#or start doing. immediately switch and abandon task

[acapelladitty]

gross misconduct

Summary - A loss of concentration results in you being caught by Leland Coyle and, in a moment of pure desperation, you make him an offer before he can take what he wants. (6.6k words)

(tw for: extremely dubious consent, electroplay, sadism, physical assault, forced oral (f!receiving), torture, pain, handjobs, clothed sex, forced orgasm, branding, threat)

Link to AO3 ☆ Fic Masterlist ☆ Kofi

You know you're fucked when your strained ears pick up the tell-tale crackle of Coyle's stun baton as it springs to life from the depths of the wide darkness which fill the space you had only recently crept through.

The shuttle had travelled you down to a faintly familiar police station, a building you had only visited a few times before with different groups, but today you had entered the shuttle alone due to Dr. Easterman's recent campaign to place a greater emphasis on reagents completing their tasks without assistance. 'A push to promote independence' is what the staff sold it as and the promise of extra reward was too tempting to ignore.

The generator which you had been so desperately trying to mend was quick to sputter and groan its broken state as you diligently sought out a canister of gas to fill it with before starting work on the breaker switches which covered both sides. The buttons on the left had been easy enough to correct but the ones on the right, which you were currently tinkering with, were giving you hell.

Hell enough that you didn't even hear the approach of the monster pursuing you until it was too late to really do anything about it.

Surprisingly, it's not electricity you feel frying your nerves as you make a panicked attempt to bolt to the safety of the nearby door but the heavy, sharp weight of the stun baton itself as Coyle swings it harshly across your upper shoulders, the force of the blow enough to send you reeling forwards as you scream in mixed pain and fear.

"Think you can touch my shit? We got fucking laws around here you stupid bitch."

Having avoided him so far, the accented syllables are terrifying as he barks them at you – his sudden presence filling the space and closing in around you like a snare. His words burn in your ears as your body connects with the floor, immediately stunning you as the breath flees your lungs and the side of your head bounces off the hard ground in such a way that stars explode across your vision while you wheeze pitifully.

Face pressing into the floor as you struggle with the disorientation, Coyle’s foot is quick to correct your positioning as it connects harshly with your side, pain flaring across your ribs as he flips you on to your back with a brutal kick. Howling at the sharp discomfort, your hands fly to your side as you apply pressure to the aching space and fight for breath. Knowing you're caught with no chance of escape, fight and flight seem to abandon you in favour of freeze, and your watery eyes gaze up at Coyle with unrestrained fear as his stocky frame remains illuminated by the faint light of the generator and the blue crackle of his stun baton.

The wires wrapping around his body give him an odd outline, all stemming from the thick battery which is held against his back to power the baton. He's in the same outfit as ever, the only one anyone has seen him in, with his cops clothing paired by a filthy white shirt and red tie poking free at his neck. His face is almost obscured by both the police cap which sits atop his skull and the dark aviator sunglasses that hide his eyes from sight.

One hand gripping his weapon while the other plucks the thin, glowing cigarette from his mouth, Coyle blows a wide plume of smoke into the air with a satisfied whistle as he brings his foot down on your stomach - pinning you in place with the thick tread of his boot.

"So what are you, huh? A commie whore? One of those do-gooders who flouts the law and thinks they won't get their teeth kicked in for it? You touch my shit, you fry like the rest of them!"

Working himself into a quick frenzy, his movements become more animated as he swings the baton around and fresh ash falls from the cigarette to land against your shorts. His boot presses harder, the pressure making you whine as dull pain radiates from your squashed gut. Coyle peers down, eyes still hidden behind the dark sunglasses which are perched on his nose, but you feel the weight of his gaze as he visibly takes his time in looking you up and down. He’s sizing up his catch and you feel every inch the prey animal you absolutely are.

The trial had already been a total pain in the ass as a wayward giant taking a swing with their jagged club had ripped the lower half of your shirt to shreds like a hot knife scoring through butter. Dried blood coated the exposed area, the club having gouged a thin chunk from your skin which was quickly stemmed by some of the very odd healing liquid which always littered the trials. On top of that, your frayed shorts were just as distressed, grime and wiped oil from the generator staining the light fabric which had already been through a lot.

The overall outfit was less modest than you would have liked, your legs and stomach now exposed with the sleeves of your shirt rolling up past your elbows, but it was all you had until you could earn the means to purchase replacements from the staff or barter with the other reagents.

Not quite ready to die, your panicked flailing and scrambling limbs are quickly frozen into place by the tip of Coyle's stun baton as he presses ithe sharp points into the uncovered flesh of your collarbone. Your heart vibrates in your chest, pure fear of the electric shock to come making your expression wide and eyes squeeze shut in anticipation.

Pain explodes from your chest, your body turning rigid as your scream is caught in your throat. It's like fire, spreading across your skin and tearing apart the muscles while you convulse. However, the raw intensity is over almost as quickly as it starts and your pain-filled pants roar in your ears as you struggle to recover from the assault.

Again and again, fresh points of pure agony spring to life as Coyle gleefully presses the baton to different areas of your skin, sometimes breaking the skin with the sharp edges and sometimes not. Collarbone, arms, stomach, legs, all victims to his weapon as your lungs begin to burn from the screaming that you simply cannot hold back.

"Hrm, fucking waste of a pretty little thing." Coyle comments after a moment of reprieve, using the prongs of the baton to push the opening of your shirt to the side and shamelessly steal a glance at your covered tits. "Almost a crime to have to kill you when my dicks hard and twitching like this."

"I'll fuck you if you let me go."

You surprise yourself with your own offer, the words falling from your lips in a single, desperate blurt – more of a sob than anything - as a hint of hope dares to flash across your thoughts. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Anything would be better than feeling your skin fry and heart explode because of that damned weapon of his.

"Easterman sending in whores for us to play with now? Didn't think the shitbird had it in him. You think I need you to bargain with me? I’m a fucking man of the law. I'll take what I want, when I want, from whatever junkie criminal fuck I want!" Coyle’s anger is obvious, baton alighting as he shocks the air just over your cringing, wide-eyed expression.

"But I'll do what you want." You counter quickly, wrapping a soft hand around the back of his ankle as his foot continues to press into your stomach. "I'll let you fuck me h-however you want, and do what you want. I won't fight it."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Coyle scoffs but his head tilts down at you as he tucks the baton away and continues to peer at you from behind his glasses. “Ain't no fun in a dead fuck. Trust me on that one, whore.”

A memory rises.

One of other reagents leaving the shuttle, fresh from their victory as three of them bounced off to visit the pharmacy and stock up on some items. But not the fourth. A thin woman, hair dark but greying at the temples, left the shuttle with no smile, no joy at whatever similar feedback had been received from her work. Her gaze was empty, despondent, and filled with something which had made your heart ache as she locked eyes with you. A weak smile from your lips had received nothing but a soft wave, one which showcased an obvious burn mark - one branded into her skin by an electric baton - as she shook herself off, stood tall, and limped off to follow her team.

The others whispered, told stories and rumours they had heard about the various prime assets. Gooseberry’s delusions, Franco’s insane perversions, and the similar tales about Coyle were often allowed to fade off into implication as very few were willing to pay lip service to the horrors which each of the monsters had been known to inflict on unfortunate reagents.

And he was a monster. A torturer. A sadist. A murderer. A rapist. A man who used every part of himself to inflict misery on his victims. And here you were, offering up your neck in the hope that he might not bite down as heavily if his prey let him put his mouth there willingly.

Coyle's silence is deafening as he considers his options but it only lasts for a few painful moments, each second making your heart feel like it is going to vibrate free of your chest, before he rolls his shoulders back into a more relaxed stance and hooks his fingers onto his belt.

"But I really ain't had one throw themselves at me like a whore before. Might be nice to relax and blow off some steam fucking something which ain't kicking out like a stubborn mule." Slipping his baton up behind his neck, Coyle blows another puff of smoke high above his head. "Ah, fuck it. Stand up, bitch, and get those hands on the fence so we can get to business."

Unsure you had heard him correctly and taking in a deep, relieved breath as his boot pulls free of your stomach - the sharp discomfort dissipating in an instant to a vague ache - you slowly roll to your front before pushing up onto your knees. Body tensed and expecting a fresh blow of his baton as you struggle to force yourself to your feet, your heart beats frantically as you wait for him to change his mind and cruelly knock you to your ass again.

"I said MOVE!" Unhappy with the wait, Coyle snatches the fabric at the back of your neck and hoists you to your feet - the shirt choking you for an instant as you gasp, sputter, and shakily turn to press your back and fingers into the chain link fence.

"Legs apart, inmate. I'll need to conduct a search and make sure you ain't hiding anything nasty to turn on me with. Try to run or do anything fucking dumb and I'll smack a hole in that pretty head and fuck that instead. Spread 'em."

His hands are rough and careless of your comfort as they slide across your shirt and grope at your tits, thighs, and any other skin which is peeking out from your torn outfit. Under the pretence of a search, you can do nothing but stand there and hold on to the fence like it were a lifeline as humiliation and fear build across your chest.

The search goes on for a full minute, only ending when Coyle slips his hand between your legs and cups roughly at your cunt through the shorts. You keep your legs spread, afraid of what he'll do if you move them, even slightly.

"Hard to get a feel for any contraband when you're so decent." He grumbles before barking out a new order. "Now, strip."

Knowing it was inevitable, you try to stop the shaking of your hands as you slowly drop your fingers to your shorts and slip them free of your ass. Your skin feels like it's burning as you slowly expose more of yourself, lower half now only covered by the thin fabric of your panties.

Shorts in a messy pile on the floor, you move quickly to have your shirt follow but Coyle knocks your hand away as you finish unbuttoning it. His hands are warm and textured as he delves into your bra and pulls your tits free, letting them hang atop the fabric of your bra in the cool air. Satisfied, he grunts at the view before rocking back on his heel and taking a deep inhale of his cigarette as his other hand continues to explore your skin.

This position, with your face just below his own as you stand frozen in place and boxed in by his wider frame, gives you a much closer look at Coyle as you try to focus on anything which wasn't the scarred hands gripping at your flesh hard enough that you knew bruises will soon form.

In another life, he could have been handsome enough as he really did have a cops face. Lined and serious, it was a face which held authority as easily as it could charm, but there was a bestial cruelty in his features. Predatory, sadistic righteousness shone from his gaze and any possible attraction which his features could have generated was quickly stripped away and replaced with cold dread as that righteousness spelled real danger for anyone who stood in his way.

His full beard looks rough and a little unkempt, the dark hair flecked with more than its fair share of grey. The scarring and burns on his face aren't too terrible, not as bad as some of the other monsters you had seen lurking around the trials. The skin bubbled and scarred, the right hand side of his face is a pitted mess which makes you think of pictures of men who had suffered in wars and accidents with similar patches of torn, angry skin.

On a good day, you could squint and pretend that Coyle was just any other guy. A guy you'd made the bad decision to pick up in a bar with a few scars across his face from a work job gone wrong.

But he wasn't that, and all the playing pretend in the world couldn't hide the fact that you'd agreed to fuck this monster in exchange for a vague agreement that he'd let you live. Luckily though, his hat and the shadows which it cast are enough to hide most of his predatory leering and you are thankful for that at least.

Obviously growing bored with his search, Coyle takes a big step forward and smirks as you press your back harder into the chain link fence to keep what little space you had to offer. His hand rises to settle in your hair, pulling your head tight against the fence with a vicious snap of his wrist as his body lays flush against your own. The burn in your scalp is wicked, pain making your mouth tremble as you stand to your tiptoes - desperate to alleviate the strain as your skull throbs.

"You do this for the other assets too? Hmm? Spread your legs for that dickless Italian freak? Let the fat bitch with the mouthy puppet take a ride on you with that drill of hers?"

You can't hide the grimace which stretches your lips thin as you think of the other monsters which haunted the various trials. They were just as horrific, but at least with him you could try to pretend.

"No. I haven’t- well, since-it's been…fuck -"

"Fucking spit it out." Coyle rolls his eyes, his hand tightening in your hair as the stun baton crackled threateningly. "Don't got all fucking day."

"I haven't fucked anyone since I've been stuck in here."

"Lying bitch." Coyle snaps. "That's all you junkies and sluts do back in those cells they keep you in. Ain't nothing to do but sleep, smoke, and fuck anything with a pulse."

"Well, I fucking haven't."

He ignores the snapped denial, once again switching his focus back to your body as a smirk at your outburst curls his mouth. The tip of the stun baton drops to threaten your lower stomach, placed tactfully to prevent any thought of escape, and the crackle of the electric sparks are like small needles of heat as they glance off your skin.

"Mmm, I like a bit of fire. A bit of meat. Really gives me something to work and hold onto while I tear you a new one." His eyes rove across your trembling chest, leering openly as his tongue licks at his cracked lips.

Overcome by a sudden wave of self-conscious fear, the onslaught of it making your throat constrict, you can't stop your hand moving and it quickly shifts to cover your chest - elbow tucking tight against your side to cover as much skin as possible.

You realise your mistake instantly.

Coyle's face twists into uncontrolled rage and a huff of air is the only warning you get before a sharp pain spears through your cheek as the back of his hand glances off your face, quick as a whippet.

"It's by the good grace of the lord that you're not a smoking pile of dead fuck on the floor, waiting to be scraped up by the assholes who run this place." Coyle snarls, his hand snapping around your own and gripping with enough strength to make you whine pathetically as he drags it away from his sight. "Don't make me sorry for being so kind cause I’ll use this stick to fry your holes and then just fuck what's left."

Frozen in place by the very real threat, your head moves of its own accord as you nod and agree with his words without conscious thought; your lips spewing a stream of incomprehensible apologies as you dig your nails into your outer thighs to force them to remain still. Your cheek burns, his backhand slap really showcasing his strength as the area continues to ache even as you nod.

"But you're clean," Coyle continues his tone almost begrudging, "so I think I'll forgive that little slip up. The badge makes people nervous sometimes."

"Thanks." You breath out, not quite sure what for and even less sure that you meant it.

Coyle grins at the apology as his hand drops to his belt once more. Beside his hand, the line of cigarettes holstered within the belt would be comical in any other situation but humour was the furthest thing from your mind as you stare hopelessly at the collar of his stained shirt.

"Now take my cock out and show me why you're so desperate for it."

Biting the back of your tongue as you attempt to steady your breathing and follow through on your earlier offer, you lean forward enough to reach his fly and release his cock. Despite it all, all the terrifying strength and the monstrous sadism, his cock is surprisingly normal as you pull it free. About average length, it wasn't the biggest cock you'd ever seen, but it was certainly the thickest and the slight flare of his cock head appeared a much darker shade than his shaft - the scarce light making any other details too difficult to see.

"What? You holding it so I can take a piss? You forget how to treat an officer of the law? Cause I got a firm hand to help you remember."

Startled by his words, you quickly shake your head and start to slowly pump your hand along his cock. He's already half hard from terrorising you and his dick twitches into your palm, your grip soft and too afraid to squeeze tightly in case it angered him in some way. You stroke along the length, feeling every inch of the velvety skin against your own as it hangs heavy and hot against your palm. But it's dry, too dry to really let you build up any momentum, and your fingers feel uncomfortable against the raw skin.

Releasing him, you see the outrage flair in his face for only a blink until he watches you spit into your hand - the noise vulgar and nasty against the gentle whirr of the generator - and then his lips split into another wide grin as you instantly return to the task at hand. The spit gives some lubrication, allowing your hand to slide more easily along his length as your fingers rub along the sensitive ridge where the shaft meets cockhead. It gains you a low grunt of approval, Coyle's breath visibly sharpening at the extra stimulation and he raises a hand to the chain link fence as he leans in even closer to your trapped positioning.

"You're a talented whore. I like the extra effort," Coyle growls into your ear, "and, hell, I'll even let you choose which hole I fuck cause I like it so much."

Having not even considered that he might demand to fuck your ass or throat, your hand stutters on his cock as fear cleaves at your chest. But you cover it quickly, resuming jerking his now fully hard cock as you struggle to clear your throat of your anxieties and answer him.

"Please, sir, fuck my-"

"Yeah, yeah." Coyle breathes, cutting you off in an instant as he pulls his cock free of your grip with one fluid jerk of his hips and replaces it with his own hand. "I ain't fucking stupid. I know what you want. But let's see if all my being nice is gonna be worth what I'm getting-" Coyle trails off, his other hand gliding past your lower stomach and within the waistband of your panties to weave through the trimmed hair of your cunt - the sensation making him quirk a brow as his teeth visibly clamp around the cigarette between them.

His fingers push past your slit, pressing up against your hole roughly, and you whimper at the stiff intrusion. He's too rough, too fast, and you aren't prepared at all to accept him as he struggles to slide his fingers in any further.

A fact which he notices in an instant.

"I thought you'd be soaked, honey. Ol' Coyle not firing up your juices? Or maybe you just need some help."

"Help?" You stutter out, eyeing the stun baton with open fear as your gaze flicks between it and his leering gaze.

"You think a respectable law bringer like me needs the lightning to keep you in line? Nah, we're gonna have a hell of a time. Just some old-fashioned perversion between a good man and the whore who wants him."

Coyle finishes his little mocking speech by dropping to one knee before you, the sudden shift making you jerk in position and gasp, and his hands are hard against your thighs as he roughly spreads your inner thighs before tearing your panties down. The fabric falls to your knees without protest and your fingers once again lock against the chain link fence which presses into your back.

Unable to do anything, you bite at your lip to save the pathetic noises which threaten to slip free as you feel the heat of Coyle's breath against your cunt. But before you can really dwell too much on what is happening, a scream snaps free of your throat as his blunted teeth sink themselves into the swell of your left inner thigh. The bite is hard, the skin roaring its distress in a dull, lasting ache until Coyle pulls away and refocuses his attention on his main prize.

Coyle's beard is rough and the sensation of it dragging along your cunt is not as unpleasant as it could have been. But any good feeling is cut short in an instant by how insistent and sloppy he is in his immediate fervour. His tongue is messy, forcing itself along your slit before delving into your hole without any focus or thought. This wasn't about bringing pleasure, not real pleasure anyway, it was about control and him forcing you to endure it. Knowing that you had to let him do as he wished.

Having his mouth devouring such an intimate location, one which very few of your previous partners had ever really been allowed, feels somehow worse than anything else he'd already subjected you to - despite the very slight twinge of arousal which traitorously licks up your spine when his nose greedily bumps against your clit as he presses himself tightly against your groin.

It's invasive and humiliating, his tongue leaving no part of you neglected as he uses his mouth to slicken you up and take what he wants. His facial hair burns as it grinds into your most sensitive skin, the friction adding a cruel stimulation that forces your hole to clench around nothing and arousal to continue to steadily grow within your gut.

"Mm, for a condemned whore you sure do taste good. Even better than my second wife. Put out a lot easier too…"

Second wife?

He had been married? More than once? In light of that revelation, you choose to ignore the insult which Coyle had also tacked onto the end of his comments as he pulls away from you and quickly rises to his feet once more. Relief floods you, sweeping across your skin as he quits his assault on your sex, but with it comes renewed anxiety as you know he’s going to want his promised fuck.

"No thanks?" Coyle spits out after a second of staring at you, his fingers striking forward to grip your chin so tightly that you're afraid he's going to rip the skin. "A man gets down on one knee and you don't even show him the proper respect? Didn't peg you for an ungrateful bitch- maybe I should have just fucked you high and dry?"

"Sorry, sir. Thank you." Grovelling the words out in a muttered rush due to the pressure Coyle is keeping on your jaw, you can't help the widening of your eyes as pain-filled tears blur your vision.

"Finally, a little fucking respect around here." Coyle says, the crackle of his baton flashing just to the left of your head as you flinch away in terror. He ignores the flinch and instead mutters a hissing warning as he trails the business end of the baton across your skin, carving a line past your tits and down to your thighs. Running the side of the baton along your slit, he pushes the cold metal up hard into your sex.

"Now, let's see how those cunt juices are firing off."

You grunt as he taps the baton against your slit, every heavy thud more pain than pleasure as it strikes the slightly exposed skin of your clit - the sensation making your knees jerk with every direct hit. It's too much and you bite your lip to keep the noises in your throat clamped up and unable to escape.

Coyle, his face only a few inches away from your own and only just illuminated by the glow of his cigarette, tilts his head as he finally drops your jaw from his inhumane grip.

"I fuck like a man, honey. So, yeah, I see you exercising your right to remain silent but it's just gonna make me want to hurt you more. I want to hear the little canary sing."

He punctuates his final words by grinding the baton into your cunt. Ensuring that the cool metal is wettened by his own saliva and your arousal, he holds the baton there until your whimpers and discomfort have satisfied his sadistic whims before snatching it away and bringing it to your mouth instead.

"Clean it off, bitch."

Humiliated, you press your tongue to the metal as fear that he will press the button and deliver a truly evil shock makes your entire body tremble. Immediately filling your senses, the taste of your own arousal - made acrid by the addition of Coyle's tobacco-stained spit - makes your nose wrinkle but you obediently follow his instructions. Too afraid to put a foot out of line, you work your tongue along the part presented to you until the baton is clean and glistening slightly in the limited light.

