#this is a major turning point of the story. i Have to do it justice.

[lesbianshadowheart]

the lack of fandom insanity about aloy hzd is crazy to me.....she was literally born of immaculate conception to be the saviour of a world that doesnt want her. she was the loneliest girl in the world the first and last of her kind. while gay

[janiehellion]

Troublemaker

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon knew better than to challenge you, yet the thrill of breaking the rules was too tempting to resist. He let you play your game—by his own rules—because certain forbidden lessons in trouble were just meant to be learned.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: TEACHER!DARYL DIXON X FEM!STUDENT READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / BLOWJOB / CUNNILINGUS / TEASING / ROUGH SEX / TABOO

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.350

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: PRE-APOCALYPSE—ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @mikes-babygirl

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: A quick heads-up—I changed the setting from a typical school to college, and made Daryl a younger substitute professor, instead of a regular and much older teacher on purpose. I just wanted the story to feel more comfortable and kinda more mature overall. Even though it’s fiction, I don't want to cross certain lines. But I do hope that I've still done the request justice, after all...

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You walked into the room, already preparing yourself for another boring day at college. It wasn’t that you hated college exactly—it was just more of the same, day after day. You threw your bag next to your desk and sat down in your seat, scrolling through your phone while the other college students started to get ready for class.

But then you looked over to the door.

Of all people to be teaching today—it was him. Mr. Dixon. Just your luck. You’d always had a problem with this guy. Sure, he was good-looking—annoyingly good-looking, actually—but that just made it worse. Someone that hot shouldn’t have the right to be such a pain in the ass. And the constant lecturing like he knew everything? He had that whole "I’m smarter than you!" attitude, and it drove you crazy.

He hadn’t done anything yet, but just the sight of him was enough to piss you off.

And as soon as he started the lesson, talking and gesturing around, you immediately zoned out.

It just didn’t matter.

You were more focused on how he stood there, acting like he had everything under control and looking all arrogant. You hated that. And there was no way you were just going to sit through this class quietly.

So you raised your hand slowly.

"Yeah?" Mr. Dixon turned to you, raising an eyebrow in that way that made you want to punch his face.

You shrugged, leaning back casually. "Just wondering... what’s the point of all this? I mean, history? It’s not like we need this for our major. This has nothing to do with what we're actually studying."

He looked irritated but kept his cool. Of course he did. "It’s 'bout understandin' why the world works the way it does—no matter what field you’re in."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, right. Like learning this bullshit is gonna pay my bills."

A few students laughed, but Mr. Dixon's expression didn’t change. "The point of learning history is to understand how people like ya keep makin' the same mistakes—and why they're still broke."

"Sounds like a waste of time," you muttered loud enough for him to hear.

He paused, staring at you for a moment longer than necessary, so you leaned forward, looking into his eyes as if daring him to say something else. He wouldn’t. He knew better.

Daryl sighed loudly and continued with the lesson, but you weren’t done. Throughout the class, you kept at it—making comments or sighing dramatically in annoyance every time he explained something.

At one point, you put your feet up on the desk, pushing your chair back lazily. "Seriously, Dixon, can we speed this up? Some of us have better things to do."

His eyes looked toward your legs, then back to your face, but he didn’t say anything. He was trying hard to keep his cool.

With a yawn, you stretched your arms over your head, and as time went on, you decided to continue.

"So, Dixon," you said loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Ever thought about getting a real job instead of just playing teacher?"

This time, he paused. Really paused.

You knew you’d provoke him eventually, but that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted him to react.

But instead, he just gave you a small, almost unnoticeable smirk. "Careful, ya might just find out I’m more qualified than ya think."

Your heart skipped a beat. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

In one way or another, you spent the rest of class barely paying attention, since something about that smirk he gave you before had pissed you off more than usual.

As soon as the bell for the break rang, you waited near the classroom door, pretending to chat with a few friends until he left the room as well. Once the hallway was empty and everyone was out of sight, you slipped back in.

First, you walked up to his desk, staring at the pile of papers he's left there. It was all so organized, so... proper. You hated it. With one quick move, you knocked the papers to the floor, scattering them all over the place.

Your eyes then landed on his bag on the chair behind the front desk. Without thinking twice, you grabbed it and looked through it. There were a few personal items still inside—a notebook, some other papers, and a lighter.

"A smoker, huh?"

You then looked through the notebook. There were random notes, lesson plans, and other things you didn’t even care about, but something about it being his made you want to ruin it. Without hesitating, you ripped out the pages, tearing them apart.

"Not enough..."

You grabbed the lighter, turning it on, before you held it to some of the torn-out pages, watching it burn for a few more seconds before dropping it onto the pile of papers on the floor, while making sure the windows were open to avoid triggering the smoke alarm.

Anything to piss him off.

And just as you were about to leave, your eyes landed on his coffee mug, which he's left behind. That stupid mug he always carried around. Without thinking twice, you grabbed it, throwing it against the wall, and before anyone could catch you, you slipped back out of the room, blending in with the crowd of other college students outside, acting like nothing had happened.

Soon, the break was almost over, but the classroom was still empty. Mr. Dixon walked in first, and the second he saw the mess, his eyes widened—papers torn and burned, the broken coffee mug on the floor... He didn’t say anything; he just stood there, taking it all in.

"Ugh… Really?" He mumbled to himself. "Yer testing me, huh? Alright then."

He walked around the room slowly, closing the open windows and getting rid of the chaos you'd left behind.

"Ya want my attention?" He said quietly, almost like he was talking to you even though you weren’t there. "Ya sure as hell got it."

He should’ve been pissed, but there was something that made him more curious than angry.

Now, he quickly straightened up as he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. He watched the door, waiting for you to walk back in, knowing full well what you’d done.

The college students soon began walking back into the room, and you were one of the last to come in, casually late, throwing yourself into your chair while your eyes looked to Mr. Dixon, standing at the front, but... with no hint of anger.

His eyes soon met yours for a second—just long enough to make your heart race—but then he looked away again.

"Alright," he began, "we’re gonna continue with something different now."

He walked to the front of his desk, grabbing a stack of books he'd brought with him to the classroom—Divided Loyalties. He held one up, flipping through the pages and then passing them out. As you grabbed your copy, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. American Revolution? Really?

"This play's 'bout a family torn apart by their opposing views," he explained, walking slowly in front of the board. "Patriots, loyalists, people choosing sides. The family in this play has to decide where their loyalty lies—what side of history they wanna be on. Some of 'em follow, others... they go with what’s expected. Either way, their choices split 'em apart."

He didn’t say it outright, but you felt it. He picked this damn play on purpose.

You tapped your fingers on your copy of the book, half-listening to him, half-lost in your thoughts. It was like he was waiting for you to make a move. But what move exactly?

"The point of this," he said, moving around again, "is that sometimes we get pulled in two directions. Loyalties get tested. But what matters is whether or not ya own yer choices."

That last line felt like it was meant just for you. There it was again—that feeling. Unspoken, electric. Like you both knew exactly what was happening between the two of you, but neither of you wanted to admit it.

He stepped away, continuing with his explanation about the play.

"Ya know," he continued, leaning back against his desk, arms crossed again. "A lotta people thought on either side they were just troublemakers. Pissin' off each other, causin' problems... all 'cause they couldn’t keep their mouths shut." His eyes looked to yours again, almost like a challenge.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on the book, but his voice, his presence—it was all too distracting somehow. He knew exactly what he was doing. And it was working.

One of the students sitting a couple of rows over raised their hand. "Mr. Dixon, did you ever have to deal with that? Like, divided loyalties? You seem like you know what that feels like."

He paused, smirking a bit, but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he was looking almost amused. "What makes ya say that?"

The student shrugged. "I dunno, just the way you talk about it. It’s like you’ve been through some stuff and things yourself."

"Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of... divided loyalties." He glanced at the board. "But that ain't the point of the lesson."

Another student chimed in. "What did you do before teaching, anyway? You weren’t always here. You don’t seem like... a regular teacher."

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. "That’s because I’m not. Jus' a substitute, fillin' in until I finish my graduate program. I’m workin' toward my Master’s in Education. Right now, I'm here until the regular prof returns. Ya don’t have to worry; I ain't stickin' 'round forever."

Your curiosity was growing, though you’d never admit it. He didn’t fit the type of a normal professor at all, and now it was obvious why. He wasn’t one. Well… Not really.

"Now, back to the lesson," he continued. "Troublemakers…" He said the word slowly, like he was testing it out. "Sometimes, trouble’s what shakes things up. Forces people to finally pay attention."

Your heart was racing faster and faster. He was toying with you, and you knew it. He was playing a game, and you hated how much it was getting under your skin. But part of you... part of you liked it. The push, the pull, the challenge between the two of you. He wasn’t like the other teachers who'd have scolded you by now. No, he was letting you come at him, daring you to make your next move and to fuck up.

And you couldn’t help but play along.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with a bored look on your face. "It's just another pointless play to rot our brains with bullshit that we don't even need for our future."

He gave you a quick glare, but he was still rather unimpressed with your attitude. "If ya think it’s pointless, maybe ya ain't puttin' enough effort into understanding it."

"Effort?" You snorted and smirked. "The only effort I see is you trying to make us suffer with bullshit no one even gives a fuck about."

He narrowed his eyes at you, but he was still in control. "Perhaps if ya paid more attention, ya’d understand why this bullshit is still relevant."

"Relevant? Don’t make me shit myself," you snapped back, now leaning forward to rest your elbows on your desk.

The room was quiet, all eyes looking between you and Mr. Dixon, but no one else dared to say anything.

Daryl sighed, clearly fed up somewhere deep inside. "That’s quite a way to talk to a teacher."

"Yeah? But you aren't a real teacher, nor will you ever become a professor, so what are you going to do about it?" You shot back. "Get me suspended? From college? As if any prof would even do that! Or how about you give me detention? Oh wait, you’re already doing that with your shitty lessons."

He stepped closer to you, smirking as well. "Watch ya damn mouth an' shut it."

"Or what?" You taunted. "Are you going to make me?"

His eyes were burning into yours, and for a moment, it felt like there was something else there in them—something else than simple irritation and annoyance.

"Is that what ya want?" He asked, putting his hands into his pockets. "For me to give ya what yer askin' for?"

"Oh, please! Like that’s going to make any difference!" You laughed back at him, waving one hand in dismissal.

"Yer testing my patience," he answered, his voice still calm. "And yer 'bout to find out how far I’m willin' to go to get ya suspended, if that's what ya really want. Or maybe expelled. Even if this is college."

The room was dead silent, the other students watching with wide eyes and whispering to each other. But you didn’t care.

"Expelled, huh? Those are some serious words for someone who’s barely even qualified to be teaching," you smiled.

Daryl didn't respond immediately; he just stared at you with that still calm expression. Like he was holding back.

Finally, he took a step back. "Ya think this is a joke?"

You shrugged, yawning and smirking at him. "Well, I’m not exactly learning anything here, so yeah, it really is kinda funny."

But the smirk on your face faded the second he slammed his hands down loudly on your desk, making you jump.

"Enough!" He said, his voice only a growl.

You opened your mouth to snap back once more, but he cut you off before you could even speak.

"Detention," he continued. "After school. We’ll see how ya will act when there’s no one else 'round to laugh.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back, trying to seem unimpressed. "Fine. But I’m not scared of you, Dixon."

He walked back to the front desk, giving you one final look. "Ya will be."

The bell rang soon enough, and everyone else went to walk out of the room. You stood up slowly as well, watching Daryl write notes down on a paper at his desk like nothing had happened.

But that last glare? That look in his eyes? You couldn't think about anything else as the hours passed.

And now you had detention with him. Alone.

Detention had seemed more appealing than getting suspended or expelled, of course, especially from college by a substitute teacher who still didn't graduate himself yet, but it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for in one way or another. Mr. Dixon had made it clear you’d be staying after the lessons, and now here you were, sitting at the front of the room, waiting for him to show up.

The minutes ticked by until Mr. Dixon walked in, his face looking as neutral as ever.

"Well, well, well," he started as he stood near the door, closing it slowly. "I didn't think I'd actually be seein' ya here." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But here we are."

"Guess I just wanted to make it all a little more exciting for myself," you shot back.

He stepped closer, not invading your personal space but close enough. "Excitin', huh? Or just plain stupid?"

"Depends on who you ask," you replied, crossing your arms. "What’s next, more boring lectures? Another dumb play?"

"Maybe... or maybe I’ll find another way to keep your attention," he said, taking another step closer.

You smirked, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. As if you could keep me interested. You don’t scare me, Dixon; I've said it before, and I'll always say it again. Why? Wanna try me? I dare you to try."

Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist, the move sending adrenaline straight through your body in an instant. "Careful what ya wish for."

His eyes moved down to your lips, and for a short moment, you thought he might actually kiss you. But as fast as that thought came into your mind, you quickly pushed it away again.

"Maybe ya wanna find out how far I’ll go to teach ya a lesson," he challenged, his breath smelling like cigarettes.

"Maybe I do," you replied. "Or maybe I don't."

He let go of your wrist and walked back to the front desk, but the distance between you still felt nonexistent.

"And I don't care," he answered, setting the book from all those hours before down on the desk. "Yer going to reread Divided Loyalties again. I want ya to pay close attention this time. Maybe ya will finally learn, or at least shut up."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. "Like learning how to deal with your bullshit?"

He ignored the comment. "Start readin'. I’ll be gradin' some papers in the meantime."

You shrugged, picking up the book. But as you looked through the pages, an idea started forming in your mind. If Mr. Dixon wanted you to take this seriously, you were going to make it interesting—by your own rules.

You looked over at him, already busy with his grading. Perfect. You began to read aloud, but not in the way he might have hoped, interpreting the text in your own way and playing around with the words.

"Forsooth, thou hast a long and sturdy lance," you read, your voice now louder on purpose. "I’d wager it could penetrate any barrier with ease."

His head moved up and his eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, choosing to let you continue.

You pressed on as you read. "Verily, thy bedchamber is most inviting. I am most eager to partake in its pleasures."

You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely as you continued. "Our loyalty lies not just in our words, but in the way we... entertain each other behind closed doors."

His eyes looked at you again, and you could see the struggle on his face to keep his calm. It was clear you were getting under his skin, and you loved it.

You let out a rather quiet laugh, closing the book and stretching yourself. "You know, Mr. Dixon, I think I’m starting to understand the ‘divided loyalties’ part. Sometimes, it’s hard to stay loyal to something when there are so many... distractions."

Daryl raised an eyebrow with a small yet almost unnoticable smirk. "Okay, enough," he said. "Let me tell ya somethin'. In this room, I'm in charge. Ya will do as I say as long as I am yer teacher."

"Fine," you answered him through clenched teeth, glaring at him. "But let me tell you something as well, Dixon. In this room, I'm not going to just sit here and do shit! And I want something in return. Deal?"

Daryl leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. "And what exactly would that be?" He asked, his blue eyes looking at you with a frown.

"I want..." Your voice trailed off as you tried to find the right words. "I want... you," you finally said, the words surprising even yourself.

Daryl just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Alright," he said. "If ya wanna play that kinda game, then I'll play along. But only if ya agree to my terms."

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart racing in your chest. This just got too real, even for your taste, but what were you expecting? You didn't know. But part of you wanted this as much as you tried to deny it. "Wait… What? What terms exactly? What…"

"First, this stays between us. No one can know about our... arrangement. Second, ya will do whatever I say, both in and outta this room. And third, ya will keep up with yer damn work from now on and calm down with yer shitty behavior."

You nodded slowly, feeling your pulse racing at the thought of what you're about to agree to. "Fine," you answered. "I accept your terms."

Daryl then moved towards you again. "Good," he said, reaching out to cup your chin with his hand. Then it happened. He leaned in closer once more. Your breathing stopped for a moment as his lips brushed against yours, teasing you with a hint of a kiss.

"Dixon," you breathed, half a protest and half a plea. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Shut up," he murmured against your lips before kissing them fully, his hands framing your face.

The kiss was intoxicating—all heat and urgency. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, feeling the world around you fade away while tasting nicotine on your tongue… and you wanted more.

"Yer gonna do everythin' I tell ya to do," he mumbled, his lips brushing lightly against your ear after he broke the kiss. "And if ya disobey me, there will be consequences. But I think ya know that by now, don't ya?"

You gasped as one of his hands moved away from your chin, along the side of your neck, before slipping beneath the collar of your shirt, grabbing it, and pulling you out of the chair toward the front desk.

"Yes," you whispered, feeling yourself already getting wetter with every passing second. "I know and I understand."

Daryl's grip on your neck tightened ever so slightly, and you let out a small moan. "Good," he said, smirking a little. "Now, ya better be gettin' down on yer knees."

You hesitated for just a moment before slowly sinking down onto the floor of the room, watching as Daryl undid the button of his pants. "Take it out," he commanded.

You reached out with trembling hands, fumbling around as you pulled his thick, hard cock out.

"Now, put it in yer mouth," Daryl said. "And don't ya dare bite down on it."

You smirked and leaned forward, wrapping your lips around the head of Daryl's cock and sucking gently while looking up at him. He let out a groan, his fingers holding your head and playing with your hair as he began to guide you and move his hips.

"That's it," he murmured. "Jus' like that. Suck it harder. Show me how much ya wanna be good again."

You obeyed his command, applying more pressure with your lips as you worked your way further down his swelling shaft. His breathing got more uneven, and you could tell just how much he was enjoying this already.

"Yeah, jus' like that," he said breathlessly, his hips beginning to thrust forward a little harder. "Oh fuck, yer so good at this."

You felt yourself getting even more turned on by his words and reached down between your legs, sliding your fingers inside your pants and beneath your panties, stroking gently at your swollen, aching clit.

Daryl must've sensed the change in your behavior because he suddenly pulled away from you, his cock slipping out from between your lips. "That's enough for now."

He reached down, helping you to your feet before leading you over towards the desk at the front of the room. He bent you over it, your tits and stomach pressed against the surface.

"Now, get those pants off and spread yer legs for me," he said. "I wanna see how wet ya are."

You obeyed his command again, parting your legs as wide as they'd go after pulling down your pants and panties. Daryl let out a growl as he took in the sight of your wet pussy, his fingers sliding over your wet folds.

"Oh shit, jus' look at how fuckin' wet ya are," he mumbled. "Ya really wan' it, don't ya? Since when, huh?"

You let out a gasp as Daryl's fingers found your clit. "Who knows?" You moaned quietly. "Maybe I did want you to fuck me all along."

Daryl didn't respond right away; instead, he continued to tease you with his fingers. "Good t'know," he finally said. "First, I wanna taste ya. I wanna feel that sweet lil' pussy against my tongue. But don't ya worry. I promise it'll be worth the risk."

With that, Daryl got onto his knees, with his head between your legs, his tongue moving out to make contact with your swollen, aching clit from behind, licking it and sucking at your folds, his tongue moving slowly on purpose.

"Oh fuck, Dixon," you moaned quietly again, your legs starting to tremble a little. "Right there. Yes..."

"Fuck, ya look so sexy like this," Daryl said and kept licking and sucking before sliding two fingers deep inside to pump them in and out of you a few times. "Ya taste so fuckin' good," he continued. "Could eat ya out all day an' night. But I wanna feel ya cum all over my cock next. Hell, I love how yer pussy looks when 's all wet an' ready for me," he mumbled, sliding his fingers out of you again.

You gasped softly, your hips bucking back, trying to meet his hand and face once more. "Hell, just... I need more," you pleaded, your voice shaking while you tried not to tremble too hard.

"Jus' wanted to make sure that yer wet an' ready for me 'fore I give ya what ya want," he said, gripping and stroking his hard, leaking cock.

"Dixon," you begged with a whimper. "Just fuck me already, okay?"

Daryl smirked, clearly unable to resist your begging any longer. "Alright, sweetheart," he answered, positioning himself between your legs before slowly pushing his cock inside you from behind. "I'm gonna make ya feel so fuckin' good, girl."

You let out a gasp again as his cock pressed up against your dripping wet pussy, tormenting you with the tip for several long moments, then sliding the thick, hard shaft of it back and forth over your wet folds, before he filled you up completely, his thickness stretching your pussy walls deliciously. "Jus' take it. Take every single inch of my cock deep inside ya."

You obliged eagerly, pushing back and pulling him even deeper inside you with each passing thrust, trying not to groan out loud at the feeling of being stretched and stuffed so deeply.

"Oh fuck, ya feel so damn good," he said, his fingers digging into your hips as he started to pound away at your pussy with a little bit more force. "Shit, I could fuck ya all the damn time an' never get tired of it."

"Oh, fuck yes!" You groaned in response as Daryl continued to thrust in and out of you.

As he soon fucked you harder and deeper, you could feel your orgasm building up inside you, threatening you to make you scream out loud.

"I'm so fucking close already," you panted as you held onto the edges of the front desk for dear life. "Please... don't stop! Don't fucking stop!"

"Oh shit," you moaned and whimpered as he continued to fuck you. "Harder, please, harder."

And Daryl didn't disappoint you. He fucked you hard, his cock pounding in and out of your pussy in quick, rapid thrusts.

"Ya wanted this, didn't ya?" He growled out. "Ya wanted me to fuck ya like this."

You nodded eagerly. "Yeah, shit, I did… I do!"

"Ain't gonna stop until I've made ya cum all over my cock, sweetheart," he said, increasing the speed, which immediately brought you to the edge like you've never experienced before.

"I'm cumming! Oh fuck, I'm cumming!" You whimpered, your entire body tensing up, and just as you thought, your orgasm exploded through you like a bomb, your pussy clenching around him, gripping his cock as if not wanting to let go. But Daryl didn't stop, even after you've finished.

And just as you were coming down from your orgasm, he suddenly pulled out, his breathing ragged. "I’m 'bout to cum," he groaned, wanting to finish himself off, and started to stroke his cock, ready to let go, but then you acted on instinct. You couldn't just let him finish without you, not like this.

Quickly, you dropped to your knees and took his cock back into your mouth, sucking him hard just as he began to cum, brushing your teeth ever so lightly over the throbbing shaft. Daryl let out a deep moan, surprise and shock written all over his face as he found himself clearly unable to resist.

You sucked his cock hard, moving your tongue around the tip before taking him as deep as you could. His hands immediately found your hair, urging you on, and you responded by increasing the pressure of your lips. "Oh fuck, jus' like that," he groaned, losing himself in the feeling of your mouth.

"Jus' a lil' more," he urged, his voice trembling, but you wanted to draw it out. You picked up your pace, pulling back fast just to tease him before taking him deep into your mouth again. You could feel his cock throb and pulse against your tongue, and you knew he couldn't hold back any longer.

Finally, he lost it. "I can’t—oh fuck!" He tried to keep his groans quiet as he began to cum, his warm load filling your mouth as you swallowed down every drop, refusing to simply let him cum all over you like he'd wanted to.

Once he was finished, you pulled away, but not before licking his shaft from the base to the tip once more and looking up at him with a smirk.

