs of the bargoers around you and him, he moved a hand to your waist. It hovered precariously for half a second, then tightened. It drew you closer to him.

You tried to push it away on instinct, heart jumping in your throat: what if Scott or Michelle or anyone else turned their heads at that moment and found him touching you there? What if the grasp their eyes caught wasn’t the wholesome, blameless kind that was meant to be shared between stepfather and stepdaughter? Who the hell was supposed to do the explaining to them then?

Clearly Joel wasn’t all that concerned about it; he slid his palm back up your side and gripped your hip hard after you’d nudged him off. He took a daring step forward, and you could feel him shake his head behind you. Smiling.

“And if I made a joke about father-daughter dances—”

“I would kill you with my two bare hands, Miller.”

Your backside glanced off his front. It wasn’t so much a deliberate move on your part but a byproduct of the rhythm. Some soft rock song was coming to an end, and your body rolled gently with his. The friction was minimal. This kind of proximity was easy to be explained away, if Dallas ever happened to look in your direction—

“Joel!”

Something hard pushed into your ass. You had to steel yourself quick, eyes darting furtively about to make sure no one had seen what you’d just felt between your legs. Then you tried wriggling away, off of him, and were rewarded with another hand on your side. It gripped the flesh just above your hipbone with a tender conviction.

Joel’s lips grazed your cheek briefly. His grip loosened.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured, and the fingers that he’d eased around your waist were turning you back.

Facing him now, away from your group. More bodies filled in between you and them, and the force of that influx pushed you closer to Joel. It shoved you together. It almost couldn’t be helped—that was what you kept telling yourself, anyway—when your frame melded to his, and his hands lowered to your hips, and one finger worked its way through your taut, denim belt loop in a manner completely unbecoming of a normal stepfather.

That callused finger held you firm to him with your jeans. It didn’t give an inch, and his eyes on yours did the same.

You were drifting further out. This didn’t matter as much. Anyone who saw you now would just have to guess that you were Joel’s, and Joel’s was yours—if only for now.

Your lips and his were gravitating closer then, too. You were just about to part yours to speak, when one soft, opening sequence broke out in the air, and you groaned.

No fucking way.

An all-too-familiar mid-tempo tune flooded the room and coursed in and out of your skull with a low, rhythmic tick.

It was eerie. Dreamy. Nearly haunting in the way it rang out right here, right now, with Joel’s hold on your sides tightening more and more with every passing second.

You hoped like hell he didn’t know this song, though you were half-certain this was a big hit from back in his day.

When Joel tipped his head back and fell right in step with the swaying cadence, you weren’t left guessing for long. Of course this slick bastard liked George Michael.

Of course he did.

What more of an appropriate song to be dancing to now, other than fucking ‘Father Figure’ of all the throwbacks?

Joel lifted both arms in a half-shimmy, half-slide and flashed a shit-eating grin down at you. It was smug.

‘For one moment, to be warm and naked at my side.’

Joel raised his brows with it, as if hearing the lyrics for the first time and being shocked. He wasn’t, clearly, as he rolled his shoulders in a stupid and seductive way, and dragged you closer to meet his body’s movements.

‘Sometimes I think that you’ll never understand me.’

Right. You would likely never understand Joel Miller.

‘But something tells me together we’d be happy.’

Well…as long as your father didn’t kill him first.

Emboldened by the pre-chorus beat and the ever-increasing swell of people around him, Joel snaked an arm around your waist. He let your body fall in line with his, rolling in gentle sorts of motions until he could find what kind suited you two the best, and he led the way.

When his head dipped to yours, you could feel it coming.

‘I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine.’

This time Joel was singing along, grin wide on his face. As if to mirror the lyrics, he took your hand and squeezed it. You might’ve rolled your eyes or pulled away when the man leaned down and slid his touch to your wrist. He kissed your palm. Then he kissed it again, sponging his lips to the skin in time with the rhythm of the song. It was both innocent and lewd. Wholesome and sensual.

Something trapped between perverted and polite, like Joel was testing the waters while trying not to make it seem that way at all. You kept moving in time together.

Joel’s other hand held you to him. His fingers flexed.

“You can’t…”

When his grip slid to your ass, you shook your head.

As much as you would’ve liked to indulge the urge that was currently flooding your system, the timing was off. The choice to give in now was wrong, and risky to make.

Your roommate and her family were no more than fifteen feet away. No matter how many strangers stood between you and them, Joel was toeing a dangerous line with his hand lowered to where it was. With his face only inches away and a sly grin spreading on his lips, it was clear he knew better than this. But he was eager to talk.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

Where that single term of endearment had once made you bristle, you now sensed it warming your insides.

You nodded but were quick to add: “Joel, we can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because…”

You found yourself trailing off again, just as you felt Joel’s erection grind into your front, somewhere close to the space between your legs. It rubbed right where you needed him. While another stream of airy, dreamlike notes floated out and a tenor’s voice crooned if you ever hunger, hunger for me, you peered up to find Joel deep in contemplation. He didn’t blink when you met his gaze.

Instead, he nudged you sideways. You inhaled a breath, and not long after that, you felt your back pressed to one of the lone barstools sitting at the outskirts of the room. You’d strayed far. And now, away from all the people that you’d come here with, you had two big hands sliding up the sides of your body. Cupping your face. Guiding your mouth to meet a warmer, more desperate set of lips than you’d ever been expecting to find. Joel’s kiss was rough.

It was open and aching—a wound not willing to be soothed by anything other than your tongue on his. Swiftly, he coaxed your jaw open and slid in. He licked in. He practically panted into your mouth, fingertips carving crescents in your cheeks from just how hard he was holding your face. He didn’t let up, and that hunger bled from his lips to yours. You felt a heady wave wash over your brain, and at the same time, your thighs tensed.

You pulled away.

Your lips were bitten numb. Your cunt was throbbing.

While your pulse thundered through your ears like a fucking kickdrum, your grip loosened on the front of Joel’s shirt, and you started to turn yourself from him.

What you needed to do was leave. What you couldn’t stand was getting caught again, and risk it being someone who wouldn’t take to it as kindly as Aly had.

But even as you walked, you felt a pulsing in your skull.

Between your legs, the feeling was worse, like there was something thrumming a frantic beat in that precious and defenseless place that you knew was needing him most. You were weak. You swiped a hand over your mouth like that would do anything, and you kept walking, knowing how closely Joel would be following you all the way out.

On such a clear, frigid night, the air outside should’ve been a relief. Instead, your pulse hammered and swelled. Your cheeks burned. You could’ve ground your teeth so hard that you cracked enamel, and it still wouldn’t have been enough to bite back the words inside your throat.

You turned to Joel wanting to tell him no. The expression that met yours said he was expecting as much—and was preparing to object—when you swiftly cut him off again.

It should end there. Nothing good ever came of you shedding your inhibitions or clothes with Joel Miller.

He reached out; you winced. You shouldn’t say it.

“Let’s go home, Joel.”

You were running again.

You’d nearly knocked him to the floor the second he’d turned the key in the door of his dingy little motel room, lips frantic over his and hands making fists in his shirt. It was exactly what he’d been hoping to see—part of why he’d booked this place and made the drive that weekend, to have you cradled in his arms again—but as he crossed the threshold with you all over him, Joel grew unsettled.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but something told him that you were only here to escape an unsavory urge. Like he was a bad habit to be flooded from your system.

You seemed to say it with every motion of your hands: skating down his front, clawing at the buttons, busying themselves with quickly trying to rid him of the fabric while your eyes stayed trained anywhere but on his face. It stung. Normally Joel wasn’t the type to ruminate on the reasons why a girl might be tearing his clothes off, but tonight, with you, this wasn’t what he usually did.

The ache unfurling in his chest wasn’t the kind to be imparted by just anyone, he kept reminding himself.

Which was why he took hold of both your wrists. Tightly. Just as you were about to try and peel his shirt from his shoulders and expose the whole naked expanse of his chest, he stopped you. He swallowed as you groaned.

“Joel.”

“You didn’t want me kissin’ you at all back there.”

In the bar, outside the building, in the car ride over here. You’d scarcely let him hold you for half a minute before begging to be taken home, and now that you were inside this room, alone, now you wanted to be touched by him.

Joel tried not to feel stupid saying it aloud, but hell, he felt pretty fucking pathetic peering down at you then.

You shook your head. Took a small step back from him.

“Yeah. Trying not to get us caught again, remember?”

And when you backed off, you stayed off, if only to start unfastening the little straps of your top and kick your shoes off your feet. You made your way over to the king-sized bed at the center of the room and sat down. Joel took off his own shoes but didn’t follow, opting instead to rest his weight on the old TV stand across from you.

He planted his hands on the hardwood surface on either side of him, watched you shuffle to the edge of the bed, and had to steel himself when the next pieces of clothing came sliding off your body. You were lifting your shirt over your head, then dragging your jeans down your legs.

Before you were stripped bare, Joel cleared his throat.

“I said we were gonna have a little chat later, too.”

He sounded like a dad. This really had to stop.

Instead of following his lead, you only kicked your pants off at your feet and leaned back. Joel approached the bed, and you greeted him with a coquettish look, like you already knew where this was going. But you couldn’t.

Joel made sure that you wouldn’t when he cupped your chin in his hand and made you tilt your face up to him.

“Honey,” he started, stern, while you reached for his belt.

You’d almost succeeded in threading your fingers through the leather and tugging it loose when Joel’s grip drew tighter. He jerked your chin up in a pinch, ignoring the roll of your eyes, and for yet another beat, he felt that obscure urge to discipline you again. Like you needed it.

If he could just control himself and play things right…

“Listen, I’m not trying to be your father.”

Wait. No. That came out wrong.

Your eyes widened some.

“Oh, really, daddy?”

Well, shit.

Joel straightened where he stood and tried not to puff out his chest like an old father-type might do, but the effort was useless—everything the man said and did was like the fucking calling card of a patriarch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pretended not to see you grin up at him, your gaze bright and fiery as the Fourth of July.

He could hold important conversations and still not try to jump your bones immediately. He could control himself. He could slap on a semi-austere look and just tell you.

“I love you, you know that, right?” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened again, this time in alarm.

“Christ, Joel.”

You were sliding back on the bed. Shaking your head and pursing your lips in a grimace like this wasn’t happening.

“We’re not doing this again,” you added in a grave voice.

Joel was already making his way up after you—again, like a fucking moron, he felt—crawling on hands and knees across the moth-eaten, coral-colored bedspread and trying not to panic and failing miserably, per usual.

“‘S’alright if you don’t wanna say it back, I just—”

“I didn’t mean to say it in the first place, Joel!”

But there was a strain in your words. Denial.

You were working in earnest not to expose that sliver of self that wanted him, too. Joel could feel it. He planted his knees on the mattress and met you closer to the headboard, where your breaths were coming in faster. You shook your head, but you also didn’t stop him when he drew in even closer and lowered his body to yours.

He was hovering, almost.

Just as he’d been poised above your soft, beaming face all those weeks back in some little podunk town—at Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge, where you’d been stuck together, only to fuck each other for the first time that night—he pressed a touch to your side. He rubbed his thumb just over your hipbone, where the panties you had on still clung to your skin, and he watched you tense up.

It was like before, only worse: now you knew his touch, and he knew yours, but there was a dread in your eyes.

As if you couldn’t stand to be under him, you slid back.

“Joel, please…don’t,” you murmured hoarsely.

“Don’t what?” His stomach dropped.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

That he loved you?

Joel never thought one string of words could hurt him so much, but there it was. While his heart unwound and his ego met with a swift and unceremonious death, he felt something like agitation twist inside him, too. Cruelly.

This was what he’d come this whole way to tell you.

The man could handle rejection; that wasn’t the problem. What bothered him now was how unflinchingly committed you seemed to misunderstand his intentions. Something surged in his chest again, and this time, it wasn’t all hurt—it was anger, too. Why you refused to accept that someone might love you was beyond him.

He didn’t reach for you again or crowd you further, but he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a hard sigh.

“Why won’t you believe me?” This time pleading.

“It’s not that I won’t—I just can’t, Joel. I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

You started to speak, but then that balloon of rage swelled bigger in his chest, and it wasn’t meant to be directed at you—it was only meant for himself, why wasn’t he enough—and he spit the words like venom.

“Haven’t I shown you that I mean it? That I— I— I care? I’m here. I came to see you. I’m telling you that I love you. How else am I supposed to show the woman I love that I care when you won’t let me in an inch, except when—”

“Except when you’re seven deep in me?” you scoffed.

It was bitter and derisive, and you slid farther back.

“For Christ’s sake,” Joel gritted through his teeth.

He didn’t even wait for you to interject, as he came back: “Is that all you think of me? Is that what I am to you?”

His voice was loud, and he hadn’t meant for it to be.

He was pushing off the bed, watching you sit back.

“I just think it’s real convenient,” you snapped again, “Betraying my trust by not telling me about dad’s affair, finding me in a weak moment, letting me believe you feel the same so you don’t have to deal with this…this…guilt.”

Joel couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I did all of this out of pity?”

“I think you’re trying to be a—”

“That I would lie about it?”

His heart rate was spiking. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears as he stalked around the footboard and scowled.

“Joel, I—”

“No.” He shook his head hard. He was sincerely trying not to fit the bill for ‘hot-headed, explosively angry father,’ but the efforts he made seemed all in vain. Joel could hardly talk now without raising his voice to a shout.

“I have—” he started, only to stop himself, swallowing.

His throat ached, and he almost choked on his words.

“I have been in love with you this whole fuckin’ time!”

His eyes burned. The sound came out angry, hoarse. Maybe he was; he just couldn’t contain it anymore. Silence filled the open space, and time distended.

He couldn’t stand the way you wouldn’t believe him, even now, as you straightened and shook your head.

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have.”

“You don’t mean—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!”

He stared back and watched your gaze erupt in ire. Indignation. Lips drawing tight and teeth baring and hands gripping the bedspread beside you, as if enraged.

“I do. I can. You’re— you’re full of shit.”

Your words made him want to hurl something at a wall.

“Am I?!” he bellowed.

“Yes!” you spat.

“How can you say that?!”

And, without meaning to, Joel’s knee hit the side of the nightstand while he turned abruptly from you. The whole thing shook; the lamp nearly toppled, and the man immediately reached for it, then out to you. The gesture was a reflexive apology, but you responded by shoving his hands off. An angry sound racked through your body as you moved from him—“You—you don’t mean it, Joel.”

“I do. I mean it. Believe me, I do.”

That sound from his chest could’ve been half a sob.

He reached for you again, knees sinking with the springs of the mattress beneath him, and you shuffled further back. Your movements slowed. Suddenly, Joel’s stopped.

He couldn’t see it without a wince—your hands shaking. Your fingers tried making fists but failed, and in an effort to conceal the fear they held, you seized the comforter.

His throat ached, and that pain only soared in a second.

“You can’t…you can’t mean it if I’m just a secret to you.” Your tone was a rasp. The lips that spoke it were curled, revealing teeth still gritted. Eyes filling with more tears, “You can’t say you love me if…if you’re just gonna leave.”

By the end of it, your words were ground to a murmur. Your voice was hushed and slow and begging to be spared notice, as though every syllable hurt to say.

Your bottom lip was quivering too. He knew you were kicking yourself for it—could see the embarrassment etched into your gaze as you blinked back nothing, then one, then two, then a barrage of slow, hot tears—but no matter what you did to fight it off, your body trembled.

The whole thing was practically vibrating with hurt. Humiliation and anger had evidently joined the mix, and before he could even think to speak, you mumbled again:

“You’re gonna leave me, Joel.”

The hurt wouldn’t stop.

“You don’t love me.”

Your voice cracked to continue, pain clinched with a sob.

“You can’t.”

In the look that met his, he saw a wall of warring fears. It wasn’t all for him, either. There were wounds that were the work of years beneath the surface of your skin, ones entrenched in flesh since long before he’d ever known you or laid a finger on that part himself. It started young.

Your lashes battled to keep the tears at bay, but the floodgates had opened. Your secret was gone. There was no sense in feigning indifference when the truth was laid bare—that you didn’t deem yourself worthy of love, and likely never had. Regardless, you worked hard not to cry. You scrunched your nose, mashed your lips together, and stared anywhere but him, and the tears kept flowing. Gently, but without slowing, they streaked down in turn.

“No, sweet pea, I love you. I love you. I ain’t leavin’.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own vision clear.

He already knew you wouldn’t believe him, but that didn’t stop him from saying the words all the same.

“I— I said it first,” he went on, words tumbling out.

You turned wet, sad eyes to him in utter silence, and that made him want to ramble on forever. As long as it took.

“At the fair, a month before you ever said it, I was trying to tell you I loved you then. You ran off before I could.”

That was the truth.

If Joel had any hope of regaining your trust, it would need to start there. And out of one truth came another.

“I already knew I loved you before that. I would’ve said it, except it just felt wrong, with all that…that stuff I knew.”

He meant knowing about his best friend, your father, and his little rekindled romance with his former mistress. It wasn’t right, keeping you in the dark about something like that, but he also hadn’t wanted to hurt you. There was more to the story that complicated things further, and frankly, Joel had been too swept up in the novelty of this thing you two had had to choose the smarter path.

That didn’t excuse what he did. Hell, it only hurt him worse seeing your eyes gloss over and stay fixed on his.

Knowing you’d trusted him not to hurt you—and he had.

If you didn’t accept what he told you now, he wouldn’t fault you for it. All he could do was slide off the bed and pull you to a perch on the edge, while he planted himself on the carpeted floor and kneeled in between your legs.

Cupping your tear-stained face in his hands, pleading:

“Baby.”

You blinked back at him but ventured nothing.

“Sweet pea, I am not keeping you a secret.”

A beat.

“I’m not leavin’. I want more—need more.”

And for some reason, that felt like a weightier admission than he’d even thought possible. He wasn’t good at this.

He wasn’t quite cut of a cloth to know just how to soothe you and make things right, but he did know that holding you felt right to him. So he did. He rubbed his thumbs in little circles over your warm, wet, puffy cheeks, and he pulled your face closer to his. He held your gaze and watched an internal war wage somewhere far behind your eyes as you tried to contend with this new feeling—that of being wanted and needed and loved as you were.

You sniffled between his two broad palms.

“I want you to stay,” you said softly.

Joel’s heart hammered at that.

He couldn’t hope to leave out the rest. He let go of your face then and felt an irresistible urge to go on, even if it was much too soon and he had meant to show you later. As stupid as the idea had been, he’d already made it, and there was no going back anyhow. He would tell you here.

He reached in his pocket for his wallet. He broke your gaze momentarily to take it out, flip it open, and then card his fingers through the bills a few aching moments before pulling it out—the thing he’d wanted to show you.

When he held it up, a set, he flitted a quick look to what he’d lifted between you and him, as if the sight might give him answers on what to say. Sadly, nothing came.

Joel was totally on his own in explaining what this was. Lucky for him, though, you didn’t seem keen to judge.

“They’re…they’re tickets,” he started. Stupid.

You raised a brow, trying to read, and he forged ahead. Just as the words first appeared to register in your mind, and the faintest look of shock took shape, he hurried out:

“Billy Joel’s got a show comin’ up in Austin this June. I…I thought— well, I hoped, I guess, that maybe we could…”

Spit it out, Miller.

Spit. It. Out.

He frowned.

“I’m no good at this. Sorry. I wanted us to go…together.”

And then…

“And I want your dad to know about us before then.”

There it is.

The last lynchpin in the man’s resolve was gone. He’d said it. There was no turning back from what he’d offered, or what it required, and now you knew he wanted things to be real and committed. Serious.

Terrifying.

Your eyes remained fixed on his. For a second, that look, and your whole upper half, appeared so still Joel thought you might’ve stopped breathing altogether. You blinked. Glancing down at the tickets in his hand and batting your lashes again, as if you weren’t quite sure how to answer.

Then, at last, he heard a sharp inhale—Or was it an exhale? He couldn’t tell—and before he could blink back or wonder so much as a thought, the breath was battered out of his own chest. You rushed him.

You’d moved so fast, hugged him so quick, Joel scarcely knew what was what until he felt your arms snake around his neck. You joined him on the filthy, soiled floor and dropped your knees on either side of his body in a kind of straddling hug. It was as swift as it was unexpected, and it took him a second to adjust. But no longer than that.

Joel was relieved to feel your warmth. Squeezing him. Choking him, almost. He didn’t think you’d ever held him that hard in his life, so he did all he could to soak it in.

It was only when he heard another sob that he paused.

“You…you want to?” Your voice was tiny against him.

“‘Course I do, darlin’,” Joel answered in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He cupped the back of your head to him and held you tighter, “Of course I do.”

Then, because the impulse struck again: “I love you.”

He didn’t need you to say it back; a look was enough. When you drew back and met his gaze, eyes still doused with tears but smiling faintly at him, Joel was content to see your acceptance. Allowing love in in some small way.

And when your lips succeeded that look, meeting his in a soft kiss, and your body shifted up toward the bed, he didn’t protest. He kissed you back. Joel didn’t have to have love spelled out in words for him to feel what you meant. You said it gently, but somehow with even more force than when you’d stumbled into this room together, touch beckoning him in as you laid back on the mattress.