Satisfied by your work, Coyle moves so quickly into action that you can't prevent the short yelp of surprise you unleash as he sheaths his baton back in his belt and picks you up by the waist. Airborne for only a blink, you grunt in pain as he slams your back into the nearby generator. Using the crank screen as a makeshift ledge, he balances your ass on it with little effort as his stocky body pins you into place - his rock hard cock pressing insistently at your sex as he grinds himself into your mound.

"Now that I've been all gentlemanly and warmed you up, time to bury this bone and see if it was really worth all the being nice for."

In a single sharp and punishing thrust, he adjusts himself with his hand and sheathes himself inside you so roughly that you feel your back scrape against the generator. Your cry of discomfort, of the stretch and utter sting at his brutal intrusion, only nets you a tilted smirk as Coyle pauses long enough to drink in your distressed appearance. Your nails dig in to the leather of his jacket, the material too thick to allow him any sensation from it but you can feel that he's loving how tight your walls are squeezing him as he holds his cock still.

"Fucking hell, honey. Goddamn tighter than some of those mannequins around here. Or maybe you ain't fucked a real man before. Probably only been with them nancy boys that wouldn’t know what to do with their dick even if it told them."

Unable to catch your breath enough to reply, all you can offer is a discomforting whimper as you pull your legs up and around his waist in a vain attempt to alleviate some of the pressure on your lower half.

He seems fine with it though, and Coyle quickly drops his head to your exposed chest - tits still hanging over your bra as your shirt flutters uselessly around your sides. Pulling you towards him, his mouth makes itself known on your collarbone as his tongue draws a sloppy line across the burn marks which he had delivered earlier with his stun baton - almost as though he's trying to taste the residual electricity as it thrums within your veins. He quick to bite too, his teeth clamping down on whatever skin he can find purchase on as he sucks livid marks into your chest.

Never one to have shied away from a little bit of roughhousing with your pleasure, a sweeping cloud of shame fogs up your mind as you can't help but enjoy the harsh ministrations - every brush of his beard leaving a tickling heat behind which lasts for a few moments. Coyle, his cock rocking slowly back and forth while he adjusts you as he sees fit, is quick to pick up on the attitude shift, a shit-earing grin slipping across his lips as he raises his head from your skin.

"Huh, I think you actually enjoy me pulling on these pigtails of yours. You like it when I hurt you, yeah?" Releasing one of his hands from your waist, he pinches your nipple between textured fingers and the sharp pain makes your back arch and cunt clamp around his cock. "Hrm, I like that a whole lot. Pity I ain't the marrying type these days…" He trails off, mostly to himself, returning his hand to ensuring you were tightly pinned into place and unable to escape him.

Thrusting harshly with every comment, you try to focus on the pleasure which builds as the dull ache of his intrusion begins to fade. His cock is thick, so as much as it stretches you out, it's also brushing your nerves with every rock of his hips - sending thrills of arousal across your gut and shifting your groin as you seek out more and more.

His mouth now shifts its attention to your left tit, mouth greedily sucking your nipple between his lips as the bluntness of his teeth press at the sensitive bud. Moaning, you can't help but slip your hand up from its death grip on his jacket until your fingers find purchase against the back of his neck. It's the first physical contact you've initiated and the heat of his skin on your palm shocks you back into the reality of your situation and what you were allowing to happen.

Arousal, shame, disgust, heat, and something too self-loathing to really pin down pulses through your veins as you admit that, despite it all, you were finding pleasure in this monster. Just another fucked-up fact to add to the other horrors which haunted your broken nights back in the facility. Unable to really fall lower as a sudden shift of despair hollows your gut, you push it deep inside to focus on finishing securing your freedom.

Ignorant to your internal hell as he continues to rut into your body like a beast, Coyle's mouth never stops in its movements. From harsh bites to wild grunts and muttered insults which are lost due to their volume, he's vocal in a way which fills the small space - his only competition being your whimpers and the hum of the generator you are pinned to. Giving a particularly harsh thrust, you can feel the tickle of his dark pubic hair pressing against your groin through the hole of his fly and you stutter out something incomprehensible - the words between a plea and a groan - but he ignores it in favour of lowering his hand to fumble messily at the baton on his belt.

"Ready to ride the lightning, darlin'"?

Shaking your head frantically as you watch him turn the intensity of the baton to full, Coyle places the prongs perfectly at the juncture where his groin connects with your own, ensuring that the shock will connect fully with you both when he presses the button. Fear floods you. His previous shocks had apparently been held a lower setting and the thought of a full-scale taste of the voltage terrifies in a way you never could have anticipated.

"Fuck! No, please- don’t! I'm doing everything you want! Please-" is all you manage to squeal out before pain explodes across your frame.

Your muscles spasm, growing rigid in an instant as your eyes roll back into your skull and heat, like hellfire in a fucked-up handbasket, radiates across your groin to spread across your flesh. It's so intense that you can't even scream, throat and mouth locking into an open position that only allows for a desperate pull of strained oxygen as your brain whites out.

Through it all, heat of another kind makes itself known and you feel Coyle’s orgasm as it burns hot within your cunt, his gasping growls of pleasure rolling across your ears as his higher tolerance for pain allows him to continue his punishing assault on your cunt even as your body twitches and spasms around him.

Despite everything, despite the pain and the abuse you'd endured at his hands since being caught, you cannot prevent the inevitable and your groan as you come is deep and guttural - walls squeezing even more harshly around Coyle's pulsing cock as your desperate body attempts to claw as much pleasure from the pain as it can.

Limbs trembling and twitching from the exhaustion of the electricity, you pretty much can't help but go limp in Coyle's arms as your orgasm ebbs away and you're left with nothing but the residual aches and discomforts of his attention as your feet drop back to the floor. He pulls himself free in a smooth motion, his wilting cock a mess as he tucks it away quickly and steps back from your position.

Your legs feel unsteady as hell and you are thankful for the pressure of the generator as you lean on it heavily for support. Aching, exposed, and grimacing at the feel of his release as it drips free of your abused hole, all you want is a shower and you want it so badly that you could almost feel the desperate tears which threatened to well up in the corner of your eyes.

"Just one more job left to do." Coyle announces, his voice giddy yet almost slurred by his own satiated arousal as he fixed his hat. And without warning he plucks the shortened cigarette from his lips and grinds the stub of it out on the exposed skin of your right inner thigh.

Pain, sharp as a knife and searing in its intensity, flares in the burned skin as a scream pulls itself free of your throat - pain and shock making you writhe in place as he holds you there with a firm hard pressing into your leg until the skin is well and truly branded by the cigarette.

"What the fuck?" You sob out, a tear rolling down your cheek while your fingers drop to gently brush over the abused skin as Coyle releases you and tilts his head to admire his handiwork.

"Hell, just something to remember me by. A little gift to show you what that kinda whoring and public indecency gets you around here. Plus, it lets me keep a tally, one for each time you enjoy a visit with your favourite officer of the law."

Body bending to snatch up your abandoned panties, the simple gesture makes your nerves scream their discomfort and you whimper as you pull the scant fabric back on before quickly sliding your tits back within the bra and fixing the rest of your scant outfit.

Coyle watches with vague interest, his hand cupping his clothed cock as he stands back and hooks his other hand in his belt. "Next time you're gonna be on those knees and I'm gonna fuck that throat bloody. So, make sure you ain't staying away for too long cause ol' Coyle has needs too y'know. I’ll be watching out for you, honey."

Laughing at his own comments as you cringe at the scornful pet name, Coyle's gaze falls on an abandoned brick which lays not too far from his foot. Kicking it towards you with a swipe of his leg, Coyle turns on his heel and disappears back into the darkness - his sadistic needs satiated and not a single fuck given about you or your journey back to the shuttle. As he disappears, you can hear him whistling some tune as it grows fainted and fainter with each passing moment.

Shattered, fucked, abused, and absolutely bone weary, the strength which powers you allows you to hold it together for now as you force your broken body into motion. Limping off to find a barrel to hide in while you await the shuttle picking you up, it's impossible to ignore the smell of burned skin which seems imprinted in your senses.

I'll fuck you if you let me go.

At least your plan had worked and you could live to fight another day.

That had to be worth something.

Right?

[shrimpybbq]

II the club incident II

between the lines

Drew leant up against the wall, one hand residing in his pocket while the other brought a lit prop cigarette to his lips. He had spent the day filming a scene for Between the Lines and after the numerous takes, he was debating the repercussions of switching out his prop cigarette for one of his own real ones. The scene was complex but it should've been manageable, and perhaps if Clara was played by anyone else then it would be, but with his costar being obx actress!reader, nothing could ever be so simple.

She stood up on a makeshift stage dressed in what could barely be called an outfit - a tiny, sheer pair of underwear and a matching sheer bra. A pair of high heels sat abandoned nearby. Drew watched as she timidly twirled around the pole centred in the middle of the stage, her back turning to rest against it as she wiggled down to a squat before standing up again. Drew really wished he could be more professional watching her practically naked in front of him, but he couldn't deny the way his heart beat a little faster at the sight of her body. They were supposed to film a sex scene later in the week too, and here he was losing it already.

"Turn around again for me, baby! Show me that sweet ass," a sleazy client yelled to Clara, voice booming over the loud club music playing in the background. Clara whipped her head towards the man in shock before begrudgingly complying with his demand. She knew José would punish her if she dared to disobey him, thus pushing her ass in the mans direction. As she returned to face the men, her eyes flickered across the crowd. It was then that she saw Alex's imposing figure resting against the wall, his frame visibly tense as he took a long drag from his cigarette. His eyes met hers, holding her gaze for a prolonged moment before making a visible display of trailing his eyes down her body.

Clara couldn't hide the flush that brightened her cheeks, even more so than they already were. Averting her attention back to the men in front of her, she began to twirl once more. Another of the girls from the ring had been at the club longer than she had, and had shown her some basic moves. Nothing fancy, but she guided her on how to grab the attention of the men in just the right way that meant their pockets would be a little lighter as they left. She didn't have to do much it seemed however - she had been a crowd favourite ever since she first was forced to dance at the club. José liked to start the girls off dancing to figure out how profitable they would be with the men. Clara struggled to hide the screwed up expression that crossed her face as one of the men gestured for her to come down to the floor, wanting her to give him a lap dance.

She knew she had to comply, and so she slowly made her way down the stairs and less than gracefully climbed into the man's lap. He was repulsive in every sense of the word, with what was left of his balding hair greasily scraped back, and his hands immediately wandering to grope at her ass. As she tried to disassociate, Clara couldn't help but return her gaze back to Alex. If he looked tense before, she didn't even know how to describe his aura now. His energy was dark, and she wouldn't be surprised if this was how he looked before carrying out all of José's dirty tasks. He wasn't looking at her now however, instead talking to one of the other lackeys he hung around. Her attention was firmly drawn back to the man underneath her at the piercing sensation of a hand connecting with her cheek. Clara gasped, immediately clutching her reddening cheek as she stared at the man in shock.

"You don't want to look at me, huh? What? You don't like me?" The man questioned aggressively, his hand reaching to sharply tug in her hair. Her head was pulled back at a painful angle and she cried out in pain, attracting the attention of the room. The men sitting nearby began to mumble warnings, aware of the dangers of messing with the boss's favourite girl. They'd seen the crumpled-in face of the last guy that had tried something similar. "C'mon, a whore like you should like a little pain," the man spat out, not heeding the warnings.

The room watched frozen as the man slapped her face once more, knowing what was coming. Pounding footsteps echoed across the floor as Alex stalked towards the commotion, his fellow lackey trailing behind him. Before anyone could react, Clara's hair was freed and a loud snap echoed around the room. A scream followed as the man comprehended what had happened, his now broken wrist being held tightly by Alex and the girl on his lap far away.

"Hey man….," Alex drawled, "You think you can touch her like that?"

"What the fuck! Get your hands off me," the balding man cried, making a feeble attempt at prying his arm away from the vice grip.

"Nah man, I don't think I will… You see, I have a job. And that job is to make sure the girls in this club aren't black and blue by the time they go home, and what you've just done is ruin any chance of that happening for me," Alex chided, leaning in closer until his face was all that the man could see, "And so, you're gonna have to pay for that."

As Alex squeezed tighter, the room wincing at the shriek of pain leaving the man's mouth. Clara stood by the other lackey - Harry? Harris? She didn't quite recall, but she appreciated that he had offered her a quiet "You ok?". She watched on as Alex dragged the man up, his tall frame towering over him. A quick nod to his fellow lackey and suddenly she was being exchanged with the sleazebag, now in the arms of Alex while Harris began to head towards the stage with the man, ready to put on a show of his own. Her shoulders were quickly covered by a heavy, warm leather jacket as she was led outside to the car, her now-covered arms wrapping around her body in an effort to comfort herself.

Alex stopped outside the car and looked down, taking in the purple bruise forming against the reddened skin of Clara's cheek. Hesitantly, his fingers reached out to inspect the bruise, brushing softly over her chin as he turned her face towards the light. "Shit, man," he grumbled, "He really did a number of you." Alex was worried, like really worried. He had to play the tough guy, but his natural desire to protect was always straining to come to the surface. And there was just something about Clara that made him want to protect her all the time. It was going to get him in big trouble soon enough - he knew that at least. "Let's get you back. I know that shit fuckin' hurt."

Clara froze, realising this was the first time he'd spoken to her in days. Usually he was so stone cold and silent, only communicating through hardened eyes, but now here he was, showing concern. As he began to round the car, she spoke, stopping him.

"Thank you…" she called out. Alex looked at her, nodding to himself.

"If you ever need help again, you call for me, m'kay?"

"Cut!"

Drew and obx actress!reader paused, the intense and emotionally-charged scene coming to an end. The scene was long, and re-filming it multiple times had gotten to Drew. He didn't like seeing obx actress!reader being treated like that, no matter whether it was real or not. Not to mention the sexual frustration was still lingering as her scantily clad body remained close to his.

"That was great guys! I think we're done with that one for the day. Excellent work!"

Both actors sighed, relieved that they could finally relax and retire for the day. Drew came over to obx actress!reader and wrapped his arms around her tightly, enveloping her in one of his signature bear hugs.

"You good?" he asked. He hummed as he felt her nod against his chest, "Good. You want a robe or something?"

She shook her head at that, her voice muffled, "I want to get changed and go home, to be honest. Movie night or something."

"Yeah? Movie night? Let's do it, baby."

With that decision, Drew and obx actress!reader headed back to their trailers, getting ready to return to Drew's apartment and relax, knowing that they would end up cuddled against each other and most likely, falling asleep on the couch. When obx actress!reader posted an instagram story of the pair, she could only giggle at the flood of comments and reactions that came in.

user1: "I want what they have"

user2: "If someone doesn't treat me the way drew treats y/n, i'm going to scream"

user 3: "drew needs to wife y/n up bc she is looking too damn fine these days"

user 4: "drew and y/n's new show is going to be the death of us - just look at them!"

I've decided, based on recent developments, that Harris Dickinson is playing the other lackey. That's all. They're both hot. I make the rules.

Taglist: @rafegf-real @futuremrscameron @writtenbyhollywood @elyseesarchive @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @willowpains @mazingmarissa23 @yuckblushin @harrys-housewife @harvestmount @ggyuslovie @baekhyunangst @soberbabes @harryfanic1-blog @percysley @criesinliess @snoopydoobee

[captain-joongz]

so I'm thinking too much about it and I really want to share with someone

so if you feel comfortable, can u write idol soobin x staff gf having a moment alone (🔞) just before he goes on stage??

I have to admit i think about it too much

hello darling, of course i can! i'm so sorry for the delay, but i'm finally here to answer you <3 i hope you weren't too disappointed not seeing your ask here for such a long time, i owe you one my darling ;))

one Soobin x staff!girlfriend coming right up!

warnings: sex in a public place, oral (f. rec.), dating in a workplace

when you managed to get a job as part of the TXT manager team, you definitely didn't expect anything to come out of it except for friendly coworking relationship. you'd heard the boys were nice to their staff and fun to be around, and you were excited to start your career and get to know your clients

what you couldn't have foreseen was how you immediately just clicked with Soobin. at first you were friendly, than your relationship quickly shifted into teasing and playful flirting until one night the man came to you after a show and admitted to having real feelings for you

you were understandably hesistant at first - you were worried about it being unprofessional, about causing problems for the young idol and his group and also about having to sneak around. Soobin understood and gave you space, but you ended up caving after two weeks of painful silent stares and tension that wasn't lost on anybody

and you never regretted that decision - Soobin was sweet, he could be playful but he was loving, as the leader of the group he knew how to effortlessly switch between more youthful approach and sincere maturity when the situation asked for it, and he made you so so happy. and that was hard to hide

you did try to keep your relationship secret at the beginning, but how much could you two fools in love really keep from others - it was obvious to everybody around you two that you got together, but for the sake of the working space they said nothing - as long as you two kept it to time off and your relationship didn't get in the way of boys' activities, you were cool

the boys teased you two mercilessly, especially Yeonjun and Beomgyu just wouldn't shut up, something deteriorating all the way back to elementary humour with making kissy noises and faces around you two, but you always just laughed and let Soobin deal with it (read - start beating them up until they ran away in fits of giggles)

it was like a big unspoken open secret - everybody knew but nobody said anything out of fear it would get you into trouble

but you two were quite enough on your own to get yourselves into trouble. being around Soobin so much, seeing him before and after performances, helping him get ready and watching him return drenched in sweat with a glow of post-performance adrenaline... well let's say it was way harder to focus on doing your job (which was catering to the boys' needs anyway, so what if he needed to bend you over something, technically that counted as doing your job, right?)

remember what i said about everybody being okay with you two dating as long as it didn't get in the way? yeah that didn't last long, especially when Soobin looked soo pretty when he was getting all done up and he teased you mercilessly knowing you found him attractive like that, and the rush as he returned back-stage after resulted in several instances of you being pulled into empty changing rooms or having to smack away his needy wandering hands while he attempted to steal you from an actual task you had to finish

you two were quickly becoming hopeless and once Soobin actually managed to make you cum while hidden away like that between the wardrobe changes, it was game over for you - nothing would stop him now

and that's how you found yourself in the mess you were in that day - bent over a vanity table in an abandoned changing room, skirt pulled up and tights with panties pulled down, Soobin's face buried in your cunt makeup and all

not that you cared about that when he ate you out like a man starved, tongue pushed as deep into your cunt as it could go and moaning like he was losing his mind with the taste of you.

you knew something was about to go that the moment Soobin stepped out of the changing rooms and immediately booked it to you, the excitement of the big performance getting to him and his blood pumping wildly, discreetly pulling you away from your mindless task of organising table arrangements. you had a feeling others noticed, but thankfully no one commented on it, only grinned to each other and let you two go.

the makeup unnies were going to kill you though, there's no way his face was salvagable now that it was covered in your slick, mascara melting with sweat and tears of pleasure and lipstick smudged all around his mouth and your thighs

Soobin loved nothing more than to bury his face in your cunt, especially here at work where it became a point of pride with how fast he had you falling apart on his tongue, pushing himself to make you cum faster and harder everytime he managed to pull you away from the group

"y-you only have like two m-minutes left" you'd choke out in an attempt to remind him of his responsibilities, but it was all futile when he got his mouth on you - he heard nothing, saw nothing, only you and your pleasure

he'd hum in response, nothing more, and redouble his efforts, loudly sucking on your clit and slurping your juices, mouth alternating between that and fucking you with his tongue until you were a stuttering mess and clenching on the wet appendage, driving the man crazy

and once again he'd prove that two minutes were more than enough, when your orgasm broke over you and hit you like a fucking boulder, knees buckling under your weight while Soobin hungrily licked up your cum until you were whimpering in overstimulation, but you'd never push him away and he knew that

"fuck" he'd say elequently, breathless and turned on and you'd laugh at the desperate look on his face

"you can't go on stage like that" and he truly couldn't, not with pants tenting around his erection, the little wet spot where his precum soaked through masked by the dark colour of the fabric, face wet and slick with your lust and eyes crazed with arousal, pupils blown until he looked drugged on pussy

but he'd just smirk at you, wink and get on the way, immediately getting scolded by the makeup team the second he stepped out of the room. and you'd burn under their amused but scolding gazes for the rest of the afternoon while your boyfriend pushed all that unused energy towards a powerful performance, at least until he could leave and fuck you over the first flat surface he found

divider by @cafekitsune

[ultragift]

FROM: @v1U TOO: @ssstrawberryflowers

Watching A Movie Together By V1U (Happy Holidays!)

“Is this truly necessary to enjoy the holidays, Machine?”

the golden angel had asked, observing with intense curiosity the way this object, no, this being arranged the dilapidated insides of the abandoned house the two of them had wandered into something a little more palpable.

The living room, in particular, had been organized with random decorations the machine had found strewn about in the house’s attic, tinsel tossed carefully across the furniture and fake snow puffs thrown about. Once finished, V1 sat down in front of a couch that faced a large television, patting the space next to them.

“Alright, you got me.”

Gabriel sat down close, with the machine almost immediately making themself comfortable on the angel’s lap, grabbing a hold of the remote and turning the television on. Before changing the output it was on, the TV blasted static and dead air, a brief interruption that reminded the angel that the both of them were in a now abandoned world.