"Shit, ya really are one hell of a distraction," he mumbled, catching his breath and slipping his cock back into his pants with trembling hands.

You stood up, pulling your clothes back on as you caught Daryl’s eye. He suddenly seemed different now—annoyed, maybe? But you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all.

Daryl cleared his throat, straightening up and sitting down on the desk with a serious look on his slightly red face, while also trying to adjust his still half-hard cock in his pants. "This was a one-time thing. Got it?"

"Sure, just a one-time thing, Mr. Dixon," you replied innocently, but you couldn’t resist adding, "I mean, it’s not like I’ll ever forget a one-time lesson like this while having something as ridiculous as detention... but I bet reading Divided Loyalties won't be a one-time thing, isn't that right?"

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Yer such a damn troublemaker." Daryl shot back, crossing his arms over his chest as if he could shield himself.

You sat down on the edge of the front desk as well, pushing your luck further. "Maybe I really am. How else could I have gotten you to break the rules?" You bit your lip, watching the way his jaw tightened.

"Ain't 'bout that. Ya really need to get yer shit together, or I’ll have to start disciplinin' ya for real," he warned, but the look in his eyes betrayed him, showing you he was still fighting with the thoughts about what you both just did.

You couldn’t help but laugh all over again, rolling your eyes playfully. "You disciplining me? That’d just make me want to misbehave more. Besides, who would ever believe you? The hot substitute who gives other collegians detention and an extra special lesson? Sounds like something you only find in certain writings, if you ask me. So, don't shit your pants about it."

"This ain't a joke. I may not be a real teacher yet, but I have to follow the damn rules."

"Sure, but isn’t it fun to break the rules once in a while?" You asked to provoke him and leaned in. "Let’s be honest, Dixon. This was way more exciting than any discussion about Divided Loyalties."

His breath hitched, and for a short moment you could see the real man beneath again. But then he straightened up, shoving any emotions aside. "Get outta here. We’re done now."

"Sure… We’ll see about that." You grabbed your bag, trying to hold back a smile as you turned to leave. But just before closing the door, you glanced back over your shoulder at him. "Do not be fooled; I am but a mere troublemaker in thy class, yet my mischief will find thee again—so prepare thyself."

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

[1d1195]

Strong

~3.9k words

From Me: Requested by @thechaoticjoy I'm sorry it took so long, I hope I did it justice. I'll post the corresponding ask a little bit after the story has been out so long as it's okay with you 💕 I'll message you to chat!

Warnings: parental death long-term illness, hospitals, angst, tragic backstory, really sad stuff in this one. But there's some really comforting notions in it, I think. A lot of strong MC attributes and I think there's a lot to be celebrated in this kind of strength

Summary: Harry's best friend is sweet, kind, beautiful, and intelligent. He wishes she would open up to him more. Only because he doesn't want her to have to be so strong for herself. He would love to be strong for her every now and again.

“She’s the best,” Gemma said knowingly. “Sweet, calm...she’s perfect for you.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah,” he shrugged.

“Come on Harry, you can’t possibly ignore it. It’s...nice. Different. She’s perfect.” Her smile reflected the same one as Harry. Something they both inherited from their mother. Something that Harry loved to point to when looking at the relationship between them. He liked to believe the kindness he had came from the words his mum and sister spoke. A trait that was passed down to him since he didn’t get hand-me-downs from Gemma.

The sweet girl was quietly putting things in Anne’s car after having filled Gemma’s. “You sit with your sister,” she squeezed Harry’s shoulder and left no room for argument. Within seconds, she was grabbing keys from Michal and Harry’s mum. The lovely couple had been showered with gifts for the arriving baby girl. Michal and Anne were chatting at one table, Harry and Gemma at another.

“Who does this kind of thing?” Gemma asked rhetorically. “You cannot let her get away. There is no better sister-in-law I could imagine. No better aunt,” she said pointedly.

Harry smirked, his cheeks turning red at the compliments. But it wasn’t his place to blush or accept the compliments. She was perfect. Truly. But he didn’t do anything but find her by practically stumbling into her. They worked for the same company, Harry was a research assistant and she worked in IT. One day his computer was glitching out and Harry headed down a quiet hallway.

The room was dark, just a couple strings of Christmas lights around the walls. Music played quietly from a speaker while she organized paperwork and read over her computer screen. A pair of glasses (that turned out to be just for blue light and not for seeing) perched on her nose.

She was beautiful. That was the first thing Harry noticed because he couldn’t help but notice.

“Hi,” he said in greeting. “M’laptop froze.”

She was intelligent. That was the second thing. Because she worked magic within moments to get his computer back up and running.

The rest was history. She worked on it quickly and diligently. Tapping buttons, pressing keys that Harry never touched because he wasn’t convinced his laptop wouldn’t spontaneously gain a conscience. They chatted while she worked. Nothing of major importance. How long they worked there, where they went to school, and if she had tried the new sushi restaurant down the road for lunch.

“Thanks for coming to my dungeon,” she giggled when he was leaving. “Come back any time,” her smile was his favorite thing about her.

Lunchtime from then on meant heading to the dungeon decorated with Christmas lights and pictures of her family on the desk. There was no ring on her finger and only a picture of herself and her dog that she joked about as the longest relationship she had. It meant Harry sharing the sushi from the new place and her telling him that she had a chickpea Caesar salad recipe that he would love.

Harry dated several girls over the years, and each were lovely in their own way, but Gemma wasn’t exaggerating. There was something about the lovely girl he had known for the past few years that Harry didn’t know he was missing. Dates became far and few between. But Harry wasn’t brave enough to wreck their friendship. He didn’t want to be one of those statistics that attempted to date and not have it work out. He didn’t want to lose her by any stretch of the word.

If that meant being best friends, then that was what he would do.

So, she came to family events and confused the hell out of his friends. They didn’t touch (much to Harry’s chagrin) other than a hug or an arm squeeze like she gave him earlier. Neither said anything about the trill of something more bubbling below the surface. The electricity that pulsed from her fingertips and through his entire circulatory system. Harry was content to have her in his life in any form she existed because she was lovely and wonderful.

He only wished she opened up to him the slightest bit more.

*

Harry knew her favorite color and that her mom had passed away when she was eight. But there was this element of their friendship that she seemed to hold back. It felt like Harry would drink wine while they watched movies and dump all the things he felt from a young age on her. He told her things he didn’t tell anyone—not even Gemma or Niall or Mitch. He told her the inadequacies he felt, the impostor syndrome he felt at work, all of it. The anxiety he felt for the future and whether life would be what he wanted from it. She held each of his worries and fears in her hands like they were crystal glasses needing to be moved. She consoled him even though he was really over it. Assuaged him of all his worries and assured him that his life would be amazing simply because he was him. “Y’should have been a therapist, kitten,” he winked at her.

She smiled. “I’ve heard that before.”

She never reciprocated. There was a strength to her that waved off her. It was warm and everyone around her felt it. Her friends adored her, that much was obvious. But it was as if they were all so close to saying “we don’t need to worry about her.” She didn’t just console Harry. Everyone came to her for advice. The quiet lovely lady that worked in a dungeon and hid all of her thoughts and feelings. When they needed to vent, she was their phone call. Advice was her specialty. There was never judgment in her voice. No frustration or the feeling of pushing their worries aside. Every emotion her friends felt was valid and she would process and work through them as much as she possibly could.

When Harry was upset about a breakup—one that in hindsight he didn’t know why he even bothered—she didn’t make him feel bad that it had only been a short relationship. “Five months is a big deal,” she reminded him, placing a plate of his favorite tacos in front of him. It was her specialty. He wondered what came first, if she made tacos because she liked them or because he liked them. “You liked her a lot and five months is a big deal...it’s like a turning point. It was out of nowhere too. Anyone in their right mind would be upset,” she promised returning to the coffee table with her own plate. She sat on the floor across from him. He watched her eat a few bites wondering why on earth she was single for the umpteenth time.

“What’s your longest relationship?” He asked.

She snorted. “Um...a year, I think.”

“You think?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really date.”

The fact his heart cracked more at her words than the breakup he experienced the day before should have been his biggest clue that he was hopeless for the sweet girl.

“I noticed,” he smirked. “You’re too good for anyone, kitten,” he promised.

Her lips curled up in a half smile and she shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”

“S’okay, m’sure for you,” he winked making her laugh.

Harry didn’t date much after that either. Nothing serious; no more than a couple dates and setups from friends. Instead, he continued inviting her to family birthday parties and holidays where, naturally, everyone fell in love with her.

How could he blame his family and friends, really?

He was in the very same boat as them.

*

Gemma was having some minor trouble after delivering Harry’s sweet niece. The anxiety he felt was so overwhelming. His hands shook as his mum relayed the message. He stammered as he answered, dropped his keys. When he bent to retrieve them, her hand appeared in his vision, snatching them from the ground.

“No, I’ll drive,” she said firmly. Even if Harry wanted to argue he couldn’t.

She held Harry’s hand tightly on the middle console as she drove. Without any fanfare, she dropped him off in front of the main entrance and went off to find a parking spot. When he arrived in the waiting room, Anne was smiling as if there was no issue at all. “Wanna meet your niece?”

He did. Very badly. But his sister was his best friend. “What ‘bout Gemma?”

“She’s fine, Harry. Truly,” Anne assured him and rubbed his back.

They discussed the complications Gemma faced and all the worries Harry had for both her, Michal, and the sweet, adorable baby that was perfectly healthy and sleeping peacefully in the window alongside five or so other newborns.

They returned to the waiting room after Michal went back to the baby’s side. Anne squeezed Harry’s hand reassuringly once more and within moments, she was there. “I left my welcome gift at home in the rush to get here,” she appeared with overpriced objects from the giftshop. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes a bit dazed, and Harry sensed she was overwhelmed but assumed it was because of the surprise arrival of Harry’s niece and nothing more.

His heart rate slowed at her appearance. Like she was physical assurance that things really would be okay. She smiled at him, sighed, and gave Anne a hug. “Congrats Grandma,” her voice was proud and excited.

Harry couldn’t have asked for a better day.

*

Harry was a natural with babies. He was so at ease holding the newborn in his arms. “Think she’ll have our smile?” Gemma asked, showing off the very expression. He could hardly tear his eyes away from the baby but nodded at his sister’s question.

“Yeah,” he sighed smiling gratefully at the little one in his arms. He didn’t want to put her down. If he ever had children of his own, he had no idea how he was going to share. He had no idea how Gemma managed to fork her over to him in the first place—when all he wanted was to hold her anyway.

“Where did she go?”

“M’not sure,” he admitted. “Add money to the car meter, I think,” he shrugged. “I was told not t’worry about her.”

“Naturally.”

Harry frowned, brushing his finger along the baby’s soft cheek. “S’that supposed t’mean?”

“She doesn’t let anyone worry about her,” Gemma shrugged. “It’s probably pretty traumatic for her to be here,” Gemma’s tone had an air that she was reminding Harry of something he was supposed to remember, some event that he didn’t know. But he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“What do y’mean?”

Gemma tilted her head and shifted slightly in her bed. Michal and Anne were getting food from the cafeteria. “Harry, her mom died here,” she rolled her eyes.

Harry’s stomach rolled and he thought about the anxiety he felt coming to the hospital on behalf of his sister. It was nothing in comparison to the anxiety she must have felt.

Harry finally looked up from the sweet little baby and gazed at his sister. “She’s never told me that.”

Gemma frowned and relayed the story. Told her something about last Christmas. She thought that Harry knew because they were best friends. But Harry didn’t. It was one of those things she kept to herself. Gemma found her in the kitchen while everyone else was drinking and chatting in the family room. She told Gemma she was grateful to be part of a big Christmas like this. It had been a long time. But it made her miss her mom more than ever.

Then Gemma relayed the time she watched her excuse herself at a family wedding while the groom and mother dance. “Her family doesn’t do big celebrations like us,” Gemma told her. “That girl carries a ton of grief on her back and she acts like it weighs as much as a feather. She never worries about herself only others but in a way that makes you feel that nothing bad will ever happen to you. I swear just thinking about her in the delivery room and how calm she would have been was enough to keep me relaxed,” Gemma laughed and shook her head. “I told her I didn’t expect her to come to the hospital when the time came if she didn’t want to. I would never blame her. She said it wouldn’t be a problem because you wouldn’t bring her—it was a family thing. Do you have any idea how wonderful she is or are we just going to sit here and pretend the love of your life isn’t your best friend?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond. His eyes no longer on the baby, but his sister. Unable to believe the words she said. The outline to what he already knew and felt but couldn’t believe any more if he tried because it seemed so unattainable. The girl who didn’t tell him anything. Or didn’t want to be worried over.

But he was interrupted. “Look how cute this is,” she burst into the room holding a onesie that said “if my mom says no, my uncle will say yes.”

It gave the three of them a pause as Gemma laughed and Harry snorted. “S’true,” he murmured quietly to the tiny being in his arms.

Their giggles were interrupted by an intercom announcement. A code purple and it asked that all visitors and personnel stay on their current floors. The smile slowly faded from her lips, and she glanced at the baby in Harry’s arms. “You look good with a baby,” she winked the smile gently returned. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, laid the onesie on the cot Michal would be sleeping in later. “M’gonna run to the bathroom,” she said.

Harry watched her leave, the first time he had looked at anyone other than the baby for longer than thirty seconds since he met the little one.

“Harry,” Gemma said gently. “You should follow her.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you know what a code purple is?” Harry shook his head. “Missing child.”

Harry looked at the baby again and sighed. “Well, if anyone will find her...”

“It would probably be Miss Wonder Woman herself, yeah?” Gemma finished Harry’s thought.

*

She couldn’t have gotten far if the stairwells and elevators were blocked off. He searched as much as the rest of the staff on the floor, sending his mum a text that everyone in their little family was fine. Fortunately (for Harry), there was a commotion with one of the patients on the floor and the person standing guard at the stairwell stepped away long enough for Harry to sneak to the next floor. Because he may have felt that she hid a lot from him at times, but he was certain if anyone was going to find a lost little girl, it was going to be her—even if he didn’t know why she wanted to find her.

The enormity of the steps muffled most of the sound, but Harry crept around the back of the stairwell, and found a little storage closet.

“It’s not fair!” It was a small, sad voice that Harry didn’t recognize.

“It’s not,” she agreed. Her voice even, sad in a different way, was one that Harry did recognize.

“Mommy says I have to be brave for my siblings and I’m trying but it’s not fair! I don’t even get to be sad,” she cried.

“I know,” she agreed again. Composed, like she was talking someone off a ledge. Maybe she was, Harry didn’t really know what was happening. But her understanding was tangible. Her soft voice made Harry feel so safe.

But it broke his heart right in half.

“It’s because I’m oldest. Mommy tells me that I’m being a big girl and being brave and helping Daddy get better but I’m not. I don’t want to be here, it’s not fair.”

“I know,” she repeated. “My mommy died when I was your age too. She was really sick. I had to take care of my little brothers and my daddy,” she explained. “It was really hard. I didn’t think I was allowed to cry because I was good at being brave.”

The answer was a sniffle, not words. Harry felt terrible for not knowing this. For never pressing. For finding out in a stairwell with a little girl that neither of them knew. “But do you know who is most worried about you right now while everyone else is worried about your daddy?”

“Who?” There was a big breath of silence. Something that Harry didn’t understand passed between them. Some sort of recognition of the situation they were both privy to and Harry was not. “Daddy doesn’t know I’m there.”

“He does, sweetie, I promise,” she assured her. “Let’s get you back to him.”

“I just want to cry,” she whispered.

“I know. You will. It’s good to cry. Brave even.”

“Mommy says I’m brave for not crying.”

There was a pause for a moment that Harry couldn’t describe. He couldn’t see his best friend nor the little girl that the entire hospital was searching for. But the grief and weight he felt in that little space was immense.

“Mommy will tell you you’re brave for crying too,” she promised. But it was filled with an emotion that Harry couldn’t quite name; but he was sure he sensed a bit of longing in her tone.

He watched her grab the little one’s hand. Like she was grabbing the hand of her younger self. Harry hoped it healed whatever that sense of longing was and whatever she remembered in that quiet pause.

When she turned and saw Harry waiting, her cheeks reddened. She looked away briefly. “Look who I found,” she smiled sweetly. Not a trace of sadness on her face, not even a tear.

Harry hoped she would cry later. Hoped she would tell him everything. He was aching for it. Aching to carry the metric ton of grief she held for so long.

“Made another friend?” Harry asked instead.

She squeezed the girl’s hand. “I think so.”

“You okay, love?” Truthfully, Harry wasn’t sure who he was asking.

The little girl sniffled, her eyes blotchy red and glassy. She looked up at Harry shyly but also with awe. “Are you a prince?”

Harry chuckled and she smiled—the exact reprieve anyone could have hoped for in that moment. “He is,” she smiled kindly. “You’ll find a best friend just like him too,” she promised.

*

Fortunately, Miss Wonder Woman coaxed the little one back onto the floor and with the commotion of her return, she and Harry snuck right back in. No one questioned them. He wondered if the little girl would even mention her to her mom or the staff. But she was unconcerned—glad the little girl was okay and safe.

“How did you know where she was?” He asked.

She didn’t say anything. Watched the reunion of her mom and her brothers. The sadness flowing through a whole family like a virus.

“Love,” he tried to gather her attention but was unsuccessful. They stood in the waiting room watching from afar. The whole hospital began its routine again.

She wasn’t recognized for finding the little girl.

“Kitten,” he cooed. “Talk to me.”

She sniffled, wiped below her eyes.

“Love,” he touched her arm. It broke something in her. Her lower lip wiggled as she fought back the emotions and tears that she felt bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her.

“Uh...sorry. I just couldn’t—” she cleared her throat and wiped below her eyes again.

“Love, you don’t—”

“Does Gemma need anything? I bet a code purple probably scared a first time—”

“Kitten.” Her shoulders heaved and she tried to continue talking, something about helping or understanding. Something about Gemma and Anne and Michal. “Angel, y’need t’stop,” he whispered quietly, as her sobs took over. Her hands covered her face and she turned toward him. Her body shaking and Harry wrapped her up in his arms. Held cupped the back of her head as she cried and he wanted it to stop. It hurt him so much to feel that pain through her. It wasn’t even his pain. He imagined all those moments in the last few years where she hid her own pain to take care of others.

“I couldn’t cry,” she croaked.

Harry didn’t want her to cry now but he was glad she was.

“I know, angel,” he didn’t. But he would pretend. Because she was there for every emotion that he had felt since he met her, and it never stopped her. She never made him feel bad for feeling any type of way. He would do anything to make her feel the same. “I know,” he sighed and squeezed her as tightly as he could worried he might hurt her but worried she would fully break apart if she didn’t.

*

Harry’s bed was her new favorite place. “I owe you some new pillowcases,” she whispered.

“Kitten, jus’ worry ‘bout yourself for a change,” he kissed her forehead, almost directly between her eyebrows. It made her feel like she was made of putty.

“I am, if I’m going to be sleeping here, I can’t get dirty from all my tears and snot.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get new pillowcases if y’sleep here.”

“You don’t mind?”

Did he mind her sleeping there? Or getting new pillowcases? “Neither, love,” his fingers trailed up and down her spine. “S’nice, yeah?”

She nodded. “Been thinking about it a while,” she whispered.

“Shoulda said something,” he hummed quietly. “Anything that’s mine, s’yours.”

“Anything?”

“Mhmm.”

“Even the secret chocolate stash you have in the oatmeal box?”

He chuckled. “All yours.”

“What about that candle in your kitchen that you light after you finish cleaning?”

“I’ll put your name on it.”

She was quiet for a minute. She inhaled the warm scent of his cologne poking at the freckles that dotted his collarbones and neck at sporadic intervals. Once the tears started, she couldn’t stop. Hence the need for new pillowcases. Her skin felt raw, blotchy, her head hurt a bit from the lack of water.

But Harry was there the whole time. He didn’t shy away once. Simply let her cry for all the times she didn’t because she needed to be brave and all the times she wanted to anyway. Eventually she whispered all the things she kept from him. From everyone. Even herself.

“Harry?” She whispered.

“Yes, kitten?”

“I know this is lame, but I didn’t date a whole lot growing up because I never felt like good things could happen to me. I always worried it would be taken away and... anyway... I don’t know how to ask this, because it sounds so lame but you’re my best friend so maybe you’ll know what I’m saying and—”

“I told y’anything that’s mine is yours, angel,” his smile was lazy but beautiful. Like this was the most normal thing he’d ever done with her. Everything about him was beautiful. From the surface of his skin to the depths of his soul.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise that her best friend already knew what she wanted to say.

His lips brushed against her temple. Her heart finally felt at ease. “Course I want t’be your boyfriend. You have my whole heart.”

--

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[theprettynosferatu]

CONTENT WARNING. NO, FOR REAL, READ THIS FIRST.

This story contains strong themes and graphic non-consensual sex. If you feel they might affect you adversely, skip this one.

Andrea is being tormented in college by a bigoted popular girl. Her daddy has always helped her... maybe he can help her get some justice...

CW: Incest, non-con, SA, orientation play (F-straight to bi)

I - No Expiration Date

She felt ridiculous. She probably looked ridiculous too, sitting against the wall, grabbing her knees, almost shaking, all in the middle of the hallway. Most made a point to not look at her, rushing to their classes, their dorms or wherever the hell they needed to be with such haste. Well, Andrea knew they only rushed because of her, to give themselves a plausible excuse to avoid doing the right thing and checking up on the poor, weird girl hyperventilating on the ground.

The worst part was that Andrea knew she shouldn’t let it get to her. If anything, it was Kate that should be ashamed of herself, not Andrea- fuck, to say such things in these days was almost quaint in its ignorance, and if Andrea chose to make a stink, grounds for expulsion. Would it be considered a hate crime? Maybe. But going up to the dean or whoever like a poor little victim felt so… humiliating. Perhaps more so than Kate’s constant, whispered words and stories. And some idiots actually listened to her! 

Andrea supposed that was the big perk of having a rich, connected daddy. Even the most moronic and bigoted statements found an audience eager to please, if only for the unspoken promise of future gifts, recommendations, networking opportunities. Shit, even the dean might sweep the whole thing under the rug just to please her family. Andrea could feel the rage building up inside her chest, making her almost sick. Part of it was the stench of injustice that surrounded the whole deal. But most of her anger was directed at herself. It wasn’t as if any of this was new to her: she had come out in highschool. Every insult and every joke and every slur had been thrown at her a thousand times over already. 

But… college was supposed to be different. Even the teachers that saw the abuse in her younger years had told her so. It will get better. You’ll get out of here, and in college all this will be a distant memory. That hope had kept her going even as everyone forgot her name and simply called her “The Dyke” her entire senior year. But those were kids. Kate was a fucking adult. And yet, bigotry seemed to have no expiration date.