Admittedly, every inch of this place was seedy. On such short notice Joel hadn’t had much of a pick among his choice of accommodations, and the shortage showed. Still, when you slid up that old, worn bed and stretched yourself in wordless welcome, he couldn’t have asked for more. He only wished that he could give you more, but for right now, at least, that was out of the question. He leaned in and found your lips like second nature, slotting between your thighs and kissing you harder. The concert tickets had shortly been cast aside on the night stand.

“I love you.”

It slipped out again, and Joel didn’t care. His tongue chanced past the seam of your lips and, once inside, explored every contour, ridge, and crevice it could find.

While he did, a touch palmed your breasts over your bra. Your skin was warm; gaze soft, the last he’d seen of it. The scent of you rose to greet him like a mist of some wild intoxicant: citrus, mint, a tinge of sweat, and a liter of your favorite fruity drink, if he’d had to guess. You flooded his senses. It wasn’t enough for him simply to hold flesh in his hands and explore your body with his lips and tongue; Joel wanted to consume something more, though he hardly had the words to articulate it.

You unclasped your bra just as his mouth slid down to your neck. There was a beat—your sharp intake of breath when his teeth met skin and marked it with the tenderest bite—and then your arms reached out. You discarded your bra and bared yourself to him, and when Joel tilted his head to take in the view, he had to groan your name.

There was no other logical route for him to go.

You’d just begun to wind your fingers through his hair when he slid down to greet that newly-exposed place.

“I love you,” he repeated against your skin before drawing one nipple between his lips. He kissed it.

Your grip grew tighter.

“Joel, please.”

His teeth had only reappeared a second to tug the pebbled flesh between them, tongue hungry and wet and laving gently across that hardened peak, when your legs wound around him too. You pulled his body into you.

Joel was helpless to the inducement. His torso fell more heavily to yours and his lips suckled with a vigor that betrayed sheer desperation. He felt it strain in his pants. When he moved from one breast to the other, he heard a wet pop, and the whimper when he re-attached himself was enough to make the bulge he felt swell even bigger. His tongue caressed in laving, measured motions along the curve, and he tried not to grow overly eager from it.

Don’t get too excited. You need time. Lots and lots of—

“Joel,” you exhaled on a particularly harsh press of his mouth. Your ribs heaved with it. “Come— come here.”

He was clambering back up in an instant. The ministrations of his lips that had practically engulfed your skin and smeared it with his saliva were swapped in a blink with them returning to your chin, jaw, and cheeks, planting kisses in between the words he murmured next.

“Yeah? Every—” To the side of your mouth. “Everything OK, sweet pea?” Feeling guilty but also simply needing to calm himself down. “Too fast?” Another to your cheek.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t gone too far, too soon before. In fact, it was a pretty regular occurrence with the sex you had. Joel just needed a reset—had to make sure this was alright, and that he could cool down if needed.

He felt a pinch in his groin but ignored it.

Suddenly, your gaze was on his again.

Fingers carded through the sweat-damp, striated tufts of black and silver hair at the sides of his head, and you leaned in closer until your nose and his were touching.

“Here,” you pressed him, low. Need crept into those words, and your grasp constricted. “Stay here, please.”

It was clear you were inviting him back to your lips, to kiss them, so Joel did just that. He bracketed his arms on either side of your head and let his mouth explore as it had before. Where he resumed at equal force, you met him with still more warmth and wanting and open fervor, tongue curling around his in some soft and wordless plea

Below the belt, Joel was throbbing. He didn’t need to reflect long at all to know what that meant. Then your lips parted wider, your ankles dug deeper in the backs of his calves, and your hips started grinding against him.

Dry humping.

Whining at the friction.

“Feels…feels so good, Joel,” you told him breathlessly.

“You like that?” His lower half mimicked the motions.

Need blossomed across your face as the ridge of his cock rubbed in just the right way through his slacks. Something harder than he meant—a thrust, like he was fucking you into the bed—shook your frame, as well as the mattress underneath it. Springs creaked. Metal groaned. Warmth spread, from the pit of his stomach to where your body met his. The movements kept going.

You were slick beneath him. You must have been. Your whines had heightened to punctured gasps and your hips were so desperate, rubbing your barely-clothed core to the front of his pants and brows pinching as if—

You were already expecting this to end.

You didn’t think that he would stay.

“Baby,” Joel panted again.

By now, desire consumed him, but the urge to smooth that tiny crease of worry was coursing just as powerfully. He swallowed, gripped the linens beside your head in one hand a little harder, and opened his mouth to speak.

Another flick of your hips. Another sigh. Another whine.

Another pinch somewhere deep within him, and a groan.

Suddenly, your hands were on his shoulders, sliding up and toward his neck. Your fingers clawed for his hair.

“Joel,” you panted back.

Joel had tried to slow the motions of his lower half to talk, but yours had only sped up to grind yourself against him. He could feel the heat bleeding from you now. Wetness formed and expanded in a patch through your pink cotton panties and likely stained his front, or would.

His cock was swollen stiff and throbbing. Precum pearled at the tip of him, no doubt, and with every jerk of your body, he could feel it smearing and aching to slip in.

He wanted to be inside you. His balls twitched, his stomach ached, and his senses were suffused with you, a white-hot desire to paint your mouth, your skin, or your insides with his cum nearly as strong. But he had to stop.

Then you kissed him.

Joel’s lips were still parted when your mouth found his, kissing him sweetly and without reserve. Your fingers that had threaded through his hair pulled taut. Hard.

Your center slid up the length of his fully clothed cock, and with one more press of your legs, Joel felt you.

He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and still, he fought to speak—to reassure you that he wasn’t leaving.

“Joel—”

“I know, I know. Baby, I—fuck.” His breath hitched in his throat when his bulge pulsated again. His head swam.

With what meager resolve the man still possessed, he ventured another kiss, then drew back. His eyes dropped and searched your expression, half-crazed, and just when the words were taking shape again, you parted your lips and brought them to his. You rolled your hips, balled your fingers into fists through his hair, and with your mouth and his a quarter-inch apart in puckered, pretty ‘O’s, panting with every thrust that shook the bed:

“I love you, Joel.”

It was a breath, and the taste had never felt sweeter.

One more jerk of his hips and you were drawing in once again, panting in his mouth as if to make sure he heard.

“I— I love you. I love you so much,” you murmured, low.

His cum unloaded in thick, hot ropes. He couldn’t stop it.

Joel Miller, at the age, maturity, and level of experience he could boast, had never cum virtually untouched and in his own fucking pants since…he couldn’t remember when. But he was. His spend pulsed out from the head of his cock in dizzying bursts, and his stomach clenched. He gripped the bedspread and let out a guttural groan while he soaked the front of his boxers from inside them.

His dick throbbed and leaked, and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something back, quietly—‘I love you, too.’

Then he pushed up and off of you, out of the bed.

Seconds stretched; he didn’t feel it. Stars burst behind his eyes with every step, and he staggered that path to the bathroom like his life or his pride might depend on it.

As a matter of fact, the damage was already done. He’d jizzed in his pants like an overeager teen getting his dick touched or sucked for the very first time. What was worse, you hadn’t been doing either when he came; you’d told him you loved him, and that was enough.

Enough to make him look like a goddamn idiot, Joel thought without blinking. He kicked the door shut behind him and reached for the zip of his pants.

Sticky. Wet. A whole fucking shitshow below the belt.

He ran the tap. He had his undone slacks and boxers pulled down past his hips, and he was facing the sink in seconds, assessing the extent of the damage. Then his face flushed red at the sight of the sticky, milky mess swarming his groin and he could’ve kicked himself. He settled for yanking a towel out from one of the cubbies beneath the counter and running it under the water. He daubed quick and without much precision, gaze darting to find dozens more clumps of his spend strewn about than he thought possible. He’d cum an absurd amount.

Before he chastised himself, though, he had to pause.

“Joel?”

Your voice was soft. Sometime since he’d unzipped and started scrubbing his crotch in vicious circles, you’d appeared at the door, head peeking around curiously.

You must not have been standing there for long, because you actually drew closer to join him. Feeling comfortable enough in roughly thirty square feet of space, you shut the door again and leaned your hip against the counter.

If Joel didn’t know you better, and he wasn’t already occupied with wiping cum off of his cock and balls, he might’ve searched your face for a smile. A smirk, maybe.

It wasn’t like teasing each other was suddenly off-limits now that Joel was brimming with embarrassment. Half your communication was giving the other shit for little mishaps and quirks, and he expected that his last accident in the bedroom would be no different.

He flinched when you reached out instead.

Hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants and his plaid boxers, you shuffled in closer to him and let out a breath. You tugged once, twice—gently, so as not to further disrupt the mess or make him wince—and then coaxed the fabric down his legs, lower and lower.

When you peered up at him, Joel couldn’t find so much as a trace of amusement in your eyes or on your lips. You just nudged his slacks to the tiled floor and hummed.

“It’ll be easier if we wash it off in there.”

You nodded to the shower behind him.

Joel turned slightly, as if considering or trying to get a glimpse of the freestanding shower with its wide-open, mildewed curtain seeming to beckon him in, then stopped. He turned back and chucked his towel.

“Alright,” he said while kicking his pants off at the ankles. Talking softly and not meeting your gaze, “That’s fine.”

He pivoted once more to peel his shirt off and make toward the shower by himself, and you surprised him, again, when you bypassed his much larger frame and hopped in first. You slid your panties off and tossed them into the pile of clothes by the sink, and you twisted the knob on the wall. You sidestepped the first stuttered sprays and drew the curtain back in wordless invitation.

Joel hovered, eyes scanning the cramped space.

“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit in here.”

Then, as though to emphasize his point:

“I can wash off by myself. It’s…fine.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so stilted, but that was just how he felt: stiff and awkward and raw with feelings of recent embarrassment. He tilted his head to the side.

Your head tipped right back, and you raised a brow.

“Just get in, Miller. Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off.”

And there was a smile: the first one. Faint.

Not mocking, snide, or condescending. Just the kind to usher him in and drag the curtain behind his hulking body, wipe a slick, wet hand over your mouth and grin—‘You do know I’ve seen you naked before, right?’—and that set his mind at ease. He almost smiled himself.

“So you remember that I’m a grower, not a shower.”

Joel cupped his hands over his softening length in faux protective fashion, as if you hadn’t seen the thing dozens of times by now. When he sidled up and cornered you between the soap tray and the shower stream, he found the edges of his lips kicking up a little, unable to help it.

You’d seen him hard, soft, and everything in between—mostly hard when near you. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you were getting to experience him like this.

That made him lean in closer. Chance another joke.

“Looks like your old man’s stamina has taken a hit, too.”

Joel had meant it to sound playful. Suggestive, even. Instead, it came out dismal and gruff, like he was trying to overcompensate for something he was sorely lacking.

He might’ve wanted to kick himself again, were it not for the next move you pulled on him, which was enough to pluck his thoughts—and his breath—out of his body.

Without wasting a second to pretense or teasing, you simply brushed your hand down his front and touched him, gently. He was softer, smaller, and almost wholly spent from his last exertion; still, you reached and wrapped your fingers around his length with care.

Sparks ignited from the place where you trailed. Joel had to swallow a groan, oversensitive and fairly stunned, and his palm came to rest on the wall behind your head. His chin dipped toward his chest while his gaze dropped too.

He watched you stroke him once, rub your thumb along the tender skin, then bring your left hand to join the mix, carrying a bar of soap with it. You started from the base.

“Baby,” Joel rasped. The muscles of his stomach clenched while you drew circles to spread the soap.

“My old man,” you repeated affectionately.

It was artless and kind. Friendly and gentle. Most every other time he’d been touched where you had him, the hands had meant to arouse, and seek something else. Here, you were trying to help. Clean him sweetly and without concern for yourself while also drawing him in, like you always did. It made his chest hurt—and not in a way totally unconcerning for a man his age. Nonetheless, he leaned into that feeling and shifted his body to yours.

His head and your head were now doused with water, his hovering above so close that little droplets streaked from his chin down your slightly upturned face. Joel could feel you watching him. He flicked his own gaze back to meet yours, and as he did, your palm stroked him from root to tip. His hips jerked involuntarily; he swelled in your grip.

His cock stiffened but still remained far from fully erect. Joel swallowed, anchored his hand harder on the wall, and wished himself a decade or three younger, at least.

“You alright with this?” he muttered.

“With what?” you mumbled back.

Joel sucked in a breath just as your hand, and the soap, slid back down his length, and rubbed casually around it. You assumed a leisurely pace and scrubbed his tummy.

“My body ain’t what it was—”

“And it’s more than enough.”

Suddenly, your eyes weren’t just resting on his but pressing. Piercing. The circles working to clean his skin increased in pace and force, and you set the soap aside. You nudged him closer to the water, but all Joel felt was the urge to draw you with him. The shower stream pelted his chest, his belly, his freshly soaped lower half, and past the suds, a gradually hardening cock. Gradually.

You had him in your hand; you were rinsing him clean. Joel should’ve extended some murmured thanks, a calm and uncalculating touch coming to rest on one of your shoulders while you did him this innocent favor. Your lips twitched. His cock hardened. Then your back was flat on the shower wall, and Joel was hovering over your drenched and naked frame again, only his touch was descending to your hip instead. He held it firmly.

“You could have your pick of any guy—”

“Good thing I only want you.”

Your grip tightened too. Now that you’d scrubbed him clean, you seemed ready to let go in the next second, but old habits died hard. Joel leaned in to nose your cheek.

“That so?” His hand moved from your hip to what he knew would be a scorching heat between your thighs.

Two thick fingers glided through your folds and forced a whimper out of your throat. You were soaking wet, and not just from the shower’s spray. Joel rubbed that slick, delicate seam with all the self-control he could muster in the moment, and he kissed your cheek. Every inch he could feel of you was brimming with warmth and need.

You tilted your chin and caught his lips. You parted your legs and held his almost-fully erect length in your grasp.

“I— I mean it, Joel,” you answered him, surprisingly soft then. You kissed the sides of his mouth while you continued to stroke up and down. “I want you.”

Joel’s hips shifted involuntarily. As if moving of its own volition, his lower half stirred beneath your touch, and shortly, he had your legs spread wider and his body slotting in the gap between. His fingers pushed deeper.

And, just as his hand was all but cupping your mound and the wet heat of your cunt was pulsing against him, Joel slowed. He sucked in a breath and met your gaze.

“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he murmured.

In reply, you gripped his base and guided him closer. Flicked your thumb over the fat, leaking tip and sighed.

“Right…here.”

“Right here?”

Joel hadn’t meant to move you so quickly, but one blink and your hand was off him completely; your back was turned to him, and your ass was pressed flush with his groin. He had to hunch in the tight, wet, fog-infested enclosure with his chin jutting in over your shoulder and his palm splayed over your tummy. He spoke softly again:

“You want daddy in here, pretty girl?”

Your whine was all he needed to hear.

And perhaps it would’ve been wise to wait a beat or two. Work two fingers in and out of your aching cunt, drag his tongue through your folds, or else use his throbbing tip to ease you open for him. Before he could even think to make use of his hands, mouth, or head, though, you were reaching behind and taking him yourself. You pressed a palm to the wall and pushed up on the tips of your toes, and with impatience bleeding through your every movement, you slid back onto him. You did it quickly.

In the absence of adequate foreplay, entry wasn’t swift. Joel almost choked at the feeling of how tight you were around him—how rigid and warm and narrow you felt on that first slide. He planted a grounding hand next to your own out of sheer necessity. He held your hip in his other and swallowed a groan that seemed fit to nearly kill him.

“Sweetheart,” he panted against your neck, “Easy. Easy.”

You tried to nod your understanding but slid up just as fast. From a glimpse of your profile, Joel could make out some consternation fanning out. Your brows pinched.

The pretty, slick ‘o’ encircling his cock clenched again, and it was evident you were trying to force the motion back down against your body’s wishes. You whimpered a little and dropped your free hand between your legs.

Joel kissed your jaw. Your cheek. Your ear. Partly to remind you that he was fine to take things slow and partly to quiet his own hammering heart inside him.

It wasn’t working.

You were just so. fucking. tight.

“I— you gotta slow down, sweet pea,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Your walls pulsed again, and it nearly sent him spiraling. The second your ass met his hips and he was buried to the hilt, he stifled a groan into your neck.

“But I need you, daddy,” you whined, “Need you inside.”

Another grunt. Another moan. Another suffocating pulse.

“I’m gonna blow if we don’t slow down some, honey.”

It was mortifying, but it was the truth. Tonight, Joel just couldn’t seem to keep his cum confined to his balls like he normally could. Presently, they rested firm and heavy against the globes of your ass and were just then preparing to hit a rhythm as you rocked back and forth.

Your gaze flashed to his over your shoulder.

“That’s OK. You…you can— oh.”

Before you could finish that thought, your words were torn from your tongue and lost to a shuddering moan. His cock plunged deep within your soft and airtight channel, and your head lolled back a little more.

Out of habit, Joel pulled out and then plunged back in, feeling the wet clutch of you stretch around his cock.

“I can what, honey? What can daddy do?”

Lax as his voice made him sound, the man was coming apart at the seams; he had only to search your face for a fleeting, desperate moment, find you hungry as he was, and he thrusted even harder, absorbed the shockwaves of your pleasure while he fucked you up against the wall.

Gradually, the spatter of water on white glossy tile gave way to the sounds of your skin and his hitting again and again. Your face softened, and the once-taut walls eased to accommodate his girth. You squeezed Joel from base to tip, making the most obscene noises when he slid in and out, and from the look you gave him then, he could sense the need before it ever left your lips. He saw desire fill your pretty, glossy stare and felt compelled to sate it.

Again, it seemed you were begging him to stay.

Expression so pleading and sweet and soft.

“Daddy, I— I want you to cum inside me.”

Joel almost blew his load on the spot. His hips had to stutter in place—so taken aback by what you’d just said—but then you were bouncing back and forth again, neck craning to flash him the most winsome smile.

“Oh, honey…”

“Please.”

He’d finished in you before. It had been an accident. The night had ended with you and him hauling ass to the nearest CVS and hitting the Plan B like it owed you money. And now you were asking him to do it?

“I’m about to start my period. It’ll be fine.”

The half-starved look in your eyes said you’d been thinking about this for awhile. Maybe not with your rational brain, but certainly in earnest. Your smile said it.

Joel’s good sense was shot. He knew it was wrong. He was assured beyond a shadow of a doubt that if your dad ever learned he’d deliberately painted your insides white—or worse yet, knocked you up—his best friend would personally sever his dick and sauté it for lunch. Still, the urge to be joined with you in this brand new way was damn near debilitating. He couldn’t tell you no. So instead of doing what he should’ve done, he simply said:

“OK.”

For some reason, it felt wrong to finish in the shower. So he cut the water, toweled you both, and took you to bed. He slid under thin, sodden, wildly outdated motel sheets without letting his lips disconnect from yours once. He propped your legs around his hips and kissed you harder. He found a home within the furthest recesses of your body he could find, and his heart still throbbed for more. It was the best and worst agony, to be so delirious in the need for someone else, but each time you met him and accepted him in, his pleasure soared to new heights.

His cock dragged in and out of your heat in sloppy, shallow thrusts. He felt your wetness ease his passage and welcome him deeper, until the mouth of your cunt was stretched as taut against his base as it would go and your walls were pulsing with need. You squirmed underneath him. Your whines turned into whimpers, and the whimpers became ragged, hiccuping gasps as you clawed at his back and begged for more, more, more.

“‘M’so full. Feels so, so good, daddy,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” Joel said, and he glanced between your bodies to see you stretched and stuffed to the brim with cock. He groaned involuntarily. “I fit so nice, don’t I, baby?”

“You— you do, daddy. You do.”

“Can I fit a little more in?”

Your eyes widened.

As soon as realization dawned, you nodded your head and gripped him tighter. You hardly needed another stab of his hips, his thumb on your clit, or so much as a word spoken besides—at just the thought of being filled with his seed, your body seized in anticipation. It was you trembling, shuddering, clenching hard and reaching bliss before you even meant to get there, really. You were wholly overstimulated and clamoring for more, the pulses of your cunt milking his cock with all you had.

Joel scarcely had the presence of mind to get a syllable out, but he knew what he needed to say before his pleasure took hold. He smoothed a hand over your cheek, cupped it, and lowered his lips to yours, so only the cusp of his mouth and his stubble were grazing your open pout and the words he spoke were all yours to hear.

Sliding deeper. Meeting and holding your gaze with bare, uncontrived sincerity: “I’m yours, baby. I’m all yours.”

His balls tightened. He wanted to say more to set your mind at ease and assure you what you meant to him, but evidently, your bodies had other plans. In the next moment, he felt a familiar warmth spurt from his tip, and his hips jerked. His cock burrowed as deep within your wet, pliant walls as it could go, and he unloaded rope after rope of his cum. Joel let out a full-throated groan.

The wild hum of his pulse through his skull all but rendered him deaf to the sounds around him, but he knew he told you that he loved you; he knew you said it back. He felt you anchor your heels into the backs of his legs and accept him completely. You spent what felt like hours kissing, writhing, panting, and murmuring words of the warmest affection. In reality, this lasted seconds.

With you underneath him, in his arms, it didn’t matter.

“I love you, Joel,” you whispered again, smiling.

He grinned and kissed you, “I love you more.”