It didn’t bother V1 much as they changed the output quickly and switched to the main menu screen of a movie named “Home Alone”.

The movie consisted of a mischievous blond boy who was stuck at home during the holidays, having to defend himself from burglars with various well thought out traps that caused the thieves to retreat, before his family returns and reunites with the boy as they enjoy the rest of their Christmas together.

Gabriel didn’t know why they were doing this.

Almost a few months ago, he recalled the brutal bloodied fighting and the machine’s cold hands strangling his neck, and now, their fingers were intertwined as the machine rested their head on his shoulder, watching the particularly grainy film.

Part of him still resented how he had fallen from Heaven for this creature, how easy he caved to sin and how he felt warm and complex feelings in the arm of this machine. When the movie played out fully, Gabriel slowly realized the entire point.

The machine wanted to grant Gabriel the gift of celebrating a normal holiday, for once. Instead of being plagued with war, tasks by God, and smiting, he deserved a break full of gentleness and care.

He hadn’t realized the machine was capable of such actions until they would start laughing (shaking their shoulders in silence, more like) at the beats of the burglars getting hurt by the traps.

“V1,” Gabriel whispered.

V1 paused the movie, and whirred their head to look at him, tilting their head in confusion. Was he not enjoying the movie?

Gabriel shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I just...”

The angel found it hard not to tear up, as he slowed his breaths and pulled V1 into an embrace, rubbing his helmet against V1’s head.

“...Thank you for doing this for me. I had no idea why in the beginning, I thought it was a waste of time, to enjoy human activities for the sake of simply enjoying them. But, being in this decorated environment with you so close to me, as we watch this movie...I realized you wanted to give me my first Christmas.”

V1 took their hand away from Gabriel’s grasp for a moment to clap for a few seconds. Yes! He figured it out! With a happy beep, the machine wrapped their arms around his shoulders and hugged him a second time.

“Well, it has been a perfect one...Despite not having any frame of reference except this movie, and I can say with the utmost confidence that I am having a much better time than this ‘Kevin’ child was.” Gabriel chuckled.

The machine shook their shoulders in laughter at that, nodding and resuming the movie.

Gabriel couldn’t contain his tears at seeing the mother overjoyed with relief at her son being safe and the endeavor ending with a lovely display of the rest of Kevin’s family following and abandoning their fancy vacation in favor of being with Kevin and his mother.

V1 patted his back in comfort as Gabriel had to fetch a tissue and wipe the stray tears that left his helmet. He felt a little embarrassed at how badly this movie got to him since most things didn’t.

They couldn’t really explain why they were doing this for Gabriel, other than the angel had also changed the machine to think of life as more than just surviving off of blood.

Ever since Gabriel agreed to basically be their personal blood bag, their life got easier and they had to learn to indulge in other pleasures other than combat and fueling up, which lead to an interest in enjoying human activities, such as watching movies and relaxing.

So, when December rolled around in the calendar, V1 got the idea to celebrate it with Gabriel! It wasn’t particularly easy, having to scour around various cities for a still-working television with a CD player and a copy of the movie that was still intact, but they had to learn how to use the TV in the first place!

They believed it was all worth it, though, when Gabriel had tears streaming down his helmet as he slowly learned the meaning of Christmas was to spend it with those you loved. It was something that took V1 a long time to learn, and even understand, but once they did...They knew it was something they had to share with him.

Did he like the movie? Gabriel nodded as he sat back against the couch, a deep sigh escaping his lips. “Yes. I did. I really, really did. Thank you, V1.” You’re very welcome.

The machine rested their head yet again on Gabriel’s shoulder as they draped a nearby blanket over them both and closed their optic. Maybe the two should end the night with a well-deserved rest?

“Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea...” And so they did.

[epicspheal]

Paldean Winds Episode 1: Breathe Out

Alright I know this is late (like one day before the next episode airs late), but I really did enjoy the first episode of the Paldean Winds mini-series

I really liked how the episode started off primarily with us viewing Mesagoza through the viewpoint of a tiny Gimmighoul as it searches for a coin that gets snatched by a Corviknight (that promptly gets chased by a trainer's Tinkaton). It was a nice way to open up the series.

But then the tone switches to an orchestra recital with one of our main characters, Ohara, on stage about to play the flute before switching to her walking up the Glaseado mountains with her Fuecoco to drop her flute off the side of the mountain

Now much like Hisuian Snow and Twilight Wings before it, Paldean Winds focuses a lot more on original characters than the game cast, which is controversial. It's a topic for another time but in the context of Paldea and it's story, I can understand why they chose this route as it would be impossible to really do the characters justice in just a short 4 episode mini-series

Ohara, Aliquis and Hohma have been tasked by Director Clavell on creating an intro video for the academy. However, all of them seem a bit preoccupied and maybe not the best fit as a group. Aliquis is preparing for his battle against Nemona and apparently his brother is coming to watch. Ohara has landed the solo in the concert and we learn that her father is the conductor. And Hohma is well…very interested in Cetitan.

As this first episode focused on Ohara we see how the impact of not only being the soloist but being the child of the conductor. I can empathize with her uneasiness at Aliquis' saying "Your dad's the director, makes sense" as it makes the assumption she didn't make it on her own merits but because of nepotism.

We can see that Ohara is under a lot of pressure to prove herself so much show she abruptly leaves for her treasure hunt abandoning both the video project and the band club due to her doubts. I really liked her phone chat with Director Clavell as he shows his concern for her with her abrupt departure, his willingness to back off on questioning her once he realizes he's overstepped and how supportive and fatherly he is to her.

Arven passing by Ohara's camp with a cold look on his face is direct call to how frosty he is to Nemona and the player at the beginning of SV before his storyline begins…only for him to be chased by a Cetitan

We get a flashback of Ohara leaving the academy right when Hohma and Aliquis are attempting to shoot the introduction video before noticing Ohara trying to sneakily head out. Aliquis seems to catch on Ohara's intentions when she says taking her flute "only on the way up". Hohma interrupts with another Cetitan fact about how their sounds mimic a flute which end up becoming key for Ohara to help Arven…

…you know if she hadn't of dropped the flute off the side of the mountain.

But luckily best buddy Fuecoco was there to the rescue having jumped into the icy cold river to retrieve the flute allowing for Ohara to play and save Arven. It's a really nice moment showcasing Fuecoco's bravery especially since most of his characterization is arround liking food and being a silly little guy.

We get a nice heart to heart moment between Arven and Ohara where Ohara reveals she doesn't exactly get along with her father (which in some way, mirrors Arven's own strained relationship with his parents). While she mentions her father did teach her how to play, it was Fuecoco who saved the day. Arven leaves after thanking both of them and tells Ohara to "take good care of that partner of yours" which anyone who has played SV would've started crying immediately

The episode ends with us seeing that Ohara did indeed rejoin the band and take flute solo to applause from the audience, showing her renewed courage in herself as a person and not just the daughter of the conductor

Overall this was a really cute and inspiring episode. It's very relatable for people who have been in Arven and Ohara's shoes of having parents you have a strained relationship with who also happen to hold prominent positions.

I'll be curious to see how Ohara, Aliquis and Hohma all come together to make the video project and how they end portraying the academy to incoming students who end up watching the video.

[horizon-forbidden-sheesh]

Writing Process: Drafting

Sooooo, I started drafting Part 2 almost immediately after Part 1 concluded—and by now I've abandoned my Scrivener file entirely and am doing everything in Google Docs. (I talk about my switch from Scrivener to Google, here. ⚙️)

This time, I didn't have all the journal entries to work from, either. I was starting entirely from a blank slate. So at first, I just let myself WRITE. All the scenes I was most excited about, in no particular order, just to squeeze all the juice out.

I did that for like a month. And then, when I had about 15-20k words of random bits and bobs, I started to put them in order, and develop a through-line. That's where the draft docs & trackers came in.

✏️ Away from Scrivener, I needed some extra organizational tools to house my more general notes, research, & scraps. So, I built this li'l cutie with easy links to all my Google draft files, and included a brief summary that helped me greatly when plotting out the next set 10 chapters for Part 2:

*The chapter titles were updated as my outline changed, but the summaries did not! The descriptor for Chapter 20 is now, like, Chapter 23.

Keeping the descriptors short really helps me stay on task. If I have so much I need to cover in a chapter that it drops my formatting to the next line, I know I probably won't be able to cover everything in ~3,000-5,000 words.

✏️ Now, that's just the first page of the "Table of Contents." As of today, it's 13 pages long, and it also houses a TON of notes and working drafts and snippets of dialogue that I am saving for future, as-yet-unspecified chapters.

It's really messy—and sometimes when I'm out & about and my service is shit, I whip open my old Notes app, just to get a thought down. Here, have a taste of what's been rattling around in my brain...

Dialogue often starts as just the dialogue. I layer in tags & descriptors later, during the editing process. Most of the conversations I've written started with me talking to myself alone in the car, in the shower, or while washing dishes. (This works for copywriting too. My best ideas almost NEVER come to me while I'm sitting-down-looking-at-a-screen. Of course.)

For instance, that same conversation made it from the Notes app into a Google Doc and has since evolved to:

A li'l somethin-somethin from the upcoming Scorcher Season's Chapter 24 🔥

✏️ Once I've got all the major plot points written, I'll go back and write the "boring" stuff in chronological order. Okay, it's not really boring. It's just the filler information that helps a reader get from point A to point B, and I edit as I go. This ends up being like half of the total word count for the full 10 Chapters.

I'm currently hitting this point in Part 3—and you can see below that just writing my favorite parts here and there gets me pretty far on its own. Over the last 3 weeks, I've nearly exhausted my imagination developing the general story arc. Next up, I'll go back and start fleshing out each chapters one by one.

Wanna know something CRAZY?? Over the last ~year, I've noticed that I tend to write nonstop during Mercury Retrogrades. Like, I don't want to do anything else. I'm learning not to schedule any major projects for these ~3 week periods, so I don't blow my deadlines on account of being too obsessed with my fanfic to bother. 😅

After my decision to expand to 4 Parts total, my original ToC Doc got a bit... top heavy. (Also, I got really tired of manually calculating all the word counts.) So, instead of continuing in Docs, I added a tab to my spreadsheet:

*Hiding my chapter summaries so as not to spoil!! 😈

As you can see, I fill in the links as I create the draft docs... and I've already had to split a chapter in half due to scale, so the untitled <Scorcher 7> dropped to Part 4. I'm hopeful I won't have to split any more, so I can end strong on 'Ten Days.'

I don't usually start the finale until the very end, because I've learned that the wonderful comments I receive will sometimes give me extra ideas that I want to ensure make it into the fic!

✏️ Around the time I've fully completed the first 5 chapters, I'll give myself the green light to start posting. That leaves me just enough runway to finish out the rest of the season, and posting on a timeline helps keeps me motivated & accountable!

This is getting kinda long, so I'll write about Trackers & Timelines I've developed along the way in another post.

Thanks for being here! 🖤

xo, Sheesh.

[actuallyitsstar]

hiii 🍓🔪🦷🐚 and 🧩 (for the drama 💅)

✨ writer’s truth or dare! ✨

hi there nonnie !!! tysm for the ask!! i am so sorry for the late response but i hope that u see this and enjoy !! <3<3

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

i have no idea anymore tbh lol. i can tell u that the first fic i ever wrote was an episode tag for the mentalist, and that i was probably was somewhere between the ages of 12 and 15???? but i don't remember the specifics that got me into it. i started reading fic (also for the mentalist) when i was like, 11, so, probably because after a year or two i convinced myself to just give it a shot and the rest was history. at the end of the day, though, it probably just comes down to an uncontrollable urge to put that blorbo into a situation!!

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

not for a fanfic, but i had to know SO MUCH about a limited model run of a special drag racing car that ford made in the early 1960s (only a few hundred made, very rare, etc etc) due to a personal writing project i started and then kind of abandoned when i was like, 16 lol. i used to know the production run numbers and engine size and the paint colors and everything by memory. it was ridiculous.

🦷 ⇢ share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

if you love something, do it. even if you fear you won't do it well- if you love something enough, you love it enough to do it shitty. that's so much better than not doing it at all. learning to let go of my incredibly creativity-freezing perfectionism is an ongoing task that i am not even halfway thru, so trust me when i say i know how tough that rly is. but you always regret the things you didn't try more than the things you did.

🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises?

aaaaaah do we still mean in writing lol? or irl? i like a surprise twist or turn in writing quite a lot! i also love foreshadowing and being chased down by the narrative. there's no perfect right answer! as for irl, it depends, but i don't like to get scared or to have plans suddenly changed at the last minute. if it's a surprise outside of those circumstances, then yes, i do!

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

for me it's either poor formatting (i.e. no paragraph breaks, no quotations, no commas, that kind of thing), or (and i hope this doesn't come off rude in any way bc i know we all make different choices stylistically and are all always learning and growing too!), and this might just be a me thing, but if the pov is from like. a god-mode position where the third person narrative knows what every character is thinking at the same time and it's not just switching povs or like. one character's prediction of another's pov. but like. idk what that is called. it just kind of breaks my immersion to the story i think, so i don't tend to vibe with it!

again, thank u so much anon !!! i hope u have a lovely day !! <3 tysm for stopping by my blog and taking time to send in an ask aaaa!

[starlingsrps]

hope i never lose you, hope this never ends.

some days, not many, elliot regretted hospital nursing instead of finding a nice, civilized doctor’s office to work in. he could have normal hours. he could work only monday through friday and do normal shit but no, he had to get an adrenaline rush from the long shifts and triage so here he was.

his planned double had turned into damn near a triple before he’d been caught by the supervisor and sent home. a double? fine. twenty four hour shifts were far from his favorite thing in the world but the overtime pay was a hell of a drug and friday nights in the emergency room were at least busy enough to keep his brain on and engaged. 

but still. he’d left the apartment with before dawn on friday and was making it home after dawn on saturday. harry reacts by screaming at him like he’d been abandoned for months to fend for himself, despite the presence of an automatic feeder and plenty of things to keep him entertained. the sun rises, the sun sets, his cat bitches. it’s nothing new.

from past experience, he knows that it’ll be better later if he stays awake and doesn’t give in to the overwhelming desire to faceplant on the couch and risk sleeping hard enough to risk harry taking a nibble out of him. he drags himself to the gym and picks up groceries and the other thankless tasks that keep him and harry afloat. by the time he gets home to put everything away and shower, he feels just about ready to drop.

and then he remembers that shit, he was supposed to meet nell at three. nothing too elaborate - a walk and a brewery, maybe meet up with david if he had his life back together after his atlanta-sydney trip. they had talked about it in the ten minutes that their breaks had overlapped sometime around ten last night. he feels a thousand years old and the idea of walking any further than the triangle of his couch, kitchen, and bathroom does not sound enticing at all, even with nell.

so he sends a text. could they switch over to dinner and a movie at his place? he’d throw in laundry access and harry as a bonus.

she texts back almost immediately that they can absolutely do that.

girl of his dreams at this point.

when she arrives mid-afternoon, she has a bag full of laundry that she immediately drops to greet harry. the cat yowls in delight at the sight of nell, who has become his favorite person. elliot is just the asshole who feeds him and brings her to him. they greet each other like long lost lovers. nell cradles him and makes sympathetic sounds in response to harry’s meows, all of which sound like he’s accusing elliot of unfathomable cruelty.

“would you two like some privacy?” he asks drily. “i can leave.”

she rolls her eyes, kisses harry on the forehead before putting him down, and wraps her arms around him. she tilts her head back to smile at him. “hi elliot.”

“hi nell,” he says, leaning down to kiss her. it’s only been a few weeks and they only have a few more weeks but he’s always amazed at how much better it is when she’s here. his apartment isn’t a hovel but it feels lighter when she’s here. it feels less like somewhere that he just goes between shifts. you get a double too?”

“on a friday night? shoot me.”

“will you settle for pizza and the couch? gun feels a little drastic.”

her arms drop to pick up her laundry bag. “are we having a rot date?”

he has no idea what that’s supposed to mean but it sounds pretty great. “sure.”

a rot date does turn out to be pretty great. she starts her laundry and joins him on the couch for whatever mind numbing action movie he finds on cable first. something with monsters and explosions and no plot that they can both sleep through if it happens. they order a pizza - they like the same thing which is just further evidence for him that they’re probably soulmates - and make it through one godzilla movie. she dozes off burrowed into his side after about ten minutes into the next one and even if he wonders who the hell can sleep through a godzilla movie, he’s not far behind her.

when he wakes up, king kong is somehow onscreen and harry has joined them. he’s purring violently and if elliot if being honest, between his furry weight and nell and the blanket, he’s roasting a little. the building would have to be on fire for him to move though. it’s dark by now and because it’s vancouver, it’s raining again. he feels so good - safe and comfortable. 

nell stirs a little and he kisses her hair. her fingers twist in his shirt and she sighs before sitting up and opening her eyes. harry flees, looking deeply betrayed. “did i miss godzilla?” she asks, voice scratchy.

“i think we missed a few godzillas. want to go to bed?” he asks. 

she blinks blearily at him and stretches her neck. “yeah, let me check my laundry. i’ll head out once it’s done.”

“you can stay, if you want.” he offers. “we can give the walk and brewery a shot again tomorrow.”

“got a spare toothbrush?” he nods and she leans over to kiss his cheek. “let’s have a sleepover.”

her laundry is mostly scrubs so he gives her a pair of boxers and hoodie he knows he’ll never see again. she changes and checks her laundry while he does a quick pick up and it’s so domestic and it’s so easy to be domestic with her that it aches. he doesn’t want her to go. it’s a few weeks away, the end of her contract, but he’s already dreading it. they’ll have to talk about it eventually but watching her brush her teeth and wash his face while he waits for his turn at the sink makes him realize that this is all he wants. he wants her toothbrush next to his and her telling him that he needs to be using moisturizer and he wants that every night.

“which side is yours?” she asks when they approach the bed. “i don’t want to throw you off.”

“left is mine, right is harry’s.”

she laughs a little and moves to the right, examining the pillow case for cat hair. “i can handle him if he wants to start a turf war.”

they get into bed and turn off the light. he doesn’t overthink it before turning to pull her closer, her back to his front. she makes a happy little sigh and nestles back into him. 

“night nell,” elliot says, kissing the back of her neck.

he can hear her smile in the dark. “night elliot.”

[kingfishered]

Soap knew those weren’t his orders, but Ghost clearly didn’t know him well if he thought he was going to leave this unfinished. He seemed to realise this, because in the next words he heard Ghost had changed up his tactics.

“Ghost, don’t, get out of here-” he started to counter, but his words were cut off by another blast from outside. Trying to tell Ghost to leave him and get himself to safety was probably as useless as Ghost trying to get him to leave and abandon his mission, he soon understood, so instead he focused on the task at hand so they could both get out of there sooner.

Ghost’s instruction came through and Soap realised he was right - they could definitely have hit the building by now but they hadn’t, which meant they likely weren’t planning to. They didn’t want the building to go down. That didn’t change the fact they had him and Ghost pinned, but it did mean they probably weren’t about to get blown up at any moment while inside. Probably.

“There’s a buildin’ on the east side,” Soap switched channels and ordered his men, “Get there and ye should be safe. They’re focused on this building right now-” he ducked under a window as he passed it- “But stay alert, there could be guys waitin’ to see if anyone runs.” There were noises of agreement, the rest of his team setting out for the building. He hoped they got there unscathed. The mortar fire seemed to have stopped for now, presumably Ghost’s doing, which would improve their chances.

Soap was wiring up the last charge as Ghost’s demand came through, his hands full so he was unable to answer immediately, and to his concern barely a few seconds later his radio crackled and Ghost’s voice came through once more. The second time, however, it was stuttered and almost unintelligible, all he could hear was the panicked tone of a shout. Shit.

“Leaving now! Get out of there, I’ll meet you at the building on the east side!” Soap called into his radio, silently praying to a God he no longer believed in that Ghost was okay. Had he been hit, or was it just his radio? Hopefully just the latter, but even if his heart was screaming to check, in his mind he knew he didn’t have the time. He sprinted back downstairs as fast as he could, then made a break for it once he was out of the building.

He was expecting to meet resistance out there and it came - two guys emerged, shooting at his retreating form. Soap dived behind a parked vehicle, hearing the bullets shatter the car windows and pierce through the body.

He poked his head round the hood of the car and aimed at the figure he saw, trading shots until he hit the floor. There was a noise from behind him and he whipped round, knife already in his hand, the other guy having sneaked around the back of the car while his friend had kept Soap distracted. They grappled for a moment, Soap feeling searing pain across his upper arm as the guy’s knife came close to burying itself in his bicep. He managed to get a grip on the man’s hair and smacked the back of his head against the car door, the impact causing the man to go limp. Soap plunged his knife into his neck for good measure, before returning it to its sheath and resuming the sprint to safety.

“Careful on yer way out, LT, they don’t want us gettin’ away,” Soap warned, breathless as he ran, down the radio to Ghost. He wasn’t sure if Ghost could hear him, wasn’t even sure if he was okay, but if there was any chance he was following Soap wanted to make sure he had the heads up.

Soap looked down at his arm. The injury wasn’t bad, thank God - just a scratch, really. Maybe Ghost could return the favour and patch it up for him when they got out of here.