Fuck. The bullying wasn’t even fucking accurate! Andrea had been openly bi for years, but apparently the nuances of sexual orientation were irrelevant when it came to making one person the butt of every facile joke, a stepping stone to get some sweet, addicting attention. And Kate loved nothing more than attention. Good, bad, who cared? As long as the spotlight was on her, whatever hole she had in what she called a soul was temporarily filled. Fucking go to therapy, you cunt! Did daddy not hug you enough? Used dollars as a substitute for affection? Boo-hoo. It didn’t justify a goddamn thing.  

Andrea took a deep breath and managed to get up. Her Social Psych lecture was about to start, and Andrea knew she would skip it, even if she tried to fool herself for a moment, to force her legs to walk towards the classroom. Step by step, she headed for her dorm room. Fuck. Another absence. Kate was even fucking up her academic life. But what could Andrea do? Go to the professor and explain that, sorry, I couldn’t make it because the rich girl made fun of me?

She threw herself on the bed with punishing force. A miniature form of self-harm, she figured. Sometimes she hated majoring in psychology: that little voice that analyzed her actions almost made her feel like she was performing her suffering, rather than feeling it fully. And that distancing might also be a defense mechanism. Well, shit. How does one turn their brain off?

Andrea felt a pang in her chest, a familiar longing for home. Sure, it wasn’t a perfect place and money was always tight. Sure, her mother had vanished when she was barely one year old. Sure, the old place was in dire need of repairs and an update. But it was home. Of course, she knew she was lying to herself by omission. She was trying not to think of the one person that made it a home, and inevitably, in trying to suppress the idea, it came to her twice as strong. Daddy. Her father was her home, and it made her feel childish, helpless, as if she was ten and running to him whenever things went poorly. That her mind still went to him filled her with shame.

Oh, bullshit. You know damn well why you don’t want to think about him.

She couldn’t tell when it had happened, exactly. It had been something slow, growing inside her, indirectly pushing her subconscious. If she looked back at her dating history, a pattern emerged, one hidden at the time but blindingly obvious in retrospect: similar to dad, similar to dad… and then, when an errant comment by a friend (“All I’m saying is, like, for an old guy… you’re dad is kinda hot”) opened her eyes, she swerved in an attempt to escape her feelings. Different from dad, different from dad… The problem with “different from dad” was, of course, that those guys were, well, different from her dad. 

The summer before college had been the worst. She did her best to be home as little as possible.

Before she knew it, twin emotions were boiling over inside her. The first made her feel sick to her stomach, made her muscles tense up, made her breathing shallow and quick, as if she was about to leap and bite some animal’s neck. It was rage, pure and shining, clad with the garment of a righteous need for justice. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fucking fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That fucking bitch. She needs to suffer. She needs to be punished. She needs to fucking learn some humility. And at the same time, the second feeling snuck up on her, traveling in the shadow of the first, mingling with it until they became one, like snakes mating. Dad. She needs to suffer, dad. Make her suffer for me. Please. Please, daddy. Do this for me and I’ll… 

Andrea snapped back to reality, horrified. She moved her hand from between her legs, not even knowing when she had started playing with herself. Fuck, she was soaked. Shame almost brought her to tears, until Kate’s sneering face popped back in her mind. She had endured enough for one day. She had earned a little bit of fantasy. Just that. It wasn’t as if she’d ever do anything about… well, anything. But she could imagine, couldn’t she? She wasn’t that much of a coward- she could dare to imagine Kate, and dad, and… 

Fuck it. Who cared if it was wrong. She needed release.

Andrea let her hand go back between her legs.

II - The Call

Mike found himself staring at his phone. His morning coffee had gotten cold, but he took a sip anyway, almost as an automatic action. He couldn’t stop playing the conversation back in his head over and over.

“Dad, I’m on my way. I need your help. I… I’ll explain…”

“Andrea, are you okay? What happened?”

“I… I’ll be there in about an hour. I kinda… I don’t want to talk over the phone. Dad, I… nevermind. We’ll talk when I get there.”

And that had been it. No clues, no hint, nothing to guide him except the tone in his daughter’s voice. She was scared, and she was suffering, and that was all that he needed to know. Whatever it was that was harming her girl, he’d move Heaven and Earth to make it better. That much he knew, deep in his heart. Still, he couldn’t stop picturing the worst possible scenarios.

He tried to remain calm. Sexual assault on college campuses is… 

Mike pushed the thought away.  

Restrictions on reproductive rights have…

Snippets of news stories slapped him. The world could be a terrifying place for a young woman. But that was why they had chosen a college close to home. So Andrea could always come to him if she needed help. And she clearly needed help. Stay focused, old man. She needs you to be strong. Don’t let her see you panic. 

He needed to be strong for her. That was all he always wanted to be, more than anything: a rock, a place of stability, a North Star for the one thing that mattered in his life. They had faced the world together. They had survived poverty together. They had endured the pain of an absent mother and wife together. They had managed a retrograde high school that tormented Andrea together. She had saved his life as much as he had fostered hers. Without his girl, Mike wasn’t sure where he would be- perhaps underground. She had been the reason to dig deep, to find strength, to endure, always. 

Don’t let her see you panic.

Don’t let her see you looking at her.

He shook the intrusive thought off. Andrea needed him, not his fucked up neuroses, not the secret shame the last months of living together had awakened in him.

One hour stretched into a year, and Mike practically leaped out the door as soon as he heard the car pulling over. The first thing he noticed was his daughter’s panicked face, and that alone was enough to make his heart feel like it was about to burst out of his chest. The second thing he noticed was the other girl, passed out in the passenger’s seat. Andrea rushed into his arms, and he held her tight, trying to will some degree of peace into her mind. First things first.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.”, Andrea sobbed.

Good. Now to do what he did best: fix things.

“Ok, so, your friend…”

“She’s not my friend.”

“What did she take? Did you take anything? Look, I’m not… I won’t get mad, I just need to know what she may have taken… is it just booze? No, couldn’t be… Benzos? Or… Christ, I don’t know what you guys take these days in college…”

“Dad! She didn’t take anything!”

“Are you sure? Maybe she went into some bathroom and did something… okay. First things. We need to call an ambulance…”

“Dad, please! Listen to me! I’ll explain everything. But we need to get her inside before anyone sees-”

“Andrea, this girl is passed out! She needs medical attention! Who knows what-��

“I know what she took because I gave it to her, okay? She’s just asleep! And she should be asleep for… maybe another couple of hours. Daddy, please… I swear I’ll explain. Just help me get her into the house, okay?”

Mike felt dumbfounded. The idea that his Andrea had roofied some other girl was so distant from his image of her, from the girl he had raised, that the contradiction felt impossible to resolve. It was a paralyzing feeling, one he couldn’t entirely put into words. All he knew was he didnt like it one bit. He was a man of action. He needed to do things, more than ponder feelings. And the thing to do, if only to escape that horrid sensation, was to get the poor girl out of the car.

They dragged Kate into the house, and laid her down on Andrea’s bed- a task that, Mike noticed, his daughter undertook with less care than he would have liked. Back in the living room, he looked at his daughter and put on his best stern face. Stern was good. It hid other ideas that came into his mind when he looked directly at Andrea.

“Explain.”

Andrea broke down in tears.

“Daddy, that girl… Kate.. she’s… she’s making my life Hell! She tortures me every day, makes fun of me, spreads rumors about me… people think… I don’t even know what they think about me anymore. So I can’t make any friends. Just like high school. It’s the same damn thing! And they all said… you said college would be different! But it’s not! Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I’m just… I don’t know. Broken. Maybe people can smell I’m weird, or weak, or… and they know they can abuse me and mock me and… It’s not fair! And I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t thinking straight… I just put a couple of pills in her tea, and… I freaked out. I needed to feel safe, and I feel safe here… with you.”

Mike took it all in. He had to admit the sight of his precious daughter in such despair was enough to pierce any ideas of being tough he might have. And yes, it wasn’t fair. The world wasn’t fair at all. Andrea was beautiful, smart, creative… but there would always be those people who couldn’t understand someone being different, loving who they loved, being their authentic self. He got the anger. He got the frustration. He hated that Andrea had been driven to this point. But there was a big thing to address.

“Honey… I know… but you can’t just… just… kidnap someone!”

Andrea couldn’t help herself. She ran into her father’s arms, and hugged him tight.

“Daddy… I didn’t know what to do. I…”

She went silent. Mike couldn’t find the words to console her, to lecture her, to say anything at all. All he could do was feel the warmth of her body pressed against him, intuit her soft curves, take in the smell of her shampoo, her skin. It was intoxicating, and for once he let himself feel… whatever it was he was feeling. He let himself enjoy the moment, and even the sleeping girl in the bedroom seemed to fade away from his consciousness. They simply lingered, holding each other, taking it all in.

Such a moment couldn’t last. It shouldn’t last. Mike forced himself to speak, to say… whatever he could muster.

“What… I don’t know what you expect me to do…”

He felt Andrea’s hands on his back holding him tighter. He felt her warm breath on his ear, sending shivers down his spine as she whispered before the words even registered in his brain.

“Daddy… please… fuck her for me. Fucking rape the cunt… show her her place. Daddy… break her with your cock. For me.”

III - Persuasion 

Andrea couldn’t tell exactly what happened to her, what shifted within herself in that embrace, what dam had finally broken in her mind. Even as her father pushed her away with a horrified look on his face, she could see him- almost as if for the first time. A veil that had been dulling her sight for so, so long had finally vanished. Yes, she saw everything so clearly now, with such simple purity, devoid of fear or shame or silly excuses. It was a bizarre sensation, to finally be able to accept without doubt or hesitation the truth, so long buried.

She wanted to fuck him.

He wanted to fuck her.

So obvious. So simple. So powerful. Andrea wasn’t going to run away from it anymore. And she could see, under the mask of horror worn by her father, beneath the shock in his eyes, something else. Stirring. 

Suddenly, Andrea felt powerful. Immense. Sexy. In control. The fact that she had become one with her secret desires and he hadn’t brought a predatory joy to her chest… and something else, both an anger and a need. In her heart she could see not just what her father was but what he could be, what he could become, what he needed to be. She could almost smell it- the strong, conquering Man suffocated by the dull veneer of morality and social norms. Yes, she felt powerful- but she didn’t need to be strong. She needed to be taken by him. She needed to bring the beast forth, somehow. To make him see himself as she saw him. To make him see her as she wanted to be seen.

She smiled inside, even as her father almost recoiled from her. It was all a game, now. One she intended to win.

In the blink of an eye her entire demeanor, her posture, the way she looked at her father shifted. For a second she was the perfect picture of innocence, of a young woman in need of rescue.

“Daddy… please… I need your help. Won’t you help your little girl? I promise I’ll be good. I’ll be so… so good to you, Daddy. I’ll be your good little girl. Your obedient… slutty… little daughter”, she smiled as she took one step towards her father, her body now swaying like a cat slowly approaching its prey. She took a moment to delight in the confusion in her father’s eyes, the tension increasing almost to a breaking point.

“I… what are you…”, managed to mumble Mike. Oh, it was so pathetic it became cute.

“Daddy… you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me recently? It must be so, so hard for you… to see your little girl all grown up, and you all alone… that’s not fair, is it?”, said Andrea as she closed the distance with her now paralyzed father. Oh, this was too much fun. “You have been a bad daddy in your mind, haven’t you? That sounds so painful! Knowing it’s soooo wrong to think about your little girl like that… having to pretend you don’t want to… Fuck. Your. Daughter. Oh daddy, don’t blush! Surprised to hear such naughty words coming from my cute mouth? Or… do you like me having such a potty mouth?”

Andrea, in a swift motion ran her hand over her father’s crotch. Yes. She could feel it. So hard. So warm. She was right. He was breaking.

“Feels like your daddy cock likes me talking like a dirty slut! Don’t be ashamed! I love to imagine your cock getting so hard for me… I love to know I can make it so, so happy… And only using my words! Just talking like the hopeless little fucking whore I am… for you… just knowing you can use my tight holes whenever you want… however you want… and I’ll take it like a good girl! I am your good girl, daddy. You made me, after all… you own me… you can own every inch of my slutty, smooth body…”

Suddenly, she took a step back, her eyes almost in tears. She was the very picture of anguish, of despair, of vulnerability. Mike opened his mouth to speak, but he found no words came to him. He just watched, fighting his need to hug her, to protect her, to tell her he would make everything right again.

“Daddy… I’m so sorry… I don’t know what got into me. I just feel so confused, so disoriented, and… I don’t know. It’s like I have all these feelings inside me and they get all mixed up and I can’t really tell what I feel anymore, and it hurts so much. It hurts, Daddy. And that girl… Kate… I can’t tell you how much she’s hurt me, how she has been messing with my mind and making me so miserable… and… and I guess, I’m not sure, just… I thought you could help me, Daddy. You always could help me. You always could make me feel like everything would be okay, that I wasn’t a freak, or…”

“Honey, you are not a freak! You know this. You’ve been so brave, so strong, so true to yourself, even when everyone gave you grief over it!” He couldn’t help himself anymore. He held his sweet girl in his arms.

“But I… I did a bad thing, Daddy. I brought Kate here… I couldn’t think of anything else to do to make her stop, to make her leave me alone…”

“I know. And yes, you did a… wrong thing. But that doesn’t make you a monster, or evil or anything like that, okay? We’ll… I’ll find a way… I’ll help you. I’ll… fix it, somehow.”

“Will you rape her for me? Will you punish her with your cock for hurting your little girl? I’ll be so, so good for you if you do it, daddy… I’ll be the bestest daughter ever for you!”

Mike tried to pull away before he was interrupted by the sensation of warm, soft lips on his own. Time stopped. He felt dizzy, trapped in the feeling, the scent of skin, the rush of adrenaline in his chest. He panicked as he realized he didn’t stop it in time. He didn’t stop it as time stretched. He wasn’t stopping it even as the thoughts flooded his mind. It took Mike every ounce of willpower to push his daughter away.

Oh, it was so fun to see her Daddy so confused, so aroused, so disoriented. But Kate would wake up soon. Andrea needed to land the killing blow on whatever resistance her dear dad had left.

“I’m sorry Daddy… it’s just that I love you so, so much…” One slow, seductive step towards him. “I was bad, Daddy. I shouldn’t have done that, right? Does that make me a bad girl? A bad daughter?” Another step. So close now. “I’m so, so sorry for being bad, Daddy. I’m sorry I made your cock all hard for me and teased you and used all those dirty, dirty words. Will you punish me, Daddy? Will you make me good again, show me my place? I think you should. I think you should take your cock, and-”

One final step, and Mike snapped. For the first time in his life, he slapped his daughter. Horror set on his face, and it became a mixture of bewilderment and fire when he noticed Andrea’s reaction. She was smiling.

“Mmmmh… so strong, Daddy. Do it again. Punish me. Show me you own me. Make me your bitch!”

It was over for Mike. Something primal, something awful had taken hold of him. 

His hand on her neck. Hers rubbing his cock over his pants. Her soft moans. Kisses that turned into bites. His own mumbled, jumbled words. Little cunt. Evil fucking bitch. Her words, playing off his. Your little cunt. Your good little girl. Her face against the wall. Her movements, grinding her ass against him. Her hands on his chest, pushing him back. 

So many lines crossed. Mike knew, deep down, he had broken something inside himself. Or maybe she had broken it in him. It didn’t matter. He looked down at the beautiful, perfect woman kneeling and smiling. He saw his daughter, yes, but his eyes were now different. The barrier that kept the idea of “daughter” and “sex” apart simply didn’t exist anymore. He felt adrift, caught by a whirlwind he couldn’t stop- one he didn’t want to stop. 

Victory. It looked like victory. Victory over herself, over her old fears. Victory over his attempts at doing the “right thing”. Further victory to come, as well. And it didn’t hurt that the cock that made her was a rather large one, veiny and beautiful. He tried to keep herself in check. She knew exactly what to do, which went against everything her body was screaming for her to do. No matter how much she needed to feel that cock deep inside her pussy, no matter how much she longed to taste his cum on her tongue, she would have to wait. She couldn’t risk some post nut clarity throwing further objections to her plan. She kept her mind on Kate as she licked, kissed, loved his member. She was alert, ready to stop before he went over the edge. She did let one hand slide between her legs- just a treat, and a bit of a show for Daddy. She took him deep in her throat, deeper than anyone she’d ever blown. He deserved it. He was her one true love. 

She did manage to stop herself when she felt him getting close, heard his moans getting stronger.

She stood up and simply, gently, gave his Daddy her soaked hand for him to smell. It was a promise of the pleasures to come… if he did as she asked, as she needed him to. She could see it in his eyes. He had been unleashed. Andrea smiled, and with a moan sucked her fingers clean, keeping her green eyes fixed on her Daddy’s gaze.

Punishment would finally come to the one that had wronged her.

IV - Melody of Madness

Slowly, Kate started to regain her consciousness. It was a gradual thing, messy, disoriented. The first thing she noticed was a scent- the kind of smell that tells one they’re no longer home, but in a place inhabited for years by some unknown Other. Her body felt heavy, sluggish, weighed down. She wasn’t afraid, not at that point. She was too out of it to register such an emotion.

Only when her vision cleared a bit and her body started to feel more like her own did the true horror begin. She tried to remain calm. Okay, Kate. Just… try to figure things out. You’re in a bedroom. A girl’s room, judging by the decor. Shit, did you get wasted again? Wait, no… a room, yes, but not a dorm room. Bigger than the dorms. Oh, fuck. Did I party in town? Did I black out and some random girl decided to help me?

A part of her screamed. Assuming that this was just another regrettable morning after too much liquor was only a pleasant delusion, and she knew it. As painful as it might be, she would have to face another possibility. What was the last thing she remembered? She was getting up, ready for class… then she was picking up her morning coffee… a bitter taste, more than usual, and then… nothing. 

Kate needed to get out. Wherever she was, it was not where she wanted to be, that much she knew. She’d have time to figure things out later. First, get out of bed, and then…

She couldn’t. She was bound to the bed by improvised ropes made of sheets. Her legs were open, held in place. She noticed the way the air felt on her skin. She was in her underwear. This final fact froze her for half a minute- thirty seconds that felt like an eternity. 

Finally, she screamed.

“Shut the fuck up, or things will get very, very messy for you. And I don’t want to ruin my sheets, thank you very much.”

The voice was calm. Cold, yet expressing a hint of anticipation. And it was a voice Kate would never have expected to hear in that place, not in a million years.

“Andrea?”

“Oh, I’m ‘Andrea’ today? Are you sure you don’t mean to call me one of your usual nicknames? No ‘dyke’? No ‘carpet muncher’? No ‘cunt licker’? Isn’t it interesting, how something as simple as a little bit of metal and a few sheets are enough to teach you manners?”

Metal? Kate lifted her head as much as she could. There was Andrea, holding a knife. Shit. Shit. Shit. That little, insignificant bitch! And what was it with the outfit? Black lingerie, full face of make-up, devilishly sharp stiletto heels… Kate had never seen the stupid dyke looking anything like a real woman. Huh. So she had curves hidden under her usual baggy hoodies. Good for her. But she was still a fucking loser, and Kate knew how to handle losers.

“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? Let me go, now! What the hell are you thinking? People will hear…”

“Oh, don’t make a sound. I don’t want my father to…”

“Really? You brought me to your own home? You really are that stupid, huh? Let’s see what your dad thinks of his dyke daughter when she sees what you’ve done! Help! Sir, please! In your daughter’s room!”

Steps stomping outside. A man entered the room. Finally. Victory! Now the crazy dyke would get what was coming to her, and Kate would have a brand new story to bury the little cunt’s reputation even further. Maybe even hold the possibility of jail over her head.

“Andrea! What the hell is this? What are you doing?”, the man said, suitably shocked.

“Daddy! I’m so sorry! I… I just…”

“Didn’t I tell you to let me know as soon as she woke up?”

“You did. Sorry, Daddy. I’ve been a naughty little girl… will you punish me later?”

“Later, yes. Now we have work to do, don’t we, baby girl?”

“Yes we do, Daddy!” she chirped before giving in to a long, deep kiss with the man.

What. The. Fuck.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”, laughed Andrea. “Did you think he would help you? Kate, Kate… Ignorant as always. For one, I’m not a dyke, I’m bi- not that you care, but I figured a little education can’t hurt. And another thing about me: I have the bestest Daddy in the whole world! And my Daddy would do anything for me, because I’m his perfect, slutty good girl… and he’s very, very good at training good girls! Well, maybe ‘training’ isn’t the right word. How about… ‘breaking’? You know, like a horse! And we’ll make you such a good, good girl!”

Panic set in.

“Crazy! You’re both fucking crazy!”

Kate squirmed, a scream dying in her throat as Andrea crawled on the bed, swaying like a terrible feline, giving her dad a marvelous show. She lightly touched the inside of Kate’s thighs as she made her way up… before flashing the knife in front of the poor captive’s eyes.

“If I were you”, cooed Andrea, “I’d be very, very still for this part.”

Kated hated that her body seemed to instinctively do as the fucking dyke told. She froze, every muscle locked tight. She closed her eyes, and prayed to no deity in particular. Please. Please. Make it stop.

Kate shuddered as she felt something cold barely grazing her, almost between her legs. Terrible images flashed inside her mind. I might die here. A second later, she felt air caressing her private areas. She opened her eyes, only to see Andrea’s mad smile as she held the remains of Kate’s panties in her hand, skillfully cut off her body. 

“Not the sexiest of panties, I must say. I’m a bit disappointed! But…” Andrea brought the panties to her nose and took a deep, gratifying sniff. “There’s something alluring there. Oh! You’ve never had the pleasure of smelling a nice cunt, have you? No, you’re so very, very straight… you’d never do that, right? Well, you’ve been missing out. Time to fix that.”

Andrea carefully, almost lovingly, tied the panties around Kate’s face. Every breath now was an assault, a reminder of how powerless she was. A humiliation.

“Better get used to it, you stuck-up slut. You’ll be tasting the real thing soon enough. But…” Andrea leaped off the bound body of her foe. “What am I thinking? You’re straight! So, I take it you’d enjoy a big, hard cock more than my… dyke attentions, won’t you? Well, how about some Daddy cock? Won’t you love that? I know you will.”

Andrea skipped, child-like to her father. He was watching the scene before him, almost panting. A beast ready to be unleashed.

“Look!” chirped Andrea. “He’s so, so hard for you already! You should be flattered! Well, no point delaying the inevitable, I say. Ready to feel this big cock ramming into that tight pussy, you bitch?”

“No… no, please, don’t… I’ll… I’m sorry for… for everything! Please, please, please…”

“A little late for that, you evil cunt! Now get ready to be used like the fucking cumrag you are!”

Kate tensed up and shut her eyes hard enough to make them hurt. She braced herself for pain, for agony. She tried to somehow make her mind escape somewhere, anywhere else. Wasn’t that something that happened in these situations? Some sort of protective dissociation? And yet her mind was nailed in place, as stuck to the bed as her body. She waited, shaking… and nothing happened.