And he’d meant what he said: every inch of him was yours. Every moment you would let him have from that point forward, he’d spend showing you that he was there to stay. He didn’t care how long it would take to prove it.

For once, he didn’t care what your dad would have to say

#GETTING TO THE WORD COUNT AND REALIZING THAT THIS IS THE LENGTH OF A NOVELLA………………..I SCREAMED #LIKE DUDE SHUT UUUUUUUUPPPPP!!!! SHUT UP #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

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royalarchivist · 20 days ago

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Bad: I don’t think people understand the effect QSMP had on some of the streamers in terms of like… The real raw mental impact, so I’m gonna set the stage for you. [...] Imagine that you were given a friend to play Minecraft with — like your best friend — BUT if this person dies, if they die in the game, you never get to talk to them again. Can you imagine what that’s like?

Bad: If you did not live through the QSMP, if you did not live through that, it almost sounds like, crazy. But I don’t think people realize how much of a joyous experience the Eggs were. They were SO awesome! They were literally so awesome to just hang out with and spend time with.

Bad: I’m not saying I regret it. To this day, I loved the experience. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing how everything went, I would still do it all over again. [...] I would still do it all over again, because — even knowing like, all the trauma and suffering and stuff like that — because it was just… It was just that fun, it was just that fun.

Earlier today during his stream, Bad shared his experience and thoughts about the Eggs and the significant emotional (and traumatic) impact they had on him and his fellow QSMP members.

This clip a very edited-down version since his commentary was ~13 minutes long, so I highly recommend checking out Bad's VOD if you have the time. (Timestamp: 47:36 - 1:00:14)

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

———

Bad: To be fair Chat, I really think the QSMP... I don't think anyone really can relate to it, Chat. It's something that's so... I've told people this before, like– but it's hard to understand. Right? Like...

Where was I? Sorry Chat, I'm losing my train of thought. Look, let me explain Chat– here's the dealio, ok? Here's the dealio, and this is what I mean when I say like, it's important to keep this in mind, Chat. Ok? It's important to keep this in mind:

I don’t think people understand the effect that the QSMP had on like, some of the streamers, in terms of like… The real raw mental impact, so I’m gonna set the stage for you. This is the analogy I’ve given to every person who I’ve like, shared this with. Imagine you meet somebody– [He hears a strange noise] What the fudge was that? Did you hear that?

Anyway– Chip! The story I was just relaying to Chat, Chip, was this: I was sharing this story with them, I said– I was giving them an analogy.

Imagine Chat, for example, imagine that you were… playing Minecraft, with like– you were given a friend to play Minecraft with, Chat, like your best friend, and [unintelligible] were like, “Hey, you get to play Minecraft with this person, right? BUT if this person dies – they’re currently your best friend, Chip – but if they die in the game, you never get to talk to them again. Ever again.” Can you imagine what that’s like, Chip?

I don’t think a lot of people understand like, what that does, right? I’m not gonna say that like, it creates this situation, Chip, that like, messes with your head, but it– Chip – but it totally, totally does, Chip. It messes with your head! It literally puts you in a position where you’re second-guessing and thinking about everything, Chip! You’re thinking about EVERYTHING Chip! Ok? And that’s the problem, Chip– is you turn into a paranoid monster because of it, Chip! Like, you don’t understand Chip– I was- I was so afraid of every dirt block, I used to carry a shovel with me Chip, and I would specifically right-click dirt blocks that looked suspicious because mines, Chip– mines could not be shoveled! Like, I was crazy, Chip! But here’s the problem, Chip: that craziness is still there. I’m genuinely like–

I remember thinking Chip, that I would one day– I was like, “I’m going to move past–” here, let’s go up here, Chip. I remember thinking one day Chip, I was like, “I’m gonna move past the underground base, one of these days. You know, one of these days, I feel like I’ll be able to grow and achieve the desire to build a base that doesn’t have to be underground.” But I don’t think it’s possible now Chip, because I think… I just don’t know. I feel like the paranoia– there’s still like, residual leftover trauma from that situation, Chip.

But here’s the problem Chip: I don’t think I don’t think– I don’t think people understand it. Like, I just really don’t. But I also don’t blame them Chip, ‘cuz I don’t think it’s possible to fully understand it if you haven’t lived through it. Like, if you did not live through the QSMP… I’m talking about the QSMP, I don’t- I don’t know if that was obvious– if you did not live through that, it almost sounds like, crazy. But I don’t think people realize how much of a joyous experience like, the Eggs were. Right? I don’t think people realize it. Like, they were SO awesome! They were literally so awesome to just hang out with and spend time with, Chip. So, it’s just one of those things that–

[He’s interrupted by a loud rumble of thunder above them]

Did lightning just strike here? Is it thunderstorming out…? But anyway, Chip. That’s the food for thought.

But that’s the problem– Like, every time it rains in Minecraft, I have to like, look at the sky, and I get this weird, like, second--hand vibe because of the trauma. The trauma, Chip! The trauma is real! But that’s the point– I’m not saying I regret it. I, to this day Chip, I loved the experience. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing how everything went, I would still do it all over again.

[He falls down] Dangit, don’t come over here Chip, ‘cuz I’m coming back up! Ok.

I would still do it all over again, because — even knowing like, all the trauma and suffering and stuff like that — because it was just… It was just that fun, Chip, it was just that fun. I really wi– I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible, Chip, to give people that same energy, like that same experience. You know what I mean, Chip? I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible again. Like, EVER.

Because… because like, one: I will say on one level Chip, I will say on one level, like– it’s sort of emotionally like… It’s emotionally devastating, and I think to actually go through that– and this is where like, if I ever do end up going to a– see a therapist, if I ever do end up going to see a therapist at any point, I’ll talk it over with them and be like, “Hey, what do you think about this?” Because I genuinely think on one level, like– it’s created this fear of forming attachments because of like, how things can go. You know what I mean? Like, the fear of getting attached to something and then potentially losing it. Like, it’s- it’s a genuine thing. I think people forget about that.

Like, at the end of the day, everything was RP, right? On the server. You know what I mean? Like, everything was RP, Chip. BUT at the same point, even though it was RP Chip, it was still like– there the reality of you were still playing like, with another person, and you were still getting that experience, and it felt like you were genuinely attached to someone and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to them. It was GENUINELY stressful, Chip.

But at the same point, I don’t regret it, and I don’t think it was a bad experience. I’m–

Sometimes in life Chip, you go through stuff, and maybe you have a certain amount of like, things that like, can happen, that you’re like, “You know what, maybe this wasn’t a good thing that this happened,” but at the same point, you still aren’t necessarily upset about it, because… it’s like growing as a person, right? Here’s the thing Chip; even bad situations, Chip, can lead to an overall good outcome. Like–

Even if you’re going through something bad Chip, just because a bad thing happens doesn’t mean that only bad things have to come from that. That’s one of the things I tell people all the time, Chip, is that if you go through a bad situation, you can learn from it, and you can use your experience to help others. And you can be that– you can be, at the worst-case scenario, you can be someone for other people who are going through that same experience to lean on when they go through that.I think there’s a certain amount of comfort that comes from that; from knowing no matter how bad your situation is, you’re not the only person who’s experienced it. You know what I mean?

#Badboyhalo #BBH #Bad #QSMP #January 8 2025 #Edited #I know folks are going to add their two cents on this subject in the tags / comments / replies (and as always you're welcome to do that)#But for the sake of my sanity please don't be an asshole to any of the CCs / ex-admins / fellow fans / anyone else. Thanks #Most folks here don't need a ''Don't be a dumbass'' reminder but I had to block someone for that earlier and it was a bit disappointing #This is going to be a Tumblr exclusive clip because I don't trust Twitter to have common sense or common decency about this topic #Tumblr exclusive #Anyways business aside – that black line on the side is just part of Bad's stream btw. He just Has That #Took too long for this to render otherwise I'd edit it out because it's annoying #I'm just realizing this screenshot doesn't even have Dapper OTL but it's the best one I have so I gotta work with what I got #Honestly; I still miss QSMP dearly... I love the core intent of the project and the multicultural exchange #I love all the language barriers that were broken and I loved all the stories that were told and watching beautiful friendships bloom #But I am still so angry and disappointed about how things ended and all the poor communication and the admin situation as a whole #It's a complicated feeling #I agree with pretty much everything Bad says here #It's ironic that he uses that analogy because I've said almost the exact same thing when explaining why losing any Egg was so devastating #We weren't just mourning for the characters. We were mourning for the admins too #I'll never forget that last stream with Tazercraft and Richas; and Pac ending stream in tears #I wish they'd done away with the Egg life system. I wish they'd done a lot of things differently #If the project ever does come back in some shape or form I hope they are more transparent about things and have better communication #I dunno how I'd feel personally. They would have to do a lot of work regaining people's trust #And frankly I don't think they'll ever regain that trust from a large portion of the community #I remember near the start of QSMP I saw a comment from a fan that simply said ''QSMP; please don't leave me feeling bitter''#I think about that comment a lot

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sunsbum · 9 months ago

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THEODORE NOTT, OBSESSED.

cw: SWEARING, p in v, obsessed!theo(obvi), JERKING OFF, n more :)

ps. english isnt my first language so it might be bad <3 and hes not necessarily as obsessed as i was gonna make him originally but its whatever

Theo loved boarding school for one reason and one reason only, you.

he sees you every morning at breakfast, you guys have every class together(because he bribed the teachers) and every dinner you guys sit at the same table but at night he spends he lays in his bed jerking off to the thought of you.

running his hands over his pretty pink tip and slit, closing his eyes imaging you were there making him feel good instead of his lousy hand.

after he always felt dirty, like he was a terrible person because he thought of you like that but its not like you would ever know so whats so wrong about it?

one day he fidgeted quietly, legs bouncing. all day he thought about you and asking you a simple question.

he pays attention to the way you talk, the way your face looks when you talk about something you like. you look like a goddess to him.

“i have a question” he interrupted you, “whats up, theo?” you looked at him with confusion in your eye.

“not to be weird and if this is ill shut up immediately, but would you ever fuck me?” his eyebrows furrowed while he nervously waited for your answer.

a small smirk appeared on your face. you left out a small chuckle before answering “i mean yeah we’re friends of course i would but only if you wanted to.”

he took you up on your offer. his cock was basically bruising your cervix, “awh my poor baby am i making you feel good?” you were trying to mumble something but gave up so you end up nodding to fucked out to make out a proper sentence.

he was in heaven but aware enough to make sure not to cum to quick, “thought about this moment for awhile now” he practically moaned out.

“more, more, more, s’ good, mhm” you drag out your words and squirm underneath him.

“such a slut for lettin’ me fuck you like this” your pretty little moans egg him on, keeping him motivated to keep fucking you so perfectly.

“cumming, gonna cum.” you grip onto his hair and move your hips against his. “go ahead, cum for me baby” he pushes into you hard making you see stars.

you whimper and moan as your body gets all limp, legs trembling. he lets out a chuckle and kisses you, he loves seeing you like this, assuring him that he made you feel good.

his thrust don’t stop, your wetness being used as lubricant for him to fuck you nice and good. he’s gonna make this count just incase it doesn’t happen again. he slams into your poor cunt while leaving wet kisses all over your face and neck.

“f-fuck, love you s’ much, angel” his warm load coats your insides, makin’ it drip down your cunt and onto the sheets. “did so good baby, so good.”

#theodore nott smut #theodore nott #lorenzo zurzolo #theo nott #sunsbum

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icewindandboringhorror · 10 months ago

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Various images from the past year or so... posting my evil little photo diary collections once again..

#image commentary in tags once again since they don't allow captions anymore and I feel weird using the alt text for that --#1. one of the billions of pastel sky photos I take and post constnaly because I'm obsessed with the sky lol 2. I got #a gardening mama (like cooking mama) game from a friend a few years ago and don't really play it that much since it's not #as interesting to me in some ways but.. I do like the graphics a lot. It'd be cool if in real life when you did something correclty a bunch #of little rainbows and sparkles appeared in front of you lol. 3. Everyone makes fun of me but this is how I like to have sandwiches #.. basically a salad in between two pieces of bread. barely any meat and cheese but then like 2 inches of lettuce and tomatoes and stuff..#half an entire head of iceberg lettuce on one sandwich... the Cronch... 4. Weird little light colored spider doing a split on the netting #of this strawberry garden. 5. ice creambe... 6. tiny tiny babey strawberry son.. 7. Went to someone's house and they #had this weird channel (I guess for halloween?) where it was like 8 different channels playing at once and you could watch them all #simultaneously (I don't think this is the intended purpose of it I think it's more just to show what's currently airing)#but it's kind of surreal and interesting.. with how on tiktoc and stuff they have those weird sensory overhwleming #videos where its' like 3 videos playing at once with unrelated audio. I wonder if one day people will just watch 8 screens #of tv at once like this after everyone offically has only a 2 second attention span lol. To me its kind of hard to pay attention #to but is an interesting excercise I guess. Like it was a cool challenge to try to watch it all at the same time #8. THE temperature indoors at NIGHT during the late summer........... AUGH.....#9. a pleasant little breakfast of scrambled eggs with green onion. baked salmon. sauteed corn. and a few almonds pecans and pineapple #leftover from making smoothies with it the day before. I eat basically the same rotation of things for every single meal every single #day (like literally I have had the same exact breakfast for about 2 years with zero variation except for special occasion) so whenever I do #actually have the energy to make something different or I have some interesting food for some special occasion reason. I feel more #inclined to document it lol.. like.. oooooo...eggs.. Which are normal to some people. but to me it's like.. wow... revolutionary.. so #different from my usual Scheduled Bland Stomach Problems Safety Gruel lol.#photo diary #spiders tw

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nilla03 · 6 months ago

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“𝐼 𝐶𝐴𝑀𝐸 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝐺𝐸𝑇 𝐴𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝑌𝑂𝑈．“

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈🎀🪽

➾𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀,𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲

You don't understand why you're so attracted to Logan. Maybe it was how closed off he was and you feel the need to crack through his shell but everything he did or said made you question your mental stability. You were both teachers at Mutant High, trying to help children with their gifts, but all you could think about was him.

You needed time away from your classroom and him being around wherever you turned was exhausting. "Y/N?" Your best friend answered your call. "Are you okay? I haven't heard from you in forever."

You sighed. "Yes I'm more than okay, I've been so caught up in all this teaching stuff that I haven't had time to answer the phone… I was wondering if we could go out tonight and maybe get some drinks?"

You heard her shuffle around getting her stuff put together, "Of course I do!? Text me the place and I'll meet you there" You smiled "There's this bar by the school, I'll get ready and send you the address." You both say your goodbyes while you start to get ready for the night.

"Getting ready for a night out feels so much better when you don't have to follow a dress code," you said to yourself.

You collected all your belongings and walked down to the entryway before you were stopped by a curious voice. "Where are you going?" Storm asked with a smug tone. You giggled, "I'm going out, I just need a little break," you smiled at her. "Don't be out too late, you still have a job to do." You wave her goodbye and make your way to your outing of the night.

You met your best friend in front of the bar, and her face changed into a big smile "Y/N!" She yelled out as she ran up to you, pulling you into a hug. You smile at her. "You act like I've been gone for a year," you laugh. "Darlin' it's felt like a year"

You guys both walk into the bar. It's run down but in a rustic way. "It's kinda cute in here," your friend says, you both take a seat in the bar area. After being seated, you guys talk and order your drinks.

"So, tell me about everything since you've been away." You tell her everything, from bad students to annoying acquaintances, and then you bring up Logan.

"I'm so mesmerized by him that I can't even focus on my job F/N, it makes me so angry, he's like an egg that I cannot crack but at the same time, he's everything that I want."

Your friend takes a sip out of her martini glass. "I completely get it. That man is 300 pounds of pure muscle and sexiness." You move your nail around the top of your glass ."It isn't even his looks, it's his attitude and his personality. Don't even get me started on his hair." Your friend gives you a look as you continue to rant. "He's so infuriating as well, he has to know how I look at him at least but no, he ignores me constantly."

You could sense someone taking a seat by you but you ignore it. "Logan is just so sexy too, I don't even understand it" You could feel the liquor kicking in as you said it.

"Now I'm sexy? I thought I was infuriating." You gasp as you turn face-to-face with Logan himself. "I'm gonna give you guys a second." Your friend gets up and leaves the bar table. "Why do you have to be everywhere I go? I came here to get away from you."

You sigh at him. You couldn't help but look from his chest up to the cigar in his mouth.

"Maybe you just can't help being around me," He said with a shit-eating grin on his face. You scoff at him and shake your head as you watch him put his drink down. "That attitude is going to get you into trouble so I suggest you put it away, doll."

"I'm going to the bathroom." You quickly get up and make your way to the bathroom to get some space again...

You stand in front of the restroom mirror, hands against the counter, keeping yourself steady, when you hear someone walk in.

"Someone is in here!?" You yelled out but then you heard a rough voice respond, "I'm aware." The smell of pinewood and cigar smoke fills your sense of smell as he walks up close to you, caging you in, his arms on each side of you. "Why couldn't you just tell me how you felt, I don't bite, doll." You looked up at him "Because it would never work, we don't work Logan." He pushes the hair out of your face and looks down at your lips.

"How do you know if we don't try." He says while pulling you by the nape of your neck into a rushed kiss. You both are breathing heavily, he pulls himself out of the kiss eyeing your plump lips, and looking back at you, his eyes were so intimidating. He grabs your hips and spins you around, your ass is pressed up against him letting you feel his god-given gift. His hands slip under your dress and eagerly slip off your panties. You watch him take off his belt in awe.

He's so big.. he bites his lip while he strokes himself before he slides into you. You gasp at how it feels, it feels so good. His dick is heavy as he rocks into you, the rough pace letting you feel how bad he wants you, letting you feel his every need. The deep, irregular pumping of his dick leaves your mouth agape, moaning out his name like it's the only thing you can remember. He watches both of you in the mirror, watching himself go in and out of you. "God you're so fucking tight."

Your hand pulls at his hair as you feel his teeth graze your neck, you gasp and push your face into the crook of his neck. The choked-out groans he let out had you so close you could feel the pleasure on the tip of your toes.

"Logan, I'm getting close" you sigh. "Hold on baby, I'm almost there." He growls out into your ear, his hips snapping into yours. His thrusts get sloppy as you feel him getting so desperate for a release "Look at the mirror while I make you finish all over me, doll,” he says, pulling your hair in the direction of the mirror. You both cum with each other, he chuckles as he places kisses against your neck. "Give us a chance Y/N, because even if you didn't know it, I needed you for so long that it hurts."

You went to reply as you heard a knock at the door "Y/N are you good!? I have to go!" You scramble to find your panties you catch Logan putting them in his pocket while putting his cigar back into his mouth. “Keeping these”

#hugh jackman #wolverine #logan howlett #deadpool #hot male #x reader #female writers #wolverine smut #Hugh jackman smut #Logan howlett smut #smut

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bsturnzmtts · 2 months ago

Text

Drunk temptations pt.2 - Matt Sturniolo

Paring: bsf!Matt x drunk! Reader

Contains/warinings: loss of virginity, oral (fem receiving), fingering, soft dom!Matt, little bit of blood, praising, pet names, p in v, masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, slight choking. I think that's all.

Summary: You and your best friend Matt are going to a party. You get extremely drunk, and despite your bratty resistance, Matt insists on taking you home. Somehow, you end up on your best friend's lap, kissing him and confessing that you want to lose your virginity to him...

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Part 1 here

"Good night" you slur out and quickly doze off. He watches you for a moment, a soft smile on his face as he sees the exhaustion and alcohol finally catch up to you. He nods to himself, satisfied that you're safe and comfortable, before turning to leave the room. He quietly closes your bedroom door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence of the house. Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm the storm of emotions and desire that still rages within him. He knows he did the right thing, protecting you from a mistake you wouldn't remember.

Next morning

You slowly open your eyes, fighting the throbbing headache caused by last night's drinking. You feel a bit groggy and disoriented. You try to remember what happened last night.

‘How did I get to my house? To my bed? What happened?’

As you sit up in bed, you notice a glass of water and two pain relievers on your nightstand. You get even more confused, but your headache was a stronger feeling. So you reach out and take the pills.

You start hearing some noise coming from downstairs stairs. You quietly get up and start heading towards the noise, you get to the first floor and realize the noise is coming from the kitchen. Noise is not the only thing coming the kitchen, but also a nice smell of eggs and toast. You silently walk over there and open the door slowly.

“Matt?” You ask confused as you see him.

He's standing at the stove, a small smirk appearing on his lips as you finally register his presence. As you look at him you feel a weird warmth inside your chest, but you don’t know why.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty." He teases with a smirk. He takes out a plate of scrambled eggs and toast from the stove and sets in on the table in front of you. "How are you feeling?"

“I- uhh I- I have a headache…” you say feeling confused. “What happened last night? Did you bring me home?” You ask.

He chuckles as he sits down in front of you with his own plate of food. "Yes, I brought you home. You had a little too much to drink last night.”

You sit down with a confused expression trying to remember what happened last night.

He watches you carefully, noticing the confusion on your face. He takes a bite of his toast before speaking up again. “You really don’t remember anything?” He asks with a subtle smirk.