"Soap, those were not your fucking orders!" Ghost shouted back through the radio, brows knit in frustration as he quickly realised it would be like trying to get blood from a stone, having Johnny leave a job half done. "Stay away from the windows, I'm moving to you."

And, as quickly as he could, he did.

Or, at least that was the plan. As another mortar fire shook the ground but didn't even touch the building, Ghost's theory proved correct.

He grasped the radio again. "Soap, have your men take cover in one of the outside buildings, as far as they can away from us," he ordered, boots pounding against the concrete as he ascended another flight of stairs. "They do not want us levelling this place, thinking the mortars might be to keep us still so we can't."

Right now, being outside was more dangerous than being inside with live explosives. Hence why his attention had turned quickly from finding Soap to getting his men off the roof.

By the time he got up there, his lungs were on fire and so were his legs, but his only other option for getting up there would have been the fire escape outside. And, as already proven, being outside and away from the buildings came with its own problems.

He shoved through the heavy door, doing a rapid head count the second he made it out. His question of Martinez's whereabouts was quickly answered.

The private, god bless him, ran straight up to Ghost the second he saw him. "We- We tried giving him cover, but-"

Question answered, he supposed. 

"Oi, enough. Mind on the task, yeah? This shit happens." Honestly, Ghost was more broken up about Martinez being KIA than he let on. He couldn't exactly show it in front of the team, not when he was the one who had to keep everyone whole. He gave the boy a firm slap on the shoulder. "I'll cover MacTavish. You both get down to the building on the west side, we'll regroup with you later but I need you to stay on comms. Clear?"

As he took one of the scoped rifles from the pair, they made sounds of agreement, and promptly left him to his own devices. For a second, the Private lingered in the doorway, looking as if he wanted to apologise to Ghost but decided better of it. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

Despite the situation, as the door squealed shut, Ghost managed a small smile at the thought before he settled himself down on the edge of the roof with the best vantage point.

With his radio set up against the ledge beside him, Ghost turned his focus to the tree line. Through the scope, the heat signatures of their attackers were bright and clear, and Ghost's eye narrowed as he lined up his shot and hit his target in a matter of seconds. Then, he dropped another.

It was going well, he'd managed to take out the two that were manning the mortar cannon. But, it wasn't surprising that two of their companions' heads exploding alerted them to Ghost's presence.

He ducked down a touch, grabbing the radio again and pressing down roughly on the PTT. "Soap, I need an ETA," he said, risking another glance through the scope. 

He didn't notice the small glimmer somewhere off to the left and a loud crack rang just shy of his head. His grip tightened on the radio, and it made a very displeased hiss at the manhandling, he didn't even have the time to consider that he'd broken it before another shot raced past his head and he laid himself down on the roof, flat on his stomach. He raised the radio up again and swallowed down his nerves. "Johnny, fucking hurry up!"

[5499h]

Apparently nothing can motivate me to clean my entire room like a shit ton of homework I should be doing instead

[sunntownn]

➪

,,GN! reader,, romantic relationship

➪

,, getting a request from my favorite space robot author???? on my birthday????? bro,, imma cry deadass,,

➪

,, TW!! ,, kidnapping

➪

,, word count,, 1111

𝐊𝐕 𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐄

▪︎ when ravage was deployed from soundwave and sent down to earth to assist in megatron's arrival, you happened to have chosen the wrong spot to eat during your lunch break

▪︎ lets be honest, if you were stuck in some underground secret military facility all damn day staring at some space junk while topside was a beautiful veiw of the afternoon orange sun bouncing of the waves of the ocean as they crashed against the sand like a beautiful melody, then you'd eat you there too (and you are you, so, lucky you)

▪︎ you had nearly choked on your food when a giant robot space cat the size of your car ran right fucking passed you.

it's tail scraped your cheek and drew blood

▪︎ you were a witness that would alert the authorities if they had let you go, so, horray you're kind of a hostage?

▪︎ you didnt really serve as much of a threat so they werent quite worried about watching you constantly, however ravage kept one oversized optic on you at all times

▪︎ the original plan was to smush you, but you had approached ravage with headpats. and although his grumpy ass wouldn't admit it, he liked the headpats :(

▪︎ convinces megatron to let you stay, something along the lines of "the human scientist has been studying the fragment of the alspark far longer than any Cybertronian has had the pleasure of holding it" as to prove your usefulness and what-not

▪︎ just wanted more headpats,,

▪︎ after a while ravage's affections towards you became more noticeable among the cons and they left him be, not without a few comments tho

▪︎ eventually you two would find yourselves head bumping each other and being all too cozy for a Cybertronian and an organic

▪︎ lucky for you, the old abandoned building the cons had been using as their temporary base of operations used to be a common meet up spot for petty thievery

▪︎ unluckly for whatever crooks left thier junk behind when the cons showed up and squished them, they left some valuable entertainment for a kind-of-prisoner

▪︎ ravage watched you plug up the television, casually lounging on the platform like a lazy house cat

▪︎ however when the just dance home screen popped up, poor kitty was so confused 😕

▪︎ why are the human in the recordings so,, colorful? where are their features? where did the backup dancers come from? why are they moving like that??????

▪︎ you quickly searched up a song and stood up in front of the tv

▪︎ if ravage had an eyebrow, or ya know, another eye, he would be this emoji 🤨 but with cat ears

▪︎ and then you started copying the stangly feature-less rainbow humans

︎▪︎hes mortified

▪︎ has no idea whats happening,, completely baffled in a traumatizing way,,

▪︎ at first he tries to come up with a logical reason to this... activity,, he comes up with nothing

▪︎ stabs the tv with his tail

𝐓𝐅𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

▪︎ icy was fronting when he walked up to your little station at the decepticon base

▪︎ after blitzwing astablished your inter-species relationship with megatron and the other cons, and a genuine interest and loyalty to the decepticon cause, megatron had allowed you to stay with your partner and blitzwing even got to constructicons to build you a platform and private room

▪︎ he mass displaced and entered your shared "home" only to see you dancing in the living room to lady gaga

▪︎ "what is this?"

▪︎ you shrieked in embarrassment and swung around to face your lover with a flushed face

▪︎ "...just dance?" you were not expecting him to come back so soon, he had a lot of tasks megatron wanted completed today so you had decided to push the coffee table outta the way and get in some cario undisturbed in the most fun way

▪︎ why do yoga when you can just dance

▪︎ icy switched to random and he grinned wildly "oooooo! lez me try!" and all but rushed to your side and immediately started following the little person on the tv

▪︎ honestly, you expected as such, but the embarrassment of getting caught doing cringy dance moves to lady gaga pop songs made you feel super awkward

▪︎ blitzwing seemed to be enjoying himself though, hothead would show up if he got a move wrong but you assured him that getting it right wasnt important, that it was just a fun way to get active

▪︎ icy was very persise in his dance moves and even asked you to replay to song so he could get it down right

▪︎ eventually the embarrassment simmered away and you joined your partner, laughing as you both danced

▪︎ random would switch up and start twerking

𝐓𝐅𝐏 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

▪︎ being with breakdown was a mixture between very serious and intimidating moments and very laid back and soft moments

▪︎ this dude's whole thing is breaking things,, its literally in his name,, and he can be scary when he wants too,, but he can also be a complete love-sick idiot

▪︎ breakdown was the only higher ranking officer to show veihcons any for of respect or recognition for their hard work and to no abuse them or toment them in any way

▪︎ he knows when agression is and is not necessary

▪︎ but when he walked into his berthroom to see you unashamedly dancing on his berth with your laptop playing just dance videos, he didnt know what the appropriate way to react was

▪︎ he wasnt trained for this! this didnt come in the inter-spieces relationship handbook knockout gave him! or in the dating-while-being-a-decepticon handbook that knockout also gave him

▪︎ mans just wants to make his tiny human happy buy doenst actually kniw anything about humans

▪︎ "dont just stand there come join me!" you yelled while literally doing the weridest dance move he had ever seen

▪︎ eventually you put on something more slow paced and easier to get used to

▪︎ its the robot

▪︎ you played the robot dance

▪︎ he does the worst robot dance you have ever seen

▪︎ and he is a robot

▪︎ crappy dance lessons comence at 2am

▪︎ ....

▪︎ knockout walks in at 6am to you passed out on your bed and breakdown is aggressively doing the whip and nae nae

[peachyteabuck]

one for the money // fallon carrington x reader

↪ summary: after years away, you figure it’s time to explain to fallon why you left 

a commission for @devillskettle​

↪ pairing: fallon carrington x reader

↪ words: 3584

↪ trigger warnings: homophobia from a parent (blake is a shitty parent), blackmail, switch!fallon, switch!reader, focusing on top!reader, orgasm control, orgasm countdowns, hatefucking

 Nothing in your life has gone according to plan. Your major? Changed six months into undergrad. Your career path? Abandoned for a graduate offer a few months after graduating. The outfit you planned last night? Peed on by your cat in the middle of the night, requiring you to wear the outfit you wore the day previous. Your breakfast order this morning? Messed up by the drive-thru employee. In your field, with your luck…hoping for predictability isn’t enough. You have to be able to find comfort in chaos or else you’d be screaming into every damn pillow you could get your hands on, and probably on a much higher dose of anxiety medication.

None of this, none of your years of preparation for “times your life has gone off the goddamn rails” seems to matter now. Not a single minute of the quick fixes and pivots and carefully constructed plans dashed could have prepared you for the moment to come. The long drive from your company-provided AirBnB certainly don’t help either – the two hours alone in your car in Atlanta traffic a full one hundred and twenty minutes of silence that have you itching to get out of your own skin. Still, when you arrive and park, you wish you had more time…hoping you could delay the inevitable task ahead of you.

You haven’t been at the Carrington mansion in a long while. Part of you feels it hasn’t been long enough, that centuries could pass between visits, and you’d regret stepping through the front door. Another part of you feels like it was yesterday; like you had merely stepped out for dinner and are returning home after a few hours away. Not much has changed either way, the statue that once sat in the immediate view of the front door is no longer there, and the carpeting in the front room has changed. But the twin staircases, the marble floors, the haunting feeling that settles into your bones…that’s just the same as the day you left. The family scent hound’s there, too, lounging on a dog bed you’re sure was prohibitively expensive while the rest of the world ignores him the same way it does them. You want to pet him, see if he remembers you; but the fear he doesn’t keeps you in your place.

The worst part is, the mansion is nearly silent. Nearly no one is home. Blake and his wife (which one is this? Four? Five?) fucked off to the Bahamas for a week-long vacation at an all-inclusive resort. The older Carrington sibling is similarly gone, his ex-boytoy luckily gone, too. Whether they’re in the same place is none of your concern, all you truly care about is that they’re not here with you. Even Anderson has taken a few days off, returning to New Zealand to do…whatever it is he does. All that’s left are the lower servants, who – if they do recognize you – say nothing as they hurry past to do whatever stupid chores Blake left for them. You are stagnant, listening to the sound of shoes walking past you occasionally. The non-slip sneakers make a distinct, soft squeak, a sound you’re nearly enjoying when you hear the harsh, sharp sound of stilettos. They start far off, a sound you hope is just an impending thunderstorm. As their tight, even pace continues, though, growing louder with every passing click…you know your fate.

So you stand, inert, staring straight ahead into nothingness, waiting for the voice of the woman whose heart you broke to ring through the empty corridor. And, Heavens above, does it ring.

“Get out of my house,” she hisses. You don’t need to see her face, you can imagine her pursed lips and narrowed eyes and brow furrowed with rage. It’s almost cute.

You keep your gaze straight ahead, not giving her the satisfaction of eye contact. “Your name doesn’t go on the deed until both Blake and Steven die and we both know it.” She gasps then stomps down the stairs, and only when you feel her body heat and can smell her signature perfume do you look at her. “Fallon,” you say, looking her up and down. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

She doesn’t respond, anger radiating off of her like heat rays from the sun. “You left me!” she growls through grit teeth. With her so close it’s easier for you to see her, truly, in all her glory. She looks almost the same as the day you left, with perfect makeup and perfect teeth and perfect nails and perfect jewelry that perfectly complements her perfect outfit. Really the only thing that’s changed is her bangs – these adorable, childlike bangs that once covered her forehead and now are gone. Her hair is still the same, slightly curly and a wonderful dark chocolate color you want to twirl around your fingers. If Fallon didn’t look like she’d bite your hand if you tried, you’d be threading your fingers through her locks and pulling her close.

“I-“

You aren’t able to defend yourself for your self-admitted misgivings before she’s pouncing on you like a cat, knocking you to the ground as she screams. “You fucked off to your fancy fucking college and left me here!”

You can’t tell what she’s trying to do, her fists balled but punches reminiscent of a toddler whose animal crackers were taken away. At least she doesn’t want to really hurt me, you think.

You scoff as she grabs ahold of your blazer lapels, shaking you back and forth. You keep your head angled to avoid the hard floors (blood would be very unbecoming on your cream shirt), but allow her to use you like a punching bag. “I didn’t leave you, I left this house.”

Fallon’s eyes narrow, her movements never ceasing. “And I fucking live here, asshole! You can’t leave this place without leaving me in it! You left me alone here!”

Tears – tears you ignore for her own dignity – prick at the corners of her eyes. Beneath her fiery outrage you know she’s upset, genuinely upset with you and what you did. You have no defense, really, and so you let her do what she needs to do until she tired herself out and stands back up. Though her heart races in her chest and her nostrils flare, she calmly moves the hair that covers her face back into its proper place. After a beat, you follow suit, getting back on your feet and facing her once more.

“I,” you sigh as she raises a single brow. Don’t lie to me, it says. Don’t you dare fucking lie to me. Not here. Not now. Not after what you did. “Let’s go up to your room where we can talk.”

Fallon considers your proposal, neither of you acknowledging the awkward housekeeper who dusts the paintings that hang a mere ten feet from the both of you. She doesn’t say anything when she accepts, simply exhales and turns on her heel to walk back where she came from. You follow, equally silently, until you’re both in her obnoxiously large bedroom and standing far enough apart to where you can’t count her eyelashes.

“Come back,” is all you tell her. Your heart aches for you to touch her again, to smell where she sprays perfume on the juncture of her neck, to nose at her hairline. She doesn’t move. “I’ve missed you.”

She merely raises her eyebrow once more. “How much?”

You move closer in the face of her stubbornness, tracing your hands down the seam of her top. “More than Romeo missed Juliet when he found her dead body at that casket…”

She fumes, silently. It’s a good answer, one much better than she was expecting. You take her silence, even as her jaw tenses, as the okay to continue. Your hands travel from her elbow to her shoulder, down the black edge of her cardigan thumbing at the expensive knitwork. You want to tease her, mockingly ask whether it was actually as hard as she wants to make it seem to let you near her again. But she’s skittish, like a newly rescued feral kitten. So you keep your voice low, focusing on small movements and quiet praises. “You look nice.”

Fallon gives you a little snort but doesn’t pull away. A good sign. “If you’re here to butter me up into not being upset, it’s not going to work.”

You shrug, tracing the outside of the matte black buttons. “Nah, honest. You look good in this.”

She’s wearing a sweater set – some knit houndstooth pattern that a cropped cardigan and skirt that falls mid-thigh share. She’s got a black shirt underneath, the style reminiscent of a t-shirt but made of a silk much nicer than any jersey fabric. It doesn’t really matter what she’s wearing, or even that she looks fucking delectable in it. What matters is that it grants you easy access to her pussy. Or, more accurately, the panties that cover it. You move your head ever so slightly, softly pressing your lips to hers.

“These are nice, too” you murmur into her lips, your smile only growing when she scowls.

Her eyes narrow, her jaw setting as she tenses. She doesn’t move away, though, just digs her manicured nails into your bare upper arm. “What did you expect, granny panties?”

You give her a little snort, but don’t stop tracing what you think are embroidered flowers. A small pool of dampness is starting to form, but you don’t give her the satisfaction as the pads of your fingers trace every petal. “No, I just sometimes forget that you’re the kind of stuck-up bitch that wears lingerie on a random Tuesday.”

You ignore your mother’s voice in your head telling you that only hussies forgo pantyhose as you move them to the side. Fallon’s breath hitches as the cool air brushes over her wetness, a similarly small gasp leaving her lips when you tease at her entrance. “How long as it been since someone touched you like this, pretty girl,” you whisper, raking your teeth ever so lightly against the shell of her ear. “Or has the rest of the world treated you like an antique, beautiful but untouched in some climate-controlled cabinet.”

You know the answer. Fallon’s a very particular woman, a particularity that also manifested in who she has sex with. Even the careless hookups were chosen with specificity, people she knew could be trusted (or at least blackmailed into silence if need be). You hadn’t been the first woman who fucked her (and who she fucked in return), but the way her body had reacted to yours during those hours-long sessions had you knowing that you were something special to her. Even if you were more object than human, there’d never be another you.

As you rub at her clit her beautiful sighs fill your ears like an award-winning symphony, her body becoming more pliant as pleasure replaces distaste in her veins. You use her acceptance, her letting herself go just a tad, to flip her around so that you and her both face her ridiculously large closet. Her moans are loud, lewd, like they had trapped themselves inside of her throat and just now were releasing themselves from their imprisonment. They go straight to your core, flint striking upon an already raging fire that burns inside of you. Flames lick at your organs as you rub loose, lazy circles, ignoring the frantic bucks of her hips.

“Be patient,” you tell her. The words are firm even though they have no edge. You’d give her anything she asked for in a heartbeat…you’re just trying to keep her from begging so that you can make up for lost time properly and at your own pace. “I’ll give you everything you need, princess. You just have to be patient.”

She whines, but obliges.

You can’t help but laugh when you go to palm at her breasts, untucking her shirt and moving the cup of her bra aside. A bra you can’t see – but can tell from the fabric and raised pattern matches her panties.

“What are you laughing about?” Fallon huffs, trying to shove her ass back to force your fingers deeper.

You ignore her actions, pulling her up so that her back is flush against your chest. “Nothing, just thinking about how you’re such an uptight control freak you wear matching sets when you know you have no plans.”

She has no retort to that. Partially because it’s true, and partially because you’ve got one hand plunging below her panties to insert a single finger inside of her. It’s not enough – for your little size queen it’ll never be enough – but it certainly has her moaning and chewing at her lip to suppress the desperate, slutty sounds.

“C’mon, baby,” you too. “Be loud for me…” You can tell she isn’t convinced, so you lower your voice just a tad and kiss at her neck as you speak. “C’mon, princess. I’ve missed you too much for my first time back to be so quiet.”

And, to her credit, she moans unabashedly. A smile plays on your lips as you realize it’s because she’s desperate to reach her own peak. No, you think. No, she can’t take the reins back like that so easily.

“You come when I tell you too,” you tell her, leaving no room for argument. “I’m gonna count down from five, and I want to feel you come around my fingers when I get to one. Understand?”

You can practically feel the clever retort forming on her lips, but it dies and is replaced by another moan when you fit three fingers inside of her, the other rubbing tight circles around her swollen clit. All she can do is nod.

“Good, princess,” you murmur. Part of you wants to start at a higher number, but you’ve denied yourself this pleasure for too long. Selfishly, you want to see her fall apart in your grasp – and to be the only thing there to catch her as she does so. “Five.”

She moans, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and digging her hands into whatever skin of yours she can get ahold of. It hurts, the feeling of her nails breaking skin, but you don’t say anything. You deserve that pain – probably more, and she deserves an anchor. All you can do is be thankful she found it in you, and that you were here this time to provide it.

“F-fuck,” her words are strangled, and it’s a struggle to keep her upright. You love it.

“Four.”

You increase the pace of both hands, feeling her stomach tense and watching her hips fuck down onto your fingers. You wish you could record this, and watch it every time you got off. Nothing could be hotter than watching the effervescent, perfectly put together Fallon Carrington fall apart so effortlessly under your touch.

“Three.”

She chokes out a sob, desperate. Whether she wants more to please you or to come, though, is the question.

“Two…” you feel her fight against you, while grinding against the hand that circles her clit. The two parts of her, the one that wants to obey, and the one that wants to chase every bit of pleasure she can find, battle each other. Regardless of who wins, though, you’re determined to reward the champion.

“You okay, love?” you ask. It’s genuine, even if a touch of torture threads itself into your tone.

Fallon nods, breathing harder than you’ve ever seen her pant in her life. “F-fuck you, don’t you dare fucking s-stop,” she threatens through gritted teeth.

All you can do is smile. “One.”

You can feel her clamp down around you, tightening around your fingers like a vice. The most sensitive part her jumps under your fingertips as she screams, spasming under your grasp.

As she comes down from her high you maneuver her to the bed, crashing upon the thick duvet like waves upon a shore. You don’t say anything until her breathing evens out, her eyes closed as she curls around you.

“I didn’t leave you, you know…” you sigh as you say it, the gross feeling of expressing a genuine emotion making your teeth itch. Still, you manage to keep talking – even if it feels like your skin is covered in a thick, wet slime. She turns away, looking straight up as you speak. You don’t try to get her back. “Blake offered to pay for my education through a PhD and said he’d consider funding my research if I stayed away.”

Fallon doesn’t look at you, continuing to stare up at her ceiling. That indignant tone softens just a little as she speaks, her indignant facial expression set in stone. “That’s a lot,” she pauses. “Considering your field.”