“How rude of me!”, mocked Andrea. “I almost made my daddy take that pussy dry! That would hurt a lot! I could help with that situation, you know… but you’re not a filthy pervert like me, that likes cock and pussy alike… so… I have to say, I’m a bit conflicted! Wouldn’t want to make you a dyke against your will! But you can choose. Dry or dyke? Huh? Too shy to speak now, you cunt? Answer me! Dyke. Or. Dry.”

Kate couldn’t believe her ears. An image of the knife flashed in her mind. Fear took hold. Feel of pain, primal, deep. The promise of less pain seemed like an imperative, and her mouth spoke before she could stop it.

“Dyke…” she mumbled.

“Sorry? I couldn’t quite hear that”, saud Andrea.

“Dyke! Dyke! Dyke, goddamn you!”

“She’s out! She’s loud! She’s proud! Welcome to the club, sister! Now relax and let me introduce you to a brand new world…”

It felt gross. It felt odd. Kate tried to reframe it. It’s just lubrication. It’s just making it easier for later. It means nothing. It’s just a tongue. It’s just…

Andrea was good. Extremely so. She took pride in her oral skills and was using all her talents, all her tricks on Kate. Not because she wanted the little bitch to feel good: simply because she knew that pleasure would make her suffer as much as the pain to come. Every involuntary thrust of Kate’s hips, every muffled moan that escaped her lips was a step towards conquest… and Andrea felt like a warlord, like a terrible goddess exacting just revenge…

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she giggled. “But we can’t have you cumming like that… not when dear Daddy has been so, so patient!”

Fear crept from beneath the disgust Kate felt with herself. A part of her had enjoyed it, and she hated herself for it. Her body was starting to betray her, and that, more than anything, was terrifying. But now the pain would come. She knew that for a fact.

“Daddy, my sweet, sweet Daddy… break the cunt”, said Andrea.

“Please… don’t…” managed to mutter Kate.

It was in vain.

It did hurt. The man was a beast, savage, thrusting into Kate without the slightest care for her pleasure or comfort, using her body like an object to take out all his messed up frustrations, his fantasies, whatever was mixed up in the storm inside his brain. Kate whimpered and yelped and tried not to scream. And in her ear, a warm breath, whispering to her constantly.

“Good girl… won’t you cry for me? Like you made me cry so many times? You fucking slut… don’t fight it… you know what you are, deep down… don’t you miss my sweet tongue on your cunt? Relax… let it happen… you deserve this… and I’ve earned it… your pain… and what you will be for me later… when the pain is gone…”

Part of her mind was aware enough to realize Andrea was rubbing herself right beside her. But most of her mind was focused on the sensation between her legs, the burning, the feeling she was being torn apart… and something worse, slowly creeping its way into the strange mixture assaulting her consciousness. Andrea saw it immediately.

“It’s better now, isn’t it? You can feel it… it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. Not to me. We are sisters now, after all. I, made by the cock that is remaking you! It’s so… poetic, isn’t it? You are a slut. You’ve always been a slut, deep down… all you needed was someone to prove to you that a slut is all you need to be. All you deserve to be. No more queen bee at college for you! And I know you will be such a good little girl for Daddy…”

“Fuck… fuck you…”

“Oh, you’ll get to do that too! Want a taste?”

Andrea started slowly, kissing Kate’s neck, nibbling it, giving her victim goosebumps. Then she delicately removed her bra, and lips met sensitive skin. Kate’s nipples, hard against her will, were assaulted by kisses, suction, skillful licks. Andrea toyed with Kate, varying the pressure, the speed of her tongue, inserting playful little bites into the game. Measuring. Learning. Deciphering every preference, every weak point. To Kate’s horror, the pain was starting to feel duller, as if coming from far away. The pleasure, on the other hand, was sharper, demanding, a hungry thing coming from her own traitorous body. It was hard to think. Hard to keep any single idea in frame inside her mind. Too many stimuli, coming from too many places, attacking different parts of her idea of self. She felt as if she was drowning in sensation.

Andrea made her way down, slowly, as her father’s thrusts became a bit slower. Stamina wasn’t infinite, but she was quite confident that together they could get the job done. Together, they could do anything. It took a bit of careful positioning, but soon the tip of her tongue was able to tease the little cunt’s clit and even give her dear Daddy a little extra lick when he pulled his beautiful cock out, only to ram it into Kate again. Oh, if only this moment could last forever. Father and daughter locked eyes for a moment, in something that felt like a twisted perversion of love. It was time to move on to the next step.

Kate couldn’t stop squirming. Couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop her fucking body from reacting to the big cock inside her, the tongue playing her pussy like a violin, her own shame turned into a corruption of pleasure, disgust with herself that swirled and shifted and somehow enhanced the feelings that were eroding her sanity. And then, it snuck up on her.

Kate came, harder than ever in her life. Any pretense was undone at that moment. Her body was too honest. But the fucked up father and daughter team didn’t stop. No, they paused for only a second or two before resuming their work. It was too much. Kate shook as she came again. And again. And again.

She was exhausted. Too exhausted to fight anymore. Too confused to protest anything Andrea said. Her words just permeated, unfiltered, into Kate’s mind.

“...tell you? You can be such a good little whore… and we can be Daddy’s sluts together! Don’t you think he deserves it? His cock made you cum so much… your pain gave it so much pleasure… it owns you now. And you’ll love it, I know you will. We’ll make you love it so, so much, until you forget what a fucking bitch you were before…”

Kate didn’t even notice when the restraints were removed. There were stronger ones in place now, and she could feel them. Inside her head. She had been defeated. She had been conquered. She had surrendered.

“On all fours”, Daddy said. He didn’t have to say it twice. Kate complied. 

“Word on campus is that your little ass is the one hole you’ve been saving up for someone special! Well, I say you’ve met someone very special! So now Daddy will take the last bit of you and you’ll finally be entirely his! Isn’t that exciting? But… what about your poor fellow slut? I mean, I gave you pleasure too! I say I deserve a treat. So… you get pain for Daddy and he gets to watch you eat a pussy for the first time! What a show it will be! And we’ll make it a show, won’t we, sis?”

Yes. Whatever Andrea said. It was easier to comply. Easier to obey. Easier to just accept. It would hurt. Good. If her pain was what they wanted, they would have it. She would have sex with another girl. Good. If they wanted her to dyke out, she would. 

Kate’s screams sent vibrations through Andrea’s pussy, only making Kate’s inexperienced attempts at eating her out so much more delicious. Andrea felt like a queen, being serviced as she deserved. Mike was a beast, finally letting out something that had been suppressed in shame for far too long. Kate let her body take over, turning even pain into something else, something like purpose, or atonement. In a single day, all three had changed. Forever.

The tight, virgin ass, paired with the spectacle of this girl pleasuring his sweet little girl sent Mike over the edge. He barely managed to pull out before cumming with an intensity that shocked even himself. Kate’s back was soaked, and some drops had even landed on his own daughter��s breasts. 

Andrea licked her lips.

“Kate… sis… why don’t we clean each other up for Daddy?”

V - Epilogue

Mike woke up to the sensation of tongues on his cock, as was the norm. He let himself relax and sink into pleasure. To think that half a year ago, the idea of even looking at his daughter had felt revolting! How silly he had been. They loved each other. They made each other their best versions of themselves. Their most perverted versions. 

And Kate… how lovely it had all been. Sure, it had taken a little while for her to fully enter the family, but now she and her adoptive sister were inseparable. They went shopping for slutty outfits, they did their camshows together to make Daddy money… they had even made out in front of the Dean when they announced they were dropping out of college to be full-time whores. It was tender, in a way. Kate’s addiction to pain and humiliation had come as a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one- especially by Andrea, who had started to explore her sadistic side more and more.

Of course, they both adored Daddy. They were always ready, always willing to please him. After far too many years of gray, dull effort and solitude, Mike felt happy. He let himself enjoy that fact.

After he came, the girls licked each other clean, moaning as they savored their Daddy’s cum. With bright smiles, they leaped on the bed with Mike.

“Good morning, Daddy!” they said in unison.

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Every bit helps!

[scarlethexelove]

can you please write Y/N and Wanda also Natasha is not dead here (up to you thooooo) , and Y/N pretty much replaced Vision. But before these events Natasha has always been there for Wanda, (after Endgame) so she didn’t make a hex but still griefed about Y/N and Wanda making a big move for Y/N’s reincarnation but in a good way. After Y/N being back from the dead. She learns that her soon to be wife has already fallen for Natasha and her reincarnation just meant nothing and Y/N didn’t go on with her life and ended it just there.

Wands regretted everything until she lost herself and made a big mess with the universe (pretty much MoM) and overall Wanda regretting everything, and when she gets us back (it can be Wanda taking another one of us in an another universe) or her just making us alive from the dead *this all can be up to you author*

I love your stories 🖤

I'm Sorry

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3590

Warnings: Cheating (Allusions to it but really it is there), Angst, Major character death, Mentions of Murdering innocent people, Angry Wanda, Suicide by others, Not really a happy ending, tiny bit of fluff like very little.

A/n: This one was fun. I hope I did it justice. I may have changed a little bit of it but I hope you still like it.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Everything hurts. You have a splitting headache and it feels like you got run over by a MACK truck. Your face scrunches up in pain, the lights too bright even with your eyes closed. Sensory overload has you curling in on yourself. Hands come up to clamp on your ears when you hear a voice, but it’s so loud and muffled that you don’t even know who is talking to you. All you want is for all of it to stop. You had been an experiment but that experience doesn’t compare to what you are feeling right now. 

“Nat turn the lights off.” Wanda orders the older woman in the room. Nat flicks the light off as she watches Wanda brush some hairs back. You let out a whimper at the contact. It breaks her heart seeing you like this. When her hand brushes against your skin she can feel you. She feels your pain. Red whisps leave her fingers slowly seeping into your skin. Soon enough the pain starts to dissipate. 

Wanda crawls in the bed behind you wrapping herself around your frame. You feel a body pressed against yours and you immediately know who it is. “Wanda.” You whisper. You turn around in her hold and nuzzle into her neck. “I’m here sweetheart.” Wanda combs her fingers through your hair. You're so tired and she feels like home. You fight to stay awake but her ministrations have your eyes closing. “It’s ok detka get some rest.” Wanda whispers and kisses the top of your head. You finally let yourself drift off to sleep. 

A little over 5 years ago the team was fighting Thanos. Your powers let you see brief points into the future. You saw that if you died that Wanda would be safe. Thanos needed you gone to get what he wants but you also saw that in the end the Avengers would win. The event that sets that in motion was your death. So as much as it pained you you let it happen. To save Wanda, to save the world. Wanda could move on but the fate of the universe was in your hands. 

“Wanda.” Nat says softly from the corner of the room. She looks at you curled into Wanda’s arms. A sight she had hoped to never see again. “Natty, she needs this.” Wanda says softly, still stroking your hair as you sleep. Nat just nods. It hurts but she knows it is something that Wanda had to do. 

Your mind races. Your dreams are of your last memories. The fight with Thanos and how you let him kill you just in order to save everyone else. Your body shoots straight up as your chest heaves from the memories. You feel a hand rubbing up and down your back but you haven’t quite gained control. You mind questioning how you are here. Why are you alive? You should be dead. That was all your mind could see and you had accepted that fact but here you are. Tears stream down your face. “Why?” You're not sure what you are asking, who you are asking the question of. You feel so small. “Why what detka?” Wanda asks you with concern on her face. “Why am I here? I should be dead.” Your voice breaks and Wanda’s heart hurts seeing you like this. 

Wanda starts explaining everything that had happened while you were gone. Excluding some details. They had worked tirelessly to bring back those that were snapped away. Wanda and Nat become the de facto leaders of the Avengers. It took 5 years but they finally did. Once that was done they set out to bring you back. It took some time but somehow when Bruce had snapped his fingers he was able to bring you back. But somehow you ended up in a pocket universe in a deep sleep. They were finally able to get you back safely. All the information flooding into your mind is a lot to handle but eventually you understand. Somehow the universe had different plans for you. 

It’s been a few months since you came back. Most things are the same but something seems off. Wanda hasn’t been as loving towards you. Before she was always so touchy and wanting nothing more than to crawl under the sheets cuddling while watching some sitcoms. But now she barely even gives you a hug. Sleeping in the same bed has you feeling like she isn’t even there. She is a million miles away even if she is only right beside you. Your heart hurts not understanding, is she still mad at you for letting Thanos kill you. Anytime you try to talk to her she just brushes you off and says nothing is wrong. So you're left alone to your thoughts and worries.

Nat had moved into your shared home while you were away. The two women grew closer at the loss of so many others. You want to be angry and jealous that Nat gets more attention than you but you still trust Wanda hoping that she will come around eventually. 

You’re walking towards the kitchen when you can hear a hushed discussion between Wanda and Nat. You stop just shy of the door frame listening in when you hear your name mentioned. “Wanda you need to tell Y/n.” Nat says her body leaning on the counter and arms crossed against her chest. “Tell her what Nat?” Wanda counters. She sits at the table with a sad look adorning her face. “You know what Wands.” Wanda lets out a sigh. “I can’t do that to her Nat.” Wanda’s voice is low. “You can’t keep lying to her. You can’t keep lying to me. I love you Wanda.” There is a pause in the conversation before Wanda speaks up. “I love you too.” Your heart drops the moment the words spill from Wanda’s mouth. 

You’re quick to turn on your heels as the tears start to stream down your face. Holding in a sob as it all makes sense now. In your absence the two had fallen in love. You’ve somehow become the other woman in Wanda’s life. You don’t know how you didn’t see this coming. Your powers should have felt this but they hadn’t and now you’re left heartbroken. You push into your shared room focusing on pulling yourself back together. You can’t let them know that you know until you figure out what to do. 

The buzzing of your phone pulls you out of your despair for the moment. You see Fury’s name flash on the screen. You quickly wipe your tears and answer the phone. “Sir.” You say masking the waver in your voice. “Y/l/n I have a mission for you. Since you have been cleared for duty I would like you to head out tonight with Barton and Barnes. I have sent over the reports for you to go over. Good luck out there and glad to have you back.” The phone line goes dead as the man hangs up the phone. You open the report sent to your phone. You now see the flashes in your mind of how the mission will go. And that is where you see it. What you’re going to do. 

That night you enter the Quinjet greeted by the two men. Hugs and joy at your return. Your powers are always a significant help to missions. You three go over the plans for the mission. You lay out what you had seen in your vision, excluding one crucial part that the men don’t need to know. You know if they did they would try and stop you. But your heart aches and you put on a fake smile so that no one would expect a thing. 

Everything was set to go. A long message meant to play for Wanda after it was already too late. This would be your last mission. Wanda and Nat would have all that they could ever want. You wouldn’t be the burden that you know you are. They should have just left you dead if they were going to do this to you. So you made that decision for them. You weren’t going to come back from this mission alive. 

The mission was going perfectly. Playing out exactly as you had seen it. Bucky and Clint were together and far away from you. You snuck into the building off the side. It held some hostages that had been taken by Hydra. You snuck in taking out every agent that you passed. It didn’t take long for you to make it to the hostages. You were able to release them from their binds and get them out of the building safely. But you knew it wasn’t over yet. Bucky and Clint were waiting exactly where you told them too. Having each hostage run towards them for safety while you stood with your back towards the open area. 

You waited knowing what was to come soon. You could change the outcome but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to be in a world where Wanda loved someone else. You waited with bated breath as the last hostage ran towards your teammates. You exhale the air in your lungs before a sharp pain in your stomach is felt. You grit your teeth turning around firing off a few rounds, but you're hit with another round to the shoulder. You can hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Clint calling out for you but you push through. Another shot to the leg sends you kneeling on the ground. You push through the pain as you stand. A few steps forward as you unload your mag into the man. Another man appears with his finger on the trigger of his gun. You watch as an arrow sores through the air and hits the man directly in the chest. His finger squeezes the trigger as he falls. You’re hit with the array of bullets. Your body sways before falling to your knees then falling to the ground. The ground below you stains red as your body goes cold. 

Wanda felt a change in the universe. She cries out causing Nat to panic next to her. Wanda clutches her chest in pain. She felt this twice before. Once when Pietro died, the second when you died fighting Thanos. She had never wanted to feel that pain again but here she is feeling it. The world stops turning at that moment. Not again she thinks tears streaming down her face. 

The doorbell rings but Wanda doesn’t hear it. Nat tries to console the younger woman pleading for her to tell her what is going on. It continues to ring when no one answers until Nat gets up and finds out what is going on. Wanda sits sobbing on the couch. Nat walks back in with a folded paper with your hand writing on it. Wanda scribbled on the top. 

Wanda sees this snatching the paper from her hands and quickly opening it before reading the words delicately written across the page. 

My dearest Wanda,

You’re reading this because I’m gone. I’m sorry to do this to you

but I can’t live life like this. I know that you no longer love me.

I see the way you look at Natasha and I know she is now

the love of your life. I want you to be happy. I saw this coming

and I could have changed it but who am I to keep you from the 

one you love. Don’t mourn for me, just live your life. You don’t

have to worry about me anymore and you can be happy, that 

is all I have ever wanted for you. But my love I can’t live in

a world where you love someone else. So this is goodbye.

Love,

Y/N

Tears hit the paper blurring the words in front of her. Wanda’s heart shatters into a million pieces. How could this have happened? How could she have thrown away all that you two have? She is absolutely disgusted with herself and with Nat. This isn’t how it was supposed to go but she was blinded and now her eyes are finally open but now it could be too late.

Through the tears Wanda gets up making her way out the door and immediately taking off towards the compound. Her magic lifts her into the sky as she flies as fast as she possibly can to the one place she knows you would be. Praying that maybe it was all wrong, maybe you can be saved. Nat calls out for her as she leaves her alone standing in the yard. 

The ground cracks below Wanda’s feet as she lands hard on the ground. Anger and guilt pumping through her veins as she walks towards the building. Her magic slamming doors open as she makes her way to the med bay. Your body is already lying there. Bucky and Clint talking outside the room. Windows lining the wall as they keep looking back at your body. Wondering what they would tell the angry redhead but they didn’t have to wait too long. They spot Wanda fear and sorrow on their faces. “Wanda we can -” Clint is cut off. “Save it.” 

Wanda makes her way into the room. The boys walked away looking like kicked puppies. Wanda’s breath picks up as she sees your still body encased in a black bag. The top half of it unzipped revealing your pale skin and blood staining your suit. You look so peaceful like you could be sleeping. Wanda cups your cheek, a light jerk of her hand when she feels how cold you are. She lets her magic slip out the ends of her fingers going into your head. Fresh tears streaming down her face. “I can’t feel you.” A sob wracking her body. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry love you never deserved any of this.”

Wanda silently sobs as she sits next to you. Your hand in hers as she just stares blankly at your body. The door clicks open a while later. Wanda doesn’t turn to look. “Go away.” Her voice is hoarse from all the crying but she doesn’t care. “Wands.” Nat whispers. “I said leave.” Wanda’s voice raises as her head snaps towards the door red swirling in her eyes. Nat knows she is just upset so she doesn’t back down. “Detka.” She whispers. “Don’t you dare detka me.” Wanda stands letting your hand drop off the side of the bed. “This is all your fault. She is fucking dead because of you.” Wanda seethes. “Don’t put that blame on me Wanda. You're just as much the problem.” Wanda stalks towards Nat red surrounding her body and slamming her into the window, a crack forming behind her body. “Don’t you fucking dare blame me. It should have been you. You should have died back then. I would still have her. She is more of a woman than you will ever be. I let myself be blinded by you. Blinded by the love you gave but I didn’t love you. I don’t fucking love you.” As hard as Nat can be, Wanda's words cut deep. Tears shine in her eyes as she holds back a sob. Wanda sends Nat’s body flying through walls until she lands outside. Wanda follows as she does so. Releasing Nat’s body which is now battered and bruised. She then flies off into the night. 

It’s been months since anyone has seen Wanda, held up in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains. Some have tried but they always get blasted out so they stopped trying. She has been lost to the Avengers and they aren’t sure they could ever get her back. The day they lost you they also lost her. 

Wanda’s black tipped fingers comb through a book. A very dangerous book. The more she searches the darkness in her soul grows and the blacked tips grow. She has tried everything in the book to bring you back to life but none of it works. She had another attempt today, something new, something hopeful but it ends with a magical outburst throwing everything in the cabin. She continues to comb through the pages ignoring the disarray around her. She closes her eyes and lets her magic do the work. It’s not long before she finds something new. She thought she had seen all that this book had to offer. All that the Darkhold had to offer to the Scarlet Witch. 

You are sitting in your living room, two small boys cuddled into each of your sides as you watch a movie. Empty bowls of ice cream sitting on the coffee table that you have your feet propped up on. You laugh as your son Tommy tries to mimic you. You other son Billy giggling along. Tommy huffs and crosses his arms. “Not funny.” He mumbles. You can’t help but ruffle his hair which makes him swat at your hand causing you to chuckle. “One day buddy you will reach it.” You kiss the top of his head. All of you falling back into the silence, the only sound is the movie playing. 

Your mind flashes to a vision of Wanda but not your Wanda standing in the middle of your living room. Her face twisted into something you can’t even imagine in your wildest dreams from the woman you loved. The pain that she has caused to get to this point. As your world comes back to you you are met with a star shaped portal in the middle of your living room. What was once an image in your head now in front of you. 

Wanda’s hand wraps around the young girl's throat in front of you. “What did you do?” She seethes. The two boys next to you are terrified. You quickly stand and tell them to run but Wanda’s head snaps towards you. The couch you were once on is now thrown at the stairs blocking the way. You push your boys behind you in a protective manner. Wanda’s eyes trailing the boys curiously, a small warm spot forming in her heart seeing your protective nature. She didn’t expect to find you with kids but she always wanted a family with you so it can’t hurt. 

“Wanda!” You yell at her. Wanda is startled by the anger in your voice. You have never yelled at her like that. “Let the girl go.” You demand of her. Her hand slips from the girl's neck as she coughs on the ground holding her throat. Wanda starts stalking towards you but you back up with your boys behind you. 

Billy tugs on your shirt a little trying to get your attention and you quickly look back at him. “Is that Mama?” His voice sounds so small. Your attention quickly turns back to the woman in front of you who has stopped. You can see tears in her eyes at Billy’s words. “That is not your Mama.” You shake your head. You can see the hurt on Wanda’s face as she gets closer to you. “I can be.” She says a crack in her voice. 

You start to walk towards the woman but your boys try to stop you. You motion that you will be ok as you stand in front of Wanda. “You could never be my Wanda.” She falls to her knees, her hand on her chest as she looks up at you. “I can see your hurt and your pain but you have caused so much more and for what.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I did it for you.” She whispers. “I would never want you to do this for me. Wanda you murdered people. Good people.” Wanda stands back up and moves towards you, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You back up away from her touch. “I wanted you back.” You scoff and shake your head. “After seeing what you did I could never want you. I miss my Wanda but you are not her and could never be.” 