You take a bite of the breakfast as you think. “I mean, I remember what happened at the party. But after that nothing.”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "After the party, I took you home and helped you to bed. You were pretty out of it." He pauses, taking another bite of his toast before continuing. “Then I… slept on your couch.”

Matt’s Flashback

After Matt had put you to bed he went downstairs to the couch. But he couldn’t get of the image of you sitting on his lap, kissing him and telling him to take away your virginity.

He lay’s on the couch, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He kept replaying the moment in his head, the feeling of your lips on his, the way you looked at him with those big, innocent eyes. His thoughts drift down the dangerous path of what could have happened if he gave in or if you wouldn’t have been drunk. He tossed and turned on the couch, unable to sleep. Eventually, he gave up trying to sleep and decided to just sit up and looked down at the bulge in his pants.

He felt a bit guilty of the thoughts that were running through his mind. He sits there on the couch, his eyes fixed on the tent in his pants, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. He lets out a frustrated groan and unbuckles his belt, then takes off his pants and underwear letting them fall to his knees.

He reaches down and wraps his hand around his hard length, giving it a few strokes as he tries to relieve some of the tension. He groans softly as he continues to jerk off, his mind lost in the fantasy of you. He looks down at himself, his eyes tracing the length of his shaft as he imagines it being inside of you, stretching your tight hole for the first time.

"Fuck, what am I doing?" He mutters to himself, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he rubs himself faster.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He chants under his breath, his hand moving faster and faster. He imagines pushing your legs apart and spreading your pussy open with his fingers, revealing your virgin hole to him.

He lets out a low moan as he thinks about how tight you'd be around him, how good it would feel to finally take your virginity, by filling you up and making you his. "Yeah, that's it... so tight... so fucking tight..." The thought of being the first one to make you feel that pleasure has him on the edge of losing control.

His hand tightens around his length, stroking harder and faster until he can't hold on any longer. the build up of pleasure was too much for him to handle. He groans as he starts to cum, his hot seed shooting out of his cock in thick spurts as he imagines thrusting into you, making you cum for the first time. He lays back on the couch, breathing heavily as he comes down from his orgasm.

He looks up at the ceiling, his chest still heaving with ragged breaths as he tries to calm himself down. "Shit... what's gotten into me?" He mutters to himself. He quickly cleans himself up and puts his pants back on, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of you. "Fuck.” He lays back on the couch and falls asleep.

End of flashback

“Matt! Matt.” You try to get his attention.

"Hmm, what is it?" he asks lazily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Did you heard what I said?” You ask.

"No, sorry. My mind was on… something else. What did you say?" He sits up and takes another bite of his breakfast and a sip of his coffee.

“It’s fine don’t worry.” You chuckle. “I was thanking you for bringing me home last night and for the breakfast. And sorry you had to sleep on the couch.”

He smiles at you and waves you off. "No need to thank me, it's the least I could do." He says, but he still feels a little guilty about not telling you what happened last night. He finishes his breakfast and sets his plate aside. "And don't worry about the couch, it's comfortable enough."

“You could’ve used the guest room, you know?” You laugh a bit.

He laughs a little nervously and shifts in his seat. He's still trying to figure out how to tell you about what happened last night. "Yeah, I guess I could have. But the couch was fine." He says, avoiding eye contact. “Listen… hey I have to tell you something about last night.”

“Did I cause you some trouble last night? Sorry if I did. I get really annoying when I’m drunk.” You chuckle.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks at you. "It's not about you being annoying when you're drunk. It's just... you did something that you don’t remember.”

“Ohh what did I do?” You ask covering your face with your hands. “Did I do something embarrassing?”

“No, it's not that, really. I just, well, why don’t we go to the couch and I’ll tell you.” He says.

“Yeah, okay.” You say and you both stand up and walk over to the couch and sit next to each other.

He chuckles a bit remembering last night. “Okay soo… you might have confessed something to me last night, or maybe it was the alcohol that made you say it.” He says with a smirk.

“What did I ‘confess’?” You ask.

He grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You told me that you wanted to lose your virginity with me.” He says, his voice low and teasing.

You froze at his words immediately feeling embarrassed. You cover your face with your hands covering the obvious redness of your cheeks.

He laughs, gently pulling your hands away from your face. "Hey, it's okay. I mean… I just thought you should know." He says with a smile.

“You’re right.” You chuckle nervously. “It was the alcohol that made me say that.” You say as you look away.

He raises an eyebrow, still smiling. "Oh really now? Are you sure about that?" He says, his voice teasing and amused. “Because alcohol tends to make people's true feelings come out." He says, his voice light and playful.

“Mhm yep. It definitely was the alcohol.” You say still avoiding eye contact.

He reaches out, gently tilting your chin up so you're forced to look at him. "Bullshit," he says softly, his eyes searching yours. "You meant it. Because why else would you have sat on my lap, kissing me, kissing my neck, begging me to be your first time, you even took off your top, not to mention desperately grinding on me.”

You closed your eyes and looked away covering your face again, feeling it growing hotter. “Ughh… did I really to that?”

He laughs softly, moving your hands away from your face again. "Yes, yes you did. Don't be embarrassed, honestly it was a little hot, I'm down for that shit..."

You roll your eyes and nudge him. “Ugh Maaaatt.” You chuckle still feeling embarrassed. “But… nothing actually happened, right?”

He smirks at you, raising an eyebrow. "That depends on how you define 'nothing'." He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because from where I'm sitting, there was definitely something happening." He chuckles, leaning back in his seat.

You give him a glare. “Ugh, I mean like did we like…? You know. Did that happen?”

He laughs, shaking his head. "No, no we didn't." He says, smirking teasingly at your phrasing. "I told you, I draw a line when it comes to taking advantage of people, even if they are begging me to fuck them..."

You roll your eyes at him but then sigh relieved that nothing actually happened while you were drunk. “Okay well, thank you for stopping me.”

He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. "No problem, it's not every day I have someone practically throwing themselves at me." He says in a teasing tone, winking at you. "But seriously, I didn't want to do anything you'd regret later." He pauses, before continuing. "But you did look pretty hot, just saying..." He winks at you, a grin spreading across his face. “I'd rather have you sober and willing next time, rather than drunk and desperate."

“Oh shut up.” You say with a chuckle. “It was a … drunken mistake.”

He chuckles at your response, a glint in his eyes. "Oh, I don't know about that." He says, his voice taking on a low tone. "I think it was more than just a 'drunken mistake', but suit yourself."

You raise your eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He grins at your raised eyebrows, his eyes shining. "Well, I think you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. You know that old saying 'a drunk man's words are a sober man's truth'?" He says, chuckling before continuing.

You blush slightly and avoid eye contact. “Mh, well I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

"Oh really?" He says, his voice dripping with amusement. "Then why the hell were you practically climbing onto my lap, begging me to fuck you?" He asks, his tone firm but teasing. "And don't give me that 'it was just a drunken mistake' bullshit again."

“Uhm…I- uhh… maybe I was just… horny.” You say.

He raises his eyebrows at your response, his lips quirking into a sly grin. "You were just 'horny', huh?" He says, accentuating the word 'horny'. "Well, that's a new excuse." He teases, leaning in closer to you.

“It’s not an excuse.” You say trying to ignore he’s leaning closer and still avoiding eye contact.

“It's a damn good one though.” He says, his breath brushing against your ear as he speaks. He reaches out and gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "Look at me," He commands, his voice firm but gentle.

Your face reddens and your stomach flutters. “I- I was just drunk, you know. Not thinking.”

He doesn't say anything at first, just holds your gaze. He can see the hesitation in your eyes and he can tell you're struggling to hold his gaze. He leans even closer, his lips barely a breath away from yours. "I don't believe that. I think that you really wanted me, and you still do.”

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above yours. He can feel your heart racing, and he knows he has you right where he wants you. “There’s only one way to prove it.” He says, before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, tangling his fingers in your hair and deepening the kiss.

You gasp softly at the kiss but quickly melt into it.

He smirks against your lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. He deepens the kiss, his other hand snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

He breaks the kiss, panting lightly as he looks down at you. "Now, are you going to admit that you want me, or do I need to keep kissing you until you can't deny it anymore?" He asks, his voice low and husky.

You chuckle slightly. “Hm, I would like that.” You say teasing. “I- I just remembered everything about last night…” you say looking away.

“Oh yeah?” He reaches out and gently tilts your chin back up, forcing you to look at him. "Everything, huh?" He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So you remember you begging me to fuck you, begging me to take your virginity?”

You roll your eyes at his words but still nod.

"Good," He says, his eyes darkening with desire. “Too bad you were drunk, because is you would’ve been sober I would’ve done it with hesitating.”

“Hmmm really?” You ask teasingly.

He chuckles, leaning in close to you again. "You know I want you, so why are you playing hard to get?" He whispers in your ear before nipping at your lobe. "I bet you're already wet for me."

“What are you talking about? I’m not playing hard to get.” You say playing dumb.

"Really?" He asks, his hand reaching out to trace your jawline. He raises an eyebrow and looks at you skeptically. "Sure you're not," He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He murmurs against your lips before kissing you again, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt and tracing up your sides. He pulls back, his hands grabbing your thighs and spreading them apart. His hands move teasingly around your pijama shorts until they reach your clothed pussy.

You whimper slightly and bite your lip at the feeling.

He smirks, leaning forward and running his teeth against your bottom lip before pulling it between his own and sucking on it gently. "Say it. Say you want me.” He says, His voice deep and thick with lust.

You feel yourself getting wetter by his words and actions. You slowly nod your head. “…yes Matt. I want you, please.” You say as you lean in and kiss him.

He groans into the kiss, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulls you closer. He breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with desire as he looks at you. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yes Matt.” You move to straddle his lap just like last night. “Please Matt, I’m ready. I want you to be my first. I trust you.”

He smiles, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he looks at you with a mix of affection and hunger. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise." He stares deeply into your eyes, letting his hands trail a path up from your thighs to your waist, then he cups your face and pulls you in for a gentle, slow kiss. He moves his mouth over yours, his tongue gently pushing aside your lips and finding yours with ease.

You kiss back as your hips squirm a little moving closer to him.

He groans deeply, breaking the kiss as he trails his lips down your jawline and to your neck. His hands grab hold of your hips again as he pulls you flush with him, grinding his clothed cock against you. "Fuck, you feel so good." He murmurs in between kisses.

“Mmhh Matt” you whimper.

He smirks, his eyes searching yours before he stands up, lifting you with him, He carries you to your bedroom and sets you down gently on the mattress.

He looks at you, his heart racing with excitement and love for you. He kneels down between your legs, his hands gently pushing your thighs apart. He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your clothed pussy before looking up at you. "I'm going to make this really good for you, okay?"

You nod desperately as you bite your lip trying to keep your hips from squirming.

He smiles, his hands gently spreading your legs wider apart. He begins to slowly kiss and nibble at your clothed sex, teasing and tempting. He can hear your soft whimpers and moans, loving how they fill the room. He slowly pulls your shorts and panties down and over your legs, throwing them behind him onto the floor as he admires your bare pussy. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He gently pushes your legs apart farther and starts trailing kisses down your thighs. “Have you ever touched your self here?” He says as he moves his face right above your wet pussy, his hot breath hitting you.

“I- I’ve tried…” you say shyly.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with excitement and curiosity. He gently spreads your pussy lips apart with his fingers, exposing your tiny clit. "Did you ever cum?” he looks up at you with a smirk in his eyes, he slowly starts to kiss your pussy, his tongue flicks out, tasting your wetness. He wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks.

“Oh fuck” you moan as you feel his tongue in your folds. Your hips squirm and your back arches in pleasure.

He chuckles softly, his breath tickling your sensitive skin. He begins to flick his tongue back and forth over your clit, feeling your hips buck and grind with every stroke. His lips close around your clit again, sucking gently as he uses his fingers to tease your entrance. “Answer me.”

“Mmmh n-no” you let out as you keep squirming and moaning.

He hums in approval, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault on your clit. “I’m gonna put a finger in you, okay? It might burn at first.”

He slowly slides a finger inside you, watching as your face contorts with the mix of pleasure and pain. He starts to move his finger slowly, rubbing against your g-spot. He starts sucking on your clit again, applying more pressure as he slowly picks up the pace of his finger.

“Mmh Matt” you moan as you start feeling a knot forming in your stomach.

He hums around your clit, his finger moving faster and faster in and out of you. He feels your walls tightening around his finger, he knows you're close, he applies a little more pressure on your clit with his lips and tongue. "Cum for me pretty girl"

“Mmhp fuck Matt” you moan loudly as you cum for the first time.

He continues to suck and finger you through your orgasm before slowing down. He pulls his finger out slowly and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on it lightly and giving you a playful smirk. "You taste delicious."

He starts to kiss his way back up your body, leaving little trails of hot kisses all the way up. He finally reaches your lips, giving you a passionate but also playful kiss.

After pulling away, he starts to speak but you hear his voice is hoarse from the intensity of it all. "Are you ready?”

You nod nervously.

"Don't be nervous, I’ll be gentle" He whispers in your ear before pulling back and taking off all his clothes.

He climbs back onto the bed, his hard cock standing at attention as he positions himself between your legs. He reaches down and spreads your legs apart, his eyes locked on your pussy. He rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you. Then he reaches out and takes off your shirt and bra. “It’s gonna hurt at first. But once you get used to it will feel so good, okay?”

You nod again. “O-okay…”

He nods back, and presses the head of his cock into you slowly. He hears a sharp inhale, and a hint of an uncomfortable sound, his grip on your hips tightens as he slowly pushes further, gritting his teeth as he does. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mmh Matt it burns.” Your hand goes to grip his arm tightly.

He gently strokes your hair, trying to soothe you. “Shh, it’s okay, just breathe through it, you’re doing great.” He whispers. He leans forward, his face burying in your neck as he tries to distract you from the pain.

He slowly pushes more of his length into you. "You're doing great, just a little more..." He continues to push slowly, inch by inch, until he's finally buried inside you to the hilt. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation before starting to move slowly. As he starts to move slowly blood comes out of you.

“Hmmm Matt” you whimper in pain and pleasure.

“It's okay, I know it hurts. But it will get better.” He whispers in your ear. He kisses your forehead, trying to be as gentle as possible as he starts to move, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his thick cock sliding in and out of your tight, virgin pussy. He can feel the warmth of your blood coating his cock, and it only turns him on more.

The pain start to slowly fade away, that causes you to moan and whimper more.

He smiles, relieved that the pain is starting to subside. He leans down and captures your mouth in a soft, gentle kiss. "You're doing so well," he praises, his voice warm and soothing. He continues to move slowly, savoring the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock.

“Mmhp fuck Matt… feels s’good” you moan and arch your back.

He groans, feeling you arching your back and pressing yourself closer to him. The sensation of your tight pussy clenching around his cock drives him wild, and he can feel his control starting to slip. "Fuck," he grunts, thrusting into you harder and faster. He slides his hand down to your clit and starts to rub it in slow circles, his other hand resting on your lower back, holding you close to him.

“Ahh mmh mmmhp” you moan pathetically at this new pleasure your feeling.

"That's it, moan for me," he commands, his voice dripping with lust. He loves how helpless and lost you sound under his touch. He increases the speed of his thrusts, pounding his cock into your pussy harder and faster. His fingers on your clit move faster, rubbing it in tight circles. "You're so fucking perfect," He can feel your body trembling under his touch. he slides his hand from your clit and wraps it around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze, not enough to hurt you.

Your pleasure increases at his words and actions making you arch your back higher and moan louder.

"That's it, take my cock like a good girl" He growls, his lust taking over as he continues to thrust into your tight pussy. The sight of blood on his cock and the feeling of your virginity being taken sends a wave of pleasure through him. "Oh fuck you're so tight, I can feel every inch of you," he growls, his hand gripping your throat tighter as he continues to thrust into you. He can feel your pussy tightening around him as your orgasm builds up inside of you.

“Matt Mmhp I- I think I’m close” you whimper.

"That's it, let it out. I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you cum for me" he says, his voice low and husky with desire. He tightens his grip on your throat, just enough to make you feel slightly choked, and pounds into your pussy even harder.

Your hole tightens hard against his cock as you cum. “Ahh mmh Matt”

He feels your pussy clench around his cock as you cum, the tightness almost unbearable. He throws his head back and lets out a deep, primal growl as he reaches his own orgasm. He pumps his cum deep inside of you, filling your virgin pussy to the brim with his thick, hot load.

As he pulls out of your cum-filled pussy, he looks down at the mess you’ve made. Your pussy is dripping with his cum, and there's a small pool of blood on the sheets from your torn virginity. He smiles, satisfied with the sight. "Fuck, you're perfect,"

You lay there still catching your breath.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, brushing it away from your face as he looks into your eyes. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

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adrienneleclerc · 7 months ago

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That’s Not My Name

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N decides to prank her boyfriend by not calling him by his nicknames

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: I haven’t posted Charles Leclerc content in a while and I’m SORRY, i am working on them, te lo juro juradito por las haditas.

Y/N was cooking dinner while Charles was working on a new song, gotta love his side quests. While she was cooking, she was on FaceTime with her friend, Vivian.

“Viv, I’m not gonna do that.” Y/N said.

“You should! My boyfriend freaked the fuck out when I called him by his government name.” Vivian replied.

“He’s gonna get all sad and I can’t handle that.” Y/N said.

“But it will be so funny. Besides, I think he deserves it after calling you Romina, don’t you think?” Vivian asked.

“But that was so long ago, and I don’t think I should be pulling pranks like this after what happened in the triple header.” Y/N said.

“Do it, do it, do it.” Vivian said

“Always the instigator.” Y/N said.

“Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please..” Vivian begged.

“Alright! Are you sure you weren’t the youngest child?” Y/N asked.

“Haha, I’ll call you later, tell me how it went.” Vivian hung up and Y/N charged her phone. She drained some of the past water but not all of it, mixed in the eggs and Parmesan cheese mix into the pot, added pancetta and pepper, and fettuccini carbonara was finished.

“Charles, dinner is ready!” Y/N yelled. Charles stopped playing piano and had a very confused look on his face. He did not move. “Charles, I made carbonara!” Y/N yelled but charles didn’t move so she went to him and saw his face. “Quita esa cara de tonto and come eat.” Wipe that dumb look off your face

“You called me Charles.” Charles said.

“Well duh, that’s your name, now please come into the kitchen to get your pasta before it gets cold and I eat without you.” Y/N says, walking back into the kitchen. Charles got up to follow her. Y/N served herself the carbonara and served some for charles, both walked into the dining room to sit. Y/N served herself soda and gave charles water.

“Did I do something?” Charles asked.

“No, why do you ask, Charles?” Y/N asked, eating the pasta. “Ugh, I love carbonara.”

“Because you keep calling me Charles!” Charles exclaimed.

“Because that’s your given name! Your name is Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, which is such a pretentious name might I add, but it does suit you.” Y/N said, drinking some soda.

“Are you mad at me or something? How come you’re not calling me muñeco?” Charles asked with a pout.

“I Don’t know, did you do something to make me mad?” Y/N asked.

“I didn’t do anything.” Charles replied.

“Then I am not mad. Now drop it and eat, you love pasta.” Y/N said. They continued to eat in silence. Y/N then served herself more pasta because reheated carbonara is not good at all. Once both have finished eating, they put their plates in the sink.

“Is it because I don’t help around the house?” Charles asked, breaking the silence.

“Charles…” Y/N said exasperatedly.

“I’ll wash the dishes, Mon coeur.” Charles said, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, Charles.” Y/N said. She went to the couch and when Charles finished the dishes, he sat next to Y/N. “What do you want to watch, Charles?”

“That’s not my name, Mon coeur.” Charles whined and Y/N laughed.

“What do you mean that’s not your name? Your name is Charles. It’s not like I’m calling you Eugene or something.” Y/N commented and that’s when it clicked for Charles.

“Is this because I pranked you?” Charles asked incredulously

“Yes it is, muñeco.” Y/N said and Charles hugged Y/N.

“You called me muñeco again. I thought I really did something.” Charles said.

“No, you didn’t do anything, Viv convinced me to pull this prank.” Y/N said,

“Your friend Vivian? Remind me to cancel her Prada order.” Charles said and Y/N laughed.

“Oh come on, mi vida, that’s for her birthday.” Y/N said.

“Then she won’t get a Christmas gift.” Charles said.

“Fair,” Y/N said, kissing Charles and they’ve chosen to watch Gossip Girl.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! Sorry for the lack of Charles content, I was busy posting for Lando, Logan, and Oscar if you ever want to read those, Masterlist for them coming soon!

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you

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bloop-bl00p · 5 months ago

Text

In defense of Octavia

TW: Lots of Trauma Dumping, Mention of abuse

She’s been wronged way too many times in this fandom for some reason. Look at her vibing, how can you hate her?

I’m a fan of Helluva Boss, mainly because of its potential but the quality dropped dead in the second season. We’re gonna talk about a character I’ve seen other fans misinterpreting in favor of the so-great Prince Stolass.

I want to talk about her mainly because I do what I want and because after studying her character I just realized that she’s just like me. Especially regarding her relationship with her father, I see myself in my younger years.

All of that to say…

She has all the right to feel abandoned.