You don’t say the quiet part out loud. You’re in engineering, focusing on green technology and environmental justice. Having a world-renowned advocate and scientist on his side would let Black get away with a Hell of a lot more than he is now. It would quell the Steven’s of the world – ones who want to feel good more than they want to be good. Ones who don’t go hunting for grant proposals or know how to use SourceWatch; ones who think straw bans work and bring their own tote bags everywhere they go. In the beginning, you felt guilty, for doing what you did under Blake’s watch. But nothing paid the bills better than oil barons, and when creditors started to come knocking, they didn’t much care for a piece of paper with “I’m doing important environmental research” in reply.

If there’s anyone were to understand what kind of spot you’re in…it’d be Fallon. She’s one of the few people who truly understand Blake’s influence on the world, how hard it is to get out from under his thumb. Which is why she stays silent – doesn’t try to fight you again, or question your choices like friends and colleagues did. She’s just…quiet, tracing your jaw with her right index finger and looking you up and down. “It’s really hard to be mad at you with my father manipulating reality like that.”

You shrug. “Rock and a hard place. Had to take it. Didn’t really have any other options.”

The next question she asks is one you knew was coming, but it still digs the knife deeper into your already scarred heart. “Why’d you come back? Why now?”

Because if I went another day without seeing you I think I’d explode. Because I love you. Because life doesn’t feel worth living if I can’t have you in my life.

You shrug once more. “Knew him and his snitches would be gone, so I took the chance. Figured it’d be better to see you now than at Blake’s funeral.”

She snorts, and you wish you could capture the smile on your face. You don’t want to grab your phone, though, don’t want to risk turning the location on and being found out. And you just burn the image into your memory, praying you see it every time you close your eyes for the rest of your days. “Is that when the contract ends?”

It’s hard not to sigh, to think about the lack of legal protections you have if Blake wanted to fuck you over. “Technically there isn’t a contract. He just checks in on me on the first of every month to hand me a check, ask if it’s enough, and remind me to stay away from you.”

The next question hangs in the air, unasked and unanswered. Why Blake’s always hated you matters less than why Blake wants you to stay away from Fallon. Steven being gay is one thing – he’s already a black sheep, and falls in line when necessary. Fallon’s too…unpredictable. She’s done too much to deserve happiness, to deserve what you can give her. Black would never say this, of course, not to her face or yours or anyone else’s. The excuse you were given was about her focusing on what matters, on restoring the Carrington name. Certainly more flimsy than the truth, but the near-ridiculous amount of zeros at the end of the first check he cut you filled in the gaps for him.

Money talks, just as much as it keeps people quiet.

The both of you are silent as Fallon processes what’s happened, and you watch her face as she does so. It’s been at least eight years since you’ve seen her in person, even if you’ve watched her career closely through a series of Google alerts and trashy magazine email lists. You have no idea whether she’s done the same for you (even though you know she didn’t read either your undergrad, master’s, or doctoral thesis…which you can’t really fault her for. Fallon Carrington is a lot of things, but she is not an expert in mechanical engineering). All you can do is hope she knows you still love her, even after all these years.

Fallon is the one to break the silence, getting up from the bed on shaky knees and opening the safe hidden in her nightstand. “That was a fun conversation. Now get on all fours, because I’m going to fuck you.”

Needless to say, you do as you’re told – even if it’s with a smirk tugging at one corner of your lips and bratty ideas sparkling on the inside of your skull.

[peachyloveswriting]

If you’re familiar with Hadestown: can you write an Actor!Mark x Reader based on Hey, Little Songbird where he meets them in the mirror after being beaten by Celine and he offers a chance for them to find rest in his stories (a complete lie) and the reader ends up agreeing after being reminded of how Damien and Celine abandoned them in the mirror?

If you’re not familiar with Hadestown: can you write a Head Engineer!Mark x Reader where they try to pretend like they aren’t as effected by what they went through in an effort to put it all behind them, but Mark starts to notice that they’ve become more guarded as time goes on and it’s not until he yells about something while they’re nearby (maybe he and Celci get into a fight where he yells ‘THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT’, or something to that effect) and he sees The Captain flinch that it pushes him to confront them about what’s going on, and they reveal to him the fact that they saw everyone they care about turn on them and give up on them (with Mark’s own betrayal hurting the most) to where they’ve now given up on themselves?

I’m not asking you to do both, unless you find yourself inspired enough to do so. I can’t really stop you if you’re inspired.

You can't just ignore it

Pairing: head engineer mark x reader

Warning: angst, Iswm spoilers for those who haven't seen either parts.

A/n: it's mostly comfort so angst isn't too serious serious note at the end

The new colony was thriving and it had been for months now, you'd found that ever since the incident with Mark and the Warp core that he seems to be even more attached at the hip than he was at the begining. Of course you didn't mind but it just made it harder for you to contain yourself. With the occasional flashbacks and waking nightmares you find it hard to go about day to day life, living most of it in fear.

Mark plays a big part in this issue since he was the reason this whole started, most of the dreams were about him anyways.

Right now more than ever, it was the yelling in the next room that was starting to bother you. You could only assume that another mistake was made and that the argument would stop eventually but it wasn't.

As you listened you could begin to feel something well inside your throat, just breathing felt like a task but that wasn't the end of it.

"It's all your fault!" You heard Mark yell.

Suddenly it was like a switch was flipped in your head, in milliseconds your were gripping your head and rocking back and forth. The tears were flowing like water falls, you'd seen this one too many times.

"I'm sorry, please." You murmured. "Mark I'm sorry."

The other room had long fallen silent, Celci had walked off to breath it off while Mark sat there in frustration. As he sat there he began to hear you mumbling through the door. His brows furrowed with worry as he walked closer to the door.

"I didn't do it." He heard you say.

Confused, Mark walked through the door in search of you. Not very hard to find he saw you almost immediately, you were curled up on the floor in fetal position rocking back and forth with your hands on your head. Worry washed over him again as he rushed towards you his hands finding their way to your wrists and pulling your hands away from your head.

"Cap'n, what's wrong?" He asked.

You looked up at him with the tears still falling from your eyes, your breathing heavy. "Mark please don't be mad at me."

You were a mess, a crying puddle of a mess that didn't know what to do with itself.

With a frown Mark slid his hands underneath you and picked you up into his lap where he kneeled beside you, he was gentle in his movements. Squeezing you closer to him he hugged you tight.

You'd yet to stop crying, the idea still imprinted in your mind that he was mad at you again. Just the idea of him being even slightly upset hell anyone being upset with you made you sick to your stomach.

"Hey it's okay." He whispered. His mind was frantic, he didn't understand what was wrong or what caused this to happen, everything with the warp core was over and nothing had happened since. Why couldn't he understand?

"Mark I'm sorry, I didn't do anything thing wrong, I-" Mark interrupted you.

"Look at me," He ordered.

As you looked up at him your breath caught in your throat, the tears still steady as you went. His eyes were so soft and caring when you looked at him, there wasn't an ounce on anger on his face.

"You have done nothing wrong, I'm not angry at you and no one is upset with you. It is okay." He said slowly. He slowly began to nod his head, "Repeat after me."

He began to say it again and this time you said it too, voice wobbling and breaking with every other word.when you finished you had been focusing on Mark hard enough that you could catch a breath and stop crying. It took you a moment to process but once you did you engulfed Mark in a hug.

His hands came to rest on your back, one of them rubbing your back softly.

"Are you okay now Cap'n?" He asked.

You pulled back out of the hug to see a gentle smile on his face. You nodded. "Yeah, thank you."

Mark began scratching the back of his head. "Does that happen often?"

You furrowed your brows as you wiped your tear stained cheeks. "The crying?"

"Yes."

You sucked in a breath before sitting back on your ass, trying to find the right words to say.

"It's not just crying it's like full blown episodes, bad dreams can trigger them and yelling can too." You admitted.

Mark nodded to show that he was listening, his eyes never moving from you. You scooted over to his side again, having him lift his arm and hold you close again.

"It's been rough." You sighed.

Mark squeezed your arm lovingly. "I would've helped had I known sooner." He felt like he had failed you, as your faithful engineer it was his job to keep the Captain in check.

"You helped me and now I'm gonna help you." He whispered. You looked up at him as he stared down at you reassuringly, he smiled softly.

"Thank you." You sighed.

Mark pulls you closer. "Of course."

Not super important

I don't remember writing some bits of this, like my memory of writing them is completely out the window, no one else has touched my phone I haven't given it to any one else and I remember writing but I have blank spots in my memory where it's almost like I blacked out. Strange.

[crow-talks-hockey]

Do I Wanna Know? - an 829 fic from both Nate and Cale's POV (pt 1) [slowburn into established relationship]

Nate had been surprised to say the least when Cale had shown up. He’d had no idea who the kid even was, and Nate wasn’t quick to trust anyone’s skill or ability to fit in with the team. It wasn’t that he was rude or anything, he was just defensive. People had to prove themselves to him, and Cale had passed the test with flying colors; immediately. It was impressive, really. First shift, first goal, and in the playoffs of all things. Cale had only excelled since and Nate’s admiration and love for the defenseman had grown, too. 

It hadn’t been an immediate thing, Nate’s feelings toward the defenseman. It’d been slow, filled with confusion and denial. And it had all started about a year after Cale had joined their organization. Nate had been completely oblivious, unsuspecting. Maybe that was why he still remembered the exact moment he’d fallen in love with defenseman Cale Makar. 

They’d been in the locker room after a win against the Blues, celebrating and Nate had looked over at Cale. His cheeks had been so red, his hair spiky with perspiration, his smile was something Nate would have killed for. Cale had sat down next to Toews and started untying his skates, like everyone else. But Cale wasn’t just everyone else. He smiled as he slipped off his skates, chatting with Devon and laughing. Devon had said something and the defenseman had thrown his head back in that same dry laughter he’d always had. It was in that moment that admiration had hit Nate like a truck. He couldn’t stop staring, he’d completely abandoned the task of redressing and Landy had needed to rattle Nate’s shoulders to get him to snap out of it.

“Nate?” the captain had asked.

Cale met eyes with Nate and he finally looked away. Shit, Nate thought. He turned to Landy quickly. “What?”

Landy looked over at Makar and back to him a couple times, he pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. Nate swore, if the captain brought up him and EJ, Nate might actually strangle him. He just wanted to ditch the feeling and go, not like it meant anything anyway. Cale couldn’t be an option. Cale wasn’t an option. “You zoned out,” Landy stated blankly.

“So? I’m just tired, that’s all,” said Nate with a shrug and he stood.

Landy’s cool blue eyes followed him as he left, Nate could feel the intention and hear it in his captain’s words and he wasn’t having any of it. He quickly exited Ball Arena and clambered into his car. He sat behind the wheel, key hovering at the starter. He paused, threw his keys into the cup holder and leaned back, rubbing his hands across his face tiredly. What was happening? He and Cale were friends, but not… they’d never even… No. Nate started his car and drove home, trying not to think about the defenseman. However, rationalizing that Cale could never reciprocate wasn’t working, because, well, Nate wanted Cale to reciprocate.

It was like someone had flipped a switch and now all Nate could think of was the way Cale’s cheeks flushed deep red during games, the way he smiled so wide. Nate couldn’t stop. He’d gotten home and immediately gone to sleep, eager to throw out any notions of Cale for the rest of the night, even though this new part of him didn’t want to. Not in the slightest. That part of him wanted to think about him constantly. Wanted to hear his voice, even feel his touch. It was consuming. So, Nate had forced it from his mind. The second he’d woken up, Nate had gone out for a crisp morning run and cleared his head.

That had worked, surprisingly enough, for the next few days. He’d been able to play and chat with Cale like normal, well, almost normal. Sure, Nate’s eyes strayed too often and too long to Cale now, but that meant nothing. Nate just wanted to be closer to him. That didn’t mean he was in love, or anything. That was what he told himself, at least. Then, one night, Landy had shown up at his door unexpectedly. Nate had let him in, unassuming.

“So,” Landy had started, sitting down on the couch a couple cushions away from the couch, “how are you?”

“Stop the bullshit, Landy. Just say what you wanna say.”

Landy pursed his lips and nodded, a bit apprehended. “You and Cale.”

“What about him?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him. I was the same way with EJ. It killed me to see EJ flirting with other guys, the way he acted with other teammates. It ate me alive, so I tried to deny it all. We all know how that worked out,” said Landy with a faint smile.

Nate shook his head. “I’m not you, and I’m not in love with Cale—” Nate stood, frustrated at Landy acting like he knew exactly how he felt, he didn’t— “We’re just friends. Is it suddenly wrong for me to want to be better friends with him? And even if I did like him, it’s not like he’d love me back. I’ve seen him going on dates with girls before, I’m not an option.”

Landy laughed and raised a brow. “I wouldn’t say just girls, Nate.”

Nate stopped dead in his tracks. No, he’s just messing with you… he wouldn’t— Wait, why was he even considering the option? He wasn’t in love. Nate desperately scrambled for something to break the awkward silence, something that might save his contemplative silence and make Landy think he wasn’t considering Cale being not straight. “What do you mean?” was all Nate could come up with.

“I mean, I know my team and I know Cale.” Landy stood and picked up his jacket, he turned back to Nate. “Think it over,” Landy told Nate with a wink and was gone.

Nate stood in his living room, mouth slightly agape. What did this mean?

~~~

Cale had noticed when Nate started hanging around with him more. It had started a few weeks ago, on that day where Cale had looked up to find the forward’s gaze on him. It was weird, if Cale was being honest, but maybe he was just the one acting weird about it. Nate probably just wanted to be closer friends with him, Cale should be honored. Nate was already pretty touchy with all his team, but being good friends with him? That meant actually getting to know him closer, it meant getting to go out to a bar or to his house to hang out on the off days. Nate didn’t let just anyone do that.

Yet, something still felt off to Cale. Like, Nate was trying to get closer to him for no reason. He was friends with him, sure, but this seemed different. Nate acted differently, closed off like he was trying to impress Cale. It was honestly starting to worry him, so he'd called Landy over and they’d talked.

They’d sat down at Cale’s kitchen table and Cale had fired away with all the questions he wanted. “I don’t understand him, Landy. It’s like he wants to actually form a relationship but he’s so distant. We’ll hang out and it’s like he’s still forty feet away from me. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

Landy had listened through it all, nodding and paying as much attention to all the questions Cale asked as he could. When Cale had finished, he’d paused for a moment before speaking. “Cale, you like guys, right?”

Cale had stopped, confused, he felt his cheeks heat a bit. “Yeah, a little, I guess… how’d you know?”

“I know my teammates. And I’ve seen the way you try your best to look away from us in the locker room when we’re shirtless, and I’ve noticed how awfully you fail.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad, is it?”

Landy shook his head with a laugh. “No, no, EJ’s infinitely worse. Believe me. I couldn’t get him to not look at me if I tried, but that’s beside the point. My point is, Nate likes you.”

“He what?”

Cale’s mind was reeling. Why would Nate like him? That wasn’t possible. Cale put his head in his hands. He rubbed them across his face and stared at Landy, searching for any hint that he was lying. Landy had to be kidding. 

But Cale knew his captain, and his captain wouldn’t make jokes about this. Not when he knew… not when he knew that Cale had put his feelings for Nate aside over a year ago. Cale’s captain stood and tucked his kitchen chair back in. “He likes you, Cale. Now, all I have to ask you is: do you still, too?”

Cale sat there shell-shocked as Landy set his cup of coffee in Cale’s sink. He forced himself to stand and show Landy the way out. He waved his goodbye to him and quickly shut the door behind him. Cale sank to the floor, head back against his door and he pulled out his phone. He opened his messaging app and found Devon’s contact. He typed without thinking.

Hey, uhm… Devon? I…

Cale’s thoughts were screaming. I think Nate likes me. His fingers hesitated over the message, Cale debating if he should type more or if he should even tell Devon at all. No. He backspaced his text and swiftly clicked off his phone, slipping it back into his pocket. Cale sighed. What was he going to do? He couldn’t pressure Nate for anything, and Cale himself wasn’t even sure if he felt the same way for the forward anymore, either.

Landy had to be wrong, that was it; plain and simple. He must have just misread Nate’s feelings and that was the end of it. Cale didn’t want to think about how perfectly it all fit. Nate’s odd behavior around him, the way he actually held back from touching him. It all made sense, but Cale didn’t care. Nate couldn’t possibly love him and Cale couldn’t love Nate. End of story. Landy was wrong, just like Cale had been when he’d first fallen for Nate.

~~~

Nate had barely slept the next couple of days. Landy’s words repeated over and over in his mind like some curse, a dangerous notion that Nate couldn’t ditch even though he wanted to. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Cale had stopped talking with him. They’d played and practiced like normal, but it was like Cale knew because the defenseman had become cruelly distant. It was like torture. Any time Cale had denied going out to eat or had only briefly and awkwardly conversed with Nate, it felt like a knife was being driven through Nate’s chest.

Soon enough, it was affecting the way he thought during games. All the sudden, if Cale didn’t pass to him it was an intentional jab at Nate. If Cale even looked at him, Nate felt like he’d done something wrong. What was worse was that Cale hadn’t even really changed. Sure, he might not want to hang out, but that might be because he had other plans. Nate felt stupid, more than that, he was pissed. Pissed at Landy for toying with him, he felt childish. It was such a dumb thing, too. Landy had just wanted to help, he’d seen how Nate was acting and he’d talked it through with him. It was a nice gesture from a long time friend, something Nate usually wouldn’t have thought twice about if Landy were to be talking about something else, anyone else.

So, Nate had given Cale his space. Turns out, that was what both of them needed. After about a month things were back to normal and any romantic thought of Cale was easily dismissable. Nate could sleep again, he could play normally without thoughts of Cale clouding his mind, and he was able to start hanging out with the defenseman again. Just like normal. Soon enough Nate had practically forgotten he’d ever loved Cale at all. Sure, Nate felt a bit emptier, but that wasn’t because he missed the possibility of Cale loving him, right? He’d moved on. Cale was talking with him again. Nate couldn’t ruin that by letting himself believe he could have the defenseman as his own.

However, a part of Nate still cringed when one day, after an early game, he’d seen Cale by his car with some date. He’d been walking out to the parking lot when he’d seen them. They weren’t even doing anything, but a hot wave of embarrassment and shame still washed over Nate and he felt his cheeks heat. He hadn’t been able to stop staring. Don’t be petty, Nate. You don’t even know that she’s his girl. She could just be a friend, stop acting so stupid, Nate tried to reason with himself. But his mind was reeling with desire and longing again. I wish that were me. 

Nate averted his eyes and got angrily into his car. He started it and cursed under his breath before driving home. He’d made plans with JT and some of the others, but he didn’t care. Right now, he just needed to be home. He could just say he wasn’t feeling up to it, anyway. Which he wasn’t. Nate had gotten home and tried to distract himself, but it wasn't working. Before he could even think about it, Nate was phoning Sid. 

“Yeah?” Sid had asked, not even needing to say hello.

Nate rested one arm on his knee, resting his head on his palm while the other held the phone to his ear. “Hey, Sid… I—” Nate paused, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t take it anymore, “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Fire away.”

“How do you tell someone you love them?”

~~~

Cale had gotten home from his “date” early. It hadn’t felt right, but then again, not much had ever since Landy had come over and told him Nate might like him. Cale knew it was stupid, trying to avoid his feelings and place them to someone else, but at this point he was willing to do anything. He’d tried staying away from Nate, but that only made the longing for him greater. He’d tried dates. He’d tried everything. So why was Nate so hard to get rid of? Was it because Nate’s touch was something no one else could replicate? Was it the way his passion for his game showed in how competitive he was? Or was it just because Cale was desperate and alone and he was tired of it? 

More than that, Cale wasn’t even sure if Nate could love him back. Cale wasn’t sure he deserved that. Nate deserved better, infinitely better, than what Cale could ever offer. Why bother? Cale had tried to act normal about all of this, but soon enough Devon had caught on. Cale’s phone buzzed and he clicked on the notification.

Something’s been up with you. Do you want to talk?

My house tonight at 7 if you do. Kerry’s going out with some friends tonight, so we’ll be alone.

Of course Devon could tell something was going on. Cale sighed. It would be kind of nice to tell someone about this. Maybe then he could actually shed some light on what the hell he should do. Cale nodded to himself. If he trusted anyone with this information other than the other two lovebirds of the team, it’d be Devon.

I’ll be there.

Good. I’ve been worried about you.

I’ve been worried about me, too, Cale wanted to type, but he clicked off his phone instead. He could tell Devon that later and in person. Now, all he had to do was wait. Cale was good at that, waiting. He had to be. He had to know when to shoot, when to pass, when exactly to skate this way or that. Waiting was valuable, too many people forgot that. Maybe Cale had lately, too. Everything happened when it was supposed to, and— as much as it pained him to admit— maybe this whole dilemma with Nate was like that. Cale just had to be patient and wait for the right moment, and that was something he could do. Something he knew, something that was easy. Hopefully Nate understood that.

Thankfully, time seemed to pass quickly. Cale had grabbed his dinner and then made the short trip to Devon’s place. His house was pretty humble, expensive, but not showy. Cale had never really needed as much space as Devon’s, but Cale honestly liked it. His own home was actually pretty similar to Devon’s, maybe a little smaller. Cale knew some people were bothered by living in a big house all alone, but Cale wasn’t that person. He enjoyed having his space to hang around, and Devon was the same way. 

Devon had shown him downstairs and they’d taken a seat on the couch. He’d already had beers in his hand and Cale laughed. Devon had this nasty habit of knowing exactly how conversations were going to feel, and he was right. “What?” the defenseman had asked with a laugh.

Cale had taken one of the drinks from his hands. “I can’t believe you already knew this might be a rough one.”

“What? No! I wouldn’t assume that.”

Cale shook his head and motioned to Devon. “You literally had the beers in your hand when I opened the door! What do you mean you didn’t assume?” Cale jabbed and Devon waved his hand dismissively away.

“Alright, alright. Now shut up about that and tell me what the hell’s been going on with you. You’re acting even more antisocial than usual.”

Cale shrugged. Should he be doing this? How would Devon feel? He’d been the one to help Cale get over Nate the first time, how was he supposed to admit that it hadn’t worked? He couldn’t just ask for help again, it wasn’t fair. A few tense moments passed and Cale sighed. Might as well.

“You know how I used to have a thing for Nate?” Cale asked, he searched Devon’s eyes for some form of anger or annoyance but he found nothing but focus. Cale paused before continuing, “I… I think I like him again. I don’t know.”

“Okay…” Devon began, “so how is this time any different? You didn’t act like this when you first fell for him, what’s changed? Why’s he getting to you this bad?”

Cale’s breath caught in his throat, panic seizing him. He drew in a few steadying breaths and ran his hands through his hair, cheeks heating. This was so difficult. Why? It was stupid, he trusted Devon more than anyone else with this. He shouldn’t be feeling like someone was actively trying to shrink his lungs and like a hand was squeezing his heart.

Devon was steady and calm. “Cale?”

“Because,” Cale started shakily. He exhaled and restarted, making pleading eye contact with his defense partner, “Because I think he likes me back.”

“Oh.”