Wanda’s face twists in anger. You try to back up again but she is quicker this time. She grabs your wrist in her hands. “Wanda that hurts.” You whimper as she digs her nails in. “Too bad. I’ll make you love me just you see. Now that I have you back I will never let you go again.” There is a panic that rises in you. “We will have the perfect little family.” She looks behind you. “Won’t we boys?” They are too scared to say or do anything just holding onto each other for comfort. 

Wanda keeps one hand on you as she turns around. Her wrist flicking as America is thrown back through the portal. It dissipates from the middle of the room before she turns back to you. You struggle to get free but she is stronger than you remember. She clicks her tongue and looks at you, her hand finally reaching to cup your cheek. Red whisps leave her fingers as they sink into your mind. “All mine now.” She replaces every memory and thought of your Wanda with her. Changes the fear to love. You’re hers now and no one will change that. Her magic soon flowed into the boys having the perfect little family. She would tear the world in two to keep you and the boys forever. 

[coochiequeens]

An update to an older story that’s goods news!

When Jenny Nguyen signed the lease to create her dream bar, she wasn’t sure it would stay open for more than a few months.

But earlier this month, 43-year-old Nguyen’s first-of-its-kind establishment in Portland, Oregon, celebrated its one-year anniversary. Aptly named The Sports Bra, it’s a sports bar where only women athletes appear on the TVs.

Business has been good, despite the niche business model and record inflation sending food and beverage prices soaring. The Sports Bra brought in $944,000 in revenue in the eight months it was open in 2022, according to documents reviewed by CNBC Make It.

It was profitable in that first year of business, Nguyen adds.

“It turns out, it’s pretty universal — that feeling of being a women’s sports fan and going into a public place, like a sports bar, and having a difficult time finding a place to show a [women’s] game, especially when there are other men’s sports playing,” Nguyen says.

Initially, she wasn’t sure the idea would work at all. The vast majority of money and attention historically goes to men’s sports only — a big reason why The Sports Bra was reportedly the country’s first bar to only play women’s sports on TV.

It’s also not the kind of thing Nguyen would ordinarily do: She describes herself as “very cautious, risk averse.” But her obsession with women’s sports and frustration with its lack of representation on television screens drove her to empty her life savings — about $27,000 — and give it a try.

“Me, personally, I thought the idea was brilliant and that [it was] what the world needs,” Nguyen says. “But I had no idea that the world would want it. I just wanted to give it a shot.”

How The Sports Bra went from running joke to reality

Nguyen is a lifelong basketball fan who played the sport at Clark College in Vancouver, Washington, before tearing her ACL. She’s also a longtime restaurant worker who spent three years as Reed College’s executive chef.

In 2018, Nguyen and a group of friends wanted to watch the NCAA women’s basketball championship game. They went to a mostly empty sports bar and still had to plead with a bartender to switch one of the smallest TVs — which played without sound — from a men’s sport to the women’s championship game, she recalls.

Together, they jumped up and down celebrating “one of the best games I’ve ever seen,” Nguyen says, as a buzzer-beating three-point shot sealed the championship title for Notre Dame. Afterward, she was struck by the normalcy of her situation.

″[We’d] gotten so used to watching a game like that in the way that we did,” she says, adding that they’d only find better viewing conditions “if we had our own place.”

Days later, she channeled her disappointment into a hypothetical: What would she name her bar? “The very first thing that came into my mind was The Sports Bra,” Nguyen says. “And once I thought it, I couldn’t un-think it, you know? It was catchy. I thought it was hilarious.”

For years, she joked about it. Then, the fallout from social justice movements like #MeToo and the country’s racial reckoning after George Floyd’s murder left her wanting to make a meaningful impact on the world and her community.

Nguyen, who came out as a lesbian at age 17, says she doesn’t always feel welcome at most traditional sports bars. The Sports Bra could help her, and anyone else who’d rarely felt accepted in other sports establishments, feel like she belonged.

“I thought about, if we can even get one kid in here and have them feel like they belong in sports, it’d be worth it,” she says.

Helping other women’s sports bars get started

At first, Nguyen had her savings, and $40,000 in loans cobbled together from friends and family. That would keep The Sports Bra afloat for three months, based on her cost estimates for labor, inventory and other overhead.

In February 2022, she launched a Kickstarter to raise $48,000 — enough money for an extra six-month financial cushion, to build up the sort of regular clientele any bar or restaurant needs to survive long-term.

To Nguyen’s surprise, the campaign raised more than $105,000 in just 30 days, thanks to a viral article in online food publication Eater. “At that moment, when I was looking at that Kickstarter graph, I thought to myself, ‘This might work,’” she says.

But the money, which came from around the country and world, was no guarantee of success. Actual people in Portland still needed to frequent the bar.

Today, there’s often a line out the door. Women’s basketball icons like Sue Bird and Diana Taurasi showed up, for an event sponsored by Buick, earlier this month. Ginny Gilder, co-owner of the WNBA’s Seattle Storm, has even waited in line to watch her team play on The Sports Bra’s TVs, Nguyen says.

That’s a far cry from the Kickstarter days, which Nguyen says only happened after she was denied business loans by multiple banks and small business associations. The denials commonly cited the high risk of a unique concept run by a first-time entrepreneur during a pandemic, she adds.

Even the bar’s core concept is a struggle: It’s hard to find enough women’s sporting events to fill up the televisions. Only about 5% of all TV sports coverage focuses on female athletes, according to a 2021 University of Southern California study.

Nguyen says she’s taken to reaching out directly to sports networks and streaming services, some of which have hooked her up with access to more women’s sports content. She also spends an inordinate amount of time “scouring” TV listings, a process she likens to “taking a machete and chopping through a jungle.”

But she’s no longer alone. Another bar specializing in women’s sports has opened in nearby Seattle, and Nguyen says she’s in touch with a handful of other prospective entrepreneurs asking her for advice on opening similar visions in other cities.

“I would love to have as many people experience the feeling people experience when they walk through these doors,” she says. “It feels very selfish to keep it to this one building that holds 40 people at a time.”

[nthspecialll]

Red Dead History: My problems with it

Red Dead History is a book that does a great job at casting light over the history and background to the scenes, places and troubles we meet in Red Dead Redemption 2. Talking about both the things done well and the things done not so well, what is true to the time and place and what is not.

It is clear that the author knows alot about history and studied it, however there are times where I find it clear he spent more time focused on the real history rather than the in game and thus forgetting facts and drawing wrong conclusions.

When talking about the real life criminals that Dutch and Arthur are based on (Butch Cassidy, Sundance Kid and their gang The Wild Bunch) this very lovely and wrong sentence comes up: "Like Dutch and company, the Wild Bunch undertook robberies primarily for personal gain, not as a moral crusade against capitalism. Butch and Harry, like the van der Linde crew, certianly had a disdain for the corporate titans of their day, but it was desire for their wealth far more than social justice that motivated their heists." (The Wild Bunch, page 86) I do not think the author understood Dutch Van Der Linde very well, I don't think he understood the gang very well.

Dutch is a man based on princips, who can be found on any time of the day reading a philosopher who challenges capitalism and questions what man has become. "Men are fixated on greed, on desire, and on the acquisition not of experiences or pleasures but the ability to acquire." This is Dutch's hero, and he has several interactions with different characters like Mary-Beth, Molly, John, Abigail, Lenny and Arthur reading up quotes and discussing them, praising Miller to the heavens!

If that is not enough, lets look at the very first bank robbery that they commited, they did not keep the money, they gave it to the poor! And they still have their morals, like not robbing the poor, only the rich. We also have the fact that Javier joined the gang because of these morals, because he agreed with them.

While in the end, yes it might have been more for themselves, to get them to Tahiti because they got too big a price on their head, the majority of their time has not been.

Another example, just a bit further down the page that is wrong: "Another parallel to Arthur and Dutch, Butch Cassidy had a pronounced distaste for the racist ideologies so dominant around the turn of the century." While I can agree with him on Arthur, I can't agree with him on Dutch, Dutch is fairly racist, slowing his speech with people of other origins, calling Bronte a slur and "Here we are in this strange land of Papists and rapists." Papists meaning catholics, and the fact that a lot of minorities were hated on due to being catholics. (Read more detailed here)

Now this sentence is followed by: "One Black gambling companion of the gang noted that if anyone treated him unfairly, Butch would "get after them" with furious vengeance." Now that is not at all like Arthur or Dutch who are both in on the "stand up for youself" idea which is why they condone Micah because they expect Javier, Lenny and Charles to stand up for themselves. They ain't going to do anything. Also when they return with Sadie and Micah complains about having to sleep around people of color, Butch would have acted, Dutch and Arthut did not.

Several many pages later while talking about blood feuds we have this line "Like the mysteriously stolen gold from Red Dead Redemption 2" (The Blood Feud, 235) where I would like to point out that it is neither mysterious nor stolen(at least not by who you think). While it is not told in the story, we as players have the ability to learn about what happened to the gold.

On an island not far outside Saint Denis, hidden under a tree in a chest we can find a letter. This letter comes from Lucille Braithewaite and was written in 1803 to a Douglas Gray, whoms story was esencially that of Penelope and Beau, except Lucille was exiled by her family and took her family money, hiding it for Douglas to find and give to an organisation that would abolish slavery.

While it is not common knowledge about the letter, the other two things are, and if you are writing and publishing a book I would expect you to know your things.

A minor problem I have with his writing is that he puts the player experience into unenssesary boxes. For example he talks about the KKK and how Arthur encountered them: "One evening soon after their arrival, Arthur is riding on the outskirts of the dusty plantation town of Rhodes when he notices a constelllation of bright lights in the nearby woods." (The white-hooded menace, 115) He continues to talk about how Arthur curiously dismounts and sees who it is and that the player then has the choice to kill the KKK or watch them die.

While I do understand setting a scene, I think it is such an unessesary thing to add with the timing and place and what Arthur does when reacting to them. Rdr2 is known for being so unique and it feels so wrong to remove that, also because this encounter can happen at any time pretty much anywhere. I have never met them in Rhodes but I have met them in Big Valley twice, one time in chap 6 and one time with John.

Similarly he talks about the racist guy in Saint Denis and how it leads to the "inevitable conclusion of violence, with Arthur beating ot shooting the pamphleteer" (The Paradox of race, 96) as if it isn't completely possible to just walk away. And it isn't like the author never talks about the many choices the player can make, for example he talks about how Rockstar was under critisism because some boys had a kick out of tying up and killing women NPCs in different ways.

Red dead is such a wide experience and I don't understand why he is trying to narrow it down and tie it up into a box when he could have gotten his point across without needing to.

Last point I want to talk about is his idea for red dead three, that being Arthur Morgan in 1871 (Epilogue, 242), where I feel that it is more because he liked the time period more than anything. Arthur would be eight at this point and living with his dad (the one pic we have of him is taken in 1874). From what the author presents of the time period it does sound interesting with a lot of possibilites but I do not think it should be with Arthur if so, maybe with Black Belle or someone.

While I do really like all the history facts that the author brings, I am surprised at his lack of understanding for the gang considering his 3 playthroughs and 300 hours in game.

I have also heard rumors of historical inacuracies, and I am trying to dig deeper into that to see if there is something, but if anyone uses his work for something I would fact check him just to be safe.

[zhongrin]

insignificant (pt.1 / 2)

◇ characters ◇ al haitham, cyno, wanderer, ayato

◇ tags ◇ angst, hurt no comfort, major character death (you), slight description of dead bodies, hints of wanderer's story spoiler, hints of cyno's backstory spoiler

◇ a/n ◇ happy birthday kazu @kazuuaki ily <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

numb.

when the news reached al haitham's ears, it feels like something was forcefully carved out of him. it’s a nostalgic feeling, but it was still unwelcome nonetheless. he moves on auto-pilot from thereon; nodding and following the messenger calmly, expression as stony as ever despite the dimming of his previously verdant green optics.

even when he sees your body - bruises and scratches marring your skin, the unnatural bend of your joints... and yet still, you look like the most gorgeous being in his eyes - he doesn’t cry. he simply confirms your identity before walking out of the morgue and immediately starting on preparations of your funeral.

he doesn’t want to touch you because he wants to remember your soft, warm hug as you left that morning for a commission, and not the chilling cold as rigor mortis settled in. he doesn’t want to see you any longer because he fears he’ll forget the lively grin on your expression and the love in your eyes as you promised each other to take care and stay safe-

never in his life had he imagined you would be the one who would break your promise to each other first.

but then again, the fact that you chose him at all was a big mystery even to him. what else did you see in him besides his intellect and stability? did you really mean it when you said you didn’t mind his bluntness and selfishness? did you ever regret getting into a relationship with him? did you ever dream of the same future that he saw in his own dreams?

in your last moments, did you think of the future you lost with him? did you curse him for not being there? did you…. at least…. pass on instantly?

the thoughts continue to run in circles inside his head, breaking the sentences of the book he reads and the paperwork he needs to sign as the acting grand sage. he finds himself continuously turning up the volume of the music in his soundproof headphones. his attention span diminishes. his temper worsens.

"are you hearing yourself right now?" kaveh seethes, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

a blank and stone-cold facade is all he gets from al haitham, “this is a meaningless topic to dwell on. i have made my statement clear and if you can’t see my point, i’m afraid it would be impossible to find a middle ground.”

“ugh, i swear to archons, you’re as stubborn as a mule! i really don’t understand why [name] likes y-” the blonde halts, the annoyance in his expression dropping into guilt and horror in mere milliseconds.

a chilly silence falls.

“i-i’m sorry. that was insensitive of-”

the older male's breath hitched. years of knowing the scribe as an acquaintance-turned-roommate, and yet this expression was a completely new sight to the architect. sure, kaveh does find the silver-haired male annoying sometimes, but he was no heartless monster - in fact, that was a title he thought his roommate held…

… that is, until today, as he witnessed the first tear fall down his roommate’s eye, therefore proving his hypothesis completely and utterly wrong.

“al haitham...”

“i don’t understand either.”

and he supposes it would stay as the one mystery he would never be able to unravel, for he would never be able to ask you now that you’re gone.

death is something the general mahamatra deals with almost on a daily basis.

it haunts him constantly; whenever cyno judges his targets with the scales of justice, he risks losing his life to the spirit that resides within him. not only that, there’s no denying the dangers that lurk just around the corner, ready to ambush him the moment he lets his guard down, given his position and the way he has to deal with criminals.

which is why whenever he has to do his duties, he always makes sure to kiss you goodbye and promises you that he’ll come back safely. to which you always reply with that lovely smile of yours and a cheerful “and i promise i’ll always be waiting for you back home!”

his dance with death is a neverending tahtib. one slight mistake could be fatal, yet cyno is anything but careless.

but what can the strongest and the most careful individual do against nature’s will?

his confident steps faltered when he received the briefing while the locals explained the situation as they walked towards the tent. several bodies had been found earlier in the day, and they suspected it was caused by the massive sandstorm that happened overnight. seeing as the victims were akademiya scholars, the villagers had asked for some people to help identify the bodies. conveniently, cyno and tighnari had been in the area, so they had volunteered to help.

the two slipped under the tent flap and the first thing cyno notices is the familiar shade of your hair.

as if he’s in a trance, his bare feet move instinctively. his heart rattles against his chest as he stops right by your side, ruby reds shaking horribly.

this has got to be a dream, right?

he dropped to his knees, uncaring of how the rough sand dug into his skin as he reaches out to trace the lacerations on your face; no doubt caused by all the sand. some of them are still stuck on your eyelashes too; and he prayed for them to flutter, to show some kind of movement, to quickly end this horrible nightmare he’s having in the middle of the day.

“cyno…”

his friend’s voice is soft and laden with sadness, as if the fox hybrid could feel the way his very soul is cracking at the edges. his calloused hands - the very same ones you used to pepper kisses upon kisses - clench around your sleeve.

“and i promise i’ll always be waiting for you back home!”

“you promised… you promised!!”

tighnari’s arms wrap around him, and he crumbles. the infamously stern and unwavering general mahamatra, broken and vulnerable, tears rapidly streaming down his bronze skin as he bit his lips until they bled to stifle the whimpers and sobs racking his body. he could barely hear his friend’s worried calls of his name. the arms around him felt suffocating and wrong because they weren’t yours.

he would never be able to feel that warm, floaty sensation from your hugs, ever again. you weren’t coming back. he will be stuck in this perpetual nightmare for as long as he lived.

“they promised….”

“……… i’m so sorry, cyno.”

as a puppet, wanderer is fortunate enough to not need many things that others find crucial to live with.

he does not need a name. after all the misdeeds he did, it felt wrong to desire such a human necessity. and yet you gave him a name nonetheless - a beautiful acknowledgment of his existence and a gift that ties you to him. they sound heavenly when the syllables fall from your lips, and he would never admit it but every time you call him that he could feel the desire to live up to your wishes behind such a precious benefaction.

he does not need love. he had craved it enough. groveled and begged for it enough at the start of his archon-made life. he tells himself he does not need the fickle emotion. not from his creator, and certainly not from a measly human who was too stubborn to let him be. still, you gave it to him with your bare hands, bit by bit, ever so patient and fleeting, with your honeyed whispers and gentlest touches upon his wooden skin. and oh, what a marvel it was, to bask in them.

he does not need to eat or drink. while he can taste and digest organic sustenances, his body didn’t exactly need them to function properly. his ‘mother’ could have taken his tastebuds and he was convinced he would not have minded… before he met you, that is. for how else was he going to taste your sweet lips and savor the intoxicating taste of your skin? and the way he just can’t seem to get enough, how he keeps starving for more, how he keeps having these funny feelings in his stomach - was it what the mortals call them “hunger pangs”? or perhaps it was something else? - whenever you are not by his side… you make him malfunction and he hates you for it.

he does not cry and he certainly does not need to cry.

so why are there liquids seeping down his polished cheeks and dropping onto your still hand?

“fix them.”

the small dendro archon returns his empty stare with a sympathetic frown. his jaw sets.

“fix them.”

he repeats, yet she remains unmoving; her green eyes flicking back down at your unmoving body.

“please.”

he does not breathe, but the pain in his voice and the cracks in his plea mimic that of a breathless, pained human.

nahida looks back at him, and then she steps forward.

something tugs within him. a little spark. a familiar sensation. one you frequently elicit from him, with your annoyingly endearing laughs and silly declarations of love.

the deity’s little hand places over your glazed eyes and closes them gently. then, she steps back.

the small spark fizzles and dies.

“not even us archons can bring back souls long since left for the afterlife into a dead body. this is the very law of nature itself,” she gives him a pained look, “you know of this.”

“…. please…”

“i know it hurts, little one. this too, proves that you’re no different than a hu-”

“THEN END ME ALREADY! LET ME PERISH!!”

for his heart has stopped beating, so why was he still alive?

“ayato.”

his name falls from your lips like the stars falling from the sky this rainy night. the downpour continues to make the ground muddy and the workers continuously struggle not to slip as they wrestle with the soil. it was not the ideal weather for this event and truthfully had he wanted he could probably order to stop the whole thing or use his vision to help with all the rainwater.

“i just feel like i needed to tell you.”

but the blue hydro gem merely hangs uselessly on his hip, along with the rest of his clothes, clinging uncomfortably onto his body. the umbrellas held by thoma hadn’t done their jobs properly, but the blonde housekeeper does not dare utter a word as the two siblings continued to stand side by side in silence, staring at one singular point.

“if, one day, you need to choose between the kamisato clan and me…”

to the elders in the family, it is a familiar sight. they could see it as if it was just yesterday. the same scene, the same setting - just a different place and with a younger version of the current lord and lady of the house. the girl had clung to her older brother, sniffling and choking back sobs, as the latter held her tightly, but with a sort of resolve that didn’t exactly fit his young visage.

just like last time, ayato watches silently as one of the most important people in his life is taken further and further away from him. as the wooden crest of the kamisato clan is eventually covered by the dirt. as his memory frays and his heart screams in pain and tears itself inside out behind his white robes.

as the pristine tomb with your epitaph marking your final resting place settles on its place.

his father.

his mother.

you.

all of whom should have been his family. all of whom he had sworn to protect and cherish.

“… i will not resent you for the choice you make.”

but [name], dearest, i will forever resent myself for the choice i made.

his vision never does shimmer as brilliantly as before from thereon.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @nachotrash | @algrimmammon | @sassy-cat-in-town

[crooked-wasteland]

The court scene in hazbin leaks seemed empty .

Lute had no arguments, she was yelling in void, the seraphim and female stolas were just there waiting for plot to happen, Sera answer to anything lute saying was "shut up" literally, which isn't only unprofessional for a governor to do but also it helped at portraying lute as crazy hysterical woman no one respect without the presence of her man.

If hazbin hotel was really interested in discussing the concept of good and evil then here's the right moment, we could take this scene as opportunity to talk about the the justice, lute should represent the concept of the justice is inflexible only bound to the rules that kept people safe for decades . her arguments is that they are currently in war with hell and they can't let a sinner in might be dangerous he might attend some harm upon them or play the role of spy for the morningstars . Emily or stolas-evil-twin or anyone, will represent the concept that there's no justice without mercy and rules should have an exception for cases like this their argument is his sin didn't come from malicious place but rather from a genuine fear so is his act of redemption and therefore we have right to assume that his soul is inherently good and he attends no harm and we should welcome him in heaven .

And I remember a saying in writing goes like :"write an argument where everyone seems to win"(I forgot the actual quote) and I think this one of the scene where we should apply that in order for scene to have a depth

I agree, except on the account of Lute's argument being pointless. Unfortunately, you need the other leak of Seraph talking to Able and the one of Vox to grasp the points being made.

Major spoilers incoming!

The argument Lute makes in the courtroom is nonsensical because we were never given the information. At the start of the season, Charlie has a fairytale book of her parents and it mentions Lilith using music to rally demons against heaven. Vox says this explicitly in a reminder lore dump of 12 whopping seconds that Lilith was prepared to go to war with Heaven before vanishing.

So there's that aspect of the world we never had mentioned or hinted at in the main series. It would have actually helped a lot with incorporating Lilith's army waiting for her in Happy Day in Hell. It also could have been tied back to Rosie and her cannibals. Maybe hinting at the Rosie and Lilith connection more appropriately, or at least opening the idea that Lilith had an army waiting on her still.

Additionally, Seraph mentions how Hell will "want revenge". So even if Hell wasn't a threat before, her greenlighting a genocide is going to make peace a relative impossibility. It's inevitable for Hell to fight back, so now Heaven has to figure out if they will risk their own safety by ending the cullings, or continue and admit they are oppressors keeping Hell weak intentionally. It would make the suggestion of redemption unappealing, regardless of being possible.