Octavia obliviously has a stronger bond with her father, it shows in her behavior and little background details

When she wants to draw her family, she draws her and Stolas, we mostly see her being happy with him which leads me to think that she’s emotionally neglected by Stella. To her, Octavia is just an ‘egg’ that fell off her and she doesn't care about the impact killing Stolas could have on her daughter.

Despite being emotionally absent, Stella has a much more physical presence than Stolas. Most of the time Stolas is alone in his castle which leads me to think that Octavia is somewhere else with Stella. They did mention the two went on a weekend somewhere. This leads us to this question…

How can Octavia feel more close to her father?

Here’s the thing, I see a lot of my family dynamic here. My mom doesn’t pay attention to me at all, she doesn't want me to bother her and she makes it clear. My dad, however, who’s absent like 90% of the time, always tried to spare time with me. He explained to me that he was working and why he was doing all of this (I was like barely ten) but it never prevented him from trying to play with me, sharing his hobbies, going on a walk, and else.

He was there emotionally and, as a kid who was bullied, had no friends at all, and a mother who didn't give a damn, I cherished this relationship.

I believe the exact same thing happened with Octavia, we never see her with friends or even outside the castle, she’s isolated. Stolas has Prince duties, we’ve seen him carry them in the shows, hence why he’s mostly absent leaving her with her mother. But, at least when she was a kid, he tried to do stuff bringing her to Loo-Loo Land or being the one to comfort her. That is why she clings to her father, he’s the only one who actually shows her love and she’s terrified of losing that.

Regarding her mother, Stella obliviously doesn't care about her so the feeling is reciprocated. From a narrative standpoint, Stella is an unpredictable force of nature getting angry for pretty much anything that doesn't go her way. So Octativa learned to not cross her mother's path.

I know this expression, this is the “Oh fuck… they’re at it again?” she’s used to her mother's constant screaming, she's used to her parents fighting.

She did say they were a time when a parent didn't hate each other, which to me refers to the time when Stolas tanked Stella’s abuse. But, that doesn’t mean that Stella wasn't abusing him in front of a younger Octavia, she’s erratic and they did imply that she can get physical in her toxic behavior. Since Stella was passive, it was probably mostly harmful comments.

Putting personal things here, my mom was also very abusive to my older sibling. Since I was extremely young I learned not to ‘be a burden’ to avoid being abused as well, which includes things like not talking to her unless she does it first. Whether Octavia is aware of the physical abuse or not, she must know enough to know that it’s a bad idea to annoy Stella.

This is the only picture where we see her seemingly having a good relationship with Stolas, which to me feels like she’s faking it considering all we know about the family.

She has a pretty shitty household but her relationship with her father make it bearable until Stolas did a 180°

He randomly started to prioritize Blitz and don’t spill me the bullshit of ‘he’s trying’ he stopped trying long ago.

Let’s analyze this episode by episode:

In Loo Loo Land, Stolas seemingly tries to rebuild a visibly strained relationship with his daughter by bringing her to a park she liked when she was a kid. To this, she immediately responds with an “I’m not 5 anymore.” and an “I rather kill myself.” There’s no room for miscommunication, she doesn't want to go there, and she won’t enjoy it as much as she did back then. Still, he decides to go there, showing that he doesn't listen, and, he brings the one the thing that is currently ruining his already horrible marriage because of his own actions. Blitzø.

He’s trying to spend time with his daughter after a long time (this is mentioned in the episode) and he decides to bring in that one guy he’s hooking up with to deliberately make sexual remarks about him in front of her.

She’s uncomfortable the whole time, not just because she allegedly doesn’t like listening to her father's comments but because she doesn't like the park. She said it, yet Stolas doesn't acknowledge it, he doesn't realize the faces she makes which are to me pretty communicative of her annoyance and discomfort.

This is not even subtle body language, yet he only notices it when she runs off. The worst part is that he still finds a way to think about Blitzø when his daughter leaves.

He looked upset that Blitzø didn't follow him! Did he expect that guy to pursue him constantly? He was in the middle of an argument with his daughter, I personally would have stepped away to give them space to talk and reconcile. But no, apparently Blitzø should be at his beck and call all the time.

But you know what, after all of this. He still apologized. That absolutely does not negate everything he did during the day but, at the end of it, he finally listened to her and even brought her to a place she actually wanted to be. Which is good, he acknowledged her discomfort and did something she liked.

Until Seeing Star.

Look I know Stolas was busy with Stella but he clearly doesn't care about her and her stuff.

Don’t tell me he couldn’t pinpoint Stella’s location with magic and teleport all of her belongings to her. Their discussion was barely about the furniture, he could have said that they were gonna be delivered and hung up the second he saw Octavia. Arguing with Stella is pointless, he’s the number one guy that should know that! Why does he continue to insult her, he’s just fuelling the fire!

Moving out her belongings would have been 10 times faster if he just hung up the phone, then he could have had a more mindful talk with Octavia without the constant bickering of his ex-wife.

But he didn't for some reason, fair enough, I guess. The writers do whatever they want. Anyway, Octavia got angry and ran to go see the stars on her own.

So, Stolas’ castle is in Pride but my point still stands, Octavia had the time to run from home and make the way all from her father's place to the city, find the specific building Blitzø held his organization in and Stolas didn't notice a thing.

You cannot tell me Stella managed to get his attention for that long AND you cannot tell me that his castle is close to the shitty disaffected building and the populace. His daughter ran off and he did not notice a thing.

Not only that but he has the nerve of blaming Blitzø for not watching the book. Like, dude! You should have watched your daughter instead!

Then he spills out more bullshit.

I don’t know Stolas, how could you possibly find her when you were shown to have countless abilities to do so?

Like bubbles projecting the image and locations of people.

Or that on time when you possessed corpses and one woman just to go full eldritch monstrosity just for one that one guy you’re cheating your wife with. And don’t whine about “They don’t love each other.” it’s still affecting his family, mainly his daughter so it’s still bad.

Of course, you do all of that without your grimoire without any problem, brushing it off with a…

I guess he forgot his ‘ways’ when it came to Octavia. But honestly, Loona literally found her easily just by looking at her Instagram account, couldn't he just call her or something? The girl had her phone the whole time and he didn't just think of calling her.

Me when I forget that I have teleportation power when I am in an enclosed space with nobody is looking.

You’re certainly not worrying right now. Via literally told him to his face that she was scared and he kept flirting with him even though he once again caused her to run away because of his neglect.

He’s not trying his best, THIS IS NOT TRYING!

No Loona, his daughter communicated very clearly issues related to their relationship, rather than reassuring her and being there for her as much as it’s realistically possible (he still has duties to carry), he gets in an avoidable petty fight with his ex and keeps an unhealthy dynamics with an imp he's been obsessing over. He doesn't focus, his priorities aren’t straight, and now Octavia feels abandoned.

I did mention that I had a good relationship with my father back then, but it stopped abruptly. His focus changed and he went out with friends after work and gradually stopped spending time with me. Until we never spent time together again, (to give you an idea the only moment where I could see him was in the morning for breakfast) now that can sound silly but I was a child, with no friends and a neglectful mom, losing the only good thing I had in life broke me. I knew his schedule, I knew he was spending time with work buddies and that just stung my self-esteem even more leaving me feeling like a burden when I was just a kid who wanted to feel love.

This is why I don’t like the “He’s trying.” I know what a trying struggling parent looks like and I know what happens when they stop. If you keep trying to do something and you’re constantly failing, either your technique isn’t the right one or you’re not and you’re convincing yourself you are.

And then there are people that’ll tell me that “He lived through the abuse of Stella for years for her.”

If you read all of this then I don’t feel like I need to explain how Octavia was at least partially exposed to Stella's toxic behavior and was affected by it.

For those who don’t know how it feels to live with an erratic mood-swinging person, it’s pure constant stress. You have to think constantly before you talk or move because you know that if you fuck up you’re gonna pay the price. And if you still eventually mess up you can never know with these types of people! You can’t defend yourself because the punishment will be far worse. You are ALWAYS in the wrong.

So he lived through the abuse of Stella just so his daughter could get neglected and abused in a less physical way?

The difference between my parents and Octavia is that they love each other. Stolas doesn't give a damn about Stella, he did say he was nice at first because he empathized with her they were in this shitty situation together, and fine, it's reasonable. But she never changed! Stella stayed the same! Why didn’t he leave her when he stopped carrying about her?! There’s no trauma bounding, Stella isn’t guilt-tripping or manipulating him, they got the child he could have divorced her easily without consequences! If anything, she’s the losing part of this divorce she’s lower in the hierarchy! “Andreaphul will get angry.” HE’S A MARQUIS! Hierarchically speaking Stolas is far more important and he mopes the floor with his peacock ass!

Am I supposed to be empathetic with that one dude who willingly let his daughter grow up in a hyper-toxic environment with an emotionally neglectful and unpredictable wife?! Am I supposed to believe he cares when he kept sleeping in his house in his bed with the same guy his daughter clearly is worried he’s going to leave her with?! Really?!

Don’t ever tell me that this is trying.

#anti vivziepop #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #helluva fanart #anti stolas #anti stolitz #octavia

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mochinomnoms · 4 months ago

Text

The Private (not) Thoughts of a Moray Chapter 6: I'm feeling blessed by a curse

Gender Neutral Reader x Jade Leech

Chapter 6 preview:

“Well, I mean it’s not like you share your signature spells with everyone, I mean yours is basically mind control…” Jamil bristled at your comment, making you shrink in. “...I just mean it’s not that different from you.” “I’d say it’s very different.” Azul replied, which was met with murmurs of agreement from Idia and Jamil. “No offense meant to you Prefect, but we have a right to keep our personal thoughts to ourselves, and using our signature spells on others have led to consequences. Yours does not, and I think we all deserve to know about that.” You shrank further into yourself, making yourself smaller against the couch. Clenching Riddle’s train in your hands, you tucked your feet under your legs, feeling like a child being discussed at a parent-teacher meeting.

[wc} - 15,034

[notes] - wow took a hot sec to get this out. also this is the longest chapter yet and i still feel like it didn't come out great but im sure yall will enjoy what i have so far! also sorry for the lack of jade but i promise there's a reason lmao bare with me

Edits: thanks yuri for the tidbit about counselors I need finish chapter 6 in game lmao

[tag list] - @ghousus; @nasty-rat-goblin; @obeythehuman; @malleus-draconias-rose; @prussianengel

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Chapter 6: I'm feeling blessed by a curse

The unmistakable sound of the Magic Mirror as you entered another vision.

You felt heavy, fighting to open your eyelids from the sweet embrace of sleep.

The light filtering through the lavender drapes stung your eyes as you grumbled, turning around as the surrounding arms tightened and brought you closer to him.

You felt a grumble vibrate through his chest as you dug your face into the spot above his heart. The soft beating was soothing as you finally looked up, reaching to tuck a dark strand of hair behind his left ear.

A gold eye opened, sleepy and sweet as it looked at you full of fondness.

A tender, “Good morning, my love,” was accompanied by the sound of you leaving the mirror.

A loud thud and a pain against the side of your head abruptly awoke you from your sleep, the cool wood flooring of the room providing little comfort to the dull pain against your forehead.

You needed to sweep and mop, the floor was covered in Grim’s fur and dirt.

“What the fuck?” Ace was mumbling as he bolted up from the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Deuce also woke up, much more abruptly and panicked, pushing the sleeping bag off around him and throwing his fists up and as he blearily looked around.

“Wa happen? Who’s here, I can fight!” Deuce grunted as Ace threw a pillow at his face.

“Nothing happened, (name) fell off the bed.” Ace yawned, crawling over to peer at you over the edge of the mattress as you pushed yourself off the floor. “You had a bad dream again? Ha, baby.”

Ace always had a big mouth, but he meant well. You wanna talk about it? He just had trouble vocalizing it.

You sighed, crawling back up the bed and curled into the body pillow between you and Ace. Grim was still peacefully sleeping on top of it as he made a small ‘murrrph?’ sound from being ruffled.

“Wait, did you and Grim have a nightmare again?” Deuce’s voice was filled with urgency as he crawled over to you three, settling at the end of the bed. He stretched his legs out, tangling with yours and Ace’s, as he looked at Grim with confusion.

“He’s still sleeping though…you okay (name)?”

A sigh left your mouth as you nodded. “Yeah, I’m…it’s just a weird dream, freaked me out.”

Another, longer sigh made the two share a glance as your dark-haired friend leaned in closer.

“Was it like, you turned into a chicken and hatched from an egg but were like a weird half chicken and half human thing and got bullied by your chicken siblings?” Deuce looked so earnest as he continued. “I’ve had one of those before.”

You and Ace stared at Deuce for nearly a full, silent minute, as said man shifted uncomfortably.

“Dude, I don’t know what all that means, but I think you should talk to, like, a dream therapist or something.” Ace let out a disgruntled grunt as Deuce grabbed his own pillow and started smacking him with it.

“Shut. Up. Ace. (name). Had. A. Bad. Dream!” With each word, Deuce smacked the pillow harder and harder against Ace until he finally covered Ace’s entire body with his own, the unruly shuffling pushing against the bed and pillows until Grim finally woke up with a startle.

“Hey! What’s the deal!” Grim whined, moving into your arms and settling in like a cat with its owner. “I was having such a good dream too!”

“Oh? Maybe you two weren’t sharing one this time? (name) had a bad dream.” Ace mumbled, the pillow muffling his speech until he managed to shove his head out between Deuce’s hands and the fabric.

“Finally,! Can barely breathe. Anyways!” Ace chirped, managing to kick Deuce with his free leg. “What got you all scared? Couldn’t have been too bad, right?”

You didn’t scream this time, either. Neither of you.

You winced, Ace’s frowning as he murmured a soft sorry. Deuce looked between you two confused, but gestured for you to speak.

“It’s okay, you can tell us.”

“It wasn’t bad…just weird?” You scratched Grim’s head as you continued. “I think it was another premonition, I could hear and feel myself going through the mirror again, but it’s been a while since I had one of those.”

The back of Grim’s neck was rumbling as he sleepily stretched into your hands. “It was like I was in the vision itself, ‘stead of watching it like a movie.”

A flash of gold flashed through your mind as you felt your cheeks warm.

No! No, it’s fine!

“It’s fine, I was just surprised! Nothing to worry about!”

Ace and Deuce shared a look, before looking back at you worryingly.

“You sure? You know what time of year it is, right?” We all do.

Deuce’s mind flashed with visions of Riddle and Leona, covered in black, inky slop and towering, monstrous beings feeding on their misery and rage.

Are you sure you’re okay?

“You haven’t had a vision since…you know.” Ace thinned his lips, eyes darting between you and Grim. “Since you and Grim…”

“I’m fine! It wasn’t scary or anything, I promise. I’m fine.” You waved your hands exasperatedly, tossing Grim into Ace’s arms as you kicked Ace’s sheets off and stretched.

The cold wooden floor shocked some sleep from your bones as you felt your spine pop rather satisfyingly.

“Grim was even having a pleasant dream, weren’t you?”

Grim perked up, letting out a squeal that sounded a bit like a purr.

“Yeah! I was eating this real nice plate of tuna, really expensive too! I think one of the look-a-like brothers was serving it to me.”

You nodded absentmindedly, walking over to your dresser and grabbing yours and Grim’s dorm uniform, tossing the clothes at the bed. Heading to the bathroom, you left the door slightly ajar to listen to Ace and Deuce as they spoke quietly amongst themselves.

Grim had taken to the snack drawer in your dresser, where he’d begged you to save some of his favorite tuna, which you easily gave in. But Ace and Deuce stayed on the bed, murmuring. You tried to focus between their thoughts and the words coming out of their mouths, but all you could really make out was a general sense of worry.

It didn’t help that most of the student body and faculty also had a general feeling of dread and anxiety. The freshman weren’t privy to it, but everyone else was steering clear of, or carefully treading around Riddle as of late. You even heard from Jack that Ruggie had been texting Leona nonstop as the anniversary came up, but got short responses.

You know why they were worried, you were one of the people at the forefront of both overblots. Intricately involved back then, and it’s like you still are that small, magicless human in a foreign world.

“Ow, ow, ow!” You winced, soap getting in your eye while washing your face. “Damn it!”

“Yoo! Prefect! You okay?” Ace’s casual voice had a slight twinge at the end, like he was actively hiding his worry. “Need my help?”

No dying on my watch, and not in the bathroom. You can die somewhere more dignified.

“I’m not dying! God, I just got soap in my eye!” You snatched the hand towel off the rack, dark blue like Deuce’s hair when the sun shone just right. “I’m not a baby! Don’t baby me!”

Stomping out of the bathroom and snatching your clothes, you winced at the barrage of concerned thoughts and worry coming from your friends.

“Aw come on, I was joking, you know me!” It’s not my fault that it’s that time of year.

We just worry about you, magic or not, you’re still our same old (name). You know?

Deuce gave you a reassuring smile, faltering as you huffed, gesturing for them to turn around as you changed. It was hard to stay angry, your mind was flooded with their memories of you bruised and covered in cuts from thorns.

“I can take care of myself, you know?” You turned back around, clipping your cape around your shoulders and adjusting the clasps. “It’s not like I was the only one that got hurt those days, you guys did too.”

Yeah, but… “You had a real bad reaction after all the overblots, like you were allergic or something.” Ace shivered as you saw a memory flash through his mind.

A few of them, actually.

One your back covered in hives and Azul’s sucker marks. Another of you choking and sneezing from Leona’s dust. Red and burning scratches from Riddle and his thorns . An awful rash and blisters from Vil’s poisons that covered your face for weeks. Jamil’s snakes and their bites giving you an itchy, swelling bump on your legs that took four rounds of medication and potions to go away. They weren’t around for the reactions you got from Idia, something they were still angry at you for, but Deuce’s imagination ran wild with the stories of you wheezing and heaving to breathe.

And that’s not even to mention the effects that Malleus’s blot had on you.

“I don’t know man, I think it’s natural that we’re all a bit on edge this time of year.” Ace shrugged, grabbing Grim by his scruff and tossing him over to you mid-chewing. “Anyways, you should go head out, you still need to take your potion and head to the nurse.”

You caught Grim as he yelped, growling at Ace, who responded by sticking out his tongue.

“Watch it! You almost ruffled my bow!” Grim whined with pout and still full mouth.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you still need to put your own uniform on too.” You held Grim against your hip as you reached for Grim’s own vest and cape. The little direbeast excitedly snatched the clothes out of your grasp, attempting to slip it on with the elegance of a toddler.

Eh? Why is this so hard without thumbs!

You giggled, watching Grim struggle to pull the buttons closed as you leaned down to fold the hem of your pants. Looking up, you noticed Deuce helping a struggling Ace with painting on his heart. Ace’s eyes were shut as his face got redder, while Deuce grabbed his chin to steady his face. Deuce was more focused on keeping a steady hand than he was with Ace’s reddening blush, his tongue sticking out almost cutely.

Mmm?

Deuce finally backed away, sighing in self-satisfaction as he turned back around to put the makeup away. Ace relaxed, watching Deuce for a bit before making eye contact with you.

He froze, refusing to blink, as if blinking would set you off.

“…Since when have you struggled with painting your heart? You’d never let me paint it for you, and I always ask!” You whined, poking at his forehead.

Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!!

“Oh! Ace has been struggling to paint his heart on for a while, he got carpal tunnel from basketball practice over the summer.” Deuce helpfully piped up, grabbing his own black makeup paint and heading to the bathroom.

“He’s been having me do it for him, since I got steady hands and everything from working on my blastcyle!”

“I didn’t even know you could get carpal tunnel from playing basketball…can you even?”

I swear to the fucking Red Queen if you don’t shut up…

“Oi! I thought I told you, you’re running late! You still need to take your potion too! Go! I’m not having Riddle blame me for making you late!” Ace got up to chase you and Grim out, the latter finally clipping his cap around his shoulders.

“Aha! Wait, eek!” Grim yelped as he bolted on all fours, Ace stomping behind him as he grabbed your magic pen and arm to shove you out.

“Off you go! Brats.” Text us after your check-up….Brat.

“Hey! Who are you calling a brat? You’re the brat!” you laughed despite Ace’s words, waving as he flipped you off and closed the door.

The hallway was empty, the entirety of the dorm downstairs from the sounds in the kitchen and lounge. And from the raised voices, you were willing to bet that someone had said the wrong thing to the wrong person.

Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound of pots, pans, and glass that made you dart down the stairs with Grim close to your heels.

“Ah! What are they doing to our dorm!” Grim squeezed through the bannister gaps to jump off the stairs and on his feet like a cat, rushing into the kitchen as you finally made your way down.

“Hey! What did I tell you about touching my cooking!” Yaqub’s voice was very irritated, borderline squawking.

You’d only heard stories about his irritable nature, mostly from Jamil and a particularly distraught Kalim. Honestly, you thought they might have been exaggerating, since he was always mild mannered around you.

“It’s too red! I’m making sure that it won’t be too spicy for the dorm, not everyone can handle—”

“That’s tomato sauce you idiot! Damnit Wynfred!”

Granted, Wynfred tended to get under people’s skin with a particularly nonchalant, blissful unawareness.

You whipped into the kitchen to the sight of Yaqub towering over Wynfred with a wooden spoon ready to swat. The latter was looking into the pan with a bag of sugar in his hands like he’d just dropped an ounce, instead of half the bag into the sauce.