~~~

Nate couldn’t get the song out of his head. It was all he could seem to think of and it was playing on constant repeat in his mind. So, naturally, he took any time he had in his day to listen to it and think it over.

“Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways?

Sad to see you go, was sorta hoping that you’d stay.

Baby we both know that the nights are made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day

Do I wanna know? Too busy being yours to fall

Sad to see you go. Ever thought of callin’, darlin’?

Do I wanna know? Do you want me crawling back to you?”

It was only worsening Nate’s desire. He wanted to tell Cale. He wanted to tell Cale so fucking badly. He wanted to spill all his dark thoughts and longings. He wanted to tell Cale that the reason he hadn’t slept was because he was too busy thinking about what Cale’s own touch felt like. He wanted to pull Cale to his chest and force him to understand his love, but he couldn’t. More than that Nate wanted, above everything, for Cale to love him back. He didn’t even know if it was possible, but neither Sid nor Landy had helped him forget that admitting something like that was a risk. And it was a risk they thought Nate should take. 

So why hadn’t Nate taken that leap? Well, because he was scared. Dead scared. Things were finally normal between them. As much as Nate wanted to say that it was for Cale’s sake, that was another lie. It was for Nate’s sake, for his own hope to still stay friends with the defenseman. It was cowardly. Nate rested his head against his door, about to leave to go to their pregame practice. He closed his eyes, brows furrowed. He wasn’t a coward. He opened his door and got into his car. Today, Nate decided. Today he’d come clean with Cale. No backing out, no nothing. He was going to get this over with. Nate was tired of waiting.

So Nate had practiced like hell. Played like hell. He’d scored, but that didn’t matter. They’d won, but that didn’t matter either. Nate was just glad the night was done. He caught Cale before he left the locker room. “Hey,” Nate had said, gaining Cale’s attention all-too instantly, “you wanna go out somewhere?”

“Oh…” Cale looked back into the hall, eyes trailing Devon out of the room, he turned back to Nate. “Yeah, sure. Why— I mean, where?”

“I don’t know. A bar someplace close. You pick.”

“Alright,” Cale had agreed and after a couple minutes they’d chosen the place. Cale had said his brief goodbye and left Nate to go on his own to the bar before Nate. Nate ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, waiting a few moments before following Cale out of the room.

Landy was leaning on the wall with a smug look on his face. Nate stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to face his captain who only winked in response. “What. The hell.”

“Ohhh, you should have seen him, Nate,” Landy said, voice laced with a shit-eating grin, “He walked out of here so red. I think I heard him laughing to himself in disbelief as he ran his hands through his hair…”

Landy winced as Nate gave him a swift shoulder punch. The captain laughed. Nate pointed an accusing finger at Landy. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And it’s working, isn’t it? You’re blushing, idiot,” prodded Landy. “Now go, he’ll be waiting for you.”

Landy gave Nate a small shove to get him going and before Nate could fully exit the doors he called, “And for the record, he totally likes you back, by the way! You two are gonna be perfect together!”

“Oh, shut up!” Nate shouted with a shake of his head, but he was smiling.

He’d arrived at the bar and quickly found his seat beside Cale. The defenseman had already gotten their drinks, their usual. Nate took his seat and folded his hands a bit nervously together. They chatted as they drank, the conversation blessedly not uncomfortable. Nate had practically forgotten he was going to confess, well, until Cale had reminded him that is.

It’d been a small thing. Cale had simply mentioned one of his old girlfriends that he was still close with and that had set it all off. Nate had barely recovered the conversation but the damage had been done. It was tense after that, Cale awkwardly trying to maintain anything but failing. Not the right time, not the right time, not the right time— Nate’s mind screamed.

Oh, he’d been so stupid. How was this even supposed to work? Why did he think this would work? Nate had finished his drink and they left the bar in silence. Nate got into his car again, a wave of shame and sadness rushing over him. Why had he tried? He was so— Nate cast his eyes skyward, emotion choking his throat. He took a deep breath in, trying to steady himself. He would have failed if Cale— Cale?— wasn’t running up to his car.

Nate snapped to attention. “What the—”

Cale knocked on his window and Nate unlocked the door. Cale scrambled in, cheeks a bit red from running. Cale turned to face Nate, his eyes so warm and loving. Nate couldn’t take it. Cale panted a bit, regaining his breath. “Nate, I— I needed to tell you—”

The world was bright. Nate was suddenly and acutely aware of everything. The condensation on his windshield, the twinkling of car lights and the glow of the street lamps. He noticed the movement inside buildings. The pedestrians chatting on the sidewalks.None of it mattered. Cale was perfect. Cale was here. 

“I needed to say—” Cale was cut off, but it was beautiful.

Nate was leaning in, and Cale had stopped talking. The night went silent, the world held its breath. This was where they were meant to be. Nate closed his eyes, closed the gap between them, and took the leap. Sid was right. It did feel good.

~~~

Cale felt alive. His hand was at Nate’s jaw, he could feel its stubble, stark in comparison to his own smooth skin. Nate’s had its nicks and bruises, Cale’s was perfect and clean. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to stop time itself just so they could stay here forever. Everything was warm, beautiful, and perfect. He’d never thought this could even happen, but Nate had proved him so, so wrong. Cale had never been happier to be so. And holy shit Nate was a good fucking kisser. Cale could feel how much the forward wanted him and Cale was all there for it. Cale had known Nate’s love language was physical touch, but this was… this was— Cale smiled and Nate only pulled him closer, determined to stay right here and right now— heaven. Cale laughed, pulling back for the barest moment to breathe before reconnecting with Nate again for a shorter time. He didn’t want to let it stop, but it happened and they met eye contact. Nate was red, smiling, he was perfect. Cale laughed, “Oh my God, you actually— we actually—”

“Yeah,” Nate said and looked around for another moment before blurting, “kiss me again, please.”

Cale felt himself blush an even deeper red. Nate was actually asking for this, it was unbelievable. He’d never even thought— Cale’s mind was in a scramble, so many thoughts ran through his head he couldn’t even hold onto one. So he didn’t think, he just obliged. Cale could tell Nate had wanted this for a while, he’d spent so much time intentionally trying to make sure Cale wasn’t uncomfortable if Nate touched him and now… now he didn’t bother. Nate was as intense as a forest fire, and Cale was loving it. Cale was loving Nate.

Cale’s ribcage was digging into the armrest, absently it hurt. Cale pulled himself up, closer. His head hit the light above him and it clicked on. Cale opened his eyes and he laughed, Nate had stopped kissing him and he’d rested his forehead against Cale’s. Nate rubbed his thumb over Cale’s knuckles with a grin. He’d never seen the forward so radiant, happy. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Cale asked, words almost nonexistent. He felt like he was floating, like if he let silence rest too long he’d awake from some dream. 

Nate shrugged, his eyes warm as realization crossed over them. “Forever, I think.”

“Then why didn’t you do it sooner?” Cale exclaimed with a dry laugh, he swatted at Nate’s shoulder playfully.

Nate drew back, falsely offended. He shook his head and looked back at Cale. Silence fell, Nate’s crystal clear blue eyes studied him, searching Cale for the answer. The faintest smile danced across his perfect lips. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Cale felt desire course through him and a new wave of heat crossed over his cheeks. He didn’t bother saying anything. He wanted to tell Nate that he was wanted now. So he scooted forward and gave Nate one last kiss, determined to make him his. Nate seemed surprised by it. Cale was surprised, too. He’d never had this with anyone else. Any love had been half-hearted and Cale hadn’t liked touch. But with Nate? Oh, with Nate, all Cale wanted to do was feel and touch and love. He loved it. Cale kept Nate there for as long as he wanted, and the forward didn’t fight it. A small amount of pride crept into Cale’s chest at that.

Cale drew away and as he opened Nate's passenger door with one hand, he let his other stray at the underside of Nate’s chin. He could feel Nate swallow, he could feel his jaw tick as he made eye contact with Cale. Cale smirked a bit and stepped out into the fresh and cool Denver air. He shut the door and lifted his eyes skyward into the stars. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and adjusted his jacket, putting up the hood to hide his face from Nate, who would no doubt be watching his every move.

Cale was about to find his way to his car when he heard Nate’s door shut. “Cale!” Nate called, catching his attention and he jogged towards him.

“What?”

Nate didn’t say anything, he just wrapped his arms around Cale. The defenseman stiffened a bit before melting into the embrace, he threw his own arms around Nate’s shoulders and buried his face into Nate’s T-shirt. Nate gave him a tight squeeze. “Thank you,” he said.

Before Cale could reply, Nate had turned and was starting his car. Cale stood, thankful for the chill, and watched Nate drive away. He smiled to himself. “Yeah… no problem.”

Cale lingered for a few, leaning against the large lamp post as he pulled out his phone. He searched around his screen a bit scatter-brained before finally opening up his contacts and calling Devon. It went to voicemail. Cale shook his head. Old man. He called Landy instead, half-expecting him not to answer too as it was pretty late, but the captain responded almost immediately.

“Heyyyyyy,” Landy greeted, something sly in his tone.

“Hi,” began Cale, trying to stay composed even though he knew Landy could probably hear his smile, “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, do tell. Me and EJ have been dying to hear it.”

Of course EJ was there… Wait, hear it? Why did he sound like he knew— Cale rolled his eyes. Why wouldn’t Landy know? He pinched the bridge of his nose before responding, acting a bit defeated to try and throw them off, “Me and Nate.”

“Shit.” EJ, Cale noticed. “He didn’t do something stupid, right? I swear if he—” Ej was cut off by Cale’s laugh. “Oh, you little jerk!”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s fine, we’re fine. Great, really. I just can’t believe you two. How on earth did you guys know?”

Landy spoke next, “We’re like sharks, and you guys are the blood in the water. We don’t miss, ever. Also, I overheard you both chatting in the locker room, but that isn’t the point.”

Cale sighed, he should have known. He closed his eyes for a few moments before EJ butted in again, “So, how did it go? Like are you… y’know?”

Cale paused for a moment. Were they? Nate seemed to think so, but Cale could just be assuming the best. He didn’t know what Nate wanted from him, Cale wasn’t quite sure what he was wanting from Nate either. Could they honestly be together, or was that just setting them up for failure? Cale took in a deep breath, he was over-analyzing again. He fiddled with the ring at his neck and bit his lip a bit before nodding to himself. Just say what you think, what you know you feel. “I— I’m not sure. I don’t know yet, but…”

“Yeah?” Landy prodded over the phone and Cale could hear its mirth.

“But I do want him. I want us, I mean.”

“That’s my man! Hell yeah! That’s so good, Cale. I’m glad. It was killing me—” Landy must have received some glare from EJ because he corrected himself— “us to see you both like this. We wanted things to work out. We’re happy for you. How’s Nate taken it? He run off?”

“No, actually we— well, we kinda left the bar separately but I found his car and I was going to tell him and he… he kissed me.” There was silence for a moment and Landy let him continue. “It was amazing, Landy. I’ve never felt like that before. Ever. I didn’t know love was supposed to feel like this.”

“It’s good isn’t it? To not feel alone, to know that no matter what,” Landy paused for a moment and Cale could only imagine the look he was giving EJ, “you have someone. Always.”

“Yeah,” breathed Cale. “Yeah, that’s exactly it… Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Cale said his goodbye and hung up, pocketing his phone and making his way to his car. He drove home, listening to his romance playlist. Just as he was about to go to bed, his phone buzzed. It was Nate.

I love you.

…

Cale hesitated typing for a moment. He shook his head to himself. Screw it.

I love you too.

Cale went to Nate’s contact info. He gazed at the picture of Nate he had as his profile before clicking on Nate’s name and adding on to it. It now said: Nate &lt;3. Cale smiled. It was simple, but it was nice. Nothing too cheesy, just something that satisfied what Cale was feeling. He clicked off his phone and fell into perfect, undisturbed sleep for the first time since he’d fallen for the forward. Life wasn’t normal in the slightest, it never had been, but Cale finally felt good. This was an abnormality he was happy to welcome into his life. Nate loved him, and that was the best out-of-the-usual gift he could ever receive. 

Cale felt whole.

~~~

Nate had shown up to practice radiant for the first time in what felt like months. Landy had been there and all he’d needed to do was give Nate a warm smile as he dipped his head and pointed out to the rink. He must have been one of the first ones there. Nate’s gaze followed where Landy was pointing. Cale was out on the ice skating, Nate’s expression melted into admiration as he watched. Then, he got ready as quickly as possible just so he could join Cale for a short time alone. 

“Hey,” Nate greeted.

Cale’s face was already red, but Nate could have sworn it got just a bit deeper in that moment. Maybe he was crazy. Cale said hello back and Nate joined him in skating. The others slowly filed in and they went through practice like normal. Nate was just glad that the others were dismissing his obvious flirting with Cale from the ice or the bench as him just being funny, or maybe they just didn’t care.

Nate left the ice shortly before Cale, but when he was ready to leave he lingered. Cale was talking with some of the others beside him, but his eyes strayed to Nate often, telling that he was thinking the same thing. Cale halted when Devon and Val motioned for them to go. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you there, just give me a sec’.”

Nate smiled and Cale turned to him. Nate crossed to Cale and pulled him a bit closer. Cale’s cheeks flushed instantly, he slowly moved his fingers around Nate’s bicep with a faint smile. Nate could tell Cale was thinking about saying something, so he waited and didn’t push him for it. After a few more moments of Cale simply studying Nate lovingly, Cale asked, “Nate, are we— do you want to be…?” Nate laughed faintly as he watched Cale trying to find the words. “Nate, are we boyfriends?”

Nate felt his face heat, he grinned. “Yeah,” he breathed, “yeah, I think we are.”

[star--anon]

3 Times Wilbur Was A Lee + No That's It, That's The Post

Heyyyyyyy~! I left Tumblr for a little while, but don't worry! I'm back! And I've finally written the prompt that was sent to me over 2 months ago! Yay!

"Listen, I'm sorry, alright?" Tommy huffed out, resting his head on Wilbur's shoulder. "I didn't mean to! Honest! You're just being a big bitch about it!"

Wilbur didn't say anything back. He simply stared at the front door, waiting for Phil to come home with his fixed sweater.

While watching Tommy parade around the house in Wilbur's favorite orange sweater was, to some degree, amusing, it was not amusing when Tommy ripped the soft fabric. And although Phil had gone to get the sweater fixed, Wilbur was still incredibly upset with the seventeen-year-old idiot. He stuck a Post-It on Tommy's forehead with the words, "I am an idiot and Wilbur Soot does not talk to idiots," scrawled on the yellow paper in messy handwriting. He then resigned himself to the couch and waited for Phil to come home, ignoring Tommy's attempts at getting his attention.

It seemed like Tommy wasn't exactly on board with his idea, judging by the way he plopped himself next to Wilbur and began poking his shoulder, repeating, "...Answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me..."

It took every fiber of Wilbur's being to not whack Tommy on the back of his empty little head.

"...Answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me..."

The words, "Shut it", weighed heavily on Wilbur's tongue, and it took a massive effort to not let it slip from his lips. He had told himself that he would not talk to Tommy, and he was going to keep that promise.

"...Answer me, answer me, answer me, not gonna stop until you answer me, answer me, answer me..."

Gradually, as Wilbur remained unresponsive, Tommy's poking became quicker and more aggressive until he missed his mark. Instead of poking Wilbur's shoulder, he ended up poking his ribs. The older started and swallowed a squeak of surprise. He hoped that Tommy hadn't noticed, but that hope quickly sank when he saw him grin widely.

"I saw that jump, don't try and hide," said Tommy, poking his ribs again. As impassively as he could, Wilbur reached out and grabbed Tommy's wrists tightly. He never spoke a word and kept his eyes on the front door. He was trying to ignore the kid, after all. He squeezed Tommy's wrists and let go, hoping that the boy had gotten the message.

Don't poke me, he silently said.

Unfortunately, Tommy was never good at listening. The moment his hands were free, he immediately returned to poking at Wilbur's ribs, this time with renewed energy.

"Ahaha-!"

Wilbur cracked.

He dropped the ignoring act and squirmed away from Tommy. In his desperation, he made the mistake of falling off the couch and onto the ground, allowing Tommy to sit on top of him and poke him more.

"G-Gehehet ahahaway!"

"I knew it! I knew you were just ignoring me!"

"Tohohommy, gehehet ohoff!"

"Nah. I'm having a lot of fun."

"T-Tohohommy, Ihi'm seheherious!" Wilbur tried to flip over to throw Tommy off him, but he quickly abandoned the attempt when Tommy dug between his shoulder blades. "Juhuhust gehehet ohohoff! Plehehease!"

Although Wilbur's thin shirt was doing nothing to protect him from Tommy's poking, the blonde still decided to take it up a notch. He slipped a hand underneath the shirt and rapidly squeezed his ribcage. Wilbur just about shrieked, frantically and jerkily pushing at Tommy's chest. His arms flailed around; Wilbur was stuck between trying to push Tommy off him or covering up his red face to preserve what little dignity he could save. The younger grinned widely, easily grabbing Wilbur's hands and pinning them down high above his head.

"TOHOHOMMY, WAHAHAIT! I-IHI CAHAHAN'T BREHEHEATHE!" Wilbur was bluffing and Tommy knew it.

"Calm down, you're breathing just fine."

"GEHEHET OHOHOFF!"

"Awww, is this a bad spot?" Tommy made an exaggerated sad face. "This is a bad spot for you, huh? Your ribs are ticklish? Is that what this is? Hm?"

Wilbur whined at the teasing, turning a deep shade of red.

"TOHOHOMMY!" he complained. The squeezing and pokes to his ribs made it difficult to think, so he couldn't get out much more. Given the opportunity, he might have been able to formulate a proper and cohesive argument and rationalization to persuade Tommy into halting his petty actions.

He wasn't given the opportunity.

The laughing on his behalf and the tickling on Tommy's seemed to weaken Wilbur because he was finding it incredibly hard to do anything but lie there and take it. Take the digging nails between his ribs, the occasional raspberry on his ribs, the random squeezes and pokes and prods and wiggles and skitters and rubs on the bones and gently scratching...

"TOHOHOMMY! PLEHEHEASE, YOUHU'RE GOHOHOING TO KIHILL ME!"

"Calm down," scoffed Tommy. "I'm not going to kill you."

Still, he relented and stopped his attack, letting Wilbur (finally) take a breather.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeheheah..."

"Cool."

"Cahahan youhu get ohohoff mehe?"

Tommy blinked. This was the first time in memory that Wilbur had asked for something — and politely too.

"Hm..." For a moment, Tommy considered it. Wilbur hadn't flipped him over and taken brutal revenge yet. He had asked nicely to be let up. It looked like he was sorry for ignoring Tommy. Well, then again, it only looked like he was sorry.

"Maybe if you apologize for ignoring," offered Tommy, "I'll let you up."

Wilbur glared at him. It was obvious he was trying to gain authority and control of the situation by activating his Big-Brother mode, but it was less effective when he was at Tommy's mercy.

"Fuhuhuck youhu," Wilbur snapped. "Let me up."

Tommy just shrugged. "Your funeral," he said, scribbling his fingers over Wilbur's ribs. The brunet screeched in laughter and immediately gave in.

"OHOHOKAY! OHOKAY IHI'M SOHOHORRY! SOHOHOHORRY!"