But the issue the series will have to patch over is the idea that Sinners would want to be redeemed if it wasn't for Heaven's yearly census shaving. The conflict in the pilot was that Sinners wouldn't want to be redeemed. The exorcists were actually a believable motivation for why anyone would even consider redemption when you have the right to suffer and cause suffering forever in Hell. The issue of the Sinners' immortality questioning how the show is going to believably instill the idea that the discomfort of staying the same is going to outweigh the discomfort of change. And the exorcists seem, frankly, necessary to maintain the pressure on Hell to give Charlie a chance. Meanwhile, maintaining a genocide is going to turn away people who are probably good at their core. The pressure of being oppressed will leave them nowhere to go and without options that don't in some way contradict their own values.

So the story is actually focused on the major plot issue for once. However it isn't staying there. Then we have to remember the sneak peek Medrano shared of Baxter and how the concept of Redemption at all is what is being challenged. Not if Redemption is desirable. So that is where the two sides of the story lose cohesion. Honestly, the Heaven storyline will be far stronger than the story taking place amongst the actual main characters. And between the Baxter/Alastor/Lute reveals, I'm wondering what time there is left to even tell any story about the main character. Once again, we're looking at too many plot threads not being given enough time to expand.

[csolarstorm]

The Circle of Arceus Doesn't Need Modern Legendaries

(Source: Centro Leaks)

That's right, it's time for me to post a theory about this.

A lot of people are pointing out that this diagram is obsolete simply because there's been five more regions of legendaries since it was made and it's been...almost 20 years. I think that's only partly true. It actually holds up surprisingly well in modern Pokemon.

GameFreak definitely tried to get away from the whole "legendaries are gods" thing after Gen IV, mostly because where do you go after Arceus? So you don't get a lot of newer legendaries involved in the creation of the Pokemon world.

Plus, GameFreak used to have these random moments where they worried about continuity. Why do we need incense to evolve the Baby Pokemon from Sinnoh? You think players are going to complain that Munchlax should've hatched in Johto? Well, you might be right...but still.

That might be why a lot of newer legendaries have an alibi that explains why they weren't in the Pokemon World when it was created. Many of them were either in Space, or "Ultra" Space:

The Orignal Dragon of Unova

The Cosmog Line

Necrozma

Eternatus

By the way, some professor really should look into the reason so many incredibly dangerous space dragons are just dropping into the Pokemon world.

Then there's legendaries that are strong in the context of their story, and some are even worshiped, but they're more like regional gods and myths.

The Swords of Justice

The Tapus

The Legendary Heroes

Kubfu Line

Calyrex and His Steeds

The Paradox Duo

The Treasures of Ruin

Ogerpon

Most modern mythicals unfortunately fall hard into this category, to the point that some are literally just a monkey, Zarude. Actually, there's no need to list the others. You get the idea.

But who does fit the circle?

That leaves the Aura Trio, the Forces of Nature, and...Terapagos. In my opinion, these legendaries would be right at home in the circle. The Aura Trio deals in life and death, which is pretty major.

That Yggdrasil inspiration would make the Aura Trio right at home on the tree of life from the beta origin story. You know, that "giant tree of life" that Rayquaza, Groudon, and Kyogre broke apart, that turned into the sky, earth, and ocean?

The three gathered in a circle and prayed, and the seed sprouted. The sprout quickly grew, and became the giant tree of life. However, the tree continued to grow, soon filling the entire world, and no one was able to move.

(...) RAYQUAZA wrapped its body around the tree of life. GROUDON and KYOGRE slammed their bodies into the tree of life. Eventually, the tree fell and broke into three pieces.

REI, AI, and HAI prayed, saddened that the tree would rot away like this. Then, the pieces of the broken tree would transform into the sky, earth, and ocean. RAYQUAZA became the pillar that holds the sky.

(Source: Centro Leaks)

Yeah, now I'm thinking the Aura Trio are more of a second try at this whole tree of life thing at GameFreak. Because the whole "Rayquaza wrapped its body around the tree" gives me major Yggdrasil vibes. Surprise Pokemon theorists, Nidhogg isn't Zygarde...it's Rayquaza!

Rayquaza did Ragnarok!

But some people think the Aura Trio are aliens who came to earth on the meteor that the Anistar City Moondial was made from, so that would explain why the Aura Trio aren't in the circle. After all, the Unovan Original Dragon came from a meteor just one generation earlier.

There's also the alleged "original story" rumor for XY that claimed that XY was originally about aliens. The Teraleak probably has something to say about that. So the jury's out about the Aura Trio - they could belong in the circle, but they might be aliens.

(Wait, the rumor was that the alien plot was cut for time? As in, it would have been included (and maybe made less "weird") if they didn't rush? So is THAT was what in Southern Kalos...)

Or maybe my theory is wrong. Deoxys is on the outer layer of the circle after all. Maybe Arceus doesn't discriminate against aliens, they just have to stay on the outer layer. It's not that much of a difference either way - there's plenty of room on the outer layer with the other mythicals. I'm talking about the head honchos really.

The Forces of Nature probably belong on the circle, if we're being honest. They kind of clash with the Legendary Birds' role in the mythos as "weather" gods, but they should be on there.

Lastly...Terapagos is an enigma when it comes to this whole post. It might be more powerful than Eternatus, since "tera" is more power than "giga", right? It's so much power it can literally warp a Pokemon's type. Like Arceus, or genetic engineering.

And Terapagos isn't an alien like Eternatus, at least there's no evidence of it. It's been stuck underground, but it used to live on land. I would say it's just a really, really powerful Pokemon that isn't technically godly, but it's literally based on the World Turtle, another creation myth.

It's in the same boat as the Aura Trio, only it's not an alien. Except, it is responsible for the "Stellar" type, as in stars. And there is this Pokedex entry:

An old expedition journal describes the sight of this Pokémon buried in the depths of the earth as resembling a planet floating in space.

Who says that planet is Earth? What if that's its homeworld?

Terapagos doesn't just borrow inspiration from the world, but the idea of worlds itself, or the philosophical idea of "turtles all the way down". Not only does it depict a world, but a world on a world. A world on a world on a -

I don't know how to end this. Are all my Teraleak theories going to be this long? I hope not. Happy Teraleak! Enjoy the leak!

---

Edit: Changed the name of the title. It used to be called "Newer Legendaries Just Aren't in Arceus' Personal Circle".

All pics other than the Arceus circle are from Bulbapedia. It's easier that way.

[gffa]

Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

MINOR FANDOMS: Ones that probably only have under 100 bookmarks (often around the 20-30 bookmarks range), but will at least give you a place to start! ANIME/MANGA: Bleach | Cardcaptor Sakura | Dragonball | Finder no Hyouteki/Viewfinder | Katekyou Hitman Reborn! | Kuroko no Basuke | One Piece | Sailor Moon | Madoka Magica | Naruto | Princess Tutu | Trigun | Weiss Kreuz | Yuri!!! on Ice

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

TV SHOWS/MOVIES: Community | Game of Thrones -OR- ASOIAF | Good Omens | Hannibal | Highlander | The Old Guard | Our Flag Means Death | Stranger Things

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

[yesimwriting]

Without Faith

a/n giggling and kicking my feet rn btw, this is meant to be a set up for something longer! lmk if you're interested in part 2 :)

Summary: After a news story that was only meant to be an internship assignment spirals into a crime story that earns national attention, you feel conflicted enough about your involvement to join a criminal psychology class despite being a journalism major. Despite your good intentions, the universe seems to have it out for you considering your slightly older professor is extremely attractive and the only person that seems to understand what you're going through.

Warnings/info: age gap (reader is of consenting age tho!!), future student-professor relationship, slow burn, slight changes to how college works for the sake of plot, a surprising amount of lore (i got carried away), me writing for a character for a first time on here so be kind 😭

----

It's not often one finds their enemy crumpled up and lying helplessly next to an overflowing garbage can. It's even rarer to see that and still feel the bitter sting of defeat.

"He didn't text me back, which is weird because when I ran into him on Friday--" Carlie, who might know you better than you know yourself, pauses.

You turn your head away from the trash in an attempt to abandon the newspaper as completely as the person who had thrown it away. "You saw James last week? You didn't tell me."

She watches you for a moment, her eyebrows pulling together in a way that tells you she won't accept your lie just because you're offering her an opportunity to re-dissect her most recent interaction with her latest target. "You know I did."

Carlie shifts her weigh from one foot to the other, her eyes drifting towards the ground. "It's there because it's old--it's over."

It's over. The words crack themselves against your skull. More than a sentence, more than a promise. The only consolation the state's attorney could offer grieving families. The sound ringing in your ears as a mother gave into her agony, a choked sob ripping its way out of her throat.

It's over--the catalyst that sent the mother to you in a parking lot illuminated by stale, synthetic lighting. They're the reason for her confession, that in some off-kilter way she thought the verdict would make her feel better.

It's over--the syllables that accompany the sound of the needle leaving Josh Robinson's lifeless body. Killed by the justice system or the media?

"You didn't do anything wrong." Carlie's voice is careful in its unflinchingness. "He was a serial killer. You--you wrote the truth."

And while this awareness has bound itself to your bones, it is rarely enough to make you forget what you did wrong. Journalists are impartial, they don't--they're supposed to understand, they're supposed to be careful. You took it a step further.

"I know."

You don't need to look up to know that you haven't convinced her. However, you must have sounded okay enough for Carlie to accept moving on. "And you're doing more than anyone else would do to make your true crime even better."

It's an exaggeration. Journalists have done a lot more for their careers than request to join a class that belongs to a department unrelated to their degree. But Carlie seems so happy to be able to compliment you, you decide to go with a less sentimental correction, "Not true crime."

"I know, journalism." She sighs, but continues to walk forward in a way that feels oddly optimistic. Maybe even relieved. "Make sure you point out the difference to the professor. I'm sure he'll love that."

You roll your eyes at her sarcasm, but follow her lead anyway. You've already perfected the elevator pitch you're planning to present to Dr. Spencer Reid. A brief but genuine description of the importance of ethical journalism, especially when it comes to writing about serial killers.

You're well practiced and far from worried about winning him over. Academic authority figures have always taken well to you...it also doesn't hurt that you spent all night googling him just to be safe.

"Actually," she begins, pulling open the door to the psychology building, "I bet there's no room for original material in the interaction that you've already imagined, planned, and mentally rehearsed."

You scoff as you step past the door's threshold. "No," the word is dismissive and entirely unconvincing. You instinctually move past it. "Go talk to your advisor about your thesis, I'll meet with Dr. Reid, and then we can order food or something."

The reminder of her own meeting seems to kill the mood, her smile morphing into something more focused. Carlie lets out a small breath. "Right. We got this." And with one final assuring nod, Carlie turns towards the stairwell.

----

The thought is a dull ache that wedges itself into your chest before you can bring yourself to knock against the door. It'll follow you forever.

When you step into the room, Dr. Reid will inevitably ask why you want to join his class. And then you'll have to answer.

You exhale as you extend your arm, knuckles rapping against the wooden surface before overthinking can hurt you any further. After a brief silence, you hear a slightly muffled, "Come in."

You reach for the brass handle, pulling the door open before stepping past the doorway's threshold.

The office is comfortable, a large desk and two plush chairs manage to share the space without seeming cramped. There's a pencil holder and several stacks of papers on the desk's surface. If one ignores the degrees--and the age of the recipient when he received them--on the walls, the office seems normal. Almost suspiciously so. There's even a partially wilted plant sitting on the windowsill.

After taking in the room, you let your attention fall to the individual behind the desk. He's--he--while you've read enough about Dr. Reid to already respect him, and are fully aware that he is far from your peer, you're also now looking at him.

Last night, you did stumble onto a few pictures of him that forced you to reluctantly make a mental note of the fact that he's aesthetically pleasing, but those occasionally blurry snapshots did him and his sharp features little justice.

"Hello," the word is an instinct, slipping past your lips before you're ready to speak.

"Hi," his response is as sudden and lacking in context as your own--a fact that immediately eases you.

Dr. Reid shifts, back straightening against his seat. "You're here for your appointment." You barely have the chance to nod in confirmation before he's continuing, "Come in, take a seat."

In all honesty, you're more glad for the direction than the excuse to sit. You enter his office fully, approaching the plush chair in front of his desk. You sit down, lips parting before you're ready to speak. All structured thoughts have abandoned you.

"Hi." You realize your mistake immediately. You blink, a sound between a self deprecating laugh and a sigh escaping you. "I already said that."

If Dr. Reid thinks anything of your mistake, he gives no indication of it. His expression remains steady, with the exception of the corner of his mouth briefly tugging itself upwards.

Your hands come together on your lap, one of your nails pressing into the nail bed of the thumb on your opposite hand before forcing yourself to relax. You've read enough about his work with the FBI to know that he's so adept at analyzing behavior, you don't need to make it easy for him by giving into obvious signs of nervousness.

"Like I mentioned in my email, I'm interested in joining your class even though it's not an elective and in an entirely different department than my degree." This part is easy, a perfunctory explanation of what he already knows. "However, there is enough overlap that my advisor is supportive of the idea and has already signed off on it."

He shifts again, his pointer finger tapping against the surface of his desk. "Right, she mentioned that, but she didn't mention why."

Okay. This is the part that matters. "I'm a journalism major, and I've recently completed an internship with The Washing Sun." In an act of total self betrayal, you study his expression for any hint of recognition. Finding absolutely none makes it easier to breathe. "And spending time in such an active, journalistic environment has made me fully aware of the way that morals and personal views can complicate ethics."

You pause, pressing your lips together. "I'd like the opportunity to learn about certain behaviors in order to develop a perspective separate from my own.

Though still politely neutral, something behind Dr. Reid's eyes implies an uncertainty that has the rest of your pitch jamming itself down your throat. Whatever's changed doesn't feel like disbelief, and you're far from worried about being accused of lying. You were careful to comb through your mess of emotions before you had even pitched the idea to your advisor--you do feel those things, they're just not the only things you feel.

How delusional had you been to assume the same answers that hid their vagueness behind a heavy layer of altruism that worked on Mrs. Carol would work on a FBI profiler?

"I um--" The sound of your own voice surprises you. "I know what it's like to write something when you can't feel anything for the person everyone's already rooting against, and I'd like to not feel that again." Another glimmer of honesty, barer than your curated story, but still not exactly everything.

Dr. Reid is quiet for a moment, studying you with an openness that should make your skin crawl. "What did it feel like?"

The question throws you. Friends, family, strangers--they've all asked you things about the case, about your article, about hundreds of other things so barely connected you couldn't fathom an answer. No one has ever asked you about that feeling.

"Uh..." You're not even sure you have an answer. "Weird." Your blankness feels like such a cop out, you feel the need to try again. What did it feel like? A hybrid beast made of a festering not-quite-guilt, an over awareness of your every action, all held together by an uneasy pride...that only served to further aggravate the not guilt. "Like I was doing something right and wrong, with no way of knowing what it was more of."

You squeeze your hands together, allowing yourself to focus on the action instead of him. "I'm sorry, that probably doesn't make much sense."

When you finally lift your head, Dr. Reid is already looking at you. A moment passes, the somberness of his features growing heavier in the silence. Maybe he's looking at something past you. "It does."

The affirmation is a small, fragile thing, so faint and far away it almost feels like an intrusion to have heard it. Some selfish part of you latches onto that, his unexpected understanding a lifeline you can't let go of.

You almost thank him before realizing that you have no idea what you'd be thanking him for. "I'm glad," you settle on, fingers carefully coming apart on your lap. "The writing thing's no good if I don't make sense."

The attempt at humor seems to pull him back from wherever he had gone. "Then you have nothing to worry about." He doesn't exactly smile, but there's something easy about the way he's looking at you. "I'll approve your enrollment request."

Relief floods through you immediately. "Really?"

"Maybe it'll help you feel less...weird." From him, your too plain adjective feels a lot more fitting.

You nod once, the motion quick and polite. "Hopefully." The beat of silence that follows comes closer to kinship than anything you've ever felt in someone's office. You're also fully aware of the fact that you've gotten what you came for and that Dr. Reid is likely a very busy man. "I shouldn't take up anymore of your time."

His fingers tap against his desk. "Right. I'll see you in class."

You smile as you stand. "See you then."

The walk towards the door is a lot less intimidating now. Still, once you reach it, you can't bring yourself to immediately reach for the handle. You pause, letting out a breath before turning around. "Dr. Reid?"

He looks up, nodding once in a way that's meant to prompt you. Maybe it's overkill, but it feels necessary and it's too late to back out now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He doesn't look away from you after responding.

There's nothing left to expect, there are no words or anything else meant to be said. That's not enough to stop some unknown feeling from wedging itself between your ribs, urging you to something, to say anything that might come close to offering him the same kind of understanding he's given you.

"I hope you find a less weird, too."

He doesn't respond, but something about the look behind his eyes and his slight nod makes you feel okay about leaving him.

----

There are few ideologies that have clung to him, and even fewer that have managed to bind themselves to some integral part of his being that exists beneath his skin.

The pursuit of knowledge is one of the few constants Spencer Reid allows himself to rely on, one of the only things he allows himself to consider a saving grace. However, circumstance has prevented his views on the subject from skewing. The irony of the fact that some things are better left unknown is not lost on him.

For example, the girl that walked into his office and immediately saw through him, is better left a mystery. He'd see her in class, he'd answer her questions, he'd grade her work and offer her necessary feedback--but he will not know her.

It's a mantra, a promise that he repeats in his head again and again as his attention falls to the desktop in front of him. He attempts to grasp onto this lack of knowledge, to transform it into a tangible entity to keep him from typing your name into the search engine.

----

a/n spencer entering his garcia era while googling reader 💻🧑‍💻

anyways in ur interested in part 2 or would like to be tagged let me know!!

[kalinara]

(A+X #18)

This post is a rerun. If you scroll back twelve years on this tumblr, you're going to see these exact panels. But I was reminded of it when @rei-ismyname posted this review of X-Women.

So for some context, this is part of a series that plays with team ups of Avengers and X-Men characters post Avengers vs. X-Men.

Scott Summers and Steve Rogers was a natural team-up as they're both leader types who generally act with restraint and try to be idealists and sometimes fall short but never maliciously.

There's a natural source of tension too. Steve is a law-and-order type (except when he isn't.) And Scott, at this point in time, is a fugitive Mutant revolutionary who had (under Phoenix possession) killed Charles Xavier.

They actually do work together pretty well. But this is the ending of the story. Where you have both characters coming to blows because Steve wants Scott to submit to arrest and trial.

Presumably in the meantime, Scott is supposed to go back to that prison run by a human supremacist who put him in a shock collar, tortured him, tried to have other prisoners murder him, and got a comparatively innocent young civilian murdered instead.

And then he's supposed to have a jury of his "peers". And Scott has a good question about whether those peers are supposed to be mutants, or whether they'll be human - you know, the people who generally are completely fine with the existence of genocidal robots who attack mutants immediately.

After a conflict that came about because the Avengers (led by Steve) invaded Utopia's sovereign soil and demanded a child, then an Avenger (Tony Stark) split the Phoenix, causing five unprepared people to suddenly be forced to be Phoenix hosts.

And the whole need for the Phoenix came about because an Avenger (Wanda Maximoff) decimated the mutant race. I like Wanda, and acknowledge that since then she's more than made up for it. But at the time, the question was valid: where was HER trial by jury?

Okay, I reluctantly admit that Steve Rogers has his own flaws and blind spots. He could genuinely believe that Scott would get a fair trial and that justice would be served. He might think he can ensure an imprisonment that doesn't involve brutality. But since he doesn't SAY those things, he just looks like a cartoon here.

And that's not even getting into the callousness of the observers. Let's let them "have their moment", as though they're just fighting over whose turn it is to buy dinner, and not whether or not one of them should go back to be tortured in prison.

I actually mostly liked A vs. X (the X-Men parts anyway), and I loved most of the aftermath stuff. And I even loved the vast majority of this team up. But this wasn't a funny ending. Sorry.

...okay, the cowboy hat is pretty funny. I'll give them that.

[jesncin]

Are you at all excited for the upcoming Absolute Martian Manhunter book later this year? It'll be the most high-profile launch J'onn has been a part of for a long while, being DC's attempt at an "Ultimate Marvel" line. Given how the approach seems to be defined by removing elements of the characters' status quo - Superman has no Krypton tech, Batman is not a billionaire, Wonder Woman is the last of the Amazons etc. - I think there's a very real possibility that for J'onn they'd pivot in the opposite direction and give us a living Martian society. If only because J'onn has so little anyway, there's not as much to remove as with other members of the League, so the logical thing would be adding something back in to shake things up. I'm personally hoping for some combination of Weird and Noir.

I'm absolutely (heh) excited for it (because a new refreshing change even in an elseworld story is exactly what J'onn needs right now!) but also cautious and,,, concerned. DC's revealed the Absolute gimmicks for just about all the other solo supers but J'onn is essentially still a rumor? What's going on there? I was also concerned when Superman's Absolute gimmick was supposedly "he'll be more alien than human" "he doesn't have a fortress of solitude, no Kents, etc" which,,, sounds a lot like J'onn tbh but we'll have to wait and see. Sometimes writers do this thing where they try to do something new with Superman and it's just re-worked J'onn lore. And J'onn lore is fundamentally flawed so in turn that take on Superman doesn't work, but that's just me with early concerns.

Ooh! That's a good point actually! That feels like the most logical shakeup they could do, and YJa helped warm people up to the idea of a living Mars (which I also agree would spice things up and differentiate J'onn from Clark more). And I'd absolutely (heh) love more supernatural-weird-noir for J'onn! We finally had J'onn play into being a martian detective in the 2019 Identity run, but it was more cop drama than detective noir which I would love to see. My only addendum to the idea of a living Mars as an Absolute gimmick is, since YJa popularized this already, what else will this take do to innovate on that idea? My personal wish list is:

Revitalize J'onn's cast system (a mix of old and brand new characters. Don't just make him watch tv to care about humans. Give this martian relationships!!)

Figure out his themes outside of grief!! (I love sad Martian man but he needs to do more than that! It's been stagnating his character)

No Justice League stuff or other superhero cameos/team ups. (J'onn NEEDS to prove he can stand on his own as a solo character so he can stop being pigeonholed as the League's heart or therapist.)

Fresh new take on Martian world building (please get rid of Martian racism, it's dumb and never made sense. It's a shapeshifting society and the idea of characters like M'gann essentially "greenfacing" to "pass" is so weird)

Critical reimagining of J'onn's relationship to justice (we need to get rid of or critically examine his relationship to copaganda.)

Integrate Blackness more thoroughly into his character (CW Supergirl and that one Nubia Coronation special comic are still the only takes that have done this. Come on guys!!)

More thorough reflection of J'onn's multiple identities (undoubtedly what makes J'onn special. But the comics rarely dig into what it means for J'onn to be multiple people. I would love it if his identities [especially the racialized ones] weren't treated as so,,,disposable.)