“Oh, well, I’m sure you can just start over, I’ll help!”

Yaqub puffed up, the top feathers of his head perking straight up along with a lump in his shoulders. Just how feathery is he?

“If I’d wanted your help in the first place, I would've asked! I should beat you—”

Yaqub froze as he darted his eyes at you, making Wynfred turn and brighten with a pink flush. Until Yaqub elbowed him, making him hide the sugar behind his back and straighten. Both of them gave you polite smiles and leaned in close, like they were close friends and hadn’t just been arguing a moment ago.

“Hello Housewarden, how are you? We were just preparing breakfast for everyone, and just happened to run into a hiccup.” Yaqub always spoke to you in a soft, polite voice, which seemed off from his stature.

“And I was helping! Like a great vice-housewarden!” Wynfred chirped, yelping at a foot stomping on his right. “I mean! I was just being nice.”

Pendejo…

Ow, my big toe…

You blinked at the two, as Grim ruffled up in offense.

“Hey! You got a vice-housewarden right here! I’ve told you don’t go thinking you can replace me, yer startin’ to annoy me!”

Yaqub snorted as Grim padded closer to Wynfred to further chastise, as much as the little guy could, while the redhead looked off to the side with mild annoyance.

“Housewarden (name), here.” Yaqub had managed to sneak next to you, making you jump in surprise as he smirked in amusement.

“Housewarden Jamil told me that you needed a drink every morning for your, uh, condition?”

Cringing, you smiled and took the mug from his hands, noting the same smell of coffee that you’d had with Kalim sometimes.

“...Is this from Scarabia’s kitchen? It smells like the fancy stuff that Kalim drinks sometimes.”

“Mmmm, maybe?” Yaqub gave you a wry grin and gestured to a smaller cup on the counter. “I was just told to help ya out, so might as well take advantage of Kalim’s surplus.”

Not like the spoiled brat will notice.

You smiled shakily and reached into your pocket for your last, lavender colored vial. Pouring a few drops into your cup and doing the same to Grim’s, you tenderly sipped the sweetened, smooth liquid.

“Grim, drink.” Stopping mid-stomp, Grim turned and noticed his cup, sighing and hopping up the counter.

Ugh, remember I want to choose the flavor today.

You smiled and leaned against the counter to sip on your drink, waiting for Riddle to come by for you. It was close to the time he agreed to pick you up, and knowing him he would be at your door 5 minutes early.

“Enjoy my dear Housewarden!” Wynfred chirped, waving as he walked past to the lounge area, where a group of voices steadily grew in volume. “Don’t worry, I’ll quiet them down, and will also watch over the dorm! I am an excellent leader after all!”

And an excellent date! “Also, I’m still waiting on your response regarding our outing—”

“Wow, I think I hear Silas eating another bug, better go check that!” Yaqub promptly shoved Wynfred out of the kitchen, though you could make out mutterings of “stupid!” and “don’t stress them out!”

It had been a trend lately to walk eggshells around you. The new students in Ramshackle were still keeping you busy, but with the dates of Riddle and Leona’s overblots looming over the student body’s head, you were fairly certain they were all told to be careful around you.

Wynfred, maybe a mix of trying to be genuinely helpful and trying to gain your favor, had taken over most of your duties, albeit to your mild irritation.

It wasn’t that you disliked the help, and to be honest, most of your work was delegating the tasks that Crowley had given to you and Grim the year before, and spreading it amongst the freshmen. Wynfred just stepped on your toes when he did.

Still, these past two weeks had been the most stress-free since starting the year, to the point that you were even able to spend a night with Ace and Deuce. Normally they’d come to your place…but someone had been spreading rumors about you three being closer than your average friends.

These sorts of rumors were around last year as well, pushed to the background with the more drastic events that occurred, but you never minded. At least, not until you heard some unpleasant thoughts from a certain someone.

You sighed, thinking about your interactions as of late. Jade had been rather…clingy? Attached? Hovering? You suppose that’s the best way to put it, though he hardly ever touched you.

No, he was always respectful in that regard, which you did appreciate. But he was always hovering over you when he had an excuse to. Even outside of class and dorm meetings between you and Azul, Jade found a way to be around, even if it was just a fleeting glance and hello.

To no surprise to you, he seemed to have an uncanny ability to tell when Wynfred was alone with you, interrupting him mid-conversation to ask for your assistance with the Octavinelle students in your care. Which, considering they were extremely organized and easy to work with (mostly), was unnecessary.

Though, you think that had more to do with Wynfred not being able to read a room and talking on and on with just about everyone he meets. And with him being in the same club as Jade, he was just an overflowing well, full of information for Jade to pick at.

Like his schedule, his attempts to speak to confirm your ‘date’, or the times the dorm is left under Grim’s ‘care’ while you did your club duties.

All of your freshmen were aware that your club would meet on Sundays in the afternoon to study the ruins and gargoyles on campus. Suddenly, the Mountain Lovers Club was also meeting on Sunday afternoons. And they just happened to be in the same ruins as you, which was strange considering that the ruins weren’t in the mountain range around NRC.

He’d also taken to “mysteriously” showing up every time Wynfred was getting ready to ask you out again. It had happened at least 3 times since the incident at the lake, each time Wynfred would attempt ‘asking for your hand’, in his own words. Jade would suddenly appear and either ask Wynfred if he’d completed his club tasks, which the latter complained about often, or whisk you away to meet with Azul about your Halloween agreement.

Based on Azul’s thoughts, he was getting annoyed at Jade’s sudden appointments, but he never let it show and seemed to like planning the carnival themed food stalls with you, at least the money it’d make anyway.

If you didn’t realize how much of a blabbermouth Wynfred was, and the prominence of gossiping amongst Pomefiore students, you’d suspect that Jade could also read minds.

There were some times that his ‘attentiveness’ was actually quite nice.

Like how you almost always forgot to grab breakfast in the morning, opting for something to drink. Suddenly, you’d mysteriously find a breakfast pastry with an unsigned note in familiar handwriting at your desk in the homeroom.

If you found yourself studying extra long in the library, you would leave your table for the restroom and come back to an open book with a note pointing to a section related to your current class module.

You had to admit, though, your favorite thing he’d been doing for you was asking for your ‘help’ in potions. Jade didn’t really need help, not with Riddle and Yev in your group, but it was nice being the one he’d always ask first.

Even for simple things, like what notes he missed, could you help him with measuring the herbs, and even just asking for you to explain the instructions Yev liked to spitfire.

He didn’t need your help, not really. He was more than capable of asking Crewel for missed notes, or checking the instructions for measuring certain herbs, or having Yev repeat himself. You could hear him think that too, but…it was almost flattering how much he just loved hearing your voice. Jade liked having you help him, and you liked to pretend that you were actually useful for once.

Could be worse, I suppose.

You heard a knock at the front door, listening as one of your students opened the door and greeted the new arrival.

“Prefect?” You leaned over to look past the doorway to see Riddle standing at the entry, dressed in all his queenly glamor. “Housewarden Riddle is here for you.”

“Hey Riddle! Let me finish my coffee real quick!”

“Alright, quickly then.” He nodded and gave you a pleasant smile. We wouldn’t want to be late.

Gesturing for Grim to finish his drink, you took big gulps, ever so slightly burning the inside your mouth. Huffing the hot air out of your mouth and waving Grim along, you jogged over to the front door and waved out to the lounge.

“Bye everyone, I will be back from the meeting later. Please don’t set the place on fire!”

You heard an echo of ‘okays’ and ‘yessirs’, with a singular ‘no promises’ with a loud smack and yelp making you stifle a snort.

Riddle was patiently waiting by the stairs, watching the sky until he heard you close the door, turning to you with a smile.

“Still on time, good. I was worried that the two would give you trouble.”

You clicked your tongue waving your wave dismissively. “Nah, they’ve been super helpful, you should give them more credit.

Riddle gave you a doubtful look as you too made your way to the castle.

“I mean it!”

“Of course, whatever you say.”

Pushing Riddle with your shoulder, you giggled as Grim jumped on your back and took his place on your shoulder.

“Oh shush! Should we start heading to the infirmary? Goethel called everyone in for something important, right?”

Riddle nodded leading the way as he hummed to himself.

Walking with Riddle was always nice. He was quiet, both physically and mentally, which was an odd thing to say now that you really thought about it. But it was nice, as being with him meant that his thoughts were more…organized?

Hmm, is that the best way to explain it?

You noticed that being around some of your friends was less mentally taxing on your telepathy. Riddle, unlike Kalim for example, was always straight to the point and clear. His thoughts rarely, if ever, jumped around from what he’d been focusing on. Jamil and Jack were the same, so being around them was actually quite soothing. Even Jade tended to have a one track mind, even when focusing on you.

However, being around Kalim, Floyd, even Sebek and Epel at times, caused you to grow a headache. There were too many sounds, too many different topics jumping around. Even being around Deuce sometimes caused a migraine. It got worse when you were in a crowd too.

But being around J—Riddle! Being around Riddle isn’t like that! He’s nice, calm, and quiet. Most of the time anyways.

You shook your head, flapping your hands like you were trying to shake something off as you sped up after Riddle. Thankfully, with most of the student body in bed still, the walk was peaceful and short. You just really hated all the stairs, all three stories of them, to get to the infirmary.

It was surprisingly empty in the room when you entered, only Ortho cleaning up his equipment with a sanitizing spray. Your friend brightened as you waved, cheerfully zooming over with an urgency.

“Prefect! Hi!” Ortho scooped you up underneath your arms, bringing you into a spine crushing hug before setting you back down, the whirl of his fans betraying his excitement.

“I missed you during your last check in! I tried reading your files to make sure nothing new happened, but Ms. Goethel got mad at me for snooping.”

You really liked Ortho, he was like a cute little brother. Which, seeing how Idia programmed him in the first place, was expected. What was a bit surprising was how he almost spoke to himself internally.

How am I meant to help if I can’t stay updated with everyone’s medical condition—

—cause not everyone wants to have their private information shared! Duh! What are you a dummy—

—No! I’m just concerned! Idia might not be friends with all of them, but I like them! Especially the Prefect and Vil!

That doesn’t mean you can be in their business, remember what happened when we snooped in the headmage’s files?

You watched Ortho’s hair and lights briefly flash red and him shuddering, as much as a technomantic could anyway. Instead, he turned to Riddle and gestured to him to follow.

“Come on Riddle! I’ll do you first, the others are waiting in Ms. Goethel’s office!” Ortho floated towards a bed with a privacy curtain covering it. “Prefect, I’ll do you after! Please take a seat, it won’t take long!”

You hummed in response, sitting in the waiting area of the infirmary with Grim hopping into your lap. He curled into you, wrapping his tail so tightly that he looked like a little ball.

Mmm, I don’t like Ortho doing these. Reminds me of that stupid isle…

You sighed, scratching behind his ears as you felt him purr and relax.

“It’s okay, I’ll go first and you can watch, ‘kay?”

Grim made a small ‘okay’ noise as he nodded, pressing his head against your hand. Rubbing your thumb over his forehead in a circular motion, you felt him relax and dig his front paws into your thighs as he gently kneaded into you.

He’d had nightmares after his time at the Isle of Woe for weeks, though they’d become less common, Grim would still get them from time to time.

I want something fancy for dinner tonight! To make up for gettin’ all poked and pinched!

Grim’s ears perked as he jumped up and pawed at your chest.

“Ask Hornton to take us to the Mostro Lounge! I want to eat crab and that fancy cav-eee-ar thing that people always talk about!”

You snorted, “Do you mean caviar?”

“Whatever it is, ask Hornton to buy it for us!” Grim huffed and started drooling as you made out his little daydreams of fancy caviar on crackers and shrimp cocktails.

“Okaaay, but I don’t think you’ll like it.” You laughed, patting his head again as you started scrolling through Magicam.

Hmm, Cater posted another pic of himself at a cafe…Ruggie and Epel in their club…oh, Azul posted a sneak peak of the new menu, nice.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at a familiar logo and pair in the campus’s woods.

“As the Mountain Lovers Club, we do much more than hiking! Our club members sometimes cook their findings as well! Look at how delicious these foraged plants look!”

Wynfred’s red curls and dark green eyes were just barely visible in the corner of the selfie as in the background, Jade tended to what looked like some mushrooms and spring onions on a campfire grill gate.

A smile grew on your features at the scene. It seemed that this was the work that Jade had put him to that he’d been complaining about. Social media seemed to come natural to him though, maybe you should connect him with Cater?

“Prefect? Riddle is done, you can come over now.”

You looked up and saw Riddle and Ortho pop out from behind the privacy curtain, Riddle looking rather relieved.

Nothing out of the ordinary. No additional stress with the normal day to day things…No blot, no blot. No blot this time…

Riddle looked up at you and gave you a nod. “I’ll be heading to the office now, I’ll let the others know that you’ll be there shortly.”

“Okay, thanks.” you nodded back, gathering Grim up in your arms and heading to Ortho, who was hovering patiently.

“I’ll be quick! Let me do a quick physical and then I just need to measure your stress levels and magic accumulation!”

Grim’s claws dug into your skin at that, an unpleasant rumbling vibrating through his chest. You patted his head again to calm your friend.

You placed Grim next to you on the bed, patting his head as you let Ortho take your basic measurements: weight, height, heart rate, blood pressure. Rather normal things that you’d experienced back home. But Ortho’s yellow eyes going white and presumably scanning your body was not, neither was him offering his hand out for you to place your wand in.

“Here.” Sighing, you watched as a blue light glowed from his hand, scanning down your wand before focusing in on the light violet gemstone.

“You should get a housewarden staff, I tried getting Idia to use the Ignihyde one, but he thought it made him look geeky.” You and Ortho shared a giggle as he went silent while uploading the results of your physical to presumably your medical file.

You stayed silent as he did, fidgeting with the skin around your nails.

“Hmm, based on the data I acquired from your stone, you have an unusually high rate of blot accumulation. Normally it would pile up, but it seems it’s being reduced by your daily potion.”

Ortho handed back your wand with his brows furrowed.

“Still, it’s at a much higher rate than the others. Maybe due to your body not being originally suited to magic? I’ll let Nurse Goethel know.”

A tugging on the back of your vest caught your attention as you looked back at Grim, who was holding onto you with droopy ears.

“Is that bad?”

You smiled reassuringly and scratched the top of his head.

“It’s not ideal, but I’m sure if it was really bad, Ortho would get the nurse, right?”

Looking at Ortho for reassurance, your friend nodded and gave you a perky thumbs up.

“Right! Besides Grim, you should be a lot more worried about yourself! Your blot accumulation has still been super unpredictable, speaking of which.”

Ortho turned to look at Grim and cheerfully continued

“Nurse Goethel says that she will do your exam, so you can wait here.” Ortho produced a star shaped sticker from his chest panel and stuck it to your forehead with glee. “Prefect! You can go to the office with the others.”

Yay! Finally got someone!

Grim stiffened and scrunched up his lips.

Huh? No! I don’t wanna be alone! “My henchhuman needs to be with me at all times! They’re my servant!”

Grim stood on the bed and puffed up his chest, though you could feel the anxiety radiating off him.

“It’s okay Grim, I’ll just be down the hall if you need me.” You patted his head again, which Grim relaxed into and plopped back down on the bed. “Okay? Just have Ortho come get me.”

Hmph! “I’m the Great Grim! I don’t need anyone!” You better mean that…

Grim sat back down the bed and curled his tail inward towards him, hugging it to himself as he huffed and turned his head away from you.

You gave Ortho an apologetic smile and made your way out of the main infirmary and to the hallway.

It was empty, this branch of the castle usually was on the weekends due to it mostly containing the professors’ offices and general administrative wings. Still, it was a nice change of pace to the usually busy halls and bouncing thoughts of the student body.

Though, you didn’t have to walk far as Nurse Goethel’s office was right next to the infirmary. The closer you got to the door, you could make out Riddle’s voice talking to the others in the room.

Ah, I wonder if he’s telling them about everything that’s been happening this year. That sounds nice, wonder what he’s talking about, maybe my new dorm members? Oh, maybe about Halloween, they’re allowed to come visit during the fair right?

You smiled at the thought of showing off Ramshackle to Malleus, all decked out in amusement park and clown themed decorations.

Yeah, I bet he’s telling them that I’ve been doing a great job as a housewarden!

A smile still on your face, you opened the door to the office to see everyone attentively listening to Riddle.

“I am worried about how they’re dealing with it, psychics as a whole are rare, and their telepathy seems to be a source of distress. So I’m hoping that one of us has a family history of psychics that we can refer to—OW!”

Riddle yelped as you, with rather impressive accuracy mind you, threw a decorative stress ball that was on the shelf near you, right at his head.

It was the shock that got Riddle rather than actually being hurt, but he still clutched his head at the spot you hit.

“Prefect! What is wrong with—”

“How dare you!”

You cherished your friendship with Riddle, maybe as much as you did with Ace and Deuce. He was the first person overblot and did disparage you at first, yes. But he was also one of the first people to take you under his wing. He treated you more like another housewarden and student, rather than just Grim’s babysitter or the magicless human.

He was aware that you were more fragile to magic compared to the other students, but he never coddled you before. He was there when you cried about missing home, about feeling inadequate in the foreign school system, about your frustration with Grim at times.

You were never sure why Riddle took such a liking to you. Perhaps it was because he liked having a friend that would attentively listen to him list all 810 of the Queen of Heart’s rules. Or that you would distract Floyd long enough for him to escape, and then meet again later and giggle about it.

Or maybe it was because you didn’t really know about him and his reputation as a tyrant, only your very brief brush with it. To you, he was just Riddle, the redheaded guy with a bit of a temper, a friend.

Riddle was a very good friend, one you could credit to your ability to skip a potionology grade. A wonderful friend, Riddle was.

But right now, Riddle was pissing you off.

The two of you stared each other down as the other 6 in the room watched on in various levels of amusement and concern.

You thought you’d been doing a swell job, especially regarding your telepathy. Sure, you had some problems here or there, and certain people caused certain issues, but overall you were having a grand time learning your magic on your own time.

You thought he did too, seeing as he didn’t mention anything about the telepathy after finding out. In fact, he didn’t even acknowledge it, not like how Ace, Deuce, and Grim would.

They’d speak through their thoughts, or think silly things to make you laugh in class, or they (Grim, usually) would beg you to give them a hint on the in-class assignments.

But Riddle didn’t do any of that, he just kept going on like nothing had changed. Even his thoughts remained the same, though they were never anything strange or out of character for him. You thought that he had confidence in you and your new ability. And that was a nice sentiment, or it was.

So yes, you were quite pissed off at him for implying that you weren’t able handle your magic yourself.

“Riddle! What the heck” You hissed, rushing over to him and sputtering as you hovered your fists over him, deciding whether or not you should just shake the jitters out, or start lightly hitting him.

“Now, Child of Man, there’s no need to get violent.”

Your darling horned friend decided for you, a sudden influx of amusement filling you as Malleus came from behind you. He tenderly grabbed at your hands and pulled you to sit back between him and Riddle in the love seat nestled in the corner of the nurse’s office.

Malleus chuckled, beaming as you shoved yourself into his side to put as much space between you and Riddle as possible. You’d managed to curl yourself into a little ball into Malleus’s side as you stuck your tongue out at Riddle.

Ah, amusing. Malleus hummed, briefly pausing before resuming his pats on the top of your head, chuckling as you moved his arm to hug you like a shield against Riddle. Riddle looked less than amused at the situation, crossing his arms as he stared back at your angry face.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Prefect.” Riddle huffed, though for some reason you could just feel the guilt radiating from him. That outburst was completely unnecessary.

“Ugh!” You let out a scoff, bring the hood of your cape up and over your head, tugging down to cover your face.

“You’re the one sharing my business with others, you know I haven’t told anyone else!” Voice muffled, you felt your face burning in frustration. “What gives you the right? You didn’t even ask!”

That weird feeling of guilt was growing as Malleus pulled your hood back, so that your face was visible once again. Everyone was staring at you now, making you shift uncomfortably.

Aw. They look like they want to cry…

I guess they didn’t want that shared?

Riddle looked as upset as you were, maybe even guiltier than you felt…or was that you feeling that?

Why am I feeling guilty?

Ah, I’m sorry, Prefect…

Malleus gave you another reassuring pat on your head, a new sense of calm enveloping your body

Is that…Malleus’s..?

“I’m sure Rosehearts had good intentions, you’re still getting used to your magic after all.” Malleus chuckled as you pouted, a new sense of amusement now warming your body.

Oh, he finds this funny. Hmph.

Slipping under his arms to slide off the small couch and onto the floor, you sighed and crossed your arms. An image of you looking like a petulant child crossed your mind and you snapped your head up to dart between the others in the room.

Vil and Idia took the chairs in front of the nurse’s desk, though the former had turned it to face everyone, presumably to speak face-to-face. Idia was curled into his chair, which he hadn’t bothered to turn, but sat in it sideways so he could look at everyone from the corner of his eyes. Azul was sitting on an upholstered bench on the wall next to Idia, legs crossed and hands politely crossed over the top of his staff.

Jamil was leaning in the corner of the room near Vil and Leona, who was sitting with his eyes closed on the windowsill. Jamil was fidgeting with the snake staff in his hand, watching you with a neutral expression.

Heh, they kinda look like Najima as a kid.