Huh. Well, that had worked out better than expected. Tommy made a mental note about Wilbur's ribs. What? It was valuable potential blackmail for later!

"Very sorry?"

"YEHES! V-VEHEHERY SOHOHORRY!"

"And you promise that you'll never ignore me ever again?"

"YOUHU SUHUHUCK!" Wilbur whined through his laughter.

"I don't hear you saying it~"

"NOHOT SAHAHAYING SHIHIT!"

"Don't think you have a choice here, Wil," Tommy murmured. Once more, he switched tactics, going from dancing his fingers around to digging in between each of Wilbur's ribs. Every once in a while, he'd blow a raspberry and smugly grin when he heard Wil shriek. "I think you better say it."

"IHIHI PROHOHOMISE IHI'LL-" Wilbur broke off with a high-pitched squeal as Tommy blew a raspberry on a particularly ticklish rib. "AHAHA-! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!"

"Go on," coaxed Tommy. "Say "I'll never ignore you again, Tommy", and I'll let you up."

"DA-DAHAHAMN YOUHU!

"Say it!"

"IHIH'LL NEHEVER IGNORE YOUHU AHAHAGAIN, TO-TOHOHOMMY!" Wilbur managed to babble out.

Finally, finally, Tommy stopped. This time, with no intention of starting up again. "Really?"

"Yehes," Wilbur breathily replied. His chest rose and fell as he greedily sucked in some much-needed air. "I forgive you, okay? I'll stop ignoring. I don't think you're an idiot. I don't care about my sweater." At first, Tommy thought he was just saying it so Tommy wouldn't tickle him again. But that thought quickly left when Wilbur reluctantly grumbled out, "I love you. And I'm sorry."

"Awww! Thank you!"

"Now get the fuck off of me."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*

"Y'know, Tommy had a lot of fun telling me about his own tickling story with you," Philza helpfully informed, shifting slightly to better access Wilbur's underarms. He noticed that kneading circles made Wil's laughter go high-pitched, so he made sure to knead as many circles as he could. "But honestly, I think I'm having more fun than he did."

"AHAHAHA! PH-PHIHIHIL! PHIHIL IHIHI CAHAHAN'T! PLEHEHEHEASE! IHI- EEP!"

Phil grinned at Wilbur's reaction. He blew another raspberry on his neck and got the same response: a short, high-pitched shriek.

"You what? What is it, Wilbur?"

Wilbur simply shook his head, laughing too hard to be able to form coherent words. Had he not been sitting in Phil's lap, his arms held up with one hand and his underarms being tortured by a hand and a wing while another wing was running over his ribs, he might have been able to form a proper word. Phil noticed this and decided to give the musician a small break.

"...h-hehehe," Wilbur softly giggled. The tickling had stopped, but he still jerked and flinched and laughed like there were still fingers and feathers on him. "M-Mehehahaha..."

"What?"

"...mehahaha..."

"A-Are you okay?" asked Philza, starting to get worried. He hadn't taken it too far, had he?

Finally, after his breathing calms down and enough air gets into Wilbur's lungs, he whispered, "...m-mehehercy..."

"What's that?"

"H-Hahahave mehercy, Phihil." Wilbur shook his head once more, his giggles beginning to start up again. He tugged at his wrists, which were still held high above his head, and rocked side to side, almost like he was trying to evade poking fingers. The only thing was that Phil wasn't doing anything. "Cahahan't tahake ihit..."

"I'm giving you a break right now," soothed Phil. "I'm not an asshole."

"Yehes you ahahare," Wilbur cheekily said.

"Hey," said Phil. He ran his nails over Wilbur's ribs, earning a loud shriek. "I would be careful if I were you," he warned. "Don't forget, I know two of your spots now, and I fully plan on abusing my knowledge."

Wilbur squirmed in the avian's lap, his light-hearted threat forcing a whine out of him. His cheeks only got redder when he finally processed something that Phil had said earlier.

"Did he really?" he meekly asked.

"Did who really what?"

"Did Tommy really tell you about tickling me?"

Philza barked out a laugh. "You think Tommy's the type of guy to offer help in unloading the groceries?"

Wilbur flushed, his cheeks now a deep crimson. "Guess not," he grumbled. He had thought it was weird that Tommy was suddenly so eager to do a task that nobody liked doing — unloading the groceries — but he had just assumed that Tommy felt awkward around Wilbur after tickling him. He hadn't thought that... Wilbur kicked his legs as best he could and whined loudly.

"I can't believe you just stood there and willingly listened to Tommy talk about how he... how he tortured me to earn my forgiveness," he huffed.

"Torture," Phil snorted. "He didn't torture you. You make it sound like he had a knife and was drawing blood. According to him, all he did was tickle your ribs."

"W-Well, my ribs are very ticklish!"

"I noticed," Phil remarked. He dragged a single finger up Wil's ribs and smirked when Wilbur burst into sweet lil' giggles. Feeling a little evil, he added, "You know, he also told me get flustered easily~"

This, of course, flustered Wilbur. He buried his head in the crook of his arm, trying — and failing miserably — to suppress a goofy smile.

Phil took it as an invitation to continue.

"He also told me your laugh was adorable."

"Did he really-

"He told me you get all giggly when someone lightly rubs your ribs."

"Wh-What-"

"And that you get really red when someone tickle you."

"I don't-"

"You do, actually," Phil noted, eyeing the brunet's red face.

"Look," he said, booping Wilbur on the nose, "even your nose is red."

"I-"

"You look good though," Phil reassured. "Cute and a little messy, but good."

"St-Stop cutting me off!" spluttered Wilbur. The fact that Phil hadn't let him go yet probably meant that he planned on tickling him more, and Phil's constant interrupting wasn't helping Wilbur ease his nerves.

Phil's eyes widened at his outburst. "Well, there's no need to shout at your old man," he murmured. "I was just curious, that's all."

"S-Sorry..."

Phil hummed again, and the two fell into a comfortable silence — although Wilbur's nerves still didn't ease. Just as he was about to be asked if he could be let go, Phil said, "Aight, break's over. Let's start."

"Wait, what're you- AH! PHIHIHIL! NOHOHOT AHAHAGAIN!"

Phil cooed softly, drilling his wings into Wilbur's underarms while silently counting his ribs with his free hand. "I think Tommy was right; your laugh is adorable."

"FUHUHUHUCK YOUHUHU!"

Phil frowned at the vulgar language. He tugged Wilbur's arms to the side a little and began blowing raspberries on his ribs. Just as Tommy had told him, Wilbur immediately shrieked.

"AHAHAHA! WAHAHAIT! SOHOHORRY! PLEHEHEHEASE, IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY!"

Phil noticed that vibrating his fingers deep into Wil's underarms made him laugh louder than when he blew raspberries on his ribs. "Hey, I think your armpits might be more ticklish than your ribs!"

"PHIHIHIL!" Wilbur whined. "YOUHUHU'RE SOHO MEHEHEHEAN!"

"Me? Mean?" Phil gasped in mock offense. He ran the tip of his wing over Wil's left underarm while drilling circles into his right. The harsh contrast between the two sides was driving Wilbur insane! "I'm hurt, Wilbur. I'm genuinely hurt."

"IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY NOHOW STOP TIHIHIHICKLING MEHE!"

"Lemme sleep on it."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*

"No, that wouldn't work either," Wilbur dismissed. He leaned back in his chair (or some stairs, depending on how you wanna look at it) and gazed out the window, a half-amused smile tugging on his lips as he watched Tommy and Tubbo assemble and reassemble a large pyramid puzzle. To Technoblade, he said, "Think of something better."

"I'm trying!" Techno frustratedly snapped. "You've been rejecting every idea I've come up with! Plus, you haven't come up with a single idea yet!"

"Yeah, because good ideas take a long time to think of!"

Techno rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Good ideas take a long time to think of? Seriously? That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse! I'm trying to focus, but you're distracting me!"

"I'm helping."

From downstairs, Phil tiredly sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Wilbur and Techno were arguing. Again.

"What else is new," he muttered under his breath before sipping his coffee.

Sometimes, the avian questioned his decision to introduce his adopted family to Technoblade. At times, it was good to have his friend around; he was always happy to have a helping hand in organizing the family. Techno was a good big brother.

There were, however, some problems. Even though Technoblade was over a thousand years old, Nether piglins tended to live for millions of years. By piglin standards, Techno was barely a toddler. His youth — and therefore inexperience — caused some (read: a lot) of chaos and unnecessary bickering around the house.

For example, it was Tommy's birthday, and Techno and Wilbur had been assigned to give him a gift. Phil had initially thought it would be a nice team/brother bonding moment, but it just ended up being another excuse for the two to argue.

"What if we made him a giant cobblestone tower?" suggested Techno. "I have enough. We could build it all the way to the height limit. It'd probably make Tommy happy; he likes cobblestone towers of powers."

"No."

The piglin blinked at Wilbur's bluntness. He waited for an explanation. When none came, he prompted, "...Because...?"

"I just don't like the idea," Wilbur replied.

Techno threw his hands up in wordless fury. "You are impossible to work with," he stated. "Absolutely impossible."

"Think of some good ideas and maybe I'll be easier to work with."

Finally, Technoblade snapped. Wilbur had been rejecting every single one of his ideas with no satisfying explanation. It was honestly starting to get to him.

Making sure Wilbur was still distracted by something outside the window, he slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a book and quill. Flipping to page thirteen, he slowly trailed a finger down the paper, quickly reading all the bullets.

- A video where he's singing incredibly off-key - His secret drawer of photos of Sally - The one page in his diary where he talks about how amazing Tommy is - A video of him strumming an air-guitar like he's at a rock concert - That one time he accidentally encased himself in obsidian and I had to get him out - That time he started talking about how incredibly Tommy was before realizing I wasn't Philza

None of these help, Technoblade thought, slightly crestfallen. Usually, his book had all the blackmailing information necessary for any situation. But none of the bullets were helpful in this certain scenario. Eventually, he reached the final bullet on page thirteen, the page specifically dedicated to potential blackmail on Wilbur Soot.

- Ticklish ribs The words, "+underarms", had been hastily scrawled underneath.

Huh. Technoblade glanced up at Wilbur, who remained oblivious to his growing evil scheme.

"Alrighty then," the piglin sighed, standing up. "Villain arc time."

"Oh yeah?" Wilbur absent-mindedly murmured. "What're you gonna- AH!"

He yelped, caught off-guard, as Techno just about pounced on him and hauled him off his chair. He crashed into the piglin, sending them tumbling to the ground, each fighting for dominance. Though Techno was quite well-known for his strength and cunningness, Wilbur found it incredibly easy to wriggle his way out from his grasp.

Just as Wilbur had thought he had managed to get away, Techno "accidentally" hiked his shirt up and began squeezing at his ribcage. Wil immediately crumbled to the ground, feebly beating Techno's chest with a clenched fist.

"Ack! T-Tehehechno! Youhu cheheheater!"

"I win!" he triumphantly cried, flipping Wilbur onto back and settling down on his legs. Anytime Wil tried to resist, Techno would simply rub his top rib bones and watch (smugly) as Wilbur fell back down, giggling up a storm.

"Youhuhu cheheated!" Wilbur protested. "Thahat's not fahahair!"

"Hush," shushed Techno. Wilbur did not "hush". In fact, when Technoblade delved his fingers into his underarms, his laughter only grew louder. In mock exasperation, Techno snapped, "Pay attention, Wilbur, I'm showing you my really good idea."

"Thihihis ihis youhur idehea?!"

"It's good, isn't it?"

"Ihihit's ahabsolute shit!"

Techno's eyes widened.

"You take that back!" he demanded, not caring how childish he was being. It seemed like laughter truly was contagious, for Wilbur's loud cackling brought out a few chuckles from himself. Techno was glad that Phil had suggested for Tommy and Tubbo to go outside, because it would be very hard to explain why he, Technoblade, a deadly piglin who earned his title "Blood God", was currently sitting on top of a human and tickling him senseless, all the while wearing a large, goofy smirk.

"My ideas are great and you know it. Just admit it already."

"Fuhuhuck ohoff! Ihihi-" Whatever Wilbur was going to say was cut off by his own raucous laughter when Techno pushed his sweater up and blew a raspberry on his ribs (a trick he learned from Phil, who learned it from Tommy). "FUHUHUCK! WAHAHAIT! WAHAHAIT, TEHEHECHNO PLEASE! STOHOHOP!"

Technoblade did not stop. As a matter of fact, Wilbur's pleas only seemed to spur him on. Through slightly teary eyes, Wil weakly batted at Techno's shoulder as the pinkette blew raspberry after raspberry on his ribs. The hits didn't do much — Techno barely noticed — but it did throw him off a little when Wilbur missed his shoulder and whacked him in the face. Luckily, no one was hurt, but it made Techno flinch, and instead of blowing a raspberry on Wil's ribs, he blew one on his navel.

To which Wilbur screeched.

"NOHOHO! NONONONO! NO! PLEHEHEASE! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHERE! ANYWHERE BUHUT THEHERE!"

Technoblade grinned. He gave Wil's underarms a little break and moved to attack his tummy instead, skittering his fingers around the soft skin, occasionally dipping into his navel to lightly scratch around.

"Oh? Is this a new spot?" asked Techno. "Is your tum-tum ticklish? Is it? Is it so tick-tick-ticklish? Hm?"

"STOHOHOHOP!" Wilbur tried to demand. His squeaky cackles weren't really helping him make a point. He pursed his lips together and attempted to put on a mean, stony face. Techno dipped a thumb into his lil' button and vibrated it around, and his facade immediately crumbled. He squirmed underneath him, frantically trying to get free. "PLEHEHEASE! CAHAHAN'T TAHAKE IHIT!"

The piglin caught the strain in Wilbur's laughter and sympathized with him. He hadn't been tickled before, but Wilbur always tried to keep a strong, impassive reputation, and Technoblade doesn't know what he would do if somebody tickles him and reduced him to a red puddle of giggles.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, decided that Wilbur had had enough. "Just wanted to have my revenge for a little while. It gets annoying when someone keeps rejecting my brilliant ideas, y'know."

He slid off of Wilbur and walked back to his chair, where he had originally been sitting before he had gotten the random idea to tickle Wil. Before he could see what Techno was doing, the piglin quickly jotted down "+belly and navel" on page thirteen of his blackmailing book. He said nothing else — no apologies, no consolation, no explanation. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs.

The moment Wilbur got enough air into his lungs and strength in his limbs, he staggered back onto his feet, face bright red and hair a mess. He ran a hand through his ruffled brown curls — like that would help — and sank into his chair, breathless.

"Ihi still thihink your ideas a-are shihit," he mumbled. He hugged himself around the stomach, ghost tickles still dancing on his sensitive skin. Technoblade glared at him. He had forgotten how annoying Wilbur was while he had been tickling him. He grabbed the first thing he could find — a marker — and pointed it at the brunet.

"I'll tickle you again if you're not careful," he threatened.

"I can take it," Wilbur arrogantly responded, eyeing the marker warily. His bluff was called, however, when Technoblade stood up and he squeaked. "AH! Sorry! Didn't mean it! I-I was just joking!"

Techno grinned. "You wanna admit that my ideas are good now?"

"No."

For a split second, Wilbur's stubbornness irritated the piglin. But then, after studying the marker in his hand, Techno's grin only widened, another equally wonderful idea popping into his head.

"Alright, I've got an idea I bet Tommy'll love," he said.

"And I bet it's shit."

Technoblade didn't say anything, simply grabbing Wilbur's wrists and raising them high above his head, which scared him.

"What're you doing?" he squeaked, voice high-pitched in terror. "D-Don't tickle me again! Please! I'm sorry!"

"Calm down," Techno soothed. "I'm not going to tickle you."

Wilbur relaxed a little. That is until Technoblade began pushing his sweater up, to which he shrieked, "What're you doing?!"

"I'm going to use this marker," was the pinkette's simple response.

"T-To do wha- EEP! Tehehechno! Nohohot ahagain!" whined Wil. "Plehease! Ihihi'm seherious, I cahahan't tahake it!"

"What? Seriously? You can't take a marker? Not even a marker?" teased Technoblade, more surprised than anything else.

"Ihihi'm tihihicklish!" the brunet defensively giggled.

"Well, that's good, because I won't tickle you all that much. Just stay still. I need to write something on your stomach. It'll be easier if you don't struggle."

"Ihihit tihihickles!"

"I know, but just stay still."

Wilbur tried — he really did! — but it was incredibly difficult to not laugh while Technoblade was writing something on his stomach with a black Sharpie. The soft tip of the marker was surprisingly good at tickling him, especially when it came close to the rim of his navel.

"Whahat ahahare yohuu even dohohoing?" giggled Wilbur. He couldn't exactly read whatever Techno was writing. It's hard to read upside down.

"I'm writing "TICKLE HERE" all over your stomach. And don't look at me like that," Technoblade added when the other gaped at him. "I know you're ticklish on your stomach, but I'm willing to bet Tommy doesn't~"

"Youhu wouhuhuldn't!"

"I would, actually," Techno replied. "Plus, I bet Tommy would love it. Admit it, Wilbur, it's a good idea."

Although Wilbur would continue to insist that Techno's ideas were shit, Tommy actually found Techno's birthday gift for him incredibly entertaining and enjoyed it immensely.

("Come on Wilbur, it's very rude to not sing me happy birthday~" "Ihihi'm tryhyhyhying!" "Try harder! Try to stop laughing. It might help." "Youhuhu suhuck!" "I wouldn't say that if I were in your position~" "ACK! WAHAHAIT! IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY!" "Don't forget to try his navel too." "FUHUHUCK YOU BOHOTH!")

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*

I don't know why this prompt took me so long to do but I'm so fucking sorry Jesus Christ ᜊࡇᜊ

Also I'd just like to mention brag that the word count is 3,909 words.

-🌟

[nightshade-minho]

Blue Book -(13)-

wc: 5k+

warnings: making out, some uncomfortable situations, angst, smut, oral, degradation, unprotected sex etc.

It was the day after the kiss, and you still hadn’t gotten over it. How could you? You could still feel his lips against yours, still remember the way he tasted. If the night hadn’t ended so abruptly, you wondered where it would have gone.

Sobering up Minho hadn’t been a difficult task. Thankfully he was mature enough. He listened to you, drank the water you gave him, and went back to sleep as soon as the two of you reached your home. You were glad he knew how to cooperate with you, thankfully your best friend knows when he’s gone too far.

He was still asleep, now. Usually he liked waking up earlier, but today was clearly an exception.

You sighed as you made yourself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, your eyes staring into the milk and wishing you could drown in them, when Minho walked into the room. He let out a small sigh under his breath as he saw you at the table. Last night was a blur, and he could barely remember anything. His brain was swimming with a million different emotions and thoughts as he ran his eyes over you. Hm.

He yawned, stretching and plopping down on the seat opposite you.

“How are you feeling?” You asked groggily, not looking up.

“Better. A lot better, actually.” He sighed, leaning forward. “I’m so so sorry, Y/n. It was irresponsible of me, I feel so bad for making you leave the party and cutting your night short.”

“Well, when one of my best friends is drunk and having a breakdown in the bathroom, what else am I supposed to do?” You sighed and sat back, staring at his remorseful face. “What was that all about, anyway?”

Minho sighed. There was no way he could tell you, no way he could express the guilt he was feeling.

"I don't know. I was just...crying for no reason at all. Alcohol can do that to you, I guess. No biggie."

You sighed. "No biggie? I- you know what, whatever." You sat up. "If you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, that's fine. Just don't do it again."

You looked at Minho, his expression twisting your heart. He just looked so….sad. It made you regret your words.

"Hey, Min…" You shifted your chair closer to his. "You know I'm here for you, right?"

He sniffed at that, looking away and at his feet. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't seem that way." He mumbled, thinking back to last night. He'd been way too drunk to recall it properly, but he could still vaguely remember you and Chan, standing too close for it to be anything innocent. What had the two of you been doing before he’d interrupted?

"What?" Your eyes narrowed in confusion as you stared at him, his words puzzling you. “Min-"

He shook his head, patting your hair. "It's okay, Y/n. Forget I ever said anything, okay?" You opened your mouth to protest but he placed his finger over your lips before you could say anything. "Shh. Let's watch a movie or something, I just want to get my mind off everything that’s happening.”

You groaned, ready to protest again as soon as he pulled away from you. However he'd already grabbed the remote by then, switching on the TV and dragging you over to the couch. There was a random movie already playing onscreen, a scene of a ballroom filled with dancing couples catching your eye.

"Min, gimme a second, I haven’t even washed my bowl-“

"Shh."

He chuckled as he suddenly began twirling you around the room, ignoring your whiny protests as the classical music flooded the space.

"Come on Y/n. Just let go. We didn't get to finish our dance last night anyway." He whispered in your ear, suddenly picking you up by the waist and swirling you around.

You let out a squeal, holding onto him tighter. "M-min, put me down-"

He did so, continuing to dance. "Y/nnie~ You know you want to~" He smirked, giggling softly as he observed your expression change slightly.

His laugh had always been contagious. You let a small smile grace your face, making his grin grow wider. You rolled your eyes and started following his rhythm, giggling.