Ma'alefa'ak please (I just want to see him again I don't even care if they do a bad job. However all I ask is he be a green martian and J'onn's twin again. And a slutty design.)

The last time we saw a big overhaul to J'onn's character was the New 52, and the major flaw of that run was that it had no clear thematic intention to how it interpreted his character. So we ended up with just a bunch of references and a convoluted edgy story that doesn't help J'onn become a self sustaining solo character. The Absolute line is the perfect platform to revitalize him as a character, but I hope the writers can think in the long term to combat his foundational issues.

[qqueenofhades]

-Quickly skitters into the inbox, with a boom box and an increasingly bass boosted version-

🎶I PUT MY HANDS UP THEY’RE PLAYING MY SONG THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY-🎶

- Party In The USA anon, on the recent glorious news

Look. LOOK. I know we've had technically bigger fish, but the Georgia case is a Big Fucking Deal. Because:

It is a MAJOR indictment both in terms of scope and seriousness of charges. Not just Trump, but *eighteen* of his allies and cronies got charged with RICO (anti-racketeering, often used against mob bosses) felonies, including Rudy Giuliani (I repeat, HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA), Jeff Clark, Mark Meadows, and other high-profile Trumpworld enablers

No Lindsey Graham (at least yet) but I guess we can't have everything

It encompasses both in Georgia and other states where Trump illegally tried to alter election results (Michigan, Arizona, and Pennsylvania), as those activities related to a conspiracy centered on Georgia/Fulton County

This is the big whopper: TRUMP CANNOT CANCEL THIS INVESTIGATION EVEN IF HE GETS RE-ELECTED. He can shut down the federal Special Counsel investigations run through the DoJ, but this? Bupkis. And Georgia governor Brian Kemp, another of the Republicans who dutifully continues to defend Trump even as Trump slanders him up and down, CAN'T PARDON HIM.

That drives the Republicans NUTS. So nuts that they were, you guessed it, already on Faux News whining about how they should make Georgia change that law.

Boo-fucking-hoo, you absolute fucking wankers.

Also: we need to remember that Trump rose to political prominence by being wildly racist and xenophobic about America's first Black president. He has coddled and exalted white supremacists and white supremacist rhetoric at every turn, it has been the central defining feature of his campaign, and his election subversion efforts were chiefly aimed at canceling the votes of heavily Black cities (Atlanta, Philly, Detroit, etc.)

Trump also won in 2016 thanks to the Electoral College, itself designed as an element of structural racism, by defeating probably the most qualified and beyond any doubt most historic candidate there has ever been, after it was revealed that he was a serial sexual assaulter and after he screamed for months about LOCK HER UP (every Republican accusation is a confession, etc)

All that said, with Trump's vile, derogatory bile spewed at everyone, but especially a) Black people, b) women, and c) powerful Black women, it is a Big Fucking Deal that a powerful Black woman, aka his worst nightmare, pulled this trigger on him.

Don't get me wrong. I deeply appreciate me some Jack Smith. But he is also a white male special counsel appointed by the Department of Justice, and who used to work for the Hague prosecuting war crimes (true story). It's in his brief to do this.

Fani Willis is a county district attorney AND a Black woman, as Trump's nonstop shitgibbering on Truth Social just can't help himself from pointing out. This kind of sprawling, country-wide investigation against a wildly corrupt ex-president and his cohort of equally corrupt cronies is not something she is, in the normal course of things, ever expected to do, but she did it.

NINETEEN DEFENDANTS, Y'ALL. Including Trump. On 41 different charges. That's a hell of an indictment, and she knows it puts a target on her back, while (as noted) she doesn't have the resources and protections of the federal government/DOJ to do it.

Let's hear it for Fani Willis (and Judge Chutkan, who informed Trump the other day the more he runs his mouth, the faster she will proceed to trial) y'all.

Black Women Get Shit Done.

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Dude, I just— I made a Tumblr account to follow you JANDKSND and ask for a request 🤧🤧

Can we have some of Kyley-B x reader? 😵‍💫 I would like to read a cliché of the innocent girl and the bad boy who incites her to do illicit things (with smut, of course). 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Heeeeeyaaaaaa my first request! ❤️

I am so so so so sorry for taking so long to get to it. Really need to make my writing more speedy and efficient.

Hope you liked it, and once again, really damn sorry 😭😭😭

Also, a belated merry christmas/happy holidays to everyone!

Kyley-B x Reader - trinitrotoluene

Also available on ao3!

Summary: An innocent librarian's whole views on the world - as well as her guts - are rearranged when she takes into the equation South Park's resident New Jersey asshole. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Penis In Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Doggy Style Position

A/N: Gods was this one hard. I never imagined writing Kyley-B would be this hard. Props to everyone who has managed thus far, because this guy wrestled against me in my mind for the whole 14 pages of the Google Docs and even now that I'm posting it I'm not sure I actually won.

I tried my hardest to put together what an adult version of Jersey Kyle would be if he really donned the mantle. Hope I did him justice.

The story of how my life changed forever was rooted in New Jersey, but happened nowhere near there.

When I applied to work at the South Park Public Library, I thought it would be an easy task. Library work in a small secluded town, in a day and age where people mostly forgot about physical books due to the convenience of Kindles or their own phones? How hard can it be? Turns out, very. The place greatly suffered from a lack of useful employees, so I ended up doing a lot of extra work that had nothing to do with what I was hired for, with no extra pay, when the salary was already not that stellar to begin with. Not a great headstart for a fresh-out-of-college English major such as myself, but it was this or the 7/11.

Days like that one kind of made the whole thing worth it, though. Summer weekends in the middle of July, when all the students were on vacation and people lacked the urge to read in favor of other activities, and the only people that would actually visit the library would be soft-spoken loners who just craved the social connection but at the same time didn’t want to chase it. In those days, I was able to just sit back on my chair at the reception counter and take full advantage of the amount of books around me, reading to my heart’s content for almost a full eight hours and getting paid for it.

Such a situation is how I found myself at that particular moment. Curled up as well as I could get in my tiny office chair, my shoes forgotten under the desk in favor of the comfort of being barefoot, yet another book in my hands that wasn’t part of my enormous ‘To Read’ list. It was all cruising up to be another quiet and peaceful day, just a few check outs and some small talk.

Except it wasn’t.

I heard the sizzling of a dynamite’s wick before seeing a full blown atomic bomb. Loud squeaky sounds of sneaker soles trudging across the hardwood, strings of profanities being spewed with each step, followed by the shocked gasps of some of the people seated nearby and their hurried movement as they got out of the way in every direction. Noise like this would usually have me kindly remind its emitter of the setting around them and beg for more silence, but as I raised my eyes from my book, I knew it would be of no use.

Already in front of the counter was one of the most obnoxious-looking men I had ever seen. His blazing curly red hair was slicked back with an obscene amount of gel on it, to the point where it made me wonder if it just started to stay that way after his showers. I couldn’t see him from the waist down, but he was wearing a loose fit wife beater, showing off the muscles of his arms in all their ‘glory’. A golden chain dangled around his neck, clearly fake, the paint already chipped in places where its links connected. His tanned skin already looked out of place in the cold town in the middle of the mountains, where its citizens were mostly pale due to never seeing enough sun to actually get a tan to begin with - but this man was just a few shades away from orange, painfully artificial, he’d stand out like a sore thumb no matter where he was.

“That’s right, you better fucking go, bitch!” The loud addition to my peaceful workplace called out angrily, looking over his shoulder, finishing up his threats on the last bypasser he could before turning his face forward again, which finally let me take a good look at his features. There I saw which had to be the only real thing about him - intense olive eyes that glinted with a fire unknown to me, pure passion and energy, the type that could either burn someone to the ground or keep them warm and safe in the winters. Right now, however, they could set the entire library ablaze by sheer feral glares alone.

I hurriedly scrambled to adjust my position in my seat and rested my book to the side of my computer. “Good afternoon and welcome to the South Park Public Library, restrooms are at the end of the first corridor to the left,” my explanation was kind and gentle, accompanied by a gesture of my hand in the general direction I spoke of.

“I don’t wanna know about no fuckin’ toilet,” the man spat, as if me merely opening my mouth to say something that was of no use to him was enough to make him angry beyond measure, “I’m here to return this.”

With an unneeded display of strength that made all the other items in the counter shake slightly, he slammed a book on it in front of me, his hand staying splayed on top of the cover, allowing me to see that his fingers were fully decked out in fake gold rings in the same fashion of his chain.

Even without seeing the full thing, I recognized that book immediately. My eyes widened. If I was to be honest, I didn’t even imagine the guy in front of me was capable of reading to begin with - and the book he brought was such difficult literature, even I struggled with it at first, so to imagine he deliberately checked that one out and allegedly read it to completion flabbergasted me.

I forced myself to blink and reel back from my shock before continuing the interaction. Get it together, I told myself mentally. My mother told me all the time to never judge a book by its cover - even if that defeated the whole purpose of book cover graphic designers to begin with -, and this was what I was doing right now; letting my prejudices get in the way of what could be a healthy interaction with a fellow bookworm.

Lightly, I placed my hands on the sides of the book and pulled it slowly towards me, letting it slide under his palm, which I avoided touching altogether lest it make him more angry. “Of course, sir,” I managed to assemble a gentle smile on my lips, trying my best to not let my previous thoughts show up on my face.

“Don’t call me sir, I’m not that old,” this complaint was slightly less persistent, but I was still not about to test his limits on it.

“Of course… Mister,” the word in that context sounded way too weird to me, but it was better than the two alternatives of either insisting on ‘sir’ or just not calling him by any title at all, “I’m just gonna need your library card, if you have it on you right now…”

His hand left the counter to retrieve something in his pocket, before swiftly passing to me a tiny rectangular piece of plastic - his library card, the old design of them at that, which meant he had it for quite a while now. My eyes narrowed as I scanned it, my brain multitasking with my fingers typing his card number on the database, and I found myself repeating the information out loud. “Alright, let’s see… Kyle Br-”

“Kyley-B,” his correction came harsh and immediate, stopping me from saying even one more letter of his government name, “And don’t you dare forget it.”

I really hadn’t. It wasn’t like I didn’t know his name, everyone knew it well - he was an infamous face in town. Originally from New Jersey and carrying with him every single terrible stereotype about the place, the man before me caused trouble wherever he went, having very little regard for anything that didn’t concern himself, and yet expecting everyone else to show him the respect he lacked for them. He had actually been in South Park longer than I did, but apparently what was said held true: you can’t take the Jersey out of someone.

“M-My apologies… Kyley-B,” I tried my best to abide by his request and use his nickname in a sentence no matter how ridiculous it sounded, while still typing on the computer to avoid enhancing his anger in any way, “It’s all set. Feel free to peruse the collection if you’d like to borrow something else.” Please don’t was the thought that came right after.

He nodded curtly, taking the card from me to put it back in his pocket, and I noticed his shoulders relaxing a little. Apparently, me being polite and understanding appeased him greatly, like he had understood that I wasn’t one of the assholes trying to get him pissed or something. For as long as I was respectful, I’d stay out of the path of destruction. I could swear I saw the intensity in his eyes shift a bit - but I avoided staring too long, both in fear of getting him angry again and in slight embarrassment at the thought that he might notice me doing that. “Thanks. I think I will.”

Leaning back in my chair and picking my book back up in my hands, I figured that was that. Kyley-B would go off somewhere looking for trouble and I’d be back to my silence and my reading. Yet I didn’t hear the same noises I had when he arrived; no cursing, no loud shoes, no nothing. When I raised my eyes again, he was still there - leaning towards me with his forearms on the counter and a curious expression on his face.

“Do you… Need any help?” I inquired, slowly placing the book on my lap and rolling the chair closer to the desk so he wouldn’t believe for a second that he didn’t have my attention.

A smirk curved his lips as he eyed me up and down. “Nah, just… Perusing.” 

Well, now that’s a word I would never hear out of the mouth of a Jersey guy.

“Okay…” My fingers nervously tapped the cover of my book. “If there’s anything I can do for you, then-”

“There is, actually,” his body swayed slightly as he shifted his weight on his feet, “Has to do with my phone. You can put your number in it.”

Another jolt of bewilderment crossed my features. Allowing myself to focus my eyes on his again, I then understood what it was I saw on them earlier. Attraction. Now that he wasn’t angry anymore, Kyley-B was allowing himself to see me as a woman instead of Personal Enemy Number Ten Thousand. And he made no attempt to hide that he liked what he saw. The blood ran to my cheeks and ears before I could compose myself, my body clearly not accustomed to such unabashed interest. “E-Excuse me?”

“Your number, baby,” he repeats as if it’s nothing, “Could say I’m tryna make a movie with you here, but you clearly rather have your erotica in book form.”

What kind of Jersey asshole even knows about the word ‘erotica’? “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

A ring-adorned index finger pointed towards the book on my lap and I froze. I had deliberately chosen the version of this book - a rather obscure piece of erotic literature, the first of a series - that had a more passable cover, absolutely nothing in it that could give away its themes, in a way that they could only be known by someone who already knew the title. And there was no way Kyley did, right?

“I’ll tell you right now, stop at the first one. The sequels are garbage.” Kyley did. He shook his head with his own advice, like the memories of having to go through the continuations of that book brought stress back to his mind again.

My hands quickly grabbed the book and tried to hide it behind my computer monitor, away from his eyes, but the damage had been done. I tried to retort, but the words got stuck in my throat, coming out as gasps that enhanced further my petrified face, my wide eyes and the intensifying blush in my cheeks and ears. 

“Cat get ya tongue?” Kyley teased as if reading my mind, his upper body leaning over the counter so his pointing finger could brush softly against my cheek, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’m no blabbermouth.”

Still I took a bit to relax and believe his words. This was a small town, gossip spread as easily as the snow fell, it would be hard to show my face anywhere without having jokes hurled towards me about being a ‘closeted freak’. Which was extremely far from the truth, to be honest - that genre of book was not amongst my most read, I was as vanilla as they came, it was literally an unfortunate circumstance that led to anyone finding out about this.

The fact that Kyley-B was so uncharacteristically decent and understanding about it too, despite the initial teasing when he was hitting on me, threw me off even more. He had no reason to help me, and he was notorious for being unhelpful, so this was odd behavior on his part. My mind raced with reasons as to why that would be, trying to make sense of the madness - maybe he had secrets of his own, or maybe he just understood how it was to be the subject of unsavory discussions everywhere he passed. Either way, I found myself thankful for his actions.

Eventually, I let out a deep sigh, my lungs almost hurting as I did. “Thank you… Kyley.” I murmured, nodding slowly, my eyes shining with the gratitude that I couldn’t express with words without sounding corny.

He brought his hand back to himself, and I looked at his face again, seeing the exact same intense expression as before. Maybe, in my slight delirium of trying to build up Kyley-B as an actual human being with thoughts and feelings instead of your stereotypical Jersey playboy, I had imagined it faltering.

“That’s something I like to hear,” the flirtatious tone of voice was back with a vengeance, “Now, about that phone number of yours...”

And just like that, I was avoiding his eyes once more, my hands drifting down to fidget with the hem of my skirt absentmindedly, making me look even more suspicious. “I… I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”

“We only have to get inappropriate if you want me to,” his smirk grew. His voice didn’t even drop in volume as he said this, like he was completely comfortable with talking to unknown women like that - which he probably was, “We can just go party, have a couple drinks, make some noise, shit, whatever it is you like.”

Whatever it was I liked did not involve any of the things he mentioned. “I… I’m afraid I might not be the ideal person for that.” As I tried to let him down easy, I felt a striking pain in my chest; like the act of refusing made me uncomfortable, like I somehow wanted to accept it, even though it didn’t belong to me at all. “But thank you for the offer.”

“‘Not ideal’? What the fuck is that about?” He retorted, and for a moment I thought I might’ve riled him up again - but, although he was still loud, he didn’t seem angrier. More so confused about what I said rather than the circumstances of it. “I’m inviting ya, ain’t I? How the fuck is that not ideal?”

“It’s not the invitation!” I was quick to respond, “It’s just I don’t think I’m the right kind of company for all that… I’m sure there’s better people in town who would love to go clubbing with you.”

“Well, I’m not inviting those other people, I’m inviting you!” It was clear the insistence would not wane anytime soon. He rubbed his eyes with his palms for a bit, his mind trying to come up with a solution, before taking a deep breath and looking at me again. “How about some coffee, or tea, then? You into that?”

My eyes widened in surprise and he probably knew he struck gold there. A coffee shop was much more up my alley, but never in a million years would I imagine the likes of Kyley-B in such an environment - somewhere with no alcohol, no loud music, and where fighting was not tolerated. “I… I am, yes.”

“Coffee it is, then,” his tone was every bit as comfortable as he was when he mentioned partying, “Just gotta avoid that one place near the movie theater. Tastes like shit and the owner is a piece of garbage.”

A small giggle left my mouth. I had been to that coffee shop and knew its owner personally, it wasn’t hard considering the town was pretty small. For once in his life, Kyley-B was right, even if I personally wouldn’t phrase it all like he did. The business was probably only kept standing due to the fact people were too used to it by now, but it was the one place where I wouldn’t mind seeing a Jersey-level rage outburst take place. 

My reaction was stifled by a glare Kyley shot at me, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand if I was laughing at him or with him. “I’m sorry! It’s just… I don’t like that place either.” I admitted, immediately scanning the library hall with wide eyes, trying to see if there was anyone around that could’ve heard me say that. 

His expression relaxed and he nodded. “You ain’t gotta be so shy, you know,” he commented, his tone slightly more serious, “If you have your truth, then you gotta just say it. It’s how we do it in Jersey, and it works!”

It didn’t really work, but I wasn’t about to question him, not when the structure of his message was in the right place. My whole existence happened inside strict lines ever since I was a kid, I was one to keep my opinions to myself and rein in my actions to keep myself palatable to the people around me. This lifestyle had me sheltered to a fault, but until that moment I was fine with it; going through life avoiding trouble kept me healthy and safe, and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. However, Kyley-B’s advice still held some sort of water, and I found myself willing to hear more, even though it came from such an unreliable narrator.

“I know, I know… I just didn’t want anyone to hear me say that. It feels weird.” I shrugged.

“Well, maybe if that place wasn’t so trashy, you wouldn’t have to complain about it, it’s exactly what I am saying!” He retorted, the serious edge in his voice gone and replaced by the usual annoyance. “And I keep telling people that, but they won’t listen!”

With every passing millisecond, Kyley-B managed to confuse me more. While a part of me was stuck on the still present image of the annoying jerk who only knows how to pick fights and be rude to others, another part slowly took form; one that was intrigued about that man, knowing that although he could be a little too much, he was still completely true to himself, which is more than what can be said about a lot of the people around me. Right now, he carried his actions like a motorcycle zig-zagging through the traffic of my mind. Its destination? The inside of my skirt. 

“I’ll keep that in mind… Thank you.”

Kyley-B nodded with a smirk, content that I wasn’t disputing him like people usually seemed to do. Though something told me that even if I did, I still wouldn’t be subjected to the same type of verbal abuse others would if they tried that. “Now, back to that coffee…” 

I then managed to notice that we weren’t alone in our conversation anymore when a hand sneaked from behind the Jersey man, tapping his shoulder a bit. Immediately my brain was blaring sirens, the word ‘DANGER’ being transmitted by every one of my neurons. “Excuse me, sir?” Another male voice called out, well-mannered enough, yet still firm.

Kyley-B immediately turned to face the unknown third party, his eyebrows furrowing and whole expression hardening into anger. “What the fuck do you want? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”

Apparently the stranger had very little regard for his life, because he didn’t back out from the rude display, their tone instead becoming louder and more insistent in retaliation. “Well, your ‘something’ needs to happen somewhere else, because I have to check out this book and this is the only counter available!” He lifted his hand to show Kyley the book he was holding, as if that would drill the information into his skull.

All it did was make him more angry. He quickly snatched the book from the client’s hand, throwing it with such force it managed to hit the wall farthest from us, before stepping closer to the stranger and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

The client was stunned for a second, both from his book being thrown and from the sudden inferred physical threat. “What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Through his shock he still managed to spit back, trying his best to mirror Kyley’s body language and tone; but it’s hard to be as violent as a guy from Jersey. “Can’t you see you’re fucking wrong? Back off!”

“No, you back off!” Kyley used both his hands to push his adversary away - the other guy stumbled backwards a few feet, but luckily didn’t fall. However, the Jersey man was quick to breach the freshly created distance with hard steps. “I’ll fucking teach garbage like you not to mess with me!”

Right in front of the stranger again, Kyley cracked his knuckles and squared his shoulders. The other guy straightened his posture and balled both fists at his sides, prepared to strike the Jersey threat right back if it came to that.

Mustering the small courage I had in me and having to force my fear-frozen legs to move, I ran from behind the counter towards the two men, putting my hands on their shoulders and praying to all deities that my presence would make them back off instead of turning me into a casualty of the upcoming brawl. “G-Gentlemen, please, don’t…” My voice was thin and desperate, reflecting the state of my mind as I tried to diffuse this situation to the best of my abilities, “There’s no need for any of this! Please, calm down!”

Luckily, they heard me well enough, and my guess is having to acknowledge the presence of a woman put a damper, however small, in their urge to clash. For a moment, our little group was completely silent except for the heavy breathing noises coming from the three of us - the two men furious like bulls about to strike, and me in terrified anxiety over the situation. They maintained a quiet staredown for what felt like forever, and I knew that if they were telepaths, the offenses they’d be mentally hurling at each other would contain curse words that could make a sailor blush. Then Kyley-B did something I didn’t even think he could physically do - he took a step back from a fight.

“Screw this noise,” he huffed, before turning his face to me again and making a gesture with his arm that beckoned me to accompany him somewhere, “Come on, can’t fucking talk in here without a shithead butting in.”

“W-What? Come on where?” My hands gestured desperately towards both my counter and the client in front of Kyley, who the redhead was now clearly ignoring as if he was nothing more than a decorative piece of the library, much to the other’s confusion, “I mean, I’m working right now!”

Before I could stop him, he walked back to the reception and reached over to the space of my desk, his hand clumsily scattering a bunch of the items on it before he could retrieve what he wanted - a small desk sign that just said ‘Be Back Soon’. He placed it firmly on top of the counter, the text facing him. “There. Now you ain’t.”

Kyley-B didn’t even allow me to put my shoes back on before he grabbed me by the wrist and started taking me away from the reception. I sent the other client one last apologetic look over my shoulder as Kyley dragged me, his sneakers louder than ever as he brought a barefooted me all the way to the farthest hallways of the library, down the always empty and slightly dusty Latin Literature section. His hand only loosened its hold when we stopped walking completely. Place was empty except for me, him and one of the trustworthy metal library carts, containing an assortment of books that needed to be delivered back into their proper shelves.