“Precisely!” Riddle chimed back in, leaning down to pull at your cheek as you grumbled. “Reading another’s mind is mentally and magically taxing, you’re not used to magic like us.”

“Are you for reals? Like not just psychic but actual, full on mind reading? What the hell?!” Idia screeched, horrified at the idea. Though, seeing how he was a self-proclaimed otaku, and the sort of shows he might be into, you weren’t surprised that he didn’t like the idea.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it! Don’t think about the weird incest reincarnation subplot It’s not my fault the manga started going weird! I just thought it was a cute idol story!

Idia curled into the seat again and practically demanded, “How long have they had it?!”

Blinking slowly, you could feel your face going warm in embarrassment, matching Idia’s own reddening cheeks. In fact…in your cheeks as well…and your hair felt hot, like it was on fire.

“If you’re wondering if I could hear you during your breakdown last year, no, I couldn’t. Happened a bit after I got magic.” You sighed while Idia relaxed, and you felt yourself do the same.

Thank Hades! I do not want—wait a fucking second.

Idia darted his head back at you and glared, wrapping his arms around his head protectively. “You’re doing it right now, aren’t you! Get out of my head, you FREAK!”

“Idia! Don’t you chastise them like that” Riddle started yelling at Idia, before you interrupted him with a snarky reply.

“Freak? Says the guy with fire hair, that’s freaky even for here!” You had a sudden burst of energy as you crawled over to Idia to start poking at him as you continued. “I’m an alien, I have an excuse, what’s yours?”

Are you serious—ugh nevermind, you two just go at it.

“Alien does not mean from another dimension.” Idia said, giving you a blank stare. “You’re not from another planet, you’re from a whole other universe.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not!” Idia scoffed. He was much more comfortable with you and the others by now, though it might be due to how much you all liked to prod at him over the summer.

“Ya-huh.”

“Nuh-huh!”

“Ya-huh!”

The two of you continued to bicker, Riddle, Vil, Jamil, and Azul watching in a mix of disapproval and mild amusement. Malleus, just darted his gaze between the two of you, much like watching a game of tennis. He was thoroughly entertained as he leaned over to Riddle.

“Is this how humans normally interact with their friends?” Malleus asked, Riddle jumping slightly as if he forgot Malleus was even there. “My Child of Man never interacts with me like that.”

Riddle sighed as he shrugged. “It depends, they’ve always been very adaptable with everyone around them. I think the Prefect just likes to press Idia’s buttons, ever since he took us and Grim to S.T.Y.X.”

“Hey!” Idia yelled, immediately shrinking down as he realized just how loud he was being. “I mean…it wasn’t me who sent the Charon bots after you…I just ended up taking over for a bit.”

Suddenly, a wave of annoyance with a touch of amusement filled your body.

“And then you immediately overblotted.” Leona finally spoke up, his tail swishing quickly as he shifted in his seat, eyes still closed. “Now both of you shut it. Been tryin’ to take a nap.”

Too damn loud, go back to being a shut in Radish Sprout. Leona frowned, his tail stilling as he opened an eye to look at you. “I can tell you’re listening. Stop it.”

You jumped, as did the others, minus Malleus. Sharing a look of confusion with Riddle as your eyes met, you turned back to question Leona.

“You can tell? How?”

“I am also wondering.” Riddle stated in kind, scooting forward in his seat. “I could only tell because of Ace’s big mouth, and from little slips of the tongue with the Prefect.”

Malleus hummed, crossing his arms and holding his finger to his chin as he tapped.

“It feels…a bit like when someone’s eyes are on you, but you’re unsure from where. Much like the feeling of Hunt’s eyes on me.” Vil pinched his nose at that as Malleus continued. “Kingscholar, what is it like for you?”

Leona’s ear flicked, tail swishing faster, much like Lucius when he got annoyed from Idia’s pestering.

“It’s like a certain someone being annoying, poking and prodding at you with their pencil.” Leona smirked as you gasped. He put his hand out as you crawled over to him, holding out by your forehead as you swatted at him playfully, suddenly giddy.

“I’m not annoying!” You growled, though you started giggling as Leona’s tail swiped at your neck, tickling you. “Gah! Stop! That tickles!!”

Good. You could practically hear his chuckle.

“Too bad, now stop. Tryin’ to nap before Nurse Goethel comes in.” Leona gave you a final shove, making you fall on your behind as he sighed against the window.

“Oof! Fine, fine!” You laid on the ground, spreading your limbs and staring at the ceiling.

Your emotions felt like they were bouncing all over the place. At one moment, you were flooded with anxiety, another with embarrassment. Next it was amusement, then annoyance, and now you suddenly felt exhausted, like your hair was being tugged in a million different directions.

“Can you really tell?” you tilted your head up to flit your gaze between Malleus and Leona. “No one else has said anything.”

Malleus nodded while Leona hummed in an affirmative sound.

Perhaps the others can too? Malleus’s voice echoed through your mind the same time as Leona’s, the latter almost shoving in.

You should freak out the Octopunk, he looks like he’s gonna puke.

You looked back at Leona, noticing a small smirk at the end of his lips, and decided to take a peek at Azul leaning against the desk next to Idia. True to his word, Azul was wide-eyed and biting on his lip, his thoughts running a mile per minute.

Oh Neptune, they’ve heard everything. But it’s recent, right? So nothing embarrassing…but still.

Azul furrowed his brow, glancing at you as he froze at making eye contact with you. Your heart froze in what you think was panic.

“...Azul.”

“Prefect.” He replied bluntly, refusing to break your gaze with him.

“You, uh, sounding a little concerned?”

The others looked over at his direction, Leona looking particularly amused.

“Oh? Does the Octopunk got secrets still? I thought I got them all out of you last year, maybe I need to bring up that old picture—”

“No you don’t!” Azul raised his voice, nearly going shrill, as he cleared his throat and looked away bashfully. His face was tinted a lilac shade. “I am just concerned about the privacy of my customers, many of my surviving contracts are rather private, you know.”

You don’t get to know about any more of my personal business… Azul’s eyes lit up. That sudden feeling of panic quickly morphed into smugness.

Prefect~ You two made eye contact again, the others’ teasing questions about Azul’s thoughts becoming background noise. If you mention anything about what you just heard, then Jade might just happen to hear about your little…invasion of privacy.

Now you were positive that feeling of panic was genuinely your own.

“Come on Prefect, what’s got the shady asshole all tight-lipped.” Jamil was smirking as he noticed you pale. “Oh? Did he say something? Don’t be shy, share with the group. Sharing is caring, you know?”

You shook your head and got up to stretch, facing Riddle and Malleus as you did, both looking amused. Riddle had an inkling of what Azul might have suggested, as the image of Jade popped up briefly.

Malleus was a bit more confused, though he was musing about what Azul could have on you that would keep you tight-lipped.

Perhaps an embarrassing picture? But my human is never embarrassed, they’re quite delightful. What is it, my friend? Do you want me to stop him? I will if you ask.

You shook your head and answered, “No Hornton, you don’t gotta do anything to him.”

“He doesn’t have to do what?” Azul asked panickedly, a similar sense of foreign panic filling you as well, looking between you and Malleus with concern.

Ah he’s scared…I guess that’s to be expected with Mal.

You forgot that Malleus was technically someone to be feared. It was hard to fear someone who you watched cry over a brain freeze after eating ice cream too fast at 3am on a Tuesday evening outside Ramshackle.

“Tch, why are you scared of the damn lizard.” Leona grumbled as snuck up behind you, crossing his arms over your head and leaning his entire weight against you. “Doing that’s only going to make his ego bigger.”

“Are you really one to talk, Leona?” Vil chuckled, frowning as he noticed you buckling. “I think you’re a bit heavy for them.”

Leona’s chest vibrated as he made a rumbling sound, lifting a bit of his weight off you to sit back down, letting you rest lean against him.

Whatever, you don’t mind, do you herbivore? You can say something if you do.

You remained silent as each person separated into a mini-group, conversing amongst each other. Vil and Jamil were quietly conversing as Jamil looked in the cupboard Nurse Goethel kept her medicinal herbs in.

Azul was quietly observing Idia play a game on his phone, the latter turning it slightly towards Azul. Riddle was catching up with Leona as you struggled to stay upright, updating him with how the Spelldrive team was doing.

Though he pretended not to care, you could hear his thoughts. He was pleased, though, he smacked his tail against your leg each time you listened in too closely.

Malleus was the only one that kept to himself, humming a lullaby that he taught you not too long ago. He seemed content.

You turned your attention to one of the potted herbs hanging on the windowsill you and Leona were next to. It was swaying from the breeze entering the cracks of the window, you hadn’t even noticed that Leona had the window opened.

The pot was carrying Rosarian lavender, similar to one of the varieties on Earth. Divus and Goethel had both praised lavender as a versatile herb for both nonmagical and magical uses.

Not only was it used for cooking, in cocktails, and as a tea, but as a core ingredient for nearly every magical protection and antiblot potion, but was both soothing and healing as a medicinal. Even Vil was particularly fond of using skin products that included lavender as a core ingredient.

You thought the smell was pleasant. It was very floral, earthy, but it was light and sweet. It reminded you of Jade, as you could always smell something green and earthy on him every time he leaned in too close during class. You also thought about the light purple magic stone on his pen, and the scarf against his skin. The lighting of the lounge against his cheeks ever since you’d been coming to Octavinelle more often to organize the details for your dorms’ Halloween collaboration.

Hmm?

You also thought about the way it tasted in the drinks you’ve had over the last few months. How it made your coffee sweet, but your hot chocolate earthy. How much Grim whined about the taste every morning you took the potion with him. You pretend to dislike the taste, so he wouldn’t feel silly about it.

The soft knock from the office door drew everyone’s attention, as it cracked open for a tall, pale woman to step in and close it behind her.

It was no mistake, based on the dark red and gold nurse’s army dress and the black scrubs under the skirt, along with a name tag.

A. Goethel, N.P.M., Nurse Practitioner Mage

Nurse Amara Goethel herself.

“You know I could hear you all raising your voices earlier, I am meant to be completing an examination, not checking in on you.”

Goethel was a beautiful woman, her long dark brown curls tied back into a low ponytail, though she had a thick strand of white curls on her bangs. Despite this, she had a beautiful, narrow face with high cheekbones and hooked nose, so beautiful that it rivaled even the most ethereal models you’ve seen with Vil. Her face didn’t make her narrow eyes and strict gaze any less intimidating, though.

You felt yourself shiver at the sudden combination of fear, delight, and worry that enveloped your body.

“Prince Leona Kingscholar,” You felt the man freeze at the growl in her voice. “You get off them right this second. Straighten up, I know you can be a proper gentleman.”

You made an ‘oof’ sound, stumbling as Leona quickly and smoothly stood up. From the corner of your eye, you could see the others do the same, even Idia took off his hood and went upright in his seat.

“Yes ma’am,” Leona replied, albeit gruffly and with a disgruntled tone. He reminded you of a chastised toddler. He shifted on the windowsill again, sitting straight this time though. You decided to sit between Malleus and Riddle again, curling in and fidgeting with the train on Riddle’s dorm uniform.

His eyes darted to you briefly. Don’t wrinkle it. You nodded.

Goethel clicked her tongue, making her way over to Vil. “I know every single student of mine has the ability to be a gentleman, yet you all drive me insane helping you get to that point.”

She reached out for a polite hug, the two of them sharing a greeting kiss on each cheek.

“Hello Vil, my darling! It’s been too long!” Goethel had an almost musical sound to her voice as she chirped. “Later, you’ll just have to catch me up on how you’ve been doing at your internship.”

“Of course, Nurse Goethel.” Vil hummed, smiling fondly. “Anything for you.”

Nurse Goethel let Vil go and moved to shuffling through her desk, smoothing out her clothes as she did.

“Now, I know that you’re taking valuable time out of your duties as interns and housewardens, especially with the Spelldrive Tournament coming up, so I appreciate you taking the time to come and meet me.”

“Well, you mentioned it was important, something about our blot preventative potions, yes?” Azul spoke up.

Goethel nodded, reaching for a small stack of files from her drawer. Each had your names written on the tab, along with the words ‘BLOT RISK’ next to them.

“Yes. As we found over the summer, you all are at higher risk for rapid blot accumulation due to your previous overblots and trauma. Along with the particularly…stressful year you had, we’ve been looking for more ways to decrease your risk of overblotting again.”

If only we had properly funded counselors, Crowley. You could just hear the hiss in her thoughts as she shuffled through the paperwork. She paused at yours and Grim’s files for a moment, tapping at it with fingertips. Poor things…especially you two.

“The headmage made the research project official in September. And we’ve had some interest from a few different parties and companies.”

Idia snorted and mumbled, “Like S.T.Y.X.”

“Well, officially Jupiter Enterprises, but yes.” Goethel picked up another manilla folder as she continued. “But one was of surprising interest: Empress Apothecaries.”

You noticed Vil perk up, furrowing his eyebrows. Isn’t that Yev’s…wait. Vil suddenly glared at you, snapping his fingers in your direction.

“Stop that! Having you poke around feels strange…”

Before he continued, Vil closed his mouth as Goethel looked over to him and raised her brow. She studied him for a moment, before looking towards you.

“My love, leave dear Riddle’s clothing alone. Fidgeting is unbecoming.” She spoke softly to you, a gentle smile on her face.

A nervous chuckle left your throat. “Sorry, nervous habit.”

Tch, totally not fair that Ms. Goethel has her favorites. You could just imagine the annoyed look on his face, but Idia was looking at his hands, which were also fidgeting with his sweater. If I bounce my leg or pick at my hands, it’s “unbecoming” and “yOu’Re oF a hIGh StAtUS fAAAmIlY, Idia Shroud”. But if youuuu do it, it’s “my loooove~” and—HEY. STOP THAT PREFECT!

The flames on his head briefly turned brighter as he frowned, rubbing at his temples.

“That does feel weird…” he mumbled, loud enough that Goethel turned her attention to him. She studied Idia for a moment, making the poor man freeze in fear.

“Relax, Idia.” She murmured, resting her chin on her folded hands. “What feels weird, was something missed on the exam?”

Idia’s face slowly started turning red and he shook his head, briefly glancing at you before looking down at his hands.

Goethel’s gaze remained on him, before flitting over to you. Her brown eyes

“Darling, explain.”

You bowed your head, looking up at Goethel with a guilty expression.

“You know how after graduation last year, I talked to Crowley and you about my ‘condition’?”

Goethel raised her brows, still watching you like a cat with a mouse.

“The one he requested you keep to yourself? You told them?”

“Well, I told Ace and Deuce…” You pouted, gesturing your head to Riddle. “Riddle noticed, and he told the others.”

Wait, Prefect you were supposed to keep it secret? Riddle sighed, rubbing his forehead in a frustration you could just see and feel radiating off him. Are you kidding me?

“Ah, I see.” Clicking her tongue, Goethel shook her head in exasperation, but smiled. “Well, considering the nature of your magic, it’s probably for the best that the people in this room are aware.”

Goethel reached into her pocket, pulling out a vibrating phone and tapping it. Looking at it, she remained quiet as she stood back up, slipping all but Grim’s files back in her cabinet. You heard a click of a lock as she tapped it with the end of her wand.

“Grim is almost done with the rest of his check in, I need to go back and make sure everything is okay.” She slipped pass Idia and Azul, briefly patting the former’s head as she did. “Ortho’s been very through as a student nurse, you should be proud Idia.”

You could feel something soft and soothing fill your head and Idia’s thoughts, a pleasant warmth growing until you felt warmth wrapping around you like a warm blanket coming out of a dryer.

“I’ll be back and we will discuss, now please behave yourselves.”

With a click of her heels and the shutting of the door, your group remained silent, like they were waiting to be sure she was gone before speaking.

“...So do all the faculty know?” You shifted uncomfortably as Jamil started speaking, the red feather in his hair following his movements. “It’s not surprising the headmage told you to keep it secret, psychics are rare and highly sought after by governments and royals.”

He tapped a finger to his chin, huffing as he continued. “I’ve heard stories about children being taken by soldiers once they showed signs of premonition, but Crowley probably cares less about that and more about using you for himself.”

You cringed at that, making a face at Jamil. “Well, I’m not super good at the premonition parts anyway, my dreams are more jumbled than anything.”

“That’s true,” Vil let out a soft chuckle as he nodded in agreement. “I remember when you tried to explain the dreams to Rook and I last spring, it sounded more like you were retelling a fairy tale than giving warnings of dark times.”

A memory of you, waving your hands around and using Epel like a prop in a play flashed through your mind, along with a sense of fond amusement.

“Personally,” Jamil interrupted, looking (and feeling, you think) rather apprehensive. “I don’t like the idea that someone can listen into my head. Something as invasive as that should have been shared.”

“I’d say it’s very different.” Azul replied, which was met with murmurs of agreement from Idia and Jamil. “No offense meant to you Prefect, but we have a right to keep our personal thoughts to ourselves, and using our signature spells on others have led to consequences. Yours does not, and I think we all deserve to know about that.”

You shrank further into yourself, making yourself smaller against the couch. Clenching Riddle’s train in your hands, you tucked your feet under your legs, feeling like a child being discussed at a parent-teacher meeting.

Leona snorted at the others, stifling a laugh. “Are you so insecure that you’re afraid of the lil’ Herbivore of all people? You know, the one that you three,” he waved a finger at Azul, Jamil, and Riddle as he continued, “are supposed to look after?”

Pathetic, they couldn’t even harm a fly. Not a backbone in that entire body.

A small offended noise made its way out of your throat as you started to fidget again with Riddle’s train.

He wasn’t necessarily wrong, but it just reminded you how most of the students viewed you: the helpless Prefect with the trouble making direbeast.

Someone who needed to be cared for, to be watched over, to be tended to like a child that knows no better.

I get that they worry…that they feel bad…but I can take care of myself.

You felt Riddle’s hand cover your own, clenching his train tightly in your grasp. He gave you a squeeze as he narrowed his eyes at Leona.

Yeah, yeah! Riddle knows it! He’s known me longer than anyone else in this room, he knows!

“I care for the Prefect immensely, as such I’ve done my duty to my friend and more, before anyone else here, I helped them!” Riddle spoke with a firmness that made your heart sink.

“They’ve done well and have had nothing to worry about with my guidance, I’ve taken responsibility for my actions.” He wrinkled his nose as he snarked, “Unlike some of us.”

Irresponsible! An irresponsible shirk!

Leona stood abruptly, his foot stomping and tail whipping. His ears were pinned to his head as he growled, “You want to say something, Rosehearts? Then say it.”

Self-righteous little prick!

Riddle stood as Leona did, his hand ripping out of your grasp as he raised his head at the other man.

“All I’m saying is that some of us have taken effort and time to actually care for our friend, unlike some of us who dropped them the moment they could—”

“They ain’t a baby and I’m not a babysitter!” You uptight brat! “Besides, just because I don’t coddle them doesn’t mean I don’t do my part. I’m only doing what’s required, nothing more!”

Vil scoffed and shushed the two as their voices rose. “Can you two please quiet down? I refuse to be scolded because you can’t behave yourselves. And don’t lump me in with him, Riddle. I do my part.”

Someone here has to make sure they actually know how to take care of themselves—

Idia let out a snort, causing Vil to glare at him as his flames burned brighter in embarrassment.

“What? What in the world could you possibly have to say? You’re here as well, after all that talk about working with Jupiter Enterprises, and yet you got stuck here due to what your magic did to them. And you don’t even do anything to make up for it!”

“Eh? Says the guy sending makeup and fancy skin lotions! How’s that supposed to help?”

Make them too pretty to cry? Ridiculous!

A pain shot up the side of your head as different voices started to pile up in your mind and ears. The overlapping sounds felt like pins being driven against your temples and between your eyes, like they were begging to burst from your skin and bleed out for space.

“It’s self-care! Not just making them pretty!” N͈̉oT̐͞ t̜̽H͎A̋ͨt͒ ȳ̛̚Ö́u ẁ͎́ơ̧̓UlD͉͢ K̽n̮̙ͮOW̛̼!ͤͤ́

Fuck! My head!!

The saliva in your mouth turned hot and the back of your throat feeling uneasy, like something was trying to slither out of your stomach.

“I do have to say, getting the Pr͎̀͞ë͇́̋f̰̒̐ẹcṭ’s͈ a̋b̵͆iͮͨlḭ̙͈t̆̓ïȩ̫s͎ͤ under control is more co_̷̶n̲̋c͗er̟̜͒n̒͊̌iͧn͕̦̮g͔ than—”

Shut up! I gotta—T̤Ḣ͎̥͌e̼̩̩͎̋͞ͅ p̴̡̯͙OͯͮU͓͑́́̚nD̨ͫ̉ͫ͟I͔̓̕͡ͅŃ̮̿g̷̹͇̙̔̔! IT WON’T STOP!

The thrumming against your head grew harsher and harsher, that putrid taste of bile growing along with the sounds. With the pressure—what was that pressure growing in the room?

O̳͚̽h͕̝͎̞̓̌ͮ p̋l̲̻͒ẹ̭̻ͬ͌̉͢a͙͎̜ͪ͋ͅse̫̔̑.̱̫͈͌͒ “Under control? Maybe under your thumb—”

Child of man?