"Yes! Finally.” He excitedly continued your little waltz, looking down at you. You'd started to co-operate, and he felt himself smile at the sight. He felt so happy whenever he was spending time with you. So calm and at ease.

He loved watching you smile. And being the reason behind it only made him happier.

"You're perfect, Y/n." He mumbled softly under his breath, his eyes running over your face.

You didn't hear him properly, the music drowning out his voice.

He couldn't help but bite his lip as he looked at you. Fuck, how did he ever find it in himself to hurt you the way he had all those years ago?

He could stare at you forever if he could. His eyes carefully took in each eyelash, the curve of your cheeks, the slope of your lips- he wished he could freeze this moment forever, so that he would never forget how you looked happy and smiling.

If there was one thing Minho knew he regretted, it was his behaviour back then. He knew he'd been a terrible person. Perhaps he could compare himself to a black hole, one that sucked out all the positivity and happiness in a room.

There'd been a time when all he felt as soon as he saw your face was hatred. Clouded judgments that had messed with his decisions, making him act like a complete asshole. All he had in his mind back then was rage, directed at you and the man you were linked to. The man who had ruined his family’s life.

But now, when he looked at you, he only felt calmness and a sense of safety. It just felt right, you being in his arms. After all, now he knew you’d been a victim as well. You’d gone through it all too, the same abuse and abandonment that had happened to him. It was the same man who had brought the two of you down.

You smiled at him as you gave in completely, dancing with him and letting go of your inhibitions. The music overtook your heart as you went along, dancing with him as you stared into his eyes and wondered what he was thinking about.

He came to a halt as the music slowed, staring at your face adoringly. Your beautiful, smiling, happy face. His eyes carefully took in your features once more, a soft smile gracing his lips.

And somehow, he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. The sight of your big doe eyes looking up into his was affecting him too much.

This was a bad idea...

He knew that all too well. It was the opposite of what he'd decided to do last night, which was to let you go and set things right.

But...but why not?

Fuck it. Maybe it was a reckless decision, but who cares? He deserved happiness too, right?

Minho let the hand on your waist drift up to your cheek, and before you could even process what was happening…

His lips were pressed to yours.

For a minute, you didn't know how to react. It was a foreign feeling, and you hadn’t really expected something like this to happen.

Although it didn’t feel entirely unpleasant, you still felt surprise and confusion overtake you as your eyes widened. You could barely process it, your thoughts flitting all over the place frantically.

Minho frowned as he noticed your lack of reaction, your lips barely moving against his.

He pulled away quickly, stumbling over his words.

Shit, what had he done? "Fuck, I'm sorry, Y/n-"

You looked up, blinking as you stared at his worried face. His eyes were frantic as they flitted around, his brain clearly overrun with thoughts as his mouth opened to blurt out more apologies.

As you stared at his heaving chest, your eyes wandering up to his lips, a sudden thought flew into your brain.

You weren’t quite sure where it came from or whether you should even follow it... but as the seconds went by, the more the urge took over you. You’d never really felt like this before.

You didn’t know what it was in you that prompted you to do it...a need for revenge on Chan? Or did you actually have feelings for your best friend? You weren’t sure.

You pulled Minho back towards you quickly, kissing him back desperately. He responded almost immediately, whining against your lips at the force with which you were kissing him.

You didn't know what you were feeling, though.

It felt nice kissing him,definitely...it felt comfortable, and his lips were so sweet and soft.

However...there was an evident lack of passion. At least from your side.

It was just rough. That's all you could feel from the kiss- roughness. And that was your fault really...Minho's initial approach had been much softer. You’d been the one to turn the kiss into what it was now.

Minho gripped your hips, moving you over to the wall. He pinned you against it, molding his lips against yours in another angle.

It still didn't feel right. Chan's kisses were so different...his lips were so much softer and plumper, and the way he kissed you made you feel like you were on top of the world, even when it was rough.

He’d been your first kiss. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect one, really. You’d felt safe and secure in his arms, even as the thunderstorm raged in the background. His lips had made you forget it all, made you focus on nothing but how wonderful it felt to have him pressed against you.

You snapped back to the present and realized Minho had moved onto your neck, leaving kisses there as his hand migrated down your body to play with the waistband of your sweatpants.

Oh. Shit, you were making a mistake.

You pushed him away suddenly, regretting it as you accidentally did it with a little too much force. Minho looked at you in confusion, his chest heaving as he stared at you.

“Y/n?”

“No.” You scrunched your eyes shut, taking in a shaky breath. “We can’t do this.”

“But- but why?”

“It’s just wrong. It feels wrong.”

The flash of hurt in his eyes made you regret your choice of words. You scrambled to fix your mistake, standing up straight and stepping around him.

“I’m sorry...uh, it’s just- don’t you think it’s weird?” You bit your lip, staring at him as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Weird?”

“Us. I just never thought you felt that way about me. I’m your stepsister-“

He frowned, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair as he glared at you.

He frowned, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair as he glared at you. “What? No. I’ve never seen you in that way.” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s not the kind of relationship we have, and you know it too. That would have been the case if that bastard was still alive, but he isn’t. He isn’t a part of our lives at all, he doesn’t even fucking exist to me!” He shouted, blinking rapidly and breathing heavily as your words bore into his brain.

Was that really what you saw yourself as? His stepsister? The thought disgusted him. He’d never viewed you in such a light, and thinking of you seeing him like that was unsettling, to say the least.

Minho was suddenly feeling an urgent need to throw up.

“Any link created by him is not real, Y/n. We’re not fucking related.”

“But- look, I just-“ you stared at the ceiling, trying to find the right words to say. The man in front of you looked devastated, and that in turn made your heart ache. “We share a sister. And, I don’t know, you were always just my best friend. I never thought you felt anything for me.” You mumbled out, not even knowing what you were saying. You’d never actually seen Minho as your brother- but you’d never seen him in a romantic light either.

“I think I made it pretty fucking obvious.”

“No you didn’t! I just thought you were being a good friend. And how could I ever think you’d have feelings for me after the way you treated me when we were younger?”

He looked back up at you, his eyes narrowing. “Y/n…I thought you’d forgiven me for that. You said you did.”

“W-well…I haven’t forgotten.” You sighed and pinched your forehead, taking another step back.

“I’m sorry, Minho. I really am.” Deep down, you knew it was just an excuse. It all was. You felt terrible at the moment...it wasn’t really his fault.

You knew the real reason already. Your heart belonged to somebody else, unfortunately.

He just shook his head, sinking down onto the couch as he stared at the ground. “It’s okay.” He said in the softest voice possible.

“Are you sure?” You asked, looking at him, your heart clenching as you observed his expression. Heartbroken and covered in silent devastation. It was new, seeing him like this. Minho rarely let things get under his skin, so seeing him on the verge of tears was disturbing.

“Yeah, whatever.” He said, sighing. “Just want you to be happy.” He added in a mumble- but you couldn’t hear him.

There was an awkward silence for a while, as you shifted from one foot to another. The room suddenly felt heavy and nauseating, your heart pounding in confusion.

“C-can I step out for a bit?” You asked, twisting your fingers. “I just need to clear my mind.”

He nodded slightly, leaning back against the sofa and staring at the TV silently, his eyes glazed over as the screen continued playing the gaudy movie.

Taking that as a yes, you went over to the front door, putting on your shoes with some difficulty as you tried to focus.

Looking back one more time, you left without a word.

***

It was raining lightly, and you groaned as you walked down the street without an umbrella. It wasn’t heavy enough to soak you, but it still felt a little unpleasant as your clothes started sticking to your body.

You hadn’t wanted to hurt Minho, but you evidently had. Surely you could have handled it some other way? Now you’d hurt your best friend, the one person you’d trusted besides Felix. And all for what?

Did Chan even like you? Was it all still just a bet to him? Had the kiss meant anything?

Who were you even reserving your heart for?

Your mind was filled with thoughts as you reached your home, unlocking the door and stepping in silently. Your clothes hadn’t gotten that wet, so you didn’t bother to change clothes as you headed straight to your room. The whole apartment was kinda dark, and you couldn’t really see anything.

Opening your door, you stumbled through the dark room and climbed into your bed, pulling the blankets higher up and closing your eyes. You were just so tired, and all these intrusive thoughts didn’t help one bit.

A nap might clear it all up, hopefully.

***

Isn’t it funny how one could manage to lose everything important to them, all in the span of a few minutes?

Minho sat on the sofa, feeling like he’d lost everything. Everything that ever meant anything to him, all because of his reckless, impulsive decisions and terrible judgment.

But he’d known this would have happened, sooner or later. There was no point in being angry at himself, or Chan, or you- or anyone, really. He couldn’t have held his feelings in forever, and he should have known the consequences that such a choice could bear.

Was this what karma felt like?

Minho leaned back in the couch and buried his face in his hands, relishing the darkness that graced his eyes.

It was all his fault. Everything was.

Always had been. He deserved this.

***

You didn’t know how long you’d slept for, all you knew was that you were well rested now. Turning around sleepily, you reached for your phone, switching it on.

The first thing you saw was a bunch of messages from Minho, your phone pinging with so many notifications that it nearly vibrated off the table.

I’m sorry.

I fucked up, Y/n

Please come back

Y/n?

I want to explain, I want to talk to you

I have some things to tell you.

I’m sorry please forgive me, I don’t know what came over me

You mean so much to me. I don’t want to lose you.

You blinked as you read the messages, tears pricking your eyes as you sat up. You checked the time, it was afternoon. You wanted to sleep just a little more, and then maybe have lunch. After that, you’d head back to Minho’s apartment to talk, and hear him out on whatever he wanted to say.

You sighed, sliding back down. Needing something to hug and make you feel better, you turned around and felt around for your pillow. Inching closer, you wrapped your arms and legs around the soft warmth next to you.

Wait. This...this definitely wasn’t a pillow.

Fuck.

You shot up in bed and screamed, scrambling away from the sleeping body next to you. Your infernal scream caused the person to shoot up too, them rubbing their eyes as you made out their silhouette getting up quickly to switch on the lamp.

“Y/n!?”

“CHAN?”

It was him, alright.

Chan.

Shirtless Chan.

Fuck, Chan was sleeping in your bedroom. In your bed. Shirtless. And he’d been right next to you all this time, being hugged by you.

Did I mention he was shirtless?

You swallowed, your thoughts flitting all over the place as your dry mouth tried to come up with something to say. “What the fuck are you doing in my room!?” You asked, sitting up and glaring at him. “Get out!!”

“Felix let me sleep here! Why would he make me sleep on the sofa when there’s an empty bed right here- wait, when the fuck did you sneak in anyway?” He swore, running his hands through his hair. “Jeez, You scared the shit out of me.”

“You did! You scared me!”

“You’re the one who sneaked in without any prior notice!”

You stood up from the bed and walked towards him, crossing your arms. “Well I never gave you permission to use my room! So get out before I make you.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck.”

“God, you’re so infuriating!” You shot out, exasperated as you buried your head in your hands, trying to control yourself from snapping his head right off.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Just shut up!”

He smirked, stepping closer to you. “Why don’t you make me?”

Of course. Of course he’d use that infamous line.

You weren’t going to fall for his bait though.

Or were you?

It’s just that Chan’s lips looked incredibly soft right now. Plump. So welcoming…

Not to mention, he was breathing very heavily and clearly worked up from your little tiff.

Fuck. You were going to regret this.

You’d overestimated yourself. In a second, you were all over him, leaning up to press your lips to his soft ones needily and passionately.

His reaction was lightning quick. Groaning into your lips, he quickly lifted you up, holding you against the wall much like Minho had. You felt a flash of guilt run across your mind, but it was quickly replaced as Chan bit your bottom lip harshly, groaning past your lips.

"I hate you." you mumbled, pulling away as he stared into your eyes, his own wild and alive.

"Feeling's mutual." He groaned, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking on the skin roughly.

"Wait, no marks-"

"Shut up and take it, you little slut." Fuck, Chan had been wanting to do this since the first moment you decided to be a brat to him. He’d been itching to teach you a lesson, show you some discipline.

He rubbed himself against you, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt the wetness soak through your panties.

He pulled you away from the wall, dragging you over to the bed and throwing you on it.

“You’re dripping, aren’t you? So much for hating me.” He let out another mocking chuckle as he leaned down, pressing a kiss over your clothed folds.

You whined, squirming slightly and causing him to hold you down. He looked up at you, warning flashing in his eyes. “Careful, my little whore. You better not piss me off any further.” He grabbed the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down, pulling them off your legs.

His attention slowly went back to your soaked pussy, licking his lips as he leaned in again.

“Is this all for me?”

You didn’t say anything- which was a mistake. For chan placed a solid slap on your pussy, causing you to cry out as you looked down at him tearily.

“Tell me.”

You hated to admit it...but it was the truth. “Yes.” You said softly, looking at him with an imploring gaze. “All yours.”

“That’s what I thought.” Growling, he placed his plump lips on top of your clit, sucking on it slowly but harshly. The overwhelming pleasure caused you to arch your back, your thighs threatening to close if Chan wasn’t holding them apart so harshly.

“Such a little whore we have here.”

He slowly explored your pussy with the tip of his tongue, relishing every whimper and whine that left your tongue. You tasted so fucking good, he felt like he could never get enough.

Pulling away, he let a sole finger trace your wetness, gently dipping past your entrance. “Do you always get this wet?”

You shook your head, your cheeks turning red as he smirked up at you. “Interesting.” He leaned back down, suddenly taking your clit between his lips and sucking harshly. The sensation caused you to throw your head back, the feeling too profound.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

His lips released your sensitive bud after a few seconds, still gently lapping at it with his tongue as he sat up, pulling down his sweatpants and pulling out his thick, veiny length. You looked down at it, your eyes widening.

So this really was happening.

He moved closer, pumping himself as he pressed his tip against your clit. He slowly slicked the head of his cock through your folds, coating it with your juices and letting out a soft groan. He’d spent so long imagining how you felt, this was like a dream come true.

Slowly, he pushed the head of his cock in. You whimpered softly, feeling how snug it felt within your walls. He was big, a lot more than you’d expected. Regardless of whether or not you’d be torn in half by the end of this, you still pulled him down towards you.

Your eyes wandered over his lips, before flitting back to his own. He gazed at you, sliding in and stretching you out just a little further as he leaned forward to press his lips to yours.

It was gentle this time, yet felt every bit as passionate. You’d never felt like this before. Chan kissed you softly yet urgently, as he pushed in all the way, bottoming out and making you let out a soft whimper.

You’d never felt so full, so satisfied. You felt one with him. It was perfect. In fact you felt like you could stay in this position forever, if the universe permits.

Chan pulled away, his lips throbbing. You looked perfect under him, eyes blown out and hair fanned out around you. Beautiful, just like how he’d pictured it all these years.

Originally, he’d planned to fuck your brains out. Ram into you so hard you would forget your own name, teach you some good behavior.

Right now though, he was consumed with the overwhelming need to make love to you, make you his. To treat you like his princess.

But then he remembered.

You weren’t his.

The anger which had disappeared was back, as Chan gritted his teeth. No, you were his and you always will be. He had to make sure you knew that, needed to make sure you would leave him before long.

It was hopeless though, and he knew that. You belonged to someone else, as much as he wished you didn’t.

Chan had to live in the moment.

And so he drove his cock deeper, causing you to whine out as he pulled out once more. The drag of his length against your walls was so pleasurable it almost drove you to tears. You found yourself wishing he would hold you close to him like this forever.

But you couldn’t fool yourself. This was probably going to be a one time thing. There was no way the universe was going to hand you your happy ending on a platter just like this...right?

You were shook out of your thoughts when Chan slammed back in, jolting you up the bed with the sheer force of his thrust. It brought tears to your eyes, tears borne of pure pleasure.

Soon, he was fucking you deep, his thrusts consistent. His lips slid over your neck, occasionally making their way back up to your mouth.

You clutched onto him tightly, whining at the extreme pleasure. Chan grunted at how tight you were, his core tightening with every thrust.

“You’re so wet, so tight. Fuck, babygirl…” he pulled out all of a sudden, causing your eyes to widen as you looked up at him, pouting. “What was that for?”

He leaned back against the headboard, patting his lap. “Come here and ride daddy’s cock.”

Your cheeks flushed at those words. Carefully, you sat up and crawled over to him, pausing in front of him.

You know you were supposed to have him inside of you once more, but you just couldn’t resist. You wanted to taste him…

And so you leaned down, taking the head of his cock into your mouth. Chan’s eyes widened in surprise at the move, his hooded eyes watching you. “Princess, I thought I told you to-“ he groaned, sucking in a breath between his teeth when you ran your hot tongue over his slit, your drool dripping all over his cock.

He stared at you, sighing to himself as you slowly took him in deeper. You could only be described as a perfect mess to him, sweat beaded on your forehead as your swollen lips wrapped around his tip, sucking slowly.

“F-fuck...are you teasing me, baby girl?” He hissed, taking a handful of your hair and pulling you off his cock. He swallowed as he noticed the string of his pre-cum that was still attached to your mouth. The sight was so sinful it could have made him cum right then and there.

“As much as I’m loving this princess, I really need to be inside of you right now.” He said firmly, pulling you onto his lap. He gripped your hips tightly as he moved you forward, letting his tip press up against your soaked folds.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment, Y/n? You and me?”

You didn’t say anything, your eyes widening slightly as you heard the words. You were just about to reply when he thrust into you abruptly, sheathing his entire cock in your snug pussy.

You let out a long drawn out whine. It had been a while since you’d had someone inside of you, and you were still getting used to the feeling of his girth.

“How does that feel?” He asked gently when he saw your expression, his scary dom persona shed for a few seconds as he stroked your back.

You looked at him, tightening your arms around him as you pouted. “You’re just so...b-big. I can barely breathe.” You mumbled, clenching experimentally around his rigid length and making him hiss. He clutched your hips immediately, smirking up at you.

“And your pussy is so tight and warm...all for me…” he mumbled, his finger gently flicking your clit.

You moaned, blinking and letting out a soft whine as he slowly moved a little. “Ready?” He asked, tilting your chin up to press a kiss to your nose. You inhaled deeply, before nodding. “Yes, daddy.”

He groaned at the name, running his eyes over your innocent face. He leaned up to kiss you as he thrust his hips, driving them into you slowly at first. Nipping at your bottom lip, he grabbed you by the waist and lifted you up until the tip was barely grazing your pussy.

The way he was holding you up as if you weighed nothing was making your whole face turn red. Groaning softly, Chan winked at you before suddenly slamming you back down onto his cock, making you cry out in pure pleasure.

It felt so…incredible, for lack of a better word, as he kissed you deeply before guiding your hips, making you bounce on his cock.

You felt helpless as your moans grew louder, Chan fucking you on his cock relentlessly. He pounded into you from below, lifting you up again and slamming you down in time with his thrusts.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” You whined loudly and shook your head. “I- I don’t know.” You cried out softly, his cock ramming into you roughly. Barely able to continue your sentence, you moaned as he grabbed your ass cheeks tightly, spreading them apart.

“Shut up. You are, and that’s final.” He grunted as he suddenly got up, still shallowly fucking you. He stumbled over to the wall and pressed you against it, attacking your neck and covering it with bruises as he tore apart your insides.

“I’m- fuck!” You gasped when you felt him bite your nipple lightly, your hand coming up to his face. “I’m c-close, please-“

He chuckled, his hand slithering between your bodies to rub slow circles on your clit. “So you’re telling me I control your orgasm?”

“N-no I meant-“

“You meant what you said, baby.” He chuckled and kissed you. “It’s alright though, I’ll let you cum, babygirl. All you have to do is beg.”

“B-but…” you whimpered and pouted at him, but he merely shook his head.

“Go on, now.” He said strictly, slightly slowing down his thrusts.

You groaned in frustration as he reduced his speed. Your eyes wide and innocent as you looked up at him.

“Please, daddy, wanna cum so bad, need it...”

He pretended to think for a second, before nodding and smirking as he rammed into you so hard you’d probably never walk again. You never knew he had so much stamina, so much brute force.

Each thrust was like a burst of fire within you.

Soon enough, you felt your orgasm crash down on you, leaving your entire body shaking in the wake of it.

The overstimulation was blinding, and yet you suffered through it so you could feel Chan’s cum inside you, your abused core tingling as he pounded into you.

Finally after a few minutes he slammed into you one last time, filling you up with his seed. There was so much of it that it dripped out, past his length and your pussy. You’d never felt so full.

“That was...beautiful.” He groaned, resting his forehead against yours. The two of you breathed heavily, your chests heaving as you stayed in that position.

Staring into your eyes, Chan found something there which he hadn’t seen for years. He missed that look...he really did.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss on your head. You could barely reply, your words stuck in your throat. All you could do was stare at Chan in adoration, feeling helplessly in love as your heart pounded against your chest. Your mind was filled with persistent thoughts, but one seemed to be more prominent than the rest.

This wasn’t going to end well, was it?

***

Felix sighed when he saw the two of you cuddled on the couch, smiling to himself and shaking his head as he set his keys down. He’d known this would happen sooner or later.

At least now he wouldn’t have to deal with any more bickering. Yawning, he headed towards his room, right after switching the lights off so the two of you could lay in darkness.

An eventful day, for sure.