When he put both his hands in his pockets, I realized that now, away from the reception counter, I could see the lower half of his body. Even though he wore a belt, his acid wash denim jeans still hung a bit low on his hips - when his shirt shifted slightly, I could see the top of his boxers’ waistband peeking out. A look that normally would have given me pause when it came to a guy, but at that moment, what paused was my gaze, that I had to forcefully tear away from the region as I imagined what he looked like minus the outfit.

“Fucking finally. Can’t stand those hicks sticking their nose in business that ain’t theirs.” He spat, looking over his shoulder a bit towards the direction from which we came, like he was still trying to send his message to the other man who couldn’t even hear him anymore. 

“I guess...” I didn’t really want to continue dwelling on what just transpired; Kyley’s anger was still fresh - was it ever not? - and the last thing I wanted was for him to decide to head back and finally start what he was about to before I intervened. Besides, from our small interaction in the reception desk, I had learnt that he had a ‘not complete jerk’ side to him that was much more tolerable to be around.

“I swear, people in this town stress me the fuck out. Gahbage, all of them.“ He shook his head and with that, finally turned his face back to me - his expression was still intense, but at least he wasn’t completely pissed off anymore, and a hint of that cocky flirtatious grin had returned to his lips. “Well, not all. But enough about that bullshit. What do they call you around these parts?”

The way he asked for my name sounded weird to me, but I guess that’s the type of sentence someone’s got to use when their name is ‘Kyley-B’ and they refuse to be referred to as anything else. “I’m Y/N.”

‘Y/N, huh? That’s hot.”

Of all the adjectives he could have chosen, he went for the one I had never seen used before to describe a name, especially mine. “What do you mean by that?”

Kyley frowned a bit in confusion. “I mean it’s hot, what of it?” The answer came with a dismissive shrug, as if it was obvious and I was dumb for even having something to question. “Your name is hot, you’re hot, there’s not much else to say.”

My mouth spoke before my mind could catch the words this time. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

His frown intensified and I put my hands over my lips, the mistake getting to me. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s just, I’ve seen you around,” my brain cells worked themselves into overdrive trying to find a way to say it that didn’t sound accusatory, “With some girls, and…”

Lively laughter that almost seemed to rumble the books on the nearby shelves interrupted my train of thought. “Oh, so that’s what this is about?” Kyley ran his fingers through his own hair - it almost didn’t even move due to the sheer amount of hair gel. “Don’t ya worry about it, baby. I like the covered up look too. You’re really pretty.” 

He eyed me up and down slowly, still grinning, as if he truly appreciated what he saw. I looked down at myself as well, taking in my outfit - a loose-fitting blouse, a skirt that ended just barely above my knees, my bare feet that were earlier covered by a pair of flats. Miles away from the style of the women that I’d seen Kyley-B have in his arms - women who wore clothes with much less fabric, shoes with much higher heels, makeup with much more vibrant colors. Women that dressed like they wanted the attention, in the way that Kyley’s personality denounced the same thing.

Yet that Jersey man still looked at me like he wanted me in a much worse way than he’d want any of those girls, beyond just flirting for the hell of it or so he could add another number to his body count. And I was eating it up despite myself - having the undivided attention of Kyley-B in a somewhat private setting like this, instead of fighting other women for it at a club or something, was deliciously feeding into my ego, and it took everything in my mind for me to remind myself that this was my job and I was working and there is no way anything can happen and oh my lord his eyes are so gorgeous.

My eyes drifted to the floor, suddenly very interested in the nail polish on my toes and the small creases on Kyley’s Jordans. “Thank you…”

 “See? This is what I’m talking about.” One of his hands made its way to my chin, tilting it upwards just enough to bring my attention towards his face again.“That’s the fourth time you’ve thanked me now. Makes me wanna actually give you something to be thankful for.”

Now forced to look at him - honestly, I don’t know how ‘forced’ I really was, considering I made no attempt to dodge my head away from his hold -, the fire reddening my face was on full display for Kyley, a sight that made his smirk widen.

“There’s no need for that,” I murmured, though the little vain monster in my heart yearned for him to continue talking about me like that, to continue making me feel actually interesting, “It’s just… who I am.”

He stepped closer, keeping his eyes on mine. “Who you are? I wanna know all about that… Inside and out.”

My nervous hard swallow was audible. I was sure I could boil a kettle using only the heat radiating from me at that moment. His voice was dripping with desire; the double entendre almost making the air around us crackle with how charged it was. Despite my whole body presenting all my real feelings, my personality still clamored for some semblance of that decorum that Kyley-B was trying to make slip away. "I don’t know… I don’t think we should…”

“Why not?” This time, there was no anger in his voice as he questioned me; its volume had dropped lower, matching the ‘private’ nature of the conversation. “I’m into it, you’re into it, I don’t see the issue.”

I could’ve denied, said he understood everything wrong and I was just being polite, thanked him for his time and left that place with my decency intact. But I was always a very bad liar, and there was no denying the way my heart beated like a drum with his proximity, how my face got beet red just from our simple conversations, or the way I eagerly paid attention to every word that came out of his mouth.

Why was I feeling so drawn to his offer anyway? Was it the forbidden aspect of it all, the knowledge that I’d be going wild and letting loose while still maintaining the looks of a productive member of society? Did I internally enjoy the attention of someone who usually went for women that had nothing to do with me in either appearance or personality? Was the savior complex acting up again, the ‘I can change him’ mentality? All of the above would lead to the same outcome.

Another thing that really led me towards the path of surrendering to Kyley was the fact that, during all of this, he still hadn’t touched me in any way that was inherently sexual, despite all of his verbal advances. He was still waiting for my consent, exhibiting atypical patience, which made me believe he would’ve been okay even if I legitimately rejected him - the thing he couldn’t take was me hiding myself from the both of us, my attempts at masking my interest, and that’s why he was still pressing the issue. He wanted to take me, but he also had to make sure I wanted to be taken.

“Come on, baby… Talk to me…” His voice dropped even lower as he took the final step towards me, our bodies inches from each other now, “Wanna know what’s going on in that pretty little mind…”

The deep shuddering breath I took brought to me the smells of old books and some very strong cologne, the latter of which I could easily imagine on my pillow. “Need you…”

His hands grabbed both sides of my face and he pulled me into a fierce kiss, groaning into my mouth once we collided. His lips were surprisingly soft, likely due to a religious application of chapstick, but the kiss as a whole was still rough in a figurative sense; tough, possessive, everything that man was now being transferred to me through the clashing of our mouths, basically demanding me to respond in kind.

Which was something I didn’t even know I could do. I wasn’t necessarily a virgin, but that doesn’t mean I was all that seasoned, either. My years in university weren’t necessarily the great breeding ground for sexual experience that they seemed to be for everyone else - turns out all the other English majors were more interested in reading about steamy affection and whirlwind romances rather than actually living them. 

So that moment with Kyley-B, in the back of my workplace, was the first moment of my life I actually felt desired - like my whole presence did something for the man in front of me, something he couldn’t ignore. And I found myself in equal measure wanting him as well, entranced by his untamed nature, like a tiny wild side of me I didn’t even know existed was slowly coming to life now that he was close enough.

We needed to have each other. So, letting my last sliver of rational thought become dust and settle on the books in the shelves around us, I kissed him back, my hands resting on his shoulders and gently bringing him even closer. Kyley’s hands tightened around my waist and he pushed me backwards until I felt my ass lightly hit the library cart, hearing the faint squeak of the wheels as they moved a bit from the slight impact. His tongue led mine in a sensual dance, one that I initially didn’t know the moves to, but that quickly became second nature under his expert tutoring. His hips pressed against me and I was a bit glad to notice he was clearly affected too, seeking whatever friction he could get by grinding his bulge against my lower abdomen. 

Both of us had our chests heaving heavily when we pulled back in need of air, and that’s when I realized my whole body was trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation. “Please…” was all I could manage to say, and I didn’t even know what I was begging for; for Kyley-B to calm down, to keep going, to do more, to bring me somewhere else or take me right there. Just whatever it was that would calm down the heat on my lower abdomen, since I knew only he could take care of that now.

“You really know your magic words, what a good girl,” Kyley murmured with his mouth still inches from mine, his words teasing, but with an undertone of praise. One of his hands slowly drifted down from my waist, pulling up the fabric of my skirt a bit just so it could slide under, a feather-light touch making its way towards my inner thighs until it settled right over my clothed pussy - the material already thoroughly damp from just his previous contact.

Two of his fingers traced my slit over my panties before they stopped right on top of my clit, applying slight pressure to it before rubbing tight firm circles over it, the fabric of my underwear providing even more friction against my extra sensitive bundle of nerves. My teeth dug into my lower lip as I stifled my whimpers, squirming quietly under Kyley’s teasing moves.

“You’re real wet, ya know that?” He moved his head so that he could whisper in my ear, his teeth grazing my earlobe. The tip of his tongue then slowly traced the outline of my ear, a seductive gesture that sent goosebumps through my whole body. “Love to see it. Basically dripping for me.”

His digits moved back lower between my thighs, tracing me yet again, but the pressure on my clit wasn’t missed for long, as his palm was now flat against it, applying a bit of pressure and moving just barely to still keep me sensitive. He pushed my very damp panties to the side, a finger now circling my entrance, the small wet sounds it made almost deafening to me, proving Kyley’s previous claim without a doubt.

When he pushed his index in, I grabbed hard on the library cart handle, making it rattle a bit with the sudden movement. My breath hitched with the sudden intrusion, and Kyley chuckled in satisfaction, his face lowering to my neck. The pleasurable pain of the bites he started to place on the sensitive skin came in tandem with his middle finger also plunging inside of me, all the way to the last knuckle.

Kyley-B wasted no time before curling his fingers in a come hither motion, pumping them in and out with a type of strength that made my whole body shake with each push inward. My hips moved towards his palm in sync with his ministrations, subconsciously trying to get extra friction on my clit. 

Despite never having seen me before, it was like he had a complete map of my body in his mind. He knew exactly what to do at all times to make me feel good, and handled my body with a type of care that I would never expect from the likes of him. My worries about his nature or his intentions were gone with the wind; he could be whoever he wanted, as long as he’d continue laying his passion on all the neglected erotic parts of both my body and spirit. Soon my nails started making scraping noises against the metal of the handle, like I wasn’t just holding on to it, but also to the last little bit of my sanity before Kyley-B would kick me right into the deepest ends of pleasure.

Then suddenly, it stopped. His fingers withdrew from me and he took them to his mouth, cleaning my whole arousal out of those digits as he sucked on them. Not saying a word, he then used both of his hands to hike up my skirt completely so that it would be bunched up on my waist, immediately pressing his body against me again while his fingers drifted to the side of my panties. With a fierce tug that would’ve made me lose balance if not for his presence, he tore the damp fabric clean off, dropping it on the floor near our feet.

“What… Why did you…” I stuttered a bit as I looked up at him with my mouth hanging slightly open, looking every bit needy and desperate for him, absolutely pathetic in my yearning for the touch of that man.

His response came as a series of quick yet sensual kisses, the last one prolonged by the soft pulling of my bottom lip between his teeth. “Think we’re both gonna like it a lot more if you cum on my cock, baby,” he cooed, “And ya want it too, right? Don’t think you’d want to come all the way here just to get two fingers in.”

My head moved in a meek nod. My brain would’ve normally scolded me for agreeing so easily to words like these, so overtly sexually charged, but I couldn’t exactly lie to Kyley, either. I wanted him to fill me up. Taking in my agreement, he pulled back just a bit so he could make quick work of the belt and buttons in his jeans and pulled both them and his boxers slightly down, just enough for his cock to spring free. 

A lot of times, when people see feisty men with boisterous personalities, they like to say that those men are compensating for a lack of something. Kyley-B absolutely was not. He had the inches and the girth to back up every single aggressive display and explicit word that left his mouth. I pressed my thighs together, both in a gesture of fear for my poor pussy and also as a way to create some sort of pressure in the area that could calm me down until he would finally give it all to me.

My light squirming did not go unnoticed by his ever observant olive eyes. For all his violent behavior, he was still a really sharp individual. “You can take it,” he stated in a way that left no room for questioning, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Kyley took my lips back in his as his hands then moved from my waist to my ass, the unfamiliar sensation making me gasp against his mouth. He kneaded the soft flesh a bit, feeling it around. Then, without warning, both his hands delivered hard smacks to each side of my bottom, and I broke the kiss with a loud high-pitched yelp - the sounds almost echoed in the quiet library. He immediately started rubbing circles with his palms on the areas he slapped, as if trying to soothe them, contented groans rumbling in his chest. His next sentence came as an order. “Turn around. Need to feel this ass on me.”

I spun 180 degrees on my feet without a second thought and he pushed my back unceremoniously, making me bend over the library cart in front of me before shoving my head down towards it so that my back would be even lower and my ass would be in a more prominent position. My face landed on its side on one of the books that I was supposed to put back in place - Don Quixote. I had the feeling that by the end of my encounter with Kyley-B I too would be crazy enough to fight windmills.

I could only hear the noises his shoes made as he settled properly behind me, the hand he had used to shove me now placed at my back, putting slight pressure to keep me bent. He held his cock with the other one, giving a few light taps with it on my ass, and I just knew his gaze was burning into me as he watched the soft flesh jiggle a bit. When he positioned himself to start dragging the head across my slit, gathering up my already plentiful arousal and spreading it around even more, I whined and bucked back a little with my hips, the library cart under me rolling a bit as well. 

Immediately the hand that had been resting on my back moved to my ass and grabbed it fiercely. “Damn desperate for my cock, are ya, baby?” I could almost hear the smirk in his lips as he said those words, “Don’t worry, Imma give it to ya… And you ain’t even gonna need to thank me for it…”

Fortunately Kyley-B did not make me wait much longer after that. He was all about that instant gratification, and my submissive behaviour fed right into it. He traced my slit a few more times with the tip of his cock before pushing it fully inside of me in one swift motion, taking advantage of my wetness buildup. 

Another yelp from deep within my throat, this time accompanied by a deep grunt from Kyley-B’s. Both his hands grabbed my hips with such ferocity it felt like he was trying to get his fingers to break through my skin - but he’d have to settle for them just leaving a couple bruises. The stinging sensation deep in my walls as they stretched around his cock was like nothing I had ever felt before; worse than it felt when I lost my virginity, yet it was better, as in, actually good. I took a deep breath, hoping the air coming inside my lungs might help ease the burning somehow.

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Kyley-B grunted behind me, his tone of voice faltering for a moment, becoming less brutish than usual - he was lost in the feeling of being inside me just as much as I was on the feeling of taking him. “Gonna end up ruining ya… If I’m not careful…”

He already had.

His grip steadied on my hips as he pulled away from me, before slamming all the way back in, giving me no time to calm down as he quickly settled into a steady pace, each thrust burying his cock to the hilt inside of my cunt. He was so big I could feel his tip hitting my cervix, constant jolts of pain coursing through my lower abdomen with each hit - yet I didn’t feel any urge to bring myself away from it or make it stop. It was the best pain I had ever felt in my life, which is a sentence I never thought I’d put together. 

Before I knew it I was letting out loud pleasure whines, my perception of the environment around me slowly being lost. Kyley still seemed to maintain his for a bit, though - to stifle my noises, he quickly shoved his index and middle finger inside of my mouth, almost all the way to the third knuckle. As if on cue, I started sucking on those digits and swirling my tongue around them like it was second nature.

“Fuck, girl,” he groaned with a husky voice, “If ya pussy wasn’t this fuckin’ good I’d be using my cock on this great tongue ya got instead.”

His other hand grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled it with reasonable strength, making me gasp and bringing my head up - my mouth opened wider and I could now taste the brass of his fake rings on my tongue as he pushed his fingers all the way inside, having the surprising care of positioning them in such a way that they wouldn’t make me gag, while I continued to work on them.

He didn’t keep my noises muffled like this for long. Soon he seemed to realize it was of no use and we were already loud anyway; so he let go of my hair and my face immediately fell forward, his fingers leaving my mouth with a wet noise and slight pain to me as his rings clumsily hit my teeth from the sudden movement. His hands slapped both sides of my ass again and I yelled with full force of my lungs - now that I was free to make noise, he seemed interested in testing my ability of it, and I could swear the squelching noises my pussy made with each of his thrusts became louder as he sped up a bit.

With each potent snap of his hips against my ass, my whole body would jerk forward and cause the library cart to hit the tall wooden bookshelf right in front of me, shaking the whole thing up and making it bang against the wall behind it. Heavy hardcover books rained from the shelves, hitting the parquet floor with loud thuds.

Completely immersed in the pleasure the Jersey man was giving me, I failed to notice the danger I was in, of a book striking my head and knocking me out cold. I only realized that situation when all of a sudden Kyley-B had the whole weight of his upper body against my back, his harsh breathing on my neck sending shivers down my spine while his arm moved at the speed of light to backhand a falling book out of its path towards our bodies, sending it flying a few feet away like it was nothing. He hissed between his teeth, likely from the pain of the smack, but didn’t voice any complaints besides that, his pounding against me not faltering for even a second.

I adored the new sensation. Though I was almost fully trapped against the library cart, him leaning on top of me like this was strangely comforting, seeing all of that oppressive strength being used for my protection. Kyley-B clearly took care of what was his, and at that moment, that’s exactly what I was.

Best as I could, I sneaked one of my arms over my shoulder, my hand clumsily grabbing a fistful of his gelled up hair. He grunted roughly against my neck, apparently not used to being touched like that - maybe it was usually the other way around - but making no move to stop my awkward attempt at a caress either. His thrusts slowed a bit as he stayed like this for a moment or two, before he straightened his posture back up with his chest away from my back and gave my ass another slap, picking up speed again - maybe that was his way of taking for himself the smallest bit of control over the situation I held for a bit. 

Not that I minded. Him taking charge was all that I wanted at that moment. Not a single useful thought graced my brain while he fucked me senseless, all of my neurons hyper-aware of how his cock felt when it pushed against the most sensitive spots inside of me and not much else. Everything was Kyley-B, the world around us irrelevant, merely a void environment that could absorb all of my moans and screams of pleasure, as well as the squelching and slapping noises of his thrusts, with no repercussion. Even the swear words he grunted every so often now sounded like music to me; because it came from a place of intense pleasure, which I was giving him, so he could curse as much as he wanted near me as long as he’d do it in that lascivious tone.

Kyley’s thrusts became even quicker and more erratic, as if he couldn’t bear to have a single inch of himself not buried inside of me for any amount of time. He bullied my walls and my cervix with wild abandon, and I felt myself tensing up under his chest, my toes curling against the hardwood floor as my body braced for the impact of the release that his cock was about to give to me. 

He noticed the physical aspects of my buildup and a hoarse chuckle cut through the sounds of his hips slapping against me. “Gonna cum for me now, are ya, babe?” He murmured huskily, giving the lightest of taps to my ass, an action that felt weirdly reassuring. “Told ya it was gonna be better with my cock… Go on, let me see ya…”

My eyes rolled almost to the back of my head and I let out a cry that made my whole throat quiver as the most intense orgasm of my life crashed on me like a tsunami, my spine arching and making my upper body press even more against the cart under me. While I whimpered and trembled through the ripples of pleasure in my system, Kyley-B grabbed my hair again, pulling my head back some more as he used the newfound reins to jackhammer into me with my cunt clamping fiercely against his cock, trying to make it a permanent attachment to my body - a very smart decision on its part, really.

Despite riding my climax out to the fullest, I did not get any time to catch my breath - Kyley-B’s attack on my walls had already started to cross the line into overstimulation, making me whimper from the continuing massage on the extra sensitive region, before he suddenly withdrew from me. Although I already had way too much everything considered, that action surprisingly made me legitimately angry for half a second - I missed him inside of me. His breathing shook and faltered while thick jets spilled over my ass and lower back, his seed warm against my skin.

As he came down from his high and his breathing became more steady, I heard him reach inside of his pocket again, then felt the slightly rough sensation of lace being rubbed against me - he was cleaning up his release with the very same panties he tore away. Seemed thorough about it, too, as he took his time and by the end of it I didn’t feel sticky anymore. Yet, the knowledge of what we did had painted my body forever, the warm sensation still very much psychologically present, even if I was physically ‘clean’.

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see him stuff the panties in his pocket. The normal confusion I’d exhibit if seeing such an act did not grace my features, either because I was too fucked out to care or because I actually liked it.

He tucked his softening cock back inside of his boxers and closed the buttons and belt on his jeans before leaning towards me again, this time to put his nose to the side of my neck, inhaling my scent sharply while his arms wrapped around my waist.

”Did so fucking well for me, baby. You were so damn good.” Kyley-B whispered against my skin, his voice once more taking that less rowdy tone I heard earlier. Hearing it again, in a full sentence this time, sent shivers down my spine - different shivers from the ones that had coursed through my body earlier. Like I could catch a glimpse of the man behind the fake tan. He made sure to leave one tiny nip at my skin before pressing a kiss right on top of that region - a surprisingly soft kiss, like he was now trying to be careful with me.

He stayed like this for a little more before straightening up again and letting go of my body, giving my ass one last playful slap, chuckling as he watched it jiggle. “You’re the real deal, Y/N,” the Jersey playboy voice was back at full force, “Let’s go out sometime. I’ll call you.”

Which was a weird thing to say, considering I hadn’t given him my number at all, but for some reason I just knew that was the least of his problems. He knew where I worked. He’d find a way, and I’d give him as much direction as I could for that.

As soon as I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, my knees gave in, and I fell right on them, letting the library cart hit the now much less packed bookcase a final time. My hands clung to the side of it with what little strength I had in my body, that still felt like it was made of jelly. I could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, the exhaustion from the unfamiliar ‘exercise’ getting to me. Dozens of books laid around me on the floor, waiting to be put back in their places, but I decided to just make that a problem for future me, instead choosing to let my muscles catch a break.

When I finally managed to pull myself together enough to return, alone, to the reception desk, I realized I was in deep shit. Every single set of eyes in the location turned to me, wide and horrified; apparently, the whole time I was with Kyley-B back there, my clients at the library were frozen in place listening to the whole thing. I tried to avoid my shame by looking elsewhere, but then my eyes rested on a decorative piece of mirrored glass at the wall; I could now see myself clearly. My hair was messed up beyond belief from all of Kyley-B’s pulling, my whole makeup was smudged - with special attention to the huge pink blur of lipstick around my very kiss-swollen lips -, my shirt was creased everywhere. Not to mention that now my underwear was hanging out in a New Jersey man’s pocket, leaving me totally commando. And I had a few more hours of my shift ahead of me.

It didn’t affect me as much as it should.

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩♡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

Surprisingly enough, I did not get fired from my job after that. My guess was they knew they couldn’t find anyone else who could put up with the extra work that had nothing to do with my appointed position, not for the money I was paid. So I got to stay.

What did happen was the influx of people at the library augmented significantly. This did not mean a proportional increase in the number of books checked out, however - it just meant way too many people were suddenly interested in Latin Literature, and my workplace became a lot noisier.

Dividers by @cafekitsune