_ M̠ͦal̘? ṀÅ͜L̵̬͋L̺̞E͈̮͗U͕͖̲S̰̱ͥ!͙ M̸͐̒A̶ͤK͆E I̮̅͜T͑ S̶̸̶̝̦ͯ̃ͯ͌̏͞Ţ̧͖͇ͧͧͧO̝̯P̢̡̝̖͒̓ͮ͠

“Don’t impͩͅl̊y̢͍ t́hin̺̒g̱s̵ͤ,̢ͪ Jamil, and you’re one to tal_̈k̨̩͡,̳ͮ͘ especially with your s̨̓i͛g͐̐n̑ͤa̓tṵré̪ s̴̨̬͍̜̳͖̃̀̕p̑̈ͯ͡_eļ̼̯ͣ͊̐ͮ͑̅̈́l.”

Are you a͒̀l̈r͡ig͆̔̽h̵̀t̰̄̃?

IͨT͓ H̖͓Ṳ̀ͮR͕̈́ͥT͗́̕S̮͑ M̠̔Y̘̗͊ H̫EAͬͪ͞D̯̂ I̛͇T̈͛ H̡̚U̗RṰ͐S̩͈̽ AG̬A̧̟I͉̺N̍̏!͈͋

“Look who’s talking now! I should c̱hop͛ yoͬ̈u up into a s̵̐̈́e̲a̔̕fó̷̘o̡̓ḑ͡—”̄

I̓ͬ́ CA͔Ñ͕ Fͦ E̜ E̡̢̙ L͔̊_ Ȅ̪ V E͓̓̃ R Y T H̗̲ͮ I͉ͤ̇ N̪̝ͣ G

“̈ȘͮH̎ͅŰ͢͜T͂̅̾ U̵͜P!̞”͊ͫ̐

A piercing, high pitched sound rang through all your ears, like someone rang a whistle straight into them, as everyone cringed in pain. As you clutched your head and collapsed on the ground, an inky, black liquid leaving your mouth along with the bile you puked out.

“(NAME)!” You think you heard Malleus yelling your name, but it merged with a bombarge of thoughts and cries from everyone else. Frankly, you couldn’t tell what was in your head and what was actually being spoken.

Two hands moved your hair out of your face, holding it back as someone else used a cold, wet cloth to wipe your mouth clean. As you blinked your eyes open (when did I close them?), a purple light was radiating from your left, you think it was Vil’s magic.

“Is that blot with their puke? I thought the potion was supposed to reduce blot?”

“It is, it is for me anyways.”

You’re pretty sure it was Riddle who was holding the cloth to your face while Malleus was holding your hair back and hovering a protective arm around your midsection.

“No matter, they feel feverish, we should help them cool down.”

“Should I call Goethel over?”

A loud, resounding “NO!” made you flinch again, another hand reaching over to cast a cooling spell to soothe you.

“Ahem.” The bickering immediately quieted, an unamused Goethel at the doorway, with Grim and Othro peeking behind her, looked at the panicked group over you. “Are you all quite done?”

Stutting over as a force to be reckoned with, each man quickly backed away to give her space, all except for Malleus who remained holding you.

“Draconia, lift their head for me.” You felt a slender hand gently push your chin up as Goethel pressed the tip of her wand against your forehead.

It was warm. Like the sun itself was covering you in a blanket.

“Take deep breaths.” That’s it my dear. “Hear my voice.” Focus on my thoughts.

Memories flashed through your head. Two little girls, one with black hair and the other with golden. A tall woman covered in intricate tattoos and piercings warmly smiling. One of a younger VIl with longer, braided hair eagerly watching as Goethel stirred a cauldron and spoke in soft, sweet tones.

That’s it, it’s safe. You’re safe. “Let’s get some water in you. Gentlemen, could one of you grab the water bottle in my bag? It’s under my desk.”

You heard some shuffling around, Malleus helping you back up onto the couch behind you. Finally opening your eyes, you saw Riddle holding a water bottle up to you, hands hovering as you took it and chugged down as much cold water as you could in one go.

“S-slow down! You’ll choke.”

Ignoring your friend, you continued drinking as much as you could, water spilling from the corners of your mouth, until you could crush the plastic between your hands.

Finally taking a breath and feeling clear air in your lungs, you opened your arms for a teary-eyed Grim, who’d been inching closer and closer to your feet.

(Name)...

He obliged, hopping into your arms and pressed the top of his head against your chin.

“I noticed something was wrong when Grim suddenly started coughing blot. Now what in the world did you seven do to them?”’

An immediate cry amongst the group made you flinch, voices overlapping once again.

“Quiet.”

Like soldiers hearing a command from their superior, everyone immediately shut their mouths, watching Goethel and holding their breaths as if she’d be set off.

“Now, one at a time, Vil.” She nodded at the blonde who nodded back. “What happened?”

“We were all having a bit of a…’friendly’ argument when the Prefect suddenly dropped and started throwing up…blot of all things.”

Riddle spoke up next to you, though he spoke softly, like you would spook like one of his hedgehogs.

“It seemed that the more, ah, aggressive our conversation got, the more sick the Prefect became. I’m not sure what exactly—”

“The other’s magic fluctuated as their emotions grew, it had an adverse effect on them.”

The others looked at Malleus in surprise and a bit in awe, you think you heard Jamil whisper to Azul, “he can sense that?” Though Leona snorted.

“Obviously, no surprise the rest of you couldn’t sense it.”

You finally looked up at the group, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“What are you…”

“A mage’s magic is connected to their emotions and mental state.” Goethel sighed as she patted your head, walking to sit at her desk. “Your magic is especially sensitive to other’s emotional state, hyper-empathetic if you will. Bring these seven in, and you have even more for your magic to source.”

You’re just permanently stuck being interconnected to them.

Lacing her hands together and resting her chin on top, Goethel gave all of you a weary look.

“As we’ve seen it, the current blot preventative is just that, a preventative. Most of you have had minimal blot production, but you also produce far more than safe when stressed, especially compared to the average mage.”

Far more? But we’ve been doing so well!

“W-what do you mean far more? I thought we were doing well?” Idia looked sick at the thought of overblotting again, though the others didn’t look too hot either.

Goethel looked off to the side with a sad look as she explained. “You do, for the most part. But the trauma of the events has left a permanent scar on your brain. Combined with the fact that the overblots practically happened one after the other, the PTSD keeps you all at a constant state of fight or flight.”

You felt both of your friends next to you tense, a sense of overwhelming dread, not your own, filling your senses.

“You either produce little blot, or far too much of it. The issue with the current potion is that it only removes excess blot for everyday use. Say that something happens that requires significantly more magic and energy, you’d be at an increased risk of a much more deadly overblot.”

Silence. All of you looked down to the ground, Goethel’s words leaving a bleak feeling in the air. As your group processed her words, Goethel took the opportunity to bring her files back up from the cabinet and filter through her papers.

“With this in mind, we may have a solution to not just reduce your overall blot at the end of the day, but also gradually reduce the amount you produce.”

Goethel gestured for Ortho to come forward, offering him a small stack of papers. As she continued speaking, Ortho handed a sheet to each of you.

“Something to help bring the hormones in your brain back to balance. And something to help (Name) manage the massive influx of magic they receive through the day.”

Perking up, you eagerly took the paper from Ortho and moved Grim higher in your arms to read the large font at the top of the page:

EMPRESS APOTHECARIES MEMO: Night Raven College Blot Preventative Project TOPIC: Arcanoexcreta Regulator PROJECT LEAD: Yev Quispe

“Huh, I didn’t know Yev was—”

“Oh no, absolutely NOT!” You jumped, both from the sudden urgency in your veins and from Vil’s raised voice.

“I must protest, I was Yev’s housewarden for a single year and the sheer lack of care and foresight of his ‘experiments’ that one year—it could only bode danger for us, especially for the Prefect!”

Vil’s memories of a younger Yev leaving an alchemy room on fire, an explosion in one, Yev covered in hot pink sludge in another, and a last one of Yev giving some random Pomefiore student a pink, unlabeled vial. Vil’s dread filled your own body as the student screamed in pain as their bones and skin snapped and conformed until they were turned into a...llama? Yev only shrugged until Vil came up to him and smacked his forehead.

Goethel sighed, getting up and waving her wand to bring forth a cauldron at the corner of the office, her cabinets opening and pouring different ingredients in. You recognized them for the materials needed for your usual preventative potion.

“Yev also has made significant progress in the project, and as heir of Empress Apothecaries, he’s made the most donations towards research.”

No doubt to have the most say in how the project goes. Still…

“As experimental as Mr. Quispe is, I’ve taken a look at what he’s been playing with, and it has promise. I really suggest that you all just have faith. What do you say my dear (Name)?”

Surprised filled your features as you looked at her expectant face, waiting for your answer.

Yev’s a bit of a jerk, but he’s pretty talented in potionology….

“I think it might be worth a try, I’m not opposed to it—”

Riddle scoffed, “Of course you do. Prefect, I care for you but you have no sense of danger.” He flinched at the glare Malleus turned to give him.

Still, he gave Malleus a defiant look and continued.

“Am I wrong? They’ve had barely a full year of magical education, and during that year they’ve simply gone with what others have said. Can’t blame them for that, but still.”

What did Cater say once, you ‘go with the flow’.

Riddle wasn’t wrong, you tend to go with whatever others told you to do. It comes with the territory of not being from this world.

The others were fully aware of this fact. At least, they were now. Riddle and Malleus were the only ones that you had explicitly told of the fact. The others had inklings, but never had confirmations until later on.

You suppose that’s why they tended to take the lead on things regarding you and anything magic related. Even now, when you were a proven mage, they spoke on your behalf.

You weren’t sure how you felt about that.

“I agree with Riddle. Are you positive this is a good idea? Not that I’m doubting your decisions, Nurse Goethel!”

Jamil rapidly backtracked at the look Goethel gave him as he questioned her.

“It’s just that, well it’s really experimental, and we’ve all been doing fine on the current blot preventive potion…I don’t see a need to change it.”

The others nodded in agreement, each of them sitting in their respective seats as they waited for Goethel to finish making the latest batch of potion. The lavender buds on the window sill matched the purple color and floral scent of the potion.

“Besides that, Yev’s potion is for a class project, is it not?” Vil piped up, moving over to assist Goethel, like it came naturally to him. “Leave it at that, then. We’ve been doing just fine with the current preventative, it’s already highly experimental as it is…”

The room jumped as Goethel flicked her wrist, making the cupboard slam harsher than usual, turning to narrow her gaze at the 8 of you.

The rest of you curled into yourselves, Leona especially avoided her gaze, images of his sister-in-law with a similar look floating in his head. Except for Idia, who decided that focusing on his phone and earbuds in hand was ideal.

He also went with the flow like you, though that was more so he wouldn’t be bothered.

“Are you doubting my abilities, Mr. Viper? Mr. Rosehearts? Mr. Schoenheit?” Goethel hissed through gritted teeth. She’d always been stricter on the others than you.

“Did I not take you under my wing since your first year? Did I not mentor you? Did I not give you access to my stock of poisons and herbs? And yet, you are doubting my abilities? My insight? My medical expertise?”

Vil shook his head and smiled politely. “Of course not, Nurse Goethel, it was a slip of the tongue. I completely trust you and your expertise, I just meant that these types of potions aren’t necessarily something I’d trust a student with making.”

Goethel relaxed, gesturing for Vil to help her at the cauldron. He followed, quickly and easily following in her steps with no words exchanged.

“While it’s true that he is using it as part of the potionology project that dear Riddle and (Name) are in, I think having the two of them observe and report back to me would counter any concerns that I’d normally have.”

It was fluid, hypnotic, almost dance-like as the two worked around each other. Hands exchanging vials, the wave of a maroon-stoned wand, the soft mutterings of a spell. Even a soft glowing aura was leaving their hands as they worked.

A reminder of just how much more powerful, adept, they were compared to you.

“I understand, but do you really think I’d give you any potion without checking it myself? What a ridiculous notion.”

The rest of you relaxed again as she preoccupied herself with her potion making. She had a box full of empty vials labeled with each of your names floating from her closet to the table, though Malleus and Idia had bigger vials than the rest of you.

“What have you guys been taking with yours?” You’d taken to sitting criss-cross on the floor, Grim settled on your lap while Malleus remained behind you on the couch..

“Tea, a herbal one before I go to bed.” Riddle answered first, settling back into his seat. “The flavor matches best.”

“Water, myself.” Vil went second, handing Goethel different times as she made her batch. Jamil nodded along Vil and made a comment.

“Same, it’s best to take medications with water anyways.”

“Sure, sure, but have you had it with a charged lemonade? I could chug those forever” Idia sighed, his thoughts filled with the image of some cafe’s large pink lemonade. “I can’t believe they’re discontinuing it…”

“Didn’t 3 people die because of how high the caffeine content is in those?” Leona replied, ear flicking in your group’s direction as he watched the few students walking around outside.

“Ya, but it’s not my problem that they’re too dumb to realize that their stats just can’t handle the lemonade. There’s a label on it for a reason. Besides, they had like 5 in one sitting, I only had three!”

“How do you not have a heart condition, Idia?” Jamil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Instead, he decided to turn to you instead and ask, “What about you, Prefect? Malleus? What do you two take.”

Malleus grew a small, soft smile, gesturing to you. “My Child of Man comes up with different combinations, and we try them together to see what is best. We’ve been doing mostly espresso-based drinks as of late, I have to say though it’s not my favorite…”

The others looked a mix of surprise and mild amusement. Each of them certainly had their own opinions.

How sweet, I never imagined Malleus having such a soft spot for the Prefect.

Aw, that’s quite cute, I understand what Rook was saying about you two being a sweet match.

Ew, with the lizard? Seriously? I know you’re listening. Herbivore: get better standards.

Damn. I thought he’d be lonely forever, just like meeee…F-M-L…

I’m surprised that Malleus never came after us for how we treated you Prefect, did you sugarcoat the fact that I launched you to your death in the desert? I don’t know if I should be thankful or concerned.

However, Azul’s thoughts were preoccupied with other concerns. You thought it would be about a certain eel, you were expecting it, actually. Instead, a pink-haired, lanky boy popped into your head.

Ugh, now that I’m really thinking about it… Dammit Aspen! Do you even realize the trouble you’re probably bringing to yourself? Are you lying to me when you say everything is fine at Ramshackle? You must be, there’s no way the Prefect isn’t upset, I know how you are! I know what you think! How am I supposed to protect my little brother if he’s too stubborn to tell me anything!?

You could just feel the anxiety radiating off him as different scenarios of Aspen getting bullied and picked on by the other student in Ramshackle ran through his head like a train wreck.

Suddenly, like he’d been poked by a hot metal stick, Azul snapped up to glare at you.

ACK! Stop it! You’re making my brain itch, how do you even—just stop listening!

You made a popping sound with your lips, looking back down at Grim to scratch at his forehead.

“Mmm, can we still get that cav-ee-ar later with Hornton?”

Malleus looked at you in curiosity as you leaned over to murmur to him.

“Grim wants me to ask you to buy us fancy food from the Mostro Lounge. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Malleus smiled and gave a soft caress to the back of your head.

“Is that what you’d like?”

Shrugging, you opened your mouth to reply when Goethel suddenly cleared her throat. Looking at her, she’d already separated the potion into the various vials, now all floating above her head.

“It’s done. You’ll return in one month once again for your next batch. Hopefully by then, we can choose a select few of you to test the new potion. Once you’ve checked that you’ve received all 30 doses, you can leave.”

The group of you all eagerly grabbed your vials, some like Leona and Idia just taking them and leaving, while Riddle, Vil, and Jamil all double-checked to ensure they had the correct amount.

Azul, surprisingly, also left without checking the count. You saw an image of Jade, looking fondly at some sort of flower in a makeshift greenhouse, flash through your mind as he bolted out of the room at surprising speed.

Child of Man. “Here.” Malleus grabbed your attention by holding your share of the potions in his left hand, gesturing for you to take them.

“I already counted for you. Now I believe you were wanting to eat at Ashengrotto’s establishment, correct?”

Getting up with an eager Grim squirming in your arms, now chattering about fancy fish and drinks, you smiled and shrugged.

“Yes they do! Henchhuman wants fancy food, right? Right?!”

Cav-ee-ar! Sashimi! Crab and lobster! Gimme all of it!

“Ah, if you don’t mind Hornton, I’m happy with whatever.”

Malleus tilted his head at you and smirked, chuckling to himself as he offered an arm for you to grab.

“Then we shall get lunch, if not to at least sate your beastie’s appetite.”

Grim cheered as he pranced out of the office, not unlike a kitten. You and Malleus followed in a comfortable silence as you made your way to the Hall of Mirrors.

You sighed leaning against Malleus’s side as you two walked. It was now midday, so most students were in their rooms relaxing and eating lunch, leaving you three to take a private walk.

“Are you alright, my Child of Man?” Malleus murmured, titling his head as his eyes wandered over your form. “You seem tired, are you sure you’re dealing with your magic adequately?”

Nodding, you looped your arm around his left, swinging it back and forth. He let you, his arms going slack as he chuckled to himself.

Silly human.

“You like that I’m silly, it’s why you keep me around~” You teased, giggling as he suddenly moved you to twirl in front of him. “Besides, I’m handling everything just fine.”

Even just now? A memory from just a moment ago of you hunched over on the ground as Malleus watched in horror as puke mixed with blot made you sick. You think you could feel Malleus’s panic from the memory as well.

“Ugh, can you think of something else? The memory makes me feel sick…did you feel sick when I did that?”

Malleus frowned, looking away guiltily at Grim, who was far enough ahead of you guys happily prancing down the path that he couldn’t hear you two.

I apologize. “You’ve always been particularly empathetic, I forget that translated rather harshly into your magic.”

You wrinkled your nose at that. “Yeah, it’s weird feeling feelings that aren’t my own. Only happens when all of you are with me though.”

Hmm, that’s something I suppose. “Better than having you get overwhelmed everyday. Are the three young ones good at being mentors to you? You seem rather close to Rosehearts.”

“Yeah!” You smiled, giggling as you saw Grim tapping his food impatiently at the Octavinelle mirror. “He’s a bit overbearing sometimes, but overall he means well.”

Good, as long as they are taking care of you. It’s the least they can do.

“Horns…” You clicked your tongue, finally entering the mirror and into the dorm’s waters. The bubble was larger than usual, accommodating Malleus’s tall stature. “I’m not a child you know…you would sneak away from Silver and Sebek all the time so I don’t know why you also think I need to be taken care of like one!”

“Nyah! Yeah! My henchhuman only needs me!” Grim proudly puffed up his chest jumping back onto his usual spot on your shoulder.

“Of course, that’s not what we really mean, my Child of Man.” Malleus pouted, following you to the entrance of the lounge where a random Octavinelle student was working at host.

Your friend seemed oblivious to the other student’s awe and fear on his face as they rapidly gathered two menus.

“I just want to feel secure that we all do our part to ensure your success in our world.” To repent…

You opened your mouth to retort, but you were interrupted by a familiar clearing of the throat.

“Prefect! Grim! Malleus! How wonderful for me that you all decided to drop by!” Azul had a big smile on his face, though you could tell it seemed strained.

He took the menus from the worker’s hands, waving them away which they were more than happy to do.

“I was just going to call for you, my dear (Name). Shall I have Floyd take the other two to your table while you and I go to my office to discuss certain, personal matters?”

Grim bristled on your shoulder, sticking a tongue out at Azul, then yelping as Floyd suddenly popped out from behind Azul with a grin.

EEP!

“Heya Baby Seal! Let’s take you and Sea Slug to a real nice table, the boss gotta talk to Shrimpy for a bit.” Floyd giggled as he took the menus from Azul’s hand, strutting over with his signature lazy grin.

Malleus hummed, narrowing his eyes at the other two as Grim did his best to hide behind you.

“I’d rather spend my short amount of time here with my friend, perhaps we can join you?”

Is it something that can wait, Child of Man?

“I’d rather meet with them one-on-one, it’s about a particularly…personal matter. Wouldn’t you say, Little Pearl?”

An image of Jade once again popped into your mind as Azul gave you a polite smile.

“Well? I’m sure you understand, it won’t take long at all.”

Huffing, you gestured for Malleus to go as you handed him a whiny Grim, who’d taken to digging his claws into your cape.

“It’s fine Hornton, I’ll try to be quick, just get me some water.”

Alright. He nodded, as Grim cried out.

“Noooooo! Don’t let them anemone you like me! Stay strong henchhuman!”

You felt bad hearing Grim’s cries, but focused on following Azul, who remained rather quiet, only audibly though.

Now that I know for sure you can hear me, please be calm. I’d rather not have a rampaging dragon in my restaurant due to a misconstructed reaction.

Huffing once again, you crossed your arms as Azul opened the door to his office and gestured for you to enter with a flourish of his arm.

You took your usual seat on the right side couch, closest to the desk as Azul took his own seat. Taking his overcoat off and gently folding it over the chair, along with his scarf and hat on his desk, Azul heavily sighed.

Crossing his fingers together and resting his chin on top, Azul finally spoke.

“Now, (Name), let us talk about our mutual friend, yes?”

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

#twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #jade leech x reader #twst jade #jade leech x yuu #mochi fic #the private thoughts (not) of a moray #ptm #twst jade x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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